History Lesson

I am not sure why I have never thought to write the story of Paul and me.

I am not sure if anyone would really care to read it, either. Ha!

The other day as Paul and I were discussing our wild ride on the adoption roller-coaster, Paul reminded me that, "this is the way we do things." I have never heard a truer statement regarding our story.

So... here goes.

I have grown up going to church at St. Francis Xavier, here in Birmingham. I was quite involved in the youth group, starting around junior high age. It was my 'home' and the only place I truly felt like I could be ME. I was free. No worries about who was judging me or any of that normal teenage stuff. Just Katie. You guys know that Mt. Brook isn't your typical town. It can be pretty stressful trying to fit in the cookie cutter. It's just not my style. I was the oddball. I never felt the need to party or do all those teenagery things. I just wanted to hang out with my friends and keep it real.

Paul was a boy that started showing up in my life about this time. He turned up at different things I enjoyed - choir, service projects, lock-ins. I quickly started to notice him. He was witty, quiet, shy and quite handsome. Some of my other teenage 'crushes' started to fade. I felt myself becoming more and more interested in this guy. I soon started doing all the silly things girls do when they feel this way - I spent way more time than I should have trying to convince him to come to this event or that event, most always church related. I am sure he knew exactly what was going on.

I remember a moment in our relationship when there was an obvious push towards really liking him. We went to his Aunt's home to take part in a bible study, I believe. But, the strangest thing happened that night. His Aunt showed a few home videos from their family and I was so interested. There is something so special about heritage. I have a pretty close family, but know very little about where our family comes from. Paul's family has a very interesting history. His entire family was Italian. Very Italian. And very Catholic. It was so well woven together with tradition and faith. I couldn't get enough. I went home after that evening and sat on my parent's bed - crying. Not because I was sad, but because it was so special.

About this time, when I was just 15 or 16, Paul and I started dating. When I say dating, it wasn't your typical scenario of boy meets girl, they fall in love, get married, etc... We truly dated. Ups and downs. Break ups. Missing each other while apart. Back together. Apart. Happy. Sad. Oh my goodness, it was a wild ride.

Our relationship was certainly tested with fire.

It was 9 years. Nine years of dating.

Then, something truly phenomenal happened. Paul's Grandfather (Paul) passed away. We were all saddened by the loss. I remember at his funeral mass, I was asked to take part. Which was pretty interesting, since I was just "that girl" that was always around. But, for some reason I just jumped right in and was able to participate and it was no big deal. I think this was meant for Paul. He was able to see that I could be a part of his life and his family (which was HUGE for him). Not long after the funeral, Paul began the process of coming up with ways to propose to me.

I was totally oblivious. So, so, so very oblivious. On my birthday, March 2002, Paul asked to meet with my parents so they could talk. I had no clue. He planned a meal with them. The met and he asked for permission to propose to me. Again... I was so out of the loop. How perfect!

On Easter Sunday, Paul took me to church early. Before there was anyone there, we knelt to pray. Moments later, he was facing me, box in hand. WHAT!?!?! I was completely floored. There at our church, where we had gotten to know each other so well, he asked for my hand in marriage. Precious, precious memory.

This day stands out as being one of the greatest days of my entire life. It is such a lovely memory - the priest blessed us and my ring. Family poured in to offer congratulations to us, and we celebrated mass together as an engaged couple. What a truly wonderful and joyful Easter it was!!!

We had quite a little party that day, complete with an itty-bitty engagement cake (that looked like a wedding cake). By the end of the day, I think we had nearly all of the basics of our wedding planned. However, if you know us, we don't do anything easy.

We spent the next few weeks making basic plans - where, when, who. The date was set... July 26, 2003. Saturday afternoon. It would be held in the yet-to-be-finished church that was being built due to fire our church. Just typing that makes me stress out!!! HA! Man, we must have been filled with faith. Construction NEVER follows a timeline.

After a year and a half of planning, the day finally came. (By the way, I don't advise being engaged for that long.) We spent the morning taking pictures with the wedding party. It was a gorgeous day. Everything was truly perfect. And then someone said something that sticks out in my mind and today still gives me chills. "Satan finds a way to destroy things." It's really quite odd. Why would someone say that to me, a girl on her wedding day? A day that I had been waiting for, for about 11 years. It didn't really upset me then, but looking back I think that was an excellent foretelling of what was to come. It was so true.

The wedding began and I can remember being at peace. I don't really like crowds. I don't like being the center of attention. But, I felt calm. Perhaps it was the Holy Spirit.

As the wedding ceremony began, we all quickly realized that Paul wasn't feeling that great. Neither one of us are outgoing and so I could understand his uneasiness with being front and center. He began to fade pretty fast. Thankfully, his best man, his oldest brother, was able to stand beside him and literally hold him up during the ceremony. Between the two of us, we kept Paul upright. Paul was given a bottle of water and somehow, by the grace of God, we were able to get through the mass. It was pretty much a miracle. I am very grateful for that, looking back.

The reception began without us.

After maybe an hour, I decided that I would ride alone in the limo to the reception to greet our guests. It was surreal going into our wedding reception alone. People came and spoke to me. I think I remember trying to keep my head up and smile. But, walking in and seeing my wedding cake - I think that was the straw that broke the camel's back. My bridesmaids took hold of me and gave me hugs and love. We all cut the cake, so our guests would be able to enjoy it. I remember being angry with the stupid blue flowers that someone had decided to place around my gorgeous white cake. How silly. I guess it was my way of distracting myself from the obvious.

I danced with my daddy. I can't remember the song. I cried. He cried.

Sometime later, Paul was able to arrive with his oldest brother. I think we ate cake? I don't think we danced. I remember sitting with friends who offered to bring us drinks and food. After a time, we decided that we would go. It had been a long day and people were heading home, so we made our departure from the reception.

Instead of leaving for our honeymoon, we went to our home to recover. It was days and Paul was still not well. After multiple trips to the doctor, tears, sadness and realization that nothing was right, Paul was finally found to have mitral valve prolapse. After weeks he was properly diagnosed and on medication to treat his symptoms. Finally, he was on the road to recovery and we could begin to reclaim our lives and our relationship.

Paul and I then began to go through the typical newlywed issues that all new couples go through. Little annoyances had to be worked through...how the laundry was done, how the dishwasher was loaded, how the clothes were hung, how the toothpaste was squeezed (from the bottom UP, right!?!).

Other than those little things, life was pretty good. I had my job and Paul had his. We lived our lives, one day at a time.

However, something was stirring. Paul and I had always talked about children. We wanted babies - lots of them, too. We were the family joke, prior to our wedding. We were going to be those 'crazy NFPers' who have 20 children. If so, why weren't we pregnant?? We began to search for answers. We looked all over for someone that could answer that question. No one really could find the answer. After two years of 'trying' to, we went to a doctor that dashed every hope we had of ever having biological children. I was diagnosed with having a malformation of the uterus. I was told that even if I did become pregnant, our children would likely have some form of CP, due to birth restrictions in utero. We then assumed that THIS is why we were not able to become pregnant. God had protected our hearts. He had prevented a pregnancy, because He knew what would likely happen. It was a closed door.

And we all know what happens when God closes a door. He opens a window.

We eagerly jumped into the world of adoption and began working to complete our domestic homestudy. Three months later - August of 2005 - we were 'paper pregnant'. The thought that we could actually adopt and have our family was a light in a dark tunnel. How exciting! I had joined a site, where pregnant mothers could search out adoptive families and in no time I had become connected to a supposed birth-mom, due with a baby girl. We were told that we were in the top of her list of adoptive couple. I poured my life into getting to know this stranger. Even my mother wrote her notes. Then, one day, it was over. It was a scam. Another adopting family contacted me to let me know that they, too, were led to believe that they would be the one to adopt her 'child'. You can imagine what that might have been like - a miscarriage of sorts.

And then God steps back into the picture.

On a beautiful day in September 2005, I went on a walk with a friend. I went to lunch with my parents. I went home, realizing that my monthly visitor was DAYS late and I had completely blown it off. I went to the restroom and took a test. Before I could sit that stick down there were two gorgeous, perfect, pink lines.

I quickly tried to contain myself and somehow drove to Paul's office with that incredible news to share. Miracles happen. That day we got a miracle. We couldn't contain our happiness. I copied the test in the copy machine and sent a fax to my mom at the office. I think that was the single best fax she has ever received in her life. We went to church and prayed. We thanked God for the gift he had given us. We prayed for the safety of our child. I found a doctor - since I didn't have one! LOL!

After months of modified bedrest and walking on eggshells, the day arrived. A year (pretty much to the day) after I was told that I would not/should not have children by one doctor, I gave birth to my gorgeous Paul Vincent. He was perfect. He was tiny. Just over 4 pounds and 17 inches. Perfectly perfect.

Paul and I were so thrilled with our gift. We acted as if we had a fragile piece of pottery - no one could breath on him, touch him, look at him too closely! Such the typical first time parents. It was difficult leaving him in the NICU, but well worth the pain. Soon he was home and we were complete. The next months were a blur as most memories are with a newborn at home - but man, what a gift. Paul Vincent was a sweet, loving, gentle child with a smile that could light up the dark.

So many wonderful memories were made in those first years. So much love. As you watch your sweet baby grow and become more independent, you naturally start thinking about adding another blessing to your family. I started praying for a sibling for Paul Vincent. We started seeing another specialist, to see if we could find any answers to our unexplained infertility. The new doctor found an error at our first meeting - I didn't have the uterine malformation that I had been previously diagnosed with! I had a severe septum that could be REMOVED! Hallelujah!

The surgery was performed and about 6 weeks afterwards we received another miracle. I was pregnant. This pregnancy started off smooth. I was feeling a little yuck - which was fine with me. Yuck = healthy pregnancy, right?

A few weeks into the pregnancy I started to bleed. Some was pretty heavy at times. We were experiencing a threatened miscarriage. The doctor said I had a rather large clot and to take it very slow. I needed to stay calm and rest. With a two year old at home? Man, that's a challenge. The pregnancy continued. We went in for one visit and were told the the umbilical cord looked to be misplaced in the placenta. Another scare. I started having contractions at about 20 weeks. I began seeing a high risk specialist. He explained to me, that I had a clotting disorder. The placenta was aging rapidly and the baby would be born early. He gave me a little look into the future of my pregnancy and I was grateful for the heads up. At one point, while lying on the sofa, I timed my contractions to be coming pretty regularly at 4-5 minutes apart. We decided to take a trip to labor and delivery. I was given meds to stop the contractions and baby looked good. I was sent home.

I believe it was about 2 weeks later when things started getting very 'interesting'. I think I was having blood pressure issues. I felt faint and nauseous a lot. It took tons of effort for me to get from point A to B, even when that was just a few feet. I feared going anywhere, afraid that I wouldn't be able to get back to my car.

And the it happened. Just like the good doctor said. Around 4 am on May 24, 2009, my water broke. By
5am I was SURE that my water had broken and we noticed meconium in the fluid. My baby was in distress and he was just 32 weeks gestation. Off to the hospital.

Christopher Matthew was born around 9am that day - after an extremely rough c-section. He was still high, he was turned facing the wrong way, the placenta was tight (like plastic wrap) around him. His cord had a knot - a tight knot. The placenta was trash...certainly not good for nourishing a growing baby. And he came out fighting. After needing to be intubated and basically resuscitated, six hours later my itty-bitty 3 pound, 14 inch baby was breathing on his own. He was perfect. A perfect miracle. Another true gift. Straight from heaven into our lives. Created with a purpose.

After 3 weeks in the NICU, we brought home our fighter. I cannot explain to your how that term fits him so well. He was fighting to stand. Fighting to hold up his head. Fighting to see what was on the television, and he was so tiny. Barely up to 5 pounds. Christopher had an extremely difficult first year. Just after we came home with him, we discovered that he had an inguinal hernia, which actually turned out to be a double hernia. He had trouble with digestion. He was diagnosed with silent reflux - not really a spitter, but he only was able to take an ounce or two of formula at a time. After a long trial of formulas, we were suggested Alimentum... but because he was so picky, it had to be the ready-made, liquid version. Silly boy. It worked and we was finally able to get some substantial feedings. Can you imagine what it was like to have such a tiny baby, and not being able to feel like he was getting good nutrition?

When one battle was 'won' with one thing, something else turned up. The next trial was something no parent really wants to deal with - vomiting. Christopher had developed a very scary habit. He was somehow able to throw up for no real reason whatsoever... We never knew where or when. Home. Restaurants. With Family. He was well-known as a 'puker'. Most times this seemed associated with eating, so we tried changing his diet and closely monitoring his intake of things, like gluten. Nothing really mattered. After over a year of dealing with it, we came to realize that this was likely a preemie/texture issue. And after knowing him for over 3 years, we learned how to help him deal with his sensory issues and I am happy to say he has nearly stopped this behavior. Thank you, Jesus.

Lack of growth has been the last item on our checklist for Mr. Christopher. After many seeing many doctors and giving several tests, he has been found to be a genetically 'typical' little boy with a lot of catching up to do. And guess what? He's growing. For the first time in his life, at nearly 4 years old, he is hungry all of the time. Again, praise Jesus.

So, I could go over the story of what happens next, but I think I will lead you to this post. After glancing at it, I realize that a lot of what I have told you here is redundant. I apologize.

So now, as you read our history and reflect upon what has been going on around here since our commitment of Rose, it probably shouldn't surprise you that nothing comes easy for us. This struggle is part of our story. It's God's way with us. He keeps us close to Him by giving us these frequent struggles. We are grateful for our past, our present and our fantastic future - in His perfect timing.