Replies to '05/27 The Dr. Phil House: Brat Camp, Part 3'

  Yesterday was Memorial Day.  I confess, I always think of Charlie on Memorial Day. 

   My second pregnancy brought my daughter, Lauren into the world.  I had troubles near the end, and she had something called fetal growth retardation.  It means that I carried Lauren for 39 weeks, but she stopped developing at week 31.  She weighed 5 pounds and one precious ounce.  That ounce meant she could be delivered at the normal hospital.  Any less, she would have been delivered at a neonatal unit.

    I hold the hospital's record for not asking whether the child was a boy or a girl.  Parents usually inquire this before the baby is completely delivered.  I lay back with a comfortable C-section listening to that pleasant little voice, mewing away.  Finally, they cleaned the baby up.  The doctor said, "I don't believe it.  I have never had a patient not ask if it was a boy or a girl.  Do you want to know?" 

   I looked at my husband, he looked at me and he said, "I guess so."

   We wished Lauren her first "Happy Birthday."  I remember plainly the moment when I dared love her.  Two weeks later, I brought her home from the hospital to her nursery.  As I walked down the hall toward it,

 the weight of the world fell off my shoulders.  I had my baby, and I got to go home and be her momma!

   I had a miscarriage the following year.  I bled excessively, and I had a D&C.  The worst thing about cervical cancer is that pregnancy speeds up the cancer.  And, then  it masks the problem.  Instead of having distinct symptoms, I was told I had "false labor."  I was only imagining the problem, and I would be sent home.

    Two years after Lauren, I had my son James.  He is the exact image of his brother, Charlie.  Six months later, I had a hysterectomy.  The cancer kicked in big time. 

  Yesterday was Memorial Day.  I confess, I always think of Charlie on Memorial Day. 

   My second pregnancy brought my daughter, Lauren into the world.  I had troubles near the end, and she had something called fetal growth retardation.  It means that I carried Lauren for 39 weeks, but she stopped developing at week 31.  She weighed 5 pounds and one precious ounce.  That ounce meant she could be delivered at the normal hospital.  Any less, she would have been delivered at a neonatal unit.

    I hold the hospital's record for not asking whether the child was a boy or a girl.  Parents usually inquire this before the baby is completely delivered.  I lay back with a comfortable C-section listening to that pleasant little voice, mewing away.  Finally, they cleaned the baby up.  The doctor said, "I don't believe it.  I have never had a patient not ask if it was a boy or a girl.  Do you want to know?" 

   I looked at my husband, he looked at me and he said, "I guess so."

   We wished Lauren her first "Happy Birthday."  I remember plainly the moment when I dared love her.  Two weeks later, I brought her home from the hospital to her nursery.  As I walked down the hall toward it,

 the weight of the world fell off my shoulders.  I had my baby, and I got to go home and be her momma!

   I had a miscarriage the following year.  I bled excessively, and I had a D&C.  The worst thing about cervical cancer is that pregnancy speeds up the cancer.  And, then  it masks the problem.  Instead of having distinct symptoms, I was told I had "false labor."  I was only imagining the problem, and I would be sent home.

    Two years after Lauren, I had my son James.  He is the exact image of his brother, Charlie.  Six months later, I had a hysterectomy.  The cancer kicked in big time.