Carrie's Story: Breaking the silence on recurrent pregnancy loss

Carrie,

Thank you so much for opening up on all the taboo topics -- including the death of your two precious babies. I know that breaking the silence IS helping others.

Much love to you,

Rachel

I just finished reading your blog post, "Why miscarriage matters when your pro-life." I read it outloud to my husband while we were driving and we were both in tears by the end of it.

In November, I just lost my second baby. We named him "Tobin"... a name we had already picked out before we knew things weren't looking good. It means "God is good." It was hard to continue with the name, but we had been calling him Tobin from the beginning. I lost him at 12 weeks. 

Baby Tobin -- "God is good"

 

Rewind a year and a half earlier and we were pregnant with "Mizpah" which comes from a bible verse in Genesis that states that the Lord will watch over us while we are seperate from one another. We lost her at 6 weeks. 

I have no earthly children, but two precious babies in heaven.

Rewind even earlier, to fall of 2009. My husband and I just got married. We waited until marriage to have sex, but unfortunately found out on our wedding night that sex was not possible. We went to several doctors to finally we receive an accurate diagnosis of Vaginismus. After many failing treatments I finally was cured in the summer of 2011. 

We were 'pure' until marriage -- I felt I deserved to have a good sex life. We endured having a sexless marriage for two years -- I felt I deserved to have an easy pregnancy and beautiful babies. In the midsts of these trials I have, and continue to battle, anxiety and depression. 

I feel I have been through the fire, but the issues I have dealt with/deal with -- vaginismus, miscarriage and mental health issues -- are taboo and unacceptable to talk about. That is why your article hit a chord so strong in me. Pro-life advocates and churches, rightfully so, get up on their high horse about abortion but yet fail to reach out those right in front of their faces who have lost a precious baby just like those who are aborting.

I don't know the right way advocate for the memories of our miscarried babies, or to advocate for the mothers who grieve alone because they do not feel validated by their loss ... but if sharing my story can bring us one step closer, I am more then willing to do so.




To read more about Carrie and her husband, visit her blog The Waiting Wamplers. She has a few beautiful, heart-rending posts about her losses.

 

 

A day in limbo

Several of you have told me you are praying for me and my family, and it means the world to me. So thank you, thank you, thank you!

Today was a blah day, and the weather of rainy (close to) Seattle really matched my mood.

I haven't been sleeping well this week (a shock, I know). Every time I've woken up, I can't fall back asleep. So Maddy came in at 5 this morning, and I laid there for 2 hours just waiting to fall back asleep. As soon as I started falling back asleep, little miss woke up.

At least little miss was a little balm to my heart . Maybe she just knew I needed some extra love or something, but she was absolutely adorable this morning and made me laugh so many times. Her new favorite thing to say is, "Awww, man!" I think it's a revised version of "Amen," but she has impeccable timing when she breaks it out.

Later tonight as I was folding laundry, she wanted me. A LOT. She kept asking for hugs, and would squeeze her little arms around my neck so tight. Not in a clingy way, as she was actually quite happy. But usually, I'm the one offering more affection than she wants, so today was really out of the ordinary in a really good way.

Maddy, not to be outdone by her sister, gave me equal amounts of attention. At times, there was definitely a "fight for mom's lap" going on.

At least I didn't end up like this today.

Ryan graciously let me take a long nap late this morning. After I woke up is when the melancholy kicked in. I realized I didn't want to get out of bed at all. I didn't really want to do anything.

Ryan made me go take a shower. (Thanks, babe.)  Maddy picked out my outfit, and did a pretty good job. (You guessed it. Leopard print. In her words, "You can never have enough leopard print.")

I tried VERY hard not to take a home pregnancy test as the results of those kept freaking me out, and caused a lot of stress. The nurse I talked to said that they weren't that reliable for measuring the amount of hcg, and I should stop.

I'm going to try to heed her advice again tomorrow.

As for the rest of the day, I felt mostly numb. I don't think I've cried a single tear, which is probably making up for yesterday, where I cried buckets of them.

I cancelled all my plans for this weekend. I wasn't sure if I wanted to be around people or not, but my husband is definitely someone who likes to be alone when upset, so I knew that I should just cancel everything.

I know I can't cancel all of my life right now, as we could still be waiting for weeks. (Or maybe just till tomorrow. Who knows?) But I am really afraid of being out of the house when the pain or bleeding starts.

It probably won't just start with a bang. I'm sure I'll spot, or get cramps. There will be signs. But I'll never forget passing what I knew to be my baby at a gas station off the highway with our last miscarriage. I want to do a better job this time of protecting myself from added stress (like being away from home when it happens.)

I guess I've given much more thought to this ending up as a loss, and not as a viable baby.

A few of you are holding on to hope for us right now, and by all means, please do. Today I maybe had a tiny, tiny bit of hope. But it's hard to ignore the fact that my only viable pregnancy had me soooo nauseous by this time. And with all my losses, I felt exactly like this.

I guess that's the update for now. No signs of miscarriage or ectopic. But no signs of pregnancy.

It's just a crazy day in limbo.

Kristi's Story -- A lonely journey through ectopic pregnancy

I'm honored to share Kristi's story of a loss due to ectopic pregnancy.

Her story highlights several factors that are unique to an ectopic pregnancy or other early pregnancy loss:

• A husband often feels so different than the mom about the loss because he hasn't had a chance to bond with the baby.
• His reactions are often NOT helpful to the mom, which can make the loneliness in an early loss that much more painful. (Though I admit that his actions legitimately might be helpful to him.)
• Ectopics are hard for doctors to diagnose. This is why it's so important that we moms are in tune to our bodies and demand the care we (and our babies) deserve. When something is wrong, we have to trust our instincts.
• Medical personnel often don't treat ectopic pregnancies as the loss of a baby. The lack of compassion gives off the the feeling that we are just being "drama" and that "people miscarry every day, so what's the big deal?" The lack of validation for our loss -- and, therefore, the invalidation for our grief -- creates a very tricky journey of grief to navigate.

Her story also highlights what I'm sure all of us in the pregnancy-loss camp would agree with:

• Your loss changes you in a deep and profound way. And no matter how much you want to go back in time and have things the way they always were . . . you simply can't. And that is really hard to deal with.
• Your loss opens you up to a new world . . . a world of grief. A world where babies die. And a world that will probably never feel safe to you again.

On Christmas Eve, I was finishing up work and noticed that my eyes kept getting blurry and I felt dizzy.

Earlier in the week, I had started to wonder if I could possibly be pregnant because I wasn't feeling the usual signs of menstruation about to start, and I was tired more and having some nausea. So after the blurry vision and dizziness started that night, I decided to take another pregnancy test. (I had taken one a few days earlier which was negative, but thought it might have been too early to test.)
When I saw a faint second line on the test, I was overcome with joy . . . as well as full of anxiety about how my husband would feel. I decided not to say anything to him until I saw the doctor on Monday and knew for sure. 

On Sunday, Christmas Day, the spotting began.


It seemed to take forever waiting for Monday morning to come so I could call the doctor's office.  When Monday morning came, my husband planned a last-minute trip out of town to drop off some car parts at a machine shop and maybe to stop on our way out to see one of his daughters who is pregnant. While he was loading up the van, I called the doctor's office and found out that they were closed that day.

On the way to my step-daughter's house, I suddenly had to throw up, and hung my head out of the window to do so. When we got to the house, my daughter immediately told her half-sister about mommy throwing up, and she in turn immediately asked me, "What are you, pregnant?" I just kind of brushed it off, but told her later when we were alone that I thought I might be. 

Later that day, I admitted to my husband that I could be pregnant, and as I feared, he wasn't happy about it. He was constantly being negative about it, saying that he was too old to have another baby (he was 42 and I was 34) and that he had nothing to show for his life.

When we got home, we noticed our pet guinea pig was acting funny and wouldn't eat. I called and made an emergency visit to the vet and found out that she had an obstruction probably from chewing on the string to my pajamas a few days earlier, and she might not make it.

The next morning, the vet called to tell us that the guinea pig didn't make it. Then I went to the doctor and anxiously waited in the room for the doctor to come in and tell me for sure if I was pregnant. With my husband acting the way he was, I didn't know how to feel.

When the doctor came in, I could tell she looked nervous. She told me that the urine test came back negative but would call me with the results of the blood test. I immediately started crying and told her that I wasn't sure if I wanted to be pregnant because of the way my husband was treating me. I had wanted a baby for so long and just wished he could be as happy as I was.

I left the doctor's office and went to the vet's office to pick up our dead guinea pig. The nurse called me later with the blood test result and told me that I was pregnant. According to the hCG number, I was about 5 weeks along. Because of the spotting and cramping, I had to keep having my hCG checked.

The following weekend, my husband actually came with me and my daughter to my parents' house  to celebrate Christmas (which is something he never does.) We had a good weekend . . . we bought a couple of new guinea pigs, and he seemed to be taking the pregnancy news better, even though he never talked about the baby. The spotting had stopped for most of the weekend, until it started back up on New Year's Day.

That next Wednesday, my husband was being a total jerk . . . ranting and raving about everything except what was really bothering him (which I knew was the baby), and then storming out to his shop without even saying goodbye. My cramping had gotten much worse that morning, and I finally decided that afternoon to drive myself to the ER. 

I dropped off my daughter at the shop with him and told him where I was going. I spent several hours alone in the ER waiting to have a transvaginal and abdominal ultrasound. The doctor told me that my hCG levels had been very low for as far along as I was. (The doctor's office had always told me they were rising, but I guess they were never doubling like they should.)

The woman who did the ultrasounds is an old friend of mine, and I could tell from her face that something was wrong. The doctor told me I could just not be as far along as everyone thought (which I knew exactly when I conceived), or it could be either an ectopic pregnancy or an impending miscarriage. With no solid answer, they sent me home.

That Friday, the doctor's office called and told me that my hCG dropped a little and that the doctor wanted to try another ultrasound that Monday. The weekend seemed to drag on forever waiting for Monday to come. When I had the ultrasound, once again I was told that they couldn't see anything on the sonogram, but that my cervix was still closed. The official report came back saying that there was no evidence of an ectopic, and that the radiologist believed it was consistent with an early pregnancy. 

But the next morning, while I was working, I could feel the bleeding start. I ran into the bathroom and saw that the bleeding had gotten heavier. I told my husband I believed I could be miscarrying.  He had a physical therapy appointment he was getting ready to go to for his shoulder surgery, and I told him to go ahead and go. As the bleeding continued to get heavier, I called the doctor's office and they told me to come in and get checked. 

I was devastated to hear that my cervix was now open. It was hard to listen to a baby crying in the room next to me as I waited for my hCG number to come back. My number had risen a little and was told it could be an impending miscarriage or an ectopic pregnancy, or that my pregnancy still could be viable. Again, I was told I should just go home and rest. 

When I got home, I decided to take a bath to help relax. When I got out, I started to freak out when I saw that there was blood running down my leg and that the tub was filled with blood and several clots, including one the size of my hand. I yelled for my husband to come in, and he helped me get dressed and had me lie down. 

I called the ER since the doctor's office was closed and told them what happened and what the doctor had told me. Once they heard which doctor's office I went to (the hospital and a doctor at the clinic are in the middle of a lawsuit and he is banned from the hospital), they told me that I was having a miscarriage and there was nothing they could do for me. They told me to come in if I was bleeding through more than two pads in a half an hour. 

The bleeding stopped a few hours later, but the following night, I was cramping a lot worse. I had taken a Percocet and it wasn't doing anything to help with the pain. I called the ER again and told them that my doctor told me it could be ectopic, and again (once they heard what clinic I went to), they told me that if the doctor really believed I could have an ectopic, they would have done something by now. They inisisted I should just take another Percocet.

The next day, I had another hCG drawn. I was sure that it would be 0, and that I had miscarried. Instead, I was shocked to hear that my number had gone up again. 

The next week, my hCG levels kept rising slowly, but still nothing showed on the ultrasound. My doctor referred me to a gynecologist out of town who wanted to see me the next day. He told me that there was no way that this was a viable pregnancy and that he believed it was in my right tube. He said that on the ultrasound, there was more fluid developing around that tube. The ultrasound also showed fluid behind my cervix and around both ovaries and tubes. 

I told him about all the bleeding the week before, and he was shocked about that, too. Nobody could explain what was going on. My case was not the typical ectopic. 

The doctor suggested that I have the methotrexate injection. [This is a drug that will dissolve the baby and placenta, which would help prevent further damage to the tube.]

I had to wait for the pharmacy to get it ready, so we left to go shopping and kill time for a couple of hours before wereturned. By this time, the wating room was full of pregnant women and women with new babies. I couldn't stop crying as I waited for them to call my name. 

When the nurses brought me back to the room, and I saw the sonogram machine and the chart on the wall showing the various stages of pregnancy, I bawled harder than I ever have in my life. After the nurses gave me the two injections in my hips, they let me out the back way, so I wouldn't have to see all the pregnant women again. 

I cried the whole way home. I had told my husband that it made it even harder knowing this was my last chance to have a baby. At first, he seemed to be more open to trying again, but he hasn't even touched me in so long, like he's afraid I'll get pregnant again.

 I feel so alone. Not a single day goes by that I don't think about the baby. It's my first thought upon waking and my last thought before going to sleep each night. 

Tomorrow I go back to see the doctor who gave me the methotrexate injection to have an HSG test. [This is a test where they inject die into your tubes to see how if there is any blockage.] I am anxious to find out how much damage to my tubes there has been. 

I have had two laparoscopic surgeries in the past, with lots of scar tissue, adhesions and cysts having to be removed. I developed pelvic inflamatory disease after the second surgery, so I am worried what the doctor will find. I don't know if my husband will be coming with me or not. I might be going through this alone as well. 

I just wish I could back in time before any of this ever happened. It's so hard even getting on Facebook now, especially when I see pregnancy updates from two of my step-daughters, some friends, and my husband's cousin. It seeems like every day, somebody else is announcing their pregnancy. I even had to suspend my account for awhile because it just got to be too much to bear.

I don't like this woman who I have become . . . this woman who is angry and hurting all the time . . . this woman who knows that everything that you have ever wanted can be taken from you just like that, and there's nothing you can do about it.


A word to other mommas . . .

I would tell other women going through this that they should not be afraid to let their feelings out . . . that it's okay to be angry, it's okay to be sad. I felt so bad at first that I was angry at God until I talked to my pastor, and he made me realize that it's okay and natural to be angry with God, and that "God's got big shoulders and can take it."

I also have realized that I feel a lot of guilt and anger at myself. I've realized that I sometimes blame myself for being anxious about being pregnant, that maybe somehow my fears caused it. I also have been so angry at my husband for his reaction to my pregnancy and have blamed him, but I know deep down it's not anybody else's fault that this happened, that no one caused it. 

Also, it's very important and helpful to reach out to others who have been there for help to get you through it. I feel so alone with my friends and family, because none of them have any ideas what I am going through, so the support pages on Facebook have been a godsend for me.


Thank you, Kristi, for sharing your story of your baby, and the experience of your loss. I know the loneliness of losing a baby to ectopic -- but know that you are never truly alone in this loss. Thank you for being brave in sharing your story.

I feel like every pregnancy loss story is so important and deserves to be told. If you would like to share your story, please email me at renyeart@gmail.com. We can post your story anonymously if you would prefer. 

My goal in sharing stories on this blog is:

1) To honor our beloved babies and keep their memory alive.
2) To validate and honor the grief of the moms who have lost their little one.
3) To be a resource to women who are hoping to find someone, somewhere out there, who can relate to their feelings of loss. I hope this blog will be that resource.

Taking on the elephant in the room.

Well . . . hello.

I guess I need to break the ice again . . . but I'm not sure how.

I hate to say it, but for the first time, I think this blog has become a bit awkward for me. It's kind of feels like the social equivalent of getting drunk, totally humiliating yourself, and then having to go face the crowd when you're sober and embarrassed.

(Not that I have been drunk before. Well, OK, I got drunk when I was 3 years old. But that's another story . . .)

There feels like a big elephant in the room. And I wanted to ignore it -- but I think I'm just going to have to address it head on. I shared on my last note much more personally than I ever have before, and that is embarrassing and scary.

But I can't decide if sharing so intimately with what I am struggling with is a good thing or a bad thing. It's not really socially normal, I do know that. But does that make it wrong?

That's where I'm fuzzy.

My husband encouraged me to keep the note up because it is a truthful account of what I'm dealing with. It's totally ugly, but it's true. I felt like my counselor recommended I get more honest on this blog as a way to get out of that need to control my image. To really be upfront, and grieve.

My sister, on the other hand, recommended I take it down. I don't need to socially martyr myself, and I don't need to be 100% transparent. Some things are personal, and they don't need to be public for anybody and everybody to see. When I received LOTS of concerned phone calls the day after my post -- well, I think I started to agree with my sister.

I'm struggling because I can't decide if it's good or bad that I'm uncomfortable. It could be GOOD because I'm being proactive in breaking that pretty box . . . but it's BAD if I crossed a line, or have inadvertantly pushed people away.

While there's much I'm debating, I did decide to edit my post ever so slightly to temper it down.

I've also decided that I'm definitely going through a depression. Which also brings up more questions . . . If I am blogging about pregnancy loss, but I'm also depressed, doesn't that mean that less women will be able to relate? Will this blog be now about depression after loss -- or can it still serve those who are going through a loss without having succumbed to depression?

I wish I knew the answers . . . .

Even as I question my content, my voice, and my level of transparency, I still stand strong in my purpose.

I am writing through my grief because in hard times, sometimes the only thing that helps is someone who has been there, done that, and is brave enough to share their story. I want to be brave with my story.

I am writing because it gives me an outlet for my feelings and grief.

I blog because I need Olivia's life to have meaning.

I share because, the first day after my loss, I had an intense need to share Olivia's "birth" story -- just like other women do who have gone through labor and had healthy babies. I assume other women have this need, and I want to provide a safe place to share our stories.

I write because I was once the girl that said all the wrong things and was a very unhelpful support person to my friends and acquaintances dealing with pregnancy loss. I want to help break the silence, help others understand what it's like to lose a baby (no matter the gestation), and give them the words and tools they need to truly support their loved one in the best way possible.

I write because I do believe that God has gifted me with a love for the written word, and I want to use that to His glory.

I continue to write because more than 4,000 people have viewed this blog in 3 months . . .  and that tells me that somehow, in some way, my writing is helping others . . . even though I can't always see it or know the outcome.

I pour out my heart on this thing because I need my friends and family to know what I'm going through -- but I have a hard time communicating that in person.

I long to know that I'm not alone in my feelings. I long to feel connected, because I so often feel lost in myself and unconnected when I am physically around others. I long to feel hope.

If you have viewed this blog, I'm going to ask a favor. Will you please let me know if and what you have found helpful in my writing? As I wrestle with where to take this blog, your suggestions and feedback will really help me.

As much as this started out being about Olivia -- it's now really about you, my readers. And helping you, while helping me, is Olivia's legacy.

Brittany's Story: Struggles after loss, infertility and a miracle baby.

 Your blog about infertility brought up a lot of emotions in me. I wanted to share my experience and feelings, but they don’t stop at infertility and so I didn’t think it prudent to share in the comments section.

I feel like when we talk or hear about infertility or pregnancy loss, it stops there. However, my experience seems to have continued into how to handle my child. The pain, agony and guilt haven’t gone away from having my miracle baby girl or even from getting pregnant again.

I didn’t know about my fertility before, but I knew that I never had regular periods. It didn’t matter, though, because I was young!

When it took Michael and me 3 years to conceive Madelyn, my whole perspective changed. I charted my cycle, used fertility monitors, had tons of blood work done, had ultrasounds, saw several different doctors, and was finally diagnosed with polycystic ovarian syndrome. Not the worst diagnosis, but certainly not a good one!

This whole time all my friends, family and acquaintances kept announcing their pregnancies. EVERY single thing you mentioned about infertility in your blog was my experience. We finally decided to try a round of Clomid, but if it didn’t work, we were going to take a break. The stress and emotions for both of us were all-consuming and we didn’t enjoy each other, the process or life in general. I was a wreck!

Well, the Clomid didn’t work, so we threw in the towel. I started to feel better, put my energy into dance, school and work. Lo and behold, when I finally stopped thinking about it, I became pregnant! This was our miracle baby!

Then, like you, Rachel, it seemed like my body tried to get rid of the baby the whole time and I was terrified something awful would happen. I was incredibly sick, on bed rest, in pain, started to develop pre-eclampsia, and was induced . . . TWICE! I had a horrible labor, but then had my perfect baby girl!

But that wasn’t the happy ending I thought it would be. She had jaundice the first 2 weeks of her life. I had to take her in for bloodwork every day, she had the bili lights at home.

Then we had feeding trouble. For almost the first year of her life, she screamed 24/7, wouldn’t eat and wouldn’t sleep. I was the only one who could hold her. We finally found out she had silent reflux. We got her on meds and it helped, but I think her path was paved at that point.

Now she has screaming fits, completely unprovoked, sleeping and eating are still major problems. Her system doesn’t work properly. She has teeth problems from her reflux and prolonged medication usage.

There have been so many times where I have wondered what we did to deserve this? No one else has even the slightest clue what we are going through. People offer well-meaning advice, but it isn’t helpful. We’ve felt like God is punishing us in some way. All I ever wanted was to be a mother, but not like this.

I have shed so many tears and felt so defeated. We have no answers and have so much guilt over being at our wits' end with our dear child! We love her so much and it breaks our hearts to watch her struggle and be in pain and not know how to help her. We struggle with guilt and shame over our responses to her when we just can’t stand the screaming any longer! This is not how things should work out!

I had a miscarriage about a year and a half ago. It wasn’t medically confirmed, but I know for a fact what it was! I couldn’t even allow myself to truly admit what happened or grieve over it. We were trying to avoid pregnancy at the time!

Now, I am pregnant again and things are going much better than with Maddy, but it has been a long, hard 24 weeks so far. The first 15 weeks I wasn’t truly happy about it and then I felt so guilty over feeling that way!

Anyway, all this to say that I feel like the journey, the pain, the frustration never stops! I’m not really sure what to do with all of it. It feels better to be honest with someone about it all. I appreciate you reading.

A note from Rachel: Madelyn's doctors have just discovered what could be a serious medical issue causing some of Madelyn's behavior. Please pray for Brittany, Michael and Madelyn -- pray for wisdom, peace and for Madelyn's health!

A letter to my friends with infertility

Dear friend,


If you are reading this letter, and you struggle with infertility -- I just want to let you know how sorry I am. I know that your pain often goes unnoticed. Your grief invalidated. And your loss trivialized.


I also want to say, "Welcome." My blog is about pregnacy loss -- and for those of you who are struggling with infertility, you might not be dealing with the loss of your baby -- but you are dealing with the loss of motherhood. And that is a very valid pregnancy loss indeed.


I want you to know that I don't totally understand infertility, and all that it brings to life.


 I do not know the ups and downs each month of trying, waiting, being devastated, then mustering up the strength to try one more time.


I do not understand what it's like to have insensitive, ignorant (but well-meaning) people ask when it will be "my turn." I have not had people tell me to adopt, just so I could get pregnant. I have not had acquaintances tell me I'm trying too hard or wanting it too much. No one has ever told me just to "relax and it will happen."


I have not had to deal with years of struggling with friends' pregnancy announcements, birth announcements, subsequent pregnancy announcements, and on and on.


I do not know what it's like to have an empty nursery in my house.


I do not understand what it feels like to wonder if you will ever be a mother. I have not had to look infertility straight in the eye, and just give in because no amount of fighting would ever win me a victory . . . the victory of a sweet baby in my arms.


I have not had to give myself shots, undergo surgery, or face years of tests without a baby to show for it.


I have not had to face the guilt of not being able to provide a son or daughter for my husband . . . or a grandchild for my parents.


I do not know what it's like to face a suffering that is so silent, while at the same time, so consuming.


I have not faced the deep, deep loneliness of dealing with infertility.


As much as I cannot relate, I also feel that there are shadows of your suffering that I have been given just glimpses of . . .


I have felt distrust in my body, and anger when I felt it did not -- or could not -- support a healthy pregnancy.


With Madelyn, I felt as though my body worked against me -- and against her. In many ways, I felt like it did all it could to reject my baby.


At 12 weeks, I hemorrhaged. It was my birthday, and Father's Day. We were sent home from the E.R. with a 50/50 chance that we would lose her. She hung on.


Starting at 28 weeks, I had threatened premature labor and was put on bed rest several times throughout my pregnancy.


Beginning pretty much from the moment of conception (at least that's what it felt like), I had "all-day sickness." It was like having a case of the flu for 9 full months. Taking vitamins made me sicker. I couldn't ever focus on eating well for two. I could only focus on "What can I ingest that won't immediately come back up?"


And in the end, I had preeclampsia and HELLP syndrome -- both of which could have resulted in either mine, or Madelyn's, deaths. During my labor, her heart rate dropped for 8 minutes. After that, we had a c-section.


Two years later, I believed I was pregnant, but refused to take a test. I was still too traumatized from my experience with Madelyn to even think about getting pregnant. Right about the time I thought, "well, I should take a test" -- I began what I dubbed "the period from hell." I really believe we lost a baby then, but there is no medical way for me to know for sure.


I went to counseling following that "miscarriage." I felt a lot of depression and anxiety stemming in part from distrust in my body.


After gaining back some confidence -- believing that my next pregnancy truly would be different -- we had an ectopic pregnancy. There is no medical explanation for why this happened to us. Losing Olivia has made me doubt whether my body was ever really meant for pregnancy. And I have felt much guilt that I could not provide a safe place for her to grow.


Deciding to try again is a very hard decision for us to make. (Although, I know that many of you would give all four limbs just to be able to make that choice for yourself. So I know our situation is not the same.)


I know what it's like to desperately want to be pregnant with your baby -- but not be pregnant.


Some of you have lost babies -- others haven't yet conceived. But I know at least for me how desperate I felt once we lost the baby to be pregnant again.


We have to wait on my body to heal. And we have to wait to pay for Olivia and save up before we can think of trying again.


My wait is short-term. And I know that that is different than what you might be facing. But I do know what it feels like to want something SO MUCH -- only for God to say, "No. Not this time."


I know what it's like to feel like adoption might be the only choice you have to expand your family.


Ryan and I are now licensed for foster care. We still have not received a call for a child. But I often wonder if I'm even ready anymore.


Many people think adoption is easy: "This baby wasn't wanted. You want a baby. Put the two and two together -- and BAM! You have a family!"


It's not that easy. Foster care isn't easy. Adoption isn't easy. Nothing about creating a family is easy. I'm not saying it's not worth it -- or that we still won't pursue adoption. I just know what it's like to face foster care/adoption and think it's your only alternative. And grieve because it's not the same as having your own child.


I know, in part, what it's like to struggle to be on Facebook, to be jealous of others, to struggle to trust God's plan, to struggle to be around other pregnant women/babies, and to wish desperately that my situation were different.


Some days, I actually accept my loss. And then I attend an event where the talk is about babies. Or I see a pregnant woman. Or I watch a commercial with a newborn baby. Or I hear the announcement from a friend that she is expecting. Or . . Or . . . Or.


There seems to be a billion reminders out there about what we don't have. And that's hard to deal with, plain and simple. And when you do deal with your pain, sometimes there's collateral damage. Sometimes a friend is hurt when you aren't able to attend her shower. Perhaps another friend can't understand why you grow silent when your girlfriends get together and the subject of babies arises. Maybe you feel people are tired of you "raining" on their parade.


I know I'm relatively new to this experience, but I can say that it is a constant struggle. I struggle to face those reminders, and chose over and over again to praise God, and say, "Your will be done."

I know what it's like to pay for a baby you don't bring home. And having finances play a part in holding you back from expanding your family.


There are few things more frustrating than feeling like finances are holding you back -- but at the same time, you are so overcome with grief and hurt it is difficult to work harder, or start a business, or move your finances forward.



I have had people say all the wrong things that hurts so much. I know what it's like to sometimes just want to hole up to protect yourself.



I have to admit that, at one time, I was the pregnant person that people dealing with loss kind of hate. If not hate, at least resent. Or maybe, just feel jealous toward.


I got pregnant quickly, without really trying. Without WANTING to be pregnant. And I did spend quite a bit of the next 9 months complaining -- often loudly -- about my struggles in pregnancy. I did not know that my pregnancy really had any effect on others. I did not know that my complaints might have caused pain for anyone.


Most of my complaints were valid. I was miserable for 9 months. But -- if I had known that they caused pain, I think I would have chosen more carefully who I complained to.


I also was the person to say all the wrong things to someone struggling with infertility. They were spoken with the right heart -- but were still all the wrong words.


On behalf of those of us who do not know your pain, please forgive us for our ignorance. For the times we say the wrong things at the wrong time. For dismissing your pain.


And please have grace with us, even as our situations might look so much different than what you are going through.


I hope that on this blog, you will feel welcome to share about your loss, your pain and your story.



From a fellow friend on this devastating journey,


Rachel

Breaking 11 years of silence: A story of miscarriage at 13 weeks

I am honored today to share the story of a friend who suffered a miscarriage at 13 weeks. She went through her unplanned pregnancy and miscarriage alone. Completely alone. After 11 years, she is breaking the silence and is now talking about her precious baby and the loss that rocked her world.

We all have such different experiences in our loss. Her story shows the side that is so often overlooked. What happens when a pregnancy isn't planned, and lost? What does life look life after a loss when you suffer alone?

I want to be sure to protect this momma's heart -- so if you want to comment, please keep your comments full of love.

-- Rachel

When I moved to a new state at the beginning of my junior year of high school, I fell in love with a boy. For years, I hoped he would notice me. When he finally did . . . I knew he was the one. I was young, unmarried and thought I was invincible; the thought of getting pregnant never crossed my mind.

I actually got pregnant on the night that I lost my virginity. I was on birth control, but had strep throat and was on antibiotics, thus rendering my birth control inactive. It took me quite a while to realize I was pregnant. I just wasn't paying attention to the fact that I had missed a period or two, and because I was taking birth control, I never thought I would get pregnant.

Once I realized what was happening and took a pregnancy test, I was getting ready to go back to college for my junior year. I went to the doctor and it was confirmed, but the doctor said that I might have done some damage by continuing to take my birth control while pregnant. I immediately stopped and knew that, no matter what, I was going to keep the baby. I already loved that little one growing inside of me.

I went back to college and didn't tell anyone. Not my family, not my friends and not the father. I was just going to travel home for my doctor’s appointments and figure out how to tell my family after I started really showing.

Around 13 weeks, I started cramping really bad. I went to the health center at my school and they recommended an OB/GYN in Charlotte. I went and they did an ultrasound, but the baby's heartbeat was slightly slower than normal. They said there could be many contributing factors. They scheduled me for another ultrasound a few days later to check the heartbeat and everything again.

Two days later, I woke up cramping and bleeding heavily. I had never felt/seen anything like it. I didn't want to tell my suite-mate, so I got dressed and walked (very slowly) across campus. By the time I got to the health center, I was in bad shape. They called an ambulance and they took me to the ER.

When I got there, they did an ultrasound and there was no heartbeat. They sedated me, and did another ultrasound a few hours later. The doctor confirmed that there wasn't any hope, but that I needed to have a D&C procedure.

I had surgery and was released the next day. I remember being “foggy.” I’m not sure that I truly understood what was going on. I had just lost my precious baby. But because I hadn’t told anyone, I had to go on with my life as if nothing had happened.

I was pretty sick for the week or two after . . . I had a lot of bleeding and cramping and felt so empty, but I just couldn't bring myself to talk about it with anyone. It was almost surreal. I felt like I was walking through a life that wasn’t my own. I just didn’t tell anyone. In fact, I didn't tell anyone for many years.

I just started opening up about it over the last year, but still don't talk about it much. I went through it completely alone and felt like I had no one to turn to. I lied to so many people for so many years! People were concerned about me and couldn't understand why I cried all the time, so I tried to put on a brave front and go on with my life.

It has been almost 11 years and there is not a day that goes by that I don’t think about my child. There are times that I dream about her. While I have lived a good life since that day, I can’t say that the emptiness has ever gone away. Maybe it won’t ever go away. Someday, I hope to blessed with children, but for now, I know that she is looking down on me. Mommy Loves You!

A word to others:
To those who have a friend who has lost a baby, let them talk about it as much or as little as they need to. There are days that I long to talk about her and days that I don't.

Thank you so much, friend, for being so brave in sharing your story. Thank you for sharing your precious baby's story -- I know you miss her so much.



I feel like every pregnancy loss story is so important and deserves to be told. If you would like to share your story, please email me at renyeart@gmail.com. We can post your story anonymously.


My goal in sharing stories on this blog is:


1) To honor our beloved babies and keep their memory alive.
2) To validate and honor the grief of the moms who have lost their little one.
3) To be a resource to women who are hoping to find someone, somewhere out there, who can relate to their feelings of loss. I hope this blog will be that resource.

Grief in a vacuum

¹vac·u·um

b: a state of isolation from outside influences

<people who live in a vacuum…so that the world outside them is of no moment  — W. S. Maugham>

As a business owner, a wife and a mom, I tend to juggle a lot. But there have been times that I have wished I could just live life in a vaccuum . . . 

Last April, I keenly remember wishing I could put life on hold for just a bit while I operated my business. Or maybe I wanted to put my business on hold while I operated my life.

I was juggling my normal schedule -- 2 full days of proofing at the advertising agency, 3 full days of being a stay-at-home mom, working to finish a promotion, laundry, cooking, cleaning, singing on the worship team -- you name it.

But then a dear friend of mine was getting married.

I was not only a bridesmaid in her April wedding, I also hosted out-of-town guests, was in charge of arranging all the flowers, did the bride's makeup, helped set up and tear down for the wedding, ironed the wedding dress 
(S-C-A-R-Y), and helped arrange and serve food for the reception. 

It was beautiful!

And exhausting.

After trying to balance everything that month, I wished I could just operate life in a vacuum. I would do really well at Arbonne -- if that's all I had to do. I'd be an awesome bridesmaid/flower arranger/makeup artist/friend -- if that's all I had to do. I'd make an excellent wife and mom -- if that's all I had to do.

But life doesn't operate in a vacuum.

That's what makes life beautiful.

That's also what makes it messy.

Lately, I've found myself wishing I could just grieve in a vacuum.

I have a history of depression and anxiety. I have used, and weaned myself off of, medicine for both issues. Last year, when I felt the cool shadow of depression darken my soul, I chose to enter counseling so I could address the root of my depression and not just treat the symptoms.

After almost a full year of counseling, I felt so much better -- that is, until I had my ectopic pregnancy and lost my baby.

Grief awakened the demons of depression and anxiety, and they preyed upon me at whim. (I am not claiming spiritual warfare -- nor am I precluding it -- but no other descriptor fits my feelings. At times I truly felt possessed by my overwhelming feelings).

In one last effort to address my depression without medication, my counselor suggested I take a week off. She instructed me to get rid of all outside distractors as much as possible, listen to my feelings, and do whatever the heck I felt like doing (within reason, of course) in order to express my grief and deal with the emotions it brought.

Enter -- the vacuum.

A week off? Sounds awesome. Except I'm kinda a workaholic -- or, as I like to think of it -- I'm productive. And I don't know HOW to take a week off.

Clearly I still had responsibilities. My daughter still needed diapers changed. (Ick.)  And we still had to eat. Besides taking care of the input -- and output -- and general hygiene, the rest was really filler: stuff I could delegate to my husband, or put off for a week.

I usually cannot relax unless it is in a clean room -- so you can imagine my dilemma. Relax -- but don't clean. Sounded counter-intuitive to me.

It took me 4 days of trying to NOT work -- all the while, thinking of what must be done and combatting the associated guilt -- before I was finally able to relax.

7 days off = 4 days of doing what I wanted and feeling miserable about it + 3 days of doing what I wanted and feeling good about it.

Did it completely heal me? No. Might I still need to consider medicine? Maybe.

But I learned some pretty valuable lessons about myself in the process.

I learned that I can let go of some of the pressure I put on myself, and still be valuable (and productive!). I learned about some really unhealthy thought habits I had formed.

I learned that I am still very, very sad for the daughter I will never know this side of heaven.

I learned that I was hiding behind a busy schedule, behind a smile, behind a facade that I was all OK because the grief and sadness felt just too scary to handle. I learned that I have to fuel my soul, and not just make myself push harder while on "empty." I learned that I really need to take care of myself so I can be a good example to Maddy.

Enter -- life outside of the vacuum.

So, the vacuum is over and done with. I have found myself wondering, "Now what?"  How do I deal with the mess of grieving while juggling everything else?

And grieving while doing life is really messy.

The other day, I went on a playdate that had all of the makings for being an amazing time for me and Maddy. Valentine's Day, delicious cookies to decorate, cute elephant valentines to make and pass out, and an amazing hostess I love very much . . . All good, right?

Except I wasn't planning on everyone attending being either 1) Pregnant. 2) Have a newborn with them. 3) A practicing midwife. Or 4) Nursing. 

One lady came late -- bless her -- that did not seem interested at all in having another baby.

But still, for 2 hours the talk was about babies, nursing, babies, birth stories, babies, gift registries, B-A-B-I-E-S.

So, how exactly do I handle this when everything in me wants to run away and burst into tears? How do I act polite and courteous to these people who I don't even know, while everything about them at that time brings pain to me?

And it's not just hard when I'm around babies or pregnant people. My grief can be triggered at the most obnoxious times.

What about when I get blurry-eyed as I walk past the vitamin aisle, remembering that this is where I got my prenatals? Who cries at the vitamin aisle?

What about crying while getting my favorite coffee because I am so sad I can drink it without having to worry about protecting a baby in me? Pretty awkward for everyone else, right? Really, is coffee something to get THAT worked up about?

What about when a close friend is pregnant, and I love them with all my heart, and I am so HAPPY for their growing baby, but I am so SAD for my loss, that I don't even know how to act without hurting their feelings?

How am I supposed to react when my dad starts counting his grandchildren -- and Olivia doesn't make the list?

What about going on Facebook and feeling jarred every time an ultrasound photo is posted, or a BOY/GIRL announcement is made, or a newborn photo is proudly displayed? I often will myself to "like" their status, even when the truth is, it was really hard for me to see.

What about dealing with the hundred billion reminders out there of the baby I lost, all while trying desperately to not offend or hurt everyone around me, and still, somehow, care for myself at the same time?

I still don't know how to juggle it all.

But I'm starting to think I need to tell my counselor that I need another week in the vacuum . . .

. . . just for good measure.

Quick update

This won't be long as I promised I'd actually make an attempt to go to bed the same time as my husband tonight. Hopefully with the melatonin I just took, this will be more in the realms of possible. (Plus I have to get up super early tomorrow. Ok, super early is like 6:30. But considering I haven't been waking up until 10, that feels borderline impossible.)

So here are the quick updates:

• I went to a support group for pregnancy loss. Helpful? Yes. Hard? Terribly. This will take probably an hour long blog on it's own. Just suffice it to say, I'm reaching out for support.
• I've upped my time with my counselor. Same story as the first --another, separate blog is needed.
• Went to the OB last week. She gave us her blessing to try to conceive again in 3 months. Again, I will have to expound on this, but at least I have some small world of hope.
• I'm working through some really difficult but amazing books. Trying to work on my relationship with Jesus. To know Him more, and trust Him in all of this craziness.
• Dealing with insomnia in a ridiculous way. Considering I used to be a narcoleptic, this is a huge feat. Although, it's not a feat I'm happy about. 4 am has been my new bedtime. And I am exhausted.
• Still super weepy most of the time. Nights are the worst. Sometimes it's not even about missing Baby O. Sometimes it's just dealing with anxiety, hopelessness in ALL aspects of my life, and feelings of failure.
• I went to work today, which I AM proud of. My friends were amazing to me, and we even had lunch in the corner of the office so I wouldn't have to see anybody if I didn't want to. Only talked with 2 people I hadn't planned on . . . and they were super supportive. I know people feel bad when they cry around me. But I think that's the best "conversation" I could have right now -- just crying together. I do miss my friends very, very much.
• Ryan and I have been slowly getting more on the same page. We grieve differently. And I'm a different person now, with different roles. It's been an difficult adjustment for both of us. 
• My body is STILL not 100%. I've had 3 other health issues arise since surgery, one of which was so painful I couldn't hardly eat or drink for 4 days. (And yes, I lost the baby weight and more during those 4 days.) Hoping for 100% health soon. (And I ate Chung's, nachos and ice cream tonight to make up for it. But not all at the same time!)

If you want to pray for me, pray that:

• I would grieve well, and give myself permission to do that in whatever way is best.
• That I would SLEEP on a normal schedule.
• That I would have some energy to reach out to others during this time.
• That I would take good care of Maddy and Ryan and our home.
• That I would grow closer to Christ.
• That I would be faithful to whatever God's purpose is in this whole mess.
• Oh, and that I would be able to work through my depression without medicine, if possible.

I think that's it for now . . . got to try to hit the sack.

Thanks everyone for reading my posts. And for all your love and support.