It's all OK ... for now

On our way south from Berrysburg, I called the emergency number. The same doctor we've been meeting with the past few times was on-call. Thank goodness.

He returned my phone call asking why the heck was I calling him? I explained the problem and that the bleeding had pretty much stopped by now. He sighed. I couldn't interpret what that meant. He told me to call the office tomorrow and schedule another ultrasound.

"Laura, if it gets worse, and I know you know the drill by now, call me back." (Not the words I wanted to hear exactly.) "Stay off your feet and relax, you hear?"

Brent and I were in store for another sleepless night.

The appointment was at 2:10 p.m. Friday. Nervously, I spouted prayers from heart as we drove to the office. As we walked in hand-in-hand, the sun came out for a split second. I took it as a sign. I need it to be a sign.

The same technician who told us about Morgan's passing called my name to come back. Crap, I thought to myself. This guy is bad luck. I want the woman who gave us the good news on Wednesday. Where is she???

I laid back in the unforgettable brown fake-leather chair. He pulled out the jelly as I lifted up my sweater slightly. Brent took his position to my right squeezing the feeling from the left hand.

Technician: "There's the egg sac."
Laura: "And there's no baby, right?"
T: "Wait a minute. Here's the baby ..."
L: "With no heartbeat, right?"
T: "... and there's the little heartbeat going about 128 beats per minute."

He said there's really no explanation of why the red bleeding occurred. But, he said, there is a 2 percent chance of having a miscarriage after seeing the baby's heartbeat on the ultrasound. My eleation subsided. So ... that's what happened with Morgan? We saw the heartbeat at six weeks, four days. The baby died at eight weeks, six days.

He just told us our baby is six weeks, four days. My heart sank a little more. He said that the first objective was to make it past the point of the miscarriage. And the second, to make it to the second trimester.

Is it possible that we've used up all of our blessings and good luck? For the sake of this child, I pray not.

Still breathing: Part II

After the harrowing rollercoaster Wednesday morning, we thought we'd step off the platform and head to Berrysburg for a little Thanksgiving festivities. After two hours of traffic and a quick detour of sorts, we arrived just in time for dinner and with great news for my in-laws.

Thursday morning started off with the boys going hunting for small game, and Sally and I preparing the feast. It went off without a hitch, and we even took a little time out to watch the Macy's Day Parade.

The guys returned windblown and satisfied, and Brent's Ma and Marlin arrived 45 minutes early. (We expected them at 12:30 p.m.) I called my family at 3 to see how the Randisi Thanksgiving was without their favorite daughter. (Turns out, they were fine. Ha!)

I quickly ran to the bathroom ... and my holiday happiness came to a screeching hault. Blood. Red blood. A lot of it. The kind that the docs tell you is fatal. I nearly lost conciousness. Everything was fine yesterday. Everything. The baby's heart was beating 130 beats per minute, the ultrasound looked normal. What is going on?!

I called for Brent as evenly as I could, but he sprinted up the stairs, his eyes wild with worry. He took one look at my face, packed everything up including the dog. We said quick good-byes and hurried out the door destined for York.

Please don't let this be the same fate as Morgan. Please.

Deep breath followed by a deep breath followed by ...

I have a lot to catch you up on, but I have no idea where to start. How about I'll take on a made-for-TV-movie journey? It has its ups, its downs and I'm sure I could add a little sappy music into the mix.

First things first, let's shout the happy news. We're nearly seven weeks pregnant!! But the last five days have been the most nerve-wracking. Now, that you know the story has a happy ending ...

Starting chronologically:
Monday night:
I have a little bit of spotting.
Tuesday morning:
8 a.m.: I call the practice. The nurse tells me to get a blood test to measure the hcG level, aka the pregnancy hormone. She says to call back by 3 p.m., and they'll have the results.
9 a.m.: I arrive at work sick to my stomach with worry.
3 p.m.: I call for the results. Seems they aren't in yet, so I am told to call back at 4.
4 p.m: An hour later, still no results. Call back in a hour, they say.
5 p.m.: Nope. They ask for my phone number, so they can call me when it's in. The practice closes at 5:30 p.m.
5:25 p.m.: My phone rings. The results? 805,521. Nearly four times the normal amount. The nurse is breathless on the phone saying she's never seen numbers this high. (Great.) I ask if I should be worried? She said no, it means that I must have more than one baby. (Phew) She says she'll forward the results to the doctors, and I'll get a call by 2 p.m.
7:30 p.m.: The head of the practice's nuse calls. They're worried. That number is too high, she says. It means only one thing -- a molar pregnancy. She tells me to come in at 10:50 a.m. Wednesday for an emergency ultrasound. From there, they will decide when to administer the chemo. (CHEMO?!?)
7:35 p.m.: I jump on the computer and Google molar pregnancy. Read here for the horrifying results. (Think miscarriage, cancer, chemotherapy, no more trying for a baby for at least a year. My worst nightmare.)
Wednesday:
8 a.m.: Arrive at work terrified, but in need of putting the magazine to bed.
10:55 a.m.: Brent and I are called back for the dreaded ultrasound. We enter the same room, where we were a little more than two months ago and saw Morgan was dead.
11 a.m.: The technician tells us the baby is healthy, the placenta is healthy, the ovaries are healthy and THERE'S NO MOLAR PREGNANCY!!

I think Brent and I nearly fainted from the good news. After meeting with the doctor, he goes over the possibilities: Either there's a partial molar pregnancy undetectable on ultrasound or there was a lab error. He says that if it's the former, we'd need to meet with a maternal and fetal specialist as well as a cancer doctor so he can immediately begin administering chemotherapy. In the back of my head, I thought to myself that we just saw a healthy baby and there's no way I'm terminating the healthy baby.

2 p.m.: The doctor calls. The lab results were wrong. My level is at 30,000. I asked her to repeat that. There was a gross error at the lab. (Ya think?)

I've never thanked God more in my life. And the adventure wasn't over there. Stay tuned.

Fatherhood just comes instinctively

Never thought I'd enjoy visiting a graveyard. All of the superstitious ghost tales and creepy ghouls hanging around. At least, that's just one scenario that played out in my head.

That was all before we lost Morgan, though.

After Mass, Brent and I visited our little angel in heaven. It was a beautiful Sunday with the sun shining on our backs and the birds chirping in the trees. Tears still well up when I look at the beautiful grave, but it's strangely comforting, too.

Want to know the part that really choked me up? We were standing side-by-side, staring down at the plaque. I was silently saying a prayer, when Brent starts walking toward the car. He mumbled something as he stepped over the other graves, but I was too absorbed in talking to Morgan to hear him.

He returns with a bottle of water from the car and pulls a crumbled paper towel from his jacket pocket. Gently kneeling beside Morgan, Brent began to wipe the mud and grass away from the grave.

A father taking care of his child ...

I hugged him, we kissed Morgan's grave and headed home to our puppy.

Ahh.. the sweet smell of paint

It seems like I have caught every cold and flu bug so far this season. And it's only November.

In other news, I finally tackled our bedroom this weekend. The dingy white walls have been traded in for apple, as in green apple. Two coats later, and the room actually looks quite spiffy. But why is it that home-improvement projects are always more complicated than originally planned?

The painting went swimmingly, but I guess I just couldn't contain my excited brush and roller strokes. Because, I also splashed Apple on the windows, the window panes, the hardwood floors and the ceiling. Nothing a little white can't cover, right?

Right. Except, the white paint found in our garage is different from the white paint in the room. Soooo... now the room has fresh trim and windows. (I'm ignoring the ceiling. Who looks up when they enter a room anyway?)

PS. The picture definitely does not do it justice. You'll just have to stop by to see it :)

To get the vaccine or not to get the vaccine?

I've been reading up on the famous swine flu vaccine lately. (Mostly because I'm a journalist, and there are stories literally everywhere about it.) Those in the high-risk groups - children, pregnant women, elderly - are required to get the shot. If I were pregnant, I don't know if I'd get it.

Most stories I've heard about the normal flu vaccine is that those people end up catching that same strain. The coughing, the aches, the vomiting. I've never gotten a flu vaccine before, and I think I'd rather just keep taking my chances.

The funny thing is at my women's healthcare center, you have to "pregnant enough" to get the H1N1 vaccine. What does that mean? You have to be in your third trimester. So, I guess all of those news reports should start qualifying which pregnant women are in the high-risk group.

Anyway, here's an article I read about the vaccine's link to miscarriages. I must admit that I did think about that, so I did seek out the information. Here's another article by Boston Family Life.

What do you think? Would you get it, or just take your chances?

Fame comes in all shapes and sizes

As you already know, my dad is involved with the Gabriel Network, which helps homeless women choose life for their unborn child. Well, the organization is opening a new maternity home in Baltimore city. Volunteers have come out of the woodwork literally to clean, organize, paint and otherwise fix up this purchased home to make it suitable for moms-to-be in the coming months.

My dad is more of a behind-the-scenes kind of person. Well, he also got down and dirty the other day. And the Catholic Review (Baltimore's version of our Catholic Witness publication) caught it all in print. Read the story here, and check it out below.

Did you know curiosity killed the cat?

Lucy and I were on a walk the other day around our neighborhood. There's a family who lives down the block with three children and a pit-bull/boxer mix puppy named Sirus. Let me tell you, they are one of our favorite neighbors.

As we passed their house, the mom, dad and their youngest daughter, Rachel, were outside raking leaves. Although, they didn't seem to making much progress given the huge maple trees on their property.

We got to talking, and the dad asked if Brent and I had any children.
"Uh, no," I said caught off-guard.
"Oh, do you want kids?" he asked
"Yes, definitely." I racked my brain, trying to change the subject. Question. Think of a question. "So, where do you work?"
-- No dice. He was like a dog with a bone. --
"Why don't you have kids now, then?" He was just staring at me leaning carelessly against his rake. I blankly stared back with anxiety sliding into chest.
"Well," I said as I cleared my throat, "we lost our first child not too long ago, so ... " I trailed off.
Without missing a beat, he replied, "You're not going to stop, are you? Keep trying."

I smiled. Here's this nosy neighbor giving me baby-making advice. Awesome.

"Laura, wanna know the best way to have a baby?" (Not really, I thought to myself.) "Have someone get laid off, fall behind on your bills and rack up credit card debt. That's how we had three kids."

So, here's to having a baby. And I thought buying a house was diving into enough debt.

Calling all husbands and wives

I follow a few miscarriage blogs by women in the throes of sadness or venturing into the let's-try-again realm. Anyway, I saw this story about increasing a man's fertility. Read it here. (Warning: Might be too much information.)

On another note, there are tons of information in the .com world that offer tips to conceiving. My one girlfriend seems to have read all of those tips, and she's bringing me up to speed. (Although, getting pregnant wasn't really our problem. I wish there were fail-safe ways to keep a child.)

Tips for MEN:

•  Keep laptops off your laps while working to avoid the heat produced by the computer.
• Put the tightie-whities away and opt for boxers or boxer briefs.  
• Kick the cigarrette habit, not only for yourself, but for your family.

 Tips for WOMEN:

• Start taking folic acid now. Many women's vitamins already contain it, but check the label. Folic acid is thought to help defend against neural tube defect.
• Slowly wean yourself off caffeine, as it can cause harmful effects to a growing baby. (Honestly, I stopped drinking my daily Diet Coke because my taste buds changed. The bubbles give me heartburn.)
• Some women monitor their ovulation, but taking their basal temperature everyday before rising from bed. Your temperature rises about .5 degrees when you ovulate. (I never tried this, but my girlfriend swears by it.)

For BOTH:

• Exercise at least three or four times a week. 
• Eat healthy. That means picking up more fruits and veggies, and less chips. (Definitely a toughie in the Burkey household.)
• Make love every other day during your fertile period. That is usually eight days after the first day of your period and continues for about seven to 10 days, depending on the length of your cycle. 
• Don't obsess. I think when couples are trying to conceive, it's easy to fall into robot-mode. TTC shouldn't suck the fun out of the adventure.
  

P-A-R-T-Y? Because Tom's engaged!

Not sure if I mentioned this before, but my littler brother's engaged. Can you believe it? Hit bit the bullet and is officially off the market. I know, I know, ladies. Yes, he's quite attractive (creepy to write), but he's picked his flower from the fields.

And Saturday night we painted the town red. As in red wine, that is. Tom and Jess' engagement party was at Cafe Troia in Towson. Mom and Dad pulled out all the stops (after all, if it's worth doing, do it right!). Brent and I arrived early to steal a little one-on-one time with the fam. Soon, her family trickled into the beautiful restaurant. And, then the volume rose as my family piled in. We feasted on butterfly lambchops, the largest shrimp I've seen on a stick, crabballs (did you expect anything less?) and, of course, wine. Brent's favorite was actually the Italian beer. (I'll have to remember that one.)

My dad gave his welcome speech (he's known for his words), and then we played this great ice-breaker game. It sounds a little corny, but bear with me.

Mom and Dad put one fact about each person in attendance. Then, the index cards were divvied up. Jess' family members had facts about us, and we, them. The object of the exercise was to find the person who was on your card. It was hilarious. I think some people there didn't even know the fact was about them. (Present company included. Oops.)

Anyway, we rolled home to the Burkey household around 11:30 that night -- bellies full and faces hurting from the laughing. It's refreshing to celebrate good news lately. Cheers!

Isn't that obvious?

Here's just a quick post from a link I found.
Did you know that traffic pollution can lead to a miscarriage? Yeah, I thought you did.

But this article is based on scientific fact with smarty-pants know-it-alls who spent lots of time and money figuring it out. Maybe, that's a little harsh.

One thing I did find interesting:

The study, which included 400 women having IVF treatment in Brazil, found that those who became pregnant in winter, when pollution levels are particularly high, were twice as likely to miscarry in the first eight weeks as those who conceived at other times of the year.

My main problem is that most miscarriages occur in the first eight weeks any time of the year. Sure, Morgan passed away at nine weeks, but that's close enough. And the study was based in fertility treatments of 400 women. Wouldn't you expect a little more info? 

... and my second impression

Just to give you an idea of how the rest of the Mass went on All Souls Day, roughly 75 names were read aloud and 40 families were there from the parish. As each name was called, a family member could come to the front of the church where a single yellow rose was given to them.

Morgan's name was toward the end of the list. And even though I followed along on the program, when the name was read aloud, my heart dropped.

 "Morgan Ashland Burkey."

Brent and I stood up, walked hand-in-hand to Fr. Louis. I kept my eyes steady on the flower, hoping to strangle the sobs rising in my chest. Then, the priest shook our hands, looked deep into our eyes and said, "Peace be with both of you." It seems cliche to read it now, but if you would have heard his voice, you would know that each person's death put a chink in his armour, too.

My Mom and Dad, who have been my other rocks, sat next to us in the pew. As we plopped back down, Mom looked at me with a huge smile and said, "That's the best rose. It's the biggest!" As tears rolled down our faces, I looked back and told her that it's only the best for Morgan!

Isn't that the truth? For children, no matter how old or young or well-behaved, they always deserve the best. And I simply can't wait for that chance.

First impressions of All Souls Day

All Souls Day was more beautiful than I had imagined. Since I've never been to that Mass before, I'm not really sure what I imagined. Probably a bunch of sadsacks sitting in the pews more out of obligation than purpose.

Instead it was a church full of believers who never knew their lives would intertwine with the others in the pews, who never realized the depths of despair had so much company. Father Louis, St. Joe's pastor, opened his homily with an admission of speechlessness. What could he say? He's happy to be celebrating a Mass that scratches open pussing wounds? Instead he touched generally on the lives of those who passed from November 2008 to November 2009. Some were grandparents who had lived life to the fullest, others were parents who had passed on their wisdom to their adult children, a few were accidental deaths where relatives were ripped suddenly from this Earth. And then ... then he talked about children. And in particular one innocent infant who never took his first breath. He spoke of Morgan. My Morgan. 

A sticky ball of twine lodged in my throat. I just kept swallowing and breathing and swallowing. The cactus-like lump wouldn't budge. Until, my wonderful husband snatched my hand and tightly squished my shaking fingers into his warm palm.

Fr. Louis spoke about Jesus' love and how we might not be able to have those people returned to us, but we can ask for understanding from Him. Love? How could I love when my heart has hardened? But then I remembered that some day I will hold Morgan. And in the meantime, our child is watching over us. Strange perhaps, but it gives me comfort knowing he is near.

All Souls Day for Morgan

Sunday was All Saints Day, and today is All Souls Day.

St. Joseph Church sent Brent and I an invitation to remember and celebrate the life of "Infant Burkey."
(I guess they hadn't seen that we named our first child together.)

At 7 tonight, there's a Mass that will honor all of those who have left this world too soon in the past year. And all of the names will be read aloud.

When we received the invitation, we immediately responded saying the parents of Morgan Ashland Burkey will be in attendance.
The parents.
The mom and dad.
Morgan's mommy and daddy.

When that name is spoken in prayer from the pulpit, well, I'm just not sure if I'll hold up.

It's not fair. It's just not FAIR. And I still don't get it. I don't get the point. I don't get the reason. And sometimes I just don't care to know that reason or reasons. Because it doesn't bring my child back to me. It doesn't.