Refined in Affliction.
This story begins when I called my mother to wish her a Happy Birthday. My mother, Laura was a woman of prayer and deep faith. The Lord often gave her dreams about things that no one could possibly have known. This was one of them.
She said, “You know, Tony, I just had a dream that you and Suzanne were having twin girls! Did she tell you yet?”
“No. She hasn’t mentioned it.”
I quickly changed the subject, wishing her a happy birthday and, after exchanging some pleasantries, hung up the phone.
I was ready to dismiss my mother’s dream when I asked Suzanne, “Are you pregnant?”
“Well. I wasn’t going to tell you until I have a checkup at the doctor’s office.”
“Do you know what mom said?”
“No. Tell me.”
“She said that she just had a dream that we are expecting twin girls.”
“Well…twins run in both sides of the family, but I have no way of knowing yet.”
She made her doctor’s appointment and, yes, she was pregnant.
Soon after I found out the Yvonne, a counsellor at the Crisis Pregnancy Center where I was president was diagnosed with a fatal cancer and didn’t have long to live.
December came and went with all the Christmas preparations and celebrations. Suzanne was a trooper, getting out her favorite recipes and putting together another memorable Christmas celebration for the family. However, at one point she took me aside to say, “I can’t put my finger on it, but this pregnancy (her seventh) somehow feels different. I think I’ll make an appointment to see Doctor Dave.”
The appointment was postponed until the middle of February. In the Meantime, we agreed to go to a marriage retreat at The Apostolate For Family Consecration near Steubenville, Ohio in late January.
While driving to the marriage retreat, Suzanne turned to me and said, “The baby just isn’t moving much at all. The others were usually kicking around inside at this stage of the pregnancy. This one is very quiet.”
I didn’t know what to think about it, but Suzanne appeared healthy and had that “pregnant glow.”
During the retreat the high point was a video of Father Michael Scanlan on the spiritual power of suffering. Suzanne was really taken by the talk and asked that several audiocassette copies be made. We felt that this was a valuable teaching that we wanted to share with others we knew. It hadn’t occurred to us how badly we needed to hear the message.
As we left the retreat, I popped one of the Scanlan tapes into the car’s cassette player. We listened to Father Scanlan again as we were driving through the hills of Eastern Ohio. The radio reception was sparse anyway and Suzanne wanted to hear the talk again. But as we drove and got to the end of the cassette I pressed the eject button thinking that we could now listen to the radio. The cassette stuck fast. After trying to unjam the cassette with no results, Suzanne resignedly said, “Let’s just play it again.”
So we did. As we approached Cleveland we stopped at a restaurant for lunch. After lunch I became annoyed when the cassette player still would not eject. So we played the cassette again…and again. Finally, after the fourth play I turned off the cassette player and we drove in silence into Michigan.
Suzanne commented, “It wouldn’t hurt us to hear it again.” So we did, for a fifth time.
You see, the cassette player still wouldn’t eject!
We finally pulled into our driveway. I pushed the eject button, not expecting it to work. The cassette ejected! By that time the message was drilled into our heads. “Get ready. Suffering is coming.”
We knew so little then.
But there was a growing concern for the pregnancy.
“The baby is just not moving. I have scheduled an appointment with Doctor Dave to have it checked out.” We had forgotten about my mother’s dream.
In the meantime, my company arranged its annual awards banquet in Grand Rapids for the evening on Valentine’s Day. Suzanne declined to go as she was becoming more uncomfortable with being in the car for any length of time.
I scheduled my day to leave early and pray with Yvonne, one of the volunteers at the Crisis Pregnancy Center, who was dying of cancer.
On the evening of the day before the trip I went to my prayer corner, trying to find something to say to comfort Yvonne. I told Suzanne of my intention to give Yvonne one of the cassette tapes from Father Scanlan. She agreed.
During my prayer time I struggled with what to say. Some of our charismatic acquaintances had visited Yvonne to pray for healing. One of her visitors had the audacity to suggest that Yvonne did not have enough faith because she wasn’t healed during their prayers.
How arrogant! I knew that God’s plan is not our plan. I prayed for clarity on what to say to Yvonne, knowing that she was hurt by that comment. I opened my Bible as I would end my prayer session. It fell open at Isaiah 48:10:
“See, I have refined you, though not as silver; I have tested you in the furnace of affliction.
For my own sake, for my own sake, I do this.”
An audible, gentle voice spoke, ‘This Scripture isn’t only meant for Yvonne. It is also meant for you.”
I pondered the meaning of this as I drove to Yvonne’s home. When I arrived, her husband John met me at the door and cautioned me that Yvonne was very weak. She was hooked up to a morphine drip so that when pain became overpowering, she would press a button to get some relief. However, the result was that the morphine dose would put her to sleep.
Sensing the Holy Spirit was there, I prayed for guidance. I told her, “Yvonne, you have an enormous treasure being accumulated through your suffering. This spiritual treasure can be used to save lives at the Center. It can be used for not only your salvation, but for your husband’s and children’s salvation. You are in an enviable position to do more good with your suffering than you have ever done before.”
She responded, “I want you to know that the pain is becoming unbearable. I have not pressed the morphine drip because I wanted to hear what you have to say. Thank you.” We ended the session with the Chaplet of Divine Mercy as she drifted off to sleep.
The rest of the evening was a blur, despite being at a banquet where I was being honored as agent of the year. I could not get Yvonne out of my mind.
Two days later, Suzanne went to her appointment with Doctor Dave. That afternoon she called me.
“Tony, you need to meet with me and a specialist about the pregnancy. I am at his office now. You need to come right over!”
As I entered the specialist’s office my foreboding proved correct.
The specialist ordered, “Tony, have a seat.”
I sat down next to Suzanne.
He said, “Your babies have a birth defect and are not expected to live.”
On further inquiry we found out that our “child” had a condition known as anencephaly. In addition, we were expecting identical twin girls.
Both Suzanne and I were overwhelmed with sorrow. The tears started flowing. Through it all the doctor estimated that we had another two months to carry the children. He added, “I’m sure that God would understand if you terminated this pregnancy early.”
The sad part of this was that the doctor himself was Catholic. He and his wife had twelve children, which is why we chose to consult with him. Yet he mentioned abortion so casually it was unexpected and shocking.
Our immediate and unanimous response was, “NO!”
As we left the office, Suzanne said, “We should name our babies.”
We agreed on Grace and Frances.
The specialist had told us that we needed to keep weekly updates with our family doctor as Suzanne was also at risk, not just of a miscarriage, but also of an excess of amniotic fluid, which could be fatal to her.
The next day after a sleepless night, I received a call from John, Yvonne’s husband. “Yvonne died last night. She kept the faith until the end. She asked that you give the eulogy at the funeral.”
Suanne declined to go to Yvonne’s funeral. They had only met a couple of times and Suzanne was starting to withdraw from others except her immediate family
Grief upon grief. God had turned up the heat.
Early the next week I went to Yvonne’s visitation at the funeral home. The casket was open and I could see that she had aged horribly before her death. She was almost unrecognizable.
The next day I delivered the eulogy at Yvonne’s funeral. Overwhelmed by the grief of Yvonne’s death and unable to share my own personal grief, I left early.
In the following weeks I was alarmed by Suzanne’s womb becoming more and more distended due to an excess of amniotic fluid. Her blood pressure was rising and our family doctor monitored her closely. He began suggesting an induced labor and delivery sooner rather than waiting the full nine months.
I called Jerome Coniker to ask for some moral advice about an early induced delivery. He referred me to one of the foremost theologians in the United States. Surprisingly, it was he who picked up the phone when I called. I explained our situation and he replied that, as long as the pregnancy was advanced enough that the child would survive without extraordinary care under normal circumstances, it would not be an abortion.
I explained that Suzanne was over eight months pregnant. His reply was, “Follow the doctor’s advice. You are doing the right thing.”
The delivery was scheduled for the following Tuesday. Suzanne was in her 36th week of pregnancy. Excessive amniotic fluid made the pregnancy difficult and dangerous. I drove her to the maternity ward at St. Lawrence Hospital and we were ushered into a delivery room that had a purple ribbon on the door. I found out later that it was a signal that this would be a distressed delivery. However, most of the staff seemed to be unaware of that fact. So we were hearing the nurses comment that, “It will be all over soon and you will be holding your baby in your arms.”
We knew that was not going to happen.
We went through three shifts of nurses before we found one who understood the dynamic of giving birth to a dead child. She stayed with us after her shift had ended to support us in our trial.
After a couple of hours of dry labor, the doctor broke her fluid sac. The amniotic fluid gushed out in gallons, literally flooding the delivery room. I did not realize how much fluid Suzanne was carrying with the babies. At that point, the fetal monitor went flat. A minute or two later, the doctor realized that Suzanne’s heart had also stopped beating. They quickly hooked her up to a heart monitor and the doctor started to perform CPR. Suzanne did not respond.
The Doctor shouted, “Quick, get me an epi!” All the while he was pushing rhythmically on her chest and then breathing into her mouth. His ministrations were so hard that he cracked three ribs in his effort to revive her.
The pharmacist came in with a dose of epinephrine and the doctor quickly injected it directly into her heart. There was no heartbeat. He called for a second dose, but the pharmacy refused to give him one. All the while he was administering CPR, with no sign of life. Suzanne looked like a rubber doll with her arms hanging limp.
The doctor swore at the pharmacist and threatened her job and the hospital’s reputation if she did not comply with his order.
All the while I was in the room, watching. I finally could not take it any more and left the labor & delivery room. I walked to the chapel and knelt down, but nothing would come out. I was dumbfounded. The realization that Suzanne may be dead was too much to comprehend.
After a quarter hour in the chapel, I stood up and walked back to the labor and delivery room, fearing the worst. A nurse stopped me at the door, asking what I was doing there.
I replied, “That’s my wife in there.”
She stepped aside.
As I walked into the room, I could hear the steady beep of the heart monitor. Suzanne was alive. It took the second epinephrine injection to her heart to start it beating again.
Later, she told me that she had an out-of-body experience. Her spirit was floating above her body in the room. She said that she felt no pain. All she remembers is watching Doctor Dave beating on her chest and performing CPR, thinking, “That’s interesting!”
Unfortunately, her labor stopped as the water broke and her heart stopped. She had to begin her labor over again. The final delivery was nearly twenty hours later.
In the meantime, Father Martin, our 75-year-old pastor came over to be with us and administered the sacrament of the sick and gave us communion. He stayed with us for almost eight hours of labor, but with no delivery imminent, he had to leave. It was already after 10:00 pm and he needed to get some sleep with a full day ahead of him. As he left the room, he turned to me and said, “Tony, you know what to do.” He gave me a bottle of holy water.
I kept my vigil beside Suzanne while she continued her labor. She was kept tethered to the heart monitor as a precaution that her heart might stop again. It wasn’t until 2:30 am that she finally delivered conjoined twin girls. The doctor handed them to me and I took them in my arms and baptized them. I named them Grace and Frances, as we had earlier agreed and gave their souls to God. I did not give the babies to Suzanne, as she was utterly exhausted and appeared to be asleep or unconscious.
I handed the babies to the nurse and told her that a mortician would come to pick them up in the morning. Then I went home and fell into bed. Fortunately, a friend had come to our house to watch the children. Thank God for friends and communities.
I called Suzanne the next day. She told me that the hospital wanted to release her the following Thursday morning. Apparently they did not want to keep her in the maternity wing any longer than necessary. Although she was still weak, I brought her home the next day.
When I brought Suzanne home, I was met with something quite unexpected. In our dining room stood the International Pilgrim Virgin Statue of Fatima. I was astonished. I asked our three eldest boys how She arrived there. The said, “Two men in white suits brought Her in and put Her there.”
I never saw the two men. However, they knew where to put her in the most prominent part of the house. It was as if Our Lady was positioned to watch over the entire house. Her presence brought us great comfort in our grief.
In the meantime, we arranged to have a funeral for Gracie and Frances the following Saturday morning. A friend of mine was a mortician, so I gave him the task of finding a suitable casket. We agreed to have a full funeral Mass for our little girls. Steve, our deacon friend made all of the arrangements for a 10:00 am Mass. He agreed to pick out the readings and deliver the homily.
It was a bright, sunny day as we prepared our six children to walk to the funeral. The hearse was parked in front and, as we arrived we were surprised at the turnout. The church was packed to capacity. Our funeral director and deacon ushered us to our pews. The tiny casket was placed before the altar in a bassinet lined with pink lace.
As we prepared for the Mass, we heard a loud cry from the back of the church. Steve, our deacon, looked at me and said, “I’ll take care of it.”
He reported later that it was a pregnant woman who was on her way to an abortion at Sparrow Hospital. As her taxicab drove by the church, she was drawn by all the people walking in. She ordered the cabby to stop and let her off. As she walked into the church, she saw the casket in the bassinet and cried out, realizing what she was about to do.
At that moment, she chose not to have the abortion. Steve gave her some information about our Crisis Pregnancy Center where she could go for support. I don’t know whether the lady stayed for the funeral. We never saw her again.
The funeral was a blur. After the funeral, we rode in the hearse to the cemetery. Our babies were buried in a plot reserved for infants at Saint joseph Catholic Cemetery in Lansing, Michigan.
A month after our funeral one of the volunteers found seventeen aborted babies in the dumpster behind a local abortion clinic. Later that year a shrine to the unborn was built next to Gracie’s and Frannie’s plot for the unborn and dedicated by our bishop. The aborted babies were given a Christian burial beneath that shrine.
Later that day we arrived home to discover that the Pilgrim Statue was no longer in the house. The doors were locked. I had not received any correspondence that the Pilgrim Statue would be removed. It simply was not there when we returned. How it got there is still a mystery.
In the weeks following, we received numerous cards from friends and members of the parish who attended the funeral saying that they had received a healing while at the funeral after having unresolved miscarriages. The funeral brought them to closure to an event that they did not know how to process. Many of them had finally named their babies. We had no idea how many miscarriages and how much suffering there was with these women.
The Crisis Pregnancy Center was doing well, but the pressure of all the “needs” of the Center made it more and more difficult to conduct the board meetings. I had provided leadership for over seven years. I was told that the Crisis Pregnancy Center had counselled over 500 young women to choose life. Since the Center was directly across the street from the Michigan State University campus, it may have happened in just one year.
No one else wanted my job. After a particularly rancorous meeting that left me emotionally drained, I took the keys to the Center from my key chain and left them on the boardroom table. I informed the board that I would not be attending the next meeting.
As for Suzanne and myself, it took over a year and a half to “normalize” our relationship. Twenty-seven months later Suzanne gave birth to our youngest son, John-Paul.
Our suffering was some of the most intense imaginable. However, during the most intense periods, we also knew that God “Emmanuel” was there with us. Our Blessed Mother coming in the form of the Pilgrim Statue was a special blessing surrounded by mystery. Our extended family, our parish, our community and friends all gave us support. That was what held us together during our trial by fire.
The war against the unborn still rages on, with even more fury than before. This is just one slice of life in the pro-life movement. Perhaps this story will help people of faith to know how much they are needed and what may be required of them.
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