Shoo Lie Loo

What We Want...

versus what God has in store for us are often very different.

In my early 20s, I was told by a Harvard-educated fertility doctor that I could not have children without the use of significantly invasive procedures (Google "I.C.S.I.")

When my husband and I met and made a covenant that we would be together forever and subsequently produced a child (with no medical intervention whatsoever), we were honestly shocked and thrilled. I remember so vividly nearly passing out in the bathroom when the pregnancy test read positive. This was NEVER supposed to happen; it couldn't be happening. I had put all my stock in a MAN (that fertility doctor)!

And it wasn't a faint line - it was blaringly obvious that we were going to have a child. As if screaming to us (me, mostly) that we don't always know "the plan". Actually, I'm learning that we never know "the plan". Even though we can see what's right in front of our faces, we are blind to the bigger, more important aspects of life.

From that moment forward, that blessed babe was known to us as "Junior". We had no idea whether it was a boy or a girl. We just knew, with a mix of exhiliration and terror (like the kind you get when you're on a roller coaster and you're throwing your arms up in the air, unsure if it's fun to be terrified or because everyone else is doing it), that we were about to become parents. I had no idea, at the time, how far along I was, because, again, I had so foolishly and whole-heartedly believed doctor.

That was early December of 2004. We told my folks. We told Chris' folks - even presented them with a tiny baby-sized stocking to hang for Christmas. Everyone was super excited, including me (despite waning morning sickness and that general "pregnancy fog").

Fast-forward to January 6, 2005. We went in for an ultra-sound of Junior. I had had some very minor spotting that morning, which is often very normal, but the OB thought it might be best to have it looked at, especially since they couldn't exactly gauge how far along I was.

Chris and I will never forget that day. When we arrived in the ultra-sound lab, we were both excited and nervous. At first, the tech was friendly; she soon became stoic. She said not a word as she passed the wand over my pelvis and squinted at the screen. This happened over and over again.

We weren't sure what to expect, but we at least expected a little picture of the fetus or to hear the healthful drumming of a heartbeat. When asked the tech about this, the tech said "Ohhhh, you wouldn't get a pic at this exam." I thought that meant that I was too early for them to give me something suitable for a scrapbook. I would've taken anything - even a little dot on a black ultra-sound print-out. Chris and I know so much better now why we didn't get the pic or hear more than a few words from the tech.

After being told to wait in the waiting room for the radiologist to review the results of our ultra-sound, we were then told to go home -- the OB would call us instead. Well, in my mind, if something was wrong, they would have kept us and told us right then.

Naively we went home, without a word of what the ultra-sound showed; we thought we just had to wait for the MD to tell us how he/she was doing. I'm not sure what we thought on the drive home, but for me, it was a mixture of confusion and excitement.

Huddled on the couch, promised a call from the OB, we waited. And the minutes ticked. We chattered endlessly, nervous chatter, not sure what was going on and not sure we wanted to know.

And, when the phone finally rang, a female doctor that I did not know told me, in the most casual manner, "Well, you lost the baby. Don't worry, this happens all the time, except you were a little further along. You were measuring at 10 weeks, although the fetus has been gone for some time. See your regular OB tomorrow, and we'll go from there."

Go from there?

To where?

Well, we crumbled into each other's arms. This baby, for whom we had already bought two white ducky sleepers and started the baby name debate, was gone. POOF... Without a trace, and without a reason. And so suddenly.

Here I had been assured by a doctor that I was infertile. God had made it otherwise.

And then, God took the baby away.

Of course, then I thought it was me. Did I do this or not do that? I was in nursing school, and I thought maybe the pressure took its toll. Did I drink alcohol before I knew I was pregnant, since it had snuck up on us? Should I have eaten kiwi fruit instead of apples? The list goes on and on as mothers blame themselves over and over...

Then there were very brief phone calls to excited grandparents just to break their hearts - Chris had to do this, as I remember, as I was too devastated to speak. He was also awash with tears and terrible sorrow, and no one had a dry eye.

The next morning, on January 7th, we met Dr. Josupait, the OB who I had planned my original first prenatal visit with. I remember his big blue eyes that wrinkled pleasingly when he smiled. He was tall and lanky and exuded kindness - nothing like the horrible doctor who had to deliver the news to us the day before.

He sat next to us and, without ever having met me before, put a gentle, reassuring hand on my knee.

"You did the hard part....you conceived! And it was a viable fetus!! Something just wasn't right, and your body helped you and the baby. It's believed that 50% of women miscarry at some point, and early pregnancy tests are upping that number daily."

"Did I do something, doctor? Did I not do something??"

"NO! There is nothing you could have done to stop this from happening. And I have no doubt that you two will go on to have a healthy baby."

"How long do we have to wait?"

"Well, there's debate about that - and my side of the debate says 'whenever you are ready'." Gosh, I loved this doctor!! What was an awful situation was being managed with kindness, humor and compassion.

Thru further education with Dr. J, we learned that the spotting was not related to the miscarriage. He called it a "missed miscarriage". The baby had died, my body had not yet reacted (which was why I still felt oddly pregnant) and that he strongly suggested a d & c (dilatage and curettage) to remove the fetus, as he felt the fetus was too developed to deliver at home safely.

My mind swam with confusion. But, with Chris by my side, we agreed to the operation.

We were then sent home to get through the weekend, as the surgery was planned for Monday.

When I asked Chris how he felt that weekend just now, he said, "Miserable. It was the worst weekend of my life." We drove around and looked at houses and day-dreamed to pass the time. I felt like an alien lifeform with Junior in a womb that was now like a tomb. I felt completely not of myself.

And on Monday, January 10th, Dr. Josupait took Junior from me and that was that. Physically. We never saw him or her. We didn't ask for any testing. We were too numb to think of such things, and, quite honestly, we wanted to move on.

When I woke from anesthesia and propped myself up on my elbow, I immediately burst into tears. What had been such a huge dream had turned into a nightmare, and the dream of Junior was really over. There were no flowers or balloons or cards. Chris and I did this completely alone.

The nurse handed me juice and graham crackers - yeah, that makes up for the loss of my child. God love them, they all did their best, and they had no control. God only knows - maybe Junior would have been born with a defective heart or lung. I'll never know. Neither will Chris.

What few people in my family knew, save poor Christopher, was that, when this happened, I was two weeks away from starting my OB rotation for nursing school. And for those two weeks, I silently agonized about how I was going to make it through. I already resented every pregnant woman who passed  me. Now I had to write care plans and provide for the medical needs of countless pregnant women and their newborns for eight long weeks.

I watched babies being delivered, helped new moms learn to nurse their babies, viewed photo albums of deceased infants who had been born stillborn. All while my body, mind and soul grappled silently with our loss. I felt it a sign of weakness to even flinch about such things. It was done.

Agonizing months passed by with no more positive tests, with Dr. Josupait's words ringing in my ears.... I was sure that another human doctor had lied to me, had let me down.

And, on Mother's Day, I spontaneously broke down into a mess of tears and grief in the card section at Wal-Mart as I chose a card for Chris' mom, all because my eyes somehow trained on a Mother's Day card for an expectant mom. That should have been ME.

Until June. I took two tests - one had a faint line, but Chris (who admits he was probably protecting himself) believed it was a false test.

So I took one of those new-fangled "Pregnant" or "Not Pregnant" digital tests, which had just come on the market. And me, being melodramatic and also loving a good surprise, told Chris that I couldn't figure it out. So I handed it to him and the word "Pregnant" was blinking on the screen.

I'd like to say that we were both over-joyed. Yes, we were happy. Dr. J was right - we'd been able to accomplish the "hard part". But now would we go thru another loss?

Dr. J was awesome - he had me in for an ultra-sound at eight weeks, and the tech from his office spoke joyfully to us the whole time (after we quickly recanted our previous trauma and how, if there was something wrong, we needed her to give us a sign). Her first words upon finding the fetus were spoken as quickly as she could get them out -- "and there's the HEART BEAT!!!!!!!!"

Every parent who has ever witnessed an ultra-sound knows that hearing that heartbeat is the first of many miracles. And we left the office with not only our first ever ultra-sound picture, but also a print-out of the cardiac strip.

Life moved on slowly - creeping so very painfully slowly to the three-month mark, where we believed we might be in the clear. And wouldn't you know it? At exactly 12 weeks while sitting in orientation for my new nursing position, I started to spot. It was Junior all over again. I was a terrible mess.

I called Dr. J who tried to sound upbeat and to reassure me that this was common but scheduled me anyway for an emergency ultra-sound that same day.

I cannot begin to express the terror I felt going there.

Despite our terror, it turned out to be a super special day! Not only was the baby fine and the placenta placed appropriately, but we got the best ultra-sound picture ever - where little Lucy's head looks like Charlie Brown's! And that's where she got her nickname for the rest of the pregnancy - "Charlie".

For the next six months, Lucy kept us on our toes (a true sign of times to come). I would randomly gush massive amounts of blood, for some unknown reason, and Chris and I made many trips to the ER. I remember we celebrated New Year's Day there - hooked up to a fetal monitor and getting an IV full of terbutaline (to stop contractions).

Despite these trials, Lucy is a living, loving, adorable, God-given miracle -- they really do happen. And if you read her birth story, you'll be even more convinced that "Coincidence is just God's way of being anonymous."

How thankful we are for her. Her quirks and all. She is precious to us in every way possible. Yes, I've been over-protective. Who wouldn't be, after what we went through?? But watching her grow, I have so many dreams for her - and all of those dreams are that she gets to live her dreams, whatever they may be.

And now we have our Henry, whose "larger than life personality" and infectious laugh and hysterical "kid-ecdotes" keep us smiling every day. I will be writing his birth story very soon, too, as part of my plan to de-clutter and organize. And keeping these memories fresh instead of stored away in a mental filing cabinet is part of this process.  Though there are great pics of his birth experience at my other site: www.dropshots.com/kimmberli. Just go to May/June of 2007.

God is good - He gave and entrusted to us what we thought we didn't deserve to have. May we teach them and guide them in His glory.

For Lucy's incredible but totatally true birth story, visit:

http://mamaonajourney.typepad.com/restoring-our-victorian-h/2012/02/the-story-of-lucy-and-dominik.html

 

 

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How to Gain a New Perspective

Another deliciously wonderful website for writers and readers that I've stumbled on. It's a great place to find quotes from your favorite authors or pundits directly relating to a subject that interests you (i.e. finance, religion, child-rearing):

http://www.bookrags.com

I don't have Walden Pond, like Henry David Thoreau. However, that doesn't mean I wouldn't want someplace to go where I can lose myself for a short while and come back to my life with a new perspective.

The past month has been laden with changes and challenges and questions. Most of all, this has truly been the beginning of the journey to find myself. (I'd tried this before, but I'd always found I had too little time to investigate me. I realize now that not knowing myself actually hurts others around me, so it's worth the investment.)

February is still "clean the clutter" month as part of my new resolutions. At first I thought it was just physical clutter. Baby clothes and gear, things I either bought or received that I've never used, items much better off at Goodwill where someone can make use of them, etc.

But, after a rather thought-provoking weekend, I realize that, in order to truly "clean the clutter", I first have to "de-clutter" my brain. For the past decade, it's been so jam-packed with stress and worry and fear and self-doubt and feelings of inferiority (as many of us experience) that I've been virtually paralyzed in my quest to "Be Kimm".

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    • (And yes, it is spelled with TWO M's! It may not have been when I was little, but it is a nickname! I've taken the liberty to add that second M almost 12 years ago, sometimes sporadically at first as I myself got used to it (since my full name is Kimmberli, not Kimberli), and it's going to stay!
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              •  Ok, I'm climbing off that pedestal now....

Anyhoo, back to my original thoughts. I cam up with a crazy idea to take a road trip. Not sure to where, not sure when, etc. But it would be alone. Free of distractions, my own music blasting on the radio, a change of scenery (whether it be mountains or prairies or beaches or big cities). Something I have not done since I was at my zenith at the age of 18, busting thru the borders of a small town into the real world like a bucking bronco smashing thru his cage.

One of my most vivid memories when I first came back to Millington when I was 20 years old was how incredibly small it seemed!!! My childhood house was very small, but there was no shortage of old Victorians and large farmhouses scattered around microscopic now that I'd lived in big cities, ridden like a pro on subways, shopped at stores where the milk was organic and came in large, chilled bags, spelled "colour" instead of "color"  and savored Thai food.

I'll never forget steering onto the bridge over the Fox River when I came home for a visit - a bridge I'd crossed thousands and thousands of times since my birth on my way to Sandwich. It appeared to be so incredibly small, as if only one car and maybe a bike could cross it at the same time. This was, of course, an illusion of my eyes. But wow....this startling visual perspective took my breath away!! The river that once looked large and even a bit intimidating seemed little more than a large creek after having driven over the St. Laurence River in Quebec.

The whole moment was astonishing, to say the least. And it left a deep and lasting impact on my life. Which is why, even though I loved my hometown and think of all the blessings that can be found in a small alcove of the world where everyone knows everyone else, I will always encourage my children to expand their horizons as far as they can (and want). There is an entire world out there, full of mystery, intrigue and...spicy food.

Happy ponderings, everyone!!! :)

 

 

 

Mama Knows Best

When I was a little girl, I used to flap my arms.

To this day, I can't explain why I did it. But I know that, if my child did it, I'd call the doctors, the psychologists, the specialists, the psychics, ad nauseum.

My mom believed that, when I flapped my arms, I was concentrating, being creative and focusing. She also recounts that it was "sooooo cute!" :)

And, you know what? Even a 1970s Mom knows best...

I'm not a terribly unusual adult. I don't have any unusual habits or behaviors to this day, though some may disagree should they know me intimately, ha ha! I twiddle my fingers some. And, as my mom explains, I meditate a lot on circumferential things. (In the simplest form - circumferential means "circular".)

Look at many world cultures and religions - they focus on fires, water and the growth of plant life. They sit in circles and speak in tongues amongst each other to  become closer to a higher being. In the book Siddhartha, he gives up all worldly possessions and wanders into the forrest.

Poet Khalil Gibran, whose birth town I have been fortunate enough to see in person, believes that nature and peace are one entity. Doubt me? Read "The Prophet". It'll change your life, if you focus on what you are reading.

You know what? I'm GLAD my mom didn't think I was unusual. I'm glad she didn't diagnose me with some unknown form of autism. I'm glad that I can sit, with a wee bit of frustration, in a traffic jam and spell license plates backwards and forwards and make words out of them while I wait. I'm very happy that I can listen to the same song over and over again (even welcome it) when Lu or Henry ask me to play a song for them in the car.  I'm glad that I was born blessed with a talent to learn languages, dialects and, even accents. (I wish I had been born with even basic math talents, alas...such is life...) I'm glad that I can write like the wind and smile like the sun.

Mama knows best - if you are ok with your child the way he/she is, you are probably right. Enjoy them. They will grow into their own unique and interesting humans. And, if you find that your child marches to his/her own beat, that's ok, too. Because, the world would be far less intersting (and advanced!) without its own set of "different drummers".

Afterall, you'd have to be pretty "out there" to invent something such as electricity, cell phones or even a Wii...ha ha!

Good evening, all - just my thoughts for the night! :)

 

 

The Haunting on Chestnut Street?

I don't claim to be an expert on many things.

As a matter of fact, I believe myself to be knowledgeable in many areas but an expert in none. To be an expert requires...well...expertise.

Recently, I've relished what great parents Chris and I are. Our children are polite, intelligent, adorable, creative (hey, I'm their mom, I reserve the right to brag or complain, depending upon the day...)

For the past week, Lucy and Henry have become "someone else's" children. Mom, I have to call you on the mat for this one - Grammy was here for a month and spoiled them ridiculously, as Grammys reserve the right to do.

Now Grammy has gone home and they are stuck with...insert scary music...Mommy.

I have been patient. I have been loving. I've even bent the rules, knowing that there are exceptions for change in the world of preschoolers.

Why, just last night I was singing my own praises on what a loving and understanding Mommy I must be to spend time talking to my children at length about their fears.

And then today...it dawned on me. It wasn't an epiphany, sadly. It took the sage advice of my husband and my very dear friend, Erika, to point out that maybe, just maaaaaybe I was coddling them. In not so many words.

Last night was another dreadful night. Lucy wet the bed and I found her in bed beside me sometime in the wee hours, freshly re-PJ'd - she claimed she'd had a bad dream. Henry woke up, also having had a bad dream, and needed consoling from Daddy for nearly an hour before he went back to sleep. And all four of us woke up red-eyed and in less than bright moods.

Chris has escaped to work after doing a bunch of housework (bless him) and taking an all too short nap (though I cursed his name and compared him to Rip van Winkle at the time because I had to work and knew my sleep time wouldn't come until much later).

Normally, I wouldn't think much of a night like that. Bed-wetting happens, and I've studied up on it and the why's and when to worry's, etc. Bad dreams also happen, in both children discovering their worlds and adults facing their's.

But this was the fourth night in a row of this. And I daresay that I'll go out on a limb and speak for the whole family - we are exhausted.

Tonight at swim class, Lucy's teacher mouthed thru the glass viewing area as they swam past that Lucy was "very crabby". Looking at Lucy tussling with her swim noodle with pink cheeks and angry tears, I could clearly see that Ms. Jessica was spot on.

Henry was also crabby - complaining of being tired. Demanding to go inside the swimming area to see the toys. Demanding to start a coloring project when only two minutes of class remained. Yelling at me because I had missed a commercial on a toy he apparently desperately wants (why do they have a TV at the YMCA, anyway??)

When Henry snapped at me and Lucy started to whine as we entered the locker room, I finally met my breaking point.

I started barking out orders like a drill sargeant with a raging case of hemorrhoids (I can say that word because I'm a nurse - poetic license).

"Lucy, get that wet swim suit off and put on these PJs." "Henry, if you continue to cry in my ear, I will take each of your cars, one by one, and put them up for two whole days." "Lucy, put your coat on now." "Henry, WHY are you wearing snow boots in 60-degree weather?" (Oh....woops, the last one was a Daddy choice...I thru it in for fun...)

Wow...the change...we got to the car, made a run for The Border, instructed them to not dare spill one crumb in my new van and that they were required to be fully responsible for their napkins and wrappers leaving the car, stopped at Walgreens for potting soil, birdseed and a strongly-desired bottle of chardonnay, came home to take them each inside, watched like a jailer to make sure they followed all their "steps" (which consists of taking off their shoes and coats and putting them in the closet, and hanging up their backpacks) and firmly instructed them to sit quietly at the dinner table while I prepared the rest of their dinner.

Not a peep of resistance. Not one whine. Not one argument or tear shed (I might have shed some tears of joy, but I really think it was just a side effect of yawning).

Up to bed after one "calm down show". Quick (but still affectionate) hugs and kisses. Sets of t-shirts and fresh undies for each child in the event of a nighttime accident. I was downstairs by 7:15pm. And not one single footfall from upstairs. Silence cherished by the Mommy-on-the-edge kind. They stayed in their beds, and I now believe they are asleep. AMEN.

So haunting, you ask?

I look at ghosts and the spirit world much like I look at religion. They are beliefs that no one can completely prove or disprove. I find absolutely nothing wrong with embracing any religion because all but a few that come to my mind signify hope, peace, love and compassion for your fellow man. And I consider those who believe in spirits and ghosts to be as just in their beliefs as those who believe in a Higher Power.

I've had it proposed to me twice this week by two separate women, who do not know each other to my knowledge, that perhaps we have a ghostly visitor in our house. And perhaps that is why the children have been so fearful. Each woman shared with me a story of a spirit that either resides or previously resided in their home. One had actually suggested she contact her pastor, who apparently does a ritual to ward off spirits.

Fortunately, I deal with the absurd everyday (not saying in the least that I think the thought of ghosts or spirits is absurd but many do). So I didn't laugh. I considered and pondered. I haven't felt any strange presence in our home. I haven't had items go missing (other than those which I myself have misplaced). I haven't had seen strange shadows or felt chills.

But, being the curious soul that I am (no pun intended), I asked both the kids about strangers (something they are reviewing in school) and asked casually if they had ever seen a stranger in our house. Both vigorously shook their heads and said they had not.

Whew...plumbing, electric, even the lack of a dryer - all those problems I can handle. A haunting...that's not up my alley and would require a lot of research.

One of the nursing diagnoses that I, as a professional (along with such profound medical anomalies such as "diarrhea") am allowed to diagnose, is a "disturbance in an energy field". We didn't cover this in school because I really don't think any of the instructors knew what it was. But I will say this - invisible energy surrounds us. Think of the atom. And solar power. And all of those scientific hypotheses and theorems, etc. that I'm not an expert on but know exist. Why couldn't life energy exist? And who's to say that it doesn't? I'm not here to judge - I'm just critically thinking.

In this instance, though, I think my kids got the best of me. I think they were enjoying the "good life" while Grammy was here (so was I...), and now they've gotten a taste of Mommy one-on-one. And sometimes, that means they may have to wait for me to complete whatever I'm doing or eat their veggies or not wear a mouse costume to the grocery store, etc. (Strike the mouse thing...I would allow that.)

Anyhoo, for tonight, I consider ghosts, should they be out there, to be friends.

And, if the spirit world truly does coexist with us mortals, I hope my grandparents come visit sometime, for I miss them dearly. And it would make for one astonishing conversation with my Grandpop....