George Mary part II

Thursday morning, I called the OB's office and made my appointment early. They insisted I see the Dr. who reviewed my case in the ER, and as I said previously, I had no experience with this OB, either personally or through a client or friend, so I was afraid I would end up with a doctor who might give me a hard time about my wishes. The appointment was set for 8:45 Friday morning. I decided to have a backup plan, and had my midwife contact the Tepeyac clinic, a Catholic practice which would likely be very amenable to allowing me to induce rather than go for a D&C. Tepeyac agreed to see me if I had a bad experience locally, so I was relieved about having a backup plan, but still in knots about the upcoming appointment.

KADB came and kidnapped me fairly early in the day and we worked on getting my ducks in a row. First we went to Hobby Lobby and chose George's box that he would be laid to rest in. I had already ripped the large blanket I had started knitting for him and started a much smaller crocheted blanket to wrap his little body in. I kept my eye out for a little statue to mark his grave until we can afford a headstone. They had some really freaky looking garden statues. Of course they had to have little pigs with wings...like angel pigs...to remind me of "Pigbert." At least we had something to laugh over. It sounds like a morbid trip, but really we could find humor in the moment. Having been through so much together, it's what we do. We both knew the humorless moments were going to be in plentiful supply.  

Then we made a short stop at Sweet Frog for some frozen yogurt, and proceeded on to Never Enough Yarn. I returned the extra two skeins of yarn I had bought for his blanket, and bought four balls of the most scrumptious colorway of Mini Mochi yarn (Grand Canyon, in case you are wondering). I had seen them the day I bought George's yarn, and thought I might like to make myself a little shawl as a remembrance of this time, and as something to keep me occupied and staring at colors that soothe me. The lovely lady who owns the yarn shop was quite shaken at my news, bless her, and told me to check back in with her soon. I love small shops where they know you. 

Our next stop was to meet the man at the cemetery who could tell me which plots would be available in which to bury my little baby. I chose one just two away from the plots in which KADB's little babies are buried. We went on to Sacred Heart to purchase the plot. While there, KADB texted me the contact information for the funeral home--the one phone call I was avoiding. I called them on our way back home from Sacred Heart and it was taken care of before I set foot back in my house. I do not remember too much about Thursday evening. I know I spent it agonizing about my upcoming appointment with Dr. C. 

I was blessed to have a lovely phone conversation that evening with a midwife friend who went through something very similar. I won't divulge her experience but I will say that she set me greatly at ease about using Cytotec to induce my labor. Between her experience and KADB's experience, I thought I might be able to manage okay. My hangup was that because my hormone levels were high, I knew we'd be starting from 0 to get my cervix to the point where I could birth this baby. My body had no clue it was about to have a baby. None of my labors began at this point; I was always much further along, so I was envisioning having to go through this process for many, many hours with a medication well-known for uterine hyper stimulation. Again, the time I spent googling induced miscarriages did me no favors. 

I spent the evening airing out my fears to KADB. She asked what my biggest ones were. They were hemorrhage and infection, especially an infection that developed after the miscarriage was complete. I was afraid of retaining the placenta and needing a D&C that might result in me taking antibiotics, which would wipe out all of my amazing gut flora in the beginning of flu season--yeah, anxiety much? And I was afraid of passing out from the pain of an overstimulated uterus on Cytotec. I wanted to welcome my baby in peace, not be wigged out from pain, or lightheaded from blood loss, or be rushed off to surgery having had no time to spend with him. Late that evening I worked out my birth plan. How bizarre it was to write out in my birth plan, "I wish to be induced at the hospital with Cytotec..." 

I went to bed that night and woke up at 3:00 a.m. I tried for an hour to go to sleep, to no avail. I should have known what was up right then, but I didn't pick up on it. I just got up at 4, and went downstairs to make the elderberry syrup I had been wanting to make but didn't get the chance to start.  I set up my laptop with The Bob Newhart Show and got to work on my double batch. Enter the first panic attack. There I was at the counter, my heart beating out of my chest, thinking about the upcoming appointment and having to fight for my wishes, dreading what was to come, and bang bang bang my heart just would. not. stop. I kept working. I should have known. I didn't. I knew all would be fine after the appointment. It would settle because I would have an answer. 

Syrup was made. I had panic attacks all morning up until we went to the office, in -11 degree wind chill weather, to see Dr. C. I got inside the office, and they were very kind to me. I wasn't sure what to expect; the office staff at my previous OB's office had much to be desired in manners. I went back with almost no wait, and spoke with a sweet nurse who was able to make me much more relaxed than I had been. In the downtime, I worked on little Pigbert's blanket. We still had no name. Finally I got into Dr. C's office. 

He was soft-spoken. I thanked him for agreeing to accept me as his patient. We sat down, he looked at my information, and said that protocol for a 14 week baby is a D&C. I reminded him that I was 17 weeks pregnant, without a doubt. He said protocol is determined by the size of the baby, and doctors don't usually induce 14 week babies. Standard of care is a D&C. I suggested to him that people don't usually bury their 14 week babies with funerals. He agreed. I told him that if I wanted to go an easier route, I would sign up for the D&C, but that I could never be at peace if I didn't try to deliver this baby intact. I told him we needed to honor his little life, his body, as much as we possibly could. He asked if I was going to drive my care against the "standard of care" and against his recommendation and I said, "Yes." He wasn't cruel. He was being a doctor, doing what he needed to do to make sure I understood what protocol normally was before I waived it and went with my gut. I asked him why a D&C was preferred and I never got any answer besides that it is the standard with small babies. That wasn't good enough. He mentioned perhaps sending me home with the Cytotec so I could deliver at home. I told him that with the high chance of placenta retention and hemorrhage, it wasn't a risk I was willing to take. I desperately didn't want my children seeing me carted out on a stretcher by EMS when they're already grieving the loss of their baby brother. It was induction in the hospital with Cytotec or I was walking, but I didn't say that. I really thought I was going to have to use my backup plan. 

Dr. C then did something very awesome. He didn't say, "Well we don't see eye to eye here. You probably should find another doctor." He picked up the phone and called Labor & Delivery at the hospital. He spoke to Nurse K, who happens to live around the corner from me and recognized my name in the conversation. He asked if the hospital had a lower gestational limit regarding inductions and if a 14 week pregnancy (shudder) could be induced at the hospital. I could hear her through the phone essentially saying that standard of care is generally the D&C, but she didn't see any reason why we couldn't induce there. He hung up with her and gave us what we were asking for, and asked if I wanted to go in that afternoon or the next day. I was floored. I was just so grateful. There were no words to express my gratitude to Dr. C for making that phone call. I had originally tried to get another OB, one of the ones I was familiar with, but they made me see Dr. C. Now I know it was Providence. I would get further confirmation of that in the hospital. 

I told him that I'd go in the next morning, so I could get my ducks lined up in a row with childcare, etc. It would give me a little time to mentally prepare to say goodbye to the sweet child who had been under my heart for the previous 15 weeks (remember that a gestation is calculated from conception with two additional weeks added, so though I was 17 weeks pregnant, he had been there for 15).  Dr. C said to be there at 7 a.m. The last thing I did was to ask Dr. C for a prescription of Lexapro. By this time, having had a morning full of panic attacks, I knew something was wrong and that I needed a little seratonin boost so my nerves wouldn't spazz out like they did in 2010 when I was consumed with panic, anxiety and insomnia so badly I ended up on Seroquel to balance me out. He gave me the Lexapro. I already knew I'd be using Ambien to help me sleep that night. I wasn't risking insomnia the night before my induction. So we went home extremely relieved to be able to stay local and to have a good plan, even if I was still nervous as heck. 

I don't remember what I planned to do that day. I think I was going to try to get some housework done, but I was wiped out and spent much of that day in bed. My dear friend V came over and cleaned for me, cooked for me, and just sat with me and talked. It was wonderful. At some point I sent Kermit off to get the Lexapro because something clued me in that I needed to start it *now*.  It was a good thing I did. 

Time for more yarn and distractions now.... 

George Mary part I

I started piecing things together over the week between Christmas and New Year's...

"Hey look! I can still button my jeans!"

"You know, I just don't feel as anemic anymore...and I am taking 50mg less iron daily than I was."

"I don't know where these headaches are coming from."

"My appetite sure seems to have leveled off from a couple weeks ago."

"I don't think I'm feeling him poke as much as I used to..."

Add to that my reluctance (that I couldn't explain) to seek out maternity clothes, or to schedule the 20 week anatomy scan ultrasound. 

Something just wasn't adding up. But what the hey, I had a doppler! It had been nearly 2 weeks since we last heard that beautiful little heart thumping away. I knew the baby would be easier to locate with the doppler than he had been before and yet again I'd find that heartbeat after a while, get teary eyed and feel stupid for doubting that everything was okay. I couldn't listen that Saturday night. The two littles were sleeping in my room and my husband was dozing. I wasn't going to let my silly doubts wake them up.

Sunday morning, I whipped it out as soon as they were all up and out of the room. I looked for a long time. I heard the placenta whooshing away, and my heartbeat, sometimes beating so fast I had to make sure it was me and not the baby. Lying flat. Elevating hips. Hang legs off the bed. Turn to left. Turn to right. I turned and twisted...things I had to do in the past to find little "Pigbert." He had always been difficult to locate, but this time it was different. I heard no movement. Even when I never got heartbeats in the past, I always got movement noises. I put the doppler away. Pigbert was getting bigger. He was going to have periods of rest and periods of activity. He was just resting, probably behind the placenta, and so I didn't hear his heartbeat or movement. I always listened in the evening, and he was generally busy moving around then. I'd try that night.

So I did. There was my placenta. There was my heartbeat. Nothing else. Okay. Baby is still playing hard to get at almost 17 weeks. He's tiny and well...I had all these fat layers to go through. I'll listen tomorrow.

Monday evening. Tried again for one last obnoxiously long time to hear something, anything, that wasn't my terrified heart and a tornadic sounding placenta. Nothing. The lack of heartbeat didn't scare me. The lack of movement said more than I wanted to know. I texted the midwife, asking if she could stop by with her doppler when she was in the area again. She graciously said she'd be by first thing in the morning. 

Tuesday morning. Kelly arrives and we chatted a minute. Then she prayed with me, a very beautiful prayer from her heart, not that we would hear a heartbeat, but that the Father's Will would be accomplished in me and that we could accept whatever that will included. Then we listened. We heard no different than I heard in the two previous days. I either had the most chilled out baby ever hiding behind a loud placenta, or I was carrying a dead baby. We really knew which one it was, though. All of the pieces just fell into place. I curled up on the couch and cried. I didn't want to bury a baby. Kelly made some calls for me and scheduled the ultrasound for that afternoon and we headed out an hour away to Centreville, amazed we were getting a same-day appointment on New Years Eve.

The people at Fairfax Radiology were wonderful and efficient. I was into my ultrasound right on-time and the woman was very kind to us. I told her that I knew she couldn't answer my questions but that if she'd let me see, I'd be able to tell if there was a heartbeat or not. She flat out told me that she'd let me know if she saw one, and she didn't have the wand on my belly for two seconds when she confirmed the lack of heartbeat. We weren't expecting good news, but it ripped our hearts out to look at our little lifeless baby, just floating there, still. The tech snapped a bunch of pictures to see if maybe the radiologist could see a reason for the baby's death, but he could not. I was in such disbelief that I completely forgot to ask for a picture. We went home and broke the news to the children. It wasn't pretty.

Now I needed to come up with a plan. Having been through this multiple times with my best friend, I knew what I wanted for this baby. I wanted him born intact, and to be given a proper burial, so as to honor his little life as best as I could. The question was, would I find someone willing to accommodate my plans? There were others... wait for it to happen naturally, or induce? Home or hospital? I did the thing that most people do in this situation, that they probably should never do. I googled. This was the worst thing I could have done, and what set the stage for a return to insomnia and panic attacks. 

Waiting...going septic? Almost died? Okay...induction... Cytotec? What do you mean Cytotec? The medication I heavily caution my clients about that even carries the warning not to be used on pregnant women? Women asking for epidurals...passing out from pain... hemorrhage... going in for D&C post-birth because of retained placentas... The stories were endless, and none of them good. NONE of them. I never wanted to be knocked out so badly and to have gotten it over with with a D&C. It sure seemed like an easy way out, but one that would have never given me peace. 

Wednesday was New Year's Day. Nobody was open, so I had no appointment this day and couldn't schedule one until Thursday. I cried my way through Mass, and after Mass that morning. My best friend passed on the pregnancy loss shawl that had been passed on to her. I think I'm the fourth woman to wear this shawl. When I saw the bag with the shawl, I just melted into a puddle. We went home and things really started to go awry from there.

My husband wanted to take the children to see The Hobbit, which I was all for. He went and got the tickets while I made myself some soup. I felt horrendous but really wanted the soup. They left for the movie, and I ate my lunch with the little boys. I didn't feel so well. I felt very dizzy. It was difficult getting up and down the stairs. I thought a nap would do me good, so I put on a movie for the boys and snuggled with Gil on the couch to take a nap. I slept fine, but I probably should have refrained from sleeping with the hot water bottle behind me. I think I messed up my temperature regulation, so when I got up and my temperature started rising, all I could think was "Here we go...sepsis..." I called a midwife who suggested I might want to get checked out, to rule out infection and to get on the doctor's radar sooner than I might have been able to do otherwise. I agreed, so after they got back from the movies, off we went to the ER, meeting my KADB (Kick-Ass Doula Bestie) there. Countless times I had been to the ER with her, and now our roles were reversed. 

In short, my foggy-headedness and fever eventually cleared up. KADB made sure I was able to get some chuckles in by "illustrating" the pain scale faces on the dry-erase board, among other things. I had no infection. This was a relief. My hormonal levels were so darn good they made me go through a repeat ultrasound to confirm the baby was indeed not alive. This was NOT a relief, but they would not contact the OB without the ultrasound. The OB did not come to see me, which I was not happy about, but he did say to call his office and he would take me on as a patient. I knew a couple of the doctors in that practice were good, but this one I had no experience with and I was terribly nervous. Well, okay, everything had me terribly nervous. Really, all I thought about was everything that could possibly go wrong until I was safely on the other side of birthing this little baby, who still needed a better name than "Pigbert." We returned home that night to some sleeping kiddies and some still awake, and I went right to bed, trying to distract myself with yarn and The Bob Newhart Show, which I think my poor husband was quite fed up with by this time. Although I was distracting myself, I was not taking care to keep my nerves in check, and this would come home to roost very soon. This would be the last normal night of sleep I got.

Stay tuned for Part II. This is about as much as I can recall right now without having to play with yarn for a bit and distract myself with something funny. 

Bomb.

Recipe

1 teacher
6 students all in different grades
1 little boy
1 crazy toddler
1 really nice, organized, functional room

Directions:

Do school. Finish almost 9 hours later. Observe how room explodes into 1 really scary, disorganized, death-trap. Facepalm. Clean, or call in the students to clean. Repeat.

A Day

I thought I'd share some highlights of our day. I'm very much basking in the fact that we are getting a routine down, one the children seem to be responding to positively. We have recovered a stability in the household and the routine that we have not experienced in a good decade and I am holding fast to it with all my might.

I decided to do this blog post early in our school day. We made it to the schoolroom and had done prayers and the pledge (a different young'un gets to hold the flag each day) and they were getting down to business. I don't know how to put it except that when I saw this my heart just swelled:

What you don't see is the little one doing rhyming on the iPad under the back table with her little brothers!

I chose the music for the day. So far this week we have listened to classical and jazz. I was up for some acoustic music, so today's selection was...

I wanted to check the laundry, and Gilbert wanted to go see someone special downstairs, so while they were settled, I took him down and was met with this:

This man does NOT miss his commute

Back in the schoolroom, I helped my first grader whiz through her schoolwork while her sister worked on math...and worked on math...and worked on math... We even had a minute to open up a nice book to read about Christopher Columbus.

While the baby played...

Mom is very happy I no longer scream every time I come into the schoolroom.

But 11:00 approached and I knew they'd be getting hungry. I had something special in mind. I've moved the heavier meal to lunchtime so that my evenings are easier. Ever since we went to Ruby Tuesday on our way home from Georgia, one of my children has had a particular hankering for cheddar biscuits. She did not have them there--she is gluten-free, as are four more of us in the household. I have been making more of an effort to make the transition easier for her by making more interesting foods. With half of us off gluten, we just keep it out of the house completely. So on my menu today was...

Homemade gluten-free garlic-rosemary-cheddar biscuits!

The boys helped...

Note the clean table

and Daddy, having popped up to check in on everybody, and seeing his little girl upset with her math,
pulled up a chair and gave her a bit of a pep talk and some help...

"You can DOO EEET!" (not really)

 

Unfortunately, I forgot that I had the sorghum flour open in the next room, but Gilbert did not...

Whoops.

The biscuits were delicious with cold cuts and raw veggies with dressing.

Then the day became a bit more "normal." We had the little one with the head bump that created quite a nasty swell. We had more math issues. Cranky littles. More distractedness as the day wore on.  Squibbles and squabbles. You name it. However, for the first time in longer than I can remember, we actually had art projects made. My first grader made a (belated) birthday card for the Blessed Virgin Mary, and my third grader made a cat mask and a tiger mask. 

I cooked up a quick dinner and used up all of the homemade bone broth I had made from the PA Dutch Market chickens I got last weekend. That broth was jiggly! I attribute it to the chicken foot I threw in there. Good healthy stuff! Then we did something else we haven't done regularly since we moved into this house. We ate dinner as a family and had quite a charming discussion about the Gospel reading for today. When I say "charming," I really mean we had to convince children that the Beatitudes do not include, "Blessed are those who audition for The X-Factor," and that "Blessed are the hungry" may mean our helping of seconds "smashed down" should not still be comparable to the height of the great pyramid at Giza.

After dinner, I returned to the schoolroom to finish up the grading, which I completed shortly before 9. I then enjoyed a very short but enjoyable visit from my friends Bailey, Haagen and Dazs. I have no picture of that rendez-vous. They were gone in a flash! And so went our fifth day of school for this year. 

I am sure that for many it is hard to understand why anything in this particular blog would be noteworthy, but it may shed a light on what the last decade has been like to see that art projects are a novelty for us, as are science projects, reading to little ones, praying as a family, sitting down together as a family, schooling in the schoolroom, having a schedule, enjoying cooking again. We have lived in "survival mode" for so long that I nearly forgot the vision for our family that started us on this crazy path of Catholic homeschooling with a houseful of children. God-willing, may it only get better from here.  

So...what do I look like at the end of one of these days? 

 

Well I never said it was *easy*

Happy Birthday Mother Mary!!

Today, September 8, we Catholics remember and celebrate the Nativity of the Blessed Virgin Mary. Besides St. John the Baptist, the Blessed Virgin is the only saint whose birthday we celebrate. Typically, we celebrate a saint around the date of his or her death.

For a bit of a spunky take on today's feast day, check out:
Widow's Weeds: 8 September - Nativity of the Blessed Virgin Mary

If you're looking for the "meat," try:
EWTN's article on the Nativity of the Blessed Virgin Mary

I had butternut squash soup after one of my births too!

 

This picture above is my favorite representation of the event of the birth of Mary. If you know me, you likely can already guess at least one reason why. I have birthed eight babies. I have assisted at the births of approximately 40 more. St. Ann actually looks like she has just given birth in this picture. She is not sitting up, hands folded, intently gazing at her baby. She is exhausted, sunken into her pillow, her legs barely coming together and bent, her arms protectively guarding her body. The Blessed Virgin was her first baby, so more likely than not, the birth was a lengthy event. She's not even looking at her baby; she's looking, well, at nothing in particular just absorbing the shock of what her body just did. Next to her is me a lovely doula-looking woman, someone who is there to assist her and is feeding St. Ann my famous butternut squash soup something to give her a little strength and nourishment. So there you go. I don't love this picture for anything having to do with the Mother in Heaven we celebrate today. I love it because I see myself in it. Twice. But seriously, this, to me, is the most realistic of all of the Nativity of the Blessed Virgin Mary pictures I have seen out there. It makes me want to "skidoo" right into it and take that spot on the other side of her bed and hold her hand.

So anyways, before I sign off here and take a look at the midwifery information I am supposed to be studying for tomorrow's study group, I want to wish all of you a happy celebration. If you didn't know this was your Mother's birthday, it's not too late to give her a rosary bouquet of prayers, or bring the celebration to your kids with a little cake and ice cream. One friend of mine said last year she set out her statue of the BVM and her children played their instruments in front of it. Today at Holy Mass we made a spiritual offering and will be celebrating with treats later.

Not Catholic? Afraid it'll take away from Jesus' glory? I don't think He'll mind if you celebrate the birth of His most perfect creation, the one who uttered the "Fiat" that would change all of history and allow Him to take on the flesh whose blood would be violently and lovingly shed for the forgiveness of your sins. He'd probably ask for seconds on your cake and ice cream.

Snapshot at Night

Noise maker whooshing.
Hubby snoring...until the little girls on the other side of the wall wake him up. If I yelled to them that would wake him up...but I cannot get up because...
Nursing baby making little snorty noises in my lap and falling asleep as I type this.
His big brother asleep between mommy and daddy, but facing in the opposite direction.
One big sister baking the most amazing smelling pumpkin spice cookies for her friend's party tomorrow.
Another big sister probably off playing on her Nook; haven't seen her since we got home.
Littles woke up Daddy.
Big brothers presumably in bed.
Presumably.
Snort. Snort. Latch. Fall asleep. Unlatch. Snort. Latch...
What is that noise, and who is playing with it? Sounds like a tape measure.
Pretty sleeping baby by the light of the laptop, with perfect warm baby breath. I love this kid.
Still that noise. Can't call down because one of the cordless phones is in here and will ring.
Cabinet door closed.
Whoosh.
Closing my eyes, remembering the dream I had last night. It was weird. Expensive plants...placentas...a placenta cake...we'll just stop at that one.
Chapel in just over 7 hours.
Hubby snoring again.
Off to put baby down and transfer big brother to our couch.
Wish me luck.
Whoosh, snore, unidentified noise, cabinet....

Transfigured

"Lord, it is good for us to be here."

Happy Feast of the Transfiguration! (over 23 hours into this Feast, mind you...) I love this day, for many reasons, and now I just have one more.

We have been acknowledging for several months now that it's time to resume going to weekly Eucharistic Adoration. I would say that we had been talking about it, but when the conversation usually goes like this:

Me: "You know, we really should get back to Adoration..."
Him: "Yeah."
*silence*

then you really can't say you've been "talking about it." Until very recently. I've learned to ask some further questions, like, "Do you think one hour to share? Or one each? When are you thinking of?" and then we actually make some progress!

So as it turns out, to bolster our conversation, what did they have at the back of the narthex after Mass yesterday? The sign-up table for the Perpetual Adoration Chapel. I could not believe the number of days highlighted with needs. It was reminiscent of the first time we signed up for adoration. There were so many available dates that we took three. We kept them for years, 2-3a Saturday, 11-12a Saturday, and 4-5a Monday. Then we had a little bit of shuffling with my day...dropping Saturday, trying I think, Wednesday, and settling on Friday evening from 8-9p for I think 5-6 years. Kermit dropped an hour, then I think changed for a little while, but it didn't work out and he dropped altogether, except for when he'd be going for me, sometimes over swaths of time where I was pregnant, early postpartum, etc. Then came Gilbert's pregnancy.

We found out about Gilbert on the Feast of the Transfiguration. Kermit's schedule became absolutely insane during the pregnancy and for nearly two solid months I could not make it to adoration. He wasn't home, and I couldn't get a pregnant me and seven children to adoration. I couldn't continue calling on the substitutes; the hour had to go. I went on hiatus, intending to resume it, but never could.

It's been about 20 months since we've had an adoration hour, the only break we have had since early 2000. We needed to do it, but I cannot say we have not experienced the spiritual side effects of it. It's been tough, to say the least.

Today all of that changed. Gil is older, and I can sneak off without him. I am not physically in need of extra hands in the evening (mentally?...that's another story!), so Kermit can afford to take some time out. We sat with the bulletin this morning, and looked at all the available hours that needed a primary adorer, and pinpointed one for each of us. Made that phone call, and left a message that we wanted to sign up, and then not long after I noticed the words:

"Lord, it is good for us to be here."

And I stopped in my tracks. These are the first words I said for all those years as soon as I got on my knees in Our Lord's Presence.

"Lord, it is good for me to be here."

How fitting that today was the day we returned to Eucharistic Adoration. May Jesus Christ continue to transfigure our lives and our very selves into His Life and His Self.

God Bless You