Wild Thing

(My dear friend Amy bought Noah this doll, so that he would always remember and know his older sibling).

This Wednesday it will be a year since we found out our little Wild Thing had passed.

As I reflect on the past year, I am able to see God working through all that happened. I have received countless emails and messages from friends and friends of friends and anonymous readers, thanking me for blogging about my miscarriage and all the messiness that went along with it, and sharing their story, because they too were experiencing a loss and the isolation and shame and fear that it brings. It is amazing how God is always able to take the horrific and traumatizing and sad and somehow bring abundant blessings and HOPE! If I was able to make the journey of miscarriage a little easier for even one woman or family, than my pain (and public dissection of it) was worth it. Looking back, I can also see now that the experience of my loss strengthened me for the pregnancy that was to come, a pregnancy that would take all of me (physically, emotionally and mentally) but that I knew through it all was worth it for Noah.

But that does not change that today and this week, as I am loving and adoring my second baby, I also am still grieving and missing my first.

Slight panic

So, remember how I was feeling super crappy? Starting yesterday, I really started feeling better. Very little nausea though last night my boobs still looked ginormous. Haven't checked this morning.

Boo for me.

I am panicking. With Wild Thing I had such a drastic loss of symptoms - I am worried that this is the case with Nugget, too, and indicates that he died in there.

Should I call the doctor? Jason has been back at OSU this whole week and won't be home until tonight so I am scared to go get an ultrasound by myself. But I am also scared to not get an ultrasound.

I keep trying to calm myself down - remember that God is in charge, there is little we can do that we haven't already done, and if he has flown to heaven, then what else is there? It took me longer than with Wild Thing, but after the ultrasound heartbeat I've really started to bond with Nugget. I love him. I would be devastated if he didn't make it. It seems like a cruel joke to give us the joy of a heartbeat and a much lower risk of miscarriage and then take it all away. I already have my nursery curtains and the whole nursery idea board. I have my Babys R Us and Wishpot registry.

I don't think I psychologically/emotionally make it another two weeks to see Dr. Farley and hear Nugget's heartbeat.

If I hadn't lost Wild Thing, then I don't think I would be freaking out like this. I feel damaged and like this pregnancy is almost tainted by my miscarriage. I can't even begin to allow myself to feel the pure joy that a first healthy pregnancy brings because I am afraid that it will be taken all away.

I know I am not supposed to live with a spirit of fear, and I have been fighting it, but I am really anxious right now.

What should I do?

My God is an AWESOME GOD

And no, my ultrasound wasn't today....

Tomorrow I will confront some of my deepest fears about my body, this pregnancy and the future of my little family.

I should be frantic and fearful, but I am not.

This Sunday in the ER, I didn't pray for a healthy baby (little Nugget), or that the bleeding would stop, or for high hormones to help this little one along (though all those things are much desired and hoped for). I simply prayed for a PEACE that surpassed all understanding, a stillness to remain intact through this storm, and a sense of comfort in knowing that there is nothing I can do to make this pregnancy go my way.

Isaiah 41:10 (my favorite verse from highschool) flooded back to me in the waiting room that day: "Do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand."

My God is an awesome God because despite everything I know about how I should feel at this moment, all I feel is PEACE. Am I still frightened for what I might see on that screen tomorrow? Yes. But I know that either way my prayer will be answered. Either the answer will be, "Not this time. But REJOICE! Adoption is My plan for you." OR "Yes! REJOICE! Little Nugget is My plan for you."

After Wild Thing, we repeatedly discussed how maybe losing him was God's way of telling us that there was a different baby out there for us, somewhere else in the world, to become ours through the miracle of adoption. I feel so strongly called to adoption. I know that it isn't for everyone, but to me, there is no difference. I have never felt strongly that I am supposed to carry and bear children in the traditional sense, or that pregnancy is the only way that a child is to become part of our family. Jason wasn't there yet after Wild Thing. He felt that we should try again, and that if we lost another, he would then know that adoption is God's plan for us. FOR US, and every couple is different, continuing to try for a healthy pregnancy and pursuing more medical intervention is not what is best for my body or either of us emotionally.

We are at that crossroad. Tomorrow we will know. I am not sure the wave of emotions that will hit me tomorrow, but I am thankful that I will have more clarity about what we will face in the coming months. Ideally, we will see a strong heartbeat and alot of growth (I have been stuffing my face to help give Nugget lost of nutrition!). But if not, I know that Jason and I will not be alone in that ultrasound room. Jesus will be there, whispering "Be not afraid! I am covering you with a PEACE only I can provide. You have your answer."

I am defective

So I was hoping to share the news with y'all on Friday when I was scheduled for my first ultrasound, but unfortunately...

Anyway, I am 7 weeks along, had bleeding this morning, a lovely E.R. visit which included the most painful blood draw of my life, inconclusive ultrasound (again) and dropping progesterone levels. I am going on progesterone supplements ASAP but Dr. Farley does not seem optimistic. The dropping levels are a very bad sign.

We'll know more on Friday during my second ultrasound.

I feel worthless, helpless and infuriated. This cannot be happening. Again.

ARRGGGH!

I thought the above was an appropriate title as we have been studying pirates in summer school/camp and that is common phrase pirates use. But pirates generally shout it to be intimidating, while I am using it in FRUSTRATION AND SADNESS.

Sometimes my kids say, "My heart hurts," and I can say, that is literally how I feel right now. After Wild Thing, the emotional pain was so much that I could literally swear that I my heart was going to stop working, I was going to stop breathing (though that was partly from the anxiety attacks), and that my body would never stop aching again. It did stop aching, for a while. I was blessed to have over two months off from teaching to recuperate - nap, read, work out, etc., and really take care of myself. I have been doing very well. I have been very happy lately with my little troublemakers, enjoying the sun, enjoying camping and other mini-vacations, etc.

Something about this week just really has really truly made me so sad. I feel like crying (and have) most every evening. Maybe it is that a good chunk of my friends are close to or have just had their babies. Maybe it is that I am seeing their joy, their anticipation (their bumps). And I must admit, I do think to myself, "THIS IS NOT FAIR, THAT SHOULD BE ME, WHY ME, I AM SO SICK OF THIS, GOD, OH GOD, OH GOD." Regularly. All the time. It makes me nauseous. It is not that I am not happy for my friends, I just hurt so bad for me (is that self-centered?). And in some cases I do think, "This really ISN'T fair" (particularly when some people got pregnant immediately and are slightly irritated it happened so fast. And particularly when they have no money/are deeply in debt, no insurance, an unstable relationship, see nothing wrong with sticking their kid in front of the boob tube constantly, aren't going to even try to breastfeed because "they want their body back"/"it's gross", unwilling to do any research on child development or best practices in child rearing, etc. And yes, I AM judging).

Maybe it was because my birthday was last week. I am 27. That does not sound old to most people. To me, it signifies another year without a baby. I always wanted to be a young mom (like 23/24 young) and we didn't start trying for various reasons until a year ago (not my choice, which devastates me more, but it takes two to make a baby, yeah?). That is another thing. We have been trying one year this month. McSexy had NO IDEA it would take this long, even though I feel like I warned him. When I think of myself as 27, this is NOT how I imagined my life at this point, and that is a sad thing for me. I am so blessed, and I recognize that, yet I am CRUSHED that I don't have a baby (or two) by this point. It just makes me sad.

And McSexy's 10 year high school reunion is this summer, and I know he wishes we had a baby or were at least pregnant for it. His age and time out of HS is hitting him, as well, and it is hard to watch him gaze at other babies or nursery items and know that I haven't been able to give him that. But part of me is angry at him, not gonna lie, for not listening to me when I said, over and over, "I have a feeling it is going to take us much longer than expected to get pregnant. I think we should try NOW." I am not so angry that I think about it much, or use it to throw darts at him, but it does flare up every once in awhile. Like today. Like this month.

I am trying to look at the positive, but this month, all I can think about is my baby and how far along in my pregnancy I would be (5 1/2 months), how big the baby would be, that we would know the sex, have the nursery done.

And since being pregnant, my body has been very, very weird. The weirdest thing is that I can't lose weight, no matter how hard I try. My acupuncturist had me do a diet/exercise log to see what was going on and I was coming in at 1,500 calories a day, plus an 1 to 1 1/2 hour of exercise every day, plus walking the dogs at least once a day for 30-40 minutes, plus running around with the itty bitty punks all day. She said I had the best diet of any of her clients EVER, yet - still not losing! So maybe its my thyroid and I am going to a naturopath to figure it out. The bottom line is that I am FAT and have the reunion and have no good excuse (pregnancy) for being fat, and Jason's ex-girly friends are going to be there and they have babies and I have nothing to show for my pregnancy but FATNESS.

ARRGGGH! It really makes me want to punch something, but I don't have time because the monstrosity-of-a-baby-shower is tomorrow and there is still much to do. I wish I hadn't had my birthday, I wish I didn't feel so alone, I wish my clothes fit better and my work in the gym was actually doing something, I wish I was pregnant, I wish a second pregnancy was looking more promising. I hate to write a downer post, because I am trying to be encouragement to others, but sometimes, I have to just get it all out.

And McNubblet's nipple is infected and she keeps biting it and screaming. Like I said, bad month.

Miscarriage Mondays

I have alot more to say about fertility and miscarriage and all that jazz. Much more. But it is hard to write about it, though I know that writing helps me process what has happened and is happening, as well as helps others who might be going through something similar. I also am starting to have other things I think about (yay! It can happen). As a result of this, I am going to start regulating fertility and miscarriage posts to Mondays, so that I feel free to blog a bit more about whatever is on my mind - without this pressure of trying to get all I think about this sucky fertility mess out in the open all at once. Also, taking my Lorazepam after I write is putting a damper on my days and Jason comes home wondering why the house is a disaster, the dogs are running wild, dinner isn't made and I am passed out at 5:30. hmmm...

This Miscarriage Monday post is about how to help when someone you care about miscarries.

I have posted before about statements made (really by well-meaning people) that really DID NOT help me survive the loss of Wild Thing. I realize that I have been focusing a lot on the pain and trauma of losing a baby (because really, most of the time, all you feel is pain and trauma), but I thought I might take a moment to offer up some ideas of things that helped Jason and I get through the past month or so. We have wonderful, thoughtful friends and family and I don't know how I could have survived without their prayers and support.

Here are what friends did that worked for us and our personal experience. These ideas might not work for everyone, because everyone is unique - as is each loss, so I'll accompany each example with a general guideline that can best help you decide how you can support and bless your friend:

1. Be specific and take action. Alot of people offered up the, "Is there anything I can do?" phrase with a true desire to help in any way. The problem was that we were so consumed with grief that we could barely get out of bed let alone reflect on what could help us or be bold enough to name it. I am the kind of person that does not like to ask for help in any way (outside of my poor manservant aka. husband) so I will generally just reply with, "No, thank you. Thanks for thinking of me, though" even though there is probably things that people could do and want to do for me. And the truth is, we didn't KNOW what could help us. Somehow, my friend Amy knew this. She texted me (because I WAS NOT taking calls) a day or so after Wild Thing died and said, "I am bringing you dinner." How could we refuse? There is no way that someone will resist the offer of food - if they don't eat it, fine, but at least it is there, and during a miscarriage (or any trauma), the likelihood is that the family is not eating well, if at all. Amy was specific and immediate in what she did for us. She brought us her famous spaghetti that night, along with green beans, bread, dessert and flowers. It was the first good meal I had eaten in a long time and it made me feel better. Amy didn't force me to talk (even though I did) but listened and said all the right things (some listed down below). Even more friends sent flowers, cards, and Facebook messages. My friend Aja and her husband walked the dogs for us. The point is - I could have never expressed that I needed help or what things would make me feel better. People were proactive and did what they could, while still respecting my privacy, and that made all the difference.

2. Take some time. My dear friend and teaching partner Aja (mom to Bentley and soon-to-be-born baby girl) must have developed some good calf and thigh muscle during the weeks following Wild Thing's death, because we did ALOT of walking. She took so much time with me (most every night) as we walked the dogs and talked about Wild Thing. She loved him as much as Jason and I did, as she knew his personality just as well (i.e. his affinity for mangoes, his 5:30 wake up time, his punky little attitude). It helped to have someone listen, and it made me feel supported and loved. Two of the main things that Aja and my other friends said that helped and validated my grieving process were:

• "You lost a baby." Wild Thing was not "fetal tissue" (urrrgg. makes me want to punch a WALL). He WAS our baby, and it helped to have people reinforce that so I felt comfortable expressing my loss. Grieving over "tissue" is craziness, grieving over a baby is expected and accepted.
  
• "You will miss him forever and will never be the same." This helped me feel like I didn't have a timeline on my grief. I think that after a few weeks of being a total nut case, you start to question how much patience people will have for you and for how long. Jason and my friends telling me this helped me settle in and accept the grieving process and let my emotions unfold in their own time.
  

3. Think outside the box. My sister is in law school and my mom was in the middle of tax season. They didn't really have time, and I was not in the place where I could really talk about it or wanted to see anyone anyway. To help, my sister scheduled me a cranial sacral massage - she found a massage therapist, contacted her, explained the situation, set up an appointment, paid and told me where to go. All I had to do is show up. My sister can be a biatch sometimes and most of the time it is a pain because she is so bossy, but at that moment, I needed someone to think of unique ways that might help me while still respecting my need to heal in my own private way (so no suggestions of group therapy sessions, etc.) And it was through this massage therapist that I found Dawn-Starr, my angel acupuncturist. Have I mentioned that I LURVE her?

4. Come out of the woodwork. My friend Laura sent me a Facebook message after Wild Thing's death that helped me so much. She told me what to expect during my miscarriage, and that took a bit of the fear away and helped me feel more in control of the situation. Other friends (including parents of my students and Jason's coworkers) came forward with their stories and support. I realized that women who have suffered a loss, sadly often silently and privately, are the ones who can best empower their hurting friend with information and emotional solidarity. Laura also sent me a care package with items that helped her during her losses including Hannah's Hope (a book about the Biblical character Hannah who suffered infertility) and chocolate. So if you haven't shared your story before, maybe you should consider doing so, as tough as it is, in order to help heal another woman.

5. Help her remember. My friend Shanda (mom of my godsons, friend since kinder) bought me a necklace off of Etsy that has a pendant with a scene from Where the Wild Things Are. She bought it in remembrance of Wild Thing, so that I could always carry him with me. This was so touching to me. You might be afraid of offering up something so personal in fear that it will cause the person more pain, but in this case, knowing that I had some physical and tangible token representing him made me feel more powerful in a situation that makes the mother feel very helpless and debilitated. Even to the point of me thinking, "I DO have something to show for my baby" as not being recognized as a mother was and is something that brings me suffering. There are alot of sites that offer miscarriage jewelry, but even something as small as a poem in a frame might help your friend.

Above all else, respect your friend's need for privacy. It was a very long time (weeks) before I could see or even talk to most people. I couldn't even tell people I had miscarried - if not for this blog or my friends/family passing on the news, I would have suffered in hiding. It goes back to not even knowing what I was feeling at the time and having such strong, raw emotions that I thought for sure that no one (again, except for my humble manservant) could handle their intensity. I couldn't handle their intensity most of the time. My advice is, ultimately, do not force your friend to talk to or see you. She will approach you when she feels safe and when she knows how or what to share about her experience.

Okay, now to go pop some pills.

Shut up, Mother's Day

This day is torture and I want to punch it in the face.

When I imagined this day at the beginning of my pregnancy, I expected to be 15 weeks along, just past the paranoia of the first trimester. I imagined a new dress, happily being pampered by my husband through flowers and gifts, enjoying church and then brunch with my family, dinner with the in-laws. I imagined myself relishing that I was indeed a mother FINALLY, with my baby and I separated only by the muscles and skin of my stomach.

The reality is much different. Instead, my baby and I are separated by worlds and time and will never be united in life. The thought of the celebration I naively planned in my mind sends me into despair. The mental image of the traditional Mother's Day sermon, of attending a brunch filled with happy mothers with their babies and baby bumps and adoring husband fills me with both sadness and rage all at the same time.

I fluctuate between my brain telling me indignantly, "You ARE a mother - just your baby is in heaven." When I feel this way, I am devastated that though I know this, though my husband knows this, no one else around me knows this. It will not be acknowledged by a cheery "Happy Mother's Day" or a special free dessert at a restaurant because I have nothing to show, no proof that I dreamed of and loved and nurtured my child as all the other mothers who are wiping noses or offering sippy cups do.

The other half of the time, all I can think is, "You ARE NOT a mother." You don't have a baby inside of you, or in your arms, so you are not a mother. Part of the definition of mother is being able to protect and keep your children, and you were not able to do that, so OBVIOUSLY you are not a mother. Your body failed you, or you failed you by whatever choices you did or didn't make during the pregnancy, or God failed you... Either way, you don't have a bump or a baby, so you are not a mother. Mother's Day is for mothers, and you aren't one.

I feel bipolar and I think Jason is a bit scared and overwhelmed. He recognizes me as a mother - both for carrying Wild Thing, going through all I did through the miscarriage, and also for all that I do for Duke, Maddie, Alice and Hazel. I don't think he understands when I am in the, "I am not a mother" stage because he feels that HE is a FATHER and whether our baby is in Heaven or on earth, he still conceived and loved a child. I think he thinks that I am even more -effed up for not recognizing my motherhood.

I found this post from a blog when I first lost Wild Thing (oh, God, I miss him. I think I might die.) I don't remember what blog it was from, so if you know, please send me the link so I can give credit where credit is due. I remember thinking," I better save this for Mother's Day," even though at the time I couldn't comprehend what I would or would not be feeling. When I read it, it helps me, so I thought maybe it could help other women who happen upon this blog as well.

"I know it can be a hard day. Every marquee at every restaurant touts it. Sentimental commercials broadcast emotion. Your inbox swells with gift suggestions. The grocery store explodes with floral arrangements.

And here you are. Your baby isn’t here. You expected a swelling belly, or maybe even the bundle to be here. Or like me, maybe yours should have been scrawling crayoned rainbows on handmade cards by now.

But, you feel you have nothing.

Think of this way:
• Did you feel joy when you learned you were pregnant?
• Did you plan and hope and dream about the day your baby would arrive?
• Did you want nothing more than a happy, healthy little one?

How is this different than every other mother? Are mothers whose children die full grown any less mothers because their children are no longer here? Of course not.

You are a mother. You were the bearer of that baby’s future. You brought this baby into the world, however it happened, at four weeks gestation, or full term, in a gush of blood and pain just like every mother does.

Don’t believe for a moment that everything out there isn’t talking about you. It is. And even more so, because you have born a grief that could destroy a mother’s hope–the loss of her child–and you have survived.

It’s your day. Take it to remember your baby. And send up a quiet word of thanks to your own mother, wherever she may be."



So, now excuse me while I go cry in the shower (the best place to cry so that your neighbors don't hear your wailing and think your husband is beating on you).




UPDATE: The mother's day article I quoted can be found below. This is one of the sites that REALLY helped me but I couldn't remember how to find it again when I wrote my post that included helpful miscarriage links. This site is blessing - a mix of thorough practical information and emotional support. Thanks, Pam, for forwarding me the link!
http://pregnancyloss.info/2007/05/as-mothers-day-approaches/

What to Expect (Part III) - What to expect during a D&C

Sorry, y'all, but I had to take a little hiatus from blogging because every time I would post I would have an anxiety attack, have to take Lorazepam and then pass out for several hours. Not so productive. So with the house clean, grocery shopping complete and a casserole in the oven - here goes...

We left off at Cytotec. Five days after that horrendous night puking and cramping, there was still pretty much NO BLOOD. A few swipes, nothing more. I went to my doctor, and my cervix was tight as a preschooler's fist wrapped around a marble (my teacher friends will understand just how very tight that is), so obviously the Cytotec DID NOTHING. At this point, my doctor asked us to consider a D&C because he felt that there was no way that the baby was going to come out on his own. The whole point of waiting, and acupuncture, and the meds were to AVOID a D&C and now that looked like our only option.

Here is why I didn't want a D&C. A week after Jason and I returned from our honeymoon several years ago, I had an emergency appendectomy. General anesthesia did not agree with me in the slightest - I stopped breathing three times in recovery, and I remember it ALL - not only the searing pain (no laparoscopic for me), but also the struggle to breathe, the understanding that I wasn't breathing but not knowing how, and being so panicked and freaked out that I was praying for God to TAKE ME NOW. Not good memories.

I am not sure that this is how all D&Cs are done, but my doctor traditionally does them in the hospital with the patient under general. Not going to happen. I told Dr. Farley that I would do it, but only under IV sedation - no intubation or any of that jazz. He struck a deal with an anesthesiologist at the hospital who agreed to do it my way, so the date was set.

Before the D&C, Dr. Farley did routine blood tests that were required for surgery. The Monday before I was scheduled to go in, his nurse called to say that they were concerned about my HCG levels not dropping or being as low as you would expect. They wanted me to take a second blood test to be sure. WTF? Are you joking me? I freaked out - full blown panic that Wild Thing wasn't really dead, that they had misread the ultrasound, that I had taken all those meds with a live baby inside me. I seriously could not believe it - when I say that this process was one thing after another - I mean it. The second blood test results came back two days later - my HCG levels were dropping, so I definitely was not carrying a live baby.

So onto the D&C. Physically, the surgery itself was not as bad as I thought. My nurse who did my IV was fabulous (best IV I've ever had - didn't feel a thing). It turned out that I was running a fever - which is indicative of infection - so it was good that we opted to do the surgery when we did. Once I was in surgery, I don't remember anything except being wheeled into the operating room and staring up at the bright light and my two new nurses. They kept commenting, "You have the most beautiful eyelashes..." I couldn't keep my eyes open after that. I just remember waking up in recovery and about an hour later being returned to my room, and then maybe an hour later we were sent home. Thank you, Jesus, for morphine and vicodin....

What was so horrible about the D&C was the emotional side of it. Thinking about having Wild Thing sucked out of me is still too traumatizing to really even acknowledge. I am not going to even discuss at this point my views on abortion (and it is an interesting subject for me because Jason and I have conflicting opinions) but getting a D&C, even though I KNEW Wild Thing was already dead, felt to me like I was having an abortion. It is, after all, the same procedure used in abortions, and they wrote on my paperwork "Spontaneous Abortion" (yet there was nothing spontaneous about it - Wild Thing had been dead for two weeks - nor was it an abortion as the procedure itself wouldn't be the cause of his death).

I think a D&C is huge in the shame factor of a miscarriage. First of all, my body couldn't keep a baby alive, nor could it do what it needed to do to get the baby out once he died. Also, I think any sort of reproductive/pelvic surgery is embarrassing. I know doctors and nurses see it all, but it is not fun to think about my body being exposed for long periods of time for all to see (and it was not like I was doing it for the noble cause of delivering a live baby, either).

In addition, my hospital experience left much to be desired. I had about eight different nurses. Each time, each one of them would ask me, "Why are you here?" And I had to answer, each time, "For a D&C." God, it INFURIATES me just thinking about it. The lack of consistent nurses meant that I never felt comfortable with any one of them, so even though I was dying inside, wanting to cry and wail and express how awful this was - I never did. I spent the whole time I was at the hospital literally biting the inside of my cheek to keep myself from losing it.

In addition, they switched anesthesiologists on me last minute. So the doctor who had agreed to do my IV sedation was no longer my anesthesiologist. I was the one who ended up telling Dr. Farley this pre-op ("Uh, I think that they just gave me a new anesthesiologist....") and when Dr. Farley informed the new doc that the procedure would not be done under general, he was none too pleased. I am thankful Dr. Farley held his ground and insisted, but after he left, the doctor spent a good five to ten minutes LECTURING me on general anesthesia and how I was wrong to be afraid of it. Are you joking me? I am doing all in my power to not freak-the-hell-out over a surgery that will suck my dead baby out of me, and you are wasting your time basically berating me for my medical choices and reminding me that if something goes wrong, that you'll have to intubate and switch to general. Shocking.

What is interesting with this whole miscarriage experience is that only once did anyone on the Western medicine side of things even ask how I was doing emotionally. A dear, sweet nurse at Dr. Farley's took time with me, as she had three recurrent losses before carrying her healthy baby girl to term. She was so kind, and asked how I was doing, and shared her experiences and hope with me. Besides her, not one nurse or doctor at the doctor's office or hospital even bothered to ask me how I was handling it emotionally. It was always, "How's your pain?" not "How are YOU?" It gave both Jason and I a new perspective on health care, and in another future post I'll share not only those realizations but others that came of this whole experience.

My acupuncturist was smack-dab on when she said, "You have experienced not one, but TWO deep traumas. The first being the death of a baby, the second being a D&C." When we got home from the hospital, all of the emotional progress I had been making was essentially undone. I don't remember much of the two days following the procedure, but I know that I completely shut down and was unable to care for myself in any way. I didn't eat, barely got out of bed... At one point I remember somehow being in the shower crying - Jason put me in there, washed my hair and body, then lotion-ed me up, dried my hair (God bless a man trying to manipulate a brush and hairdryer) and put me in new pajamas back to bed. What a good husband. I love him.

What snapped me out of it was that McBossy (Hazel) started breathing really weird, and we had to take an emergency vet visit. That is what finally forced me outside of myself - my ratty girl was sick and needed me and I had to pull it together to take care of her. After that night, I started to slowly take care of myself and get up out of bed for longer, but I would still have random set-offs that would send me into despair and sobbing. I guess that should be present tense - I am okay most of the time, and then small things will absolutely freak me out (an infant in Starbucks, a Fit Pregnancy magazine, nursery items, etc.)

So, with the D&C, all was supposedly finished physically. Not my luck. I developed an infection - including severe prolonged pain (as in walking bent at a 90 degree angle) and intense bleeding (as in soaking through pads, waking up in blood with the whole bed covered sort of bleeding). Two weeks later, after a good round of antibiotics, the infection is cleared and hopefully I really am done...

Here is one thing I want to leave people with who might be facing a D&C. Your experience might be different than mine physically and emotionally, but I was not told anything about the procedure or what exactly would be going on. Being the stellar researcher that I am, I googled my heart out and found the following links helpful when trying to prepare myself...

eMedicineHealth
Medicinenet.com
Americanpregnancy.org
Justmommies.com - this link helped me THE MOST because it is real-life accounts of LOTS of women's experiences.

My next post will focus not on what NOT to do if someone close to you experiences the loss of a pregnancy, but WHAT to do. For every insensitive comment, I had three more wonderful, caring experiences from friends and family who stood by me, supported me in very specific ways, and listened with compassion and love.

I'll leave you with the best quote that I have ever heard regarding pregnancy loss (from a card my parents sent me a few days after Wild Thing went to Heaven) -

"What the heart has once owned and had, it shall never lose."

WHAT TO EXPECT (Part II)

What to expect on Misoprostol/Cytotec.

I had what they called a "missed miscarriage." My baby was dead inside of me, but my body really didn't know it, and went right along acting like it was pregnant. We waited a week for my body to actually start the miscarriage, and in that time I decided to try alternative means to try to get Wild Thing out. I knew that if all else failed, we would have to do a D&C (more on that later) and the emotional trauma of my baby getting ripped from me in surgery was not something I could handle at that point. I was praying that he was going to come out in the comfort of our home, with my husband and dogs beside me, where I could rest in my own bed and grieve as large and as loud as I needed to (again, not much of a public griever).

I'll backtrack a bit and say that my first instinct when they told me he was dead (remember? In the ultrasound-room-from-hell equipped with Phillipa, the-worst-ultrasound-tech-in-the-world) was to, "Get him out right now. I need him out RIGHT NOW." I told this to Jason over and over the first two days. In the first hours home, during the non-stop crying, I tried to punch my stomach to get him to come out and tried to bribe Jason to get him to punch my stomach (um...fail. If you know my husband, you can imagine his face when I said that). I couldn't bear to think that I was carrying around something DEAD inside of my body. After the first two or three worst days, my mind changed to where I almost didn't ever want him to come out. I knew he would have to eventually, but as long as he was still in me, I still had him (is this creepy?). By the time I had my D&C, I didn't want him taken from me, because then it would be like he had never happened, like I had never even had a baby, that I never was a mommy. Again, more on that later.

I regress. In an attempt to get my miscarriage going naturally, which the doctors had said would happen in a few days (hahahahahaha), my sister found me a cranial sacral massage therapist. Cranial sacral massage is a type of massage.... I can't really explain what they do, exactly, but it is supposed to be for severe physical or emotional trauma. The cranial sacral masseuse told my mother after my appointment that she didn't think cranial sacral would work for me because I was in too deep emotional pain and had too high anxiety. Oh. Fail.


She recommended I try an acupuncturist named Dawn-Starr Crowther. Her business is Jade River Healing Arts Center. I went to her, and she WAS AMAZING. She was the first medical provider to even ask how I was doing emotionally, to validate what I was feeling, to ask all the right questions and to make me feel like I was more than just a fragile patient (doctors and nurses will walk on eggshells around you when you go through a miscarriage). I guess that I felt that I finally had a partner to help me through this who actually cared about me. She thought for sure that with acupuncture, we could induce my miscarriage as well as help me with my emotional pain. She gave me hope for subsequent pregnancies - Eastern medicine we could try to both get me pregnant and keep me pregnant, as well as help with childbirth. After my first visit, I felt so much better emotionally. I had more energy, and while I was far from happy, I wasn't crying (score!) or feeling like I should run right back to my room as soon as I could. For the first time, I felt hope that I would be able to survive this. I luuurve you, Dawn-Starr.

But still no miscarriage. Wild Thing, even in death, was naughty and did not do as he was told. He obviously liked it in there. Our next step, after more waiting, was to try the miscarriage drug Misoprostol (also called Cytotec). Again, I was trying desperately to avoid the D&C. The drug is supposed to start contractions and expel the baby. Disclaimer: This is where some of the gross stuff comes out, so like I said in my previous post, you might want to end reading here. But if you want to really know what to expect on cytotec, read on.

This drug is Satan's bitch. Purty sure. I took my dose (just one big, honkin dose by mouth - some take several smaller doses, some take it vaginally) at around 1:00 in the afternoon. By 4:00, the cramping started, but still no bleeding. I felt pretty good if I laid down with a heating pad and was getting hungry. I hadn't eaten all day (whoever thought that I, of all people, would forget to eat? Proof positive that I was seriously effed up) so Jason went out and got some delicious Thai food to tempt me into eating. This was about 6:00. In the middle of munching, I got the worst nausea ever, and puked up bile in the toilet downstairs. Jason ran to get my nausea medicine the doctor had prescribed and I took a couple of those. I tried to eat a bit more, but the pain was increasing so I went up to lie down again (my bed has been my best friend these past few weeks fo sho). At about 7 the pain was so bad that I popped the vicodin that my doctor had given me. What helped, at least for me, is Jason rubbing my belly and the heating pad. I love you, heating pad. Heating pad was my other best friend. By 8:00, I was fast asleep. Still no blood.

At 9:15ish I woke up in a cold sweat. I knew that I was in trouble because the pain was HORRENDOUS and I felt so nauseous. I made it to the bathroom to go pee and there was a bit of blood on the tissue. I was so freaking sick. I started screaming for Jason, and he ran into the bathroom. I puked my brains out (bye, bye coconut-covered prawns) all the while having horrendous cramping, sweating, shaking. I was gripping the towel next to me and I remember looking right at my husband between pukes with sweat dripping down my back and telling him - "I AM NEVER DOING THIS EVER AGAIN." And I meant it. I knew, in that moment, that I never, ever wanted to be pregnant ever again.

Right after that, I had him get our trash can because whew wee, I knew I was going to have massive diarrhea. I switched to sitting on the toilet. So picture this, puking in the trash can, having blowout diarrhea in the toilet, and massive cramping/contractions. Not okay. This went on for quite some time. Jason gave me more vicodin and nausea meds, puked those right up. Now do you understand why Misoprostol/Cytotec is Satan's magical medical concoction? Finally, I stopped puking enough to hold down the drug and went back to sleep. I woke up in the morning still cramping, but NO BLEEDING.

WTF? Cytotec, you suck.

What to Expect (Part I)

What to Expect When You Are No Longer Expecting.

I've been meaning to write this post for a long time, but up until yesterday had felt too traumatized to reflect or share what I have been through. I feel like it is necessary, however, to do so, as when I was terrified and alone after we learned of Wild Thing's death, I really had no resources to tell me what might happen, what to expect, how it might feel, etc. I did have my good friend Laura, and thank God for her. When I lost Wild Thing, several friends came out of the woodwork, sharing their loss. I wondered, how did I not know of this before? Why is this not more talked about? I have learned through this process that by sharing our stories, we give courage to others. I recognize that there is a lot of shame, I KNOW there is a lot of shame (whole 'nother post), surrounding pregnancy loss, and hopefully sharing what I have been through will help me release some of my own shame and help others sift through theirs, as well.

Disclaimer: I will not hold any information back. I wanted to know EXACTLY what to expect or what potentially could happen to me when I lost my baby and was frustrated by people sugar-coating their experiences. If you got a weak stomach, stop here, m-kay?

We got the news of Wild Thing's passing on April 24th. Let me tell you how it went down. We went in there expecting a strong heartbeat. My doctor (nor the hospital radiologist, nor the ultrasound techs) had given us any indication the week before that we should be worried. He was little, they said, they saw a heartbeat, they said. "We will see a big, strong heartbeat next week."

So we were sitting with the ultrasound tech, and she was poking around with the vaginal ultrasound. The week before, the tech had been talking, explaining what she saw. This chick was DEAD SILENT. Uh, we are NOT stupid. I asked, "What do you see? Do you see a heartbeat?" She just continued to make measurements on the u/s screen. Infuriating. "DO YOU SEE A HEARTBEAT??" The answer: um...no. No heartbeat visible, no heartbeat we could hear. I asked her (her name was Phillipa, and I will despise that name for as long as I live), "What reasons would there be for us not to hear a heartbeat?" I was thinking, "Oh, he is still too little...they didn't actually see the heartbeat last week. We'll come in next week and it will be there." Wild Thing looked much bigger than the week before and Jason looked happy and excited that he was growing. Worst-ultrasound-tech-in-the-world Phillipa goes, "If I knew why there wasn't a heartbeat, I would be a doctor, wouldn't I?" Okay, woman, if I wasn't so scared right now, I would take out that vaginal wand and beat you with it.

So she leaves, saying she is going to go over the results with the radiologist. We KNEW. We knew, we knew, we knew. But she said NOTHING. So we waited in anguish. She comes back in, and says, "Your doctor wants to you to call him at this number to go over your results." Okay, another very not normal situation. I knew that if things had been okay, she would have just said, "Everything looks good, your doctor will call you soon," etc. Again, not stupid over here. So I call the number - shaking, freaking out. My doctor's office doesn't know what the hell is going on. Doctor Farley called me back on my cell phone right after, still in that stupid ultrasound room, still praying for a miracle, hoping he was going to say, "He's growing, he's still little, we will see an heartbeat next week." It is funny how one holds onto whatever little shred of hope there might be, forgoing all logic or intuition.

What floors me is that I learned of Wild Thing's death OVER THE PHONE. No ultrasound tech was brave enough to tell me in person, no radiologist came in to offer condolences. My doctor told me over the PHONE. Well, rather told Jason over the phone, because I started wailing the second he started speaking. My poor, sweet, steadfast husband received the news for me, took the brunt of those words, shouldered that burden so that I would not have to relive that conversation over and over for the rest of my life.

I cannot tell you the feelings I was bombarded with. I have never felt any devastation quite like it. I could not breathe. All I could keep repeating to Jason was, "I am so sorry, honey. I am so, so sorry." There is that shame element again. I don't know if I remember any more at this point. My sister was there - which was not good, because I have some deep psychological issues with showing grief in front of anyone but my husband. She tried to comfort me, but I seriously, at that point, was so wracked with pain, I could not acknowledge anyone. Somehow I got out the hospital. I remember mumbling to my sister to call my waiting parents and tell them. I told her I didn't want any calls, any texts, any communication AT ALL. Somehow Jason got me home and into bed. That is all I remember.

Okay, that is enough for the day. This has been the first time I have really shared what happened that day, and I feel myself starting to hit panic-attack mode. Lorazepam here I come. More later.

He will be with you always...

Like I mentioned in my last post, I am experiencing a bit of a crisis of faith after losing Wild Thing. I am struggling with WHY God would allow us to get pregnant, to know that joy and plan for that future, and then allow it to be taken all away.

My friend Laura sent me an email about what to expect during my miscarriage, and how she herself has made it through recurrent pregnancy loss. One thing she said helped her was listening to Christian music.

This has helped me hang onto whatever sort of communion I do have with Jesus right now (like I said, I am in the throws of a terrible tantrum). I must admit, some Christian songs absolutely

ENRAGE

me (just as Duke is ENRAGED that his best friend Bentley is suddenly five times bigger than him at 8 months). But one song in particular does help me, so I have been listening to it a lot. It describes God's promise to "be with you always." It helps remind me that God never promised me a healthy pregnancy or a biological child or that I would never suffer loss, shame or defeat. Instead, what He has promised is to never abandon or forsake me, and to carry my burdens as long as we are yoked to one another. This song also reminds me that Jesus was the ultimate Healer. Sometimes when I listen to this song, I imagine Jesus' hands on my belly, healing me and setting the stage for new growth. Stupid, I know, but whatever gets me through...

This realization (Jesus as Healer, Jesus shouldering my burdens) does not necessarily quiet my fury or questions or accusations. Oh well.

Here is the song that has helped me. It is called Safe by Phil Wickham.

Please Don't Make These Idiotic Statements...

to someone whose baby has just died.

I have refrained from finishing and posting this, because I have been VERY, VERY BITTER. I wanted to make sure that this post would be coming from a place of education and reflection as opposed to being a way to bitch my brains out. But I also am realizing that I need to tell this story, my story, RIGHT NOW!!!, as a way to not only process what I am going through but also help those who have lost babies. I have been BLESSED (totally ironic and morbid, I know) by the stories of others who have been what I have been through. Who have gone through the process and ended up, when all is said and done, still mostly whole and able to live and breathe again. I hope that I am able to pay it forward by helping other grieving mommas find words and experiences that validate all they are going through.

So here goes. Sorry if it is a bit raw. Sorry if it offends. It needs to be said.

Disclaimer: I don't post the following list to be condemning of those who might have already uttered these no-nos to me or someone else who has suffered miscarriage or infant-related loss. Rather, I really am trying to educate and inform - just so that others might realize the possible mindset of a grieving mom (or dad) when they hear these things. It is very, very hard to understand this whole situation without going through it, so I don't judge and I am through being angry about it. People are doing the best they can with what they have.

That being said, never speak these things, ALRIGHTY?

1. "Oh, well, you weren't that far along." Pardon? From the second we knew I was pregnant, our baby was all that mattered to us. We loved him, we sang to him, we shopped for bedding and clothes and diapers for him. Our conversations, our diets, our schedule and our future all revolved around this baby. We knew for 3 1/2 weeks that we were pregnant, and it drastically altered us. We now have no baby, and everything we thought was our future no longer exists.

2. "Oh, well, you can try again." First of all, that we might eventually get pregnant again does not change that we lost THIS baby. THIS baby is dead. THIS baby will not be here in November, won't be here for his first Christmas, won't be here to lay with the dogs, take baths, be loved. It took us 9 months to get pregnant, and we have NO clue what we did to conceive him as we didn't even think we could get pregnant without Clomid. The idea of trying again is devastating, depressing and daunting. I miss my baby. That is all there is.

3. "You are young, you have plenty of time." Anyone saying this to me obviously does not know me very well. Just sayin. I have known I wanted children (and lots of them) since 4th grade. It was in 4th grade that I felt called to pursue adoption at some point, and I think it was even earlier that I would peruse Pottery Barn catalogs and Baby Gap for baby bedding and clothes, going to the extent of clipping pictures and filing them away in a box. In my childhood bedroom at my parents' is lists of baby names I have been keeping since ELEMENTARY SCHOOL. Since I MET my husband (which would be, like, way over 7 years ago) I have dreamt of having children with him. I wanted to try to get pregnant starting our honeymoon, but Jason wanted me to finish grad school, teach a year, etc. So please, for the LOVE OF GOD, do NOT tell me that I have plenty of time. I have been waiting decades. Literally. It is this statement in particular that makes me want to tell people to STFU!

4. "Lots of women go through this. Lots of people have had miscarriages." BUT THIS WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN TO ME!! Maybe selfish and egocentric, but I am telling you, as a little girl, you NEVER sit awake dreaming of all the trouble you are going to have getting and keeping a baby. Most of us spent our high school and college years doing all we could NOT to get pregnant, because we thought it would happen if a guy even flexed his biceps at us. I know that this has happened before to other women, but no one before has been seared by MY grief, lost MY little Wild Thing. And when you say this to me, I somehow feel like I am inadequate, unjustified in feeling so very sad - like because it happens to others, I should be tougher than I am being, that because others have survived it, I will too. I WILL survive it, but in the throws of the pain, you don't always WANT to survive it and knowing that it happens to others DOES. NOTHING.

5. "Your body does this to get rid of a defective child." Don't even know how to respond to this one (often quoted by doctors and nurses). No comment.

6. "This is God's plan." This gem was uttered even by my husband (who, I will freely admit, is more spiritual and Christ-centered than I BY FAR). Sorry, I am pissed at God. He knows it and loves me anyway, but we are not exactly on the best of terms right now. I'll maybe go more into this and what I feel about this later (or maybe not), but please don't say that it is God's plan for a baby to die before his mother even holds him. God is crying, too.

And don't even begin to call my baby TISSUE. Thanks, bye.

Dear Wild Thing,

Mommy misses you every moment of every day. So does Daddy and your puppies. Mommy will never stop praying for you, crying for you, or wishing that our time together had been longer. Well, maybe Mommy will have to stop crying soon because Daddy thinks she is dysfunctional and needs a grief counselor.

I love you,
Momma

Update

Just wanted to give a quick update for those of you that are worrying.

First of all, thank you so much for your prayers and support. This has been the toughest thing we have ever been through, but we are reminded through our suffering of God's grace and the peace that only He can give. He has sustained us and helped Jason and I find strength to keep moving through the pain.

We have basically been holed up in our house. Talking to anyone or going anywhere is not something I can do right now, so I apologize if messages or texts haven't been returned. We are just trying to distract ourselves, feel the grief when we need to, and find a way to redefine our future. Today I was able to take the dogs for a walk, and the sunshine and fresh air was healing. I have a massage tonight, and I am going to try to get to the gym early to try to run it all away...

I have been having a lot of trouble breathing. When I am distracted by books or movies, I seem to do okay, but when I think about the baby, breathing becomes difficult. I thought I was just trying to calm myself down but my friend Amy suggested that it sounded like panic/anxiety attacks and the doctor agreed, so he is starting me on anxiety medicine that I pray will help me calm down and breathe better.

It is true that is only through suffering that we can experience real compassion. I am thankful for the texts and calls from my friends and family. I am thankful for my friend Amy, who made us her famous spaghetti (it was seriously the only good/real food I had eaten in two days), and gave us one less thing to worry about. I am thankful for walks with my friend Aja and her little puffy puppy Bentley, and thankful for my parents who sprang into action getting me massages and calling people for us. I am so thankful for my doggies - Duke immediately knew something was wrong and has not left my side for one minute. They are my first babies, and now my only babies, and I am glad that I have something to focus my energy on. Most of all, I am thankful for my husband, without whom I would have been crushed under the guilt and the loss.

We are not sure how to move forward from all this. Talking about the future or trying again is not just painful - it is something I cannot emotionally or physically do. Here comes the anxiety attack again. Breathe. We are waiting for my body to actually miscarry the baby and that is debilitating all in itself. Sorry for the randomness of this post but I am just trying to process at this point and let people know that we haven't dropped off the face of the earth.

Next post will be entitled: "Please Don't Say The Following Idiotic Things to Someone Whose Baby Has Just Died."