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.