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.
