Google Groups
PPH Emergency Hysterectomy Hope and Support Gals
Visit this group

Sunday, March 4, 2012

Save the Storks

by Kristen Walker

David Pomerantz
On March 13, in Dallas, TX, an organization you’ve probably never heard of is going to revolutionize the pro-life movement.
It starts with a kid from Philly, a bus in New York, and an idea that brought him quite by accident to the city where Roe v. Wade started — the city where he hopes abortion will finally meet its match.
David Pomerantz, 23, does not look like a pro-lifer or a practicing Christian. He looks like a vegan hipster with emo hair. As a matter of fact, he sort of is a vegan hipster with emo hair. If you visit his loft apartment in an industrial section of downtown Dallas, he will offer you fermented tea with organic honey. You can lounge in a beanbag chair and talk about art while he surfs his Macbook and plays indie music and talks about Jesus.
A polite, friendly young man with a laconic kid-from-nowhere accent and a direct blue gaze, David Pomerantz — “Dave” to his friends — does not jibe with the stereotypical image of the angry activist holding signs outside a clinic. And he doesn’t mind, because that’s not the kind of pro-life activist Dave is.
He hails from Philadelphia, but he was attending Word of Life, a two-year Bible institute in New York, when he met Chris Slattery and Julie Beyel of EMC (Expectant Mother Care), a Manhattan pregnancy resource center. He was astonished to find that EMC had formulated a “new model” for approaching women outside abortion clinics.
EMC had a bus equipped with a sonogram machine. By approaching women outside the clinic with the offer of free help, with no mention of a pro-life ideology, they were able to see a staggering success rate. In fact, by their estimate, about 70% of women who got on the bus for a sonogram decided not to abort. In one day, they saw nine women decide on life for their children.
They did some simple math, and realized that if this success continued, 15 to 25 women a week, or about 800 a year, would choose life.
Excited by the possibilities inherent in this new approach, Dave contacted his friend and mentor Joe Baker, who flew in from Philly to see the results firsthand. Equally impressed, the two began to ferment the idea that would become Save the Storks.
Dave was already planning on attending Southwestern Theological Seminary in Dallas, so he headed down south. With Joe Baker developing the art and marketing, and the generous help of Dallas-based organization Get Involved for Life and other private donors to bring to life a sleeker, smaller, more mobile ultrasound vehicle, they were off and running.
Save the Storks was born. Or, if you prefer, flown in through the window.

“We don’t want to intimidate anyone. We don’t want to force anyone. We just want to serve.” Dave is the Local Director for Save the Storks. Today, along with Daryl Harshbarger, Head Female Client Advocate, and Julie Beyel in town from New York, we are having pizza (some of it vegan) in Southeast Dallas. Dave is explaining to me why Save the Storks is a new kind of pro-life action.
“No one is offended by our activism,” he says. “We’re delivering a loving message in a strong way.”
Here’s what happens: a woman is walking up to an abortion clinic. She is approached by Dave or Daryl or another member of Save the Storks.
“Hi, how are you? Would you like a free ultrasound?”
This is the approach. There is no dangling rosary, no graphic pamphlet, no doom-and-gloom. Just an offer of free help from a non-threatening, friendly, smiling young person.
And then there is the Stork bus.
The stork was chosen as the mascot because of its comforting, unoffensive, nostalgic connection to motherhood and pregnancy. We can all remember old cartoons where a smiling stork would fly in a window and lay a swaddled baby in a crib.
What Dave and the others weren’t aware of until later is the text of Job 39:13-17.
The wings of the ostrich flap joyfully, but are her feathers and plumage like the stork’s?
She abandons her eggs on the ground and lets them be warmed in the sand.
She forgets that a foot may crush them or that some wild animal may trample them.
She treats her young harshly, as if they were not her own, with no fear that her labor may have been in vain.
For God has deprived her of wisdom; He has not endowed her with understanding.
This is the kind of thing that makes you whistle the Twilight Zone theme music.
The Stork bus, however, is free of all Old Testament references. It is a bright, lovely blue on the outside, and the inside is clean and free of clutter, with a welcoming but no-nonsense clinical feel. There is a little couch for the mother to sit on and speak to a counselor, and a padded bench where she can lie comfortably.
The ultrasound machine pulls out from underneath the bench. It is operated only by a licensed sonographer whose work is frequently reviewed by an OB/Gyn. In the back there is a small private toilet for pregnancy testing. It isn’t the slightest bit cramped or unpleasant; these mothers get only the best. The completed bus with the ultrasound machine was paid for by private donations to the tune of about $140,000.
The Stork bus is by no means the first mobile ultrasound vehicle — it was Chris Slattery’s mobile sonogram bus that inspired Dave and Joe in the first place — but it may be the smallest, lightest, and most practical. It doesn’t require a permit or special permission to park. It will fit in a parking space or even at a meter.
It is an abortion clinic’s worst nightmare.

So now this woman, who was going to go into an abortion clinic, is able to have a pregnancy test and a sonogram without ever reaching its doors.
But what happens now? She’s heard, “Yes, you’re pregnant! You’re this far along! There’s your baby! Here’s his heartbeat!”
So what does she hear next? “Good luck with that?”
Nope. Save the Storks is directly connected to Get Involved for Life and the two pregnancy centers it operates in Dallas, one uptown and one downtown. Also, needless to say, any expectant mother will be welcomed by whatever pregnancy center is closest to the bus at the time. The Stork team is prepared to call a cab for the mother if she needs a ride.
In other words, unlike the abortion clinic, the Storks and the pregnancy centers are in it for the long haul. They are going to get her what she needs to take care of herself and her baby, body and soul.

I don't know about you, but I would be totally comfortable peeing in there.
“The heart of this ministry is the Gospel,” says Dave, after asking for more vegan marinara sauce. “There are two causes every Christian should take up: orphans and widows. This encompasses both.”
It is part of Save the Storks’ mission that every woman who steps on the bus hears the Gospel message. While this may seem off-putting to some, to the Storks it is an essential aspect of caring for the mother that goes along with the physical support and counseling she will receive through the pregnancy center.
“She is just as important as that child,” says Dave. “We aim to improve her quality of life… The major issue here is the devaluation of life, and the answer to every injustice on earth is the church of Jesus Christ.”
“Our ministry is designed to meet all the needs of the woman,” says Daryl. At the pregnancy center, every mother will receive whatever her personal situation calls for, be it help with affordable medical care, legal aid to escape from an abusive boyfriend, life skills counseling, mental health counseling, spiritual guidance, and more.
Which of course begs the question: if the Storks’ mission is in fact successful and Dallas pregnancy centers see 800 or so more mothers every year, how will they handle the added demand for resources?
The answer is simply: us.
“The churches need to stand up and start giving to their local pregnancy centers,” says Dave.
Without the generous help of good-hearted people giving what they can, pregnancy centers can’t work, and by extension neither can the Storks.


Daryl Harshbarger, Head Female Client Advocate. I don't think it's a requirement that you be extremely cute to be a part of Save the Storks, but it obviously can't hurt.
Abortion clinic workers and management are used to seeing protesters outside their clinic. What they are not used to is a name brand.
The Save the Storks bus is slick, recognizable, welcoming, and — horror of horrors — it sits in between a mother and the abortion clinic doors. With a simple offer of no-strings-attached help — “Would you like a free ultrasound?” — and a bright, comforting image, it appeals to the desperate woman before she reaches the clinic.
She is not confronted. She is offered help. And while I firmly believe that virtually all sidewalk counselors and activists outside clinic are there for no other reason than to help women, the Storks are able topresent help first. That is the key. The average clinic sidewalk approach is, of necessity, “Please don’t kill your baby. Here’s why. And here’s help.” Because they have their awesome bus, Save the Storks are able to say, “Here’s help. Now please don’t kill your baby. Here’s why.”
Because they don’t have to lead with agenda, there are no warning bells for a desperate and defensive mother. There is only a friendly face.
This new model will absolutely revolutionize the front lines of pro-life activism.



Joe Baker, National Director
What is the battle cry of the pro-abortion movement? “Choice!” It is their mantra. What do you constantly hear from abortion advocates? “These desperate women feel like they are out of options.”
Right here, on four wheels, parked in front of the clinic, is another choice — one they might not even know they have. Inside that bus is an image of their baby waiting to be seen. Connected to that bus is a support system — in short, options.
Dave and the team have high hopes, and they should. The approach is breathtakingly simple and, if early tests are any indication, profoundly effective.
As mentioned, the Storks take to the streets of Dallas on March 13. Meanwhile their website is up and running at SaveTheStorks.com with the purpose of raising money to take the program national. A Save the Storks bus is not cheap, and it takes people to run it. While Dave and his team get things off the ground in Dallas, Joe is in charge of building a national movement.
The thought of a Stork bus in every major city in America should bring a smile to your face. Every one of these buses represents hundreds of lives saved every year.
I have met Dave and the gang. I have been on board the Stork bus. And I have never been more excited about a pro-life idea than I am about this one.
You probably are having the same reaction I did. You are probably thinking: “What can I do to help?”
First: spread the word. Use Facebook, Twitter, Twitbook, whatever, to share with people how awesome this is.
Second: go to SaveTheStorks.com now and volunteer. They need all kinds of stuff — bloggers, artists, counselors, you name it — all across the country to be part of their national team of Save the Storks volunteers. Whatever your talent is, Save the Storks can probably use it to help get Stork programs off and running across the country. You — yes, you! — can be a part of this movement from the ground up.
Third: donate if you can. Save your Starbucks money for a few days and buy a ridiculously cool Save the Storks T-shirt. Wear it and tell people about it. (I promise they’ll be curious.)
In just a few days, Dave, Daryl, and their remarkable bus hit the streets of Dallas, the city where abortion rights were born. As a native Dallasite, I hope what started here is ended here. And I wouldn’t be surprised if Save the Storks becomes a major factor in helping Dallas — and the country — see an end to abortion.
_________________________________________________________
Kristen Walker is a writer and comedian who makes people mad on the Internet. She is Vice President of New Wave Feminists and enjoys taxidermy, yachting, and 19th century French poetry. Stalk her relentlessly for fun and profit.
Live Action on Facebook

Friday, March 2, 2012

Breitbart




If you know who that is WITHOUT Googling him, call me.

We can be friends.

Farewell, Breitbart. I will miss listening to you and nodding along while I fold laundry. Your eloquent and passionate insistence on conservative principles in a crazy-ass world entertained and informed while I diapered, bathed and fed.

The voice of a true patriot has been silenced...or, in the ultimate irony, maybe not. The hypocrisy of the left that you always loved to expose is once again apparent in the glee that many on that side of the aisle are displaying upon hearing of your demise.

I think you would have enjoyed pointing that out.

a wrinkle in time

Scott got back from Salt Lake City, all in one piece!

He brought the kids each a Disney ball and a 3-pack of gum.

I got these:
So. Last night I went to a Bunco party put on by my new foster mama friend.

I was sitting there at a table where one lady was talking to another about her dermatologist.

"Was she in a car accident? Was she very badly burned?" I thought to myself.

"Was her face horribly disfigured by phosphoric acid during a science experiment gone awry?"

No. Apparently some people just go to the dermatologist!

The subject turned to Botox, and the possibility of getting it. I said, 

"Did you know that Botox is actually a form of bochillism?"

They looked at me blankly.

I turned to the lady next to me (who it turns out I went to college with) and said, "You definitely know when a culture is too affluent. People start doing Botox."

Blank stares.

I looked back at my Bunco card and scribbled something.

The lady I was talking to shook her head and rolled her eyes.

Sometimes I should just keep my big fat wrinkly mouth SHUT!

Tuesday, February 28, 2012

gratitude

Today I had a moment of the most profound type of gratitude for all of those people who saved my life in the hours after Phoebe's birth.

Thank you, Dr. K, Anesthesiologist, for pushing everyone to get me into surgery. Thank you for saying, "She doesn't HAVE 5 minutes!" when more ultrasounds were ordered and for trying to get me out of the room so quickly that there were actual gashes in the wall where you were slamming my bed against it. Your quick actions may have saved my life. Thank you for laughing a bit when I asked you if you knew what blood type I was. I needed the humor.

Thank you, perinatologist Dr. B, for NOT putting me on heavy-duty anticoagulants during my pregnancy, even though I repeatedly asked you to. If you had, the bleed-out would have been that much faster and, well, bloodier.

Thank you, Dr. S, for telling the ladies at the book club you were hosting to get started without you. You ran some red lights on the way to the hospital. I will not complain. Thank you for laughing with me when I told you to "throw that damn thing in the trash" when you asked me if I realized you might have to do a hysterectomy. Thank you for showing me your vulnerability, tears of anxiety in your eyes, holding my hand while telling me it was time to knock me out for surgery. Thank you for stopping the bleeding and for saving my life. Thank you also for allowing me to try for a VBAC, but then also being OK with a repeat c-section. In hindsight, the VBAC was NOT the best thing for me. Thank you for letting me follow my own intuition.

Thank you, Nurse T, for holding my hand. You told me to look into your eyes and you said, "I'll take care of you." You helped me through the scariest (to date) moments of my life. I have asked Scott since if he remembered you, because I find no record of you at the hospital. Thank you anyway.

It's because of all of you that I was able to change my baby daughter's diaper,

help my 5 year old son brush his teeth,

text my husband on his business trip,

brush my hair,

wave a goodbye to my daughter as she trots happily into the school building under an aqua sky.

Because of your quick thinking, *I* get to do those things.

I am so, so eternally grateful,

so full of the purest form of gratitude.

I think it's time to get out the thank-you notes

Monday, February 27, 2012

stalker

Last night I watched you sleep.

I did it, I watched you sleep. All three of you. It's so cliche!

Lucy, I started panicking over our only having you in our home for a scheduled 11 more years before you face the big bad world alone.

I watched you sleep. I slid my hand under the back of your shirt, feeling your heart beat beneath your ribs.

I often think about how, if I could have taken a sneak-peak ahead to you at 7 years old, 7 years ago, I would have been so relieved.

Phoebe, I actually didn't go into your room, but I stood outside your door and prayed for you. I love you so much. I love that you just got your first tooth and that you're always feeling the edge of it with your tongue. I love that you say, "Dada!" whenever he walks into the room.

I love to breathe in the experience of you, every day. I love your patting of *everything*. Except for bananas. You detest bananas.

Asher, I walked into your room and saw that you were spread out over the top of your comforter. I foisted you up, all 43.5 pounds of you, and snuggled you beneath your comforter.

Then I crawled in beside you. I kissed your earthy-smelling dirty little boy head, and I breathed a prayer of thanks for your life.

For all three of you.

Adoption Opportunity

If you live in my area and are an adoption home-study approved family interested in a baby girl with Down Syndrome and AV Canal Defect to be born in April, please email me!

Sunday, February 26, 2012

Damn you, Webers!

Jake Weber: whipped husband on NBC's "Medium"
I have three very dear friends, all with the same last name.

Damn those dear friends!

I like to think of myself as an island, a stoic isle.

I really don't *need* to hang out with other gals. It's nice, but I like to stay home, too.

The three Webers (and some other ladies, mind you, but I think it's pretty funny these three dear friends all share a last name) are very dear to me.

When one of them moved away 6 years ago, out of my state, I cried. She married Scott's best friend and moved back to her home in California. I couldn't blame her - she was living in the ghetto in the foreground of the Anheuser Busch factory before she moved back home, but still...

Damn that Weber!

Another one brought me a plant from Trader Joe's and some ice cream balls after I told her I was ready to run into oncoming traffic due to a bad week. She is British and has a killer sense of humor and understands the big words I try to impress her with. She took me out for an impromptu pedicure this afternoon. One of those, "I'm showing up at your house in 5 minutes!" type of things. My toenails are now "Dutch Tulip Pink".

Damn that Weber!

Another one is always inviting me to her house and feeding me dinner. Our joint dead babies and love of teeny, tiny bottles of wine sealed the deal.

Damn that Weber!

Oh, Weber ladies, how you barrelled your sneaky ways into my heart.

There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think of a Weber.

Maybe that's why we have one of these?

Friday, February 24, 2012

pat the bunny

Phoebe, mid-pat
This morning I called Helen and told her I couldn't come to her house this morning. Phoebe is grumpy because she has hemmorrhoids because she's super constipated because I fed her too many soda crackers because apparently I've never had a baby before.

Helen told me in no uncertain terms that I need to extend myself some grace and be OK with staying home all day, just getting housework done or sitting in Scott's ugly easy chair, gazing outside and sipping coffee while Asher runs around with marker on his face.

She also ordered Asher and I outside to have a tea party on the front lawn, but I'm thinking her 85 year old frontal cortex conveniently forgot that it's 32 degrees outside.

I love Helen. Spending time with her is like seeing an older version of myself, less anxious, more grace-filled. I'm a soul softened by time, experience, and perspective. I have forgotten the things that aren't important and I remember the things that are.

I've still been feeling sad, anxious.

Kids are the perfect antidote because they really could give a rat's behind how you're feeling. They need to be fed and they want to play games and they tell you that your breath stinks because they know you love them and they know they can say stuff like that.

Phoebe is 7 months old. Most mothers would be sad about this, the pages turning in the baby book, the most obvious indication of passage of time, but I really get excited when my kids are a mite more than small food receptacles/pooping machines.

We recognized about a week ago that Fi (I write Fi because writing "Phoe" is just a little strange) pats things.

Someone proclaimed about three days ago, "Hey! She pats what she likes!"

Her high chair, Cheerios in the morning, her big brother, her diaper.

Pat, pat, pat.

The shags on our living room carpet, her toes, the tube of Desitin.

Pat, pat, pat.

the Valentine gift bag she has come to expect during her morning diaper change, her Glow Worm, her green and white blankets, Scott's whiskers.

Pat, pat, pat.

A pat from Phoebe is her little proclamation to the world: Hey! This is so cool! This is amazing! I LOOOOOOOOOOVE THIS, YOU GUYS!!!!!!!

I was wandering around this morning, looking at my messy house, the full sink, the kids whose brains I get a bit overwhelmed with trying to instill moral values into on a daily basis. Am I nagging them too much? Do they know I love them? Do they even *like* me? Did I offend someone on Facebook before I deleted my account? Do all my friends know how much I appreciate them? Was I mean to Scott this morning? Will Lucy be mad I didn't pack a lunch for her today? Is the laundry molding in the washer? How could anyone but a horrible housekeeper ask herself that question?

I sigh.

Then, I feel it. Softly, on my shoulder:

Pat, pat, pat.


She pats what she likes.

Thursday, February 23, 2012

depression

Depression and anxiety are like mean girls. I just watched "the Help", and I've decided that Depression and Anxiety are like Hilly and Elizabeth, whispering behind their hands and giggling and sharing in secrets that only they are good enough to share together.

For the last few days I've been feeling really, really down. I've been trying to figure out why. Here's what I can come up with:


  • spring-like weather always brings back memories of the death of a high school friend, Ryan. Since his death I've struck up a friendship with his mom and dad and we write yearly. I just think about him and wonder what he would have been like today and the memory of those awful days after he died are brought up by this beautiful weather. Seasonal memory.

  • too much Diet Coke - I'm addicted

  • too much Facebook - also addicted. I will be at Target, enjoying my day, and then think, "Oh, I have to tell everyone on Facebook about this," or "Wouldn't that be a great picture to post to FB? Phoebe is actually in an outfit that isn't covered in strawberry jelly! I should post it!" and then I'm scrambling around in my bag for my camera and I realize that this is all quite silly and I should just enjoy the moment and not feel the pressing need to tell everyone else about it. Sometimes moments are meant to be private. Also, I don't want to constantly be comparing/measuring myself against other people, finding myself lacking. I do that enough in my own head that I don't need the help of a "social utility tool". Let's leave middle school in the early 90s. My friendCole figured this out 178 years ago and she has never been on Facebook, not once. You are smart, Cole! I actually deleted my account instead of deactivating it. Did you know that Facebook sells your personal information? To the highest bidder? I've been reading more about it and it disturbs me that there are strangers out there who know more about my day than my own husband does. Also, it was a really hard decision to quit. That should be some sort of indicator that it needed to go. How many moments have I lost out on because I had my nose in someone else's photo album, instead of listening to Asher say, "Mama, why is it taking Phoebe so long to grow up?"
I don't want to miss those moments.
  • too much talk radio - I want to pull my hair out listening to the insanity that is the presidential debates, our society's neverending attack on Christianity (loss of all sorts of religious liberties included in that parcel), and...well...let's not even get started on the news!

  • not enough time with my head in the pages of my Bible. no excuse for this one. Why do I THINK I'd feel anything but crappy if I don't fill my head with the truth of God's word? DUH, RACHEL, DUH!

  • caffeinated coffee - just imagine a writhing neuron with bed head, and that is me.
So: right now Pheebs and I are going for a walk. We talked to a lovely man today at Target who battled on the beaches of Normandy. HE was just in love with Phoebe and I let him give her a kiss.

If I'd had my nose stuck in my cell phone, staring at my FB page, I would have missed out on that awesome conversation.

We're off for a walk. There's an estate sale up the street and we definitely need more crap! 

What makes you depressed? What are you going to do about it?


Tuesday, February 21, 2012

eHarmony giveaway

It's not at all too late to enter the eHarmony drawing for a $100 gift card here!

Lots of thoughts coming to you on depression, anxiety, fostering, facial hair, and mothering.

I'll write something once my thoughts come together enough to form themselves into cogent sentences.

Share It