Motherhood and the Book of Mormon - Lessons in Miracles

While I was pregnant with Zoe, I was very concerned about my delivery. With Nicky and Daisy, I had been induced - Nicky out of necessity, Daisy by choice - and both deliveries had had complications. There is no way to know whether those complications could have been avoided by allowing labor to take its course naturally, but I couldn't help wondering.

Throughout my third pregnancy, I stressed about this a lot. My body does not do well to prepare for labor. I've never even been close to going into labor naturally. I hoped that my body would go into labor on its own, but I knew that, more than likely, I would go one or two week past my due date and end up having to be induced.

For some it is an easy decision to make. Women choose to be induced and women choose to wait, and both scenarios frequently bring forth healthy babies. But for me it wasn't an easy choice.

I prayed over and over again that I would know what to do - that I would have some impression to guide me when the time came to make a decision.

As the end of pregnancy drew near, I still didn't have any idea what to do. The hospital I deliver at allows elective induction at 39 weeks. My doctor was very supportive and let me make the decision without pushing me in one direction or the other.

During that 39th week, I started feeling very strongly that I needed to ask my doctor to induce me on my due date. I was surprised at this prompting because I kind of assumed that God would want me to choose the more unpredictable route so I could learn a life lesson about patience or something. I prayed for a confirmation, and, to my surprise, I felt entirely at peace. I had no hesitations. I had received an answer - I needed to be induced.

At my final appointment, the doctor verified that the baby was head-down (and had been since 27 weeks), and everything was good to go. I asked him if I could be induced on November 1, my due date. He checked the hospital's schedule, and due to some unforeseen post-Halloween rush, there were no openings, so he scheduled me for November 2.

The date was perfect. Scotty was off work that day (he has every-other Friday off), Nicky was out of school, and all of my child care arrangements fell into place without incident. I arrived at the hospital bursting with excitement, put on my gown, hopped up on the bed, and settled in with my latest library book.

I felt good. So good.

The nurse came in and announced that she just needed to take care of a few things, and then I could get busy laboring. A quick examination of the cervix and some pressure on my stomach concluded that something wasn't quite right.

"The head's not there," she said, "Let me go get the ultrasound machine."

I immediately grew nervous because, clearly, my nurse was inept. I knew my baby's head was down. I can't claim many talents, but I am dang good at having babies head-down. My baby had been head-down at my appointment four days earlier and was still head-down.

Except the ultrasound proved that my baby wasn't head-down.

The nurse paged my doctor with a message in all caps, hoping for a timely response. BABY IS BREECH.

The induction was held off, and I waited impatiently to know my fate. Blinking away the tears, I ran through the scenarios in my head:

-The one where I have the courage to walk out of the hospital and wait one more week to see if the baby turns on her own.

-The one where I have a c-section, and my perfect childcare plan goes kaput because I have to stay in the hospital longer than planned.

-The one where the doctor tries to turn the baby, and it hurts like the Dickens.

The worst part of it all was that I had finally made a decision I felt good about only to be faced with more big decisions I didn't feel capable of making.

When the doctor came in, he verified that the baby was, in fact, breech. I was still having a hard time accepting the news when I suddenly remembered a moment from the previous night. Scotty and I had been sitting on the couch together after putting the kids to bed. The baby was kicking and rolling all over the place, and at one point, my belly jutted out so far to the right that it was like the baby had turned horizontal. We had laughed about it, and I had braced myself in pain a few times, but we never imagined that she had actually turned.

My doctor discussed the options, and they turned out to be very similar to the scenarios I'd already gone through in my head. The chance of the baby turning on her own if I waited another week was about 10-20%. The chance of successfully physically turning the baby was about 50%. Or I could have a c-section.

I decided to have my doctor try and turn the baby. I was terrified because I had heard a few stories about turning breech babies, and the common factor seemed to be VERY.INTENSE.PAIN.  I had the option of having an epidural, but if I had one, the baby would have to be delivered no matter what. If I didn't have the epidural and the baby wouldn't turn, I could go home and wait a few more days to see if she would turn on her own - again, only a 10-20% chance, but I figured I needed to leave that option available, so I didn't get the epidural. I expressed to my doctor that I was afraid it would hurt, and he assured me that he would know very quickly whether the baby would turn or not, and he would stop if I said to.

My belly was slathered in ultrasound gel (seriously... so! much! ultrasound gel!) and the nurse monitored the baby's heart rate while the doctor positioned his hands at the head and the butt of the baby. As soon as he began moving the baby, I felt completely at peace. A reassurance came over me that everything was going to be fine. Slowly the baby rotated until she was at the most uncomfortable point in the turn. My doctor stopped and asked me if I was doing okay. Since I knew everything was going to be fine, I had returned to a feeling of excitement, and I happily informed my doctor that I was doing great.

Eight hours later, I gave birth to an 8 lb. 9 oz. baby girl with soft dark hair and delicate thigh rolls. As I held her and admired all 21 inches of her, I couldn't help but notice that she wasn't exactly small. I laid her on my tummy and reenacted the turning, and I was astonished that things had gone so smoothly, that I had felt very little pain, and that she was even capable of turning breech at 40 weeks in the first place.

 

I wondered, why would Heavenly Father, after so much dedication and prayer on my part, put me in such a situation?

At first I thought that I had not listened to the Spirit. Maybe I wasn't meant to be induced. Perhaps I had made the choice out of impatience or selfishness.

But my doctor explained to me that if I had come into the hospital in labor with a breech baby, I would have been given a c-section, so it was very good that I had asked to be induced.

However; if I had been induced on my due date, the day before, my baby would not have been breech. So why, then, did Heavenly Father direct me down a path that led to a breech baby?

When I was studying the Book of Mormon in the final weeks of my pregnancy, the use of the term miracles stood out to me, especially in the last half of the book. I could quote scripture after scripture for you, but instead I will paraphrase according to my simple understanding: God continues to grant miracles among His children. He has never stopped granting miracles, and He never will.

As I read of miracles over and over again, I found myself praying in my heart that I would experience a miracle of my own as I had my baby. I wanted to know that God was there, and I wanted to see His hand in my life.

On LDS.org , miracle is defined as "An extraordinary event caused by the power of God... Miracles are part of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Faith is necessary in order for miracles to be manifested."

In order for an event to be a miracle, it has to be perceived, understood, and recognized through faith. After much contemplation, I came to know that I had been granted the miracle I desired.

Had I been induced on my due date, I would have been granted the blessing of not having a breech baby. The problem is, I never would have known that I was being spared from that experience. Instead, Heavenly Father gave me one more day. He allowed me to endure a breech baby so that I could see His hand in my life. He allowed me to feel fear and to question my decisions.

This story is not really about the baby being breech. It is about how following the Spirit will lead us to situations where Heavenly Father can teach us great things. Sometimes we have to experience uncomfortable things so we can perceive the miracles that God grants us.

-----------------------------------------------------

This post is part of my series, "Mothering and the Book of Mormon." To learn more about why I am writing this series, please read this. To learn more about the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, check out Mormon.org or LDS.org.

Did you know you can request a Book of Mormon for free? No joke! See here.

I'll even send you one if you want. Marginalia included.

You can e-mail me: 

{fluentbrittish [at] gmail [dot] com}

I won't even try to baptize you!