For This Child I Prayed.

It has been four years since we celebrated the best Thanksgiving of my life. At the time, I didn't know it would be the best Thanksgiving of my life. At the time, all I knew was hope, and a little fear, that what we'd prayed for would finally occur.

Now I know that it would be the last Thanksgiving my father would spend with his brother and sister and their families. Now I know it would be the last trip my brother would take with our Dad. Now I know the house my in-laws had, at the time, just purchased, a house in which we'd celebrate subsequent Thanksgivings.

But in that week, all I knew was hope. All I knew was living moment-by-moment. All I knew was prayer that at least one of the eight lives living in a lab in Rockville, Maryland would continue to grow.

That Thanksgiving week, as my brother and father spent time four states away and my mother-in-law was another four states away (in a different direction), we all waited for the daily call telling us how many lives were left, whether they'd grown. I remember trying to distract myself by shopping, getting the call that there were eight embryos - more than I'd ever had before. I remember screaming out "EIGHT, Mama, EIGHT!" in the middle of that store, both of us sobbing with joy and hugging while people hurried along around us. I remember calling my husband, sharing the news, believing together that maybe this time God would say yes to the thousands of prayers.

I remember my husband driving me to the embryo transfer, knowing that several of my babies had died, not knowing how many lives would be left to welcome into my womb. I remember the news that three babies had lived. I remember them handing us the photo of those three little lives. I remember the embryologist coming out with the syringe containing my three babies, holding my husband's hand as they transferred those babies into me, then checking to find that one had been "sticky" and was still in the tubing. I remember waiting for that sticky embryo to be brought back and transferred to me. I remember joking that this was the one - the one that would be stubborn enough to stay with Mama.


I remember gently walking to the car, knowing that nothing was going to "fall out", but still not wanting to disturb those lives nestling into my womb. I remember reclining in the seat all the way home, looking at the photo of the three embryos, talking to my husband about the possibilities ahead. And then I remember going to bed and staying still, praying for those lives inside of me, mourning the other lives lost.

I remember Thanksgiving day, a meal my Mama cooked, a meal shared with my father-in-law who had to be away from my mother-in-law while he finished up his job locally. I remember gently leaving bed only for the meal and then rushing back to make sure those babies had every opportunity to attach and grow. And I remember the prayers we offered that week in thanksgiving for life and family and provision and love.

I remember the wait, the pain of not knowing whether life had taken root. And I remember the call that told me God had said yes. I remember the tears of joy as I called my husband and my Mom and Dad and brother and in-laws to share the news we'd all hoped for: there was finally at least one baby growing inside of me. There was life.

So as we enter into this season of Thanksgiving, I'll continue to remember how that one Thanksgiving changed my life. I'll remember how my family and friends rallied around me, praying from many states away that God would answer our prayers in the affirmative. I'll remember the beginnings of that year. And I'll forever be thankful for the provision of life that was rooted in that week. From that week on, Thanksgiving has never again been the same.

Miracles.

December 19th, I posted the following on Facebook: "Just saw a miracle - the tiny little heartbeat of our baby. Go baby go!" After 4 fertility treatments, 8 (known) embryos and nearly 4 years of trying, our miracle came to life.

The next week, my parents were visiting and I posted this: "So incredible to see the changes in the baby in a week - and to share them with [my mom] (who cried for about an hour after). This morning saw the heartbeat again (146 bpm), the big ole head, the little tail that will be the hinie, a tiny Swider chin (like Daddy) and some long, long legs!! Can't believe how much is developed at 7 weeks 3 days! Keep praying folks, we're watching a miracle unfold! So, so thankful!!" That day my Mother saw years of praying come to fruition with tiny, tiny kicks showing us this kid was a fighter.

This week I face D-day. It's been 9 months of watching for everything that could go wrong in a pregnancy. We've had test after test, monitoring appointment after monitoring appointment, doctor's visit after doctor's visit, and the answer stays the same, "Pregnancy seems to agree with you." Given they're estimating a 9+ pound child, pregnancy apparently agrees with my son as well. And with every visit, with every kick, I'm reminded of this little miracle. He's a tiny ray of hope for more than one person in this world.


You see, it's not just the people I see on the street who give me big smiles when they see my big belly. It's not just the joyful ladies in the restroom who want to know details on whether it's a boy or girl and relate stories of their pregnancy. It's not even the frowning people I see in Lowe's whose faces light up in apparent memories of the times they were expecting their children that have made me realize just how much hope there is in expecting a child. It's the hope I see in the journey my father has taken in the last 9 months.

Daddy was diagnosed with stage 4 t-cell lymphoma in March of last year. He went through several rounds of chemo and we thought he was cancer free as of last August. In fact, when I went through that last fertility treatment, found myself pregnant and celebrated with them the news of impending birth, we thought cancer had been beaten. In fact, the week my parents visited and Mama got to see the baby with me, we knew something was not quite right with Daddy. And as much as we hoped it wasn't so, a doctor's visit a week later showed the cancer was back with a vengeance.

Daddy is now going through chemo in anticipation of a stem-cell transplant that will happen roughly a month after his first grandchild is born - a child for whom HE prayed.  The miracle of my son is just the first of the miracles we're expecting in my family this year. We're also believing in the miracle of remission.