Rita

 On May 18th I took a pregnancy test and it was positive. My youngest had only just turned one and I have an extensive history of recurring pregnancy loss but as soon as my cycle came back I wanted to be open. Open to life and open to loss, ultimately open to love and to Our Lord showing us a miracle whenever He chose. I had said to Mike (and others) that I knew I would miscarry more babies and I was ok with that, I would take however many God wanted to give for however long He wanted to give them. I know this seems magnanimous but my generosity was seriously tested this time. 

We had been open so I was taking my progesterone as directed post ovulation until peak plus 12. I took several pregnancy tests around when I thought I was peak +12 and they were negative so I was sure I had not gotten pregnant and I got off the progesterone to wait for my next cycle. After several days of the expected cycle not arriving I tested again and lo and behold, positive. 

I was a bit shocked but so very excited, as was Mike. Always overwhelmed but always so excited. I got back on progesterone and got in touch with my doctors to check hcg and hormones. Everything looked great for the first several tests- numbers were doubling and progesterone looked good- but estrogen was low, which we knew was a problem even with my pregnancy before this one, which is why I had been on hCG shots throughout that pregnancy. We had decided not to do them when being open to another pregnancy because they are so expensive and difficult to acquire, now I’m certainly wishing we would’ve done it. The numbers were doubling but I just had a feeling so I had them order one more draw to make sure that the doubling continued and that’s when they stopped. On the feast of Saint Rita of Cassia, my little baby stopped growing appropriately and I knew we’d be going through our 9th miscarriage.

The next 2 weeks were full of more blood draws and more results that showed hcg going up but not nearly enough for it to be a viable pregnancy. I booked a scan to verify I had lost the baby and then I would wait to miscarry naturally. I went in for the scan and the tech saw a small gestational sac in the uterus measuring 5 weeks 3 days with no fetal pole or heartbeat. Both should have been present by this scan. Then the tech scanned my ovaries and tubes and on the right side she saw a mass measuring about 3 centimeters which I immediately assumed was cancer and that I was dying, because that’s how I roll. I waited for an eternity to talk to a doctor about what was going on and made a fool out of myself crying in the waiting room because miscarriage just absolutely never gets easier and I was so worried about the mass she saw.

The doctor finally came to talk to me and began to explain what an ectopic pregnancy was and proceeded to let me know that is what I was dealing with. I immediately asked him what the sac in the uterus was and he brushed it off as nothing and showed me photos of the bigger mass on the right side. He explained that it was in my tube and he would need to operate and remove the right tube and possibly the right ovary as well. He couldn’t do the surgery for 2 more days so we agreed to this plan and for 48 hours I barely ate or slept, I was in a state of panic over the possibility of a rupture at any moment. I was also terrified of going under for surgery since the last time I had done that was in 5th grade for a tonsillectomy. Somehow I made it to the day of the surgery and the procedure itself. I’ve never been that scared in my life, and also so sad at the fact of losing my tube and ovary, which for me was definitely ending the child bearing chapter of my life since it was already precarious so cutting a bad fertility situation in half was basically ending it. 

The operation happened and when I came out on the other side the doctor let me know that he didn’t need to remove my tube or my ovary. When he got in there during the surgery he discovered that my tubes were clear and the mass he had seen on the ultrasound was actually on top of my ovary so he was able to remove it without removing any of my organs. Obviously I was relieved to not lose those things but now I was back to the same place I was on the day of the ultrasound- what was the mass? What was the sac in the uterus? I asked the doctor those questions and he was basically not able to tell me anything. He said they would send the mass to pathology and we would know when they got those results. 

Within a day of the surgery I began bleeding and I knew. The sac in the uterus was my baby. The mass on the ovary was a cyst. I didn’t know if the cyst was problematic but I had a suspicion that it was simply an enlarged corpus luteum cyst (a cyst that forms after ovulation and implantation and eventually goes away.) I was still terrified that it was cancer so the seemingly eternal wait to get the pathology results back was torture.

Finally after 9 days the pathology report to came back and confirmed my suspicion-  the cyst was just the corpus luteum cyst and the doctor had misdiagnosed me and operated unnecessarily. I was relieved it wasn’t cancer but man that was a hard pill to swallow. 

The whole experience has taught me how qualified and limited my willingness to suffer is. I was willing to be open to life and loss, but very much on my terms. Throughout the whole process I was just so angry and bitter that I was being asked to suffer this. Why can’t it just be a straight forward miscarriage? Why so much extra? 

At a certain point I was praying the sorrowful mysteries of the rosary and I got to the 3rd mystery and was stopped in my tracks. The crowning with thorns is so much extra suffering, so seemingly unnecessary and humiliating and Our Lord did it all so meekly and willingly. I’ve known for a long time that miscarriage is a very big way that the Lord is going to help make me holy here on earth, and while I accepted it, it was still very much on my terms. I fought so hard in this case against the added extra sufferings that seemed so unnecessary. But the Lord in His goodness and gentleness let me know through his crowning with thorns that he was inviting me into his extra sufferings too- the ones that seem unnecessary and are humiliating. 

I had so many hopes of carrying this little one to term. I really thought it would happen. I wanted Zelie to have a sister close in age just like Naomi and Bernadette are, I am so sad to say goodbye to another little baby. I’m so grateful for the month I got to spend carrying our little one- named Rita Margaret for Saint Rita of Cassia and blessed Margaret Pole whose feast days were around the time she stopped growing. And I’m grateful for the little miracles the Lord works in my heart through all of these losses, inviting me to greater union with Him in and through all these sufferings, even the seemingly unnecessary ones. 

Introducing…

 Zelie Marie Dolores Hahn 

Born May 2 at 5:12am weighing 8lb 3oz, with the best cheeks ever and an abundance of dark hair. 

Her siblings are completely smitten and the 2 youngest beg to hold her no fewer than 2,345 times an hour. 

I hope that’s enough pictures. I can’t promise a birth story, but maybe some day. Thank you all for you many prayers for us over the last few years. We are so blessed. 

Deserving of a blog post

I know the blog has basically died, but I would be remiss if I did not give thanks here for the gift of life God has given once again to our family.

This sweet little GIRL is about 32 weeks along now and doing just great. 

That’s right- the boys are outnumbered 5-3 and they’re not complaining. We are all so thrilled and excited about this little soul and we cannot wait to meet her in May.

I’ve shared a bit on Instagram about how we came to understand my issues and what was causing the reoccurring pregnancy loss. Ultimately it came down to 2 main issues: a luteal phase defect and an MTHFR gene mutation, both of which required various treatments before conception and after. In addition to progesterone throughout the pregnancy I’ve needed to do HcG shots (from trying to conceive until 16 weeks) and daily blood thinner shots until 36 weeks. I never thought I’d have the guts to give myself so many stomach shots but I have to say I’d do a million more times for this little one. I’m just so thankful we were able to figure out some answers and that we’ve been blessed with this baby. 

Shortly after we found out about this pregnancy I went in for an early scan at 6 weeks. Being on the HcG shots meant that the only way to check on whether the pregnancy was actually progressing was ultrasound since I was literally injecting the hormone that they check for in early pregnancy blood work. I went in for that early scan at 6 weeks and came home sure we would be saying goodbye to this little one soon. There was a good heartbeat but they told me I wasn’t measuring as far along as I should be in addition to other issues that they said were “consistent with an abnormal pregnancy “. I was so devastated. They scheduled a follow up ultrasound for a week later we really grieved for a week leading up to that scan, we got ready to say goodbye to this love we were all so excited about. 

 I also kept holding on to hope because I felt so sick- I didn’t feel sick with any of our miscarriages and in my mind sickness=baby growing so every day I’d wake up feeling so disgusting and more and more hopeful. That was the longest week of waiting. I prayed so hard and asked friends to pray. 

A week later I went in to see a baby who had grown beautifully and every single issue they’d seen on the previous scan gone. In subsequent ultrasounds they did see a subchorionic hematoma, which actually ended up scaring the heck out of me around 10 weeks with lots of bleeding. I think that hematoma was what they had seen in that early scan and that it was possibly even preventing them from measuring correctly. 

Either way it was an answer to prayer such a joy and relief and other than some bleeding from that hematoma everything has gone so well so far. 

Each miscarriage has caused my gratitude for new life to increase more and more. Consequently after 8 miscarriages my heart is basically full to almost bursting for this little girl. 

We just cannot wait to meet her.

Heart on the Cross

A long time ago I used to be able to take a pregnancy test, see that it was positive and be excited, waiting with great expectation the many wonderful- and sometimes difficult- symptoms of pregnancy to hit within a week or two. After our 5th was born something new began and it has continued for the last 5 years. On doctors charts it’s called “recurrent pregnancy loss”. What it looks like is this: I take a pregnancy test, it’s positive. Sometimes I take several and they get darker and darker- for day and even weeks. But within 2-3 weeks they start to get lighter, if I’m checking HcG levels they start to increase and then they stop and around 6 weeks the pregnancy is over and I begin to miscarry. 6 of my 8 pregnancy losses have played out this way. 

In 2019 we thought we discovered the cause - low progesterone. I successfully conceived and brought Anastasia and Scotty to term by taking progesterone immediately after ovulation and doubling it when I got a positive pregnancy test. However, in the last 6 months I’ve had 3 more losses in a row during which I took my progesterone as directed, the same way I did with Annie and Scotty, and still lost my little ones. I’m writing about it because as I navigate it all there are so few people that I can talk to- who have experienced it and who understand it- and if this can serve to help anyone woman who’s dealing with it feel less alone and isolated that would be great. Also I’m processing what has turned out to be the most excruciating experience of my life - a  cross that I never would have thought I’d be given and one that I’m struggling to carry well. I struggle with resentment towards friends who just find out they’re pregnant and stay pregnant, even resentment toward my past self who enjoyed that experience 5 times in a row and took it for granted. I even COMPLAINED about the onset of the hard pregnancy symptoms that I would give anything to experience now because that would mean things were actually progressing and not ending again

This most recent one has gone on much longer, with my HcG levels continuing to go up a little for almost a month, but still staying so low that we've known for at least 2 weeks that the pregnancy is not viable. The pain of technically "being pregnant" without being pregnant for weeks is unlike anything I've experienced. There have been ultrasounds and about a million blood draws to try to rule out ectopic and verify there is no heartbeat and I just narrowly avoided my first D&C, I finally began miscarrying naturally the day before I was supposed to go in for it. We are traveling to the Holy Land in one week and the time crunch nearly forced the D&C route. I know D&C is no biggy for so many but the risk of scar tissue (among others) which would further compromise my already difficult fertility situation made it a very not ideal option. 

As I sat waiting for my most recent ultrasound there was a couple who had just come out from theirs with their little ultrasound photos of their baby that looked about exactly how big my own little one would be, if he/she had continued to grow. 

It took my breath away. 

I stared at the ceiling trying to hold back tears. 

I have 7 kids! I’ve gotten to experience the joy of that first ultrasound so many times! How can I still be as sad as if it this were my first baby!? I can because I love each of these little ones as much as I loved my very first baby and every single moment with each child has brought me the same amount of joy as all the first moments with my first baby.

It is a difficult situation to navigate with so many people in the medical field, that is, being a mother with 7 beautiful children and coping with miscarriage. I have so many babies! Seven? Isn’t that enough? Why would we want more? Why are you trying for more? Why can’t you be content? These are questions I hear (sometimes out loud, sometimes implied) and I defensively attempt explanations to the various medical professionals asking too many questions while I grieve. As I experience the grief that is so raw and real with each loss, I’m so careful not to express even a hint of ingratitude for the kids I’ve been given. On the contrary, each time I’ve miscarried my gratitude for my living children increases exponentially. I cannot believe the Lord blessed me with these babies, even in my young and comparatively ungrateful state, when I thought of babies as my right and took my fertility for granted. 

I used to be worried about this blog turning into a blog about miscarriage but at this point I think that the only way it will continue to exist is as a place for me to write about just that, and I’m completely ok with it, though I think I’ll need to change the name of it. It’s strange and sad to think that I began it as a way to cope with the chaos of having so many babies close together and to find community with other mothers “drowning in babies”. Now here I am 13 years later writing to process the grief I have from the many babies I’ve lost and to find community in a whole new area of motherhood- with those who’ve grieved their lost children as well. 

I never would have chosen this as the my path to holiness but it’s ok. The cross is the cross and if it gets me to Our Lord I will continue to accept it, in the imperfect way that I do. 

We found out we were expecting on Easter Sunday and carried our little one through the feast of Saint Athanasius. We’ve name this little one Athanasius Paschal. Saint Athanasius and Saint Paschal, pray for us. 

Written in Heaven

“Rejoice that your names are written in heaven” 

I wasn’t going to tell them. After 5 miscarriages I knew better than to share too soon, but in order to get more of the progesterone that my body needs to maintain a pregnancy meant multiple doctors appointments in one week and so they just guessed it. 

My 2 oldest daughters cornered me and asked me point blank if I was pregnant. I wasn’t expecting it so I had no prepared response but only smiled and asked “why in the world they would ask me that” and so we told them. It was my 3rd daughter’s birthday, she was my first rainbow baby born on Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day. We had known for almost a week that we were expecting and I was genuinely hopeful about this one, especially because I’d been taking progesterone that I’d saved from my previous pregnancy and things felt pretty normal. We gathered them together in my husband’s office and told them we had one more birthday gift but that it wouldn’t be arriving for about 9 more months. They were ecstatic. In the days that followed that is all they talked about. And there was an enormous amount of joy. I will be forever grateful for that joy- it can’t be taken away. 

The day after we told them I was sitting with my oldest son outside and we looked up and saw the craziest cloud in the sky, shaped like a six- I was so impressed I took a picture to show his brother Fred because Fred is 6. 

The day after I saw that 6 I took a another pregnancy test to make sure they were getting darker each day and the line on the stick really wasn’t much darker- that was the first day I started to worry, and it was the feast day of Saint Ignatius of Antioch, for whom we named our very first miscarried baby. 

In hindsight all of the things were pointing to God having a plan to bring this baby back to Himself, but He didn’t make me dwell on that at the time- I dwelt in the moment with our little one and he brought me immense joy. 

I got blood work done that afternoon which showed my HcG was low but within the “normal” early pregnancy range- my fears increased but I self talked non stop telling myself how often I’ve had low numbers and things have been ok- but my symptoms were abating. 2 days later they drew blood again and on my way home from that blood draw I had a sudden feeling that the 6 I had seen in the sky was Our Lord letting me know he had our 6 miscarried little souls with Him- they they were close to His Sacred Heart. Though I had to wait 24 hours to learn our baby had died, I took comfort in that concrete way the Lord let me know that He has ALL of my babies- that none of them are lost- and that He is pleased with our openness to the joy of children, though it is so often joy through many, many tears.

Even after 6 miscarriages this grief never gets easier to deal with. It feels like every lovely moment, every snuggle, every good conversation, every time I’ve held and worried over a sick one, every time I’ve hugged one while they’re sad or disappointed, every time I’ve tickled and joked with them, played board games and done puzzles, read aloud to them taught them to read- it feels like every single moment rolled into one and crushed. I will never have those moments with these little ones and my heart feels torn in two. I loved this little one fiercely from the very moment I knew he was growing. I love him fiercely still. 

I wrote this immediately after finding out we miscarried and then went back and looked that the unpublished post before it- the one with all my children holding new baby Scotty and it hit me: telling them about the existence of their new sibling was the closest they will get to holding and meeting him. They got to have so much joy over the knowledge that that little one was growing and though it was short it was good. I ended up posting that unfinished post because I never want to forget those beautiful moments of delight on their faces the first time they held Scotty and I’m posting this because I never want to forget their joy over this baby. 

A joy that cannot be taken away. 

Our baby’s name is Luke Isaac because we lost him around the feasts of Saints Luke and Isaac Jogues.

Saint Luke and Saint Isaac Jogues, pray for us!

2 months with Scotty

Long time no post! Little Scotty is 2 months old and I've found nary a snippet of time to document his awesomeness, so a long photo-packed post it will be. Let's start at the beginning with the meeting of his extremely excited siblings. We had a sweet friend take the kids for the morning for us so that Mike could come fetch me and Scotty from the hospital and to also give us some time at home to settle in before the kids descended and I would say it was the most peaceful meeting of the new baby we've had to date:

At 9 days old he was baptized and Mike did an insane amount of work planning a seriously awesome party with friends and family- at 9 days postpartum I can confidently say I did barely anyway all except nurse and eat. 

It was an absolutely beautiful day. 

This is all that was in the draft of this post  a year after writing it but it is such a beautiful record of things at that time that I’m posting. 

Scotty’s Birth Novella

Let me introduce you to Michael Scott Hahn Jr., affectionately called “Scotty”, who we welcomed on July 8th. His birth was a speedy whirlwind but I have figured out how to make it my longest written birth story yet- so here you go!

Let's start on the day of my 38 week check up. According to the doctor's due date I was 38 weeks 2 days, but according to mine I was 38 weeks 4 days. This is significant because I birthed 4 of my 6 kids at 38 weeks 4 days and I was silently hoping that maybe, just maybe, this would be the day. The night before saw me up for hours with prodromal labor (contractions too strong to sleep through but not consistent enough to go to the hospital) and I was feeling even more done the day of my appointment than other days. So I went. The doctor checked me and let me know I was at 4 cm and did a little membrane sweeping while he was at it, which got my hopes up even more that this would be the day. 

But it wasn't (sad face emojis all around).

That evening I sent Mike out for some ultra spicy Thai food for me, which was successful in starting my labor with Naomi (foreshadowing!!)/ I got the highest level of spice, whoofed it down and was covered in sweat by the end. I slept pretty well that night (as well as any massive gestating whale can sleep) and woke up the next morning determined to keep working at getting actual labor going but also resigned to the fact that I would likely be at 4 cm until my 39 week check, at which point I would ask for the membrane sweep again. 

The Thai food seemed to be only successful at causing gastrointestinal discomfort the next morning, so I called that loss and I took the kids over to a little walking trail that morning and we walked around as many times as we could until it started to rain, during which contractions were coming fairly regularly, but nothing I couldn't walk through, and of course when we stopped walking, the contractions stopped too. We came home and I noticed some spotting and other, ahem, things that signal the eventual onset of labor, but even with those things it can still be days before anything happens. I laid down to nap that afternoon and nary a contraction to speak of, so I got up and decided to walk to all the places. I walked to dollar general, the post office, library and back home (we live in a wee little town). Again, constant contractions, but when I stopped walking, the contractions stopped too. 

I got home and found a bog of iris bulbs my neighbor gave me and grabbed a shovel to start digging and planting. While I was shoveling Mike came outside and let me know that he was mentally preparing for a hospital trip that evening. I scoffed and told him I was sure I would be making it to my next OB appointment (foreshadowing again!!).

I finished my planting, went inside and gave Annie a bath (I give so many baths leading up to giving birth because I never want to go into labor with super dirty kids at home. Very rational, I know). 

After bath time I commenced dinner prep, which was supposed to include a bunch of fresh chopped produce. I got out the produce-contraction- laid it on the counter-contraction- started chopping chicken-contraction… You get it- dinner prep time is when things got going, but! I even took a break from prep to sit and see if I could time contractions and I couldn’t! They would just fizzle. So back to dinner prep.

I was standing at the stove chopping that chicken when I felt a slight trickle. My water has broken twice before so I know what that feels like and this was not that, but still, a trickle. I went and sat down and immediately had a harder contraction and called to Mike to let him know my water might have broken a little bit but probably not and I was going back to dinner prep. He said I should call the doctor but naturally rational Ana insisted on not doing that but instead moved on to chopping potatoes (I did however find a shred of rationality in myself and put all the fresh veggies away and opted for frozen instead- a very providential move.)

Once I threw the dinner in the oven Joe came in and asked me to play a game of sorry with him. I had plans to attend a friends surprise birthday party that evening and needed to shower so I told him I’d play as soon as I showered and ran off to do just that. I showered and got dressed and went downstairs for my planned game of sorry with Joe. Then Fred insisted on joining the game which Joe would not hear of, so Joe stomped off and I opted for a very abbreviated game with Fred (also providential).

We wrapped up the game in less than 5 minutes and I was about to go get Joe to offer to play a separate game with him when- POP, GUSH- water was everywhere. THAT’S what it feels like when your water breaks, it was like Old Faithful. I yelled to Mike that my water broke and then pandemonium promptly broke out. Naomi yelled “IT’S TIME!!” And started going around telling all the kids that Scotty was coming and then they all started running around the house in utter excitement and celebration. It was all going on in the background of me trying to get ahold of the doctor and friends to ask if they could come help but thinking back on their excitement brings me so much joy, it was really priceless. 

So we popped a movie on for the kids, and many amazing friends took over from there tending to my painstakingly chopped dinner and feeding it to my kids for me while Mike and I rushed to the hospital- and we really did rush.

My water broke around 5:15, we were out the door for the hospital around 5:30 and at the hospital by 6. Everything moved fast as far as Mike and I were concerned but as soon as we got to the hospital everyone seemed to move entirely too slow for what my body needed if I wanted and epidural. AND I WANTED AN EPIDURAL!!!

They put me in a wheelchair and told us to wait for a labor and delivery nurse to come get us. So we waited and waited and waited. My contractions were getting harder and harder as they typically do when my water breaks. Eventually someone came and slowly wheeled us to our room. Major emphasis on slowly.

They eventually got me into a room and then casually let me know that their anesthesiologist was in a c-section and that if I wanted an epidural I could get one in an hour. I said “ok” and thought for sure I wouldn’t be that progressed in an hour and would still be able to get one. I asked if they could get the IV in and get the fluids started so we’d be all set for then epidural when the doctor was ready, and while the nurse said “yes” to this she did not actually get moving on it. I waited and waited and waited and the contractions got worse and worse and worse and still no IV!!! 

This is where things got a little bleak for me.

The nurse finally came in to do the IV and at this point I probably looked like someone having an exorcism performed on them on the hospital bed. Contractions were one on top of the other and SO so painful. Seriously I’ve seen people post some pretty beautiful pictures of themselves while having a natural birth but if I had any pictures taken of that time I think they would resemble the birth scene in Robin Hood Prince if Thieves. 

So the slow poke nurse finally came in to do the IV accompanied by another nurse who decided that now- while I’m in the throes of insanely intense labor- would be a good time to ask me their 101 triage questions. 

It went something like this:

The slow nurse tries to place my IV between contractions. Blows out my vein.

Insanely intense contraction begins. Annoying nurse decides now- in the middle of the contraction- is the time to ask her question. 

Slow nurse tries to place IV again in my other arm between contractions. Blows out another vein.

Contraction starts and annoying nurse decides again that now- in the middle of the contraction- is the time to ask another question.

After the second failed IV attempt they went out to find a nurse who is good at IVs and who also happened to be my savior because she walked in, saw me contracting, saw the annoying nurse asking me question after question and promptly sent the annoying nurse away telling her she could finish the questions later. Then she placed an IV in a minute flat with no problems. She was really my savior. While she was placing the IV I heard Mike ask her if there would even be enough time for the epidural, but I was in serious denial about the possibility of not getting it before I pushed the baby out and so I tried to ignore that question. I was writhing in pain during every contraction but I still kept trying to visualize how I would make myself sit still once the anesthesiologist got there. Ha! So rational, Ana. 

Soon after the IV was placed I saw the doctor come in and start getting all sorts of things out and looked ready for me to push and still was in denial about not getting an epidural before pushing. 

But then Scotty’s heart rate got really low. They kept trying to figure out if it was mine or his but as soon as they confirmed it was in fact his my head shot up and I asked if there was something wrong. The doctor looked at me and let me know that no, nothing was wrong, but that my baby was having a major decel because he was ready to come out and that we needed to get him out now. 

This was enough for me accept that I would be pushing this baby out sans my beloved epidural right then and there. They threw my legs in those stirrups and demanded that I “pull my legs back” and push. I remember wanting to scream so badly but opting for a very low growl during pushing which I’m sure did much to heighten the exorcism-ish effect. So natural. So beautiful. 

I did not push long at all before his head was out and then another push for the shoulders and then I had my baby on my chest. 

At 7:17, 1 hour and 17 minutes after our arrival  at the hospital and 2 hours flat after my water broke. I had completely sweat through my hospital gown and if I had to say what I felt like after it was that a truck had just run me over and then the driver handed me a baby. 

I was in utter shock that he was here, that labor just happened and was done. I was so thankful for the time in the hospital to just stare and soak him up and process all that had happened and in the end I was so thankful that it went so fast and was over! It was done! We are so so grateful that he is here.