We were watching a "Modern Family" rerun tonight, and I found myself a sobbing mess. Gloria was announcing to Jay that she was pregnant, and there was so much happiness and joy in the scene that I was overwhelmed with emotion. And jealousy.
Because there is neither happiness nor joy when I am pregnant. There is only fear. I hate the fact that I can never feel comfortable when I'm pregnant. That I can't look at baby clothes and nursery furniture and squee, designing a nursery and starting to put hopes and dreams in my pregnancy. Once you've been burned a few times, the pain remains. You never forget the feeling of warmth as it takes over your bottom half; the feeling of you stomach falling and your heart breaking as you run to the bathroom knowing full well that you're going to be greeted by a flash of red.
You never forget these feelings. They color every moment of your pregnancy. You sit there, waiting for the next drop to fall. Waiting for the straw that will break the camel's back. You wait, and you wait, and you wait, because you can't let yourself get excited or hopeful, because you know you're setting yourself up for failure. It's easier to wait for it, to expect it, than to be caught off guard by it and feel as if your world is crumbling down around you. If you expect it to happen to you, you can't ask, "Why me?" when it does happen.
I crave a boring pregnancy. But, even if it's physically boring, it will never, ever be mentally boring. I have a team of 4 doctors, and I speak to one of them daily. Whether it's for emotional release, or comfort, or because they want to make sure that nothing is falling through the cracks, there is always a message or a missed call from one of them. And I love them for that. I love my high risk ob, and my gyn for calling to check-in on me. For telling me that they'll test my hcg & progesterone every 120 hours if it will make me feel better. My gyn told me that once we know there's a heartbeat I'm welcome to call her whenever I need to be reassured, and she will book me with the ultrasound tech.
But, I can't see this pregnancy. If this pregnancy makes it to the first ultrasound (Mar 3), we will not be looking at the screen. We will not be viewing this pregnancy until after a successful anatomy scan. I have to protect myself this time, and I have to protect my husband. There's only so many heartbreaks that a heart can endure before it just stops playing. I don't want to get to that point. I can't get to that point. It's better for me to be seemingly disengaged, to keep myself from getting too attached. I did that to a degree last pregnancy; I never expected to meet that baby. This time my guard is up even higher, at least until the anatomy scan.
I wish I could be a normal pregnant woman. I wish that I could glow, smile, and be immune to all of the things that could go wrong. But I can't. That wasn't my journey. This is my journey, and while we have to make the best of it, I can't help but feel so so angry, and so so robbed.
Showing posts with label pregnancy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pregnancy. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 18, 2014
Sunday, February 16, 2014
Here we go again...
Last Sunday I afternoon, day 24 in my cycle, I decided to take a pregnancy test because, well, I now have a 24 day cycle and I had positive ovulation tests from CD 10 -12. It was the first cycle I decided to use LH strips because I figured we would either try this cycle or next cycle.
After I got out of a quick shower I was greeted by....
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Not simply a positive test, but a GLARINGLY positive test. Not even a squinter. A completely in your face, lady you have a fertilized egg implanted in your uterus (or an hcg secreting tumor somewhere).
I cried
and I cried
and I cried some more.
Because I am terrified.
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
First period after D&E
32 days after my D&E my period returned. I started feeling crampy around day 31 and knew that it was around the corner. I also had tons of bright red cervical mucus on 8/20, so I assumed ovulation would be 8/21 or 8/22, which means that my period is here, pretty much 14 days exactly after I ovulated.
I don't know what to feel. I was recently pregnant; I thought it would be a year before I saw a period again considering I would be breast feeding. I never thought I'd see my period in September 2013.
I also can't believe how quickly the body moves on from the pregnancy. With an empty uterus my body just moved on, reset its program and once again started ovulated, preparing for another pregnancy. How quickly the body forgets, while the heart and mind hold on, desperately hold on. My period feels like it officially closes that physical chapter of my life, the chapter that will forever be known as the "olive chapter". But my mind and heart will keep the chapter open, continuously writing and adding chapter after chapter, composing a book.
I also find some solace in my period, in my body so easily returning to normal. I know that there are some women who would kill for their period to come regularly, and those who required medical intervention in order for their period to return post D&C or D&E; so I should be thankful. Part of me is, believe me, some of the tears I cried when I ovulated, and when I got my period were for the fact that my body seems to desperately want to regulate itself. It seems to be returning to its "before" cycle - and that's more than I could have asked or expected. I'll be thankful for that gift.
I don't know what to feel. I was recently pregnant; I thought it would be a year before I saw a period again considering I would be breast feeding. I never thought I'd see my period in September 2013.
I also can't believe how quickly the body moves on from the pregnancy. With an empty uterus my body just moved on, reset its program and once again started ovulated, preparing for another pregnancy. How quickly the body forgets, while the heart and mind hold on, desperately hold on. My period feels like it officially closes that physical chapter of my life, the chapter that will forever be known as the "olive chapter". But my mind and heart will keep the chapter open, continuously writing and adding chapter after chapter, composing a book.
I also find some solace in my period, in my body so easily returning to normal. I know that there are some women who would kill for their period to come regularly, and those who required medical intervention in order for their period to return post D&C or D&E; so I should be thankful. Part of me is, believe me, some of the tears I cried when I ovulated, and when I got my period were for the fact that my body seems to desperately want to regulate itself. It seems to be returning to its "before" cycle - and that's more than I could have asked or expected. I'll be thankful for that gift.
Friday, August 30, 2013
Ten perfect fingers & ten little toes (a poem)
You had ten perfect fingers,
Five on each hand.
I'm reminded of them each time I look at my hand.
And when I hold your father's hand,
I'm reminded that those ten perfect fingers,
Were a combination of ours.
You had ten little toes,
On two itty bitty feet.
Every time I wiggle my toes,
I wonder if you wiggled yours,
When you were inside of me.
You had ten perfect fingers,
and ten little toes,
But you never would have known they were there.
You would have never been able to grab those toes,
Or count on those fingers,
Because the neural wiring
Just wasn't there.
I keep a picture,
Of five of those perfect fingers,
Faced down in my center console,
When I step in to the car I'm reminded of my little angel
watching over me.
I hope where you are,
that you're watching me,
and that you're able to use those ten perfect fingers,
to grab those ten little toes.
I'll never feel your hand in mine,
Those soft fingers will never graze my face.
They'll never grab at my finger,
and hold on for dear life.
My dear angel,
it just wasn't your life.
The millions of tears that I cry,
will never make it your life.
Perhaps one day,
When my time on earth is through,
I'll feel those ten perfect fingers
and I'll kiss those ten little toes.
Copyright 2013 VMHC @ http://myjadedinnocence.blogspot.com/
Five on each hand.
I'm reminded of them each time I look at my hand.
And when I hold your father's hand,
I'm reminded that those ten perfect fingers,
Were a combination of ours.
You had ten little toes,
On two itty bitty feet.
Every time I wiggle my toes,
I wonder if you wiggled yours,
When you were inside of me.
You had ten perfect fingers,
and ten little toes,
But you never would have known they were there.
You would have never been able to grab those toes,
Or count on those fingers,
Because the neural wiring
Just wasn't there.
I keep a picture,
Of five of those perfect fingers,
Faced down in my center console,
When I step in to the car I'm reminded of my little angel
watching over me.
I hope where you are,
that you're watching me,
and that you're able to use those ten perfect fingers,
to grab those ten little toes.
I'll never feel your hand in mine,
Those soft fingers will never graze my face.
They'll never grab at my finger,
and hold on for dear life.
My dear angel,
it just wasn't your life.
The millions of tears that I cry,
will never make it your life.
Perhaps one day,
When my time on earth is through,
I'll feel those ten perfect fingers
and I'll kiss those ten little toes.
Copyright 2013 VMHC @ http://myjadedinnocence.blogspot.com/
Sunday, August 25, 2013
Things that exhaust me
things that exhaust me:
- The never ending voice in my head telling me, "I am ok, I will be ok, life will go on."
- Smiling and laughing while out with my friends, because, well, it's "good for me to be out" and it gives the appearance that life is going on
- Life going on, as if nothing has changed
- The fact that everything has in fact changed
- Hiding my tears behind sunglasses
- Feeling like I need to keep my tears from my husband because he has already moved on to acceptance, and we don't need the two of us inhabiting my hell. I don't want to reopen the compartment he has been been able to close.
- My body returning to "empty" (hormone levels, uterus, etc.)
- Knowing that my uterus is in fact empty
- Occasionally hearing the voice that screams, "I am not okay!" and desperately trying to close that compartment
- The seemingly never ending cycle of anger turning to grief turning back to anger
- Wondering why my baby wasn't fit for this earth, when every single day crack addicts and 15 year old girls give birth to physically normal children
- Acclimating myself to our new "normal"
- Accepting that this is our new "normal"
- Remembering that everything has changed
And, ultimately....
- Accepting the fact that I had absolutely no control over what happened, and have no control over future pregnancies.
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
Quotes & Statistics
Whenever anyone quoted statistics to me, saying, "oh, the odds are 1:1,000,000". All I could think about was that 1. That regardless of the number on the right, there's still a number 1 on the left side. And every time I met a pregnant woman, a successful pregnant woman, I thought to myself, well, you are one of the 1,000,000. When I was a member of a pregnancy forum, I actually sat there and thought, "all of us will not make it. at various points, people will begin to leave.". Inevitably, I was one of those people. I was the dreaded number of the left side of the statistic. I can only happen that I can be that number only once. I can come to term with the early miscarriages, where the chances are as high as 25% - perhaps I've just been unlucky.
But, just once, I only need it to be just ONCE, I'd like to be the number on the right. I'm always the number on the right when it comes to the lottery, and contests, and everything fantastic; I'm never that 1, never when I want to be the 1. Now I am the one, and I pray with all my might to a god I don't even know exists, that for once, I can be in the 'normal' distribution. Why is that so much to ask? Why is that seemingly so difficult?
I don't have much energy to type much more tonight, so a few of my favorite quotes about loss...
~~~~~~~
I carry you with me into the world, into the smell of rain & the words that dance between people & for me, it will always be this way, walking in the light, remembering being alive together. - Brian Andreas
I never knew emptiness could weigh so much, she said. I can barely hold it. So he sat beside her & reached for her hand, and they held it together. - Brian Andreas
But, just once, I only need it to be just ONCE, I'd like to be the number on the right. I'm always the number on the right when it comes to the lottery, and contests, and everything fantastic; I'm never that 1, never when I want to be the 1. Now I am the one, and I pray with all my might to a god I don't even know exists, that for once, I can be in the 'normal' distribution. Why is that so much to ask? Why is that seemingly so difficult?
I don't have much energy to type much more tonight, so a few of my favorite quotes about loss...
~~~~~~~
I carry you with me into the world, into the smell of rain & the words that dance between people & for me, it will always be this way, walking in the light, remembering being alive together. - Brian Andreas
I never knew emptiness could weigh so much, she said. I can barely hold it. So he sat beside her & reached for her hand, and they held it together. - Brian Andreas
♥ “Each new life,no matter how brief, forever changes the world.”
♥ ”There is, I am convinced, no picture that conveys in all its dreadfulness, a vision of sorrow, despairing, remediless, supreme. If I could paint such a picture, the canvas would show only a woman looking down at her empty arms.” -Charlotte Bronte
♥ “There is no foot too small that it cannot leave an imprint on this world.”
♥ “Your absence has gone through me like thread through a needle. Everything I do is stitched with its color.” W.S. Merwin
♥ “I held you every second of your life.” -Stephanie Paige Cole
♥ “We are grieving, We are not contagious, We are not sad all the time, We laugh, We smile, We cry, We weep for being happy, We live, We talk, We feel, We come from every background, We are sad, we lost a baby, We are…” -Jennifer Davis
♥ “Strength does not come from physical capacity. It comes from an indomitable will.” -Gandhi
♥ ”It has been said time heals all wounds… I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind protecting it’s sanity covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens, but it’s never gone…” -Rose Kennedy
♥ “How very quietly you tiptoed into our world, silently, only a moment you stayed. But what an imprint your footprints have left upon our hearts.’” -Unknown
♥ “If I had lost a leg, I would tell them, instead of a boy, no one would ever ask me if I was ‘over’ it. They would ask me how I was doing learning to walk without my leg. I was learning to walk and to breath and to live without Wade. And what I was learning is that it was never going to be the life I had before.” -Elizabeth Edwards
♥ “It’s a happy life, but someone is missing. It’s a happy life, and someone is missing.” -Elizabeth McCracken, An Exact Replica of a Figment of my Imagination
♥ “Do not judge the bereaved mother.
She comes in many forms.
She is breathing, but she is dying.
She may look young, but inside she has become ancient.
She smiles, but her heart sobs.
She walks, she talks, she cooks, she cleans, she works, she IS,
but she IS NOT, all at once.
She is here, but part of her is elsewhere for eternity.”
She comes in many forms.
She is breathing, but she is dying.
She may look young, but inside she has become ancient.
She smiles, but her heart sobs.
She walks, she talks, she cooks, she cleans, she works, she IS,
but she IS NOT, all at once.
She is here, but part of her is elsewhere for eternity.”
♥ “Hope is the feeling that the feeling you have isn’t permanent.” -Jean Kerr
♥ “Hope is all I have left; if I lose hope, I lose everything. I refuse to go there just yet. I'll hope for the future, because without that, there is no future." VMHC
Most of the above are from http://facesofloss.com/resources/quotes - credit given to the author when the name was available.
Sunday, August 11, 2013
Loss impacting others, more guilt & the future
I feel like my main iPhone photo album (when you go to camera -> pictures) is just a linear history of a heart breaking. There are photos of the positive pregnancy test from last July. The one decision I will always regret.
Then there's the positive line from December. I remember that morning so vividly. It was a week and a half after we returned from Paris; our selected locale for trying to conceive for the first time. We thought, how romantic to begin such one of the most loving of endeavors in the most romantic city in the world. I remember putting my hand on my pelvis, and quietly saying "hello.". I remember trying so hard to take a picture of that light, but oh so present line, so I could text it to my sister for confirmation that I wasn't going crazy. It was 12/21. I didn't tell C until Christmas morning. Then I remember on 1/2, making a frittata, happily chopping vegetables, excited to use a new roasted tomato and artichoke spread that I had found at Williams-Sonoma. But then I felt a warmth. And it was like my heart stopped. Instinctively I knew what the warmth meant; I knew that the pregnancy was over. Little did I know that the next couple weeks would be crazy because while I hemorrhaged on 1/2, the pregnancy progressed for at least a week, and completed itself at the end of January. Which is why we didn't try again until the end of March. And, as luck would have it, I have a picture of the positive line from that single March event; it's another picture on my iPhone.
In December (and April) called my doctor for a routine blood test - she likes to monitor hcg levels and progesterone in women who have miscarried. I had all the blood work, received all the confirmations; but never a congratulations. My obgyn office does not congratulate a woman until she passes the first trimester. As someone who has lost, I see why they do this, and I am thankful for this practice. For first time mother's, they sometimes wait until after the 8 week ultrasound confirms a heartbeat. I think that happens more when the women want to be congratulated. I fit solely into the other camp, the one that does not want to be congratulated until the terrifying first trimester is over.
I find it to be so crazy that there are women that go through this process blissfully ignorant; convinced that their pregnancy will result in a baby; screaming immediately from the rooftops. Maybe I'm weird, but I just don't have that in me. There's just so much that can go wrong; so much pain that can be caused; I just can't bring myself to help create hopes and dreams and excitement in others, knowing that in the back of my mind that it may not last. No one but C knew I was pregnant in December - I told him on 12/25 and was able to keep it from his family the entire time, even though we were there for 4 days. Somehow no one noticed I wasn't drinking. Or I made virgin drinks and pretended they contained alcohol. I told my mother only after I miscarried. I'm relieved I did it that way. I'm relieved I saved her the pain of losing that grandchild - or rather, of expecting it to arrive only to find out that it wasn't destined for us.
And, considering for us, no pregnancy has ever truly lasted the test of time, I don't know when I'll again share my pregnancy. This time around we told C's parents on Mother's Day because we had seen the heartbeat and I was about 8 weeks. We told my parents the day after via Facetime because my sister graduated from college on Mother's Day, and I didn't want to take that day from her. I wanted it to be about her, as it should have been.
Next time, I guess we tell after the anatomy scan? After the CVS? I mean, if the amnio and microarray from this pregnancy are clean, then we have to wait until after the anatomy scan as a 'perfect' CVS just wouldn't be enough.
I feel like with every pregnancy I'll be afraid of breaking not only my heart, but the hearts of all of those who love us. How fair is that? How do you deal with those feelings, too? Knowing that the loss touches and breaks the hearts of everyone close to you? I know I'm not responsible for the feelings of others, but once you have caused such intense pain in others, even when it's beyond your control, it's hard to imagine how you will react when put in that place again. My cries for the son I lost are the most primal, guttural screams of pain that I ever knew existed. I contrast that with the joy on my mothers face when she opened the frame containing an ultrasound picture, how she jumped up and down, tears of joy streaming down her face.
All of that is gone now. And I played a role in robbing it from her. From everyone. It's like a highlight reel that runs through my brain that just cannot be stopped. Everyone acts strong for me when they're with me, because they have to put on that facade; but I know that's all it is; a facade. I know that the people we love still break down over this loss. And those close to us with children grab their children and hold them closer, thanking whichever god they believe in that they were not us. Hoping with all hope that they are never us. And our friends who haven't started trying yet probably partly think we are pariahs, and hope that our bad luck/ju-ju won't rub off on them.
This event, these events, will truly reverberate in every word, every action, every decision we make in the future. They have reshaped the way that we look at the world. That song about painting with all the colors of the wind? Well, our palette has forever changed.
Then there's the positive line from December. I remember that morning so vividly. It was a week and a half after we returned from Paris; our selected locale for trying to conceive for the first time. We thought, how romantic to begin such one of the most loving of endeavors in the most romantic city in the world. I remember putting my hand on my pelvis, and quietly saying "hello.". I remember trying so hard to take a picture of that light, but oh so present line, so I could text it to my sister for confirmation that I wasn't going crazy. It was 12/21. I didn't tell C until Christmas morning. Then I remember on 1/2, making a frittata, happily chopping vegetables, excited to use a new roasted tomato and artichoke spread that I had found at Williams-Sonoma. But then I felt a warmth. And it was like my heart stopped. Instinctively I knew what the warmth meant; I knew that the pregnancy was over. Little did I know that the next couple weeks would be crazy because while I hemorrhaged on 1/2, the pregnancy progressed for at least a week, and completed itself at the end of January. Which is why we didn't try again until the end of March. And, as luck would have it, I have a picture of the positive line from that single March event; it's another picture on my iPhone.
In December (and April) called my doctor for a routine blood test - she likes to monitor hcg levels and progesterone in women who have miscarried. I had all the blood work, received all the confirmations; but never a congratulations. My obgyn office does not congratulate a woman until she passes the first trimester. As someone who has lost, I see why they do this, and I am thankful for this practice. For first time mother's, they sometimes wait until after the 8 week ultrasound confirms a heartbeat. I think that happens more when the women want to be congratulated. I fit solely into the other camp, the one that does not want to be congratulated until the terrifying first trimester is over.
I find it to be so crazy that there are women that go through this process blissfully ignorant; convinced that their pregnancy will result in a baby; screaming immediately from the rooftops. Maybe I'm weird, but I just don't have that in me. There's just so much that can go wrong; so much pain that can be caused; I just can't bring myself to help create hopes and dreams and excitement in others, knowing that in the back of my mind that it may not last. No one but C knew I was pregnant in December - I told him on 12/25 and was able to keep it from his family the entire time, even though we were there for 4 days. Somehow no one noticed I wasn't drinking. Or I made virgin drinks and pretended they contained alcohol. I told my mother only after I miscarried. I'm relieved I did it that way. I'm relieved I saved her the pain of losing that grandchild - or rather, of expecting it to arrive only to find out that it wasn't destined for us.
And, considering for us, no pregnancy has ever truly lasted the test of time, I don't know when I'll again share my pregnancy. This time around we told C's parents on Mother's Day because we had seen the heartbeat and I was about 8 weeks. We told my parents the day after via Facetime because my sister graduated from college on Mother's Day, and I didn't want to take that day from her. I wanted it to be about her, as it should have been.
Next time, I guess we tell after the anatomy scan? After the CVS? I mean, if the amnio and microarray from this pregnancy are clean, then we have to wait until after the anatomy scan as a 'perfect' CVS just wouldn't be enough.
I feel like with every pregnancy I'll be afraid of breaking not only my heart, but the hearts of all of those who love us. How fair is that? How do you deal with those feelings, too? Knowing that the loss touches and breaks the hearts of everyone close to you? I know I'm not responsible for the feelings of others, but once you have caused such intense pain in others, even when it's beyond your control, it's hard to imagine how you will react when put in that place again. My cries for the son I lost are the most primal, guttural screams of pain that I ever knew existed. I contrast that with the joy on my mothers face when she opened the frame containing an ultrasound picture, how she jumped up and down, tears of joy streaming down her face.
All of that is gone now. And I played a role in robbing it from her. From everyone. It's like a highlight reel that runs through my brain that just cannot be stopped. Everyone acts strong for me when they're with me, because they have to put on that facade; but I know that's all it is; a facade. I know that the people we love still break down over this loss. And those close to us with children grab their children and hold them closer, thanking whichever god they believe in that they were not us. Hoping with all hope that they are never us. And our friends who haven't started trying yet probably partly think we are pariahs, and hope that our bad luck/ju-ju won't rub off on them.
This event, these events, will truly reverberate in every word, every action, every decision we make in the future. They have reshaped the way that we look at the world. That song about painting with all the colors of the wind? Well, our palette has forever changed.
Saturday, August 10, 2013
Guilt
I often feel guilty for never speaking to my son while he was there. In fact, I recall sitting in the car, openly apologizing to him for my lack of verbal communication. I told him I was sorry I couldn't find the words to speak or talk to him, but that I still needed confirmation. I still needed to know that he was in for the long haul. I told him these words when I "thought" he could hear, per the baby books of course, even though I knew he couldn't understand. If he heard anything, he just heard the "blah blah blah"that the Charlie Brown characters hear whenever an adult speaks to him.
But still, I felt so guilty. I would ask C if it was wrong of me. At 18 weeks I was barely showing, it looked like maybe I ate an extra doughnut and couldn't button the top button of my Hudson's - so I bought maternity jeans - the only purchase made that put faith in my being in it for the "long haul". I rarely ever touched my stomach, if I did, it was because I was uncomfortable and wanted to reinforce that there was, in fact, a baby in there. Since he was a little small, it's possible I wasn't showing for that reason, or, it's possible I was bound to be a late shower. My uterus did move up, so next time I may show earlier.
We went to Bellini, PBK, and I had planned a trip to Boston to go to RHB&C to look at nursery furniture. There were a few other specialty shops on the list, but C & I went to Bellini & PBK together. And I'll never forget the day. He fell in love with a set at Bellini and wanted to buy it right there. He was so ready, he was so "in". But I wasn't. My heart was still reserved and told him we had to wait. The saleswoman assured us many times that the most we would lost if we canceled the order was $50. What she didn't realize is that I didn't give a crap about the money. If we were canceling that order it meant that it was because there would be no baby to sleep in it; that no baby would have come home.
I've told my therapist that if we are blessed with a next time, I won't be able to look at the ultrasound monitors or televisions until after the anatomy scan. I won't be able to see anything on the screen. A simple nod from the techs will be enough. I waited until 14 weeks to start a pregnancy journal for this baby. C put all the ultrasound pictures into the book, and put the book in the box, and the box is in storage. All that is left of our son is in storage. Whether or a storage unit, a hospital storage freezer, or recesses of our brans that we refuse to allow ourselves to enter. That is where our son lives now. C made the mistake of reading the journal before he put it in storage. He was glad he did it while I was sleeping because he cried. He cried at my words because my words told even the baby that I waited so long to write in his book, because I couldn't believe he was real, and that he would be coming home to us. In it I wrote the story of the first time C heard his heartbeat via fetal doppler one morning at 9 weeks. We had had 2 ultrasounds at that point and saw Olive, but hearing his fast, strong heartbeat was a completely different experience. C said hello to him and told him he sounded like a train. and then nearly 11 weeks later, he said good-bye.
I wonder if I'll ever stop feeling guilty for thinking maybe I was at fault for not committing 100%; for needing so much to believe that my baby was healthy, and that in December he would be in my arms. But now, with our ending, can you even blame me?
But still, I felt so guilty. I would ask C if it was wrong of me. At 18 weeks I was barely showing, it looked like maybe I ate an extra doughnut and couldn't button the top button of my Hudson's - so I bought maternity jeans - the only purchase made that put faith in my being in it for the "long haul". I rarely ever touched my stomach, if I did, it was because I was uncomfortable and wanted to reinforce that there was, in fact, a baby in there. Since he was a little small, it's possible I wasn't showing for that reason, or, it's possible I was bound to be a late shower. My uterus did move up, so next time I may show earlier.
We went to Bellini, PBK, and I had planned a trip to Boston to go to RHB&C to look at nursery furniture. There were a few other specialty shops on the list, but C & I went to Bellini & PBK together. And I'll never forget the day. He fell in love with a set at Bellini and wanted to buy it right there. He was so ready, he was so "in". But I wasn't. My heart was still reserved and told him we had to wait. The saleswoman assured us many times that the most we would lost if we canceled the order was $50. What she didn't realize is that I didn't give a crap about the money. If we were canceling that order it meant that it was because there would be no baby to sleep in it; that no baby would have come home.
I've told my therapist that if we are blessed with a next time, I won't be able to look at the ultrasound monitors or televisions until after the anatomy scan. I won't be able to see anything on the screen. A simple nod from the techs will be enough. I waited until 14 weeks to start a pregnancy journal for this baby. C put all the ultrasound pictures into the book, and put the book in the box, and the box is in storage. All that is left of our son is in storage. Whether or a storage unit, a hospital storage freezer, or recesses of our brans that we refuse to allow ourselves to enter. That is where our son lives now. C made the mistake of reading the journal before he put it in storage. He was glad he did it while I was sleeping because he cried. He cried at my words because my words told even the baby that I waited so long to write in his book, because I couldn't believe he was real, and that he would be coming home to us. In it I wrote the story of the first time C heard his heartbeat via fetal doppler one morning at 9 weeks. We had had 2 ultrasounds at that point and saw Olive, but hearing his fast, strong heartbeat was a completely different experience. C said hello to him and told him he sounded like a train. and then nearly 11 weeks later, he said good-bye.
I wonder if I'll ever stop feeling guilty for thinking maybe I was at fault for not committing 100%; for needing so much to believe that my baby was healthy, and that in December he would be in my arms. But now, with our ending, can you even blame me?
Wednesday, July 31, 2013
8 days later
Whenever I heard stories of a couple losing their baby, or child, I always wondered how the family coped. How did they find the energy, the strength, the fortitude to get up every.single.day and wash, rinse, repeat. How does a couple found a way to wake up every.single.day knowing that their lives are never, ever going to be the same. How they would be able to look at each other without getting lost in grief, remembering what they almost had, or what they could have had if only the stars had aligned differently.
But then, suddenly, it does happen to you. You're sitting there one day, grasping the hand of your partner, hoping with every ounce of energy, that you are going to hear good news. But it doesn't come. (In my case, the bad news just didn't stop coming, but that's for later in the story.) You find your grasp becoming firmer and firmer, until it suddenly goes limp, and your hand is hanging there. You feel like all of you is hanging there. That you're slowly, but perpetually falling and there's no bottom to this cliff; there's no valley; there's not even a hell. This perpetual drop (which also proves that gravity is much stronger than 9.8m/s^2) is in fact endless. You'll spend days, weeks, month, or some inordinate amount of time in this free fall. People tell you not to mark time by the loss. That when the leaves change you shouldn't say, "He would have been 'x" now." or, "We would have been preparing the nursery now. The crib would be arriving any day." because it's unhealthy. It's not part of moving on. And, at the end of the day, we need to move on. We need to find a way to function on a daily basis knowing that the future that we were led to expect, is no longer our future. That with the flip of a switch, that has changed.
I'm new to this free fall this time around, but in the grand scheme of things, I have lost before. I lost in February 2007 - it was the one time C and I forgot to use protection, and 2 weeks later I was staring at a positive line. We were engaged at the time, and we had no idea how we would proceed. Little did I know that we wouldn't even have to decide because I miscarried. Honestly, it could have even been a CP; the only evidence the doctor had of my pregnancy was the positive urine test. We never did a blood test as I wasn't sure how we were going to proceed with the pregnancy.
I miscarried again last July, but that was *sigh* by choice, and a choice that will now haunt me for the rest of my life. My therapist continuously tells me that karma doesn't work that way, and that I am now not being punished for my decision, but it's still difficult to keep my mind from going there. It wants to go there because it wants to place blame, it wants a reason, it wants answers for what happened this time around. I chose to terminate because I was taking class x medications at the time of conception, and even for a week or two after as I wasn't expecting to be pregnant. All of my doctors were in agreement with my decision to terminate.
My loss in January is documented earlier in this blog, and I don't want to rehash it here. Perhaps I will at a later point, but I want to be able to delve into the grief that my husband and I are feeling now as it's paramount on my mind, and is our current hell.
But then, suddenly, it does happen to you. You're sitting there one day, grasping the hand of your partner, hoping with every ounce of energy, that you are going to hear good news. But it doesn't come. (In my case, the bad news just didn't stop coming, but that's for later in the story.) You find your grasp becoming firmer and firmer, until it suddenly goes limp, and your hand is hanging there. You feel like all of you is hanging there. That you're slowly, but perpetually falling and there's no bottom to this cliff; there's no valley; there's not even a hell. This perpetual drop (which also proves that gravity is much stronger than 9.8m/s^2) is in fact endless. You'll spend days, weeks, month, or some inordinate amount of time in this free fall. People tell you not to mark time by the loss. That when the leaves change you shouldn't say, "He would have been 'x" now." or, "We would have been preparing the nursery now. The crib would be arriving any day." because it's unhealthy. It's not part of moving on. And, at the end of the day, we need to move on. We need to find a way to function on a daily basis knowing that the future that we were led to expect, is no longer our future. That with the flip of a switch, that has changed.
I'm new to this free fall this time around, but in the grand scheme of things, I have lost before. I lost in February 2007 - it was the one time C and I forgot to use protection, and 2 weeks later I was staring at a positive line. We were engaged at the time, and we had no idea how we would proceed. Little did I know that we wouldn't even have to decide because I miscarried. Honestly, it could have even been a CP; the only evidence the doctor had of my pregnancy was the positive urine test. We never did a blood test as I wasn't sure how we were going to proceed with the pregnancy.
I miscarried again last July, but that was *sigh* by choice, and a choice that will now haunt me for the rest of my life. My therapist continuously tells me that karma doesn't work that way, and that I am now not being punished for my decision, but it's still difficult to keep my mind from going there. It wants to go there because it wants to place blame, it wants a reason, it wants answers for what happened this time around. I chose to terminate because I was taking class x medications at the time of conception, and even for a week or two after as I wasn't expecting to be pregnant. All of my doctors were in agreement with my decision to terminate.
My loss in January is documented earlier in this blog, and I don't want to rehash it here. Perhaps I will at a later point, but I want to be able to delve into the grief that my husband and I are feeling now as it's paramount on my mind, and is our current hell.
Initial reaction 24 hours post amnio
So, the 24 hours results are back....
If Columbia confirms Dandy-Walker we will *sigh* be terminating next Thursday or Friday. I don't advise researching Dandy-Walker; it's terrible. It's estimated prevalence is 1:~30,000 live births, and if it is completely random and LO is genetically normal, I truly hope that lightening doesn't strike twice. We will be doing exome sequencing of the fetus to add to the total amount of genetic information that is available for DW, and to see if we can pinpoint a genetic cause. Hopefully one day that information will help other parents. After all we have been through between previous pregnancies and this one, we are strongly considering IVF with genetic screening next time around. My peri feels that it's a very realistic plan that she endorses, and will work with setting me up with a top RE.
It will obviously take us a long time to heal from this, and I think my DH is having a much more difficult time coming to terms with it. What hurts the most is that there is no way to heal this pain. There is no way to fix it. There is literally no way to put the pieces of hope and dreams back together. There's nothing to stop the pain, and there is nothing that will make future pregnancies any easier. They already feel tainted. I feel like we lost our innocence through all the miscarriages, and now, with this pregnancy, I'm left with anger. I'm mourning a life that will never truly come to be, yet was already full of so much love. I'm mourning DH and I's sense of innocence, our faith that things will be okay. In the end we will come to terms with this and accept the fate, but it will never, ever be okay.
Once this is over DH and I are going to take a long trip to Italy and do our best to heal together. I will drink copious amounts of espresso, red wine and questionable cheeses. We are likely going to spend Christmas abroad because it's going to be too difficult to be here on my EDD and plan to move (though we will stay in our current area) because it's time for a change of scenery. I'm going to have olive trees planted in our parents backyards, and hope that they grow big and strong. We will find peace, even though it will be at the end of a very long road.
4 years ago I lost my best friend to cystic fibrosis. if there is a heaven, I hope she finds my little man and takes him under her wing.
Appointments at Columbia are Friday at 8am - ultrasound, fetal echo and genetic counseling. The genetic counseling is really for DH as he still needs to be karyotyped, mine was done in January and is normal.1. Chromosomally male - scrotum may not have dropped or differentiated itself at this point.
2. Negative for trisomy 13, 18 and 21 - full karyotype will be in by next Tuesday
3. Amniotic AFP level should be in on Thursday, but other information will be trickling in daily.
If Columbia confirms Dandy-Walker we will *sigh* be terminating next Thursday or Friday. I don't advise researching Dandy-Walker; it's terrible. It's estimated prevalence is 1:~30,000 live births, and if it is completely random and LO is genetically normal, I truly hope that lightening doesn't strike twice. We will be doing exome sequencing of the fetus to add to the total amount of genetic information that is available for DW, and to see if we can pinpoint a genetic cause. Hopefully one day that information will help other parents. After all we have been through between previous pregnancies and this one, we are strongly considering IVF with genetic screening next time around. My peri feels that it's a very realistic plan that she endorses, and will work with setting me up with a top RE.
It will obviously take us a long time to heal from this, and I think my DH is having a much more difficult time coming to terms with it. What hurts the most is that there is no way to heal this pain. There is no way to fix it. There is literally no way to put the pieces of hope and dreams back together. There's nothing to stop the pain, and there is nothing that will make future pregnancies any easier. They already feel tainted. I feel like we lost our innocence through all the miscarriages, and now, with this pregnancy, I'm left with anger. I'm mourning a life that will never truly come to be, yet was already full of so much love. I'm mourning DH and I's sense of innocence, our faith that things will be okay. In the end we will come to terms with this and accept the fate, but it will never, ever be okay.
Once this is over DH and I are going to take a long trip to Italy and do our best to heal together. I will drink copious amounts of espresso, red wine and questionable cheeses. We are likely going to spend Christmas abroad because it's going to be too difficult to be here on my EDD and plan to move (though we will stay in our current area) because it's time for a change of scenery. I'm going to have olive trees planted in our parents backyards, and hope that they grow big and strong. We will find peace, even though it will be at the end of a very long road.
4 years ago I lost my best friend to cystic fibrosis. if there is a heaven, I hope she finds my little man and takes him under her wing.
Recent linear pregnancy history
Pre-trying to conceive genetic testing: negative counsyl tests
12/1/12: Started trying to conceive
12/20/12: Positive pregnancy test
1/2/13: Hemorrhage landed me in the ER; told I was miscarrying
1/21/13: Ultrasound shows I didn't miscarriage when I was originally told it occurred; the sac continued to grow for a week or 2.
1/23/13: Miscarriage completed itself
Genetic testing: Normal karyotype
March 2013 - given the okay to start trying to conceive again
4/10/13 - positive pregnancy test
Saw the heartbeat at 6w1d
Normal ultrasound at 8w1d for brown spotting
"Normal" ultrasound at 11w for a bleed the night before - dx with subchorionic hematomas. noted that fetus was measuring a bit small, but was told it was normal.
12w1d - normal NT scan, fetus still measuring a bit small, told not to worry
13w1d - early anatomy scan at perinatologist - measuring a week behind, told not to worry too much. MaterniT21 was negative for trisomies and indicated a XY fetus.
18w1d - anatomy scan showed limbs measuring 2-3 weeks behind, head and abdomen still a week behind, dandy-walker malformation and other issues indicating there could be an underlying syndrome. Amnio was dome
18w3d - Consultation at three specialists at Columbia-NY Presb - confirmed Dandy-Walker variant, small hole in the heart and other various issues.
Currently awaiting husband's karyotype (normal), complete fetal karyotype and microarray.
We've had unprotected sex during 4 fertile windows, have gotten 4 positive pregnancy tests, yet have no children. Did you know it's possible to bat .000 while batting 1.000?
12/1/12: Started trying to conceive
12/20/12: Positive pregnancy test
1/2/13: Hemorrhage landed me in the ER; told I was miscarrying
1/21/13: Ultrasound shows I didn't miscarriage when I was originally told it occurred; the sac continued to grow for a week or 2.
1/23/13: Miscarriage completed itself
Genetic testing: Normal karyotype
March 2013 - given the okay to start trying to conceive again
4/10/13 - positive pregnancy test
Saw the heartbeat at 6w1d
Normal ultrasound at 8w1d for brown spotting
"Normal" ultrasound at 11w for a bleed the night before - dx with subchorionic hematomas. noted that fetus was measuring a bit small, but was told it was normal.
12w1d - normal NT scan, fetus still measuring a bit small, told not to worry
13w1d - early anatomy scan at perinatologist - measuring a week behind, told not to worry too much. MaterniT21 was negative for trisomies and indicated a XY fetus.
18w1d - anatomy scan showed limbs measuring 2-3 weeks behind, head and abdomen still a week behind, dandy-walker malformation and other issues indicating there could be an underlying syndrome. Amnio was dome
18w3d - Consultation at three specialists at Columbia-NY Presb - confirmed Dandy-Walker variant, small hole in the heart and other various issues.
Currently awaiting husband's karyotype (normal), complete fetal karyotype and microarray.
We've had unprotected sex during 4 fertile windows, have gotten 4 positive pregnancy tests, yet have no children. Did you know it's possible to bat .000 while batting 1.000?
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