Faith and Control

The Next Great Adventure: A True Story

Faith and Control

When Griffin moved up to a "big boy" bed, we bought bunk beds. As a kid, I loved having bunk beds. Cindy and I understood how great it is to have siblings, how much of an impact they have on you, and that an only child has unique difficulties to overcome ... mainly revolving around being the only non-parent in the house. One or more kids after Griffin was our plan, but sometimes plans don't work out. People operate as if they have control of everything in their life, a good survival trait I suppose, but it is surprising when you find out you don't.

It was 1999 and Griffin was nearly 3 years old, by that time an "upperclassman" at Rainbow Wonderland Daycare. There he made fast friends with Haley, while Cindy was making friends with Haley's Mom, Kerry. This inevitably led to birthday parties and other kid-centered social activities. Somewhere along the way, Cindy and Griffin started attending a Wednesday night program at Kerry and Haley's church, Churchill Way Presbyterian Church, which was called 'Children of God.' It was weekly, kid-focused bible stories, games and dinner. The twist was eating dinner with someone other than your own parents. Couples from the church volunteered to be 'table parents' and the kids got to learn what it was like to interact with other families and people. Griffin's table parents were Bill and Sally Terry, who he still has a relationship with today.

I was making an honest effort to read and study and try to figure a way out of my religion issues, but certainly didn't feel ready to join a church or hang out with strangers in a fellowship hall. My self-study primarily served to add to my confusion. One week I'd be reading "The Jesus Mysteries" and whatever 'The Jesus Seminar' was publishing, and the next I'd read C.S. Lewis "Mere Christianity" and G.K. Chesterton "The Everlasting Man." Everyone claimed they had "the truth" I was seeking. My vague conclusion was that the "pro-Christian" side was trying to explain and offer hope, to find truth beyond this world, while the other side primarily wanted to prove their own 'rightness,' disproving God and elevating themselves, validating this world as the source of truth. Perhaps I'm just naturally skeptical of humans.

I still wasn't convinced that church was a place I needed to be, but we were invited to attend worship with the Whitson's and, as I often did when I couldn't think of a valid argument or excuse, I conceded to Cindy's wishes and we went to worship as a family. We started visiting regularly in the fall of 1999.

We joined in early 2000. Presbyterians do infant baptism and Griffin was shortly baptized. The social aspect of church was important to Cindy and she latched on to the value it would have for Griffin, too. He acquired a whole group of siblings and aunts and uncles and parents and grandparents. It took me much longer to warm up, but I was fascinated by how these "church types" actually implemented their faith, and how they understood their own religion, because it was certainly different than my understanding. It was a much more graceful and open-minded approach than I expected. No one claimed to have all the answers. They debated; they didn't demand. Without the latitude to explore and learn I couldn't have stayed, but ever so slowly, over the past 18 years, my faith has grown, at least I hope it has.

As with most things, Cindy's approach was the opposite of mine. She just believed, and did her best to live it. She didn't need to deconstruct and re-assemble, she just wrapped herself in it and moved forward, doing her best to take faith "into" her world, instead of trying to build it up "around" her. I understood her approach about as well as she understood mine, but we moved forward together as always, respecting our differences and offsetting each other's strengths and weaknesses.

We got an immersive education in how Presbyterians manage their business. I had grown up in the Church of Christ. Cindy grew up Baptist, and joined a Lutheran church in Victoria. 'Churchill Way' was in the process of changing its name to 'Bentwood Trail', to better reflect its geographic location, and they were also in the middle of a search for a new pastor. There were rules and committees and votes and published meeting minutes. Robert's Rules of Order seemed integral. Later that year the new pastor, Rev. Dr. Todd Collier, was called. As newly minted Presbyterians we were starting to feel plugged in and connected. By Advent, it felt like "our" church.

Griffin was now 4 years old and we had had a few pregnancy disappointments in those years. There was another early miscarriage, and a painful tubal pregnancy that never fully developed, but we were still hopeful. Early in 2001 we knew that Cindy was pregnant but kept it fairly quiet, having learned from previous experience.

Cindy was 34 when she was pregnant with Griffin, but because she would be turning 35 before his delivery date, she was considered "Advanced Maternal Age." I teased her about that a lot, but the short of it was that they encouraged extra testing, specifically amniocentesis, where they do a sonogram and take some amniotic fluid to test for genetics, sex, and general health of the baby. Cindy was close to 40 years old so we knew it would be part of the plan again.

The day of the "amnio" we went down to Baylor Hospital in Dallas where her OB/GYN had

privileges. It was a routine thing. We had done it before. There was a tech and a doctor we didn't know. I instinctively knew something was wrong when I saw the tech point at the screen and look at the doctor. She didn't say anything, she just pointed. Cindy didn't see that part, and the doctor didn't say anything. He just went ahead with the procedure. When he was done he said, "There's a problem with the baby, we're going to need you to stay for a while and we'll discuss it after we finish the tests."

We were stunned. We sat in the waiting room, trying to puzzle it out, waiting to hear from the doctors. I convinced myself that it had to be something obvious and serious if they could see it on the sonogram at 14 weeks, but I had no idea what it could be. Cindy was a wreck. Not crying, not showing she was upset, but going full tilt at all the what-ifs and how-comes and why-us's, trying to plan around a situation over which she had no control. We waited. And there, in that waiting room, waiting to talk to the specialists and the genetic counselor, I made my decision.

We learned that the baby had a serious birth defect, an omphalocele, where the internal organs are outside of the abdominal wall. That was likely what the tech was pointing to. Correcting it would require serious and life threatening surgery, immediately after birth, and it may not ever be corrected to the point of being 'normal.' The surgery can cause complications with the internal organs requiring lifelong 'maintenance' surgeries to keep them working well. More seriously, the baby had a genetic defect called Edwards Syndrome or Trisomy 18. The details are frightening. They told us that the one year survival rate was 5-10%, but with the omphalocele complication they considered the baby's condition to be "incompatible with life." They also told us the baby was a girl.

Our options were to try to carry the baby to term (with less than 20% chance of making it), deliver it, and deal with the confirmed medical and genetic issues, or terminate the pregnancy. I had already made my decision and shared it with Cindy while we waited. I expected the worst. I told her that though I might be able to deal with the medical and genetic issues, I would not spend the rest of this time just waiting for death, that it was too much unnecessary suffering for everyone, including the baby. It didn't seem practical. It didn't make sense for Cindy or for Griffin. I was adamant that we would terminate the pregnancy. It was clear to me that this was mercy, not murder. She did not argue. I don't think she was in an emotional state to make much of an argument, and I took advantage of that to do what I thought was best for the family.

We made arrangements for Griffin to spend a few days with Aunt Nanny and Uncle Billy, and scheduled the procedure for the following week. Baylor Hospital does not do abortions without board approval. Our OB/GYN presented our case and got the approval. We checked in early, they gave drugs to induce labor, and after did the D&C. Family members and some friends were there for support, along with our new pastor, Todd. We stood around the bed, held hands and Todd prayed. I can't tell you what he said, but I can tell you it was a comfort, it gave me some strength. We gathered ourselves and continued the adventure with a new, major inflection point in the course.

Recalling this story, trying to get the scene and emotion correct and honest, a memory from my childhood comes back to me. An ambulance shows up at our house. We have one of those front doors with the three staggered windows and I see the lights flashing through them, but hear no siren. Two men come in and take my mother away on a stretcher. I'm not entirely sure what's happening and no one bothers to explain to me. The next day, or shortly thereafter, I'm at my Grandma Turner's house. I explain to her that the ambulance men took my mother away and everyone told me not to worry about her, that she would be fine. Grandma Turner told me that everyone was right. That she would be fine. That she had 'lost the baby,' that she had lost them before and always been fine afterward. I had no idea what losing a baby meant, but it didn't sound like something that led to being 'fine.'

Afterword:

In my life I have been personally involved in two abortions. The one described above and another one when I was much younger. A friend came to me saying she was unexpectedly pregnant. I knew the father by reputation only, and it was not good. I knew her family would not condone an abortion, and I also knew that their dysfunctional "support" would do more harm than good. She wanted to know if I could give her money for an abortion. She needed $125. I wrote her a check. It was the easiest option, and the one I was sure 100% of the single women I knew at the time, who didn't want to get married, would have taken. We thought we were wise. We thought we were in control, doing the smart thing, doing what was best.


I wish she would have had someone wiser to turn to, someone with more than $125 to give her.


I wish I would have known in 1983 that future studies would show a link between early and prolonged use of oral contraceptives and Triple Negative Breast Cancer, the type of cancer Cindy had.


I wish that research on the connection between induced abortion and breast cancer wasn't labeled inconclusive, because it feels like what they are really saying is that the research is inconvenient.


I understand that people will take this personal story or my comments and twist them to fit their ideas, their "principles," regarding the politics of pro-choice/pro-life. They'll judge me and that's fine. I own my decisions. In the political world this is nothing more than an anecdote. It has power because it's true, but truth has no value in politics that I can find. I'm not sharing this for politics. This is a story I need to tell, for my own sake, as confession and catharsis, but also because it could be helpful to someone else.


We make the best decisions we can with the data we have, but that's not control, that's informed gambling, and there is no guarantee you'll walk away 'fine,' regardless of your analytical power or your plans or your intentions. Knowing that, I would advise having faith in something other than yourself.