Dericka Canada Cunningham, GBW Founder
September 30, 2024
This Week's Anchor
“Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail.
They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.”
Lamentations 3:22-23 (NIV)
If you have lived even the smallest amount of life, you can relate to the sobering reality that there are some hours, days, weeks, and seasons that we can only wade through with nothing but the sustaining grace of God. I found myself in this kind of moment this past week, and out of obedience, I want to transparently share my story, hoping it encourages our GBW community and helps someone feel less alone. This story involves content surrounding high-risk pregnancy and health concerns, so I support folks taking care of themselves in reading.
Five years ago, my spouse and I discovered the exciting news that we would be expecting a child. It was only a few months after our wedding, and though unexpected, we welcomed this new season of our lives with great joy and anticipation. As the days after my pregnancy revelation rolled by and my health anxiety grew, the excitement of welcoming new life quickly transitioned to fear. As a Black woman with, like many, a history of dismissed health concerns, I was keenly aware of the inequities within our healthcare system that impact Black women and the related alarming statistics and stories of pregnancy complications and mortality rates. To say the least, I spent the first few months of my pregnancy anxious and apprehensive, and it took a good deal of prayer, meditation, and prenatal yoga to ground me through the duration of my pregnancy.
The majority of my pregnancy went pretty smoothly. It wasn’t until the final month that things began to get spicy. As I inched closer to the last weeks of pregnancy, my blood pressure seemed to rise with each day. Because it was still early, baby girl was cozy in her feet-down position, so a cesarian section was scheduled at 37 weeks with slight hopes of changing to an induction should our daughter’s birthing position change. The day of delivery finally came, and after many failed attempts to externally maneuver our child into a head-down position, the plan to move forward with a c-section was set in place.
By this point, like many individuals who have navigated pregnancy, I had leaned into a supernatural degree of surrendering. So, I entered the process of my delivery relatively calm. Despite being at peace mentally and spiritually, as the anesthesiologists administered medication and I was directed to lie on the operating table, my body began to go into shock. As I lay on the table trembling and shivering in this cold, bright, sterile room, I thought to myself, “This isn’t quite how I expected delivering my first child to go…” As the procedure continued, I felt increasingly unwell, but because my body was in shock, I was confused and couldn’t quite articulate what felt wrong. As my heart rate dropped and I began to feel close to unconsciousness, knowing the stories of countless Black pregnant women, I sadly wondered if this was it for me. I did the only thing I could: I called on God. I could hear the concern in the anesthesiologist’s voice as she alerted the hospital staff of my plummeting heart rate, and thankfully, my anxiety kicked in and raised it back to where it needed to be. As I began to dry heave moments later, it became apparent to the labor and delivery crew that my body was attempting to vomit, and with the addition of anti-nausea medication, the surgery commenced, and our baby girl was delivered. Thank God. She made it. I made it. We made it.
Despite the several days of recovery in the hospital post-surgery, there was no time for processing my experience because baby was here, family was excited, and parenting mode had officially kicked in. The days after delivery were mostly a blur until one night, just a few days after returning home. I had just responded to late-night cries and put our daughter back to sleep when I began to feel off. I remembered the postpartum warning signs my OB had mentioned related to high blood pressure, and as my vision became blurry, I became concerned. I woke up my spouse and suggested we call the 24-hour nurse. After speaking with the nurse, we were instructed to head to the hospital ER. We arrived promptly, and in checking my vitals, it became clear that my blood pressure had risen to a dangerously high rate. With further testing, I was diagnosed with postpartum preeclampsia and was admitted. My spouse and I spent another several days in the hospital with a newborn in tow. After several medications and what felt like an infinite number of pokes, prods, and checks, my blood pressure finally decreased to a level that doctors felt comfortable enough to release me from the hospital.
Fast forward several years to the present day. Last week, for the first time since the months immediately after delivery, I returned to the outpatient side of the same hospital for a routine visit. Thankfully, I haven’t had significant medical issues since my pregnancy experience, so doctor visits for myself have been few and far between. In the days before my recent appointment, I wondered what the experience would be like. With the whirlwind of events that occurred following my pregnancy (i.e., new jobs, a move to a new home, navigating ongoing mental health experiences within our family, and, oh yeah…a whole pandemic), I couldn’t quite tell how my body had processed my experience. I also likely downplayed the impact it had on me. I’d known many women who experienced much worse to the extent that labeling my experience as “traumatic” didn’t feel quite right. I also recognized my privilege and carried the guilt of not wanting to complain about a process that not everyone can/will experience. So, I went into this appointment open to the fact that it could be triggering but not thinking or feeling much about it.
On the day of my appointment, I felt fine. I slept okay the night before, and the morning went pretty well outside of typical Boston traffic. I was in good spirits and was excited to see my former OB, whom I also see for regular women’s health visits and had not seen since early 2020. I arrive at my appointment, get called back, and, of course, it’s time for the usual vitals check. The nurse took my blood pressure and looked at me, concerned, “Your blood pressure is pretty high. Let me take that again.” After several assessments digitally and manually, my blood pressure was not budging; in fact, similar to my pregnancy experience, it was increasing with each check. I was a bit surprised because I felt okay, but apparently, my body told a different story. My OB entered and warmly greeted me as it had been several years. She conducted her necessary routines and procedures, and with a few concerning observations, I was referred for follow-up imaging and tests. We wrapped up the appointment with a final blood pressure check, and as you can imagine, by this point, my blood pressure reading was higher than it was when I first entered. So, an additional follow-up with my PCP for an immediate appointment was urged. As I said goodbye to my OB and waited for the nurse to return, tears began to well in my eyes. My body was finally feeling the impact of…a lot. This day had not gone anywhere near how I imagined, and I was left with concerns and questions I didn’t even know I’d be asking.
As I returned to my car to head back home, the tears fell. I was overwhelmed. And because I had obviously kept a lot in over the years, I allowed myself to be exactly what I was at that moment. As I got further out of the city and closer to our home in the suburbs, I felt God’s peace begin to fall on me. I was grateful to live in a small, quaint town far enough beyond the hustle and bustle to allow me to breathe and decompress in quiet. As I turned on a road near our home, I drove past a house with a tree removal company at work in their yard. The owners of this company are clearly soldiers for the Lord because on the front of their vehicle, in large font, it read, “God is faithful” (insert shout). I passed several company trucks, so I read it over and over, and I began to repeat it in my mind, “God is faithful. God is faithful. God is faithful.” As the day and those that followed continued, these words stayed with me.
I arrived at my follow-up appointment with my PCP later in the week. Because the purpose of the appointment was to reassess my blood pressure, I felt like I was entering a very important class exam. I knew the outcome of this assessment would determine the follow-up, so the pressure was on, literally and figuratively. As I entered, I was greeted by the warmest nurse’s assistant (who happened to be a woman of Color, an auntie, if you must). I could sense her nurturing spirit and immediately felt at ease. She checked my blood pressure, and though it was elevated, it was significantly lower than the appointment prior. She reassured me that one reading doesn’t tell the whole story (insert shout #2), and after meeting with the primary nurse, a plan was made to monitor my blood pressure at home and return in a few weeks.
I left that appointment and continued my Friday feeling hopeful despite what felt like a 3-day whirlwind. As I reflected on the events of the week, I realized that what felt overwhelming on Tuesday felt grounding by Friday. As the wise declaration of that churched tree company echoed in my heart, I shifted from despair to gratitude. God…is…faithful. This week's anchor scripture outlines this beautifully: Because of God’s love, we are not consumed. I thought about all of the people God placed in my life, then and now, to channel His Divine love—from my careful and attentive OBGYN to the kindhearted labor and delivery nurses, to the skillful surgeons, to my patient and advocating husband, to the nurturing nurse’s aide, to the women in my life, including some of you, who pray for and with me, and who cover me with care from places all over this earth, God’s love has been consistent through it all. And because of His enduring eternal love, I am not consumed by what could have taken me out.
I am here today, still processing, feeling, and awaiting follow-up appointments and tests. Nevertheless, I am certain that God’s faithfulness and new mercies will meet me each and every day. My story is one of many. I imagine each of you has stories. Things you tuck away and bear through in order to keep your head above water in this wild world. I pray that whatever your story, God reaches you amid it. May you enter this week remembering the words of the old gospel hymn, great is Thy faithfulness. May we be surrounded by God’s unconditional love through friends, family, neighbors, and even strangers. And may you hold tightly to God’s unfailing compassion and ever-renewing mercy.
Great is Thy faithfulness!
Great is Thy faithfulness!
Morning by morning, new mercies I see;
All I have needed Thy hand hath provided:
Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me!
Reflection
What is resonating for you about this scripture and/or this devotion?
What do you need from the Holy Trinity to help you consistently remember God’s faithfulness?
What intention(s) do you want to set to connect and/or reconnect with being grounded this week?
Related Scriptures to Ground You Through this Week
Psalm 30:1-7
Isaiah 33:2
Romans 5:3-5
2 Corinthians 1:3-7
Hebrews 10:23-25
1 Peter 5:6-7
My Through-the-Week Reflection Guide
A Song of Inspiration
Quote of Love & Liberation
“I realized that I don't have to be perfect.
All I have to do is show up and enjoy the messy, imperfect,
and beautiful journey of my life.”
Kerry Washington
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