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. 

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?

Thought of the day....

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?

It has been a week since my surgery and while awash with emotions, I'm also quite numb.  I thought that it would bring me closure, but I feel like it's brought me nothing but grief.  The only true closure in a pregnancy is having a living, breathing, kicking baby in your arms.  True closure does not come in any other way.

I miss my son.  I miss waiting to feel his movements.  I miss knowing that he was inside of me, kicking and punching, and sometimes growing.  I miss the family that we had planned on becoming this Christmas. I miss me, the woman I was two weeks ago.

I'm so angry at myself because I never believed my little man okay.  I used to constantly ask my husband how we would react if something was chronically wrong with him.  I rarely talked to him because I was so afraid of losing him.  As I may have said earlier, I sobbed during my entire anatomy scan at 18 weeks because I just knew something wasn't right.  I left my 13 week early anatomy scan (done at the request of my peri) knowing something just wasn't right, even though no one said it.  Everyone tried to pacify me.  Asked me if I needed help dealing with my anxiety.  It breaks my heart that I was right.  It breaks my heart that I didn't show him more love when he was inside of me.  That at a point I actually asked him to stop trying so hard.  I told him I knew his program was failing, and that it was okay, mom and dad would understand, if it just stopped.

I'm a trained scientist and MBA.  I've always found comfort in statistics.  I've looked to science and math for answers.  And now I feel like they've both failed me.  DH and I have become the dreaded black swan.  We now inhabit the tail end of a distribution - a harsh, final line on one side, and a vast empty space distancing us from "normalcy" on the other side.  I ask myself constantly what I want from the testing - what, if anything will bring me peace.  Do I want the microarry to find something that will enable us to jump to IVF with PGD?  Do I want the full exome sequencing to be normal? 

Do I want to be told oh, just keep trying, you guys at least have good luck getting pregnant? how many more times can we roll the dice ourselves before it breaks us?  Do you ever become immune to this pain?  When we become pregnant do we just assume that it isn't going to work, live in hell during every moment of the pregnancy, only celebrating when we have a child in our arms?  Or do we wait until the threat of SIDs decreases?  If we are lucky enough to get pregnant again, when do I start loving that baby?  When do I let my guard down, and accept it with open arms?  What is our capacity for pain?  Do I want to get to a place where I become immune to this pain? When will I be able to love a fetus growing inside me rather than worry it's just going to depart too soon.

It only needs to work once.  Just ONCE.  I know it's one of the most complex processes (if not the most complex) process, but for millions of people it works every.single.day.  I beg to whatever is or isn't out there listening, for us to have that one time.  One day.