The Patients of a Saint

"This is a 28 year-old white female, 5’4," 113 pounds, Para iii, gravita iv (four pregnancies, three living children)" read the preoperative description in my history and physical report.

I carried the usual overnight type suitcase with the basic toiletries: nightgown, slippers, and makeup in the hopes I would feel well enough to care about my appearance after surgery.

At that time, I had long auburn hair and blue eyes that had a slight fearful ‘let’s get this over with’ look about them. "You stay with the kids tomorrow morning, then come over after the surgery. I will be in the recovery room for awhile," I told the tall blonde curly haired man who accompanied me to Room 101B, the surgical unit of the small community hospital.

I was scheduled for a tubal ligation to prevent another pregnancy. Dr. Thomas, my obstetrician, would do the surgery the next day at 10:00 A.M. "Only takes twenty minutes, kiddo," were his exact words as my husband and I signed the consent form for the simple operation.

Admitting to feelings of guilt and a heightened sense of fear was not something I could do that morning. The only emotion I could deal with at the moment was empathy for myself in choosing to please my husband in this way. He had never expressed pleasure or excitement when I told him I was pregnant with our two daughters, but was ecstatic with the birth of our last child, a boy.

My first child came one month before my first wedding anniversary. Even though my family was present at the birth, I felt alone with my husband away in the Navy. Even though Leo was stationed at the Navy Yard in Philadelphia where we were living at the time, he was out to sea a lot. This loneliness was especially painful when I observed the parents of the other babies at the nursery window. Leo, my husband, bonded with our first-born daughter one month later after his discharge from the Navy.

It was an emotional move to Ohio where my second child was born. Leo was attending college and working at the family business. We lived in a one-bedroom house, but planned to move to student housing closer to Kent State University where Leo was a student. It was a more suitable dwelling for our growing family. Sure of the fact that this child would be a boy, Leo bought an infant’s suit, shirt and bow tie for the baby to wear home. Mary was born in May and came home in her big sister’s going home outfit. The suit was tucked away for the son to come, which I continued to hope for.

Finally, we got the desired son. When Christopher was born, and after Leo graduated, we moved into a three-bedroom home. I was 28 years old and unable to tolerate the birth control pill. Since our family was now complete, the only alternative I saw to pregnancy was sterilization as an end to my reproductive days.

Interestingly, I had a friend who spent endless time and money in an effort to conceive. She knew all the terms of fertility, basal metabolism, fertility charts, and monitoring. I only needed to think of Leo to feel a conception waiting to happen. I prayed that God would forgive my decision to end my childbearing ability, and to help my friend achieve her goal of having a child.

Father Mark, my parish priest, came to anoint me before the surgery and give me the sacrament of the living, or the last rites, which prepare a person for death. I was moved to the operating room at 10 o’clock.