Fifteen years ago our daughter, Olivia, was born. On this sweet feast day! She had a prolapsed chord and what started as an uneventful birth, quickly became an emergency situation. Moments before, the OB bragged about all his deliveries practically yawning at the ordinariness of my labor. I had an epidural that only affected one side of my body ...and he really dismissed my concern ...and pain. He was covering for my regular OB. I was induced since Olivia had shown no growth over a two week period. I could have waited until my regular guy returned, but opted for her delivery. The morning started a bit rough. I don't have good veins, so what should have been underway by 8AM, didn't start until nearly noon. One of our neighbors was a nurse at the hospital working in the NICU. We chatted a bit before she left saying "well, fortunately I won't be seeing you or your baby anytime soon." She only arrived on scene for the serious cases. Aside from pathetic veins, and a lopsided epidural, everything looked good. Being a teaching hospital, medical students were in and out. One of them came in with a big shield on his face and asked if he could palpate my belly. I didn't mind as he poked and prodded for about fifteen minutes. He had a very serious, studious expression on his face. Finally, he rested from the assessment. Lips moving in calculation, I wondered what he was thinking. "I would say your baby weighs between 6 to 10lbs." Very astute, I thought, while my husband chuckled "good guess." Off he went, the OB rolled his eyes and charmingly pontificated about his great success as an OB. I loved his Scottish accent, but would have preferred my own OB who had a great sensitivity towards his patients. He had told me early on that if he were a woman, he would get an epidural the second he found out he was pregnant. I missed him. The labor started strong and continued in earnest. Within half an hour I was in serious labor, going from 1cm to 5cm. I had no time to lean into the labor and find a rhythm. The epidural dulled one side, but seemed to amp the other. Casually, the OB sat nearby, shrugging off the white knuckles and terror clinging to the rails. Within seconds the monitor showed the baby in serious distress, it bounced back but then again dipped this time not returning. It was the OBs turn for terror as he sprung to his feet and examined me only to find the chord far ahead of my baby. His eyes were wild and he was screaming and suddenly my nurse neighbor appeared with others. I will never forget how the OB stood at the foot of my bed with a scissor held up. He screamed at nurses to grab my legs and then to me..."you must get this baby out in one push and I'm going to cut you and its going to hurt." I looked at my husband and said I couldn't, it simply wasn't in me. "You can" he said. It was the first time in a long time that I had called upon God and asked the Him to let the angels help me. I had not yet claimed my faith, but in that instant I did. I told God I could not deliver this child on my own and begged Him to help me. And He did! She was delivered in one push, grabbed by my nurse friend and placed under the warming lights. "Is my baby okay." I asked. At the foot of my bed sat the overly confident doctor, panting. In his regal accent he responded " The baby is fine. I ...on the other hand ...am about to have a heart attack." I told Olivia that story again tonight, the story of her birth, the story of the angels carrying her forth, keeping her safe.
Olivia is a wonderful, beautiful daughter, bright and kind, responsible and caring. She's had a challenging year ...and she has soared, written her own story. We celebrated with her today, pedicures with her long-time friend Lisa since they were both one ....hard to believe. Little girls now big.
I remember the day of her birth, how I had begged and pleaded to bring her forward, safely ...and I pray the same today for her, this daughter with a heavy, heavy burden of loss and missing. This is her time, her future to work towards ...and I want to be right by her side, full attention, support and encouragement as she makes her way in the world. My own burden of losing a daughter is real, part of me, but it is time to let the brightness of the living be center stage. Phoebe will always be my first daughter, but Olivia is now my oldest girl ...and she is a wonderful roll model for her younger siblings ...and I tell her so. Tears fall today for what is lost, but by the end of the day, her pretty toes are on my lap and then in my face "kiss my toes" she demands ...and I do. I kiss those toes, with such gratitude that fifteen years ago, on the feast of Our Lady of the Angels (totally lost on me at the time) she made it ...and with gratitude that through such great loss, she's made it again. I don't paint a romantic picture here, just a simple story of Gods great protection and constancy.
Blessed Mother watches over the angels as they minister to us ...all of us. And I am so, so grateful for that, most especially on this day.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
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