Sunday, October 6, 2013 – My husband and I sat across from each other for what would be our last meal as a family of two. Mason was a week late, and we were scheduled for an induction the following morning. Up until that point, I had tried a few old wives tales to induce labor, but he refused to budge.
We arrived to the hospital and settled in for what should have been a restful night. As a standard measure, the nurses slathered me up for a final ultrasound prior to starting the induction process. I remember the confusion and hearing “I think this baby is breach.” My husband and I looked at each other, convinced they must have it wrong. My doctor had been telling me for weeks he was head down and everything was progressing as it should. Coincidentally, my preferred doctor was on call that evening and after she was paged, confirmed the nurses’ assumption. We were given a few options, but decided to go with the safest procedure, a Cesarian the following morning.
Needless to say, my husband and I got little sleep. For the duration of my pregnancy, I researched what to expect during child labor. I felt like a student who studied the wrong material as I knew nothing about C-sections, recovery or what it would feel like to miss out on something you had imagined for nine months. I wouldn’t experience the pains of labor, I wouldn’t get to hold Mason immediately after he was born and I was going to have major surgery. Life threw us a curve ball, but we knew God wouldn’t give us more than we could handle.
On October 7, 2013 at 7:09 am, we welcomed Mason into the world: 6 lb 13 oz, 19 1/4″ long. Seeing his sweet face for the first time was an experience words can’t describe, holding him even better.
After our new family of three transitioned to our room, I stared at him in awe. He was, and still is perfect: a little pug nose, tiny ears, a beautiful complexion and completely alert.
We thought we had received enough surprises for the day, but the pediatrician was still making his rounds. I’ll never forget his demeanor and how insignificant he made it sound: “Everything looks great, but we need to talk about his hips.” The term “hip dysplasia”, a condition we had never heard of, was now a staple in our daily life. Due to Mason’s [frank] breech position, both of his hips were dislocated. The pediatrician left us with a referral for a pediatric orthopedic surgeon and went on his merry way.
Still on pain medicine with hormones surging through my body, you would have thought he told me Mason was dying. Looking back, it doesn’t matter what the condition was or how severe, anything that impacts your perfect miracle, that you are unable to fix, is heartbreaking.
The day my son was born marked the beginning of our journey in the world of hips, harnesses, x-rays and ultrasounds. It was the day that defined my testimony, the day the Lord began to teach me the true meaning of faith, strength and perseverance.
For more information about hip dysplasia, visit hipdysplasia.org.