Today, I took a step forward. I also took two steps backward. Or . . . make that a dozen.
I actually did an Arbonne party today. Was I ready to? No. Was I ever going to feel ready? Maybe not for a long, long time. But as my mom and my counselor both pointed out, it might feel good to do something "normal." Something productive that usually brings me satisfaction.
Last night was extremely rough, and I thought I was making a huge mistake in trying for the party today. But you know what? I did it. Granted, I made a billion "mistakes." Things I forgot to bring -- things I brought, then left them in the car -- things I did completely wrong. I even called one of the guests by the wrong name. I guess you still get post-partum brain, even when there's no baby at the end of the pregnancy.
In spite of all that, the girls were really sweet. I enjoyed getting to know them, and I enjoyed the party.
Ryan and Maddy drove with me to the party, so I think that made it easier.
But on the way home, I became sullen. We ate at Panera, and I was consumed by remembering my last visit to Panera -- the day after I miscarried and I had emotionally lost it when I got my coffee.
Later this evening, friends of ours watched Maddy so Ryan and I could have a date. It was super, super nice of them. I was looking forward to our date earlier in the day, but now? Now I was paralyzed by emotion. We ended up at the movies watching Mission Impossible. But I couldn't focus. I read blogs and texted. I just felt disconnected from everything -- Ryan included. Nothing felt right.
My mood had gone considerably south by the time we'd gotten home. Anxiety about going to church crept up. Ok, it didn't creep. It clawed at me, making me feel like I was on the verge of a panic attack. I wanted to go to church, but I'm not ready for attention. I feel like I'll just cry through worship. Not be able to focus during the sermon. And I feel like I'll want to make a beeline out of there if anyone talks to me. Ryan assured me I didn't have to go if I wasn't ready. But I almost feel like the longer I procrastinate, the harder it will be.
Then there's the anxiety about more "firsts" coming up this week. (As in, "Last time I did this, I was pregnant. This will be my first time doing this/going there/talking to this person since I lost the baby.") Last time I went to church, I was pregnant. Now I'm not. And later this week, I will go to my work to collect my things and have lunch with my friends. But last time I was there, I was pregnant and I began cramping and this entire nightmare began.
I decided to try to sleep off the anxiety, but decided to open my mail first. I opened up a sympathy card. The first thing I read was, "There are no words that are appropriate right now." How true. This whole situation was inappropriate really. When is it appropriate to lose a baby? And what words could a person say?
The truth of this overwhelmed me. The woman who had penned those words was the first to see me in the bathroom at work, curled up on the floor in pain. She was the first that brought it to my attention that I might be losing the baby. Until then, I was in complete denial anything was truly wrong.
Remembering that day sent me into flashbacks of the events I've gone through in the last three weeks.
Trauma 1: I was at work, enjoying a Christmas party when the cramps started. A week before, I had been joking to a coworker that I had a "cranky uterus" this time around. We both laughed. But on this particular day, the cramps were sudden and awful.
It became obvious to others I was in pain, but I didn't want attention. So I excused myself to the bathroom, thinking that in 15 minutes or so, they would pass and I would be able to eat the yummy Indian food that was waiting for me.
That was definitely not the case. I found myself needing to breathe through the cramps, and eventually, I curled up on the floor (albeit, as far away from the toilet as I could possibly get. And yes, I know this is really gross. But I was just trying to get through the pain.) Coworkers came in, and I insisted I was OK . . . but deep inside, I wanted someone to come help me. Finally, my friend Deb came in and saw me crying in pain. She said, "That's it. We're driving you home, or to the hospital. Which is it?"
They drove me to my parents' house, and my dad believed I had either an ectopic pregnancy, an obstructed bowel, or appendicitis. My parents took me to the ER. Before I got to see the Dr., much of my pain subsided due to pain meds and I wanted to go home. My dad insisted that I be seen.
Trauma 2: I had a very kind, compassionate Dr. He seemed to care very much for me and my baby, and spent a lot of time with us. We discussed how far along I might be, and when my due date is. And then, he reviewed my paperwork one last time before leaving the room to order tests and said casually, "Oh, wait a minute. The pregnancy test here says you're not pregnant."
And with that calm, casual statement -- as if he was announcing something as trivial as my temperature -- a part of my heart died. Just died. I knew there was no reason for the pregnancy test not to be positive unless the baby had died, or was going to die. And the despair that filled my entire being was so consuming. Crying didn't help. Nothing helped. During that time, I was almost numb to physical pain. They put in the IV lock, and I didn't notice. I almost wanted some physical pain at that time to take away the heartache. To give me some distraction from the raw emptiness inside. (Eventually I got it as my arm ached from the IV.)
I had to have an ultrasound, and I watched the image of my empty uterus wave across the screen as the technician searched for a baby. Nothing. There was nothing. I know what my pregnant uterus should look like. And that was definitely empty. At one point, she turned up the sound and I heard a familiar "whoosh whoosh" of a heartbeat. I think the technician saw hope flick across my face for a brief instant, because she quickly made note that that was MY heartbeat -- not a baby's.
It seemed like the ultrasounds lasted 30 minutes (I had two). All during that time I was despondent. The technician was also kind, and told me over and over, "I'm sorry." But she said she couldn't tell me anything about the ultrasound. She just said, "I know you think you know what this is, but it might not be." But then in the next breath, she would look at me compassionately and say, "I'm so sorry."
By the time I saw the Dr. again, I had been in the ER for 5 hours. And I had begun to bleed. The Dr. said the blood draw came back positive for pregnancy with very low HCG levels. I had to wait until Friday for the blood draw to find out if the numbers had doubled, which would indicate that the pregnancy might be viable. He told me that he wasn't willing to give up on my baby. That he's seen crazy things happen before, and he was holding onto hope.
I felt a little bit better. But I also knew it would take a miracle from God for us to keep this baby.
Trauma 3: On Friday (two days after the ER visit), I had the blood draw. After the blood draw, I came home and could finally sleep. I was worn out from praying, crying, reading about miscarriage/ectopic pregnancy, and the like. It was as if after the blood draw, there was nothing left for me to do. A friend recently blogged that we women fight to keep our babies alive in the uterus. I definitely felt as if I had been in a battle. Now it was up to the numbers to tell us the fate of our baby.
The nurse's call woke me up and she said we had good news. The numbers had gone from 560 to 840. So that meant the baby was still alive and growing. When I informed the nurse that I hadn't bleed at all in 24 hours, she was encouraged. She, too, said she was holding onto hope for our baby. But she also said that because the numbers didn't double, she was still quite concerned about the placement of the baby.
So much hope was given to me then. I began texting and calling with the good news. But still, I did ask friends to pray that if our baby was ectopic, that I would pass the baby naturally so I didn't have to make any hard decisions.
Five hours after the nurse's call, it seemed that God was answering my prayer. Well, at least the prayer that I had hoped He wouldn't have to answer.
The bleeding began, and the cramps. We were supposed to have dinner with Ryan's grandpa that night -- but I didn't think I should go. We were supposed to go out of town on vacation the next morning, but I didn't know what I should do. Ryan and I were on opposite pages as far as what we should do at this point, and emotionally, we were both heated. But I knew this was the end. I wanted to pass the baby as peacefully as I could at home.
[Please excuse the next part -- it's a bit more graphic, but I really feel I need to write this out.] During the cramping, I was constantly in the restroom checking my bleeding. It was definitely as heavy as a period. Once, when I stood up, I felt something in me and felt the need to push. I sat back down and did, and this large clot with tissue forcefully came out.
As soon as I saw the clot, I began weeping, clinging to the toilet. I knew it was our baby, and she was sitting in our toilet. I felt as if this caged animal inside of me was let loose. There was no rational thinking. No logic holding me back from just feeling. Honestly, I had no choice but to let this grief possess me in a way I had never let anything take over. I was no longer felt like Rachel -- I couldn't even recognize this person who was wailing on her bathroom floor. In truth, I don't think Ryan recognized her either.
Trauma 4: The next few days were so hard. I felt expected to be normal. To go on vacation, and be socially acceptable. To enjoy shopping and eating out. To enjoy our hotel. I couldn't. I didn't know how to be normal. I no longer cared if I made others happy or uncomfortable. I didn't know how to be this new person I had become. I didn't know how to grieve. I didn't know how to live.
Trauma 5: The following Tuesday, as I was putting on my coat to leave for my post-miscarriage appointment (that was originally scheduled as my first prenatal appointment), I felt very sharp cramping in my abdomen. Within seconds, I could no longer stand the pain was so intense. I eventually walked to the car, taking many breaks to squat. (I imagine I was a sight to the neighbors.) I called my parents and asked if one of them could watch Maddy, and the other accompany me to my appointment as I could not go alone . . . I was in too much pain. They asked if I needed them to pick me up. I declined. I didn't want to be late for my appointment.
I could hardly walk, but somehow I got Maddy into her car seat and began driving. The pain was unbearable, and made me nauseous. I kept telling myself outloud I was OK, in between dry heaving. Maddy was in the back telling me over and over not to cry. The truth is, I knew my tube had ruptured. I knew I was bleeding internally. But for some reason, I still thought I could handle it.
At one point, the logical part of me said, "You need to stop here at this fire station and tell them you need help." The illogical part said, "They'll take me by ambulance and we can't afford that." I took probably 30 minutes to make a 15-minute drive. My mom was so worried that I had gotten in an accident. (She later told me she had to get on her knees and beg God to forgive her for letting me drive like that.) As I crawled along the highway, I recieved many dirty looks from the people that passed me by. It's hard to drive fast when you hurt so badly.
By the time I reached my parents, I could officially no longer stand. I broke down in tears of relief when they took Maddy from me and helped me into the backseat of their car. My dad took me to my appointment because my parents figured he would need to carry me in.
My mom called Ryan to tell him I was in pain. She also called the office to let them know that I was coming to them in bad shape. They brought out a wheelchair and both my dad and the nurse helped me in. I sobbed as quietly as I could in the fetal position as they wheeled me through the waiting room. I was relieved the room was not full of onlookers.
My poor nurse was smaller than me, but she had to fully support me standing and had to undress me and get me into a robe as I could not. My normal self would have been humiliated -- but this new me didn't care. My OB immediately came in and did an exam. Again, nothing was in my uterus. She wheeled in the ultrasound where she saw fluid in my abdomen and a mass by my ovary. She told me I had an ectopic pregnancy and that I needed surgery right away. She said I had not passed a baby on Friday, I had passed uterine lining. The baby would have died when my tube ruptured.
She was going to try to save my tube and ovary, but she could make no promises. She didn't know what shape I was in until she opened me up.
After the nurse redressed me, I called Ryan. "I'm in pain. (Long pause). Meet me (long pause) at Harrison. (Long pause). I have to have sugery." Ryan could barely make out my words. Later he told me he thought he was going to the hospital to say a final goodbye.
At the hospital, the receptionist had me go in the backroom to fill out paperwork. Really. She wanted my insurance info. At this point, I was shaking from the pain. She asked my dad if I needed a blanket from being cold. He pointedly told her I was shaking from pain, not cold. She infomed him he needed to move his car. For a few minutes, they left me alone in the room . . . and I began dry heaving again. Finally, after seeing me try to throw up on her nice carpet, she realized maybe this was not a good idea. Paperwork could be done in the hospital room. (I can't believe it took her this long to realize the absurdity of me doing paperwork in the shape I was in.)
The nurses were really kind. I mumbled out answers to a billion questions about my health and previous surgeries as best as I could, and FINALLY they gave me pain medicine. After the shot, I began truly throwing up at this point. Ryan was finally in my room, and was trying to comfort me. Each shot for the pain lasted about 15 minutes, but it was enough to finally stop the shaking and I could rest just a bit.
Family arrived at the hospital out of nowhere. It was nice to have everyone there supporting me, even though I didn't see them.
I got wheeled into the OR, and my OB kept telling me, "Baby girl, I'm going to take care of this for you. I'm going to fix you and make you feel better." At that point, I could have cared less that she was talking to me as one might talk to a toddler. Her words gave me much comfort. I knew she cared about me.
The shot had worn off, so I was quite ready for the anesthesia. The fear I felt toward the surgery was overcome by my need for relief. The gave me the anesthesia, and I just nestled my head into the pillow as I might have if I was going to bed. Sleep was most welcome.
It took me several hours to fully wake up after surgery. At one point, I dreamed that the baby had floated down my tube into my uterus from the surgery. When I woke up, I thought I was pregnant again. It took me a while to realize that was just a dream.
It was disorienting to wake up from surgery, not knowing what had gone on. How long had I been in surgery? What time was it? Did I have a tube still? Did I have an ovary? Heck, did I have anything left in there? Did I lose blood? Did I have a transfusion?
Ryan came back and told me I did still have a tube, and that I had lost a half a liter of blood and had a huge clot, but that I did not have to have a transfusion. At some point, I thought I heard that I had a cyst on my ovary they had to take out. But I found out a week later that was just something I conjured up on my own in my anthethesia-induced stupor.
They sent me home that night. And my family and friends loved on me and took care of all of us. And I guess that's the silver-lining in this whole thing -- I've experienced other people's love and concern -- even from strangers -- in amazing ways.
Back to today -- I finally feel some relief after writing this all out. I apologize again for the more graphic nature of my post. :( The memories of pain and fear were welling up into anxiety -- and from my past, I know the only way for me to release that is to write it all down.
Tomorrow, maybe I will go to church. Maybe I will be able to take another step forward. And maybe tomorrow night, I'll only have to take one step back -- and not two.
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Friday, January 6, 2012
Just a bump in the road?
I received an email today that can be so true . . .
For women who have experienced pregnancy loss, we know we've lost a baby. For other people, it's just a bump in the road.
I hate to even admit it, but that's how I felt a bit about miscarriage before I lost Baby O. Don't get me wrong, when my close friends miscarried -- I grieved for them, I prayed for them, I cried with them. Yes, I felt like they lost a baby. But I also felt like it was a bump. A bump they would soon get over.
Looking back, there were some things I JUST DIDN'T GET:
- That getting pregnant again does not heal the hurt from losing a baby. One baby does not replace another. Even if you get pregnant right away, there is still grief because there was still loss.
-That they did not need answers from me at all. Not one. I looked back on an email I sent to a friend after I heard about her loss, and while I said some appropriate things, I also said, "I know God's in control." When I re-read that email last week, I winced. She knew God was in control. She didn't need me to have an answer. She just needed to hear, "I'm so sorry. I'm crying with you. I will miss knowing your baby. I'm praying for you. If you need to talk, I'm here."
-That the hurt lasts so long. 3 weeks ago, we found out something was wrong with the pregnancy. And we only knew we were pregnant for 2.5 weeks up to that point. But I know that I am going to be reeling from this for quite some time. As in probably months of grief. And after that? Who knows? I know that I'm changed. And I'll never quite be the same again. I just wish that I had realized my friends were still dealing with grief for months, and for some, years . . . not just days.
-That no matter how early the loss, it still hurts. My love did not grow by weeks. The moment I saw those two lines on the pregnancy test, I was in love with my baby. I was on cloud nine, thinking and planning and dreaming. I didn't lose 7 weeks of pregnancy. I lost a lifetime with a baby I loved.
-That bringing up the loss doesn't remind them of the loss. They are thinking about it already. But it helps to acknowledge their pain. For most of my friends, I assumed that silence was best. As in, I sent an initial card or email . . . but then I did not continue to ask them about how they were doing. I wish I would have asked. I wish I would have sent remembrances. I wish I would have sent a card or flower on their due date.
-That comparison does not help. In trying to comfort, sometimes we try to relate as best we can. I've done it to others. And today I had that happen to me from the billing person at my Dr's office. She wanted to apologize that I would be receiving bills for months down the road for my surgery -- each bill as a reminder that I lost a baby. I agreed that yes, this would probably be hard. She then proceeded to say, "I know it's not the same, but last week I had to put my dog down . . . " Oh no, I inwardly cringed. PLEASE do not compare my baby to losing a dog. In her own way she was trying to be helpful, trying to relate to my pain . . . but trust me when I say that it was NOT helpful.
I don't blame myself for not getting it before. I couldn't have known (unless I had taken the time to google how to help a friend with pregnancy loss). But I have tried my best to apologize to each of those friends who have miscarried before me. I figure saying the right thing is better late than never. And I still believe that, for me, saying at least something, even if it's wrong, is still better than total silence.
So no, pregnancy loss isn't just a bump in the road. It's more like coming to a screeching halt, careening the car onto a side road you didn't even see. And no matter what you do, you will never be able to turn the car around and get back on your journey. Somehow, you have to pull yourself together and figure out how you fit on this new journey. And maybe, just maybe, one day, you'll even grow to enjoy the view.
For women who have experienced pregnancy loss, we know we've lost a baby. For other people, it's just a bump in the road.
I hate to even admit it, but that's how I felt a bit about miscarriage before I lost Baby O. Don't get me wrong, when my close friends miscarried -- I grieved for them, I prayed for them, I cried with them. Yes, I felt like they lost a baby. But I also felt like it was a bump. A bump they would soon get over.
Looking back, there were some things I JUST DIDN'T GET:
- That getting pregnant again does not heal the hurt from losing a baby. One baby does not replace another. Even if you get pregnant right away, there is still grief because there was still loss.
-That they did not need answers from me at all. Not one. I looked back on an email I sent to a friend after I heard about her loss, and while I said some appropriate things, I also said, "I know God's in control." When I re-read that email last week, I winced. She knew God was in control. She didn't need me to have an answer. She just needed to hear, "I'm so sorry. I'm crying with you. I will miss knowing your baby. I'm praying for you. If you need to talk, I'm here."
-That the hurt lasts so long. 3 weeks ago, we found out something was wrong with the pregnancy. And we only knew we were pregnant for 2.5 weeks up to that point. But I know that I am going to be reeling from this for quite some time. As in probably months of grief. And after that? Who knows? I know that I'm changed. And I'll never quite be the same again. I just wish that I had realized my friends were still dealing with grief for months, and for some, years . . . not just days.
-That no matter how early the loss, it still hurts. My love did not grow by weeks. The moment I saw those two lines on the pregnancy test, I was in love with my baby. I was on cloud nine, thinking and planning and dreaming. I didn't lose 7 weeks of pregnancy. I lost a lifetime with a baby I loved.
-That bringing up the loss doesn't remind them of the loss. They are thinking about it already. But it helps to acknowledge their pain. For most of my friends, I assumed that silence was best. As in, I sent an initial card or email . . . but then I did not continue to ask them about how they were doing. I wish I would have asked. I wish I would have sent remembrances. I wish I would have sent a card or flower on their due date.
-That comparison does not help. In trying to comfort, sometimes we try to relate as best we can. I've done it to others. And today I had that happen to me from the billing person at my Dr's office. She wanted to apologize that I would be receiving bills for months down the road for my surgery -- each bill as a reminder that I lost a baby. I agreed that yes, this would probably be hard. She then proceeded to say, "I know it's not the same, but last week I had to put my dog down . . . " Oh no, I inwardly cringed. PLEASE do not compare my baby to losing a dog. In her own way she was trying to be helpful, trying to relate to my pain . . . but trust me when I say that it was NOT helpful.
I don't blame myself for not getting it before. I couldn't have known (unless I had taken the time to google how to help a friend with pregnancy loss). But I have tried my best to apologize to each of those friends who have miscarried before me. I figure saying the right thing is better late than never. And I still believe that, for me, saying at least something, even if it's wrong, is still better than total silence.
So no, pregnancy loss isn't just a bump in the road. It's more like coming to a screeching halt, careening the car onto a side road you didn't even see. And no matter what you do, you will never be able to turn the car around and get back on your journey. Somehow, you have to pull yourself together and figure out how you fit on this new journey. And maybe, just maybe, one day, you'll even grow to enjoy the view.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Remembering a baby I never got to meet
Today I created an ornament for Baby O. And just in time to take down the tree -- although I did put the ornament on and take a picture before starting to take down the tree.
I bought an adorable pair of newborn black and white flats and tied a silver ribbon around it. It works better for me than a traditional keepsake ornament that is so vague. This one says exactly what I want it to say about Baby O: I am a tiny little baby. I'm supposed to be here to celebrate Christmas with you. I am a part of your family. My shoes will never be filled by another. I am precious and missed beyond compare.
I'll keep the shoes in the box with all of Baby O's sympathy cards and other memorabilia that we've collected -- not that I have much. I'm also using a cute pink velevet journal with a heart on the front to write letters to her.
We are burying the tissue that I passed in a pot with an oak tree seed my sister sent us to remember her by. One day, that oak tree will grow big and strong. Sending a tree was so thoughtful of Sarah
I had taken a picture of positive pregnancy test. I plan to print out that picture and place it in the box. When I feel like I'm forgetting -- like I was never really pregnant to begin with -- I look at that picture and it reminds me of how real it all was not so long ago.
Other gifts we've received are flowers from my friends at work, Ryan's work, my friend Melissa, and both the pastors at work. Several dear friends have brought by food. (In fact, I haven't had to cook in 3 weeks. What a relief!) My friend Meredith sent an amazing book, Hearing Jesus Speak Into Your Sorrow.
My friend Abby came over and kept us occupied with games. She fixed dinner for us, and brought us a frozen dinner as well. And she let me talk as much as I needed. They even bought me a keepsake to remember our baby by. My sister, Judy, and her family stayed with us. She let me talk and cry as I needed. Kept me distracted. Planned Maddy's party. Cooked meals and went grocery shopping. And cleaned my ENTIRE house. My mom and in-laws have watched Maddy a ton. And my mom has come over anytime I've asked to keep me company, fix meals, and clean my house. I have spent a LOT of time with my parents lately!
I've had so much support -- I don't know what I would have done without it.
In spite of everything, today I find myself wishing I could go back in time. It really wasn't that long ago -- and I was pregnant for 7 weeks (really only 5 -- but 7 sounds more solid). But I was just so happy. Having another baby was a blessing and a joy I didn't think I'd ever have again.
Ryan and I still have not decided what to do as far as whether or not to get pregnant. He feels like pregnancy is a death sentence. Not that I can blame him. The poor man has been called home or to the hospital in an emergency situation during my pregnancies more times than I can count. (Ok, I could probably count if I tried.)
But the truth is, me being pregnant scares him. Like, "I'm going to lose my wife and raise Madelyn by myself" scary. He admitted to me that when he came to the hospital for my surgery to fix the ruptured tube, he really thought he was coming to say a final goodbye. (I was in so much pain, he could barely make out that he needed to meet me at the hospital right then for surgery.) Who can blame him for being hesitant to try again?
I'm scared too. But I was at such peace with my pregnancy with Baby O. I really think that I could do this again, and I want a baby more than anything in the world.
Sigh.
I guess that's it for me tonight.
I bought an adorable pair of newborn black and white flats and tied a silver ribbon around it. It works better for me than a traditional keepsake ornament that is so vague. This one says exactly what I want it to say about Baby O: I am a tiny little baby. I'm supposed to be here to celebrate Christmas with you. I am a part of your family. My shoes will never be filled by another. I am precious and missed beyond compare.
I'll keep the shoes in the box with all of Baby O's sympathy cards and other memorabilia that we've collected -- not that I have much. I'm also using a cute pink velevet journal with a heart on the front to write letters to her.
We are burying the tissue that I passed in a pot with an oak tree seed my sister sent us to remember her by. One day, that oak tree will grow big and strong. Sending a tree was so thoughtful of Sarah
I had taken a picture of positive pregnancy test. I plan to print out that picture and place it in the box. When I feel like I'm forgetting -- like I was never really pregnant to begin with -- I look at that picture and it reminds me of how real it all was not so long ago.
Other gifts we've received are flowers from my friends at work, Ryan's work, my friend Melissa, and both the pastors at work. Several dear friends have brought by food. (In fact, I haven't had to cook in 3 weeks. What a relief!) My friend Meredith sent an amazing book, Hearing Jesus Speak Into Your Sorrow.
My friend Abby came over and kept us occupied with games. She fixed dinner for us, and brought us a frozen dinner as well. And she let me talk as much as I needed. They even bought me a keepsake to remember our baby by. My sister, Judy, and her family stayed with us. She let me talk and cry as I needed. Kept me distracted. Planned Maddy's party. Cooked meals and went grocery shopping. And cleaned my ENTIRE house. My mom and in-laws have watched Maddy a ton. And my mom has come over anytime I've asked to keep me company, fix meals, and clean my house. I have spent a LOT of time with my parents lately!
I've had so much support -- I don't know what I would have done without it.
In spite of everything, today I find myself wishing I could go back in time. It really wasn't that long ago -- and I was pregnant for 7 weeks (really only 5 -- but 7 sounds more solid). But I was just so happy. Having another baby was a blessing and a joy I didn't think I'd ever have again.
Ryan and I still have not decided what to do as far as whether or not to get pregnant. He feels like pregnancy is a death sentence. Not that I can blame him. The poor man has been called home or to the hospital in an emergency situation during my pregnancies more times than I can count. (Ok, I could probably count if I tried.)
But the truth is, me being pregnant scares him. Like, "I'm going to lose my wife and raise Madelyn by myself" scary. He admitted to me that when he came to the hospital for my surgery to fix the ruptured tube, he really thought he was coming to say a final goodbye. (I was in so much pain, he could barely make out that he needed to meet me at the hospital right then for surgery.) Who can blame him for being hesitant to try again?
I'm scared too. But I was at such peace with my pregnancy with Baby O. I really think that I could do this again, and I want a baby more than anything in the world.
Sigh.
I guess that's it for me tonight.
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Taking a day off
Today, I'm taking the day off. As in, it's almost 5 and I'm still in my PJs. And I didn't get out of bed until *gasp* noon.
I'm trying to give myself permission to just be, and feel what I need to feel, and do what I need to do, without worrying about whether I'm being productive or am helping my family or meeting goals.
This is such a change of pace from my normal life. And it won't be this way for forever. But I've spent the day playing with Maddy, watching Finding Nemo snuggled up next to her, and reading pregnancy loss forums and articles.
Tonight, we'll have cake for Maddy's birthday. And who knows what else I'll do. Probably cry some. Maybe journal for a bit. (Going through the recent surgery definitely brought up anxiety and fears that surrounded Madelyn's birth. And it was just compounded by Maddy's birthday. So more I need to work through.)
This morning I woke up with a feeling of peace for the first time in weeks. Perhaps it's because last night my hubby and I were able to resolve some conflict. It seems that losing a baby raises a lot more issues than just the baby passing (which is horrible enough on it's own.) I have to deal with physically recuperating, dealing with grief and loss of hopes and dreams, fear over my body, questioning whether we'll ever get pregnant again, dealing with Madelyn's fits (as she knows something is up) . . . as well as concern for the financial side of things as we start to get hospital bills. All that adds stress to a marriage -- making just one more (very important) thing that needs to be sorted out.
Seriously, if I know my hubby and I are on the same page, life is just so much better. If we are supporting each other in what we need -- it makes all the difference in the world. Sometimes, that's not easy though.
Ok, that's just an update on my day . . . giving myself permission to do nothing except what I want to do, and to let everything else take care of itself -- at least until tomorrow.
I'm trying to give myself permission to just be, and feel what I need to feel, and do what I need to do, without worrying about whether I'm being productive or am helping my family or meeting goals.
This is such a change of pace from my normal life. And it won't be this way for forever. But I've spent the day playing with Maddy, watching Finding Nemo snuggled up next to her, and reading pregnancy loss forums and articles.
Tonight, we'll have cake for Maddy's birthday. And who knows what else I'll do. Probably cry some. Maybe journal for a bit. (Going through the recent surgery definitely brought up anxiety and fears that surrounded Madelyn's birth. And it was just compounded by Maddy's birthday. So more I need to work through.)
This morning I woke up with a feeling of peace for the first time in weeks. Perhaps it's because last night my hubby and I were able to resolve some conflict. It seems that losing a baby raises a lot more issues than just the baby passing (which is horrible enough on it's own.) I have to deal with physically recuperating, dealing with grief and loss of hopes and dreams, fear over my body, questioning whether we'll ever get pregnant again, dealing with Madelyn's fits (as she knows something is up) . . . as well as concern for the financial side of things as we start to get hospital bills. All that adds stress to a marriage -- making just one more (very important) thing that needs to be sorted out.
Seriously, if I know my hubby and I are on the same page, life is just so much better. If we are supporting each other in what we need -- it makes all the difference in the world. Sometimes, that's not easy though.
Ok, that's just an update on my day . . . giving myself permission to do nothing except what I want to do, and to let everything else take care of itself -- at least until tomorrow.
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Insomnia
So it's 3 am .... And im blogging in bed from my phone. (please forgive me for spelling issues or incorrect punctuation.)
I guess insomnia is going to be part of the new me. At least for a while. As soon as we found out something wasn't right with our pregnancy, sleep has alluded me till the wee hours of the morning. Even when my body is exhausted, my mind isn't ready to give in.
I've been around people for quite a bit today. Maybe i just need more time to process something.
One thing that's been on my brain is the sanctity of life issue. I'm pro-life. And i did not have to choose to abort my baby. But if there was one instance where i can understand it completely, it's in the area of ectopic pregnancy.
I've quasi-joined a forum for people that have had EPs (ectopic pregnancies). Many of them chose to end the pregnancy before rupture. And i can't fault a single one of them.
Tonight i read 2 blogs that felt very strongly that ending a baby's life is murder no matter what. (both were on the subject of whether it was morally ok to end a baby's life in ectopic pregnancy). They trivialize the risk (i felt) of rupture and maternal death.
Maybe because i seem to find myself in the small percent whose tube actually ruptured, i feel different about the risk. i am not a number ... Im not a statistic ... Im a person. A real live girl who has a hubby and a daughter to take care of.
I am more confused than ever about the issue. But my gut cannot feel anything but that women who have ectopics are both victims of a very, very unfortunate circumstance ... the kind that we all pray we never have to be in. In my mind, i just cannot see these women as murderers, (even as my brain tends to agree with the blogs' argument).
They all grieve very deeply for their loss.
And I'd also like to point out that women with a diagnosed ectopic are not given the choice to save their baby's life. It's always ... "Do you want the shot (if it's early enough) or surgery?" Not... "do you want to wAit this out to see if you naturally miscarry before your tube ruptures?"
On a different note, i started a journal for baby O. I haven't written in it (or on here)as i had intended, but its been very busy with Christmas, family and maddy's bday.
A few milestones i hit this week .... Saturday was the first day i woke up and my first thought was something other than "my baby is dead." i haven't cried as often ... But i think that's in part to All the distractions. My crazy, all-consuming emotional turmoil has been replaced by a dead, numb feeling of being in a really bad mood for no reason. My family has been amazing at taking me for whatever mood im in and loving me through it ... Even as my personality has been all over the place, many times in ways that are really not normal to me.
I've craved solitude, quiet and peace without much noise or clutter. Anything that i feel distracts me from thinking about my baby when i feel the need to makes me irritated and upset. I need to learn to listen to my heart more and excuse myself if i need to.
Physically, i am better. This whole thing has thrown my body for a loop with still having pregnancy hormones in me. Today's been the first day the nausea wasnt for more than an hour .... Yesterday, it was pretty miserable. My abdomen is still quite swollen, so most of my clothes dont fit. On christmas eve i was forced to wear maternity pants. Its salt in the wound to look and feel more pregnant now that I've lost the baby, than before when I actually WAS pregnant.
I am getting back to a more normal pace of life .... But still not anywhere near what i was used to doing. Today my body reminded me that i was still recovering when it insisted on a mid afternoon nap.
One last thing .... Im getting past the initial shock of not being pregnant anymore. The day after i "miscarried" (i thought i had passed the baby friday night , only to discover on tuesday that it was ectopic and i needed emergency surgery due to a ruptured tube) .... Anywway, the day after i miscarried, i was at panera and got coffee because i could. I broke down at the coffee table bc i could drink coffee now that i didn't have to take care of a baby in me. It sounds dumb... But getting through the firsts of not being pregnant has been hard.
I think taking down the tree will be hard. I was pregnant and full of life, joy and expectation as i hung the ornaments with maddy. That tree is the last visible reminder of my pregnancy ... Assuming that is, tha my body's swelling has gone down by then. At any rate, it just seems so final.
I guess that's it for now.
I guess insomnia is going to be part of the new me. At least for a while. As soon as we found out something wasn't right with our pregnancy, sleep has alluded me till the wee hours of the morning. Even when my body is exhausted, my mind isn't ready to give in.
I've been around people for quite a bit today. Maybe i just need more time to process something.
One thing that's been on my brain is the sanctity of life issue. I'm pro-life. And i did not have to choose to abort my baby. But if there was one instance where i can understand it completely, it's in the area of ectopic pregnancy.
I've quasi-joined a forum for people that have had EPs (ectopic pregnancies). Many of them chose to end the pregnancy before rupture. And i can't fault a single one of them.
Tonight i read 2 blogs that felt very strongly that ending a baby's life is murder no matter what. (both were on the subject of whether it was morally ok to end a baby's life in ectopic pregnancy). They trivialize the risk (i felt) of rupture and maternal death.
Maybe because i seem to find myself in the small percent whose tube actually ruptured, i feel different about the risk. i am not a number ... Im not a statistic ... Im a person. A real live girl who has a hubby and a daughter to take care of.
I am more confused than ever about the issue. But my gut cannot feel anything but that women who have ectopics are both victims of a very, very unfortunate circumstance ... the kind that we all pray we never have to be in. In my mind, i just cannot see these women as murderers, (even as my brain tends to agree with the blogs' argument).
They all grieve very deeply for their loss.
And I'd also like to point out that women with a diagnosed ectopic are not given the choice to save their baby's life. It's always ... "Do you want the shot (if it's early enough) or surgery?" Not... "do you want to wAit this out to see if you naturally miscarry before your tube ruptures?"
On a different note, i started a journal for baby O. I haven't written in it (or on here)as i had intended, but its been very busy with Christmas, family and maddy's bday.
A few milestones i hit this week .... Saturday was the first day i woke up and my first thought was something other than "my baby is dead." i haven't cried as often ... But i think that's in part to All the distractions. My crazy, all-consuming emotional turmoil has been replaced by a dead, numb feeling of being in a really bad mood for no reason. My family has been amazing at taking me for whatever mood im in and loving me through it ... Even as my personality has been all over the place, many times in ways that are really not normal to me.
I've craved solitude, quiet and peace without much noise or clutter. Anything that i feel distracts me from thinking about my baby when i feel the need to makes me irritated and upset. I need to learn to listen to my heart more and excuse myself if i need to.
Physically, i am better. This whole thing has thrown my body for a loop with still having pregnancy hormones in me. Today's been the first day the nausea wasnt for more than an hour .... Yesterday, it was pretty miserable. My abdomen is still quite swollen, so most of my clothes dont fit. On christmas eve i was forced to wear maternity pants. Its salt in the wound to look and feel more pregnant now that I've lost the baby, than before when I actually WAS pregnant.
I am getting back to a more normal pace of life .... But still not anywhere near what i was used to doing. Today my body reminded me that i was still recovering when it insisted on a mid afternoon nap.
One last thing .... Im getting past the initial shock of not being pregnant anymore. The day after i "miscarried" (i thought i had passed the baby friday night , only to discover on tuesday that it was ectopic and i needed emergency surgery due to a ruptured tube) .... Anywway, the day after i miscarried, i was at panera and got coffee because i could. I broke down at the coffee table bc i could drink coffee now that i didn't have to take care of a baby in me. It sounds dumb... But getting through the firsts of not being pregnant has been hard.
I think taking down the tree will be hard. I was pregnant and full of life, joy and expectation as i hung the ornaments with maddy. That tree is the last visible reminder of my pregnancy ... Assuming that is, tha my body's swelling has gone down by then. At any rate, it just seems so final.
I guess that's it for now.
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Chronicles of the grieving mom
Just so you know, this post might not be for you.
It's not going to be fun. Or fit altogether in this nice, neat little package that makes you feel good inside.
Because right now, nothing in my life feels nice or neat. I either feel totally numb and empty -- or so full of raw emotion that I want to breakdown and cry, or throw something and hurt something, or hurt myself.
I lost my little baby. My sweet, sweet baby that just wanted a place inside of me that was safe to grow. Just a safe and cozy place where she could burrrow down and develop into this amazing little miracle of a person. Instead of burrowing in my uterus, that was ready and waiting for her, she got cozy in my fallopian tube.
How I wish I could have willed her little body forward, down into the special place God created her to be for 9 long months! Instead, we got just a few weeks.
At times today, I wondered if I was the lucky one? So many people lose their babies -- and no one knows. I had the emergency surgery. I had family have to take Maddy because I couldn't take care of her. I got the bedrest, the time to myself, the time to grieve. I got the flowers, and the dinners at home. I am thankful -- but I also feel like I don't deserve it. So many other moms don't get any extra help, no dinners, no flowers. Few people may even know that they suffered a loss.
On Saturday, the day after I believed I had miscarried, I was so full of grief. I was tired of being around people, so I took an almost 2-hour-long shower at our hotel. All I could think of was, if I'm going through this, other people are too. How can we break the silence?
I don't normally like to put myself out there like this. To be honest about how much this hurts. To admit that I'm so not in control. But if it could help one other woman . . . I think it's worth it. If I share my grief, and just one more person had help working through her grief, then maybe my baby's short life could make a difference.
To my sweet baby girl, I love you and miss you with all of my heart.
It's not going to be fun. Or fit altogether in this nice, neat little package that makes you feel good inside.
Because right now, nothing in my life feels nice or neat. I either feel totally numb and empty -- or so full of raw emotion that I want to breakdown and cry, or throw something and hurt something, or hurt myself.
I lost my little baby. My sweet, sweet baby that just wanted a place inside of me that was safe to grow. Just a safe and cozy place where she could burrrow down and develop into this amazing little miracle of a person. Instead of burrowing in my uterus, that was ready and waiting for her, she got cozy in my fallopian tube.
How I wish I could have willed her little body forward, down into the special place God created her to be for 9 long months! Instead, we got just a few weeks.
At times today, I wondered if I was the lucky one? So many people lose their babies -- and no one knows. I had the emergency surgery. I had family have to take Maddy because I couldn't take care of her. I got the bedrest, the time to myself, the time to grieve. I got the flowers, and the dinners at home. I am thankful -- but I also feel like I don't deserve it. So many other moms don't get any extra help, no dinners, no flowers. Few people may even know that they suffered a loss.
On Saturday, the day after I believed I had miscarried, I was so full of grief. I was tired of being around people, so I took an almost 2-hour-long shower at our hotel. All I could think of was, if I'm going through this, other people are too. How can we break the silence?
I don't normally like to put myself out there like this. To be honest about how much this hurts. To admit that I'm so not in control. But if it could help one other woman . . . I think it's worth it. If I share my grief, and just one more person had help working through her grief, then maybe my baby's short life could make a difference.
To my sweet baby girl, I love you and miss you with all of my heart.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
My journey to a decision to adopt from foster care
Ryan and I have recently started classes to adopt from foster care. For me at least, this journey has been long in coming.
I never had an epiphany, or this one singular moment where I just knew this was the right decision for me and for my family. Instead, it's been a LONG series of moments, of experiences, of stories that have edged me closer to this decision to adopt.
The first moment that opened my eyes was as an older child. I don't remember how old I was, or even the title of the book, but I remember reading a novel based on a true story of child abuse. I read how this little girl was tied up to a pole outside, kept for hours without food or drink. If she went to the bathroom on herself, she was beaten mercilessly -- but she was never taken in to use the restroom. The story was told from her perspective -- a sad, demoralized little girl who loved her parents and could never understand why they hurt her so much.
Images from her story have stuck with me ever since.
I remember thinking, even as a child, that I wanted to adopt. I guess in my mind, it has always been a part of my "someday" plan.
Then, in May of last year, I learned about sex trafficking. Here's how God helped open my eyes . . .
It all started with TLC (Yes, I'm talking about the TV channel!) I was watching a show on the 2005 tsunami with my husband. It was one of those things where you wanted to turn it off, and pretend that something this atrocious would never, ever happen. Yet there's that part of me that just had to watch. As though I owed it to the victims to hear their stories, to validate their painful experiences. And so I watched . . .
Their was very little dramatization -- just real-life videos and personal testimonies from victims. One couple from Europe was vacationing in Sri Lanka for Christmas with their 5-year-old daughter. The wave came in to their hotel room, filling it up. The woman was holding her daughter, belly-to-belly, with the girl's arms and legs wrapped around her torso. She held on for everything that she could. But in just one moment, her beloved daughter slipped from her arms, and vanished from the room. Three days later, they found her body on the beach.
I sobbed as I heard her story. And as the stories progressed, I became angrier at God for allowing such suffering. Days later, I was still not emotionally recovered from the experience. At church, I tried to worship God, but my heart held back. I watched a mother nearby pick up her 5-year-old, belly-to-belly, with the little girl's arms and legs wrapped around her torso. In that moment, my heart screamed to God, "Lord, why would you do this? Why would you let thousands of children die a horrible death? Why would you rob families of their children? These children are innocent ... why didn't you DO SOMETHING?!!! I cannot worship a God who kills children!"
I'll never forget how calm His voice was, even in the midst of my visceral rage. He spoke quietly, yet pointedly to my heart . . . "Thousands of children are dying every day. They are hurting. And they need someone to help them. Do not ask my what I am doing, until YOU are doing something, too."
It was as if someone had splashed cold water on my face. (I don't even want to know what someone might have been thinking if they had been watching me during this particular service!) I was shocked to hear His answer . . . and all I could think of next was, "WHAT?" What is causing suffering to thousands of children? What is killing them? And what could I do?
Within weeks, my brother returned home from Southeast Asia. He told me about about how houses in regular neighborhoods had little red lights on their doors. Children would be playing outside . . . young girls ages 8-12, dressed in tee shirts and jeans. If the red light was on, that meant the child outside was for sale. That was the first in a series of answers to "WHAT?"
I found out about sex-trafficking in the U.S. I found out that children who have already been sexually abused were at high risk for being exploited -- many of whom are from foster care.
I hosted a sex-trafficking awareness night. But that wasn't enough. I committed a certain percentage of my Arbonne sales, but even still, that doesn't feel like enough. I lend out the book, "Renting Lacy." I am HOPING against HOPE to be able to speak at Arbonne's Global Training Conference to thousands of women about sex-trafficking. I have picked up pictures of prostitutes from the Las Vegas strip, cutting out their faces only and praying over them. Still, not enough.
Now we are starting foster care with hopes of adoption. I have no idea where this journey will lead us. I don't know how our children's lives will be changed, and how our lives will be changed. It isn't as if I'm on this endless search to be able to do "enough." But when I do have the conversation face-to-face with God one day, I want to be able to say, "I did my part. I tried my best to help. I couldn't help them all. But I helped at least one."
I never had an epiphany, or this one singular moment where I just knew this was the right decision for me and for my family. Instead, it's been a LONG series of moments, of experiences, of stories that have edged me closer to this decision to adopt.
The first moment that opened my eyes was as an older child. I don't remember how old I was, or even the title of the book, but I remember reading a novel based on a true story of child abuse. I read how this little girl was tied up to a pole outside, kept for hours without food or drink. If she went to the bathroom on herself, she was beaten mercilessly -- but she was never taken in to use the restroom. The story was told from her perspective -- a sad, demoralized little girl who loved her parents and could never understand why they hurt her so much.
Images from her story have stuck with me ever since.
I remember thinking, even as a child, that I wanted to adopt. I guess in my mind, it has always been a part of my "someday" plan.
Then, in May of last year, I learned about sex trafficking. Here's how God helped open my eyes . . .
It all started with TLC (Yes, I'm talking about the TV channel!) I was watching a show on the 2005 tsunami with my husband. It was one of those things where you wanted to turn it off, and pretend that something this atrocious would never, ever happen. Yet there's that part of me that just had to watch. As though I owed it to the victims to hear their stories, to validate their painful experiences. And so I watched . . .
Their was very little dramatization -- just real-life videos and personal testimonies from victims. One couple from Europe was vacationing in Sri Lanka for Christmas with their 5-year-old daughter. The wave came in to their hotel room, filling it up. The woman was holding her daughter, belly-to-belly, with the girl's arms and legs wrapped around her torso. She held on for everything that she could. But in just one moment, her beloved daughter slipped from her arms, and vanished from the room. Three days later, they found her body on the beach.
I sobbed as I heard her story. And as the stories progressed, I became angrier at God for allowing such suffering. Days later, I was still not emotionally recovered from the experience. At church, I tried to worship God, but my heart held back. I watched a mother nearby pick up her 5-year-old, belly-to-belly, with the little girl's arms and legs wrapped around her torso. In that moment, my heart screamed to God, "Lord, why would you do this? Why would you let thousands of children die a horrible death? Why would you rob families of their children? These children are innocent ... why didn't you DO SOMETHING?!!! I cannot worship a God who kills children!"
I'll never forget how calm His voice was, even in the midst of my visceral rage. He spoke quietly, yet pointedly to my heart . . . "Thousands of children are dying every day. They are hurting. And they need someone to help them. Do not ask my what I am doing, until YOU are doing something, too."
It was as if someone had splashed cold water on my face. (I don't even want to know what someone might have been thinking if they had been watching me during this particular service!) I was shocked to hear His answer . . . and all I could think of next was, "WHAT?" What is causing suffering to thousands of children? What is killing them? And what could I do?
Within weeks, my brother returned home from Southeast Asia. He told me about about how houses in regular neighborhoods had little red lights on their doors. Children would be playing outside . . . young girls ages 8-12, dressed in tee shirts and jeans. If the red light was on, that meant the child outside was for sale. That was the first in a series of answers to "WHAT?"
I found out about sex-trafficking in the U.S. I found out that children who have already been sexually abused were at high risk for being exploited -- many of whom are from foster care.
I hosted a sex-trafficking awareness night. But that wasn't enough. I committed a certain percentage of my Arbonne sales, but even still, that doesn't feel like enough. I lend out the book, "Renting Lacy." I am HOPING against HOPE to be able to speak at Arbonne's Global Training Conference to thousands of women about sex-trafficking. I have picked up pictures of prostitutes from the Las Vegas strip, cutting out their faces only and praying over them. Still, not enough.
Now we are starting foster care with hopes of adoption. I have no idea where this journey will lead us. I don't know how our children's lives will be changed, and how our lives will be changed. It isn't as if I'm on this endless search to be able to do "enough." But when I do have the conversation face-to-face with God one day, I want to be able to say, "I did my part. I tried my best to help. I couldn't help them all. But I helped at least one."
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