Baptism

This morning, Olivia was fed and bathed. I lay her on our bed next to the baptism gown that had first been worn by Mark's father, then by every baby in the family ever since. The gown is beautiful- handmade with lace and tiny buttons. From her birthday suit to this special gown, I buttoned our angel into it as she smiled at me. Then, she promptly spit up on it- leaving her mark and making it her own.

We drove to the Church of St. Paul and were surprised by the number of cars in the parking lot. When we stepped inside the church we were asked, "Are you here for the funeral?"

"No. The baptism."

Life beginnings. Life endings. Occuring at the same time, in the same place. This does not escape me, but follows me down the hall, past the people standing in small groups, speaking in whispers, cloaked in mourning, saying 'Goodbye.'

Just a year ago, cancer loomed over me like a death sentence. Today, I carry a new life into this church. As I walk, I am thinking about the fine line that separates a baptism from a funeral. My heart is heavy for the people I pass. I hurry and don't look at them directly- so I don't intrude on their grief. Then, Olivia smiles and coos. People smile back at her. I realize, this line only exists in my mind. With a smile, the line dissolves. This is life. We all share it.

We were directed to the chapel. This is the same chapel where Mark and I were married. Our families gather around us. Mark's childhood friend, Mark, and his wife Meagan stand as Olivia's Godparents. Prayers and candles. Grateful tears mingled with the fussing of a baby, the joyful voices of toddlers and the explorations of small children. Outside the large windows- the beauty of nature. Towering trees, glistening snow and a squirrel hopping happily along the drifts.

After, there is cake and visiting at our house. The baptism gown is carefully removed and given to Mark's mother, who will hand wash and store it for the next baby.

Throughout this day, Olivia smiles...

Mother's Sharing Milk

My prayer for milk went out like a clarion call.

My sister-in-law, Kristi, gave me some milk from her freezer and spread the word throughout our church. My sister, Amy, went to her doctor to see if there was anything she could do to promote lactation (her youngest son is 4). On the internet, I found a group called "Milk Share" and, on Facebook, I found a similar group called "Eats on Feets- Minnesota." These groups help facilitate milk sharing between mothers who have more milk than their babies need and mothers who have none. They offer information to both donors and recipients to keep the process safe.

Before Olivia was born, I never thought about sharing milk. I took my own ability to feed my babies for granted. I am grateful to the mothers who donated their milk to the milk bank that has fed Olivia since her birth and I accept that milk banks must always keep their limited supplies going to those babies who are fragile and need it most.

Of course, there is some controversy about mothers sharing milk amongst themselves without a hierarchy involved to oversee the process. Keep in mind, I am not standing on a corner holding out a baby bottle all willy-nilly. I have done my research and I trust this process- a process inspired, created, and set into motion by mothers.

These past few weeks, Mark and/or I have driven to Blaine, Andover, Ham Lake, Champlain, Shakopee, Zimmerman, St. Francis, Mankato, and Rochester to meet these mothers. Kristi even calls to let me know when someone has left me milk in the church freezer.

"Does putting milk in a church freezer make it Holy milk?" I ask my mom.

"It's all Holy." She says and I agree.

My prayer was answered by a sisterhood of mothers-

Kristi, Jocelyn, Meghan, Ting-Hsien, Christa, Justine, Ashley, Theresa, Suzanne, Shannon, Aparna, Amy and the Moms at the Church of St. Paul...

This mother is Thankful. Olivia is, too :)

toot

Tonight, we were at a Girl Scout ceremony, watching as Natalie and the girls in her troop received the badges they had earned. I was standing at the back of the room holding Olivia, so I could step out in case she started fussing. Olivia just looked around taking everything in. Standing next to me was a mother trying to keep her two young sons quiet.

Names were read off- one at a time- and a pause as the girl stepped forward to collect her badge. Suddenly, in the silence, Olivia started passing gas. Loudly. The woman next to me gave a disapproving look to her boys and whispered, "It is not appropriate for you to be farting in public. We have talked about this."

I felt kind-of guilty that two innocent boys took the blame for Olivia's toots, so I approached the mother after the ceremony and confessed that my baby was the source. A puzzled look crossed her face as she looked at my little baby. She probably recalled the decibel level of the fart. "That's funny." she said and started laughing. (I wonder if she thought I was covering for myself)

Fear

Fear is a dangerous thing. Fear makes swipes with sharp claws. I know these claws. Fear has impaled me before and pulled me close and drained me of hope and and filled my heart with horrible images that felt real. As fear bullies me into a corner, I realize I am holding it as tightly as it is holding me.

I decide to follow my own advice and I let go. I let go of fear. I smile in the face of fear. I feel grateful in presence of fear. I direct my attention away from fear and back to the miracles...

This simple choice changes everything. 

Mother's Milk

Just today, I was expecting a shipment of frozen breast milk from the Denver Milk Bank when I learned they are not planning on sending any more. No notice. No gentle weaning process. Just stopped. Done. Final. Period. I look in the freezer and count the bottles. Olivia is now taking about 24 ounces a day. I have enough for 3 more days.

I make a bunch of phone calls. "But she has a prescription." I say, "Her doctor wants her on breast milk for one year." I am given the run-around. I call the numbers and wait on hold while the soothing music on the line taunts me. I talk to our insurance company. I speak with our pediatrician. It feels like a fight. My voice sounds increasingly defensive and angry to my ears. Deep inside me, I feel the seeds of panic stirring.

I take a break. I take a breath. I understand there is only so much donated breast milk in the world and we have to share it. We have to prioritize. There may not be enough for every baby. I understand this...

...but I am a mother. The deep need to protect my baby, to feed her, to love her is encoded into every single cell of my being. There is no switch. It can't be denied. With terrifying intensity, it draws a line in the sand. Mothers are a profound force in this world possessing a rare willingness to risk everything, to even sacrifice themselves... for a child.

I leave messages that probably sound like a crazed woman left them. I recount the bottles. I kiss the forehead of my sleeping Olivia. Amore takes a break from her post next to the baby- drawn to whoever needs her the most- and she trots along behind me like a shadow. I stop to look at myself in the bathroom mirror. There are tears in my eyes. I look defeated. Like so many others, my eyes drop to my chest. "Damn boobs!" I yell at them. They just sit there pretending not to hear me at all.

Grandma Joyce

I stop to visit my Grandma Joyce who lives in a senior apartment complex. She buzzes me in and I start to walk through the lobby area that has a large community room off to one side. There are people sitting in groups of 2 or 3, visiting with each other.

"Hey!" a woman's voice calls out, "You get back here with that baby!"

Now, I was raised to respect my elders, but I hesitate. I turn to meet the gazes of three women sitting next to each other. Yes, she is talking to me. I still have to pinch myself sometimes when I look down and see this sweet little girl in my arms. I can hardly believe she is here, safe and sound, and she is mine. Then again, we belong to each other. So, I walk back and share the baby. They look and touch, remembering their own babies.

"Would you like to hold her?" I ask.

"No," they shake their heads, "she's too small."

After awhile, my grandma comes looking for me and Olivia.

Back to Work

I have been back to work for over a month now. I know I am lucky to have a job and health insurance and that I am able to take some time to ease back into my 12 hour shifts. Mark, Natalie, Larissa and Amore have been taking good care of Olivia.

Going back to my pre-cancer job. Remember, I left with pink and purple highlights and now my hair is about an inch long. People who just know me in passing must think I was out touring with my band for awhile.

Children's Hospital has been undergoing major additions and remodeling over the past year. I weave my way through the halls and units, feeling like I am lost in one of those corn mazes.

Someone blurts out, "Hey, you got a new haircut! It's really short!"

"Courtesy of Chemo." I say, "Actually, it's getting longer."

People hug me. People get tears in their eyes. People smile. I realize how many people have travelled this bumpy road with me this past year... carried me... prayed for me... saved me...

Amusingly, people look at my chest. Stare at my chest. Never before has my chest had this much attention. And because I work among healthcare professionals- knowledgable and curious people that they are- I am asked "Are they real? Or did you have a reconstruction?" I always find this question hilarious, because my boobs are still the imperfect, kind-of lopsided boobs they always were. They are not special. Remember, they tried to kill me (Left one, I'm still talking to you).

The people in my department have taken it upon themselves to look out for me. Soloman came in and saw me eating cookies and said, "I hope that's not your lunch. You have to eat healthy things."

I told him, "The way I see it, I'm going to die, so I better eat cookies while I can."

"Sarah," he laughed, "you're not going to die."

Yes, I am. We all are. Simple fact.

In the meantime- Let go of fear. Smile. Feel grateful. Notice all the miracles occurring- all around you and inside you- all the time. Do what you love. Hug children. Pet dogs... Have a cookie :)