Closure and Remembrance

I was about 7 weeks pregnant. The fertility center's protocol is that at 6 weeks you have an ultrasound. My friend Clare, who is my age (gasp, we're past our 40th birthdays) had been in to see her doctor at 6 weeks and was told there was no heartbeat on her ultrasound but there might be and she should come back in a few days. Later, at the return, she found that her embryo had already died. Remembering that experience, I delayed my own ultrasound for one week so there would be no dilly-dallying about growth of a fetus.

I flippantly and cheerfully gave my husband a pass and encouraged him to stay at work instead of coming to the second ultrasound. I had seen the embryo on a previous ultrasound, firmly implanted in my uterus at 5+ weeks, so we knew that the pregnancy was proceeding normally. I hopped in the minivan and dropped the children off at my parents and zoomed off for the hour drive to the Fertility Center.

As I drove, I was struck by a sudden sense of gloom, an almost tangible grey cloud, and I began to pray out loud for relief. I asked Heavenly Father to help this horrible feeling to leave me so that I could enjoy my pregnancy, and had the most immediate feelings and impressions. I felt comforted, but the gloom did not leave me.  My prayer changed and I asked Heavenly Father to help me to be cheerful and enjoy this experience for however the pregnancy lasted. I then saw in my mind's eye a fat little baby with a sweet baby face looking at me. I smiled at that baby, because the baby was a little smaller than my Andy and Sarah, who were 10+ and 12 lbs. each, and the baby was also bigger than Emma who was 5-11 when I brought her home from the hospital. I felt some relief to be seeing a live birthed baby because this feeling of gloom was so strong as I drove. And yet I felt comforted.  I put it all aside to cheerfully greet the receptionist.

I went in and got ready for my ultrasound and chatted with Dr. H who was there to perform it. She scanned my abdomen and a momentary flicker led me to say Oh There's the heartbeat, and she said no.. that's not.

Oh. A sick feeling of dread overwhelmed me. Shock and puzzlement filled my soul. How quickly I forget what I had been warned.

She scanned over to the actual fetus and said "I'm sorry Honey, the baby has no heartbeat". I sucked in air abruptly.

There's no heartbeat - how can that be? Oh.

She measured and recorded her medical information for my file, the baby made it from embryo to fetal stage, but had stopped growing one week previously.

I want my mama!

How am I going to tell my husband? He's at work, and this is going to hurt so bad.

She hugged me and left me to dress into my street clothes, indicating I was to meet her in the office across the hall from the ultrasound room. I texted my husband to call me. I sat in her office and heard the clinical explanations of what happened. Probably chromosomal damage. An incident of the interaction between one particular sperm and one particular egg. Not uncommon over age 35, but not a portent of everlasting doom either. That helped, somewhat. FarmBoy called as I sat listening, and I told her I'd take my husband's call. He took the information calmly, and Dr. H was able to answer his questions as she had mine.

How do you recover from that? How do you take that same rounding belly home, and wait for your body to recognize that the baby is dead and expell the fetus? Why does morning sickness make you barf on the way home, even though you just found out the baby is dead. Darn those hormones! How do you reconcile the joy you felt at having a new family member join your family with this sudden gloom? There are no simple answers. Here's where I found peace.http://kellikolz.blogspot.com/2009/07/no-matter-how-dark-friday-sunday-will.html

I was given three options. I could wait and see how my body handled a miscarriage within the next two weeks and it might take care of everything on its own. I could use misoprostol, a drug that dilates the cervix and gives one contractions which will encourage the expelling of a dead fetus - but with a risk of incomplete miscarriage. I could schedule surgery, a dilation and curretage which would scrape out my uterus and end this process quickly and surgically but with a risk of uterine damage or scarring.

I opted to wait at home with my family. It gave me days to ponder my family, my hopes and our dreams, and to feel and process my grief in privacy. I cried, I was comforted, and I continued through stages of grief. It was good for me. However, as the 2nd week approached without resolution, I opted to take misoprostol, hoping to avoid surgery. I received testing at the maternity ward at the hospital and the shot for my RH factor in my blood. I took the prescription drug Cytotec every 4 hours as prescribed by my OB/Gyn's backup Dr., with painkillers, and was stunned at how painful the contractions were. I had gory blood clots but didn't see anything that was what I expected a fetus to resemble. My OB/Gyn called regularly to monitor my progress at home. After the third day of this I saw my OB at his office, and I was barely able to walk due to contractions and pain. He examined my cervix and said he could see the fetal sac right there, and predicted I'd pass it in his office or on the way home. Making certain I had all the supplies I'd need, I opted to go home, a mere 15 minute drive. I was a little cheerful, hoping for a final resolution and end to this ordeal.

The next day, a Saturday, came and went, without resolution, and I decided to go back into the office on Monday to schedule a D&C and be done with the suffering. I woke up on Sunday morning shaking and shivvering in the recliner as I lay wrapped warmly in my quilt. July turned out cold and cruel, after all. I came to my senses and took my temperature and headed for a hot shower to warm up. It was 102*. That's enough to send a woman in my condition to the ER.

I called the OB who said he'd meet me there. I took my pain medication and ibuprofen for the fever, swallowed a glass of water, and got to work. It took me an hour to get the children awakened, showered, fed breakfast and ready for church and organized to meet Grandma who would keep them for the day. My fever dropped as I went along, as I knew it would.

Then, content that all was well in my little nest of chicks, I went with my husband to the hospital. The OB examined me after I'd received an IV, and said yes, you have a large blood clot at your cervix. I told him it had been there since Friday and we had no tissue pass at all. He asked if I was still feeling strongly about avoiding a D&C. I said not any more. I asked him if I had a UTI. We had tested for that when I arrived. The lab results said no. I was a little anemic though. He held up his hands to show how far I was dialated, and indicated it would be curretage (scraping) only, and would be done under general anesthesia. As I was 15 minutes from needing another pain pill, I told him that as long as it was within 15 minutes I would be fine. I felt calm and noticed that FarmBoy didn't even look like fainting this time. He has that vaso-vagal response which put him on the floor at the sight of blood or trauma, but he held up pretty well, seated safely at my head.

I was wheeled into surgery. The surgery was normal and uneventful, and I had no nausea afterwards. I'm reconciled and have grieved the loss of our child some two weeks as I waited, so I was just clinically noting my responses to each thing and determining that everything was okay with me. I was hungry. I wanted sushi. This amused the nurse and doctor.  I ate sushi on the way home from the hospital.

The surgeon-OB told me that most all of the fetal material was still internal when he did the surgery, so the d&c was a wise choice. A wide open cervix is like a wick to a uterine infection. I had avoided that. He gave me some IV antibiotics, but just one dose, feeling it was sufficient. I recovered well, noting that I felt much better immediately, compared to the previous week of laboring for nearly 5 days.

It was good to see my children at home and my toddler gleefully climbed in my lap and asked if my tummy was all better. I had very gingerly held her over the past week, asking her to avoid my really sore abdomen. She's glad that's past, as she takes flying leaps into my lap with her pink cheeked demand "Hold me, I tired". Grandma, my mother, brought over dinner Sunday night, as I vegetated, while my white faced self recovered from anesthesia.

I rested on Monday, just putting dinner into the crockpot to simmer while I read books and snoozed. The children went to Seabreeze, an amusement park with their Grandfather, and Grandmother kept the toddler with her. Yep, I milked it. Napped, nibbled, novels. A good day to recover. I skipped soccer practice that night, as a nod to my OB, but not because I needed to.

Ladies from church have apparently recieved word that an army has taken up residence, as they brought over trays and trays of food including enough pasta salad and artisanal bread for an encampment, and a turkey dinner for the neighborhood. Bless 'em all.
I had to hurry and put the food away as we had a soccer game for the 7 year old's team that we coach. I ran off and on the field with the kids and assigned positions, blew my whistle incessantly to oblivious 7 year old blue frogs and just generally had a good time. It's nice to feel my muscles again and stretch my back and use my abdominals as we warm up.

When we got home, I still had energy. It's amazing. I've been tired of feeling pathetic, so this is nice! I took half the turkey dinner to a friend undergoing chemotherapy,my excuse being that it just wouldn't fit into our refrigerator with the food of the day before. And she has cancer. I had minor surgery, that I've been expecting for weeks, and I filled my freezer and pantry with easy to prepare foods and crock pot essentials.

It felt good to do something good for someone else for a change. Now that's more like it.

This is in retrospection of my miscarriage in July. It's now the last day of September. One year ago today I gleefully noted that I was pregnant with a new baby after two long years of trying, and had a miscarriage a day or two before Halloween. Then in July, just a month after that baby's due date, I had another later miscarriage. I know that there is a chubby, pink, visibly healthy little boy child waiting to join our family. We eagerly await the news that he's on his way after these two false starts.

If you would like to join us, please pray for a healthy, strong, full term body for a baby to join the Kolz family. Grandma Kolz passed away September 11, and we'd really like to celebrate another one coming, after we noted one passing.  Baby Daniel, Mama longs to hold you in her arms.

Happy Birthday Andybear

My eldest child is turning 12 at the end of the month. Andy is the first child of my infertility - a hard won battle at the end of three years of trying to conceive with medical intervention within our marriage. He was the child who I wept over, so grateful that God granted the wish of my heart. He should have had Clomid flowing through his veins, that son of mine. He weighed 10 lbs. 6 oz., and was the reason I was courageous enough, after months of trying, to finally inject myself with insulin the day before Mothers Day. His was the pregnancy that led to my diagnosis of diabetes. I promised the Lord, upon finding out that I was pregnant (with no fear of miscarriage because who ever has those?) that I would raise him to be a good boy and to serve the Lord and our community with all his heart to the best of my ability.

I've kept my end of the bargain.  Andy's gentle and courageous personality is the better part of his father and I.  I contributed my strong morals, personal courage and Andy's father, my first husband, contributed his  artistic, compassionate heart and voice like an angel.  Andy has made these traits his own, and continues to delight his whole family as his personality and talents unfold.

Yesterday we received by mail the results of the standardized testing for sixth graders.  Andy consistently scored in the high 95-98th percentile in mathematics and averaged 93% in english language arts.  I'm so proud of him. He had a substantial school workload last year as a new middle schooler and he kept his grades up.

Andy has show himself to be well-rounded in his hobbies and interests and how he spends his time. He plays the clarinet and is trying to learn the piano. He plays soccer and basketball at my request. When I began to falter a little in keeping up with all of our domestic chores while pregnant, Andy stepped up. He's 11 and nearly as tall as I am so I thought he might be good at milking.  It's a twice a day position, so I imagined he could help once a day, and make it possible for me to get other remodeling and canning and gardening jobs finished.  Sure enough, I made four batches of black raspberry jam and a couple of strawberry jam this week. Thanks Andy!

As scheduled, when school was out for the summer, I taught him to milk the goats. He took the job on and has diligently fulfilled the 10 minute milking job each morning and night without error or complaint. It took some time for the two dairy goats to get used to him and for him to feel assertive enough to back them down when they tried to bully him. He now notices when their water bucket is getting low and tosses hay in to them. It's nice to see him take on responsibility, as he turns 12.

As I went into the hospital this past Sunday for emergency surgery at the end of this pregnancy, I knew the goats were well taken care of, and that as Grandma watched the children, Andy was milking and filtering the milk. Then they all headed off to church.

July 30th is Andy's 12th birthday. In our religion he is eligible to become a member of the Aaronic priesthood and to be ordained a deacon. God gives priesthood authority to worthy male members of the Church so they can act in His name for the salvation of the human family. It is the priesthood authority by which John the Baptist prepared the way for Jesus Christ, teaching faith, repentance, and baptism for the remission of sins (Matthew 3:1-17; Mark 1:1-11). Aaronic Priesthood authority includes the ministering of angels and the preparatory gospel, which is the gospel of repentance, baptism, and the remission of sins, and the administering of outward ordinances (D&C 84:26-27; 13:1; 107:14, 20).



You're probably wondering what a deacon is, or have a vision of older, stern looking men.  In the church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints a deacon is young. Worthy brethren may be ordained deacons when they are at least 12 years old. A deacon follows counsel, sets a good example, and may (1) pass the sacrament, (2) collect fast offerings, (3) care for the poor and needy, (4) be a standing minister appointed to "watch over the church" (D&C 84:111), (5) assist the bishopric, (6) serve as a messenger, (7) participate in quorum instruction, (8) serve in quorum leadership positions, (9) fellowship quorum members and other young men, (10) be baptized and confirmed for the dead, (11) speak in meetings, (12) share the gospel, (13) bear testimony, and (14) care for the meetinghouse and grounds.

That's quite a bit of responsibility at 12, but Andy has his bonus dad Martin to assist him and the rest of his family encouraging him and supporting him in his activities. Which means we'll help care for the meetinghouse and grounds with him. I wield a duster as well as anyone.

As I ponder all the good things Andy does and Andy has become internally, I ponder wanting to fulfill his birthday wish.  Andy received a used Nintendo DS gaming system for his birthday last year. Being the oldest child and the one with the coolest electronics, he shared with his siblings. Despite their caution and his surveillance, the DS has broken. The games are now useless and he sweetly shared them with his sister Sarah who also received a DS from her father for her birthday in May.  He hasn't complained that his sharing with his siblings resulted in the stress fractures on the DS and the  left button  wearing out. I picture his Sims all walking in circles to the right, to the right, to the right. He didn't complain. He made it funny. He merely asked me for glue when the plastic case broke.

Andy's father, my first husband, called a couple of weeks ago to cancel his trip out for Andy's birthday. It's the only week that the children see their father all year long, and they were  emotionally distraught about it. A couple of weeks have passed and their emotions have eased, and my urge to headsmack an ex-husband has subsided. Mostly.

Martin had an idea, after seeing the children cry.  Why don't we pay for a railroad ticket to get their father here for a few days?  We're not a family of much means, but I figured with juggling things a bit and cutting back here and there I could do this. At the price of reducing what I have to spend on Andy's birthday. Martin's factory just ended Friday Furlough's two weeks ago. We're getting by very well, but frugally.

I was then reminded of the trip to Las Vegas that was taken from Chicago just last month. With stops in Utah and other parts for mini-family reunions. By the same father that now cannot afford a railroad trip of 12 hours to see his only children. Two hours after I returned from the hospital from having day surgery, that same ex-husband called me to get sympathy because he didn't feel very well. Which is why he doesn't work full-time, and hasn't for some 9 years now. Because he doesn't feel up to it. We will not be subsidizing his trip from Chicago to NY.  If he really wants to make the trip he can work extra hours, or get a part time job, or do odd jobs or any of the number of things I was considering in how to pay for his trip. The children will see, sooner than I had hoped, their father's sense of entitlement, love of immediate gratification, and lack of sacrifice for his children.  I'm sure none of it is his fault.

I'm off to the local Game Stop franchise to purchase a refurbished Nintendo DS, and an additional game, with the money I might have spent on a railroad ticket for a man who opts to work as little as possible. Our son will play his DS, share with his siblings again, and be rewarded for his hard work and diligence in his labors and responsibilities of this past year.  And who knows, maybe son's good example will someday influence his father to complete his personal growth.

I'm so blessed to have Martin as a husband. He is a good, hard working, fine example of service and diligence to all of our children. He's kind and considerate and praiseworthy. It was his idea to invite my first husband to come and stay with us the summer we married so Reed would  have an opportunity to see his children. Small wonder that Martin retains custody of his children from his first marriage. I'm still amazed by Martin's kindness.

 I feel richly rewarded by having a sweetheart who loves me and tenderly cares for me. I feel richly blessed by having a warm and wonderful son, Andy, who makes us so very proud of him because of his strength of character and his personal choices each day.  Happy 12th Birthday Andrew Reed. I promise not to come to Boy Scout Camp on your birthday and deliver your birthday kiss in front of your troop. Really. Nor call you my beloved Andybear in front of anyone wearing khaki. Pinkie promise.

No Matter how Dark the Friday, Sunday will Come

It was a Friday, that dark day when we learned of the loss of our unborn child. Fittingly, today I re-read this message and was reminded, no matter how dark the Friday, Sunday will come. Please join me in this loving reminder, posted to Youtube, here.

Joseph B. Wirthlin, a widower in his 90s when he gave this talk, knew of what he spoke.  Please enjoy his words: " I think of how dark that Friday was when Christ was lifted up on the cross.
On that terrible Friday the earth shook and grew dark. Frightful storms lashed at the earth.

Those evil men who sought His life rejoiced. Now that Jesus was no more, surely those who followed Him would disperse. On that day they stood triumphant. On that day the veil of the temple was rent in twain.

Mary Magdalene and Mary, the mother of Jesus, were both overcome with grief and despair. The superb man they had loved and honored hung lifeless upon the cross. On that Friday the Apostles were devastated. Jesus, their Savior—the man who had walked on water and raised the dead—was Himself at the mercy of wicked men. They watched helplessly as He was overcome by His enemies.

On that Friday the Savior of mankind was humiliated and bruised, abused and reviled. It was a Friday filled with devastating, consuming sorrow that gnawed at the souls of those who loved and honored the Son of God. I think that of all the days since the beginning of this world’s history, that Friday was the darkest.
But the doom of that day did not endure.

The despair did not linger because on Sunday, the resurrected Lord burst the bonds of death. He ascended from the grave and appeared gloriously triumphant as the Savior of all mankind. And in an instant the eyes that had been filled with ever-flowing tears dried. The lips that had whispered prayers of distress and grief now filled the air with wondrous praise, for Jesus the Christ, the Son of the living God, stood before them as the firstfruits of the Resurrection, the proof that death is merely the beginning of a new and wondrous existence.

Each of us will have our own Fridays—those days when the universe itself seems shattered and the shards of our world lie littered about us in pieces. We all will experience those broken times when it seems we can never be put together again. We will all have our Fridays.

But I testify to you in the name of the One who conquered death—Sunday will come. In the darkness of our sorrow, Sunday will come.

No matter our desperation, no matter our grief, Sunday will come.
I felt Sunday dawn today.. misplaced as it may be in the middle of the week. I just want to share some of that with you, for when you find a Friday just smack you upside the head in the middle of another week. XoXo Kel.

Miscarriage - the word seems so neutral

The Kolz family mourns the loss of our baby due this winter. Today's routine ultrasound showed the fetus passed away last week. Please pray for us as we wait for a miscarriage to begin and mourn the baby we expected with such joy.


I have never felt such abject shock.