The in-between time

This time in-between the horrible and the getting-back-to-life...well...it sucks. It's better, clearly, than dealing with the actual physical loss of a pregnancy/baby (the hospital memories from this one will haunt me for a very long time). No, it's the time in-between...when you're not strong enough to go back to your life...but you no longer have a direction or a place to be. Adrift, I guess, is a good word to describe it, though I'm sure the experts would call it a "necessary grieving period," or something excessively clinical.

Whatever.

You know what you actually do during these days?

You wake up to antibiotics and painkillers...
rush your kids out the door wearing dirty pants...
feed them chocolate donuts in the car...
drop them at school and daycare...
go to the funeral home and sign paperwork to have your baby cremated...
hear the funeral director trip over the word "baby" and opt for the awkward safety of "fetus"...
see the tiny marble urn they will use to bury the ashes in...
rush out of the funeral home without saying thank you in order to avoid having yet another person see you cry...
drive to the lake and walk along the beach, freezing your ears off, and obsessively looking to collect seven rocks that look similar (because if you can't create the family of your dreams, at least you can find a family of seven rocks, right?)...
go home and eat potato chips...
take more painkillers...
fold towels...
go out to the garden and chop the heads off every pretty flower you can find (to created the ugliest spring bouquet ever...to stick in a vase in your living room)...
change your mind about the marble urn...
ask your husband to call the funeral director and ask him if you can sit your dead baby's ashes on your nightstand for a while...
look at the handprints of your dead baby...
cry because nothing in the memory box provided by the kind people at the hospital is relevant to the end of your baby's brief life...
surf the internet incessantly looking for something...ANYTHING...that you can put in that damn memory box that will mean something...
pack up pads, pain killers and tissues in your purse...
go pick up your kids at school and daycare...
take them to Toys R Us and buy them toys...just because they're alive and you want to...
return a baby blanket you had your husband buy when you foolishly thought you would get to hold your dead baby and take pretty pictures before you laid them to rest with it in a pretty little coffin...
lose your appetite...
avoid a restaurant you visited just a week or two ago...BECAUSE you visited it a week or two ago and you can't handle the memories...
go to another restaurant and let your children eat crap for dinner...
take more painkillers...
come home and attempt to help your seven-year-old with homework that makes you want to inflict serious pain on his teacher...
note that it took exactly two days for your gluten sensitivity to return...
drink...
blog...
take more antibiotics...
try to watch all the shows you have saved on your DVR, because you're switching to cable in the morning...
drink some more...
hope to pass out into at least two or three blissful hours of dreamless sleep before the nightmares come.

Yeah...fun times.

At least there are pretty flowers...and beach rocks...

This time is different

I fear I may not make it this time.

There are the regular doubts and regrets, of course...

I missed a Lovenox injection.
I ate too much fast food.
I didn't take my prenatals faithfully.
I didn't exercise enough.
I stressed too much.
I worried about the financial burden another child would put on us.

But there things about this that make Alex and Travis' stillbirths seem like the good 'ole days. Most significant, I think, is that this is the way it all ends. It is over. There will never be the hope and promise of another baby in our home.

Someone once told me, when I was considering the idea of another child (who would turn out be Alex), "You will just know when your family is complete." In that moment, it was as simple as that...I knew our family wasn't complete and the decision was made.

The utter shit of it is...I still know our family isn't complete. The only difference is, in this moment, I know our family will never be complete.

It's not that there are already three missing children.

I know that our family dynamic would be very different if any one of those pregnancies had turned out differently. And I'm as ok with that as I can be. Though there are still raw moments, I have mostly made peace with all of that by looking at the beautiful faces of our two amazing boys.

No...it's that it is just over. There is no more hope.

We know we have been beaten and we dare not challenge the fates one more time. We simply don't have the strength to see hope crushed again...to see the shining smiles of our loved ones disappear into sympathetic head tilts and averted eyes. But more importantly, it is time to admit that I clearly don't have the physical ability to create the complete family of our dreams. I can not fulfill my husband's wish to have another child...or my sons' wishes to be big brothers...or my own wish to watch another baby grow (maybe even a girl).

And so it ends.

It's not the raw shock of losing Alex. It's not the resignation of losing Travis. It's not the horror of losing Little Bug. It's the pain of forever shutting the door on the hope that we will feel complete...that we will BE complete.

And that hurts far beyond what I could have ever imagined.

Email is great

I think the email to Sam's teacher can only be topped by the email to Dr. A...who so kindly visited me in the hospital on his time off, called me personally (though I ducked his call at the time), and left a voicemail with his personal cell phone number just in case I "want to talk"...

Dr. A~

Thank you for the phone call. I hope you understand that I just can't talk right now. Maybe in a few days...though I'm not entirely sure what there is to say anymore.

Thank you for everything.

~Catherine

And his response...

I know, Catherine--- I, too, don't know what to say.
Please call me if you need to talk.
Yours,
Ben

Guess that about sums it up.

I wonder...

I feel sick to my stomach. Was it the three margaritas I had last night that allowed me two full hours of uninterrupted dreamless sleep? Or was it the email I just had to send to Samuel's teacher?

Mrs. G.:

I am emailing because I find it's easier (for a lot of reasons)...I hope this is ok. This is very personal information, but I want to convey it so that maybe I can do the responsible parent thing and keep Samuel from falling through the cracks that threaten to swallow me up personally.

First, a little background. Generally, I would just vaguely allude to a "family emergency." But in this case, I think the details may be somewhat important. In May of 2005, just a couple weeks before Sam's third birthday, his brother was stillborn at 35 weeks. In May of 2006, just a couple weeks before Sam's fourth birthday, another brother was stillborn at 20 weeks. Just this past week/end, I lost another much-anticipated pregnancy at 19 weeks (Sam's birthday is more than a month away this time...thank goodness). Samuel and his two-year-old brother spent four days, while I was in the hospital, with their grandparents. We only just returned home Sunday night and spent Monday together as a way to reassure them that everything was ok. Sam tells me he is ready to go back to school (though I must confess to a small Toys R Us bribe in order to get him to agree), so we are sending him to school today (Tuesday). He may be ready...he may not...I simply can not tell.

Sam has dealt with a lot of loss in his short life and, as a result, he is wiser than a lot of people five times his age. But still...I know from our experiences that this initial grief period can be rough on everyone in the family. I would like to ask you to please keep an eye on him and let us know if there is any significant backsliding in his academic performance or his behavior during class. He has worked very hard during this school year to get himself under control and be a "good citizen." As you would expect, he doesn't always know an appropriate way to express his grief and he may need a little extra attention or guidance to stay on track. Please watch out for my little guy while he is there at school. I would hate very much if all of this family stress were to go unaddressed and silently undermine all of his hard work.

I am only a phone call and ten minute drive away at any time during the school day. My number is xxx-xxx-xxxx. And of course, my email is xxxxxxxxx@xxxxxxxx.xxx.

Thank you so much, Mrs. G. I appreciate everything you have already done for Samuel this year already. I hate to ask for special attention, but we have learned to hope for the best while anticipating the worst. I am hoping for the best here...but I still worry.

Yeah, I'm oversharing and hoping it doesn't result in any backlash against my kid.

Who knows what the right thing is to do in these situations? Unfortunately, the experts don't write books about this stuff. Maybe I will write that book. Though not an expert, I clearly have insight that most people don't. This crap has gotta be worth something.

4-11-10

There are some stories that are too awful to speak out loud. There are stories so horrifying that even the characters in the starring roles cannot fathom the depths of the hell from which they come. These are the stories we bury deep within ourselves so that we may spare loved ones and strangers alike from the nightmares we know will come in the midnight hour. These are the stories that we quietly weave into the fabric of our being...maybe making us seem a little different or making us just a little bit sad to outsiders. These are the stories that ultimately define who we are.

And so goes the story of our Little Bug.

There are a few simple things that we will share.

First...

We have some amazing friends and family. We love you and we hope that we show you a fraction of the thanks and appreciation you deserve. We are so so so lucky to have you in our lives. Thank you for hoping with us during the last 19 weeks...for risking the heartbreak. Thank you for sharing your distractions with us when our world shattered into a million bits again and again and again.

Thank you, most of all, for loving us always.

Second...

We will never know "why" or "what happened"...so please do not ask.

Third...

We know there are the usual grief markers we will have to pass in the coming weeks. We also know how incredibly lucky we are...how much is good in our lives...please do not think we have lost sight of that. If anything can heal a soul, it is the warmth of a ratty old sweatshirt, or the comforts of home, or the endless chatter of a 7-year-old about the magic of Ben 10 Alien Force, or the monster voices of a two-year-old with a contagious giggle. Please do not worry about us. We will be ok. Just be patient.

Fourth...

I do not believe there is a God. I am sure I will lose friends (and possibly the love of family members) because of this. I do not care. I also will not justify it. The hell I have just witnessed for the last four days leads me to this one undeniable conclusion.

I won't challenge those who dare to convince me otherwise. I also won't try to convince them that I am right. Because I have been to that place...where most people can't even imagine in their worst nightmares...where nothing can ever be set "right" again and you know it is pointless to try. In that place, there is no fluffy warm cloud on which everything is ok. No fluffy warm sentiment that makes it all right. Only harsh, cold realities that people have to deal with in the here and now...with no right or wrong...and certainly no promises for a tomorrow.

The only fluffy warm sentiment comes from the amazing capacity of people to care for one another...to make life a little easier in big and small ways...to perform acts of kindness that leave indelible marks on the lives of others. THAT is where hope lives for me.

Fifth...

Given the above, anger directed at God on our behalf is wasted energy. And while Steve and I both appreciate that people love us enough to be inspired to that level of emotion, we do not want the legacy of our Little Bug to be one of anger. Before it all went to shit, Little Bug was a source of much love and hope...and peace...for us. We have to believe that that remains somewhere though it may temporarily be lost in the bleeding wounds of fresh grief. If nothing else, please do this one thing...let Little Bug's legacy be one of love and hope and peace.

No mercy here

Because I am apparently incapable of doing ANYTHING right...I have been here for two freaking days with NO progress induced. A discussion of "options" is forthcoming according to nurse Jessica.

Fantastic!

And an honest note to Baby #5 (though probably not entirely deserved)...you didn't stick around...you died...so get the fuck out and let me go back to my life, ok? This isn't your space anymore...so quit invading it and just leave.

Goodbye Little Bug

"Unfortunately, honey, the baby is no longer alive.". -Ultrasound doctor

More than me

I try to tell myself I am other things, besides pregnant. Mom. Wife. Attorney. Friend. Volunteer.

I tell myself I will still be those things if/when this pregnancy ends. I have a rich life...filled with love and happiness and...life. It doesn't all rest on the outcome of this biological function called gestation. What will be, will be...and I will still be me.

But I can't quite get there.

IT is always there.

Mom...how will I tell the boys?
Wife...how will Steve cope...again?
Attorney...you want me to concentrate on this when there is so much else that is important?
Friend...I am incapable of being a good friend right now.
Volunteer...I'm TRYING...but I just can't concentrate on what you need from me.

Always...just...pregnant.

Always...just...preparing for the end.

The fear and anxiety have kicked in during the last two days. No surprise there. Springtime sunshine. Holiday weekend. 19 weeks. Ultrasound on Thursday morning. Expectations that it all ought to crash down around my ears within the next week or so. And if, by chance, it survives past this point...there is always May to slog through.

Tears swirl the letters on the screen and my hands shake as I type this...certain it is already over. I was certain yesterday too...but the doppler proved me wrong (I need to start carrying that thing in my purse).

I am not sure I can do this.

I know I've done it once before.

But I'm still not sure I can do this.

Perfect Moments

It's supposed to be Perfect Moment Monday. And I'm supposed to post a picture. But my camera and I have been working on Animal Protective League business and haven't snapped even a simple shot of the boys lately (a fact for which they are extremely happy...I think they think I take too many pictures of them). I've been having a lot of "perfect moments" lately...just haven't taken a photograph of them.

Walking into the house after a long day of volunteering and having Sam and Myles run the length of the house toward me with smiles on their faces and their little arms outstretched for long-overdue hugs.

Driving up the driveway after work, seeing horses in the pasture, Steve on the porch, one little boy wearing his bicycle helmet and pretending to ride his skateboard, another littler boy swinging a plastic golf club around like a samurai sword.

Walking out of the grocery store seeing Sam in the passenger seat and Myles on Steve's lap in the driver's seat of our little blue minivan. Steve rolls down the window and they all smile and wave and say, "Hi mommy!"

These moments all seem so perfect.

It's funny because there was a time when I was convinced there would never be perfect moments again. And somehow, despite what/who is missing, it is enough. It is perfect in its own regard. There is no looking back.

But there IS nervous looking forward. Do I dare tempt fate? Do I dare to think that somehow that these moments are not YET perfect? That they can be even better? It is a strange place to be.

Mommy ouch???

The other day I was using my doppler and Myles kept insisting, "Choo-choo...choo-choo." There was something that stopped me from saying the word baby. I don't know why. But today I just jumped right in with both feet when he gave me the opening...

Myles(spying my belly stretch marks): "Mommy...ouch? hurt?"

Me: "Nope, no ouch. You know why my belly looks like that?"

Myles: "Why?"

Me: "There's a baby in there."

Myles(eyes wide in disbelief): "No."

A few minutes later...

Me: "Myles tell Sam about Mommy's belly."

Myles: "No."

Sam: "Myles is there a baby in Mommy's belly?"

Myles(hesitantly): "Uh-huh."

A few minutes later...

Me: "Myles tell Daddy about Mommy's belly."

Myles(enthusiastically): "Baby!"

There's no turning back now. *gulp*

Things I do not understand today

People who try to use an eighteen-inch skillet to cook a three-egg omelette.

We have a dishwasher, yet the kitchen sink is always full of dirty dishes.

My husband "cooked" eighteen eggs, and yet I still have nothing to eat for dinner.

Why people stress when someone verbally threatens to sue them.

Crocheting is so easy but knitting is so difficult.

How to let "I'm sorry" fix anything.

How anyone could want to live in Pittsburgh.

Reconciling wanting another baby with, "Oh my hell...now I'll have to take care of FOUR other people."

Second grade homework.

The fact that after five pregnancies together, my husband still doesn't understand the urgency of the pregnancy food craving.

The trackball on my Blackberry.

Absurd

I just got off the phone with a (new) client who clearly does not value my opinion or advice, when I got a call from another client who asked me to be a presenter at a conference. Some days I worry about getting whiplash in this job.

Exactly

"Don't let your fears about tomorrow steal your joys of today."

Nella's grandpa, Enjoying the Small Things

Dear Grandma

I thought of you today when I saw these...

And I realize I must be getting to be more like you...because I LOVE them!

Happy 5th Birthday Thomas

Today I remember Thomas by participating in Random Acts of Kindness Day.

Much love and peace go out to Kristin and Sandy today. May Thomas' birthday be gentle on you both. And may all the Random Acts being done today in Thomas' name echo your love across time and space.

Sometimes parenting is tough

As I've talked about before, Sam has had some trouble focusing in school. He is...over-social.

OK...stop laughing now.

As I've talked about before, we have struggled with how to deal with this in an effective way. He gets all A's...generally A+'s...so it's not that he can't do the work. It's that he talks and talks and talks (I WONDER where he gets it from).

I told you to stop laughing.

We have tried various systems of privileges/rewards/punishments that, quite simply, haven't worked. He is quite content to lose TV, computer, or videogames...he just plays with other toys or goes outside and digs holes in the dirt. He isn't bothered too much by losing special activities like soccer or Cub Scouts. He just finds something else to occupy his time. Try as we might, he just didn't seem to have what Dr. Phil calls, his valuable currency. That one thing that is worth something...worth shaping up for.

I'm happy to announce that, by pure luck, I think we found it. It's US! The kid doesn't want to miss out on ANY time with the rest of the family. So dealing with that currency...every time he doesn't get his work done at school he loses a half hour off his bedtime. I think he was actually at a 7:30pm bedtime when he finally realized we were serious and he WAS missing out (we're now back to 9:30 thanks to a full week of completed work last week). I can honestly say that I am relieved. And I only hesitantly put this out there....because you know, as is the nature with kids, it'll probably change next week.

In the interest of consistency necessary for good parenting (or so the experts say), we are still hanging on to the prior non-working systems as reinforcers of the idea that school is VERY important. Don't get your work done...lost TV, computer, videogames, soccer, baseball, Cub Scouts, etc. And the resulting fallout from that IS teaching lessons...but it is sometimes SO difficult to see through as the parent.

See, he'd lost Cub Scouts so often that he hadn't been to a meeting in MONTHS...so long that they threatened to not renew his membership for next year. When his Den leader called about his membership lapsing, he snapped right to attention and has now earned back attendance at Cub Scouts for the last two weeks in a row. BUT...during his absence, he missed the sign-ups for the pinewood derby (that was held Saturday).

He cried.

I told him he had made the choices that led to this...it had all been up to him and he had done it all himself. Besides, there wasn't anything I could do about it even if I wanted to. He stopped crying and went on with his day.

And then I cried.

I KNOW it's a lesson he needs to learn about responsibility and blah, blah, blah. But I also know how much fun he had last year and how much fun he would have had this year.

*sigh*

Hopefully next year will be better.

*fingers crossed*

Blog housecleaning

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I've decided, on advice from friends, that I don't have to put up with anonymous rude comments on my blog space. I wouldn't put up with it in person, so I'm not going to put up with it here. So...anonymous comments are now off.
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I did want to answer one question...why would I put myself through another pregnancy if I am going to be miserable the entire time?

1. I'm not miserable. Scared...yes. No...terrified that I'm going to bury another child. I found the experience of standing at my child's gravesite, looking at his coffin, to be the worst of my life (times two). That doesn't mean I'm miserable. It just means I have life experiences that color my perceptions. And they don't just go away because I wish them away (believe me, I've tried).

I know there is a lot of crazy associated with my current views of pregnancy and childbirth. I fully recognize that some of it is completely and totally batshit crazy. But completely denying feelings, no matter how crazy, isn't healthy. So the crazy comes here. My co-workers, friends, and family thank you for the sacrifice you make by reading about it.

2. This was not a planned pregnancy. But when I discovered I was pregnant, I couldn't help but smile and feel excited at the prospect of adding to our family. There is considerable risk and the potential for much heartache. But there is also potential for considerable joy. And THAT is why I am surviving another pregnancy...that potential joy.

You may not have made the same decision and that is a choice you are entitled to make for yourself. Faced with this unexpected opportunity...I choose to try. That doesn't mean I can join in the happy dance that generally surrounds the pregnancy experience. I will question my own sanity. I will be sad and angry and jealous some days. In fact, some days I may have to crawl just to keep moving. Some days, when that potential joy is clouded out by fear and anxiety, I may even have to rely on the kindness of my friends to push me forward by reminding me that it is out there.

But it IS out there.

So that's why.
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I still maintain that a high risk OB practice is NOT the place for a nurse to gush about how her own five pregnancies made her feel "so healthy and strong." It's just...callous. But I didn't embarass her by pointing it out. In fact, I didn't say anything. I didn't yell or cry or anything "miserable." I smiled and nodded the way you're supposed to do in polite company. And then I came here and expressed my disbelief at the callousness.

Another day at the office filled with easy chit-chat for her. Another appointment during which I could find out my baby is dead for me. Not miserable...just disappointed because I expect a little more empathy from someone involved with my care in that particular setting.
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My blog started out as a place to just talk nonsense. And I would have LOVED for it to stay that way. But it became my place to get the crazy out. To put it somewhere where people might recoil in horror...but at least I didn't have to see it. My place to be honest without fear of judgments or easy answers being tossed out. And, for the most part, people have been relatively good about respecting my space. But, as in life, there is always that one person who needs to step in and stir things up. I don't know why.

I will never understand what compels someone to leave confrontational comments (anonymous or otherwise). I have always subscribed to the philosophy that if I don't know you, you probably don't really care what I have to say. Further, if I do know you, you probably don't want to be publicly kicked in the ass on a blog forum. So if I don't have anything nice to say, I just don't say it. It's too bad not everyone learned that lesson.
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Could not believe it

Just when I thought I had heard all the insensitive conversations one can have with a deadbabymama, I encounter another...

Today the incessantly (and irritatingly) perky older nurse at Dr.A's office told me all about how much she LOVED being pregnant...because she "felt so healthy and strong."

You'll be glad to know I didn't knock her teeth out the way I really wanted to.

Still fine

Heartrate 150bpm :o)

Next appointment in two weeks...will try not to freak out again before then...but have permission to call or email if I do.

Still fine

Mom's ok.
We're ok.
Lots of snow...had a snow day on Friday.
The Olympics are over and Sam is happy because he, "won't have to watch random curling events anymore."
A stray cat with extra toes on the front paws showed up at our door the other night and Steve said, "Absolutely not." So...we took it to the APL to find it a new home.
Pants getting too tight because I'm eating too much.
Husband still not listening to me when I speak. Thinking of communicating with him solely through facebook.
First post-freakout appointment today.
Fun times.
I miss random curling events being on TV.