Wednesday - June 04, 2008

 angelitas

 *graphic reality warning - although "angelitas" means "little angels", this is not a pretty blog

Well, I coulda swore I already blogged this, and maybe it should be a "flashback", but it's too tied to the present to limit it to memories, however wonderfully creative and tainted they may be. 

Josephine, this is for you.

In the operating room, visions of life and death become eerily clear and real, and you just have to make peace with yourself, your God, and Whatever Might Happen.  However, in the stark, cold reality of those moments before you "go under" nothing beats bonding with one of the white coats, a warm hand and  voice telling you it's going to be alright.  

Don't think that white coat hides the wings, I know you are an angel - even if you don't realize it yourself.  So self unaware you were, as you prattled on to distract me, fishing for some common ground of hope and comfort to quell the undercurrent of fear.

Never have I heard of another woman baptizing her miscarried baby.  Depending on the gestation, I suppose many women wouldn't even consider an embryo or fetus a "baby".  I know that it's only a "baby" when it was intentional, in which case a single missed period can be cause for celebration.

Infertility has a way of forcing us to redefine humanity.  Possibility becomes reality in our desperate minds, fueled by increasing scientific and photographic knowledge.  A simple truth that's nothing new to Catholics - "Life begins at conception".  

That's where I always drew the line, anyway.  I couldn't buy into the complete lack of birth control, go forth and multiply philosophy-  instead I would try to avoid conception... the magic-moment-of-no-turning-back in my mind.

Then, after the birth of my son, they put me on the "mini-pill" until I was ready to try for another baby.  As a busy new mom, I neglected to check into the statistics surrounding that version of the pill.  Just nodded and trusted my doc.  

A few months later, I was on the phone with her, tears streaming down my face, the pressure of guilt fo heavy on my chest I was heaving to catch my breaths.  Contemplating the definition of life... and death.

I had never experienced severe hemmoraging associated with menstruation.  Cramps riddled my early periods so badly the family doctor put me on the pill at the tender age of 14 to control them.  My female life was very regulated, simple and predictable.  I took a pill every day to make sure.

When, a year or so after Bryan was born, I experienced one almost non-period (a wee bit of spotting, not normal) and the next one a total miss I became alarmed.  One call to the doc and we chalked it up to an increase in exercise - I had kicked it up a notch to lose the baby fat.  Call me if you miss next month.

But a few weeks later I sat on the commode wracked with intense cramps and bleeding until, finally, a huge lump slid out and plopped! into the water.  What the heck?  Could it be...?  I fished it out and sat it on a pile of white tissue to have a closer look.

Calmly, as she sensed the panic in my voice, my OB/GYN explained that there was indeed a somewhat greater chance of becoming pregnant while on the mini-pill.  There's  one way to tell for sure, she hesitantly explained,  run it under warm water for a minute or two.  If it's a blood clot it will dissolve.  If not, well, you were about 6 or 8 weeks pregnant.

With trembling hands, I held the "lump" and turned on the water.  After a few seconds, the little sack became pretty obvious, and nothing else was disintegrating.  After the first minute, I began to pray.  

After another minute, my guilty tears joined the warm running water washing over it.  What have I done?  Ignorant, selfish person... God forgive me.

I turned off the water and contemplated.  I knew then that this was the daughter I would wish for and  forever wonder what might have been.  Feeling very Catholic (did I say guilty?) I named her "Angela", a name I always thought I might like to name my daughter and that seemed oddly even more appropriate given the circumstances.

Then I apologized for f#@ing up and baptized her, gave her back to God,  "in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit."

Tragically, I reached up to grab another handful of tissues, thinking which spot in the garden might be a discreet burial site, when shlorp! little Angela slipped out of my hand and down the drain.

My little angel, like a fat little goldfish... swimming out to the sea.

Amen.