Sarah Therese

As any of you who have read this blog before probably know, I make many more re-birth announcements than I ever thought I would. 

Way back when I started this blog I thought I would chronicle fun and moving stories of how we were growing our family.  I never imagined it would turn out so differently, or that we would be growing our family - in Heaven.  Yet, here I am again, wanting to relate the blessed and sad, the death and Heavenly life of another precious little one who has gone Home to wait for us In Eternity. 

I realize that many of you didn't even know I was expecting again as we kept it quiet and were only just starting to tell people.   

It was another traumatic experience however I have so much peace. I want to, in a special way, thank St. Philomena for her intercession and I know she was close by me during this time. 

On Monday, June 10, 2013,  I started to think things weren't right with the baby (though I had a nagging intuition for a while before that). I went to the ER after experiencing some troubling cramps and asked my husband to prepare the kids just in case.  At the ER it was confirmed that there was no heartbeat or movement and that the baby had not developed much beyond 10 weeks.  ( I was technically 12 weeks on Monday).  I explained the situation to the ER doc and my past history.  He was the SAME ONE who gave me such a hard time when we lost Claire.  I prayed for him.  He was much mellower this time and didn't make any comments that were hurtful.  Thank you, God. 

The whole time I kept praying "I trust You.  I Trust You." and I asked Jesus to allow me to surrender to suffering that He may send.  St Philomena's intercession was very evident as she made it clear several weeks ago that she would like to be a special player in my family's journey towards Holiness.  (I have had  a devotion to her since I was in High School).  Unfortunately the doctors figured they knew better than I did so they sent me home.  I knew from past experience I had at least 12 hours before things would get more dicey so I went home at 1am.  The next morning I was up by 6am and calling my OB.  He had off that day and I was instructed by the staff to wait until Wednesday morning for a D & C.  I calmly explained that I had no reason to believe my body would wait that long.  (And honestly, a D & C, while safer for my condition, is not ideal as I prefer to baptize and anoint my children.)  I was told by an irate nurse to "just go back to the ER then."   I abandoned the situation to God, praying over and over "Jesus I surrender to You completely, take care of everything"   and I headed back to the ER.  My dear friend, you know her as "Doula-Bestie-Extraordinaire", who was with me for all the trauma with Lolek's loss (she was literally measuring cups of blood as I hemorrhaged) met me at the ER. By now I felt as though I was in early labor in earnest. 

Thankfully after about 2 hours in the waiting room a Tech-Assistant whom I had befriended last time I was in the ER (a few weeks ago for a suspected DVT - it was not! ) recognized me.  He came out to see why  I was there.  I explained the situation.  He disappeared and 5 minutes later returned with a wheelchair. "You shouldn't be out here" he said and he told me he found me a room with the "really good doctor who listens."  What a blessing!!!  He was right too.  She (the doctor) is the first who has EVER listened and grasped my situation.  After explaining everything to her she responded by saying, "There is no way I can send you home."  I was so relieved I thanked her for understanding and for listening to me and burst into tears. 

She arranged with the OB on call to find me a room for observation to stay in until the scheduled surgery, should I somehow make it that long.  I waited for 13 hours (DBE and I managed to find creative ways to entertain ourselves!)  in the ER before a room on the pre-surgical unit was secured.  They gave me morphine which slowed the progression of labor.  I was of course not allowed to eat but I snuck some water.  At 9pm I was moved to the pre-surgical unit for "observation."  I explained to the nurse what to expect and let her know that I was progressing more rapidly and doubted I'd make it to the morning.  She looked slightly concerned as she wasn't an L & D nurse and had limited mother/baby experience.  By 1am I was extremely uncomfortable.  I decided worrying was useless and once again abandoned the situation to God.  I was prepared to deliver my baby, I had all my baptismal supplies and a small box for her body.  But if God so chose, I was ready for the D & C and would be at peace with it.  I Trusted His Providence.  I was able to sleep for half an hour.  Then my water broke and I knew what was to come. 

I will spare you the gory details.  Lets just say, I delivered Sarah's tiny perfect body.  Baptized and anointed her.  Kissed her and held her.  Then carefully, Doula-Bestie placed her in the little box.  Being the amazing Doula and friend that she is, she had spent the night with me. She donned gloves and prepared for the worst, which very shortly followed.  I talked the shell shocked nurse through what to do. (how many chux pads to get, what to expect, how I needed to be upright, that I would need a bag of fluid to help my BP and heart rate as I was already mildly tachycardic...   I hemorrhaged badly, as I expected.  I of course retained the placenta.  After a very short amount of time the nurse and the tech realized  I wasn't exaggerating about what I told them to expect and how bad it would get quickly.  They had to call the OB on call 3 times before they convinced him I didn't need to be "observed" and that I would in fact bleed to death unless he came in for an emergency D & C.  So after an hour I was finally brought down to the OR for the procedure. 

I am glad to say I retained my sense of humor through it all, and managed to make the nervous nurse and

tech laugh.  The nurse thanked me for "teaching her so much" and explained that she had no experience with "mother-baby" emergencies as she mostly dealt with patients who were there for bariatric surgery or occasionally a heart procedure.  Rarely did she get "real emergencies" like me.  I of course mashed on my uterus the entire time, knowing it would at least help with the clotting and hemorrhaging, and remembering that it also helps me to not pass out.  I am infinitely thankful for "DBE" who was helping with everything and helped to explain to the nurses what my situation was - as she witnessed it all first hand and close up the last time.  (But this time she could at least wear gloves and didn't have to call 9-1-1, I was already in the hospital!)

Eventually I was prepped and the anesthesiologist satisfied.  The OB showed up, I explained I had retained the placenta and would continue to hemorrhage.  I reminded them that I could not have Pitocin as it increased blood clot risk and asked to be given lovenox or heparin immediately following the surgery to prevent another PE.  They agreed. 

What happened next was quite a remarkable and blessed experience for me.  

All day I had been praying the Stations of the cross.  I love them.  I was wheeled into the OR but not put under immediately.  Instead, for some reason they prepped me while I was awake.  I was laid on the operating table, my arms were stretched out to either side and strapped down. I was strapped to the table.  My legs were stretched out in front of me.  I was unable to mash my uterus and felt myself bleeding even more uncontrollably.  I was in so much physical pain.  And then they removed my gown to put on all the monitors.  I lay there, in the shape of a cross, bleeding, naked, and in pain.  I was so moved all I could pray was "Thank you."  Finally they brought the anesthesia over and I was put to sleep.  Is it possible to be facing ones mortality (yet again!) and yet feel privileged?  Because in that moment, as crazy as it sounds, that is what I felt. 

When it was all over I was given my lovenox, it was confirmed I had retained the placenta.  I was eventually brought back  upstairs.  I slept a little and woke up to call the Funeral Home. I was able to sleep holding Sarah's box.  I made sure to keep her body moist.  The wonderful Funeral director came to take her body and I spoke with him for a while.  He has managed all our babies' burial services and is so kind and compassionate.  I cried healthy, sad tears of finality as I handed her to him and he and his wife left my room.  

I am now home recovering.  I am more sore and in more pain now, as I am experiencing the effects of the surgery -  they seem to have positioned my legs badly and I have torn and pulled muscled in my thighs and bruises on my arms where they strapped me too tight.  I have shortness of breathe upon walking even a few steps, and dizziness which will wane as I build back my blood supply.  After having not eaten for 36 hours I am gaining my appetite back.  I am very pleased to say it has been 48 hours post hemorrhage and I have not thrown a clot.  I thank God and St Philomena for her intercession!

I  feel as though I should be falling apart.  But I am not.  I recognize that I miss my baby and have moments of healthy grief over my loss.  But early on in the pregnancy it occurred to me that I should not pray for her to be allowed to be born full term and alive, especially if that is not what God had planned for her.  Who am I to deny any of my children Heaven?! So instead I prayed that God's Will be accomplished and that I be given the Grace to accept it, whatever it would be.  I believe He answered those prayers tenfold. 

I can see His Hand at work in all the circumstances surrounding Sarah's delivery and death, and in the way I was allowed to suffer, without the fear I thought I would face.  

I am human, and find myself battling fear of another Pulmonary Embolism every so often, and dealing with some hormone-induced anxiety whenever I get short of breathe, but that is nothing compared to what I think many people expect me to me experiencing.  (and after my PE I have found that a level of anxiety associated with symptoms and past experiences is normal.  So I can recognize it for what it is and move on).

I can only attribute it to God's goodness and His Mercy and to St Philomena's help and I praise God for His goodness. 

Some links you may find of interest after reading this story: 

St. Philomena - story and devotion 

Novena of Surrender to the Will of God

Where all our babies' Names are inscribed - The Book of Life

Here We Go Again - Bing Mary

When I first started this blog I was newly pregnant with Claire. I thought I would happily blog about the joys and trials of pregnancy and then about the adventure of having 5 and hopefully more children.  I was blissfully ignorant of the world of infant loss and miscarriage and naively assumed since my first 4 pregnancies were uneventful that all mine would be.  Boy was I wrong.

At that time my biggest fear in life was miscarriage.  I didn't know how anyone survived it.  Then Claire died and I learned that I was strong enough to hold my tiny baby in my hands and attend her burial service.  Then I figured she was my "1 in 5" - one in every five pregnancies statistically ends in miscarriage.  I felt relieved that I'd "never have to go through that again."  Until Francis.  He taught me that nothing was certain and that all life, even if very brief, is a gift to be thankful for, and that blessings can come in very unexpected ways.  I secretly hoped I was done with loss and pondered how "those women" - the ones with multiple losses - endure.  I pondered this until Lolek's death and all that I went through facing my own mortality squarely in the face.  Losing Lolek taught me how to surrender and quite simply changed the paradigm through which I view life, faith, prayer, and God's Will.

Imagine then how it felt to find out that despite doing everything spot on perfect as far as NFP and avoiding pregnancy goes, I felt when that faint blue line showed up on the EPT.  Thy Will be Done!  That was the prayer for the little one whom we named "Baby Bing."  Thy Will be Done.  Not please let this one live, or don't make me go through another loss again, nor I'll name the baby after a really cool saint if he or she can just live, or even, I've had enough suffering, God, can You please just let this be normal?  Simply Thy Will be Done, often with an added, and please help me be surrendered to Your Will, and only content to know that whatever comes of me or this pregnancy is what You want for my own sanctification. There is freedom in praying that way, and it took quite an ordeal to teach it to me.  I was happy and content to be pregnant again.

Of course it wasn't a piece of cake.  Thanks to Lolek and my subsequent PE I immediately needed to start injections (self administered) of blood thinners.  I couldn't use my beloved midwives and instead needed to use not only an OB/GYN but also a hematologist and internal medicine doctor  as well.  This is quite a sacrifice for a girl who does not like doctors (no offense - there are some fantastic ones!) and who thinks birth is a natural, normal event not usually requiring medical intervention.  Well, unfortunately I am the exception to that rule.  So it was off to the races and blood draws and early ultrasounds and doctor after doctor.

Through it all I made sure to make memories with this baby.  I didn't know how long I had with him under my heart, so I made a point to consciously make memories.  Bing and I did Christmas shopping together.  We spent Advent together, he was with us on our family outing to "Bethlehem" and the live Nativity.  I am so thankful that we made these memories because it was at one of the ultrasounds that it was determined that Baby Bing was not growing.  In fact he barely made it beyond implantation.   Bing was conceived and lived long enough to begin the whole process of developing what would be his gestational sac and placenta but he ceased to develop.  God wanted another soul.  This is called a "blighted ovum" in medical terms.  My body recognized pregnancy and since the sac continued to develop I endured 10 weeks of pregnancy and all the wonderful puking, nauseated, hormonal bliss associated with it.

Since I have a a very well documented history of almost dying after a loss I was advised to go for a D & C.  I was hesitant at first, wanting to make absolutely certain that a teeny baby wasn't "hiding."  (In early ultrasounds it IS possible to receive a blighted Ovum diagnosis only to see a baby a week or two later.  From my research this seems to happen about 40-50% of time depending on the date of the "diagnosing" ultrasound.)  After confirming that there was no longer a baby, and that the sac was losing its integrity, I agreed to do a D & C.  There was no baby to bury and I was hoping it might avoid some of the drama I had experienced in the past. Unfortunately that wasn't entirely the case.  Drama seems to be a specialty of mine.

While waiting to hear from the OB to schedule the procedure I cracked a tooth and needed emergency root canal surgery.  While in the endontist's chair, after having my mouth numbed and all the scary stuff that was to somehow fit in my mouth explained to me, I started cramping.  I excused myself and went to restroom.  Yes.  My body was beginning its miscarriage "labor."  I got myself as ready as possible and hurried back to the dentist's chair.  They continued with the root canal while I silently counted how long the contraction cramps lasted and prayed I wouldn't hemorrhage in his chair.  (Hemorrhaging is a specialty of mine.)  As soon as he was done (it took longer than planned as there were some complications - of course) I called my OB who wasn't there. So I headed to the ER as per her earlier instructions.  Once there I spoke with the OB who was filling in for her.  He did not understand, nor try to understand, my "special" circumstances and sent me home.  So I went to a different ER.  They were fantastic and understood right away why I was there.  They didn't want to have me come in after it was too late and need a transfusion (been there, done that!).  The magnificent doctor was prepping me for an emergency D & C.  Except it was midnight and the OB on call didn't want to come in.  In fact, he (or she) refused.  The ER doc valiantly tried to convince them otherwise.  To no end.  His hands were tied.  He was so frustrated and truly was concerned for my health.  "I don't want to see you back in here in an hour or two needing bags of blood."  I was grateful that he understood my situation.  But I had to leave.  I was scared.

I managed a few hours of sleep and called my OB's office as soon as it opened.  Thankfully she was back.  "Go to the ER NOW."  Were my instructions.  I refrained from grumbling "I tried that already!"  Doula Bestie Extraordinairre, who had spent the night with me in the second ER met me at my OB's hospital.  It was very nice.  They "got it."  They understood.  They knew exactly why I was there and why I should not be allowed to miscarry at home.  I felt better.  The ER doc dispensed with what he called "unnecessary exams" and got right to the point.  "No use waiting, we need to get you on the OR schedule and get your OB over here.  I'm on it!"  and he literally bounced out the door.  From then on they all knew I was a ticking time bomb.

The funny thing about miscarriage is that despite what doctors tell you, its childbirth. You have contractions, your body follows the same pattern it would if you were laboring to give birth to a healthy full term baby.  Everyone expects tons of blood and guts but that doesn't happen until your body is actually expelling the contents of the uterus  - and if your baby was far enough long, you will birth the baby first and then the rest - just like normal, healthy, childbirth.  Before that you will generally lose your mucus plug, then perhaps spot. But not much more.  Unfortunately its been my experience that miscarriage and second trimester loss contraction cramps are WORSE than the ones I endured giving birth to my live children.

I was offered pain meds.  They made me loopy and able to ignore the pain, but they didn't stop the pain.  The day wore on.  I hadn't eaten since 2pm the day before.  The contraction cramps were getting closer together and more intense.  Doula Bestie was keeping an eye on me. Eventually I was transferred to the pre-Op area and prepped for the procedure.  The contractions were right on top of one another.  It was a race against time, and if time ran out, well at least I was in a hospital   I knew what would happen - and it would not be pretty.  I was terrified of hemorrhaging.  Terrified.  I tried to pray Thy Will be Done, but its hard when you're scared.  And I was scared.  Eventually I gave up.  Hold my hand, Mama I prayed in my head. The last time I had been in the hospital Mary truly became my mother, and she helped me surrender.  I knew she could do it again.  I was increasingly uncomfortable - no rest or relief between contractions.  Then the hot and cold flashes started.  I denied to myself that I was in transition.  Then I hiccuped and Doula Bestie said, I bet you're in transition   (She's good) and I continued to deny it  - which of course if what every childbirth educator worth her salt will tell you is "self doubt" - a sure sign of transition.  So I denied that too.  Despite my valiant attempts at denial (I do that during all my births) I knew I was really up against the clock.  I fought the fear.  I needed to surrender it.  I didn't want to. (Why didn't I learn this lesson well enough the first time around!?)  The anesthesiologists were coming.  Whew.  I began to think I made it just under the gun. And then it happened.  The hemorrhaging started.  The anesthesiologists were at my room and there I was, losing it - in every way possible.  I started shaking and burst into tears.  Poor Doula Bestie leaped into action.  She worked to calm me down, and explained to the bewildered and startled anesthesiology team why I was freaking out and bleeding everywhere.  They got a move on.  One gave me a tranquilizer which I think was actually the sedative because things got fuzzy pretty quickly after that.  "Let's get you into the OR right now and take care of this" said another.  Doula Bestie whispered everything would fine and I finally surrendered. I could feel myself continuing to hemorrhage as they wheeled me down the hallway.  "Ok, Mama, He wins." I thought to myself.  "I get it now."

And then I woke up.

Groggy in post-op.  I blinked.  I didn't really remember anything except random faces in the OR, bright lights and an oxygen mask.  That was it.  I noticed that my hair had been taken down and arranged nicely around me on the pillow.  I was nauseated and had a massive headache, but I wasn't bleeding profusely.  I was on my second bag of pitocin and I could feel it working its magic.  It was over.

I learned an important lesson thanks to Bing. Surrender means that you must surrender even your fear.  And that new fears need to be identified and surrendered too. Fear prevents you from accepting God's Will.  I had much peace during the short time I had with Bing and that was because I was actively seeking abandonment to God's Will and total surrender.  When I had to face my biggest fear, and probably the only one I had left, I was paralyzed.  I was too afraid to Trust God fully.  So I turned to His Mother.  She got me there.  But He first allowed me to experience the very thing of which I was most afraid - because I needed to learn that I must surrender even my fear and my emotional wounds to Him.  It was a powerful lesson, and one I can say that I am thankful for.

The kids asked to name the baby "Bing Mary" and I couldn't argue it.  Somehow it fits.  He will have a place in our family just like the brothers and sister who preceded him into Eternity.  I miss him.  I wanted to hold him.  I wanted to watch him grow and learn and change and to see the person he was to become.  My heart grieves for his loss, even as I can have peace knowing that God had other plans, and His plans, though mysterious, are perfect.

I miss baby Bing, as I miss all my children who have been privileged to look on the majesty of God's Face before me.  I realize I am one of "those women" now  - the very ones I was afraid of becoming- the ones who have endured loss after loss.  And somehow I can find peace with it.  Somehow, and it is only through the Grace of God, I know that I am and will continue to be OK, even if I must face more losses in the future.  I know now that nothing is outside of His Will and that He works for our good, and in the future, I will heed the lessons my teeny baby taught me - to surrender fully to His loving and perfect Will - no matter what.

Lolek's Friends

As promised! I want to introduce you to these amazing women!

It has taken me a little longer to post than I would have liked, but sick children demanded my attention!

Now that all are healthy again, I want to take some time and introduce you to the ladies who have become my "Virginia Family."  You already met my doula-bestie-extraordinaire, but I absolutely MUST tell you about the rest of the "family!"

After Lolek was born and I was rushed to the hospital, Doula - Bestie -Extraor... wait, how about we use DBE?  OK, so she put out the word on Facebook and phone for prayers.  Immediately and unbeknownst to me, ladies started praying and organizing.  One, we shall call her Fortitude, even came over and checked on the house, made sure Lolek's body was OK (his body needed to be kept on a wet towel in his special box  in the refrigerator.)  Well, they were preparing to bring meals and to help prepare for Lolek's burial when I ended up BACK in the hospital with the PE and Pneumonia.  That's when "Lolek's Friends" was really born.

As I was getting hooked up to heart monitors and being told to not move, my poor shell-shocked husband was left juggling children, and home, and cleaning up the incredible mess almost dying makes.  (who knew?!)  He was sleep deprived, worried, and all of a sudden Mr. Mom.  So DBE started a thread on Facebook. It included friends - some of whom I hadn't met yet - some from out of state, and  my mom and mother in law.  These ladies got to work.  DBE would visit me in the hospital and post updates.  They used a meal planning website and organized meals for a MONTH for my family.  Dear Hubby was so relieved to not have to cook while I was in the hospital, and I couldn't cook once I was out.  They took turns coming to visit and brought me yarn and gummi bears (all I could stomach eating for a while).  They prayed with me, they prayed for me, and then they cleaned my house!!  Once I was home, one dear "sister" whom we shall call Battwoman (dont ask) drove down from upstate New York with her 3 children and baby to help us out for a week!! Talk about love!

Lolek's burial was approaching, and I was back in the hospital.  We wanted to celebrate his short life.  My family was driving in, and I KNEW my house must have been a disaster.  Poor Hubby could only juggle so much, on top of grieving for his baby son, and worrying about me.  Never fear!  One night, I am told, women and husbands, kids and acquaintances, descended on my home.  They deep cleaned, scrubbed, bagged clothes, organized closets, switched the seasons for the kids' clothes, cleaned out the fridge, nuked my bathroom, vacuumed, dusted, decluttered - my husband said he was in awe.  Some of them he had never met before, yet here they were, completely cleaning our house, bringing us meals, watching the kids so he could come visit me.  I felt so very loved!  I felt taken care of!  I was so very humbled.

 Most of them attended Lolek's burial.  The photos that one of the ladies took - she should be a professional photographer and we shall call her Jules.  She is from across the street and our kids are friends - the photos showed so many people! So many children! There were about 20 children at Lolek's burial!  Just children! Sitting in the hospital, looking at the photographs I was filled with such gratitude.  What a blessing these ladies and their families are!

Soon a facebook group was formed where we could expand and pray and help not just ME but each other.  It was suggested that we name it "Lolek's Friends" because he was the person who brought us all together.  I cried.  How beautiful! My little Lolek had a purpose!

I pray for his intercession daily, and I know others who do too.  They have told me he is strong intercessor.  One of the ladies, we shall call her Patience, wrote a Litany to Lolek Pio.  I have included it at the end of this post.

If only we knew at the time how much we would need each other for support and prayer and help.  Each lady, I don't think there were any exceptions, had a cross to bear this last year that required the support and the prayers and the assistance of all of us.  We aren't talking small things here either, we're talking big, scary, life changing, and painful things.  Its as if God used Lolek's death and my health crisis to bring us together because He, in His Wisdom, knew we ALL would need it.

I am so thankful to Him and so thankful for these ladies!  Just this last week I got a call from "Fortitude" who took it upon herself to order a headstone for Lolek to let me know it was in.  She knew it was heavy on my heart and God gave her some special Graces that prompted her to order a stone for him.  I can't tell you how incredibly happy it made me.  I wasn't able to be there for his burial but can now be there for the stone to be set, and then Lolek's Friends can celebrate not only his life, but the comfort and joy and strength that he allows us to give each other.

Before closing, I would like to call your attention to Healer in Your Heart . Vanessa or "Patience" is one of Lolek's Friends.  Last December her husband was diagnosed with a Grade 3 Mixed Brain Tumor.  Some of Lolek's Friends have formed Team McArthur and we are working and fundraising to help the family through this time.  Please take a look at the website and offer your prayers and support.

Vanessa is also the Friend who wrote the Litany of St. Lolek Pio, which I pray daily for these ladies, their intentions, and their families.

Litany of St. Lolek Ricketts

By Vanessa McArthur

Lord, have mercy... Lord, have mercy
Christ, have mercy... Christ, have mercy
Lord, have mercy... Lord, have mercy

Perfect gift... pray for us
Intention of God... pray for us
Consecrated by God... pray for us
Perfectly formed... pray for us
Fearfully made... pray for us
Fruit of the womb... pray for us
Knitted in the womb... pray for us
Welcomed gift... pray for us
Answer to a petition... pray for us
Fullfillment of a request... pray for us
Arrow in a quiver... pray for us
Gracious blessing... pray for us
Heritage from the Lord... pray for us
Gift from the Lord... pray for us
Dweller of Heaven... pray for us
Saved by Christ's mercy... pray for us
Called from the womb... pray for us
Called by name... pray for us
Baby Green Chocolate... pray for us

Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world... Have mercy on us
Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world... Have mercy on us
Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world... Have mercy on us

Let us pray.
Almighty God, in your infinite wisdom and love you brought Lolek Ricketts into the lives of his parents, siblings, and friends. You chose him to be a beacon of hope and light to all who longed to meet him, and used his spirit to bring together a group of faithful friends. As we pray for each other on earth, may we have the help of his intercession in heaven. We ask this through Christ our Lord.
Amen.

Its Been a Year, Lolek Pio

Its been a year.  A whole year.  I haven't been able to blog about it until now.  A year ago tonight my tiny baby son was born at home, Eternally Asleep.  He was so tiny.  I was only 13 weeks along with him.  His nickname was "Baby Green Chocolate" and we gave him the name of Lolek Pio.  My dearest friend was there with me.  She is a doula by trade and to have her there with me was such a blessing and such a grace.  We had found out the night before that Lolek was no longer alive when she accompanied me to the Emergency Room.  She held my hand as the ultrasounds tech's silence spoke volumes.  She drove me home and we collected supplies.  She spent the night at my house as my kids spent the night at hers with her amazing Husband.  (My husband was away that weekend and didn't get back until after Lolek had been born).  She taught me how to crochet the next day as we waited for contractions to intensify.  She helped me clean his tiny body after he was born and she helped me Baptize him.  And then she basically saved my life.

After Lolek was born I had about a half an hour with him.  I held him, cleaned him, anointed and baptized him and kissed him.  I had prepared a tiny coffin for his body and I placed him in it after I had held him as long as I could.  My friend took a few pictures of him for me, so I could remember him (like I could ever forget).  After half an hour and after he was safely in the coffin, I realized that I didn't feel well and that I hadn't delivered a placenta.  When he was born he was attached to his umbilical cord and I had to cut it.  So I knew there was a placenta and a cord that needed to be delivered - albeit small ones.  Lolek's coffin was placed in the fridge on a shelf I had cleared for him (I know it sounds wrong, but its the best thing to do if you are waiting for a funeral director to come and take the baby's body for burial arrangements.)  I told my friend that I hadn't delivered a placenta.  Thats when I realized that I was bleeding  - a LOT.

Things happened very quickly after that.  With Lolek Pio anointed, baptized, and safely awaiting the funeral director my mind was able to shift to survival - and that is exactly what it needed to do because I was hemorrhaging - badly.  In an instant my friend switched from concerned bestie to super-doula.  She got me into my bed flat on my back.  No sign of a placenta or cord.  She felt my uterus.  Way too soft.  She mashed on it - lots more blood.  Lots.  By now there was blood everywhere.  It was in the bathtub it was in a garbage bag we had placed over the toilet for the very purpose of collecting it (midwife trick).  It was all over my bedroom - buckets, bowls, if I hadn't been feeling like passing out I would have made a Halloween joke.  Doula extraordinaire called my midwife.  She talked her through a few things to check.  It wasnt looking good.  Then my midwife instructed her to measure the blood.  Yes, my dear dear friend was elbow deep in my blood.  I cannot express to you the very deep humility I felt and appreciation I have for her.  She measured: 1 cup, 2 cups, 3 cups, 4 cups, 5 cups, 6 cups....and there was still more.  After measuring six cups the midwife cut her off.  She was concerned.  Still no placenta.  By now I was mashing and squeezing my poor uterus - trying to keep it as firm as possible.  I knew if I didn't I would quite literally bleed to death on my bed.  "I think we need to call 9-11," I said.  My friend agreed. She called.  I mashed.

She took over mashing as I heard the sirens.  Sirens.  They must be worried.

The EMTs came in and God bless them, didn't barf.  There were two seasoned EMTs and one newbie on the squad.  I thought he was gonna pass out.  "That's a lot of blood ma'am," he said, ashen.   They took some vitals and did NOT look impressed.  I was instructed not to move as they made a hammock out of the bedsheets and carried me into the hallway where the stretcher was.  My husband was on his way home.  I asked my friend's husband, who got to the house just after the ambulance did, to call him and tell him to go to the hospital.  Then away we went.  I was quite dizzy and very lightheaded but I was determined to keep mashing.  I instructed on of the EMTS on how to "mash" on my uterus.  He had never done it before.  I explained that I would bleed out if he didn't.  The poor newbie looked scared again.  As soon as the doors closed they rolled out, sirens wailing, speeding.  I figured this meant things were pretty bad.  Usually the sirens don't go unless there is a real emergency.  The driver didn't even slow down for the traintracks!! He just yelled "tracks" and the EMTs in the back with me held me down as we flew over them.  Then they got my IVs going - one in each arm and put me on full oxygen.  I was having trouble staying awake and fought it as hard as I could.  I kept mashing.  I could hear the EMT call in to the ER.  He sounded gruff.  He said a lot of code words I didn't understand but I DID hear "tachycardic" a few times and "crash cart."  That was enough to give me a bit of an adrenaline rush.  The ambulance sped on.

I remember at one point time sort of stood still.  I was laying on the stretcher and I was praying in my mind.  I was asking for strength and for God to give me courage.  I kept thinking of my children.  All of a sudden I "saw" Jesus.  I don't exactly know how to describe it.  It was in  my mind but out of it.  Clear as day.  Jesus was on a horse. He was dressed as a Knight in Shining Armor.  He was wielding a big sword and a lance and He was fighting.  I distinctly recall just KNOWING that He was fighting for me.  And then it was as if WHOOSH I rushed into the fast paced present again. The ambulance arrived at the hospital and the EMTs jumped out.  I kept telling them I was Catholic and that I needed a priest.  They were busy.  They jogged me into the hospital and we took a route I had never taken before - bypassing all the desks, all the rooms and went into a special room.  I found out later it was the ICU "Crash Unit."  As they wheeled me in I saw 7 nurses all scrubbed up ready to pounce.  One was holding the paddles of a crash cart - ready to go.  It dawned on me that the reason I felt so awful was because I was in pretty bad shape.  I kept mashing.

They transferred me from the stretcher to the hospital bed and POUNCE!  every nurse in the room went to work.  I had my clothes cut off me as someone else was putting in another IV, I was being checked all over, vitals taken, oxygen started again, the doctor appeared at my side.  Laura, I am doctor so and so.  We need to get your permission for a transfusion if you need one.  I gave it.  I didn't have a choice.  Not if I wanted to live.  I told him that I had a retained placenta.  I kept mashing.  I told the nurses they needed to mash on my stomach.  They were so busy getting me prepped and waiting for me to flat line that no one heard.  So I kept mashing.  Eventually they let my friend back.  She took over mashing for a few minutes.  The doctor asked us to stop mashing to see what would happen.  It wasn't pretty.  Lets just say I didn't know I could "squirt" blood like that.  Poor doc.  He told me I could go back to mashing.  Then a poor tech said he needed to do a blood draw so they could get my blood type for the transfusion.  I was actually snarky and told him he could stand at the edge of the bed and catch it.  He turned pale and I apologized, holding out my IV intubated arm to him.  He hurried away.

Unfortunately though that last dramatic blood loss made me very woozy.  I was seeing double and couldn't tell which way was up.  I started to shiver all over.  Uncontrollable shivering.  I was going into shock. Still I kept mashing. The doctor kept calling for bags a blood.  It wasn't coming so he sent a tech to "go and get it. Now!"  When the tech came back they started my transfusion - using the biggest needles possible. Then they  started a Potassium drip - which burns like nothing I have ever felt before - on the other arm. I kept mashing.  I was still hemorrhaging   Finally after what seemed like ages but was really about an hour and a half the OB on call came in.  Immediately she got me set up.  The nurses were trying to keep me awake and the one on "standby" with the crash cart kept moving closer.  She said there was no time for a D and C to get the retained placenta, I had lost too much blood and didn't have time to get to an OR. She looked at me, "I am going to have to go in and scrape it out. It's going to hurt, but we don't have a choice."  I nodded.  They got me set up in a makeshift way.  The nurses were afraid to move me as any movement sent my heart rate dangerously high.  And God Bless her, that OB, she got the job done.  We didn't even have time for pain killers.

I laid there in blinding pain and I kept thinking of the scene in Braveheart where he gets disemboweled at the end.  "Freeeeeeeeeedom" I whispered into my oxygen mask, laughing at myself.  Then I started shaking again.  Finally, finally, after quite a bit of time, the OB was confident that she had gotten everything.  She gave my uterus a good hard mash and squeeze.  It hurt so badly after being mashed and scraped and pounded on all night long.  Then she gave me two shots of pitocin.  I could feel the blessed contractions start!  FINALLY!!  They hurt like heck but I was so happy to feel them that I almost didn't care.  If they hurt they were working!!!  I didn't have to mash anymore!! I hadn't flat-lined, and I was alive!

My husband eventually arrived and was let back to the ICU with me.  I was holding my friend's hand as he walked back.  I am sure from his angle it looked like a war zone.  (The hospital collected buckets of blood too).  I, however, was being cleaned up a bit by some nurses and had blankets piled on my to try to stop the shaking.  I felt so cold!  The crash cart nurse put the paddle down.  She leaned over, "I can't believe you never passed out," she said, "I was watching your vitals the whole time and I am stunned I didn't need those," she referenced the paddles.  "Jesus was fighting for me," I whispered.  She smiled.

I stayed in the Crash Unit for a while longer as they waited for me to stabilize a bit.  They did an ultrasound to make sure there was nothing left behind and gave me some more pitocin.  Then they gave me some uber-painkillers.  They made me feel like I was floating on the ceiling.

I spent the night on two IV drips.  I didn't sleep.  The Potassium burned its way through my veins making it impossible to sleep, and my legs felt funny.  They hurt and then they would go numb, and then they would ache.  Nope, no sleep for me.

The next day my husband went home and met the funeral director. He gave him Lolek Pio's coffin and made arrangements.  Later that night he came and picked me up.  I was told I need LOTS of rest and to drink and take some iron supplements.  I was still on the very low blood volume side of things and needed to take my time as my body caught up with itself.

I went home and saw that my husband had cleaned up the mess.  He remarked later that he couldn't believe the odor the blood had.  "It smelled like Chrism" is what he said.  He was expecting a foul or nauseating odor and instead, he kept insisting it smelled like chrism.  "You smell like chrism too" he said to me more than once  - even after I had showered!  He also said he felt very strongly the presence of Padre Pio.  This didn't surprise me.  Two weeks before losing Lolek, Padre Pio was making it known that we were going to need him.  So when I started to sense that things weren't right with the pregnancy I immediately knew who to ask for intercession! That is why Lolek's middle name is Pio.  He was very near me as everything happened.

Little did I know that Padre Pio and Pope John Paul II were about to play an even bigger role in my life....  but that is for another post!

Baby Lolek Pio, I miss you and I long to hold you. I ask that you look down on us and along with your brother and sister who are also in Heaven, pray for us and for our friends and family.  Amen.

Of Babies and Blessings

This had been a Christmas Season of Blessings and Lessons.  Heartache and Peace.  Nothing went as planned, but why should that surprise us?  I doubt that had Mary and Joseph been able to plan they would have elected to travel by donkey to a small town while Mary was 9 months pregnant just to appease some ego-centric Roman demi-god.

"'For your thoughts are not My thoughts, neither are your ways, My ways," says the Lord"(Isaiah 55"8).

"For I know well the plans I have for you," says the Lord, "Plans to give you a future full of hope.  When you call Me, When you go to pray to me, I will listen to you.  When you look for me, you will find me.  When you seek me with all your heart, you will find me," says the Lord" (Jeremiah 29:11-14).

These words revealed to the prophets ages ago are still so relevant to us today.  God is so hard to understand sometimes, and yet, He blesses us.  He takes care of us.  He comforts us.  He gives us Joy.   Sometimes that Joy comes wrapped up in a bundle of blankets with a button nose and tiny little mouth and eyes.  Sometimes that Joy comes from surrendering to God and giving Him a new soul for Heaven.

This Christmas has given me so much to ponder.  The Advent Season began with my husband and I worried that Santa wouldn't be able to afford Christmas.  Yet, we had Faith and prayed that God would provide us what we would need to let our children have a happy Christmas.  We got so much more than that.  God continues to outdo Himself in generosity and this year He used so many people in our lives to touch us with His love and His Goodness.  So many people have blessed us with their generosity this Christmas - from a dear friend and "anonymous benefactor" who sent us Christmas gifts, beautifully wrapped for Christmas Day - all without us knowing about it! - to family members who unexpectedly sent Christmas money - to neighbors who gave away toys that looked like new - we had more than we ever dreamed of for the kids on Christmas Day.

We felt so incredibly humbled.  So undeserving.  What had we done?   Yet, isn't that the crux of Christmas?   We didn't DO anything to make God send us our Savior.  In fact the only thing we had done is sin. Turn away from Him, and yet He sent His only Son - His Gift to us - so that we might share Eternal Life with Him.  What a gift!  What Love!

This Christmas message was brought home to me in such a real way this year.  Just before Christmas my husband and I found ourselves overjoyed at the reality of a new little life.  I was pregnant!  We knew the kids would be so excited and waited until Christmas to tell them.  Seeing the pure Joy on their faces taught me more than anything what is truly important.  The things we so often value - the presents and "stuff" we accrue for ourselves on Christmas pale in comparison to the truly miraculous gift of a new life - a new soul destined to live for Eternity.   I pondered this for some time on Christmas and the days after.  I felt so blessed to have this new paradigm in which to see my pregnancy.  For the first time I wasn't afraid of what others might think of the fact that I was pregnant again.  I wasn't looking forward to the morning sickness or labor, but I could not shake the conviction that despite what society, or even well-intentioned but confused passersby might think about my largish family, I was blessed.  Babies are pure blessing.  They aren't a spread sheet - measuring the pros and cons, costs and benefits. They are a gift, pure and simple.

Imagine the sadness that came to our family on New Years Day when I, after a long day at the Emergency Room, learned that we were never to hold this little life.  Never to meet him.   He had gone Home to be with the One who created him.  The sadness came crashing in on me as I went to the Grave of our stillborn daughter, Claire, who has been buried there since the end of August.  I sat there in the cold and cried.  I cried for her and I cried for my son who was with us for such a short time.  I cried for my children at home, who I felt were deprived of another sibling to love.  I cried for myself, my arms longing to hold a little squirmy bundle of Joy.  Then my heart quieted.  Peace entered.  I dried my tears and asked my Heavenly Saints - my children - to pray for me.  I told them I loved them.  I asked God to help me understand.  Then I heard it.  Not a voice, but a whisper, spoken to my heart.  "Thank you."

As I drove home I pondered over this "thank you."  For what?  I kept asking myself.   When I got home I pushed it aside as my husband and I had to break the news to our children.  I hardly heard myself as I told them that "Baby Bubbles" went to be with Claire.  I told them that we named him Francis Talbot, because of a dream I had.  Their sad faces nearly broke my heart again.  My daughter, who is my oldest child at home, cried and told me how sad she was.  Then she stopped crying and said, "Well, now Claire has somebody to play with.  That is special."  She proceeded to talk to Baby Francis and tell him that she loved him.  How silly I felt thinking that they were deprived of siblings to love.  They love their heavenly sister and brother! Then my daughter looked at me and said, "Well, now I know what I am asking for on my birthday!  A new baby!"  I smiled at her innocence, at her beautiful understanding of life and death.

It wasn't until I received an email from a dear friend that I really thought about what my daughter had said.  My friend said to me that I had given Claire a sibling to be with her.  They would be together glorifying God, watching over our family, and waiting for us to meet them in Heaven.  Then it hit me.  The "thank you" whispered to my heart, what I had told my children, what my daughter said to me, echoed in the email from my friend.

God had indeed given me a very special gift this Christmas.  He truly taught me to Love as He Loves,  He gave me the gift of a life, and asked for that gift back.  This Christmas God allowed me to give a gift to Heaven.  What a blessed peace this realization gave me.  What a gift.  

I still miss my little Francis, just as I miss my baby Claire.  Yet I have such a sense of peace, that I  know I am blessed.  Many people would look at my little family this Christmas and shake their heads in pity - in the span of 2 weeks our only car broke down and died, the flu went through our family, all our Christmas plans were thwarted, we nearly hit the red in the bank account, still are without a car, and then we lost baby Francis.   Yet all I feel is blessed.  All I feel is Peace.

Little Francis Talbot came to us, and brought with him Peace.  In his short time with us, and through his death he taught us a lesson about Christmas, about God's love, and about Life that is more important than   the little worries and inconveniences that we face.  It may sound absurd to those without Faith, but despite the trials and sadness that have confronted us this Christmas, I am thankful.  I am thankful for the unexpected, and thankful for the beautiful gift of Francis Talbot's life.  I am thankful, and I am blessed.  

Pro-Life?

This theme has been cropping up since we first heard the devastating news from the ultrasound technician,  "The baby's heart isn't beating."  At that moment I would have traded my own heart if it meant my baby's might begin to beat again.  But that was not God's Will.  As the tears rolled down my face I couldn't help but think that in that very same hospital there might be a woman equally as scared and uncertain as I was at that moment, but her baby's heart WAS beating - and she was about to ask the doctors to make it stop.  This diabolical dichotomy plays out every day in hospitals all over this country.  Women learn that the children they longed to hold won't be born, or if they are born, they are still - the life already gone from their perfect little bodies.  At the same time there are women who are waiting to rid themselves of what this society has termed 'a problem.'  Women who are scared, who don't know or wont admit the Truth about the life they carry - and are about to destroy.  This duality has reaches that go beyond the  political issue of abortion.  

As I waited for my baby's body to be born I went to work gathering information and making arrangements so that we could have a proper burial for our daughter.  As  I went about this task I made some startling and dismaying discoveries.  

I learned just how fortunate I was to have a hospital that would honor our request to bury our daughter by releasing her remains to a funeral home.  I also learned how incredibly fortunate I was to have contacted a compassionate funeral director who would do whatever he had to in order to obtain the very important Certificate of Fetal Death (also known as Certificate of Fetal Demise).  

You see, in most states, unless you are at a private hospital (and even then it might not matter), babies still-born under 20 weeks of gestation, or any fetal remains of a miscarriage or D & C must be treated as medical waste.  Yes thats right, if I had been in some other hospital when I delivered Claire's beautiful, intact body, she would have been discarded as medical waste.  In many places it is next to impossible for parents to obtain the remains of their babies or have them released to a funeral home for a proper burial.  Since Life Insurance Policies do not cover Miscarried or Stillborn children the costs of a funeral and all the necessities are often too high for a family who wasn't expecting to have to bury a baby.  (Granted, there are Churches like mine who have Cemeteries and who offer discounts for situations like ours.  Likewise, the Funeral Home offered its services free of charge, and only asked that we pay for the Vaulted Coffin - which is required by law - and the headstone.)   This leaves women the option of miscarrying at home, which is often what happens before 12 weeks anyway, but in cases like mine there are greater risks of complications.  Actually two different people - one a physician, and another a nurse - remarked that I risked my life by waiting to deliver my baby!  

Claire was around 14 weeks old when her heart stopped beating.  I was over 18 weeks when I finally checked into the hospital to be induced.   Why did I wait?  The advice I got at the first ER visit was to have a D & C (Dilation and Curettage - which usually ends up being a Dilation and Suction).  The doctor warned me of some of the risks of waiting 'too long' -  the risk of infection and hemorrhaging (which I have a history of when it comes to delivering full term babies).   Then I saw the ultrasound picture.  There was my baby.  She was perfect.  Her body was perfectly formed and totally intact.  (Sometimes the body begins to break down.)  In my heart I knew there was no way I could do a D & C.  I had absolutely no peace with that idea.  I saw my daughter.  She deserved to be treated with dignity.  I've read the Theology of the Body too many times to be able to delude myself into thinking that our bodies don't mean anything.  She was made in the Image and Likeness of God and I would do everything I could to treat her body with the respect she, as a child of God, deserved.  The ER doctor told me I could try to wait it out and prescribed some uber-pain killers if I went that route.  Just getting handed a prescription paper for Vicodin and Percocet made me shudder.  This was going to hurt.

Two days later I ended up back in the ER because I felt like I was in labor and I had other 'symptoms' on the "Come Back to the ER If..." list they had given me the first time I had been there.  I sat in the waiting room for 5 hours - all the while my labor like pains were intensifying.  By the time I was taken into an exam room I couldn't talk through contractions and I felt just like I did every other time I'd given birth - intense pain that made me pretty much wish for death.    The nurse tried to help as best she could.  She was just out of nursing school and had no children of her own.  She looked at me mid-contraction (they were 2-3 minutes apart lasting 90+ seconds, and were of course, in my back.  Back labor is a specialty of mine...)  "So how bad are your cramps?"  I tried to stay relaxed and whispered, its not a cramp.  Its back labor.  Breathe, I reminded myself.  "Ok, um.." she tried again, "so on the pain scale would you say you're at a 5 yet?"  That actually got me to open my eyes.  I looked at her and tried my best to not cop an attitude.  No, I answered, I'd say I'm at about a 12.  "Oh.  And where exactly do you feel the cramping?"  I exhaled as another one geared up.  I do not feel cramping, I tried to explain.  I feel like 2 giant knives are being stabbed into my lower back and slowly dragged around my sides towards my belly button.  Then the knives get mashed around my abdomen, and down towards my legs.  "Oh" she said with wide eyes, "Is that what back labor feels like?"  I tried not to look like I felt at that moment - like a giant science experiment.  It does for me, I answered.  "Well," she said uncertainly, 'the doctor will be in soon."   Half an hour later the doctor waltzed in.  "You're not in labor. You're cramping.  You only go into labor with real babies."  Thankfully for him I was in the middle of a particularly painful contraction, otherwise I think I would have kicked him.  That was when the chills and nausea started.  I secretly hoped that I WOULD puke and in my mind, I aimed it right at him.  How dare he say that my baby wasn't real!  "My baby is real!" I hissed.  "She isn't alive anymore, but that doesnt make her any less real or less loved."  He scribbled away on his notepad and ordered some kind of medication be given to me.  He said once the meds kicked in he'd do an exam.  Well, those meds, whatever they were, made me higher than a kite, and they also stopped the contractions.  His exam proved disappointing to him, because he "couldn't easily grab anything out."  Boy did THAT comment make me want to run for the hills!  He eventually handed me a cup and baggie.  "I'm sure this will all be over by tomorrow.  Just catch as much as you can and put anything resembling a fetus in the cup.  Make sure the lids on tight and bring it back after you're done."  He tried to insist one more time that "it wasn't a real baby." Lucky for him I was still a little loopy from the drugs.

We headed home dazed and infuriated.  I knew one thing for sure, there was no way I'd put my baby in a cup and no way I'd ever give the body of my baby to that man.  So we hunkered down at home, scared out of our wits because of my history of bleeding too much.  I found a beautiful wooden box and took out my wedding handkerchief.  Along with those items I placed a bottle of Holy Water and Holy Oil.  Then it was time to pray and wait.  "Baby Claire," I would pray, "just let me be able to honor your body and bury you.  Show me what God's Will is in all this, and what I should do."  

During the next week we waited and prayed.  I worked with the Funeral Home and they talked me through some of the finer points of my situation.  I spent hours upon hours on the phone with various departments of the hospital trying to obtain a Certificate of Fetal Death so I wouldn't have to go back or bring Claire's body into the hospital to be "officially declared dead."  After two days of maddeningly fruitless phone calls - no one seemed to know what to tell me or who I should talk to, I called the Funeral Home in tears, terrified I wouldn't be able to bury my baby after all.  The extremely kind gentleman assured me to not worry and said that he would take care of obtaining the all-important certificate. What a blessing to have that weight off my shoulders.  That was when I learned that it is actually Abortion Law that makes it illegal in so many places to obtain the remains of a miscarried or still-born baby under 20 weeks for burial.  The Abortion Laws have decided that under 20 weeks, a baby isn't a "real baby."  The Abortion Laws make it necessary for a Funeral Home to file a Certificate of Fetal Death if you want to bury your child in a Cemetery, and they are hard to get if the baby is less than  20 weeks.  The sheer lunacy of these 'laws' made my head spin.  I was terrified that I would have to fight to be able to bury my baby, or worse yet, not be able to.  I was even more scared of experiencing complications at home.  

I was stuck in an extremely uncomfortable, crampy, latent labor-like state and was beginning to get concerned about infection and sepsis (of which I only later learned I was at extreme risk).  I finally made an appointment with the OB listed on the ER discharge papers.  He was the first medical professional who actually listened to me long enough to understand my situation, my concerns, and my desires.  He did his own exams and ultrasound and pretty much discounted what both ER docs had said.  He immediately recommended an induction.  Thank God for this man who worked out the details and got me on the hospital schedule.  

That was how I ended up in Labor and Delivery holding my tiny baby after 7 hours of labor.  The Funeral Director came personally to the L & D floor and I was able to give my baby, baptized and anointed, wrapped in the handkerchief and laid in the wooden box to the extremely compassionate nurse, who in turn gave her directly to the Funeral Director.  At that moment, I felt more peace than I had in weeks.  A few days later we had a burial service for our daughter Claire.  A small group of family and friends gathered at the cemetery and our Priest celebrated the Rite of Christian Burial for our dear little baby.  As we drove home, I felt extremely sad, but I had an even deeper inner peace.  

Now that I've had a few weeks to digest and ponder all that has happened I can't shake the idea that some of the frustrations I encountered are because our society, and most notably the medical community is not encouraged to be Pro-Life.  I actually had a doctor tell me that I wasn't carrying a "real baby!"  I mean, how can you even say that, unless you have skewed understanding of what Life is?  

I think what makes me furious is that my story is far from unique.  I've had a couple of people tell me I am brave for "risking my life" so that I could bury my baby.  It sounds like I should feel like some sort of hero.  I mean heroes risk their lives, me?  I'm just a mother who desperately wanted to do right by her child.  I felt like the only thing I could do for her was bury her.  I'm no hero, I'm not brave.  I'm furious! If I had been 14 weeks pregnant and walked into a Planned Parenthood Office asking for an Abortion would I have been treated the way I was in the ER?   Would I have been given the brush off?  No.  I would have been swept into an office and "cared for."  (At least thats the way they try to make the women who come into their offices feel.)  

What if I had been in labor with a full term, healthy baby?  Would I have been forced to wait in a waiting room for 5 hours?  Would nurses have tried to convince me that I wasn't in labor?  Would my baby have been dismissed as being "not real?"  Of course not!  

What if I had delivered an extremely premature baby?  Wouldn't the doctors have done everything they could to save him or her?  Wouldn't that baby be given special care until he or she was healthy and strong?  Would any doctor say that a tiny prematurely born baby, fighting for life wasn't a "real baby?"  No way!  

Why then, did I have the experience that I did?  Why do women all across our country have similar, or worse experiences, when all they want is medical care during a scary, uncertain, extremely sad time.  Why are their babies dismissed and discarded as "medical waste?"  Why is it so hard for parents to simply bury their children?  

We need to be more Pro-Life, and truly Pro-Woman.  The biggest deception that the pro-aborts have forced upon us is that they truly care about women.  Women have a "right to choose" they like to tout.  They like to float these phrases "women deserve access to quality medical care."  Yeah that sounds reasonable, but all they really mean is "access to abortion."  When it comes to truly receiving medical care - do you think we get it?  You know what?  WE DON'T.   We don't have the "right to choose" to bury our babies if they die in the womb before 20 weeks.  Women often do not have the right to quality medical care and supervision during a miscarriage - not if they want to be able to bury their child or their child's remains.  Do you call being dismissed and handed a cup "quality medical care?"  I was appalled to learn just how at risk I was of some severe and life-threatening complications.  Is that quality  care?  How is forcing women to choose between receiving medical care and being able to bury their babies an advancement for women?  How is that protecting a woman's right to choose?  Why can't women choose to receive quality care AND be able to bury the remains of their babies?  

It is a Pro-Life Issue, because it is abortion that has muddied the waters of medicine.  Abortion, which is supposed to be so freeing and liberating to women, is tying the hands of the women who just want to honor the babies that they will never hold.  

Its abortion that has perpetrated this fraud upon us - telling us that if your baby dies in the womb "Its not a real baby."  How else could abortion survive?  The minute the medical community admits that "its a real baby" at conception, abortions' days are numbered.  When the medical community finally gets its act together and treats all babies with respect - born, pre-born, still-born, or deceased in the womb - abortion is finished.  

This is perhaps an untapped portion of the Fight to be Pro-Life.  We (and rightly so) concentrate so much on abortion that we,  as a Pro-Life people, often overlook the smaller battles of the same war.  Until I lived through the nightmare of losing a baby I had no idea that women and parents all over the country were silently suffering because they were denied the right they have as parents to properly mourn and bury and their children.  In a country that likes to brag about how tolerant and accepting it is, this is a travesty that simply cannot be excused, because to put it one way, parents who lost a baby in the womb are discriminated against.  They have no rights.  In this "great and progressive country of ours" you have the right to murder your child.  But not to bury your child.  

Yes my friends, its about being Pro-Life.  Perhaps as a Pro-Life people we should seek to correct this egregious wrong.  In doing so we will be advancing the Pro-Life cause, securing the right of parents to bury their babies' remains, regardless of gestational age, and therefore witnessing to the fact that the babies themselves have a Right to Life, and should they be taken to Our Heavenly Father because it is His doing, they also have the right to be buried - to be treated as the beautiful tiny persons that they are.  

 

Open to Life

This phrase gets bandied around quite a bit by Catholics who are trying to explain that they aren't contracepting, and who truly believe that God gets the final say on their family size. Generally these Catholics, like my husband and I, believe what the Church teaches about the great responsibility that comes with our gift of fertility, and that it takes a concerted and prayer-filled effort between both the spouses and God to come to an understanding of what His Will is for one's family.  

My husband and I were married at age 21 and felt led to not wait to begin growing our family.  We both were eager to experience this "openness to life" that we had talked about during our rather long engagement.   Four children and 6 years later we learned that openness to life means occasionally being surprised by the generosity of Our Heavenly Father!  Now its been 7 years, and 5 pregnancies and I am just fully grasping and internalizing the REST of what being Open to Life means.  

Claire's death taught me that when we are "Open to Life" we must be entirely open to God's Will for that Life.  That Life is His.  He gives us the tremendous gift of caring for the children He gives us, but they are ultimately HIS.  He may call them to Himself when HE chooses.  Being open to Life means being open to death, and understanding that Death is really just a birth into Eternal Life.   This revelation has led me to  a greater understanding of just what it means to say "Yes."   I have always thought that the Marital Act is a way of saying "Yes" to God - much as Mary did.  It is saying with our bodies the words spoken at the Consecration "This is my body, given up for You."  In the language of the body, and in our hearts, we say this to God, we say this to our spouses, and if we conceive, we say this over and over again to our unborn child.  But we must be willing to allow that "Yes" - our own personal Fiat - to include the possibility that God may want our child in Heaven with Him - before we are even able to hold him or her.  This makes saying that "Yes" an even greater act of Faith.  It also makes it mirror the Fiat of Our Heavenly Mother much more perfectly.  Mary's Fiat was lifelong - from the Visit of the Angel Gabriel, to Simeon's Prophesy of the Sword Piercing Her Heart, to the Way of the Cross, the Foot of the Cross, the Tomb, and the Resurrection and Ascension.  Mary's "Yes" was all-encompasing, total surrender to Our Loving Father.   A surrender to His Will not only for herself, but for her Child - the baby she carried under heart for nine months, and wrapped in swaddling clothes.  As mothers, this is what God asks of us as well - total surrender, and a real Openness to Life, and God's plan for that Life.