Not being one who enjoys controversy or conflict, I have let this post rest in my mind a while. In a lot of ways, I have no standing to speak on such a subject (when has that stopped me), but I am hoping something here will resonate.
I have never been raped. I have never been an unwed teenager whose family has disowned me. I have never been diagnosed with a disease while pregnant for which the treatment is incompatible with maintaining life for my unborn child. I have never been told that the baby I am carrying has a chromosomal abnormality which will result in his or her death within hours or days of delivery. I have never had an unwanted pregnancy.
I know people, however who have had such situations. I am not saying that I know OF people, I am saying I know the people. I have a relatively new friend. I do not see him often. His wife learned that she had cancer about the same day she learned she was pregnant with her second child. She chose to postpone her treatments and carry that child to term. She died around his 2nd birthday. Some would say she made the wrong choice. Whoever would say that definitely has not met that ray-of-sunshine precious child. We, as parents, say things like, "I would die for my child!" We mean it. For most of us, however, at least in this country, the likelihood of that being necessary is remote. Here is a woman who did just that.
I am well-acquainted with other young women who learned that their babies would not survive long after birth due to a fluke chromosomal abnormality. Each of them was offered the option to terminate the pregnancy. Each chose to make a place in her body, in her heart, in her life, and in her memories for those babies.
All these women shed untold number of tears. All of their hearts were broken, and remain a bit fractured because of their experience. All of them, if given the power, would have delivered healthy babies. It was not to be. All of them can look in those fractured places and know they did all they could do for their child. I admire their courage more than I can say.
This brings me to the subject of abortion and those mothers who make that decision. I am one who does not believe that a woman who chooses that route should have to go in a dirty back alley to a butcher. I am also one who believes that abortions end a life. I wonder, if on some level, abortions end two lives. It is my belief that any woman who chooses to terminate a pregnancy, especially for convenience, never ever recovers emotionally. So rather than demonizing women who feel, for whatever reason, that their only option is abortion, I feel profound sadness. I do not think our maternal hearts were designed for such grief.
Tuesday, January 31, 2017
Monday, January 30, 2017
Day 30 - End of the Line
I am feeling quite puffed up that I actually made 30 blogs in 30 days. To all of you who read and commented, thank you. It was nice not writing in a total vacuum.
Last spring, I went to an Enneagram conference. If you are unfamiliar with the Enneagram, it is an enlightening experience. It helped me know myself a bit better. It also helps to aid in efforts to understand others, and, if one is paying attention, it speaks volumes of God's creativity and loving nature. I know some people who were there and could not figure out their number. I had no problem. I am a straight up 9.
Each number has healthy and unhealthy traits. It was astounding to me as they read out characteristics of nines how I felt like the leaders of the conference had been following me around. There were two particular statements that struck me about being a nine. The first was that nines are not prone to peer pressure, so they would not jump off the proverbial bridge, but the desire to avoid conflict will cause them not to stop someone who is about to jump.
The other trait of nines is they don't believe their presence matters. This sounds real pitiful, maybe, but I don't think it is. Maybe I don't think it's pitiful because that's pretty much how I feel. It is not an Eyore, "nobody cares if I am there or not" sort of thing. It is a, "I know I am not indispensable" sort of thing. Of course there are those whose lives would be changed if I was no longer present in them, but those lives would not end. The sun would still rise and set, they would still eat and talk and laugh and live life. When one thinks about it, that is really quite freeing. It befuddles me when people get upset and leave a church and hope it is diminished without their presence. I have a friend who lives in another state who goes to a church where a group left because they got crosswise with the pastor. They stated and seemingly believed their absence would cause a certain charitable event sponsored by the church to fail without them. That would never cross a nine's mind.
So, this is the last of the 30 day challenge. I live under no illusions that any of you just won't be able to go on. It has been fun and challenging. Thanks again, kind readers.
Day 30 - The End!
Oh, and if you are interested in the Enneagram, check out The Road Back to You by Ian Cron and Suzanne Stabile. There is another conference this spring. You can get information at www.ottercreek.org, and, no, I do not get paid for plugging the book or conference.
Last spring, I went to an Enneagram conference. If you are unfamiliar with the Enneagram, it is an enlightening experience. It helped me know myself a bit better. It also helps to aid in efforts to understand others, and, if one is paying attention, it speaks volumes of God's creativity and loving nature. I know some people who were there and could not figure out their number. I had no problem. I am a straight up 9.
Each number has healthy and unhealthy traits. It was astounding to me as they read out characteristics of nines how I felt like the leaders of the conference had been following me around. There were two particular statements that struck me about being a nine. The first was that nines are not prone to peer pressure, so they would not jump off the proverbial bridge, but the desire to avoid conflict will cause them not to stop someone who is about to jump.
The other trait of nines is they don't believe their presence matters. This sounds real pitiful, maybe, but I don't think it is. Maybe I don't think it's pitiful because that's pretty much how I feel. It is not an Eyore, "nobody cares if I am there or not" sort of thing. It is a, "I know I am not indispensable" sort of thing. Of course there are those whose lives would be changed if I was no longer present in them, but those lives would not end. The sun would still rise and set, they would still eat and talk and laugh and live life. When one thinks about it, that is really quite freeing. It befuddles me when people get upset and leave a church and hope it is diminished without their presence. I have a friend who lives in another state who goes to a church where a group left because they got crosswise with the pastor. They stated and seemingly believed their absence would cause a certain charitable event sponsored by the church to fail without them. That would never cross a nine's mind.
So, this is the last of the 30 day challenge. I live under no illusions that any of you just won't be able to go on. It has been fun and challenging. Thanks again, kind readers.
Day 30 - The End!
Oh, and if you are interested in the Enneagram, check out The Road Back to You by Ian Cron and Suzanne Stabile. There is another conference this spring. You can get information at www.ottercreek.org, and, no, I do not get paid for plugging the book or conference.
Sunday, January 29, 2017
Day 29 - TV Shows You Watched as a Child
Day 29
There were several shows that I watched as a child, which is quite astounding since we only had three channels, and insult of all insults, we actually had to get up to change them. The enjoyment I had in most of the shows probably had less to do with the writing and acting, but rather with the people with whom I watched. To this day, I do not really enjoy watching a funny show without Mr. L here. The best part is watching him laugh.
I Love Lucy was definitely a favorite. Specifically, I remember watching it at my grandparents' house. My grandmother would laugh and laugh. Often, I would be rocking in the old rocker in which my grandmother rocked her babies, my mom rocked hers and I rocked mine. I have that rocker now. It has a very distinctive creak. It is a sweet sound, connected in my memory to I Love Lucy. My favorite episode was when Lucy baked the loaf of bread. When it came out of the oven, it knocked her across the kitchen. I am a sucker for physical comedy. Of course the " vitameatavegimen" episode was a classic, as well as the one where Lucy and Ethel worked on the candy assembly line. Oh, what great memories.
I connect The Andy Williams Show to being in my dad's presence. Everytime I hear the song "Moon River" I think about my daddy. He also loved Perry Como and Lawrence Welk. I was not as big a fan of The Lawrence Welk Show as the other two. I might possibly, in my childhood innocence, have had a crush on Mr. Como, and probably thought Mr. Williams was related to me. I did enjoy Topo Gigio and was quite fascinated by the polka on Lawrence Welk. The polka was a dance at which I did not excel in my social dance PE course at MTSU. Come to think of it, I am not sure one could say that I excelled at any of the social dances. As an aside, the Cha Cha was my favorite. I also remember watching Flip Wilson (the devil made me do it) with daddy, but the hardest I ever heard him laugh at something on TV was the skit on The Carol Burnette Show where Tim Conway played the dentist. Again, physical comedy that was truly hilarious.
Cartoons on Saturday mornings were a tradition growing up, and I find great comfort in a good tradition. I can transport myself to the livingroom in the Moran Drive house and hear my brother, Mike, laughing at Huckleberry Hounddog. He loved that cartoon. He also liked The Road Runner and Wile E. Cyote, but I a truly believe that old Huckleberry was his favorite. Mike had a great laugh.
Sky King, Lassie, Roy Rogers, Andy Griffith, Leave it to Beaver, Father Knows Best, Romper Room, Captain Kangaroo, and The Lone Ranger were favorites as well.
We went to church 3 times a week....Sunday morning, Sunday and Wednesday nights. Illness, major current events of historic significance (JFK assassination, Cuban Missle Crisis), and the annual presentation of The Wizard of Oz were really the only things that kept us home. I LOVED the Wizard of Oz. It always aired on a Sunday night. I have not the words to express the emotions I feel when I think of The Wizard of Oz. Certainly a show about tornadoes, wicked witches and flying monkies should not invoke feelings of warmth, comfort, and safety, but that is exactly how it makes me feel. I am in a big wingback chair, head on one arm, knees on the other, feet dangling. I am all cozied up under a warm afghan, a snack in my lap. Oh, the sweet joy of special events in a happy childhood.
Day 29 - TV Shows I Watched as a Child - check
There were several shows that I watched as a child, which is quite astounding since we only had three channels, and insult of all insults, we actually had to get up to change them. The enjoyment I had in most of the shows probably had less to do with the writing and acting, but rather with the people with whom I watched. To this day, I do not really enjoy watching a funny show without Mr. L here. The best part is watching him laugh.
I Love Lucy was definitely a favorite. Specifically, I remember watching it at my grandparents' house. My grandmother would laugh and laugh. Often, I would be rocking in the old rocker in which my grandmother rocked her babies, my mom rocked hers and I rocked mine. I have that rocker now. It has a very distinctive creak. It is a sweet sound, connected in my memory to I Love Lucy. My favorite episode was when Lucy baked the loaf of bread. When it came out of the oven, it knocked her across the kitchen. I am a sucker for physical comedy. Of course the " vitameatavegimen" episode was a classic, as well as the one where Lucy and Ethel worked on the candy assembly line. Oh, what great memories.
I connect The Andy Williams Show to being in my dad's presence. Everytime I hear the song "Moon River" I think about my daddy. He also loved Perry Como and Lawrence Welk. I was not as big a fan of The Lawrence Welk Show as the other two. I might possibly, in my childhood innocence, have had a crush on Mr. Como, and probably thought Mr. Williams was related to me. I did enjoy Topo Gigio and was quite fascinated by the polka on Lawrence Welk. The polka was a dance at which I did not excel in my social dance PE course at MTSU. Come to think of it, I am not sure one could say that I excelled at any of the social dances. As an aside, the Cha Cha was my favorite. I also remember watching Flip Wilson (the devil made me do it) with daddy, but the hardest I ever heard him laugh at something on TV was the skit on The Carol Burnette Show where Tim Conway played the dentist. Again, physical comedy that was truly hilarious.
Cartoons on Saturday mornings were a tradition growing up, and I find great comfort in a good tradition. I can transport myself to the livingroom in the Moran Drive house and hear my brother, Mike, laughing at Huckleberry Hounddog. He loved that cartoon. He also liked The Road Runner and Wile E. Cyote, but I a truly believe that old Huckleberry was his favorite. Mike had a great laugh.
Sky King, Lassie, Roy Rogers, Andy Griffith, Leave it to Beaver, Father Knows Best, Romper Room, Captain Kangaroo, and The Lone Ranger were favorites as well.
We went to church 3 times a week....Sunday morning, Sunday and Wednesday nights. Illness, major current events of historic significance (JFK assassination, Cuban Missle Crisis), and the annual presentation of The Wizard of Oz were really the only things that kept us home. I LOVED the Wizard of Oz. It always aired on a Sunday night. I have not the words to express the emotions I feel when I think of The Wizard of Oz. Certainly a show about tornadoes, wicked witches and flying monkies should not invoke feelings of warmth, comfort, and safety, but that is exactly how it makes me feel. I am in a big wingback chair, head on one arm, knees on the other, feet dangling. I am all cozied up under a warm afghan, a snack in my lap. Oh, the sweet joy of special events in a happy childhood.
Day 29 - TV Shows I Watched as a Child - check
Saturday, January 28, 2017
Day - 28 - A Day With the Girls (a break from generic blog prompts)
Day 28
For Christmas, my sister and I gave our mom a day....a trip around Nashville and the world. We wrote a poem telling her the plan. Breakfast was to be in France, lunch in Mexico, and dinner in Italy. In between meals, we would shop and possibly see a movie. As always, our plans were fluid. My sister-in-law joined us too, which definitely added to the fun of the day.
The plan was to meet at Mom's at 8:30 am. An early start is necessary if three restaurants are to be frequented in the same day. My sister-in-law arrived, having driven from Smyrna, a little before 8:30. Mom met her at the door in her robe. I arrived at 8:30 and chatted with Vickie while Mom got ready. My sister called at 8:40 to say that the battery in her car was dead. I was feeling mighty grateful for the powdered peanut butter and Diet Coke I ate before leaving home, anticipating a possible late start. By this point, I had been awake about three hours. My daughter and granddaughter also were joining us for breakfast.
Around 9:00, we were all gathered, ready to head to Belle Meade for our French breakfast at Le Peep. Our server was somewhat less than thrilled to be at work, but our food was quite good, especially the concoction of butter, brown sugar, cinnamon, and almonds toasted on an English muffin. After breakfast, we headed to The French Shoppe to buy nothing.
Off to Brentwood to visit Maxie B, the store owned by a childhood friend. It is just the most cheerful store ever. We, especially Mom, were greeted with great enthusiasm. Vickie bought a couple things, Doree, Mom and I got caught up with Kakki as we browsed her beautiful store. A visit to church to see the treehouse and tree puppet theater that Phi Construction (my son and his cohort, Dustin) is building followed by shopping at Peartree Avenue where Mom bought a jacket and Dor' bought a dress and jacket.
Our visit to Mexico was at Uncle Julio's where our waiter was adorable and seemingly happy to be at work. The food was a treat as well. I could live off their fresh fruit and that sweet cream that comes with it. We checked the time for the movie. Mom had already seen and wanted to see again La La Land. I had been wanting to see it ever since I first saw previews for it. Vickie was graciously ambivalent, and Doree encouraged other options. La La Land won! I loved it!! Doree hated it. Vickie kindly said, "well, it wasn't my kind of movie." Mom said she liked it better the second time. Did I mention that I loved it?!?
Going to Italy (Mangia in Berry Hill) just did not seem to be in the cards. Everyone seemed to still be stuffed from lunch, so we went to Cheesecake Factory and ate bread and butter and about nine gazillion calories of cheesecake. Our day had come to a sweet end. Well, I had to come home and walk 100 laps around my house to get my last 3,000 steps to appease the FitBit god.
Stuff is fine. Time with the ones you love is better. So, Merry Christmas, Mom.
For Christmas, my sister and I gave our mom a day....a trip around Nashville and the world. We wrote a poem telling her the plan. Breakfast was to be in France, lunch in Mexico, and dinner in Italy. In between meals, we would shop and possibly see a movie. As always, our plans were fluid. My sister-in-law joined us too, which definitely added to the fun of the day.
The plan was to meet at Mom's at 8:30 am. An early start is necessary if three restaurants are to be frequented in the same day. My sister-in-law arrived, having driven from Smyrna, a little before 8:30. Mom met her at the door in her robe. I arrived at 8:30 and chatted with Vickie while Mom got ready. My sister called at 8:40 to say that the battery in her car was dead. I was feeling mighty grateful for the powdered peanut butter and Diet Coke I ate before leaving home, anticipating a possible late start. By this point, I had been awake about three hours. My daughter and granddaughter also were joining us for breakfast.
Around 9:00, we were all gathered, ready to head to Belle Meade for our French breakfast at Le Peep. Our server was somewhat less than thrilled to be at work, but our food was quite good, especially the concoction of butter, brown sugar, cinnamon, and almonds toasted on an English muffin. After breakfast, we headed to The French Shoppe to buy nothing.
Off to Brentwood to visit Maxie B, the store owned by a childhood friend. It is just the most cheerful store ever. We, especially Mom, were greeted with great enthusiasm. Vickie bought a couple things, Doree, Mom and I got caught up with Kakki as we browsed her beautiful store. A visit to church to see the treehouse and tree puppet theater that Phi Construction (my son and his cohort, Dustin) is building followed by shopping at Peartree Avenue where Mom bought a jacket and Dor' bought a dress and jacket.
Our visit to Mexico was at Uncle Julio's where our waiter was adorable and seemingly happy to be at work. The food was a treat as well. I could live off their fresh fruit and that sweet cream that comes with it. We checked the time for the movie. Mom had already seen and wanted to see again La La Land. I had been wanting to see it ever since I first saw previews for it. Vickie was graciously ambivalent, and Doree encouraged other options. La La Land won! I loved it!! Doree hated it. Vickie kindly said, "well, it wasn't my kind of movie." Mom said she liked it better the second time. Did I mention that I loved it?!?
Going to Italy (Mangia in Berry Hill) just did not seem to be in the cards. Everyone seemed to still be stuffed from lunch, so we went to Cheesecake Factory and ate bread and butter and about nine gazillion calories of cheesecake. Our day had come to a sweet end. Well, I had to come home and walk 100 laps around my house to get my last 3,000 steps to appease the FitBit god.
Stuff is fine. Time with the ones you love is better. So, Merry Christmas, Mom.
Friday, January 27, 2017
Day - 27 - Ten Things You Can't Leave Home Without
Day 27
Ten things is a lot of things to keep up with! I have like five things that I have with me most any time I am away from my house. My (1) FitBit, of course is most important unless, for some unknown reason, I am being pushed around in a wheelchair. Actually, I probably would wear my FitBit anyway and swing my arm back and fort as I ride along. It's amazing how many steps one can rack up that way....so I have been told.
Usually, I have my (2) phone with me. If Mr. L and I go somewhere together and he has his phone, I leave mine behind. I do not want to be that person who is constantly checking her phone when in the presence of others.
In my phone case I keep my (3) drivers' license, which, of course, it is wise to have if I am driving. I have, on an occasion or two, been stopped without my license, and police officers tend to frown on that sort of thing. I also have my (4) insurance card in my phone case because one never knows when that might be needed. You really just never know when you are going to have a head-on collision trying to pass a construction truck in.the.middle.of.the.road, or when a bumble bee might sting and the ol' epi-pen is not on the list of things I can't leave home without. So, yes, my insurance card is always with me.
My (5) debit card is important in case I need a Hershey bar and/or a Diet Coke. I never have cash, well, unless parents on a walking tour pay in cash, and then I have lots of dollar bills that I jokingly call my "stripper money," as if anyone would be interested in giving money to a geriatric stripper. And, last but not least, I have my (6) Target card because, well because it is my TARGET card where I can buy anything from snacks to shampoo to dishes to toys and get 5% off. It's Target, people.
Day 27 - Ten (six) Things You Can't Leave Home Without - check
Thursday, January 26, 2017
Day 26 - If You Could Change Lives With Someone Who Would it Be?
Day 26 - If You Could Change Lives With Someone Who Would it Be?
Well, first of all I wouldn't. In this crazy, mixed up, messy life, I find myself mainly joyful. If at anytime you sense my trying to present myself or my life as perfect, please call me out. Without just dumping everything on FB, I do try to be honest. So, I wouldn't change lives with anyone, and yet, this is sort of fun to think about. So, I would do life again with all the same characters; the setting would just be different.
All names are compliments of road signs on I75 S in Georgia.
In another life, Mr. L and I would live in a small coastal village in Florida called Locust Grove. We would be the proprietors of a mid-century vintage motel called The Sunsweet Siesta. It would be cheerfully painted in carousel pink, moon yellow, sea breeze, wild orchid, and calypso blue. People would know, as they drove in the palm- lined drive that they are most welcome.
Every afternoon we would serve afternoon tea in the courtyard; a welcome repast of homemade muffins, fresh fruit, and hibiscus tea. Only vintage glass plates, thin porcelain china cups, and white linen napkins would be used. Nary a bug would be about.
There would be regular guests. The Dooly family, Unadilla, Larry Walker, and their daughter, Vienna would visit every summer. We would watch a romance bloom between Cecil and Lenox Rountree's son, Kinard, and Vienna. They would actually have their wedding in the Sunsweet Siesta courtyard.
The Sparks/Southwell annual family reunion would be every May. Ashburn and Arabi Sparks with their three boys, Albany, Amboy, and Turner would always be the first to arrive. They would impatiently wait for the Southwell relatives. Eldorado and Omega Southwell just could not get their girls, Moultrie and Hahira to get packed and on the road in a timely fashion. Mr. L and I would try to smooth the Sparks' ruffled feathers by serving homemade peach ice cream as soon as the Southwells got settled in.
Regulars, like the Valdosta twins, Savannah and Juliette, would stay the same two weeks every year. Most folks would not be able to tell the two gals apart, but Mr. L and I would know that Juliette was a bit more pigeon-toed than Savannah.
Montezuma Hawkinsville and his longtime sweetheart, Wenona Sylvester, would always spend Christmas with us. Having never married, they had no family so we would always include them as though they were our family. Old Mr. Clyatville Moody, a widower who lived in a nursing home down on Rumble Road would always bring a fruitcake dense enough to use as a doorstop. Roberta Smarr, who also lived on Rumble Road, would help Mr. Moody chop up the fruit. She, her husband, Butts (bless his heart), and their son, Zebulon, would also join the Christmas festivities at Sunsweet Siesta.
A whole host of folks would come into our lives, leaving memories like stamps on a passport. McDonough Macon with the Irish lilt in his voice. Lamar and Monroe Johnstonville, whom we would try to matchmake with the Valdosta twins, to no avail. Cordele Pitts who would always have the shiniest dress shoes that he would wear with black socks and his multi-colored striped Speedo. There would be many others, but I fear there are those reading this flight of fancy as they contemplate my need for serious psychiatric help.
Yes, it would be a lovely, interesting, quiet, life filled with a marvelous cast of characters, at the Sunsweet Siesta Motel in Locust Grove, FL; Fizzy and Mellie Switzer, proprietors.
Day - 26 - check.
Well, first of all I wouldn't. In this crazy, mixed up, messy life, I find myself mainly joyful. If at anytime you sense my trying to present myself or my life as perfect, please call me out. Without just dumping everything on FB, I do try to be honest. So, I wouldn't change lives with anyone, and yet, this is sort of fun to think about. So, I would do life again with all the same characters; the setting would just be different.
All names are compliments of road signs on I75 S in Georgia.
In another life, Mr. L and I would live in a small coastal village in Florida called Locust Grove. We would be the proprietors of a mid-century vintage motel called The Sunsweet Siesta. It would be cheerfully painted in carousel pink, moon yellow, sea breeze, wild orchid, and calypso blue. People would know, as they drove in the palm- lined drive that they are most welcome.
Every afternoon we would serve afternoon tea in the courtyard; a welcome repast of homemade muffins, fresh fruit, and hibiscus tea. Only vintage glass plates, thin porcelain china cups, and white linen napkins would be used. Nary a bug would be about.
There would be regular guests. The Dooly family, Unadilla, Larry Walker, and their daughter, Vienna would visit every summer. We would watch a romance bloom between Cecil and Lenox Rountree's son, Kinard, and Vienna. They would actually have their wedding in the Sunsweet Siesta courtyard.
The Sparks/Southwell annual family reunion would be every May. Ashburn and Arabi Sparks with their three boys, Albany, Amboy, and Turner would always be the first to arrive. They would impatiently wait for the Southwell relatives. Eldorado and Omega Southwell just could not get their girls, Moultrie and Hahira to get packed and on the road in a timely fashion. Mr. L and I would try to smooth the Sparks' ruffled feathers by serving homemade peach ice cream as soon as the Southwells got settled in.
Regulars, like the Valdosta twins, Savannah and Juliette, would stay the same two weeks every year. Most folks would not be able to tell the two gals apart, but Mr. L and I would know that Juliette was a bit more pigeon-toed than Savannah.
Montezuma Hawkinsville and his longtime sweetheart, Wenona Sylvester, would always spend Christmas with us. Having never married, they had no family so we would always include them as though they were our family. Old Mr. Clyatville Moody, a widower who lived in a nursing home down on Rumble Road would always bring a fruitcake dense enough to use as a doorstop. Roberta Smarr, who also lived on Rumble Road, would help Mr. Moody chop up the fruit. She, her husband, Butts (bless his heart), and their son, Zebulon, would also join the Christmas festivities at Sunsweet Siesta.
A whole host of folks would come into our lives, leaving memories like stamps on a passport. McDonough Macon with the Irish lilt in his voice. Lamar and Monroe Johnstonville, whom we would try to matchmake with the Valdosta twins, to no avail. Cordele Pitts who would always have the shiniest dress shoes that he would wear with black socks and his multi-colored striped Speedo. There would be many others, but I fear there are those reading this flight of fancy as they contemplate my need for serious psychiatric help.
Yes, it would be a lovely, interesting, quiet, life filled with a marvelous cast of characters, at the Sunsweet Siesta Motel in Locust Grove, FL; Fizzy and Mellie Switzer, proprietors.
Day - 26 - check.
Wednesday, January 25, 2017
Day 25 - A Hard Time
Day 25
Life often introduces us to very hard circumstances. Being the Pollyanna that I am, I try not to dwell overly long In the midst of the difficulties. Many women I know have suffered similar pains. Those who have not cannot truly understand all the nuances in this particular journey. I have come to understand that many more have traveled this road than I might have once imagined.
I had my first miscarriage very early in our marriage. Mr. L was still in law school. It was not great timing to bring a baby into our family, yet, I was pretty excited. I figured it would all work out. At six weeks, I experienced a miscarriage. It was 1976, the year of the Bicentennial. I remember the celebrations around the country. We attended a fireworks display in Louisville. I love fireworks. My enjoyment of them was greatly overshadowed by our loss. It did not matter that this pregnancy was not planned; it was now lost.
It did not take long for doctors to realize that there was a problem. I went through countless tests, months of disappointment, fertility drugs, daily temperature checks; all the things suggested in order to grow our family. And, after several months, I discovered that I was pregnant again. It never crossed my mind that painful loss could happen again. At 12 weeks, the doctor said I had passed the dangerous stage and that I could feel comfortable telling everyone we were expecting. Ten days later, I was in Vanderbilt's ER hemorrhaging. Another baby was lost. Physically, I was so battered. Emotionally, I felt destroyed.
Having babies was a dream of mine from the time I played dolls with Nancy in the front yard. Women's bodies were made to grow babies. There were so many unplanned and unwanted babies being born, or worse, intentionally not being born. Why could my body not perform correctly? I have never been one to think life is fair or that I deserve something more, but I surely cried out, "why" on numerous occasions. After recovering from my second miscarriage, our lives were blessed with two high risk pregnancies involving weekly and bi-weekly visits to the doctor for shots with all our efforts greatly rewarded by a beautiful boy, followed two years later by a beautiful baby girl.
I always wanted four children. If I could have placed an order, I would have asked for two girls and two boys; any birth order would have been fine. I wanted more children. So, we decided to try for a third child. Many of our friends were having their third, and that would get me 3/4 of the way to my goal. Using Clomid, I was pregnant rather quickly. I was so excited. Mr. L was pleased. Our children were thrilled that we were going to have a baby in the house. How marvelous it was.
At 16 weeks, I began to suspect that something was not quite right. I called the doctor, who had me come in. That day, I had my first and only ultrasound. My doctor came in, held my hands, and with tears in his eyes told me that the baby was dead and, it seemed, had been for several days. He gave me my options. I had a D&C that evening. I remember how utterly empty I felt when I awakened from the anesthesia. I wept and wept. For weeks, I remained in a cloud of blueness.
As happens with time, the pain is a dim shadow. I know that I am extraordinarily fortunate to have the two wonderful "children" that I have. Now that they are married, I finally have my two girls and two boys. But, those years of hope and joy and loss and failure and anger were, to date, the most difficult time in my life. This all happened for me nearly forty years ago. I am no longer sad. I do not dwell on it. Recent posts on FB have reminded me, however, that I am part of a sisterhood; a sisterhood of women who will always have, tucked away in their hearts, a wondering of what those lost babies might have been.
Day 25 - A Hard Time - check
Life often introduces us to very hard circumstances. Being the Pollyanna that I am, I try not to dwell overly long In the midst of the difficulties. Many women I know have suffered similar pains. Those who have not cannot truly understand all the nuances in this particular journey. I have come to understand that many more have traveled this road than I might have once imagined.
I had my first miscarriage very early in our marriage. Mr. L was still in law school. It was not great timing to bring a baby into our family, yet, I was pretty excited. I figured it would all work out. At six weeks, I experienced a miscarriage. It was 1976, the year of the Bicentennial. I remember the celebrations around the country. We attended a fireworks display in Louisville. I love fireworks. My enjoyment of them was greatly overshadowed by our loss. It did not matter that this pregnancy was not planned; it was now lost.
It did not take long for doctors to realize that there was a problem. I went through countless tests, months of disappointment, fertility drugs, daily temperature checks; all the things suggested in order to grow our family. And, after several months, I discovered that I was pregnant again. It never crossed my mind that painful loss could happen again. At 12 weeks, the doctor said I had passed the dangerous stage and that I could feel comfortable telling everyone we were expecting. Ten days later, I was in Vanderbilt's ER hemorrhaging. Another baby was lost. Physically, I was so battered. Emotionally, I felt destroyed.
Having babies was a dream of mine from the time I played dolls with Nancy in the front yard. Women's bodies were made to grow babies. There were so many unplanned and unwanted babies being born, or worse, intentionally not being born. Why could my body not perform correctly? I have never been one to think life is fair or that I deserve something more, but I surely cried out, "why" on numerous occasions. After recovering from my second miscarriage, our lives were blessed with two high risk pregnancies involving weekly and bi-weekly visits to the doctor for shots with all our efforts greatly rewarded by a beautiful boy, followed two years later by a beautiful baby girl.
I always wanted four children. If I could have placed an order, I would have asked for two girls and two boys; any birth order would have been fine. I wanted more children. So, we decided to try for a third child. Many of our friends were having their third, and that would get me 3/4 of the way to my goal. Using Clomid, I was pregnant rather quickly. I was so excited. Mr. L was pleased. Our children were thrilled that we were going to have a baby in the house. How marvelous it was.
At 16 weeks, I began to suspect that something was not quite right. I called the doctor, who had me come in. That day, I had my first and only ultrasound. My doctor came in, held my hands, and with tears in his eyes told me that the baby was dead and, it seemed, had been for several days. He gave me my options. I had a D&C that evening. I remember how utterly empty I felt when I awakened from the anesthesia. I wept and wept. For weeks, I remained in a cloud of blueness.
As happens with time, the pain is a dim shadow. I know that I am extraordinarily fortunate to have the two wonderful "children" that I have. Now that they are married, I finally have my two girls and two boys. But, those years of hope and joy and loss and failure and anger were, to date, the most difficult time in my life. This all happened for me nearly forty years ago. I am no longer sad. I do not dwell on it. Recent posts on FB have reminded me, however, that I am part of a sisterhood; a sisterhood of women who will always have, tucked away in their hearts, a wondering of what those lost babies might have been.
Day 25 - A Hard Time - check
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