Life Unexpected… “The Invasion”


The day of the invasion came like a sudden rush of fire and darkness….

My mother was going to be with me that day, to help me recover from the emergency D&C I had on Thursday after they discovered a dangerous grapefruit-sized tumor as well as the miscarried baby from December.

That Thursday, I had started to cry just before the anesthesia set in, and the nurses were comforting and kind….. But I had really only wanted my mother that day.  I didn’t tell her, and maybe I should have, but I wanted to be brave.

On Saturday morning, I was still bleeding and in an immense amount of pain.  I had decided that pain killers weren’t going to even touch the knife-life cramping caused by the after effects of the D&C, so I went without any medication, and the children sweetly made me Jasmine rice-filled socks that they would microwave and bring to me, and I would put them on my abdomen for some relief.  I was still having trouble walking, but I made great effort to keep the pain to myself.  After all, I had nine beautiful live children, and we had felt our “quiver was full” anyway… I was grateful I didn’t miscarry at home, as my doctor told me that I would have died quickly from hemorrhaging, with not enough time to get to an emergency room.  I repeated those thoughts in my mind; a frail attempt at drowning out waves of grief that came upon me every hour…

In one sense, I was relieved “it was over” and grateful to be alive.  But in another sense, I felt empty and my hormones had triggered post partum depression as well as grief.  I felt hollow, unhealthy, and weak.  I was grateful that my mother had offered to be with me that Saturday morning, to help with the little children and the cleaning… It would be the one pleasant aspect of that week, to get to spend time with her.  My husband asked me if I minded that he take the boys to the March for Life in Denver.  He wanted to show them what it was like to exercise “freedom of speech,” and to see the Capitol.  I didn’t mind at all, in fact, and saw this as a win-win.  Four boys have a lot of… energy… (ahem)… And I just needed to relax and heal while my mother helped with the girls and the baby.

My husband and my sons took off for Denver (about two hours from where we lived), and I slowly got myself dressed as I waited for my mother to come later that morning.  My eldest daughter helped with the young ones and I rested, skipping a shower so as to take every moment possible to recover.

It was still rather early…. When there was a sharp knock at the door.  Thinking my mother had arrived early, I happily made my way down the stairs to open the door.

I opened the door, poised with a smile, when to my horror I saw that the street in front of our house was lined with cars, trucks, and an animal trailer.  There were countless people, some in uniform, some not, who were storming onto our property like ants storm onto a left over piece of cake on a sidewalk.

I couldn’t move, at first… The same friendly officer from before stood at the door, while the Humane Society “officer” did the talking.

“We’ve got this under control…. There’s no need to come outside… ”

I stammered “But… but…. What is going on? I… don’t understand…. I….”

They smiled, turned their backs, and walked down my front door steps.  The “ants” kept coming, only now I felt I was in either a Hollywood movie or some terrible nightmare…. Random people got out of random vehicles, and walked onto my property like they owned it.  They went into the barn, went into the back pasture, walked wherever they pleased…. All refusing to look my direction, as if I didn’t exist.

Anyone who’s an American knows that something is wrong with this picture…

(…to be continued…)


Please share your thoughts!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s