Grief, Gratitude and Baby Lee  – from the LATimes.

This was written by Stephanie Simon, who also wrote that LATimes profile of the Arkansas abortionist a couple of months ago.

(I’m thinking she might be working on a book of some sort)

This one is different – it’s about the work of Choices Medical Clinic in Wichita, located right next to Tiller’s mill. More than just a CPC – it’s a full scale clinic which also happens to have a specialization in perinatal hospice:

Several medical students Stringfield has mentored at the local Catholic hospital plan to open their own perinatal hospices. Outside the antiabortion community, the concept is also gaining support, driven by improvements in prenatal diagnostics, which allow more women to learn of birth defects earlier in pregnancy.

Hospices serving the terminally ill in San Diego, Fresno and Kansas City, Mo., run well-regarded perinatal programs. Several hospitals around the country, including St. Joseph Hospital in Orange County, offer a similar service. Trinity Kids Care, which serves Los Angeles, is also moving into the field.

Choices, which opened in 1999, has guided three dozen families through its hospice.

The story is told through the experience of one woman, pregnant with twins, one with severe anencephaly. It will break your heart, but it will also help you see the preciousness of life, in case you needed a reminder.

Be Not Afraid – a website we’ve blogged on before – full of stories from parents who received devastating prenatal diagnoses and chose to carry to term.

They talked for more than an hour. Stringfield asked Danielle about her fears, finances, even her heartburn, and listened attentively, jotting notes. Finally, he led her into the clinic’s darkened sonogram room. Danielle was so worn out, she barely looked as Tammy squirted ultrasound gel on her stomach in the shape of a smile.

Then the twins appeared on the screen in blurry black and white.

"There’s Lee!" Tammy called. "There’s his leg and his knee and his little fist."

Danielle’s jaw unclenched. Staring at her son’s curled fingers, she beamed, eyes glistening.

"Want to hear his heartbeat?" A rhythmic whoosh filled the room.

"My baby," Danielle said, her voice swollen. "No matter what, that’s my baby."

Tammy switched off the heartbeat and Danielle looked back at the screen. "I don’t ever want to forget him," she said. "Memories fade. I don’t want to forget."