Sistering

“A building is constructed with a series of beams (called joists), or strong boards that support floors and ceilings. If the structural integrity of the joist is compromised, or the load it bears becomes heavier, the joist may weaken. When architects and construction workers use the term, ‘sistering’ describes the process of adding boards to the right and/or left of the original joist to strengthen it.”

My dear friend Tala introduced me to this carpentry concept during a women’s morning of reflection in the beginning of the year.  It was a new image to me of this thing I have been so passionate about for so long- the beauty and necessity of true sisterhood. I knew I wanted to return to this notion of sistering in prayer.  Five months later, the reality of sistering would come back to me on its own.

Heavy Load

May 20th finally came.  Twelve weeks pregnant, six weeks of torturous unknown since the last ultrasound.  See part one of the story for a quick catch up.

Quite a few people would advise me with some variation of, “don’t worry too much, you never know, everything could be fine.  Doctors make mistakes all the time.”

True, and yes, I was holding space for this real possibility, yet the picture painted for us after our first sonogram was that the tissue surrounding the baby’s sac looked abnormal.  Looked like a partial molar pregnancy. Looked abnormally thick which often indicates early miscarriage.

Yes, I was praying for a miracle and hoping with all of me that somehow the next scan would show a completely different picture, but  I was also unwilling to ignore the facts of what the doctors were seeing.  I knew that it is important to live in reality and prepare for what really could be…

I am sick to my stomach on the way to the next appointment, the insanely nervous kind of sick on top of the normal intense pregnancy nausea.  I swap the kids music CD with the Pride and Prejudice soundtrack after dropping off our 3.5 year-old at school and 18-month-old with a generous friend. As the anxiety begins to rise in my chest to my throat, I practice slow, deep breathing while Nicholas quietly drives next to me. I close my eyes and count:

in two..three…four…hold…two…three…four…out…two…three…four… and repeat.  

After several rounds, the tears and inner prayers start streaming, “God, I hope my baby is alive.” “Jesus, this is so so hard, I trust in you.” “Lord, is this child going to even look like a baby?” “Please help me.”  Then back to breathing and staring out the window.

We park and get in the elevator and briskly go down the hall and up the stairs, then we make the familiar turn down to the perinatal clinic.  Lots of memories of uncertainties with our last pregnancy start to appear, but now we here for a whole different story.

She calls out my name and I lay on the chair and I give her a heads up that I’m quite nervous and a very emotional woman.  This sonographer is kind and optimistic and squirts what seems like a half gallon of warm lubrication on my belly. Seconds after the probe touches my stomach, an image of a fetus appears on the screen. I hold my breath and squeeze Nicholas’ hand… I see my moving child.  It looks like a baby, it looks alive. Thank you, God. Thank you, God. Thank you, God!!!

As the appointment goes on it becomes clear the sonographer sees nothing but a normal early pregnancy.  Nicholas is immediately elated. I have all the emotions. A maternal fetal doctor comes in and was empathetic to the difficulty we’d experienced from so many weeks of waiting.  She takes her own look with the sonogram machine and confirms that our child looks perfectly healthy.

One possible explanation given for what was seen on the earlier scans is that perhaps there was a hemorrhage at some point in the uterus which gave the appearance of the abnormal molar-pregnancy-looking-tissue.  Whatever it was, nothing of the sort was present right now. In heaven I wonder if the specifics of the healing will be revealed to us.

Still a bit stunned, we move to a consultation room to discuss my history of early dilation in pregnancy and possible paths forward for treatment for that situation.  I decide to leave those big decisions for later so I can have some time to process what just happened.

Hand in hand, Nicholas and I walk out of the clinic, down the hall, down the stairs, past the volunteer piano player and into a sun-lit hospital hallway.  I stop by a window and cry. With his arms wrapped around me, I cry and cry and cry. Motherhood is the greatest and hardest gift. It is totally profound and excruciating love.

Weakened Joist

As it is with parenting tiny people, there isn’t much time to sit around and process emotions.  We grab Tropical Smoothie, head back to pick up our littlest from our friend’s place, and Nicholas takes us home so he can return to work.  I am exhausted in every.way. and hold zero expectations for the rest of the day. I am not filled with much relief or happiness, really, as might be expected after getting such wonderful news about my child growing within.  I see my husband beaming for joy while I am just tired and weary.

However, as I rest throughout the day, my mind is flooded with reminders and replays of close sister-friends holding me up.  I have powerful images in my mind of board-by-board being sistered into stability:

Elissa calling to check on me often, leaving no pressure to call back, just assurance of her constant prayers, making me a bomb of a personalized self-care plan… nailing in a board.

Amy encouraging me to navigate this storm as I am, giving me permission to let go of the pressure to “suffer well,” always be joyful, and surrender perfectly, also sending me care packages with tea and candles and art supplies…board, board and more boards!

Catie sending me Rachel Hollis’ motivating and upbeat books, initiating facetime check-ins that helped me stay afloat on very heavy days…sistering boards.

Adding More Boards

One by one, I feel their strength in my weakness:

• Sister Brigid accompanying me so tenderly over the phone, as I was feeling so painfully vulnerable in loving my child while facing loss
• Sister Gabriela checking in to tell me they were thinking of and praying for me and my little one
• Nikki and Rhea giving really good and reassuring hugs
• Andrea praying in adoration during our doctor appointment
• Laura watching our girls and going above and beyond with fun outdoor activities with them
• Ann speaking truth– firmly yet compassionately– about the souls of our children, helping me keep an eternal perspective
• Michelle lifting me up in prayer in the middle of the night when she couldn’t sleep
• Marie praying a novena to St.Gianna for us
• Friends and family on text and email support, offering their love and prayers
• My mother and Ashley offering my baby before Our Lady of La Leche at the Shrine in St.Augustine
• Ginger coming to visit for a week, going camping with me, helping a ton with the girls, playing and praying with me
• Tala listening without judgement to all my crabby complaining
• Angela gifting me her Mercy Minutes book that got her through intense trials

As I lay in bed trying to sleep, I see these women stepping alongside me, holding me up by my elbows, wooden beams reinforcing me as I keep stepping forward. They are Jesus and Mary’s hands and feet and heart to me, ensuring survival in great trial.

Happy Launch Day, TPSM… the Feast of the Visitation!

God has blessed me in an abundant way in the experience of receiving and giving sistering.  Through all different stages in my life. My husband Nicholas has pointed out at times how unusual it is to have have such deep bonds with the amount of women I do. And because I am an introvert who tends toward just having a few very close friends rather than many good ones, I am becoming more and more aware that this charism for sisterhood, one of the Visitation of Mary to her cousin Elizabeth, is a special gift from God that is not to be kept to myself.  I know I’m only beginning to understand it. So in whatever little or big way He wants to use this space here at the place she made, I only pray that every single work of love would sister YOU, sisters.

I’m really grateful you’re here, and smile at all the unknown good that is to come.  

Love,  Serra Ann