Today. Tomorrow. Yesterday.
Yesterday.
It is done. Part of our history. And I can’t go back. I don’t get a do-over. But so often I have wished we could go back and do it again.
I have struggled with this for years. The regrets. Thoughts of “I wish I would have…”
But then everything changed.
Our daughter Eliana was born early on a Friday morning cord prolapse. Her umbilical cord was delivered first and her tiny head pushing its way out was then clamping the cord, cutting off oxygen and blood to her body. I was rushed to an emergency C-section. While my husband, Emmanuel waited in some unknown room and I was sedated in an anesthetic fog, the emergency team resuscitated her little body.
We were told she wouldn’t live. But were offered to have the PACT team from Sick Kids hospital come and treat her. We took the offer. They came in what seemed like moments. The Sick Kids team said there was a good chance Eliana wouldn’t survive the transfer downtown. Even unhooking her from all the medical lines and moving her from one incubator to the next was precarious.
We had a decision to make. We asked them to transfer her. Then we watched 4 strangers leave with our newborn baby girl.
As we lived through those first few days in the NICU at Sick Kids Hospital in Toronto, the regrets poured over me. What if we had known the cord was there? What if I had elected to do a C-section in the first place? What if… What if… What if…? It seemed every moment brought another thought of something we could have, should have, done differently. But there was no going back.
Medical professionals and our midwives told us over and over again that there was nothing we could have done to change the outcome. But it was so hard to not look back and regret the way things had been done. I questioned every decision I had made in the last few months of my pregnancy. I questioned the medical team caring for us. I questioned my husband. I was SO FULL of regret.
Regret was making me doubt myself. Causing anxiety. Making me wonder if I heard from God. Pouring so much extra pain into my already broken heart.
Thankfully I am surrounded by Love. My husband, my family, my friends, Holy Spirit, each one in their own way spoke to me about hope. About living in the now.
My heart needed an anchor to help me survive this storm. I had a choice to make if I was going to survive this heartbreak.
My husband and I talked. We prayed. We decided that each day in the NICU with Eliana we would talk to our heavenly Father and ask Him what to do, what to say, where to go. We figured that if we did those things we would be able to put our heads to rest each night and not wonder if we should have said or done something differently.
We decided from that point on to live life with no regrets.
It was easier said than done. But we began to find the peace in doing what needed to be done in each day. Asking God how to govern our words, our actions, our thoughts. Choosing to walk in love. To believe despite what we saw. Step by step, hour by hour, we were learning to weigh every decision in light of eternity. No more regrets. Doing our best. Being true to what we heard Him saying and doing during the worst fight we have ever seen.
The storm raged around us as we heard one negative report after the other regarding Eliana’s health but we found our anchor. We choose to embrace Hope. It became our anchor. Whenever the doctors said, “We can’t offer you any hope,” we would tell them that it was ok because we weren’t looking to them for hope anyway. We had chosen to place our hope in Someone bigger than us.
I don’t get it right every day. I don’t always remember to choose hope, to take the time to hear what the Spirit is saying. I don’t always remember to walk in love or think about what will really matter in eternity. Sometimes the questions flood back in and the regret tries to take hold of my heart but I have made a choice. We made a choice. And every time I remember to choose, my life changes a bit for the better. I change. My heart gets lighter and heals. My anchor sinks a little deeper and those nights I lay my head on the pillow with no regrets.