God also sent a plague of flies!

This is a line from a book we read to OBB titled The Story of Moses. It's one of those "lift the flap" books, which I think explains OBB's love for the book (as opposed to the watered-down Old Testament theology he may or may not be garnering from multiple read-throughs).

This line springs to mind when figuring out how to describe the past couple weeks or so. It's truly been one thing after another. Let's start with the facts. I'm 29 weeks pregnant, big, clumsy and hot. It's summertime and I have a two year old who prefers being outside. For the first time in almost a decade, I am actually developing a tan (if you can count some color on your forearms and a stripe across your feet where your sandals fit on as a tan).

Last Sunday, I passed out in church. Again. This is the second time I've passed out in church. And while I understand that passing out is relatively normal for pregnant people, I don't think I passed out last pregnancy - got dizzy and disoriented, sure, but not actually having your world fade to black after seeing spots and fuzz like when your child accidentally pushes a button on the TV and it goes to channel 2 or 1 as opposed to trusty old channel 3.

The first time I passed out it was from standing too long. I know this sounds ridiculous, but they make us stand for like 20 minutes at the beginning of each service. First, we have to greet each other - and this is no regular "hi, how are you?". This is ladies in flowered skirts and matching applique sweaters marching down the aisle to see if their friend so and so is here and how their docotor's appointment went this week. This is the errant church member who sees it as his duty to shake hands with someone in every row. This is hugs and kisses and pats on the back, followed by big grins and loud chuckles - and this lasts at least 3 minutes.

Then we sing. Usually three songs. This is about 10 minutes. Then we read our lesson verses from the Bible (allowing time to FIND the verse), but first we say our memory verse for the month. 5 minutes. Then we pray. 2-3 minutes. Total: 20 minutes. It all adds up to a lot of standing in one place. And I tend to lock my knees. Not good if you want to remain vertical for very long.

So the first time, after about 2 1/2 songs, I started to feel breathless. My heart started pounding. I timed it on my watch. 110, 120...got up to 140. Then I decided I should sit down. But it was too late. My vision started to go. I saw spots, everything got fuzzy and went black and the next thing I knew my WH was trying to talk to me and while I could hear him, I couldn't make the words to respond. So they laid me out on the pew, right there, in church. Someone in a row behind me went and got a doctor who was sitting a few rows up. He came over and quietly grabbed my wrist, feeling for my pulse. Then his hand immediately went to my neck. I could tell by the look on his face that he couldn't feel anything on my wrist. Someone handed a wet paper towel over the pew to put on my forehead. People asked the doctor if he wanted an ambulance, or a wheelchair. All I could think was that I was wearing a dress and I needed to keep my legs together no matter how hard that seemed. My prayer was something like "Dear God, please don't let anyone try to elevate my feet". Then I started sweating profusely. I turned to the doctor and said, "I'm so hot". He said, "That's good, it's just your body producing epinephrine and getting back to normal".

After laying there for about 10 minutes, I felt much better. The blood went back to my head, the fuzzy cobwebs were cleared from my vision and my heart rate went back to normal. The doctor left me, and I sat back up. It's interesting to note that the Pastor never stopped. He went on with the sermon and was about halfway through when I sat up. I am grateful for that. So while the people sitting behind me got quite a show, the people in front of me were oblivious. After the service, the doctor met me outside the sanctuary and sat and talked to me and my WH. "You had an episode of SVT (super ventricular tachycardia). Your heart speeds up and then your blood pressure drops (why he couldn't feel my pulse) and then you pass out. It happens to people fairly often and more often in pregnancy."

So following this drama, my WH made a new rule for church attendance - I only get to stand for one song and then I have to sit down. The next Sunday, I obeyed. I sat down after one song and heard a little chuckle from the row behind me. "He's making her sit down" I heard them say. This past week, I stretched it a little. I stood for two songs. Two songs too long. I sat down and felt like I couldn't catch my breath. Things started getting fuzzy. So I leaned my head on my WH's shoulder and I proceeded to go through all the phases I had the previous week without the big show. Everything went black, I tried to force myself to breathe normally through it, holding on tight to my WH's arm. I closed my eyes and tried to relax. "I just look like I'm praying" I told myself. Then, the heat consumed my body. I had to slip off my shoes and lift the length of my skirt up off my legs and shove it between my knees to expose my calves so they could breathe. I started sweating and I knew this meant it was almost over. And after about five minutes, it was. I sat up, tried to compose myself and look normal. Yeah, normal.

So after that episode, we went to Sunday School, headed home to a light lunch and nap and then went out. As we were leaving someone's house later that afternoon, I decided to pick up OBB and carry him to the car - something I rarely do these days because, well, he's 35 lbs., I'm not too steady on my feet and it's just not a good idea. As I was walking down the sidewalk in front of the house, there was one little step down. I missed it completely. I let out a scream, and OBB and I went tumbling down on the concrete. My WH turned around to see me splayed out on the grass and OBB face down on the sidewalk. Thankfully, OBB was fine. Scared, yes. A little scratch or two, sure. But not badly hurt. Me on the other hand...I had scrapes on my left arm and wrist (with little pieces of gravel in it for effect), scrapes all down my left leg and one very bloody right knee. It didn't hurt right away. You know how people who have terrible car accidents where they get punctured by some sharp piece of metal say they don't feel it? I believe them because I truly didn't feel pain. About two hours later, when my leg was still bleeding, the pain set in. Of course my first thought (after making sure OBB was in the safe and secure arms of his father) was the baby. So after getting in the car and tending to my wound, my first order of business was making the baby move. I ate a bunch of OBB's cookies and within about 20 minutes, she was hopping so that made me feel better. I took some Tylenol and chalked it up to a skinned knee.

Fast forward three days. The front of my knee was a yellow mess and I suddenly had pain radiating down my leg. The area around it was red and hot. I decided I'd better go to the doctor. They told me it's infected and put me on antibiotics and gave me special cream to be adminstered three times a day. Then they wanted to see me a couple days later. "You have cellulitis" the doctor said on Friday. You need to call us on Monday and let us know how it looks.

But on my way to the doctor on Friday, as OBB and I were heading out the door, he slipped and fell. A simple toddler "whoopsy-daisy" or so I thought. He screamed a high-pitched scream and didn't stop crying for a while - very unlike OBB. So when I set him down outside and he wouldn't put weight on his right foot, I thought, "oh no, he's really hurt." Following my doctor visit, we made a visit to his. They watched him limp up and down the hallway, they contorted his foot and leg in every imaginable position without getting a yelp from him and told me to call on Monday if he was still limping. Well, guess what, he is.

So we're off to the hospital for x-rays. That is, after I have an OB appointment and an ultrasound this morning. There's no telling what God has in mind next. And I'm also not sure what lesson I'm supposed to be learning from this. I'm kind of waiting until OBB is old enough to ask the question "Why did God have to keep sending plagues? Didn't they get it?" although I'm not sure what I'll say besides "No, the Pharoah and Egyptians definitely did not get it". I guess I haven't gotten it yet either.