that's it for this blog...
thank you so much for following our baby's story, it makes me feel so much better to know that her life has touched so many people. anything else i could write would be my story and how we've coped with the loss of her and this blog was her story and so i feel that it wouldn't be right.
it is a great comfort to orion and i to know that so many people cared and loved our baby enough to follow us on here. when you have a miscarriage there is an overwhelming feeling that you want your child's life acknowledged, there's a sense that in your grief you want validation of your child's existence. the outpouring of support we've gotten here has sutained us.
thank you very much.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Sunday, November 7, 2010
the end
In the days before we lost our baby Orion and I had been bouncing names back and forth. We couldn’t agree on very many. Finally I suggested Jonah. I don’t know where it came from or why I thought of it, but it was one of very few that we both liked. “Isn’t there some kind of biblical story about Jonah?” Orion asked me on Thursday night, as we were both falling asleep. I couldn’t remember, “something about him getting swallowed by a giant whale and living inside of it” I answered, “Unless I’m confusing him with Pinnochio, wasn’t he swallowed by a whale too?” We decided to look it up when we had some time and went to sleep.
Sunday, the day after we found out the baby had passed, I asked Orion to try and find the story of Jonah. We didn’t even own a bible before that week. Orion’s been going to RCIA and they gave him one at his Tuesday night class. He read it aloud to me, and it was like something clicked in my brain. The story is about being tested and Jonah has to learn to trust. God asks Jonah to do something very difficult and Jonah tries to run away. It is only while he is in the dark belly of a fish at the bottom of the ocean does Jonah realize that he must do the thing he thinks he cannot do. He learns courage, but more importantly he learns mercy.
Right now, we are in the belly of a fish. The grief is so acute that it is like our breath is being sucked from our lungs. But in the midst of our grief there are also moments of extreme gratitude. We were chosen to be the parents of a being that was so perfect, she only needed to exist for a very short time to accomplish everything she needed to. We are so grateful for that. She taught me strength and perseverance. She taught me to be a mother. We learned how lucky we are to have such an amazing support network. We got to be parents for a very short time, but that does not make our child’s life inconsequential. If anything, it makes it more important.
The night before we found out our baby had died I said to Orion, “this has been the best month of my entire life. I wish I could just rewind and keep living October 2010 over and over again.”
I’m finding it difficult to lay out the events journalistically. Where did it go wrong? When did I know that we were never going to meet the baby that was growing inside of me? After re-reading this entire blog I know that in some way I always knew. Many entries seem to be advice I was writing for just this event, particularly the one about gratitude. It’s almost like I was comforting the future me, the one who was going to go in for an ultrasound on a Saturday morning and come out a completely different person.
This was a complicated pregnancy from the beginning. I remember watching that tiny heartbeat flicker on the screen at 6 weeks and having this feeling like it was so vulnerable, like I was so vulnerable. Did I know then? I remember having this horrible nightmare at 7 weeks that the baby had fallen out from inside of me. I woke up when someone said, “Don’t you get it? The baby is gone. You aren’t pregnant anymore.” It unsettled me, but did I know then? That would have been the week the baby died. I can’t help but think the dream was real. Especially when the ultrasound tech turned the screen on at 10 weeks and 3 days and all I saw was an empty sac. She seemed to think I was confused, that I had my dates mixed up. “I see a gestational sac, so you’re definitely pregnant, but it looks more like 5 weeks than 10.” I had to keep repeating that no, there had been a baby in there. I saw it. I saw its heart beating. How did it disappear? Where did it go?
When things like this happen, it’s tempting to try and take all the blame. I think people do this to try and feel powerful at a time when all of your power has been taken away. If I say, “I did this, I caused it” it allows me to feel some sense of control over what happened. But the reality I know deep down inside is that there was nothing anyone could do or not do to change anything. Rationally I know that, but emotionally I can’t help thinking about every single time I worked out at the gym, every time I stayed up too late, every cup of coffee I drank, every time I made love with my husband those tenuous first few weeks. There are so many things to feel guilty about, but more than anything else I regret the decisions I made about my healthcare. I let other people make me feel bad about myself and doubt my abilities as a mother. What would I do differently? What could I do differently? The answer is nothing because I had to learn from these things. I had to learn to trust myself and be my own advocate. I had to learn that no one knew my baby or my body better than I do. I had to learn to be easy on myself, and merciful.
On Halloween, my husband and I decided that there is no worse day in the entire year to lose a baby. While our thoughts couldn’t escape the tiny being that no longer existed inside of me, small children rang our doorbell all day. Our pain was palpable, visceral. We couldn’t escape the feeling that we were in some way being punished. Was God really so cruel? The day before, literally the day before we lost our baby the downstairs neighbors brought their newborn son home. So now, even as we wade through the complicated strains of grief we also have to listen to a newborn crying downstairs. Even when I dashed out to the corner store to buy tissue because we’d used every napkin, toilet tissue, and Kleenex in the entire house, I stood in line as the mother behind me repeatedly scolded her daughter who had the same name we’d chosen for our daughter. It seemed sick. Like a bad joke. Because I was on progesterone injections I maintained “pregnancy” symptoms all throughout this. Yesterday my morning sickness seemed especially cruel because I know there was no baby inside causing it.
I am the type of person who tries to eke out every glimmer I can. I needed to find things to be grateful for, I needed to feel like there was some purpose behind all of this. I could let myself cry and grieve but I needed to let go of the bitterness to make it to the other side. There’s just too much that can drive you crazy to think about. I needed to find things to be grateful for or the pain would destroy me; I needed to let go.
I started listing things I would always remember, small moments I could take from this and hold close. My husband’s face when I walked out of the bathroom holding the test, how we clung to each other and wept. Listening in when Orion told his parents. What it was like in the dining room when we told my family on Orion’s birthday. Holding my hands to my belly and the warmth of knowing we had made a new person. How the ultrasound tech touched my knee and quietly left the room so that my husband and I could grieve. There are things so personal and moments so intrinsic that they remade me. We are different people now, we are parents.
At first we were sorry we had told so many people. The number was overwhelming. I immediately vowed to never make that mistake again, but now I’m doubting that it was a mistake at all. In life there are no guarantees. At what point as a parent can you say, “okay, we made it this far, we don’t have to worry anymore”? Something can always go wrong. We could have lost our baby in the second trimester or the third. We could have announced that I was going into labor on facebook and then delivered a stillborn child, we could have lost a infant to SIDS. We could have lost a toddler to any number of things, we could have lost a grade-schooler, a high-schooler, an adult child. There is no “safe point” and as a parent you’re never out of the “danger zone.” It never gets easier or more justifiable. It is never easy to tell people that you’ve lost your child. But I am comforted by our families and our support network and, oddly enough, by the children in my life. I am so grateful for them. My nephews, my little niece- I am comforted by the tiny ways they empathize, by their humanity. My 3-year-old nephew Nick came up to me today and asked me how the baby died and where it went. As we talked about it, I think he sensed my distress and he put his little hand on mine and said, “My mom lost a baby inside of her, but then we got to have Lucy. You can have another baby.” My sister tried to shush him, but it was such a beautiful moment. So honest and true.
I know, even in my pain, that we will have other children. My husband is an amazing dad. We have so much to look forward to. I feel so lucky that I got to hold our first child so close to my heart, even for such a short amount of time. I feel lucky to have been her mother. I am grateful for my family. I have gratitude. I have hope.
Sunday, the day after we found out the baby had passed, I asked Orion to try and find the story of Jonah. We didn’t even own a bible before that week. Orion’s been going to RCIA and they gave him one at his Tuesday night class. He read it aloud to me, and it was like something clicked in my brain. The story is about being tested and Jonah has to learn to trust. God asks Jonah to do something very difficult and Jonah tries to run away. It is only while he is in the dark belly of a fish at the bottom of the ocean does Jonah realize that he must do the thing he thinks he cannot do. He learns courage, but more importantly he learns mercy.
Right now, we are in the belly of a fish. The grief is so acute that it is like our breath is being sucked from our lungs. But in the midst of our grief there are also moments of extreme gratitude. We were chosen to be the parents of a being that was so perfect, she only needed to exist for a very short time to accomplish everything she needed to. We are so grateful for that. She taught me strength and perseverance. She taught me to be a mother. We learned how lucky we are to have such an amazing support network. We got to be parents for a very short time, but that does not make our child’s life inconsequential. If anything, it makes it more important.
The night before we found out our baby had died I said to Orion, “this has been the best month of my entire life. I wish I could just rewind and keep living October 2010 over and over again.”
I’m finding it difficult to lay out the events journalistically. Where did it go wrong? When did I know that we were never going to meet the baby that was growing inside of me? After re-reading this entire blog I know that in some way I always knew. Many entries seem to be advice I was writing for just this event, particularly the one about gratitude. It’s almost like I was comforting the future me, the one who was going to go in for an ultrasound on a Saturday morning and come out a completely different person.
This was a complicated pregnancy from the beginning. I remember watching that tiny heartbeat flicker on the screen at 6 weeks and having this feeling like it was so vulnerable, like I was so vulnerable. Did I know then? I remember having this horrible nightmare at 7 weeks that the baby had fallen out from inside of me. I woke up when someone said, “Don’t you get it? The baby is gone. You aren’t pregnant anymore.” It unsettled me, but did I know then? That would have been the week the baby died. I can’t help but think the dream was real. Especially when the ultrasound tech turned the screen on at 10 weeks and 3 days and all I saw was an empty sac. She seemed to think I was confused, that I had my dates mixed up. “I see a gestational sac, so you’re definitely pregnant, but it looks more like 5 weeks than 10.” I had to keep repeating that no, there had been a baby in there. I saw it. I saw its heart beating. How did it disappear? Where did it go?
When things like this happen, it’s tempting to try and take all the blame. I think people do this to try and feel powerful at a time when all of your power has been taken away. If I say, “I did this, I caused it” it allows me to feel some sense of control over what happened. But the reality I know deep down inside is that there was nothing anyone could do or not do to change anything. Rationally I know that, but emotionally I can’t help thinking about every single time I worked out at the gym, every time I stayed up too late, every cup of coffee I drank, every time I made love with my husband those tenuous first few weeks. There are so many things to feel guilty about, but more than anything else I regret the decisions I made about my healthcare. I let other people make me feel bad about myself and doubt my abilities as a mother. What would I do differently? What could I do differently? The answer is nothing because I had to learn from these things. I had to learn to trust myself and be my own advocate. I had to learn that no one knew my baby or my body better than I do. I had to learn to be easy on myself, and merciful.
On Halloween, my husband and I decided that there is no worse day in the entire year to lose a baby. While our thoughts couldn’t escape the tiny being that no longer existed inside of me, small children rang our doorbell all day. Our pain was palpable, visceral. We couldn’t escape the feeling that we were in some way being punished. Was God really so cruel? The day before, literally the day before we lost our baby the downstairs neighbors brought their newborn son home. So now, even as we wade through the complicated strains of grief we also have to listen to a newborn crying downstairs. Even when I dashed out to the corner store to buy tissue because we’d used every napkin, toilet tissue, and Kleenex in the entire house, I stood in line as the mother behind me repeatedly scolded her daughter who had the same name we’d chosen for our daughter. It seemed sick. Like a bad joke. Because I was on progesterone injections I maintained “pregnancy” symptoms all throughout this. Yesterday my morning sickness seemed especially cruel because I know there was no baby inside causing it.
I am the type of person who tries to eke out every glimmer I can. I needed to find things to be grateful for, I needed to feel like there was some purpose behind all of this. I could let myself cry and grieve but I needed to let go of the bitterness to make it to the other side. There’s just too much that can drive you crazy to think about. I needed to find things to be grateful for or the pain would destroy me; I needed to let go.
I started listing things I would always remember, small moments I could take from this and hold close. My husband’s face when I walked out of the bathroom holding the test, how we clung to each other and wept. Listening in when Orion told his parents. What it was like in the dining room when we told my family on Orion’s birthday. Holding my hands to my belly and the warmth of knowing we had made a new person. How the ultrasound tech touched my knee and quietly left the room so that my husband and I could grieve. There are things so personal and moments so intrinsic that they remade me. We are different people now, we are parents.
At first we were sorry we had told so many people. The number was overwhelming. I immediately vowed to never make that mistake again, but now I’m doubting that it was a mistake at all. In life there are no guarantees. At what point as a parent can you say, “okay, we made it this far, we don’t have to worry anymore”? Something can always go wrong. We could have lost our baby in the second trimester or the third. We could have announced that I was going into labor on facebook and then delivered a stillborn child, we could have lost a infant to SIDS. We could have lost a toddler to any number of things, we could have lost a grade-schooler, a high-schooler, an adult child. There is no “safe point” and as a parent you’re never out of the “danger zone.” It never gets easier or more justifiable. It is never easy to tell people that you’ve lost your child. But I am comforted by our families and our support network and, oddly enough, by the children in my life. I am so grateful for them. My nephews, my little niece- I am comforted by the tiny ways they empathize, by their humanity. My 3-year-old nephew Nick came up to me today and asked me how the baby died and where it went. As we talked about it, I think he sensed my distress and he put his little hand on mine and said, “My mom lost a baby inside of her, but then we got to have Lucy. You can have another baby.” My sister tried to shush him, but it was such a beautiful moment. So honest and true.
I know, even in my pain, that we will have other children. My husband is an amazing dad. We have so much to look forward to. I feel so lucky that I got to hold our first child so close to my heart, even for such a short amount of time. I feel lucky to have been her mother. I am grateful for my family. I have gratitude. I have hope.
Saturday, November 6, 2010
the beginning of the end
It's finally over. We finished this morning.
in the week since we found out the baby had passed i spent a lot of time googling what a miscarriage would actually feel like. i was so afraid. and what i was able to find wasn't actually a lot of help. most of it was emotional and traumatic, but no one was ever able to describe in clinical terms what would happen. so i vowed to serve my fellow mothers-in-waiting by doing just that once i experienced it. i wanted to make sure than anyone who googled "what will my miscarriage feel like?" would get a clear answer; a step-by-step review of what happened. and now i can't.
what was it like? devastating. it was really the worst day of my entire life thus far. everyone wants to know why i didn't just get a D&C and get it over with, but i knew i could never do that. i'm someone who has to see it to believe it. i knew if i just went to sleep and woke up with my uterus scraped clean i would never be able to believe it. i'd still be hoping they were wrong, waiting for a miracle. still half believing i was pregnant. i also knew that i needed to experience this for closure. i also think that maybe deep down i wanted to punish myself. or maybe the opposite is true, maybe i wanted my power back; maybe i needed to know that my body was capable. i just know that i needed to do it this way.
i want to invite family and friends to stop reading here. this will get graphic and horrible and i fully intend to not hold back. fellow googlers- i cannot tell you what your miscarriage will be like because so much of it will be wrapped around the emotion of what is happening and that is different for every person. this blog is the story of our baby and this is where it draws to a close.
on saturday 10/30 we found out that the baby had passed. i spent a lot of time grieving and trying to get things started so that i could finish this. i stopped taking my progesterone that same day. on tuesday 11/2 i started spotting. by wednesday i had a flow that would be described as an average period flow. that went on until thursday night, when i started having horrible cramps. people told me to expect period-like cramping, but they were nothing like period cramps. it was horrible. my midwife called in a prescription for painkillers and i was taking 600 mg of advil every 6 hours. it was really bad. what does it feel like? it feels like there is a vise in your midsection squeezing your uterus. it's this horrible combination of pressure and pulling. i can't really describe it. it's not painful like a knife wound, it almost feels like there is a whirlpool in your pelvis trying to turn you inside out.
here's the thing i absolutely did NOT expect: when you miscarry you will have a sort of mini-labor. i've had this thing called a "chemical pregnancy" before and that was just like a period, maybe a little heavier, maybe a little crampier, but nothing like labor. this miscarriage was nothing like a chemical pregnancy.
here's where it gets gross: blood loss. the blood loss is something you cannot prepare yourself for. it is unbelievable. the clots that come out of you are huge, most will be about the size of a small plum, maybe a lime. it is truly terrifying. remember when you read the pregnancy books and they told you that by the 6th week your blood flow will be up almost 40%? well all of that has to come out-- and it's a lot. you will probably end up just sitting on the toilet because no sanitary pad can contain it. at the peak i was going through a pad every 20 minutes for a few hours. i spent much of the night heavily bleeding. luckily my amazing midwife checked in every few hours and helped me through it. by friday the flow had started to slow down. i began to think that maybe i was finished. then late on friday (maybe around 3:30-4) i began to have painful contractions that were like nothing i had ever experienced. i was literally doubled over. the painkillers got me high and took the edge off, but i could still feel the pressure on my cervix. when it first started a lot of clots were coming out, but then in spite of the contractions nothing was coming out. i could feel something pressing on my cervix, actually i could feel it sort of coming out. finally, going crazy from the pressure i reached inside to try and feel what was happening. my cervix was dilated to about the size of a nickle, which was insane to feel. i have never felt my cervix so open. and there was tissue poking out of it. i was in so much pain i thought that maybe i could just pull the tissue out and be done with it. i started to pull it and instead of coming out, a large piece tore off. it was part of the placenta.
i cannot fully describe my state of mind after that. i started to lose it. i was terrified that i had horribly fucked something up by trying to pull it out and it felt like it was just stuck there, plugging up my uterus like a cork. i paged the midwife on call who was a total moron, "ok hun, what's happening is you're having a miscarriage and you're going to see a lot of tissue come out of you and that might be scary..." ugh, no help at all. did she even listen to my question? then i called my doula friend carissa who was helpful and said i didn't have to worry about anything getting infected, my body would take care of itself if i just waited. but for godssake do not put your hand up there anymore!
then thank goodness my amazing midwife Gina called just after and talked me down off the ledge. i needed to take more painkillers and some ambien and try to get some sleep. i couldn't force it to happen, i needed to wait and try and be patient.
i did just that, and passed out around 10. the painkillers made me crazy though, and i kept hallucinating horrible things like the devil sneaking into my room telling me my baby was with him and laughing. i'm not sure how much sleep i actually got. orion said i kept waking up crying about demons. i do not tolerate painkillers very well.
i woke up saturday morning around 10:30 in the worst pain of my entire life. seriously, i always thought i had a pretty high pain tolerance before this, but i think the combination of being scared and incredibly emotional made the whole thing just unbearable. the contractions were coming hard and fast. i reached inside (sorry carissa) and could feel something the size of a tennis ball, or maybe a lemon pressing against my cervix. the pressure wreaked havoc on my bowels. i won't go into that too much, but suffice to say i was on the toilet for more than just blood loss. every time i had a contraction i had a bowel movement. this went on for about an hour. finally i turned on the shower as hot as it would go and got on my hands and knees so that the spray was hitting my lower back. i rocked back and forth and tried to focus on pushing it out. although the hot water was comforting the pain killers started to kick in full force and i was feeling this pressure like i needed to be able to open my legs more. i got back on the toilet and felt something change. i knew it was coming out.
i started to really push and all of the sudden it fell out. it was such an emotional moment for us. we just both started sobbing. it was all over. i looked down into the toilet, it was about the size of a lemon. orion and i tried to clean everything up as best as we could (my bathroom looked like a murder scene) but i was so exhausted all i could think about was holding a heating pad to my pelvis and going to sleep.
as of 11/6 i was no longer pregnant. we said goodbye to the baby and the pregnancy and we held each other and cried.
in the week since we found out the baby had passed i spent a lot of time googling what a miscarriage would actually feel like. i was so afraid. and what i was able to find wasn't actually a lot of help. most of it was emotional and traumatic, but no one was ever able to describe in clinical terms what would happen. so i vowed to serve my fellow mothers-in-waiting by doing just that once i experienced it. i wanted to make sure than anyone who googled "what will my miscarriage feel like?" would get a clear answer; a step-by-step review of what happened. and now i can't.
what was it like? devastating. it was really the worst day of my entire life thus far. everyone wants to know why i didn't just get a D&C and get it over with, but i knew i could never do that. i'm someone who has to see it to believe it. i knew if i just went to sleep and woke up with my uterus scraped clean i would never be able to believe it. i'd still be hoping they were wrong, waiting for a miracle. still half believing i was pregnant. i also knew that i needed to experience this for closure. i also think that maybe deep down i wanted to punish myself. or maybe the opposite is true, maybe i wanted my power back; maybe i needed to know that my body was capable. i just know that i needed to do it this way.
i want to invite family and friends to stop reading here. this will get graphic and horrible and i fully intend to not hold back. fellow googlers- i cannot tell you what your miscarriage will be like because so much of it will be wrapped around the emotion of what is happening and that is different for every person. this blog is the story of our baby and this is where it draws to a close.
on saturday 10/30 we found out that the baby had passed. i spent a lot of time grieving and trying to get things started so that i could finish this. i stopped taking my progesterone that same day. on tuesday 11/2 i started spotting. by wednesday i had a flow that would be described as an average period flow. that went on until thursday night, when i started having horrible cramps. people told me to expect period-like cramping, but they were nothing like period cramps. it was horrible. my midwife called in a prescription for painkillers and i was taking 600 mg of advil every 6 hours. it was really bad. what does it feel like? it feels like there is a vise in your midsection squeezing your uterus. it's this horrible combination of pressure and pulling. i can't really describe it. it's not painful like a knife wound, it almost feels like there is a whirlpool in your pelvis trying to turn you inside out.
here's the thing i absolutely did NOT expect: when you miscarry you will have a sort of mini-labor. i've had this thing called a "chemical pregnancy" before and that was just like a period, maybe a little heavier, maybe a little crampier, but nothing like labor. this miscarriage was nothing like a chemical pregnancy.
here's where it gets gross: blood loss. the blood loss is something you cannot prepare yourself for. it is unbelievable. the clots that come out of you are huge, most will be about the size of a small plum, maybe a lime. it is truly terrifying. remember when you read the pregnancy books and they told you that by the 6th week your blood flow will be up almost 40%? well all of that has to come out-- and it's a lot. you will probably end up just sitting on the toilet because no sanitary pad can contain it. at the peak i was going through a pad every 20 minutes for a few hours. i spent much of the night heavily bleeding. luckily my amazing midwife checked in every few hours and helped me through it. by friday the flow had started to slow down. i began to think that maybe i was finished. then late on friday (maybe around 3:30-4) i began to have painful contractions that were like nothing i had ever experienced. i was literally doubled over. the painkillers got me high and took the edge off, but i could still feel the pressure on my cervix. when it first started a lot of clots were coming out, but then in spite of the contractions nothing was coming out. i could feel something pressing on my cervix, actually i could feel it sort of coming out. finally, going crazy from the pressure i reached inside to try and feel what was happening. my cervix was dilated to about the size of a nickle, which was insane to feel. i have never felt my cervix so open. and there was tissue poking out of it. i was in so much pain i thought that maybe i could just pull the tissue out and be done with it. i started to pull it and instead of coming out, a large piece tore off. it was part of the placenta.
i cannot fully describe my state of mind after that. i started to lose it. i was terrified that i had horribly fucked something up by trying to pull it out and it felt like it was just stuck there, plugging up my uterus like a cork. i paged the midwife on call who was a total moron, "ok hun, what's happening is you're having a miscarriage and you're going to see a lot of tissue come out of you and that might be scary..." ugh, no help at all. did she even listen to my question? then i called my doula friend carissa who was helpful and said i didn't have to worry about anything getting infected, my body would take care of itself if i just waited. but for godssake do not put your hand up there anymore!
then thank goodness my amazing midwife Gina called just after and talked me down off the ledge. i needed to take more painkillers and some ambien and try to get some sleep. i couldn't force it to happen, i needed to wait and try and be patient.
i did just that, and passed out around 10. the painkillers made me crazy though, and i kept hallucinating horrible things like the devil sneaking into my room telling me my baby was with him and laughing. i'm not sure how much sleep i actually got. orion said i kept waking up crying about demons. i do not tolerate painkillers very well.
i woke up saturday morning around 10:30 in the worst pain of my entire life. seriously, i always thought i had a pretty high pain tolerance before this, but i think the combination of being scared and incredibly emotional made the whole thing just unbearable. the contractions were coming hard and fast. i reached inside (sorry carissa) and could feel something the size of a tennis ball, or maybe a lemon pressing against my cervix. the pressure wreaked havoc on my bowels. i won't go into that too much, but suffice to say i was on the toilet for more than just blood loss. every time i had a contraction i had a bowel movement. this went on for about an hour. finally i turned on the shower as hot as it would go and got on my hands and knees so that the spray was hitting my lower back. i rocked back and forth and tried to focus on pushing it out. although the hot water was comforting the pain killers started to kick in full force and i was feeling this pressure like i needed to be able to open my legs more. i got back on the toilet and felt something change. i knew it was coming out.
i started to really push and all of the sudden it fell out. it was such an emotional moment for us. we just both started sobbing. it was all over. i looked down into the toilet, it was about the size of a lemon. orion and i tried to clean everything up as best as we could (my bathroom looked like a murder scene) but i was so exhausted all i could think about was holding a heating pad to my pelvis and going to sleep.
as of 11/6 i was no longer pregnant. we said goodbye to the baby and the pregnancy and we held each other and cried.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
now what?
now what?
what do i do with my days? people send me emails, cards, texts- "what are you doing? are you ok?" how do i answer? what can i answer? everything i can say back is a lie. am i ok? do we need help? you're sorry? what can i write back, everytime i try and open my mouth there are no words. i don't even know where to begin. when did it go wrong? a story should have a beginning, a middle and an end; it should be mathmatical and the equation should add up and make sense. there should be steps to follow, and if the answer is wrong you should just be able to check your work, see line 5 where you mixed your numbers up. you should be able to see your mistake. there's no sense in this, no misstep, no place to go back and read over your work. I keep looking back at this blog, seeing now what i should have seen then. that would have been the week the baby died. it was the worst kind of optimism to try and think i had some control over this, that positivity would see us through.
now what? what are my days like now?
i go to work. i take care of children. on monday morning i babysat a 9-day-old infant premie. he was so tiny and perfect. when his mom got home she said, "this must be kind of exciting for you! you'll have one of these in another 6 months!" and i had to tell her. i didn't even get choked up. i just told her. i even said i was grateful in a weird way, that nature takes care of itself. then i went home and stayed in bed all day.
we went to the gym. i sat in the hot tub for over an hour, getting out and jumping in the pool every 15 minutes to make sure i didn't overheat. i sat in the steam room. listened to the asian girls talk about their boyfriends and their weekend plans. orion lifted weights, tore up muscles he didn't know he had. punished himself.
i take care of the twins i watch. hug them, read stories. yesterday we took a walk and collected leaves- made an art project. i know some people find it difficult to be around children when something like this happens, but i find it very therapeutic. i've always loved kids.
i do a lot of tuning out- i tune out pregnancy subplots on TV, i tune out songs on the radio that orion used to sing to my stomach. i tune out well meaning people who want to tell me about their sister's cousin who had a still birth baby and isn't that a lot worse than a miscarriage? i tune out other people's miscarriage stories. i tune out phrases like "it's for the best" and "thank god it happened this early" and "don't worry you can try again." i don't want to hear about anyone else's dead babies, i don't want to feel guilty that this 10 week loss has obliterated me when stronger women lose infants and get pregnant again in a month. i don't care, it doesn't make me feel better and it's starting to make me angry. please stop telling me about your dead babies and let me grieve for my own.
i pack things away. compartmentalize. leave the online group for babies due in may, join one for infant loss and miscarriage support. pack up all the pregnancy books and maternity clothes and baby stuff. hide it in our storage locker in the basement. filter emails from isabella oliver, in due time, potterybarn kids, land of nod, your preganancy this week. block amazon.com suggestions. i go through my cell phone calender and organizer- delete all my prenatal appointments. all the milestones. try and forget that Thanksgiving would have been the first day of my second trimester (14 weeks) that we would have gotten our gender anatomy scan 2 days before christmas (18 weeks). i left may 25th marked. i'll deal with that later. i read books, go online and gather information: what will it feel like? will it hurt? what will it look like when it comes out? should i take cytotec, get a d&c?
that's probably the most important thing i do- try and let go. more than anything else i want to let this pregnancy end in it's own time, in its own way. i spent weeks holing it up in there for my own stupid sense of security. orion and i planned a natural birth, looked up bradley classes, talked about how we'd never induce, never force things. to do so now feels like a sham. i don't want to rip everything out in one fell swoop, pretend it never existed. i want to be respectful of the child we thought we had. it sounds crazy, i know. there's hardly a baby in there anymore. the radiology report called it "the products of conception." psychologically its driving me mad that it's still in there. nature should have released it. as much as i want to do it naturally, i know i won't make it more than a week.
so that's what i do- sit in the hot tub, lay in the steam room. try and relax myself, my muscles, my body, my heart. drink coffee, take red raspberry leaf tablets and evening primrose oil. sit with the heating pad on my abdomen. do yoga poses to encourage my cervix to open. wait. wait. wait. tell the baby i'm sorry i kept it in there so long. love my uterus, let go. encourage nature to take over. make appeals to the universe. and cry. really more than anything i cry. and i miss my baby.
what do i do with my days? people send me emails, cards, texts- "what are you doing? are you ok?" how do i answer? what can i answer? everything i can say back is a lie. am i ok? do we need help? you're sorry? what can i write back, everytime i try and open my mouth there are no words. i don't even know where to begin. when did it go wrong? a story should have a beginning, a middle and an end; it should be mathmatical and the equation should add up and make sense. there should be steps to follow, and if the answer is wrong you should just be able to check your work, see line 5 where you mixed your numbers up. you should be able to see your mistake. there's no sense in this, no misstep, no place to go back and read over your work. I keep looking back at this blog, seeing now what i should have seen then. that would have been the week the baby died. it was the worst kind of optimism to try and think i had some control over this, that positivity would see us through.
now what? what are my days like now?
i go to work. i take care of children. on monday morning i babysat a 9-day-old infant premie. he was so tiny and perfect. when his mom got home she said, "this must be kind of exciting for you! you'll have one of these in another 6 months!" and i had to tell her. i didn't even get choked up. i just told her. i even said i was grateful in a weird way, that nature takes care of itself. then i went home and stayed in bed all day.
we went to the gym. i sat in the hot tub for over an hour, getting out and jumping in the pool every 15 minutes to make sure i didn't overheat. i sat in the steam room. listened to the asian girls talk about their boyfriends and their weekend plans. orion lifted weights, tore up muscles he didn't know he had. punished himself.
i take care of the twins i watch. hug them, read stories. yesterday we took a walk and collected leaves- made an art project. i know some people find it difficult to be around children when something like this happens, but i find it very therapeutic. i've always loved kids.
i do a lot of tuning out- i tune out pregnancy subplots on TV, i tune out songs on the radio that orion used to sing to my stomach. i tune out well meaning people who want to tell me about their sister's cousin who had a still birth baby and isn't that a lot worse than a miscarriage? i tune out other people's miscarriage stories. i tune out phrases like "it's for the best" and "thank god it happened this early" and "don't worry you can try again." i don't want to hear about anyone else's dead babies, i don't want to feel guilty that this 10 week loss has obliterated me when stronger women lose infants and get pregnant again in a month. i don't care, it doesn't make me feel better and it's starting to make me angry. please stop telling me about your dead babies and let me grieve for my own.
i pack things away. compartmentalize. leave the online group for babies due in may, join one for infant loss and miscarriage support. pack up all the pregnancy books and maternity clothes and baby stuff. hide it in our storage locker in the basement. filter emails from isabella oliver, in due time, potterybarn kids, land of nod, your preganancy this week. block amazon.com suggestions. i go through my cell phone calender and organizer- delete all my prenatal appointments. all the milestones. try and forget that Thanksgiving would have been the first day of my second trimester (14 weeks) that we would have gotten our gender anatomy scan 2 days before christmas (18 weeks). i left may 25th marked. i'll deal with that later. i read books, go online and gather information: what will it feel like? will it hurt? what will it look like when it comes out? should i take cytotec, get a d&c?
that's probably the most important thing i do- try and let go. more than anything else i want to let this pregnancy end in it's own time, in its own way. i spent weeks holing it up in there for my own stupid sense of security. orion and i planned a natural birth, looked up bradley classes, talked about how we'd never induce, never force things. to do so now feels like a sham. i don't want to rip everything out in one fell swoop, pretend it never existed. i want to be respectful of the child we thought we had. it sounds crazy, i know. there's hardly a baby in there anymore. the radiology report called it "the products of conception." psychologically its driving me mad that it's still in there. nature should have released it. as much as i want to do it naturally, i know i won't make it more than a week.
so that's what i do- sit in the hot tub, lay in the steam room. try and relax myself, my muscles, my body, my heart. drink coffee, take red raspberry leaf tablets and evening primrose oil. sit with the heating pad on my abdomen. do yoga poses to encourage my cervix to open. wait. wait. wait. tell the baby i'm sorry i kept it in there so long. love my uterus, let go. encourage nature to take over. make appeals to the universe. and cry. really more than anything i cry. and i miss my baby.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
saying goodbye
how can i write what happened next?
when you're going through what may very well be the worst day of your life there's a part of you that wants to memorize every detail, engrave it in your mind so it can have the kind of permenance it deserves. but then there's an overwhelming feeling of dreaminess, like cuting through the water at the bottom of a pool. there's this need to protect yourself, to forget everything. to pretend the last 10 weeks have been a dream. the last year has been a dream. everything is a dream.
i can't say that everything i think happened happened exactly this way, all i can do is try and go through the days one by one and revisit what i remember.
on thursday night my friend sara arrived to spend the weekend with us. i was at choir practice when she and o picked me up. i was so excited to see her. i remember the choir director was complaining that i was taking too many breaths in the wrong places of the song. i almost told him i was pregnant, not that that had anything to do with it, but it had to do with everything then. every moment, every movement. i held back and didn't say it.
sara and o and i headed back to the house, ate a late dinner, talked late and went to bed. on friday i managed to get an ultrasound appointment for the next morning. i remember thinking, "maybe i should wait til after halloween so it isn't spoiled" but i brushed it off and was grateful that it was a saturday appt so that my husband could come with and finally see the baby. we had a dinner party for sara that night. it was amazing. if i could just go back to that night and live inside of it. i'd live that night forever. i was so happy to have my husband and my amazing friends and i was literally glowing all night. we laughed, we ate, we played guitar. we headed out to the karaoke bar at a little after midnight and when we got there o and i told everyone about the baby. it was amazing. i wish something had happened, i wish our lives had just stopped there.
the appointment for the ultrasound was at 7:15 AM. we'd gone to bed a little after 3 and i was in the bathroom most of the night because singing and talking had parched me and i'd had about 6 bottles of water. before the ultrasound i was supposed to drink 32 ounces of water and not pee for an hour.
o and i were so exhausted. we went to reception to check in and while we were sitting there the receptionist's computer froze. so we sat there for a good 10-15 minutes. at one point, not able to hold it any longer, i got up to use the restroom. when i came back and sat down in front of the desk with o, he pointed to the word "DELL" on the computer and said "can you imagine? our baby is as big as that D there. can you imagine that little D inside of you with squiggly arms and legs moving around in there?"
what did i respond? what did i say back? i honestly can't remember. was it really nothing? did i say anything to him when he said that? is that when i knew something was wrong?
after reception we headed into the radiology dept and had to wait some more. i got up to use the bathroom again and when i came out o and the radiology tech were standing outside the door. she was kind of pissed i used the bathroom and i told her i just went a little, i swear, just enough to take the edge off.
we went into the room and she asked me what my due date was and i told her it was the end of may, a gemini. i remember saying if it came out a taurus i'd have to push it back in. she told me her and her son were geminis. she made a joke about it and i told her to stop making me laugh or i'd pee all over her table. she said they were used to it.
when she put the transducer on my abdomen i thought i saw movement, i exhaled and said, "there he is!" and she visibly flinched. i remember the exact lines around her eyes when i said that. i remember the curve of her back and how she seemed to get shorter. i knew then.
"Are you sure about your dates?" she asked "because i definitely see a sac, but it looks more like 5 or 6 weeks"
what did i say? i'm sure i told her about the ultrasound at 6 weeks, how i saw the heartbeat. how that tech turned the screen towards me and showed me that little pulse. she used thermal imaging so i could get a better idea of the size and where the heartbeat was. she told me my dates were spot on. i watched the pulse for what seemed like forever. i think i even asked where i could buy one of these machines. but what did i say when this tech asked me? nothing? everything?
she said she needed to do a transvaginal, to get undressed and lay down. she left the room. i looked at orion. what did i say? did i tell him it was over or did i only think it? his face was a mirror of my own. we both started crying.
she came back and inserted the ultrasound wand. i watched the screen for a moment, for a miracle and turned away when i started sobbing. was that me crying or orion? who touched my leg? the tech or my husband? did she look at him? did she tell us she was sorry. what happened? what actual words were spoken? all i remember was the way the examining table was against the wall and the sound my sobs made bouncing back off it.
at some point she got what she needed and left. and then what? what did my husband and i say to each other? did i get dressed? did i get up? how long did it take? at some point she knocked to come back in and i told her i wasn't dressed yet. or my husband did. and she went away again. we held each other and wept.
she came back and said she had paged my midwife, she asked if we could go back to the reception area and wait. at first i started to walk towards it and then i stopped. i couldn't. all those women with their big round bellies, all waiting to see their babies. i would be a train wreck, an atom bomb in the middle of the room for them. their worst nightmare sitting across from them. orion and i sat outside the exam room next to water cooler. at some point someone came up to fill their water bottle and apologized for intruding.
what did we do while we sat there? i lost all sense of time and language. i remember the feel of my husband's hand in mine. i remember his face looked exactly like mine. i remember the carpet was dirty and the chair was a little too small. the sound the water cooler made, how i thought my chest was making that dropping noise. the nurses who didn't look at us sitting there. how long were we sitting there?
the tech came back, asked if we could pick up the phone in recpetion. we could not. she led us to the nurses office and we sat at a desk and picked up the phone. the midwife was one i hadn't met before. what did she say? "grace" someone had told her my name. "i'm so sorry" and then i broke. i have nothing after that. what did she say? what did i say? all i remember was crying.
i tried to get myself in order. we had to walk down the hall and out the door and past the maternity area. i put on my sunglasses and we left.
when we got the car i called my mom. i can't remember what i said, what she said. she picked up on the second ring, it was like she was waiting to hear from me. "mom-" i choked out. she knew before i even said the words, she started crying before i did. we went home and i had to wake sara up, tell her what happened, ask her to stay somewhere else. what i say to her? what were the actual words i used? she packed her things and made a phone call. at some point she tried to crack a joke and i remember the weirdness of the sound, her hair all mussed. it was a little after 9AM.
O and i tried to go back to sleep. we were exhausted. we clung to each other and sobbed. i cried even in my sleep. my eyelashes stuck together when i woke up. i had a dream. i woke up saying, "don't go little buddy." my husband broke.
I hadn't eaten, i couldn't eat but i still had all my pregnancy symptoms because i was taking the progesterone. my morning sickness kicked in and i started throwing up. i couldn't stop. i kept dry heaving. i laid down on the bathroom floor. orion said something about the cruelty of pregnancy symptoms. about cruelty. about god. i took some ambien and finally passed out.
i got up sure there had been a mistake. something was not right. i saw that baby at six weeks. i had a picture of it. where did it go? i paged the midwife on call. when she called me back i wasn't crying, or i was but i didn't want to be. "i know that baby was in there! i saw it!" she talked to me about the progesterone, asked me why i wanted this ultrasound, had pushed for it so badly. i remember my own words to Gina (the other midwife) the day before: "i just have this nagging feeling like the baby has passed and my body can't miscarry it because of the progesterone. i just can't shake it. i feel like there isn't even a baby in there anymore." had i really been right? where did that come from? i remember asking if the progesterone injections would force the baby to stay in me if it passed and Gina trying to reassure me.
the baby had passed, and because my body couldn't eliminate it it had started to reabsorb it. I asked the midwife on call to read me the radiology report. "decomposing... misshapen sac... measuring approx. 5 weeks... no fetal heartbeat... no fetal pole... blood in the uterus" she stopped. "do you understand?" i didn't. "is it possible that i lost the baby when i was spotting and got pregnant again and this is a new sac, a new pregnancy?" no, that wasn't possible. maybe i didn't even say that. maybe i just asked if there could be a mistake, if the baby could be hiding, if maybe they couldn't see it because i was so fat. i said everything, or maybe i just thought it. i can't remember.
we went for a drive. i sent an email to my girlfriends. i got phonecalls all day and didn't answer them. we laid in bed. we watched Adams Family movies and Farenheit 9/11. we cried all day. we held each other and cried all day. i wouldn't let orion touch my stomach, i kept catching myself about to rub my belly. we told the baby we loved it. we told her we were so happy we got to be her parents. we said goodbye.
when you're going through what may very well be the worst day of your life there's a part of you that wants to memorize every detail, engrave it in your mind so it can have the kind of permenance it deserves. but then there's an overwhelming feeling of dreaminess, like cuting through the water at the bottom of a pool. there's this need to protect yourself, to forget everything. to pretend the last 10 weeks have been a dream. the last year has been a dream. everything is a dream.
i can't say that everything i think happened happened exactly this way, all i can do is try and go through the days one by one and revisit what i remember.
on thursday night my friend sara arrived to spend the weekend with us. i was at choir practice when she and o picked me up. i was so excited to see her. i remember the choir director was complaining that i was taking too many breaths in the wrong places of the song. i almost told him i was pregnant, not that that had anything to do with it, but it had to do with everything then. every moment, every movement. i held back and didn't say it.
sara and o and i headed back to the house, ate a late dinner, talked late and went to bed. on friday i managed to get an ultrasound appointment for the next morning. i remember thinking, "maybe i should wait til after halloween so it isn't spoiled" but i brushed it off and was grateful that it was a saturday appt so that my husband could come with and finally see the baby. we had a dinner party for sara that night. it was amazing. if i could just go back to that night and live inside of it. i'd live that night forever. i was so happy to have my husband and my amazing friends and i was literally glowing all night. we laughed, we ate, we played guitar. we headed out to the karaoke bar at a little after midnight and when we got there o and i told everyone about the baby. it was amazing. i wish something had happened, i wish our lives had just stopped there.
the appointment for the ultrasound was at 7:15 AM. we'd gone to bed a little after 3 and i was in the bathroom most of the night because singing and talking had parched me and i'd had about 6 bottles of water. before the ultrasound i was supposed to drink 32 ounces of water and not pee for an hour.
o and i were so exhausted. we went to reception to check in and while we were sitting there the receptionist's computer froze. so we sat there for a good 10-15 minutes. at one point, not able to hold it any longer, i got up to use the restroom. when i came back and sat down in front of the desk with o, he pointed to the word "DELL" on the computer and said "can you imagine? our baby is as big as that D there. can you imagine that little D inside of you with squiggly arms and legs moving around in there?"
what did i respond? what did i say back? i honestly can't remember. was it really nothing? did i say anything to him when he said that? is that when i knew something was wrong?
after reception we headed into the radiology dept and had to wait some more. i got up to use the bathroom again and when i came out o and the radiology tech were standing outside the door. she was kind of pissed i used the bathroom and i told her i just went a little, i swear, just enough to take the edge off.
we went into the room and she asked me what my due date was and i told her it was the end of may, a gemini. i remember saying if it came out a taurus i'd have to push it back in. she told me her and her son were geminis. she made a joke about it and i told her to stop making me laugh or i'd pee all over her table. she said they were used to it.
when she put the transducer on my abdomen i thought i saw movement, i exhaled and said, "there he is!" and she visibly flinched. i remember the exact lines around her eyes when i said that. i remember the curve of her back and how she seemed to get shorter. i knew then.
"Are you sure about your dates?" she asked "because i definitely see a sac, but it looks more like 5 or 6 weeks"
what did i say? i'm sure i told her about the ultrasound at 6 weeks, how i saw the heartbeat. how that tech turned the screen towards me and showed me that little pulse. she used thermal imaging so i could get a better idea of the size and where the heartbeat was. she told me my dates were spot on. i watched the pulse for what seemed like forever. i think i even asked where i could buy one of these machines. but what did i say when this tech asked me? nothing? everything?
she said she needed to do a transvaginal, to get undressed and lay down. she left the room. i looked at orion. what did i say? did i tell him it was over or did i only think it? his face was a mirror of my own. we both started crying.
she came back and inserted the ultrasound wand. i watched the screen for a moment, for a miracle and turned away when i started sobbing. was that me crying or orion? who touched my leg? the tech or my husband? did she look at him? did she tell us she was sorry. what happened? what actual words were spoken? all i remember was the way the examining table was against the wall and the sound my sobs made bouncing back off it.
at some point she got what she needed and left. and then what? what did my husband and i say to each other? did i get dressed? did i get up? how long did it take? at some point she knocked to come back in and i told her i wasn't dressed yet. or my husband did. and she went away again. we held each other and wept.
she came back and said she had paged my midwife, she asked if we could go back to the reception area and wait. at first i started to walk towards it and then i stopped. i couldn't. all those women with their big round bellies, all waiting to see their babies. i would be a train wreck, an atom bomb in the middle of the room for them. their worst nightmare sitting across from them. orion and i sat outside the exam room next to water cooler. at some point someone came up to fill their water bottle and apologized for intruding.
what did we do while we sat there? i lost all sense of time and language. i remember the feel of my husband's hand in mine. i remember his face looked exactly like mine. i remember the carpet was dirty and the chair was a little too small. the sound the water cooler made, how i thought my chest was making that dropping noise. the nurses who didn't look at us sitting there. how long were we sitting there?
the tech came back, asked if we could pick up the phone in recpetion. we could not. she led us to the nurses office and we sat at a desk and picked up the phone. the midwife was one i hadn't met before. what did she say? "grace" someone had told her my name. "i'm so sorry" and then i broke. i have nothing after that. what did she say? what did i say? all i remember was crying.
i tried to get myself in order. we had to walk down the hall and out the door and past the maternity area. i put on my sunglasses and we left.
when we got the car i called my mom. i can't remember what i said, what she said. she picked up on the second ring, it was like she was waiting to hear from me. "mom-" i choked out. she knew before i even said the words, she started crying before i did. we went home and i had to wake sara up, tell her what happened, ask her to stay somewhere else. what i say to her? what were the actual words i used? she packed her things and made a phone call. at some point she tried to crack a joke and i remember the weirdness of the sound, her hair all mussed. it was a little after 9AM.
O and i tried to go back to sleep. we were exhausted. we clung to each other and sobbed. i cried even in my sleep. my eyelashes stuck together when i woke up. i had a dream. i woke up saying, "don't go little buddy." my husband broke.
I hadn't eaten, i couldn't eat but i still had all my pregnancy symptoms because i was taking the progesterone. my morning sickness kicked in and i started throwing up. i couldn't stop. i kept dry heaving. i laid down on the bathroom floor. orion said something about the cruelty of pregnancy symptoms. about cruelty. about god. i took some ambien and finally passed out.
i got up sure there had been a mistake. something was not right. i saw that baby at six weeks. i had a picture of it. where did it go? i paged the midwife on call. when she called me back i wasn't crying, or i was but i didn't want to be. "i know that baby was in there! i saw it!" she talked to me about the progesterone, asked me why i wanted this ultrasound, had pushed for it so badly. i remember my own words to Gina (the other midwife) the day before: "i just have this nagging feeling like the baby has passed and my body can't miscarry it because of the progesterone. i just can't shake it. i feel like there isn't even a baby in there anymore." had i really been right? where did that come from? i remember asking if the progesterone injections would force the baby to stay in me if it passed and Gina trying to reassure me.
the baby had passed, and because my body couldn't eliminate it it had started to reabsorb it. I asked the midwife on call to read me the radiology report. "decomposing... misshapen sac... measuring approx. 5 weeks... no fetal heartbeat... no fetal pole... blood in the uterus" she stopped. "do you understand?" i didn't. "is it possible that i lost the baby when i was spotting and got pregnant again and this is a new sac, a new pregnancy?" no, that wasn't possible. maybe i didn't even say that. maybe i just asked if there could be a mistake, if the baby could be hiding, if maybe they couldn't see it because i was so fat. i said everything, or maybe i just thought it. i can't remember.
we went for a drive. i sent an email to my girlfriends. i got phonecalls all day and didn't answer them. we laid in bed. we watched Adams Family movies and Farenheit 9/11. we cried all day. we held each other and cried all day. i wouldn't let orion touch my stomach, i kept catching myself about to rub my belly. we told the baby we loved it. we told her we were so happy we got to be her parents. we said goodbye.
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