I’ve always been pretty spoiled when it comes to my physical health. I’ve never broken a bone (except for the time I put a hairline fracture in my nose when I was 5 because I tried to do a back flip off my brother’s bunk bed and landed on my face, but since no cast was involved, I figure it doesn’t count). I’ve never been to the hospital for surgery or even to the doctor for anything more than the usual minor sicknesses that pop up on occasion for most healthy people. So overall, I’ve had it really great. I don’t share that in a proud kind of way at all. Honestly, I feel kind of guilty about it sometimes because I know other people who have just the opposite experience and it seems unfair. So I try to be very thankful for the health I’ve had so far and not to take it for granted.
I also thought I was pretty compassionate when it came to other people who struggled with their health. I tried to be understanding of people who were sick or had continuing conditions and tried be as sympathetic as possible when I was around them and not flaunt my own easy time of things. But I didn’t get it at all. In all honesty, I still don’t.
But for the first time in my life, I can relate a little bit more and my eyes are opened at least a little bit more than they were 9 months ago to what someone else might be going through in an extended illness and maybe, just maybe, why God lets us go through some of this stuff. Why 9 months ago, you ask? 
Because 9 months ago I wasn’t 8 months pregnant. Now, 32 weeks into what’s typically a 40 week process, I am more aware of and distracted by my physical “condition” than I’ve ever been before (maybe that’s partly because every other person I run into has a comment about my physical appearance as well but that’s a different story). And because of this new physical distraction, every once in a while, or a lot more than once in a while lately, I feel like I am going to go a little crazy. Mind you, I’ve had about as easy of a pregnancy as a girl could ask for but it still hasn’t been a piece of cake. There were the first three months of general nastiness that often accompanies pregnancy, coupled with a general worry about miscarriage, future, etc. Eventually that went away and in spite of the weirdness of a stomach that just kept getting bigger no matter what I did or didn’t do, it really was just great. I felt fine and wasn’t uncomfortable at all, other than on a rare occasion. And really, since there is a small human growing inside of me, I wasn’t too surprised or thrown by occasionally feeling something other than perfectly normal; it just wasn’t that big of a deal.
Then came week 28, about one month ago. My pregnancy continued to progress in an absolutely normal and healthy manner but I started feeling more and more uncomfortable. It wasn’t something I could necessarily pinpoint. I just felt physically agitated all the time. I figured this would be a little phase and then things would return to normal and I’d be fine again until a week or so before my due date at which point I’d be so close to meeting our little one that I wouldn’t really care how I was feeling. But I didn’t start feeling better. Little by little, I just kept feeling worse. That’s still how it is. Nothing’s wrong with me or the baby. We’re fine and God has continued to protect and take care of me and this little one every step of the way and for that, I’m very grateful.
Having experienced one miscarriage myself and walking through infertility and adoption with three of my closest loved ones, I’m really not taking this baby or the ability to be pregnant for granted. I’m incredibly thankful for it. And I try to remember that every time I’m having a hard time with the actual process. But remember, I’m also pretty spoiled when it comes to how I feel. So now that I don’t feel perfectly wonderful all the time, I struggle with it. 
I don’t like the fact that my stomach hurts all the time because it’s now at least 6 inches above where it used to reside and I’m convinced that my liver is somewhere far, far from away where it should be, not to mention that my lungs are so squished they can only inflate about halfway these days (or that’s how it feels anyway…I’m no doctor :)). I don’t like that my nose is stuffy all the time for no good reason and I’ve sounded like a 65 year old chain smoker for over a week now which means everybody I talk to has to say, “What?” each time I try to squawk something out. Charming. I also don’t particularly like the random shooting pains in my sides or the fact that I can’t sit for more than 30 minutes without becoming severely uncomfortable for no good reason. I don’t like that bending over to tie my shoes is actually painful and that every time it’s over 80 degrees outside, my fingers are so swollen that even if I force myself to reach my shoes, it’s a 3 minute process just to make bunny ears out of my laces because I can’t wield a piece of string skillfully with hot dog fingers (and my feet are swollen so they don’t actually fit inside my shoes like they should but I just stuff them in there anyway. It’s really cute.). I don’t like any of this. And I’m tempted a lot of the time to be grumpy about it because I don’t like it and it’s not normal for me and I can’t just pass it off to my husband for a day so I can have a break and he can take care of our son for a minute while I take a deep breath. (Literally. Just the ability to take one full breath would be great.)
At this point, it’s still all me and I have a hard time with that sometimes because I’m selfish and I don’t like being uncomfortable. I’m used to being sick for a day or two and then getting over it. But this doesn’t go away in a day or two. It just keeps going. And there’s an end result that worth it. I get that. But in my humanness, that’s hard for me to grasp because I haven’t seen this baby yet and while I can feel all his little kicks and somersaults, which I love, I still can’t often comprehend that he’s a whole little person getting ready to join the world. So half the time right now, I am just trying to manage how I feel physically and not go coo-coo because I can’t escape from my own body as much as I’d like to. It’s like being on a 20 hour car ride and by about hour 16 you are so ready to just not be in the car anymore that you are going stir crazy and you aren’t entirely sure you’re going to be able to hold it together if you have to sit in that car for another 30 seconds. Except you do have to. And there’s no rest area coming up either. So you endure, patiently, hopefully without whacking the person sitting on the seat next to you just because you’re that frustrated, and you try to enjoy the scenery and journey instead. Some days, I actually pull that off pretty well and on the days that I don’t, I catch myself wondering if there still isn’t something I should be learning from this, both about God Himself and about other people who have much, much more difficult situations than I do.
It seems almost foolish and rude to compare the privilege and overall joy of carrying a baby to a long-term illness because I know they’re not at all the same and I don’t want to down play in anyway what someone with an actual physical difficulty is going through. But for me, this is the closest I’ve come so far in life to dealing with a physical trial and it’s making me think about people who are experiencing the real thing. And again, I wonder what I can be learning about God through it. I’m sure there’s a myriad of things but this is what I’ve come up with so far- God is teaching me about perseverance and He’s also showing me His grace. He’s showing me that during the times when I’m really convinced I’m gonna lose it if this situation doesn’t improve, His grace is sufficient and He helps me to fall on my knees before Him and teaches me that He’s the only One who can really help me and give me strength when I need it. He helps me persevere. And He understands. Over and over, He hears my same prayer and doesn’t reprimand me for asking for help yet again even though I prayed the exact same thing an hour ago. He’s not tired of me coming to Him. He’s also not letting up and removing the situation (which obviously in this case is a very good thing because it’s not time yet for this baby to be born and we want him to have all the time he needs to grow and develop). He’s just telling me that His grace is sufficient and He’s using this situation, like He does in all things, to bring about something good. In this case, He’s bringing a new life into the world and that alone is incredible and something we praise Him for.
But I think he’s also bringing something about in my heart too and it makes me think of James 1 where the writer reminds his readers of this, “Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.” And again, in Romans 5, “We rejoice in our suffering because we know that suffering produces perseverance, perseverance, character, and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us because God has poured out His love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit who He has given us.” It seems to me that’s how I need to be viewing this time of discomfort right now. I need to persevere and let God produce the character in me that will bring Him glory, and also make me more mature and complete in Him.
While I can’t say that that’s my attitude all the time, by any stretch of the imagination, I can see where He is in fact doing that, and giving me lots of grace while He does so. And for that, I’m grateful. So hopefully next time I decide to voluntarily enter into a shoe tying ordeal, I will remember the things He’s teaching me and not mind it as much as I did. And if I can’t get the laces tied, I’m just going to borrow my husband’s size 12 velcro sneakers…
Author: Jessica Berkimer
Everybody's Got a Story 