When I'm Dying, Please Do This

I've become a Father John Riccardo podcast junkie.  I'm still processing his podcast on the sacrament of the Anointing of the Sick.  I learned some great insights into the sacrament itself.  More importantly, Father Riccardo reminded me of the tremendous dignity the suffering and dying have.  We all should listen to the show, but those of us who are either dying ourselves or know someone on their deathbed need to hear these words.  (Click this link to access the podcast.)  Reject what the world says about the dying, and remind them of their invaluable mission:

"One of the key words in the Christian life is to 'participate' or to 'cooperate with.'  There's one redeemer.  His name is Jesus, and yet He wants you and me to participate with Him in the work of redemption.  We do that in a particular way when we suffer.  That's why I'm of the opinion that no one's prayers are more powerful than the prayers of somebody who suffers, because they're being conformed to Christ.   

So, when you take Communion to the homebound or to the people in nursing homes, don't just bring them the Eucharist.  Bring them intentions.  Let them know, because the challenge when you're sick, especially when you're dying, is that you're useless. 

You know, like, 'The people out there are having all the fun.  They have a quality of life.  I'm lying here in my bed in traction.  What good am I?'   

'Well, here's what good you are.  You're participating with the Lord in the work of redeeming the human race.  You are not wasting away here.  He is inviting you to share in his cross.  Is it romantic?  No.  Is it fun?  No.  Will you see the payoff of it here?  No, at least probably not.  But one day you'll see it.' 

And, so, give them intentions.  Give them names of people.  Just say, 'You know what, I want to ask you, because I really do think that your prayers are so significant because you're sharing right now in his passion.  If you would pray for these people, would you please do that?' 

And almost all the time, you will see somebody sit like this (sitting up).  You're not simply giving them something to do; you're giving them a sense of worth.  You'll see them begin to stand up or sit back.  Well, now there's a sense of dignity.   

'Now the Lord can use me.  He's not done with me.'   

'Why am I lying here still?  Why hasn't He taken me?' 

'Well, he hasn't taken you because he's using you to work with him in redeeming the world, that's why!  Would it be great to be home?  Sure, it would, but there's more to do still.  So, hang in, and pray for these people (on the list that you give them).'"  

When I'm dying, please do what Fr. Riccardo says.  First, please bring a priest.  Ask that I receive Anointing of the Sick.  Then, be bullheaded and don't let me waste an ounce of my suffering.  Bring me long lists of intentions.  Tell me to unite any of my suffering to Jesus' cross.  Remind me of the important job I have to do.   

"Now I rejoice in my sufferings for your sake, and in my flesh I complete what is lacking in Christ's afflictions for the sake of his body, that is the Church." (Colossians 1:24)

What's lacking in His suffering?  Well, nothing.  "It is finished." (John 19:30)  

Yet, He mystically invites us to participate in his suffering so that we can help redeem the world.  He'll do the redeeming since he's the only redeemer, but my membership in the Body of Christ gives me dignity and a mission.  Even on my death bed, I will have the supreme dignity of being made in His image and likeness.  Until I breathe my last, I will have a mission to unite any sufferings I have to the cross to help redeem the world.  

When I need an example of someone who knew how to suffer well, bring me these images of St. John Paul II:

      
Better yet, don't wait until I'm on my death bed to do all of that.  As Fr. Riccardo said in the podcast, "we're all terminal" from the moment we're born.  Teach me how to get into the practice of doing all of this before I'm at death's door.  No more wasting the bad days.  Remind me how to "offer it up."  If you think I need it, remind me that Anointing of the Sick isn't just for the dying.  God willing, with your help, I'll be spiritually fit enough to die a holy death whenever that time comes.  

For now, to help me train toward that goal, I'm keeping a list of intentions.  I'm going to add to it whenever someone asks me to pray for them.  Then, when I'm having pity parties or feeling overwhelmed with whatever suffering (big or small) that's going on, I'll open up my intentions list.  It won't end the suffering, but it'll give it purpose.  With enough practice, I pray that I'll remember when I'm 'just' getting chemo, lying in a hospital bed, sitting in a nursing home, or entering my last days of hospice care to give my suffering purpose.  By God's grace (and the bullheaded reminders of my loved ones), any suffering I experience will be put to work.  

Will you please help me to start my training?  Please share any intentions you have!  Then, if you hear me complaining or having a pity party about something, you have my permission to say, "Catherine, put your list to work!"

"Death With Dignity"

Brittany Maynard, a 29-year-old woman facing a stage 4 brain tumor, says that she has a right to "death with dignity."  "Death with dignity" is a euphemism for suicide with a prescription drug.  Maynard's doctors told her in April that she likely had 6 months left to live.  She intends to take a prescription medication on November 1 to end her life while maintaining that it is not suicide.  

"Death With Dignity"?  

The phrase "death with dignity" reveals a misunderstanding of what dignity is in the first place.  The presumption is that there's a way to die without dignity.  

Well, what is dignity anyway?

We get the word dignity from the Latin dignitas meaning "worth."  All human beings have dignity--inherent value and worth.  The way we die has nothing to do with our worth.  We have dignity because we are human.  Period.  

How did we get our dignity as humans?  

"Let us make man in our image, after our likeness..."  (Genesis 1:26)

We have dignity because God gave it to us.  He made us in His image and likeness.  What can be more dignified than being made in the image and likeness of our Creator?  When we understand what dignity really is, we understand that it is impossible to die without it.  

So, what do people mean when they say that they are seeking "death with dignity"?  They seem to mean that it is undignified, or beneath the worth of a human, to have to suffer.  We hear this language all the time--especially when the person envisions themselves "becoming a burden" to loved ones or going through the humiliation of losing their physical or mental capacities.

It seems ridiculous to hear that line of thinking and gaze upon a crucifix. 

Or look at images from The Passion of the Christ

Christ suffered.
He was humiliated.
Would we even dream of saying that He died without dignity?

He is God, and He went through humiliation and suffering before His death for us.  Nonetheless, we seem to think that we are above certain ways of dying. 

While we don't believe that suffering is good, and we can make appropriate medical interventions to avoid it unnecessarily, we may still suffer as we die.  Palliative care is a wonderful blessing and gift for the dying, but we are not guaranteed that death will be as neat, tidy, convenient, efficient, or easy as we try to make the rest of our lives.  So, if our death comes with suffering, we might as well put it to work.  

Just like the woman in the story, I am a 29-year-old woman full of hope and plans for the future.  I have no idea what God has in store for me.  I pray that His plan includes raising our children into adulthood and living a long, healthy life, but it may not.  


I've never received a stage 4 brain cancer diagnosis, but as Fr. John Riccardo says, "we're all terminal," from the moment we're born.  I don't get to choose when or how I'll die, but I pray that God will give me the strength to do it well.  My life is pure gift, only He gives me dignity, and only He will get to decide when my life will end.

The culture of death wants us to embrace suicide as "death with dignity."  To convince us that "death with dignity" is a good choice, the proponents have to do language gymnastics.  Brittany Maynard describes "death with dignity" like this:

"It is an end-of-life option for mentally competent, terminally ill patients with a prognosis of six months or less to live. It would enable me to use the medical practice of aid in dying: I could request and receive a prescription from a physician for medication that I could self-ingest to end my dying process if it becomes unbearable."

"Aid in dying"?  "End my dying process"?  Suicide is the taking of one's own life.  How can taking a prescription to end one's life be considered anything but suicide?  Look no further than the comment boxes related to this story, and the people choosing "death with dignity" are called heroic, selfless, and brave.  


I wrote a few months ago that I want people to do this when I'm dying: get a priest, make sure I receive the sacraments, and keep bringing me lists of intentions of people to pray for until I die.  By God's grace, I'll be able to die a holy death.  If I'm honest with myself, I admit that I'm terribly weak, so I'm trying to get spiritually fit for that moment now.  I'm keeping lists of intentions and *trying* to remember to unite all of my sufferings (big and itty bitty) to the cross.  That's tough stuff.  That's the stuff saints are made of.  Yet, that's what we're all called to.    

As we approach November 1 (All Saints Day), the day that Brittany Maynard has chosen to commit suicide, let's all pray that those suffering find strength in the risen Lord and remember their dignity.  May they imitate the lives of the heroic men and women in heaven who also suffered, remembered their dignity, took up their crosses, and followed Him. 

"If any man would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me."  (Luke 9:23)  

If you or a loved one is struggling with how to navigate end-of-life issues, consult the National Catholic Bioethics Center.  They provide a free consultation service with qualified ethicists on-call 24 hours a day, 7 days a week -- (215) 877-2660.  They also publish an informative Catholic Guide to End-of-Life Decisions.        

The Roller Coaster Ride

Losing our baby Thérèse changed me.  Some of the ways are obvious, and others sneak up on me and take my breath away.  Although it was the most painful experience I have ever gone through (and am still going through), I can't thank God enough for giving our family that precious, little, innocent saint.  I think about her a lot, and I pray to her throughout the day as I wash dishes, play with the kids, or do the countless mundane tasks that make up my days.  

Sometimes, I'll get a little reminder that if things had gone differently, she would still be with me.  In my tummy.  Kicking.  We would be anxiously awaiting her arrival on her due date, May 20, 2013.  For whatever reason, it wasn't part of the plan--His plan.  I still don't understand the plan or even pretend to wrap my mind around it.  Instead, I'm learning to stop planning, controlling, and allow God to take my roller coaster ride up and down and up and down.  For this Type A Martha girl, that is no easy task!  Good Father that He is, God knew I needed to learn to let Him take the reigns.

On November 2, All Souls Day, we learned on ultrasound that our precious baby was dead.  I started to miscarry at home the evening of November 4.  As things progressed and my blood loss became dangerous, I ended up having an emergency D&C in the wee hours of the morning on November 5.  The next weeks consisted of regaining my strength, getting a blood transfusion, squeezing the stuffing out of Jane and Walt, and busily preparing for hosting Thanksgiving.  I was grateful for the distraction of a major holiday!  

A week before Thanksgiving at my two-week follow-up appointment after my D&C, my OB said that my exam was normal and that I was healthy.  He gave us the all-clear to resume marital activities, but he recommended waiting three months before trying to conceive again.  The thought of waiting three months was agony, but wait we must.  He said to anticipate my cycle returning 4-6 weeks after my D&C.  We decided not to start charting again until that time came.  

A few nights after my follow-up OB appointment and before my cycle returned, Philip and I cried our eyes out after the kids went to bed.  We talked about missing Thérèse, how much we loved Jane and Walt, and how much we desperately wanted to have another baby.  We held each other and said we were ready for another baby whenever God would send us that blessing.  That night, we decided we to open ourselves to the possibility of a new baby, as unlikely as that would be.  After that night, we said we would follow my doctor's instructions to avoid a pregnancy for three months.  

Thanksgiving came and went.  We made plans to gather our family to pray the Glorious Mysteries of the Rosary for Thérèse on December 9.  The week of the Rosary, something wasn't right.  I was moody and weepier than I had been, my breasts were leaking colostrum, and I had some abdominal cramping.  Noooooooooooo, I thought.  This must be from the miscarriage.  My body must be hanging on to the hormones, and it must take awhile for all of the pregnancy symptoms to subside.  Still...  

December 4, exactly one month to the day after I started to miscarry Thérèse, I told Philip that it was crazy, but that I thought I might be pregnant.  We decided to take a pregnancy test to confirm that we weren't.  Before I took it, we discussed the possibility that a positive did not necessarily indicate pregnancy, but that the residual hormones from my previous pregnancy with Thérèse could create a false positive.  With this in mind, I went to take the test.  Instantly, the test was positive.  I had to take a picture so that I would still believe the results long after the test faded. 

"Oh, God," I prayed, "Please guard my heart and give me the strength to accept whatever this means."  Just like any other time I took a pregnancy test, I brought it out to show Philip.  We cried our happy tears, and we instantly told each other not to get our hopes up.  It was well after office hours, so I waited to call my OB until the next morning. 

First thing in the morning, I called my OB's office, and I asked to speak with my OB's amazing nurse.  I'll never forget her for hugging me in the ultrasound room when we found out that Thérèse had died and for helping me through the whole process.  Let's call the sweet nurse Allison.     

"Allison," I said, "I took a pregnancy test, and it was positive."

In her usual calm manner, she said, "Oh...well...did you have unprotected sex?"

I felt like a promiscuous teenager answering that question.  "Yes...but only once!" I said.

"Well," she laughed, "that's all it takes!"

As I expected, she was careful with her words from there.  She instructed me to come in for a blood draw to check my HCG levels.  "Then, you'll come back 48 hours later.  If the levels have at least doubled, that indicates that you are pregnant.  If the levels don't increase that much, it indicates that you may have some retaining fetal tissue, or you may just have some residual hormones."  

I couldn't wait, so I went in to the lab that afternoon, December 5, before the kids' naptime to get a blood draw.  The results came back hours later, and I got a phone call from Allison.  "Your HCG level is ___."  I can't remember what the number was.  I said, "Ok, so translate for me.  What are we working with?"  In typical Allison fashion, she said, "Well, it's elevated.  So, it's hard to say for sure at this point.  We'll have to wait until your 48-hour blood draw to know for sure.  It's definitely in the range for a positive pregnancy test, but we won't know for sure until after your second blood draw."

So, I went in for my second blood draw on December 7.  It was a Friday, and I was so nervous that I wasn't going to get the results before the weekend!  Right before 5, Allison called.  

"Catherine?  It's Allison.  I have the results of your blood test.  Your HCG level is ____."  

The number was much, much higher than the first test.  It had more than tripled! 

"So, what does that mean?" I asked.  

"It means I think you're pregnant.  Congratulations!" 

"Really?!  Really?!  Oh my goodness.  I can't believe it!"  Of course, I was trying to keep myself composed over the phone, but I was sobbing at this point.  

Allison told me to make an appointment for an ultrasound at 5 weeks to confirm the pregnancy.  I thanked her, she congratulated me again, and I hung up the phone.  

Then, the weight of it all sunk in.  
I'm pregnant.  
I got pregnant two weeks after we lost Thérèse.  
We are having a Rosary for Thérèse in two days.  

It was a bizarre time emotionally.  We wrestled with sharing the news with our families at the Rosary, but we decided to wait until we could see a heartbeat on ultrasound and confirm that everything was okay.  So, we had a beautiful day celebrating our baby Thérèse in prayer.  The day was even sweeter knowing that I could ask for Thérèse's intercession for her baby brother or sister.  "Please," I prayed.  "Please, I don't know if I can take losing another baby right now.  Please let us keep this baby."  

The days c...r...a...w...l...e...d by until my ultrasound.  The day finally came, but I ended up having to reschedule because of a snowstorm.  By the time I had the ultrasound, I was nearly 6 weeks along according to our estimates.  

I confided in a friend what was going on, and she offered to watch the kids so that Philip and I could go to the appointment by ourselves.  We didn't think we could endure hearing that we had lost another baby with them in the room.

The same ultrasound tech that told us Thérèse had died was performing this ultrasound.  I told her I was nervous and that I wanted to know exactly what I should anticipate seeing on the screen before we began.  "We think you're only 5 weeks and 6 days, so it's probably too early to see a heartbeat, and the baby will be very, very tiny."  I prayed to the Blessed Mother to give me the strength I needed to endure whatever she told us.  Before scanning my uterus, she examined my ovaries and looked over everything else to make sure it was as it should be.  My right ovary showed signs that it had recently ovulated.  Good!  Oh, the waiting was agony.  When the image of my uterus came into view, we instantly saw a tiny, tiny baby.  Then, I noticed the fluttering.  "That's the baby's heartbeat," said the ultrasound tech.  

Philip squeezed my shoulders.
Tears streamed down my cheeks.  It was difficult to see the screen.
The baby's heartbeat!  
We had never even seen Thérèse's heartbeat!  
This baby has a heartbeat!  
The baby is okay!
I'm really pregnant!

The ultrasound tech took some measurements and took the baby's heart rate.  The baby measured just 3mm and had a heartbeat!  Amazing!  The baby measured right on target with the dates we provided my OB.  Without an LMP (last menstrual period) to date the pregnancy, my OB had to rely on the information that we were only together once two weeks after my D&C.  If I ovulated two weeks after my D&C, that would coincide with the date we gave him.  The ultrasound confirmed what we thought was impossible--we got pregnant with this baby two weeks after we lost Thérèse.  

After seeing the heartbeat on ultrasound, we decided we would announce the news to our families at Christmastime.  After the ultrasound, Philip and I went to get a bite to eat in the hospital cafeteria.  I'll never forget the date of the ultrasound (Friday, December 14) because I watched the news about the Newtown, Connecticut shooting come on the cafeteria tv as I waited for Philip to pick up our order.)  We were numb from the news.  We couldn't believe we were really pregnant, that we saw a heartbeat, and that all signs pointed to everything being okay.  

I popped into the restroom on our way to the car.  Then, the unthinkable happened.  There was blood.  I told Philip I thought it was probably from the ultrasound and that I'd call my OB if it got worse.  It got worse as the day went on, but it eventually went away.  A few days later, I had another bleeding episode.  This time, I thought for sure that the baby was gone.  I called my OB, and they had me come in on December 21 for another ultrasound to check on the baby.  Despite the bleeding, all was well.  The first bleeding episode was likely from the ultrasound and a little implantation bleeding.  We're still not sure what caused the second bleeding episode, but it was short-lived and considered normal first trimester bleeding.  Ugh!  I thought I was losing the baby every time I saw blood.  I thought I was re-living losing Thérèse.

With the good news that all was well with Baby, we told our families around Christmas that we were pregnant.  They were as surprised as we were, but they congratulated us and assured us of their prayers for this baby.  

I had another appointment January 10, and Baby looked great on ultrasound.  After that appointment, I started to absorb that I was really pregnant.  I was cautiously optimistic, but I wasn't ready to share the news with the world yet.  

I didn't have another appointment until January 31.  I was nearly at the 12-week mark, so it was supposed to be a quick appointment with a check of my vitals and a quick listen to Baby's heartbeat on the doppler.  

Days before that ultrasound, my good friend (the same friend who watched the kids for the first ultrasound) met me for dessert.  She asked me how I was doing and mentioned Thérèse.  Instantly, I burst into tears.  I realized I hadn't even asked myself how I was doing in a long time and that I was so preoccupied with this pregnancy that I hadn't allowed myself to grieve, process, or do much beyond get through the long days with "morning" sickness, Philip's rotten schedule that month, or worry about the unknowns with this pregnancy.

After I got home from my dessert date with my friend, Philip and I had a great talk on the couch and checked in with one another emotionally for the first time in probably a month.  That's how it is with good friends--they prompt you to make your marriage better.  Philip and I had been so consumed with the holidays and just being in survival mode that we had put the grieving process on hold.  Thank goodness for good friends that help put us back on track!  

Philip and I held hands on the couch and cried as we talked about missing Thérèse, worrying about this baby, and being tired of residency's crazy hours.  I confided in Philip that I was convinced there was something wrong with the baby and that I was ready for the worst at my ultrasound.  He said he understood why I was worried, but he reminded me of all of the positive signs we had from previous appointments that pointed to things being okay. 

When the ultrasound rolled around a few days later, Philip was able to come at the last minute because of some very sweet attending doctors on his rotation.  God bless them!  Thank goodness he came because it was a stressful appointment.  My vitals all looked good.  When it came time to listen to Baby's heartbeat on the doppler, the appointment got scary.  I prayed the entire time my OB scanned my belly with the doppler.  After searching for two minutes, my OB couldn't find a heartbeat.  Very calmly, he said, "Let's go across the hall and take a peek on the ultrasound."  Those were his exact words at my 12-week appointment with Thérèse before we saw that she had died.  I told myself that the baby was gone.  

We settled in to the ultrasound room, and the image on the screen came into view.  Instantly, we saw a perfectly formed little baby with a fluttering heart.  In fact, he or she kicked off of my uterine wall throughout the exam and made it very difficult for my OB to take any measurements.  Baby's heart rate was right on target (161), and Baby measured 11 weeks and 5 days--exactly how far along I was that day!  I told my OB how nervous he made me when he couldn't find the heart rate.  He assured me that my chances of miscarrying after that appointment were very, very low, and that Baby looked great.  He said to feel good about things, and I finally believed him.   

After receiving confirmation that Baby was okay and that everything looked great, we decided to share the news with the rest of our friends and extended family.  We posted this picture of Walt getting an "Eviction Notice" from the nursery on Facebook.  He was ready for his morning nap, and we took his pacifier away, so it was easy to capture a sad pout from him.

Since November, I've felt that my life has been in a holding pattern.  Not a day goes by that I don't fear losing Baby, but I'm finally allowing myself to make an emotional connection.  I'm finally finding myself thinking about Baby as a part of this family and imagining him or her with us in August.

12-week belly shot

God is teaching me each day to relinquish control, live in the present, and trust.  I'm learning to trust that He will guide the roller coaster ride I'm on through all of the scary twists and turns to a safe return home.  Some days, I'm white-knuckled and feel as though I'm going to be sick (some days literally!).  Other days, I allow myself to enjoy the rush as I anticipate the next curve.  Losing Thérèse taught me that our lives are completely out of my hands.  God will give.  God will take.  God will be there to love me through it all.  I need only entrust myself and our family to Him.  The trouble is, I forget this reality and fall into the trap of thinking our lives are in my control.  Usually, God swiftly returns me to my knees where I belong when that happens.

I am so grateful for the gift of my Catholic Faith throughout these last several months.  Without the belief that our baby Thérèse is a saint in heaven that can intercede on behalf of our family, enduring losing her and thinking that we were losing this baby would be unbearable.  I can't help but think that without Thérèse dying, we would never have the precious baby growing inside of me.  It is bittersweet to think that this baby is due three months after Thérèse would have been born.  My greatest hope as a parent is to get our family to heaven.  Thinking that we already have one member there is all the incentive we need to keep working toward that goal.  

I'm reading Kimberly Hahn's book Beloved and Blessed.  She recounts a conversation with her son, Joseph, when he realized his mom miscarried two babies before him.

"How soon did the baby die before you conceived me?"
"Joseph, I miscarried just weeks before we conceived you."
"So if that baby had not died, I wouldn't be here, would I?"
"No, Joseph."

Joseph thought for a moment, and he shared this profound thought:  "Mom, I'm sorry the other baby died, but this way you get to have us both!"

I love everything about that passage!  How lucky am I that I get to have BOTH my saint Thérèse in heaven AND this precious baby growing inside of me?!  Amazing!  

So, I'm getting on with the business of remembering that we are blessed and that God want us to be happy.  Sure, I'll continue to grieve and cry for the baby I never held, but I'm not a bad mother for being happy or even for forgetting about Thérèse from time to time.  After all, God's taking care of her.  She's in far better hands with Him anyway!  

Meanwhile, the precious babies we already have are helping me to remember just how blessed we are.  The day after my ultrasound, Jane was looking at my belly as I got dressed.  

Me:  Did we get to see Baby yesterday on the tv?

Jane:  Yes.

Me:  Wasn't the baby so cute?!

Jane:  No, Mama.  The baby isn't cute.

I was momentarily saddened by Janie's response.  Of course the baby was cute!  Perhaps this was just a little sibling jealousy coming out.

Jane:  Babies aren't cute; they're perfect.  Pets are cute, Mama.  Babies are perfect.

Out of the mouths of babes!  She's right, you know.  What a supreme blessing and honor that humans are made in the image and likeness of God.  Regardless of what lies ahead with this pregnancy (or any pregnancy), the babies are perfect because they are made exactly as God intended--with an immortal soul that He hopes will be returned to Him.  If we get to keep this baby, Thérèse taught me the time will only be "on loan," and that it is my job to return all of my babies to their Father.  I know she will help me to do just that.  

I hope I make you proud, Thérèse!  I miss you everyday.  Please pray for us.    

Physically Losing Thérèse

St. Thérèse, pray for us!

Since sharing the news on Sunday that baby #3, Thérèse, died and that I would be miscarrying at home, we received an overwhelming amount of support.  We are so very grateful for your prayers, phone calls, e-mails, meals, help with Janie and Walt, and all of the other ways that you are helping.  Since Friday, we prayed to God that He would spare us the agony of having to wait very long for me to miscarry Thérèse at home.  It didn't happen how we thought it would, but God certainly answered our prayers.

I must warn any readers that I am about to share the story of how I lost dear Baby Thérèse and that I'm including every possible detail I can remember--even the graphic ones.  I know this might seem like a strange way of handling the death of our child, but I'm doing it for a few reasons.  

I know Philip and I will start to forget the details of these days as time goes on, and I never want to forget.  I want to remember every little detail of our child's short life as well as her death.  I want to preserve these details so that as I start to wrap my mind around the reality of losing our baby, I have it all written out for me to relive and face emotionally.  I was so focused on physically enduring losing Thérèse that I want to have the details recorded when I'm emotionally ready to face them. 

I'm also writing about the actual physical part of losing Thérèse because of the multitude of women who have reached out to me.  Since sharing my blog post on Sunday, nearly two dozen women have thanked me for sharing my story.  For some, I am the first person they told that they lost a baby or a sibling.  I am hoping that opening up about my story and how we have begun the grieving process will somehow be helpful or healing for them.  I hope by my opening up about losing Thérèse that other women who have experienced the death of a child will be able to seek the help they need--whether it be calling a friend, making an appointment with a counselor, or just spending time crying in a chapel during adoration.

So, as you read, I apologize if the story becomes too graphic and you can't read on.  Nonetheless, please respect that Thérèse is our baby and that this is our way of celebrating her life and grieving her death.  Thank you for allowing us to choose to grieve the death of Thérèse as we wish.

I thought that miscarrying Thérèse would be like a painful period with some heavy bleeding.  At least that was what my brain took away from how my OB described the process on Friday.  I anticipated that it would all play out like the plot of a story--the pain and bleeding would slowly build to a painful climax, I would endure the agony of delivering Thérèse, and the bleeding and cramps would slowly come to an end a few days later.

Sunday night, Philip and I were still emotionally numb.  After we put Janie and Walt to bed, we decided to take a break from talking or thinking about Thérèse and just watch a few shows.  At 7:30, I started having painful cramps and the spotting turned into moderate bleeding.  

A few hours later, the bleeding and the pain intensified, and I thought that surely I was going to deliver Thérèse any moment.  The emotional pain would be terrible, but I thought that at least the physical part would be over soon.  I was bleeding so heavily that I had to go to the restroom, and Philip was with me every step of the way.  

The most grizzly part of all was having to take that small sterile container that my doctor had given me to the bathroom.  I was to preserve as much of our baby as possible so that the tissues could be sent in for medical testing.  

At this point, the bleeding turned to uncontrollable gushing, and I started to pass blood clots the size of my fist or larger.  I knew that there would be a lot of heavy bleeding and probably some large clots like there was during labor and delivery, but Philip and I started to think that this was not how it was supposed to happen.  I started to pass clots and blood at such a rapid pace that I asked Philip to collect them in plastic cups to examine for tissue to collect in the sterile container.  I didn't want to somehow lose our baby. 

We knew something was wrong as we couldn't keep up with the pace of my blood loss.  I started to lose consciousness and told Philip to help me to lay on the bedroom floor.  At this point, I was unable to speak, was still bleeding uncontrollably, and I had lost all color.  Within minutes of laying down, I slowly regained my blood pressure and the blood flow slowed to a manageable rate.  

We called my doctor's office after hours emergency line, and the nurse told us to go to the ER if I continued to bleed heavily or if after laying down for awhile I was dizzy and lightheaded.  After getting off the phone with the nurse, we called my mom to be "on call" in case we needed her to stay with the kids while we went to the ER.  I stayed laying down on our bedroom floor with towels underneath me.  I was so cold from the blood loss that I asked Philip to cover me in a blanket and to bring the heating pad to help with the pain from the cramps.  Philip continued to push me to drink as much water as possible, and I was able to eat a small snack.

Forty-five minutes later, I felt ready to try standing up again.  The moment I stood up, I passed half a dozen clots the size of my fist, and I started to get dizzy, so I laid back down.  We decided it was time to go to the ER, so Philip called my mom.  

I laid on the floor as he packed us a bag for the hospital.  My mom arrived shortly thereafter.  I was nervous about bleeding through during the car ride, so Philip helped me to double up and put one pair of underwear with a heavy duty pad on top of another.  I crawled from our bedroom to the stairs to limit the blood loss, and I put a towel on the seat and reclined during the ride to the hospital.  By the time we arrived ten minutes later, I was already bleeding through the towel, and I was extremely light-headed.  Fortunately, there was no one waiting in the ER waiting room at midnight, and I ended up being the only patient admitted overnight.  

I got checked in right away, and immediately got hooked up to IV fluids.  The nurses were incredibly sweet and serious about getting me efficient care all while being sensitive to the fact that we were there because our baby had died and I was miscarrying.  Soon, the ER doctor was performing an internal exam, and I felt all kinds of movement and heard strange sounds.  Philip explained that he was removing the clots and any remaining tissue to stop the bleeding.  (So long as a woman is retaining clots and tissue, her uterus won't clamp down to stop the bleeding.)  After he was done, the bleeding seemed to stop, and Philip and I dozed for a few minutes here and there as the nurses came in and out of my room to check my vitals and change the bed pad.  

By 4 a.m., my blood pressure was at a safe level, and the bleeding seemed to be done, so the doctor said I could go home.  Philip and the nurses helped me back into my clothes and into a wheelchair so that I could use the restroom before leaving.  Philip went to get the car as the nurse wheeled me to the restroom down the hall.  She waited outside for me.  

Immediately, I knew something was wrong.  I felt the blood rush out of me, and I passed half a dozen clots the size of my fist.  I was able to wash my hands, call in the nurse to show her my blood loss, and she walked me back to the wheelchair.  She said she'd go and tell the doctor about the clots but that I seemed to be doing okay.  The clots were probably just from the blood pooling up as I laid in bed, she said.  

As I sat in the wheelchair in the hallway, I started to lose consciousness.  I heard another nurse approach me and said that I didn't look well.  When she asked me how I felt, all I could do was shake my head.  I heard Philip's voice, and they wheeled me back to my room.  I couldn't say anything, and I thought I was dying.  If I could have talked, I would have asked Philip to call our priest.  The nurses had to lift me out of the chair and back into bed.  When they got me hooked back up to the monitor, my blood pressure was extremely low.  The nurses helped me back into a hospital gown, and I'll never forget the look on my nurse's face as she checked my bleeding.  She raised her eyebrows and said, "Yes, you'll need to stay with us.  We're calling your OB right away."  

At this point, I was terrified.  I had thought everything was under control, that I had delivered our baby, and that I was going to have some light bleeding at home for a few more days.  Now, they didn't know why I was still bleeding, and my OB was being called in.  At this point, I was on my fifth bag of IV fluids, and my hemoglobin was getting low enough that they were considering a blood transfusion.  I was given some medicine rectally to stop the bleeding, and an IV had to be inserted into my left arm since my veins in my right arm were shot from the first IV.  

Soon, an anesthesiologist was talking to me about surgery, and his nurse was prepping me.  My OB arrived at 5 a.m. and explained to us (but mostly to Philip because I was so out of it) that I would need an emergency D&C to stop the bleeding.  I would receive anesthesia through my IV, and my OB would dilate my cervix enough to use a vacuum catheter to remove the lining of my uterus and any remaining tissue.  I dreaded the thought of having to have a D&C to vacuum out any remaining parts of our baby.  It was too barbaric to even think about, but I didn't have a choice anymore, and I didn't have enough strength to say anything other than "okay."  

Minutes later, I had to sign a few consent forms.  One form asked us what we wanted to happen to Thérèse's remains after pathology performed all of the necessary tests.  I am so glad that Philip and I had prepared for this question and had discussed our plans ahead of time.  Processing that question while being nearly unconscious and prepping for a D&C would have been horrific.  We said that we wanted Thérèse's remains to be returned to our care so that we could arrange for a proper burial and some kind of a prayer service.  

Soon after, the anesthesiologist's nurse put oxygen tubes into my nose and a cap on my head.  Philip took my glasses and rings, and they whisked me off across the building to the surgical wing.  Philip gave me a quick kiss and told me he loved me.  I didn't even have the strength to tell him that I loved him back, and I cried that I couldn't tell him those words.  

They opened the doors to the operating room and helped me to scoot over to the operating table.  I don't remember a countdown or a warning that they were knocking me out.  I just remember waking up in a recovery room bed with a sweet nurse sitting at a computer next to me.  She said, "Your husband is in the waiting room, and you'll be able to see him soon."  She wheeled me to a strange room with a reclining chair and gave me a Diet Sierra Mist and some stale graham crackers while she went to get Philip.  

I was still very much out of it, but I was so happy to see him.  He came in and gave me a hug, and the nurse gave us a few minutes while she got my clothes, our checkout instructions, and my prescriptions for pain medicine.  Philip helped me back into my clothes while he gave me the report from our OB on how the surgery went.  My OB had to leave for a delivery after my D&C, so he wasn't able to wait for me to come out of recovery.  Philip said that my OB told him the D&C went well, he was able to remove all of the clots and remaining tissue, and that my uterus was able to clamp down to stop the bleeding.  Everything went as it was supposed to in surgery, and I was to schedule a follow-up exam with him in two weeks.  We both asked each other how the other person was doing, and I think we knew we weren't ready to really talk yet, so we both said that we were going to be alright.  

The nurse came back shortly thereafter to pass along my prescriptions for pain and nausea as well as all of my post-op instructions:  Have someone with you for at least another 24 hours in case you get lightheaded and lose consciousness.  No driving, no alcohol, no signing documents or making important decisions, no showering for 24 hours, no lifting anything heavier than 10 pounds for 1 week, no sexual intercourse for 2 weeks.  Rest, wear the compression stockings for another 24 hours, and call if you have any of the terrifying symptoms rattled off to me on a sheet of paper.  As part of the routine, the nurse gave me a pamphlet on miscarriage with a fake white rose.  I couldn't help but feel terrible for the sweet nurse as she had to give me the rose and the pamphlet and say that she was very sorry.  She suggested that Philip pull up the car while she got me a wheelchair and said that we'd meet at the front.  

When Philip and I got into the car, we said that we loved each other and that we were going to be alright, but we spent most of the ride in silence, processing everything that we had gone through in the last 24 hours.  Philip went in to Walgreen's to get my prescriptions filled.  It took a little more than half an hour.  To pass the time, I sent family and friends text message updates to let them know that I had to go to the ER but that I was okay physically after my emergency surgery.         

Since coming home from the hospital Monday morning, I feel like I've been living in a haze.  I know a lot of that's the strong medicine that I'm on, but I know more of it is my mind and heart struggling to catch up with what my body has been through.  That, and the reality that Thérèse is gone.  Our amazing family and friends have been helping to take care of Janie and Walt since I've needed rest and haven't been able to do it on my own yet.  Hopefully I'll be ready by Monday if not sooner.  In the meantime, Philip is cutting back on his hours, and he's going to work until dinnertime instead of staying overnight for his scheduled 28-hour shifts.  He'll have this weekend off, so hopefully we can use that time to begin processing what happened this past week.

I will be spending tomorrow at the hospital getting a blood transfusion.  I am still very weak and get lightheaded when I spend any time on my feet.  My doctor hopes that the blood transfusion will help me to get my strength back.  Philip is taking the day off to be at home with the kids after I get checked in.  I'm actually looking forward to have an entire day to be alone with my thoughts, read some books about miscarriage, and pray.  It will be nice to have some much-needed silence.             

Last night, Philip and I promised each other that whether we feel like it or not, we'll set aside some time before bed to check in with one another and talk about whatever we're thinking.  Our thoughts might be incomplete, painful to hear, or slowly choked out between sobs, but we'll need to share them.  I keep telling Philip that it's okay for us to process things differently and that we were forced to live out that night in the hospital individually, but that we need to share that experience with each other so that we can heal. 

Sunday night was excruciatingly painful physically and emotionally, but I am so grateful for all of the ways that we were spared more pain, all of the graces that are coming from Thérèse's life, and all of the graces that are coming after her death.  I thank God that our children were asleep and that Philip was home as I started to deliver Thérèse.  We needed to go through that experience together, and it's special that it was able to happen in the quiet and solitude of a lonely ER in the middle of the night.  I thank God for not allowing the physical process to drag on for weeks.  I thank God that our children are not old enough to grieve for Thérèse but that they can join us in praying for her.  I continue to find peace in the knowledge that Thérèse is a saint in heaven who can intercede for us, helping to reach our goal of joining her in heaven with our entire family.  I find comfort and strength in the prayers of our friends and family.

I heal a little more each time I talk about Thérèse. The best gifts that my friends and family are giving me is their ability to listen, let me cry, and tell me that it's okay to feel however I'm feeling.  There aren't any special words that take the pain away.  I know that miscarriage can be such a taboo topic because people just don't know what to say or do, and some women never even share when they endure losing their babies.  Some people will stay away from me for fear of saying the wrong thing or just not knowing how to be around me.  Some people will unintentionally hurt me by saying something meant to help.  To those who have risked those awkward conversations and have courageously said that they don't know what to say but that they are praying for me and thinking about me, thank you.  You will never know what your courage and compassion are doing for me.  For those who are staying away, please know that I know you're just struggling to get through this tragedy in your own way.  I know we'll make our way back to each other, and I hope it happens soon.  

Each mother has to find her own way to grieve and heal.  For me, writing, talking, crying, and sharing as I feel the entire gamut of emotions reminds me that our sweet baby Thérèse is real, that her life deserved to be celebrated, and that her family deserves to mourn her death.  Thank you for allowing me to share her story with you.

Please continue to pray for us in the days ahead.  

One way that I'm gearing up for Lent

Lent is nearly upon us, and I'm not ready--yet.  It sneaks up on me every single year, but this year, I am doing some prep work so that I can enter into the season deliberately.  I want to have a game plan, and I know that I'll desperately need one this year.  We're listing the house March 3.  Without a plan, I know I'll let myself and our family get into a rut of being in survival mode, focusing on house stuff instead of the whole Jesus dying for our sins stuff.

Philip and I started our own Happiness Project last year, but we took a hiatus from it because of my post-partum depression, the Christmas season, and life in general.  I've been wanting to revisit our Happiness Project, but I want to give it more focus.  When I was thinking about revisiting our Happiness Project, I came across Jen Fulwiler's post, "Admitting that I can't do it all...or even half of it."  

Jen wrote about the overwhelming burden we place on ourselves when we create impossible do-it-all to-do lists.  In the post, she mentions Holly Pierlot's A Mother's Rule of Life.  Have you read the book?  Do yourself and your family a favor, and read it!  

The book centers around one Catholic mama's desire to bring order and peace to her home.  To do so, Holly created a mother's rule of life modeled after the daily schedule of the Missionaries of Charity (Mother Teresa's order).  Holly wisely realized that the daily schedule for the Missionaries of Charity allows them to have peace, order, and ample time to accomplish only that which needs to be done for the day.   

Daily Schedule for the Missionaries of Charity 

4:30-5:00 Rise and get cleaned up 

5:00-6:30 Prayers and Mass 

6:30-8:00 Breakfast and cleanup 

8:00-12:30 Work for the poor 

12:30-2:30 Lunch and rest 

2:30-3:00 Spiritual reading and meditation 

3:00-3:15 Tea break 

3:15-4:30 Adoration 

4:30-7:30 Work for the poor 

7:30-9:00 Dinner and clean up 

9:00-9:45 Night prayers 

9:45 Bedtime  

The focus of the day is a healthy balance of prayer, work, and rest.  The Missionaries of Charity keep this simple schedule without overburdening themselves with all of the extra stuff.  By keeping their priorities in check, they are able to work with God to multiply their time doing what needs to be done and cutting the rest.  The schedule clearly shows that the women trust that God will help them to accomplish all that needs to be accomplished.    

I'm nearly finished with A Mother's Rule of Life, and I am chomping at the bit to create my own Boucher Family Rule of Life.  I've decided that creating our Family Rule and implementing it will be my big Lenten mission.  Our family will need order and peace as we list the house and prepare to move.  I want to have those habits in place before the chaos enters the scene, and I want to start living with order and peace now.

Philip and I will work together (with a whole lotta prayer!) to discuss our family mission and how best to accomplish that mission.  I plan to finish the book this weekend and start drawing up our family rule of life.  To create our family rule, I am going to examine the "5 Ps" from A Mother's Rule of Life:

1. Prayer
2. Person
3. Partner
4. Parent
5. Provider

I'm ready to abandon what the world says is best for our family and start deliberately living out what God is asking of our domestic church.  Throughout Lent, I'll be posting snippets and reflections on the various components of our Boucher Family Rule of Life.  I look forward to hearing how you structure your days with your family and how you are bringing peace and order to your home.  Now, I'm just praying for the graces to actually do what I think God is asking of our domestic church.  It's going to take a very healthy dose of humility to really hear what God is asking of me as the spiritual heart of our home.  

St. Joseph, our 2014 patron saint for our family, pray for us!    

Pope Francis Made Me An Ignatian-Franciscan Hybrid Wannabe

Since there's a Jesuit university in town, I've always heard about the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius of Loyola, the founder of the Society of Jesus.  Reading and learning about the Spiritual Exercises has long been on my list of faith-related to-dos.  Now that we have a Jesuit pope, I decided now is a perfect time to delve into Ignatian spirituality. 

I probably won't be reading too much of the Spiritual Exercises until I finish Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI's Jesus of Nazareth: Part Two: Entrance Into Jerusalem to the Resurrection (a must-read, especially during Lent!).  In the meantime, I'd like to make an itty bitty Ignatian baby step and adopt the practice of a Daily Examen.

According to IgnatianSpirituality.com,

The Daily Examen is a technique of prayerful reflection on the events of the day in order to detect God’s presence and discern his direction for us.  The Examen is an ancient practice in the Church that can help us see God’s hand at work in our whole experience.

To get a jump-start on adopting this practice, read this fantastic primer on the Daily Examen with FAQ by Deacon Mike Bickerstaff of IntegratedCatholicLife.org.  Deacon Bickerstaff provides a succinct explanation on the spiritual benefits of making a Daily Examen:

A necessary part of advancing in the spiritual life and forming a deeper relationship with God is to examine ourselves, praying that God will reveal to us our soul as He sees it. This act of self-examination is referred to as an examination of conscience or an examen.

We should make the examen a part of our daily prayer. When we do not – when we leave too much time between our examens – we are not able to remember the failings and the successes we have had. Without this clarity, it is difficult to either make a good confession or to take corrective action in our lives.

If you are not in the practice of making a daily examen, Lent (that is now) would be a good time to incorporate the practice into your daily prayer.

At the bottom of his article, Deacon Bickerstaff offers a possible format for your Daily Examen that sounds perfect for a little Ignatian baby like myself.  Perhaps Philip and I can adopt this practice of inserting it into the Night Prayer of the Church's Liturgy of the Hours.  

I like this format because it would give Philip and I some structure to our evening prayer, readings from Sacred Scripture, time for individual reflection, and an opportunity to commend our spirits to the Holy Trinity.  Sounds pretty solid to me!  In addition to what Deacon Bickerstaff recommends, I found a detailed Examination of Conscience to read through as I make my Daily Examen.

I'm already blown away by Pope Francis' seemingly singular focus on finding God's will and being His instrument in his daily life.  May we all strive to emulate this holy man's docility, obedience, and service for love of God.  I pray that I'll become a little Ignatian-Franciscan hybrid like Pope Francis.  By adopting the Daily Examen into my prayer life and pondering the words of the Prayer of St. Francis, I hope to emulate the Holy Father's example.  

Lord, make me a channel of thy peace,
that where there is hatred, I may bring love;
that where there is wrong,
I may bring the spirit of forgiveness;
that where there is discord, I may bring harmony;
that where there is error, I may bring truth;
that where there is doubt, I may bring faith;
that where there is despair, I may bring hope;
that where there are shadows, I may bring light;
that where there is sadness, I may bring joy.
Lord, grant that I may seek rather to
comfort than to be comforted;
to understand, than to be understood;
to love, than to be loved.
For it is by self-forgetting that one finds.
It is by forgiving that one is forgiven.
It is by dying that one awakens to Eternal Life.

Pope Francis in Prayer

Do you make a Daily Examen?  What format do you use?  Can you share any tips or advice for this Ignatian-Franciscan hybrid wannabe?

Dating at Home

With a newborn, it's easy to get stuck in an evening routine rut.  Until last week, we were spending most of our evenings after we got Jane and Walt to bed watching our favorite shows on the couch while I nursed Harry.  When you're exhausted, it's easy to take the path of least resistance and just veg out on the couch.

We decided we were sick of watching tv and needed to switch things up a bit.  Enter the At Home Date Night Jar.

I grabbed a mason jar, a handful of craft sticks, some felt-tipped pens, and we brainstormed fun activities for the two of us to do at home other than watch television.  We don't have the budget to regularly pay for a sitter, and we want to keep things fresh by having regular date nights at home.  When we're looking for inspiration, we'll draw a stick from the jar, and we'll do whatever activity is written on it.  

We had fun brainstorming activities together.  Within 15 minutes, we had run out of craft sticks, and we had a jar full of fun, creative activities for future at-home date nights.  While we were brainstorming, we discovered The Dating Divas.  The Dating Divas is a site dedicated to strengthening marriages by encouraging couples to keep dating throughout their marriage.  Rather than re-invent the wheel, we stole a few ideas from their site and came up with a few of our own.  

Here are a few of the activities in our At Home Date Night Jar:

• Visit DatingDivas.com for inspiration
• Rearrange furniture in a room
• 30 minute massage
• Wine, cheese, baguette, & watch Life is Beautiful
• Living room dance lesson (consult YouTube)
• Online house hunting
• Do a puzzle together
• Dress up, takeout, candelight meal in the dining room
• Make family photo album on Shutterfly
• Mario Cart Wii tournament
• Share 5 goals over a snack
• Watch a pre-1960 movie
• Workout DVD & smoothies
• Watch a sports game & eat stadium food (nachos, hotdogs, pretzels, etc.)
• Read a book to each other
• Set up a practical joke for the kids
• No technology, no electricity
• Picnic in the family room
• Bubble bath
• Sit outside & read together
• Write a mad lib style story together
• Build a fort for the kids
• Read the same book.  Discuss after each chapter.
• Learn & play a new card game
• Make a freezer meal
• Choose new photos for frames around the house
• Try a new cocktail recipe
• Bake cookies
• Board game tournament
• Tackle a problem area of the house (garage, storage room, etc.) with a bottle of wine
• Teach each other about an historical event or current issue
• Get some peppermint foot lotion & give each other a foot massage         

We decided to kick things off that night by drawing an activity out of the jar.  We played a game called "Head of the Class" that I found on The Dating Divas and opened up a bottle of wine.  

From The Dating Divas

From The Dating Divas

Both of us filled out cards that had questions like, "What is your favorite movie?"  Then, we took turns asking each other the questions and guessing what the other person wrote.  The first person to get 10 questions correct won.  It was TOUGH!

The funniest moment of the night was answering the question, "What is your biggest fear?"  The conversation went a little something like this:

Philip:  What's your biggest fear?

Me:  You dying at a young age.  What's your biggest fear?

Philip:  (laughing sheepishly)  Me dying at a young age.

Me:  What?!?!  Your biggest fear is YOU dying at a young age?!

Philip:  Well...(laughing)...I wouldn't want you to be sad!

Me:  (Laughing so hard that I'm crying)  Great, so you want me to die first?

Philip:  I guess so!  

Isn't he romantic?  

Unfortunately, for me, Philip won.  Before playing, we decided to make it a high stakes game by putting a 10-minute back massage with Body Shop Body Butter (love that stuff!) on the line.  Philip loves back massages, so he was a happy camper when he won.  He got a lot of grief for the rest of the night for wanting to kill me off first.  It was fun learning more about each other and revisiting questions that we hadn't thought about in awhile.    

Do you and your sweetie still have date nights at home?  Do you have any fun activities to add to our list?

We're looking forward to our next At Home Date Night!