The Adventure Starts Now

My site has been broken, so here’s an old post for now. I’ll get more pictures up soon!

October 31, 2019

So much has happened since I last posted! It makes it hard to sit down to write because I want to write down all the details. But I’ll start from today, so I may never get around to writing!

Ezekiel is two months old. He’s a super active baby and it’s been more work than I could have anticipated – emotionally and physically. As he grows, I’m enjoying him more. It’s so wild to watch him become a person. He is so much like Bryan. He wakes up and stretches and sleeps like Bryan. He loves to be awake though and fights sleep. Even though it’s hard, I try not to worry about it much. He will figure out sleep at some point. And for now, I’ll hold him and baby wear so that he can sleep.

We have been trying to stay busy since about five weeks when I started feeling more comfortable with getting him out of the house by myself. We have been going to any baby events I can find. We go to mom’s group at the breastfeeding resource center. It’s a nice time to just hang out and talk to other moms. A lot of the other babies are the same age as him. I’ve gotten more support than I would have anticipated there. My favorite thing to go to is Communication Junction’s Sign and Sing classes. We learn sign language together and read books. I’m so excited to sign him up for one of their classes in a couple months. It would be awesome if he could start signing soon so I know what he needs.

He also loves the water. He is so calm in the tub during bath time. I have already looked into signing him up for swimming lessons, which he can start at six months!

His movements are getting more intentional too. He can move his fist so that he tries to push his pacifier back in when it falls out (sometimes). He can roll from his tummy to his back. He is intentional about hitting and kicking his toys on his activity mat. He has crazy good head control. He has gotten really good at smiling.

I’m looking forward to going back to work even though it will be a huge adjustment.

And the real reason for my post until I can get down more of my thoughts… to spam you with pictures!

New Year’s Eve

I woke up early.  The test was positive.  I took two more.  There was definitely some kind of line there.  I couldn’t believe we were going to be finally doing all this again.  I was not sure I was ready for the anxiety and pain that would come, but I also felt a little excited.  Everything was so different this time.  I tried to focus on that.  I had fixed several health issues and completely changed my whole lifestyle.  Surely all those changes would be beneficial.  Surely I deserved to have a baby.  I hope…

The next few days and weeks were full of labs for blood draws.  The anxiety was high, but very different than before.  I did not have the same kind of crippling anxiety that came with the first two pregnancies.  Instead I had more calm moments; more times where I could focus on some excitement despite the fear; and some kind of peace at times that this would be my last pregnancy no matter the outcome.  So I waited.  I started on progesterone supplements from the doctor’s office that I was newly monitored by.  They checked my thyroid right away too.  This experience was different.  I waited in agony most days for test results.  My hcg levels rose: 20, 69, 215, 2271.  The last one was higher than it had gotten by nearly the end of the first pregnancy.  I had some more hope that things were different this time.  I waited more.  I cried.  I started having all the same symptoms I had before like clockwork.  I struggled with doctors and the new office I was dealing with.  I struggled with insurance complications.  But finally we got to an appointment at 6 weeks.

January 17, 2019

We had been told that they could not do an ultrasound at the first appointment, but that we would be able to schedule one at the appointment, maybe even for the next day.  I had hoped to do it early next week at 6.5 weeks like the first ultrasound for all the other pregnancies.  I had my schedule on hold for the next week, and I had basically been pausing anything I did not have to schedule with the anticipation that I might have to be out awhile again.  For the last two days, I had also started feeling sick to my stomach and generally unwell.  Part of me hoped it could be some kind of morning sickness.  The other part was terrified that something was horribly wrong.  The worst part was not knowing what was happening inside my body.  Was all this going to be worth it?  Or does my body just hate being pregnant so much that the next month would be miserable?  One thing was certain: these feelings were a new symptom.  I knew that if development was appropriate that this was further than I had been in my previous pregnancies.  But I had no idea if we had already lost the baby like the other times.

The appointment was standard and everyone was very nice.  To our surprise the midwife told me that she would get me in for a sonogram today because she knew I was nervous.  I was shocked.  As we sat in the waiting room for the next 30 minutes waiting and canceling my evening appointments, I was pretty nervous.  It was too early.  The heart is probably not beating yet.  We would not be able to see much.  I kept telling myself that even appropriate development would be an improvement.  I could not wait to find out what was going on. 

The sonogram technician was really nice.  I explained to her that I had two miscarriages that I found out about at the ultrasounds. “Say no more,” and she rushed out to let me change and do the sonogram as quickly as possible.  She assured us that she would let us know as soon as she knew what was going on. 

I looked at the screen.  It was hard to see from my angle.  I could not see anything.  I feared the worst.  It was the same as before. 

“Thank goodness for good technology people!”

What did that mean?  Was that a good thing? 

“Okay now hold your breath.”

The line measuring a heartbeat started coming across the screen.  I lost it and immediately started crying and could not hold my breath anymore.

“And we have a heartbeat!”

I cried and cried.  Bryan cried.  She showed us where the heart was beating.  There it was flickering away.  It was a bit slow.  She said it had probably just started beating.

She told us that the baby was so teeny tiny that she could not get a measurement.  We talked about my ovulation date.  I asked what the gestational sac was measuring at.  She said 5 weeks.  I knew that was a problem.  I had no idea what to think.  Then she got another angle and took another measurement of the baby: 5 weeks 6 days.  That was perfect.  I cried more.  The baby was on track.  The baby was alive.  The baby’s heart was beating. 

So today we have a healthy baby growing.  It is very early.  We have no idea what will happen.  But for today I know that I will love this baby every single day. 

I had to come home from work today. That felt defeating. I had been crying before I even left the house. Last night was hard too. Nothing about it felt positive. I did not get much sleep, so then this morning all my thoughts were so heavy. I am so frustrated about the process of trying to conceive. It is wearing and exhausting and frustrating. But it does not end there. Last night I caught myself thinking about how I would talk to my clients about needing to be out for a procedure. I was preparing for another D&C after a third miscarriage. I can’t even get pregnant, and all I can think about is how I would prepare for another miscarriage. My night was full of mood swings from anger to crying to numbness. The rollercoaster of emotions is the hardest part.

I guess it’s true…the body does keep the score. That’s what they teach you with counseling and trauma. The body remembers trauma even if the mind does not. Friday will be the day I found out last year that I was pregnant the first time. I don’t think people normally remember those dates. But a bunch of dates are all I have. So I remember. And it’s miserable. It is so hard to go through all these dates. I really hoped that I would be pregnant again by now. I had hoped I would have had a baby by now. But instead of a four month old, I am left alone. That’s how it feels. With a pregnancy, you aren’t alone, but that’s what I am. I try really hard to be okay with being alone. I started yoga again this week. I try to work on loving myself. It hard not to let this define me because in reality, right now, it is.

The appointments are so draining. I am preparing for another one, well two actually. Two Friday; one Monday; one the following week; two the following week; three the week after that – and that’s only if any of the appointments don’t schedule another appointment.

This week is World Childless Week. It’s a week dedicated to raising awareness for those living childless not by choice including those that have never been pregnant and those affected by not carrying to term or stillbirths. Several of the daily themes of the week hit close. Friday focuses on comments that hurt, and the phase this year is “You never know true love until you have a child.” Fuck that. It is insensitive to think that I don’t know what it’s like the love. I care for children everyday in the toughest situations. And you know what, I loved my babies more in six weeks than anyone. I have so much love for a child that does not even exist. It hurts because I love so much. If I did not have so much love for them, then it would not hurt. I would argue that you never know true love until you love for a child that never came. However, even that is unhelpful for others. Saturday’s theme is “We are Worthy.” I find it hard to find worth in this process. Everything is about preparing my life for a child that is not coming. I have stopped rearranging my life for the hope of having a child. I stopped that awhile ago. Most people get to be excited as they prepare for a child. I feel drained and like my life is no longer mine. I go through the motions with no more hope. People make comments about hopes for my baby. That hurts. I wish I could give you that. I want that too. I have been doing my best to define myself and my own worth, but everything also benefits a future child.

I am feeling a little better today after I came home for awhile to cry and then took the afternoon off. I hate that I had to do that. I wish I could handle my life. I try to tell myself that I am doing the best I can. I try to tell myself that I can’t do it all on my own. I need doctors to help regulate my thyroid, which influences my mood. I try to tell myself that foods can influence my mood. But it is all so frustrating.

One last jumble of thoughts: it is insensitive to place the blame on an infertile person. Saying that they are too stressed or need to give it to God before they are able to have children is extremely rude, insensitive, and ignorant. You would not tell a cancer patient’s family that they died because they did not have enough faith in God. Infertility is a medical condition. And people want to change that. Please don’t be that person to make ignorant comments. Those comments hurt.

It’s been hard to write. It feels overwhelming. I wanted so much for this blog to be happy. I had hoped that I would be able to quickly find the rainbow after the storm. But that’s not my story. Everything is still hard. Life is still stormy. It feels as though life will never get better most days.

I have found out a lot of information. I wish answers help with the blame and helped me sustain a pregnancy. But it hasn’t get. I went on a very difficult and long search for answers after the second loss.

My OB ran a loss panel searching for lots of different kinds of common problems for loss. The only thing that came back was heterozygous for MTHFR A1298C. I did a ton of research. I was consumed and obsessed. My OB said that mutation was not a concern. I saw a hematologist. She said there were no hematology concerns. I asked my primary care physician to run some tests. She ran some of them but said everything looked fine. I knew there had to be more.

Based on the information from MTHFR, I decided to go gluten and dairy free at the end of April. I had made another appointment with another physician that I hoped would run more tests, but I couldn’t wait the nearly two months until the appointment. I couldn’t try to get pregnant without some kind of change. The thought of miscarrying for the rest of my life was too much.

Something unexpected happened. I felt a lot better. And very quickly! Over the next two months, I learned a lot about food, and I slowly made more changes to my diet. Some of my symptoms started coming back, but I still felt immensely better than I had in years.

Fast forward to my appointment and the next month when I got test results – I have hashimoto’s disease. It’s an autoimmune disease that affects the thyroid. At first I was so excited to find out what was going on in my body. I had answers! And not only for my miscarriages, but also for the numerous health conditions I’ve had over the past ten years. But then it started to set in that I had a chronic illness. And unfortunately it became clear that even the doctor who had diagnosed me was not well qualified to treat me.

I have since found that I can slow the progression of the disease and potentially reverse it through many lifestyle changes. This journey to health has a lot of meaning for me. Not only do I want desperately to be able to have a living child, but I cannot just sit back and wait for my body to destroy me when I have the power to have change in my life.

I am now on the autoimmune protocol. It’s extremely restrictive in diet adds a lot of stress reducing activities, appropriate sleep encouragement, and exercise. Everything about the disease is debated. But I hope to find what works for me.

As the months drag on, it sets in more and more how far I have come from having a living child. I feel like I never stop grieving because there is so much to grieve.

I grieve for the children I have lost. I grieve for the life I wish I had. I grieve for the four month old baby I was suppose to have. I grieve for the dates coming up soon where I will have gotten to a year after finding out about the first lost. I grieve for the due date coming up of my second loss.

I grieve for the autoimmune disease I am faced with. I grieve for how difficult it is just to remain healthy. I grieve for how challenging my life has become. I grieve for how I have had to redefine my life to include enjoyment and socialization without food. I grieve for the lack of support without knowledgeable doctors. I grieve for the lost time as I research everyday and go to multiple appointments a week.

I grieve for my diagnosis of infertility. I grieve for this the hardest right now. It has set in hard. And it’s miserable. I try to fathom my life without children. I try to decide what interventions I could handle. I try to think about if we could handle other options to create a family. There are no good options. It’s all miserable. It’s all consuming.

But I have to keep fighting. Even when I am at my slowest. I don’t feel like I have a choice. I go to therapy. I started acupuncture. I meditate daily. I try to do yoga. I take baths several times a week. I have been painting my nails more.

I have good days and bad days. I try to focus on my accomplishments. I fight. And it’s so so hard. And I keep fighting. So here’s to fighting; to the misery every single day; to the successes with the little progress; and to the story that continues no matter what happens.

It has been five days since I had surgery – since I said good-bye to my second child. It was miserable. I don’t know how people go through this. I’m surviving. I guess that’s about all I can really expect to be doing.

March 6, 2018 – I cancelled my appointments for the day rather than going in after my doctor’s appointment. I knew I was in no place to help others. I knew I needed the time for myself. The wait for the appointment was long and felt drawn out. The wait was agonizing. I just wanted it all to be over. I had another ultrasound. I almost didn’t look. I did not know if I could bear to watch it all again. There was about two more days of growth from last week. There was still no further development. Even if it really had been too early, there should have been a heartbeat by this point in development. There wasn’t.

The doctor said we could wait after she reviewed everything. We could see what happens and come back in another two weeks. I told her I had reached my limit, and I could not keep waiting. We went over the risks. In the end, she told me that it was important to listen to where I was at emotionally, and it was her job to listen to what I wanted. We were able to schedule the d&c for the following day.

I was relieved. But I also felt so guilty. I wanted to be able to do this. I wanted to be able to wait if it was the best way to do it. But I couldn’t wait any longer. I felt weak for not being able to wait anymore. I cried a lot that night. I was scared. The last surgery was traumatic. I wasn’t sure if trauma could be avoided when the surgery meant officially losing my baby. But carrying the baby that was no longer alive was also torture. It was so traumatic to wait for a miscarriage that could occur at any point. It wasn’t my fault that my body didn’t get the memo that the baby wasn’t growing properly. My therapist later told me that it is a sign of emotional strength to know when I have reached my limit in what I could handle – not weakness. It’s still hard not to feel differently as I grieve.

That night I started to have some bleeding. I sat on the couch watching shows as I cried. I was in pain. I was scared. I was terrified of what would come next. Maybe I would miscarry tonight. Maybe I would have to go in for an exam in the morning before the surgery. Maybe they would tell me that I could no longer have the surgery. Maybe I would have to have another ultrasound (I wasn’t sure if I could do that again). Maybe I would not be able to have the surgery and this would take several more weeks. This could last for another month. I might still need surgery even after all that. Some friends came over to sit with me as we watched shows. I could not talk much. My mind felt fried. I could not think about what was happening. I finally went to bed, but I did not sleep much.

March 7, 2018 – I was awake early in the morning and moved back to the couch to watch more shows because I couldn’t lie there and think. I waited out the hours until the office opened. By then the bleeding had stopped. I think that made the decision easier. I knew I just needed this to be over still. I couldn’t keep waiting forever. The nurse was not concerned and told me that it would not affect the surgery. I was relieved. I continued watching shows as I watched out the hours until we could go to the hospital. I pretended that we were just going somewhere to watch shows. I knew what we were doing, but I couldn’t think about it. Bryan tried to help and told me that we were going to Disneyland. The minutes inched by until we could finally leave.

I go to the hospital. It hurt to be there. But I wouldn’t let myself think. I figured I would have enough time to process this later. Today, being here was all I could bear to do. I asked the nurse if Bryan could just come with me this time. She was unsure and told me that she could ask as soon as we got back there. She came back with Bryan. I was relieved to have him there. I remembered crying alone last time until they brought him back. The process went a little faster this time. As the nurse went over the paperwork, I signed the consents quickly. When she told to the consent about fetal remains, I cut her off and told her I knew and had done this before quickly signing and looking only enough to check the right box. She got the IV in and apologized. She was very nice.

Last time I was so worried about the process that I waited a lot of the time doing nothing. This time I figured they would have to work around me. I watched more shows and tried not to think pausing only after someone came in to talk to me. The wait was smoother. Anesthesiologist, nurse, another nurse, another anesthesiologist. About fifteen minutes before the surgery was scheduled, I got out the calm app to meditate. I figured it would be good for me. I finished it right as the doctor came in. Everything was on time this time.

I got down to the operating room this time and the nurses were talking about dogs. I think they asked me if I had a dog. I just smiled. I couldn’t comprehend what they were saying. Last time I started crying on the table, so they put me to sleep right away. This time I was awake for more of the prep work. They got my arms adjusted, put on the heart monitors, and buckled a strap over me to “remind you not to roll over.” I was asleep quickly.

I woke up in pain. They gave me as much pain medicine as was allowed. I told them I was dizzy. They explained that one of the medications was given as the very end of the surgery and was probably just hitting me now. “Close your eyes and relax.” I stayed there for much longer than last time. They finally moved me, and I carefully moved to the chair. I stayed in this second stage for longer too. I felt so dizzy every time I moved my head. The nurse told me that I would sleep it off when I got home. The nurses gave me a card this time, “Thinking of you.” I was finally able to leave. This was finally over.

But really, it had only just begun.

Recovery is the worst part. It looks like pain. It looks like weakness. And in my case, it looks like grief. Grief is a lot of heartache. It does not get “better,” but it does become less intense. I was also a little relieved that it was over, and I did not have to wait any longer.

Pain medicines don’t actually make me sleepy like they do most people. I was awake for most of the day and did not sleep well again that night. I stayed in for the next few days working on recovering. I tried to pay attention to my grief process. It looked a lot different this time. It was sad. I ended up not feeling well enough Friday to go out like we had planned for a short time.

Bryan was amazing through everything. He took off the day of the surgery to take care of me. He was able to work from home the next two days to make sure I was okay. I am really lucky to have him.

Saturday was the worst day. I woke up with a heavy heart. The weight of the day was too much to bear. My wedding shower was also five years ago on that date. I cried. I know that children are not a measure of a relationship, but all I could feel was that it had been five years and all I had to show for it was two dead babies. That was a hard smack of reality. I never wanted this for us. I never want this for anyone. The day did not get any better. My mom came to sit with me when Bryan left. I didn’t want to leave the house. I felt guilty for not going to my friend’s baby shower. I was supposed to have a shower by now. Now I had lost out on two baby showers. I had lost two babies. As the day progressed, I got more and more depressed. It is such a weird feeling to be so aware of my symptoms and my depression but be unable to do anything about it. I could not make decisions. I felt miserable. I felt like the pain would never end. I had rebuilt myself last time, but this time it felt like too much. This time I would not be able to get back up again. This time might break me.

Bryan tried to help. He figured maybe I just needed to get out of the house. I tried too. I couldn’t do it. I cried several times in the restaurant before leaving. I couldn’t stop. The pain hurt so badly. I couldn’t see anything. Bryan sat with me later that night, and I tried to piece through the pain. I thought about what it was like the last time. I figured out the timelines matched. The day I felt the worst last time was about the same amount of days after the surgery as this time. I figured my hormones dropping had a lot to do with it. No one really talks about postpartum depression after a miscarriage. I would argue that it’s a lot worse. You don’t have a baby to look to in order to make it all feel worthwhile. I wondered again if all this was worth it. Nothing could have prepared me for the miserable feelings that day. And as it turns out – not even going through it once before. I would never wish those feelings on my worst enemy.

After that, the emotional pain weakened a little bit. I slept more the next day. But the physical pain got worse. Apparently my body finally got the memo. I was in a lot of pain, but I tried to get out of the house for a bit. I felt okay. I don’t really know what the word “okay” really means anymore, but I wasn’t miserable. I made it through the next day.

I still think a lot about it all of this is worth it. I am afraid to go through this again. I am afraid for how this could affect our marriage down the line. I am afraid that if I go through this again that it really will break me. I think about if I do have to go through this again that I will probably be completely done. I can only take so much. I think about what it would look like if we never have kids. I feel like I need to come to terms with that a little better. I feel like that is a reality that I might have to face. I talk out what my limits are – with testing, with medical interventions, with loss. People throw around adoption and foster care. They act like it is an easy replacement. I have to mourn the loss of this first. That is a hard pill to swallow. I am not ready to give up yet. Not today. But foster care and adoption are also an extremely difficult option. It is not an option I want at this point in the process. I am still grieving my children. So I just keep thinking. I just keep wondering. The future is full of uncertainty.

Now today, I am preparing to go back to work tomorrow. I am equipped with a beautiful framed picture with my two babies names on it – Andrew Philip and Ellie Grace. I have suffered an unimaginable loss. I am changed again – and I can’t really say it’s for the better. But today, I am surviving.

I am pregnant. Again. But there is no baby. I won’t get to hold one in nine months. I don’t get to be happy. I don’t get to see a tiny heartbeat. I don’t get to excitedly tell everyone about our expected arrival. I don’t get to watch my baby grow inside me. I don’t get to experience kicks from the inside. I don’t get to plan my registry. I don’t get to prepare a place for a baby. I don’t get to be celebrated with a shower as everyone is excited with me. But it’s more than that. I lose out on every step of my baby’s life. Coming home, sleepless nights, pure love, eyes full of wonder, first words, first steps, going to school. The list goes on forever. And so does my grief.

And now I’ve lost out on all those moments for two babies.

I was scared to death with this pregnancy. I had little hope for this baby. Most of the people in my life told me that they would carry the hope for me. I let them. Maybe that would help.

It didn’t.

February 20, 2018 – We went to the doctor early mainly because I was worried and they were able to get me in early. There was nothing on the screen. I felt numb. The ultrasound tech described everything she saw. The pregnancy measured 5 weeks and 4 days with a gestational sac and a yolk sac. Normal development for that stage. But I should have been 6 weeks and 4 days at minimum.

I agrued with the doctor a lot. Last time she was able to give me confirmation when I explained all the information to her. There was no way they could deny my dates because they had checked my levels through my blood right when I got pregnant. But she wouldn’t give me confirmation. She said sometimes development just happens slower than we anticipate and doesn’t follow a textbook pattern.

Okay… I didn’t believe her.

A few hours later, my blood work cane back. My hcg was half of what it should have been at minimum and my progesterone levels had dropped. I knew there was no more hope. But the doctor thought that it would be better to try supplementing with progesterone until next week.

What a mind fuck. So I pretended to not have lost my baby with supplements, but I knew I already had. I cried that night a lot. But I stayed in this limbo with no more hope for almost a week.

February 26, 2018 – I took the day off and so did Bryan. We waited in a different waiting room. There were so many pregnant ladies. I counted the minutes by already dying inside. The ultrasound tech was a different person. This room was bright with happy pictures of babies everywhere. The tech asked me about my last ultrasound.

“It was just too early, right? But your blood levels were normal?”

No…

She looked around a lot. It’s a unique kind of torture to watch your dead baby on the screen. The loss of your happiness, your dreams. The sac had grown two days in nearly a week and there was no further development. The tech said she was sorry and gave us the report.

The doctor explained that the ultrasound confirmed the loss. That I should stop taking the progesterone supplements. That I should miscarry possibly even by the end of the week. (I didn’t.)

When my blood results finally came back this time, my hcg levels were still rising but obviously much slower than was “appropriate for pregnancy.” I wasn’t surprised. They were still rising last time too. My body never let’s go of the baby. It feels like a betrayal. I can never trust my body. Before this, yoga was helping me learn to love my body again. But it keeps betraying me. So the doctor asked that my appointment be moved up to come again the following week.

The week was torture. My feelings are harder to understand, but luckily I’m more aware of them. I’m not really sure if that’s easier. I feel sad, and angry, and bitter. I clung to the hope that I might find out some answers through some testing. I might not. But I did way too much research, and I hope I get some answers.

I started spotting a lot at one point. I felt the physical pain. I prepared myself for the worst. I continued to prepare myself everyday for the loss that never came.

I am waiting for my appointment in the morning. The doctor wants to do another ultrasound just to confirm again. I think that will be more torture. I wonder a lot about if all this is really worth it. I will probably have to schedule another d&c. I think I was hoping to avoid that this time. But I can’t do this anymore. I’ve reached my limit.

This is the hardest experience I’ve ever had to go through …again. It’s not any easier the second time. It’s a hell of a lot harder. I’m terrified of surgery again. I think about what that was like, and it is a lot of trauma. But I can’t bear the thought of continuing this process and not being done. I can’t be pregnant anymore with my dead baby.

Sometimes I feel stronger this time. That I don’t require as much support as I did before, which I suppose is a good thing. It feels like everyone’s concern for me has dried up this time. But other days, I feel so miserable that I don’t know what to do with myself.

Bereavement literally means to be torn apart. It was less than six months ago that I was torn apart. Now I feel ripped to shreds. There is a quote in miscarriage support that give validity to the experience.

“The moment that you died, my heart was torn in two, one side filled with heartache, the other died with you.”

With two pregnancy losses back to back, I don’t know where that leaves me. I’m not sure if I have any heart left.

So I’m not done with this experience. I haven’t even come face to face with this loss yet. But it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. And I thought I would only have to say that once.

My world has stopped. This is my second pregnancy loss in less than six months. I am at such a loss. Today the loss was confirmed after the most miserable week of waiting. I’ve lost another child. I don’t know how to doing this all again. At this point, it’s more waiting. To officially miscarry or have another surgery. I am miserable.

I haven’t written in awhile.  Let me tell you: this process really does not get easier.  It has been miserably difficult.  I have been grieving.  I have been desperate.  I have been lost.  Bryan and I have fought.  We have cried.  We have struggled.  I have also been trying to take time for myself in every way I can.  At the beginning of the year, I started a 30 day yoga challenge.  I am proud to say that I have not only completed the 30 days, but I have been continuing to do yoga every day since that as well.  It is difficult to fit in sometimes, but I know that I have to make myself a priority.  I have also been doing mediation through the Calm app everyday.  I am taking time to invest in myself.  I bought a very pretty print for Andrew.  It says “I carried you every second of your life and I will love you for every second of mine.”  It has the date and his name at the bottom.  I like having it, but I have not yet gotten it printed and framed.  I am excited to do that.

It also hard to try again; although, we have been.  It has created a lot of desperation and difficulties.  It makes every day a struggle of wishing I was back in that place, but also knowing that getting pregnant again does not bring my baby back.

Well if you are reading today…surprise! I am pregnant!

It is a very scary place to be.  It was not very exciting to find out even though I have been desperately trying for months again.  Bryan and I are both just kind of holding our breaths waiting for something to go wrong.  I did not think the pregnancy would last at first.  But now it has been two weeks since I found out.  I found out on my birthday. (Bryan told me he gave me the gift of life!)  I have had two blood draws.  Both came back good.  It is hard to let that be enough.  I know that blood draws would have probably not told us anything sooner with the first pregnancy.  I have two more weeks until my appointment, and I am trying not to get excited.  Trying not to get attached.  Trying not to be hopeful.  I don’t know what will happen.  I know I cannot change the outcome.  But it is hard to get attached knowing what can go wrong.  There are a lot of thoughts I have about this, but for now, if you are reading this and wondering how you can help: remember I am here and like support.  Community is still very important to me, so we have not kept this pregnancy a secret.

As difficult as it is for me to say because I know there will always be an “if,” this baby is still important now.  I have been doing a lot better than I was last time.  I have been struggling with sleep, but my mindset is better, so I have been able to cope.  I don’t have a ton of symptoms.  It’s funny how in early pregnancy you wish for symptoms to know that it is real, but symptoms don’t indicate health.

As for the future, I don’t have any idea what it holds, but for now, I have two babies.  Today, I will hope for this baby to continue growing. Today, I will remain scared that this baby won’t make it. But I really hope it does.

December 21st was the winter solstice.  The winter solstice is the longest night of the year.  On that day, my church held a service to be a place for those grieving during a season filled with joy.  There were so many positive messages in a time when so many need to hear it.

No one suffers alone.

This service was not just for those were are grieving, but it allows others to come walk along with you in your grief.  It says that we see you in your difficult time.  It was so healing to have a space where I knew that I could acknowledge my grief in this time.  We lit candles for our griefs and for each other.  We talked about the difficulties.  We allowed a light to shine when the world feels dark.  I still think that is the most important piece.  When we are surrounded by people that can help us, the light shines a little brighter – even though it does not take away the pain.  We were also given the opportunity to speak our griefs.  When you talk about what you are feelings, it has less power over you.  I wholeheartedly believe that.  It is the essence of why I think it is so important to talk about the things were are going through.  It is why I opened the door to be vulnerable and talk about the loss of my child.  It was not because I was brave or strong or trying to help others.  I knew it would bring healing.  I knew that talking about my experience helps the pain sting a little less.

Today I don’t feel the pain sting as much.  I am caught off guard by the number of times when I feel tears well up in my eyes.  But I can be in the same room as my pregnant friend and not cry.  Grief is such a journey, and the journey does not end.  It does not end because the loss was so important.  I have learned so much about grief through this experience.  It is comforting to remember that you don’t grieve for things that were not important.  My grief – the pain – reflected how deeply I already loved by son in his very short life.

I learned that back in the day wearing black had a very specific purpose.  When I was younger, I thought that people were almost putting on a show when they wear black as if they were trying to stay sad rather than moving on.  I know now that you don’t move on from loss.  At one time people wore black for an entire year after the loss.  It wasn’t to stay sad, it was to let others around them know that they were grieving, so please treat them gently.  What an important point that we have loss!  It is so hard to be in spaces where it feels like everyone forgets and moves on.  I sit in the corner feeling like no one cares about my grief or my child as if I should just move on.  Wearing black in those times for so long was a visible reminder for people to know that grief is a process and these people need kindness.  I am not advocating that we all wear black again during our grief, but it is such a disservice to think that our grief should be wrapped up in a nice easy box and put away within three days.

I also have learned that losses of children are more difficult longer because of the milestones.  I am reminded daily of the trimesters and scans I did not get to, the kicks I did not get to feel, the labor I don’t get to experience with this child.  I fear getting to my due date because it was suppose to be such a special day.  I grieve for the times when I’ll remember that my child should have been walking by now, talking by now, headed to school by now.  Those milestones don’t stop.  It is heartbreaking to know that I lost out on every single one of them.

But I also have learned that I get to still mother this child – it just looks different.  That is comforting to know but so difficult.  What does it mean to hold my child close when it is not here.  It sucks, and there is not much more to it.  But I will still enjoy my experience as a mother.  This year I put up a stocking for Andrew.  I will put up this stocking every year.  I miss him, but I will make sure he is remembered here on earth – even if no one else remembers him.  I don’t blame others for not remembering him.  After all, I was the only one who really knew him.  I will treasure my time with him – I was the only one who got to hold him with me and feel his presence.

I have found that I speak in terms of being a mother in very subtle ways.  I did not intend for this to happen, nor did I expect it.   When I talk to my clients, I use joining language now that I might have said a little differently before.  “As parents we…” No one notices.  It would have been normal to say and using this joining language even if I was not a parent.  But I notice.  I am a parent.  I am a mother.  I am a bereaved parent.  I will hold onto that in everything it means.

So on this Christmas, I ask you to remember my child too.  And I will see you in your grief.  Together we will remember that no one suffers alone – even when the darkness is the most powerful.

I am thankful for…

That’s what Thanksgiving is all about, but this Thanksgiving, it was hard to answer that question.  Of course I have a lot to be thankful for.  I have an amazing husband, supportive family and friends, stable finances, and a job I love.  There is a lot of good in my life.  But this thanksgiving, it is not the first thing on my mind.  I am torn apart by the loss I have experienced.  This was suppose to be the Thanksgiving where I had a lot extra to be thankful for.  I would have had the growing child inside me to be thankful for.  What an excitement!  What a joy!

Today, I don’t have that.  Today, I struggle to be excited about anything.

Are you excited for the holidays?

No.

It is difficult for me to admit that to myself, but I am not.  The holidays are so centered around family, so it is a blaring reminder of the family I have lost.  It is a struggle to be around others with so much more joy and excitement about their families, their babies, their pregnancies.  They should be excited!  But it still hurts me.

I had prepared myself a lot for Thanksgiving.  I knew it would be difficult.  It knew there would be a lot of family, a lot of babies, and a lot of pregnancies.  Each experience really was difficult in its own way.  Some days are easier than others.  Some moments are harder than others.  One day with my nephew didn’t hurt as much as another.  One day holding my niece hurt less than others.  I do what I can to try each day knowing that it is okay if it hurts too much.

The worst question of Thanksgiving was “How are you doing?”  It was always said in a knowing tone, but it never mentioned my child or my loss.  I guess that is a way to enter the conversation and allow me to bring it up if I wanted.  Most of the time I did not bring it up.  Most of the time I answered in a somewhat positive way.  It is a difficult question for me to answer.

But know that it is also okay to mention my child.  I miss him.  You are not reminding me of my loss; you are acknowledging my child.  I like that.  I cannot forget him (nor do I want to).  It is nice when you do not forget him either.

So many things have happened since my last entry, but it is difficult at times to sit down to write, even if I want to.  I have been leaning into my grief a lot, and overall I have been doing better.  I also am choosing to be very open, so if you aren’t interested in hearing all the details of my story, it might be time for you to stop reading.

Counseling has been helpful.  I found a counselor who has not only struggled with her own miscarriage, but she has also run a miscarriage and infant loss support group.  There is nothing like the support of people who really get it.  It does not mean that others cannot be helpful, but it does really help me – especially when I already “know” how to help myself.  I had to remind myself that it’s okay that someone else can walk this journey with me in that way.  Counselors are not meant to be experts in our lives, but they are there to walk the journey along side us.  It’s what I tell my clients too.  It really does help when someone can walk with us.  I have started daily mindfulness among other helpful tools to help myself.  I have also been extremely validated by my experience, even when it means hearing that I don’t have to try so hard.

I also had my first period after the d&c.  There is no easy way for that to come.  I had a lot of cramps and pains, and I had to remind myself a lot that these pains were normal.  It felt like torture to experience these pains again.  What a constant and real reminder that I am no longer pregnant.  Again.  As difficult as it was, I also know that it’s a necessary step to get through if I want to be pregnant again.  But the fears are also very real.  What does it mean to be pregnant again?  Will it take a long time again before I can get pregnant?  Can I get pregnant again?  Do I have to go back to the stress of trying?  Are there other ways?  What are my options?  What does pregnancy mean for me?  Those hormones were definitely miserable; could I really put myself through that again? Am I crazy to want to try again?

So here I am.  Choosing to try again.  Feeling crazy as anything.  But I have most definitely weighed all my options.  It was a long and miserable battle to get to this decision, but I am here.  I hope to be pregnant again soon, but I don’t plan to be pregnant again soon.  That is a subtle difference that I am trying to get use to in order to prepare myself.  There are a lot of pieces to that that I won’t explain today.

Today I prepare a place on my brand new stocking mantle for my child that was never born.  That hurts.  It won’t stop hurting.  But I hope to prepare another place in my heart soon for another child.