Normal complaints

Of course I still have it in me to complain about the everyday, boring, mundane things in my life. Like why I'm the only person who knows how to wash dishes, or wash laundry, or operate the vacuum cleaner?!?! But then he goes all the way to town to get me chocolate syrup for chocolate milk and I have to forget all the stuff I'm irritated about.

To tell the truth, I've been feeling a bit un-special. When I was pregnant, people (especially my husband) would treat me like I was something special. Opening doors, asking if they could do anything to help, taking me an hour away for blueberry pancakes...that sort of stuff. Then, when I was suddenly not pregnant and didn't have a baby in my arms, people (including my husband) treated me like I was "pre-pregnancy Catherine." I know it is all an effort to try to maintain a sense of some normalcy around here. But in my twisted postnatal hormone imbalance, it made me feel like I'd suddenly lost my sparkle...I suddenly was back to being nothing special. Now, after almost three months, I've noticed that the men out here in booneyville still open doors for me. My office friend(s) still offer to do nice things for me if I need it. And my husband still runs to the store to get me some chocolate syrup so I can have chocolate milk. I'm thinking I'm still special after all. Or maybe he is the special one...and I'm just lucky enough to be part of this life with him.

And I know he's going to stop at the cemetery for a few minutes of peace sans Sam and I...and that makes me love him even more.

A piece of me

There is this sense that a piece of me is missing. Not just in the figurative sense, but in the actual physical sense. It's as though I'm missing a limb...and appendage. And I feel the most complete when I sit in the cemetery, at Alex's grave. When I have to leave the cemetery, I'm not only leaving my boy behind, I feel like I'm leaving that missing piece of me again.

I'm beginning to wonder if this is something that mothers have with all their children, but I just never noticed it before because I actually HAVE my other child WITH me. I never had the sense that I was missing a piece of me, because he's right here, living with me. To tell the truth (and I know this may surprise some of you), Sam's never spent a night away from us except for when I was in the hospital delivering Alex. So...I've never had to explore the sensation of missing Sam...I've never really wanted to. I've never had to feel what it feels like to miss a piece of me, if even for a short while.

With Alex, he's not here...he's up on the hill in the cemetery...so this sense of the missing piece is obvious. Maybe that's why I feel SO incomplete now.

Can't help but think

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I can't help but think that if I hadn't been so pissed off at my OB, I would have seen THEIR specialist yesterday and have some answers today. Instead, I'm waiting until Tuesday to see a specialist in a different network. Tuesday isn't that far off, is it? So why does it feel like an eternity away?

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Go away. Stop standing down the hall from my office door, speaking in whispers that are so obviously about me. If you want to know how I'm doing, ask me. If you have something to say about me, at least have the courtesy to say it loud enough that I can hear and offer my own comment. And when I close my door, don't let the whispers escalate to normal voice in your obvious relief that I've removed myself from earshot. And when I walk in the room and you've obviously been talking about me, please don't avert your eyes. I know you've been talking about me...there's no need to hide your eyes...unless you're embarassed...unless you're ashamed?

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I think we need to incorporate the muppets on our t-shirts. And how much is airfare to Australia anyway?

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Good news...sort of...

We received approval for a half-tuition scholarship for the First Candle/SIDS Alliance/International Stillbirth Alliance, Together Making a World of Difference Conference in Washington, DC in September. Now we just have to figure out how to make the rest of it all work. Do we just say screw it and charge the whole thing on our credit card? Or do we do the responsible thing and not go because we can't really afford it? Responsible didn't end up the way it should have before...so I'm personally leaning toward being irresponsible. I think we would get a lot out of it. But is it worth adding to our already out-of-control debt?

You were right

My apologies Steve...you were right...11:38pm.

I love you.

Why I love my friends...

Sometimes a friend can explain it so much better than I can.

Would you go into a hospital room where a woman is lying in traction with bandages from head to toe, and ask her to do so much as hold your coffee cup and newspaper for a minute while you scratched your ass? No, you would not. That's what's being asked of you -- to hold people's cups and newspapers while they scratch their asses. It's ridiculous. You're not visibly injured the way the woman in traction and bandages is, so people assume you're okay to help them out with an ass itch. But you're NOT ABLE to help. That doesn't make you a monster. That makes you just plain NOT ABLE to help! You're in traction with bandages, and folks are going to have to learn to hold their own damn coffee cups and newspapers while they scratch their asses on the edge of a chair.

Couldn't sleep

Yesterday wasn't a good day. There was no particular reason for it. That's not true, there was a reason for it, but I don't want to start World War III, so I'm not going to discuss it here. Anyway...yesterday wasn't a good day. And last night, for the first time in a couple weeks, I couldn't sleep.

There I sat in my rocking recliner watching the minutes tick by from midnight to about 1am listening to the crickets chirp and the cicadas sing outside the living room picture window. I thought about how I used to sit there, all big and round and happily pregnant, snuggled in a big blanket while the snow fell outside that same window. I thought about how it felt to be warm and safe...feeling like my biggest worry was whether I would have enough sleep to function the next day at work. I thought about how I talked to Alex all those nights...and made deals with him so he would go to sleep. I thought about how I should have enjoyed those moments more and not so easily wished them away.

But these thoughts were strangely different this time. This time there was a feeling of missing him and a feeling of sadness...but there was something else. Suddenly it popped into my head...my life goes on. Sure, it's different than it was...I'M different than I was. But I can incorporate this into my being and make something new of my life rather than this "thing" incorporating me so that I have nothing left of my own life. A piece of me died, but I have to remember that all of me didn't.

I can sit in that chair and mourn what I've lost without feeling like I've lost everything. Of course, that's not going to stop those moments from coming where I feel like I've lost everything. But I'm slowly finding that those moments are fewer and farther apart in time. And I can work through the hard times. I've survived the worst...now I need to work to make something of what's left. Some days I'm not going to feel like working at it. Some days I'm still going to sob and order carry out for dinner because that's all I can manage. But not every day.

Safe trip

To my brother-in-law, who is headed to New Jersey (of all places)...have a safe trip.

To my sister, who is staying home from New Jersey (good call on that)...don't party too much without the ball and chain.

What do I do with the feeling that I'm the reason there's stuff in everyone else's bucket? Like it's my fault they have to cart around the damn thing in the first place?

Failure or deliberate avoidance?

A while back, I posted about My Bucket. Here lately, I've been asked to get in other people's buckets and I'm finding that I just can't. Or maybe I just don't want to, so I won't. I really don't know which it is. There seems to be this piece of me missing. Where there was once empathy and compassion, there is now only sadness and anger. I've become so self-absorbed that there is no room for other people's sadness and anger. And I'm wondering if this is something that happens naturally as some weird defense mechanism? Or if this is something that I've chosen to become (as some weird defense mechanism)?

Quite honestly, I don't have the least problem being selfish for a while. It's not even been three months since I buried my baby. In the grand scheme of things, I think I'm doing remarkably well. I've found people to "talk to" who understand the mess my brain has become. I'm functioning, albeit on a much reduced capacity than before. I manage to must all my energy each morning to haul my fat butt out of bed and shower and clothe myself...when all I'd really like to do is lay in bed all day and eat Oreos and watch soap operas.

But at what point will my personality recover? Can I expect my empathy and compassion for others to come back? Or do I have to go out and seek it out...actively work to replace it?

If it's going to take work, I'm too tired right now. I can barely stand on my own two feet every day, let alone crawl into someone else's bucket and feel anything for them. Maybe that makes me a monster. But I would like to believe it just means I'm barely hanging on and I'm doing my best. And if my best isn't good enough, then the people who love me will be patient with me...and the people who don't...well...who gives a crap about them anyway.

It is somehow an attractive thought to think that I've failed in grief. Hell, I've failed in just about everything I've done for the past year or so, so why should this be any different? But intellectually, I feel like it is unreasonable to expect anyone to grieve the way you want them to. I can't possibly fail at something like this, unless someone else imposes their own requirements and guidelines on my grief. And I'm not in the mood to play by someone else's rules.

I do care. I just can't take care of anyone but me right now. And even that is proving to be too much. I feel completely beaten down, as though I've been run over by a bus and left bleeding on the side of the road. I can't get up and tend to someone else. I just want to lie there and let the world keep spinning on without me. The old me would have gotten up, patched up my own injuries, and helped as many people as I can. This me can't...or won't. I miss the old me. But the new me hates her and wants her to stay gone.

Maybe it's not failure...maybe I've chosen this new me. Maybe I am a monster.

A Good Wednesday

For the first time in twelve weeks, we had a good Wednesday.

We started this morning with the much anticipated trip around town(s) to pick up my medical records. With an untrained medical eye, it appears the bacteria in question is E coli. I'm not sure what to think, so I'm reserving all judgments and guesstimates until we talk to the perinatologist on Tuesday.

We also went and finalized the plan for Alex's headstone. We actually talked to the guy who is going to do the work. I finally feel like we're on the same page. In four to six weeks Alex should have a permanent monument. I'm not sure what to think about this either. Happy? Sad?

But after all our errands of drudgery, we headed off to do some retail therapy with Julie and the boy. Despite the unbelievable heat and humidity we had a nice time. The boy got some shopping done, though I don't think as much as he would have liked. Our Sam got some pants at the Osh Kosh outlet...and a $2 toy school bus at the toy outlet that totally thrilled him and will probably end up at the bottom of the toy box before the week is out. Steve got to visit the Black & Decker and Sony outlets...though I think he missed the Bose outlet...poor guy.

But the best part of the day was taking some time to sit and chat with Ms. Sisyphus herself. I never thought it would help lighten my heart so much to talk with someone who understands where I am, where I've been, and can tell me where I'm going. She is a truly beautiful human being, and she's going to look great in the Liz Claiborne shirts she bought ($10...nobody should pass up a deal like that!).

I fear that I made a major faux pas during our short visit, however. And I would like to apologize "publicly." At one point while we were talking I said, "Don't cry." I offered a hug...but those words still escaped. They came out of my mouth before I even realized they were there. It was second nature to suppress uncomfortable emotion and make sure I didn't have to deal with it. Here, I thought I was so evolved because of my own Alex...but apparently old habits die hard. What I should have said was, "Cry all you want. I'm here for you if you need me...and I understand."

So what I will say now is this...

Julie,
I'm sorry. Cry all you want. I'm here for you if you need me...and I understand.

I hope it's not too little, too late. Thank you for a good Wednesday. I truly appreciate it.

{{{hugs}}}

Stillbirth

On a platform, I heard someone call out your name:
No, Laetitia, no.
It wasn't my train — the doors were closing,
but I rushed in, searching for your face.

But no Laetitia. No.
No one in that car could have been you,
but I rushed in, searching for your face:
no longer an infant. A woman now, blond, thirty-two.

No one in that car could have been you.
Laetitia-Marie was the name I had chosen.
No longer an infant. A woman now, blond, thirty-two:
I sometimes go months without remembering you.

Laetitia-Marie was the name I had chosen:
I was told not to look. Not to get attached —
I sometimes go months without remembering you.
Some griefs bless us that way, not asking much space.

I was told not to look. Not to get attached.
It wasn't my train — the doors were closing.
Some griefs bless us that way, not asking much space.
On a platform, I heard someone call out your name.

Laure-Anne Bosselaar
The Georgia Review
Special Issue: Poetry and Poiesis
Volume LVIII, Number 2
Summer 2004

Just when I thought the fun stuff was over

My hair is starting the post-pregnancy fallout. This is it, right? The last reminder?

When I Look to the Sky--Train

When it rains it pours and opens doors
And floods the floors we thought would always keep us safe and dry
And in the midst of sailing ships we sink our lips into the ones we love
That have to say goodbye

And as I float along this ocean
I can feel you like a notion that won't seem to let me go

Cause when I look to the sky something tells me you're here with me
And you make everything alright
And when I feel like I'm lost something tells me you're here with me
And I can always find my way when you are here

And every word I didn't say that caught up in some busy day
And every dance on the kitchen floor we didn't dance before
And every sunset that we'll miss I'll wrap them all up in a kiss
And pick you up in all of this when I sail away

Whether I am up or down or in or out or just plane overhead
Instead it just feels like it is impossible to fly
But with you I can spread my wings
to see me over everything that life may send me
When I am hoping it won't pass me by

And when I feel like there is no one that will ever know me
there you are to show me

Laughter and tears

Sometime in the early dawn hours, as the sun was just beginning to throw light over our corner of the world, I heard my son laugh in his sleep. I had been laying there thinking horrible thoughts about life and death, and he laughed out from somewhere in his dreams. It was a sweet uninhibited sound that washed warmth over me and made me smile...and then turn over in my bed and weep quietly for all the laughter I will never hear.

Things I want to scream about

God needed another angel.
God doesn't "need" anything. And even if he did, he wouldn't be so selfish as to steal my baby to satisfy himself.

It's all part of God's plan or the alternatively wonderful I guess it wasn't meant to be.
What plan would that be? There is no justification that could possibly explain taking an innocent life and creating suffering and pain in it's absence. God wouldn't be so deliberately cruel as to play with our lives for the development of some master plan that we don't get to know about until we're dead. My God loves me and wouldn't wish harm on me or my family for ANY reason.

He's in a better place now.
But I want him here with me!

God doesn't give us more than we can handle.
God doesn't "give" us anything. He set up the rules a long time ago and now he plays by them. So yes, there ARE some things that are more than we can handle.

Prayer can do wonderful things.
I'm sorry, but prayer doesn't do squat. Accept the fact that life is random and you're at the mercy of that randomness. My baby didn't die because I didn't pray enough. My uncle didn't get cancer because he didn't pray enough. That's absurd and an insult to God if you believe it. He doesn't punish those who lose their way...nor does he reward those who are especially focused.

You can always have another.
Do you KNOW that? Do you know that the bacteria I cart around in my uterus isn't going to kill the next baby? And even if you do know that, how f*cking insensitive to suggest that I can just replace one child with another.

I understand.
No, you don't. I know you mean well, but you can't possibly understand unless you've been here. You may well be able to imagine what this feels like...but you don't understand.

I don't know how you do it.
What's my alternative? I guess I could kill myself. How would you suggest I do so? Good grief...what an assinine thing to say.

It's such a blessing that you have a living child.
Yes, yes it is. But it does not eliminate the huge gaping hole in my life where my dead son is supposed to be.

I'm past the first trimester so I don't have to worry anymore.
Really? If only I could go back to that naivete.

Itchy?

Yes, I was itchy yesterday. Literally and figuratively.

It seems I got a good bit of poison ivy on my arms from my horses. I always forget I need to wear long sleeves when putting their halters on during the summer. They eat from the midst of the trees and get the poison ivy oils on their heads and eart. I got a rash in the exact same place last year. I MUST remember next time.

I was also feeling that itchy feeling you get when you can't sit still and concentrate on anything. Your mind wanders and you just have an itch to get up and go...anywhere. I found myself walking around the courthouse complex at work yesterday (always striding with a sense of purpose so it would appear I was on official business rather than just meandering aimlessly).

Today the itch is gone and I just want to sit in my chair, drink a cup of coffee, and maybe crochet a little. I'll probably have to wait to crochet until lunchtime. It probably wouldn't look too good if my boss walked in and I was stitching instead of working. hehehe

I was THIS close!

I was THERE...

at the END...

with a FULL-SIZE VIABLE BABY!

I did it all the way I was supposed to. I suffered all the aches and pains and indignities of pregnancy with a smile on my face. I relished every kick. I adored the feeling of that wonderous weight in my belly. A beautiful boy grew inside of me.

We almost had it all. We almost had the dream. It was there, within our grasp...and it slipped away.

I feel so very alone.

I miss my life.

I miss my beautiful baby boy.

Signs?

OK...where are my sign believers?

This afternoon, while walking our foster dalmatian, I noticed a beautiful bluejay feather on the ground. As I contemplated picking it up for Sam, I nearly stepped on a snake

This morning I pulled the blank rune.

I just don't have a good feeling.

I feel dirty

And not in the eyebrow-raising, "Oh really?" way that you're thinking. I just keep going over and over in my brain how my baby was killed by bacteria...bacteria in MY body. I know it's senseless to worry about this before I see the specialist and get some further insight, but I feel like I have this "ick" all over me and I could shower for hours and still not wash it off.

It appears there are a couple of ways I could have contracted this "thing." An ascending infection of the uterus. That's fancy terminology for something-crawled-up-my-hoochie. Nice huh? There is also the possibility that it was something I ate...though this option is apparently much less likely. And there are very rare, enter-through-the-skin types of bacteria...even less likely than the ingested kind.

But regardless of how it got there, I can't help but think that it is THERE. I mean, how gross is that? Bacteria!?!?! I use antibacterial soap on my dishes, my clothes, and my hands, for crying out loud! How did this microscopic invader get access to my body and steal my dreams from me!?!?! And can I get rid of it? Will it always be with me? Is it there now?

I know these are all questions that the specialist will hopefully have some answers for, but I can't help but think about it in the back of my mind all the time. I remember seeing a filmstrip in elementary school about symbiotic relationships. The thing is, I thought those are somehow beneficial to both the symbiot (sp?) and the host. How wrong I was...Biology A close, prolonged association between two or more different organisms of different species that may, but does not necessarily, benefit each member.

So I've got a squatter in my uterus. What's the eviction procedure?

I need to know now...before I lose what's left of my grasp on reality.

Wait a week and I'll have some answers, I know. But I just feel so dirty now!