Grief after hours

My typical night of blogging involves:


1. Staying up till 2 am (or later).
2. Engrossing myself in the melodious strains of Meredith Andrews and Laura Story.
3. Wiping out a half a roll of toilet paper to take care of my teary eyes and snotty nose.

Oh yeah . . . and then I write.

Tonight, however, involves staying up till 1 (slightly better), the sound of my keyboard filling the empty silence, and there is no snot to be found. (Aren't you glad to know that?!)  In fact, I actually find myself quite at peace, and . . . dare I say it? . . . happy.

Lately, I have been (quite successfully) distracting myself with my business. I just don't have the emotional energy or desire to visit my grief -- so I just keep plowing ahead, keping my mind occupied by what I have to look forward to.

Every once in a while, when I'm reminded of pregnancy in some capacity, I get this feeling of regret. It's like some part of me remembers . . . remembers that I "should" be 30 weeks pregnant. That I "should" be complaining about aches and pains. That I "should" be making room for baby, setting up Maddy's big girl room, and getting ready for all things baby.

Most of the time, I can visit that regret for a few minutes, and then just move on. But I have found my grief -- or whatever you want to call the melancholy feeling I get -- creeping up whenever I actually do take a break, and have time to think. And in those times, that feeling is not so easy to dismiss.

For instance, last weekend we went to the lake with Ryan's family. It was relaxation at its finest. No agenda. No chores. No work. (OK, maybe I worked a tad while everyone else took a nap.) We went to the pool. Played games. Ate fresh-cut fries and coconut cream waffles -- in the same meal.  And then on top of that, good company. Good food. Good fun.

So, why at the end of the second day, did it come creeping back. That feeling. The feeling of being angry, discontent, and just plain irritable? I know what the feeling means. But it comes when I'm not even thinking about Olivia. It catches me off guard and I don't have the wherewithal to warn everybody, "Hey. I'm unexpectedly grieving my baby right now. Just a heads up in case I get crabby for no reason. (And chances are, I will.)"

Same thing happened on Mother's Day. I sang in church that morning for the first time after our loss, which felt great. And I made it through (mostly) tear-free. Then we had a feast at my parents' house, and had pretty much the perfect day: Drinking iced tea on the porch, blowing bubbles with Maddy, playing badminton in the sun, and finishing it off with homemade blackberry pie and vanilla ice cream.

But as soon as we left, it began creeping up again. Almost imperceptible at first. But by the end of the night, I took myself straight to bed, didn't say goodnight to anyone and cried myself to sleep -- unapologetically leaving nightime parenting duty to dad. (I didn't even take my makeup off -- and that's saying something.)

Poor Ryan, no doubt, believed he ruined my Mother's Day. I even gave him some sort of reason for why I was acting the way I was. But that was only a small sliver of my feelings. The truth was that I was just plain missing my baby.

Then the other day at a party, there was a woman who was due within days of me, had her big round belly, and talked of baby showers and pregnancy complaints. There's nothing wrong with her coming, or being due when I was, or of having a girl, or of talking about all the things people talk about when they are pregnant. (Especially when she has no idea that I lost a baby and would be due at the same time.)

But there it was again. THAT FEELING! I tried to be as professional as I could be, and I HOPE that I pulled that off. But deep inside I was ready to flee. Ryan was asleep by the time I finally got home, so I called a friend over, and we drank a glass of wine and reminisced about our babies. I didn't let myself cry -- but talking about it definitely helped.

I know my counselor has suggested that I set aside time for my grief. To pull it out of the box for a time . . . let myself feel my regret . . .  and then put it away for another set time.

It sounds like great advice . . . but I don't know how to do that. How do you even measure how well you're doing at setting "office hours" for your grief? I wish picking up grief and putting it down could be so literal and tangible. That seems so so much easier to manage than these waves of melancholy that sweep over me (and crash into those around me) at the worst possible times.

I have a feeling that if I could set up office hours -- they just might look like this:

Whether it's just the time of day -- or whether it's during my off time -- for whatever reason, grief always seems to happen in the after hours.

At least, for the moment, it doesn't feel quite as consuming as it used to. And at least those after hours are just a wee bit earlier than they used to be.

"I want it all!"

Last weekend, I was in Vegas for my business conference. This year, they added the Prize Patrol. It sounds corny as I write it, but it was actually kinda fun. You're in the middle of a conference soaking in amazing training, when suddenly sirens go off, lights are flashing, and it's time! Time for the Prize Patrol! (I warned you that it was corny.)

The prizes varied from tee-shirts to backstage passes to meet Sara Evans to . . . the "I WANT IT ALL!"

(And in case you're wondering, winning the "I WANT IT ALL" gets you all of my business's new products for free, which of course, all of us wanted.)

The ladies who were drawing the names probably had one-too-many fizzy tabs to drink that day. But when they got to the grand prize, they would ask, "What do you want?!?!?" And we'd all yell back, "I WANT IT ALL."

But -- that was last weekend. The lights and sirens are a distant memory. I had no keepsake prize, no amazing free set of products. In spite of that, I still feel the echo in my heart. "I WANT IT ALL."

And I do.

I want to be pregnant. I want Olivia back. I want my business to skyrocket. I want Maddy to be safe and healthy. I want our family to be able to live life by design, and not be default. I want freedoms and choices. I want control over my body, control over my pregnancies, control over my life.

But I also want to surrender to God. To lead a life worthy of His calling.

I know deep inside that I cannot, in this moment, have it all. I can't have Olivia back. And I can't get pregnant, in spite of our efforts. And yet again, I'm learning that in most things, I simply don't have control.

But there are a few things that I can control, and I'm clinging to that. I can control my attitude, even as I can't control my grief and feelings. I can control my mindset, time and activity I put into my business -- even as I have to let go of the outcome. I can control in some small way the demands I make on my body.

Ryan and I have chosen for a short time to stop trying for a baby. It's a super hard, emotional decision for us. (OK, let's be honest. It's really only hard for me.) But I have to recongnize the limitations of my body. My body has a track record of not doing pregnancy well. I don't know how I could keep up with the momentum of my business and the needs of my family while feeling pukey all the time. Or worse, while being completely devastated over another loss.

Plus, the two-week wait alone is making me crazy. For those of you who have gone through this year after year (even month after month), my heart goes out to you. I don't know how you do it.

Even as I feel mostly at peace with our decision -- knowing deep inside that it is a relatively short wait we will have before we try again -- it still breaks my heart to know that I won't be pregnant when Olivia's due date comes around in August.

I had always counted on getting pregnant right away. In fact, because both of my pregnancies were "accidents," I just assumed that if I wanted to be pregnant and so much as blinked, it would happen. Not so much.

So I have something new to grieve. Another expectation that I didn't realize I had that is now lost.

Many times a day, my heart still screams out  "I WANT IT ALL," as if I could ever forget. But I am trying to make myself whisper gently back, "Be still. And know that God is God. Everything is in His hands."

I might not ever have it all.

But really, when it comes down to it, the most important thing is that I have Him. And He will never change. And He will never be taken from me.

Questions to mull over

Just a short note tonight . . .

If you haven't noticed, I've had a lot fewer posts lately. I've been super busy ramping up my business, which has actually been a good distraction.

I've been mulling through a few thoughts, but I'd actually love your input. Because as much as I think about each issue, I just come up with more questions than answers. So -- give me your thoughts! I'll mull over them . . . and hopefully one of these days write on them!

What do you think "Christian grief" means?

What is the role of positive attitude in grief? Are the two mutually exclusive? Does feeling sad or depressed mean that you need to change your attitude? Or are those feelings just a normal reaction and does not mean you are having a negative attitude?

How does other people's positivity make you feel in your grief? (As in, responses such as, "But you have so much to be thankful for . . . your faith, your other children, your family, your friends" etc.) Is there a place where others being positive is helpful?

What does it mean to honor God in your grief?

Tell me your thoughts!

Rachel

Crazy mom

I have to say, it's been far too long since I've written on this blog.

The other day at church, I had a hard time concentrating (which seems to be a theme). I decided to write on my iPhone all the different blog subjects I had "written" about in my head at least partially, but haven't yet put to screen. I listed 14 different posts.

Oh my.

This past week, I've been working hard at my business and ramping it up. Which for a short time has been good, but it's meant I haven't had the time or the energy much for the blog.

So tonight -- even though I should be asleep -- I'm making myself write through the yawns (and there will be many.)

I'm not even sure where to start. Other than simply admitting that since we lost Olivia, I have been

T E R R I F I E D 

of losing Madelyn.

Sometimes I don't feel like I'm just grieving Olivia -- I'm grieving a world where babies die. A world where there seems to be no rhyme or reason. A world where bad things happen, and while God might use them, there doesn't seem to be any POINT. A world that no longer feels safe.

When I first got pregnant with Madelyn, I remember not being sure I wanted kids. Because having kids opens you up to losing kids. And I imagined that to be the worst kind of pain in the world. It's so scary to open yourself up to pain like that!

Over the last 3 years, I convinced myself that I really wouldn't ever lose Madelyn because there is no physical way I could ever endure that loss. It would be way too much to handle -- so it just won't happen, right?

Nope. I found out recently that's not how life works. I really could lose Madelyn. Or Ryan. Or my parents. The list is endless.

Before you believe I'm just looking at the glass as half-empty, let me assure you that I understand that I need to be grateful for every single breath they do take. And I am. very. very. grateful.

I often sneak into Maddy's bedroom at night. And after making sure she is, in fact, still breathing, I lay my hand on her chest, kiss her sweet, sweaty cheeks and offer a silent thanks to God for this day that I had with her. And in that same breath, I beg for God's mercy on us that He would grant her a full, long life, and spare us the pain of losing her.

I go in and check on Maddy a lot more since our loss. I hold her tighter. Kiss her more. Let others babysit her less. And I have a hard time letting go.

The truth is, I'm this close to becoming that mom . . . .

. . . That mom who goes in and checks on her kids if she hasn't heard a squeak come out of their child's mouth for a milisecond. The mom who is terrified to let her child munch on anything unless she is right there, armed with the instructions on CPR in one hand, and a phone with 911 on speed dial in the other, just in case they choke. The mom who sees a few bruises on her child's legs and assumes her child has some rare uncurable disease that will steal away the life of her precious baby overnight.

Ok, maybe I'm not that bad. But I feel myself slipping ever so close toward becoming a crazy mom.

When we went on a hike, I had a hard time relaxing. I kept picturing her slipping down the steep side to the river. And the worst was when we were on the bridge over the waterfall. I had to keep my hands on her at all times, even though there's no way she could fall off unless someone picked her up and tossed her over. (The thought of that just made my blood pressure rise.) I eventually had to just take her off the bridge because I couldn't deal with it.

On Saturday, I had a mini-revolt against crazy mom. Maddy was begging to go the the kid's playland at our local grocer. The room looked clean enough. The woman looked sane, even nice. (Is that possible??) But still -- had she been trained in CPR? Does she care if my child is safe and happy? How will she respond if Maddy throws a fit? (In case you want to know the answer, I learned that they page you. I guess they thought through that too.)

We walked by, Maddy asked to go in, and I promptly said, "No . . . maybe when you're older." In my head, I added . . . "Like when you're 16." Later, we pass by again, and she asks again. And I hesitate. And the internal debate begins . . .

"So, Rachel. It makes more sense to have Madelyn miserable and complaining in the cart while you fill 20 bags in the bulk section . . . instead of letting her play for a few minutes in a fun-looking, toddler-themed play area? Is that right? The whole room is made of plastic, and there are no other kids in there. So -- how do you propose she might get hurt? Jump off a 12-inch chair and become paralyzed from the neck down?Maybe you really are a crazy mom."

In the end, I gave in to logic and let her play for 20 minutes while I filled my cart with weird things like oat flour and wheat bran. And it was actually nice not to have to worry about her "jumping cart" or throwing a fit. Although it still felt weird. And I missed her for those 20 minutes!

I just think about death and accidents more. When I say goodbye to Ryan, I wonder if years down the road, I'll remember this as our final goodbye. I struggle to let Maddy go to swim lessons with her grandma because I'm afraid she might go under and I'm not there to watch her. While Maddy sleeps, I check in on her more now than I did when she was a baby! I've actually considered installing the baby monitor again!

Recently, I drove across the narrows bridge, and this weird thing happened. I don't know how to describe it, but life just felt so tangible, like it was moving and pulsing around me, and I could feel myself move through it. I just felt so ALIVE. "Is this what life feels like before you die? Like you are totally alive . . . and then, you're not?" I wondered. I think I half-expected to immediately get in a car accident and die. And I was surprised (and happy) to make it home safe and sound.

I totally freaked out when my parents told me about a test my dad would have to take, even though they didn't expect a single bad outcome from the test. But immediately, my mind jumps to worst-case scenario.

I wish I weren't this way. But I feel like my loss of Olivia has served to heighten my fears about almost everything.

Almost.

One thing I don't fear anymore is ruptured organs. Been there. Done that. Bought the t-shirt (or rather, the hospital socks.)

Now that I have survived both ruptured organs and the loss of child (and have the socks to prove it), I need to figure out how to really live and not just survive.


 How do I attain that healthy balance between holding on and letting go? How to make the world as safe as I can for Madelyn, who needs me to encourage her to step out a bit more on her own, while not protecting her from every little ouchie?

I guess the playland was the first step on a really long journey. A journey away from crazy mom to healthy mom. And, fingers crossed, healthy mom = healthy Madelyn.

Anyone else ever turn into crazy mom? Please tell me I'm not alone. :)

Ryan's Story -- mourning a life lost and a life changed

Of all the stories I've had the privilege to share, I'm feeling the most honored to share this story -- my husband Ryan's story.

When people began questioning how he feels about my blog, as well as how he and Maddy are handling my grief, he offered to write out our story from his perspective. He wanted to share because he believed that it might help women understand their partner's actions a little better during a loss. He also thought that if men read my blog, they would have a post that they might be able to relate to more.

I agreed with all his reasoning, but secretly, I was just excited because I would finally learn how he was feeling about our loss of Olivia!

I was surprised to learn how differently we have interpreted events, even things that I thought were cut-and-dry.

For instance, our ER Dr. mentioned all of the reasons this pregnancy might not have been viable, but I latched on to the last thing he said, "I'm not giving up hope for this baby." Ryan, on the other hand . . . well, I'll let him tell you what he thought about that.

Thank you, love, for share sharing your story! You are my hero!

Rachel

On Saturday, December 3, 2011 (and I only know that date because I asked Rachel for it), Rachel and I were preparing for a road trip to the wonderful city of Yakima, WA. She was going for work, and I was going because it meant I would get to spend time with her. While I was getting ready . . . ok, while I was procrastinating . . . Rachel decided to show me her positive pregnancy test.

What went through my mind when I saw it was . . . nothing . . . or perhaps everything at once, and it was all so fast that my decidedly slow mental dexterity couldn’t track it.

Excitement for another kid.

Oh wait, how much is this going to cost?

What about sleep?

At least I’m not in school this time.

How much is this going to cost?

If this pregnancy is anything like the last one, this is going to be a rough nine months.

I’m going to have to get a second job to pay for this.

What are we going to do?

Even with all the crazy thoughts going through my mind, I was still excited at the potential for another little rugrat to be crawling around our house. Our trip to Yakima actually turned out to be pretty enjoyable as Rachel and I laid down some dreams and plans for the future. The nice thing was that our house was already set up to receive a 0-2-year-old foster child, so we didn’t have any major furniture expenses to deal with. But the fear of another difficult pregnancy loomed over our heads.

Rachel’s first pregnancy was pretty rough. On top of the midnight trips to the grocery store for whatever she was craving and the puking every time she walked past a trash can, she was plagued with intense morning sickness, was on and off bed rest, and had a couple of scary bleeding episodes. Not to mention the blood pressure and liver issues (HELLP Syndrome) she faced at 37 weeks that resulted in an emergency C-section and a beautiful, healthy, baby girl. I found out later that Rachel in fact could have come close to dying, and we also came close to losing Madelyn.

I really didn’t want the next nine months to be similar to the first pregnancy, and so I hoped and I prayed that Rachel would be well and that I wouldn’t have to wait on her hand and foot for nine months while taking care of Maddy, working full time and running a bicycle repair business on the side.

Everything seemed to be going good . . . too good. Rachel wasn’t sick, just slightly nauseous and only a few smells bothered her. I was happy for Rachel and I really wanted to believe everything was ok, but deep down, it just didn’t feel right. I kept a strong, happy and supportive face for Rachel, but I expected the worst. I just hoped that the worst didn’t mean I would have to choose between my wife and our new baby.

I don’t remember what the date was, but Rachel uncharacteristically called me while I was at work. She told me she was headed to the hospital because she was in a significant amount of pain. I asked her if it was serious and if she thought I needed to leave work to come be with her . . . dumb question. She said I could decide.  I quickly realized I would be a horrible husband if she were in pain at the hospital and I wasn’t there with her because I didn’t want to use any time off and I didn’t want to ride my bike up the ridiculous hills on the way to the hospital.

Rachel had been in the ER for about an hour by the time I got there. We waited another two hours before the doctor came in and nicely explained to us that she probably had an impending miscarriage, but there was a chance that it could be any number of other things. He said Rachel should have her blood drawn Friday and then see her doctor on Monday to either confirm or deny a miscarriage.

Honestly, I was expecting the news. It hurt, but I was expecting it. I was sad, but Rachel was devastated. I didn’t have time to be sad. We still had hope, but our moods were decidedly sour. Two days later, on Friday, Rachel bled a lot and passed some large clots and what we thought might have been the baby. At this point, our hope pretty much disappeared.

The following Tuesday came, and again I received an uncharacteristic midday call from Rachel. This time however, the only words she could get out between gasps and sobs were, “. . . my dad . . . is taking me to the hospital . . .”

I didn’t hesitate this time. I knew I had to get to the hospital. (I also drove my car that morning, so I didn’t have to ride my bike up any hills.) I told my coworkers I was leaving and went to my car. As I was climbing into my car, it hit me . . . my wife really sounded like she could be dying. I was afraid. My best friend could be dying.

At this point, I would like to say I raced off to the hospital, lovingly embraced my wife, we just had a little scare, and little bean-shaped Olivia was fine. But that isn’t how this story goes. Instead I just sat in my car and cried. I was so worried that I might lose Rachel that I froze . . . and I cried. After a few minutes of just sitting in the car with the door wide open, I pulled myself together enough to start the car. I thought at this point it would be good to call my parents and tell them that Rachel was on her way to the hospital. When my dad answered the phone, I just cried. I don’t think I said anything for the first minute or two.

I’m not normally an emotionally expressive person, so to cry on the phone to my dad was rather embarrassing. He handled it well and said he would pray for us and would contact my mom (which was good, because I didn’t really want to do any more crying).

At the hospital, Rachel was waiting to go into surgery and was in obvious pain . . . but she was still alive and to my relief, was expected to live. She had an ectopic pregnancy and her fallopian tube had ruptured causing internal bleeding.

After the surgery, we went home, and for me . . . it was relief. There was finality to our pregnancy. There was no more waiting to find out if the baby was going to live or die, and there weren’t going to be any more trips to the emergency room. We were on to the healing.

But for Rachel, things were very different. And I was very ignorant.

Rachel was doing pretty well for the first couple of days after getting home from the hospital. It wasn’t until the drugs wore off that the devastation and grief hit Rachel. She was experiencing emotions and grief at a level I could only grasp at, let alone try to understand and help her deal with. She shut down. Her actions were mechanical, her interactions were forced and she was depressed beyond anything I had ever seen before. I had no idea what to do.

By nature, I fix things. I love to fix things when they are broken. I run a small bicycle shop out of my garage because I like to fix broken things (and I like bikes, which is a great combination by the way). I get really frustrated when I can’t fix something, especially when I can’t fix it because it doesn’t make sense to me.

That was Rachel. She was broken and I tried to fix her, but she didn’t make any sense to me. So the more I tried, the more frustrated I became. I prayed and I worked to make her “snap out of it.” I was trying to confine her ever-changing grief to a box of my own design and it didn’t work.

Eventually and unfortunately, the frustration came out at the other people in my life: my daughter, my coworkers, and even my family. I was so frustrated that I couldn’t get my wife to just deal with the grief and move on that I would yell at my daughter and hit walls (because that makes sense). I couldn’t yell at my wife because I felt like the tiniest wrong word would send her off the deep-end and I would never get my fun, motivated, strong, and joyful wife back.

When I failed to fix the problem, I became depressed, and I began a new type of mourning. I was mourning for the loss of my wife. There was no hope in the foreseeable future. My mood and my actions became very sour and very bitter. I no longer cared. I just wanted to get away from everything, to go on a vacation from life.

For three months, I struggled to fix my wife and only became more frustrated and depressed. I couldn’t handle the household by myself (at least not while wallowing in self-pity), I turned my back on God, and I was failing to fix my wife. I felt like a failure. I was a failure. My wife needed me, but I couldn’t handle the failure. My daughter needed me, but I didn’t want to lash out at her so I just wasn’t there. I needed my wife and my daughter, but I couldn’t face them without feeling guilty for not fixing things. I needed God, but my failure and guilt were too great a burden for me to lay at his feet.

I would love to say that I just gave up and God fixed everything without me needing to do much, but again, that isn’t how this story goes. I did give up, but I didn’t give up quickly. Eventually I gave up on trying to fit Rachel into my box, and slowly she is finding her own box. I gave up trying to control my family, and slowly I’m getting to know them again. I gave up trying to find the quick solution that would make everything hunky-dory again. And I realized that very few things will ever be the same as they were.

It has been a slow, painful process. In my frustration I have hurt my best friend,  I have hurt my beloved daughter,  and I have hurt myself. But I am very thankful I know an awesome God who forgives even me, an awesome wife who loves me, and a daughter who is not yet old enough to carry a grudge.

Are things perfect now? No. Every day is a new day that brings its own set of problems. We are still dealing with the after-effects of a lost pregnancy, depression, and frustration (not to mention all the things we were dealing with before we even got pregnant), but there is at least some hope. Things are slowly returning to something that at least appears to be “normal,” and we have a few things we are looking forward to.

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.

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.

Blog list on pregnancy loss

I just wanted to pass a link along to my readers!

I know that for me, reading other blogs has been very helpful in my journey, but it can be hard to find such blogs.

So, I'm super excited to find a great list of pregnancy loss blogs. Here is is:

http://www.stirrup-queens.com/a-whole-lot-of-blogging-brought-to-you-sorted-and-filed/loss-room/

www.stirrup-queens.com also has a blog list for other issues such as infertility, adoption, diagnostics and more. And her articles are great too!

Just wanted to pass along this great resource I recently stumbled upon.

Happy blog reading!