When I found out that I was pregnant, I was in the wee weeks of the first trimester and trying heavily to accept where we were in life at that particular season. Numerous individuals were being laid off at my husband's job so we knew the possibility was coming and we prayed earnestly all while preparing for the worst. I hoped for the best and even had plans to do some exciting for my birthday with our little growing family on the upcoming Friday. But slowly the week moved on and about (I believe) Thursday evening I looked up to see Chris walk through the door with a solemn look as if his heart had just been broken. He got the news that day that he had been laid off with about 20-30 other individuals that day, and that it was all about the numbers. We struggled to fight back sinful desires of anger, bitterness and hate because Chris had invested so much love and time into a company that dropped him like he meant nothing. The evening remained a solemn environment, attempting to try to see God's hand in this job loss with us making a final decision to pray and seek out some rest for the night.
My birthday it seems just came and went because money was tight, and about to get tighter. I couldn't fathom how a good God could possible allow me to get pregnant and then turn right around and allow my husband to get laid off. I think one of the most difficult things about being in a female body is the amount of hormones and fear that we let lead us, and fear certainly was taking hold of my heart. It was in this fearful mindset where I actually had the thought of aborting our child. I sat down and logically tried to figure out what to do. On one hand, I was pregnant with no insurance and had a husband with no job what-so-ever. We had received some money from his job because of him being laid off, but the amount though more then we expected was certainly not enough to pay for a birth in the hospital. On the other hand, we could learn humility and go on medicaid to help pay for the birth. Bare down, accept that in love we had created this child together and that God was going to see it through.
I logically spent a few moments going back and forth over the options, though it seemed like hours. How could I possibly tell my sons later in their life that I had aborted (= murdered) their baby sister? How could I tell our parents? Would I go behind my husband? Could I really end a life that God purposely put in my womb? I knew that God over all was the one who decided whether or not a woman's womb was to be fertile. Over and over again I heard the pro-choice arguments that a woman's body is her own.
In frustration I clenched my fist and growled knowing that these arguments I had heard were not based on trusting God and nor were they for my child's best benefit. They were the voices of those who run in fear, who denounce God, and most likely those who were selfishly running after momentary pleasures. I had enough and decided that come hell or high waters, this kid was mine and no body was telling me otherwise.
Within the next few weeks we were able to establish medicaid for myself and the children so our medical issues would be taken care of. Numerous interviews were scattered throughout our weekly plans, and occasionally Chris would take a job only to have God shorten his time there and back into unemployment he would go. It seemed like an endlessly painful roller coaster ride and by gosh I wanted off!
It was nearing the middle of my pregnancy and therefore the exciting news that we were going to have yet another son to play with our two rambunctious boys. Now, I should say that myself and many members of my family thought that Dominic and John Paul were going to be girls and because they were so sure they purchased numerous pink and red outfits. Alas, I didn't get to see either child in any of them. I truly believed that God was going to make me a momma of males. I rationalized that since I was raised up by males and with them that therefore, God was going to be sane and make me only have boys. What the heck would I do with a girl anyways? My whole life has been filled with tonka trucks, G.I. Joe's and building blocks, and that was just some of the toys I had access to. But the time came for our sonogram and low and behold, no additional appendages were found. It was a girl! Finally, I wouldn't be swimming in the "testosterone pool" anymore!
At home I yanked out the outfits that had sat for four years in some dusty old boxes awaiting the time for when we had finished our season of baby making only to pass them on, still with tags to another family. In the previous month's we were so sure that God was giving us another boy, we had names ready to go but now we had to decide on a female's name. We went back and forth literally for weeks trying to come up with a name for her because we needed to give her just the perfect name, she was our first daughter after all. Finally near the end of my pregnancy we settled on Shiloh Evangeline, roughly translated Shiloh means "His gift" or "he/she who was sent by God" and Evangeline means "bearer of good news".
The remaining days went quickly and finally on September 9th, at 9:32 pm and weighing in at 6lbs 13ozs we met our first daughter, Shiloh Evangeline de Vidal. She had the exact same red hair her brothers had but unlike her brothers she had deep brown eyes. What a cutie! She had a difficult first few hours but we were discharged a few days later with a clean bill of health. Or so we thought.
We made her first week appointment and it was at that time we were hit with the news that she had some type of heart murmur. The doctor tried to assure us that it was common and that many babies simply lose it within the first weeks. Still an appointment was made for baby Shiloh at a cardiologists office since the doctor wanted to be absolutely sure nothing was serious. Once there they did a series of tests to try and determine what was the cause and within just a few tests it became obvious to them that she had not one but two holes in her tiny heart. To say I was broken is an understatement. Had I not just spent 9 month's carrying a kid that at one point, I actually thought of aborting? I did good didn't I? Why was God putting us on yet another nasty roller coaster? Why was he punishing us, more specifically, why was he punishing me? I tried really hard during that appointment to keep the tears from flowing, partially because I needed to turn around and explain all this to our family and partially because I didn't want other people seeing me cry. After all, a mom is supposed to keep a stiff upper lip during difficult times, right?
It was an absolute whirl wind during this time, countless interviews for Chris, numerous doctors appointments for all the kiddos all while trying to hold down the budget. Our marriage was on the rocks, I was a sinner and I had married one as well. To say that we were having marital problems is an understatement, because I believe you actually have to have conversations with one another to have problems. It was more like barking and hissing with rare pleasantries in front of the kids to be honest. Again our family got hit hard, Shiloh contracted RSV and needed to be put into the hospital for monitoring due to her heart problems. Could it really get any worse? Was God ever going to take me from sorrow to joy at some point? It was actually while in the hospital that God moved in just such a way that a job opening came available and a good friend of Chris' had put in for him to get an interview. We got a phone call for an interview but Chris explained he hadn't shaved or had a suit and was in fact at the hospital with his daughter that very moment. They didn't care how he looked and wanted him to come in for an interview as soon as possible. We scrambled! My mom came down to care for the kids that day and I was then freed to go watch over Shiloh while Chris got interviewed.
It was about 2 weeks from the interview and Chris was back to working again, and we finally had the ability to pay off debt while squirreling away money for the future. Both of us knew that Shiloh was most likely going to have surgery and in the back of our minds we knew that surgery didn't come cheap in our country, or any for that matter. Slowly we could see the sun on the horizon, things seemed like just maybe God was for us and not against us.
At around five month's old the cardiologist made it official, baby Shiloh would need to have open heart surgery to repair her ASD and VSD openings in her heart. Though we hoped for the holes to close, one in particular actually got bigger due to the immense pressure from blood flow. Again we scrambled to get things in order for me to leave with Shiloh to Gainsville while Chris and my Mother stayed behind to care for our family. Chris wanted to stay behind because he knew the danger of asking for time off after only being hired very recently, but through events his boss found out that Shiloh was having surgery and darn near ordered Chris to travel to Gainsville with us and even assured him that his job was safe.
On March 16th we said our goodbyes to the kids and gave a brief explanation of why we had to take Shiloh away for awhile. It's hard trying to assure two toddlers that things were going to be okay, all while facing the very sobering reality that we might not come back with her alive. Both the cardiologist and cardiac surgeon gave high survival rates for her particular surgery but we were very aware that this surgery wasn't an easy one either, there's always the possibility of something unforeseen coming up. We spent the night in Gainsville and rose early the next morning to spend the whole day doing blood work , sonograms and my favorite, paperwork!
I stayed up all night watching over her, carefully feeding her when the doctor's office indicated. In between feedings I would break down in the bathroom while Chris slept, trying hard to keep it all together. If I said that God was going to heal her heart miraculously over night before the surgery and he didn't, would that mean my faith was weak? If I said that I trusted the surgeon's hand while operating, and something slipped, was it my lack of faith or the doctor's lack in skill? If I said that God was going to work things out but allowed her to not make it through the surgery, what excuse would I use to explain what happened? I spent what seemed like eternity posing questions to myself until out of complete exhaustion I passed out early in the wee hours of Thursday.
My husband woke me at 5:00am with a whopping two hours under my sleep belt, I explained my exhaustion and we had a brief spat over my lack of sleep before her big surgery. We still were having marital difficulties at the time and the possibility of our daughter dying weighed hard on our shoulders, adding more stress and frustration. I passed back out even though everything in me desired to get back up and be there for my daughter before she was taken away. My husband had decided that he would take my daughter to surgery since there was really nothing neither he or I could do to help, it was just best for me to rest and him to carry this load. I got a kiss on the head with an explanation of what his plans were and out the door he went. I wish I could say that there was this moment of tranquil submission to him but I sat up in bed and logically thought out that: (A) I could cuss this man out for all he's worth for daring to take my daughter away from me and for not allowing me enough time to get ready and prep before her surgery or (B) Lay my butt back down and consider this a blessing from my husband; a desire of his to show me compassion. I thought the more Godly road would be option B and I genuinely tried to lay down and sleep. I needed to feel like I was at least doing "something" so I got up and repacked all the stuff that I had unpacked the previous nights and then crawled back in bed and took a much needed snooze. While this was going on Chris was at the hospital with Shiloh preparing for surgery and even though I've always thought him stronger than I, he was having his weak moments too as he faced the very real possibility of losing his only daughter.
Chris and Shiloh had been sitting in a pre-op room while everything was being set up for surgery, a good opportunity to capture a few moments before she was taken away. That time came and the nurses assured him they would keep him updated throughout the surgery, with this Chris was free to go back to the hotel and wait with his Father who had arrived just for the surgery. I waited upstairs going back and forth between sleep and tv while downstairs Chris, his Father and his Father's friend waited patiently in the lobby for any news. Both our cell phone's kept ringing as we tried desperately tried to give everyone an update on where we were at that moment and took updates from the nursing staff. We got the final call that her surgery was indeed a success and that we could come back and be able to see her soon. Because it was so late in the day, his dad and friend had to leave due to work schedules but at least wanted to be there for us as long as they could. We quickly headed down to the hospital eager to see our baby girl and how things were going.
Hand in hand we moved quickly to the recovery area, passing up rooms, each one filled with a child who was struggling to live, just like our little Shiloh. When we first entered her room, the sights and smells just overwhelmed me, in one area I could hear a machine gurgling that was attached to her chest tubes, bells going off when medications were empty and chatter from the medical staff. My senses were overloaded on top of seeing my daughter with tubes coming out from all over her body and a rather large incision down her tiny chest. I couldn't take anymore, I took about five steps back and stood motionless. As a mother you instinctively know that when your child(ren) is suffering you jump into action and do whatever it takes to stop that suffering so they can feel better. There wasn't anything I could do at that moment and it hit me like a ton of bricks. Chris knew I had hit my breaking point and consoled me while I wept. He felt it best for me to go back to the hotel and rest while he carried the burden of watching over our daughter while she recouped.
Day after day I would return to visit, bringing Chris food and checking on Shiloh's progress. Each day we looked forward to seeing the PA or surgeon as they were the one's that gave the okay for tubes or wires to be removed. Finally, on the fifth day the surgeon felt like she would be able to go back to Jacksonville and they released her into our care. We stayed overnight in Gainsville so that we could rest up before making the trip back home.
Every day since Shiloh has been released she makes small steps towards becoming a normal little girl and even though she is currently taking physical therapy there is a good outlook for her life. In just two month's she will officially be 1 year old and her birthday will mark 6 month's after surgery without any complications thus far.
There was a time when I would say to my husband that God had dealt with me very bitterly through this but now I can say that God has turned my tears of sorrow into tears of joy. For my husband, God has allowed him to have his daughter who is daddy's best friend (next to mommy). And my little boys have a sister who they are eager to run around with as soon as she learns.
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