Before I begin, I have to give kudos to my sister for her poignant insight into my little world. She called me this morning as I was going to take a shower. I commented that it would be so nice if they would just make showers with telephones built into them... It's a bad idea now that I think about it. Her response, which didn't miss a beat, was that I would never get any thinking done. She really does know me best! So this blog is dedicated to her... not that it has anything to do with her. This is what I pondered as I shampooed.
As a mother of school-aged children, I have become aware that my children are frequently telling lies. I don't consider my kids defiant or devious, they are just going through a part of childhood that someday they will not be very proud of. I know this because in my youth I told some fabulous lies. They were so good that I actually believed them myself. I like to think of my mind as complicated, not psychotic.
The first horrible lie I remember vividly was when I was in the first grade. My best friend Meredith came over to play one afternoon. We were like peas and carrots. As our playtime came to an end, we talked about how cool it would be if I could walk home with her after school instead of taking the bus to my house. The next day at school all I could think about was going home with Mer. I was so excited. As my teacher was getting us ready to go home at the end of the day, I told her I was walking home with Meredith. Mrs. B, we'll call her, asked me where my note was and I immediately began balling. I told her I left it on the table at home. This was not true. There was no letter. I had not even mentioned the idea to my mom. I was so convincing that Mrs. B let me go home with Mer!
My mom was home with my three-year-old brother and brand new baby sister. Meredith's mom was nine months pregnant with her sixth child, and sat miserably in the 90 degree weather on the couch when we arrived. Mer's mom knew how to "roll with the punches" and I don't remember her being upset about having another kid in her house...she just looked really hot. My mom, on the other hand, freaked out when the school bus passed our house. She called the school, and from what I hear she had a few choice words for my teacher when she found out where I went. Then she called me. I remember being handed the phone and feeling my stomach drop to my toes. I don't recall being punished for my lie, but I fully understood that I was not going to do it again. I think my teacher took most of my mom's wrath, because the next day at school she gripped me by the wrist and threateningly told me to never do that to her again. As a mom and elementary teacher in retrospect, she should never have allowed me to go anywhere without the facts first.
This brings me back to my children and their convincing lies. It's so hard to know the difference between fact and fiction without being all knowing and omnipresent. I struggle on a daily basis trying to discern who is being truthful and who is not. As a parent, it's so discouraging that no matter how earnestly you try to instill good values in your children, they seem to need to fail and reap the consequences of their actions to really "get it."
So this is where I insert something positive and encourage my parent readers who struggle with the same problem. I could quote scripture or tell you to be consistent with your discipline and someday it will pay off, but that's not what I'm feeling right now. I keep thinking about the crazy convincing lies I told as a child....like when I ran the water in the tub, scrubbed my arm with soap, and changed my clothes instead of taking a shower. Who knows if mom really believed me when I put my arm under her nose and asked to go play, but it worked. My only hope for my children comes from the fact that somewhere in my life a change occurred and I became a horrible liar! I am so acutely aware that lying is wrong that I just can't do it anymore. I can't even lie in jest or to keep a secret! So there you have it. My Epiphany in the Shower for today is: The more a person lies as a child, the less likely it is that she'll be able to lie as an adult.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Friday, April 15, 2011
Boys are Better than Girls
I just had to share a conversation Matthew and Isabelle had while playing with their Lego guys.
Matt: (In a very man-like voice) Our family only has boys in it and we are cool because boys are better than girls.
Belle: (In an equally man-like voice) Yep!
-brief pause-
Matt: (normal voice) Belle, do you really think that boys are better than girls?
Belle: (continuing in her man voice) Yep!
Matt: Did you ever wish you were a boy on your birthday cake?
Belle: Yep.
Matt: But it didn't work?
Belle: Nope
Matt: Hmmmm. Well, that's okay. I like you the way you are.
Being a mom is the greatest gift. I have my own built-in entertainment everyday! I wish I had someone here to witness the funny stuff and laugh with me, but it's great to always have a story to tell!
Matt: (In a very man-like voice) Our family only has boys in it and we are cool because boys are better than girls.
Belle: (In an equally man-like voice) Yep!
-brief pause-
Matt: (normal voice) Belle, do you really think that boys are better than girls?
Belle: (continuing in her man voice) Yep!
Matt: Did you ever wish you were a boy on your birthday cake?
Belle: Yep.
Matt: But it didn't work?
Belle: Nope
Matt: Hmmmm. Well, that's okay. I like you the way you are.
Being a mom is the greatest gift. I have my own built-in entertainment everyday! I wish I had someone here to witness the funny stuff and laugh with me, but it's great to always have a story to tell!
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Part 2: Letting you inside my heart...
As promised, I finished writing about my experiences with miscarriage. I had second thoughts about sharing this very personal part of my life. After writing about my first three miscarriages, the emotional aspect really overtook me. I had to let it go for a few days and prayerfully ask the Lord if I should continue. He encouraged me with many people's positive feedback and thanks for my honesty. So, for those of you who needed to hear this and those who may appreciate it in the future, I'll continue.
My pregnancies with Noelle and Matthew were flawless. The Lord gave me no reason to worry and I give him all the glory. During my first trimester with Isabelle, however, I hemorrhaged. The ultrasounds showed that there were two spots shedding in my uterus. All I could do was rest and pray. I cried out to the Lord for days and after about a week the bleeding stopped! Looking back, I think something in my body was changing then. I'm so incredibly grateful that God gave me my sweet, beautiful Belle in spite of my inept body. She's a miracle...all of my children are.
Isabelle was born in 2007 and my husband and I were exhausted caring for three little ones. We knew that someday we wanted one more baby, but we had to put that desire on pause for a bit. Much to our surprise, contraceptives didn't work for us and I became pregnant in early 2008. We were shocked, but thrilled! My OBGYN had made the decision to move out of state and so I chose a new one near my home. I went to my first ultrasound visit alone. I don't remember why. I hadn't had any bleeding and actually felt great! I was so excited to see my baby's little heart beating. I watched the little screen, knowing what to look for and my heart sank. There was my little baby, but no heart was beating. The ultrasound tech confirmed what I already knew.
The death of my baby was worsened by the poor care I received from my new doctor. Most women would have had what's called a D&C. The American Pregnancy Association explains, D&C, also known as dilation and curettage, is a surgical procedure often performed after a first trimester miscarriage. Dilation means to open up the cervix; curettage means to remove the contents of the uterus. My doctor did nothing. I went for weekly blood checks of my Beta HCG levels. This is the human growth hormone that increases as a woman's pregnancy progresses. The numbers should have gone down, but they continued to incline and I still had no signs of miscarriage for several weeks. Secretly, I hoped God was going to miraculously revive my baby and shock the medical community.
During the eleventh week of my pregnancy, I went into labor. I didn't realize that was what was happening to me. After two hours of agony, I let my husband take me to the E.R. I had grown to hate hospitals. As I walked back to the emergency room, I began to deliver. I had no idea that's what was happening. All of my previous miscarriages were at about 6 weeks and though painful, there was no visible baby. Before they took our baby away, I got to see an underdeveloped fetus with a head and body about the size of my hand. It still haunts me. I was well taken care of by a doctor and we were given cremation papers to sign. Then we went home. The weeks to follow I mourned in secret. I had three children to care for.
June of 2008 my mom and I were having a garage sale. I had been working pretty hard and ignored the horrible pain in my right side. It went all the way up to my shoulder. I thought I had pulled a muscle from all the lifting I had been doing. Naproxen worked on my discomfort for a day, but by the second day, nothing took away the pain. This time I waited for several hours in a packed emergency room with pain I'd rate at a 10. My mom was a nervous wreck, but I told her not to complain to the nurses. When I was finally admitted they ran all the normal blood work and....of course without trying again, I was pregnant. I just cried and said, "not again, not again!" I immediately knew that it was ectopic and told my doctor. She sent me for another one of those painful ultrasounds. I had been given nubain, so I was a bit "loopy." After viewing a screen she kept hidden from me, the ultrasound tech kindly made me comfortable and told me not to move, she needed to go see the radiologist right away. I actually remember telling her, "take your time!" When the E.R doctor came to talk to me, she told me I was right, the pregnancy was ectopic. This time it was worse. The pregnancy had ruptured my right fallopian tube and I was bleeding internally. They called my doctor and his response was to keep me comfortable until the morning when he would do surgery. I have no idea why I wasn't paying attention to the "red flags" that this doctor wasn't qualified to care for me.
A few months later I had a procedure to check my left fallopian tube to see if it was open. I didn't want to go through another ectopic. My doctor told me the tube was completely closed and my chances of ever being pregnant again were one in a million. It took months for me to come to terms with the fact that I'd never have another baby. I felt like a failure. I rationalized that the only way to make up for the deaths of my children was to have a baby to honor them. That wasn't going to happen. My husband told me that sometimes God answers prayer with, "No." As much as I hated this truth, I started moving on with my life. By the following summer I decided to get rid of all our baby supplies. All the sweet little clothes, toys, furniture, bottles...you name it, I sold it. I was really enjoying moving forward. Life was getting easier as my children got older. We got sleep at night, didn't have to stop for nap time, went to soccer, baseball, and school activities. I didn't have to carry my kids or spend a half hour putting on coats, hats, mittens, and boots before I ran a five minute errand. I was happy.
January of 2010 arrived and I was extremely "late." This was normal for me at times, but I knew something was different. I had switched back to my first OBGYN who had changed his mind and stayed in town. I called and he told me to take a pregnancy test. That sounded absurd. I was shocked to have a positive test! It was impossible! God had given me a miracle! I worried that the baby was ectopic, but that pain never came. I worried that I would start hemorrhaging, but I didn't! I worried there would be no heart beat. Three weeks later, I went in for my first ultrasound with my husband at my side. We were looking for that heart beat we were told was a great sign that everything would be okay. I really doubted we would see it, but much to our surprise, there was our little baby in a perfect spot in my uterus with a heartbeat!
You would think that I would have cried or jumped for joy, but I was in shock. I just remember being speechless for a long time. We kept our news private, only telling a select few and asking for their prayers. By mid February I started to spot. Ultrasounds showed that my baby was hanging in there, but his heartbeat wasn't as strong as it should have been. I was so confused. I thought a heart beat was a guarantee. I hoped that since God had given me this miracle, surely He wouldn't take it away. By eleven weeks of pregnancy, I delivered another fetus in the E.R. I wasn't given the chance to see this baby, but had to endure listening to the doctor show her students the baby and identifying it's body parts. They stood right next to me and I watched the excitement on their faces as they got to see this for the first time. I understand they were looking at my baby from a medical perspective, but they had no compassion for the parents that just lost their child.
You might ask me how I could I endure these horrible tragedies and still love God. Here is my response.
Hebrews 4: 14-16 Therefore, since we have a great high priest who has gone through the heavens, Jesus the Son of God, let us hold firmly to the faith we profess. For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way--yet was without sin. Let us then approach the throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need.
Jesus took the form of a man while He was still fully God. He endured pain, agony, hatred, sorrow, betrayal, and died. He is a God who knows our pain from personal experience. He loves us and pours out his mercy and grace when we need it. He doesn't just pat us on the head, telling us not to worry about it. He wraps his arms around us and weeps with us. This was not His plan for our lives. I love God for taking better care of my six babies than I ever could and instilling a hope in me that I will meet them in heaven someday.
My pregnancies with Noelle and Matthew were flawless. The Lord gave me no reason to worry and I give him all the glory. During my first trimester with Isabelle, however, I hemorrhaged. The ultrasounds showed that there were two spots shedding in my uterus. All I could do was rest and pray. I cried out to the Lord for days and after about a week the bleeding stopped! Looking back, I think something in my body was changing then. I'm so incredibly grateful that God gave me my sweet, beautiful Belle in spite of my inept body. She's a miracle...all of my children are.
Isabelle was born in 2007 and my husband and I were exhausted caring for three little ones. We knew that someday we wanted one more baby, but we had to put that desire on pause for a bit. Much to our surprise, contraceptives didn't work for us and I became pregnant in early 2008. We were shocked, but thrilled! My OBGYN had made the decision to move out of state and so I chose a new one near my home. I went to my first ultrasound visit alone. I don't remember why. I hadn't had any bleeding and actually felt great! I was so excited to see my baby's little heart beating. I watched the little screen, knowing what to look for and my heart sank. There was my little baby, but no heart was beating. The ultrasound tech confirmed what I already knew.
The death of my baby was worsened by the poor care I received from my new doctor. Most women would have had what's called a D&C. The American Pregnancy Association explains, D&C, also known as dilation and curettage, is a surgical procedure often performed after a first trimester miscarriage. Dilation means to open up the cervix; curettage means to remove the contents of the uterus. My doctor did nothing. I went for weekly blood checks of my Beta HCG levels. This is the human growth hormone that increases as a woman's pregnancy progresses. The numbers should have gone down, but they continued to incline and I still had no signs of miscarriage for several weeks. Secretly, I hoped God was going to miraculously revive my baby and shock the medical community.
During the eleventh week of my pregnancy, I went into labor. I didn't realize that was what was happening to me. After two hours of agony, I let my husband take me to the E.R. I had grown to hate hospitals. As I walked back to the emergency room, I began to deliver. I had no idea that's what was happening. All of my previous miscarriages were at about 6 weeks and though painful, there was no visible baby. Before they took our baby away, I got to see an underdeveloped fetus with a head and body about the size of my hand. It still haunts me. I was well taken care of by a doctor and we were given cremation papers to sign. Then we went home. The weeks to follow I mourned in secret. I had three children to care for.
June of 2008 my mom and I were having a garage sale. I had been working pretty hard and ignored the horrible pain in my right side. It went all the way up to my shoulder. I thought I had pulled a muscle from all the lifting I had been doing. Naproxen worked on my discomfort for a day, but by the second day, nothing took away the pain. This time I waited for several hours in a packed emergency room with pain I'd rate at a 10. My mom was a nervous wreck, but I told her not to complain to the nurses. When I was finally admitted they ran all the normal blood work and....of course without trying again, I was pregnant. I just cried and said, "not again, not again!" I immediately knew that it was ectopic and told my doctor. She sent me for another one of those painful ultrasounds. I had been given nubain, so I was a bit "loopy." After viewing a screen she kept hidden from me, the ultrasound tech kindly made me comfortable and told me not to move, she needed to go see the radiologist right away. I actually remember telling her, "take your time!" When the E.R doctor came to talk to me, she told me I was right, the pregnancy was ectopic. This time it was worse. The pregnancy had ruptured my right fallopian tube and I was bleeding internally. They called my doctor and his response was to keep me comfortable until the morning when he would do surgery. I have no idea why I wasn't paying attention to the "red flags" that this doctor wasn't qualified to care for me.
A few months later I had a procedure to check my left fallopian tube to see if it was open. I didn't want to go through another ectopic. My doctor told me the tube was completely closed and my chances of ever being pregnant again were one in a million. It took months for me to come to terms with the fact that I'd never have another baby. I felt like a failure. I rationalized that the only way to make up for the deaths of my children was to have a baby to honor them. That wasn't going to happen. My husband told me that sometimes God answers prayer with, "No." As much as I hated this truth, I started moving on with my life. By the following summer I decided to get rid of all our baby supplies. All the sweet little clothes, toys, furniture, bottles...you name it, I sold it. I was really enjoying moving forward. Life was getting easier as my children got older. We got sleep at night, didn't have to stop for nap time, went to soccer, baseball, and school activities. I didn't have to carry my kids or spend a half hour putting on coats, hats, mittens, and boots before I ran a five minute errand. I was happy.
January of 2010 arrived and I was extremely "late." This was normal for me at times, but I knew something was different. I had switched back to my first OBGYN who had changed his mind and stayed in town. I called and he told me to take a pregnancy test. That sounded absurd. I was shocked to have a positive test! It was impossible! God had given me a miracle! I worried that the baby was ectopic, but that pain never came. I worried that I would start hemorrhaging, but I didn't! I worried there would be no heart beat. Three weeks later, I went in for my first ultrasound with my husband at my side. We were looking for that heart beat we were told was a great sign that everything would be okay. I really doubted we would see it, but much to our surprise, there was our little baby in a perfect spot in my uterus with a heartbeat!
You would think that I would have cried or jumped for joy, but I was in shock. I just remember being speechless for a long time. We kept our news private, only telling a select few and asking for their prayers. By mid February I started to spot. Ultrasounds showed that my baby was hanging in there, but his heartbeat wasn't as strong as it should have been. I was so confused. I thought a heart beat was a guarantee. I hoped that since God had given me this miracle, surely He wouldn't take it away. By eleven weeks of pregnancy, I delivered another fetus in the E.R. I wasn't given the chance to see this baby, but had to endure listening to the doctor show her students the baby and identifying it's body parts. They stood right next to me and I watched the excitement on their faces as they got to see this for the first time. I understand they were looking at my baby from a medical perspective, but they had no compassion for the parents that just lost their child.
You might ask me how I could I endure these horrible tragedies and still love God. Here is my response.
Hebrews 4: 14-16 Therefore, since we have a great high priest who has gone through the heavens, Jesus the Son of God, let us hold firmly to the faith we profess. For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way--yet was without sin. Let us then approach the throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need.
Jesus took the form of a man while He was still fully God. He endured pain, agony, hatred, sorrow, betrayal, and died. He is a God who knows our pain from personal experience. He loves us and pours out his mercy and grace when we need it. He doesn't just pat us on the head, telling us not to worry about it. He wraps his arms around us and weeps with us. This was not His plan for our lives. I love God for taking better care of my six babies than I ever could and instilling a hope in me that I will meet them in heaven someday.
Friday, April 8, 2011
Letting you inside my heart...
Wikipedia states that, Miscarriage or spontaneous abortion is the spontaneous end of a pregnancy at a stage where the embryo or fetus is incapable of surviving independently, generally defined in humans at prior to 20 weeks of gestation. Miscarriage is the most common complication of early pregnancy.
Recently, I have been battling with the thought that I should share my experiences with miscarriage. It seems to be a topic that until recently, has been swept under the rug because of grief and shame. When I had my first miscarriage, I barely even knew the word and didn't think that I would have to worry about it. I didn't know anyone who had been through a miscarriage and my family was full of fertile women. After sharing this experience with several friends, my eyes have been opened to miscarriage's prevalence, the lack of knowledge and research for women's health issues, and the absurdity of it's treatment and undertones of shame.
After a year of marriage my husband and I began to discuss starting a family. Becoming a mother was at the top of my list of things I dreamed for my life. I wanted six children. A full house of fun and energy. We compromised down to four. I was so excited and immediately got all of the popular pregnancy books to study and fully prepare myself. The sections on miscarriage in my books were about a page long...I didn't even bother reading them. After several months and negative pregnancy tests, I was in the kitchen loading the dishwasher and could barely stand up. I had never had a period that painful, so I called my doctor. I didn't have an OBGYN at the time. My family doctor told me to take a pregnancy test which I thought was silly. I took one two weeks previous to this and it was negative, but I did what she said. When the test came up positive I was over-joyed. Miscarriage was the farthest thing from my mind.
We went to the emergency room and waited four hours to be seen. We were told the more "life-threatening" situations came first. My first nurse was a student and put me through so much pain that you could hear me screaming down the hall. I had no idea what I was about to endure. I will leave out most of the details and just try to tell my story medically. In order to find out what was wrong, the doctor ordered an ultrasound for which they had to fill up my bladder to its maximum for about a half hour. It was the most painful torture I have ever been though. The ultrasound tech who was visibly angry that she was called to work in the middle of the night, took picture after picture. I apologized that I had inconvenienced her and asked through my tears and gritted teeth, "is everything okay?" but she just said, "I can't tell you anything." When we finally saw the doctor again, he told me to take some ibuprofen for the pain and follow up with my family doctor. I had to ask him, "IS MY BABY OK?!" He simply replied that they didn't see a baby. He was cold and aloof. He made me feel like I wasted his time. In a matter of eight hours I went from doing the dishes in pain, to ecstatically expecting my first baby, to the most morbid pain, physical violation, and emotional trauma of my life.
I followed up with my doctor and was referred to an OBGYN. He told me that miscarriage was the body's way of naturally getting rid of a bad pregnancy and that statistically, I would probably never have another problem. We were encouraged to wait a month and then keep trying. After several months, I was "late." We were going to a movie with some friends and picked up a test on the way. I was so excited to take it, so we stopped at a Taco Bell and I came smiling out of the bathroom exclaiming, "We're going to have a little bambino!" I told everyone I could over the next three weeks and even started reading my big book of baby names. At about six weeks, the bleeding began. My doctor said there was nothing he could do and told me to try lying down. I didn't move from my bed for anything. The pain increased and the trips to the bathroom made it evident that there would be no baby. I became an emotional zombie again until one night I cracked. My husband held me while I screamed, "I want my baby!" and sobbed uncontrollably. Nothing makes that pain go away.
I couldn't understand how God could allow this to happen to me. ME. I wanted to be a mom more than anything in the world and had framed my life so that I could! I had dreams that I abandoned. There were young girls and women out there that didn't want children and they were having them left and right! It was NOT fair!
My doctor encouraged me that this was not the end. He told me to keep trying. They don't do tests or worry about there being a problem until after a third miscarriage. I had to lose another baby before I'd get answers. Late in 2002 I woke up with the worst sharp pain. I couldn't stop getting sick, so my husband took me to the emergency room. I thought maybe it was appendicitis. The doctor did blood work and came in the room with a huge smile and said, "You're pregnant!" I just looked at her and smugly said, "no I'm not." This was different than the other complications I'd had, but I knew there wasn't going to be a baby. I didn't cry. I was sent for an ultrasound and it revealed a mass in my right fallopian tube, an ectopic pregnancy. Wikipedia explains that, An ectopic pregnancy, or eccysis, is a complication of pregnancy in which the pregnancy implants outside the uterine cavity.[1] With rare exceptions, ectopic pregnancies are not viable. Furthermore, they are dangerous for the mother, internal bleeding being a common complication. Most ectopic pregnancies occur in the Fallopian tube (so-called tubal pregnancies), but implantation can also occur in the cervix, ovaries, and abdomen. An ectopic pregnancy is a potential medical emergency, and, if not treated properly, can lead to death.
I spent the next few days heavily drugged for pain in the hospital until the baby passed. My doctor had his reason to send me for testing and because of my strong desire to be a mother I had killed a third baby.
I was sent to a specialist who did tons of blood work on my husband and me. Nothing came up as a problem for him, but my blood work indicated several clotting disorders. They weren't sure if this was a problem, but advised that I take baby aspirin or even injections of heparin when I became pregnant again. Through an advanced ultrasound the specialist found that I had what was called a bicornuate uterus. Wikipedia explains that, A bicornuate uterus or bicornate uterus, commonly referred to as a "heart-shaped" uterus, is a type of uterine malformation where two "horns" form at the upper part of the uterus. My doctor explained that there was a procedure that might correct the deformity. Just after the New Year, 2003, I went in for out-patient surgery. When I woke up they told me the deformity was so severe that they couldn't fix it, but they had found that I was full of endometriosis. Wikipedia's definition isn't very clear, so I'll explain that I was told endometriosis is like a scar tissue that forms due to a woman's hormones. The doctors removed all of it and said to try getting pregnant again.
A month later I was pregnant and then made it to my first ultrasound! I was a nervous wreck. I clenched my husband's hand and watched the little screen as they showed me my baby, with a heart beat! The doctor said everything looked great and with the heart beat I only had a 3% chance of miscarriage. Late 2003, Noelle Faith was born. Upon my doctor's orders to have my babies quickly, 17 months later Matthew Joseph arrived, and 23 months after him Isabelle Grace was born. I was in mommy heaven!
My husband and I had three of the four babies we planned for. We were happy, extremely blessed and so tired. Sadly, this wasn't the end to my heart ache. I will post a part-two to this blog in the near future. Miscarriage was not over for me and had not even shown the worst of it's ugliness.
Recently, I have been battling with the thought that I should share my experiences with miscarriage. It seems to be a topic that until recently, has been swept under the rug because of grief and shame. When I had my first miscarriage, I barely even knew the word and didn't think that I would have to worry about it. I didn't know anyone who had been through a miscarriage and my family was full of fertile women. After sharing this experience with several friends, my eyes have been opened to miscarriage's prevalence, the lack of knowledge and research for women's health issues, and the absurdity of it's treatment and undertones of shame.
After a year of marriage my husband and I began to discuss starting a family. Becoming a mother was at the top of my list of things I dreamed for my life. I wanted six children. A full house of fun and energy. We compromised down to four. I was so excited and immediately got all of the popular pregnancy books to study and fully prepare myself. The sections on miscarriage in my books were about a page long...I didn't even bother reading them. After several months and negative pregnancy tests, I was in the kitchen loading the dishwasher and could barely stand up. I had never had a period that painful, so I called my doctor. I didn't have an OBGYN at the time. My family doctor told me to take a pregnancy test which I thought was silly. I took one two weeks previous to this and it was negative, but I did what she said. When the test came up positive I was over-joyed. Miscarriage was the farthest thing from my mind.
We went to the emergency room and waited four hours to be seen. We were told the more "life-threatening" situations came first. My first nurse was a student and put me through so much pain that you could hear me screaming down the hall. I had no idea what I was about to endure. I will leave out most of the details and just try to tell my story medically. In order to find out what was wrong, the doctor ordered an ultrasound for which they had to fill up my bladder to its maximum for about a half hour. It was the most painful torture I have ever been though. The ultrasound tech who was visibly angry that she was called to work in the middle of the night, took picture after picture. I apologized that I had inconvenienced her and asked through my tears and gritted teeth, "is everything okay?" but she just said, "I can't tell you anything." When we finally saw the doctor again, he told me to take some ibuprofen for the pain and follow up with my family doctor. I had to ask him, "IS MY BABY OK?!" He simply replied that they didn't see a baby. He was cold and aloof. He made me feel like I wasted his time. In a matter of eight hours I went from doing the dishes in pain, to ecstatically expecting my first baby, to the most morbid pain, physical violation, and emotional trauma of my life.
I followed up with my doctor and was referred to an OBGYN. He told me that miscarriage was the body's way of naturally getting rid of a bad pregnancy and that statistically, I would probably never have another problem. We were encouraged to wait a month and then keep trying. After several months, I was "late." We were going to a movie with some friends and picked up a test on the way. I was so excited to take it, so we stopped at a Taco Bell and I came smiling out of the bathroom exclaiming, "We're going to have a little bambino!" I told everyone I could over the next three weeks and even started reading my big book of baby names. At about six weeks, the bleeding began. My doctor said there was nothing he could do and told me to try lying down. I didn't move from my bed for anything. The pain increased and the trips to the bathroom made it evident that there would be no baby. I became an emotional zombie again until one night I cracked. My husband held me while I screamed, "I want my baby!" and sobbed uncontrollably. Nothing makes that pain go away.
I couldn't understand how God could allow this to happen to me. ME. I wanted to be a mom more than anything in the world and had framed my life so that I could! I had dreams that I abandoned. There were young girls and women out there that didn't want children and they were having them left and right! It was NOT fair!
My doctor encouraged me that this was not the end. He told me to keep trying. They don't do tests or worry about there being a problem until after a third miscarriage. I had to lose another baby before I'd get answers. Late in 2002 I woke up with the worst sharp pain. I couldn't stop getting sick, so my husband took me to the emergency room. I thought maybe it was appendicitis. The doctor did blood work and came in the room with a huge smile and said, "You're pregnant!" I just looked at her and smugly said, "no I'm not." This was different than the other complications I'd had, but I knew there wasn't going to be a baby. I didn't cry. I was sent for an ultrasound and it revealed a mass in my right fallopian tube, an ectopic pregnancy. Wikipedia explains that, An ectopic pregnancy, or eccysis, is a complication of pregnancy in which the pregnancy implants outside the uterine cavity.[1] With rare exceptions, ectopic pregnancies are not viable. Furthermore, they are dangerous for the mother, internal bleeding being a common complication. Most ectopic pregnancies occur in the Fallopian tube (so-called tubal pregnancies), but implantation can also occur in the cervix, ovaries, and abdomen. An ectopic pregnancy is a potential medical emergency, and, if not treated properly, can lead to death.
I spent the next few days heavily drugged for pain in the hospital until the baby passed. My doctor had his reason to send me for testing and because of my strong desire to be a mother I had killed a third baby.
I was sent to a specialist who did tons of blood work on my husband and me. Nothing came up as a problem for him, but my blood work indicated several clotting disorders. They weren't sure if this was a problem, but advised that I take baby aspirin or even injections of heparin when I became pregnant again. Through an advanced ultrasound the specialist found that I had what was called a bicornuate uterus. Wikipedia explains that, A bicornuate uterus or bicornate uterus, commonly referred to as a "heart-shaped" uterus, is a type of uterine malformation where two "horns" form at the upper part of the uterus. My doctor explained that there was a procedure that might correct the deformity. Just after the New Year, 2003, I went in for out-patient surgery. When I woke up they told me the deformity was so severe that they couldn't fix it, but they had found that I was full of endometriosis. Wikipedia's definition isn't very clear, so I'll explain that I was told endometriosis is like a scar tissue that forms due to a woman's hormones. The doctors removed all of it and said to try getting pregnant again.
A month later I was pregnant and then made it to my first ultrasound! I was a nervous wreck. I clenched my husband's hand and watched the little screen as they showed me my baby, with a heart beat! The doctor said everything looked great and with the heart beat I only had a 3% chance of miscarriage. Late 2003, Noelle Faith was born. Upon my doctor's orders to have my babies quickly, 17 months later Matthew Joseph arrived, and 23 months after him Isabelle Grace was born. I was in mommy heaven!
My husband and I had three of the four babies we planned for. We were happy, extremely blessed and so tired. Sadly, this wasn't the end to my heart ache. I will post a part-two to this blog in the near future. Miscarriage was not over for me and had not even shown the worst of it's ugliness.
Monday, April 4, 2011
Side Effects
I was in my think tank, a.k.a. the shower, and was really despising the lengthy daily ritual of a woman. It's exhausting! I wished that I could take a shower and be done and fully dressed in 5-7 minutes like my husband. It's just not possible! I'd have to shave my head and forgo the razor for any other use. I'd never be able to moisturize my face or lotion any dry spots. Make-up would obviously be out, along with anything yummy smelling from Bath & Body Works. There would be no eyebrow plucking, no nail filing, no blow drying or straightening. Brushing my teeth, flossing, and daily use of Listerine along with an occasional whitening treatment would be reduced to a quick spin around the mouth with my toothbrush. Finally, getting dressed would go from staring at my clothes for a few minutes, selecting a first choice and examining it in front of a full length mirror from every angle with self-loathing, trying a few more options, finally going with my first choice accepting that this is as good as it gets, to simply grabbing jeans and a sweatshirt and getting on with life.
Next I was on to swimming suits. You'd never see a woman in a water t-shirt and swim trunks that go past her knees. Why is it that men get to cover so much up?
Then there's stubble. On a man's face it's ruggedly handsome. On a woman's legs it's just gross.
Bed-head...makes a man look cute and endearing and a woman like she's off her meds.
Wrinkled clothes on a man reflect badly on his wife. Wrinkled clothes on a woman make her look like a slob.
Do men not worry about coffee breath? I see them talking and carrying on as if the big elephant in the room doesn't exist! I try to never drink coffee in public. If I do I keep my distance or apologize as if at least acknowledging that my breath stinks makes it better.
After thinking through all of this I was singing Beyonce's, If I were a Boy...which sadly, those were the only words I knew and sang them repeatedly. It made me wonder what men would gripe about if there was a song, If I were a Girl. Well, maybe they wouldn't actually sing those lyrics. I started to feel awful about my ungratefulness for my position in life. Being a woman has so many positive aspects, it's just the side effects that I begrudge.
Next I was on to swimming suits. You'd never see a woman in a water t-shirt and swim trunks that go past her knees. Why is it that men get to cover so much up?
Then there's stubble. On a man's face it's ruggedly handsome. On a woman's legs it's just gross.
Bed-head...makes a man look cute and endearing and a woman like she's off her meds.
Wrinkled clothes on a man reflect badly on his wife. Wrinkled clothes on a woman make her look like a slob.
Do men not worry about coffee breath? I see them talking and carrying on as if the big elephant in the room doesn't exist! I try to never drink coffee in public. If I do I keep my distance or apologize as if at least acknowledging that my breath stinks makes it better.
After thinking through all of this I was singing Beyonce's, If I were a Boy...which sadly, those were the only words I knew and sang them repeatedly. It made me wonder what men would gripe about if there was a song, If I were a Girl. Well, maybe they wouldn't actually sing those lyrics. I started to feel awful about my ungratefulness for my position in life. Being a woman has so many positive aspects, it's just the side effects that I begrudge.
Friday, April 1, 2011
The Other Side of the Mountain
My brain has been on overload for far too long and is subsequently giving me a bit of writer's block. While this might not be the most eloquent or clever blog post, I wanted to update everyone on Isabelle's condition. We went in for surgery last Wednesday morning and your prayers were immediately evident. I had a great sense of calm about the procedure after a good night of xanax induced rest. We received a call the day before the surgery that it had been moved up to 7:30 in the morning. This was great because I was no longer stressed about Belle having a fit because she was hungry before the surgery. (They had ordered that she be NPO) My wonderful Aunt Rita, who was taking care of my other two children, had no problem arriving at my house at 5:30 in the morning! Matthew doesn't have school on Wednesdays and Noelle stayed home because she was diagnosed with strep throat on Tuesday. The doctor assured me that Belle was not infected and with all the antibiotics she'd receive, she was covered anyways. It could have been worse. Noelle could have gotten sick on Wednesday.
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| When we arrived at the hospital Belle was sleepy, but actually liked her "hospital clothes." |
When it was time to say good-bye, David was given permission to take Belle back into the operating room and stay with her until she was asleep. I am so grateful that he is such a strong Daddy. I couldn't have gone with Belle without crying, so I stayed behind.
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| Daddy and Belle dressed for surgery! |
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| Belle in the recovery room |
We had great luck to get a private new room in the recent addition to the hospital. It was clean, very large, had a full private bathroom with a shower, a beautiful view, and sleeping accommodations for parents! I was thrilled. The room we had with Noelle was small, shared, very dirty, no shower, and only had a wooden chair for me to sleep in. My sense of calm and joy that God took that stress away was huge!
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| Belle and me in her "suite" with the balloons her brother and sister brought for her. |
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| The comforts of home |
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| There's nothing like a devoted doggy to make recovery easier :) |
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| Noelle and Matthew were wonderful playmates and empathetic care-givers! |
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| First try! |
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| "Old pro" |
Monday, March 7, 2011
Feet of Strength
Yes, I couldn't help myself but use a line from Robin Hood, Men in Tights for my title...It's cheesy, but such a serious topic needed a little comic introduction.
In two weeks my youngest daughter will be having corrective surgery for club feet. I wanted to give people a clearer picture of what it is that both of my daughters have conquered. When they were born, there was no one for me to talk to and get answers about what my babies futures looked like. We faced this birth defect blindly, and at times it was extremely painful emotionally and for my daughters, physically. I wished there was someone out there who had been through this that could tell me what to expect and that it was going to be alright. Maybe this blog post will be that to someone else.
Noelle was born with one club foot. We didn't know about it until she was born, but I was already prepared for it. I have a bicorniate uterus and so did the mother of one of my former students. Her daughter was born with a club foot and she had briefly told me about it when I was pregnant. That little conversation was a gift from God because when Noelle was born and the doctors were panicked, I had this unnatural calm. I knew it was going to be okay and wasn't even shocked or upset.
Noelle was put into a cast the week after her birth. Each week I went to the pediatric orthopedist and she was re-casted, slowly bending the foot to the appropriate position. The casts were made of plaster then and the process was very time consuming. I'm go grateful to my sister for taking me to these long visits because I couldn't drive for six weeks after my c-section. God sent me angels wherever I needed them.
My son Matthew was born with normal feet and I hoped that meant Noelle's club foot was just a "fluke" as the doctors put it. At my 20 week ultrasound with Isabelle, they found that she had not one, but two club feet. I was devastated. I felt like it was my fault for wanting another baby. In my mind I thought I did this, I caused this.
It's weird to say, but it was a blessing that I had three-year old Noelle running around. Living proof that Club feet can be fixed. When Isabelle was born, my guilt and pain for her deformity made me extremely protective. I didn't want anyone to see her and shudder. She was beautiful and so I wanted her to have a name that meant beauty, "Belle." The day after her birth, a nurse came in and took Isabelle from me and said, "the doctor wants to see her." She wouldn't tell me which doctor. I could barely walk after having a c-section, but that didn't stop me from "chasing" after her. I found Belle being prepared for casting not even 24 hours after her birth. They weren't even going to tell me! I told the doctor that there was no way he was going to do this. My baby needed a week to be pain-free before months of agony. I won the argument. Belle was casted five days after birth.
This is my mom holding Belle in her primary casts. She had to have them changed weekly and her feet were slowly bent in the opposite direction. It looks unnatural. Belle cried ALL THE TIME! This process took an exhausting 6 weeks. I told my mom during this time, "I love my baby, but I am not enjoying her." I feel like my daughter's infancy was stolen.
After six weeks, Belle required a surgery that Noelle never had. Her feet were "tight" and in order for Belle not to walk on her tip-toes someday, my little baby had the tendons in her heel severed to lengthen them. Then, she was casted for another six weeks. It was miserable.
Finally, at 14 weeks old, Belle was free...almost. Now she would have to wear her new shoes 23 hours a day. These shoes helped maintain the feet in their new position.
We took them off for bath time...which she had never had before. I was so happy not to have to give her sponge baths and so was she!
She also got to do a little standing in her Exersaucer. Her muscles were very atrophied from being in casts for so long.
By five months, Belle only had to wear her shoes at night. She was happy and I enjoyed being a mommy again! Both of my daughters wore their shoes until they were 3 1/2 years old.
Nine months after Belle was out of her casts, it was time for Noelle to have the next surgery. This surgery lengthened the tendon in her heel. It also moved another tendon from the inside of her foot to the top of her foot, through the bones where it was anchored in the bottom of her foot. It was more painful than we were ready for.
The only thing that distracted Noelle from the pain was watching movies.....
and codeine induced sleep. I can't believe I actually thought doing her hair and putting her in a brand-new dress to go home in would be appropriate. I had no idea that it was going to be so rough. After about 10 days Noelle's swelling and pain were much better! She had a walker and could get around. She played and made it through the next 6 weeks like a champ!
Noelle's left leg and foot are still much smaller than her right. Shoes never fit her well. That hasn't stopped her though! She is an amazing soccer player, loves swimming, and is an extremely active 7 year old now. She still has a little pain when she does a lot of running, but every year it's gotten better.
Belle will have this same surgery this month on her right foot and then again in six months on her left foot. I am so scared for her, but like Noelle, she is an amazingly strong little girl. I am so thankful that God gave me this challenge to overcome. It has made me a stronger more patient mother and created an incredible closeness with my daughters. I can't say, however, that I'm glad my daughters have had to endure this deformity, but I am in awe of the strength, perseverance, and love for life it has created in them. Please keep my fun-loving, beautiful Belle in your prayers!
In two weeks my youngest daughter will be having corrective surgery for club feet. I wanted to give people a clearer picture of what it is that both of my daughters have conquered. When they were born, there was no one for me to talk to and get answers about what my babies futures looked like. We faced this birth defect blindly, and at times it was extremely painful emotionally and for my daughters, physically. I wished there was someone out there who had been through this that could tell me what to expect and that it was going to be alright. Maybe this blog post will be that to someone else.
Noelle was born with one club foot. We didn't know about it until she was born, but I was already prepared for it. I have a bicorniate uterus and so did the mother of one of my former students. Her daughter was born with a club foot and she had briefly told me about it when I was pregnant. That little conversation was a gift from God because when Noelle was born and the doctors were panicked, I had this unnatural calm. I knew it was going to be okay and wasn't even shocked or upset.
My son Matthew was born with normal feet and I hoped that meant Noelle's club foot was just a "fluke" as the doctors put it. At my 20 week ultrasound with Isabelle, they found that she had not one, but two club feet. I was devastated. I felt like it was my fault for wanting another baby. In my mind I thought I did this, I caused this.
After six weeks, Belle required a surgery that Noelle never had. Her feet were "tight" and in order for Belle not to walk on her tip-toes someday, my little baby had the tendons in her heel severed to lengthen them. Then, she was casted for another six weeks. It was miserable.
Nine months after Belle was out of her casts, it was time for Noelle to have the next surgery. This surgery lengthened the tendon in her heel. It also moved another tendon from the inside of her foot to the top of her foot, through the bones where it was anchored in the bottom of her foot. It was more painful than we were ready for.
Belle will have this same surgery this month on her right foot and then again in six months on her left foot. I am so scared for her, but like Noelle, she is an amazingly strong little girl. I am so thankful that God gave me this challenge to overcome. It has made me a stronger more patient mother and created an incredible closeness with my daughters. I can't say, however, that I'm glad my daughters have had to endure this deformity, but I am in awe of the strength, perseverance, and love for life it has created in them. Please keep my fun-loving, beautiful Belle in your prayers!
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