Grief Quotes #7

"Grief can be terrifying.

And why would we not be afraid? Deep in grief, we look up and see the reflection in our mirror is not our own, not us as we have previously known ourselves. We are changed, and we do not recognize the stranger we have become. We long for our old lives, our old selves; we crave meaning and belonging - we ache for them.

The yearning is unquenchable.

And that sense of emptiness propels us toward unsuccessful attempt to fill that person-shaped hole. The distractions we use to take us from our feelings are one way we try to state that emptiness.

The only alternative to distraction is being with grief - one painful, terrifying moment at a time."

- Dr. Joanne Cacciatore

From Bearing the Unbearable

This passage resonates with me. Because A was our first child, I had the luxury of throwing myself into my grief. I didn't have living children who needed me to be functional. E stayed home with me for the first two weeks. After that, I had another 4 weeks of maternity leave to hole up and relinquish myself to the waves of emotions. It was exhausting; it was ugly and most of the time I wondered if any of the grief work was having an effect.

In retrospect, I do believe that those early weeks and months of devoting myself to processing A's death and being with the grief put me in a better place when Dragon came along. Once we had a living baby, there was hardly a spare minute to cry and breakdown. If I hadn't faced my grief head-on in those early months, I wouldn't be the functional person I am today.

Not that there isn't a place for distraction in traumatic grief. E and I binge watched every season of The Big Bang Theory (online shows meant no chance of diaper commercials triggering a meltdown). I guess, like most of life, it's about balance. Balancing distraction and "being with grief." And, like most of life, it's easier said than done.

Grief Quotes #6

"There is, I am convinced, no picture that conveys in all its dreadfulness, a vision of sorrow, despairing, remediless, supreme. If I could paint such a picture, the canvas would show only a woman looking down at her empty arms."

- Charlotte Bronte

Sisters

Baby Sheep (it is the Year of the Sheep per the Lunar Zodiac, hence the nickname) was born at 39 weeks 2 days. We had initially scheduled the C-section for 39 w 6 d to give my body as much of a chance as possible to go into spontaneous labor but then we started to panic. We had been doing kickcounts 3-5 times each day including 2-3 times overnight. Three out of the last four nights, Sheep's ovenight kickcounts were real pokey. We'd freak out. I'd chug orange juice and lay down again anxiously awaiting the kicks to start coming. Even the 3 visits per week couldn't quell our worry. So we figured, what's an extra 5 days? We're already past the 39-week mark which is the earliest our doc would do the elective section. We figured baby was robustly full-term by 39 weeks. Why put ourselves through the constant terror for 5 more days? Why push our luck? Sometimes it felt like each day we were risking the baby's life; gambling even.

So I called my doctor who was incredibly understanding. It was late in the afternoon but she said she'd call the surgery scheduler at the hospital first thing in the morning and let us know if they could get us in. Sure enough we got the call that there was a slot open in the afternoon. Immediately I felt relieved knowing this kid would be here TODAY but I was also really nervous about the surgery. I delivered A vaginally after medically inducing and Dragon was born after a successful medical induction that went awry and resulted in an emergency C-section with me knocked out under general anesthesia. The thought of a needle in my spine gives me the heebie jeebies and being awake during surgery (knowing what's going on on the other side of the drape even though you don't feel the pain) straight up turns my stomach. But the thought of this baby dying after 9 long months of vigilance was scarier than facing the C-section.

The spinal wasn't as bad as I thought it'd be. The operation was off the creepiness chart. I mean I could hear the scissors clicking and feel the little pulls as they cut me open. GROSS! Luckily, it wasn't too long after the surgery began that Sheep was born. I was surprised it was another girl. I guess down deep I was convinced it was a boy. As soon as E announced it was a girl, I began to sob, right there on the OR table. That plus hearing her little cry and knowing she was alive and well was overwhelming.

She resembles her older sister though they aren't identical newborns. And speaking of sisters, holy crow how am I going to raise sisters? I have a single brother and every set of sisters I know - young and old - are a mystery to me. There is this bewildering dynamic where a sister will literally die for the other, but then can turn around and say the nastiest things imaginable and know exactly what buttons to push. I just don't get it. I guess the girls will have to teach me. "The girls," it's strange to say that and think of "our girls" now that we have two. It's going to take some getting used to.

I am also anticipating lots of comments from strangers about our girls and each time will feel the pang of our missing son - we don't have just girls. But that's for another post.

In the meantime, I'm going to put my feet up before Sheep is ready to nurse again in another 45 minutes. I look at her chubby cheeks and sweet face and cannot believe she is mine. She is mine and she is mine to keep. We actually get to take her home with us. I'm so grateful.

One Way or the Other

I’m almost 38 weeks. Because no one knows why A died at 40weeks 4 days, my doctor won’t let us go past the 40-week mark with this pregnancy. I don’t disagree with this strategy. However, due to the details of my emergencyC-section with Dragon, I am not a candidate for an induction this pregnancy. This is disheartening because induction, though not ideal, has been a nice middle ground for us because we didn’t have to wait past the due date and I did’t have to deal with the risks and ordeal of major surgery.

Except now I do. Or at least, I might. If labor doesn’t start spontaneously before the due date, I’ll have a scheduled C-section. The doc will do it as early as 39-weeks but after E and I discussed it, we’d rather wait the extra 7 days and schedule it for 40-weeks. The doctor isn’t available on the exact due date so we’ve set it for 39 weeks 6 days.

I very much would prefer to deliver this baby vaginally. I’ve had both a vaginal delivery and a C-section (under general anesthesia) and can say that I prefer the vaginal experience and recovery. Plus, for four years I’ve been thinking about and planning for a natural childbirth. I’d like to know what it feels like. At this point, it would be very healing and redeeming. I think it would also help me to regain some trust in my body after being so brutally betrayed by it. 

While I wish for spontaneous labor, I realize it is unlikely. With A, I was barely 1cm when we induced the night we found he was dead; I was at 40 ½ weeks. Last checkup, on Tuesday, I was 50% effaced, barely 1cm and -3 station, so nothing really happening. I am tempted to intervene with homeopathic labor inducers – evening prim rose oil, acupuncture, etc. but I worry about pushing my body, and baby, too hard before it’s ready. I’ve met those families who went in for a checkup at 38 weeks, had the membranes stripped, contracted all night at home, went in the next morning and the baby was dead because it was too stressful for the baby. I guess we’ll stick to sex and walking since those seem to be less aggressive.

I’m trying to keep my perspective that although we’re anxious to get this kid out, I don’t want to gamble the baby’s well being just to ease my worrying.

As you likely know, a significant number of intrauterine deaths happen overnight. There are several different theories –  low maternal blood pressure, melatonin levels, etc. – and I have always suspected that A died overnight based on his normal active periods. This, of course, makes nights nerve wracking. Several weeks ago, E suggested I drink a large glass of water before turning off the light at bedtime and then, when up to pee during the night, drink more fluids to ensure that I was up at 2-3 times each night. This would buoy my blood pressure and give me a chance to pay attention to baby’s activity during the night.

That strategy has hardened to setting an alarm to wake every 2 ½ hours over night and do kick counts – sometimes we check in with the Doppler too. It is rather miserable to be forcing my waning will power to wake when I’m so flippin’ exhausted, but if a few weeks of sleep deprivation means getting baby here safely, then it’s worth it. I say that, but I also recognize how quickly things can change and that this baby could very well die during one of the 2 ½ hour periods between kick counts. Are we really protecting our child? The only certainty is that it alleviates some of the helplessness we feel as parents.

In addition to the vigilance at home (I’m doing 5-6 rounds of kick counts each day, including the overnighters) I am also going for regular OB visits once a week and biophysical profiles twice a week which is 3 appointments each week. I spread them out so that a professional is checking in on the baby every couple days. Again, the peace-of-mind is short-lived because the minute the ultrasound wand comes off my belly, I know that kid could go into distress and I may, or may not know it and it could all be over. There is just no reassurance for a babylost mom.

And so, this baby will be born one way or the other – vaginally or C-section, dead or alive – in the next couple weeks. I will be sure to post something once baby arrives.

34 Weeks

I'm 34 weeks and am unraveling. Like my friend Jen said, at this point the baby would likely live if it were born but it's all on you to notice if something abnormal is going on in there. The truth is I'm not confident in my ability to detect if something is wrong in my own womb.

The anxiety and worry are ramping up. For example, Baby #3 has had the hiccups several nights each week for the last couple weeks. I lay there and wonder if I should act. Yes, hiccups are considered "good" because they're evidence of practice breathing in utero. But they can also be a sign of distress that there's intermittent cord compression and it's baby's body's natural reaction to try to get up off the cord. If I wait until the hiccups are over, then fall back to sleep and the baby is dead by morning how can I live myself? But can I really put myself and E through the fright of running to the ER three times a week in the middle of the night and having to call someone to come stay with Dragon while she's sleeping? 

Or how am I supposed to know if that burst of vigorous movement is a reassuring sign or a redflag that baby is in distress and trying desperately to reposition? 

I'm doing the best I can to walk the line of vigilance and hope. I cried through most of my checkup today. Not because the baby is in danger. Simply because there is so much pressure on me to be attuned to what's happening inside my body and I don't trust myself or my body to keep this baby safe. 

Presently I attend regular OB checkups and also weekly biophysical profiles with a perinatologist's office. This means a professional is checking in on the baby every 3-4 days. It's always nice to check in but I know how quickly things can change so the peace-of-mind is short-lived. 

Further, the weekly BPP's only take specific measurements and don't look for cord entanglement. We don't know what killed A, but two separate perinatologists have theorized it was an umbilical cord accident of some sort. He was born with a single cord loop around his neck; though they don't believe this is what killed him. Fifteen months later, when the specialist saw the cord wrapped around Dragon's neck twice on ultrasound, he recommended we induce that day at 37 1/2 weeks. I'm batting a thousand when it comes to nuchal cords. 

Yes, I realize the cord is floating everywhere and with a big ole third trimester baby it's hard to visualize the cord. Yes, I understand the majority of babies who are born with the cord around their necks are totally fine (85% is the statistic I've heard). But if something happens to this kid and it could have been prevented or I could have taken some sort of action...how the hell am I going to live with myself? These were the bullet points of the back-and-forth conversation I had with my OB provider today. Her point is, what are you going to do if there is some sort of entanglement? Implying that ignorance is bliss and looking for entanglement at each week's ultrasound will only cause me to worry more. I don't know what I'll do if they see something suspicious. It really depends on the circumstances. Is it a single nuchal cord? Is the cord around baby's neck and also looped around the ankle? Is there a true knot in the cord? 

I do feel that I'd be more levelheaded than I was when approached about Dragon. Instead of immediately pulling the trigger (without even discussing it with my husband), I'd ask the specialist what the alternatives are, get input from my OB provider and think it through a little before making a decision. Yet I know from experience, it's hard to keep any faith when you're so scared and so vulnerable and the stakes are so high.  

So after a tearful conversation (I think I've cried at 60% of my OB checkups this pregnancy), she agreed to send the order to the perinatologist asking them to look for entanglement while they're doing the BPP scan each week. My husband's response to this sums it up, "Thanks for being such a great advocate for our children both dead, alive and cookin'."

I am trying to take it day-by-day but damn these emotions are getting the best of me.  

3 in 4

I am 26 weeks pregnant with our third child. This baby is due in July, at which time Dragon will be two-and-a-half and A would have been a few months shy of 4-years-old. Three kids in under four years. Which is odd because it doesn't feel like we have three kids. There is only one spirited 2-year-old standing in front of us; that's it. 

Like other babyloss moms who have had multiple rainbow babies, (Caroline, Brooke and Catherine for example), I have found this current pregnancy to be less anxious (thus far) than my pregnancy with Dragon. Keeping up with a 2-year-old, coping with extended morning sickness and battling what seems like every bug and illness this winter has left little space or energy for worrying. Of course I have.

I went in when I was sick with the flu and my temperature wasn't coming down. I went in after having some sharp, albeit brief, contractions one night. I went in after the hummus brand we buy every week was recalled for listeria and I had a bout of chills, body aches and low grade temperature. Each time, all was well and baby continues to grow.

Initially, my concern over this baby was more of a resignation. Each pang or cramp made me think, "Well that's it. We lost the baby. I'll just wait to start bleeding." Whereas with Dragon, it would have set me into a tailspin of panic.

As the pregnancy has wore on (and my physical misery of constant morning sickness has abated), my anxiety has ramped up. Maybe it has to do with reaching viability. Before 24-weeks even if I was going into labor, I wasn't convinced they'd do much to try and save my baby. Wow! Writing that sentence was a bit of revelation. I clearly still harbor lots of resentment that modern medicine and science couldn't save my healthy full-term son.

With Dragon we checked in on her often with the Doppler we bought for home. E even went as far as to conduct non-stress tests at home in late pregnancy – that’s a whole other story. This time around, we've only reached for the Doppler a handful of times. We'll start daily kick counts in a couple weeks, which may prompt more listening in. 

Either way the hope is still the same; get this baby here alive and well. Get through each day and try to find reassurance that we’re that much closer to the end of this odyssey.

A’s 3rd Birthday

I wrote this to A on his birthday last month. I am finally getting around to posting it here.

My Darling Son,

We are having exceptionally warm weather. That last time we had such unseasonably mild October weather was in 2011 as we were counting down the days to your arrival.  I remember wearing sandals up to the week before you were born - convenient because my swollen feet didn’t fit into my shoes. I remember walking over to the hospital in a light t-shirt and rain jacket. I remember feeling the wetness of Daddy’s raincoat when he collapsed on my chest sobbing during that final, conclusive ultrasound.

Each beautiful sunny, autumn day makes me ache for you. As your third birthday approaches I wonder what theme you’d have chosen for your party this year? Pirates? Dinosaurs? Outer space? And what about Halloween, my Love? What would you like to be this year? Whatever you choose, we’ll come up with a corresponding costume for your little sister; it’s probably the last year before she asserts her own opinion.

I often wonder what the sibling dynamic would be between you two. I wish that I could be witness to that evolving relationship. Daddy and I have decided to have another baby. If we are fortunate enough to bring a new baby home I know it will break my heart all over again watching your sister dote on that baby. I fantasize about a 15-month-old you meeting Dragon at the hospital for the first time, kissing her face sweetly, insisting on holding her by yourself!

It is undeniable that you, dear boy, have made me a better mother than I would have been. I have shed my pride. Inhibition, embarrassment and judgment do not influence my parenting as they once did. I have clear priorities that spending time together, with Dragon and with family, are far more important than any chore or job or mess. I am liberated from concern about what others think or feel about me or my choices. Now I can do what is best for us without hesitation. Just one of your many gifts.

I love you with all my being.

Love,

Mama

Toddler Tantrum

“I don't know about anyone else, but a massive toddler tantrum before 6 a.m. is exactly how I like to start my morning!”

This is a FB status I read recently. What I immediately thought was, “Yes please. I’d start each and every day that way if I could.” But, as always, I don’t write anything. Truth is I was rarely on FB before A died and since his stillbirth have avoided it even more so for the obvious reasons. What makes this particular post sting even more is that this girl’s son, the toddler culprit, was born a couple weeks before A. They’d be the same exact age.

I know many babylost parents have expressed it more eloquently than I, but this is just another example of how losing A has affected my parenting. Not that I took things for granted before, but when Dragonette is extra fussy or won’t nap unless she’s held, I am far more patient than I would have been if she was my first child.

I am not a saint of a mother. There are times when I cannot deal with her and pass her off enthusiastically to Daddy or Grandma. On rough days I look forward to a break in caring for her. But this newfound patience is most certainly a gift from my son. He has taught me what is really important in life and to cherish each small moment.

So when she won’t go back to sleep after eating at 3 a.m., I begrudgingly, but not resentfully, get up to walk and jostle her for an hour.

The Things People Say

There is always a concern that a rainbow baby will mislead others to thinking you are ‘all better.’ I have found that since Dragon was born only a few people have brought up A in conversation. This is more than a little disheartening. It doesn’t have to be a long, deep conversation about how I’m coping with this living infant given A’s stillbirth but even something more superficial like, “Do you think she looks like her brother?” Or “How much did A weigh when he was born?” You know, typical questions a mom might be asked when her second child is born.

So it is especially wonderful when those few people do talk about A. In particular, I was touched by a card one of my mother’s friends sent, a woman who I have met only a couple times and who (to my knowledge) has never lost a child. She wrote this:

“Congratulations! I remember feeling a little sad during my second pregnancy – not wanting to displace my first or love him less. Then number 2 comes along and miraculously it is wonderful! Your heart just gets bigger and you love even more. A is not forgotten. God bless both your children.”

It was a perfect sentiment. Without minimizing the stressful subsequent pregnancy, she made me feel like a ‘normal’ mom; plus she acknowledged A and his absence.

In contrast, I sat across the room from E’s aunt the other night. She had Dragon in her arms and we were chatting. She asked me if Dragon was my mother’s first grandchild. Obviously she didn’t think that question through, but I wasn’t going to just let it slip by; let A slip by. So I replied that A was the first grandchild for my parents and that they are over-the-moon in love with Dragon. Sheesh!

And so the quest to keep my son in people’s minds and lives continues with the added challenge that they are happily distracted by his little sister now.

Some more...

...random thoughts.

My sleep deprived brain, which is coursing with mommy hormones, is playing tricks on me. It's telling me to return to the hospital. That he is exactly where we left him. Down the hall to the corner room. Crack the door and peek in to see our precious son in the isolette right beside the window. We wanted him to experience the beautiful sunset that fateful birthday. 

Let's just go get him. He must be there, right where we left him.

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We are 5 weeks into breast feeding. My boobs leak, often. Most times it just happens naturally an hour or so before she's due to eat again. But they also leak when I think about my babies. I was laying in bed trying to fall asleep and all I could think about was sweet A. Sure enough the milk starting flowing. In a way this comforted me. My boobs, my body still recognize him as my child even if so many others no longer mention him.

Many family members and friends are lining up to meet Dragon. A few of them, for various reasons, have never seen A's photos. I want to make it a rule - If you haven't sat with us in the heartache of looking through his album, then you don't get to snuggle this warm, living bundle of adorable-ness. You cannot acknowledge half of my children. It's all or none.

And don't me started on our friends who never sent a text, card, email or called after A was stillborn. Never said a thing, even 7 months later when we got together or the first time since his birth.

But I don't make any such rules. And I don't cut said friends out of my life. I am trying to be forgiving. Trying.

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It is low tide. The waves gently carry my son further away from me. I stand on the shore his infant sister at my breast. Clutching her with one hand, my other arm reaches desperately for him. He floats calmly on the waves. I cannot reach him. I cannot put her down to dive in. I scream; call his name, implore him to come back. I crumble to the ground sobbing, knowing he is beyond my reach. I glance down at the baby on my chest and cry harder.

Why does it feel like one or the other?

Little Sister

Baby Dragon is still alive and healthy. We are combating jaundice with frequent feedings. This is working and it’s also packing on the weight. She’s gaining an average of 2 ounces a day!

The frequent feedings have left E and I complete zombies, but it’s worth it. Plus we just got the go ahead at her 2-week well child checkup to relax the feeding schedule to on demand. If we’re lucky she’ll give us a solid 3 ½ hours between feeds.

It’s been just 2 weeks and already she is changing so much. Her face looks more like a baby than a newborn. Her belly is distended now. Her arms and legs are thickening with new creases showing up daily. A few of her features resemble her big brother’s but for the most part she is her very own person. Although I wished for this baby to look like A it is so much better for me that she’s uniquely herself.

The feeding schedule afforded me barely an hour between feeds which meant I could either sleep for an hour, eat something and shower or make a few phone calls before it was time to put her back on. While I love the closeness of nursing, I am only just now beginning to enjoy her like I had hoped. Now with a bit more time in between sessions I can kiss her, play with her; just plain stop and admire her. Except that is dangerous territory. Whenever I take some time to stop and wonder at this tiny, beautiful being, I well up. I’m still trying to grasp that she is our daughter, that she is ours to keep.

I cry at least every other day. Sometimes because I am so grateful for Dragon and so in love with her. Sometimes because I envision our future with this child and already I want to slow down time – I want her to stay tiny and curled up for a long time. Sometimes because I miss A even more now that I know how it’s supposed to go. Sometimes I can’t even discern what brings on the tears.

To be honest, with the traumatic birth, general anesthesia and then strict nursing schedule I haven’t had much time to process it all. I need some quiet time to process her birth, how it all went down. I need to process that she is mine and allow the maternal connection to really sink in. I need to re-assess A’s birth now that I can compare it to a “normal” delivery experience. I need to re-mourn our darling son because now I understand much better what he and what we missed out on – there is so much more to grieve.

Like I said earlier, they detected the umbilical cord around Dragon’s neck at our weekly BPP. It was actually wrapped twice around her neck. This was the impetus to induce right away.  Most of that Wednesday we just hung out in the labor/delivery room. I was admitted early in the morning and the Cervidil wasn’t inserted until 3pm. So we ate, listened to her heartbeat on the monitor and tooled around the internet trying to calm our nerves.

By 11pm I was having painful contractions that required me to focus my breathing. At 3am the Cervidil came out. I was 2cm (I can’t remember what percentage effaced). I had hoped to be further along and was on the brink of tears. The hospital staff assured me this was good progress given we started at high, tight and not even 1cm. Some women, they said, require a second round of Cervidil.

After a 2-hour break, wherein I was allowed to eat again, they started the pitocin drip. Throughout this ordeal I was constantly doubting my decision to force my body into labor. Every half hour the pitocin drip was turned up a bit. By 6am we called our doula and she arrived. I continued to breath through contractions and tried to rest in between.

Our midwife, who is awesome, allowed me to continue to eat throughout the day. We changed positions, walked the halls and sat on the birthing ball trying to help things progress. When I was checked mid-afternoon and found to be 4cm I again felt like giving up. I considered how much “easier” it would be to have a C-section. I felt envious of the anonymous women in the room next to me who had delivered her baby hours ago (you’d think they’d soundproof the walls of labor/delivery rooms better). I wanted to call the whole thing off. My confidence was non-existent. My conviction to continue laboring without pain medicine was waning – big time.

In early evening I was 6cm and we were at the full pitocin dosage. The midwife gave me the option. We could stop the pitocin and take a break. (This was very enticing because I had been laboring since 11pm the day before without hardly a wink of sleep.) But when we started back up we’d have to start at the lowest dosage and work our way up again. Or we could dial the pitocin down a couple notches and see how we progressed. As tempting as it was to pull the plug and have a Pit vacation, I knew I didn’t have the mental or emotional endurance to start from scratch.

The pit was dialed down and I kept working through each contraction. They were getting very intense but I had a good 2-minutes between contractions, which was just lovely (no seriously it was; I’m not being sarcastic). By 6pm the midwife, doula and nurse were prepping the room for delivery. Baby was coming within the hour they said.

I continued to change positions as suggested by the knowledgeable team and baby sank lower and lower. The external heart rate monitor remained on Dragon the entire time. I could feel her very low in my pelvis but did not yet have the urge to push. The midwife suggested I lay on my right side. I did. Baby Dragon fell off the monitor so they suggested I flip to my left side as baby obviously didn’t like this side. I flipped over and then felt lots of discomfort high up under my ribs. This was unusual because all of the pain and discomfort had been down low. I mentioned this out loud but the nurse was too busy trying to locate Dragon’s heartbeat again.

The midwife reached in to check if I was dilated fully and could start pushing. What she felt entering the birth canal was a tiny hand, not a baby head. In addition she could feel a portion of cord.  This is where things get frantic. Immediately she paged the attending doctor who came in and confirmed Dragon’s hand and cord were coming first. Now there are a handful more staff in the room palpating my belly trying to determine how baby is lying. They wheel in an ultrasound machine and throw an oxygen mask on me. I am still having intense contractions and trying to breath best I can but the scene is panic inducing.

Someone shouts out to prep an OR stat and all of a sudden the cords and monitors are whipped off me and they’re wheeling my bed down the hallway. E has to remain in the labor room – there is no time for him to get prepped and they’ll be knocking me out with general anesthesia because I did not have an epidural.

The anesthesiologist is in my face urging me to focus on her and only her. She’s asking me pertinent questions about past surgeries and my experience with anesthesia. Simultaneously there are a dozen people rushing around the OR - two people are wrapping my calves, one inserts the catheter, another drapes and swabs my belly, two separate people strap my arms down, a resident is holding an oxygen bag over my face. It is crazy.

The doctor tells me they’re going to push the anesthesia and that’s the last I remember. Next thing I know, I’m groggily waking up in the post-op recovery room. I feel like hell and am very confused. E is there holding a bundled baby and tells me it is our baby. That our daughter is here safe and sound. I can hardly keep my eyes open. With the assistance of the doula, E manipulates my breasts and gives our tiny Dragon her first feed. I can’t muster the strength to raise my arms. Shortly thereafter E leaves with the pediatric nurse to accompany Dragon for her first bath and examination. I am pushed to our maternity recovery room to get settled. E and Dragon rejoin me a little while later but I’m still very drowsy.

Fortunately, she was never in distress and was healthy upon delivery. E says they brought her to him approximately 15-minutes after I was hectically wheeled out of the room. He was able to stay with her from that point on.

Supposedly what happened is this. The umbilical cord was not particularly long and it was wrapped twice around her neck. As she descended the tension on the cord increased. To relieve the tension and save her own life, she twisted at the last minute into a transverse position. The midwife says in her entire life, she’s never seen that happen. I have to credit our little girl for that maneuver and the incredible hospital staff who got her out so quickly.

Like I said, we are home and trying to adjust to the lack of sleep. Dragon is thriving and we are over-the-moon in love with her. Honestly, I just can’t get enough of her.

I may fade and in and out of the blogosphere, but I am always here reading and abiding. Thank you for taking the time to read to the end of this post.

Bittersweet

After A was stillborn, we were fortunate enough to receive outreach from several local support groups and babylost organizations. Through one such organization I befriended a woman whose firstborn child was born still thirteen years ago at 38 weeks from a supposed cord accident, though cause of death was never conclusively decided. She got pregnant soon after her son’s birth and just four days after the first anniversary of his death she gave birth to a living son. She went on to have one more subsequent living son a couple years later.

We really seem to get each other and I have leaned on her a few times so far during this subsequent pregnancy. Her insight is that her son’s birthday is bittersweet. Each year she is sad that her eldest is not here but then a few days later she celebrates her “miracle” baby who wouldn’t exist if his older brother had not died.

I’m not quite to bittersweet yet, although I do feel grateful for Dragon and this new pregnancy even in the midst of my continued angst of missing A. But for me they are two distinct emotional experiences – I feel angry, sorrowful and severe pain because I yearn for my son, and I feel distinctly excited and thankful for this new life kicking me in the ribs. Perhaps with time, like my friend, I too will know how to hold two contrary truths together in my heart simultaneously, to find holidays and special occasions bittersweet.

She tells me that life is wonderful since her second son arrived and that she thinks it will be wonderful for me too one day. 

Freak Out

I think I mentioned it earlier this year, a coworker of mine had a healthy son in March; born just 5 months after A. Any baby born near A’s birthday stings, but when they’re little boys it hurts even more. Ever since I returned to work 6-weeks postpartum, this particular male coworker has been saccharinely nice to me. Still I avoid him in the office because just the sight of him roils jealously and anger within. Not anger directed at him, just anger over the fact that my child is not here as he should be – you know that little thing that never ceases to piss me off.

Anyway, Tuesday afternoon a half-hour before quitting time, I bid farewell to two clients in the waiting area then turn to head back to my desk and there, in the hallway, smack dab in front of me is that coworker, his wife and their blonde spiky-haired infant son with a gaggle of middle-aged female colleagues swarmed around. I smile and quickly walk past to my desk.

I sit down and can feel my cheeks flush. I’m feeling hot all over like I need to strip off my sweater. I can hear the ladies oohing and ahhing over the baby. I frantically untangle my headphones and turn up the volume. My heart is POUNDING inside my chest. It’s difficult to breath.

I try to distract myself by continuing with work tasks. I am blinking back tears, fighting the inevitable. Check the clock, 15-minutes to go. God, can I hold it together that long? I feel like the need to flee. I just want to get out of here! Perhaps I can talk a walk around the block. But the wife and baby are probably leaving soon too and I could not handle being stuck on the elevator with them. Shit.

I could call my good friend. But where to make that call? I am surely going to burst into tears any second now. The conference room? The floor below? The stairwell? Except the happy family is making their rounds through the office visiting and proudly showing off son. I can’t bear to bump into them again. I am fighting back tears now.

I tug off the headphones and make a beeline for the ladies’ room. My office neighbor is talking with another colleague about how she can’t believe he’s 6-months old. He’s so small!

I muffle my sobs while sitting in the stall. Luckily no one comes in. I grab my cell phone and plan to call my friend from the floor below thinking it will be a bit more private. As soon as I open the bathroom door I can hear coworker’s and wife’s voice in the reception area – they are blocking the stairwell and elevators!

I am legitimately sweating now; heart still pounding; eyes red from crying in the bathroom. Naturally I head in the opposite direction and pop into a deserted office. I crumble to the ground and cry as quietly as I can. I call my friend. She doesn’t answer and I don’t leave a voicemail. I text E and ask if he can pick me up, I can’t face public transportation or a prolonged commute.

I feel trapped. I wish one of my sympathetic colleagues would come tell me when the coast is clear. Kneeling on the floor I continue to cry by myself. Why didn’t I grab more tissues?

Finally the clock strikes five and the suffocating need to escape trumps the possibility of seeing them again so I mop up the best I can the makeup dripping down my face and cautiously head back to my desk.

I see a couple people on the way but avert my still-stinging eyes. Swiftly, I shut down my computer, snatch my stuff and speed walk out of the building to my awaiting knight in shining armor dusty station wagon. I don’t think I’ve ever had a panic attack before and I’m not self-diagnosing, but whatever that shit was, it sucked.

Not one person came to check on me or see how I was doing with the baby visit. Maybe I didn’t really want anyone stopping by because surely I would have devolved into tears but even an email? Some form of acknowledgement? Nothing. Perhaps they were all too enamored with that spiky-haired kid. Maybe it is that I intentionally keep work friends at an arm’s length. Regardless I was a little hurt that not one single person connected two and two – his living son and my dead son; his life busy with growth and development and my life fantasizing about A’s milestones; him parading his adorable son around and me with A's photos tucked away in an envelope at my desk, desperate for someone to ask to see them again, too considerate to frame one.

That right there might be the gist of it. I don't necessarily want outright support from my colleagues (or any non-babylost folks) but I need acknowledgement. Don't try to say the right thing, don't try to make me feel better, don't tell me everything is going to work out. Just acknowledge that my son was here, that his sudden death is god awful and that my life is wrecked. That's all I'm asking.

Not Him

Last year, I started bonding with A when he was literally the size of a lentil - just a ball of cells. I immediately felt connected, began referring to he and I as, “us,” and thought about that gestating baby constantly. This is not the case during my present pregnancy.

One of the hang-ups, is that I am having trouble accepting this new baby because it is not A. Perhaps some of this is normal second pregnancy stuff where a mom questions her capacity to love another child as much as she loves her firstborn. He is the one I fell in love with. He is all I’ve known. He is my heart's desire. But he is gone. Gone, gone, gone.

These two babies, A and Dragon, are inextricably intertwined. If A had lived, I most likely wouldn't be pregnant again so soon and thus Dragon wouldn't exist. Plus A's brief life and inexplicable death have colored this new pregnancy and my outlook as a parent. Surely each baby is different and each child has their own personality, but I don't know A's personality all that well and Dragon and I are just getting acquainted. 

My only other pregnancy and mothering experience is with A. Sometimes my mind slips and I swear I am standing in last year again - pregnant, wearing the same maternity clothes, consciously eating the same healthy foods - but reality comes back into focus and I am destroyed all over again; devastated that this baby in my womb, alive and kicking, is not A. This, of course, is quickly followed by a bout of guilt that I am doing Dragon a disservice.

But, I cannot stroke my growing belly and not want for the child that is missing. I cannot untangle my hope and love for this new child with the despair and anguish associated with my firstborn.

The acknowledgement that this new baby is not him, feels as crushing as when I watched the too-still ultrasound screen last October confirming the unfathomable.

I just want him. Even if Dragon makes it here safely, I'm still going to want A. Even if I go on to have a dozen living children, I will still want A. And my heart is not yet willing to accept that he will forever be absent.

One of These Things Does Not Belong

You'll remember I had plans to go to girls' night with a few friends. I ultimately decided not to spend the night which was the right decision. It was hard enough to bide my time through spa treatments and dinner (~ 7 hours total). I don't think my patience or energy would have lasted much longer.

Two of these girls are my close friends (the third is more of an acquaintance to me). All three of them have children all aged 4 or younger. The two youngest of their kids were born 7-months before A. The three of babies would have been the same age, started kindergarten the same year, etc. Pregnant with A last year I was finally going to be invited to play dates and be more engaged by conversations of potty training tactics and childcare arrangements. Now I feel even more alienated.

They, I assume, are uncomfortable around me because they can't look at me and not be confronted with unfathomable, unjustifiable tragedy. They aren't sure what to say or what not to say to me. Do they bring it up still? Do they ask how I'm doing? Do they still talk about their own children or is that painful for me? 

I am uncomfortable because I can no longer care about the ups and downs in their daily lives. Like I said in that earlier post, I just don't have the capacity plus most people's problems pale in comparison to the hell I'm living each day. I smile feebly feigning interest and trying not to cringe when they talk about how much fun they're having this summer with their kids because they're at "that great age" or what color their 3-year-old's toenails are painted (what I wouldn't give for little, wiggling toes!). I put forth great effort to control conversations and keep others talking. Anything I want to talk about, they do not want to listen to, nor could they grasp the complexities and polarities of this post-stillbirth life. Just keep asking questions about their jobs, homes, children and husbands. It is very tiring and I feel so fake. This is not who I am anymore.

I am uncomfortable around them because I do not belong anymore. I am not one of them. I don't belong to their world of the grief-innocent. 

My excommunication from the realm of those unscathed by tragedy was most apparent as we retreated to the hotel room post spa and pre-dinner. I was as ready as I was going to get having arrived in my outfit with some makeup on. The other three brought changes of clothes, curling irons, shoes, multiple handbags and cases of makeup. They were excited for a night out. Thrilled to be liberated from their wifely and motherly duties for the night. Relieved to leave their families at home for 24-hours so they could let loose, primp, get tipsy and not have to take care of anyone but themselves. I lay on the hotel bed idly chatting with my girlfriend while she did her hair in the full-length mirror. Top 40 hip hop blared from an iPod. They danced and jumped around, giddy. I eyed the clock and willed it to move faster, trying not to drag the whole party down.

All in all there weren't any major discomforting moments. A couple awkward exchanges. Far too much conversation about their living, breathing, growing kids - but how can I blame them, young children dominate your life. And an effortless good-bye after dinner while they continued on to a bar up the road. I raced home, desperate for the safety of my home and the soothing of E's embrace. I don't think I could do it again. I don't know that I'll ever be able to fit in to their world again.

Along the same line, Angie recently wrote about feeling alienated over at Glow in the Woods. 

To Know Or Not To Know

Last year in all the hubbub of expecting our first child and the seeming millions of decisions to make, E and I were on the same page regarding finding out the gender. We both, independently, wanted to wait until delivery to discover baby’s gender. It was a good thing A ended up being a boy because even as we started the induction we had not agreed upon a girl’s name.

My perspective from Griefland is quite different than that of my former life. Regarding this particular topic, I am quite torn about whether to find out Dragon’s sex at the 19-week anomaly scan. Obviously my first wish is for a breathing baby. My second is for a healthy baby. Even those two desires seem selfish and I dare not tempt fate, but I cannot help but have a bias. I really want a boy.

Part of this desire, I’m sure, stems from the story that has been forming since A was stillborn - what it would have been like to parent a son, how a firstborn son would have affected the family dynamic, how E and his son would bond, the unique gifts and challenges of raising a boy. Having another son doesn’t right the wrong of A’s calamitous death, but it would fulfill a part of the story that I want to be my story. Since we were actually blessed with a son, it now feels as though we ought to have one.

Additionally, I am quite terrified of having a daughter. Even during the blissful preparations of my first pregnancy, the thought of raising a daughter spiked my anxiety. I think much of this originates in the complex and tumultuous relationship I have with my own mother. I would be much more comfortable rearing a son. And god help us all if I have more than one daughter because the complicated sister dynamic is a baffling mystery to me.

So back to the issue at hand, again this pregnancy E would like to wait until Dragon’s birthday to find out. I feel strongly that this is the right thing to do. Because it is tradition, because I don’t want gender to matter, because it’s difficult for me to keep a secret. However, if this little stinker does end up being a girl, I will have to sort out all of those feelings (including, sadly, disappointment) while trying to bond, nurse and care for my newborn. If I opt to find out at the anomaly scan, I’ll have a 4-month head start in preparing myself emotionally and mentally.

I’ve also heard from a BLM whose son was stillborn at term 12-years ago and who went on to have two living sons, that she found out during both subsequent pregnancies because then she could name her children and make the most of her time with them in utero in case that was the only time they would have together.

I admit I do not think of Dragon as obsessively as I thought of A during my pregnancy with him. Perhaps this is common for all second pregnancies, babyloss or not. Perhaps the novelty isn’t there since I know how it goes now. But I just don’t dwell on Dragon all day every day like I did last time. On top of that, much of my focus is still dedicated to A and grieving him. Maybe finding out Dragon’s gender will help me feel more attached. Or maybe that will naturally come later one once I start to feel Dragon moving around and developing a personality.

There are pros and cons to both choices. Whichever I choose, E will support. If I do decide to find out early, I won’t be sharing with anyone (sorry friends). I still have a few more weeks to weigh the options but gosh it’s tough.

Magic

A few months after A’s death my cousin and his wife announced they were expecting their third child. My other cousins, who live out-of-state, had given birth to a son 2 months after A’s death (see this Post) this is another set of cousins and they live locally. Of course I was happy for them and they were extremely sensitive in announcing it and whenever they were around us. Still, I was dreading watching her pregnancy progress and the inevitable birth of their baby. I can't avoid it as easily as I can the out-of-town family.

Last week, these local cousins lost their baby. I believe she was around 4 months along. E and I both cried when we heard the news.

I feel like I should know the magic words to say. Because I am a bereaved mother, I should know what do and say to bring comfort to my cousins.

The truth of the matter is no one can ease the pain of losing a child. It’s so awful to watch loved ones experience something this awful. I feel extra helpless, if that makes any sense.

Luckily for me (and my own need to do something) she has been receptive to my emails and has even asked me about local support groups. At least I can offer her resources and literature. But it still doesn’t feel like enough. Shouldn’t I have the magic alchemy? The right equation or potion or spell? Shouldn’t I know exactly how to respond every step of the way?

I wish no one ever had to lose a baby ever again.

March Baby Madness

My co-worker’s son was born this week. I knew he and his wife were expecting; I knew they were due in March; I knew it was a boy. Every Monday morning I’d arrive at the office anticipating the news of a weekend delivery.

Wednesday afternoon, he texted the big boss to share the news that the baby was born including a snapshot of little Ethan swaddled in a hospital blanket. The big boss passed this photo on to the entire staff via email. My initial reaction was nausea. I literally felt sick to my stomach.

What an awful response to the news of a child’s birth? I am not a wicked person. On the contrary, I understand the lack of guarantees when it comes to bearing children and the joy that comes once that baby is safely in your arms. But hearing of his arrival and seeing his photo made my gut flip-flop.

Naturally I cried and then put my headphones on to drown out any discussion around me of the cute new baby and tried my damnedest to make it to 5 o’clock. Though I ended up crying a couple more times at office.

Of course the kindhearted folks I work with stopped by my cube to see how I was doing and offer support. They're so wonderful. But they also say the stupidest things that are not supportive at all. "Your day will come." "You'll be a mom someday." "Someday it will all be ok." I wholeheartedly believe all of these things. But guess what? Knowing those things does not make me feel any better. It does not make me miss my son any less. It does not make the day any easier to survive!

March was rough. Between family, friends, neighbors, coworkers and acquaintances there were 6 babies born. Perhaps it’s our age, but every time I log onto Facebook, it seems every single Friend has photos of their children or are expecting. It makes me glum and angry. I avoid FB for the most part because of this. And after one particularly teary, rageful evening E said to me “No more Facebook on Sunday nights, ok?” *sigh*

Knowing that someday we'll have living children and I'll be a mom does not make it any easier to watch hugely pregnant peers go into the hospital and a couple days later bring a baby home HOW IT'S SUPPOSED TO BE. Why does everyone else get to keep their baby?!

Dichotomies Abound

An extra hour of daylight. The return of the songbirds. Buds on the trees. Unseasonably warm temperatures. Springtime is here with aplomb. At once I feel refreshed, upbeat and optimistic. Then I notice the families out walking, pushing their infant in a stroller. A toddler exploring at the park. A father and his 8-year-old son playing tennis. And all of a sudden the feeble mend on my heart rips open again. I long for A. I want to show him his world, the excitement of Spring. Share irreplaceable experiences and make memories together. I want to be that family at the park, doing nothing extraordinary, just enjoying the day, loving life, getting to know their baby. From reenergized and optimistic to sullen in milliseconds.

Experiencing such a polarity of emotions at the same time – hope, rejuvenation, despair, agony – is confusing, but becoming a defining characteristic of life in Griefland. Right from the very beginning of this god-forbidden journey I’ve been floored by powerful emotions from opposite ends of the spectrum. When A was born I was elated; so thrilled to finally meet our child who we’d been waiting so long for. I was very proud. Simultaneously I felt deep sadness, disbelief and anguish.

After attending support group for the first time, I was encouraged to hear that these families had survived such unthinkable tragedy and had gone on to live fulfilling lives, but in the same breath I was discouraged because their stories, their very existence, attest that this would be with me forever; this unimaginable reality was never going away. In the same vein, after hearing some bereaved mothers speak of the few hours they spent with their infants I felt jealous. I never got to see A alive aside from ultrasounds. Moments later that jealously was countered as I empathized with women who are unable to get pregnant and/or carry to term. On the tail of envy came gratitude, I am thankful for the time I had with A, for the remarkable experience of being pregnant and for the fact that E and I are able to conceive easily.

Four days after the due date is when we found out A had died (see earlier post for details of A's Story). We’ve spoken to various medical professionals - perinatologists, pathologist, midwives – and no one can tell us what happened. No one can explain why A died. The pregnancy was healthy. His autopsy was completely normal. I didn’t have any condition or infection. The cord and placenta were healthy and normal. Concurrently I am outraged and relieved. Outraged that A didn’t have to die. He didn’t have any anomaly or genetic defect that was incompatible with life. He was 100% perfectly healthy. So why the heck did he die? Relieved because I know E and I can produce healthy children.

All of these dichotomies are really trying. Typically, I am a black and white thinker. How can such disparate emotions exist at the same exact time? It’s difficult to get my head around. But I am trying to accept it. Accept the feelings as they come; don’t judge them, don’t over think it. Just accept and go with the flow. Another powerful lesson from A. (Although I’d prefer to stay ignorant if it meant he would be here with us).

In Your Face

Two months after A was born, my cousins who live out-of-state gave birth to a son. They also have a toddler daughter at home. My aunt recently spent a few weeks with them; meeting her grandson for the first time. She returned home this past week, just in time for my grandmother’s 81^st birthday dinner. I happened to sit next to this particular aunt. She brought out an envelope of snapshots from their recent visit and asked if we’d like to see them. Rather than taking them to the other side of the table, or beginning with someone else, she handed them directly to me. *sigh*

I love my cousins and hold nothing against them personally, but I was already worn down by the big gathering. After flipping through them, I passed ‘em along, took a deep breath and regrouped…until I noticed a large foam board sitting next to Grandma’s chair at the head of the table. On the board were two huge, blown-up photos of the out-of-town 2-year-old and newborn boy. My gut wretched, my eyes burned, I felt dizzy. Because her grandchildren could not physically be here for the celebration, my aunt brought this poster of their images. What about A?! He can’t be here. He’s missing! Why doesn’t anyone acknowledge that he’s not here and should be? How strange would they look at me if I brought a giant, blown-up photo of A to all the family gatherings?

One of my fears when this newborn baby was coming so soon after A died was that this baby too would be a boy. You see, on this side of the family we have 4 great-granddaughters…until A. He was the first great-grandson and I was immensely proud of that. I was afraid that if out-of-town baby was also a boy, he would eclipse A and A’s place in the family.

On top of all this, another set of cousins just announced they’re expecting (gender unknown as of yet). They were also at Grandma’s dinner. These cousins live locally and I won’t be able to avoid them or their children as easily as I can the out-of-towners. Plus I know they feel guilty and uncomfortable around E and I, which only feeds my anxiety and insecurity. How effing cruel that this wonderfully huge extended family that I’ve always found supportive is suddenly such horrible company to be in.

I held it together until we hit the door of the restaurant, then the tears flowed. I didn’t want to damper the celebration, I didn’t want attention on Grandma’s day and I didn’t want to make anyone feel bad.

My entire extended family has been supportive since the day A was born. I know my aunt did not do these things maliciously. She just didn’t think about how they’d affect me. How I can expect everyone to stop and put me first before making any decisions or saying anything out loud? I can’t. I don’t like resenting my loved ones or their children. It’s a dreadful feeling.  

It’s days later and I’m still upset by it. Surely this won’t be the last insensitive thing someone does or says to me. I just didn’t expect it from my own family.