The Eagle Project

Why, oh why, did I have three boys??? Because boys mean scouts and scouts mean eagle projects and eagle projects mean one more thing for parents to stress about! Caleb chose to plant grass in an area at our church where there had previously been trees and mulch. The trees were diseased and had to be removed over a year ago, so now the area is all overgrown with weeds. The scope of Caleb's project involved killing the weeds, removing current landscaping, and planting grass. This was no small undertaking!

As a matter of fact, he currently has over 225 man hours into his project! However, the grass was planted 6 days ago and I have yet to see any green.....which means mom is waking up at night stressing about it! Please join me in praying for Caleb's grass. Because I don't think I could handle it if he went to all that work and nothing grows! In the meantime, if you need me I will be at the church watering--or watching my son water--the dirt.

Homecoming

I was so excited to be home for Shelby's Homecoming Dance since I missed Prom last year. Her boyfriend, Chris, came home from Virginia Tech to take her and they spent part of the day helping out on Caleb's Eagle project, then she came home and got ready for the dance. I had to leave for about 10 minutes to go pick up Joshua and Shelby was blowdrying her hair when I left, but naturally, she was GONE when I got home. Fortunately for us, Chris' mom was making them come back to the house for pictures after dinner, so I went over a snapped a few myself! Her dress was one that she wore for her talent presentation at Jr. Miss. I altered it by adding a cap sleeve to make it a bit more modest. The color is so pretty, but this picture doesn't even do it justice. Anyway, she had a fun time and enjoyed her first and last homecoming in high school.

All Things Pumpkin

One of my favorite blogs is celebrating "pumpkin week" by presenting a new recipe each day that has pumpkin in it. I just made a triple batch of pumpkin muffins last week and had a little bit of canned pumpkin left over in the fridge. Naturally, I couldn't resist the allure of the aroma of pumpkin pie permeating my house, so I tried out the Pumpkin French Toast as an after school snack. Everyone loved it! There were even some leftovers for breakfast the next morning!

Then, the caterer I work for occasionally sent me her recipe for Pumpkin Black Bean Soup that we made a few weeks ago, and I HAD to make some of that too! We ate it for dinner last night and I don't think it was as big of a hit with the kids.....they pretty much just dipped their homemade artisan bread in it. Oh well, I now have lots left over for yummy lunches and I am a sucker for a good soup for lunch! (I think I may have inherited that from my dad, aka "the soup man")

I have been dying to make the Pumpkin Porridge for breakfast, but since I can never get it together for breakfast and all we ever eat is cereal (the cold kind....or little packets of oatmeal), I gave up this morning. I just added a few spoonfuls of canned pumpkin to my cinnamon and spice oatmeal, then sprinkled some nutmeg in and added milk and cooked it in the microwave. It was SOOOO yummy! I am totally making the porridge....I just have to wait till the weekend or serve it for dinner!

Up next for me, the old standby--pumpkin chocolate chip cookies! I just have to find a good recipe!

Remembering..... (part 3)

Mourning the loss of a child during early pregnancy can be difficult. It is an ambiguous loss....no one knew the child and most people didn't even know you were pregnant. Even my husband and I were affected in completely different ways by the loss. He could not understand the depth of my grief. While I was bonding with our baby as soon as I took a pregnancy test, Chris did not feel that same connection. As a result, the loss was far greater for me.

I found myself wanting to, in some way, memorialize our four lost children. Anything to reinforce my feeling that they did exist and to show that I was affected deeply by their loss. That Christmas as I was shopping for the traditional yearly Christmas ornament for Shelby and Caleb, I found myself drawn to a clear crystal angel ornament. I brought it home and placed it on our tree as my way of saying "you were real, and I will always remember".

Birthstone necklaces with little kid shaped charms were all the rage that year. Chris and the kids had given me one for Mother's day with a little girl and a little boy to represent Shelby and Caleb. I went out and bought 3 little angels and one more little girl to represent the babies we had lost. I put them all on the chain, then couldn't wear it. It depressed me.....it was a clear visual that the odds were distinctly against me. I packed the little charms away in my jewelry box because even if I couldn't wear them, there was some comfort in having them nearby.

In early January, Chris changed jobs and we had to move across country. Part of me wanted to move.....I needed a fresh slate, somewhere new that didn't have all the sad memories. Another part of me was scared to death to leave my doctor. I know I was just another patient to him, and really, he had terrible bedside manner, but I was counting on him to help me through this. I wasn't sure if I could be successful without him.

Before we moved, I went in for one last appointment. Dr. Branch had finally gotten the results of the last blood test in and it appeared I had something called Antiphospholipid Syndrome. Basically, my blood was forming very small clots which were only evidenced at the placental level. The treatment was to use heparin shots throughout my pregnancy to thin my blood. I was thrilled to know there was an answer to all these losses, and I could do something about it. I was also even more terrified to move. Dr. Branch recommended that I go to a medical school whenever we got settled in and seek out a perinatologist there to help me on my way. I walked out with my medical records and turned my attention toward moving my small family.

We arrived in North Carolina in late January with our moving van and nowhere to go. We found a hotel for the night with the intention of looking for an apartment the next day. I knew I was a few days late on my cycle, but with all the stress of moving, hadn't really worried about it. However, the next morning curiousity got the best of me and I went out and bought a pregnancy test. I was living in a hotel and I was pregnant.

I called the nearest medical school, which was and hour away, and tried to explain my situation to the appointment scheduler. I desperately needed to be on heparin so this baby would not die. The scheduler did not want to bring me in before 12 weeks, but I finally talked her down to 8 weeks. We found a place to live, and in the hustle and bustle of unloading our moving van and settling in, I started to show signs of miscarriage at 5 1/2 weeks. When I called the medical school, they brought me right in.....but it was too late.

Another still ultrasound, another lost baby. The count was now up to five.

It was a difficult transition. I felt so alone with the kids all day in our new apartment. My parents had been a 4 1/2 hr. drive away from us before and had helped out during many of my previous miscarriages, but now I found myself on the other side of the country. It was rainy season and I was a desert girl.....I craved the sunshine and the continual rain was not helping lift my spirits. I felt myself spiralling into depression.

The one thing I had going for me was that the head perinatologist at the medical school had seen my records and gave me the number of his personal secretary to contact the next time I was pregnant. Apparently he had gone to a conference on recurrent miscarriage where Dr. Branch was a speaker and he was so thrilled to be seeing one of "Dr. Branch's patients". I knew I was very close to quitting, but just having a doctor on my side gave me courage to try one more time.

I could write all day, but let me just say that the next three pregnancies were incredibly high risk, but successful. All of my heartfelt prayers were heard and answered. The time table was not mine, but the Lord's, and He knew what he was doing all along. I was blessed with two more boys and a girl. I have the family that I had always hoped for. I cherish each one of my children and am so greatful for the gift I have been given.

I did try again though, after Savannah was born. It was very reminiscent of my previous miscarriages. Once again, I saw a beating heart on ultrasound at 6 wks. and once again was reassured by my OB that this was a very good sign and everything would be fine. He agreed to do a 7 week ultrasound to reassure me and I took 2 yr. old Savannah with me to hold my hand. The doctor said "I'm sure everything is just fine" right before he started the ultrasound. It was followed very quickly by a "Hmmmmm...." The screen was still.

I held it together beautifully till I got to the car, buckled Savannah in her car seat, then fell apart. I must have cried in that parking lot for half an hour. I mentally said my goodbye's and then called and scheduled a D&C for the next morning.

Part of me acknowledged that day that I was probably done having children. The drive and the will to continue at all costs was no longer there. I was at peace with the family that I had and was not willing to put myself through the pain of recurrent miscarriage again. I was upset with myself for having even tried one last time. I had put that time in my life behind me and had three happy memories to heal the earlier wounds. Now I was ending on a sad note.

It has been said that time heals all wounds, and indeed that is true. It has been fifteen years since I began this journey, and I can now look back and remember with sweetness and peace. It has been so helpful to write down these memories. Once again, it acknowledges to me that these babies are such a part of me. They have formed the person I have become. As I have put the memories into words, I have been surprised at how clear they still are. That, in itself, is a testament to the importance of these little ones.

They are not forgotten.

Remembering..... (part 2)

Dates began to be obsessively important....in my head I was keeping track of due dates and death dates for each of my lost pregnancies. I was grasping at straws trying to find some way to come to terms with these babies who were not to be. How do you say goodbye to someone you have never met? And why does it hurt so badly to lose something that you never really had?

It took some time, but eventually I was pregnant again. It had been my hope to be pregnant before the due date of my last baby and I was! Somehow, I had thought that would make things easier. I went to early dr. appointments and found a viable pregnancy, saw the heartbeat on ultrasound at 6 wks. and was once again reassured that things were fine. I poured all of my heart and all of my faith into this new pregnancy. I was convinced that if I was good enough, I could control the outcome. When I started to bleed at 8 weeks, I prayed harder and went straight in for another ultrasound.

Once again, the screen was completely still.

I felt like I was trapped in the middle of a never-ending nightmare. Because I was already exhibiting some signs of miscarriage, the doctor felt it was best to let me finish it out at home on my own. I went home, put a movie on for my little ones, and collapsed into bed in tears. I remember feeling that it was so strange how everyone surrounds you and supports you for birth, but in the midst of a miscarriage where your body goes through all the same changes, you sit alone.....and afraid. I should have called someone to sit with me. I think it would have helped to just not have had to endure it alone.

After cramping all day, my temperature started rising indicating infection, and I ended up in the emergency room having yet another D&C. The doctor was insensitive enough to show my husband what he got out while I was under the influence of a drug called twilight. Unfortunately, I have a very vivid memory of his crass and insensitive handling of the remains of my baby that haunts me to this day. I came out of the drug haze with tears streaming down my cheeks as I came to terms with the loss of my third baby. As we drove home from the hospital that night, it hit me that this was the due date of my last baby......so much for being pregnant by that due date.

With the losses piling up, I felt like I needed to do all that was within my power to achieve the miracle that I was so desperately wanting. I did some research and found out that the nation's premier expert on recurrent miscarriage, Dr. Branch, practiced at a clinic 30 minutes from my house. Even though I didn't quite fit the profile for recurrent miscarriage (3 back to back miscarriages....I only had 2 because my tubal pregnancy didn't count as a miscarriage) I was able to get a referral to be seen by him. I finally felt like I had some control over the situation and that was what kept me going.

Dr. Branch ran all sorts of tests. I had to wait six months before I could try to get pregnant again in order for him to monitor my blood levels of different hormones. In the end, he felt like there was nothing wrong with me and recommended I try using natural progesterone to help counteract the tendencies to miscarry. It was the latest in a string of hopeful treatments for recurrent miscarriage and had shown some promise. Basically I had to start taking the progesterone on day 12 of my cycle and take it until day 28 when I would take a pregnancy test. If I was not pregnant, I was to stop taking the progesterone. After my first cycle of progesterone treatments, I ended up spiralling into a massive migraine when I went off it at day 28. After two days of intense headaches, I decided I could only try this one more time.

The next time, I had a positive pregnancy test at day 28. I was so relieved to be able to keep taking the progesterone and was sure this would be the pregnancy that would work. After all, I was doing absolutely everything that I could and was praying with all my might. I knew that God could take all my efforts and then make up the rest. I was at peace.

Dr. Branch scheduled me for a 6 wk. ultrasound, but by the morning of the appointment I had started to bleed. I was still hopeful, but in the end was not surprised to see the screen totally still. I miscarried on my own at home and genetic testing was done on the baby.

I am not really sure how I held things together. I came home and life went on. I was president of our church children's organization at the time and found myself in the front row at church 2 days later as the children put on their sacrament meeting program. A few people knew what I was going through, but most did not. After two people came to me that Sunday with problems in our organization that I needed to solve, I realized that I needed to go home. I couldn't blame others for their insensitivities when I was standing there pretending like nothing had happened. I went home and continued to supress my feelings.

The hurt was so deep and so painful that I found myself not wanting to face it. It would wake me up in the middle of the night and rather than think, I would go scrub my floors or deep clean the kitchen, anything to not have to face the pain.

Six weeks after my miscarriage, I went for a follow up appointment. Dr. Branch walked in and said, "Well, it looks like the baby was a girl." I was stunned. I knew they were doing genetic testing, but it hadn't occurred to me that I would know the gender of my baby. I had already said goodbye to 3 other babies without knowing their gender. I had loved each of them infinitely and felt their loss. Yet here was this little girl who could have been, and she became even more real.

I could not hold it together for the appointment. I really don't even know what happened. My husband was there and he carried on all the conversation with the doctor while I kept my head down and tears silently ran down my cheeks and pooled in my lap.

No matter how hard I tried, I could not stop crying. I mourned the loss of my little girl that night. I grieved for the sister and best friend Shelby would not have. The crying felt like a release that I desperately needed.

The next morning I contacted a local pregnancy and infant loss support group. I realized that I needed to work through my feelings rather than keep them all bottled up inside. I went to the first meeting and cried the entire time. I listened to other people stories and cried with them, then shared my own and cried some more. Surprisingly, it was helpful. I realized there were people who had suffered more than me. I found myself able to delight in the children that I did have. I went home more at peace than I had been in a long time.

I think it gave me the courage to try again.

(to be continued....)

Remembering..... (Part 1)

In honor of Pregnancy & Infant Loss Awareness day, I wanted to share my story.....and spend a little bit of time remembering.

When I was a mom to two small children born 14 months apart, it was all I could do to make it through each day (and night, for that matter since neither of them slept through the night!) My mothering was all-encompassing. I was exhausted and cranky at times, but happy through it all.

By the time Caleb was six months old, I was pregnant again, but I didn't know it until I was 2 1/2 months along and in extreme pain. I went to my doctor, found out about the pregnancy, and was sent home having been told that I needed to take it easy. Based on my LMP, the doctor thought I was only a few weeks along, so there were no ultrasounds done. I suffered excruciating pain for the next week and a half that would come and go. I bought bottles and planned to transition Caleb to the bottle in order to give this new little baby a chance at life. I bought a double stroller so I would no longer be carrying Caleb on my hip while pushing Shelby in a stroller. I fell cautiously in love with the idea of a new life inside of me....a new sibling to play with the two we already had.....and vowed to do everything I could to help this baby along. But it was not to be. My lab levels of the HCG hormone fell, indicating the baby was not viable, and I found myself in the out-patient surgery unit signing the paperwork for a D&C.

Later that evening, I was admitted to the hospital. The doctor had found my uterus empty when he did the D&C and admitted me for observation. By the next morning, I was doing poorly. An ultrasound showed a tubal pregnancy and lots of internal bleeding. I was rushed back off to surgery and the tiny life was taken in an effort to save my life. I never got to say goodbye....

I spent the next six months recuperating. I had lost so much weight through the ordeal that I was a mere 110 lbs. and needed to focus on healing myself. Finally I found out I was pregnant again! I was so excited after the 6 wk. ultrasound showed a beautifully beating heart in the right place! I blissfully went through the next 5 wks. of pregnancy with the thought of this sweet little baby and how it would fit into our family. We even brainstormed names for the baby at family home evening one night.

Life was good....and then it was not.

I woke up one morning and just did not feel right. I can't explain it any other way....there was no pain, there were no indications that anything was wrong, but I desperately wanted an ultrasound. I called and scheduled an appointment even though my 12 wk. checkup was in 5 days. The doctor tried to hear the heartbeat to no avail. He told me it happens all the time, don't worry, we'll just pick it up on ultrasound, everything's fine.

He was wrong. There on the ultrasound screen was an eerily still image. I knew what the baby's heartbeat should look like, and there was none. Leery of having two back to back D&C's, I went home to wait for my body to miscarry on its own.

Waiting is a difficult thing. In times of disbelief and stress, denial often happens. After 12 days, I was calling my doctor's office begging them to bring me back in. You see I had never felt better. I had been desperately praying and I knew that I had the faith for my baby to live. God can do anything. If he wanted to, he could have made the first ultrasound be a mistake. My body was not progressing toward miscarriage and I was anxious to prove that a miracle had happened. A very kind and compassionate nurse brought me in and showed me once again, a still ultrasound. She held me and comforted me while I sobbed. Then she scheduled me for surgery the next morning.

The miracle was not to be.....and I said goodbye to my second baby.

(to be continued....)

Where to Draw the Line?

I have often wondered why I continue to struggle with this....where do I draw the line when it comes to activities and my family? It seems like every few months I re-visit this subject and after much pondering, I walk away feeling trapped in my lifestyle and finding myself changing too little and feeling generally dissatisfied with the pace of my life. Last Saturday during General Conference, I heard this talk and was once again inspired to change. There is something to be said for the fact that I have been repeatedly inspired to change and I continue to feel dissatisfied....obviously, I haven't changed enough yet.

You see, as a family we are very involved. We are stretched incredibly thin in regards to time and often energy to do everything that we need to do. When my children were little I agreed with the idea of one activity per child. It went well when 1 and then 2 children were playing soccer. I only had 3 kids and one was being toted along in an infant carrier and things were manageable. Then piano lessons came up and they seemed a worthy pursuit and I knew my children would never give up their beloved soccer and accept music lessons in its place.....so I approved all music lessons and one additional activity. Then the kids aged up to church youth activities when they turned eight and I found myself approving 3 activities per child. Pretty soon I had 3 kids in soccer, 2 in piano lessons, 1 in Activity Days, and 1 in cub scouts, all done with an incredibly rowdy toddler and a newborn baby in tow while my husband worked full time and went to school at night to get his MBA. Add to that serving as Primary President in my ward and attempting to volunteer one day a week at my children's school.

It was too much.

I reached my breaking point! We were moving and I banned sports for the first year we lived in our new home. Piano lessons continued, church youth activities continued, even school activities continued and our willingness to serve in the church continued. Things were better. Saturdays were less rushed and we were able to get work done as a family and added in some great family activities too.

Yet somehow, I am back again....and this time the pace is relentless. I am driving children to and from express bus stops for five different schools, there are 3 in music lessons, 1 in swimming 4 days a week, 1 in cheerleading, 1 with a daily work schedule. There are 2 in scouts, one in cub scouts, 1 in Young Womens and 1 wishing she were old enough! I am serving as Relief Society President and my husband as Scoutmaster along with being a stake representative to the district for scouting. I am working one morning a week for a local caterer. I serve my neighborhood by being on the Pool Board and our school district by being on the Gifted Education Advisory Committee. I volunteer one morning a week in Savannah's first grade classroom. Our time is always in demand. Free weekends never happen.....it is typically an incredible balancing act just to get everyone where they need to be on any given day; so much so that many times, the pieces all come tumbling down.

And that is when I feel disenchanted.

You see, I know these are all good things. I don't attempt to fill my life with bad things. However, they are displacing much better things. Family dinner time rarely includes all of us, family home evening has become condensed into a 30 minute time frame when everyone is cranky and ornery before bed, scripture study is something my children endure....not cherish. Not enough of my time is spent teaching my children life skills like cleaning, cooking, ironing, and sewing. Not enough of my time is spent in nurturing my children's love of God, nor in helping them to feel the guidance of the Holy Ghost. I often go to bed thinking of things I should have said or should have done differently with our children. Our life is lived in crisis mode and we are reacting to it.

So how do I find the elusive peace I am looking for? Where do I draw the lines in the sand and say "We will NOT do this anymore"? I am taking this as my challenge this month. I will pray to know what needs to go and what we can keep. I know it will be a process....one that is ever changing, but I am vowing to be more open to the quiet voice of the Spirit and let it influence my life.

Because we cannot keep this up.