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

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.

The Introduction

I stare at the EPT.  Actually I stare at both EPTS...yes I took two pregnancy tests...just in case the first one was confused.  "Pregnant."  The first one announced.  "Pregnant" the second one echoed.  Oh boy.  Or girl. Here we go again!

Those first few moments, in the bathroom, alone (well not really!), are unlike anything I can ever adequately describe.  Feelings across the emotional spectrum run through my body, racing thoughts, and a slow realization that I can no longer discard my already swollen feet, increased forgetfulness, inability to balance, or grip firmly, mild queasiness, and very sensitive nose as "coincidences."  No, at this point the two EPTs aren't so much a shock as they are a confirmation.  I can no longer give into denial or mind games: the incessant "Am I?  Am I not?" of the past few weeks.

Zoom.  Back to the present.  One more good hard look.  Yup.  It still says "Pregnant."  So does the other one.  Then I stuff them into the garbage.  Deep breathe.  Look into the mirror.  Smile.  "I am pregnant."  Say it again, "I am going to have a baby."  Then come the tears.  Tears of gratitude, (for children are after all gifts), relief (after-all those few weeks of not knowing are killer for a control-freak like me!), fear, (oh my goodness FIVE children!), nervousness (I hope I don't get morning sickness.....I hate labor!), trepidation (I wonder what people are going to think of us!).....then I stop myself.  I laugh.  Yup.  The crazy hormones have already kicked in!  But now is not the time for indulging in a hormonal roller-coaster.  I have something far more important to do.

The introduction.  This is a ritual that I began when I went through the whole EPT saga with my first child.   I quietly placed my hands on my lower abdomen, right about where I imaged the teeny tiny little person was growing.  "Hello," I whispered, "I am your Mommy.  You are my baby.  I love you."

Then the tears start again.  So I get down on my knees and say a thank you prayer.  I have done this for every one of my children as well.  It doesn't matter if they were "surprises" or or if I was scared to death at the time.  Every one of our children is a gift - and it's always polite to thank the Giver.  Sometimes the Giver of all likes a good surprise party too!

My prayer of thanksgiving, (followed by a quick petition for extra help and patience!) done I get up off the floor, take one more quick look at my smiling and tear-streaked face, and exit the bathroom - knowing that I am, once again, forever changed.

As I walk into our hallway I am nearly run over by a 4 year old boy pretending to be a train.  Then comes the almost 3-year-old on all fours, who barks at me, "I am a cute, cute puppy, " and he crawls off.  My 5 year old (soon to be 6) daughter is in the living room twirling around and dancing, "I'm a princess,"  she informs me.  I glance into the kitchen.  Yep.  The rustling sound is indeed my 1 year old son judiciously emptying the Rice Krispies  all over the floor.  He looks up at me and smiles a big toothy one-year-old into mischief smile.  I place my hand on my lower abdomen and I smile too.  Then I glance at the pile of cereal on my floor.  I shake my head and sigh, "this is my life, and I wouldn't change a thing!"