Remembering

In honor of my baby who went to Heaven before I was ready.

A year ago today I discovered that a sweet baby I was expecting died while growing inside me.  I had no idea that anything was wrong until the ultrasound tech said, "I'm so sorry, Sweetie."

The doctor confirmed we had no heartbeat.

I was utterly destroyed.  My longed-for little baby was not to be.  Sad, grief, pain can not describe it.  I was drowning.

It took my dear sister reminding me that my little one was safe in Heaven, being rocked and cuddled by numerous great grandparents, aunts and uncles and friends before I was able to get some peace.  Even now, a year later I'm crying as I write this, jealous for the baby I never got to meet.

I've never been close-mouthed about this experience though I have found that many women are.  I'd like to make this something we don't feel the need to be silent about.  If you've had a miscarriage, you've lost a child.  You did nothing to cause it and there's nothing you could have done to prevent it.  My doctor told me that one in four pregnancies at least end in miscarriage and that number is likely higher, since many times women don't even know they were pregnant and some don't report it.

There is no shame in it and maybe by talking about it we can help each other.

My State of Mind

Here's where I am. I have definitely not given up hope and am looking forward to a healthy and perfectly average baby. BUT if God chooses to answer our prayers a different way than we like and THIS right here and now is the only time I have with her, I want to make sure I am enjoying and savoring every moment and SHARING her with everyone.

Want to touch my belly? Please let me know before you do but touch, by all means.

Want to feel her kicking? Bring me some pineapple juice and we will make that happen.

Ask me about her, say her name, tell me you're still praying. I need to hear it.

If God takes her before I'm ready I need to make sure she's not forgotten.

A million thanks to a man who went out of his way to tell me he's expecting a miracle for us and didn't let my teary eyes deter him.

But God

I have a coworker whose favorite phrase is "but God."

Basically, God's plan prevails despite ourselves or the plans of our enemies.

The devil meant this to harm me but God.

I could have died on the way to work today but God.

I'm stealing it for my own today and I can't wait to fill in my own blank.

The doctor said my daughter would never survive outside my body but God.

They said she couldn't live but God.

They said I should end her life and "try again" but God.

Here's the source (emphasis mine):

Ephesians 2: 1-10 (HCSB)

And you were dead in your trespasses and sins in which you previously walked according to the ways of this world, according to the ruler who exercises authority over the lower heavens, the spirit now working in the disobedient.  We too all previously lived among them in our fleshly desires, carrying out the inclinations of our flesh and thoughts, and we were by nature children under wrath as the others were also.  BUT GOD, who is rich in mercy, because of His great love that He had for us, made us alive with the Messiah even though we were dead in trespasses. You are saved by grace!  Together with Christ Jesus He also raised us up and seated us in the heavens,  so that in the coming ages He might display the immeasurable riches of His grace through His kindness to us in Christ Jesus.  For you are saved by grace through faith, and this is not from yourselves; it is God’s gift—  not from works, so that no one can boast.  For we are His creation, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared ahead of time so that we should walk in them.

We were sin-sick and without hope BUT GOD made a way for us to get to Heaven.  What a thought. 

Doing all I can

Lots of folks have told me how strong I am and how my faith is so secure during all of this troubling ordeal.

The truth is that I am not strong at all.  I feel like I'm barely holding on.

The truth is that no matter what healthy foods I eat, vitamins I take or things I give up to help me have a "healthy" pregnancy, nothing will change this diagnosis and prognosis except God.

The truth is that there is absolutely nothing that I can do for my daughter, except pray for her and ask others to do the same.

So that's what I do.  I ask everyone who will listen to me for a second to pray.  I try to be a good mom to Katharine, a good wife to Steven, though I do feel like I'm failing in both since my thoughts are elsewhere.  I do know that if I didn't have my family backing me up this would be near impossible.

The family.  Steven, Katharine, Sarah and Rebecca in the belly.
Print us out, put us on your fridge, share us with your friends and family and church groups.
PLEASE pray for us.  That's all we can do.

Starting at the beginning

I have a happy and healthy two year old daughter, Katharine.  She is an amazing blessing.  Without her, I don’t think I could handle all of this.

Last June, I had a miscarriage at 12 weeks.  My baby measured at eight weeks.  I thought that was the hardest thing I could go through but the uncertainty here is almost unbearable.

Just after this past Christmas, I found out I was pregnant again.  I was overjoyed but nervous as well.  Every pain was cause for alarm.

Early on, an ultrasound tech noted that my baby had thickened neck skin which may be an indicator of Down’s Syndrome.  I rejected the further testing but then couldn’t get it out of my head and asked for the screening at my next visit.

My doctor called me and said I had a 10% chance of T18.  He explained what it is and what our chances were.  When my husband asked, he told us he’d never had a patient with this diagnosis come to term.

I am currently 24 weeks pregnant with my daughter, Rebecca Anne.  After further testing, my doctor has confirmed a diagnosis of T18 with 99% certainty.  He referred me to a high-risk pregnancy specialist who did a 3D ultrasound and told us that our baby has a host of medical issues (clubbed feet, clenched hands, small kidneys).  The most troubling thing though is the fact that the left side of her heart isn’t developing properly.  He started explaining how the heart works, etc and I stopped him and asked point-blank if she could live.  He told me she might live a minute or an hour after delivery but would almost certainly die on her birthday.

My doctor agreed to do a c-section which might extend her life a little.

I do believe in prayer and in miracles but every time I go to the doctor it seems like my hope dies a little more.

At this point, if I can just hold her and tell her that I love her I will try to be content with that.

Prayers for Rebecca Anne

I am 19 weeks pregnant and yesterday my doctor confirmed after blood tests that my unborn daughter has Trisomy 18, also known as Edward's Syndrome, which is an extra 18th chromosome.

To break it down, they have basically given her a death sentence.  Only one pregnancy in 6,000 makes it to birth.  Of the ones that survive being born, most will only live for a few moments or hours.  Ninety percent will not make it through their first year.

I feel like a ticking time bomb.  Like it's only a matter of time before this all ends.

Of course, my two year old daughter is a source of light and blessing.

When they told us the possibility of this disorder existed, I immediately called on anyone and everyone to pray for us but we still received a bleak prognosis.  I don't know how I feel about that.  If God has a plan here I just can't see it.

Happy Birthday

to my Bitsy.  She's two today!  It sounds cliche, but it really does seem like it was only last week when we brought her little (9 pounds, little, HA!) cuteness home from the hospital.

Born Katharine, called Kate, Katie-Bean and Bitsy,

Out of newborn clothes before she was even born,

Born via c-section after 21 hours easy, drug-induced labor,

Hoped and prayed-for for ever, it seems,

Blessing and frustration and endless ball of energy.

She'll never be this small again.  Every day is new!

Happy, happy Thanksgiving

in no particular order:

• my parents, for raising me with love and discipline
• my mother- and father-in-law, for having an amazing son and welcoming me into their family
• my siblings (my own and my in-laws), for laughter and friendship
• my church, for being an extended family
• my job, for the means to provide for my family
• my husband, who loves me in spite of my many flaws
• my daughter, who is a constant joy and blessing
• my Faith in God, without which I would be lost in every sense of the word.

I hope you have a happy Thanksgiving.  What are you thankful for?

Loved and Lost

Sometimes it's hard to be thankful.  This year seems to have been filled with death and heartbreak for my family.  Two grandparents, several dear friends and my own dear, unborn baby were taken this past year.

There is a saying, "It is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all."  I don't think I ever understood that until now.  I am coming to believe that my grief is a gift.

Chicken with Dumplings!

This would be great with your left over Thanksgiving turkey!

Here's what you need:

Chicken! (I like to use a whole chicken but you can use just breasts, thighs or whatever you like)

salt (I like Kosher for lack of chemicals)

1 stick unsalted butter1 onion, chopped
1/4 cup heavy cream
Veggies! About 2-3 cups diced into bite-size pieces. I almost always use carrots but you can use whatever you like, broccoli, cauliflower, etc
1-2 tbsp dried parsley
1/2 cup flour

For the biscuits:
2 cups flour
1 tablespoon baking powder
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1 teaspoon sugar
1/4 pound (1 stick) cold unsalted butter, diced
3/4 cup half-and-half
1/2 cup dried parsley or whatever dried herbs you want (I like Mural of Flavor from Penzey's)

Here's how you do it:

Put the chicken in a large pot, cover with water and boil until cooked through, no pink remaining. Remove from water and de-bone and de-skin if necessary, dice into bite-sized pieces. RESERVE BROTH! You'll need about 5 cups of broth.

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees F.

In a large pot or Dutch oven, melt the butter and saute the onions over medium-low heat for 10 to 15 minutes, until translucent. Add the flour and cook over low heat, stirring constantly, for 2 minutes. Add the chicken stock to the sauce. Simmer over low heat for 1 more minute, stirring, until thick. Add salt and pepper to taste and the heavy cream. Add the chicken, veggies and parsley. Mix well. Place the stew in a baking dish.. Bake for 15 minutes.
Meanwhile, make the biscuits. Combine the flour, baking powder, salt, and sugar in the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment. Add the butter and mix on low speed until the butter is the size of peas. (You can do this by hand but I'm lazy). Add the half-and-half and combine on low speed. Mix in the parsley. Dump the dough out on a well-floured board and roll out to 3/8-inch thick. I usually cut mine into squares to keep from wasting any dough but you can do circles if you like OR even drop the dough directly onto the filling with a spoon.
Remove the stew from the oven and arrange the biscuits on top of the filling. Return the dish to the oven. Bake for another 20 to 30 minutes, until the biscuits are brown and the stew is bubbly.
Note: To make in advance, refrigerate the chicken stew and biscuits separately. Bake the stew for 25 minutes, then place the biscuits on top, and bake for another 30 minutes, until done.

Thanks to Ina Garten for the original recipe, but I've changed it so much it's pretty much mine :)

A healthy dose of perspective.

Today I found myself complaining about holiday-shopping traffic, poor customer service, this, that and the other thing and then remembered that my Up North pastor just lost his wife of several decades and what must he be going through?

One one hand it must be something of a relief (as guilty as that sounds) because she was in so much pain from cancer and a multitude of other ailments.  On the other hand, she was his wife, his help-meet, his one and only for most of their lives.  How must it feel to have that void?

I am so amazingly, abundantly blessed.  I must try and remember that.

My daughter is

almost two.  Apparently, she's already Terrible Two in her heart.  Also?  Having a toddler is like having a schizophrenic grandparent living with you.

Here's a conversation that occurred about five minutes before bedtime:
Me: Ok, get Anna (one of her "babies") so we can get ready for bed.
Katharine: NO! Don't want! *throws Anna*
Me: Ok then, let's go brush our teeth and get ready for bed.
...brushing teeth, saying prayers, tucking in...
Katharine: *with much weeping and wailing* Where's AAAANNNNNNNNAAAA!?!?!
Me: *le sigh*

Here's one that happened just this morning:
Me: Breakfast time, do you want milk or juice?
Katharine: NO!
Me: How bout some Cheerios?
Katharine: NO!
Me: *pours milk and Cheerios*
Katharine: NO!!!
Me: *puts milk and Cheerios on the edge of the counter, just within her reach*
...five minutes later...
Katharine: *devouring milk and Cheerios*

Repeat times infinity.

She's a mess but I love her.

For your perusal

Me and My Bitsy

Presented without further comment.

It's easier

for me to go to work when Katharine is asleep.  I can sneak out the door and pretend she doesn't exist until I come back home.

If I have to see this before I go, I am oh-so-tempted to slam the door, throw my purse and keys and plan a play date just for she and I.  One sign of that little, curly head, one little voice saying, "Mom?" and I am a goner.

Love my little girl.

I had a

miscarriage in June.  Since then, I've been struggling with grief and guilt.  Grief because, though my child was only with me for three months, I felt like it's mother.  It feels like losing my daughter.

I had a dream that she died and I thought that was the worst pain I could feel.  I was wrong.

Part of me thinks it would have been easier to bear if this had happened before I had a living child.  Because then I wouldn't know what I was missing.  But another part of me knows that going through a miscarriage before having a living child would make me very reluctant to try again.

Guilt because I know there are families who have lost so much more than me.  I feel like I'm overreacting, or that I'm not entitled to grieve, or that I should just forget and move on.

I've had friends, acquaintances and strangers give me accounts of babies they have lost and most seem to treat it like it's no big deal...or maybe it's just that enough time has passed that the pain and shock isn't so sharp.

Is that what I can look forward to, that blunted pain?  Lack of feeling, loss of interest?  Is it possible to heal, to forget?

Do I really want that?

Really?!

I haven't eaten a hot dog in something like ten years. Suddenly, weirdly, I want a hot dog. And not just any hot dog: a Koegel. I can imagine the snap as I bite into it, the soft, white bun and a line of spicy mustard decorating the top.

Apparently my parasite is causing me to crave things that aren't good for me.

Also? I'm pregnant.

This can't be real, right? A person? How can there be a person in there?

Driver's Training

Years ago, I mean years and years and a really long time ago, when I was taking my driver’s training final exam, my instructor asked me a question.

Now. Up until this particular question, I had been proceeding through the training with ease, parallel parking and reverse zig-zagging my parent’s mini-van with ease. Nothing escaped my new driver knowledge. Until.

“What would you aim for if you had to run your vehicle off the road.”

“What would I aim for? How bout an empty field?”

“No, you have to hit something.”

What kind of question is this? My mind raced through the plethora of possible objects that may be found on the side of the road: garbage, flower beds, trees, Optimus Prime, people, lemonade stands, animals (once I even saw a headless horse on the side of the road! Of course, I instantly thought of The Godfather), 100-year old Sequoias, leaf piles, old sofas, mail boxes…

Leaf piles would probably be the obvious choice; I used to love driving through them, watching leaves fly up all around…until my mom reminded me of all the fun my siblings and I used to have playing in the leaves. A headless horse? You can’t do much damage to a headless horse, though your vehicle may suffer. Okay, how about flower beds? But all that work, love and care, destroyed by my uncaring tires…my mind settled on mail boxes, because they’d tend to give (unless they’re those giant brick mailbox monoliths waiting to leap out at unsuspecting passersby) and they’re easily replaceable. Yes, a small, innocent mail box is just what I’d aim for, If I had the choice.

“Well, if I had the choice, I’d rather aim for nothing, but since I have to hit something, I choose a mailbox,” I said triumphantly, proud of my logical, well-thought out answer.

“WRONG! FAIL! The correct answer is BRUSH PILE! You are the WEAKEST LINK!” she gleefully exclaimed.

A brush pile?! Who keeps a brush pile on the side of the road? Far be it from me to argue, though I did shoot her an incredulous look and my mom glared daggers at her from the back seat in solidarity. I fleetingly imagined plowing the car into a mailbox just to prove I was right.

Though now, thinking back, if I had a choice, I think I’d say Optimus Prime. No one can argue with that answer.

Moving Day

So, Moving Day went off without a hitch.

BWAAHAHAHAHAHA! Did you believe me???

I awoke at 7:45. We had plans to get up at 8 to finish some last minute preparation before our help arrived at 10. As it turned out, Steven had been up until 3:45 am being Steven and so he slept in. At 8 something, our main helper, Trey, called to say his wife was in the ER and his buddy would bring the moving truck and Steven could pick it up at 10. Steven ended up sleeping til 9:50 and then (after I hurled some breakfast at him) raced out the door to bring back the truck. At 10, Reese, a faithful member of our church and all around fabulous guy (who’s in his 70s) arrived with his trailer to help begin the move. Reese and I managed to haul several loads down the SEVENTEEN steps and maneuver them into the trailer while we waited for Steven to arrive. We only lost one.*

Steven arrived with the truck.**

So we began loading the truck. Steven’s obscenely huge desk made its merry way down the steps and into the truck without incident.

Benny, yet another awesome church member, arrived with his van.

Couch, loveseat, bed and dressers to truck.

Gallons of water were consumed, rests were taken, pounds were sweated off.

The caravan commenced.

It’s about 40 minutes drive from the apartment to the house.

Caravan arrived at the house, my car was hastily unloaded and I left to procure nourishment in the form of delicious pizza.

When I returned, Troyce, Betty, Richard, Benny’s son Andrew and Andrew’s wife, Faith (all church folks) had arrived to continue the unloading.

It was awesome.

Faith and I may have ridden the lift on the truck like a carnival ride.

Pizza was devoured, water was drunk and huge sighs of relief were heaved.

Everybody but Benny, Andrew and Faith went home. Those of us remaining made one final trip to the apartment for one more tiny load and we were done.

And I broke the key off in the door.

What better way to say, “Poo on you, apartment” than breaking off the stinking key in the lock?

On the way back to the house, Trey called to say he was in our driveway (we have a driveway, guys!!!).

He left his finally stable, sleeping wife at the hospital*** to come and help us finish. These people are amazing!

Everyone left, we took showers, I threw a sheet over our bed and we collapsed (and were awoken at 4:45 am by a mystery noise, which turned out to be an alarm clock that somehow managed to get switched on in all the chaos).

We dragged ourselves out of bed in time for church (and woot! All the helpers were at church too, exhausted though we all surely were.)

I am still in love with this house. It has a lovely huge screened in patio. Like a Michigan room, I think. Also? A whirlpool tub. And so. Much. Space. Pictures will prove this once I find my camera. Two big, round gardens in the front yard and assorted trees (which someone will hopefully help me to identify). An added bonus? It’s on a dead end street. Dead end=no traffic.

As one of the helpers said last night, “Welcome to the country.”

*Reese was carefully guiding a load of boxes down with the dolly when he lost his grip and it went sailing down the steps. I was behind him (he wouldn’t let me walk in front, lest something like this happens, and praise God for it, otherwise I’d have been lying in a heap at the bottom of the steps, too) and reached out grabbing for him, thinking he was falling, too. Thankfully, all is well and it was nothing breakable.

** Trey is an appliance salesman/repair guy and has this fabulous truck with a nifty lift on the back and an awesome stairstepper dolly and all the bells and whistles. Which someone drove into a bridge. Apparently the driver misjudged the height of the bridge and plowed into it, shearing off a nice chunk of the roof. It may have looked funny, but it did the job.

***Prayer request for Trey’s wife, Tamera, who is recovering in the hospital.

A re-post...

I wrote this 45 bajillion years ago and am now re-posting it as an attempt to get back into fiction...maybe someday I'll even finish Marcus' Story...

Let me know what you think...

No, really. Criticism is welcome.

--------------------

"Why don’t you tell me again how it happened. From the top.”

Opal glanced around worriedly. Her eyes swept past the police, the paramedics. Thoughts of Paul and his inevitable lectures about how a woman her age shouldn’t be driving filled her head. Ever since that little fender bender last year he’d been just unbearable. She hadn’t even been hurt! Just a few little bruises. Paul certainly had a temper.

The flashing blue lights of the police car snapped Opal back to the present. “He came out of nowhere!” She blinked back tears. It was true. Maybe she had been going a little too fast, and of course that curve was the site of many an accident, but the young man on the motorbike must have been invisible until the moment of impact.

Officer James sighed. Miss Opal was going to be in a world of trouble if that boy in the ditch didn’t pull through.

They both looked up as the paramedics loaded the man into the ambulance. One of them caught Officer James’ eye and shook his head slightly. It didn’t look good.

"Come along with me to the station, ma'am, and we'll talk more. And we'll call your son, too."

As he helped her into the patrol car, Quentin James thought back on his eight years in the Highway Patrol. Never had he seen an accident like this one. The motorcycle was actually embedded into the front of Opal's Cadillac. They hadn't been able to identify the boy on the bike yet but he hadn't been wearing a helmet. If he hadn't been thrown to the water-filled ditch, he would have surely died already.

Officer James looked up warily as a black BMW screeched to a stop in front of his patrol car. Must be the old lady's son.

"Mother!" The kid was out of the car and scuttling towards them, engine running and door open, barely stopping to put the car in park. He looked more angry than worried. "Mother! What were you thinking?"

Opal cringed, shrinking into the back of the car. "Paul, please..."

Officer James tried to keep the peace. "Son, your mother's had quite a scare. This isn't the time to be berating her."

"Officer, is my mother under arrest?"

Quentin didn't like the man's tone, but he was used to dealing with all sorts in his line of work. "No, sir, she's not under arrest. I do need to talk to her, though, and get this mess straightened out. How did you even know about the accident?"

"It's a small town, Officer." Paul looked at Quentin disdainfully. "Good news sure travels fast."

"Son, you can either come along to the station with me and help get this taken care of or you'll have to go."

Paul shot his mother an evil glare.

What kind of relationship must they have? Officer James was baffled at the malevolence in Paul's face. He really seems to despise her.

"She just doesn't listen!" Paul spat the words out, giving each one it's own sentence.

"Now just calm down." Officer James tried to diffuse an increasingly explosive situation.

Paul took several deep breaths and appeared to gather himself up.

Officer James' radio squawked to life. After a hushed conversation with the disembodied voice on the other end, Quentin turned back the Opal and Paul. "He died en route. Ma'am, you have the right to remain silent."

"Oh, no you don't!" Paul darted to his car, ruffled around in the glove compartment and turned back, triumphant, with a gun in his hand. "Leave her alone," he said. "I'll deal with her later."

Instantly, Quentin's own gun was in his hand. "Boy, you don't want to do this. Just think about what you're doing."

"I am thinking. You're going to arrest my mother! I can't let you do that." A wild look had come into Paul's eyes. The look of a man on the brink of losing control.

A light rain started, darkening the street around them and whispering through the trees.

"Put the gun down." Quentin spoke firmly, yet calmly.

Paul sighed enormously and rushed him, closing the space between them in five giant bounds, gun in hand.

A deafening roar.

Opal looked at Officer James, his gun still smoking. Paul lay in a heap at her feet, a pool of blood slowly spreading beneath him as the rain began falling in earnest. Silently, she began to cry.

*Insert Fanfare Here*

We got a house! And not just any house. The most beautiful, gorgeous, perfect house of all time.

God loves us.

We move in on the 30th. I think it needs a name...any suggestions?