Gender Disappointment/excitement

As stated before, I cried for two days when I found out Fi was a girl. Then, I cried because I was so guilty for being sad. The more I look back, the more I believe that deep down my soul knew. I somehow knew my first child wasn't supposed to be a girl. I began to embrace being a mom of a girl, but I never really settled in to it.
On the way to our most recent anatomy scan, I said, with tearful eyes, "if it's a girl, I don't know what I will do. How will I love it? How will I live through the next 4 months?" James held my hand and said, "You will take one look and fall in love. You are going to love this baby no matter what." I had an intuition that this baby was a boy almost from the beginning. My whole pregnancy has been different. I feel better. I look better. I can eat vegetables.
When I heard those wonderful words "It's a boy!" My first reaction was relief. I felt like a weight had been lifted off of me. The second reaction was, I was right! (I love being right.) I began to cry. More joy and relief, than sadness. I could not help the huge smile that spread across my face. When telling our fave office person, I couldn't help the joy, smile and giddiness as I told her.
That night, James and I went out to celebrate jumping another hurdle. On the way, I said "Are you happy? Excited?" He smiled and looked straight ahead and said, "I'm happy, but I shouldn't be as happy as I am. He's healthy, that's all that matters." I replied, rather forcefully, "Don't you ever feel guilty for being happy that this is a boy. I have no guilt. It's different. That's what we need. Yes, he's healthy and that is the most important, but never feel bad for feeling relief!"
Pregnancy after loss is a tough road to navigate, with many bumps and hurdles. Gender is one of those hurdles. Some people want a total "do-over." They want things the same, they want a second chance. I, on the other hand, need things to be different. The only thing we want to be the same are some of our doctors and nurses, but that's because we love and trust them. (And we promised that we would be back on happier circumstances.)
My advice to the PAL parent, never feel guilty for your reaction to your new baby's gender. Your feelings are valid. Whether you are happy or disappointed, know that your feelings are normal. There is no right or wrong way to navigate this treacherous road. If there is something I have learned over these 22 weeks, it's that you just have to let the feeling flow and explore them after. You have to feel them. So, yes, I'm celebrating my soon to be son. It feels as if 200,000 pounds have been lifted from my shoulders. Any guilt? NOPE.

Crying at Home Depot

I felt like a bad mom. I had yet to visit the cemetery since we buried Fi. In all honesty, I hardly visit my dad. My belief is, it's just remains, their spirit is with me no matter where I am. However, I felt terrible and realized, she didn't have a tree, I hadn't really gotten her anything. So I resolved that I would get a balsam arrangement and go visit the site. I somehow landed at Home Depot garden center. That's when it all hit me. I was picking out plants and not toys. I was robbed of my Christmas. I bit my lip while I paid and walked quickly to my car. I promptly sobbed. Not just cried, but full on ugly-cry. I try not feel sorry for myself, but at that moment, I felt terrible. It's just not fair. I started should-ing on myself. I should be doing this or I should be buying that.
     I had done pretty well this Christmas season. Riding the waves of emotion and only feeling low a handful of times.  At that moment, I was at my lowest of the season. Not only did I feel like I was robbed, I felt like a neglectful mom. Talk about a sad combo. After about 10 minutes of feeling terrible, I pulled my sh*t together and moved on to the rest of my to do list.
     James joined me at the cemetery. The self pity and heartache set in. Not only was I feeling sad but I wasn't feeling her. I just wanted to feel her with me. We stayed, maybe, five minutes and went to finish shopping and get some lunch. I prayed that I would feel her with me the next day, Christmas.
       James and I had decided weeks ago that we would reveal the gender on Christmas. We didn't let family know. We wanted a surprise. Honestly, we wanted some joy and some thought of the future. Our Christmas was so joyful. I didn't feel like someone was missing. At first, I thought this was insensitive but in retrospect, NOPE. She wasn't missing. She was/is with us constantly.
    She is the best listener. She sent us a baby so quickly. This pregnancy has been a breeze. She sent us a Boy! She heard the fear deep in my heart and picked a brother! She has heard my plea that everything needs to be different.
So, we made it. We lived through Christmas. We made it over another hurdle.
22 weeks down
15 weeks to go - that's all my fingers and one set of toes!

20 weeks- Back to That Room

I should. E writing my progress notes for report cards right now, but I can't focus. I can't mental get passed Friday, so maybe, by writing, I can mentally move forward. I might be able to clear some space to get some work done.
Most pregnant women can't wait for their 20 week ultrasound. You get to find out the gender of your baby at this scan! With Fi, I took the whole day off in anticipation of finding out what we're going to have.
I'm ashamed to admit that when I found out I was having a girl, I cried. A lot. It took almost 48 hours for me to reconcile my fears of raising a girl. I was terrified about raising a strong woman with a healthy body image. I was worried about creating a close relationship, yet having an independent personality. It all just scared me.
This pregnancy, the fear is extremely different. I have begun to have some PTSD flashbacks of going in to that room. I was in there at 7 weeks and it was ugly. I refused to look at the screen, I had a nice meltdown in the office. I just don't know how I'm going to handle this. Because I have sought support in a couple of pregnancy after loss groups, I have now learned of so many other ways things can go wrong.  I'm terrified that something will come to light at the ultrasound. Most expecting parents are focused on finding the gender,  but they check out everything and I'm just so scared. On top of being terrified that something might be wrong, I'm also nervous about finding out the gender.
 There are pros and cons to either gender. There is a part of me that wants this to be a boy because then it's different. It's another aspect that will make this story different. However, we don't have much for a boy. We have some gender nuetral clothes, but not many. We have many pink blankets and snuggles. Which brings up the larger question, if it's a boy, do we keep the girl items in case we have a girl later on? Or do we donate/sell the items and start fresh. Large items are being kept. We always said they would be passed down, but the clothes, I'm not sure about.
If this baby is a girl, we have so much! On top of that, I love the name we have picked out. However, I wonder what effect that will have on my fear. Because it is something that is similar, will it send me into a trigger storm?  And then the question? Do we keep all the clothes? Or will it be too hard to use
 those items, knowing they were meant for the dream that didn't come true? Even deeper than that, will I look at this little girl and constantly wonder how similar she would be with her sister? Will I constantly be wondering and comparing? How unfair!
We will not be announcing gender until after the holiday season. We want to get through Christmas and then we can tell family and friends.  So, on Friday, I will be putting in a full day of work. I will be distracting myself until my appointment. I am trying to stay positive. You can tell me " it will be fine" until you're blue. Truth is, it won't be fine until April.
Fingers crossed, praying hands and positive vibes until then.

The Places I Still Can't Go

When you are pregnant, you get noticed, people ask you questions and feel like they can get to know you because you obviously have a huge life event looming. It's nice when things are going well. However, when something bad happens, it another person on the list who gets the bad news or you have to explain. I have faced many places that cause triggers. The doctor's office was the first one I had to face. We went to our 7th appointment and it was the first one I wasn't having anxiety the night befor, fearing the worst (Progress!). I have gone back to my chiropractor. I went there an hour before the dreaded ultrasound. I have gone back to work. The first time was ugly. Luckily, most of the staff was in a meeting and school was out, so I saw just a handful of people. These people literally held me up as I walked down the hallway. Anyways, there a still a few places I just can't face.

When I was pregnant with Fi, I had a very particular palate. I could hardly eat meat and the smell of it cooking would totally turn me off. In the beginning. Ice cream was about the only thing I could stomach (Haagen Dazs chocolate with peanut butter). I ate a lot of ice cream and cookies for that matter. As you can imagine, with my aversion to cooking meat, eating at home was tough because cooking it would turn me off. As you can imagine there were places we frequented. There was one, a local Italian restaurant with THE BEST penne a la vodka and cannoli. We went almost every Friday night and James happened to know the bartender. We went just a week before we lost Fi and joked that I would be there for my birthday with a tiny baby in tow, just for the Penne! But we didn't.
We have yet to return. I can't imagine going back empty handed and having the awkward conversation with the staff about our loss. How could I have that conversation with almost strangers? As much as I want some penne a la vodka.

I used to work at Motherhood maternity about 5 years ago. So when I got pregnant, I was not intimidated by maternity clothes and couldn't wait to put on a full panel pant! One of my former co-workers was still working there, so I had a friendly face to see whenever I needed to go shopping. (Like the day before my shower and I needed a dress that made me feel pretty.) Again, so nice for the support while I was pregnant, not someone I wanted to share my sad news with. So, I won't be going back to that store this pregnancy. If I need something to wear, I will travel to another store or shop target, old navy or kohls. I don't need the stress of almost bumping into that co-worker. (Although she was at market basket las week while I was purchasing salted caramels on a total craving run. I managed to dodge her and come out unscathed. Looks like I will shop at the grocery closer to work.)

It may seem stupid, almost self centered that I think I might be "noticed," but I would rather avoid the opportunity then risk the awkward conversation. Maybe I will be able to get some penne a la vodka after April or I could convince a family or friend to get some to go for me, but I just can't go there myself.
This pregnancy, we have only frequented one restaurant and they are like family. We hosted Fi's wake there. They know our story. They are holding their breath with us. As all of our friends and family are. We are in a scary, holding pattern, together.
But hey! 17 weeks down, 20 weeks to go.

And I thought I couldn't have anymore fear

Ha! Just when I think that I couldn't have anymore fears or worries, my subconscious has another thing coming!  I am scared. Like constant state of alert, scared. I'm pretty sure the list of fear is  going to get longer.
Because of my age, many friends are beginning or expanding their families.  I was pregnant at the same time as a handful of friends and acquaintances. One of my best friends was just two weeks ahead of me. Talk about a dream come true! I think most women would like to be pregnant with their friend. We could relate to our aches and pains, lack of energy and dreams. Our babies were going to be boyfriend and girlfriend! That was the dream, until that dreadful Monday. She was actually the first non family member to know what happened. We both had appointments, she texted to check in to see if we were going to be induced. I replied "she's gone. There is no heartbeat." At the time, we didn't have any real answers. We still don't, just speculations.
Anyway, I delivered Fi silently on Tuesday and just two days later, my friend delivered her healthy son. I was so happy she had a healthy baby but I was in a pile of grief. My friend did not push. She checked in, even when I didn't respond, she would send a text letting me know she was thinking of me and would still be my friend even though she understood I couldn't be at that moment. Her understanding has been remarkable. We are navigating this strange path that is covered in pitfalls and she is doing a phenomenal job. She has vowed that I never have to see her son. Which is so sweet. I know I'm not ready right now, but hope one day, I can meet him and celebrate him. It's just not going to happen this year. It's such a relief that this friend is protecting my heart as if it was her own. I cannot thank her enough for her empathy and forethought.
    Needless to say, yet another handful of friends and aquaintences are pregnant at the same time as me. Some even due within weeks of me. Where this used to excite me, it scares the hell out of me. What if something happens? How will James handle it if it's one of his friends?  Please place me in a bubble until April. PLEASE.
   After I lost Fi, I made a very odd promise to myself. I told myself I wouldn't hold a baby, until I could hold my own living child. I have kept that promise so far. Keeping babies at more than arms length. Although trying not to be rude, just trying to protect my heart. Please take no offense if I don't want to hold your baby. I made a promise and I don't like to break promises. I hope this boycott will end in April and I can snuggle all your babies.
And maybe, when he's 16 and it's super awkward, I can hug my friend's son. Hopefully sooner, but I can't garrantee anything.

I Wrote the Letter I have been DYING to write

We recently had a doctors appointment, which always makes me nervous and happy. I'm always scared that there will be bad news. I'm working on staying positive, but it can be hard. It honestly, is hard to be positive, period. While answering the typical questions, "how are you feeling?" (Which is always a two part answer, physically and mentally.) I said something that even struck me. I was discussing my fears, the doctor observed, that whole most women lose anxiety as they progress through their pregnancy, I'm likely to be the opposite. April seems like so far away. It's nice to know that we have a date already. We know that we won't go farther than April 11 for induction, but April is still a long ways away. However, every school year, April vacation rolls around and I always say, "where has the year gone?" Every year, time goes by faster and faster.  While talking, some words stumbled out of my mouth that made me think, "listen to yourself !"  It dawned on me, whether I choose to be positive or I choose to worry, the time is going to pass anyway. I have the choice. So as hard as it is, I'm going to try and choose positivity. I'm going to try and quiet the worry. 

     Our nurse in the hospital was our angel. She was amazing and knew exactly what to say. She was my voice, my cheerleader and my tissue! She advocated for me and try to make me as comfortable as possible. She also made my family comfortable and took care of James at the same time. She made sure I was never alone. When we left, we said we couldn't wait to see her at a more joyous time and we hope she will still be working at the hospital when we get pregnant again. She has kept in touch with notes, which has been nice. We have been waiting to respond to her latest correspondence so we could tell her the good news. As much as I wanted to write this letter, I kept wondering how I would word the letter that might follow. The sad one that would say how something is wrong. Morbid, right? 

   After the little pep talk with our doctor and made that statement, I went home and wrote the letter. I told her our good news and how we hope that somehow, the Stars might align and she can be our nurse again. It was scary, but I can't wait for her to recieve the letter. I can't wait for her to read the good news. I know she will be just as excited as we are. I'm not sure if she knows the impact she has had on our lives, but I hope she has some idea. 

Now I have to find some stamps! 

The Fear of Hope

This past week has been difficult. My anxiety has been ramping up again, which has triggered my depression. Sometimes it sneaks up on me without even realizing that it's even there. I had been feeling off and not like myself, but I just shrugged it off as anxiety. It's was when, for the fourth day in a row, I didn't want to go to school. I love my job and I have had moments where I just wanted to keep driving past and not go in. However, never so many days in a row, did I just not want to face my students. It was the moment I wanted to hide under my desk and cry, that I realized something had changed.
   Luckily, I had an appointment with my therapist that night. My session proved to be enlightening. Sometimes, just saying it out loud, acknowledging the depression, helps to take some of the weight off. It came to light that my fear is getting in the way of hope and bonding with this new pregnancy. It's not uncommon and completely understandable, but it's not how I want this pregnancy to go. I would give anything to reclaim my naïveté. To feel like, we are out of the danger zone, this baby is a guarantee. It's not. Having that knowledge sucks. It's sucking the joy right out of this pregnancy. How do I combat this? How do I attempt to reclaim some of the joy? How do I fight the fear of hope?
    I shared a few things I didn't do during my pregnancy with Fi. Things that, in the long run, I was happy for. Other loss moms have suggested to do something different this pregnancy. Something that others do. Take the weekly belly pictures, write letters to the new baby, purchase items for the baby. When I spoke about this to my therapist, I voiced that inner demon in the back of my head. What if this ends tragically and I have a pile of pictures I never want to look at, letters I want to burn and more stuff to add to the room we hardly open? Before she could say anything, I answered my own question. It's going to be devistating if this should end badly, whether we have the "stuff" or not. So I promise to "fake it till I make it" and try one technique to try and bond.
     Since I think having tangible items will give me something to look at and hold to remind me that I am pregnant ( seriously, sometimes I forget and a lot of times I don't even really FEEL pregnant). So each week we progress, James and I are making it a point to purchase one item for the baby and not put it "in the room." We need to keep it visible. Today we went to target to find something to buy. It was the first time I had been in the store and not avoided the baby section, let alone enter it willingly. It was HARD . I couldn't look at it for long and just wanted to grab something off the shelf and leave. James pushed that it should be something we like and we will use. I asked to walk away. We did a little Christmas shopping. The. We found ourselves in the sports section. James found a 3 pack of Patriots onesies that would be the perfect size for this baby and it's first football season. I took it and we bought it. At this point, I'm totally faking it and I hope that by going through the motions, eventually something will click.  Eventually, I will stop saying "with any luck" "hopefully" and knocking on wood.  Eventually, I will stop cringing when others take about baby E. It's difficult for me to even put a name to this little thing. When others say it, the little demon voice of fear speaks up and sings a song of doubt that only I can hear.
     Some have asked how they can help. Honestly, I don't know. The best is to listen, give me hugs and reassure me that I'm not insane or insensitive. Encouragement when I act like its normal and ignore the fear, understanding when I let some of the fear out.
     We were told that we will be delivering at 37 weeks. So as of today, only 24 more weeks to go. It seems like an eternity, but after years of teaching, I've learned that April vacation comes fast and furious.
Here's to 24 more gifts for baby E.
   

I'm a fighter...... A Foo Fighter

In May of 2006, a group of Australian miners got trapped underground after a shaft collapsed. Rescuers were able to get a little hole drilled down to the survivors for provisions such as food and water. One of the survivors asked for an iPod with Foo Fighters songs on it. They were trapped in the mine for two weeks. They credited listening to the Foo Fighters helped them in their darkest time.
     In the weeks after Fi's death, I couldn't listen to music. I had spent a good part of my pregnancy listening to various songs in an effort to educate her in the wonders of music. So, I didn't turn on my radio. I didn't want to listen to anything, but man, the car can get really quiet and your thoughts can get loud. My thoughts were worse than the music. So, for some reason, I was reminded of this story about the miners. I thought, if they could stare down the idea of possible death with the help of this band, I could wade through my grief with their music.
      Every song became my anthem! Even songs that were about things not related to my situation, somehow had meaning to me. I would sing the lyrics of "The Best of You" at the top of my lungs in the shower. I was serenading the demon in my head that was getting the best of me. I would take a moment to cry or say a prayer of gratitude during "Times like These." Or heck, just blast "congregation" in the car to drown out my thoughts. It was therapeutic. There wasn't any emotion already attached to these songs. I could listen without fear of suddenly remembering being pregnant and happy. I could have whatever emotion I wanted! Somehow this music gave me a bit of control.
     On the day of my first appointment, "Everlong" came on the radio. I took it as a small sign. I said a thank you and began to relax as I approached the office. At my next appointment, "Walk" was playing on the Muzak in the office. I thought to myself, "hmmm., what a nice coincidence." Then when I heard yet ANOTHER song on my way to an unexpected appointment I said , "ok, I get the point. You're here!"
         At our last appointment, I hadn't heard anything on the radio and although it didn't worry me, the thought was in my head. Then the most amazing, weird, awesome (fill in the blank) thing happened. A nurse came out to get a patient and called out the name Elizabeth. Two women stand up and the nurse was about to clarify when one of the said "You mean, Elizabeth Taylor?" And the nurse nodded. It was that the woman's name happened to be the same as my adorable kitty, but the woman, I SHIT YOU NOT, had a Foo Fighters t-shirt on. For real. Let that sink in.
       Do I think that the dead are trying to communicate with me? I don't know, but what I do know is that the universe is sending me messages. I am receiving the, loud and clear! I love being open to seeing the signs that someone is listening. I can't wait to have more.
The Foo Fighters helped me to fight through my grief and continue to enjoy music without fear. Now their music brings a different level of comfort.

Someone is Listening

Right after Fi died, I began writing her letters. Talking to her out loud or even in my head seemed too painful, but writing was okay. I would tell her things that I wish I could have said to her face. I asked her questions. I always ended with "I miss you. Please pick out a brother or sister to send down."
I didn't know if she would hear my request but I figured it wouldn't hurt.
After a month or so, I got my voice back and I would sometimes talk to her while I was alone in the house. When I would get really sad or cry, I would imagine her placing her hand on my heart and all the tension would go away. I wasn't always sure if she could hear me, but I kept talking. Someone was bound to listen.
August 19 was the "day of hope." A day to recognize babies that were gone too soon. It was also the 3 month mark of Fi's Angelversary. The night before, I had asked Fi for a message. Boy did I get one! I woke up early and actually posted this on Facebook
    "I find it rather fitting that I woke up at 3 am starving and having to pee. I ate a granola bar and chugged some water and found myself unexplainably awake. It's how I spent most of my 9 months of pregnancy.
Today marks 3 months since we had to say hello and goodbye to our sweet little girl. I honestly never thought I could make it this far. We have taken it one breath at a time with support and hugs from so many.
So, here I am, awake, missing the quiet hours we would spend in the middle of the night, but what a fantastic reminder of her."

After I wrote that, I sat awake, missing being pregnant and asked Fi again to send a brother or sister down. As if on cue, a car went by and it made a reflection of light on the wall that looked like two lines on a pregnancy test. It made me pause and I thought. What the heck, I'll test in the morning.
So, exactly 3 months to the day of her passing, I was holding a positive pregnancy test, crying, saying thank you and pleading at the same time.
Since then, I have had little signs of reassurance as I face some pretty big fears.  I am thankful to have a daughter who listens so well!
I couldn't have asked for better timing. We will be able to face the holidays with hope and joy. And if all goes well, we will be holding our rainbow as we observe Fi's one year Angelversary.
I am so thankful that someone is listening.

My biggest fear

I have a very real and very big fear. I am afraid of Fi being forgotten. I'm afraid that as the years go on, and as life moves on, people will forget that she existed. Because she did. Very briefly, but she existed.
  It's been in my mind, how best to remember her. How can I make a positive change out of something terrible? I'm still working on that, but I have some ideas. But I deeply fear that people will forget that, we should be celebrating milestones, birthdays, first days of school etc.
  As life has gone on, I have had to move forward. I have gone back to work and that's been good. I was terrified that I wouldn't be able to teach with the same openness and joy that I had before. Honestly, I think my passion has deepened because I feel a stronger drive to do what is best for these beautiful children. I wake up every morning, out on my emotional armor and face my day. I know I'm going to think about Fi. I know that something will remind me of her daily, even if I am moving at the speed of a 3 year old, something will make me think of her. Last week, I had two children, not from my class, mention "I know you have a baby." Or "is there still a baby in there." I calmly pretended that I didn't hear them and moved on to help other students. I have put protective armor on to help deflect these comments and worries, so I can do my job. I'm fairly certain, people think I'm doing great. That I'm "moving on" and "over it."
Surprise: I'm not. I go home. I take off my badge. Like batman taking off his suit. I become Carole, again, and allow myself to be me. If I need to cry, I cry. If I want to break things, I do it. I save it for my safe place. I will never be over it.
Yes, life has moved forward. We can't stop time. Yes, I have accepted that I need to participate in the daily ins and outs. But no, I'm not great. I haven't moved on. I have perfected the alter ego. Mrs. Ryan, courageous bereaved mom, teaching children and loving it. When you ask me how I'm doing and I relply, "good" or "great." Please hear the silent clarifier, "but I'm still not "me."
So as I have faced the idea that life has gone on, my fear that Fi will be forgotten has grown. As my visible grief disappears, I worry her memory will. I ask you, reading this, to remember her. it doesn't have to be daily, but if you see a butterfly, say a prayer, or look at the stars, say a little hello.  I received a message last night from a friend that she looked up at the stars while walking her dog and said hi to Fi. So simple, but it meant so much to me.
Thank you.
I know this entry was pretty scattered.

Love is All you Need

One of the things I lamented after we lost Fi was that I would never be able to tell her the greatest love story ever. The story of James and me. Truth be told, I was terrified to have daughter. There are so many scary things out there for girls. There are emotional issues, middle school friendships (ugh!) self-esteem, unrealistic body expectations from the media. It all scared me. How could I raise a strong young woman when I was still discovering my own confidence. One thing that never scared me, she would know how a man should treat a woman. She would have a great example of love and what she would be worthy of.
     James and I met through my step sister. the first night we meant, we talked about books. Lots and lots of books. He listed a series he thought I would like on a napkin, wrote his phone number below and said to call if I ever wanted to borrow a book. (Nerd alert!) I was seeing someone at the time, so I never called. We saw each other a couple of times, but six months later I found myself single. After a few texts and some coy remarks, James FINALLY asked me to dinner. My thought was, "what the heck! Worst case, a free meal."
    Look, we had both kissed a lot of frogs. We had both been through some difficult relationships, we went in to this knowing that there was a slim chance we would hit it off. I had a list. Lots of girls my age had them. You know, that list of criteria guys should meet before you date them, such as; college degree, taller than me, blue eyes, non-smoker, a pulse. Just to name a few. Anyways, James met some criteria on my list, but honestly, he didn't meet most of list. But hey, my list was producing terrible relationships.... Ones that were on the verge of emotional abuse. What did I discover? I was missing a few things on my list. I never once thought of the characteristics that made a gentleman. What I found out was, James is just that. A chivalrous gentleman.
  Our first date was typical but extraordinary at the same time. We had dinner. When we finished, James asked to walk we home. I lived about two blocks from the restaurant, but he wanted to make sure I made it safe. I invited him up for a drink and movie. He accepted and was a total gentleman. When he left, he didn't even kiss me goodnight! Not because he didn't want to, but because he didn't want to rush things.
   The beginnings of our relationship was sprinkled with roses, love notes and little gifts. Nothing fancy, just special. I had never felt so special.
    Our love story is a sequence of simple, yet extraordinary acts of love. Proposal in my pjs! Wedding at a brewery, holding my hand and loving me through the worst days of my life.

   As we were coming home from a family weekend last night I realized that Fi never got to hear our love story, but she's part of it. She is one of the fixed points in our story. In some relationships, the death of the child is a fork in their relationship. One person going one way the other taking a different road. Fi is a reinforcer in our love line. She helped us to come closer, show compassion and love deeper.
   Some things happened this weekend that normally would have resulted in a petty argument. Instead of placing blame or arguing or saying "I told you so." We were able to look at one another with compassion, understanding and some good team problem solving!
  Obviously Fi knows our love story, but I can't thank her enough for showing us just how deep our love is and how much deeper it can go.  When life is overwhelming and things seem insurmountable. Breath.
Love is all you need

PS- friends and family please know that your love is extrodinary too! Thank you for holding us up in prayer and thoughts.

Dear Ultrasound Tech

Dear Ultrasound Tech,
      First, let me apologize that I don't know your name. As someone who has played a pivotal role in my life history, I feel like we should be on a first name basis. So, I'm sorry. There are so many things I want to say to you.
    I want to apologize for being angry at you for awhile. I shouldn't have "shot the messenger." It has occurred to me that you have a difficult job. I thought you were always the deliverer of good news. You spend you days saying, "it's a boy!" Or girl. You get to say "congratulations! There's your bundle of joy!" I never thought of the flip side. I never thought about the fact that you are sometimes the first one to notice terrible news. You are the first one to see a growth abnormality or the fact that the little heart has stopped beating. You have this knowledge, but you don't have any authority to relay any of it. You are trained to not let anything show on your face and calmly say you need to get a doctor.
    Thank you for trying to keep your cool and show no emotion as you were searching and trying to get information. I'm sorry I caught on and outed you. I knew something was wrong. I saw the heartbeat bar. I know too much. You calmly said you were sorry and went to get a doctor immediately. I'm sorry I screamed and yelled, but thank you for your calm analysis relayed to our doctor.
     It struck me that on these horrible days, you too, might morn. I wonder if you go home and cry for those patients you see crumble on your table? Do you say prayers for them? Do you debrief with staff after to calm down? I can't imagine it's "everyday stress." It would be a heartless person not to feel something when you end up being the messenger of terrible news.
    I know that I will see you again someday. I will go in to that room again one day. When I do, I don't know if you will remember me. I don't know if I made the same impression on you that you have on me. However, I hope that I can express to you my thanks and admiration for your job. I hope that you will be able to give us good news and we will fade in to the blur of happy parents rather than be imprinted on your mind as the  Grieved. Hope to see you soon.

Warm regards,

Carole (aka the woman who lost her mind in your office)

I swear I was stung by that poisonous caterpillar that's all over Facebook

I've always been a bit of hypochondriac. I'm lucky enough to have a nurse for a sister who answers all my questions. I had (have) a terrible habit of looking up symptoms on WebMD and end up with a daignosis of cancer. I know, it's bad.
     About five years ago, I was diagnosed with mild anxiety and depression. I was waking up in the middle of the night and having trouble panic attacks. I was not able to use any coping mechanisms that my therapist suggested and finally she recommended I start a medication. I was on medication for about 6-8 months before I was finally at point where I could use my coping skills and wean off of the medication.
     As you can assume, my anxiety has been creepy up since I lost Fi. However, it is a very different monster this time around. It now shows itself in irrational fears regarding my health or James' health. Here are three wonderful examples.
1) while camping with my family in July, we were hanging out at a park before going to dinner. The kids were playing and the adults were sitting under the tree chatting. I sat on the ground and put my hands behind me so I could recline a bit. When I put my hands on the ground, I felt a prick on my hand and retracted it immediately. I looked down to see what I had put my hand on. There was a dead caterpillar next to me and I immediately remembered a post I had seen on Facebook. There are new poisonous caterpillar that has prickly fur that can paralyze and/or kill you. I had put my hand on said caterpillar. (Well, not really, but at the time I was convinced.) my sisters asked me what was wrong no I informed them of the caterpillar and my imminent doom. After about, 3 terrifying minutes, I realiEd I was not going to die, my hand was not swelling and the pinch I felt was actually the crusty already dead caterpillar that had dried in the sun. But for 3 minutes..... I was a goner.

2) James snores. Like a freaking train. Certain situations make his snoring worse. One night, he was fast asleep and I was awake. James was not snoring. Very odd, but it happens occasionally. I didn't think, "How lucky! I will be able to sleep easier tonight." No, no, no... What did I think? Was he breathing? Did he die? Is he suffering from some other internal ailment that I can't fix? I had to put my hand in front of his mouth and nose to make sure he was actually breathing. For about 2 minutes.... He was dead. (Not really, but in my head.... I was a widow.)

3) while on vacation in Mexico, James and I were out to dinner with another couple. We were eating some delicious food that had ingredients I wasn't sure about. I wasn't too concerned. I don't have any food allergies (that cause anaphylaxis). While eating, I got a little tickle in my throat. It made me cough, but you can just guess what my mind did. I had a tickle, and I tried swallowing , which I could, but was it labored? Was my tongue swelling? Does the resort have an epi pen on hand? Do they even have medical staff? Great, I'm going to end up in a Mexican hospital... Make that a filthy Mexican hospital where I will die, if not from asphyxiation, infection. I went from tickle to death in 5 seconds. I was trying to act all cool, but for 5 minutes I was silently freaking out and predicting my own death.

It was after this figured I should see someone. I have found an amazing therapist, who is trying to help me negotiate these crazy thoughts. I am suffering from PTSD. I thought it was a bit of an over diagnosis, but after looking at its definition... Yup. I have night terrors, panic attacks and triggers. There are SO MANY  triggers. Shit I didn't even think would bug me, bug me. I will save my triggers for another post.
After a month of therapy, I have some coping skills, but it's hard to use them. I'm still working through all this grief. Luckily. I haven't contracted a new disease in almost two weeks :o)

The things I didn't do

Guilt is a killer. There is a crap-ton of guilt that comes with losing a child. Sometimes when I am feeling extremely shitty, I think of the things I didn't do.  The things that made me a "bad mom-to- be." Although I know none of these things would have saved Fi, I still regret not doing them. When that regret gets too big, a small voice inside me, sees it as a blessing. As if somewhere, deep down, my soul knew that we wouldn't be taking her home.

I never read her a story. I read stories to my students daily, but I never took time to specially read a story just for her.

I never took the weekly/ monthly pictures of the growing tummy. I was not comfortable during my pregnancy. I didn't like being out of control and didn't like my body getting bigger and bigger. So we didn't document any of it. I'm grateful that we didn't so I don't have multiple pictures to remind me of my loss.

I never spent much time in her nursery. Other than the one day we spent totally prepping the space, I never spent much time in her room. Even today, the walls are bare and clothes are still unfolded in baskets.  The crib has been returned. (An adventure to write about another day)

I never picked out a lullaby for her. I was trying to find one, but I couldn't find the perfect song for her. I'm happy I didn't because no song was ruined or connected to her to bring me more pain.

We never put the car seat in. That fateful Monday, I was so miffed at James for not having the car seat in the car. We were going to have a baby any minute! Another small gift. We didn't have to drive home from th hospital with an empty car seat. It was terrible to leave the hospital empty handed, but we didn't have the added pain of removing the seat.

So there it is. The confession of my crimes. Although honestly, they were blessings. Although I sometimes feel like a bad mommy to be, I think my heart was saved a few pains.  Does this mean my next pregnancy will follow the same path? I don't know.  I think there will be a balance of excitement and nervousness. (And maybe a few more belly pictures)

I'm not a b*tch, I swear

The green, jealous monster comes out sometimes. The judgey bitch is a bit more sensitive these days. I'm finding myself a little on the angry side lately. I watch other's parenting choices and I get so angry. I see pregnant women taking risks in their pregnancy and still get their little ones. I know people who have drank (until buzzed) during pregnancy or even those who  continue drug use and they have beautiful babies. So, why, WHY did mine get taken away? Why was mine the one that dies? I just want to yell at these women and say, do you know how freaking lucky you are? Do you thank God everyday that you have your healthy child? Likely not. It's the fact that I can see people take their healthy babies for granted. That KILLS ME! 

For example: 

Sitting at the beach, I get a lot of time to people watch. A couple of weeks ago I see this mom with her three children all under the age of 5 and clearly pregnant with her 4th. First, I say a silent prayer hat she has a healthy pregnancy. Since I lost Fi, I find myself praying for pregnant strangers that they never join this shitty club called bereaved parents. Anyways, I watch her let the older two children run to the water unsupervised while the younger one plays in the sand and she smokes her cigarette. She then yells at the younger child for eating sand and says a few choice swear words, yanks the little up and drags him to the water with his brothers.

I'm not saying she's a bad mother. She was brave to bring that crew to the beach. However, it may just be my skewed perception, but she is so lucky to have those children and it seemed that she was taking it all for granted. 

I also find myself jealous of those parents that complain about the woes of parenthood. Jeez, what I wouldn't give to be exhausted from a baby who won't sleep, or needs to feed every hour. Poopy diapers! I would love to be changing disgusting, stinky diapers. But I'm not. I have my own stinky pile of grief to deal with. I'm awake in the middle of the night being thrown back into the ultrasound room and hearing the gasping cry of my husband. So... I guess I have my own issues. 

I don't mean to start a parenting war or shame anyone. I just need to let the big green jealous monster out. Because that's where this all comes from, deep deep jealousy.

So now, I go back to focusing on my path and not others. I'm not saying  that once we are lucky enough to bring a baby home I won't struggle or complain about the challenges of motherhood. I just hope I keep the perspective of how lucky I am.

Okay.... Done ranting.

The Hits Keep Coming!

There is a recall on our crib. That's right. The crib sitting in the room we don't open the door to.  It needs to be dismantled and returned. That's a lie.... I've opened the door. I go in sometimes and cry. I keep thinking of how ready we were for Fi's arrival. So many books to read, blankets to snuggle and diapers to mess in! But now they sit there, waiting.
Speaking of waiting.... We were referred to meet with the perinatalologist and finally had an appointment yesterday.  It was called a "preconception" appointment. As we arrived at the office, I could feel my blood pressure rising. I just wanted to cry. The nurse who came to take my vitals, looked at me with sad eyes and said, "you shouldn't be nervous. It's fine, it's okay." I wanted to say.... "For real?! Okay? It's not okay. I shouldn't have to be here!" But I was there... And it's another step in this shitty process. We sat in the sterile, cold consultation room, waiting for this specialist to give us some information about what're should do next.
The doctor came in, took one look at me, pat me in the shoulder and told me to relax. I immediately burst in to tears. He looked in my file and said. " you've had a bad pregnancy experience. I'm supposed to tell you that you will have plenty of healthy children and it's all going to be ok. " and he looked at me with sad eyes. Then he asked us what questions we had. I reluctantly said ," I don't think you can answer our questions. We will never know what happened. I just want to know how to move forward so this doesn't happen again."  So the doctor asked us to share what had happened. His response? It was likely preeclampsia that looks differently in me and there was placental failure. Which my mind hears as "preventable," but it wasn't. No one could have seen this coming. Anyways, he gave us some homework. First he says, "don't get pregnant for a year." His reasons were: I need to be ready emotionally. He is concerned about my anxiety. When I stated that I don't want to wait a year and that I'm aware of how hard and scary a new pregnancy will be, but it's going to suck no matter how long I wait, he nodded at me. Then he said, you just showed me that you are emotionally ready to take this next step. However, physically, he suggested we wait another three months to make sure my body is ready for another pregnancy. He quoted facts and figures regarding the increase of  miscarriage with people who conceive within a year of full term birth. It increases from 15% to 19%. He suggested focusing on losing the baby weight (a post for a different day). And reconnecting with my husband. But then he looked at me and stated that he was confident that we would have healthy children and the family that we want.
So this left us with some things to think about. Do we wait until October to begin trying? Sorry doc, no. I'm not going to sit here and track my fertility, but I'm not going to prevent pregnancy. If my body is ready, it will get pregnant, if it's not, then no worries. I will become the crazy fertility lady come October, but for now, I leave it in the hands of God. (I love how I think that I can actually control my fertility...... Ha!)
I wasn't sure what to expect out of this appointment, but I'm not sure how I feel about this doctor. He's a specialist. He isn't warm. He's kind of on the spectrum, but he supposedly knows what he's talking about. I'm just a bit confused. He says wait, my lady doctor says try, and me? I just want a baby. I want hope. See, I think that's what the doctor missed. It's not just about realizing a dream that got taken away, but it's about the hope for the future. It's about answering all the questions I have in the back of my head. Will I be able to conceive again?will I be strong enough to get through this pregnancy? A baby is hope.
I think this appointment created more questions rather answered them. So what was my take away?
Doctors and specialists have a lot of knowledge, but can I really put my trust in someone who has known me for 37 minutes and made terrible eye contact? It's a crapshoot.
So what are we going to do?
I'm going to continue my weight loss journey. I'm calling a counselor today to finally see someone (my anxiety is creeping up in weird ways,,, another post some other day).
Oh, and we will be returning the crib when we get back from VT.
But as for trying to get pregnant ?
We will see what hand God deals us (praying for a full house ;).

Small Victories

Some of you may have heard me talk about my small victories. While I was in the hospital, my own health became a priority. There was no way of saving my sweet girl, so my health became my focus. I began to worry about making sure I would make it through as unharmed as possible. I began to spike a fever and my kidneys weren't working as great as they should. I was being pumped full of fluids and not releasing it as well as a should. That's right, I was not peeing enough. I was making just the minimum amount of urine before I was in the danger zone. As many of you know, I'm an over achiever, I didn't like bing on the cusp. Overnight, things didn't improve, until morning. Jill came in and exclaimed "whoa! You peed!" I was so happy my body was finally cooperating, I exclaimed "victory! That's something to celebrate." And there, small victories were born. Each day I would sit down with James and talk about what small victories were acheived. They ranged from the first postpartum poop to zipping up my pre pregnancy pants. It was a coping skill to see the positive in each day. It was time set aside to recognize that life wasn't all grief, there is joy and hope to be found.
I have been having a rough couple of days since returning home from Mexico. It's part getting ready for school and anxiety about that transition. I always get nervous about the beginning of the year, but it doubly hard this year. I'm nervous about being present and being the best teacher I can be. I have changed since I left that building, but I'm concerned that I won't be as happy, cheerful and lovable as I was before. I'm worried about the honesty of the students. Will they bring Fiona up? They might. And that will be both sad and sweet. Will I cry in front of them. I may. How can I explain, in a kid friendly way that some days I feel sad. I am so lucky to have the best group of women to work with and the most understanding parents.  Kiddos start in 5 weeks. A lot of change and growth can happen in 5 weeks. I hope I am 5 weeks stronger.
As I have mentioned, we have gotten the okay to start trying to conceive again. Just like last summer 😕 this experience has taught me that you can plan as much as you like, but it can still go to hell at the last minute. I'm trying to let go of control, but the planner and control freak in me is starting to creep up. I have been tracking ovulation tests for 3 days and I can already begin to feel the doubt and worry that something is wrong with my body. Which, I have nothing that points to anything being wrong. It's just anxiety. So I think about not taking the tests, but then I have freak out about not knowing if my body is ready. It's a vicious catch 22. I also have TOO MUCH INFO. I know too much about trying to get pregnant. (I need to put the internet down) I don't want this to be all consuming, but I can't hide my feelings. I want to be pregnant again. I want another chance. I don't  want to replace Fi, but I want to have a baby to bring home and hold.
So with this anxiety and worry, I find myself reaching back to small victories. When it's overwhelming, I stop and think about my small blessing and small victory in the day.  So today, what's my small victory? I wrote down what was bugging me. I opened up and put in to words what's going on in my head. It has helped me. Not to mention it's only 10 am. I have so much more time today to do something amazing.

Finding Faith

First, let me say, thanks for reading, everyone! I know this can be a difficult topic to read but I appreciate the support. A little note about my typos. I write as the words come to me. I'm not a writer by trade, but I do my best. I have not edited my work because it's terribly difficult to get through most of  my entries without tears and it takes some courage on my part to even begin to write. Eventually, maybe I will be have the strength to go back and edit, but reading my own story over and over again is torture right now. So please be patient and forgiving.

I was brought up in a very welcoming church. I went to Sunday school until about the seventh grade, when it became "uncool" and quite frankly, boring. I was confirmed in my church and participated in various musical groups within my church. I tried to find my faith and my relationship with God within those walls. When I left for college, I kind of distanced myself from my church. I was changing and evolving and so was my church. I spent years trying to figure out my relationship with God. Finally I became a Christmas and Easter only member of my church and my spirituality became something very personal to me. If you asked me what I believe in, I would struggle to put it in to words.
While I was in the hospital, I asked openly, why was God doing this to me? What had I done to deserve this? Jill, our nurse, took a quiet moment to address this. She said God isn't mad and he didn't chose this either, it just happened. I looked at the cross on her neck and wondered where she got her faith from. I had a choice, I could be angry with God and let my foundation and beliefs go, or I could see this as an opportunity to learn and watch my faith grow. Being angry was the easy way. Did I get angry? At times, yes! I would ask, why me? The answer would come back, why not me? I would never wish this pain on anyone. It fell on me and I would persevere. I am lucky enough to have a strong partner and a loving family. We would come through.
While I was on vacation, I was reading a book by Theresa Caputo (yes, the Long Island medium). It was given to me as a gift and my iPad was being used by my husband to play some games, so I figured it was a good time waster. Whether or not you believe she can talk to dead people, her view on God and our souls is interesting and insightful. It was nice to read and got me thinking about my own faith.
Shortly after Fi died, I began praying, almost begging, daily. I wanted reasons, I wanted peace, I wanted the pain to go away. Then my prayers changed. I began to say thankful prayers. I began to see the positives in my days. I would still ask for peace, strength and hope.
A bible verse came to my mind last week during a quiet moment. "For God so loved the world, he gave his only son." I now understand what that sacrifice meant. Before, I couldn't fathom what that pain felt like. However, here I am, without my daughter. God and I have something in common. He too is part of the bereaved parents club. He understands my despair but I truly believe he will help me find my joy again.
We have been lucky to receive so many blessings in the wake of our tragedy. Before we lost Fi, I would have seen them as coincidence but now I know that it's not coincidence. It's God and my precious guardian angel sending us good things.

Finding Your Story

When I was in the hospital, I asked the nurse ,"what am I going to tell people?" We had so many friends and family, not to mention, the waitress at our favorite restaurant etc. that we're all anticipating this wonderful child with us. The nurse replied, "you will find your story." She said,"if you don't have the words, you could print out s little card to hand to people." So me, being the planner I am, I began to think about how I would word things, how I would say things.
It's been hard for me to say the actual words stillborn or stillbirth. Not sure why, maybe because people think it doesn't happen anymore and they can't comprehend that someone can go to full term and still lose a child. I have been saying "we lost our daughter." Which doesn't seem right. I didn't lose her. I.knew where she was and she was supposed to be safe. It's what I tend to say, but it still doesn't feel right. I need to figure out my story, what words work best for me.
We are currently in Mexico, enjoying our little retreat. (Major blessings on this trip!) I had anticipated seeing families, since this resort shares with a family resort, but we made all reservations late to avoid seeing children. I thought about how to answer when staff asked "what's the occasion for your trip?" (Answer: romantic getaway). What I didn't expect was the question, "do you have any children?"
We are staying on the adult only side of the resort and meeting fabulous people from all over. We are having fun, eating, drinking, dancing, etc. when they asked that harmless question, the last thing I want to do is bring down the happy mood. At first I started by saying , "no." Ugh! It was a lie. I have a daughter. She's just not with us anymore. So how do I answer that question without bringing on sympathy or sadness in such a happy place?
I pick and chose my answers. Depending on the situation, I share if I want to. When I say "no," I then say a quick apology to Fi, mentally and I know she gets it. But a few times I have shared it. "We lost our daughter at 37 weeks. That's why we are here. We needed to getaway." Some people don't know how to take it, so I put my smile on, say "we are ok, it's fine." To let them know, we don't need to dwell on it.
I met this wonderful couple and the woman is on her own journey of recovery. She shared her story and personal struggle with me, and I shared my story with her. It was perfect. Our journeys are very different, but a like in a lot of respects. Hearing her talk gave me permission to share what we were going through. We made a choice, at the beginning of the trio we didn't want to talk about it. However, the opportunity, with the right people opened up and that made me not afraid to open up a little more with some others here. You know what I learned? Everyone is going through something. We can't see it, but everyone is struggling or working through shit. Guess what? You're not alone!
This trip so far has been a blessing but the biggest one is one I didn't expect. I have been practicing my story and hearing and understanding others along the way.

Okay, enough serious. Time for a mimosa.

Grief Lessons

When tragedy hits, the world goes in to chaos. The world spins and it can be hard to make sense of what is going on. Questions are being asked and you aren't sure how answer. You do your best to muddle through until the spinning stops. In the midst of this tailspin, family and friends are your fixed point to look to for help.

James and I are lucky to have extremely supportive friends and family. We both come from big families and most people are local. I wasn't in the hospital ten minutes and a steady stream of family began to pour in. Both of our places of employment sent messages of love and support. James was given all the time he needed. My work organized food for us and support for our staff. Friends we hadn't  spoken to in a long time reached out to let us know they were thinking about us. We are so grateful for all the love. 

However, James and I  both experienced some friendship loss. Its bad enough we lost our daughter, but some people lack understanding. In the midst of grief, I wasn't ready to respond to all the phone calls and messages we received. We were inundated and it took a few weeks to even talk to people who weren't in my immediate support circle. BUT every message was listen to, every card was opened, every message read. Something small meant a lot to us. Most friends understood this. Being around those that have young babies is extremely difficult at this time. I have many friends who either gave birth weeks before me or are expecting soon. It hurts me to think about seeing those littles ones because deep down I am so sad that I don't have my own. 

I'm thankful for the friends who understand my position and allow me to approach conversations and spending time with them at my own speed. However, a friend or two didn't understand this and interpreted it as she was the victim and I was isolating her. Take some perspective, get your head out of your bum and see that it isn't about you. This whole situation is not about you. Rather than scream at other people about your frustrations, take a moment, think, why am I not returning your calls? Maybe because it's too hard for me. I'm jealous. You have what I was supposed to have and it has been shoved in my face. These friends have shown that they can't take perspective, they have no empathy. I have to release. James and I had to let go of some relationships. They say in times like these we discover who our real friends are. It's true. Rather than focus on those relationships we lost, we have been focussing on those relationships that have flourished and grown despite tragedy. We are so thankful for the love we receive everyday. It's like the best and biggest hug!

Choosing Love

As mentioned before, shortly after we were told that Fiona had passed, I worried that I would also lose my husband as well. James has always wanted to be a father and just days before it was suppose to happen, I failed him. I know now that it's not my fault, but at the time I felt like a failure. James held me and told me that he would never leave me and none of this would make him want to leave.  I knew the pressure and strain an event like this places on a marriage. Although we've been together for almost 5 years but we have been married for less than two years. How could a relationship that is still so young endure such tragedy? 

First, we acknowledged that we would greive differently. Men and women greive very differently. In a situation like this, not only is the woman dealing with normal grief, but your hormones are all over the place and physically you've been through a marathon. My greive came out like an ocean. There were times when it hit like a tsunami and I couldn't control it. Other times it was in small, intermittent waves. I could never predict what kind of day I was going to have and it would change from moment to moment. James was different. He wanted to be strong for me. He felt I had the "harder job" and wanted to remain strong for me. He would let his grief out in spurts. He didn't always do it in front of me. He would let it out with family or alone. Our processes were very different and we accepted that. We often said "you do what you need to do." When it was a hard day, we would hug each other and reassure one another that it was going to be okay. 

Second, we talked about hope and our future. We discussed, while still in the hospital, how soon we wanted to try again. One of our doctors (who we will not be working with again.) told us that we should wait 18 months. HA! We have found two doctors within the practice who support us in our decision to try as soon as possible. I firmly believe that my body will know when it's ready. Trying to get pregnant and thinking about the future provides us with something that seemed to disappear. Hope. Hope brings us so much peace. We know that the next pregnancy is going to be the most terrifying thing  we have ever experienced, but how could we not try? When things seem the darkest, hope is what would give me some light.

Finally, we made "us" a priority. That means we check in via texts or phone calls more often. We go to bed at the same time. Even if I am tired, I will snuggle James on the couch until it's time to go to bed. We make time for each other. It's not that we didn't do this before, but now we know the importance of this time. We will be heading on our vacation in just 4 days. I knew that this trip would provide us something healing and an opportunity to reconnect as a "normal couple." No one in Mexico knows our story. We can be ourselves without the fear of bumping in to someone and explaining what had happened. We chose to go back to where we honeymooned. The resort is gorgeous and was a magical experience for both of us. We hope that this amazing property can offer some healing. We know that we need to make each other a priority so grief doesn't drown us both.

Losing a child is one of the largest stressors a couple can face. We know that by facing this together, choosing love, we can come out the other side stronger and more in love than before, but it takes understanding and work. I believe we are up for the challenge.

My Story

Almost immediately after Fiona died, I felt th urge to write. I knew I needed to express myself and do so freely. I just didn't know what to say. The first few days home from the hospital, I scoured the internet for answers or stories of women who have been through what I have. I just wanted to not feel as alone as I felt. I found some great sites and some awesome blogs. So here I am, trying to return the favor. I'm sure most of the people who will be reading this will be my family and friends, but I hope that if there is a woman out there who has just experienced stillbirth, they will find their way to this blog and know they a not alone. 

My Story

My husband and I were extremely excited to be becoming parents. James has always wanted to be a dad. He was born to do it. I was thrilled to finally become a mom and terrified at the same time. My pregnancy was pretty uneventful. As I entered the las handful of weeks of pregnancy, my blood pressure was creeping up. It was getting high, but not yet in to what they would consider preeclampsia. My labs and blood work came back normal, but they had warned us, we would not be going the full 40 weeks and be prepared for induction. As much as I didn't want an induction, I didn't want to be pregnant anymore. I was not one of those people who enjoyed being pregnant. I felt so out of  control, I just wanted my baby out so I could feel a bit more in control of her environment. We prepared ourselves and prepared our apartment for Fiona's arrival. 

Monday morning we had an appointment for an ultrasound to make sure Fi was ready for induction. We were so excited to our baby again and get an idea of when we were going to meet her. We were joking with the ultrasound tech before I lifted my shirt to see our little girl. It didn't take long before I knew something was wrong. The tech got quiet and the heartbeat bar came up and it was blank. I said "oh my god, there's no heartbeat." The tech looked at me and said she needed to get the doctor but she was sorry.

My memory after that is a bit blurry. I remember the sound of my husband's heart breaking. I remember repeating over and over "I can't do this." I knew I was going to have to be induced and go through labor without having the prize at the end. I heard the tech and the doctor talk about possible clots but there were no signs of other issues. I remember calling my mom and just sobbing in to the phone while James called one of my sisters to tell her to meet us at the hospital. We had the choice, we could go home and process or go straight to the hospital. I chose to go to the hospital and begin the terrifying process . Why would I want to go home? I had a dead baby inside of me. I needed to get it out. (Sorry for the bluntness, and there will be more) when you are in shock and pain your mind does weird things. I was already trying to figure out how I was going to leave the office without going through the waiting roo. The last thing I wanted to do was to scare the women waiting for their fantastic appointments. I didn't want to steal their innocence as mine has been taken away. 

They lead me out of the office, with James by my side and we got in the car to drive across the street to the hospital. It felt like everything was moving in slow motion. We had to check in at the hospital and they kept asking me questions I couldn't really answers. My social, date of birth. I couldn't answer because I couldn't get over the fact that this was not how it was supposed to happen. We got in to our room and met with the doctors, who asked more questions and offered more apologies. Our family began to flock in. James and I are lucky to have big, supportive families, who dropped everything and came to our side.  I sat in the chair while the doctor went over what was ahead of me. I would be begin with medication to induce labor, at could take awhile, once my body was ready, they would begin the Pitocin to bring on strong contractions. I could have as much medication as I wanted, I wouldn't have to push hard if I didn't want to. They were going to make this the easiest they could, but he's, I would have to go through labor.  I was introduced to my nurse, Jill,  my angel. They had to do their medical thing and get IV's ready, take all my vitals. As they did this, I refused to get on the bed. I knew what it meant to get on that bed and I didn't want to do it. I didn't want to do any of it. Jill did everything she could while I was sitting in the chair and didn't force me to get in the bed.  Eventually, I had to get in the bed. I had to begin the process of dilating and contracting. I had my family with me and my husband holding me up as we began the crappy journey of labor. The whole process took a little more than 24 hours. From first medication to actually delivery. The time between that is blurry to me. Not only was I on some great medication, but I was going through so much grief. I said and did some strange things. I began planning a vacation for James and I to take. My thought? I wanted to get away. I wanted to be happy like I was on my honeymoon. I wanted to be away from anyone who might know what happened to us. Not to mention, we were now going to be saving $800 in childcare, we could afford it. (Sick sense of humor, I know... But hey.. Your mind does strange things in despair).  My actual labor, the pushing  and birth portion, from my point of view was beautiful.  I had my sister, Sarah holding one hand and James on the other side holding my other hand. He whispered words of encouragement as I worked to push my little girl out. I had Jill and the midwife and the doctor all telling me how good I was doing and that I was so strong. I didn't feel strong, but I knew I needed to push Fiona out. I had to work for her. I needed to have some sense of normalcy in this labor. She came out at 4:59pm on May 19. She was 6lbs 12 oz and absolutely perfect.  She had my hands and my feet, but she looked like James. She had his mouth and his eyes. She was perfect. I held her for what seemed like forever but not long enough. I remember handing her off, knowing I had to or I would have never let go. I immediately missed her. One the medications how're off and family had left us for the evening, I began planning our trip away. I tried anything to mentally get away from what actually happened. That nit, I slid out of the hospital bed and slid next to James in the "dad couch" and slept there for most of the night. I needed to be close to him and know that he wasn't going to leave me because I didn't make him a dad. 

So that was my 48 hours of hell. That's what I call my time in the hospital. The worst 48 hours of my life. The following days and weeks weren't much easier. Leaving the hospital with a box and not a baby was infuriating and heartbreaking. It was not how it was supposed to happen. 

We have been trying to make sense of this. Trying to find the silver lining. We have no answers as to why this happened. All  tests and labs came back normal. Three was nothing wrong with the placenta. The clots that they saw, they think we're postmortem. It was just the shitty straw I pulled. They assured me that more than 50% of stillbirths can't be explained. There was nothing they could find. She just died. I couldn't have prevented it. 

I'm happy to have my health. My blood pressure has since gone down and I healed well. My body is on the mend and my heart is getting there.  Our next hurdle is trying to get pregnant  and pregnancy after loss. 

This is a long one. It's the beginning.. 

Keep checking back. The journey has not needed. It's just begun.