That time I had an abortion.

WARNING-GRAPHIC CONTENT-READER DISCRETION ADVISED

NO, SERIOUSLY, THIS HAS SOME PRETTY RAW PARTS.  

DON'T LET YOUR KIDS READ THIS.

5 years ago, I had an abortion.  Gordon and I had Alia, Gannon, and Siri.  We were pregnant with our fourth and thrilled that God was growing our family.  We had gone to Illinois to see my parents for Christmas, and drove 17 hours home.

December 28th:  I had scheduled my 20 week ultrasound for the day after we got back to fit in with travel and school (I was ready to start my final semester of RN school).  I took the three kids to the doctors with me.  Alia and Gannon were reading, and wanted to stay in the car.  Alia was 14, Gannon was 4, so that was OK with me.  I took Siri in with me for a quick heart beat check and to schedule our gender ultrasound.  The doctor had a hard time finding the heart beat.  She assured me that baby was probably in a bad position, and she'd take me for a quick ultrasound to make sure baby was ok.  We went to the ultrasound room.  I held Siri and prayed.  

"Well, that's not what I was expecting to see at all.  I'll be right back."  She put down the wand and left the room.  My doctor and another physician came into the dimly lit room.  I was still holding 18 month old Siri.  The wand slid from one side of my belly to the other, with both doctors shaking their heads.  I heard "Did you check that angle?.....Do you see anything there?...."  The practitioner I didn't know started to leave.  He touched my sock clad foot and said "I'm so sorry."  Sorry about what?  I knew.  No one had said it yet.
"Well, it looks like baby died, and he's been dead for a while, he has what we call 'lemon head'."  I learned later this is called Spalding's Sign. "Go ahead and take a moment.  You can leave in a few minutes.  My surgery scheduler will call you tomorrow so we can schedule a D&E."  She left the room.  

My heart was in my throat.  I couldn't even call Gordon.  I couldn't call Gordon and tell him our baby was dead.  I picked Siri up and walked to the car.  I lost it.  I wept.  I didn't say a word to Alia or Gannon.  I started driving, but I wasn't really sure where I was going.  I called.  He was on a job site.  Normally that means hours of not being able to reach him.  He didn't answer.  I texted (yes, while I was driving) 911.  He called.  I couldn't even think of words.  I was still crying.  "The baby died.  I don't know what to do."  I don't remember much of the rest of that day.  I called some friends, I called some family, Gordon came home.  The rest of the next few days were a blur.  

December 29th: The next day, the surgery scheduler called late in the day.  "We can get you in January 19th."  I was going to have to stay pregnant with my dead baby boy for another 3 weeks.  I panicked.  I told Gordon I would use a coat hanger before that.  I wouldn't, COULDN'T stay pregnant with my dead son for three weeks.  I wasn't sure I could make it for three DAYS.  He called my doctor.  "Take a Unisom and go to bed" was the response.

December 29th:  I slept most of the day.  When I woke up in the afternoon and realized I would have to stay pregnant for several weeks, I started to have a total breakdown.  I was not strong enough to do that.  I didn't feel safe in my own body.  We went to the ER.  I got Ativan.  I thought about drinking.  I was still pregnant.  It didn't make sense.  They could be wrong and I might hurt the baby.

December 30th:  Gordon is a fixer.  He couldn't stand my depression.  He needed to fix me.  That's one of the things I love about him the most.  He started calling people.  He called OB/GYN's in San Antonio, Austin, Houston, Dallas-Fort Worth.  He called so many he lost track.  "My wife had a 20 week intrauterine fetal demise.  Her OB can't get her in till mid January.  Is there anyone in your office who could see her for a D&E in the next few days?"  It was like Mary and Joseph looking desperately for a place with no room in the inn, even for a baby that wouldn't take up a crib.  Finally, an office explained.  "A D&E is a specialized procedure.  There's a risk the head might pop off,  go through her uterus and float around her abdomen.  Then she'll need more surgery to remove the head.  It's pretty much a late term abortion."  The wheels started turning.  Calls were made to a different type of practitioner.  There was a place very close to where I went to school.  It would be $600.  Gordon called my doctors office with a plan in mind.  They said they couldn't stop us, but my doctor would like "fetal tissue" for "cytogenetic testing".  We would do what we could.

December 31st:  We went to the "clinic". I sat in a room with my husband, surrounded by people.  Some talking, even laughing, others more somnolent.  I didn't know any of their stories.  I didn't really care.  I knew MY story, and it wasn't one I wanted to tell.  They called me back to ultrasound.  I prayed in some quiet, secret place that it had been a mistake.  I knew it wasn't.  I was right.  They checked my antibodies.  I wouldn't need rhogam.  I knew that already, too.  They took me back to my room.  My bed was on the back wall with the door to the right.  In between the door and the bed was a table with canisters that dropped down under neath.  The suction was hooked up.  A stool sat in the opposite corner to the door.  They asked if I wanted sedation.  I said no.  The doctor recommended I take it, and I wasn't really in a mental position to argue.  I lay there, with a tech and the doctor in the room wondering what I'd done wrong... 

I don't remember a lot of the procedure.  I remember the sound of the suction.  More harsh and grainy than a vacuum cleaner.  I remember asking to see him.  If I could see my son.  The tech told me there were just pieces. That was ok.  I needed something I could identify as human so I knew this was real, so that I knew I had been a mom to this "fetal tissue".  When they finished, the tech escorted me to recovery. Gordon still wasn't allowed to come back.  I didn't want him there.  I felt like I'd failed him... As a wife, as a woman.  I couldn't even grow him a baby.  What a loser.  

They were closing when I finished " recovering". As I walked out, the tech handed me a specimen cup. "For your doctor to do the testing.  Just take it to the lab." It was his arm.  

Gordon drove us home.  I was wearing my Navy sweatshirt.  The cup was in my pocket.  We picked up the kids at home, our sitter had to go take care of her family.  The five of us drove to an area hospital, and came into the ER with me.  The registration clerk looked at me with confusion and disgust.  It was ok, I felt the same way about myself and the circumstances.  

I sat in a fast track room in the ER for what seemed like hours, my " specimen " tucked safely into my pocket.  A nurse came in to take it.  I started crying, apologized, and asked for just a few more minutes.  This was the only time I would be able to hold my baby outside my womb.  She came back, and I relented.

I left the ER about 9pm.  We drove home, and there was nothing.  I didn't think I was sad, mad, tired... I was empty.  I went to bed.  

When I woke up, it was a new year, a new semester, and I'd like to say new faith, but that part took time.  I Tried to avoid feeling, thinking... I did give it to God in enough time to find out I was pregnant early February.  That pregnancy ended in demise as well, but it was such a different experience.  I had grown in faith and in humanity.

Why am I sharing this?  Especially on what is supposed to be a light, fun, kids say silly things post?  Partly for my own selfish reasons.  5 years ago, I had an abortion.  I don't think I ever really "processed" it.  I thank you for letting me do so.

The other reason is for a cry to humanity.  My experience was so....bizarre....but God taught me SO much.  The staff at the clinic were truly amazing.  Their empathy and gentile care was a million times more than what I'd received from my "Christian", respectable, respected OB.  They were more compassionate in a place that is shunned and picketed than at an office of high repute.
So before you judge, picket, slam, protest....think about ALL the people involved.  Instead of holding up a graphic sign, sit down outside and take a woman to coffee.  Take her to lunch.  Get to know her as a person.  You don't know HER story, and she doesn't know yours.  Make a difference.  Be Jesus.  Save lives.  An abortion clinic saved mine....

I'm Leaving on an Airplane

What would happen if a capuchin monkey were to board an aircraft and fly halfway across the United States without a handler?
Southwest Airlines got a close taste when Gannon, in his glorious 7 years of wisdom and knowledge, boarded a few Tuesdays ago for a week long visit with his California Grandparents.

I was ENORMOUSLY scared for my little guy.  Yes, yes, I know that kids fly all the time and that RARELY things go wrong.  I knew I was going to be a train wreck regardless, so I took my fabulous friend Sharee with me to help calm my nerves, re-assure me, you know, be a friend.  

The drive to the airport was .......loooooooonnnnnnnggggggg.  We always joke about "are we there yet", but I had never actually encountered it.

G: "How much longer do we have to drive?"

M: "Well, we left about 15 minutes ago, so 45 more minutes."

G:  "How 'bout now?  Now how much longer?"

M: "Honey, it's only been 3 minutes, so 42 minutes left."

G: "Now?!?!?!"

M: "41 minutes."

This went on for the e.n.t.i.r.e. trip.

When we got to the airport we got his boarding passes (he stood on the luggage scale, then zeroed it for them.  What a helper), went through security (he wondered out loud why a grown man was kicking his bag through the line.  That was poor stewardship), and found his gate.

I was kissing and hugging him, and telling him to pray for the flight, the ground crew, and for his mommy.  I was loving on him, already anticipatorily missing him

"I'm sorry I choosed to go, Mommy.  I'll miss you very much." he said, reassuring me.  He felt he needed to keep going.  "And I shouldn't say the word BOMB, right?!?!?!"

I gave up after that.

I prayed, I cried, I had some wine.

At 1045pm, I got the call.  HE LANDED and was OK!  Thankfully the flight attendant did not let him order a Bud Light per his request, and as it turns out, "Strangers aren't scary!  They are REALLY nice!"

Subway

SUBSCRIBE FOR THE LATEST POSTS!

Everyone enjoys a Subway sandwich every once in a while...some more than others (Jarod?).  Yesterday, our good friend Jordan celebrated his last day in SATX with us at, you guessed it, Subway.

I've never in my life had an exciting trip to Subway.  It's always been fairly benign.  Maybe once an unexpected pepper found its way into my meal, but thats the extent of the excitement for me.

Until Yesterday...

Somehow the Koenig Kids have an adventure everywhere they go.

It all started with a power chair.

Siri had to use the restroom.  Unfortunately, she was horribly distracted by a red power chair and its occupant.  They (chair and occupant) were in line for food.  Have you ever noticed that when children say something embarrassing, they are louder than normal?  AND, the volume tends to raise a few decibels when in a VERY public place.  And they sometimes point.  No, they almost always point.

"MOMMY, THERE IS A CAR IN HERE!  WHY DID SOMEONE DRIVE THEIR CAR IN HERE!  CARS DON'T GO IN RESTAURANTS!"

Jordan, his lovely girlfriend Cassie, Gordon and I turned red.  We giggled to hide our embarrassment.  We re-directed Siri and moved on with life.

Until the man with the power chair parked.  Right next to us.

Que Gannon.

"DOES THAT MAN HAVE ONLY ONE LEG?  WHY DOES HE HAVE ONLY ONE LEG?  WHY DOES HE NEED A CHAIR?  DOES IT HAVE A HORN?"

There was a moment of horrible embarrassment, then a good two minutes trying to hush Gannon, and explain different reasons a person might need a chair.

"HE SHOULD GET A METAL LEG!  THEN HE WOULDN'T NEED THE CHAIR ANYMORE!  THAT'S A GOOD IDEA!!!!"

What a little problem solver.

Fortunately among the embarrassment, laughter, tears, and explanation, the man was gracious enough to show the kids his chair, explain why he only had one leg, and even let the kids honk the horn.

Maternity Ward

Pregnancy is a time of joy for a woman.  There is anticipation of new life, excitement, tiny outfits, and blankets.  When I was pregnant with Gannon, my first, I was thrilled.  My husband touched my belly to feel his son move, we got the nursery ready, and we had joy.
My pregnancy with Siri was similar.  We had total joy without reservation, trusting that everything would be OK, and they were.  She was perfect.
After Siri, we suffered a loss early in pregnancy.  I was shaken more than Gordon was, but it was early, and we knew that 50% of pregnancies end in early loss, but we trusted God and tried again.
Our early loss was in July of 2010.  Things went down hill horrifically from there.  We had a second trimester loss of a little boy which was devastating from start to finish, but I won't bore you with those details.  This is about the things Gannon has said and done.
After that loss, we became pregnant again, February 2011.  We were seeing a terrific group of midwives, a dynamite perinatologist, but had fear.  Pregnancy isn't supposed to revolve around fear.  For our peace of mind, we rented a Doppler heart rate monitor so that we could check for life on a daily basis.  This is not how you are supposed to experience pregnancy.
March 31, we went and saw our specialist.  20 weeks, and it was a boy and he was doing beautifully!  We named him Seth after Genesis 4:25.
Gannon was thrilled to be a brother!  He was planning how to decorate his bedroom.  June 2nd, the planning stopped.  There was no heart beat.  We looked everywhere over my swollen belly for the sound of that sweet cadence, but there was nothing.  We called the midwives, checked into the hospital at at 7:35 on June 3rd, I delivered our beautiful, sweet baby, born sleeping.

I was devastated.  My heart literally broke.  Gordon didn't know what to do with me, or his grief since I left him to deal with the other kids.  There is nothing to do with a woman who goes to the hospital to have a baby and leaves with a box.  Somehow, Gannon knew.
I know most of the things on this are silly, humorous things he had done, but I want to show you a side of that little boy that will give you a different perspective.

Gannon snuggled me, and snuggled me and snuggled me.  "Are you sad about baby Seth?' he would ask when I laid in bed crying.  "Don't cry, mommy!  You are beautiful!"  He prayed with me.  He prayed that we would see baby Seth in heaven, and he listed to Revelation Song, and he told me that our babies were in heaven with Jesus singing "Holy Holy Holy is the Lord God Almighty!"  I understand that it is not the job of a little boy to be an emotional piller for a grown up, and I don't think he knew he was.  Gannon always knows the things to say that help me know there is still purity in the world.  That despite everything that is ugly, and hateful, and extreme, there is an innocent little boy that wants his mommy to be ok.

In reading about his quirky antics and his humerous pieces, his words are beautiful and healing as well. Thank you, Gannon, and happy 2nd heaven birthday, sweet baby Seth!


P.S. when baby Annika was born and Gannon got to meet his baby sister, the first the he said was "Is she breathing?"  What do you say to that!?!?!?!

Cat Vagina

Gannon was brushing his teeth, looked up and said.... - "I'm so sad that the cat doctor cut out Willows vagina. Now I don't ever get to have a cute little kitten."...and continued brushing.  Sometimes I wish I knew what was going on in his head, but most of the time, I'm glad I don't.