My Invitation to You!

Lent is upon us. Lent is a time when we reorient ourselves to the most important truth in our existence: we are dust, but our souls are eternal, and are made to be with our loving God for all eternity. We turn back to God to improve our relationship with Him, to increase our love for Him, to become ever more thankful for all the blessings we receive daily.

During Lent, we may give up something, increase our prayers, give more of our time, money, resources for the needy. These are all wonderful things and absolutely are fulfilling the spirit of Lent: prayer, fasting, and almsgiving. Then Lent ends, its effects lingering for a time in our lives, until the next Lent when we may realize our relationship with the Lord is no closer than it was the previous Lent. It is frustrating, defeating. I know!  I want to propose a suggestion for you to consider which may help with this problem, one which I know I faced year upon year. Yes, you should deny the flesh, pray more fervently, and give of your resources more generously, but when Lent ends, and these self-imposed practices are one-by-one put to the side, then what will be left to help you continue to grow closer to God? What incentives will you have to continue spiritual reading and to seek an ever deepening prayer life with the Lord? Will anyone else around you be giving you prayerful community-like support in your spiritual journey, or will they too have perhaps slackened off until the next Lent?

I'm writing to offer you, of my own volition, an invitation. I am inviting you to continue your spiritual growth not only past Lent, but for life—but not in a penitential way!--by considering becoming a member of the Pauline Family. What is the Pauline Family? Founded by Blessed James Alberione, there are ten branches of the Pauline religious family; you are probably familiar with the Society of St. Paul and the Daughters of St. Paul (you know the Pauline bookstores!). You may not realize there are also other branches made up of sisters, parish priests, consecrated single men and women and members called Cooperators, who even support the order through living Pauline spirituality and participating in the media apostolates, but do not take the vows that all the other branches take. But the most amazing part of the Pauline Family, in my opinion, is the branch called the Holy Family Institute. 

The Holy Family Institute offers Vatican-approved, consecrated life for the engaged, married and widowed, living their normal married life, in their own homes, working at their regular jobs, while remaining and serving in their own parishes but united in prayer. What does this mean? This means that we, as marrieds/widows in the Holy Family Institute are as much a part of the Pauline Family as the other orders and institutes. We do not just promise to live our lives “in the spirit” of the order. We are full-fledged members. We take Church approved and regulated vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience within our state in life. If you are faithfully living out your marriage according to Church teaching, you are likely already living the spirit of these vows without having yet made them! We also take a vow of fidelity to the Holy Father, the Pope. These are not private vows, but are witnessed, monitored, and regulated by the Church.

Why vows? When we make these vows, we become consecrated. We are “set apart for a specific purpose.” Our very beings become a gift to the Lord through the Pauline Family and every moment of our lives becomes an act of religion or worship to our loving God. To quote from our recent HFI magazine, “It is important to dwell on this thought: once consecrated as full members of the Institute our whole life is a prolonged act of worship of God, of praise of God, ofthanks to God-even when we cannot turn to Him consciously – when we are asleep, for example.”

I don't know about you, but when I learned this, a very deep YES resounded from the bottom of my soul and I knew, knew! this was what God wanted of me. It was as deep as the YES when I first heard about homeschooling as a teenager and knew I would do that with my children, and as deep as the YES when I knew that my husband was “The One.” Strangely enough, it was eight years from the time I was invited to the HFI to when I made the call to inquire. Why? I was involved with another order, but in the end I knew I was not called there. It took a couple of years after that to be ready to look elsewhere to fulfill that call from the deep. Perhaps it may be years before someone who reads this will give it a second thought, but at the very least I have planted a seed.

What I can share with you in this note about life in the HFI is limited due to time and space (and because I could go on and on!), but if you contact me privately with your questions I will answer them to your satisfaction. It is truly something to experience yourself and you are under no commitments until you have professed your commitment yourself through entry into the novitiate (after a 9-12 month long postulancy), and then even moreso by making your vows. I will, however, try to give you a little glimpse right now about what living the HFI membership means practically to someone like me, a homeschooling wife and mother of 8 children.

The first and foremost obligation in the HFI is to fulfill my duties as a wife and mother. It comes before everything. For example, if I have serious needs going on in my household, then I may say the prayers I have memorized as I work, or remember to, but I must tend to my primary vocation first. HFI members do not relegate their families second to the Institute. We incorporate Institute life and spirituality into our lives as best as we can. HFI life for young families can look a lot different than HFI life for empty nesters and the widowed. Again, I reiterate: The Holy Family Institute is for the family, not the family for the HFI. We strive to do our best at all times to live the spirituality of the Pauline Family within our families, but in a way which promotes and enhances our family lives.

After I first contacted Fr. Tom, I started out with a little booklet of daily HFI prayers. Later on I requested and received a beautiful prayer book entitled The Prayers of the Pauline Family. This book is universal throughout all branches of the Pauline Family. Once a month, I receive a mailing from the Institute with a periodical called the “Concord.”  In the mailing there is also a CD which gives the formation teachings for that month (these continue even after vows). Many times I listen to them more than once because they are meaty and my retention can be low. In these mailings you also receive a small booklet with quotes from Blessed Alberione for each day, news on other HFI members, and sometimes little “treats” like a booklet about Lent this month, or extra writings on Pauline topics. I learned the importance of making daily examinations of conscience to identify my principal fault and to examine myself each day on my progression—or regression—on that point. Ideally I would be doing daily meditation, but when I cannot, and many times I cannot, or when I have not disciplined myself to just DO IT, I do pray invocations to Our Lord, to be sure I am staying in contact with Him throughout the day. We stay in contact with Fr. Tom once a month. Some people just send in a particular form which gives him an idea of how they did the previous month, and some send an email to give a broader update. I'm going to be honest—sometimes my updates look quite sad. I am a weak, weak soul.  But I always receive gentle encouragement back from Fr. Tom. He knows we are striving, and is our cheerleader telling us to “Keep on keeping on!” We also send a donation of $20 a month. If finances prohibit one from doing this, it is not a problem. We all go through those times.

Kermit ended up joining me several months after I started, but your spouse does not have to do the HFI with you. It is optimal, but not required. After our Postulancy, which lasted a year (summer2011-2012), we were received into the Novitiate in fall 2012 at the yearly weekend retreat in OH called the “Triduum” because it lasts three days. It is a family retreat—there is something for all ages! You are not required to attend, but you won't regret it, the blessings are innumerable, and there is a fund to help those who are having trouble making it work financially. We wouldn't have made it there this year without that help. When we were received into the Novitiate, we were given a little blue book called Statute and Directory of the Holy Family Institute. The Statute is our ideal to which we try to conform our lives, and again, it is a life-long process. It isn't something to which we are bound by the letter upon pain of sin. It is our roadmap and we try to stick to it as best we can, but do not beat ourselves up over our shortcomings. When I was early in my inquiry, I went and took a good look at the Statute at my friend's house, the friend who had given me the invitation 8 years prior. If you would like to have a glimpse also, I am happy to help with that. When we lost baby George, everything fell by the wayside. My spiritual life was reduced to simply surrendering and contemplating Jesus on the cross. How did I re-orient myself to get back on track? By reading through the Statutes to remind myself of my goals, of Pauline spirituality, of what I am committing myself to through the HFI. I am still getting on track two months later, and that's okay.

I mention Pauline spirituality, but have not really elaborated on that. I admit, I am still learning it and will be learning it for a very long time, but it is beautiful, and complete. The emphasis is on Jesus Master, Way, Truth and Life. When we say Master, we do not mean a judgmental dictator armed with a whip and ready to strike when we slip up. Who Jesus Master is, is our first Teacher, the One who has“mastered” the life of holiness, the life that leads to the Father, the master that we learn from. He is the Master of mercy, the Master of kindness, the Master of prayer, and the Master of love. He is the Way to the Father; He is the Truth which leads to the Father; He is the One who gives us the spiritual life through which we can approach the Father. Paulines are devoted to Mary, Queen of Apostles.  A daily rosary is encouraged, as is Marian Consecration. Pauline spirituality is intensely Eucharistic. It is apostolic—our patron is St. Paul the Apostle—and the apostolate of the Pauline Family is the spread of the Gospel through the modern media. As HFI members, our primary way of participating in this is to, again, fulfill our roles as spouses and parents, and all we do is offered up as a prayer for the success of the Pauline apostolate. Those who can do more and are called to do more, have done more, like open bookstores or start radio stations. These are extraordinary examples of living that apostolate. Kermit and I obviously do nothing of the sort. We take an intense interest in guiding our children through the world of the media, we share good media with them, and with others, and we evangelize through our lives, and our words when appropriate.

We are less than 7 months away from making our first Vows. We will make the aforementioned vows for 1 year. Then, God-willing, we will renew that for another year, then another year, then two years. After five years of temporary Vows, we will (God-willing) be admitted to Perpetual Vows. This path, however, is a lifelong path and thank goodness, because we have a long way to go! Institute membership does not mean we think we are “better” than anybody else. It simply means we are responding to a call to commit ourselves and our lives in a greater way to God. We are different flowers in God's great garden, but not “better” flowers. Every state in life has its own requirements and blessings which flow forth from living out that state faithfully. This is no different. A married couple receives particular blessings and fruits from faithfully living our their marriage, and a person who is further consecrated through the HFI receives not only the blessings and fruits from their marriage vows, but also participates in the blessings and fruits that flow from membership in the Pauline Family. If you wish to understand how poverty, chastity and obedience are lived within the married state (as I said you are probably already doing it right now) I am happy to spell it out a little better for you in private messages, in person, or by putting you in contact with someone who has been vowed for some time. Just remember His yoke is easy and His burden is light.

Friends, this is a GIFT. Nothing but a PURE and TOTAL GIFT to the laity of the 21^stcentury. Radical times call for radical commitment to God. He has given us His all—Can you give Him your all?

If you are interested in looking further into this—with no obligation—you can either contact me, and I'll have Fr. Tom send you information, or you can contact him directly at:

(330)-533-5503

Fr. Tom Fogarty

St. Paul Monastery

Box 498

Canfield, OH 44406

Also, check out:  

The Holy Family Institute website at www.vocations-holyfamily.com to learn more about HFI

Holy Family Radio: http://www.live365.com/stations/305819  You can listen to Christian music, HFI reflections by Fr. Tom, and other spiritually enriching talks.

Concord current and past issues: http://www.vocations-holyfamily.com/concordonline.html

Remember: HOLINESS BEGINS AT HOME!

George Mary part III

After V left on Friday, we finished cooking up dinner and dh served plates. I had put a gorgeous shoulder roast from Gore's (yeah, plugging good local meat) into the crock pot earlier that day. By the time it finished cooking, it smelled like I expected it to, but the smell was nauseating me. No matter, I needed to eat a good healthy dinner, and roast beef and cabbage fit the bill. I chewed every bite to death before washing it down with water. It was the only way I could get the food down. For good measure I ate some dried cherries to help me sleep that night.

Friends K&R arrived with their kiddies to give our van a jump. Between the cold and having left lights on, it just wasn't starting, and the Prius stickers were expired. We were supposed to have taken the Prius in on the day we had the ultrasound. While here, K helped me talk things out, and gave me the back and shoulder massage of the century. It was lovely and so physically relaxing, but of course my mind and stomach were in knots. Then she started to massage my hands. Of course I kept trying to mentally relax, to no avail. Then it hit, sort of out of nowhere. I gagged. K looked at me alarmed and started to ask if she needed to get a bowl, but just dashed out to get it. I jumped up and high-tailed it to the bathroom, where my entire dinner came back up. Joy.

I had been having panic attacks since about 4 or 5 in the afternoon. They started out sporadic, and were increasing as the evening went on, almost like a labor. This would continue every day, starting about 3 or 4 in the afternoon, and increasing in frequency and intensity until about 9pm. I learned to start coaching myself through them like a doula coaching a mom through labor contractions.

"Won't have to do this one again."
"One panic attack closer to the last one."
"Just keep breathing, it will pass."

I kept telling myself that *this* was my Agony in the Garden.

I was a total wreck. After I threw up I thought I might try to use up the adrenaline in my system and tire myself out. Obviously the yoga I tried between V's departure and K's arrival did nothing to help my mental or physical state. So I took to climbing stairs. Up the stairs. Down the stairs. Up the stairs. Down the stairs. It didn't take long before I quit that. K kept me company while I finished packing my bag; I was in a total daze. I settled in the bed, and they left soon after. I took my Ambien at 10:15 and it did help me fall asleep. I slept until right before 3, and listened to music from 3-5, but fortunately was not having panic attacks. Hopefully they'd be behind me now. I got up and took my second Lexapro. It was time to get ready for the hospital and leave. There were no words for how sad and alone I felt as I showered and dressed, and worked hard to get a little food down into my stomach. These last few moments with my little one in his home, in my home. I was going to walk out the door pregnant and return home without my baby, maybe okay, maybe not okay.

We got to L&D and checked in pretty easily. I had left my purse at home, and was afraid they'd ask for photo ID, but they didn't. I was told that my nurse would be S.  She was familiar; I bet anything I had her for one of my previous births. I couldn't have been gifted a better nurse. It was awkward changing into my hospital gown, and the room was cold, but I donned my awesome red nightshirt that I got for Christmas over the gown, and all was well. KADB arrived and got settled in. No way was I doing this without her. We went through a million admitting questions, the phlebotomist came and did his job, and we waited for Doctor C.

There was a lot of down time for us. I made DH and KADB pull the sofa over to the bed instead of sitting halfway across the room.  I put on Pandora, onto the Steely Dan station I loved so much. We jokingly referred to it as the Michael McDonald station, and you only wish you could see me do my Michael McDonald impersonation. But in our usual fashion we sat...we cracked jokes...we laughed...and we sat some more. DH shared things he was reading. We discussed the flu. DH suffered through nasty coffee until he got a better cup later.

Dr. C was great. His bedside manner was quiet and gentle. I didn't have the impression I was just another of the herd, as can often happen with OB's and patients. He seemed moved when he saw the little box and the blanket that was awaiting George. The order was given for 200 whatevers--mg maybe?--of Cytotec. It was a "standard" dose. He gave the order for one dose to see how that would work. I think in our conversation he used the word "patience" about 4-5 times. Now this is an OB I can work with! We discussed my concerns and I felt very satisfied and in good hands. He left and the nurse took care of getting the Cytotec for me. I didn't think we'd be having this baby before 6pm.

The medicine was put into place at about 10:20 and I had to lie back for an hour so it could dissolve and "do it's thing." I think I stayed reclined for an hour and a half, and crocheted, listening to music. Between 11:30 and noon my body seemed to get a clue. I lost my mucous plug and started to feel mildly uncomfortable. By noon I told Nurse S that if I didn't know what was going on, I would think something was definitely wrong. There was just a mildly crampy tightness that didn't let up, but nothing that would cause me to complain. Much of the 4.5 hours of the birth are something of a blur. As I said, there was a lot of down time.

One thing we did do was settle on a name. DH wanted to avoid the finality of it, so he left it up to me. I chose the name George Mary for a boy, and Georgianna Marie for a girl. Our first baby who went to Heaven was named Fulton Mary. I was early and we didn't know if it was a boy or girl, so we chose Fulton for Archbishop Fulton J. Sheen and Mary to honor the Blessed Virgin Mary. I thought we should keep that "template" for a name. This time I wanted to honor Pope Francis, but we already have "Francis" in one of the children's names. His given name is Jorge, so playing off of that, I chose George and added Mary. Georgianna Marie is just the feminized version of his name. It wasn't until later that I remembered that Pope Francis' middle name is "Mario"--Mary. So he truly did carry the Pope's name. The name coincidences became more interesting when I looked at my hospital ID band and noticed that the OB's first name is--you guessed it--George. I thought I'd fall over the next day when DH told me that he saw the OB's middle name on his medical diploma: Francis. Some would see nothing but pure coincidence in this. That's okay. I see a reminder of the Hand of God over our whole situation. It was a comfort.

Somewhere in the 1:00 hour the incessant mild tightness began to turn into distinct mild cramps. Nurse S would ask me periodically to rate my pain. I know she wanted pain scale numbers. I never went about 1-2. When you've been through the births I've been through...there's just no comparison. It was much more effective to explain how I reacted to the pain than to give it a number.

"How would you rate your pain?" " I'm furrowing my brow."
"I'm pursing my lips."
"Now I'm pursing my lips and sort of contorting my face, but it's not really worse than the second day of my cycle."

It never got worse than this. Of all the horror stories of epidurals and pass-out worthy pain I had read about Cytotec inductions at 17-20 weeks, this was the worst of it for me.  I kept waiting for "it" to hit and "it" just never did.

Just past 2:20 my water broke. I was surprised it broke before the baby came; that is a rarity for me. I would continue to cramp quietly for another 20 minutes before all of a sudden a little baby appeared at 2:42 p.m.

There he was. I could barely see him; he was still attached to his little cord so I could barely move him. I saw his face but due to his compromised bodily integrity I had to handle him with extreme gentleness. I didn't want to snap the cord, so I just held him as best as I could and waited on the nurse to come in. All looked okay, and she called Dr. C. Next step was going to be waiting for the placenta to come. After several minutes the nurse just cut the cord so we could bring him up and I could get out of the funny position I was in. His arms were long. His fingers perfect. Precious toes. His skull was hardening in the front. Little eyes...nose...mouth... "Hi Sweetheart...Hi...I love you..."

He was so little. We took a peek and saw what appeared to be a tiny little penis forming, so that confirmed what I had long believed: the baby was indeed a boy. Baby George Mary. I had never felt so sorry and inadequate as when I looked down upon his little lifeless body. I could have done no better for him for months, and yet there was nothing I could do for him.

We set him on wet gauze to protect his skin and I put him in his blanket. Dr. C arrived and looked tenderly at little George. Then he came to see how I was doing and we worked on getting "stage 3" safely to completion. I still had a placenta to deliver. Wonder of wonders, not only did it come intact, but it didn't require a lot of coaxing, and I didn't lose much blood at all. They thought they would see more blood than that. Could I have done it at home? Probably? I still wouldn't risk it.

As usual the afterpains were worse than the actual labor, but the awesome heating pad was all I needed. This was a far cry from the pillow-biting, gnashing of teeth and wailing that usually go on after a full-term birth. No, I'm not exaggerating. I did the usual uterine mashing and everything stayed very much in control. Dr. C was pleased and said he wanted me to hang around about another four hours to keep an eye on things. I was good with that, being in no hurry to go home to the chaos.

At 3:00 I was settled and we then had the next several hours to spend with little George. Father B. from our parish came by the hospital to see me and bring us Holy Communion. Poor thing, he must have arrived just around placenta time, so he had to wait a few minutes to get into the room. He blessed little George, and administered Holy Communion to us. He also dispensed us from going to Mass the next day.

Nurse S. came and chatted with me after a little while. She explained to me that George's cord was unusually thin at the umbilicus and at the placental insertion site, but that there was a bulge in the center of it. The implication was that the cord was too thin to function properly and the bulging area was probably of a more "normal" thickness. Well I knew that the formation of the cord was purely the baby's doing. There was nothing I could have done to prevent a cord issue. Looking at him, also, his left leg, up where the thigh and hip connect, was unusually swollen. There very well may have been something genetic going on there which resulted in his malformed leg and insufficient umbilical cord. I don't know. I just keep going back to how I had never done better with my prenatal care, diet, etc...and I lost him anyways. I'm such a fixer...and I couldn't fix it. I know my options...and there were no options here. We received the sweetest windfall from the Hands of God...and he blew out of my grasp. It was all wrong wrong wrong.

We hung out, and eventually I got George settled in his little box. DH brought me some salad and a grilled chicken and I ate it with little problem. The panic attacks started again after 3:00 but I only had a few. I was hoping those would settle out and that I wouldn't see them again. I was on the other side now, though, and my worries had ceased. Surely the panic attacks would, also. I called the funeral home and told them they could come by after 6 to get George. They arrived at 6:15 and we chatted.  They left around 6:30, taking little George with them. And then it hit. Hard. KADB held me on the left and DH on the right as I crumbled.

Nurse S. went off-shift at 7. She was so kind... She came and told me that she loved my birth plan, and that if she had had to go through the same experience, she would have made the exact same choices I did. It was hard telling her goodbye. We really did enjoy her presence throughout the day. As an extra little surprise, Dr. C popped in one more time to check on me. He had a birth down the hall, saw my name still on the door, and wanted to make sure all was well.

We left the hospital shortly before 9:30 and went home. It was good to see the kids. I climbed up into bed, and really don't remember anything else from that day. I went to bed feeling grateful for the houseful of kiddies I came home to, but also feeling awfully gutted. My baby was gone.

This isn't the end...just the end of this part. Yarn time. One more part to go. It is hard to write about this all, like a spectator looking in. I keep forgetting bits and pieces, and have to go back inserting them in the proper timeframe. You really deserve an award if you have made it this far.

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.