It is nearing the end of October, which is, in case anyone has forgotten, Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month. I haven't written about it yet (although considering I've been up to my eyeballs living in newborn-sleep-deprivation-land, it's a minor achievement to post anything at all). That doesn't mean I haven't been thinking about it, and how my life has changed over the past year.
Last year at this time I was grieving pretty hard. Two losses in a year is certainly enough to put anyone off kilter. It was all I thought about, all I wrote about. And here I am, a year later, typing one-handed as I cradle my 5 week old nursling in my other arm.
Am I a better parent now because I have experienced loss? I sincerely doubt that. Am I a more appreciative parent? That is a possibility. I think back to what I took for granted with SchmoopyBoy, all the gratitude I did not indulge in. Granted, in the throws of my postpartum depression, I was more or less incapable of gratitude, but that feels like such a waste now. I look down at this dear, perfect child and the tenderness I feel for him is matched only by the gratitude I have for him. For Him - the child that lived, the child that I thought might never be.
He is worth the wait. But there is still some... regret? sadness? bitterness? that such a wait was imposed. Was he not yet ready to be born? Was I not yet ready to receive him? I may never understand the whys, and I may always wonder who might be here in his stead, had one of those other babies lived.
Does that make me a worse parent now because I have experienced loss? I doubt that. Am I a slightly more wistful parent? That is a possibility.
Such are the laws of physics and family building - for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. There is appreciation, but also wistfulness. There is joy, but also sadness. There is looking forward to the future, but also remembering and honoring the past. There is marveling at what I have, but also wondering about what I don't have.
Most of the time I am absolutely more connected with the positives - appreciation for what I have and looking forward to the future with my family. To be honest, I am rarely connected with the opposites. It's pretty tough to focus on negatives when you have such a soft-haired, cuddly pile of baby to gush over. Nonetheless, I can't help but grow thoughtful about these things when I look back to where I was at this time just one short year ago.
Showing posts with label recurrent miscarriage. Show all posts
Showing posts with label recurrent miscarriage. Show all posts
Monday, October 24, 2011
Friday, April 1, 2011
SchmoopyBoy is finally going to be a big brother!
Nope, this is not an April Fools joke. I am, in fact, 14 weeks pregnant.
There have been so many times I was just about to post, and then I would chicken out. I'll just wait until my next 2 week appointment... I'll just wait until my 11 week ultrasound that tests for down syndrome... well, maybe I'll just wait one more week until I pass the 12 week mark so I don't jinx myself...
The telling is so easy. The untelling is so very hard.
So, I've put off posting about pregnancy, I've put off other posts I wanted to write because they referred to my pregnancy. Finally though, here is my official coming out party post. I'm excited. I'm hopeful. And, largely, I'm terrified. Par for the course, huh?
So what made this 3rd time the charm? Truthfully, I have no idea. Luck, perhaps? There are a few things I did differently this time around.
1. As I mentioned in a previous post several months ago, I got rolfed. My uterus and other internal organs have no structural excuses for not being able to hold a baby.
2. My doctor put me on progesterone supplements. From what the nurse told me, my progesterone numbers were "ok" but given my history of losses the doctor went ahead and prescribed the supplement to be safe.
3. Jedi mind tricks. I bet you didn't know I am a Jedi master in training. I still can't call miscellaneous objects to my hands from across the room (darn it that one's hard!) but apparently I can wave my hand over my belly and say "You shall live. You shall thrive. You shall be born healthy full term." I have yet to see if all that works. So far I'm pretty hopeful.
There have been so many times I was just about to post, and then I would chicken out. I'll just wait until my next 2 week appointment... I'll just wait until my 11 week ultrasound that tests for down syndrome... well, maybe I'll just wait one more week until I pass the 12 week mark so I don't jinx myself...
The telling is so easy. The untelling is so very hard.
So, I've put off posting about pregnancy, I've put off other posts I wanted to write because they referred to my pregnancy. Finally though, here is my official coming out party post. I'm excited. I'm hopeful. And, largely, I'm terrified. Par for the course, huh?
So what made this 3rd time the charm? Truthfully, I have no idea. Luck, perhaps? There are a few things I did differently this time around.
1. As I mentioned in a previous post several months ago, I got rolfed. My uterus and other internal organs have no structural excuses for not being able to hold a baby.
2. My doctor put me on progesterone supplements. From what the nurse told me, my progesterone numbers were "ok" but given my history of losses the doctor went ahead and prescribed the supplement to be safe.
3. Jedi mind tricks. I bet you didn't know I am a Jedi master in training. I still can't call miscellaneous objects to my hands from across the room (darn it that one's hard!) but apparently I can wave my hand over my belly and say "You shall live. You shall thrive. You shall be born healthy full term." I have yet to see if all that works. So far I'm pretty hopeful.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
The Julie Project - musings on infertility, humanity, love and perfection
I discovered the Julie Project early this week from Blue Milk, and it's been haunting me ever since, so I thought I should take some time to put some of my thoughts onto paper, if nothing else then to at least help purge my mind from all the levels of disturbing that have been tossing around.
The Julie Project is a documentary photo essay created by Darcy Padilla, winner of the W. Eugene Smith Grant for Humanistic Photography, which tracks the life of Julie Baird over almost two decades. It is the story of brutal, inescapable poverty, surviving childhood sexual abuse, drug addiction, AIDS, motherhood, and loss. Blue Milk's description of the series as "utterly compelling but completely devastating" is right on target.
There have been a couple of persistent themes running my head. On one hand, I was interested in perspectives of the story through the eyes of women in the ALi (adoption, loss, infertility) community, and how socio-economic privilege might frame one's perceptive of the story. I was also interested in examining what this story can teach us about humanity, perfection (or lack thereof), and love.
First I want to think about some (but certainly not all) perspectives that might be considered in the context of the ALi community. The pain of a woman struggling with infertility can be overwhelming. The anguish can lead to some women questioning the universe. I once read on a woman's blog - such and such woman doesn't even intend to try breastfeeding and is already talking about the daycare she is going to put her child in, why is she pregnant and I am not (implying that she clearly thinks she would be a superior - breastfeeding, stay-at-home - mother and is therefore more deserving of getting pregnant). I have read numerous accounts of people crying about the unfairness that women who lack one (perceivably desirable) quality or possess another (perceivably undesirable) quality have children so easily, when they, who do not possess said undesirable quality or do possess said desirable quality cannot easily bear a biological child. What, I wonder, would these women say about a sometimes homeless drug addict birthing six children, five of which were taken by the state and given for adoption.
But it is so easy to reduce someone to "a sometimes homeless drug addict". By reducing Julie as such, she is dehumanized, and if the Julie Project does nothing else, it forces us to see her humanity. And let us discuss for a moment, this concept of fairness. Is it fair that Julie was born to an alcoholic mother? Is it fair that she was raped repeatedly as a child by her stepfather? Is it fair that by the age of 14, a life as a runaway on the streets was preferable to life at home? When one has the privilege of being what society generally considers to be the "right" kind of woman to be a mother, it is so easy to point fingers at the "wrong" type of woman. These types of judgements are by no means limited to women struggling with fertility. Certainly these types of judgements are used constantly by policy makers, with the implicit approval of their constituencies, to justify such actions as the elimination of a variety of social programs that target marginalized groups for being the "wrong" type of woman.
Back to an ALi perspective, I now want to consider those who have been on the opposite end of the same line as Julie. I am speaking of those who have become mothers via adoption through a foster-to-adopt program. Many of these women are all too aware that they have gained their parenthood only though someone else's loss. Their children may or may not still bear the physical or emotional scars of the circumstances of their births.
It is interesting to consider Julie's children and their adoptive parents. The mother of Julie's fifth child, Jason Jr./Zach, contacted Julie and openly and explicitly tried to include her in her son's life. This child had been taken away from Julie at birth - she had never seen him. Nonetheless, Zach's mother taught him that his birth mother was special. Julie had given him life and for that he should feel love and gratitude towards her, despite her inability to care for him.
I found it fascinating that, upon receiving the initial letter of contact, Julie's response was "I didn't expect this, I expected it was Rachael," Julie's firstborn, who had been with her the longest of any of her children. Rachael had spent the first several years of her life with her birth mother in excruciating poverty, moving from home to flea-infested home, surrounded by drug abuse. She was present, although sleeping, when her 15 month old brother was beaten so badly by Julie's current partner (Julie was at the hospital at the time) both children were taken by the police, placed into foster care and later adopted. Julie thought Rachael would want to contact her. I wonder if Rachael would have any interest. What might Rachael feel towards Julie? Resentment and hatred? Love and longing? Who knows if she would ever want to revisit her difficult beginnings? Would she ever want to look backwards to where she came from, or would she be happy to leave any dark memories of deprivation and loss behind and look only to the future, more bright than any Julie could provide?
This thought, in my mind, brings me back in full circle to Julie's essential humanity. I am reminded of a particularly powerful sermon I once heard. The theme - perfection and love. You don't have to be perfect. You don't have to be perfect in order to love others. You don't have to be perfect in order to be loved by others. I think of the people who loved Julie. The biological father in Alaska - who never forgot her - who tattooed her name on his arm when Julie's 17-year old mother took her and ran off to San Francisco - who spent the next 31 years searching for her. Jack, the man who gave her AIDS and fathered her first child - who gladly took her back after she first left him when their child was a few months old to get away from his drug use - who embraced her second child as he did his own biological child - who, after she left him again for the man who beat her child and caused both children to be taken into custody, when dying of AIDS in a public hospice, had a last wish only that Julie, the love of his life, be by his side. Jason, the father of her last four children - who stood by her side when three of those children were taken away at birth - who stood by her side all the way up to Alaska so that Julie could be reunited with her father - who nursed her day and night when she lay dying of AIDS. Julie may not have been perfect. But she was undeniably human. And you don't need to be perfect to be loved.
One last thing I want to talk about is Julie's motherhood - the transformative potential motherhood had on her. When Darcy first met and started photographing Julie, she and Jack both said "Rachael has given us a reason to live". In fact, this is why Julie first left Jack within a year of Rachael's birth. He was abusive and did not want to stop using drugs. She was trying to stay clean because she did not want to lose this baby. The story starts with hope and optimism. Would this 19 year old young woman be able to transform her life? Could she overcome her own past, filled with addiction and abuse in her own upbringing to become the mother she wanted to be? Could she escape her own drug abuse, homelessness, and poverty? On her own with no education, no family, no resources, neither boots nor bootstraps, the poverty proved to be unrelenting and inescapable.
This is one of the tragedies of Julie's story, and a tragedy of our society.
Darcy Padilla said, when asked why she took on this project:
So when I hear about how House Republicans are trying to cut down on violence prevention by defunding programs such as the Violence Against Women Health Initiative (which funds ongoing work to improve health care providers' response to domestic and sexual violence), the Family Violence Prevention and Services Act (which funds domestic violence shelters and the National Hotline), and the Engaging Men and Youth in Prevention Program (which works to tap into the critical role men can play in helping youth develop respectful attitudes and behaviors towards women and girls), I have to agree with Blue Milk's final statement that every policy maker should view the Julie Project.
The Julie Project is a documentary photo essay created by Darcy Padilla, winner of the W. Eugene Smith Grant for Humanistic Photography, which tracks the life of Julie Baird over almost two decades. It is the story of brutal, inescapable poverty, surviving childhood sexual abuse, drug addiction, AIDS, motherhood, and loss. Blue Milk's description of the series as "utterly compelling but completely devastating" is right on target.
There have been a couple of persistent themes running my head. On one hand, I was interested in perspectives of the story through the eyes of women in the ALi (adoption, loss, infertility) community, and how socio-economic privilege might frame one's perceptive of the story. I was also interested in examining what this story can teach us about humanity, perfection (or lack thereof), and love.
First I want to think about some (but certainly not all) perspectives that might be considered in the context of the ALi community. The pain of a woman struggling with infertility can be overwhelming. The anguish can lead to some women questioning the universe. I once read on a woman's blog - such and such woman doesn't even intend to try breastfeeding and is already talking about the daycare she is going to put her child in, why is she pregnant and I am not (implying that she clearly thinks she would be a superior - breastfeeding, stay-at-home - mother and is therefore more deserving of getting pregnant). I have read numerous accounts of people crying about the unfairness that women who lack one (perceivably desirable) quality or possess another (perceivably undesirable) quality have children so easily, when they, who do not possess said undesirable quality or do possess said desirable quality cannot easily bear a biological child. What, I wonder, would these women say about a sometimes homeless drug addict birthing six children, five of which were taken by the state and given for adoption.
But it is so easy to reduce someone to "a sometimes homeless drug addict". By reducing Julie as such, she is dehumanized, and if the Julie Project does nothing else, it forces us to see her humanity. And let us discuss for a moment, this concept of fairness. Is it fair that Julie was born to an alcoholic mother? Is it fair that she was raped repeatedly as a child by her stepfather? Is it fair that by the age of 14, a life as a runaway on the streets was preferable to life at home? When one has the privilege of being what society generally considers to be the "right" kind of woman to be a mother, it is so easy to point fingers at the "wrong" type of woman. These types of judgements are by no means limited to women struggling with fertility. Certainly these types of judgements are used constantly by policy makers, with the implicit approval of their constituencies, to justify such actions as the elimination of a variety of social programs that target marginalized groups for being the "wrong" type of woman.
Back to an ALi perspective, I now want to consider those who have been on the opposite end of the same line as Julie. I am speaking of those who have become mothers via adoption through a foster-to-adopt program. Many of these women are all too aware that they have gained their parenthood only though someone else's loss. Their children may or may not still bear the physical or emotional scars of the circumstances of their births.
It is interesting to consider Julie's children and their adoptive parents. The mother of Julie's fifth child, Jason Jr./Zach, contacted Julie and openly and explicitly tried to include her in her son's life. This child had been taken away from Julie at birth - she had never seen him. Nonetheless, Zach's mother taught him that his birth mother was special. Julie had given him life and for that he should feel love and gratitude towards her, despite her inability to care for him.
I found it fascinating that, upon receiving the initial letter of contact, Julie's response was "I didn't expect this, I expected it was Rachael," Julie's firstborn, who had been with her the longest of any of her children. Rachael had spent the first several years of her life with her birth mother in excruciating poverty, moving from home to flea-infested home, surrounded by drug abuse. She was present, although sleeping, when her 15 month old brother was beaten so badly by Julie's current partner (Julie was at the hospital at the time) both children were taken by the police, placed into foster care and later adopted. Julie thought Rachael would want to contact her. I wonder if Rachael would have any interest. What might Rachael feel towards Julie? Resentment and hatred? Love and longing? Who knows if she would ever want to revisit her difficult beginnings? Would she ever want to look backwards to where she came from, or would she be happy to leave any dark memories of deprivation and loss behind and look only to the future, more bright than any Julie could provide?
This thought, in my mind, brings me back in full circle to Julie's essential humanity. I am reminded of a particularly powerful sermon I once heard. The theme - perfection and love. You don't have to be perfect. You don't have to be perfect in order to love others. You don't have to be perfect in order to be loved by others. I think of the people who loved Julie. The biological father in Alaska - who never forgot her - who tattooed her name on his arm when Julie's 17-year old mother took her and ran off to San Francisco - who spent the next 31 years searching for her. Jack, the man who gave her AIDS and fathered her first child - who gladly took her back after she first left him when their child was a few months old to get away from his drug use - who embraced her second child as he did his own biological child - who, after she left him again for the man who beat her child and caused both children to be taken into custody, when dying of AIDS in a public hospice, had a last wish only that Julie, the love of his life, be by his side. Jason, the father of her last four children - who stood by her side when three of those children were taken away at birth - who stood by her side all the way up to Alaska so that Julie could be reunited with her father - who nursed her day and night when she lay dying of AIDS. Julie may not have been perfect. But she was undeniably human. And you don't need to be perfect to be loved.
One last thing I want to talk about is Julie's motherhood - the transformative potential motherhood had on her. When Darcy first met and started photographing Julie, she and Jack both said "Rachael has given us a reason to live". In fact, this is why Julie first left Jack within a year of Rachael's birth. He was abusive and did not want to stop using drugs. She was trying to stay clean because she did not want to lose this baby. The story starts with hope and optimism. Would this 19 year old young woman be able to transform her life? Could she overcome her own past, filled with addiction and abuse in her own upbringing to become the mother she wanted to be? Could she escape her own drug abuse, homelessness, and poverty? On her own with no education, no family, no resources, neither boots nor bootstraps, the poverty proved to be unrelenting and inescapable.
This is one of the tragedies of Julie's story, and a tragedy of our society.
Darcy Padilla said, when asked why she took on this project:
"I guess what motivated me was this question that I kept thinking about all those years: How does a child born into this world like every other child, get to be Julie Baird?... Julie was witty and smart, and she might have grown up to be a teacher. But her mother was an alcoholic and her stepfather abused her, and she ended up on the streets at age 14."
So when I hear about how House Republicans are trying to cut down on violence prevention by defunding programs such as the Violence Against Women Health Initiative (which funds ongoing work to improve health care providers' response to domestic and sexual violence), the Family Violence Prevention and Services Act (which funds domestic violence shelters and the National Hotline), and the Engaging Men and Youth in Prevention Program (which works to tap into the critical role men can play in helping youth develop respectful attitudes and behaviors towards women and girls), I have to agree with Blue Milk's final statement that every policy maker should view the Julie Project.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Oh, the irony
How is it that the one person in my office that has had 2 miscarriages this year ended up being the person to plan a baby shower for another woman in the office?
You see, it goes like this. The department Chief is sitting next to me at a meeting. The meeting is pretty much over but people are lingering and chit chatting. He turns directly to me and says "So is anything being planned for A? When is the baby shower going to be?" or something very similar to the effect, when in fact he actually means "I think you should organize a baby shower for A."
Before anyone goes off on "the audacity!" of the division chief, let me just say up front that this was not a completely unreasonable request.
First, and probably most relevantly, I am the last person in the office that birthed a baby and received an office baby shower. It seems appropriate that the last person to receive a shower should be the one organizing the next one. Based on a comment from another co-worker in the office, this may be a tradition in the office that I had not been aware of due to my relatively short tenure here, and the low number of baby-producing people in the office (most people in the office either have older children, or are single and not presently looking to have children).
Secondly, it's not like I advertise the fact that I'm experiencing struggles with fertility. Until very recently, there were only two people that even knew about my miscarriages. One of them was my boss, who I needed to tell because of the time I needed to take off from work to get all those darn blood tests. The other was a woman in another group with whom I had bonded over our mutually crunchy birthing and parenting styles. So, my division chief was not intentionally trying to be insensitive.
Still...Ouch. Yes, of course I'm happy to help... but Ouch.
I have to confess, I very well may have volunteered to help out with the planning even if I hadn't been asked. Because, you see, this woman and I have something shared - the common thread of infertility has touched us both. When I announced my pregnancy with SchmoopyBoy, she had been trying to conceive for 6 months. Now, three years later, after a costly failed IVF attempt and an attempt to adopt through the local foster-to-adopt program (the child she housed and fell in love with was ultimately placed with his biological father), now she is birthing a child of her own. I am truly so happy for her.
Throughout her pregnancy she has been positively beaming with happiness. I will admit it was hard to be around during the worst of my most recent loss. Trigger after trigger would leave me staring blankly behind my desk, struggling to function. But then I think to myself, how many times must I have unwittingly triggered her? When I was waddling around the office as big as a house, was I merely a reminder to her of what seemed out of reach? I wonder now how many times I carelessly and insensitively talked about my young child in her presence, perhaps complaining about lack of sleep, all without a second thought as to how she might have been triggered into sadness or envy or hopelessness or frustration.
Oh, the irony now that the tables are turned.
She never expressed a single negative thought towards me. She attended my office baby shower. She smiled at my stories. She absolutely deserves no less from me. This office baby shower is not about me or my struggles. It is about her achieving parenthood after a long and challenging journey. It is about celebrating her new daughter and her role as birthing mother.
I am not being facetious when I say that I am truly happy for her, and that I was glad to help with her shower. All I'm saying is...
Oh, the irony.
You see, it goes like this. The department Chief is sitting next to me at a meeting. The meeting is pretty much over but people are lingering and chit chatting. He turns directly to me and says "So is anything being planned for A? When is the baby shower going to be?" or something very similar to the effect, when in fact he actually means "I think you should organize a baby shower for A."
Before anyone goes off on "the audacity!" of the division chief, let me just say up front that this was not a completely unreasonable request.
First, and probably most relevantly, I am the last person in the office that birthed a baby and received an office baby shower. It seems appropriate that the last person to receive a shower should be the one organizing the next one. Based on a comment from another co-worker in the office, this may be a tradition in the office that I had not been aware of due to my relatively short tenure here, and the low number of baby-producing people in the office (most people in the office either have older children, or are single and not presently looking to have children).
Secondly, it's not like I advertise the fact that I'm experiencing struggles with fertility. Until very recently, there were only two people that even knew about my miscarriages. One of them was my boss, who I needed to tell because of the time I needed to take off from work to get all those darn blood tests. The other was a woman in another group with whom I had bonded over our mutually crunchy birthing and parenting styles. So, my division chief was not intentionally trying to be insensitive.
Still...Ouch. Yes, of course I'm happy to help... but Ouch.
I have to confess, I very well may have volunteered to help out with the planning even if I hadn't been asked. Because, you see, this woman and I have something shared - the common thread of infertility has touched us both. When I announced my pregnancy with SchmoopyBoy, she had been trying to conceive for 6 months. Now, three years later, after a costly failed IVF attempt and an attempt to adopt through the local foster-to-adopt program (the child she housed and fell in love with was ultimately placed with his biological father), now she is birthing a child of her own. I am truly so happy for her.
Throughout her pregnancy she has been positively beaming with happiness. I will admit it was hard to be around during the worst of my most recent loss. Trigger after trigger would leave me staring blankly behind my desk, struggling to function. But then I think to myself, how many times must I have unwittingly triggered her? When I was waddling around the office as big as a house, was I merely a reminder to her of what seemed out of reach? I wonder now how many times I carelessly and insensitively talked about my young child in her presence, perhaps complaining about lack of sleep, all without a second thought as to how she might have been triggered into sadness or envy or hopelessness or frustration.
Oh, the irony now that the tables are turned.
She never expressed a single negative thought towards me. She attended my office baby shower. She smiled at my stories. She absolutely deserves no less from me. This office baby shower is not about me or my struggles. It is about her achieving parenthood after a long and challenging journey. It is about celebrating her new daughter and her role as birthing mother.
I am not being facetious when I say that I am truly happy for her, and that I was glad to help with her shower. All I'm saying is...
Oh, the irony.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Picture Thursday
This post is long overdue. I meant to post these pictures as a sort of weekend wrap up on Sunday or Monday, and here it is Thursday, almost to the next weekend! Anyway, I'm calling the theme of this weekend Circle of Life - Remembrance and Renewal.
First, Remembrance- My balloon from the Walk to Remember, with the dates I said good-bye to my babies:
And now, Renewal - The first limes from the lime tree in my back yard:
First, Remembrance- My balloon from the Walk to Remember, with the dates I said good-bye to my babies:
And now, Renewal - The first limes from the lime tree in my back yard:
*******************************
This post is part of a series I am writing for Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month that I am calling PILAM 2010. I will be writing about pregnancy loss periodically throughout the month of October. As posts are added to the series I will add the links on all applicable posts.
My intro to PILAM 2010 is October is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month and includes resources in the Las Vegas area.
For reasons on why I am writing about pregnancy loss, see Why I write about miscarriage.
For ideas on ways to commemorate Pregnancy and Infant Loss Rememberance Day, see What Can You Do.
A poem commemorating Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day is posted for October 15, 2010
My post-October 15th weekend wrap-up is at Picture Thursday.
Friday, October 15, 2010
PILAM 2010: A poem for Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day
This poem came in the packet given to me at the Resolve Through Sharing group. I thought this day would be appropriate to post it.
To The Child In My Heart
Author-unknown
Precious, tiny sweet little one
You will always be to me
So perfect, pure and innocent
Just as you were meant to be
We dreamed of you and your life
And all that it would be
We waited and longed for you to come
And join our family.
We never had a chance to play,
To laugh, to rock, to wiggle.
We long to hold you, touch you now
And listen to you giggle.
I'll always be your mother.
He'll always be your dad.
You will always be our child,
the child we wish we had.
But now you are gone... but yet you're here
We will sense you everywhere.
You are our sorrow and our joy,
There's love in every tear.
Just know our love goes deep and strong
We'll forget you never
The child we had, but never had,
And yet will have forever.
To The Child In My Heart
Author-unknown
Precious, tiny sweet little one
You will always be to me
So perfect, pure and innocent
Just as you were meant to be
We dreamed of you and your life
And all that it would be
We waited and longed for you to come
And join our family.
We never had a chance to play,
To laugh, to rock, to wiggle.
We long to hold you, touch you now
And listen to you giggle.
I'll always be your mother.
He'll always be your dad.
You will always be our child,
the child we wish we had.
But now you are gone... but yet you're here
We will sense you everywhere.
You are our sorrow and our joy,
There's love in every tear.
Just know our love goes deep and strong
We'll forget you never
The child we had, but never had,
And yet will have forever.
*******************************
This post is part of a series I am writing for Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month that I am calling PILAM 2010. I will be writing about pregnancy loss periodically throughout the month of October. As posts are added to the series I will add the links on all applicable posts.
My intro to PILAM 2010 is October is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month and includes resources in the Las Vegas area.
For reasons on why I am writing about pregnancy loss, see Why I write about miscarriage.
For ideas on ways to commemorate Pregnancy and Infant Loss Rememberance Day, see What Can You Do.
A poem commemorating Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day is posted for October 15, 2010
My post October 15th weekend wrap-up is at Picture Thursday.
Monday, October 11, 2010
PILAM 2010: What can you do?
I recently discovered the I Am The Face campaign, which is doing something pretty cool for National Pregnancy/Infant Loss Awareness Day this year. Their stated goal is "to raise $2000 for the 2000 women who lose a baby each day, and to 'put a face' pm the taboo issue of pregnancy and infant loss." They are trying to get 2000 women who have experienced miscarriage, stillbirth, or infant loss to post pictures of their faces by October 15th. Donations will fo to Faces of Loss, Faces of Hope, which is "a nonprofit organization with a mission of providing support and resources for parents who have lost a child through miscarriage, stillbirth, or infant loss and to spread awareness of pregnancy and infant loss throughout the greater community." To post a picture of yourself, click this link here.
Some other things you can do to mark October 15th are:
1. Light a candle for your child(ren)
2. Do a balloon release with your family and/or friends - you can attach a note to the balloon or write the child's name on it before releasing
3. Plant a tree in honor of your child(ren)
4. Attend a local event in your area
5. Write a poem or note and post it on your own blog, or ask to guest post on someone else's blog if you don't have one.
May you all find healing and warmth on October 15th.
Some other things you can do to mark October 15th are:
1. Light a candle for your child(ren)
2. Do a balloon release with your family and/or friends - you can attach a note to the balloon or write the child's name on it before releasing
3. Plant a tree in honor of your child(ren)
4. Attend a local event in your area
5. Write a poem or note and post it on your own blog, or ask to guest post on someone else's blog if you don't have one.
May you all find healing and warmth on October 15th.
*******************************
This post is part of a series I am writing for Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month that I am calling PILAM 2010. I will be writing about pregnancy loss periodically throughout the month of October. As posts are added to the series I will add the links on all applicable posts.
My intro to PILAM 2010 is October is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month and includes resources in the Las Vegas area.
For reasons on why I am writing about pregnancy loss, see Why I write about miscarriage.
For ideas on ways to commemorate Pregnancy and Infant Loss Rememberance Day, see What Can You Do.
A poem commemorating Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day is posted for October 15, 2010
My post October 15th weekend wrap-up is at Picture Thursday.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
PILAM 2010: Why I write about miscarriage
Why the heck do I write so much about pregnancy loss? I mean, gosh, I have a gorgeous child already, why don’t I quit being such a downer and stick to poo-poo jokes and cute pictures?
Well, for starters and the most obvious reason – writing is therapeutic. My own losses are still fresh enough (can you believe my hCG levels are STILL not back to normal yet?!) that I do get relief from spilling my guts from time to time.
But it isn’t just about me and my own healing. I am very fortunate (or unfortunate as the case may be) to have the support of family and friends who have also experienced miscarriage and can relate to my experience. I am additionally fortunate to have a loving and supportive partner who listens to me when I have a particularly bad day. But not all of us are so privileged.
There are a lot of us. I have found statistics that put the rate of miscarriage in the U.S. at anywhere from 25% to 33%. That’s a lot of women losing babies. And pregnancy loss does not discriminate. It affects women who are white and black, rich and poor, highly educated and illiterate. It can affect a childless woman during her first pregnancy and a woman with four children during her fifth pregnancy. (I do not dispute any evidence that pregnancy outcomes are worse for disadvantaged women, my point is that any woman of any race from any walk of life can lose a pregnancy without notice or obvious reason.)
It happens so very frequently and yet is something that, generally speaking, is not openly talked about much. We are not supposed to talk about it. As soon as the bleeding stops or the D&C is done we are expected to forget it ever happened and move on with our lives as though it were just another period or a procedure not much unlike the removal of a wart on the hand.
This is particularly true for women who have living children. Our grief is invalidated. Our cries silenced because “What are you complaining about? You have children. Why don’t you just get over it and focus on that?”
The loss is real. The grief is real. It is lasting. And I will not be silent.
I write to give voice to those who cannot speak without their feelings being invalidated. I write for those who cannot or will not, for whatever reason, write for themselves. I am not so pretentious as to claim to know what all women feel, for we all experience loss differently and process it uniquely in our own due time, but I write to pay homage to all my sisters in pregnancy loss and to honor and validate their experiences.
For if I speak, if I am heard, if I create awareness that this is indeed real, then perhaps any woman who suffers silent grief, whether as a fresh all-consuming wound or as an ever-present ghost in the furthermost crevice of her mind, might raise her voice and say out loud:
I feel sad. I feel lost. I feel hopeless. I feel scared.
My baby would have born this month. My baby would have turned four this month. My baby would have turned 40 this month... And I grieve anew every year at this time.
I mourn the baby I never had the chance to hold and hug, laugh with and delight in. Yes I love the children I have… But I also love the children I didn’t have.
And the people she from whom she most needs support, rather than saying “Get over it” will respond with empathy and love and warmth.
Be aware. Starting this year, this October, this Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month, try to be sensitive, and just be aware.
Well, for starters and the most obvious reason – writing is therapeutic. My own losses are still fresh enough (can you believe my hCG levels are STILL not back to normal yet?!) that I do get relief from spilling my guts from time to time.
But it isn’t just about me and my own healing. I am very fortunate (or unfortunate as the case may be) to have the support of family and friends who have also experienced miscarriage and can relate to my experience. I am additionally fortunate to have a loving and supportive partner who listens to me when I have a particularly bad day. But not all of us are so privileged.
There are a lot of us. I have found statistics that put the rate of miscarriage in the U.S. at anywhere from 25% to 33%. That’s a lot of women losing babies. And pregnancy loss does not discriminate. It affects women who are white and black, rich and poor, highly educated and illiterate. It can affect a childless woman during her first pregnancy and a woman with four children during her fifth pregnancy. (I do not dispute any evidence that pregnancy outcomes are worse for disadvantaged women, my point is that any woman of any race from any walk of life can lose a pregnancy without notice or obvious reason.)
It happens so very frequently and yet is something that, generally speaking, is not openly talked about much. We are not supposed to talk about it. As soon as the bleeding stops or the D&C is done we are expected to forget it ever happened and move on with our lives as though it were just another period or a procedure not much unlike the removal of a wart on the hand.
This is particularly true for women who have living children. Our grief is invalidated. Our cries silenced because “What are you complaining about? You have children. Why don’t you just get over it and focus on that?”
The loss is real. The grief is real. It is lasting. And I will not be silent.
I write to give voice to those who cannot speak without their feelings being invalidated. I write for those who cannot or will not, for whatever reason, write for themselves. I am not so pretentious as to claim to know what all women feel, for we all experience loss differently and process it uniquely in our own due time, but I write to pay homage to all my sisters in pregnancy loss and to honor and validate their experiences.
For if I speak, if I am heard, if I create awareness that this is indeed real, then perhaps any woman who suffers silent grief, whether as a fresh all-consuming wound or as an ever-present ghost in the furthermost crevice of her mind, might raise her voice and say out loud:
I feel sad. I feel lost. I feel hopeless. I feel scared.
My baby would have born this month. My baby would have turned four this month. My baby would have turned 40 this month... And I grieve anew every year at this time.
I mourn the baby I never had the chance to hold and hug, laugh with and delight in. Yes I love the children I have… But I also love the children I didn’t have.
And the people she from whom she most needs support, rather than saying “Get over it” will respond with empathy and love and warmth.
Be aware. Starting this year, this October, this Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month, try to be sensitive, and just be aware.
*******************************
This post is part of a series I am writing for Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month that I am calling PILAM 2010. I will be writing about pregnancy loss periodically throughout the month of October. As posts are added to the series I will add the links on all applicable posts.
My intro to PILAM 2010 is October is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month and includes resources in the Las Vegas area.
For reasons on why I am writing about pregnancy loss, see Why I write about miscarriage.
For ideas on ways to commemorate Pregnancy and Infant Loss Rememberance Day, see What Can You Do.
A poem commemorating Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day is posted for October 15, 2010
My post October 15th weekend wrap-up is at Picture Thursday.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
A New Year
A late happy Rosh Hashanah to all my Jewish readers out there!
hmm, why do I hear crickets in the background....
Every year since I moved to this town I have gone somewhere different for High Holiday Services. This is a notoriously bad time of year to go shul-shopping, and yet it seems to be my pattern. On one hand, you have all the people like me who only go to services once a year because it would just feel too weird to not go. So the dynamic in the congregation can be not quite as representative as the dynamic the rest of the year. On the other hand, at the most holy time of year, I would expect (hope?) the Rabbi to be at the Top of his or her Game, so to speak. The most Inspiring, the most Passionate, the most Unifying,the most Uplifting.
For the past 6 years I have been disappointed. Which is probably not all that surprising considering my non-traditional experience of spirituality, my overall mistrust of organized religion, heck my "issues" with the very word "God".
Nonetheless each year at this time I find myself driven to continue my quest for The Perfect Spiritual Community, which I have to confess I don't really believe exists in this town. Well, let me rephrase myself. I believe there have got to be other like-minded people with whom I could share community, but I don't know where or how to find them.
This year, I have to say, I think I found something close. It's not a traditional congregation, per se - but a Fellowship - they don't have their own facility, it is run entirely by volunteers, and the Rabbi, from what little experience I have had with him to date, is GREAT! He's funny. He's a goofball. He is a passionate speaker, whose words pull and tug at the heartstrings. No papers to be read from, no standing on the pulpit. Just walking among the front of the room, pouring out bowls of passion to nourish a room full of hungry souls. And we devoured it hungrily and thankfully, with nodding heads and tear-filled eyes.
The prayer book was the traditional Reformed Jewish High Holiday prayerbook, which, eh, doesn't impress me so much. I got the impression from a few passing comments that the Rabbi is also not wholly impressed with it, but he did explain why he follows the tradition from those who have come before him, which I suppose I can appreciate.
There are a couple of Rosh Hashanah traditions that I never knew about growing up, which surprises me considering I grew up attending a Conservative Jewish Synagogue regularly and attended 5 years of Hebrew School 3 days a week. One of these traditions is Tashlich - the symbolic casting off of all the 'crap' accumulated over the past year into a body of water. I like the way Mel from Stirrup Queens described it this year.
I've got a lot that I don't want to bring with me into this new year. Wires and beeping machines in a hospital room, and a not-unconscious hand that didn't want to let go. An ultrasound probe in my vagina and a silent, unmoving blob. Loss. Death. Grief. Although Rosh Hashanah has passed, I am tempted to drag the J-Man and SchmoopyBaby out this coming Sunday to Lake Mead, or maybe to Red Rock if all the water isn't dry after a dismal monsoon season. Better late than never, right?
The other tradition that I can't believe I never heard of until I read about it on Stirrup Queens is eating a pomegranate. In all my 37 years, I had never heard of the concept of first fruits and eating a pomegranate at the end of the first day of Rosh Hashanah! What's up with that?! Hey Mom - why you holding out on me?! Mel described it like this back in 2007:
You see, the pomegranate is a symbol of fertility, and eating pomegranates has been adopted by infertile women as a way to ensure good fertility in the coming year. Gee, this little tidbit of trivia couldn't have come at a better time!
Will eating a piece of fruit and throwing a rock into a river ensure that I achieve a healthy, successful pregnancy? My mathematician's brain tells me "No, don't be ridiculous". But will it give me hope? Will it give me healing? Will it give me comfort just knowing that I am doing something to pass the down the heritage of my now-dead father to my son?
Maybe.
And wouldn't it be worth it for that alone?
hmm, why do I hear crickets in the background....
Every year since I moved to this town I have gone somewhere different for High Holiday Services. This is a notoriously bad time of year to go shul-shopping, and yet it seems to be my pattern. On one hand, you have all the people like me who only go to services once a year because it would just feel too weird to not go. So the dynamic in the congregation can be not quite as representative as the dynamic the rest of the year. On the other hand, at the most holy time of year, I would expect (hope?) the Rabbi to be at the Top of his or her Game, so to speak. The most Inspiring, the most Passionate, the most Unifying,the most Uplifting.
For the past 6 years I have been disappointed. Which is probably not all that surprising considering my non-traditional experience of spirituality, my overall mistrust of organized religion, heck my "issues" with the very word "God".
Nonetheless each year at this time I find myself driven to continue my quest for The Perfect Spiritual Community, which I have to confess I don't really believe exists in this town. Well, let me rephrase myself. I believe there have got to be other like-minded people with whom I could share community, but I don't know where or how to find them.
This year, I have to say, I think I found something close. It's not a traditional congregation, per se - but a Fellowship - they don't have their own facility, it is run entirely by volunteers, and the Rabbi, from what little experience I have had with him to date, is GREAT! He's funny. He's a goofball. He is a passionate speaker, whose words pull and tug at the heartstrings. No papers to be read from, no standing on the pulpit. Just walking among the front of the room, pouring out bowls of passion to nourish a room full of hungry souls. And we devoured it hungrily and thankfully, with nodding heads and tear-filled eyes.
The prayer book was the traditional Reformed Jewish High Holiday prayerbook, which, eh, doesn't impress me so much. I got the impression from a few passing comments that the Rabbi is also not wholly impressed with it, but he did explain why he follows the tradition from those who have come before him, which I suppose I can appreciate.
There are a couple of Rosh Hashanah traditions that I never knew about growing up, which surprises me considering I grew up attending a Conservative Jewish Synagogue regularly and attended 5 years of Hebrew School 3 days a week. One of these traditions is Tashlich - the symbolic casting off of all the 'crap' accumulated over the past year into a body of water. I like the way Mel from Stirrup Queens described it this year.
And then we all sat down and thought about our year and what we didn’t want to bring with us into this next year. We squeezed those thoughts into rocks and threw the rocks towards the middle of the river.
I've got a lot that I don't want to bring with me into this new year. Wires and beeping machines in a hospital room, and a not-unconscious hand that didn't want to let go. An ultrasound probe in my vagina and a silent, unmoving blob. Loss. Death. Grief. Although Rosh Hashanah has passed, I am tempted to drag the J-Man and SchmoopyBaby out this coming Sunday to Lake Mead, or maybe to Red Rock if all the water isn't dry after a dismal monsoon season. Better late than never, right?
The other tradition that I can't believe I never heard of until I read about it on Stirrup Queens is eating a pomegranate. In all my 37 years, I had never heard of the concept of first fruits and eating a pomegranate at the end of the first day of Rosh Hashanah! What's up with that?! Hey Mom - why you holding out on me?! Mel described it like this back in 2007:
Tomorrow night, technically the second night of the holiday since it starts at sundown tonight, a pomegranate is served as the traditional first fruit. Some Jews believe that the pomegranate contains 613 seeds, the same number as commandments (or mitzvot) in the Torah. As much as we groove on those mitzvot as much as the next Jew, we eat pomegranates for a different reason. We’re trying to get pregnant.
You see, the pomegranate is a symbol of fertility, and eating pomegranates has been adopted by infertile women as a way to ensure good fertility in the coming year. Gee, this little tidbit of trivia couldn't have come at a better time!
Will eating a piece of fruit and throwing a rock into a river ensure that I achieve a healthy, successful pregnancy? My mathematician's brain tells me "No, don't be ridiculous". But will it give me hope? Will it give me healing? Will it give me comfort just knowing that I am doing something to pass the down the heritage of my now-dead father to my son?
Maybe.
And wouldn't it be worth it for that alone?
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Update
Well, I’m feeling better this week. My oldest and dearest friend came out to visit for my birthday last weekend. It was great to see her and get some girl time. Plus no one has said anything to my face to trigger my fury this week so far, so I haven’t felt the need to go off on any foul-mouthed rages in real life or online :)
We’re taking a road trip to California this weekend for the holiday. Ever since I told SchmoopyBoy about our upcoming trip, he’s been requesting to go to the beach. Fortunately, a beach day has been in the plan all along. The last several trips we’ve made out there the weather has been horrible, so hopefully we’ll finally get lucky with some mild weather so we can go to the beach and have some fun. My sister-in-law is taking her kids Laguna Beach this weekend too, so we’ll meet up with them while we’re there.
I was hoping to post another recipe this week, but the one I thought would be good ended up not turning out quite as interesting as I had hoped. So you’ll have to wait until I tweak the flavoring and get it right for that one. In the meantime eat well, sleep well, and have a great Labor Day weekend!
We’re taking a road trip to California this weekend for the holiday. Ever since I told SchmoopyBoy about our upcoming trip, he’s been requesting to go to the beach. Fortunately, a beach day has been in the plan all along. The last several trips we’ve made out there the weather has been horrible, so hopefully we’ll finally get lucky with some mild weather so we can go to the beach and have some fun. My sister-in-law is taking her kids Laguna Beach this weekend too, so we’ll meet up with them while we’re there.
I was hoping to post another recipe this week, but the one I thought would be good ended up not turning out quite as interesting as I had hoped. So you’ll have to wait until I tweak the flavoring and get it right for that one. In the meantime eat well, sleep well, and have a great Labor Day weekend!
Friday, August 27, 2010
Here’s a clue…
because I am amazed at just how many people need to catch one.
It is not necessary to remind a woman how old she is the week after she birthed a dead baby embryo into a toilet. It is also not necessary to tell her that her eggs are probably no good because of her age.
First, the vast majority of women know how old they are.
Second, if the woman is over the age of 35, I can assure you the thought has already crossed her mind that her age might be related to the pregnancy loss. She doesn’t need you to remind her. Seriously. Most women over the age of 35 have been hearing the news for quite some time that age matters when it comes to fertility. We know this. You aren’t adding any new additional helpful information, and quite frankly, shoving it into a woman’s face when she’s obviously grieving is FUCKING INSENSITIVE.
It is not necessary to remind a woman how old she is the week after she birthed a dead baby embryo into a toilet. It is also not necessary to tell her that her eggs are probably no good because of her age.
First, the vast majority of women know how old they are.
Second, if the woman is over the age of 35, I can assure you the thought has already crossed her mind that her age might be related to the pregnancy loss. She doesn’t need you to remind her. Seriously. Most women over the age of 35 have been hearing the news for quite some time that age matters when it comes to fertility. We know this. You aren’t adding any new additional helpful information, and quite frankly, shoving it into a woman’s face when she’s obviously grieving is FUCKING INSENSITIVE.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
You know what I need?
I need a way to cope that doesn’t involve poisoning my body with junk food (seriously not productive – this is the only body I’ve got, and I need it to be in good condition if I want it to be a place where a developing baby can thrive)
or lying in bed when I should be sleeping, imagining myself screaming angry obscenities at insensitive jackasses.
or lying in bed when I should be sleeping, imagining myself screaming angry obscenities at insensitive jackasses.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Let's take a step back, shall we?
It has come to my attention through a bit of feedback that my last post was a bit... ehem... Out there. Abrupt. Perhaps a bit harsh.
Perhaps that gives you a clue to my current state of mind, at least.
Anyway, by means of explanation, in case my last post wasn't altogetherly clear, I had another miscarriage. My second in a row. I'm reeling quite a bit because I really wasn't expecting it this time around.
Everything seemed to going well. I went in for two blood tests. HCg levels high and rising. Good. Progesterone levels high. Good. Ultrasound showing heartbeat. Good. Blip on the ultrasound screen measuring at 0.5 cm, timing it at 6 weeks 1 day. A little younger than I was expecting but my cycles are long and slightly irregular (31-35 days typically) so OK. The doctor says "See you in 4 weeks." OK, good.
I've been tired. I've been moody. I've been hungry. Yes, I know that sounds just like my normal everyday self, but I was even more tired and moody and hungry than my usual self. And I got nauseous. If I went for too long without eating a little bit, or if I ate too much at one time, I would get nauseous. And so I thought everything was progressing as it should be. I bought some new super cute newborn size cloth diapers that I found on sale. I got a stylish new nursing cover.
Then I go to the doctor. I should be at about 10 1/2 weeks by now. Ultrasound on my belly isn't showing anything. Hmm. Doctor wants to go transvaginal. Delightful. I get an ultrasound probe. There's a large-ish blob. Everything is still. No heartbeat. The blob looks empty, but no, there's something tiny in there. A tiny blip that is measuring at 6 weeks 5 days.
My body has been lying to me for almost 4 weeks. The deception! And you see, this is what makes me so mad. The deception, the betrayal of my body. Leading me on, leading me to think that I had a viable developing baby growing inside me. The nausea! What about the nausea! Do you know, even the day after I found out it was dead, my body had the audacity to make me nauseous again!
This is what is killing me. The fact that now I don't think I can trust my body again. If I get pregnant again, it doesn't matter what symptoms I have or how long I have them. I just won't know. I won't have any idea if everything is ok or if I'm carrying another dead baby for a month.
My doctor was leaving town the next day for a week long vacation. So, we decided to give it one more week to see if my body would get the memo and start taking care of things on its own. We tentatively scheduled a d&c for the week he returns. Well, apparently I have either obsessed over it enough or people have been sending enough kind and healing thoughts, because on Tuesday night things started happening. I do not believe a d&c will be necessary at this point. I'm a little relieved because I wasn't exactly looking forward to carrying around a dead baby for another week and undergoing a surgical procedure. On the other hand I kind of wish I could have gotten the d&c because then they could have sent the tissue to a lab for some analysis to see if they could find a cause.
Thank you to my friends and family that have sent kind thoughts and support. This is a bit of a difficult time. I know I will get through it just fine, and I still haven't given up hope of having another child. Once my body finishes doing its thing and I've healed physically, I will focus on healing emotionally and figure out what my next steps are going to be.
Much love to everyone, and sticky baby dust to everyone who needs it!!
Perhaps that gives you a clue to my current state of mind, at least.
Anyway, by means of explanation, in case my last post wasn't altogetherly clear, I had another miscarriage. My second in a row. I'm reeling quite a bit because I really wasn't expecting it this time around.
Everything seemed to going well. I went in for two blood tests. HCg levels high and rising. Good. Progesterone levels high. Good. Ultrasound showing heartbeat. Good. Blip on the ultrasound screen measuring at 0.5 cm, timing it at 6 weeks 1 day. A little younger than I was expecting but my cycles are long and slightly irregular (31-35 days typically) so OK. The doctor says "See you in 4 weeks." OK, good.
I've been tired. I've been moody. I've been hungry. Yes, I know that sounds just like my normal everyday self, but I was even more tired and moody and hungry than my usual self. And I got nauseous. If I went for too long without eating a little bit, or if I ate too much at one time, I would get nauseous. And so I thought everything was progressing as it should be. I bought some new super cute newborn size cloth diapers that I found on sale. I got a stylish new nursing cover.
Then I go to the doctor. I should be at about 10 1/2 weeks by now. Ultrasound on my belly isn't showing anything. Hmm. Doctor wants to go transvaginal. Delightful. I get an ultrasound probe. There's a large-ish blob. Everything is still. No heartbeat. The blob looks empty, but no, there's something tiny in there. A tiny blip that is measuring at 6 weeks 5 days.
My body has been lying to me for almost 4 weeks. The deception! And you see, this is what makes me so mad. The deception, the betrayal of my body. Leading me on, leading me to think that I had a viable developing baby growing inside me. The nausea! What about the nausea! Do you know, even the day after I found out it was dead, my body had the audacity to make me nauseous again!
This is what is killing me. The fact that now I don't think I can trust my body again. If I get pregnant again, it doesn't matter what symptoms I have or how long I have them. I just won't know. I won't have any idea if everything is ok or if I'm carrying another dead baby for a month.
My doctor was leaving town the next day for a week long vacation. So, we decided to give it one more week to see if my body would get the memo and start taking care of things on its own. We tentatively scheduled a d&c for the week he returns. Well, apparently I have either obsessed over it enough or people have been sending enough kind and healing thoughts, because on Tuesday night things started happening. I do not believe a d&c will be necessary at this point. I'm a little relieved because I wasn't exactly looking forward to carrying around a dead baby for another week and undergoing a surgical procedure. On the other hand I kind of wish I could have gotten the d&c because then they could have sent the tissue to a lab for some analysis to see if they could find a cause.
Thank you to my friends and family that have sent kind thoughts and support. This is a bit of a difficult time. I know I will get through it just fine, and I still haven't given up hope of having another child. Once my body finishes doing its thing and I've healed physically, I will focus on healing emotionally and figure out what my next steps are going to be.
Much love to everyone, and sticky baby dust to everyone who needs it!!
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
What I haven't been writing about
but haven't been able to stop thinking about (except during the move this weekend - moving is a great distraction)...
The dead baby inside my uterus that won't leave.
Strike 2.
The dead baby inside my uterus that won't leave.
Strike 2.
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