“Due to your history, we’d like you to be seen.”

This is the third time I’ve heard this in the last 4 weeks.

I walked into the hospital, hesitantly, said my name and answered the many intake questions. The receptionist had my name written on a piece of paper with “101” written next to it. I watched as she printed my name band and labels. She opened her registration book and stuck my name label in her next empty slot and wrote “101” in the room column.

I thought to myself, “there’s no way.” But I proceeded to sit down as she chit chatted with me.

It felt like an eternity in the waiting room when in reality it was maybe 5 minutes. The nurse came and got me and took me to room 101.

Once inside she gave me instructions and left for a minute to give me some privacy. I followed her instructions, heart pounding, thinking “this isn’t happening. I’m not really here.”

I walked around the side of the bed and saw the monitors. I saw the familiar painting I watched my newborn son be wheeled past while the nurses breathed for him. The couch my husband had slept on all that time ago in anticipation of our preemie.

And I wept.

It started as a slow cry and then the tears became uncontrollable. They just kept coming.

It was here in room 101 that I had given birth at 28 weeks to my Liam just a short 18 months ago.

I stood staring at the bed through tear filled eyes thinking, “I can’t lay down here.” I saw the monitor straps draped across the bed, waiting for me. I kept thinking, “if I lay down, in this bed, in this room, it’s all going to happen again.”

My nurse finally came in the room to see me hovering over the bed, wiping tears that kept flowing. I apologized (as I do too often) and explained that my son was born in this room.

She quickly came to my side and compassionately offered to switch rooms. I’m not sure why but I declined.

She and I talked about Liam. She asked me all about him. I showed her pictures of him and slowly I felt the power that this room held over me being released.

I will never forget room 101. The nurse getting on the phone and saying, “we’re having a baby, room 101.” The sign saying “it’s a boy” though my boy was in the room for a few seconds before being whisked away to the NICU.

Yes, my Liam was born here. Yes, it was one of the hardest days of my life. I will forever be left with the scars that were created in this room. Both emotional and physical.

But this day, April 9th, 2023, I rewrote the story of this room.

In this room, I talked about how well my boy is doing now. How we are excited for him to be the best big brother. How he’s happy and thriving at home.

After checking me, they told me everything looks beautiful. Baby Bean is doing well. I was not in preterm labor and I was discharged just a few hours later and told I just need to rest more. I had over done it.

I left the room, where so much of my trauma had taken place, like I had defeated it.

Ironically, it was Easter Sunday. And I, as a believer, felt this day was perfectly orchestrated by the risen one Himself. Not only did Jesus overcome the grave on this day, but he used it to remind me that He turns graves into gardens. Where there was once death, or what felt like it, was the very place he brought me healing and restoration.

Room 101 was my tomb. But yesterday, I walked out.

Praise Jesus.

Much Love,