Monday was my first day back to work. Everyone told me it would be so hard, that there would be tears, that I would cry all the way to work.
The day was an adjustment, but I didn't feel it was too hard. I waited for the tears to come, but they didn't.
That night I was driving home after my group and the tears finally came.
But they weren't for Vinny.
They were for Alfy.
You see, a few hours of missing my living, breathing, second son pales in comparison to the lifetime of missing my first son.
Do you believe in signs? I do, but hadn't experienced any in quite some time. The last significant sign I can remember (prior to the ones I'm about to share) was witnessing a halo around the sun last summer when out on the lake fishing in the TOY.
My husband and I had our first date night out this past Saturday since having Vinny. We went to dinner and then went and saw the movie "Gravity," in 3D nonetheless (this was a mistake but highly recommended!).
SPOILER ALERT!
In the movie, Sandra Bullock's character shares a story of how her 4 year old daughter died after a head trauma that occurred on the playground at recess. As the story continues, George Clooney's characters tells Sandra's character that the loss of her child is as bad as it gets and that she can survive the precarious situation she is in. In the end of the film, Sandra sends a prayer to God and George's character (an intercession if you will) and describes her daughter to him and asks that he give her a big hug. I was in tears at this point. Well, after the movie is over and the credits start rolling, guess what the director/producer's first name is?
Alfonso.
I think he was reminding me that he's always with me.
I also need to add my experience the following morning. We were sitting in church and I was staring at the diaper bag. The front of it is designed to look like a schedule of a band's touring schedule in the 1970's. There is a list of dates on the front. I've stared at the bag many times now. However, when looking at it on Sunday, I realized the dates were listed as DD/MM/YEAR (I know this because one of the dates listed was 22/4), not MM/DD/YEAR as I had assumed. Guess what date was on that list.
April 6, Alfy's birthday.
I love it when my son pops up in the most unexpected ways.
Friday, September 13, Vincent Anthony, our second son, arrive at 7:36am in the morning via c-section. He weighed 8 lbs. 9 oz. and was 20.5 inches long. He was/is perfect. I am still a little in awe and shock that I survived 39 weeks of pregnancy. I am still in awe and shock that he survived 39 weeks of pregnancy. But he did, and I am so grateful for that.
Today is day three on our own. It has been a rough transition for me. The first week at home, Tony was around to support me, me him, us Vinny and so on. It was a tough first week, but having Tony by my side made all the difference in the world. I wish he was able to take more time, as I hope he does too. But, unfortunately that is not a culture that we are a part of. Dad's rarely are afforded the same time mom's are and that is a shame. Having a little person rely on you for almost every basic need is tough work, which I expected.
I think this first week on our own has been made tougher by past experiences. I've been taken back to a year and a half ago time and time again in the past three days. The weather has been very similar to spring weather after we had Alfy. We had the windows open and it would get cool at night and hot during the day. I still find it fascinating that temperature and weather can have such a profound effect on me. I feel as though I haven't moved from our couch in a week and a half, another experience I had after Alfy (at least after having Alfy I made it to bed at night, I don't even do that at the moment). I routinely find myself in the same clothes day in and day out (though I did manage to change today). I feel the hormones on overload that can cause me to spring in to tears at the smallest concern. I felt as though I've experienced it all before, and I suppose I have.
I am finding myself caught between great moments of sadness and joy on a constant basis. With every smile caught in a sleepy moment, every snuggle on the couch, every look of awe and wonder I am overjoyed that we are experiencing them. In those moments I am also reminded of how much we really lost when we lost Alfy. We lost an entire lifetime of moments. And with Vinny, we've gained an entire lifetime of moments.
How bittersweet life is.
I think I've mentioned a time or two that I really hate when other people touch my stomach. I mean, really? Just because there is a life growing in there does not give you the right to invade my personal space. I struggled with it when I was pregnant with Alfy and I've really struggled with it with this pregnancy. My stomach is what I would consider the most delicate part of me, the part of me that let me down with Alfy, so any unnecessary touches, pokes, etc. just add to my anxiety. What if you, as someone who has no right to it in the first place, somehow causes something to go wrong in this sacred place I have? I can think of many, many times when someone has come up to me and just put their hand on my stomach. Just STOP. It's not cute, or comforting, or sweet, or caring. It's uncomfortable, and rude, and invasive. If you feel you must, always ask first. If it's me, I will tell you no, but appreciate that at least you asked.
Despite my strong feelings on stomach touching, there were two times when another person (outside of Tony) touched my stomach that I actually found quite endearing, and they both happened in the same day. The first one was my nephew, who is just about 18 months. We were all visiting my parents and he was practicing walking up and down the stairs on their deck (not stairs to be taken lightly, old wood with little railing). I was waiting at the bottom for him. When he got to the bottom step, he stared at my belly and reached his hand out, but I was too far away. He climbed all the way down and put his little hand on my stomach for just a moment and looked at me. Just a moment, then he went about playing and practicing stairs. That one moment was all he needed and he was satisfied. I like to think that maybe Alfy was whispering in his ear at the moment, to do something he wasn't here to do himself.
The other moment was shortly thereafter. A good friend of mine was also home and stopped by with her two boys, 3 and 5. The 3 year old at one point was practicing his karate skills on the back of my leg. My friend asked him to stop and proceeded to tell him about the baby in my stomach and that he needed to be very careful, so he did just as mom asked. A while later, the 5 year old, was getting a bit rowdy as we were playing, nothing I couldn't handle. But, his little brother came to my aid. He put one hand on my stomach and the other on his brother, positioned himself in the middle and told him to stop. His concern was so genuine. What a caring little man. My friend has done an excellent job with her boys. I hope they continue down the paths they are on:)
Now, back to everyone else (except Tony), do NOT touch my stomach. It is not yours and is an incredible invasion of personal space.
Looking at all the blogs I follow, there seems to be an absence of updates. If they are anything like me, they're probably at a point in their grief/life/pregnancy that seems almost impossible to share with others. That is where I am. At a point where I don't know how to share.
Although, I did come across something, not about me personally, but something I read that touched me. I was reading through the obituaries and I came across one of a gentleman who died in his mid-fifties. In the obit, it included those who had passed before him, which is customary. The list of family members included his parents, grandparents, what one might expect. But then, there was another name followed by the description of who it was, his infant brother who had passed. I had to read it a few times, but it brought a smile to my face and some peace to my heart.
That's all I have to share for now.
Today I reached 28 weeks and 1 day with kiddo #2. This kiddo has officially lived in my womb longer than their big brother, Alfy. I'm not sure how I feel about this, a mix of emotion I suppose.
Yesterday, June 29, I reached the 28 week mark, it also happened to be Alfy's original due date. It was a tough day. I was so upset when Alfy was born at 28 weeks and I hadn't bought anything for him that I went and bought something for kiddo #2, just in case. I had a horrible vision the day before that this kiddo would be born at 28 weeks as well, and on June 29 of all days. Thankfully that didn't happen. But, it put me in enough a panic that I went to three stores yesterday trying to find something. I found a set of receiving blankets, one had a pattern on it that was very similar to the pattern on the fleece onesie I bought for Alfy to be buried in. I also found a onesie outfit, hat incldued, that was ducks. Alfy was buried in a duck blanket. They both seemed to fit the day and the moment.
No more shopping for a while. In fact, I don't plan on buying anything else until the end, if I make it. And then, it will be only the essentials. I don't need a whole gob of stuff, just enough to make things work. That seems hard for most people to understand. I have had several offers of baby showers, of which all I've turned down. I've also had those try again, thinking maybe a card shower. No thank you. I appreciate that people want to do those things, but I don't want any of it. It's too much and it's no longer me. Once you've buried a child, "the stuff" no longer seems important. And, it reminds me of the naive pregnant woman I once was, but will never be again. I've let her go.
Now, I pray every night for one more day with this kiddo, not a week, not a month, not years, just one more day. That's all I want. Just one more day.
Today, I got that one more day.
I was reading a blog today, actually it was an entry on an online magazine that I follow. The purpose of the article was to describe how a baby loss mom is using meditation and visualization techniques to try and conquer her anxiety as a mother to her living children. I appreciate and respect that process. However, in the midst of describing her process, she goes on to say that she will not medicate as medication would not "fix" her problem but only mask the symptoms. I have actually read this type of phrasing on several blogs from baby loss moms. Again, I appreciate that everyone will choose their own path for healing, but...I don't appreciate the negative connotation that medications used to treat depression, anxiety, insomnia, etc. receive, or the connotation that is often given to mental healthcare professionals, as if utilizing these resources/tools/aids is somehow a bad thing. I really struggle with these types of comments. As if I don't feel judged enough by the outside world, I am now feeling judged by an intimate community where I thought I was completely safe.
My hope is that for most people, the comments come from a lack of understanding. I will admit, I did not have a good concept of how therapy, psychiatry and medication for such mental disorders worked. Society as a whole puts a very negative image on using these resources. I think of how people react to the fact that I say I see a therapist and it brings extreme discomfort. I don't know why, I'm completely comfortable with it. It is a part of my life that is actually working for me right now, something I look forward to, something that helps me feel empowered in my own well being.
Therapy, counseling, psychiatric care, anti-depressants, anti-anxiety meds, sleep aids, all can be quite effective, if used with care, correctly and under the supervision of a responsible mental healthcare provider. I would say that is exactly what I have experienced. Medications are not used to "fix" depression or anxiety or sleep issues, they are not used to mask the symptoms so that you can ignore them and go on with your life while hiding from your problems (although I would venture to guess this might be how they are most commonly abused). Medications are used to help alleviate some of the symptoms, so that you can focus on working through the real issues to come to a better place for yourself.
Case in point - me. After first losing Alfy, I didn't have any issues sleeping, I was sad and less energetic than normal, but that was okay, I had just lost my son. I think it was probably about 3 or 4 weeks after I had Alfy, that my sleep habits, energy levels and all around interest in anything started to take a turn for the worse. And it's funny, once one thing starts, it affects the other things and they get stuck in this vicious cycle. I would go to bed at 10pm, every night. Going to bed at the same time every night is supposed to help with sleep, right? Well it stopped working. I would go to bed at 10pm and I would lay awake until 2 or 3am, when I would fall asleep, it was fitful, full of waking up over and over and over again, waking up at 4:30am and being wide awake, falling back asleep for a short while, hoping that maybe you would get a couple solid hours of sleep. Once that started to really take root, the energy levels started to fall. Once that happened, the apathy began to set in, and you go through the cycle again. Now, throw some uncontrollable anxiety on top of that and wow, it's some tough stuff to get through.
At one point I was taking Ambien (10mg), which still wouldn't always work. I was up to 150mg of Zoloft (anti-depressant) and I had Xanax to help curb the anxiety (don't remember the dosage). Sounds like quite the cocktail of meds? Well it was, and it was what I needed at that point in my healing. I needed something to help alleviate the symptoms so that I could focus on the real work of grieving and trying to put myself and my life back in a place where I felt I could function again. I suppose I would compare it to the flu or a cold. Do you sit around miserable with fevers and chills and body aches without doing anything for those symptoms? No, you try to alleviate them at some level so you can do the other things like eat, drink fluids, sleep to get better. We're okay with these things in a physical sense, but not in a mental sense and I would like to see that change.
Currently, 1 year, 1 month and 2 days after giving birth to my sleeping son, I still utilize these aids. I see my therapist/grief counselor once a week. I see my psychiatrist every 4-6 weeks. I work with both to regulate my need for medication. I no longer take Ambien or Xanax as my sleep has greatly improved and I have learned some new coping mechanisms for my anxiety and it's decreased quite a bit. At one point, I went off the Zoloft completely as well. However, I found out I was pregnant about the same time and the anxiety, irritability, apathy started returning. I honestly don't know if it was because I was off the Zoloft or the stress of facing another pregnancy, probably a combination of both. But, again, with the help of my therapist, psychiatrist, OB and perinatologist I decided that utilizing the Zoloft again would be the most beneficial thing for me to do. Depression creates more risks in pregnancy than Zoloft and I have a huge fear of postpartum depression, something that is very likely for me to experience again. Why make this pregnancy harder than it already is?
I continue to work in therapy and will do so for as long as it feels right to me, maybe it will be for a long time. Yes, the goal is to eventually go away from it, but I don't think it will ever be totally gone from life. If anything, I see it as a maintenance tool for me for years to come, and one that I am thankful to have found. I am also a firm believer that it takes many, many different resources to help a person in terms of their mental health - counseling, exercise, medicine, diet, support, writing, the list could go on and on.
Please don't judge me because I am in therapy or because I use anti-depressants. I am not masking my symptoms, I am not crazy, I am not medicating to escape reality. I am simply using another tool to do just the opposite, to help me accept my reality and live in it the best I can.
Ultrasounds - I've been wanting to write about them for a while, I'm not sure what's stopping me. I think I have a hard time including pregnancy topics on this blog when it was started for Alfy, and pregnancy topics can be terrible for others who might be reading this due to a recent loss. But, it is part of me and my life, so it's gonna be part of my blog.
I have had 10 ultrasounds and I am 20 weeks along, averages out to an ultrasound every 2 weeks. I wish I could accurately describe the experience. It's not at all like it was with Alfy, or probably what it is like for most women. I don't get excited to see what the kiddo will be up to. As another blogger/baby loss mom stated, it's like walking into a nightmare.
I'm terrified every time I walk into an ultrasound room. I am full of an anxiety that freezes me. I feel like a deer in headlights must feel, stuck, blind, not ready for the impending doom that is on its way.
We found out Alfy was gone through an ultrasound. I remember watching the face of the sonographer, seeing her face fall and biting her lip. I remember seeing the "color" on the ultrasound screen, or really the lack thereof. There was one color and it wasn't moving. I knew at that moment, but didn't really think it was possible.
I relive those moments each time I get an ultrasound, probably something similar to PTSD. But, rather than feel the anxiety in its full force during the ultrasound, as I said above, I freeze. I feel almost nothing. I turn it into more of a scientific moment for me, okay, here is that part and that one and this is functioning and this is moving. And, for a brief moment, there seems to be some relief. But it quickly rushes away the moment screen is turned off. No telling what will happen in the moments, minutes, hours, days, weeks until the next appointment.
I have gone in twice unexpectedly, on days where the anxiety in me was so high I was sure something was going wrong, one for spotting and one for cramping in my stomach. Both times I discounted my feelings as I sat in the office, but the anxiety that led me to those ultrasounds is the kind that leads others to the ER, chest pain, an inability to calm yourself, a feeling of losing control. Both of those times, everything was "fine." After the second appointment, I lost it. I tried to speak, to tell Tony something (I have no idea what) and all that came out were sobs, tears, anxiety, fear, sadness. I had just found out that kiddo #2 was okay and I could do nothing but sob in fear.
I try not to think about it too much, or I would be like that all the time, it's why I freeze and detach myself now. Even as I write this post, I feel very detached. And it will continue, I have at least 12 more ultrasounds to go, maybe more.
Two weeks until the next one.
Tony and I were reflecting about Alfy's birthday this past week. We were talking about how different our interactions were with the people who came to the balloon release and came to our house afterwards. We had both realized that we just didn't interact the same with those we used, those we thought would be there to support us fully in our time of need, but weren't. It was interesting. Tony made a good point that is was almost an ego boost for him, and I recognized it too. Having those people there was like an opportunity to show everyone, look what we did, look what we did without you. We wish you were there for us, but you weren't, so we did what we needed to do anyway.
At times you could almost feel the guilt coming from some, almost as if they were asking you to say that their absence was okay, that we understood. But neither of us did that. It's not okay and I will never tell you it is. I am learning to accept it, but that doesn't mean it's okay. I am trying to forgive it (although that has proven to be a greater challenge than I expected), but that doesn't mean it's okay.
This lead to some new thoughts for me, almost a new perspective, not one I like but one I have now.
My new perspective was triggered the other night by, of all things, Facebook. Now, I have unfollowed an enormous amount of people over the last year, most of whom have new families that they want to share with the world, not realizing not everyone can so easily share in the joy of their world. Tony continues to follow people that I can't. He says it make him appreciate where we are now more and what we've accomplished, the positive side coming out in him:) Anyways, I was looking over his shoulder the other night and I saw a post of a wife of one of Tony's friends. Their second child is on the way and the post identified the upcoming child as a boy. They were at the balloon release and Tony had even seen them since, but now word on their child. I saw another picture of a child I have yet to meet that was born in September. And today, I was dropping off Tony at his parents' house and twins were there that were born shortly before Alfy but I haven't seen since before he was born.
These instances always take me by surprise, cause me to clam up and nearly have a breakdown, cause my anxiety levels to skyrocket. In thinking about them, I've started to wonder if they are grateful that they weren't there for us, grateful that they were able to avoid all of the hard, sad experiences Tony and I have had, grateful that it's us and not them, grateful that we aren't around to remind them of how things can go so terribly wrong. I suspect the answer is yes and it makes me sad.
I'm not sure what to do with this perspective and these thoughts, but I needed to put them out there. I suppose I'll just sit with it for now.
(Contrary to last night's post, apparently I'm finding my words again...)
I haven't been blogging as much as I once did and I've been trying to figure out why. I've come up with a combination of reasons my word seem to be escaping me these days.
1. I'm empty and hollow. Since celebrating Alfy's birthday there has been an emptiness in my heart and soul. It's not just missing Alfy and wishing he was here with me. I don't know how to explain it. There was lots of build up leading to Alfy's first year in Heaven, it gave me something to focus on my energy for him on. Now it's on to year two and I'm not sure how to do. I'm not sure how to go through all these milestones all over again, so I don't think about it.
2. Kiddo #2. This one has left me without words. I feel detached from Alfy, from grief and from the child growing in me. I can't delve into any of it too deep for fear of not being to come back out. I know I can, but it's a struggle I just don't have the energy for right now. I don't know how to balance the past year with the upcoming year and the overlap that has occurred. I miss Alfy so much and this has been a place I could express that longing. Now my mind is invaded with what this year might have in store, kiddo #2, the good or bad. A guilt start to seeps in when I focus too much attention on this round. I have no idea how to balance these.
3. I'm out of touch with my grief. Like I mentioned above, I haven't been able to go to thick, overwhelming grief in a while. I just don't have the energy to wrestle myself out of it, even it's just an hour of good sobbing. I get anxious when I start to go there and I know the anxiety is not good for me, or anyone else, and that makes it worse. So I avoid it all together. The last time I really felt in touch with my grief was January 11, an hour or so before I figured out there was kiddo #2.
Basically I just feel like I'm a shell of myself walking around, not quite prepared to commit myself to anyone thing, numb to the world around me and the world inside my own body.
At least that's how I feel today.
It's been 365 days plus 2 since I gave birth to my precious Alfy. Last week was not exactly a pleasant week for me. I had a lot of anxiety about the impending anniversary/birthday of my son's death and birth. It's strange to think that his death came before his birth. It's not the natural order of life, but it was his life. Anyways, last week was rough. Lots of anxiety, lots of anger, lots of feeling of uneasiness.
Tony and I planned a balloon release for Saturday, April 6. It was at 2pm at the cemetery. Initially I think we sent out about 60 invitations, we had a total of about 80 people RSVP. What an overwhelming feeling. At time, I thought what the hell am I doing? I'm no good with people and small talk any more and here I was surrounding myself with tons of people. Part of me felt like it was a disaster waiting to happen. But it didn't turn out that way. The balloon release was beautiful. I think we let almost 100 balloons go at once. There were all kinds of people there, family, friends, my grief counselor, my nurse that I had at the end of my last day in the hospital. At Alfy's grave, I created a poster with his handprints and footprints so others could see just how tiny they were. We also put out a picture of Tony and I holding him. I think it made our loss more real for others, the picture of our family. For others, I assume it's easy not to actually think about the physical picture of us with our son, to think about the actual physical presence of Alfy, to think about the fact that I gave birth to this beautiful little boy who was already gone. I hope the picture showed them what it is that we are going through, that we buried our first born child, that we lost our son.
Anyways, after the balloon release we invited everyone over to our house before Mass at our church. It was dedicated to Alfy. It was beautiful. Even my OB showed up at the Mass. I was truly touched by the outpouring from everyone. Normally, those to whom the Mass is dedicated are only mentioned by name. Our priest mentioned Alfy by his name Alfy, and told the parish that he should have been celebrating his 1st birthday with us, but was instead celebrating with Jesus. It was very personable and meant so much to Tony and I.
Now it's Monday, I felt like I've needed to document the weekend somehow, but it was almost too hard earlier. I feel so far removed from my initial intense grief that it's hard to go back to it. But I want to, I miss it. I felt closer to Alfy with the intense grief. Now I feel farther from him, in my grief, in time, physically, in my memories. I miss it. I miss him, so very much. The missing still makes my heart hurt, makes a lump catch in my throat, brings me to my knees.
Alfy, I miss you so much. I hope you know how much I love and how much you've changed my life. I read an article over and over again called, "I Would Still Choose You..." and it describes how I feel about you perfectly. Someday, when you're a bit older, I'll bring it out to share with you. Until then, just know how much your mom and dad love you and wish we could hold you in our arms again, even if for a brief moment.
I love you,
Mom
It is Easter weekend. Alfy was born during Easter weekend last year. While the dates are not the same and we will celebrate his short life and year in Heaven next weekend, it's almost like having to go through everything twice this year. I remember, more vividly than expected, what we were doing last year on Holy Thursday, Good Friday, Holy Saturday and Easter day. Each day I find myself looking at the clock and thinking back about what I was doing on that Easter day last year. Sometimes it catches me off guard, sometime it brings a smile to my face, sometimes it brings me to tears.
The change in weather is taking a toll on me as well. Don't get me wrong, I'm ready for warm weather but with it brings back the memories and feelings, emotional and physical, of last year. The weather does more to trigger memories than anything, the way the light is in our living room during certain times of days, the smells and breezes that travel through our screens, the birds chirping in the morning or evenings. If I close my eyes I would almost swear that I've been transported back in time to last year.
All this makes my heart ache. It makes me miss the early stages of grief. I'm sure that sounds strange, but those early stage of grief felt so much closer to Alfy, so much closer to my time with him. Now it all seems so far away. I miss him so much, I miss what he would have been now, what we would have with him.
I miss Alfy.
I have been documenting the process of trying to get pregnant and finding out that we are pregnant since January. For those that read this blog, you might have noticed that I have been somewhat absent as of late. Well, that's because along with the grieving, a whole new set of fears has set in for me and Tony. As if grieving on its own isn't hard enough, we thought we would throw another wrench in it. But, I had to, if I didn't just keep moving I'm afraid at some point I would have stopped altogether and wouldn't have been able to start again. So I kept moving and keep moving each day. Day by day, that is how I live now.
Here is the journey of my pregnancy so far.
Entry #1 - 1/6/13
Tony and I are trying again to have a child. It's quite the process and quite frankly it kind of suck. When we got pregnant with Alfy, it was more luck. It's not that we weren't trying, but we weren't expecting it to work so quickly, but it did.
Now, we are actually having to work at it, which also means having to work at sex one week a month. Not cool. We have successfully failed twice. We've been "not officially" trying since September and have really put the work in a couple of times nows and no go.
In December, I actually thought I was pregnant. I was "scheduled" to start on Tuesday or Wednesday, by Friday, still nothing. Could it be, could I be pregnant? Saturday all those hopes, fears, everything, were crushed. There is a little part of me that wonders if maybe I had conceived another little soul, but for whatever reason, my body said no, again, couldn't keep another little soul alive. I'll never know for sure, I never took a pregnancy test.
This month, I took three tests. I screwed up the first one, took another one that night and one the next morning. "Not Pregnant." Those two little words came up both times. Still no monthly visitor this time either. Maybe my body isn't failing me again, maybe it's just a mess, who knows.
Entry #2 - 1/11/13
So I thought I had started my period last Sunday, after taking three pregnancy tests. But it only seemed like it was coming when I was going #2, so good chance it was just associated with hemorrhoids. Tony is out and about tonight. I stopped and picked up the cheap pregnancy tests, one with three just in case I screwed up again.
I had a good hour long cry tonight, the tears just kept pouring out. I thought I might be sick at one point. I just cried, went through all of Alfy's things and cried, looked through cards and letters and cried, just laid on the floor and cried.
Finally got up because I had to pee. I thought, what the hell, I'll take one again just in case. Two pink lines, I'm pretty sure that means I'm pregnant. Calling the doctor on Monday.
Entry #3 - 1/12/13
I took another pregnancy test tonight. It again came out positive. It affirmed for me that I do not have fertility issues. I was certain that in the cruel irony of the world, that it might throw infertility at me after losing Alfy, just to see if I could take it. I'm sure I could, but I didn't really want to. I had no valid reason for thinking that I might struggle with infertility, just a fear of the cruel side of the world.
Now on to all of the other fears. I will take it one day at a time for now. I'm not sure I can handle much more than that. I know that this pregnancy can end either one of two ways, 1) My child dies, before, during or after birth. Surely the world wouldn't do this twice to parents, but it does, I've been following a blog in which Abby and Aaron have lost two children, in one year. 2) I give birth to a living child, a rainbow baby as they're called in the BLM world, and bring him or her home.
Entry #4 - 1/18/13
I have an appointment with my OBGYN on Monday, 1/21/13 at 9am. I haven't really taken the time to let myself go to the place of, "I'm pregnant." It doesn't seem possible or real yet. It's like I've closed myself off and am just waiting for the shoe to drop. We'll see how Monday goes.
Entry #5 - 1/21/13
Went to the doctor today. I started to panic while we were waiting for the doctor, in the ultrasound room. I swore it was the same one we first heard Alfy's heartbeat, first saw his face and learned that he was gone. Tony swears it was a room down the hall. I like to think Tony is right, makes me feel just a bit better. We didn't see much, just a small sac of fluid and a spot where there might have been some bleeding, but hopefully nothing to worry about. It still hasn't really set in. I worry that I won't become attached to this little being because of my fear of what could happen. But then I think, what if something does happen and I didn't get attached, that would feel even worse. It's only been 6 weeks and 2 days. Lots more to go.
Entry #6 - 1/22/13
The doctor called today. My hormone levels were higher than she expected based on what she saw in the ultrasound yesterday. She would have expected to see more development. I have to have my hormone levels tested again tomorrow. If the hormone levels are continuing to increase then I will have another ultrasound next week. If they are going down, then I am probably having a miscarriage, but she could be wrong, her words, she seen it before. She just wanted to make sure I was aware of all of the possible scenarios. Could this seriously be happening?
Entry #7 - 1/27/13
I haven't had much time to write this week. I had my blood drawn again on Wednesday morning to test how the hormone levels were progressing. I received a call around lunch time on Thursday from doctor with the results. The hormone levels were increasing but not like she expected them to be. My doctor told me that my body could be preparing or having a miscarriage or it could be pregnant and just progressing differently than one would normally expect. But, there was no way to tell for sure from the tests. We have another ultrasound tomorrow morning, 1/28. It's been a long week. I was sitting in a meeting on Wednesday, with many people who had children and one who is about to have a child and several that will go through the journey a few more times. I looked around and realized they were all successful in the giving life journey, none had suffered any losses. I was certain in that moment that they never would either. And there I sat, sure I was about to suffer my second loss. I guess I'll know for sure tomorrow.
Entry #8 - 1/30/13
I should have written this entry two days ago. My doctor found a little being and a heartbeat during Monday's ultrasound. She thinks that I probably ovulated later in my cycle than what we would expect and that I am a week behind what the start of my last cycle would indicate. So, I guess Tony and I are expecting. It's still early, 6 weeks and 4 days based on the updated timeline. I have been very nauseous and fatigued, but I will take it. While I don't enjoy either one, I take them as signs that the little being in my body is still alive. My next appointment is on Feb. 11 and the next one after that Feb. 25. I think I will be having appointments every two weeks, which translates into 1 per month with my OB and 1 per month with the specialist. I am now living day by day in two week increments. I've already told a couple of people at work. I know they say to wait until 12 weeks because the risk of losing the little being is high in the first 12 weeks, but I did that and I still lost Alfy, so I don't think the same rules apply to me anymore. I/We will tell people whenever we feel like it. Some I want to tell now and others I don't ever want to tell until the end (not plausible, I know). Like everything else, guess I'll take it day by day, two weeks at a time.
Entry #9 - 1/31/13
Today I had my first panic doctor's appointment. I experienced some light spotting this morning and completely broke down. I managed to get it together enough to be at work but had an appointment scheduled this afternoon. My doctor did a quick ultrasound and everything still looks good, still a strong heartbeat. Those words make me feel better for about the amount of time I can hear it on the ultrasound. I also know what it's like to hear there is no heartbeat. I just keep waiting for the worst to happen, I EXPECT the worst to happen. My goal, make it to my next appointment on February 11.
Entry #10 - 2/10/13
My next appointment is tomorrow at 8:30am. I have to say the anxiety didn't really set in for this appointment until about 4am this morning when I couldn't sleep. In fact, my anxiety levels had dropped considerably, almost like the farther I got away from the last appointment, the less real it became, until 4am last night. Then my anxiety levels spiked. The past 10 days haven't been too bad. I've felt sick most of the time and so incredibly tired. The past couple of days the nausea has subsided a little, that makes me kind of nervous. I suppose I equate nausea to pregnancy. If I'm not sick, then I might not be pregnant. It's exhausting though. I'm don't feel comfortable complaining about the nausea because I fear others interpret it as me not being thankful for the little life with me. So not the case, I get how fragile this little life is, it could end at any moment, I am all too aware of that. But, that doesn't mean it's fun to be sick all the time either. Just another one of the things that has changed for me, no sharing of the things other women might share about their pregnancies, I keep mine to myself because others just don't seem to understand. Well, here's to tomorrow's appointment. 8 weeks, 2 days and counting, I hope.
Entry #11 - 2/16/13
I don't know why, but I put off writing down my updates. It's the detachment, the not quite feeling like I'm pregnant (not literally, I'm feel sick all the time and am exhausted beyond words) but not being able to put it together mentally I suppose. We had our appointment with the specialist on Monday. Again, they found the heartbeat. We went through the plan for the next several months, what the odds were of another loss, all of that. After hearing the heartbeat there is about a 3% chance of miscarriage. After 20 weeks, for a normal woman, there is a 1 in 160 chance that her pregnancy will end in stillbirth. After you become that 1, it becomes a 1 in 50 chance that the next pregnancy will end in stillbirth. I start Lovenox shots next week. I have an appointment on Tuesday morning to learn how to give myself an injection, it will become a daily part of my routine. I have another appointment the following week, another ultrasound. I've already had 4 ultrasounds and I have number 5 and 6 already scheduled. 9 weeks and 1 day.
Entry #12 - 2/21/13
Well, tonight (technically 2/20) I did it. I gave myself my first shot. It sucked. Don't get me wrong, the needle is quite small, but it still sucked. I could feel the needle as it broke the skin of my belly and I could feel every last drop of medicine entering my belly. It does not feel good, it burns like hell. The hand that was squeezing the fat part for the shot could feel the medicine entering. When the nurse did the shot yesterday, it only burned for about 10 minutes afterward. When I did it tonight, it burned for what felt like forever but was really closer to 30 minutes. It's going to be a long 30 weeks.
Entry #13 - 2/24/13
I've been doing the shots now for four nights on my own. Boy does it suck. The spot where the nurse did the shot didn't bruise, all of mine have small bruises around them. Not big ones, just little circles. I need to figure out how far apart the shots have to be, I can't imagine my stomach having room for them for the next ______ weeks. The nausea comes and goes now, not as full force as it was a week or two ago. It brings a new level of anxiety, sickness = pregnancy, no-sickness = no pregnancy, sounds weird. Ultrasound number 5 is tomorrow. 10 weeks and 3 days.
Entry #14 - 3/1/13
Ultrasound number 5 went fine. There was a heartbeat and the little being was moving. I was a little frustrated at the communication between my OB and the specialist, but I think it will be worked out. Jut have to take a proactive stance and ask lots of questions. The next appointment is in just over a week, they will do screenings for genetic abnormalities, like the Trisomy genes. I don't think the results will mean all that much to me, I've been the 1 and I can always be the 1 again. Went through my first box of injections, I've done a total of 11. It still sucks every night. Family coming to town next weekend, think we are telling them. Not looking forward to it. 11 weeks today.
Entry #15 - 3/11/13
My birthday was Friday, 3/8. I also made it to 12 weeks. My family was in town, Tony and I told our parents and siblings. Honestly, I dreaded telling them and I wish we didn't have to, at all, ever. Comments like, "Everything is going to be fine this time, I just know it," or "I'm sure your scared and worried, it doesn't ever go away even after they're born," provide me no comfort at all. My parents just don't get it and I can fill the void between us starting to grow again, I can feel the space that I am starting to place there because I simply don't have the energy or want right now to try to help them understand. They just don't get it. They don't see me as a parent, which makes me sad.
Tomorrow is the 12 week appointment/ultrasound. We'll do the genetic testing but I'm not sure that it will mean too much to me, the results I mean. It's all just a bunch of numbers and once you're the one, you feel you could always be the one.
Entry #16 - 3/17/13
So, I made it to 13 weeks yesterday. Apparently my due date is 9/21 not 9/20 according to my specialist. I had been counting on Fridays in previous posts, now I will make the week change on Saturdays. Today, 13 weeks and 1 day. We had our 12 week appointment last week. The kiddo measured at 13 weeks 1 day and we were 12 weeks 3 days, growing at a healthy pace so far. We also did all the testing, we have about a 1 in 10000 chance of having Downs, Trisomy 18 or 21. The doctor could have told me 1 in 300 and I don't think I would have reacted much differently. There is always the 1...One week until our next appointment. We are sending out invites for Alfy's birthday tomorrow, at the same time announcing kiddo #2. Makes me nervous, can't go back. What if I have to tell everyone again that I've lost my child? It creates a panic in my mind and my stomach. I just don't think about it, don't think about being pregnant, don't think about the future. Just stick to day to day thoughts.
It's been a while since I've blogged about my own subject. I enjoyed the Walking with You series but found it difficult to write every week. If you've read the posts you may have noticed as they got shorter and shorter each time.
Tonight I guess I felt like putting down to words how incredibly fragile and raw I still am. I've come a long way, but part of me still hurts so very much. The past couple of days at work have reminded me of that. My co-worker is due in less than a month and there has been lots of talk of her baby's upcoming arrival. The buzz of excitement for most of our coworkers and our boss. I can't participate in that excitement. In fact, it seems to rip me apart to my very core. The naive innocence with which everyone expects that she and her child will be just fine. People held that naive innocence and excitement for me once too. I am no longer naive and I've lost that innocence and no longer have any room for either, nor can I identify with either. Mine was stolen from me 10 months and 15 days ago. These days its just more of a cruel reminder of what I'll never have, a pregnancy where I expect to come home with a child in my arms.
Anyway, I still can't believe that people can and will act that way around me. It's like they've forgotten that I buried my own son less than a year ago, like they've forgotten that I even had a son, like they've forgotten that I once had a pregnancy and it didn't end with a bundle of joy in my arms, like they've forgotten that I once had a pregnancy that ended with a broken heart and empty arms. I wish they would have a bit more respect for my loss and for me. I will confront those people on the words they said that ripped my heart in two, but I am getting so sick of having these conversations. I will go back to defense mode and avoid group settings as much as possible again, avoid going to meetings early, avoid group lunches with co-workers, back to my lonely existence of trying to survive.
Tomorrow is supposed to be "snowmageddon," maybe it will be a good excuse for me to avoid work all together.
Finding Hope and Healing With or Without a Rainbow
I'm not really sure where to go with this post. I don't know where my hope stands and I don't know where my healing stands. Quite frankly, they seem like distant images, some far off dream. I had hopes at one time, and they were shattered. I didn't need healing at one time, and now I'm broken beyond repair. Alfy was our first, so I'm not sure where to go from here.
I wish I had some word of wisdom or some eye opening realization as I type this, but I don't.
I do want to thank Kelly for starting this path for us to walk down. I haven't really made many connections since losing Alfy and I feel as if I've lost most. I don't fit in the before and I'm lost in the after. But, I am thankful for those who walked this journey with me. It really took away some of the loneliness.
Mirror, Mirror - The Comparison Trap
How I have fallen into the Comparison Trap, time and time again. I remember when I first found blogs, I started reading about all these other mothers who had lost their children much too soon. They all seemed to handle it so much better than I. The mothers who had the courage to call Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep, the mothers who washed and bathed their babies, the mothers who remembered to keep a locket of hair, the mothers who did_______________, you can insert a lot here. Why didn't I do those things? Why didn't I know? Why couldn't I find the courage?
After comparing all the things I did or didn't do with my son, I started comparing my grief process. So and so were able to keep a house running, get out of bed, cook, clean and go on with other kids. I didn't have other kids to go on for, I could barely go on myself in the early weeks. Getting out of bed was the hardest thing I did (still is), let alone clean my house or cook a meal. So and so went back to work after 6 weeks, I was still out at week 9. So and so was grieving without needing to see a therapist, without needing to take an anti-depressant, I wasn't. So many things others were doing, so many others that seemed to have it together so much better than I.
And it didn't stop there, I compared my grief and myself to Tony. He went back to work one week after Alfy was born and gone. He seemed to cope so much better with the outside world, he seemed so much stronger.
Turns out, it's just different, for everyone. The Comparison Trap is just that, a trap, full of misleadings and dangerous suggestions. It' easy to get in and hard to get out. I'll admit, at time I've had to distance myself from blogs and other BLMs to get out of the trap. But, after some time of self love and healing, I'm able to go back. I always go back because it's where I feel most connected now. I am slowly learning to be gentle with myself, to remember there is no wrong or right way to do any of this. There isn't a manual on how to grieve the death of your child, no matter how young or old, there is just your way. And like any new venture, it tends to be a learn-as-you-go process. I will admit, this is one I wish I didn't have to learn.
Speaking of comparisons, I've been trying to read what others have done for their child in Heaven's first birthday. Alfy's is coming up in less than two months, it doesn't seem possible, but it is. I want to do something to honor and remember him and help others honor and remember him. If anyone has any ideas or suggestions, I would really like to hear them. I met a woman last year who raised $25000 for the MISS Foundation in honor of her daughter's first birthday. I used to think how amazing that would be. That should something I should aim for on Alfy's first birthday. But, that's not where I am at, I've stopped comparing. Still looking for ideas on a smaller scale though.
First note - I realize I am a week behind, just haven't been able to catch up since starting.
Overcoming Guilt and Embracing Joy
I don't know that I have a whole lot to say here. Overcoming guilt is a daily battle for me. How did I not know my child was dying inside my own body? How did I not know he was already gone? How did I mistake the muscle spasms in my stomach for kicks? Why didn't I go to the doctor that one time a couple of weeks before I lost Alfy, when I wasn't sure if what I was feeling was normal? How, why, what if? These questions follow me on a daily basis. I've learned to drive them down, they can be extremely dangerous and destructive. On days when I have the hardest time letting the questions go, I physically go through the entire sequence of events and I rationally talk out (to myself) that there is nothing I could have done. I rationally talk out each step and that even if I had done this or had done that, the end result would have been the same, I still would have lost Alfy. I'm not sure that I believe it, but it's how I get through it.
Embracing joy, I think I do this with the small things. I'm not sure that I would call it joy, I'm not sure that I've experience real joy yet, happiness, yes, but joy, I don't think I would go there. I smile and laugh. I enjoy sarcasm and jokes again. I enjoy the little quirks of my dog and cat. My husband makes me smile and laugh and I love him so much it makes my heart warm. I enjoy those moments but they are tinged with bits of sadness. I think they always be. If and when I start embracing real joy again, I will let you know.
Steps Back into Life
My first steps back into life were quite lonesome. I had Tony and my grief counselor, but that's really it. And as I think about it, I am still taking steps.
The first steps really involved myself and relate directly back to clinging in the pit. I would say that my steps back into life and climbing out of the pit are one and the same journey. It's funny, as I think about my steps, I literally think about my steps. In the early days, I went for a quick 12 minute walk each morning when I got up, just to get me out of bed and get my heart pumping, to experience something other than my couch, to experience the outside world, literally. Those walks progressed into evening walks with Tony and our dog, Desda. They were a crucial part of my steps back into life. It was a time for me to learn to enjoy the little things again, to spend some time with the one other person who knew exactly what I was going through. It became an everyday ritual for us, like clockwork. My anxiety levels would raise to unimaginable heights if we didn't go, so we went, no matter what.
In regards to the rest of the world, it's hard for me to go back to that place. There is so much heartache and sadness that goes with that place. "Normal" people have no idea how to deal with the idea of a child who has died so unexpectedly, one they were never able to hold. And, because of that, it was like everyone was trying to bring my attention to other things, things that really had no meaning to me at the time. I remember receiving texts from friends and family about random things they had just seen on a TV show, or what was going on with so and so and could I believe that? I hated those texts and those communications. I did not give a damn about those things. My son just died and you want to tell me about how a show you just saw reminded me of...whatever. I still don't care about those things that much, but I can at least incorporate them into conversations now. I didn't care about small talk and if that is all someone wanted to do with me, then I couldn't be around them. Small talk was beyond my abilities. I have never been good at it to begin with, but it was impossible. I stopped communicating with those who wanted to make small talk. I cut myself off from them. They weren't comfortable with Alfy, I wasn't comfortable with them.
There were a rare few who would actually ask me about Alfy and my grief and those were the people I stayed in contact with. If not for them, well, I'm not sure that I would have ever learned to communicate again. They would ask about my grief, which is incredibly hard to talk about, but at least they asked. They asked about Alfy, also incredibly hard to talk about at times, but they asked, and that was so important to me.
I have found that balancing my new self with old friends to be incredibly challenging. I think the loss of Alfy and my grief are just too hard for some people to deal with. I try not to surround myself with those people. At times, I have to, family obligation, but if I can help it, I make that choice. And, there are a few times where I choose to be around people who have no idea what my grief and loss are like, almost like a small reprieve from my own reality. I have a hard time saying that, I feel like I'm disrespecting my own son, but I've also decided that those individuals, while probably for the most part good, really aren't worthy of know Alfy or my grief. I don't know if that makes any sense at all, but it's how I function right now.
I am still taking steps, sometimes small, sometimes leaps, sometimes forward, sometimes back. I have by no means figured it out. I'm still figuring out who is safe, who isn't, my own boundaries on what I will and will not share and with whom. I'm still making that walk back into life. It's a hard one, the hardest one there is I imagine.
My biggest fear in this journey is that I will somehow let others forget, or let myself forget, Alfy and my grief. I don't want to forget him, I just don't want it to be so hard all the time. I also fear the people I will lose because they are unable to handle the hard that is now me. "I have a son, his name is Alfy and I am a mother. If you can not recognize that, then you don't deserve to be a part of my life. I don't expect you to be comfortable with it, but I expect you to acknowledge it and at least try if you want to continue in my life." I wish I could say that to everyone I know. I've said it a few and I suppose I'll keep trying, at least with those I care about. It's just hard knowing that some of those people will respond in the way you are dreading, unable to acknowledge Alfy, unable to acknowledge my grief and they will slowly disappear, some already have. But, there are those who surprise you too, and I will hold on to those people tightly.
Like I said my steps are continuing, a little different each day. We'll see what tomorrow's steps bring.
Clinging in the Pit
The early grief was not all that long ago for me. Several months. Honestly, most of it is a haze. I remember the days in the hospital and the days leading up to Alfy's funeral and the day of the funeral and after that time melt together. The first week I remember sitting on the couch, willing myself from bed to the couch and maybe a shower in there somewhere. I remember a Saturday, it would have been April 14. It was a cold, gloomy, damp day. Tony wanted to put something on the smoker and he did and it rained on him most of the afternoon. I made chocolate chip and peanut butter chip cookie that day. It was a good thing I did because I think I lived off the cookies for the next month. I remember not having an appetite. Really, I haven't gotten my appetite back until the past few weeks, almost nine months later.
The early grief was almost like being numb when I look back. I know there were lots of tears and day of sobbing until you think you couldn't anymore, but it was so "normal" for me that I almost became numb to the process. There was a day in May when I was reading the news and I read about something that happened on April 27 and I had thought, "What day is it? April 27 has already passed, there's no way that's possible." I looked up the date and sure enough, it was May. I had no idea where the past month had gone. I had few definitive memories after losing Alfy, just a haze of being. I continued this way well into July, even after I had gone back to work.
I do remember days here and there in the haze. Tony and I really made a point to do things with each other this past year and for that I am so thankful. We went fishing all the time at the lake down the street, we visited the Omaha Henry Doorly Zoo, we took a trip to Adventureland in Des Moines, IA, we went out to eat at least one night a week. We made time for each other, to enjoy each other. Those are the days that gave me hope that we would get out of the pit.
There were also the dark, hard moments. I remember sitting in the shower crying for what felt like hours, lying on the floor crying, breaking down in random stores because someone just walked by you with a newborn. I started keeping a journal after I lost track of April. There are lots of memories written down in it, 50 or 60 pages worth. I haven't gone back to read it, but I'm glad that I have some record of the early days. I haven't written in it as much, is it crazy to say it's become extremely hard to find the time? I need to get back to being better at taking some time just for me.
The pit for me was just a haze. Writing in a journal helped me with the pit and taking time for myself helped me while I was in the pit. The climb out is a long slow climb, one I didn't realize I was doing until I had reached the top and thought, wow, I have come out on the other side. My grief counselor and my husband are probably the two people I have to give the most credit to in getting me out. Without having them to talk to and be with, I don't know where I would be now. I think the most important part of being in the pit and climbing out, do it on your own time and do what you need to for you. No one else knows exactly what you're going through. Don't compare yourself to others either, you will experience grief in your own way and that's okay.
Most importantly, there is no right or wrong way, there is just your way.
I wanted to take a quick moment to thank all of those who read Alfy's story. Thank you for letting me know that I'm not alone in this walk.
Walking With You Series - Introduction and Where Are You Now?
I was reading an article on Still Standing Magazine yesterday and found a blog that mentioned this series. I did some research last night because the idea of having some topics already laid out for me to write about seemed comforting. If you are interested in visiting the sight and participating, or just reading, I would highly encourage you to visit Sufficient Grace Ministries.
Introduction and where I am now? Where do I start? I am a 30 year old woman who lost her first child, her son, Alfy, just over 9 months ago. I don't know what else to introduce about myself at this point. As I said, I lost my son just over 9 months ago, April 5 my husband and I were told our baby no longer had a heartbeat (we didn't know the gender) and Friday (Good Friday actually), April 6 at 11:05am I delivered a beautiful 1 lb. 11.6 oz, 13 1/4 inches baby boy. On Tuesday, April 10 at 1:30pm we laid our son to rest. I am not able to type Alfy's entire story again, but if you would like to read it, please visit his page.
In my last blog post I spoke about being in the acceptance stage of grief. I think I am there, not all the time, but probably more of the time than not. Some days I go through every stage of grief, over and over again. Some days I get stuck in other parts, denial, anger, bargaining, depression. I would still consider myself in the depths of grief, in the trenches, trying to find my way.
This probably doesn't seem like much of an introduction to me or where I am, but it's really all I can manage tonight. Last night I succumbed to my grief, the overwhelmingness (is that really a word?) of it all, the sadness, the heartache, the pain, the feeling of your soul hurting so much that you think might die from the heartache. I do that every so often. The feelings don't overwhelm me as much as they once did though and I forget how exhausting it can be.
If you are reading this as part of the series, thank you for walking with me.
This post is just for me, some venting, I guess that what blogging is though, right?
Mandi reached the milestone of 28 weeks pregnant on New Year's Eve day. The irony of it all. On New Year's Day, 28 weeks and 1 day, 1 day longer than I was able to keep Alfy. Happy fucking new year to me. I try not to think about it, but each day is like a twisted timer now. January 1st, 1 day, 2nd, 2 days, 3rd, 3 days, 4th, 4 days, so on and so forth. I don't think about it all day long, but it does cross my mind, every day.
I realized this week, with the help of my wonderful (truly no sarcasm there) therapist, that I'm starting to move into the acceptance stage of grief. In 18 minutes it will be January 6, in 18 minutes, 11 hours and 5 additional minute, it will be 10 months since I gave birth to my sweet Alfy. The acceptance stage of grief, at least for me, isn't exactly what I thought it would be when I thought about it months ago. I figured the acceptance stage was accepting that my child is gone, but truthfully, I did that a long time ago. The acceptance stage is accepting everything else that goes along with grief and loss, all the other changes that you don't see coming the moment you're told your child no longer has a heartbeat. The friends who have disappeared, the relationships that have changed, the people you've let go, the people who have let you go, the new perspective you have on the world. Everything is now clouded by grief.
Grief itself has taken on new meanings. It is no longer the sob until you think it might never stop (although those still come around once in a while). It now just leaves traces of sadness on everything, music, movies, thoughts, ideas, words, books, conversations, everything. Sometimes it covers it, sometimes just a sprinkle. Acceptance means that I have allowed myself to experience life "normally" again. I still get fits of road rage driving down the interstate everyday, I still have a sense of humor riddled with sarcasm, I still enjoy playing table tennis, I still gossip once in a while and I still take things for granted sometimes, but I think I recognize this flaw much quicker now.
For those of you who are not familiar with the acceptance stage of grief, or grief itself, it does NOT mean that I have "moved on," that I am "over it," or that I am "okay." It does NOT mean that I have forgotten Alfy or that he is no longer a part of my life or that I no longer want to talk about him.
I think it means that I am just more present in me.
