Cutest Baby on the Planet

Since Leo's miscarriage, Abigail has been promoted to "cutest baby on the planet" inside my heart. I melt over everything she does. I notice all these details.  Here she is gleefully enjoying chocolate cake.

Thanksgiving

Three weeks ago, I got the news that Leo had died. It was 2 hours before my daughter's first ever basketball game. (This is a new sport for her). I've missed every game and every practice for the past two weeks. Basketball has become a Hannah and Dad thing by default.

 Tonight, I sat in the bleachers and screamed my head off. I nicknamed her "Hannah with heart" and "Hannah with hustle." I got to see my daughter flash me smiles across the court. I got to see her couch rub her shoulder and tell her "Great game." Our first basketball game as a daughter/mother duo was all the sweeter for the delay.

As I sat in the stands, pain free, I could not believe that 48 hours ago I was inside a hospital room. I gave thanks for all the doctors and nurses who got me to this place. As one my helpers in the hospital told me "God is excellent!"

Miscarriage Notes, Part 3

The physical part is all done. Emotionally I'm much stronger. It's neat to see how the body and soul sort of work together. This past weekend I did a lot of physical work with the miscarriage. Now the emotional burden is much lighter.

I delivered my baby at a Catholic Hospital about 70 miles from home. I kept the same OB practice when I moved to West Virginia. This was the same hospital where I delivered 3 of my daughters. My medical care was awesome! The doctors were extremely conservative with my induction because I had a history of 5 C-sections. They started me with 1/16 the normal dosage of induction medicine. I slowly worked up 1/2 the normal dose. As a result, my labor took forever!

I started the medicine at 12:45 PM on Friday. I didn't have regular contractions until 11:15PM Friday night. At 5 AM on Saturday morning I hit a low point. I couldn't see any way to get out of the hospital before Sunday afternoon. Then at 9 AM, the rotation changed and I got a new doctor. Doctor T walked into the room and the whole atmosphere change. She had helped me in recovery from one of my daughter's birth. I really trusted her judgement. She said that my body could handle more of the medicine. She increased my dosage. So at 9 AM, I got a much higher dose. I started having major contractions immediately.

I gave birth to Leo at 10:30 AM on Saturday, October 19. The nurses looked at him first because I felt a little squeamish. A nurse named Bridget popped her head around the closed curtain where they were washing the body and said  "It's a boy!" That was one of the best moments of the weekend. It felt really good to be correct about the gender. It felt like we got to know him and bond with him during my pregnancy.

I ran into trouble passing the afterbirth. My labor almost totally stopped around 11 AM. The doctor gave me another dosage of medicine around 1:30. My body had strong contractions for a small amount of time but stopped at 2 PM.

By 3 PM I was super tired. I asked my favorite nurse to give me a pep talk. She did. Then she called Pastoral Care so I could get the Eucharist. At 3:30 I was going nuts .I'd laid in my hospital bed for more than 24 hours. Jon unplugged my IV, and I started walking the hospital hallways while Jon followed me with my clunky IV pole. I was totally defying my nurse's instructions to stay in my bed until after my placenta delivered.

As we walked the halls we found a new room. The High Risk Perinatal parent break room. It had a computer. With Internet!!! That let me ask for prayers on my blog and send a quick email to a blogger friend in Texas. Rebecca F. called seconds after my nurses had chased me back into bed. She was so hopeful and encouraging. I was so tired and flat. She made me pray to St. Gerard and St R---something of the unborn. I prayed with her without any hope or enthusiasm. God didn't care about my lack of enthusiasm. He answered our prayers quickly, anyway.

While I was still on the phone with Rebecca my doctor visited 30 minutes ahead of schedule at 4 PM. She did this stuff with forceps and by 4:20 PM everything was completely out of my womb. I was free to go home! I left the hospital at 6:30 PM. I picked up my happy kids at their amazing babysitters at 8:30 PM. At 9 PM, I crawled into my own bed and feel asleep.

Today I'm doing well. I didn't take any pain meds after leaving the hospital. There is less flow than a normal period. I think my body worked really hard on Saturday, so now I'm almost totally done with the miscarriage.

Leo's body is still at the hospital. The lab can't discharged it for 2 to 5 days. That's actually really comforting to me. I've got time to get his funeral together. For the next few days, I'm taking a break from funeral planning to recover from my miscarriage.

I went to the grocery store today. I added chocolate and red meat to our cart. I decided that was the best "post childbirth" diet I could prescribe for myself.

Thank you for all your prayers and well wishes. I've read every email.

Going Home

Doctors gave me the all clear. I'm going home! Thank you for your prayers.

It's Me, It's Me, Oh Lord, Standing in the Need of Prayer

Long, hard, beautiful weekend. I need some prayers to get over the final hump to get discharged from the hospital and get home. I checked into the hospital at noon on Friday. Delivered Leo at 10:30 AM today. Now my labor has stalled again. I can't get the placenta out. Hoping to deliver it soon and get home.

Receiving Unexpected Support

Things are getting better. I had a really awesome conversation with the Vice-President of Ethics at my local Catholic Hospital. I'm seriously amazed at how one honest conversation with a stranger can be so healing. God is in the details.

We talked about some really gruesome things. I don't think this will happen to me, but there is a chance that if my baby weighs a certain amount it triggers an automatic need for a state required autopsy. I was shocked by my reaction. I could handle those messy details. I'm strong. I can handle difficult conversations about my miscarriage.

Our talk was really affirming to me. I felt affirmed that I'm not anti-science. I'm not anti-medical intervention. I'm an educated, thoughtful woman. I'm also a woman of deep faith. Those two aspects of my personality can co-exist easily in the same conversation. I felt more empowered after our talk.

I feel more clear about identifying my emotional needs. Tomorrow I go to my OB for another appointment.  My doctor would like to wait a full three weeks before further medical intervention. Usually that idea of "nature is best" is appealing to me. But if things are still not progressing tomorrow, I feel strong about advocating for an induction. I know my body. I know my heart. This option of going to a warm, local hospital to have this miscarriage could be a positive outcome for me.

 This morning I took care of Halloween shopping which is a major area of importance in our artistic family. I grabbed the last size 10 Iron Man costume for Alex at Target. Finding the right super hero custom in the right size, at almost the right price was an unexpected gift.

Tonight I'm going my CODA meeting and then out to coffee with friends. In recovery we say "One day at a time." Sometimes in this grief walk with miscarriage, I feel like it's "one hour at a time." Grace is real. I'm grateful for all the kind emails I've received from friends online. I'm grateful for all the kind hugs I've received from friends in person.  I feel supported. I feel resilient. There will some tough moments to get through next week. Right now, in this hour, I have strong hope.

Still Waiting

"Love is patient..."

What the heck, God? Is there any harder virtue to master than patience?

I'm still waiting for the miscarriage. It's been 10 days. I have light signs of a change in my body, but nothing major. No signs that the miscarriage will happen soon.

I feel really out of it. As in, I'm a Carmelite who totally missed Teresa of Avila's Feast Day yesterday.

Today, I drove myself and two little girls to Walmart yesterday for meat, milk and diapers. I felt so proud of myself. It was the first time I left the house since the bad news. I got the girls in their shoes. Abigail wore pajama bottoms because she has no other clean clothes--but at least they were clean pajama bottoms.

Driving into Walmart, I saw a big sign for Halloween Costumes. I started crying while I was driving. It's unbelievable how many times I thought about my baby during the day. Maria wanted to buy a Halloween costume for the new baby this year. We had a big discussion about how Leo would still be in my tummy this Halloween, but next Halloween we could dress him up. We had this huge chat about what baby outfits we picked for him to wear next year. When I drove up to Walmart, I saw a sign and I thought 'Leo's never going to get to wear a Halloween costume."

I know that's so little. A better Catholic would be mourning "Oh, he'll never to receive the Eucharist." The point about unborn babies is that they are so real, they are so tangible. There were hundreds and hundreds of moments every day that I thought about being pregnant. I avoided extra cups of coffee, or allergy medicine. I thought about him when I had nausea. I thought about him in the Halloween Costume aisle while researching ideas with his older sisters. So now there are hundreds of moments during the average day I remember again, "He's not coming."

Miscarriage Notes, Part 2

Today was a grace. I woke up at 7 AM. I felt awful. It's rained for seven days. We had a tornado warning at 8 AM last Monday morning. The pouring rain has stayed on since then. We got more rain in 72 hours than we had the entire last month.

I really didn't want to go to Mass today. It hurt to go to Mass without Leo. Last Sunday was so beautiful. I had the sudden urge to attend my first Latin Mass with the Augustinian Monks in Charles Town, WV. The Mass was so peaceful and beautiful. The image of those monks praying intently with their strange pointed hats was so comforting this week as I dealt with Baby Leo's sudden disappearance from our regular family life.

This week I faced going back to my regular parish. It's hard to do Mass after death. All the familiar words seem so bloody and real and horrible. I kept thinking about Mary going to her first Mass after Jesus' death. Pain and comfort co-existing in the same place.

Today's reading was about the lepers. Whoa Nelly! This week, as a miscarrying Mom, I feel like a leper. My pain is hidden, and weird, and unidentifiable to many people. Right now, I make a lot of people uncomfortable.

As a leper in Mass today, I turned around to say "Thank you to God." Thank you for Leo. Thank you for his life. For the grace to accept his death. Thank you, for the hope that I can survive this coming brutal week where the plan is basically to sit around the house waiting to miscarry while my husband goes to work 70 miles away from me.

It's hard. Yet it's a beautiful hard.

After Mass, I really felt like an emotional mess. I wanted to take a nap. I was snippy with all my kids, including the birthday boy. I somehow got myself into our minivan. We drove to Chuck E Cheese. We had a 9 year old birthday party. It turned into a great day. Usually I'm totally irritated and overstimulated with all the noise and video games at Chuck E Cheese. I don't think we've visited there for the past 5 years. Today felt different. I joked that Abigail Clare was a cheap date. She munched on one slice of pizza and then sat happily in all the rides without putting in a token. My 3 year old lived on the big white horse for the 1 token jockey game. My husband and I competed against each other in skeet ball. My son amazed me with how many white tickets he won--125.

After it was finished, my husband and I couldn't believe we celebrated a birthday so well when we were that emotionally and physically exhausted. Grace is real. Prayer is real. I thank all of you dear readers for praying for me and my family during this difficult time.

More Miscarriage Notes

1. My husband and I took a tour of a cemetery today. In the pouring rain. A local cemetery has offered to give us a gravesite plot for free. The gravesite is located in a special place for young children called "Baby Land." That is grace.

2. I'm trying not to be embittered that my local Catholic cemetery a) does not appear to have a similar free infant grave site program and b) fails to return my phone calls within four days. (I'll be sending a follow up letter later).

3. West Virginia has legislation in committee called "The WV Grieving Parents Act." This law would give parents the right to bury their child regardless of gestational age. It's an option for parents of miscarriages to petition the state to give some kind of fetal death certification which would let them ask the hospital to return a baby's remains, including those from a D & C. I'll be sending a letter to my local representative in support of this law.

4. I'm worried the homeschooling means that now I think I can do everything at home--including funeral parlor work.

5. We went to the grocery store for milk and diapers. My husband told me in the car that my OB doctor had mentioned that I could flush our son's body down the toilet after the miscarriage during our office consult on Thursday. I freaked out. "He mentioned a toilet! To me--a Catholic mother! Someone he knows adores her kids and really wanted this youngest child!" My husband said "The angels must have blocked your ears. I looked at you after he said that and I couldn't believe you weren't reacting to it."  I couldn't believe I missed that insult. I had some choice comebacks for him the in the grocery store parking lot. Then I decided God knows that I couldn't have heard that sentence in that vulnerable moment without punching my doctor hard in the shoulder. God's really good at letting me avoid assault charges while I'm carrying this cross.

6. I've been thinking a lot about the book of Tobit. How beautiful that is on the act of mercy of burying the dead. It sucks. No one wants to do it, but its very important.

7. If I had unlimited funds, this is the casket that I'd pick for my Leo. There is a casket company that specializes in caskets for miscarried babies. I love this one. I think these are still too expensive for us. I'm going to be improvising.

8. Leo's death means that Abigail has been promoted to the most beautiful baby in the world. I'm so grateful she's alive. I'm struck by the beauty of everything she does this week.

9. My son turns 9 tomorrow. I'm worried that I can't hold it together for his birthday party. I felt like God answered my prayer and said "It's okay if you don't." I'm thankful for birthday parties at Chuck E Cheese which means that a) I don't have to do any prep while I'm feeling this awful and b) its so loud and exciting that there's a chance that none of my kids will notice if I start to cry.

10. Jon's waking up in the middle of the night to check on all our kids to make sure they are still breathing. I totally understand this.

A Different Kind of Loss

In my first miscarriage seven years ago, my grief felt totally different. We had more warning the pregnancy wasn't going well. Yet we got a strong heartbeat on an ultrasound around 10 weeks. We thought we were in the clear. When my first son died, I was shocked.

I was a new Catholic. Immature. I had this idea that God loved babies. If I got enough people to pray to Mary for our babies health that he would be fine. Because miracles happen. Prayer works.

So when my baby son died, I was shocked. Then I was devastated. After the funeral, I couldn't get up out of bed for a week. I had two young toddlers. I watched them play games around me. Once a day, I crawled on my hands and knees to the microwave. I microwaved them two hotdogs each. I sliced them up to the non-choking size. I put a squirt of ketchup and mustard on their plates. I placed their plates on their little IKEA play table. Then I dragged myself on my hands and knees back to bed. Just making a pathetic lunch made me so exhausted in my grief, I had to lay down for two hours.

This time my grief feels different. It comes and it goes. I find myself constantly amazed that I can do things. I can wash the plates and stack them in the dishwasher. I can make meatloaf for dinner. It's not like I'm operating on all cylinders this week. I made chocolate cake and chocolate icing from scratch for lunch. The six of us ate it with relish. (My cooking had been pretty sub par during three months of morning sickness). Then I came back into the dining room and discovered that chocolate cake crumbs had been squished deep into the floor. I started crying because it hurt me too much to bend over at the waist to pick up the cake crumbles. (So my eight year old and six year old did it for me).

That's how the grief is right now. Touch and go. Sometimes I'm amazed at what I can do. Sometimes I get a warning that I need to pull back and do less. Sometimes I cry. Sometimes I surprise myself when I don't. I'm not judging myself.

It helps to have a much tighter circle of people with whom I share the details of my miscarriage. I think I was too indiscriminate before and that lead me to getting hurt. This sixth baby of mine was not universally popular. I made the rule that if anyone in my life was unhappy about this pregnancy, then I do not have to inform them of my miscarriage until after my baby is safely buried in the ground. That's a boundary. This is my time to safely grieve in a tight circle of loving support.

I also gave myself permission to not "make a pro-life statement." When my first son died, I felt this internal pressure to treat him equally as my other living son. I wanted to have the type of funeral that my 1 year old son would have had if he had died that same summer. It's was like a "statement" to the whole world that my unborn son mattered too. This time I'm just more chill. Between my exhaustion and my poverty, this could be the simplest funeral ever. I'm okay with the funeral being small and intimate. My love for this baby is huge.

The thing that surprises me the most is that my faith is different this time. I trust God more. I'm calmer. I'm okay with the mystery.

The Magical Line at 20 Weeks

So there is this line in the sand called "20 weeks." If a child reaches "20 weeks" then they get a fetal death certificate. If they are 19 weeks, 6 days, they get no fetal death certificate. Because it's not a baby's body--legally. It's called "products of conception" or my favorite term "medical waste."

There are laws in place for cemeteries and funeral homes. Everyone politely assures me that they are sorry for my grief and they can do anything I need done to bury my kid as long as I bring them a "fetal death certificate." Which I kindly explain from prior experience that I can't not bring them. There is no way my HMO is signing a fetal death certificate because once again, I'm weeks away from the magic 20 week cut off date.

So I pulled out the big guns. I ask my parish priest to call the local Catholic cemetery and the local funeral home. Because I'm sick of crying today. He's my father. He can handle the calls. Because its going to totally suck to have a sweet Catholic Funeral Mass at my parish church and then have to go bury my kid next to the swing set in my backyard because once again, this miscarriage "doesn't count" as real.

It felt good to talk to my priest. We made a pack that we'd write down a protocol for how to loving deal handle funeral arrangements for very tiny members of our parish, because it's totally hard to cut through all this confusion and red tape while actively miscarrying your kid.

This tiny dead kid, Leo Benjamin, is a mighty lion. Even in death, he's got a job to do. It's an honor to be his Mama.

Miscarriage Update

I cried in Radiology today. That's good for me. I'm usually numb and detached from my feelings in public. I saw more pictures of my Leo. 14 weeks, 5 days old. Seeing his pictures hurt. Finding out his exact age hurt. I'm just waiting right now. Thank you for your prayers.

General Weirdness

My baby died. That's the first thought I had when I woke up this morning. I feel weird and numb. My stomach is soft and squishy. I can feel my body getting ready for the miscarriage. I went to CVS and bought Motrin and chocolate.

I have these weird lines in the sand. I'll take Motrin, which is usually of limits during my pregnancy, but I refused to take an allergy pill this morning. Rag Weed is killing my family. We have a long moment in the morning when we pass out allergy meds to everyone in the family. It's a big process to get an 18 month old and 3 year old to happily swallow liquid medicine while the 6 year old swallows her first solid pills. All during the drama, I heroically deny taking allergy medicine myself in order to protect the new baby. This morning, I realized that I could take allergy medicine. I didn't. It just seemed like too big a line to cross so soon after his death.

I refused to buy Kotex pads at CVS this afternoon. The blood is coming. Either I have a miscarriage in the hospital or I have it at home. Either way, I'm going to need more than the six pads I have left from my last period in May. Yet, I couldn't bring myself to buy pads today. That felt like too big a sign that he's really gone.

It's so weird how my whole future just changed. Three weeks ago I bought a TV. I was walking around Target totally miserable from morning sickness. I couldn't imagine eating anyting. I couldn't imagine buying a new book. I bought a TV. I pictured laying sick in my bed for weeks, and then nursing for weeks in the bed. 2014 was supposed to be the year of growing Baby Leo while watching cable TV. Last night, I looked at our new TV and felt vaguely guilty for buying it. Do I return the TV, like I would return a new car seat or blue baby layette?

My husband stayed home from work today. We went to Daily Mass together. We met with our parish priest to plan Leo's funeral. It was all empty in the church after Mass. Even the lights were turned off. The little girls ran up and down the aisle. Jon chased them, while I sat with Father to plan the funeral.

Little Abigail kept reaching deeper and deeper into the baptismal font that is a huge 8 foot circle in the floor with a small 12 inch concrete lip around the edge. At one point both her feet were off the floor and she looked like she could easily tip inside for a swim. It was one of those bittersweet moments when I was so grateful for my daughter's agility and beauty, while a priest next to me is having an anxiety attack about my child's antics. Hey, all things for the glory of God. Afterwards my friendly priest (who was more worried about my kid getting unexpectedly wet than of being sacrilegious in a sacred space) showed me photos on his I Phone of new ideas for our sanctuary, including a scroll iron gate for our baptismal font. I felt justified in that moment. Father could describe Abigail's antics to the Church's Financial Counsel to support his vision for improvements to our sanctuary.

Tonight, Jon and I are dropping off our five kids to a kind and brave friend who will feed them dinner while we have time alone. I think we are going to Applebees. It could be my first alcoholic drink in 3 1/2 months. I think I can order a drink tonight. I'm giving myself permission to wimp out and order a Coke instead. There are a lot of lines to recross again "post-pregnancy" and I'll hurdle each one whenever I'm ready.

Prayer Request

Jon and I found out today that our youngest child died at 14 weeks gestation. It was hard for us to see little Leo on the sonogram this afternoon. He was so cute, and big, and fully formed-- a beautiful baby minus a heart beat.

God is really good to me. I really feel him close to me tonight. "The Lord gives. The Lord takes away. Blessed is the name of the Lord" (Job 1:21).  I'm trusting I've got God's help to get through all the hard stuff this week. Thank you.

Happy St. Francis of Assisi Feast Day

Thank you for adopting me at age 12, St. Francis. I love you! Pray for our Pope!

Tears Are Good for Me Too

I have a situation in my life that makes me cry. Last night, I cried all the way to my CODA meeting. I cried during my CODA meeting. I cried on the way home. When I got home, I drew a gentle boundary around myself. I told Jon that I wasn't upset with him, but that I couldn't talk about my situation anymore tonight. I wanted to curl up in my bed and go to sleep.

I have a kind and respectful husband. He encouraged me to eat dinner at 8:30 PM. We talked a little around the edges of my problem. I agreed that I have a tendency to be a tad hard on myself. I chased the kids off of Cartoon Network and emptied my bedroom of people. I changed into my pajamas.

I surprised myself because at 9 PM I felt better. After two and half hours of crying, I felt peaceful. I felt hopeful. I got some good advice at my CODA meeting. I shocked that this program works. I've spent my whole life avoiding feeling my negative feelings. I've spent a lifetime in my head intellectualizing problems and "being a pro-active problem solver." Last night, I went into a room with strangers and I felt real grief. After it was done, no one gave me "advice" on how to fix my problem. I got some gentle hugs, instead.

At 9 PM last night, I felt happy. I didn't have the urge to go shopping. I didn't have the urge to pick apart my situation in my head. I didn't have the urge to research obsessively on the internet. Instead, I  watched a crummy TV show. I kissed my husband after he put our kids to bed. Then I went to sleep.

I'm so grateful for recovery. I'm hopeful that life at 40 is going to rock!

Wedding Happiness

My little brother got married Saturday! His wedding was so beautiful. He's 30. His bride is lovely. It was really emotional to sit in the audience and think "I can't believe he's old enough to get married." I remembered meeting him so clearly in the hospital for the first time when I was 8. Three of my kids were in the wedding party. The did fantastic. The little girls didn't fall into the central fish pond during the reception. That was also fantastic!

We're were the only large family at the wedding. (I'm a Catholic convert). We got so many compliments on our kids behavior. It was really funny to me. All of these strangers came up to me and showed me their I Phones. They said "I got the cutest picture of your girls. You have to give me your email!" After this build up, I'd be expecting some amazing photo. Instead they would show me this blurry picture of my kids backs as they lay on their stomachs dipping their fingers into the fish pond. It was funny to me because my kids often look like that. Curious. Fun. Sometimes holding hands. That's normal life for us. That night my girls just happen wear matching navy hair bows. After the fifth person came up with their I Phone to me, I figured out that we must not match some preconceived notion of what a large family looks like in Modern America.

My brother's wedding was a beautiful, prayerful event. It was so nice to sit back with my husband and reflect on our own wedding day. Twelve years has brought us big changes. It's wonderful to have six kids to highlight the beauty of what our relationship means to us and to the world.

Monday afternoon, I go in for my first sonogram with Baby Number 6. I'm excited, hopeful and a tiny bit scared.

Wedding Happiness

(How a large family easily checks out of their hotel room)

Wedding Happiness

 

Wedding Happiness

(My little brother catching his first sight of his bride in her wedding dress)