The Story of Truman's Birth

Last week, James and I experienced one of the most blessed events any two people can share together. We welcomed our son into the world and became parents. It was a wonderful moment. Meeting our son for the first time stirred many emotions and commenced a brand new chapter in our lives. It was so special. I might even go so far as to say it was perfect- but such a term is used rather subjectively. Many friends and family have asked for the birth story. I will attempt to recount it here, and to the best of my abilities include important details, but hopefully not gross anyone out too much. If you are my brother (Nick- Brad this applies to you) or like a brother- beware, you may consider some of what I'm sharing much more than you want to know. Please read our tale only if you are not too grossed out by physiologic/anatomic details.... Know you've been forewarned, but also know I'm doing my very best to be mindful of you- the squeamish, brotherly reader.

I feel it necessary to preface the birth story with a bit of background.  I graduated from nursing school in 2009. It was a wonderful experience on a number of levels, but one particular area that I chose to invest my time and research in was child birth. It all started when I learned about 4th degree lacerations during childbirth and became convinced I would only ever have Cesarean deliveries. I couldn't imagine the idea of incontinence of both urine and feces. I spent a lot of time doing research on the very topic. I felt it necessary to know more if ever I was to have a baby of my own. I was blown away by what I learned about the high numbers of elective C-sections performed in the U.S.-and the complications that could arise. This caused me to seek out more information. I attended the showing of a documentary entitled Orgasmic Birth and an even greater perspective was presented to me.  As a Capstone project, I was truly humbled to spend a month at a Columbia area birth center in the presence of capable and wise midwives. After a rotation in an OB ward witnessing the medical model of obstetrical care, the midwifery model was a very appealing approach to labor and delivery. From what I read I learned that statistically speaking, outcomes are very similar, however, if you choose the medical model you are much more likely to receive medical intervention. The midwives I spent time with believe that pregnancy and childbirth are not a diagnosis needing treatment, but rather they are very natural processes- the majority lacking pathology. The medical model seems to be assessing every pregnancy for pathology from the very first visit right up until the end. Doctors treat illness. Pregnancy is technically not an illness. That is not to say that illness and pregnancy can't go hand in hand. An M.D.'s knowledge and training are truly crucial in some such situations.

A bit more information. My husband is an M.D. I trust him implicitly. He is still in training and will not ever receive obstetrical training, but he is quite capable of navigating the terms and helping me learn from EBM- evidence based medicine. While he is fully versed in care of pathology with medicine, he too, is of the opinion that less medical intervention and more health and wellness management should be a healthy person's goal. He is a fanatic when it comes to health and nutrition. I am working on jumping on board with his strong convictions so we can live his health goals and dreams in our home. I will say I am getting better, but have a LONG way to go. I love me some sugar-refined white table sugar or even better high fructose corn syrup. I can be a truly bad influence. I digress...

With this background, I chose the medical model for my first pregnancy. I didn't have personal relationships with either midwives or obstetricians in our area, so I was shooting blindly. I found a doctor I liked well enough. She rubbed me the wrong way on occasion, but I chalked it up to my sensitivity and an extra dose of pregnancy hormones. She usually took a conservative approach to her practice. If she was concerned about anything, we would look further into the issue, but for the most part my pregnancy went along swimmingly- sailing through the 40+ weeks. I did have a minor panic with my blood sugar, if you read my blog then you can recall my concern.

The story begins about one week before my estimated due date. My doctor informs me she is leaving on vacation two days after the day. She tells me I can choose to induce then or the following week. If I chose to do so then, she would deliver the baby, if I chose later, one of her partners would deliver the baby. It was a tough decision. I was completely opposed to induction until I had reached my 39th week of pregnancy and was terribly uncomfortable and ready to meet my little baby. Given the outcomes James and I researched and a great deal of talking and prayer, we chose to wait a week and reassess the situation with a yet unknown partner. I was still hoping to go into spontaneous labor.

The week passed. No progress. I was still 1 cm dilated and no more effaced. (This had been the case for the last 3 weeks.)  The new OB presented us with new information. Our baby had yet to drop and engage. (This was a source of many interesting comments from strangers- all of whom were convinced I was carrying a baby girl since the baby was so high in my belly.) She shared this could happen still or there could be a reason he wasn't engaged. There was a chance he might not fit through the birth canal. I listened to her but quietly scoffed at such a possibility. My mother and grandmothers and aunts have all been able to successfully deliver their babies vaginally, I couldn't imagine why I wouldn't be able to do the same. Well, unless I just had an extra ginormous baby growing inside of me- a possibility since I was a chunker at birth, and my baby brother was even more chunky than I was. The new doctor said that she believed outcomes would be the same for us if we were induced or went into spontaneous labor because she just didn't know about fit- she did know fit would become even more of an issue as time progressed and the baby continued to grow. With much prayer and given the new information we chose to schedule an induction. She said we would know fairly quickly if he would move through or if he wasn't going to drop- and of course the latter would mean the delivery would result in surgery and a C-section. Sadness. But at the time I really didn't think it an option for me.

Headed to the hospital. Notice the make-up. I have read that looking good can help you through even the most stressful of situations. I have experienced this many times before and thought it was worth a shot. Besides, I was up at one thirty the morning of with crazy nerves that prevented me from sleeping. I had a lot of time to work on my make-up and hair. Scary, I know! Good thing I took advantage of it, I am not sure I will have that much leisurely primp time anytime in the near future.

The next morning James and I arrive at the hospital bright and early. I had been having contractions all night, they weren't extremely powerful and had yet to really organize. I wouldn't have chosen to go to hospital at that moment without the appointment. I was admitted and the induction process was started. IV, blood draws, fetal monitors, the works. Already, I was feeling apprehensive. The doctor visited and broke my water and ordered the pitocin to be started.  Quickly, I began to have increasingly powerful contractions. Powerful enough that two hours into it I was requesting to see an anesthesiologist and get an epidural started. (I had honestly considered natural childbirth, but didn't ever imagine doing so while laboring augmented by pitocin.)

Experiencing a contraction prior to the epidural. My vanity almost prevented me from sharing this photo. I look like a house!! My sweet husband did such a nice job documenting a good deal of the experience. I thought I was going to bop him when I realized how scary I looked. This was when I understood Hollywood's depiction of a woman in labor- cranky and unreasonable. I was feeling super cranky.

 With the epidural working well and the pitocin gradually being dosed up, labor was starting, but not full force. I stalled out of dilation at around 3cm, but was 90% effaced. The baby was making no progress down the birth canal, but his head was showing signs on modeling. This made the doctor believe that the bones in his head were stuck above the bones in my pelvis and would not fit through. She visited every hour or so that afternoon and I failed to show much more progress. The pitocin was eventually turned off for an hour after the baby started having variable decelerations. I had to be given oxygen and repositioned to my other side. Somewhere along this unfolding course of events, somehow my heart was being prepared for what was ahead. I had a moment of sincere sadness as I realized I would not be able to birth this baby the way I had hoped for, but tried to refocus on the task at hand- getting my baby out healthy and safe. As a friend put it- I was rising up to be a "warrior mama." The doctor visited again and told me I had 0% chance of delivering vaginally. I asked for just one more hour to see if I could progress. She sort of laughed and told me she'd give me thirty minutes.


After laboring only 8 hours, the doctor was back for my decision. (Although she had told me she'd give me only thirty minutes, she did not return until an hour had passed.) My nurse had been an amazing advocate trying to buy me more time and help talk me through my decision. She was consoling when it started to look like the doctor had made up her mind. With that realization, I too, reluctantly made up my mind. Off to the operating room.

The "Warrior Mama" keeping a brave face.

It is weird when you are given anesthetic that prevents you from moving or feeling the entire lower half of your body. To be specific, the dosing for epidural makes you numb up to your nipple line. The nurses and anesthesiologist moved me from my hospital bed to the sterile field and prepped my body for surgery. A blue paper curtain is placed between you and the surgical site, so you don't have to see your body being sliced open. Sadly, you also don't get to see your baby being brought into the world.


James and my mother were both permitted to attend the surgery. They had their cameras out and were able to witness my son's birth. My mom actually recorded it on her iPhone, so I have now seen it, too. I waited patiently to hear the cries of my newborn as I felt tugging and pressure. James and my mom were both very excited and I could only imagine my son was out. The doctor lifted him up to the edge of the blue curtain so I could see his face. He was perfect. And blonde! That was something I had not anticipated- but a fun surprise.  All I could think of was, "I want to hold him!!" The baby was taken by the NICU staff (they are present at all Cesarean births) and given an initial assessment. His apgars were 8  and then 9. James was able to go see him. He resisted the urge to be pediatrician and allowed himself to be dad, snapping numerous pictures. My surgery was completed. The incisions were sutured back up and I was transferred back to my hospital bed. A mom, but still without my baby. Fortunately, I didn't have to wait too long. Before they rolled me back to recover, they handed me my precious baby boy. What a wonderful moment!

We meet at last! Joy!! Pure joy!

I recovered. I brought my son to my breast and fed him for the first time. I didn't feel a thing thanks to the epidural, so my first experience with breastfeeding wasn't entirely bad. They cleaned the baby up and took us to the postpartum unit on the floor above. Our nurse there was very friendly. Since our son was without a name, she weighed in on the baby's name, as we found many of the nurses were eager to do. I was visited by a lactation consultant and she helped me learn a few basic things about breastfeeding. James and I took turns holding our little boy and giggling with amazement.

Snuggling with my baby boy.

 In that moment we experienced an overwhelming feeling of joy and relief. Our son was born and he was healthy and I was healthy. There was also a great deal of sadness. I very much had wanted to avoid surgery. I didn't want a prolonged recovery- I was ready to be mobile again, and soon. I also felt I had missed out on some right of passage- birthing my baby was something I honestly wanted to experience, no matter how painful others said it would be. I think James and I spent some time grieving the loss of what we had hoped my labor and delivery to be. We had felt powerless when speaking with the new O.B. She didn't explain to us the necessity of the surgery in terms that had convinced me it was truly necessary. I felt rushed. However, I must tell you, God was there in the midst of the situation.

As my son was delivered it was discovered that he had a double nuchal cord. (His umbilical cord was wrapped around his neck twice.) This could have been the very thing preventing him from coming through the birth canal. It could have also been very dangerous to him had he descended. While many doctors are well equipped to manage such a situation, and many of the situations turn out fine, there are a few that don't turn out well. Some even result in still births. That makes my heart sink just mentioning the possibility. I may not have liked exactly how the entire situation played out, the way I was communicated with, etc., but I am so thankful for my son. He is healthy. He is alive. I am choosing to believe God allowed intervention that we didn't even know was necessary to save our baby boy's life. That may not be exactly the case, but I do know God was watching over us. He protected me and my son.

I will heal and recover from the incision in my abdomen. I will hopefully get a second chance to birth my baby in the way I hope to (sans surgical intervention). I will have the knowledge of God's goodness and grace written ever more deeply on my heart. As I hold my son in my arms, hear his cries and change his dirty diapers I will rejoice in the precious gift I have been given.

Introducing...

James and I are thrilled to announce the birth of our first child:

Truman Taylor Peppers

Truman was born Tuesday, June 21st at 5:03 p.m. He weighed 7 lbs, 15 oz and is 21 inches long. More details to come, but we thought we'd share a few pictures in the mean time. Thank you for all of your prayers and encouragement during this exciting time in our lives.

On our way to the hospital Tuesday morning. Very excited!!

On the operating table- not so excited. Well, excited knowing that I would meet my little boy in mere minutes, sad that I was having surgery. Very sad.

Our first view of our son- screaming his head off- music to our ears!

Still screaming.

I finally get to hold my son. Best feeling EVER!

Skin-to-skin with daddy.

Home at last. Exhausted, but so happy to be home :)

Daddy and Granddad tag-team a doozie of a diaper change. Strong work!

A Bee in my Bonnet- A Rant and a Plea for a New Me

I have a bee in my bonnet! I feel my rights have been trampled upon and I am in such a tizzy I could just spit- or say very obscene words- or plot the sweetest of revenge- or all three! Ahhh! Does this ever happen to you? Do you ever find that others don't regard your rights as quite as sacred as their own? Or do you know people who seem to insert themselves into your life and turn a situation that was supposed to be all about you into something all about them...?

As a Christian, I have freedom. Freedom in Christ. It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. All things are permissible, but not all things are beneficial.

As an American, I have rights. The right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, freedom of speech, the right to keep and bear arms, the list goes on... Some politicians say I have the right to health care, education, home ownership... Politics aside, it sure would seem that I have a lot coming to me. My sense of entitlement runs deep. I fully confess and admit this. But how can I, as a Christian, reconcile these "rights" to Christ? Can I?

The recent infractions of justice which have me so riled up have nothing to do with the government, little to do with concrete delineations and written law, and so much to do with my personal perception of my rights and our cultures perception of personal freedoms and rights.

These infractions can happen anywhere. You can be standing in line at the grocery store and a stranger knowingly and willing cuts in front of you. I frequently would like to take out my badge and perform a citizen's arrest as they have broken the law of decorum and decency. You could be out working in your yard and the neighbor's dog decides nature is calling in your rose shrub as your neighbor stands idly by and lets you deal with the mess. You could be excited about enjoying that last piece of cake only to find your husband has eaten it that morning for breakfast. No matter where you go, who you are, people are constantly challenging your idea of what is right- taking what belongs to you. I think it's part of the human condition.

I acknowledge this is part of life. I find it much easier to deal with the stranger at the grocery store than the man in my house eating my cake. The closer I walk in relationship with others, the more I believe they desire to respect me and honor me- as the closer I walk in relationship with others the more care I use to show them love and respect.

However, this is frequently not the case. The closer we feel to others, the more liberty we feel to take what it is we see as ours- knowing they love us and will ultimately forgive us. I find the closer we are the more willing we are to be unkind- under the guise of being truthful, because that's what loved ones do- share the truth. The closer we walk in relationship with others, the more freedom we feel to share our opinion,  the less inclined we are to hold our tongue, even if it is hurtful and less than edifying.

I argue, we are free to do such things. But at what cost? The deep ugly monster inside me wants to do just the same. And sadly does, to a certain extent. Ashamedly, I admit to planning some pretty sick plots to stick it to the other person- prove my point- assert my rights. I have also been known to be brutally honest in instances where support, love and edification were deeply needed.

I struggle with this nastiness, some days more than others. I find the ones I love bring it out of me the very most. I know it's a response to a hurt I feel- the perceived injustice- but it certainly doesn't make it right.

I've sought wisdom from peers and close family outside of present situations. I pray for wisdom. I pray God will change my heart. I pray that others' hearts will change, too, but the only response I have true control over is my own.

Worldly wisdom would be to assert myself- my rights, stick to my guns. Not to give an inch or else expect to be run over in the future- to look out for my own interests because others are sure as heck not seeing to my needs first. Some worldly wisdom would even say "turn about is fair play."

I don't want to conform to worldly wisdom, as incredibly appealing as it sounds to my inner monster. I want to be transformed by Christ. I truly want to be different. (Though all internal indications scream that I am the very same- my only hope to be any different falls on grace!) I want others to encounter love when they encounter me. I want others to see hope- to see Christ.

The only response for me then is to choose to lay down these perceived rights. I feel, after prayer, that is wisdom in my present state of distress. I serve a God who sees, who loves me and who deeply loves those who I find conflict with. I hope my actions reflect His deep, abiding love. I desire peace in these stormy situations. (Storms the other parties likely don't know exist.) I'm not above confrontation, but in particular circumstances, I believe it would not be received in love, or confrontation hasn't served much progress. The resounding still, small voice urges me to surrender. I find peace in this place of submission, not to others and their demands, but to an amazing God.

I reflect on 1 Corinthians 13: 4-7: Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

My prayer is that, I,  Ashley will be patient. I will be kind. I will not envy. I will not boast. I will not be proud. I will not be rude or self-seeking. I will not be easily angered, and keep no record of wrongs. I pray that I will not delight in evil but rejoice in the truth. I pray I will always protect, always trust, always hope, and always persevere.

I have a long way to go. A LONG WAY, indeed! But that is my prayer for me and for you. True freedom doesn't rest in my perceived rights, but true freedom is a gift from God- a choice of love and forgiveness. Presently, a difficult choice for this ugly monster.

Full Hearts

Tonight I have a very full heart. This weekend was by far one of the sweetest weekends I've had in a long time. I fumble to find the right words to adequately express my appreciation and would say it is nearly impossible. However, I am trying a new philosophy- I'm working on not accepting defeat prior to attempting a challenge. With that said, I will attempt to express my heart.

Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!

James and I traveled to St. Louis this past weekend. We made the trek back to Missouri as I was to be the guest of honor at a baby shower thrown by two of my cousins and one of my aunts. We left after James' workday on Friday and arrived at my aunt and uncle's just in time to say goodnight to everybody before turning in ourselves. It was a full house with our wonderful hosts- my Aunt Jan and Uncle Bob, their granddaughter- Makayla, my grandma-Mimi, my Aunt Ann, my mom, James and me... it already felt like a party:)


After a much needed night of rest we awoke to my Aunt Jan and Uncle Bob's first class hospitality. My Mimi even remarked that this is her favorite "hotel" to stay at- I definitely think she's on to something. I think being pregnant won me extra special treatment, but I also had the opportunity to live with my aunt and uncle when I was freshly graduated from college and not much has changed. They're still great hosts- delicious food, great conversation and cozy lodging. Uncle Bob fixed breakfast for us before I was sent away to allow for party prep and a bit of a surprise for me.


My mom, my Aunt Ann, my cousin Laura and I hit the mall with a mission of manicures and pedicures. James headed across town to his parents' home. He was able to spend the afternoon with his grandpa and brother, time I know he really enjoyed. The pedicures were wonderful and a very welcomed treat. There is something about  not being able to paint your own toenails that makes the work of a professional that much better.


After our outing, we arrived back at my Aunt Jan's to find a party in the making. The Lion King soundtrack was playing and my family was beginning to arrive. I also spied two beautiful cakes, one made of flour and the other of diapers and a pile of gifts wrapped in soft shades of blue and green- all this for me and my baby boy! 

The delicious cake to eat and the adorable diaper cake- it is my understanding that hopefully those diapers can last us through the first week! Hopefully. Who knew baby's pooped that much!

I rushed upstairs to freshen up, check that my make-up was still holding strong (sometimes that's all a pregnant girl can control...) , that my hair wasn't too frizzy after being out in the rain and that there wasn't anything stuck in my teeth- that would have been very embarrassing. When I finished and went back downstairs, all the guests had arrived and I was surrounded by my sweet family.


The first order of business for me was to grab a snack. I was hungry and there were delicious treats to be had! I really enjoyed the fresh fruit and sandwiches, but my very favorite was the punch that was served! It is the punch my Aunt Debbie makes almost every Christmas Eve and her daughter, Sara made it for the shower. Something about this punch makes me think- special celebration.


After everyone noshed a bit, we played a shower game. I think there must be something about me, showers and toilet paper. (At my bridal shower we made toilet paper veils.)

My bridal shower. Toilet paper hi-jinks! Enjoying a considerably smaller waist that day :)

This was not as pretty of an endeavor. This was the game where you guess how many squares of toilet paper it would take to go around my belly. Can you believe I was the only one who guessed right? And my guess was the very least of all! Some people pulled out nearly twice as much as necessary! Sheesh, I must look really BIG! I know it was all in good fun so I didn't get too bent out of shape.


Next was time for gifts. I was tickled to have the assistance of my tiny cousin, Makayla. She was so sweet and patient throughout the entire shower. At one point she wondered aloud to me why would Cappy want to miss out on all the fun...? (Cappy is her grandpa, my Uncle Bob) Moments later she determined there weren't any other boys at the party and that was probably why Cappy was absent. She sat like a little lady enjoying her snacks and then offered much needed help to unwrap the gifts. Her enthusiasm for presents made it all the more exciting!

It is kind of crazy all the stuff that a baby requires. We were showered with so many wonderful gifts, things that we think might be "needed" and then other things that were just incredibly adorable, I'm partial to the adorable items, but no less thankful for the "essentials." James and I are overwhelmed with the generosity of our family and friends. Dare I say, we are actually starting to feel prepared.

I've rarely felt so special, cherished and loved as I did this past Saturday. Maybe it's just my pregnant hormones, but the sense of gratitude overwhelms me and causes tears to flood my eyes. It was a small, intimate gathering. Both soon-to-be grandmas were in attendance, as well as two soon-to-be great-grandmas, aunts, and cousins.

After gifts we enjoyed the adorable cake and of course more punch. It was nice sitting around talking to my cousins about all the things that await James and me in the next few weeks, months and years. They have been so kind and supportive. It's nice to hear their wisdom and experiences and see their sweet kiddos and observe their success. My cousin Mallory even said she didn't mind changing diapers. (I'm going to keep that in mind...)

The shower ended and many goodbyes were said. It was such a treat to see our family and celebrate this new little life. The men then joined the ladies that remained for pizza and more fun. My cousins' little boys were showing off new walking skills and adept stair maneuvering with great big grins of pride. I think the captive audience and rounds of cheers were great motivation.


The party eventually did break up. After dropping off her little ones at home, my cousin, Meghan, made a return trip to the party. She did not return empty handed. In fact, she came bearing even more gifts. Baby gear, mommy gear  and tiny baby boy's clothes to boot! James and I marvel in the generosity of our family and can't help but think our little boy is arriving at the perfect time.

With the ever growing amount of loot we were receiving, James and I did our best to consolidate that evening. We then stayed up and watched a few episodes of Two Fat Ladies with my aunt and uncle. Aunt Jan and I discussed education and my Uncle Bob impressed my husband with his high tech gadgets. It was so nice getting to catch up with them. It reminded me of when I lived with them so many years ago, this time James was along for the ride. I was excited he was getting a chance to get to know them better and see how great they are.


Once the last episode of Two Fat ladies ended and some very strange cooking show (the hostess had electric green eye shadow and nails and was using some pretty silly slang) began to play, it was time for bed. I think I passed out as soon as my head hit the pillow.


My family gathered one last time for breakfast the next morning. James and I got up extra early to pack our car and clear the table for the meal. Our car was nearly packed to overflowing by the time James and Uncle Bob finished. My uncle had made these amazing cinnamon cream cheese souffles. I have already ordered the cookbook so I can attempt to recreate the gooey goodness.


As the morning was wrapping up my cousin, Sara, pulls out even more baby love. Tons of baby boy clothes and toys! We sorted through the toys and I asked plenty of questions. Up until that point, I really hadn't given toys too much thought. Sara's son, Cooper, demonstrated how to use several of the toys. He was a pro- and one would expect him to be as they were once his toys. It was fun to see him enjoy them and think about how soon my little boy would be learning the ends and outs of these toys and that he, too, will one day be a pro.


We said goodbye to our family, packed the last of the toys into our car and before leaving St. Louis, visited James' mom and dad. We had lunch with them and James' brother, David. Cheryl and I gave a recap of the shower to the guys and James shared stories his grandpa had told him the day before. There was a growing excitement at lunch as we look forward to the newest addition to the Peppers family.


James and I hit the road shortly thereafter. The car ride gave us time to reflect on our blessings- the family God has given us, their kindness and generosity, the family we are growing, how we wish to share such kindness and generosity with him, God's amazing and faithful provision for our lives. He gives good gifts! We have full hearts today from the love we received this weekend. Thank you so much! Words don't do our gratitude justice, but I sure wanted to attempt to share our thankfulness.

Love from London

Photo by my brother, Nick Taylor

James and I had a fairly nice weekend together. He was post call on Saturday and actually got to sleep the night before, so we were able to enjoy time together both Saturday and Sunday. What a treat! He did still require a nap, but I didn't complain because I had expected him to need the rest. Besides, it was a perfect opportunity to finish my book. It's one of those that is so hard to put down...

We went out for a pleasant meal on Saturday night. We chose a barbecue restaurant, it was a chain restaurant and in my opinion, left much to be desired. James has decided I'm a barbecue snob. Probably. I'm from Kansas City, for heaven's sake! That, and my dad has fairly refined tastes of his own- they were bound to rub off...

Sunday, I let James sleep in. We could have gone to church and in many ways, I wish we would have. But, he was so deeply and soundly asleep, and he so rarely has that opportunity, I didn't want to disturb him. I think he awoke feeling refreshed and ready to enjoy his day.

He studied and did some catch up work, we took a walk and then decided to go to the movies. We chose to see The Kings Speech. We are very much behind the rest of our contemporaries when it comes to popular culture, but since we had the chance, we decided a movie outing was long overdue. What a wonderful movie! With the exception of some pretty strong language (I felt the need to put "ear muffs" over my belly so my little guy couldn't hear such profanity, not sure it worked) it was an uplifting and inspiring story. It made me want to be brave and fearless in the face of my weaknesses.

It fueled great conversation between James and me. Topics ranged from manners and etiquette, to how our childhood affects our adulthood, to "Do you ever wish you talked with a British accent...?" It was loads of fun spending the evening together and chatting about everything under the sun and absolutely nothing at all.

The next morning James woke up and went back to the grind. 'Tis how it goes. I slept in. Our full weekend had made me extra tired. I also had a series of the most interesting dreams. Half the players were speaking in British accents. I woke up with a grin. What a funny thing our minds do when we're asleep.

As I woke up and got dressed I chirped around my bedroom singing songs from My Fair Lady and talking to my little boy in the most terrible British accent. I then made my way downstairs and as I reached  the last step I noticed we had a package on our door step. I quickly opened the door and brought the package inside. It was addressed to none other than TEAM PEPPERS and it had arrived at our house after a long journey beginning in LONDON! Go figure! This of course inspired another chorus of  "I could have danced all night..." And more goofy accents. My poor son was probably rolling his eyes in my womb, embarrassed of his absolutely giddy mother. This likely will not be the last time I embarrass him...

I waited to open the package until James got home from work. I was very excited, but wanted to share in the fun. And my was it fun! Words do not begin to explain the absolute blessing the box contained. After first opening the box we found a card to Baby Peppers from his cousin, Nate.

My cousin, Patrick, and his wife, Abi, and their two sweet kids, Nate and Leila, live in London. They have for several years now. We don't see them often, if fact, I don't think James has met them, but we keep track of their lives through facebook. And while it's a lame substitute for real live interaction, it does keep us somewhat linked in to their lives. We hear stories of their sweet little girl asserting herself and her opinions and their latest addition, their little boy, figuring out his place in the family. We have been smitten with him since he was born. He is one of the cutest little guys we've ever seen. This little man is also very generous. He has graciously given Baby Peppers some clothes that no longer fit him. Bunches and bunches of them!

It was like Christmas in April. James and I spent over an hour looking through the amazing box of goodies. Sweet little boots(with fur), tons of button up shirts, sweaters, cargo pants, onesies, you name it! After we had looked through it all James turned to me and said, "I think we're going to have to work on our wardrobes if we want to keep up with our little boy."  So true.

Thank you, sweet cousins! I'm really having a hard time gathering the right words to tell you how much we appreciate your gift. But one thing's for sure: We felt very loved all the way from London!

The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

The Good

This past weekend brought James and I more visitors from Missouri. My parents joined us for the weekend and it is hard to find words to express our appreciation. God's provision continues to bless our lives. To quote James, "Can your parents stay with us and take care of us....?"

I was delighted that my mom and dad showed up on a night when James was on call. This allowed me to have company on what would usually be a very quiet evening alone. They were able to lay eyes on their ever pregnant daughter and assess my new look. My dad quickly pulled out his phone and sent pictures to my brothers of my very round belly.

30 weeks pregnant....10 more to go!

My mom wasted no time to tell her grandson, "hello." It was very evident that they are quite excited to meet this little boy. We went out for a nice dinner and caught up on our weeks and the happenings of our family. My mom turned in early and my dad and I stayed up late discussing politics, the meaning of life and the heart of God. We also might have watched an episode or two of Bones.


The following day, James was stuck at the hospital until the early afternoon (He's supposed to be out by 1:00 pm the day following a call shift). Again, it was so much fun to have company. I didn't have any big plans for their visit, I was just so thankful to have them with us. They were aware of our ant situation and wanted to make sure we were getting it under control.  Fortunately, the ants had begun to thin out. James and my initial plan was proving effective, just time consuming. While James napped after his call shift, my mom and dad and I went grocery shopping. Since college, grocery shopping with the parents is always a huge blessing. My dad was planning to make us supper. He was out looking for all the fixin's (to be exact, he was looking for "contemporary vegetables") and they wanted to help us stock up on those annoying things we so often need like toilet paper. We came home well stocked and in possession of the most modern greens one could find!

My dad made a delicious feast! Steak and grilled vegetables! We had been smelling our neighbors charcoal fires for a while, secretly jealous they had their grills out and running. This was the first grill of the season and it was delicious!

While out grocery shopping, my dad was searching for seasonal vegetables- something that looked fresh. He was unable to pull that word up so he decided the word contemporary would work just as well. I couldn't agree more! They were sure tasty!

The next day after getting to sleep in, we woke up to thunderstorms. This curtailed any plans for yard work I had in the back of my mind, so we hit the mall instead. My dad and James weren't up for a super shopping outing, so they caught a movie at the Art Cinema. My mom and I wasted no time hitting stores, looking at fun spring fashions, wide-width shoes, and adorable baby clothes. We finished our day off with a meal out. (So there wouldn't be any clean-up to tend to. My dad was more than ready for a second round of grilling. It's kind of his "thing.")

Sadly, James had to go back to work the next day. My parents and I had a relaxing morning. My mom helped me clean out the refrigerator and my dad researched conspiracy theories- filling my head with all sorts of new ideas. (Later that day I watched the movie Loose Change 9/11: An American Coup-  by Dylan Avery- scary stuff.) My parents eventually packed up and headed off to the airport.  It's always hard to see them go, but we know it won't be long before we see them, again. They're not going to be able to stay away in two months when this little man arrives.




The Bad


On a completely different front, I have noticed a new symptom of pregnancy: carpal tunnel syndrome. Yuck! It is significantly limiting my dexterity. Last night while eating supper, I dropped food on myself repeatedly. It was kind of ridiculous. There are things I can do to hopefully help my cause. Reducing sodium intake will help lessen the edema that is causing this pressure on my nerves. Also, swimming may alleviate some of the pain. I just need to find a good pool and a new bathing suit!





The Ugly


When speaking with my doctor earlier this week, I asked about another annoying symptom: cankles. These in fact have something to do with the carpal tunnel. The swelling. Again, watching sodium intake will help, but she said some woman experience it greater than others- 5-10% of her patients, as well as herself. This swelling has caused me to go from a medium width shoe to a wide. The good news is, the actual size has not increased! (At least not yet....) 

I'm stealing this from another pregnant friend: Pregnant women are SWELL!

Ants in My Pants...Literally

Houston, We have a problem! A VERY BIG PROBLEM or super tiny problem depending on how you look at it. We've got ants!!! Ugh! So gross!!

From busy bee to ant exterminator! This is definitely NOT my area of expertise. Nor do I ever want to claim such expertise. Not because I'm a snob, I LOVE a good exterminator, but because I'm a WIMP! I want as little interaction with these creepy crawlers as possible.

It all started with a Cheerio. James had poured himself a bowl of the tasty breakfast cereal one morning and unknowingly left one lone "O" on the kitchen floor in front of the refrigerator. By the time I was up and around the same morning, the "O" was NOT alone. It was covered in itty-bitty tiny ants. I was unsure what the best plan of attack would be. In the past, I would have picked up the Raid and sprayed it until every last one of those creepers was still. With Tiny Peppers (no, that's not his name) along for every ride, I thought better of this plan. I sprinkled it with Borax. It didn't really kill the ants, but I doused it in water and I then they died. James helped me clean it up. I was convinced that our battle was won!

A week later I had another encounter.  I had set an empty pizza box next to the kitchen trash can to be taken out later that afternoon. Two short hours later the box was crawling with more of those disgusting boogers. Sick. At this point my skin was starting to crawl. This time, I wasn't in the mood to be nice. I set the big guns on the problem: James to the rescue! He helped get control of the problem and delivered the fatal blow with a can of Raid. I stepped outside as not to inhale the fumes. It was also very nice to step away from the grizzly scene.

After this battle we were starting to wonder if indeed we had a problem. We hopped in the car and headed to Lowe's to find a better solution. We bought a few ant baits and set them out. The results were immediate.  The ants were marching towards their poison in droves. It was amazing the number that turned up!

Within days, we started to notice the results. Dead ants galore. Gross, but I was more than happy to sweep away the remains. I began to notice a stray ant here or there, especially in the downstairs bathroom and the laundry room. On a whim, I expanded my campaign. To my wonder and delight the kitchen was no longer a hot spot, the baits in the bathroom and laundry room were hopping! The little baits turned into ant night clubs and the parties were wild! These parties lasted for a few days. (I'm guessing the bar was eventually tapped out and their party hardy ways were beginning to take their toll.)

I was once again breathing a sigh of relief. I believed the battle was finally over. And then, the strangest thing started to happen. I began to notice rogue agents- all over- on the walls, the furniture, in the carpet... What the heck? Their lack of organization and unpredictability was really starting to"bug" me. My skin was crawling. I itched all over. I really thought it was all in my head, but to make sure, I pulled up the cuff of my pant. To my horror I found an actual ant in my pants! I'd reached my limit.

James was discussing this with a friend today. In their wisdom they have decided that the new erratic behavior of the ants could only mean one thing: Their queen is dead. They have no head calling the shots and it's every man (or ant) for themselves. Could this be the case? Are we close to seeing the end? I sure hope so.  I'm not sure I can take much more of these unwelcome house guests.

Battle worn and possibly a tad bit "dramatic."

One Busy Bee

I've been one busy bee this past weekend! I am so thankful to be able to say that. I have not had an excess of energy since becoming pregnant, but I have had an awareness of the many things I'd like to do before I become a full time mom.  While I feel limited to a certain extent due to the baby and the bump in which he lives, I have found a certain amount of clarity of thought that I've so longed for since moving to Indianapolis. This clarity comes in the form of vision for our house- vision to turn it into a home! And where vision still lacks, I am choosing to take risks! I've decided not be too scared of failing, but excited that I might stumble onto something great or at least an acceptable solution to hold us over until GREATNESS.

While James was on call this past Saturday, and I was desperately trying not to think about my recent visit to my doctor's office, I finally finished the slipcovers for our living room chairs. I had been debating about how to finish the skirts for months. I made several prototypes with trims, and pleats to boot. I consulted with my husband. (And just in the nick of time, he is not as fond of the pleats as I am...) We finally decided on a look we both liked, and I worked on how to practically make it happen. This is my finished product.

The project is finally completed. (Many, many months later...) I made matching pillow covers to coordinate until we find something a little more decorative and eye-catching. Notice the pretty table cloth in the background :)

I also decided to cover a few stools we had. I had re-covered them in the past to work in my bedroom, but we no longer keep them there and we find it is nice to have them close to the dinner table for extra seating for dinner guests.

This is how I used the extra pleats initially made for the chairs. I may still paint or stain the legs of the chairs and stools, but not until our baby is here. 

I used the same canvas I had used on the slipcovers. I may try to come up with a way to give these stools a little more character. They were previously covered in stripes and looked too busy with the other color and patterns we had going on in the living room. Until we figure out a definite, solid direction, the neutral look keeps our eyes from crossing and blood pressure from rising.

A close up of the pleats I love. James didn't mind them on the stools nearly as much as he did the chairs. 

We are still trying to find our married design footing. How do others make these decisions in their marriage? With their roommates? Are there any suggestions you can share?

In our first year of marriage we made a lot of compromises in hopes to reach a middle ground. We ended up with some strange solutions that neither of us liked, but settled for in an attempt to honor the other and avoid conflict.

This is our infamous "beverage station." A first of many weird compromises. We had decided on colors for our first apartment due to things we already owned, the wall color already on the walls, and a lack of communication. This lovely unit served a very functional purpose. It housed all of the lovely wine glasses we received as wedding gifts. (James registered for over 100! And no, he is not a drunk and I am not a lush, he just got carried away, he must have been planning on entertaining many, many guests at once.) We still own this. It looks like a weird refrigerator in our dining room. We are moving away from these colors as neither of us love them. We will need to find a solution for all of our wine glasses when we finally get rid of our first collaboration. We both look at it and chuckle. It serves as a good reminder of the benefits of communication and the risks of trying too hard to please the other person.

We have since learned to communicate a little better. We're still working on the idea of compromise. We have decided that it isn't crucial for both of us to LOVE every decorating decision that is made.  This weekend I bought a table cloth with flowers on it! James doesn't LOVE it, but he thinks the colors work well and he knows that table cloths are not a permanent fixture. He is gladly encouraging my new found desire to take risks when it comes to life and our home. He trusts my judgment likely more than I trust myself. This is an area in which I will continue to grow as keep taking risks and learn not to fear failure.

An update on my recent personal FAILBLOG:

Last Friday I went back to the doctor's office for the three hour glucose tolerance testing. I was instructed to fast for 12 hours prior to the lab work. (Easier said than done when you're pregnant!) To my great delight the phlebotomist working that day was wonderful! She took a fasting blood sugar upon my arrival and then gave me glucola to drink. (This drink contained 100mg of glucose and tasted like super sweet orange soda.) I then spent the next three hours reading, texting, trying to distract myself while I waited for them to take blood every hour on the hour.

They called with the results today. I passed! I do not have gestational diabetes!! I am so very thankful! While this is definitely the news I wanted to hear, had I heard otherwise, I know I would have been okay. After sharing my concern and frustration last week, I received so much support and encouragement from sweet friends that had been through the same thing. Thank you so much! I was overwhelmed by your kindness and support. It turned a scary situation into something much more manageable. Again, perfect provision in my need.

I'm thankful!

Our Personal FAILBLOG

Life is full of opportunities for great success and opportunities for great failure. To truly live life, one must take risks and know that failure is a very real possibility. Daily life is packed full of small victories and rather frustrating defeats. I like the small victories. (Who doesn't?) They tend to build and lead to a fantastic day. The key is not letting the moments of defeat define your day, or week, or yourself. I find this a very slippery slope.

I recently shared on Facebook a rather comical exchange between James and me. I will recount it again, but in more detail.

On Sunday night James was up preparing for a presentation he was to give Monday morning. He was hunkered down at his computer reading journal articles and forming a solid explanation for the care of one of the patients on his service. It was particularly exciting for him because he was able to discuss an adult patient from a Med/Peds perspective. The patient was born with a congenital heart defect and had an early operation to correct the defect. This operation has saved the patient's life, but over time has caused complications that her adult doctors need to manage. Pediatricians are generally well versed in matters of congenital heart issues, but until recently adult internists had not been confronted with the care and management of these patients. In all honesty, the patients never lived into adulthood. So, picture James on an academic high as he waxes on and on about this rare case. He was so excited to have this unique opportunity.

Enter Ashley. I had been giving him a good deal of space to work. I confess I struggle to not bother him from time to time when he needs to focus. But as far as I'm concerned, I was doing a great job! I only interrupted occasionally for a hug or a kiss. I was even listening to him present as he worked on slides. Very supportive.

I think at some point I decided I wanted his attention. I ran upstairs to try on one of the maternity dresses my mother had sent me in the mail. It was long and lean and black and kind of nipped in under the bust around where my waist used to be making me feel thinner.  I thought I looked foxy! I was ready to get his attention and be admired!!

I appeared downstairs modeling this dress anxiously awaiting his praise. He doesn't say anything and thinking he must be really engrossed in his presentation, I prance a little closer and ask, "What do you think?"

He proceeds to say, "You look like a silo."

"A what?" I say.

"You know, a silo." He's gesturing with his hands up and down, forming a big tube.

"A silo? Like a grain silo?"

"Yeah."

I rush to my computer to do a google image search of "silo." I think: show him the pictures, confirm this, maybe he doesn't really know what a silo is... He says, "Yeah."

I couldn't believe my ears! I immediately started laughing. I'm not sure there is any other way to respond. He did take the time to point out the long, tall, column-like silos, not the short stout ones.

Not this kind....

But this kind...  :)

Later, on Monday evening, he was on his cell phone looking at one of the pregnancy applications. (We like to keep track of our little boys growth and development and the iPhone has so many cool Apps for that!) This is what he stumbled upon.

Great Advice!

Suffice it to say: EPIC HUSBAND FAIL.

He wasn't thrilled that I shared it on Facebook. (I'm sorry James.) I felt bad that I might have embarrassed him. I wasn't trying to make him look bad, it was just THAT funny to me.

I would like to clarify that it was probably so funny to me because it is so far from his norm. He is my biggest admirer and always lets me know how pretty he thinks I am. He has been such a sweet support as my belly continues to grow, constantly reminding me that I am not fat, but that I am pregnant.


I had my own FAIL this week. Unfortunately it's not something I'm laughing about.

I saw the doctor for my 28 week appointment. All is well with Baby Peppers. He was his typical active little self. His activity made it nearly impossible for the nurse to dopple his heart rate. He just wouldn't stay still! She eventually had to pin him down in order to get a consistent reading. He didn't take that without protest. While she gently boxed him in place his little legs were doing their darnedest to kick her hands away. I really wonder what his little personality is going to be like. James and I are already characterizing him as a wild, strong-willed little baby. We love it!

On top of the regular doctor's appointment, this is typically when they screen for Gestational Diabetes. I did a one hour glucose tolerance test. They give you a drink that contains a measured amount of glucose and then take your blood an hour later to see your body's response to the glucose- how quickly it's cleared.  They also draw a vial to check for anemia and another to check for syphilis (state law.)

The doctor said that she would not be in touch with me unless there was something wrong, so when her office called the next day, my heart sank. I had thought maybe I might be anemic. I have been having a hard time taking my prenatal vitamins without getting sick to my stomach. But, no, it was a call about my blood sugar.

I FAILED. Ugh! I only failed by 4 mg/dL. My results were 139 mg/dL, but their cut off is 135 mg/dL.  Just enough to warrant the 3 hour glucose tolerance test. I am so not looking forward to this- lots of needle sticks and worry.

However, I have decided not to worry. We'll see how that goes. I have read many friends accounts of failing their first only to pass the second. If I do have Gestational Diabetes, there are many very practical ways to manage it. This is not the end of the world.

On a happy note: I'm not anemic! I'm so glad I don't have to take iron supplements! This is one of those small victories! I will rejoice!

Wishing you many victories and grace in defeat!

A Year Ago Today...

It hardly seems like it's been a year since we moved into our first house. And an entire year later, I think James and I have finally decided on a paint color for the living room! Now, all we have to do is get it on the walls. Easier said than done, especially in our current state. It will happen, though.

Excited to be brand new homeowners!

Our carefully packed boxes.

Right after we signed the papers. Very happy!

Our celebratory meal. We found we had moved close to a Chick-fil-A. Could we be any luckier?

Making the place our own with our fridge magnets.

Yard work! The responsibilities begin!!

A Little Help- Perfect Provision

I have a confession to make. I share this believing that I am not alone. On the contrary, it is my belief that many can probably relate, all too well.

In the midst of this time of great blessing James and I find ourselves feeling very overwhelmed. So overwhelmed, in fact, that we have been struggling. The word James used to describe this sensation was "drowning." I have many words I use to attempt to convey my frustration, but tears generally muffle the words.

Picture an overworked, exhausted husband whose number one desire, above anything else, is sleep. He's a mere 28 years old but often says he feels like he's middle aged. He works 80+ hours a week. On top of his daily work responsibilities he feels the weight of his job pushing him to read the most up to date medical journal articles so he can practice the most current evidence based medicine. He also has a test date that looms in the near future. The all important Step 3 Licensure Examination. He knows it will be critical to brush up on all subject matter that will be covered so he can perform as well as he has on Step 1 and Step 2. This busy man isn't alone. He is married to an increasingly pregnant woman. Day by day she meets new limitations as her body restricts her from doing things she once did with ease. This man loves his wife and he longs to contribute to their home. He is just spent. Raw and, at times, on edge. She is, too. While he gets his precious sleep (4-5 hours a night) she tosses and turns as the busy baby kicks, her tired husband snores, and her body aches. She hopes she, too, will get 4-5 hours of sleep sometime that day.  These two are a scary combination. Both physically and emotionally exhausted and in the middle of a trial. In need of great grace.

That's a glimpse into our current home life. It's tough. We are so blessed with so many gifts, and yet, we are often reaching the limit of our personal strength. The demands of our daily lives are growing. We wonder if we can stretch to meet them.

I am reminded of Paul in 2 Corinthians 12. I am reminded that in my weakness, Christ's strength is made perfect. In James' weakness, Christ's strength is perfected. God's grace is sufficient. Could we ask for a better more powerful strength to hold us together? Even at my best, my perfect strength pales in comparison to the perfect power of our God. WOW! What a sweet, sweet gift!

That is our prayer- that God will be powerful in our weakness. That we will allow Him to work in our lives. I think James and I believe that our God is more than capable of taking all of our trials and struggles from us and yet, we both know He allows them to shape us. These trials, however big or small, have the power to form us into the people He desires us to be; the doctor, the nurse, the spouse, the child, the sibling, the friend, the neighbor, the parent we are called to be.

These trials also offer us a unique opportunity to display humility. We confess our weakness and call out to God for His help. His provision, just like His power, is perfect. We are amazed at how he provides and blessed beyond words.

Enter our family.

James and I are both blessed with loving parents, caring brothers, and an amazing sister-in-law. Their encouragement and support have been priceless. It means so much to pick up the phone and hear their kind voices, to know they are excited about our lives and believe in us, even if we don't always believe in ourselves. Recently their support has extended beyond the phone.

This last weekend James' parents, James, Sr. and Cheryl, visited us in Indianapolis. Their visit was just what we needed. We finally got the Christmas tree taken down and put into storage. Our carpets were cleaned, drapes hung. Our home experienced a bit of a face-lift. All the while, I sat watching (they didn't want me to have to lift a finger) and James slept (he had just gotten off a 30 hour shift.) We were humbled and blessed by their love and service. Again, a bright grin stretches across James' face as he pulls the curtains open and lets the sunshine in.

Two days later I received a package in the mail. My mom has graciously donated a few of her long flowing skirts to my cause. They will stretch and will never be the same, thus they have been sacrificed to the ever growing bump. The package didn't only contain the two skirts but gobs of other options to fit my changing shape. A grin stretched across my face as I pulled on clothes that made me feel pretty and comfortable, again.

My mom and dad will be visiting next month. James' parents will likely return to help with the nursery. I've had so many cousins offer to share their hand-me-downs and baby gear with baby Peppers.

While I believe God could have sent us a package directly from Heaven with all the things we needed, His ways are different, perfect. He uses the body of Christ. He uses our family and friends to demonstrate His love for us. And the really cool thing is it causes us to feel closer to our family.  It offers a specific way for them to minister to us and show us love. It also makes us sensitive to others who may, too, find themselves in need.

We are so blessed by our family. We are blessed by our God. We will continue to embrace our struggles and eagerly await God's perfect provision! Maybe we will even be part of others' provision!

My Husband, The Hero!

I've decided to share a story with our family and friends because it's likely James won't. If you read the title of the post and threw up a little in your mouth, I apologize... kinda. I don't want to be one of those people who is unbearable to listen to because they seem to brag all the time, and yet, I want to share the amazing things God does in our lives. Because God is so good to us!

Before I begin the story, I'd like to mention a conversation I had recently with a friend who is also expecting a baby boy late this spring. We were discussing what it meant to raise a boy into a man, how that might look, and how we as women might foster an environment to nurture our sons' unique dreams and spirits. She had heard a radio show where a woman spoke of this very topic. She said her grade-school age son was very interested in super heroes. She decided she would start asking her son, "What are you going to do to be a hero, today?" The woman shared that this had provided many opportunities for her and her son to demonstrate love and care for those in need. After hearing this, I thought I could see myself and a little boy in a cape running to those in need of rescue, or at least finding ways to share love and offer help... This reminded me of something I had seen...What was it....?

This is the only picture I could find, but I'm nearly certain this is not the only proof that exists. James is holding his baby brother, David, and while that is sweet, that's not why I chose this image. Notice the diaper pin securing a blanket cape around James' neck....? I hear reports that James often wore a cape and played a super hero... Not surprising!

My husband! He's been playing a super hero for years! He has since lost the cape, but he is no less impressive, if I do say so myself. I'm so excited my son will have such a wonderful concrete example of a hero in his life. This brings me to my story...

The other day when James arrived home after being on call overnight for a 30 hour shift, he was bouncing off the walls. This is highly unusual. He is usually stumbling over his own feet and needs assistance to carry him upstairs and into bed. (I use the word assistance liberally. I generally am only capable of providing my hubby with lots of verbal encouragement and support to conquer the stairs. If he looked to me for physical assistance, we'd both end up in a heap at the bottom of the steps...) Anyway, we was very excited!

Our normal post-call procedure is to greet each other at the door. He then proceeds to the dining room table where I feed him a small snack before he heads upstairs for an afternoon nap. While he eats his snack, he shares a few of the highlights from his evening at the hospital. Depending on how the shift played out, this can be a time for James to vent, or a time to tell colorful tales of the characters he's encountered, sometimes it's even a time to share sadness and grief. It's not uncommon for me to feel the weight of James responsibilities during this brief tête-à-tête. James is rarely very animated as he recounts his last 30 hours.


[Please keep in mind that while I tell the story, I may not be 100% accurate on hospital happenings, but this is my understanding as the spouse of a resident. It is greatly simplified and hopefully clear enough to make sense.]

While a resident is on call overnight they have many responsibilities. These vary depending on what sort of service they are currently assigned to for the given 4-week rotation. However, there is one constant responsibility ALL on call residents share. They must respond to codes. A code is called when life-saving measures are required urgently and many health care providers rush to the sick patient's room to provide intervention.  These are a common event in a hospital caring for very sick patients.

The other night, while on call, James responded to a code. It just so happens that earlier that day he had sat in on a refresher course on ACLS (Advanced Cardiac Life Support.) They went over using specific technology and reviewed algorithms for treating specific situations. While en route to the room where the code was taking place, he ran into an intern level resident. James took the opportunity to talk with her and asked, "What's the most important thing you want to know in a code?" She thought on it but wasn't certain. James responded, "You want to know the rhythm." He explained to me later that knowing the heart's rhythm is the first step in using an algorithm. Without that basic knowledge, it's tough to know how to proceed.

Upon arriving in the room, he asked that very question. Those previously present, running the code, did not know the answer. They were proceeding with ACLS, but without that knowledge it must have been tough to know what to do.  The patient wasn't hooked up to leads or a monitor so there was no reading on the rhythm. Fortunately, James had just had the refresher course and knew how to use the equipment they had available to them. He was able to share the knowledge with others and they were able to accurately access the situation and provide the specific intervention needed to return a pulse to the patient, effectively saving his life.

James is quick to share that this is just what is expected of him, and that it was fortunate that he had just been refreshed on such things. And I know it is, but I am still so proud of him. He would also share that while they were able to intervene, such measures are extreme and it's really hard to know how well a patient would fair after receiving such aggressive treatment.

When he shared his story with me his arms were flying about with large gestures and his voice would rise and fall with excitement. I love these moments. They make the stressful hours and demands of residency seem worth the sacrifice.

It wasn't seconds after he finished his story that he nearly passed out in his bowl of soup. It must have taken all the spare energy he had to give such a spirited rendition of the night's events. I had to provide my usual "assistance" to get him up into bed for his nap.

I'm thankful for his triumphs in medicine. I'm thankful to hear when James is able to discharge a patient from the hospital, or when one of his regular clinic patients decides to stop smoking or has successfully lost weight. I live for those stories. It makes the sickness, the sadness, and the death that so often accompany a career in medicine a little more bearable. 

I'm proud of my husband, the hero!