Chapter 1

Chapter 1


“…You are fearfully and wonderfully made…
I knit you together in your mother’s womb…
You are made in my image…
Your name is written on the palm of my hand…
My love is not based on what you can do for me…
I love you for who you are…
You don’t have to strive for my approval…
My favor rests on you…
I will never leave you nor forsake you…
You are mine…
Rest in my love…”
~The Holy Bible


A crusade by definition means, “Any vigorous, aggressive movement for the defense or advancement of an idea, cause, etc.” At least that is what it means according to dictionary.com; one of my favorite sites being the dunce that I am.

The question is how does one come across their crusade? For most of us it’s an experience that happens to other people but one day you find out that you are human like everyone else and bam! You hit a brick wall that makes you grow up and lose your innocence. You realize that you will never be the same person and that you care about something that was once so mundane that you never paid attention because it didn’t affect you and never would. The truth is that we all become a statistic of some kind at some point of our lives even if it’s the way we die.

I am a statistic. I am the one of about 4 out of every 100 women that you have met in your life that has experienced infant death. It’s a cruel statistic that no one talks about.

We advertise smoking, poverty, aids, drinking, drugs but you never hear about your friends who suffer in silence every day for the rest of their lives. It’s the silent statistic.

I was lucky. There were people there for me to talk to. I was able to research and find organizations that can help me. Most people aren’t that lucky. Most people have school, careers, other children or other things that keep them occupied. Admittedly, I was in a “transition” from my military career to becoming a full time student. I was actually taking a semester off just because I could so I was spending my time doing volunteer work because that is what I wanted to do. So, when you do volunteer work you can’t be reprimanded for walking away and that is just what I did when I got the diagnosis so I could dedicate my new life to the silent crusade.

It was actually while I was on a mission’s trip in July of 2006 that I first began suspecting that I was pregnant.

Isaiah and I had been trying to get pregnant so when I started having irregular periods I did nothing about them fearing that I would be put on birth control. A year or so earlier I went in complaining that I was having painful, long, heavy flow and was told that the only option to fix it was birth control so I just ignored it choosing instead to rely on aspirin, a blood thinner, and Midol to deal with the “problem.”

So when I was late I wasn’t really thinking that this time it could be for real because that was never the case in the months leading up to my actually getting pregnant. If I had the option now of going back and being put on the pill to get rid of the excruciating pain I was going through every month I don’t know if I would have done it knowing what lied ahead. All I can say for sure is that I do not now regret nor will I ever regret being a Mother to David.

Seeing as how my last period was 3 weeks long I didn’t think much of being more than a month late. I stopped writing those little X’s on my calendar a long time ago.

So we were off to Denver to work in a homeless shelter called, “Socks Place.” Dean Livingston had opened the shelter a few years earlier while feeling that God was calling him to help the street kids in that area using the motto, “Bringing a Father’s Heart to the Fatherless.” He was so amazing that we both instantly felt that if we could have moved to Denver just to be around him and those kids every day that we would.

It was while I was working there that I realized that the flu-like symptoms I’d had the week before were not going away. Every day I felt sick to my stomach and I’d have to run off to the bathroom hoping that no one needed to go right after I got out. I was standing all day cooking and out talking to the kids and I started joking with my husband at night how badly my “butt” hurt. I would try and laugh it off by asking if he could give me a massage but in the mornings I started to notice that I had to walk bent over in pain to take the few steps to the bathroom. By the end of the week I had to take breaks to sit down even though we were so busy cooking and in the morning the pain in my butt was getting so bad that it was tingling all the way down to my toes and it took me considerable effort to get moving. It was after that I started to realize that this was more than just some bug that was going around.

I kept this thought mostly to myself only mentioning in passing to my husband of what I suspected. I don’t think it really registered with him because I hadn’t taken a test and therefore was not really pregnant. He knows I’m a worry wart the same way I know he’s sarcastic so when I say, “What if I’m pregnant,” it’s drowned out by all the other, “What if’s,” that come out of my mouth every day.

Now I’m willing to admit how I lied. No Mother wants to think that it’s something she did that could have caused the death of her child whom she loves more than anything so when I was asked if I smoked or drank during this pregnancy I said no.

The truth of the matter is that a good way to get to know these kids is through cigarettes. If you have the ability to go buy a box and bum to them it’s an easy way to start a conversation with some one whom not only lives a different lifestyle than you do but basically lives on a totally different planet than you. While I was in Denver I smoked like a chimney.

My husband and I had not had alcohol in months, which is odd if you know me. I’ll just say that I’m a more “traditional” Irish woman when it come to alcohol and also I’m Catholic, meaning I have a natural tolerance level equivalent to a six foot lumberjack unless it’s vodka on the menu but I’d been avoiding it because living in Utah most of my friends just don’t drink and because I was trying to get pregnant. But on this particular day in Denver at a popular Italian restaurant my husband remarked, “How can you not have a bottle of Lambrusco?” That happens to be the table wine we would drink all the time while stationed in Europe.

You see, Isaiah managed to sprain his ankle while attempting to jump over a flower pot the night before. Yes, I said a flower pot but that is something you will have to ask him about. He was sore and wanted to take the edge off by getting a drink. I was hesitant but knowing how it feels to be dubbed a, “lush,” I didn’t want my husband to be looked down on for suggesting alcohol around a group of people who I didn’t know what their collective opinion was.

I agreed so he wouldn’t be alone. As it turns out it was much like a Sam Adams commercial where we order alcohol so every one else thinks they need to be less like “stereotypical” protestants and jump on the peer-pressure bandwagon with us.

Oh and did I mention that me, the Loosy Goosy Catholic girl, married a good upstanding Protestant boy? I guess he wasn’t always “upstanding” but that was how I managed to find myself surrounded by wonderful Assembly of God believers on this particular Mission’s Trip. Hey, if you have a problem with it you can take it up with God because that is who he assigned me to marry and I think we both love the traditions that each of us hold. It works for us so I don’t see a problem with it. It’s funny looking back though. At one point in my young life I was so sure I was going to grow up and be a nun. Somewhere along the line that changed. I rebelled and now I found myself totally dedicated to a life for God but almost completely separated from my roots in Catholicism. It doesn’t matter what dogma I follow because there will always be some one who doesn’t like it.

So that night I had a normal size glass of wine which if you ever drink wine in a nice restaurant you will find that 90% of the glass is empty for some reason. I know it sounds bad but to me it’s all going to end up in the same place so why keep refilling it? Who do you know that honestly drinks alcohol because they enjoy the taste? This was the one time in my life I was glad it was only table wine. I sipped it like I’d never sipped in my life. Some how I managed to make that glass take me all dinner so Isaiah wouldn’t give me a refill.

Think of how I felt later when I realized that I made that fatal choice to have a glass of wine. I read one Mom’s encounter of guilt as she realized her child was sick to analyze all the things she could have done better or not have done at all and if she had a normal baby like her other pregnancies she never would have thought twice to have any guilt at all over those things she did “wrong”. That really put into perspective not only what we do every day that can effect us forever but also how much something that seems small like this can affect you, at least in an emotional way, for years to come if not for the rest of your life. Being Christian I’ve even had fleeting thoughts of an eternity in Hell as punishment for murder even though I’ve asked forgiveness and am truly sorry. This is the way of grief, to make you feel like the leftovers from last week stinking up the trash.

As soon as I got home at the end of the week I took a pregnancy test.

“Was that a positive?” The second line was so light that I thought I was checking at the wrong time of the month or maybe it was really a negative. So we went and bought a box of 3 more tests. I tried them over the course of the week first thing in the morning and I was still confused. They didn’t say anywhere on the instructions that the line would be so light you might think it could be a trick of the light or your yearning to be a Mom that could just make the line appear when it’s not really there.

“Fine,” I thought as I took the car to the clinic on base. You can walk in to get a pregnancy test so I thought I would just get this done and be able to know for sure in a few hours. The ladies behind the counter took my ID that stated right on it, “TA 180.” In military terms that means that I’m officially a civilian but I have 180 days of full Tricare coverage before I officially become a, “dependant,” of my husband Isaiah.

They typed in my social security number and it pulled up nothing.

“We’re sorry but it according to this you have no coverage.”

“What!” I thought. “How can I just not have coverage? My ID says right there that I’m covered.”

“We can’t get any lab tests done on you until you get this fixed with Tricare. I’m sorry.”

So that started a turn of events that took me hours to get fixed before I could even get the blood test I needed to just see if I was pregnant. It seemed like I was going from office to office all morning. I was supposed to be doing administrative work at the church and obviously I wasn’t showing up so I called my pastor and told him I was at the hospital. That, of course, sent him into help mode instantly asking me if I was okay and if I needed anything. What should I say, “No, I just think I’m pregnant and can’t get my insurance to let me get a test done.” That would only make him worry more so I just told him I needed lab work and there were issues I was trying to work out with my insurance so I wouldn’t be able to come in today.

Finally, I got the lab work done. I was supposed to go and talk to the doctor but since walk-in hours were now over I had to wait until even later in the afternoon to come back in to see her. Of course, I thought that would be great because she could tell me while I was there if it was negative or positive.

That afternoon rolls around and I’m biting my nails to find out if this is it or just a scare and she doesn’t know. Grrrrrrrr!!!!! She asked me some questions like if this is a wanted and expected pregnancy and such. I told her that we’d been trying for almost a year if you took out the months we stopped trying for my deployment. The last thing I’d wanted was to be dubbed one of those women who got pregnant just so she doesn’t have to deploy. Yes, even though I volunteered to jump on the plane people would still assume I was a “Dirt Bag Airmen” as we so affectionately call them.

She told me that having the test done so late in the day she might not have the test results for me until Monday.

Monday! I was going nuts as it was and not being able to smoke or drink to calm my nerves probably would have sent me into a panic.

But at almost exactly 4 on Friday, August 4th I got a happy phone call. I was, in fact, about to start my journey to Motherhood. First I told Isaiah and then we proceeded to tell every one about the happy news. I wanted to let my Mom know first but this was the one time that I call when she is not home. I was so frustrated. I finally called her cell phone after listening to the answering machine 5 times or more. My family was at the grocery store and more specifically they were at the check out when I called.

I broke the news in front of all the other customers, my Dad, my smallest brother and sister and the check out clerk. My Mom burst out crying tears of joy at the news that she was about to become a Grandma.

And with me being so excited the whole family knew by the next day what the happy news was. I was getting calls from relatives I hadn’t talked to since Easter and happily chatting away about how wonderfully crappy I felt and what foods I’d been craving and all of the innocent topics of a pregnancy. I remember breaking the news gently to my grandmother by saying, “Well, I’ll just say that my Mom is going to be a grandma,” so I didn’t have to say, “Guess what you are getting old because you are about to be a great-grandma!” I love my grandma so much and I didn’t want to give her a heart attack before she could see my new little baby.

So that was that. I was a happy pregnant lady. I was constantly sick and I don’t think I’d ever wanted apples and oranges so much in my life. If it was midnight and I needed fresh squeezed orange juice or apple cider we “had” to make trips to the only store open at that time of night, Wal Mart.

Things went relatively well aside from a small fender bender I managed to get into on August 8th, only days after finding out I was pregnant, that cost me almost a $300 fine. I was in a more ornery mood every day than was normal for me and bless my husband for dealing with that but things were mostly text book. I was having such horrible back pain all the time. I talked with my Mother about it one day and realized that not all women have this so early in the pregnancy. When I talked with the doctor about it she told me not to worry. The baby was just pinching a nerve and I couldn’t do anything about it other than gripe and moan.

Isaiah was working the night shift in his new shop and he would have bad days only to come home to me yelling not to him but at him about how horrible those people he works with are. That was the biggest drama I had in my life; my worry over my husband and my anger that was now beginning to be directed at the Air Force.

Then with much excitement my four month appointment was getting nearer and nearer. I was telling everyone we weren’t going to find out what the baby was but keep it a surprise. The closer I got the more excited I got to start buying cloths.

I remember walking down the isles in the local department stores and seeing something in pink that I would think was just too adorable. Something was telling me blue and I some how knew it was a boy. Let’s just call it a hunch but it was a hunch that my Mother also shared so who knows if it was more than that.

There was another feeling looming deep inside of me that I now have to wonder about. Something was telling me that it was not my time yet to raise a child. The word, “miscarriage,” would from time to time play with my mind the same way that the word, “boy,” would play with me. Any time I got that feeling in my gut I would push it away while I welcomed any other feelings I had about wanting so much to be a mother.

Introduction

Shortly after the loss of my children I began writing to heal. It was meant to be a short story to send to friends and family to let them know everything that had happened. It has ended up changing not only my life by having lived through one of the most beautiful and defiantly most horrible times of my life but it has touched the lives of so many nameless faces now and I wanted to share it in all its flawed glory.

I was in a state of confusion when I wrote this and to be honest it’s to hard yet to be going through and perfecting every ill-written word and misspoken sentence. I’m terrible with grammar and other perfections of the English language. Maybe this is nothing but to me my children are my whole life and my whole lost future.

Here is the introduction and since this is the time of year when everything began until the end I will post one chapter a week. The names will be changed by the time you read it for legal reasons but otherwise this will be it.

Love,

VeraWang

Copyright 2007 by Rachel ThompsonAll rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. Published 2007 Printed by CafePress.com in the United States of America

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Introduction


This world is full of uncertainty. Pregnancy can be the epitome of that kind of uncertainty for a woman. When we find out we are pregnant we can be filled with an array of emotions and questions, worry and joy.

This can all be stolen out from our under our feet when we find out that something is wrong with our unborn child. For some it’s unexpected at the very end of the pregnancy where no heart beat can be found and for others it’s the AFP test or an amnio that comes back with some bad news for us. Some of us go in on one appointment to discover that the baby has just “disappeared,” if you are early enough in your pregnancy or if it’s later you can find out that there is something terribly wrong at an ultrasound.

News such as this takes a situation that may be a happy moment and turn it upside down. Where there should be happiness there is now only grief. Where you are already anxious you are now depressed and have a whole new set of emotions to deal with. What would have been called post-partum depression will now be called mourning. What would have been sympathized by society is now simply ignored for a lack of understanding. People tend to understand depression but the idea of your child dying is just something to painful to comprehend. Some people choose not to acknowledge the baby as a “baby” to keep the emotions at bay, hurting “mother” in the process.

Then when you have a wanted pregnancy you must face the horrible question of continuing it or letting them go. Either way there are regrets and sadness. No matter what you choose there is emptiness where there should have been a new baby in your life. No matter what you choose there will always be people in society who will look at you as a horrible person who doesn’t know compassion when in reality you are trying to be as compassionate as you know how to be.

According to the US Department of Health and Human Services, about 6.9 babies die for every 1000 that live from statistics in 2000. That is about one death for every 143 lives. According to the March of Dimes the rates were 6.8 deaths for every 1000 live births in 2003 showing no significant improvements. The US ranks 27 for infant mortality according to data collected in 1997. It seems that for all of our science and medical advances that we are still missing something when it comes to saving these frail children’s lives.

It is almost a certainty that you know some one who is dealing with the death of an infant. According to the March of Dimes miscarriages may account for up to 50% of pregnancies. Some of these women know and some don’t ever realize that they were ever pregnant. Data collected by the National Center for Health Statistics says that in 2004 the number of recognized infant deaths was at 5,623 from Birth Defects. These are scary statistics that affect all women in some way. Even if you have healthy children these statistics may make you worry about what could happen next time you tried to get pregnant. If you are a parent already dealing with the death of a child you now may be faced with the thought of, “Can I go through this again?”

The truth is that no parent will ever make a decision out of anything but love and that love goes on forever.