In this week’s highlights from my SiriusXM radio show: – I have a fascinating conversation with Bishop Robert Barron about how one of the main problems wit...
Sunday, November 15, 2009
It has been a busy and trying few weeks. I doubt there is anyone who doesn't know me who reads my blog. We experienced heartache and joy a few weeks ago when we had a baby born to heaven. I went to the MD at eight weeks, my bloodwork looked good, but my progesterone was low again. I sold more gold jewelry to pay for the compounded, self-pay prescription. My progesterone was low with Number Two Son, but since I am using a new doctor, I assumed ordering extra bloodwork was just a different protocol. I had an ultrasound at nine weeks. When I walked into the office, I felt like I was having a panic attack. I calmed myself with The Divine Mercy Chaplet and walked back to the exam room to "date my pregnancy." I didn't know anything was wrong, but in my head, I kept saying, "Jesus I Trust in You." The nurse said that the baby was measuring younger, still I was calm. The doctor always comes in after nurse and redoes what she just did. This time he said the baby had stopped growing about three weeks before, there was no heartbeat. He called it a missed miscarriage. They sent me to the OB/GYN office, where I waited alone, then they called me back and the nurse didn't know why I was there. I could barely say the word, "miscarriage." She rushed me to a room, visibly upset that the protocol wasn't followed and then I waited alone again. The NP, who I had never met before came in and talked with me about my options. Surgery was not an option as far as I was concerned. So I left, drove to our friend's house to pick up the kids. I must have looked Luke something was wrong because she asked me if everything went okay. "No, I was pregnant and now I'm not." it was October 15, the Day of Rememberance for miscarried or stillborn babies. I packed up the kids and drove home, status quo. I left a message for Hubby to come home right after work. He called and I told him to come home. When I saw him, I hugged him and said, "Our baby died." we cried, we cried until parenthood knocked on the door. Then we waited. I had some very brave, loving Mommies send words of advice, counsel and support. We didn't have to wait long, four days later it started. I was not in pain, there was much more blood than I was prepared for. Hubby had to go to work because it was an inservice day. I was fine, so I thought. I went to the bathroom again to clean up and as I sat on the floor, I'm pretty certain that I passed out. The next few days I did my best to hide protect the children from what was happening. I ran to the bathroom unexpectedly, did lots of laundry and spent plenty of time cleaning up. Number One Son, who rarely notices anything, saw a spot of blood on the floor and on my foot and pointed it our and asked about it. I recovered everything that I could so we could bury our baby. We had a family meeting and told the children that God had given us a baby and she was born to Heaven. Now we have our special Saint to intercede for us. Number One Son was hysterical but very, very sweet in his words. Number One Daughter was upset because God answered her prayer, but not how she intended. We spoke with our Priest friend and he clarified the theology for is, our baby was saved by mine and Hubby's faith. On November 3, 2009, we buried our baby, Faustina Mary Elizabeth, at Our Lady of the Rosary Cemetary in Georgetwon, Texas. It was a beautiful service in a beautiful place. The kids have been asking to go back and visit, we will.