Seeking escape

I made a big mistake.  In hindsight, that is.  I made darn sure that, unlike with my other five pregnancies, I would not be traveling or "going on vacation" while preggo.  No sir.  Done with that.  

My first pregnancy I was maneuvering overnight trains in Italy, in whatever is Italian for "just abova cattle class." My second pregnancy, I drove down to Florida with a one year old to sing at a wedding during an active hurricane season.  In all the subsequent pregnancies, I've driven down to VA at least once to stay with inlaws, one of whom was friendly enough to call me selfish for sleeping in when I was 8 months pregnant.  While visiting her.  In July. With limited a/c.  But I digress...

So been there, done that.  And this time, when I discovered the two lines, I made darn sure I wouldn't leave this house till the fall.

I still haven't moved.  In all of our last minute desperate attempts to find a way to get away, I've been foiled.  By April, the time shares we typically use were booked up for the summer.  Even when I've attempted to get the first week of September before we really give up on summer, it hasn't worked.

I've never wanted to be pregnant more.  I've never been so terrified of that idea.  I've never been so desperate to get away from it all.  From the room she would have been in.  From the bed that still has ginger chews and Zofran in the little drawer.  From the shower where I've watched my belly shrink.  (Never thought I'd be sad about something like that.)  I don't even understand why today is a "sad" day, but from the moment I woke up, it just was.  Probably because I'm leaving Phase 1 on my NFP chart.  Bleeding now would have meant she was on her way.  Bleeding now just means she is gone.

"My soul yearns, even faints, for the courts of the Lord; 

my heart and my flesh cry out for the living God." Psalm 84:2

Addendum:  So I tap out the above tearjerker, shove the laptop towards my husband with a mumbled, "I hope I'll feel better now," and wander off to redo my makeup.  He read it, picked up the phone, and called our time share company just one more time.  Last night, there was nothing available.  But today, right after I'd written this, there was a beautiful two bedroom place, close to both destinations my husband and I wanted (I wanted lakes, he wanted mountains) in Bethel.  Familiar with any Hebrew?    That's just too cool...



God... thank You.

Why I didn't have an abortion

As some of you know, I recently had an discussion on my Facebook wall about moral and political issues, something I haven't done before... I'm not usually big on publicly debating personal beliefs on FB in front of silent multitudes.  But we're both being civil, batting the issues back and forth like a tennis match. No one has attempted to run madly into the other's court and beat the other over the head with their racquet.  :)

I congratulate us both on our civility because touchy points have been raised--which we obviously feel opposedly passionate about--particularly around the issue of choice. It's a topic that people of good will can feel strongly about, whether you think you should defend the rights of women in trouble, or whether you feel compelled to save the lives of children.

I believe there are ways to do both.   

During this debate, it was mentioned that  most abortion cases involve "a case where a woman does not know how she's going to support her baby while going to school or to work, while also paying for childcare."  And something clicked...

Back in 2002, I was such a woman.  Newly married, engaged in the opportunity of a lifetime to study overseas, finishing my degree, jobless, homeless, with no health insurance.  

Unexpectedly pregnant. 

I'm planning to tell you more of the story later. For now... I want to offer my own personal testimony as to why I did not make the choice to abort, and why I am very happy I didn't, despite some negative consequences.  

When I first realized I was expecting an unplanne- for baby at a totally undesirable time, I understood, for the first time in my sheltered conservative life, why women would have an abortion.  I knew having a baby would destroy every plan I'd made for my future at the time.  And I didn't feel "pregnant": I felt like I had the worst flu of my life.  All the time.  I felt scared, and sad, and so very, very disappointed.  In a word: devastated.  

So why didn't I have an abortion?  

Not because I'm better than those who do.  Certainly there but for the grace of God go I.  

I didn't because I did not consider it to be a serious option.

And why not?

1. I had been taught, and believed based on the evidence of science, the use of reason, and the teachings of my faith: that life begins at conception. These beliefs were not imposed on me. They were simply explained well and made sense.

2. Therefore, I knew an abortion would be killing a human being whom I would likely otherwise be well-acquainted with, and likely fond of, for the rest of my natural life.

3. And I didn't want to do that. More than I was scared, disappointed, sick, confused, and wondered what the hell I was going to do now, I couldn't dispose of this baby. Even though I really, really, really didn't want to have one right then, and even though this baby would change everything.  

Like it says in the insipid movie I finally watched on DVD "Eat Pray Love": "Having a baby is like getting a tattoo on your face.  You kinda wanna be fully committed."  I was in no way ready for this tattoo.  But I was still waiting in line to get it.  

I cannot express how grateful I am that I went through with my pregnancy.  And I'm not sitting here congratulating myself: instead I consider myself very blessed and lucky to have had the education I did, and the support of everyone around me to have that baby.  

Because the outcome might just possibly have been different if some sweet, motherly family member had taken my 23 year-old hand and said, "Sweetie, I know you didn't mean for this to be happening.  I know you are terrified and that your plans are in jeopardy.  Look, let me help you make an appointment, and we'll get this taken care of, okay?  Then you can finish the degree you deserve, enjoy your time traveling Europe, just get used to being married, find a good job, save up money, buy a house, and then--when you are ready--you can start having kids.  Don't worry about this honey; it's just an 'oops.'  It will be like it never happened.  It's quick, you'll feel better within a week, and then you can move on with your life.  You have so much potential, darlin'!  So don't waste it!  You have a legal right to get this fixed."

As kind and soothing as that all sounds, it is a huge disservice to a woman--particularly a scared and desperate woman--to present eliminating a pregnancy as an option to solve a problem.  Women shouldn't have to kill their own children to have a better life. In my opinion, that's the worst abuse we can offer to a woman, let alone her child.

Our society should not be presenting desperate women in desperate situations with an even more desperate choice. One they may well someday regret, and never, ever stop regretting.  

While I acknowledge that others may have different experiences, I personally am so glad no one said that to me. Because becoming a mom unexpectedly, severely morning sick, while a student overseas, with no job or house or property or insurance, was crazy hard. And terrifying. And it was so disappointing to look at the shattered pieces of my own cherished plans.

But then, there was God's plan.

All the things I had wanted to do, and have had to change or postpone, were good. But a baby was a greater good.  She turned my world completely upside down.  Yet in the end, it looked better that way.  And while I have suffered considerable setbacks for choosing to have her, while I have not finished my degree track nor yet had a proper career, I do not ever regret having my unplanned, unexpected, unwanted pregnancy.

Ever.

It costs money to support children. I know, because I've struggled financially where since we had them. And a D&C is indeed easier on the body than childbirth. I know. I've had both. I've had babies, and I've lost babies.

And having them is better.

"The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field..." Matthew 13:44

Linked to http://www.catholicbloggersnetwork.com/p/link-up-blitz.html and RX

Testing

"He gives strength to the weary, and increases the power of the weak." Isaiah 40:29

Glad about that. :)

You know you're a mom when an MRI appointment feels like a vacation.  Hours of quiet alone!  The bliss of waiting in a child-free office!  The prospect of lying down on a table for a full hour, with strict instructions not to move!!  :)  And I was happy right up to the point where I was told they were going to (very slowly, they assured me) inject me with a substance that was to "paralyze my intestines, just for a few minutes." 

Say what?  Swell, guys.  Way to ruin my mini vaca.  I inquired as to whether this substance would stop any other of my vital organs "just for a few minutes."  I was assured it would not, but that I may experience some nausea.  I sighed, moved my head back two inches to where I was strapped and nested onto the narrow table, ready to be slid back into the tube called an MRI. 

A tough looking male nurse was on standby on my left, adjusting the tubes for the infusion machine.  The 20 something girl on my right began the injection into my IV lead, glancing at me with a partially reassuring smile.

"If and when I puke, do I turn to port or starboard?"

The guy on the left grinned and brandished a large plastic bin at me. "Turn here! I've got three kids; I'm a pro."

Three kids.  I have six, right?  Or four?  Almost five?  It's hard to decide how to answer that simple question sometimes... I stopped my sinking thoughts, smiled, and asked for their ages.

The tiny girl with the needle keep asking "Are you doing okay?"  Every ten seconds or so, which tread the line of sweet and annoying.

Well... Yes and no.

Like when I went for the intake for the MRI... they read the order and asked, "Oh... boy or girl?"  Apparently updates had not been made...

Oh. A little wave of quiet sadness.  "It was a girl.  But I lost her."

Gosh that spoiled the mood... Her face dropped.  We had previously been engaged in witty sarcastic banter about how delightful it was to be on a basement on a gorgeous May morning. 

"I'm so sorry."

"Thank you."  I really try not to say "it's okay," because I mean, it's really not.  And it doesn't seem to make sense to just say "it was a girl," because then she might ask more questions and I may have to tell her anyway.  Seems best just to say it. But I haven't figured out a way to say it " gently" enough it seems... And then the reaction to the bad news reminds me, again, how much I lost.

The MRI is the first of a bucket list of "after the baby, I need to check out this or that random part of my body that is acting up."  At the risk of sounding like a hypochondriac... there's plenty wrong with me at the moment, being the queen of auto-immune issues that I am.  Fortunately, my swelling hands responded to prednisone, but with increased aches and pains I'm now I'm supposed to switch from Humira to Remicade... I'm going to try a more natural route first.  The sharp pains in my abdomen that pre-dated my pregnancy have now been "MRId" and then I have to have my fav: a colonoscopy. My fifth.  It's a special treat reserved for Crohn's patients: every two years instead of ten for that procedure.  Oh yes, not to mention the geneticist and my dear Napro-tech doctor, who spends so much time reading my charts, autopsy reports, genetic findings, interpreting them, encouraging me to take even more thing, but good things, like magnesium and Vitamin D... which I severely overdosed on, mistakenly taking a "once a week" tablet once a day... but I'm not glowing like the sun yet, so all's well that end's well, I guess?  But man, doctors, tests, meds: I'm exhausted just thinking about all this. 

It's worth it to me to discover and rule out causes though, making sure I'm healthy as possible in the future for... whatever.  I'm glad I didn't have the MRI during my pregnancy, like the doctors had wanted me to.  One less thing to wonder about.

I didn't puke.  My infusionist was pleased.  The machine slid me in, and I was left alone.  After the initial, "Eeeek!  I'm in a tube!" feeling, I don't mind my MRI's.  I bring my own ear plugs though... the first time I panicked and was sure the machine was malfunctioning but no, it's supposed to beep loudly and honk and groan. 

Through my headphones: "Take a breath. Hollld it."

I did.  I am.  Holding my breath. Waiting to "get better." To not break down in public. To not have the bad dreams. To not play Taboo and, even while having a blast, somehow wanting to guess "baby" or "pregnant" every few cards or so.  Even when I think I've really moved on, I'm learning that there are just going to be bad days.  And it will be okay. 

Breathe.

The whole is greater than the sum of its parts

Which do you want first: the good news or the bad news?

The good news: we learned the autopsy results.  The bad news: we learned the autopsy results.  They weren't good.  Then again, are autopsy results ever really "good"? 

One real positive thing: I can officially tell you pregnant mommas who've been brave enough to keep reading all this that--as far as what happened to Perpetua--you have nothing to worry about.  Because, as it turns out, it was all me.

We were escorted to an office, a different one than before, with a shiny desk adorned with the remnants of a KFC snack bowl and medium beverage, condensation dripping down the side. "Oh.  Sorry about the clutter."  The doctor plopped into her wheeling chair, looked at her papers, sighed, and delivered the following:

"The results were significant.  Not that you are to blame, but your placenta... basically you had preeclampsia.  I've never seen it this early, so I assume it's caused by an underlying medical issue you have.  Possibly lupus.  Anyway, the fetus was normal, but was eventually not able to get enough oxygen due to the placental issues.  But don't worry... were you to get pregnant again, the solution may be as simple as a daily baby aspirin to help thin your blood and prevent clotting..."

I've never been in a free fall, but I think I kinda know how it feels now: I'm thinking that it gets really quiet from the rushing of the wind past your ears like white noise.  That you feel numb from the chill of the speed of your fall.  That it's cold, and numb, and quiet, and you wonder when it will stop.

I know it's not "my fault."  I know I didn't intend it, and would have done anything to prevent it.  But for the record, baby girl: Momma is so very, very sorry that her body failed yours.  I'm so sad I didn't know in time to fix it, if I could have.  I'm so sorry I didn't know that you were quietly getting too sleepy to survive and live to be my baby here, like I'd hoped you could...

As for my "free fall" comment, I actually stayed in my chair... couldn't have moved if I wanted to.  I really did think (and hope) the problem was some genetic fluke that meant the baby couldn't progress further than she did due to an inherent error in her chromosomes.  In other words, that she'd lived as long as she could.  I guess I wasn't prepared to hear the baby was normal, and I was not.

I believe I was calm and monotone as I asked my questions, and requested copies of the pathology report.  The write-up's almost incomprehensible, every other word a complex medical term you feel you need a college course to understand.  Ever feel like you majored in the wrong thing?  Golly.  I've still been trying, Googling every word separately and in phrases to try to understand better.  Mostly getting studies on rat embryos, nothing particularly helpful.  Try these out for size: "Severe decidual vasculopathy." "Fibrinoid necrosis."  "Avascular villi." "Pervillous fibrin deposition." 

Now trying saying those in an accent. :)  Sigh...

And then there's the stuff that's easy to understand: "Markedly abnormal placental tissue."  And what I guess is typical pathology report style: a moment by moment description of what the researcher was doing.  Color, texture, weight in grams of everything... great appetite reduction literature really.  X-rays had been done.  Apparently there were pictures taken of her after all.  (!)  The baby was completely normal.  But concluding the perinatal report: "Severe preeclampsia with marked maternal vascular disease."

My friends, I will be going to doctor's appointments for a lonnng time it seems, blood tests, MRI's, the works... trying to find out what bizarre disease (if that's actually what it is) I have that can cause problems like this, or blood clots in me, to find out what happened with this pregnancy and how I should proceed for my own health.  In the doctor's words: "I've never seen anything like this, preeclampsia so early on, without high blood pressure or anything..."  Shhwell.

Wow.  I really did take my fertility for granted before all this.  It is just so darn easy for me to get pregnant.  (No, I didn't mean it that way... oh never mind. :)  After my second unplanned pregnancy within two years of marriage, I had been completely convinced that "Dancause" may as well be "Duggar," at least until I actually learned Natural Family Planning. :)  And overall, I really did think, that if I had two strong lines on a stick, and had awful morning sickness, and didn't smoke or drink or eat too much tuna, and made it to 17 weeks... that everything really was going to be okay. That it made more sense, at that point, to worry about getting struck by lightning.  But I was wrong.

We aren't in control, no matter how much we want to be, no matter how often we think we are.  Ultimately, we are wearing seatbelts on a sphere spinning through space, upheld by a Power far beyond our reckoning.  I'm grateful I have a personal relationship with that Power, and that He loves me.

I'm still not mad at Him.  I'm kinda surprised about that, waiting for the rage at the "unfairness" of it all to hit and me to go through the motions of trying to blame my Creator.  Who knows, maybe it will at some point.  I don't blame the people who are mad at Him; He can handle it and guide them on their own journey...  I mean, I was plenty mad during my first miscarriage: the early one, Gabriel.  I felt completely betrayed by God then.  The weight of the unanswered "why" was too great.  It took time to get through that and to let go of that primal anger at losing a child I was "supposed" to have. 

But now somehow it just seems that I don't have to know the "why" right now.  I have the medical "why" I wanted, or the beginnings of it, but the "why" of God allowing it... I'm leaving that to Him.  I am leaning on my faith that the God who loved my child into existence hasn't changed His mind about that at all.  She still exists.  And He still loves her.  And we'll all be together again someday, gloriously happy in eternity, the Whole that is greater than the sum of all the fragmented earthly parts of a much bigger and better plan.  Because hey, if this life is all there is, there is simply not nearly enough chocolate to keep me happy... I'm just gonna say it, cuz we're all thinking it.  :)

I was the careful mom that stayed far from the edge and yet fell off a cliff.  But somehow, God has been there to catch me.  Somehow, I love and appreciate Him more than ever.  Partly because this has been so awful that I've really had to "give" this whole situation to Him, because I just couldn't bear this on my own.  Even being cynical: doesn't it make sense for me to keep working on a relationship with Him, since He has full custody? :)

With all the sad things that can happen in this world, either the universe is a cruel joke run by a blind Deity, or our losses here are all part of a greater gain.  Even the shortest lives here are ultimately too precious to be a waste, too important not to matter. 

Nothing good is ever truly or permanently lost.  More than ever, every day, I remember what I have to look forward to.  More than ever, every day, I'm thankful

for the blessings

I got to keep.

Then the Lord answered Job out of the whirlwind, and said,

'Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth?
Tell me, if you have understanding.

When the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy?

Have you ever given orders to the morning or assigned a place for the dawn?

What is the way to the place where light lives?'

And Job answered, 'Surely I spoke of things I did not understand,

things too wonderful for me to know.'"

Job 38:1,4,7,12;42:3

May Day

I'm tired.  The steroid treatment is over for my swollen hand and I kinda miss the overdrive if I'm being honest...  Instead of burning through more household piles in an organizing frenzy last time I found myself kid-free, I instead caught myself still sitting in my mini van, vaguely observing my gluten-free neighbor doing yard work while I ate a muffin.  She has had the nerve to get super-skinny.  I feel I've lost the unspoken over-sized-tee-shirt camaraderie we once shared from across the street.  Sigh.

So as you can see, I've been busy.  Started the weekend off at Dave and Busters, also kid-free, attending a function called "Grill the Priests."  An awesome open-forum event where the crowd could ask anything they wanted about Catholicism from a panel of brave priests.  Sold out, packed event room.  Afterwards you could play arcade games with a Dominican in full garb while everyone whispers comments.  Wicked cool.  :)

On the not so great side, a favorite tree in "my" playground across the street is being terminated... seems Earth Day was sooo last week.  :S  More negative playground news: it seems I lost my necklace ("the" necklace) at a playground in... another state.  This has been a perfect excuse for online Mother's ring shopping whenever I miss it now.  Hoping to get all my kids' birthstone on a ring a tad too small for my finger--maybe one I kinda have to jam on--so there isn't a chance of it coming off and getting lost...

One positive playground note: a motherhood milestone was passed with my preschooler used a porta-potty for the first time! She did not touch anything disgusting, nor did she panic that "the toilet wasn't flushed."  Proud of her.

Those of you checking in for actual news will notice, no doubt, that I have not given any.  This is because I have none yet.  On May 1st, as scheduled, with a wonderful friend watching my kids and my wonderful husband taking a day off, we sat in the self-same office I'd been in in March (the one with the kinda creepy Ann Geddes babies emerging from sunflowers) and was told the following:

"Pathology isn't finished with the autopsy results from your D&E yet.  I'm sorry.  But don't worry, they still have slides of the brain, liver, kidneys, heart, and everything else.  They just aren't finished yet."

You can just imagine my "relief" at this non-information after a week's sleep full of odd nightmares like: "Perpetua died because you consumed too much mayonnaise.  Those are the autopsy results.  In future pregnancies, please refrain from the consumption of condiments."

I was assured I would be called when results were in, apologized to for the office keeping an autopsy review appointment when no autopsy results were available, and told to expect a call "soon."  I went home and dug in the freezer for the "Chocolate Therapy" a very dear friend had given me for just such an occasion.  Mmmmm.

Then this morning, as I was contemplating how to communicate my "non news" in this post, the phone rang with "OBGYN" on the caller ID.  Now, I had been planning my writing in the place I write best: the shower.  But this phone call was probably "the one," so I jumped out, grabbed my phone, lost my grip on it, fished it out from a puddle on the floor, frantically patted it with my towel, and said "Hello?!?" while trying to shut the shower off.  I was in "pre-rinse" stage.

"Is this Katherine?"  Cue screaming 1 and 3 year old at door.  "Yep, it's me."  I pull the door open, hoping I could quiet things down quickly.  A very dangerous diaper was drooping around little knees.  Swearing interiorly, I grabbed wet wipes and laid out fussing toddler on the towel I was supposed to be standing on.  With no other option, I tapped "speaker on."

"We have the pathology results.  The doctor would like to discuss the findings with you, and make sure you have your genetic blood work done prior to..."  Wiping furiously, I looked up at Cecilia, who was admiring herself in the mirror.  "Mommy, you are wery wet!" she loudly proclaimed.  "Mommy, you have soap on your arm!  Mommy!!! You have nothing o..."

I tossed a towel I had grabbed for myself over her head, and she roared in delight at the new game. "Speaker off." 

"Ha ha, I'm so sorry.  Please go on."

Felicity was upset not to be part of the game, and her wails necessitated a call back several hours later, after an 8 minute wait, to reschedule what May 1st was supposed to be.  Now, it's May 8th.

Groan. 

To go along with my little playground theme: this is exactly how I feel about finding out:

I want to know, because maybe I could fix something for the future for my own health or, possibly, for another baby should I be so blessed.  But that would mean I could have fixed something, possibly, for her.  Either way, this is going to be hard, and I'm not looking forward to it.  Either way, I'm definitely finding out, despite certain family member's encouragement not to.  I want to know everything I can about this child, whatever it is.  Especially with all this fuss and turmoil to get the information.

"Not knowing" is not terrible meanwhile, though, not really.  Trying to remind myself of that.  When I was in church choir as a teen, we sang this song once...  I haven't heard it before or since, but the words struck me.  It's loosely based on Scripture, written by Dan Schutte... who is not exactly my favorite songwriter, :) but the words give me something to think about during this time.  Here's the refrain:

Holy darkness, blessed night,
heaven's answer hidden from our sight.
As we await you, O God of silence,
we embrace your holy night. 

Basically, while I'd sure like to know more, I don't need to know everything right now.  But I'm glad He does. 

For your further entertainment, I'm attempting to attach a link here.  The song's pretty.  The words are profound at times.  The crucifix is apparently backlit by a Dreamlight... a kid's toy that changes colors every minute or so.  Still... :)  Enjoy if you will:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k6NWR08ts_w&feature=player_detailpage

I Will Carry You

So back to yesterday's bible study... Childcare is great but, frankly, it was boring. A video of a very enthusiastic biblical scholar exclaiming her way through the entire book of Hebrews was simply not reaching me. I've been dazed for days anyway. To stop the blank staring I was doing, I started reading ahead in my workbook... Done that trick since grammar school. And a couple pages past the columns where we were suppose to list references to whom the angels ministered to, I ran into a little article regarding the following book:

Great.  Tears had found me again.  It struck me that I had gotten the book hours before I "found out," that this heart-wrenching story had been waiting for me all along.  Read the story, of course; it involved a woman who got bad news about her pregnancy at 20 weeks: that her baby would not be compatible with life outside the womb. It was awful, but she had faith.

Now usually, I mean, personally, I don't seek out literature like this. Yeah, stuff like my current blogging. I have enough to worry about usually, as a mom, then to entertain thoughts of disaster. I mean the very first thing I look for when I hear a tragic story regarding a child is a reason this wouldn't happen to me and my family.  A reason to make worry needless.

And no, I'm not warming up to saying "this could happen to anybody." That's not exactly true, because... if it's not mysteriously in God's perfect plan for someone, it won't happen to them.  Of course, I certainly didn't imagine this would happen to me, or ever think I could "handle" something like this. I don't even think that now. I'm not handling this; I can't.  I'm trying to get through it.

Especially today--Good Friday--I am thinking how suffering is sometimes part of God's plan. However I do take some issue with the somewhat popular comment I've heard that "it's probably for the best that this happened when it did."  Meaning, I take it, that if something was seriously wrong with Perpetua's health, it might have been better for her to die before birth.  But .. that's a real yes and no. Yes, I can see how the longer I knew about and loved and had this baby with me, the more painful it would be to let her go. But... and those who carried babies to term and lost them say this... I wish I could have seen her as she was supposed to be, and held her warm body close.  I really, really do.  To look into her eyes and have had a better goodbye.  Yet even though I didn't get that chance, I am so grateful, and so honored, to have carried her.

I've thought a lot about "carrying" since. Like today at the service, I received communion, getting to "carry" Him for a few minutes, asking Him to fill my great emptiness. Reflecting on Simon helping Jesus carry his cross. How carrying our crosses with His guides us towards salvation. Because yes, Christ opened heaven for us with his death, but our sufferings can be worthwhile too, pushing and pulling us towards our final goal. I can see that with me now... cuz by golly, heaven just got even more appealing to me this week... Even more to love up there now.  :)

I really have felt that Christ is carrying my cross with me, and also is carrying... me.  Like in pictures of Jesus, if He's not carrying a cross what is He carrying? A sheep! One of us. 

True confession time: I stole something.  Well, sorta.  You know when you get those missionary request mailings that include a (completely unrequested) "gift"; i.e. usually a million return address stickers with a reindeer and your name slightly misspelled?  Well, back in like 2005, I got this, attached to a calendar.

Turns out I owe this poor organization about a hundred bucks because I originally ripped open the envelope, said, "ooo good magnet," slapped it on the side of the fridge and forgot about it.  (If you have kids and keep a fridge primarily for its artwork display properties, you understand the eternal need for solid magnets.)  But a couple years later I actually looked at it, cut off the calendar, and fell in love with it.  I love the picture, Christ's expression ("I love this stupid sheep") and the scripture.  Yes, I would totally send them a check if I could remember where it came from... and if they stopped sending me a million return address stickers every year for "Mrs. Katy Dancusse."

Anyway.  :) One of the biggest things parenthood has done for me is to help me get a better idea of God's relationship with us, and I think that magnet typifies that for me.  Christ carries us, His sheep.  And the cross for us.  And hey, kids can be crosses, no?  But we love them so completely anyway, even if they loudly protest the good and reasonable and outstandingly fun plans we have for them, and instead insist on their own absurd ideas of what is really fun: sticking scissors in sockets, throwing rocks downstairs, etc.  And we take away the scissors and the rocks, and say no, you can't go on that particular sleepover with the crazy pitbull, and they wail and tantrum that it's sooo unfair.  Or like most recently, they become fixated on a display of shiny, empty Easter eggs, not comprehending that you are trying to take them away from Walmart to Chuck E Cheese, and how much better that's going to be.

I'm trying hard to focus on the fact that God must--somehow--have an even better plan for Perpetua and I than I had in mind, as completely inconceivable as that is for this one very upset mommy. Because hey, as much as I do love and do trust Him, I'm upset.  I have my moments of really??  Why this way?  Why this moment?  Why why why?  Not that I read the "Crucify Him!" parts of the Gospel today with any personal fervor, but... I'm at the very least, annoyed at my lack of understanding.  I want to see this amazing glory my daughter is experiencing, the same that's in store for me.  I know I'll get a tiny hint tomorrow at the Easter vigil.  I know He has something much better than an empty egg display for me at Walmart.  I know I'm meant for Chuck E Cheese.  In kiddie language, anyway.  Or heck, Disney World.  Heaven. 

I know we're all on our way there, and I'm grateful I can remember it even in this week of "Good" Fridays.  But for now, I find myself in the middle of that most overused "Footprints" poem:

I'm with my Father.  But I'm so tired. The beach looks so long from here. This cross is too big.  I'm too small for all of this.  So I look up to His strength, His love, and His plan and say:

Carry me.

Twinkle Twinkle Little Star

I have a lot to fess up to. Remember my last post? Yeah I barely do either. But basically it was me complaining that I didn't have time to write (well) all the things I wanted to.

This was one of them.

We had a day after Christmas surprise this year: a positive pregnancy test. Which was quite funny because, well you've read my Christmas post this year. :) Not a "method" surprise mind you; just one of those stupid moments of "oh you really do have to follow the rules, huh?" I had a whole post planned called "a conception conversation" kinda cheeky you know, with basically like, "How 'end of day' does 'end of day' have to be, huh?  Is there like 5% chance less of getting pregnant with every hour you wait?  Oh well, let's find out!" :) Also had a post joshing about how I had successfully found a way to truly stay a lactating Catholic even after this 18 month old finally weans, as opposed to a figurative the "tlc" Catholic, nourishing, nurturing woman I strive to be. I had posts like "top ten things not to say to a pregnant woman" such as to never say, "Well you're not that far along yet... still got a ways to go."  (Try five weeks of morning sickness and then tell a woman five weeks "isn't that far along." And I was going to announce the news with a post called:"What I really gave up for Lent": Soft cheeses.  Sushi.  (sniff) Shark.  (Okay, that wasn't too hard...) My figure.  Etc. :)

So yes, I've been pregnant. I confess that I hid from you months of intense morning sickness to wait for that magic "you can tell" second trimester. And then I was just waiting for the perfect time to blog the big news and use the line of prewritten posts. Not Ash Wednesday. Not during all the Pope excitement. Everyone was sick on that feast day. No time on St. Paddy's. First day of spring? C'mon, it's snowing. Finally I settled on Easter.

I was pregnant yesterday. Today, I'm not. In other words, this post is long and sad. Dear bloggee, do you like things that are long and sad? Very well. Read on, and read on bravely...

Bored and rushed but determined to keep all my prenatal appointments, I started my 1:45 appointment on Thursday with blood work and the inevitable pee test (Dixie cup and sharpee, really??) at my 17-week obgyn visit.

"Any spotting or swelling?"  "Nope!"  (I'm glancing at my I-Phone.  I could do this in my sleep.)  "Great!  Let's check on the little guy's heartbeat this time."  I hop up on the table, got gelled, and glance at my watch.  Dan's lunch break is over in 20 minutes, and he's spending it in the van with my two little ones.  Hoping this will be over soon, but hey, the heartrate is the fun part.

She slid the wand all over my belly, with no success.  This had happened to me before, and I chuckled with the midwife.  "Aw this just happened to me last week. Little rascals of this age love to swim away from my wand. I'll get you across the aisle to get a quick ultrasound heart read."

Of course I was a little nervous.  You always are in this sort of situation, just for form anyway.  But hey, another ultrasound of my cute little guy or gal! Maybe even to find out if it is a guy or a gal! Hubby needed to come for this! I headed out to van to explain lightly that "either my midwife could be slightly incompetent, or something is horribly wrong." I was being extreme. It's an ultrasound! What fun!!

Wish I could say my little ones were well-behaved as they trooped in with my husband. Games of chase led to chair climbing then to under-chair-tunneling. Then the Holy Grail: a water cooler. With lots of cups. Their behavior did not improve when we were taken to a small room with dimmed lights, where they discovered some tiny ants under a chair. They are such girls sometimes. Ants! Eeek!

"Hi, I'm Jill. Pleased to meet you. So have you been feeling movement?"

I had to tell the ultrasound tech that I hadn't.  Yet.  But like every other oh so subtle sign or symptom I could have picked up, there was truly never enough reason to get all worried. Not in my former way of sanely dealing with life anyway. Always obsessive about where I should be developmentally with my pregnancy and what to have and what to avoid, I'd looked it up. 16-22 weeks is a big window of time. Besides, I'd seen my little guy move three times before on ultrasound. No, I wasn't worried at all.

The tech's name was Jill. The name of my first best friend. My prayer warrior and fellow sister-mom today. A thought flashed "Gosh if anything was wrong, it's nice to have a Jill here." I noticed the thought, and put it aside.

No chasing needed today, the wand found my little one immediately. Classic profile, fetal pose, facing up. No wriggling around today. Must be sleepy. My last ultrasound I had the delight of seeing my little guy spring to his/her feet and jump!  I'd never seen a fetus stand upright before, so annoyed was my infant by the tap of the wand. After giggling I'd asked the tech to stop tapping as my little one seemed scared.  She stopped, and my baby settled back down to lay back, sucking its perfect hand with perfect lips. There's the baby now.  Perfectly still.  Still perfect.

My initial delight in seeing the sweet little hands and feet with ten perfect digits led quickly to horror. Where was the tiny flashing heart? I asked Jill. I asked her again. I saw the sheer concentration in the tech's face as she gently told me to relax and be patient.

This was not a normal response. Nor was it normal when the blood flow screen showed activity all around my baby, bu nothing within. Nor was the heart rate screen, which flatlined.

That's when I started to sob and beg incessantly for answers. I was suddenly on a tightrope, where one side was my status quo of maternity shopping and summer plans of great girth, and the other a pit of misery I could not see the bottom of. I think part of me still can't believe the side I fell off on.

My husband was there, mercifully and annoyingly. He was not the mini ultrasound afficidando I was. Long past I had fallen into despair, he sought to lovingly reassure me and in self-preservation delay his own plunge. Only after the second tech came in to "have a look" which ended abruptly with pursed lips and "get the midwife" and the midwife came in looking shell-shocked and she was saying something like I'm sorry and it's really rare but it can happen... all the while my preschooler and toddler were ever more loudly bewailing the presence of six ants, my younger one wanting to nurse and crying shrilly while my preschooler sought to enter the hallway. And dear Jill was blowing her nose and drying her eyes.

I wasn't crying anymore.  I pulled a "Office" movie comment on the midwife.  "Um, yeahhhh. If you could get a doctor, that would be great." I had found a tiny foothold in the precipice. I love my midwives. But Nothing was real till the doctor said it was. Not on Thursday.

The midwife seemed all too happy to comply. We were scurried through back halls to wait in different rooms. The looks on staff faces alone was a dead giveaway; they had apparently bee informed there was a "family coming through who's experiencing a loss."  But no, I hadn't seen the doctor yet.

Then we did. Cecilia immediately grabbed and employed the stapler on every available paper surface. The two women in the room didn't care. Nothing is worse for discipline than grief.

She said the words while I was trying to latch on my greedy and thoroughly annoyed toddler for a nurse so I didn't see her face as she said the words. She was blunt. "I'm sorry but it's a second trimester miscarriage."

I had the natural response I think: Are. You. Sure???  Her reply: "You saw the ultrasound yourself." The ultrasound where the techs refused to confirm the unbelievable stillness I saw. The perfect little head that nodded slightly in the ripples the wand created, then settled back between the perfect little hands. Not like my last three ultrasounds of gasp-worthy cuteness (for me): head-scratching and rolling and yes even jumping, and sucking thumbs and flexing feet. Not my bouncing baby boy or girl.  Here's the jumping pic:

"I'm getting you in for an emergency D&C tomorrow morning. Got to rush it because it's late in the afternoon and we have no good idea how long this had been inside you like this. Could have been a week or two.  Bear with me..."

D&C??? Tomorrow morning!?!? No. From then till now the air of unreality set in. I got on the phone with Dr. Carpentier, the only Creighton doctor in the area (two hours from me), but the first doctor I'd ever met to care so deeply about life from the moment of conception.

And like my other doctor, though with much more evident sorrow, he was recommending a D&C. Dilation and curettage, scraping and suctioning out the womb I'd carfully vitamined and avoided herbal tea for. An abortion procedure. I mentioned this weeping to the rushing and scheduling doctor, on hold on two phones. "No it's not an abortion procedure. The fetus is deceased." She should really bottle that bedside manner...

There's an odd blur that's takes over when you're rushing towards disaster. Turns out time flies when you're terrified too. The blur held on while I called my parents to come. Now. Take my kids. Please!!!! It held on while I told my oldest two at the kitchen table where I grew up that their sibling had gone to heaven. I held my 9 year old while she sobbed, so disappointed there would be no baby in August. I tried again and again to refuse the dollar my oldest was utterly determined to give me, until I realized that in her grief, she grabbed the dearest thing she had near her to console me.

Dan and I then drove slowly through tears, somehow ending up at Chelos for a soup and a sandwich. Only had till midnight to eat, and my Crohns is cruel when I have to fast. I choked on my favorite soup and stared my burger into a chilled, hardened mass. Putting food in my mouth seemed every bit as unnatural as trying to put it in my ears.

We went to church. To kneel and weep before Jesus in the blessed Sacrament in exposition. To pray aloud for ourselves and each other and our separated family. To give the baby God gave us back to Him, who held my child in heaven as surely as I still carried the tiny body on earth. I have rarely been so grateful for my faith. For having a God who is big enough to handle my rage, fatherly enough to hold me through it, and good and wise enough to know exactly the right thing to do for my ultimate happiness, even when I could not disagree more.

Yesterday started normally. I held an empty hope it would continue that way. But then my parents came. And my husband drove me to Women and Infants hospital where we valey parked our ancient car and admissions gave me an "s" tag for surgery beside the nursing moms' store. Pink balloons were being carried while I walked past the spot I had put my youngest in a cars seat for the first time to take her home. We went to floor 2. The non-delivery floor.

I was first informed that my husband could not come with me since they had been having problems with men fainting during their wife's IV insertion. (Guys, really? :) But fortunately God had picked out an angel of a nurse for me. In my rather vast experience of nurses, it seems about a third are heavenly beings of comfort that somehow walk this earth. And Dan got right in and handled my IV very well.

I don't think I stopped crying once while conscious at the hospital.  So when the D&C surgeon/abortionist asked, "How are we doing today?"... I mean, I originally was hoping to say something profoundly pro-life or something.  But it came out very simply.  "Oh, we are so sad!" He put on a convincingly sympathetic expression; "I understand."

I smiled a bit. "Please be gentle with my uterus doctor; I might need it again." He grinned. "And please be gentle with my baby. We love him so much."

He consented to a last ultrasound; my angel nurse had insisted and was already pulling the little machine in. It was a smaller and briefer glimpse, but just as conclusive. "Nothing. I'm sorry." He couldn't give me a picture, but Jill had. "Are you really sure though?" she had asked. Of course I'm really sure. This is the last picture of my beautiful kid.  If I had my way, I would crash a computer full of photos of their birthdays and trikes and laughs and Christmases. I wil gratefully take what I can get.

After I'd wept in the arms of two strangers, the nurse and the (female:) chaplain who both wept with me, I was finally given a sedative. Well it was supposed to be. It seemed to relax me just enough to quiet my sobs and weaken my body and relax my intellect to let go of the chief inhibition I'd been fighting while rendering me most unable to complete it: to fight to save the baby I had already lost.  In other words, to make a run for it.

So when I was wheeled away to the OR and away from my husband, my rational brain that sadly knew my only other option was to wait for a sudden and incomplete labor, delivering my baby sometime and somewhere soon and then going for a D&C anyway.. Well that part shut down. And my reptilian, primal brain stem which sensed my symptom-free body (no spotting, no cramping, no nothing) was being wheeled in to evacuate the beloved contents of my womb, I panicked like a child and fought like a mother bear to leave, shaking uncontrollably, too "sedated" to stop. (I really have to get the name of that most useless drug.)  Man, I'm both totally embarrassed and proud to think of it now... like seriously, Katie? You go girl!!" Every cell of my body screamed that this was totally uncool, completely not kosher, and SO WRONG. 

So I guess I can't really blame them for flat boards suddenly rising from under the table to strap me down, cruciform. My hands were pried from being clamped around my belly and strapped down. Ankles too. Doctors and nurses were scrubbing down and suiting up, some vaguely sad, others slightly annoyed, all committed to the task at hand. The D&C specialist's face appeared through my wild tears: "You have to cooperate. Deep breaths!" And my nose and mouth were cupped.

I told my baby I loved him. I breathed His name.

No sooner did I sense light from under my heavy eyelids then I realized I was sobbing again. (I overheard, "Oh no, here we go again...") I was empty. My belly was deflated. My baby was gone. I begged to hold him/her and was told this was both impossible and undesirable. I begged to differ, to no avail. Someone handed me a rolled up warm blanket which I rocked and pet and hugged and cuddled till chaplain Nancy cradled me in her arms. She joked that she wasn't a priest but Pope Francis might change that. She prayed that God would make my baby into an angel to watch over me. She promised me He wouldn't have let my baby suffer. She said she sensed my little one was an imp, and that he was now playing with his sibling Gabriel whom I'd lost to four years ago in a very early miscarriage. "You see! They're not alone anymore, they are together now! Maybe that's why this happened even..." Nancy theology was quite iffy. She was just perfect.

Dan came. Meds wore off. Nausea came. And lots of vomiting. Sleep came on and off, cuddled by Dan's side, cradling the quilted teddy bear memory case I'd been given to take home.

I got home. I staggered through the door, flashed a bravely fake thumbs-up to my kids, thanked my parents, begged my mom to tuck me in, said "it was so... Awful" and went to sleep.

It was awful. This is awful. But I fully see the many ways it could have been more awful. I came home to four beautiful, healthy girls to cuddle. My grieving husband was somehow at the fateful ultrasound. I had the best possible nurse, Catherine J (ask for her if you go to Women and Infants, she rocks!) I didn't physically suffer at all, or suddenly go into labor in front of my kids, or have to birth my baby alone, without warning, in a rush of blood on a toilet like I had last time, like most miscarrying moms have to. Yes, a woman's heart is big enough to somehow survive even that.

I don't think my little one suffered either. In life I got to see him or her looking so playful and happy. He or she was always surrounded by love. I held him to the end and longer still. And forever will in my heart.

I'm also keeping the Puffs company in business. (Note wimpy attempt at humor)  Tears are leaking from my eyes even when I don't notice them. I know things will get better. I'm not sure exactly when.

Please pray for us. But don't worry excessively for me. I am trying hard to bounce back with every inch of my everyway deflated self.  Doesn't bounce very well but I'm at it.  I know wonderful people. Like yourself.:) I have lots of kids to love on. And if it comes to it, I know there are better products than "cookoo sedative." Heck, I applied for a job last night.  Okay, then I couldn't sleep because every thought makes me cry (how I was going to tell that person, survive that shower, how I can lie on my stomach, where to return my new pregnancy clothes, to donate or store the infant clothes, how my poor Nana was so excited about this.)  And so I stayed up till four writing this... But still.  I'm trying.

One last sad but sweet moment. Well two.  One was that the choir and orchestra was practicing the songs of Easter in the main church as we knelt alone in the chapel: "He has risen up in triumph from the darkness of the grave." And before, as we finally exited the obgyn office with our awful news and awfully behaved kids, the two little one suddenly started to sing. Together. I'm not joking, they don't do that... Instead they fight over whose turn it is to sing or what to sing. They learned that trick from their older sisters. But instead today they sang together in precious lisping voices "tickle tickle wittle stah" all the way down the hall. And I felt like they were singing an innocent baby-friendly dirge for the sibling they don't know they lost but will get to know in heaven.

I miss you tonight, little one. You aren't inside me anymore. I'm so empty, like a tomb. But in a week we will celebrate the glory that comes from the tomb. The end of death. Eternal life. With you, dear one, and your equally dear sibling.

Twinkle twinkle, little stars. I'll always wonder what you are. Sensitive? Athletic? Witty? Mellow? What your smiles look like, your laughs sound like, your skin feels like, and the color of your hair and eyes. How much I want to hold you. How certainly I will. How grateful that I believe I will with every fiber of my fractured heart.  Pray for us as we all long to go Home someday with you.

"He has showed you, O man, what is good; and what does the LORD require of you, but to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God?" Micah 6:8

I used to think the above verse was God being a trifle obnoxious.  But I finally think I "get" this verse and find it very comforting.  It reminds me that God truly knows what is good, as impossible as His version of good is to understand at times.  My job isn't to figure out what's best for the universe; that's His job.  Mine is to be just, and merciful, humbling holding my Father's hand as He walks with me on the journey He has chosen for me.