The Next One, and Then Some

Although Tom and I had initially talked about having a large family, after the drama of having Kelli and her being somewhat of a difficult baby, I would have been happy with just the two. Tom had other plans though; he wanted another son. When Kelli was four months old, I discovered I was pregnant again. Unfortunately, on August 13, 1987, I lost our little son at 16 weeks gestation. It was a very difficult time for us, as anyone can understand.

After that loss, I was sure I did not want to become pregnant again, but Tom truly wanted another son. Since he had been so good with the kids and around the house, I realized that I could not in all good consciousness say no to him. Besides, I had made a promise to him before I married him in the Catholic Church, that I would “not prevent him from having the children that he wanted,” so I agreed to have just one more.

Again, I became pregnant right away, and happily on November 1, 1988, Cynthia Marie was born.

Cindi was 7 lb. 15 oz. and 20 inches long. After two very challenging babies, I was ready for an easy one, and Cindi did not disappoint. By the time she was three days old, she found her thumb, and at nine days, she was sleeping from 11 p.m. until 6 a.m. What a dream come true! She was the apple of my eye. She was four days old before we realized she had beautiful red hair. Cindi would prove to be a very easy mannered baby. I felt I was ahead of the game, so Tom and I decided three was enough, and I had a tubal ligation procedure to prevent future pregnancies. By this time, Tom and I were no longer looking for a manual, but thinking of writing one ourselves!

Then I got a crazy idea. As all three kids got into school, I began to long for a baby again. Yeah, I know, I know! What in the world was I thinking? I believe this was the beginning of my mental illness actually.

In December, 1995, I underwent a tubal reanastomosis (tubal ligation reversal) surgery. Over the next three years, I would undergo several uncomfortable and awkward tests to determine why I wasn’t getting pregnant.

A day before my birthday, November, 18, 1998, I felt a strange, foreign sensation, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I didn’t have any pain, but perhaps I felt a little light-headed. I was three days late but didn’t think anything of it. That morning, I went to my boss and negotiated an early lunch so that I could go to my doctor to determine what might be wrong. Less than an hour later, I sat on the examining table, completely dumbfounded, as the doctor reported to me I was pregnant again, and he was almost certain this was an ectopic pregnancy. I couldn’t believe it! Aren’t ectopic pregnancies supposed to be really painful?

I called Tom at work, and he left immediately. I called my parents and tearfully gave them the news. They asked me if I wanted them to come too, and a little embarrassed, I waled, “Yeeesssss!” Then I called my boss, Bob Powers. I couldn’t contain my tears to Bob either and knowing he was a a devout Catholic, I asked him to pray for me. He said, “Hold on a minute, Terri, let me shut my door.” A moment later, Bob came back on the line and said, “OK, Terri, we’re going to pray together now.” I bowed my head, tears streaming down my face, as Bob recited the most beautiful, heartfelt prayer I could ever imagine anyone saying for me. It touched me beyond words.

Shortly after, Tom met me at the doctor’s office, and together we walked over to the hospital to get ready for surgery. That time is a little fuzzy for me. I can’t remember if they did an ultrasound to determine if the baby was stuck in the fallopian tube or if they just went ahead and did the surgery. One would think I would remember such a thing, but it just isn’t coming. All I remember is the doctor telling me there was a 20% chance the baby was going to be ok, and an 80% chance I would lose it and the tube too. As expected, we lost the baby, and I would spend four days in the hospital recuperating followed by a six-week stint at home with my little ones. My desire to have a fourth child dissipated like a chilly wind in mid-May. I was done; I had had enough.

So there is our family. I have to say we are happy. We’re not perfect by any means, but we are happy. Family is a lifeline for me. The other day I had a heated discussion with my sister about the breakdown of the family in these wonderful United States of America. I know that sounds like a Latter-day Saint talking, but it’s not all about my religion. It’s how I really feel. I have often told my children that unfortunately, most of their friends will one day let them down. Most friends are temporary, but your family is forever, and when things get rough, your family will always be there for you to help you pick up the pieces and get rolling again. At least that’s been my experience.

God bless America and God bless the family!

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