I’ve been horrible at journaling since I
got pregnant, which is really a shame. This pregnancy has thus far been the
easiest, and most joyful of the three, and I want to remember the highs and
lows. I want to record the story of my son, and all the impressions I’ve had
along the way.
In May 2012, we all went to a birthday
party at Pump It Up. Adam, of course, is just a boy in a man’s body, so he was
right in the center of the party, having fun with all the kids. At one point, I
watched an interaction between Adam and one of the party guests, a boy we
didn’t know, who was about eleven or twelve years old. I don’t know what it was
about watching Adam and this young boy making a connection. Perhaps it was the
fact that the boy looked like he belonged with us, but for some reason,
something was born inside me that had never existed before: the strong,
desperate desire to give Adam a son. Actual tears sprang to my eyes, and I
started crying, the desire was so strong.
Fast forward about a year to May 2013, a
time when we were seriously considering getting pregnant. I stopped taking the
birth control pill, and started getting extremely excited to expand our family.
I had baby on the brain, and if you ask anyone who surrounded me, it was all I
could talk about. But suddenly something happened to halt my plans, and throw me
into the deep anxiety and depression that I am so prone to.
My friend, Rachel, lost her sweet baby,
Louie, at just two days old. The anxiety and despair I felt over this news
rendered me completely dysfunctional for nearly a week, and during the course
of that week, I decided I couldn’t have another child. I should just be
grateful for the two beautiful, wonderful children that I’d already been
blessed with. I can’t say I felt peace at this decision, but it was almost like
a relief during a very dark and scary moment.
Fortunately I decided to attend the
funeral, because it changed my life. I do not hesitate to say, it was one of
the most spiritual moments I’ve ever had. I felt the presence of angels
attending that funeral. I’ll never forget the sound of the funeral. As it
began, there were reverent, broken hearted sobs and sniffles. I don’t think
there was a person in that room that felt whole. By the time it was over, I
couldn’t help but note the absence of tears. Not because the room wasn’t still
brokenhearted, but because everyone had been touched by the spirit, and by
Louie’s presence. From that moment on, my testimony was eternally altered, and
cemented in the plan of salvation. Not that I wavered before, but I felt the
windows of heaven had opened and the spirit couldn’t be denied. I began to have
long conversations with my Heavenly Father that day, and I haven’t stopped
since. In nearly each of these conversations, I end by saying, “I trust thee.”
I’ll never forget Louie, or his mother,
because of the spirit that was present that day. Nor will I forget her quiet
strength that I observed in the weeks and months to follow. I knew during the
funeral that having another baby was part of Heavenly Father’s plan for our family,
and that I didn’t need to fear, because no matter what, everything was
according to His plan, His timing, and no matter what, everything was going to
be alright. Even if I wouldn’t be alright in the moment, should anything happen
to my children.
My desire for a son never faltered,
and in these private pleadings with Heavenly Father, I began to beg for a son.
My prayers were sort of schizophrenic. I wanted to ask for a son, but somehow
it felt greedy. I am so aware of close friends and others who are desperate for
a child, any child, and here I was with two beautiful daughters, and I’m
sending in requests for a son? It didn’t feel right. It felt spoiled. So when
I’d pray I’d say, “Heavenly Father, the desire of my heart is to have a child.
A son. If it be thy will, please allow me to have a son. If it is not thy will,
please send me a healthy baby, and if that is not thy will, please send me the
child you intend for our family…but I really, REALLY do want a son.”
At the beginning of July, I went to
the temple by myself. I prayed the entire way there for a son, and the entire
way back, and every moment in between. I remember saying, “If thou will give me
a son, I promise I will do everything in my power to raise him in faith and
righteousness. I will do whatever it takes to raise a righteous man, who will
serve a mission, hold the priesthood, and minister to thy people.” Over and
over again I promised God that if He would give me a son, I’d do everything I
could to get my boy back to his Father.
This prayer continued, and even
spilled out to our family. Even Hannah began to pray for a little brother. As
we prayed, I felt a different spirit in our home. I felt the spirit of my yet
to be conceived son in my home.
One day in September, when the two
little lines on the pregnancy test finally appeared, I stopped praying for a
son. I knew that I had a baby growing within me, and that my prayer had been
answered. I didn’t know yet if my answer was yes, or no, but I knew it was time
to just trust the Heavenly Father had a plan for our family, and that the time
for asking was over, the time to trust had begun.
The pregnancy started off like the
first two. The unbridled elation, followed by the debilitating sickness. The
sickness was different, however. It started at around four weeks gestation (rather
than six or seven) and continued until only about nine weeks. From nine weeks
to about thirteen weeks I was still nauseous and exhausted, but it was totally
manageable, and I only threw up a handful of times.
I had the opportunity at thirteen
weeks to have a free 3D ultrasound. I had high hopes that they’d be able to
tell the gender, but there were two technicians and one suspected a girl, while
the other guessed a boy. Even though it was the more experienced tech that
suggested it was a boy, I tried to preserve my heart and convince myself that
it wasn’t for sure, even though I held on to the hope that it was a boy. Around
this same time, I had a dream that I had a sweet baby daughter, and I was sure
that Heavenly Father was trying to prepare me for another girl.
Finally, on December 16th,
2013 I had an ultrasound to confirm the gender. I was only sixteen weeks along,
but I couldn’t wait any longer! I needed to know! We went together as a family
to Miracle in Progress. I’ve never been so nervous to find out the gender in my
life. I was sweating like crazy. The ultrasound tech said she would look at the
baby from a few different angles, and once she was 100% sure, she would tell us
what the baby was.
After several minutes of anxious
silence, she said, “Okay, I know what your baby is.” Turning to Hannah she
asked, “Would you like to know first, and then you can tell Mommy and Daddy?”
Hannah nodded shyly, and walked over to her. The tech whispered in Hannah’s
ear, and a big smile spread across Hannah’s face, but she wouldn’t tell us what
we were having! She suddenly became shy and wouldn’t say anything! After trying
to coax it out of Hannah, Paige said, “You can tell me!” So the tech whispered
it in Paige’s ear. Paige walked over to me and said, casually, “It’s a sister.”
I tried to remain upbeat and
positive (though Adam said my face just crumbled into disappointment) and said
something like, “Oh, wow! A sister!” But I noticed Hannah’s expression crinkle
up as she looked at Adam and she was shaking her head no. “It’s not a sister,”
she said quietly. The tech said, “Um, yeah, it’s not a girl, it’s a boy.”
I couldn’t stop the sobs. I was
crying and crying and crying and she actually had to stop the ultrasound
because I was convulsing so much.
I couldn’t articulate it in the
moment, but it was defining for me. Not only because I was going to have the
son I so desperately wanted, but because my will had been in line with God’s
will, and he was allowing me the desire of my heart.
So many times we pray, and the
answer we receive is different from what we had envisioned it to be, but
occasionally, the answer we receive is yes. And even though I felt I was asking
something that sounded so spoiled or greedy, when I’d been blessed so
generously already, somehow the answer was “yes.” I know the reason why the
answer was yes this time, when so many other times it’s “No,” or even, “Not
yet, be patient,” is simply because I asked with tremendous faith, and it just
happened to be in accordance with Heavenly Father’s will. I would have been
thrilled to have a daughter, and someday I’d even love another daughter if it’s
in Heavenly Father’s plan for us, but I believe my desire was inspired by God,
and the blessing of my son was his way of teaching me to ask in faith, and
trust in Him.
Less than a week later, we were in
the Brigham City temple in Utah with my sister Megan as she received her
Endowment. It was an incredibly beautiful day, and like many other days over
the period of about seven months, I felt the spirit of my son with me, very
strongly. I know that he’s been preparing to come into our home, just as we’ve
been planning and preparing for him. Being in the temple is always a very
beautiful experience, but it was especially special to be there with my siblings
and their spouses and my parents. We all made it. The feelings I felt must have
been similar to how we might feel, should we endure to the end, obeying all
God’s commandments and finally entering the Celestial Kingdom together.
After we were all in the celestial
room, each couple seemed to naturally find a corner and stick together, talking
about our feelings and what we’ve learned. I could tell Adam had something he
wanted to tell me, so we sat down and he talked about how he’d felt impressed
by the name Samuel. Samuel had been on my short list. I loved the name Sam, and
I thought Sammy was a sweet nickname. He got out the bible, and we started
reading. Suddenly I remembered the story of Samuel, and I realized that I’d
prayed in faith for my son, just as Hannah had prayed for hers, and like
Hannah, I made a promise to God that I would do everything I could as a mother
to essentially “give” my son to the Lord.
I felt extremely emotional, and I
felt the spirit testify to me that Samuel should be his name, but I wasn’t
quite ready to share that with anyone. In fact, once I felt that prompting, I
spent a lot of time pondering the name in my heart.
It would be two months before we’d
talk about Samuel’s name again. Over those two months I questioned the name,
pondered it, and kept it close to my heart, sharing it with only my friends
Rosalie and Stacey as “possible baby names.” On Valentine’s Day, my mom called
me up to tell me that she had an experience with my baby and wanted to share
it. She said, that during her couple prayers with my dad, he was blessing the
baby and simply said, “Please bless baby boy Turney.” As soon as he said that,
my mom heard the words, “I’m Samuel.” She called to tell me she knew what we
were going to name our son, but didn’t want to say anything because she didn’t
want to influence us. I wanted to ask her, “Is it Samuel?” but I didn’t want to
influence her answer, so I finally got her to fess up, and indeed, the name
that came to her was Samuel.
Samuel means “God has heard,” and I
feel he is my little miracle. I know that not every prayer is answered in the way
that we want, but I believe that in this instance, the desires of my heart aligned
with the will of God, and all the pleadings and petitions were answered in my
favor. “For this child I prayed; and the Lord hath given me my petition which I
asked of him 1 Samuel: 27.”
As far as pregnancy goes, this one
was by far my easiest (though by no means was it easy). My sickness only lasted
a short while (up until about 12-13 weeks but really by week 10 it was pretty
manageable), and all through my second trimester I enjoyed good health and
activity. I started getting uncomfortable around week 31 and by week 34 I was
SO DONE BEING PREGNANT!!! I had major back aches and MAJOR heart burn. I was
told at 36 weeks that I was dialated to a 2 and that Sammy was measuring at
7lbs 8 oz. I figured his birth was right around the corner.
On May 27th, I had my
membranes stripped, and Dr. Tabassi said she expected that I might be back that
evening. I was dialated to a “good 3” and I was 70% effaced. I was exactly 39
weeks pregnant, and she said if I wasn’t back by that evening to deliver a baby
it would CERTAINLY be before the weekend. My mom was on her way down, and I
just knew by weeks end I’d have Sammy in my arms.
Well, Sammy had other plans. I tried
everything I could think of to induce labor. Everything. I ate two pineapples
by myself, I tried Clary Sage oil, I walked a million miles which did nothing
but give me inconsistent contractions, I pumped breast milk which did the most,
but again, I’d have consistant contractions then they’d stop after I stopped
pumping. Finally, on Friday night, feeling discouraged, I called my doctor to
ask what she thought of an induction.
I was against having an induction
from the very beginning. My induction with Paige wasn’t awesome, so I didn’t
want to be induced, but I was about to be 40 weeks, and my mom had to leave by
Friday morning, so I needed to get that baby out of me.
My induction was scheduled for
Monday June 2nd. Adam and I arrived at the hospital at 6:00AM. It
was a beautiful, warm morning, and there were hot air balloons departing from
the parking lot of the hospital. Even though I initially resisted the
induction, I was feeling really good about it. I was having contractions all
through the morning, and when they got me hooked up at the hospital, Adam had
fun tracking them. The nurse checked me, and I was dialated to a 4, and 80
percent effaced.
A random memory I will have, is when
we got into the room, the nurse made Adam sit out, and she said she had my
gown. She followed me into the bathroom and immediately asked if I was safe,
and if I felt comfortable having my husband there, as if he were abusive. I
tell you what, I’m always super grateful for my traditional lifestyle when I’m
in a hospital and they are asking me questions, like, am I married, is my
husband the father, do I have other children with the father or multiple
fathers, etc.
The nurse started the Pitocin at
8:30 AM and within just a few minutes things were happening. Because of what
happened with Paige (getting stuck at a 4 all day long until they broke my
water—my body stopped progressing after the epidural) I decided I didn’t want
to have the epidural until I was at least a 6 or 7.
At 10:00AM, the nurse came in and
told me that the anesthesiologist was leaving until 11:30AM so I only had a few
minute window to get an epidural. I told her I was handling the pain really
well, and I didn’t feel like I needed one. I told her I wanted to wait because
I didn’t want to stall labor. She said that was fine, and that she’d check back
later.
Just fifteen minutes later, she came
in to let me know that Dr. Tabassi wanted the doctor at the hospital to break
my water. I said that was fine, but inwardly I was freaking out. It was my
experience, that as soon as my water broke, things started going faster. The
doctor came in to check me…I was at a 6! I could have gotten the epidural
exactly when I wanted it! But it was too late, and once he broke my bag of
waters things started getting REALLY painful. In 15 minutes I went from a 6 to
a 7. I could barely breathe!
My mom got to the hospital around
11:30AM (Stacey had the girls) and it was a comfort to have her there. Adam
confessed later that he’d wanted me to get the epidural when I was offered it,
but he was very supportive of my decision. While my mom tried to comfort me
through my contractions, Adam tried to get me to fill out my menu for the
following day at the hospital. It was kind of hilarious, being between the two
most influential people in my life, one who tended to be overly excited and the
other who barely shows emotions. I needed them both there for different
reasons.
Finally, I did receive my epidural,
and things were still pretty painful for about 20 more minutes. She checked me
again and I was at a 9 (around noon). Once the epidural set in, though, I was
feeling pretty good, which is a relief, because the doctor took about another
hour to get there.
Another one of Dr. Tabassi’s
patients was progressing right along with me, and it was going to be a race to
get our babies out. Dr. Tabassi said she was trying to figure out who was
farther along and I said, “I am…” so she decided to let me go first.
Adam spoke up and told them I wanted
a mirror, which I was grateful for, because I almost forgot… and then it was
time to push. Adam held my left leg, and the nurse my right. I supposed that it
would only take a few pushes because that’s how it was with Paige, but my
epidural was stronger with Sam, and I couldn’t feel the need to push, let alone
if I was pushing at all.
I sort of zoned out as I focused on
Sam. I watched his head crown, and I pushed and pushed and pushed. It felt like
it took forever, but Adam said I only had to push through about four
contractions, which were right on top of each other. Dr. Tabassi mentioned he
must be a big boy, because as he was crowning, my stomach wasn’t going down. “He
still looks like he’s up in your throat,” she said.
Finally, he was out, and he was
placed on my belly…for about two seconds. I got to touch him for the first
time, as he cried, then they whisked him away to clean him up and weigh him. He
was gone for me for what seemed like forever, they brought him back to me. He
cried, until he got back to me, and I started speaking to him. Then he just
looked in my eyes and stopped crying as if he were saying, “I know you!” I was
sobbing as he came out, I was sobbing as I met him. It was perfection. Samuel
was finally here.
We named him Samuel Timothy, after his grandpa of course, because we couldn't think of a better man to name him after. Our hope, is that Samuel will be a strong, righteous man, like the Samuel's in the scriptures, and like his grandfather, my dad.
