Quickly, a note on my last post - when I thank God for all that I've lost I am being thankful for those little lives even though they never had a chance to live outside of me. I have always been thankful for Micah especially, but I feel the same about the other four - I don't wish away their existence because they died. I only wish they had been allowed to stick around longer.
****
I want to talk a bit about the other side of repeated loss. I understand not everybody makes it to this side, so it does seem a bit strange to call it 'the other side' as that sort of implies that everybody will one day end up over here. But I'm not sure what else to call it, so I'm going to stick with 'the other side' even though I have some reservations about it.
So, the other side of repeated loss. It's a wonderful and yet, still sad and strange, place to be. I have survivor's guilt, if you will, knowing that so many others are still stuck over the bridge in the land of repeated dead babies and that is a really crappy place to be stuck.
We go out places and I wonder who on aisle 7 is aching for what I have? Who is hurting just by seeing our little family? I know we look happy and nobody would know just by glancing at us all that we've gone through to get to two living kids. The battles we've fought and lost, over and over again, on the road to the other side. Sometimes I want to explain to everybody we pass - "this isn't the whole story! I've been that hurting person before and still am in many ways! I'm so sorry if this happy family scene is hurting you! I understand!"
A few weeks ago we were contacted by a guy from church who was preparing to give a sermon on the different seasons of life and how we need God in each and every one of them - happy or sad. He wanted to include us in a video montage of folks from church each speaking to the season of life they were in at the time. People spoke about all kinds of things, being unemployed, recently losing their husband, just getting married, having a great year in business, etc. So on a Wednesday afternoon we drove to church, sat in two chairs, L on hubby's lap and Bee on mine, and spoke into the camera about how we had lost a son and been blessed with another daughter.
That Sunday was my first time being back in church since Bee was born. And although I am a rather shy person and hate to have attention drawn to me (oh goodness do I blush so deeply) it felt SO SO SO good to "come clean" to everybody in the congregation that morning. We attend a large church and so of course we don't know the majority of the people there (and truth be told haven't tried to get to know many people, either. We joined shortly after getting pregnant with Micah and once he died, well, small talk and all the rest went right out the window. Also, who wants to chat up the crazy lady that cries through every.single.service?) and knowing that everybody now knows our story, everybody now knows some of what we've been through (I had a very big urge to run to the stage, grab the mike and crazily tell everybody "we've had four miscarriages, too!") and everybody knows that it's not all happiness like it may seem to be, feels rather freeing. Knowing others going through similar challenges had heard part of our story was very comforting. I have hopes that it wouldn't sting so bad for them to see us in the halls.
What a weird headspace to be in - thrilled over the healthy delivery of my second daugther and yet still so focused on the trials we went through along the way. Desperately I want to live in the here and now but it is almost impossible. Making it to the other side doesn't mean you get to leave all that baggage at the foot of the bridge, cross over and then never look back. Unfortunately you've got to carry that baggage right on over the bridge with you. It might be a bit lighter, yes, but you've got to continue to carry it nonetheless.
This whole post feels like a jumbled mess, like a bunch of ramblings, and maybe it is. I am rather sleep deprived and rushing to write this while I have a few short minutes to myself and so maybe it doesn't make any sense or doesn't come across even remotely like I intend it to, but it feels good to talk about and I hope somebody else out there can relate.
Aaaaaand my few short minutes are over.
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
The Other Side
Labels:
babies,
baby bee,
grieving,
Micah,
miscarriage,
pregnancy,
pregnancy after loss,
stillbirth,
trying to conceive
Wednesday, February 08, 2012
Life
I can't believe I'm here. In this place where there is a sleeping baby all snuggled against me in the baby hawk and I'm folding laundry that includes small pajamas and school uniform bottoms.
Thank you, Lord, for all that I have. For all that I've lost. For all those I've found along the way. Thank you, Lord, for this life.
Thank you, Lord, for all that I have. For all that I've lost. For all those I've found along the way. Thank you, Lord, for this life.
Monday, February 06, 2012
DBM PSA
Having a subsequent baby who lives does not fix the problem of the previous baby who died.
It does not take away all the grief and pain and it does not suddenly make the lives of those intimately involved with said babies turn up all roses and sunshine.
People will still say stupid crap after the birth of the subsequent living baby just as they did at all other stops on the grief train.
The only thing a subsequent living baby 'fixes' is the lack of a baby in the house. The other baby is still dead which still sucks and is still very sad. The new living baby is not a replacement of the older dead baby and never will be.
The presence of a living baby in the house will often magnify the presence of the dead baby that is missing in the house. Grief will come rumbling back into town and take up residence in the guest room. It will be difficult to get it to leave.
It does not take away all the grief and pain and it does not suddenly make the lives of those intimately involved with said babies turn up all roses and sunshine.
People will still say stupid crap after the birth of the subsequent living baby just as they did at all other stops on the grief train.
(If I hear one more person say to my daughter in some form or another that she's a big sister now I think I will scream and kick that person in their shins. In her heart and our minds she's been a big sister for 20 months already. ThankYouVeryMuch.) (Also, we are in no way a family of four. Referring to us as such or as a foursome or whatever other way somebody can come up with to completely exclude our son is hurtful.) (And another thing. Patting me on the shoulder and saying "you did well this time" is really pretty shitty, folks. Are you saying I didn't do so well last time? What is wrong with (multiple) people?)
The only thing a subsequent living baby 'fixes' is the lack of a baby in the house. The other baby is still dead which still sucks and is still very sad. The new living baby is not a replacement of the older dead baby and never will be.
The presence of a living baby in the house will often magnify the presence of the dead baby that is missing in the house. Grief will come rumbling back into town and take up residence in the guest room. It will be difficult to get it to leave.
Labels:
babies,
baby bee,
childbirth,
grieving,
Micah,
post-partum,
pregnancy#7,
stillbirth
Wednesday, February 01, 2012
Details, sort of
Arggggggh! I had a post I had been working on here and there for the last two weeks (I don't have much two-handed time at ye olde computer) and my stupid computer keyboard just deleted it. Yes, I am blaming it on the keyboard because it is the owner of the stupid control button that got stuck and caused things to go all haywire while I innocently tapped keys and tried to figure out what exactly was going on. Obviously I figured it out too late.
So, instead of long and detailed (darn it! I lost all of her birth story I had written so far!), I give you short and sweet. I will tell you that the newest little one around here is named [redacted] and that her picture is below (warning! look at your own risk! I will not be offended if you can't stomach a newborn's picture, I've been in those shoes before.) and that in a few days I will come back and delete her name and pictures and from that point on we will call her Bee around here. Which is what we called her throughout the pregnancy and often still call her. I'll have to tell you about that at another time, why we call her Bee is an amazing story, but I haven't the time for that today.
Here's my sweet and still birthy covered baby right after she emerged from my loins (alive!):
Almost 2 weeks old:
So, instead of long and detailed (darn it! I lost all of her birth story I had written so far!), I give you short and sweet. I will tell you that the newest little one around here is named [redacted] and that her picture is below (warning! look at your own risk! I will not be offended if you can't stomach a newborn's picture, I've been in those shoes before.) and that in a few days I will come back and delete her name and pictures and from that point on we will call her Bee around here. Which is what we called her throughout the pregnancy and often still call her. I'll have to tell you about that at another time, why we call her Bee is an amazing story, but I haven't the time for that today.
Here's my sweet and still birthy covered baby right after she emerged from my loins (alive!):
Saying hello:
Arriving home, after crying the entire way from our hospital room, down the hall, in the elevator, ratcheting it up a bit with some sobbing on the nurse's shoulder as hubby loaded up the car, in the car and, of course, the whole ride home (I was feeling a bit emotional, it was just so amazing to get to bring her home):
Labels:
baby bee,
childbirth,
family,
pregnancy,
pregnancy after loss,
pregnancy#7
Thursday, January 12, 2012
She's Here!
And she's healthy and alive!
My newest little girl was born Friday, January 6th at 4:36 in the afternoon. She weighed 6 lbs 4 ozs and was 18 3/4 inches long.
We are trying to settle in at home and get used to our new family dynamic. When I've got a bit more time and mental clarity (she is darling but also has her days and nights mixed up. We are tired.) I will come back and fill yall in on all the details.
Have been following along with all of you via my phone, so no commenting coming from me, but know that I am thinking of and praying for so many of you.
Can you believe it?! Healthy and alive!! I could scream it from the rooftops!
My newest little girl was born Friday, January 6th at 4:36 in the afternoon. She weighed 6 lbs 4 ozs and was 18 3/4 inches long.
We are trying to settle in at home and get used to our new family dynamic. When I've got a bit more time and mental clarity (she is darling but also has her days and nights mixed up. We are tired.) I will come back and fill yall in on all the details.
Have been following along with all of you via my phone, so no commenting coming from me, but know that I am thinking of and praying for so many of you.
Can you believe it?! Healthy and alive!! I could scream it from the rooftops!
Labels:
babies,
baby bee,
childbirth,
pregnancy,
pregnancy after loss,
pregnancy#7
Friday, December 09, 2011
Follow Ups
Everything went beautifully during the biophysical profile yesterday. She racked up her 8 points and passed pretty quickly and then I ended up with a 4D picture of her smiling. Yall, there is an honest to goodness baby in there and I am scheduled to meet her in 4 weeks. 4 weeks!
I saw a bumper sticker the other day that said "Don't Postpone Joy" and that has been rolling around in my head ever since. Yes, I have every reason to be scared out of my mind right now but on the other hand I am alive, both my daughters are alive, my husband is alive - there is so much to be thankful for. I think I need to try harder to remember that as it can be really easy to forget when the anxiety comes round. There is joy to be found today and that doesn't change just because there's a chance joy won't be found tomorrow. Why am I letting my fears of what may or may not happen rob me of my happiness today? And also, how do I not let my fears of what may or may not happen not rob me of my happiness today?
****
Okay, it was so interesting to read all of your responses to the ornament question. I think I had just assumed that everybody felt the same way I do about that kind of thing - the more the merrier! Exhibit A - all the ornaments I made and gave away to ladies and gents during support group Monday night. (although everybody was happy to receive them and obviously I was a recipient as well, so I think it's all good)
This kind of ties into something I've been thinking about lately, though - what is the right balance in regards to dead babies? One of the ladies in my support group is super open with anybody and everybody about the daughter she lost and the grief she's gone through which is pretty different from how I handle things in regards to Micah. I do not divulge to the grocery store cashier, new people I meet or even friends of friends that I've spent time with on and off for years. Maybe some of them know, filled in by our mutual friends, I don't know. It just seems like such an awkward conversation to have and unless I'm pretty sure I'm going to be spending some significant time with somebody I tend to leave Micah out. When people ask me if this pregnancy is my first I tell them "I have a daughter at home" or something to that effect - I don't specifically say that this is my second or anything, but I also don't bring up what happened last time or that there was a last time other than L.
Terrible, bad, awful dead baby mama?
It's not that I'm ashamed of him or anything, it's more that bringing it up obviously makes other people uncomfortable which in turn makes me uncomfortable which makes them more uncomfortable and then it's just incredibly uncomfortable. I prefer to bring my son up only with people from the rather small group of folks that will talk about him and treat his memory in a respectful way, in a way that won't leave me going over the conversation in my head a million times for three weeks afterward, wondering how could they say that or how could they not say this or why did they skip right on over it like I said we had tacos for dinner last night?
I do not wear any memorial jewelry (although I have been tempted and in full disclosure have on a few occasions worn the M charm that Brianna sent me) mostly because I'm afraid it'll start conversations I really don't want to have. We do have Micah's picture up in the house and a few other reminders of him (his name in the sand and a collection of stones with mica in them and the other small trinkets some of you lovely ladies have sent my way in our family room, his baby blanket and comfort bear in the rocker in our bedroom), but anybody who comes to my home knows what we've been through so it's cool. Not sure what everybody thinks about the picture of the dead baby on the buffet in the dining room, but I decided a long time ago that I wasn't going to care. I also think it's a very tasteful picture and it's easy to not look too closely if you don't want to actually see the dead baby (also full disclosure, the frame is in a different spot in the house now and it no longer has candles all around it - just the vase with the dried flowers and the figurine we got when L was born. I dismantled both 'altars' and am glad I did, I think it got to be too much).
All of the ladies from support group have pictures up in their homes of the children they've lost (it's been a topic of discussion before because some of them have been told by extended family members that they should take the pictures down and that it's time to move on already) and the lady I specifically mentioned previously wears memorial jewelry and is loud and proud when asked about it.
I guess I'm just curious about what all of you do. Do you fill everybody in on your dead child? Do you gloss over that part of your life? Does it depend on who you're talking to? Do you have mementos and photos and whatnot up in your home?
I saw a bumper sticker the other day that said "Don't Postpone Joy" and that has been rolling around in my head ever since. Yes, I have every reason to be scared out of my mind right now but on the other hand I am alive, both my daughters are alive, my husband is alive - there is so much to be thankful for. I think I need to try harder to remember that as it can be really easy to forget when the anxiety comes round. There is joy to be found today and that doesn't change just because there's a chance joy won't be found tomorrow. Why am I letting my fears of what may or may not happen rob me of my happiness today? And also, how do I not let my fears of what may or may not happen not rob me of my happiness today?
****
Okay, it was so interesting to read all of your responses to the ornament question. I think I had just assumed that everybody felt the same way I do about that kind of thing - the more the merrier! Exhibit A - all the ornaments I made and gave away to ladies and gents during support group Monday night. (although everybody was happy to receive them and obviously I was a recipient as well, so I think it's all good)
This kind of ties into something I've been thinking about lately, though - what is the right balance in regards to dead babies? One of the ladies in my support group is super open with anybody and everybody about the daughter she lost and the grief she's gone through which is pretty different from how I handle things in regards to Micah. I do not divulge to the grocery store cashier, new people I meet or even friends of friends that I've spent time with on and off for years. Maybe some of them know, filled in by our mutual friends, I don't know. It just seems like such an awkward conversation to have and unless I'm pretty sure I'm going to be spending some significant time with somebody I tend to leave Micah out. When people ask me if this pregnancy is my first I tell them "I have a daughter at home" or something to that effect - I don't specifically say that this is my second or anything, but I also don't bring up what happened last time or that there was a last time other than L.
Terrible, bad, awful dead baby mama?
It's not that I'm ashamed of him or anything, it's more that bringing it up obviously makes other people uncomfortable which in turn makes me uncomfortable which makes them more uncomfortable and then it's just incredibly uncomfortable. I prefer to bring my son up only with people from the rather small group of folks that will talk about him and treat his memory in a respectful way, in a way that won't leave me going over the conversation in my head a million times for three weeks afterward, wondering how could they say that or how could they not say this or why did they skip right on over it like I said we had tacos for dinner last night?
I do not wear any memorial jewelry (although I have been tempted and in full disclosure have on a few occasions worn the M charm that Brianna sent me) mostly because I'm afraid it'll start conversations I really don't want to have. We do have Micah's picture up in the house and a few other reminders of him (his name in the sand and a collection of stones with mica in them and the other small trinkets some of you lovely ladies have sent my way in our family room, his baby blanket and comfort bear in the rocker in our bedroom), but anybody who comes to my home knows what we've been through so it's cool. Not sure what everybody thinks about the picture of the dead baby on the buffet in the dining room, but I decided a long time ago that I wasn't going to care. I also think it's a very tasteful picture and it's easy to not look too closely if you don't want to actually see the dead baby (also full disclosure, the frame is in a different spot in the house now and it no longer has candles all around it - just the vase with the dried flowers and the figurine we got when L was born. I dismantled both 'altars' and am glad I did, I think it got to be too much).
All of the ladies from support group have pictures up in their homes of the children they've lost (it's been a topic of discussion before because some of them have been told by extended family members that they should take the pictures down and that it's time to move on already) and the lady I specifically mentioned previously wears memorial jewelry and is loud and proud when asked about it.
I guess I'm just curious about what all of you do. Do you fill everybody in on your dead child? Do you gloss over that part of your life? Does it depend on who you're talking to? Do you have mementos and photos and whatnot up in your home?
Labels:
grieving,
Micah,
pregnancy,
pregnancy after loss,
pregnancy#7,
stillbirth
Thursday, December 08, 2011
Deep Breathing
Yesterday we had a regularly scheduled OB appointment with a non stress test. Everything looked great except there were two decelerations during the non stress test and my OB didn't like that. So I'm going in about an hour for a biophysical profile to make sure all is well.
I am kinda sorta freaking out over here.
OB was very reassuring and said that really the only reason she's having me come in for the biophysical profile is because she's being super extra special cautious and that I shouldn't worry.
Ha ha ha ha ha. Not worry?
This morning after waking up I cried when the baby finally started moving - she's still alive! is all I could think.
Hoping and praying all is well and that in a little over an hour I will feel reassured.
****
A few days ago it dawned on me that I might actually have to feel labor this time around. Not sure what I was thinking (or not thinking, really, as I have done my best to mentally avoid the subject of labor), perhaps that I would get an epidural as soon as I stepped onto labor and delivery? That the anesthesiologist would be waiting by the elevator door and have me lean over a waiting room chair to administer the pain meds before I even get a whiff of pitocin?
Seriously had not thought about about having to feel contractions and face up to the fact that I am in labor again.
So kinda sorta freaking out about this too.
****
Okay, and not freaking out about this, but it still took some deep breathing to get through - hubby suggested the other night that he is concerned our Christmas tree will turn into a Micah shrine in a few years. I had just come home from support group with a new ornament, lovingly made and given to me by one of my fellow dead baby mamas, when he expressed his worry about my Christmas decorating theme.
We have only a few Micah ornaments (and I LOVE each and every one of them) but he says he is worried that if we get a few every year then a few years down the road our tree will be consumed with dead baby memories and it makes him sad to see all those reminders of the, as he said, worst day of his life.
To me, the Micah ornaments are no different from all the L ornaments we have, but he obviously feels differently. I promised him that if it got to a point where he was feeling uncomfortable about the number of dead baby reminders on the tree that we could pick and choose our favorites to hang up and that seemed to solve the problem.
But what do you think? Does seeing your dead baby's name make you sad? I love to see Micah's name on things or to know that something was made/bought/sent/given in his honor. Plus, we have his picture up in the house and his name in the sand framed and so I was a little caught off guard with hubby's concern. But I'm trying to remember that people grieve differently and it's okay for him to be affected by things differently than I am. Right?
I am kinda sorta freaking out over here.
OB was very reassuring and said that really the only reason she's having me come in for the biophysical profile is because she's being super extra special cautious and that I shouldn't worry.
Ha ha ha ha ha. Not worry?
This morning after waking up I cried when the baby finally started moving - she's still alive! is all I could think.
Hoping and praying all is well and that in a little over an hour I will feel reassured.
****
A few days ago it dawned on me that I might actually have to feel labor this time around. Not sure what I was thinking (or not thinking, really, as I have done my best to mentally avoid the subject of labor), perhaps that I would get an epidural as soon as I stepped onto labor and delivery? That the anesthesiologist would be waiting by the elevator door and have me lean over a waiting room chair to administer the pain meds before I even get a whiff of pitocin?
Seriously had not thought about about having to feel contractions and face up to the fact that I am in labor again.
So kinda sorta freaking out about this too.
****
Okay, and not freaking out about this, but it still took some deep breathing to get through - hubby suggested the other night that he is concerned our Christmas tree will turn into a Micah shrine in a few years. I had just come home from support group with a new ornament, lovingly made and given to me by one of my fellow dead baby mamas, when he expressed his worry about my Christmas decorating theme.
We have only a few Micah ornaments (and I LOVE each and every one of them) but he says he is worried that if we get a few every year then a few years down the road our tree will be consumed with dead baby memories and it makes him sad to see all those reminders of the, as he said, worst day of his life.
To me, the Micah ornaments are no different from all the L ornaments we have, but he obviously feels differently. I promised him that if it got to a point where he was feeling uncomfortable about the number of dead baby reminders on the tree that we could pick and choose our favorites to hang up and that seemed to solve the problem.
But what do you think? Does seeing your dead baby's name make you sad? I love to see Micah's name on things or to know that something was made/bought/sent/given in his honor. Plus, we have his picture up in the house and his name in the sand framed and so I was a little caught off guard with hubby's concern. But I'm trying to remember that people grieve differently and it's okay for him to be affected by things differently than I am. Right?
Labels:
grieving,
holidays,
Hubby,
Micah,
pregnancy,
pregnancy after loss,
pregnancy#7
Sunday, December 04, 2011
18 Months
My son, how can it be that you've been absent from our lives for a full 18 months? Your absence is felt each and every day. What would you be like now? Who would you look more like, me or your father? Would you and your sister have similar personalities or would you be completely unlike her? What would our lives feel like if, instead of mourning you through a second holiday season, we were preparing to celebrate Christmas again with you? How would your voice sound? What would your warm hand feel like in mine? Would we know how grateful to be for having you here with us?
Oh my boy, I miss you so very much. I miss you for who you were when you left us and I miss you for all that could have been if you had stayed. This mama's heart overflows with so many emotions for you. But it all boils down to this - I love you and miss you and I always will.
****
"While We wait"
Oh my boy, I miss you so very much. I miss you for who you were when you left us and I miss you for all that could have been if you had stayed. This mama's heart overflows with so many emotions for you. But it all boils down to this - I love you and miss you and I always will.
****
"While We wait"
It feels right
It feels wrong
Feels like when you have it
Then it’s gone
I want more
More and more
And if you steal the fire
Give me some
Cause the sun
Dissipates
While it waits
For a friend
To arrive
From the past
While it pulls us around and around
While we wait
It feels wrong
Feels like when you have it
Then it’s gone
I want more
More and more
And if you steal the fire
Give me some
Cause the sun
Dissipates
While it waits
For a friend
To arrive
From the past
While it pulls us around and around
While we wait
Labels:
grieving,
Micah,
stillbirth
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
The Long And Rambling Road
Let me start out by saying all is well. Physically anyway, although emotionally I would say that's not the case a lot of the time. This is hard, folks, and as thankful and grateful as I am to have gotten to this point, as much as I have struggled through to get to this point, there's no denying that it's still hard. Thinking that sometimes makes me feel crappy, as if I don't know how good I've got it, and am complaining about something that so many others would give their right arm for, but there's the fact that I've practically given my right arm to get here and also, it's okay for this whole process to be hard for me.
And although it's hard and panic inducing and anxiety producing to be marching, marching, marching along the path to another birth, another chance for the shit to hit the fan, it's also good in so many ways. In the last week or so I have been able to think about what it might be like if she were actually born alive and that is wonderful to consider. It's only taken me 32 weeks to get to a point where I can think about a positive outcome without my heart racing, palms getting all sweaty and tears coming to my eyes, but hey, better late than never, right?
The nursery area has been setup for the most part (it is not a nursery, but actually a small part of our bedroom, but the changing table is there and also the cradle and there are baby clothes in my closet and cloth diapers waiting to be washed) and I have bought The Outfit, the one that she hopefully will wear home. I am making preparations and am probably not as crazy looking as I make myself out to be here in dead baby mama land - it's just so nice to have this space where I can share all the crap that's really swirling around in my head since most people in real life are not prepared for that kind of honesty nor do they want to hear it.
Today I have my (hopefully) last level 2 ultrasound and appointment with the friendly, although rather expensive, people at the high risk clinic and as long as all is still well I will be cleared for a vaginal birth. My doctor over there has always been a bit suspicious of the cord-accident theory because he says that a true cord death absent other factors is extremely rare and since we had no testing other than the normal testing of the placenta after Micah's death he prefers to work under the impression that perhaps there was something else going on that could have contributed to his death. He does think the the fact that the cord was visibly so tight around my boys neck lends itself to the cord-accident theory, and he thinks highly of my regular OB who made that call, and he says it very well could have been just the cord, but let's also look at everything else we can to make sure nothing else is going on. For what it's worth, my OB says she's never seen a more classic cord-accident death and is 100% on it. Anyway, moving on... so we've got the high risk appointment today and as long as everything is looking good I will be cleared for a vaginal birth.
Which is good, right? That is the preferred method of delivery for me and bubs in a general sense of things, and of course I want to be told that all is well. However I've got a lot of mixed feelings about a vaginal birth this time around and considering that Micah died during labor I think I've got a pretty good reason for day dreaming about having my midsection sliced open. We actually have a c-section scheduled, 8:00 am January 9th, but that is in case I freak out the week before when we are planning to induce - a back up plan if you will, if I decide at the last minute that no thank you, never mind, I am not interested in laboring again. My OB has also assured me that upon entering the hospital for an induction I will be given a white flag which I am free to wave at any point in order to surrender to the operating room.
So that's where all that stands. My bestest friend is flying in from Texas the week before delivery to be with me, which is awesome on top of awesome, and if we do indeed go forward with an induction she is going to chill at the hospital with us and make attempts at trying to distract me from what is going on. That is the extent of my labor preparations this time around - what could I distract myself with that would help me ignore the fact that I will be in labor again. Far, far cry from my other two labors which were all hippy dippy and earth mama crunchy and what not. But I just can't go there, I can't do things the same way I did last time and truth be told I'm not emotionally stable enough to focus on labor while labor is actually happening. I might be emotionally stable enough to show up at the hospital and pretend that we're all there attending a party during which we eat ice chips and watch 30 Rock episodes on Netflix and play endless games of Skip Bo, but I really don't think I have much more in me than that.
Nope, just checked, and it appears that I was right. I don't have much more in me than that.
And although it's hard and panic inducing and anxiety producing to be marching, marching, marching along the path to another birth, another chance for the shit to hit the fan, it's also good in so many ways. In the last week or so I have been able to think about what it might be like if she were actually born alive and that is wonderful to consider. It's only taken me 32 weeks to get to a point where I can think about a positive outcome without my heart racing, palms getting all sweaty and tears coming to my eyes, but hey, better late than never, right?
The nursery area has been setup for the most part (it is not a nursery, but actually a small part of our bedroom, but the changing table is there and also the cradle and there are baby clothes in my closet and cloth diapers waiting to be washed) and I have bought The Outfit, the one that she hopefully will wear home. I am making preparations and am probably not as crazy looking as I make myself out to be here in dead baby mama land - it's just so nice to have this space where I can share all the crap that's really swirling around in my head since most people in real life are not prepared for that kind of honesty nor do they want to hear it.
Today I have my (hopefully) last level 2 ultrasound and appointment with the friendly, although rather expensive, people at the high risk clinic and as long as all is still well I will be cleared for a vaginal birth. My doctor over there has always been a bit suspicious of the cord-accident theory because he says that a true cord death absent other factors is extremely rare and since we had no testing other than the normal testing of the placenta after Micah's death he prefers to work under the impression that perhaps there was something else going on that could have contributed to his death. He does think the the fact that the cord was visibly so tight around my boys neck lends itself to the cord-accident theory, and he thinks highly of my regular OB who made that call, and he says it very well could have been just the cord, but let's also look at everything else we can to make sure nothing else is going on. For what it's worth, my OB says she's never seen a more classic cord-accident death and is 100% on it. Anyway, moving on... so we've got the high risk appointment today and as long as everything is looking good I will be cleared for a vaginal birth.
Which is good, right? That is the preferred method of delivery for me and bubs in a general sense of things, and of course I want to be told that all is well. However I've got a lot of mixed feelings about a vaginal birth this time around and considering that Micah died during labor I think I've got a pretty good reason for day dreaming about having my midsection sliced open. We actually have a c-section scheduled, 8:00 am January 9th, but that is in case I freak out the week before when we are planning to induce - a back up plan if you will, if I decide at the last minute that no thank you, never mind, I am not interested in laboring again. My OB has also assured me that upon entering the hospital for an induction I will be given a white flag which I am free to wave at any point in order to surrender to the operating room.
So that's where all that stands. My bestest friend is flying in from Texas the week before delivery to be with me, which is awesome on top of awesome, and if we do indeed go forward with an induction she is going to chill at the hospital with us and make attempts at trying to distract me from what is going on. That is the extent of my labor preparations this time around - what could I distract myself with that would help me ignore the fact that I will be in labor again. Far, far cry from my other two labors which were all hippy dippy and earth mama crunchy and what not. But I just can't go there, I can't do things the same way I did last time and truth be told I'm not emotionally stable enough to focus on labor while labor is actually happening. I might be emotionally stable enough to show up at the hospital and pretend that we're all there attending a party during which we eat ice chips and watch 30 Rock episodes on Netflix and play endless games of Skip Bo, but I really don't think I have much more in me than that.
Nope, just checked, and it appears that I was right. I don't have much more in me than that.
Labels:
childbirth,
pregnancy,
pregnancy after loss,
pregnancy#7
Friday, November 11, 2011
On Repeat
I know I've been away for awhile again. I have so much to say and yet really nothing at all to say. It's all the same. I miss him. I wish the others hadn't died so soon. I am still pregnant and while falling in love with this little one I am still nervous about how it's going to end. I am sad and happy and sad and happy.
We have been busy, and also sick (L has brought home lots of illnesses for our family to pass around now that she's in school), and also well, I don't know. Words seem so empty lately and so I stay away from this place and I don't comment at your place because everything feels hollow and empty and insincere - even though my sincerity isn't lacking.
So, in conclusion, I am still alive and still pregnant (30 weeks tomorrow) and maybe will come back at some point in the near future to bore you with all my angst over the impending birth of this child and am following along with all of you and reading all your posts even though I am a terrible commenter lately. Fin.
We have been busy, and also sick (L has brought home lots of illnesses for our family to pass around now that she's in school), and also well, I don't know. Words seem so empty lately and so I stay away from this place and I don't comment at your place because everything feels hollow and empty and insincere - even though my sincerity isn't lacking.
So, in conclusion, I am still alive and still pregnant (30 weeks tomorrow) and maybe will come back at some point in the near future to bore you with all my angst over the impending birth of this child and am following along with all of you and reading all your posts even though I am a terrible commenter lately. Fin.
Monday, October 03, 2011
October
For most of this pregnancy I've successfully put off thinking about the possible end result of this pregnancy - a baby.
I've managed to think in terms of just the pregnancy, of getting past certain milestones (previous miscarriage points, high risk appointments, etc.) and just dealing with the overwhelming fact that I am pregnant for the seventh time with only one living kiddo. That is really very hard to swallow some days. The past few years have been tough with one loss after the other and it's difficult to think about how different our life is from the way we thought it would be.
This is our fifth pregnancy since L was born. She's nearing 4.5 years old and loves to play games that involve her being a big sister to lots of little siblings. Her baby dolls or stuffed animals turn into the big family that we will probably never be able to provide for her. It's heart wrenching to watch her pretend to be a big sister to lots of little ones; truthfully some days it just damn near breaks my heart. Some days it feels like I'm such a failure and I ache over all that could have been.
Then I remember that right now we're working on another chance, that we've made it this far (24 weeks!) and that statistically speaking, at least, we've got a good chance of actually bringing this baby home. Hard to trust those statistics, though, when you've been on the crap end of them so many times.
Annnnnd, now it is October. This is the mental point I've been setting through this pregnancy of when to start thinking in terms of baby and not just pregnancy. T-minus 3 months till this one should be born and that is kind of freaking me out. FREAKING ME OUT.
My OB would like me to at least start trying to make up my mind about what type of delivery I want, I need to actually consider getting somewhat in shape, there are preparations to be made and things to buy and I can no longer ignore the fact that at some point in the next few months I will be giving birth to a baby.
Giving Birth. Having Another Baby. I know that I've been pregnant for awhile now, but it seems like all this baby-is-a-coming business has crept up on me in the last two days. I can't stop crying. I am so scared. What if this baby dies just like the last four have? Just like Micah? What if I show up to the hospital and again am told that my child is dead? My daughter will be heartbroken. I can't even imagine having to give her bad news like that again. She's already so attached to this baby, to her little sister, that I am absolutely desperate to do something, ANYTHING, to assure that this child comes home alive and well. Who can I bargain with? How much do I need to pay? Which doctor should I be seeing? What procedure can be done? Lord, please tell me the right words to pray, the right things to do, please God, please help me bring this baby home alive.
This is what October is doing to me. Turning me into somebody who cries into their bento box at a restaurant, out in public, because the calendar has switched from one month to another. Because suddenly, the pressure is on. Because now I've reached that stage of pregnancy when maybe something might be done if there is a problem (don't get me wrong, I know that not all babies born early live, but at least they would attempt to do something instead of just wrapping her in a blanket, handing her to me and then sticking another picture of a leaf with a teardrop inside of it on the outside of my hospital room door) and what if there is a problem and I don't notice? What if I miss the opportunity to save this baby just like I did with Micah? I've got to be on guard and extremely vigilant 24-7 or I might miss the warning signs. The warning signs that might not have even existed with Micah, but if they did, I obviously missed them.
Oh, yall, I am so damn exhausted. These last three years of being pregnant and then losing the baby over and over again have about done me in. I'm so tired of loss. I'm so tired of being known as the poor woman to pity that can't seem to have another healthy baby. I'm so tired of having to give everybody bad news and feeling like shit because I can't provide a sibling for my daughter and knowing that I've failed my husband in so many ways. I'm just so tired. I need this baby to live. I need her to come home with us and I need to see her pink and healthy and moving and breathing. I need it so badly that it hurts and I wish there were some way I could ensure all of that.
I've managed to think in terms of just the pregnancy, of getting past certain milestones (previous miscarriage points, high risk appointments, etc.) and just dealing with the overwhelming fact that I am pregnant for the seventh time with only one living kiddo. That is really very hard to swallow some days. The past few years have been tough with one loss after the other and it's difficult to think about how different our life is from the way we thought it would be.
This is our fifth pregnancy since L was born. She's nearing 4.5 years old and loves to play games that involve her being a big sister to lots of little siblings. Her baby dolls or stuffed animals turn into the big family that we will probably never be able to provide for her. It's heart wrenching to watch her pretend to be a big sister to lots of little ones; truthfully some days it just damn near breaks my heart. Some days it feels like I'm such a failure and I ache over all that could have been.
Then I remember that right now we're working on another chance, that we've made it this far (24 weeks!) and that statistically speaking, at least, we've got a good chance of actually bringing this baby home. Hard to trust those statistics, though, when you've been on the crap end of them so many times.
Annnnnd, now it is October. This is the mental point I've been setting through this pregnancy of when to start thinking in terms of baby and not just pregnancy. T-minus 3 months till this one should be born and that is kind of freaking me out. FREAKING ME OUT.
My OB would like me to at least start trying to make up my mind about what type of delivery I want, I need to actually consider getting somewhat in shape, there are preparations to be made and things to buy and I can no longer ignore the fact that at some point in the next few months I will be giving birth to a baby.
Giving Birth. Having Another Baby. I know that I've been pregnant for awhile now, but it seems like all this baby-is-a-coming business has crept up on me in the last two days. I can't stop crying. I am so scared. What if this baby dies just like the last four have? Just like Micah? What if I show up to the hospital and again am told that my child is dead? My daughter will be heartbroken. I can't even imagine having to give her bad news like that again. She's already so attached to this baby, to her little sister, that I am absolutely desperate to do something, ANYTHING, to assure that this child comes home alive and well. Who can I bargain with? How much do I need to pay? Which doctor should I be seeing? What procedure can be done? Lord, please tell me the right words to pray, the right things to do, please God, please help me bring this baby home alive.
This is what October is doing to me. Turning me into somebody who cries into their bento box at a restaurant, out in public, because the calendar has switched from one month to another. Because suddenly, the pressure is on. Because now I've reached that stage of pregnancy when maybe something might be done if there is a problem (don't get me wrong, I know that not all babies born early live, but at least they would attempt to do something instead of just wrapping her in a blanket, handing her to me and then sticking another picture of a leaf with a teardrop inside of it on the outside of my hospital room door) and what if there is a problem and I don't notice? What if I miss the opportunity to save this baby just like I did with Micah? I've got to be on guard and extremely vigilant 24-7 or I might miss the warning signs. The warning signs that might not have even existed with Micah, but if they did, I obviously missed them.
Oh, yall, I am so damn exhausted. These last three years of being pregnant and then losing the baby over and over again have about done me in. I'm so tired of loss. I'm so tired of being known as the poor woman to pity that can't seem to have another healthy baby. I'm so tired of having to give everybody bad news and feeling like shit because I can't provide a sibling for my daughter and knowing that I've failed my husband in so many ways. I'm just so tired. I need this baby to live. I need her to come home with us and I need to see her pink and healthy and moving and breathing. I need it so badly that it hurts and I wish there were some way I could ensure all of that.
Labels:
grieving,
L,
Micah,
miscarriage,
pregnancy,
pregnancy after loss,
pregnancy#7
Monday, September 26, 2011
Foregone Conclusions
As I have now been showing for awhile, so officially pregnant, as far as the world goes, for awhile, I think people have started to forget just what has come before this pregnancy. Or maybe it's not that they've forgotten, perhaps they just think that since we've made it this far that of course things will turn out okay. I don't know. But it's been a battle lately, trying to balance hopefulness, especially other people's hopefulness, and the absolute fact that we do not know how this pregnancy is going to end.
I'm not sure how folks think we should be feeling. Do they really think that after 5 losses we are able to sit back and say that we're certain this little girl will come home alive and healthy? That seems foolish to me. Straight up foolish. There is no guarantee that this will end well. Yes, at this point, we can say that there will be a delivery, a baby will be born, but that doesn't mean everything will be roses and sunshine. We've already birthed two babies but only one of them gets up with me every morning. Only one has grown, changed, smiled, laughed, cried, kept me up at night. The other was reduced to ashes and sits atop my closet shelf. How do people seriously think that we can feel comfortable assuming that this little girl will be just like her sister?
A healthy, living baby is not a foregone conclusion until there is an actual healthy, living baby. Period. How silly it would be for me to expect otherwise. Yet people are taken aback when I punctuate things about this baby with comments such as "we hope so" or "that's what we're praying for" or "if all ends well", etc.
This is not to say that I haven't had my moments of hopefulness. Although I had been so pleased that since we've kept everything of L's we wouldn't really have to buy anything for this baby (I'm cheap and also haven't been feeling very emotionally prepared to buy baby things again), it dawned on me about two weeks ago that this baby (if all goes well) will be born in the middle of winter and L was born in the middle of the sweltering Florida summer. All those boxes of clothes out in the garage? Wrong size for the wrong season. So I went through the clothes, pulling out the stuff that would work and have put it in a basket in the corner of my room next to the one purchase we had made for this baby. This is my confidence corner. A small space that says She Will Come Home. I was even so bold as to email a picture of it to my best friend, since I was feeling so defiant towards my anxiety and fear for those few minutes that morning.
Ah, yes, very bold and not afraid at all. Except if you consider that those little preparations and the sharing of it with one person left me in frightened tears and pleading to God to please not let this little one die, too, for about an hour until I had to clean myself up in order to get L from school.
People do not understand this. They want me to be excited and confident and to believe that all will be well. They want the old happy me back. And really, I would like that, too. But how can I ignore all the evidence that tells me to just wait and see what happens? I can't, even though everybody else seems to be able to.
I'm not sure how folks think we should be feeling. Do they really think that after 5 losses we are able to sit back and say that we're certain this little girl will come home alive and healthy? That seems foolish to me. Straight up foolish. There is no guarantee that this will end well. Yes, at this point, we can say that there will be a delivery, a baby will be born, but that doesn't mean everything will be roses and sunshine. We've already birthed two babies but only one of them gets up with me every morning. Only one has grown, changed, smiled, laughed, cried, kept me up at night. The other was reduced to ashes and sits atop my closet shelf. How do people seriously think that we can feel comfortable assuming that this little girl will be just like her sister?
A healthy, living baby is not a foregone conclusion until there is an actual healthy, living baby. Period. How silly it would be for me to expect otherwise. Yet people are taken aback when I punctuate things about this baby with comments such as "we hope so" or "that's what we're praying for" or "if all ends well", etc.
This is not to say that I haven't had my moments of hopefulness. Although I had been so pleased that since we've kept everything of L's we wouldn't really have to buy anything for this baby (I'm cheap and also haven't been feeling very emotionally prepared to buy baby things again), it dawned on me about two weeks ago that this baby (if all goes well) will be born in the middle of winter and L was born in the middle of the sweltering Florida summer. All those boxes of clothes out in the garage? Wrong size for the wrong season. So I went through the clothes, pulling out the stuff that would work and have put it in a basket in the corner of my room next to the one purchase we had made for this baby. This is my confidence corner. A small space that says She Will Come Home. I was even so bold as to email a picture of it to my best friend, since I was feeling so defiant towards my anxiety and fear for those few minutes that morning.
Ah, yes, very bold and not afraid at all. Except if you consider that those little preparations and the sharing of it with one person left me in frightened tears and pleading to God to please not let this little one die, too, for about an hour until I had to clean myself up in order to get L from school.
People do not understand this. They want me to be excited and confident and to believe that all will be well. They want the old happy me back. And really, I would like that, too. But how can I ignore all the evidence that tells me to just wait and see what happens? I can't, even though everybody else seems to be able to.
Labels:
pregnancy after loss,
pregnancy#7
Friday, September 23, 2011
Mish Mash Update
So much has been going on lately. I think I mentioned in a previous post that L was going to be starting pre-k this fall. The school is lovely, a sweet little Montessori school set in an old historic home and she is very happy there. She's attending only three hours a day so it's not a full day of school, but it has still been quite the transition for her and for our family. Also, the week before school started we had her four year checkup and school physical and they discovered a possible problem with her heart.
Talk about scary!
Since then we've made the rounds at the Pediatric Congenital Heart Clinic at the local research/children's hospital and thank the Lord we've been told she's just fine. But that was not necessarily the easiest thing for us to endure, especially considering we're too well versed in very bad outcomes.
Pregnancy # 7 is still humming along and everything seems to be going well so far. We've been to the high risk clinic at the same hospital a few times and have been reassured about the health of this little one. We've also been told she's a girl, so we are preparing our hearts for another daughter. Tomorrow will be 23 weeks and that is very surreal. There is still a long way to go, of course, but it's amazing to me that we've made it this far.
And of course, I still miss my boy ferociously. I wish he were here. The weather has been slowly cooling off (if just the teeniest bit, I am in Florida) and I can remember how much I enjoyed fall when L was a baby, taking walks with her snuggling in the sling, playing in the grass with the falling leaves, toting her around while tailgating. My heart breaks that I'm missing out on all of that with Micah.
If only he were here.
Talk about scary!
Since then we've made the rounds at the Pediatric Congenital Heart Clinic at the local research/children's hospital and thank the Lord we've been told she's just fine. But that was not necessarily the easiest thing for us to endure, especially considering we're too well versed in very bad outcomes.
Pregnancy # 7 is still humming along and everything seems to be going well so far. We've been to the high risk clinic at the same hospital a few times and have been reassured about the health of this little one. We've also been told she's a girl, so we are preparing our hearts for another daughter. Tomorrow will be 23 weeks and that is very surreal. There is still a long way to go, of course, but it's amazing to me that we've made it this far.
And of course, I still miss my boy ferociously. I wish he were here. The weather has been slowly cooling off (if just the teeniest bit, I am in Florida) and I can remember how much I enjoyed fall when L was a baby, taking walks with her snuggling in the sling, playing in the grass with the falling leaves, toting her around while tailgating. My heart breaks that I'm missing out on all of that with Micah.
If only he were here.
Labels:
grieving,
L,
Micah,
pregnancy#7
Monday, August 22, 2011
Flashback Comeback
I seem to be stuck in a perpetual flashback. The past few weeks have left me feeling like all the grief from this time last year is trying to make a comeback, trying to resurface and wreak havoc on the grief that I am actually presently experiencing at this time.
It's strange and rather unnerving. And I say "grief" but really it's all sorts of things - the music I listened to last year, the feeling the house has at a certain time of day when the light is just right, sights and sounds and smells and little snatches and snippets of the life we were living through this time last year. It's not fresh, it's not what my heart and head are dealing with right now, but it keeps trying to shove it's way into my consciousness all the time anyway.
Maybe it's that I don't really want to let go of it all? Maybe I'm still clinging to whatever I can, fighting to keep hold of where my life was a year ago, and since I've had to accept that it's been more than a year since my son died, I'll try holding on to whatever else I can get my hands on that I can still say legitimately happened a year ago?
I don't know and I don't feel like I'm dragging it up on purpose, it seems to catch me by surprise most of the time, but it bothers me all the same. I'm half on the side of letting the past go and half on the side of clutching it to my chest.
It's strange and rather unnerving. And I say "grief" but really it's all sorts of things - the music I listened to last year, the feeling the house has at a certain time of day when the light is just right, sights and sounds and smells and little snatches and snippets of the life we were living through this time last year. It's not fresh, it's not what my heart and head are dealing with right now, but it keeps trying to shove it's way into my consciousness all the time anyway.
Maybe it's that I don't really want to let go of it all? Maybe I'm still clinging to whatever I can, fighting to keep hold of where my life was a year ago, and since I've had to accept that it's been more than a year since my son died, I'll try holding on to whatever else I can get my hands on that I can still say legitimately happened a year ago?
I don't know and I don't feel like I'm dragging it up on purpose, it seems to catch me by surprise most of the time, but it bothers me all the same. I'm half on the side of letting the past go and half on the side of clutching it to my chest.
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