This is supposed to be helpful? Coming from my counselor?
She said this within the first five minutes of my appointment, and it just set the tone. Trying to explain, she said that I shouldn't think about what I don't have and just concentrate on the future. I shouldn't worry or be sad because that's not good for me or this baby.
Also, I should come up with a plan for how to deal with feelings that come up during labor and delivery. Her suggestion was just not think about my miscarriages and first two babies.
Apparently, I grow defensive when I think that no one understands what I've been through. They don't have bad intentions.
Well, people don't know how I feel unless they've been here themselves. Pregnancy after loss. Sometimes intentions are more easily passed over than others. If someone were to use a racial slur, but claim no ill intentions, is it still okay? You cannot tell another that they don't feel offended. I am allowed my feelings.
Yes, I've thought about flashbacks during labor and delivery, especially given the traumatic incident with my first miscarriage. I can't tell you how I'll react...I can't tell you if I want an epidural or not! My plan is awareness. All I can do, and with Paul's support, is to recognize feelings and thoughts, recognize them as valid, feel what I need to feel, take a deep breath and come back to the present. Ignoring doesn't work for me.
I AM very thankful, grateful and humble that I am pregnant with another child. NO ONE gets to assume that I'm not. But those two little words...at least...red flags. Words that appear on every list of what not to say to a woman after a miscarriage. Drop those nasty words. "God has given you another baby". YES! That is true, and I am so excited. "I'm glad God has given you another baby." Thank you, me too.
One child will never replace another. Ever. Is it okay to tell a mother after one of two school-aged kids dies, "at least you still have one"? NO!
I don't live in state of perpetual sadness and crying anymore. That doesn't mean that words or memories won't trigger grief feelings. I expect that the intense feelings of loss won't always be so raw. They have changed even within the last year. But it's a process, and one event doesn't change that.
I am okay with where I am. Even happy and proud. I love ALL my babies, including this one who is doing barrel rolls at the minute and gives me far too many scares. I cannot wait to hold this baby, a fulfillment of hopes and dreams to have and raise children.
But I will not forget my first two babies. And like a good mama bear, I will fight for them and my memories of them. No one gets to take them from me or harm my memories.
Showing posts with label miscarriage. Show all posts
Showing posts with label miscarriage. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Friday, December 3, 2010
another anniversary
So one year ago today we learned at 14 weeks our second baby no longer had a heartbeat. By date, it's tomorrow, but by day of the week, today. I managed to mostly hold it together at my marathon day at the clinic (next post), including ultrasound. Until I told my doctor it had been one year.
The college where I work has a BIG Christmas concert each year, and I've missed very few in the last ten years. We even went last year with baby in my belly but no longer dancing. I just couldn't do it tonight. Not when I cried the whole time last year. I just need this weekend to be different.
Again, the anticipation was worse than the day. The last week has been up and down. But it's the last of the firsts I've been anticipating. I've passed miscarriage dates (on Monday, the surgery date) and due dates.
Paul reminded me tonight that there are more firsts than we can begin to anticipate...starting with the birth of this baby.
The college where I work has a BIG Christmas concert each year, and I've missed very few in the last ten years. We even went last year with baby in my belly but no longer dancing. I just couldn't do it tonight. Not when I cried the whole time last year. I just need this weekend to be different.
Again, the anticipation was worse than the day. The last week has been up and down. But it's the last of the firsts I've been anticipating. I've passed miscarriage dates (on Monday, the surgery date) and due dates.
Paul reminded me tonight that there are more firsts than we can begin to anticipate...starting with the birth of this baby.
Friday, October 15, 2010
pregnancy and infant loss awareness day
Today doesn't have to be a sad day - though I've had my moments. Today I choose to be joyful. Happiness can be a fleeting emotion, but joyfullness is intentional. The joyful me is tuned into God through the Spirit, and my heart sings praises all day.
Last night I changed my Facebook profile picture to the I Am the Face button and posted a link to the Web site. Today I updated my status again. I really haven't ever said anything about my losses so outright in that forum, and I was nervous. For what, I have no idea. But I will share my story with those who might ask, and I will do what I can to help assuage our society's reluctance to talk about it. I know who I am, and I know who my babies are.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
wedding good things and 13 weeks
Whew! The long wedding weekend was great - but exhausting. Conversations with family were relatively easy, and everyone was just so happy about all of the exciting things happening right now. The list of good things from this weekend is long:
- seeing my brother- and new sister-in-law so happy!
- lots of Shirley Temples with extra cherries
- getting to know cousins better
- an incredible pizza buffet for the rehearsal dinner
- hearing people laugh at Paul's speech at the reception
- a beautiful hotel room with a walk out patio to the lake
- celebrating the 80th birthday of a great uncle and meeting more relatives
- dressing an adorable nephew in his pint-sized tux
- talking baby stuff with M, one of my pregnant sisters-in-law
- a super comfortable dress on a very hot wedding day and being told I was just adorable
- lots of congratulations on baby
- dancing with my husband
- listening to my brother-in-law sing the Ghostbusters theme at karaoke
- quality time with M, my sister-in-law, while our husbands were busy being brothers of the groom
- a two-hour nap this afternoon after we got home
Thursday, August 5, 2010
memory boxes
I finally did it.
I had been wanting to gather my babies' things in one place for a long time, but the boxes had just been sitting empty for several months. For awhile, I thought Paul and I needed to do it together, so I put it off. The time just had to be right. And why it felt right between loads of laundry, I don't know.
Sorting cards that were sent to us made me cry. Because of the kind words. Because there are fewer after the second miscarriage than the first. Because there were "congratulations on your pregnancy" cards for both of them, but not this current one. I cried because there are so few things in my first baby's box. I cried because I don't have a picture of Paul and me from when I was pregnant with my second baby.
I cried because this is my life. My babies died. And that will always hurt.
When I bought the memory boxes, I found a third, smaller one that says hope inside a heart. I didn't buy it with the intention that it would become another memory box. It's a hope box. And so in it right now are the three positive HPSs showing the good news of this pregnancy. The hope box is a good place for them. At least it's better than my underwear drawer.
I restacked the boxes on the little shelf and set my Willow Tree "Promise" figurine on top. Paul gave it to me for our anniversary one year, and it had the shelf all to itself until the babies' boxes needed a place. This has been the arrangement for several months, but I had never noticed that it represents our family now. Paul and I with our three babies. All the tangible memories I have from the first two are gathered together, with a box of hope for this baby.
The boxes sit in our bedroom where we see them whenever we walk in or out. They don't need to be on display elsewhere; they are just for us to share if we choose. Their nearness is comforting.
I had been wanting to gather my babies' things in one place for a long time, but the boxes had just been sitting empty for several months. For awhile, I thought Paul and I needed to do it together, so I put it off. The time just had to be right. And why it felt right between loads of laundry, I don't know.
Sorting cards that were sent to us made me cry. Because of the kind words. Because there are fewer after the second miscarriage than the first. Because there were "congratulations on your pregnancy" cards for both of them, but not this current one. I cried because there are so few things in my first baby's box. I cried because I don't have a picture of Paul and me from when I was pregnant with my second baby.
I cried because this is my life. My babies died. And that will always hurt.
When I bought the memory boxes, I found a third, smaller one that says hope inside a heart. I didn't buy it with the intention that it would become another memory box. It's a hope box. And so in it right now are the three positive HPSs showing the good news of this pregnancy. The hope box is a good place for them. At least it's better than my underwear drawer.
I restacked the boxes on the little shelf and set my Willow Tree "Promise" figurine on top. Paul gave it to me for our anniversary one year, and it had the shelf all to itself until the babies' boxes needed a place. This has been the arrangement for several months, but I had never noticed that it represents our family now. Paul and I with our three babies. All the tangible memories I have from the first two are gathered together, with a box of hope for this baby.
The boxes sit in our bedroom where we see them whenever we walk in or out. They don't need to be on display elsewhere; they are just for us to share if we choose. Their nearness is comforting.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
switching pictures
So tonight I took down the ultrasound picture of my second little one. It's the only picture we have of either our first two little ones, so it's pretty special to me. But we have a new little one on the way and a brand new picture of her/him.
I had thought about taking that picture down for awhile and putting it away in my little guy's memory box, after all, it has been over seven months (how is that possible?) that we learned he had died. But I liked it there. It was really hard for me to move those two little magnets.
It hurt a lot.
A lot. I'm still surprised at the things that creep up on me.
I had thought about taking that picture down for awhile and putting it away in my little guy's memory box, after all, it has been over seven months (how is that possible?) that we learned he had died. But I liked it there. It was really hard for me to move those two little magnets.
It hurt a lot.
A lot. I'm still surprised at the things that creep up on me.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
flashbacks
The flashbacks don't go away. It had been a little while, as in maybe a week, but last night they took ahold of me again. I can't seem to pinpoint any triggers when the happen. Last night, I was just lying in bed praying before falling asleep, and they flooded my mind. "Bad" doctor from my first pregnancy. Sitting in the bathroom realizing I was miscarrying. Wondering what to do next. The hours in the ER. Enduring awful contractions on the pitocin, knowing I wasn't going to get anything from them. Leaving the hospital, empty and empty-handed. They just spiral, and the pictures in my mind are so vivid.
While I don't want to forget what happened - this is now part of my story - I don't want to relive those hours, days, weeks after either baby died. It hurt more than enough the first time. I wrote my stories, with all the details I could muster, because they are a part of me. Those words are just for me, and I am glad I have them. Part of me was hoping that if I wrote them down, so as not to forget, I wouldn't have to think about them all the time. But that only addresses the part where I willingly bring myself back to that place. I can't control the thoughts that seem to come on their own, rushing into my consciousness in such a way that I don't know what has happened until I am already well on my way down the path.
Will they ever stop? Will they always take my breath away? Flashbacks. My whole body gives with the weight of them. The physical pain of a broken heart is very real.
While I don't want to forget what happened - this is now part of my story - I don't want to relive those hours, days, weeks after either baby died. It hurt more than enough the first time. I wrote my stories, with all the details I could muster, because they are a part of me. Those words are just for me, and I am glad I have them. Part of me was hoping that if I wrote them down, so as not to forget, I wouldn't have to think about them all the time. But that only addresses the part where I willingly bring myself back to that place. I can't control the thoughts that seem to come on their own, rushing into my consciousness in such a way that I don't know what has happened until I am already well on my way down the path.
Will they ever stop? Will they always take my breath away? Flashbacks. My whole body gives with the weight of them. The physical pain of a broken heart is very real.
Monday, April 26, 2010
"hope for the day"
I'm on the SilentGrief mailing email list, and these nuggets usually come on Mondays. Today's email was about "grief attacks." Boy, do I know these! In fact, I had one just last night. So many points here resonate with me. Hope is bigger than fear. I will make it through this; I have before, and so have others. I need to feel what I feel; ignoring it won't help. "The raw part of grief work.." Love it.
Hoping something here does good for your spirit, as well.
"HOPE FOR THE DAY" from SilentGrief.com
http://www.silentgrief.com/
-----------------------------------------------------------
April 26, 2010
Grief seems to hit us like a tidal wave at times when we least expect it. We can be plodding along in life "okay" when all of a sudden we get smacked hard with the reality of our loss, and we're left feeling like we are drowning in a sea of sorrow with no life jacket in sight.
Being aware of how grief works is a critical part of our grief journey. Knowing that we can get these "grief attacks" unexpectedly can actually help us to prepare for them. When your tidal wave of grief hits, take some long, deep breaths, and prepare to wait it out. Don't fight it or try to swim against the tide. You will only exhaust yourself both physically and emotionally. Feel the pain with the knowledge that following this storm, the seas will once again return to calm, and you will have better days ahead.
The pain will begin to subside as you begin to acknowledge the fact that grief attacks are only momentary in nature. The raw part of grief work has already been done, and you will be able to manage your grief by thinking more calm thoughts, journaling your emotions, taking a walk among nature, and calling on a friend or two for some encouragement.
Did you get hit by a tidal wave today? Take courage in knowing that you're going to make it. Others have walked this path before you and they've made it and you will, too. Your hope is bigger than your fear. Your courage is stronger than your pain. And, your hope is always alive and at work! -- Clara Hinton
"I will face my pain with courage. I will make it!" --Clara Hinton
"For the Lord God is a sun and shield; The Lord gives grace and glory." --Psalm 84:11
For added encouragement, add Clara Hinton as your friend on Facebook.
Also, visit Clara Hinton at: http://www.clara-hinton.blogspot.com/
Hoping something here does good for your spirit, as well.
"HOPE FOR THE DAY" from SilentGrief.com
http://www.silentgrief.com/
-----------------------------------------------------------
April 26, 2010
Grief seems to hit us like a tidal wave at times when we least expect it. We can be plodding along in life "okay" when all of a sudden we get smacked hard with the reality of our loss, and we're left feeling like we are drowning in a sea of sorrow with no life jacket in sight.
Being aware of how grief works is a critical part of our grief journey. Knowing that we can get these "grief attacks" unexpectedly can actually help us to prepare for them. When your tidal wave of grief hits, take some long, deep breaths, and prepare to wait it out. Don't fight it or try to swim against the tide. You will only exhaust yourself both physically and emotionally. Feel the pain with the knowledge that following this storm, the seas will once again return to calm, and you will have better days ahead.
The pain will begin to subside as you begin to acknowledge the fact that grief attacks are only momentary in nature. The raw part of grief work has already been done, and you will be able to manage your grief by thinking more calm thoughts, journaling your emotions, taking a walk among nature, and calling on a friend or two for some encouragement.
Did you get hit by a tidal wave today? Take courage in knowing that you're going to make it. Others have walked this path before you and they've made it and you will, too. Your hope is bigger than your fear. Your courage is stronger than your pain. And, your hope is always alive and at work! -- Clara Hinton
"I will face my pain with courage. I will make it!" --Clara Hinton
"For the Lord God is a sun and shield; The Lord gives grace and glory." --Psalm 84:11
For added encouragement, add Clara Hinton as your friend on Facebook.
Also, visit Clara Hinton at: http://www.clara-hinton.blogspot.com/
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
one year
One year ago I miscarried my first baby. Today is the last in the series of firsts I've been anticipating, dreading, and who knows what else. It wasn't so bad, just like I had been hoping.
There were a few times today where I looked at the clock and thought about what was happening one year ago at that time. It was almost surreal to think about how much has happened since then.
My little brother brought flowers to my office today (sent on an errand by my mom :) ), and on the card he had signed for my parents, brothers, "and all those who love you". So sweet. White and yellow daisies - my favorite - in a big yellow mug with a smiley face on it. And in the middle of the daisies, two of my favorite roses - yellow with reddish tips. At first I didn't notice the number of roses. Two.
That made me cry. And I'm crying now. I'm crying in full force the tears that stayed at bay for most of the day.
My dear sister-in-law sent me a message this morning that ended with "this auntie will not forget your sweet baby." That means so much to me because no one has referred to their relation to our babies after my miscarriages. And sweet friends left notes for me on Facebook. Those words mean so much to me.
Paul and I went out to dinner tonight. We just needed to spend some nice time together. And it was good.
I don't have any insight on anything tonight. My heart just hearts. But tomorrow is another day.
There were a few times today where I looked at the clock and thought about what was happening one year ago at that time. It was almost surreal to think about how much has happened since then.
My little brother brought flowers to my office today (sent on an errand by my mom :) ), and on the card he had signed for my parents, brothers, "and all those who love you". So sweet. White and yellow daisies - my favorite - in a big yellow mug with a smiley face on it. And in the middle of the daisies, two of my favorite roses - yellow with reddish tips. At first I didn't notice the number of roses. Two.
That made me cry. And I'm crying now. I'm crying in full force the tears that stayed at bay for most of the day.
My dear sister-in-law sent me a message this morning that ended with "this auntie will not forget your sweet baby." That means so much to me because no one has referred to their relation to our babies after my miscarriages. And sweet friends left notes for me on Facebook. Those words mean so much to me.
Paul and I went out to dinner tonight. We just needed to spend some nice time together. And it was good.
I don't have any insight on anything tonight. My heart just hearts. But tomorrow is another day.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
facing the firsts
Another question from Butterfly Mommies...
What were some of the 'firsts' that you encountered after your loss? How do you plan to, or how have you dealt with special anniversaries and holidays and the memory of your little one?
I'm facing a big first right now - the first anniversary of our first miscarriage next week. In many ways, this anniversary will conclude a year of a lot of firsts. I don't exactly want to celebrate the day because it's not a happy day. I don't really consider it a birthday because our baby wasn't born in a traditional sense. It's not a death date because we have no idea when our baby died. So we're simply acknowledging the day because it's the only date we to which we can tie anything concretely. That there is something different about the day. I just want to spend time with Paul doing something together that makes us happy. I'm planning to leave work early (at the time when he's off), and we want to go to dinner. A dinner out isn't a usual occurrence for us on a weeknight. And I want to buy myself flowers for my office - something I enjoy. I'm anticipating the day, but I'm looking forward to be past it.
About three weeks after my first miscarriage was Mother's Day. That was tough because I would have been 20 weeks then, and it was just a date I had marked on the calendar. A couple of milestones. I was definitely sad to not be pregnant. And no one acknowledged me on Mother's Day. And no one acknowledged Paul on Father's Day. We have decided to celebrate those days this year, even if it's just the two of us. We deserve that.
Another first was marking the due date that didn't come to be, but the anticipation was worse than the actual day. We had hopes for that day, but nothing happened on that day. I hope that I don't always track the due dates.
Christmas was the singe hardest holiday for me this year. Christmas is my favorite time of year, and I had so been looking forward to having a little baby with us this year. We didn't. And I was no longer pregnant with our second baby. I had a second miscarriage the first week of December. So much was hard about those days. So hard. They weren't happy days. But I survived them.
There were lots of other firsts...first Monday after each miscarriage (they both happened on Mondays)...the first day back at work...the first month...the first baby shower...the first time holding a baby. But some of those were bigger than me. The first baby I held was my baby niece, just minutes after she'd died. I would not trade those moments for anything. The first baby shower was celebrating friends who are expecting a baby in July after four unsuccessful pregnancies and IVFs. Of course we're celebrating their baby, and I look forward to snuggling him or her in a few months. I survived all of those, too.
I still have several months left of firsts for our second baby, leading up to the first anniversary of the miscarriage. Maybe they won't be as hard since I've now been through many firsts already. But I expect some things to still sting.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
not quite an answer
So the nurse from my doctor's office called me back today. She said all my tests are in (good), and my doctor was waiting until she had them all to contact me (ok). But first, she wants to consult with a perinatologist in Sioux Falls (no peris in ND) about the course of action/treatment plan for me (huh). But the nurse didn't have the results, so she wasn't able to tell me anything more. I asked what the timeline is for getting back to me, and she's going to get back to me on that...
Heeeeeeeere comes anxiety! I am numb. My thought process - test results in + my doctor consulting a perinatologist = they found something that's out of the ordinary = something wrong. I know that I really don't know anything right now. And I will try to wait patiently. Instead of being scared, I'll try to think of it instead as they found something that they can respond to...and that will be good.
After I cried in a colleague's office, I left work early to do a little shopping at Michael's.
Tomorrow is another day...hopefully with another call from my doctor's office.
Heeeeeeeere comes anxiety! I am numb. My thought process - test results in + my doctor consulting a perinatologist = they found something that's out of the ordinary = something wrong. I know that I really don't know anything right now. And I will try to wait patiently. Instead of being scared, I'll try to think of it instead as they found something that they can respond to...and that will be good.
After I cried in a colleague's office, I left work early to do a little shopping at Michael's.
Tomorrow is another day...hopefully with another call from my doctor's office.
my story
My husband, Paul, and I have been together for eight years and married for four. We love our two cats, Leinie and Luna, and together we live in ND where I am a grantwriter. I'm a mom to two babies, though I never had the priviledge to know them on this earth. (It's hard for me to claim that word - Mom. Something to work on...)
On April 20, 2009, I had a miscarriage at 17.5 weeks. It was sudden - no symptoms until it happened - and happened at home. We took our little baby with us to the ER. We had decided earlier that we weren't going to find out the baby's sex until birth, and that day, we decided we didn't want to know. But I think our first baby is a girl. Recovery was physically very difficult, and we did not feel comfortable with our doctor, so I found a new doctor, whom we love.
On July 9, our 22-day old niece died of meningitis caused be a late-onset Group B Strep infection. My heart ached for my sister-in-law, now knowing what is feels like to lose a child. She and I have grown very close this year.
We underwent a bit of testing - my doctor was looking for structural abnormalities, given the second trimester miscarriage and an ultrasound that showed a large ovarian cyst. Everything checked out okay, and we were given the go-ahead to try to get pregnant again. One month later...we were expecting a baby in June 2010. My doctor kept a close eye on me, checking hcg and progesterone levels frequently. We also had several ultrasounds. I ended up on progesterone supplements, but all was going well.
Until on December 4, at a regular appointment, when there was no heartbeat at 14 weeks. It happened again. We were so sure that we would get to take this baby home. That was a Friday, and we had to wait until Monday for surgery. That week, while I was home, I spent a lot of time online. I felt an urgent need to grieve well (or better than the first time) and to remember these babies separately from one another. I think this baby is a boy, though we don't know.
How is it that our family lost three babies in the span of eight months? We are a family of strong faith, and we have grown stronger yet, somehow. But it's hard to live with these questions.
Now, I'm undergoing extensive blood tests. We're actually waiting for results at the moment. I've never wanted tests to show something 'wrong' before! I'm hopeful that we will learn more, and that there will be ways to respond in pursuit of a better outcome next time.
I pray for strength, hope and peace daily.
On April 20, 2009, I had a miscarriage at 17.5 weeks. It was sudden - no symptoms until it happened - and happened at home. We took our little baby with us to the ER. We had decided earlier that we weren't going to find out the baby's sex until birth, and that day, we decided we didn't want to know. But I think our first baby is a girl. Recovery was physically very difficult, and we did not feel comfortable with our doctor, so I found a new doctor, whom we love.
On July 9, our 22-day old niece died of meningitis caused be a late-onset Group B Strep infection. My heart ached for my sister-in-law, now knowing what is feels like to lose a child. She and I have grown very close this year.
We underwent a bit of testing - my doctor was looking for structural abnormalities, given the second trimester miscarriage and an ultrasound that showed a large ovarian cyst. Everything checked out okay, and we were given the go-ahead to try to get pregnant again. One month later...we were expecting a baby in June 2010. My doctor kept a close eye on me, checking hcg and progesterone levels frequently. We also had several ultrasounds. I ended up on progesterone supplements, but all was going well.
Until on December 4, at a regular appointment, when there was no heartbeat at 14 weeks. It happened again. We were so sure that we would get to take this baby home. That was a Friday, and we had to wait until Monday for surgery. That week, while I was home, I spent a lot of time online. I felt an urgent need to grieve well (or better than the first time) and to remember these babies separately from one another. I think this baby is a boy, though we don't know.
How is it that our family lost three babies in the span of eight months? We are a family of strong faith, and we have grown stronger yet, somehow. But it's hard to live with these questions.
Now, I'm undergoing extensive blood tests. We're actually waiting for results at the moment. I've never wanted tests to show something 'wrong' before! I'm hopeful that we will learn more, and that there will be ways to respond in pursuit of a better outcome next time.
I pray for strength, hope and peace daily.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)