Loss

When I updated my blog last week, for the first time in a year, I mentioned that it had been a long and trying year.  It was.  It has been.  It's been like just like I said that elevator ride looks like, up and down and sideways.  There have been so many things going on that it's hard to know where to start and how to discuss them with people.

In truth, I'm a very private person.  Which makes the fact that I enjoy writing a blog an interesting thing.  Although not too many people read it, and even fewer people comment on it, so that gives me a certain level of anonymity.  But I think there are times for privacy and times for commentary and times to just get something down so that it can help you heal.  And I think, for me, today is one of those days.  I don't know if writing this will help me heal, but that's what I'm hoping.

You see, over 2 years ago, Josh and I decided that we would start trying for baby number 2.  We didn't think that it would take that long to accomplish or be too difficult, after all, it wasn't that hard the first time around.  Of course, that first time around was a completely different thing.  We were younger, healthier, more energetic. This time we were older, I was scarred (unbeknownst to me), and definitely more tired.  I don't know if Josh was more tired, but I was more tired.  So, our quick turn around turned into month after month of waiting and watching and hoping and praying.

Every morning before work I would get up early, go out and walk the dog and use it as my prayer time.  I would thank God for the wonderful life that He has given me, be thankful for my blessings because there are many and ask him for what I wanted the most in the world.  Another child.  I would try and be accepting that if it didn't happen it wasn't supposed to happen.  I have a beautiful, healthy, loving, and so smart little girl.  I was trying to remember that just because I wanted another baby that I was blessed with having a child and that's something that not everyone gets.  No matter how long it was taking, I had that consolation.  I was already a mother.

This past summer I had two surgical procedures.  It seems that there may or may not have been scar tissue formed following the complications I had with Lexy's delivery.  Nothing that was done was to help me get pregnant or make me pregnant, it was more to make sure everything was working the way it was supposed to.  As I said, I've gotten older and with all those complications there was a theory that things just might not be working in the right way.

In September I had my prayers answered.  I had a positive (or three positive) pregnancy tests.  It was 3 days before my birthday.  My early birthday gift.  I know.  You're doing the math.  I'm 25 weeks pregnant now and I was pregnant in September.  The math doesn't work.  The math doesn't work because the morning of my 35th birthday I got up a tad early, settled in for a cup of coffee and had my life turn upside down.  I lost my child before I even had a chance to get to know her.  Josh sat with me and held my hand while I cried my heart out in the downstairs bathroom.  When my mother called to wish me a happy birthday and wanted to know why I sounded so down, I told her I was having a miscarriage.  She replied "I didn't even know you were pregnant".  It was so soon.  And so fast.

But it was my person.  My gift from God, my baby, my little life to grow and care for and nourish.  And somewhere in those first few days something went wrong and I lost her.  I don't know why people use that word.  Lost.  I know what happened.  She's not lost.  She went back home to heaven to be where she belongs.  After all, I know that she was just being loaned to me.  But there is that sense of loss.  That you don't know where to go or what to do or where to get support.  I told 3 or 4 of my closest friends.  Some understood, some called to check on me and some just checked out.  I don't blame anyone for not knowing what to say or do.  It wasn't as if I had a child I was able to hold in my hands drift away from me.  I didn't get to see her eye color or know if she was going to be left or right handed.  In some ways I know that it's difficult for people to understand the feelings around a miscarriage because for a lot of people those little bits of cells and DNA are just that.  Those people are not mothers.  They have never had a person grow inside them.  Never felt a baby stretch and kick.  Never had the joy of knowing that you have helped bring a new soul into the world and that God has put this soul into your hands and your hearts and has given you a level of trust that so many of us fight to return. 

It took me 2 weeks to recover physically from losing my little one.  I'm still recovering in my heart.  Some days I feel good and I know that I wouldn't have this little one that I'm working with right now if I hadn't gone through what I did.  But there are many more days that I wonder what she would have looked like.  Would she have loved to read the way her big sister does, or would she have been her daddy's tennis star.  I wonder what happened to cause it?  Was there something I could have done differently, could I have prepared my body in a better way.  I know that they're not logical but it's what I think.

And for this reason I will never as another couple when they are planning on having children.  Or if there are going to be any other children.  You never know if they want a bigger family.  If they're trying to have the first one.  If they've already had and lost someone that is precious to them in ways that it's hard for someone who has never gone through it to understand.  And if you ask them or question them about it, it causes more of a wound.  

I learned so much from my little person.  I just wish that I could know what color her eyes were going to be.  And I wish that I could let her know how much she was wanted and loved and that she will always be my second child.    

Help Me, Please Help Me.

Dear Friends,

I am not a liar. For those of you who have known me forever, you know that this is true. I also don't curse. If you've known me forever you know that this one is true too. For those of you who don't know me very well or are a visiting Monkee (I love you Monkees), it's important for you to know that I am one of the most brutally honest people you will ever meet and if I think something, a lot of the time it tends to come tumbling out of my mouth. This is both a blessing and a curse. It can be refreshing to have someone tell you something that smacks you in the face but is something you need to hear. At least, that's what I tell myself when I say something stupid that I know I'm going to regret later.

I told myself that I wouldn't exclude any parts of my life from this blog, that I would be open and honest and that I would let my friends know what is going on in my life and that I would pray for responses and comments that will help me through the tough times, make me laugh at myself, and help me chronicle the way I'm learning to be a mother and a parent to Lexy. So. Deep breath. That's what this blog is about, right? Learning to breathe. This one is going to hurt.

I have someone in my life I'm supposed to love that I just can't bring myself to. I don't know how.

Growing up we all learn that we should love our families, our friends, our neighbors, as we love ourselves. I try and practice this. Really, I do. I know that there are some people that just don't click, but as I grow older I have come to the conclusion that if you give people time and listen and watch that there is usually some common ground. There is something that can bond you, tie you to another person. You don't have to love everyone but you should at least respect them.

I have one person that just makes me insane. I can't look at anything that she says or does without looking for an ulterior motive or underlying criticism. I know this is wrong. I know I should take everything at face value. And then I get around her, or get an email from her and I just feel like I've taken a punch in the gut. I feel like I'm 7 years old and the boy that picks on me at school just told everyone that I pick my nose. Now, that was hard for me to write, because I don't do noses. Noses gross me out like nothing in the world. I can do vomit, blood, diapers, accidents. Anything else. But I can't do noses, so when I say that this reminds me of that critical moment in elementary school that turned me inside myself and made me small then you know it's a serious thing. It's not without justification. I have watched and learned that this person is a master manipulator. She's done it with me, my family, my parents, and I've watched her do it with other members of her family. And no one says anything or does anything about it. It seems like it's an accepted aspect of her being and everyone has agreed that it's okay. I'm not sure how I can remember to breathe when I'm around her.

This was all brought on by an email that I got a few days ago. To which part of my response actually included a section something along the lines of "if you want something just say what you want". Don't beat around the bush. I have a few pet peeves and one of them is being passive-aggressive. I guess this comes along with always speaking my mind, so it bothers me when people can't just be honest. But, to attempt to be manipulative about it really irks me. I haven't received a response yet, so I'm wondering if my response to her didn't read as it was written. Email is a wonderful way to have miscommunication with someone. I did say it really nicely, I did. I can be very tactful with my brutal honesty. I know it was written nicely because I had to rewrite it about 3 times before it came across gently as opposed to smack. I promise, it was tactful. Really.

I apologize for this rant. What I think I'm really getting at is asking for my friends and my "readers" to offer me strength when it comes to this person. If you have someone in your life that does this to you, I would love to know how you deal with it. Please help me learn to grow and be accepting and try and learn to love this person. Please comment. I need your comments today. Please sign up to be a reader. I love seeing that number go up and it gives me strength and pride. I know it's selfish and I know that it's completely needy. But, I can use the love and the responses. Its nice to have a conversation with someone that doesn't revolve around Elmo, ladybugs, or Twinkle Twinkle.

Love to you all,

C-

p.s. I really am nervous about this one. I don't think it's completely masked who this person is to me and I don't want to be hurtful or rude. I must remember to breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Everything is better when you breathe.

Palm Sunday

Dear Friends,

Sunday was a big day in my life. I had a life altering event. Okay, not really life altering, but it was significant to me and that's all that really matters, right? Sunday was, as most of you know, Palm Sunday. And I haven't been to church in a really really really long time. Way too long. I know no one has asked about my religion and that maybe this makes some people uncomfortable, but, it's me.

There's more than one reason that I haven't been to church. One is that I hate going alone. Josh doesn't like my church, and while he claims to be catholic he never goes to mass, so I'm not sure that he can use it as an excuse. I've been going to the same church since I was 2, but I still hate going by myself. And I totally know that's not the point of church. I just don't like to sit there in the pews by myself.

Two, I haven't been too happy that there isn't more bible based sermons lately. It seems like the old testament reading has been dropped and that the sermon doesn't really revolve around the new testament reading. None of which really sits well with me. I prefer to sit and read the bible while the sermon is going on as opposed to listening, I feel like I learn more that way. And, that's not really a good thing.

Three, Lexy wasn't allowed to be in any daycare setting for the first 2 years of her life. Because she was premature with no risk factors for RSV (the virus that causes the common cold but causes pneumonia and all kinds of fun things in babies and toddlers), she didn't get the vaccine and the doctor told me that she shouldn't be exposed to any large groups of children or be in any daycare setting until she was 2 years old. Well, she's 2 and 3 months and I just do not like the idea of leaving her in the care of someone I don't really know, even if it's for an hour. This may be the main reason for my absence. I hate the idea of missing another hour of her life when I already feel like I'm missing half of it because I have to work. And believe me, there was just no keeping her quiet enough to sit through a service for the first 2 years of her life. And the people at my church did not look pleased to see us when she was an infant and we were in the sanctuary.

So, this brings us to Palm Sunday. I got Lexy dressed in what is possibly the cutest outfit ever put on a 2 year old. And, of course, I have visual proof of this.



I decided that it was time to do it. I got her ready, got myself ready and with the moral support of the parents took her to the nursery at the church. Now, thankfully, the attendant that Sunday was one of the few ladies at church that I actually know a little. She has a little girl and all the children in the nursery were about the same age and all girls. I was a little more comfortable leaving her with Eryn, but still pretty darn nervous. And I knew it was all me and not Lexy. I knew she would have a great time and I shouldn't be worried.

I only had my mother go and check on her once. Not bad for an hours service. I am tooting my own horn. I made it through the service (although when I picked Lexy up from the nursery she had a toy in her mouth, which I have to say is one of those kid things that TOTALLY grosses me out) and Lexy was happy to see me and she was happy to stay and play with the toys some more, too. So, it all worked out. But, I still don't want to leave her in the nursery. I'd rather she be with me. That one I'll have to work on.

This One's Personal

Just a small aside. This isn't meant as a "feel sorry for me" thing, or a "wow, I can't believe this happened" thing. It's meant to be a "God smacked me in the face with an astonishing event" thing. Let me know what you think...



Dear Friends,

Yesterday I posted a few random things that I love about my little kid-let. Today I would like to tell you a few things about how she came into the world. For this, I have to make a confession. I didn't want to be pregnant. Don't get me wrong. I wanted to have a baby. The only thing in this world I have ever been 100% certain of is that I wanted to be a mother (oh, yeah, and marry Josh. That was a 100% certainty, too. Can't leave that one out). I just didn't want to be pregnant. The idea of giving up my body to someone else for 9 months, give or take, just did not and still does not appeal to me. It was a means to an end. And I feel, and still do, guilty about it. I love Lexy more than anything in the entire world, she is my light and my breath. I know that my calling from God was to be a mother and I was given the blessing of Lexy to recognize it.

My pregnancy was decidedly average. I have come to the conclusion over the last few years watching friends have their own babies, that there are no "normal" pregnancies. So I say mine was average. Seeing the initial ultrasound and hearing her heartbeat at my checkups are really what kept me going through the months. I had zero cravings. Nothing. I had one episode of morning sickness, to which I say "Thank you Jesus". To all the mom's reading this that suffere with that, I will gladly come and watch your children so you can curl up in a ball and disappear if you ever need it. I had swollen ankles and was generally uncomfortable, but nothing out of the ordinary.

Further along in the pregnancy I had an ultrasound that the doctors told me might show that I had placenta previa, or a low lying placenta. Translation, I might have needed a c-section if it was an actual diagnosis. I received an additional ultrasound about 2 weeks before Lexy was born, and it ruled out anything abnormal. 2 days before she was born, the doctor told me that everything was fine and I would have no issues if I went into labor early. Wow, was he wrong.

The morning of December 30, 2007 I woke up at 5:00 a.m., went into the bathroom and proceeded to tell Josh that I thought my water had broken. According to the doctor on call, I was right. I was 6 weeks ahead of schedule. I had just had my baby shower and just finished my shopping. I had a crib but no dresser, things weren't washed and put away. That baby just didn't care. The doctor at the hospital told me that they were going to try and keep me in the hospital for at least a week. Again, boy, was he wrong.

Josh and I spent the day in the hospital with no fetal monitor, no internal check-up... nothing. Just bed rest. Around 7 p.m. I sent Josh home to get some rest. We had a stressful day and he was pretty beat. From there, things spiraled downwards. I kept telling the nurse that I didn't feel right and was feeling sick. Note to self, if there is a next time, sick means contraction. Eventually, I convinced the doctor and nurses that I was in labor. I got the lovely shot of terbutaline that did nothing but make me shake. Then, the resident finally checked everything out and the nurses made the immediate suggestion that I get Josh back immediately.

By the time Josh made it back to the hospital I was down in labor and delivery and ready to push. I still get to hold it over his head that he missed the entire labor process. Lexy came screaming into the world at 2:50 a.m. December 31. A New Years Eve baby. Completely unexpected. I could barely hold her, I was so tired, and the NICU team that was standing by took her and Josh straight downstairs. The only good thing about that was that I got to tell my father that he middle name is Marjorie, his mother's name. My middle name. Our family tradition. It was nice to have that private moment with my father.

From that point on things went downhill. Lexy was in the NICU on a breathing tube, a feeding tube, and all kinds of monitors. I didn't even get a chance to think about her because I was too busy focusing on the 3 hours contraction that I was experiencing. The resident that couldn't diagnosis my labor was busy (okay, this is gross) pulling out clot after clot of blood. 500cc, 250cc. All of these numbers that seemed really large. I blacked out once or twice, but I think I could still hear everything that was going on. I heard my mother, gosh it's good to have a nurse in the family, and the nurse (Ebony. She was AMAZING) conferring about what to do. Eventually that stalked out of the room and tracked down the attending physician. I think if my doctor hadn't had been in surgery, I wouldn't have had all the problems I had. Instead, when the attending checked me out I had lost so much blood and was so weak that when she told me I could close my eyes and rest, that things would be okay now, I actually asked her "If I close my eyes, will I wake up again?". I will never forget the look on her face. Shock at my understanding of the situation. I was bleeding to death.

I managed to make it through this whole process with no pain medication. I know, it amazes me too. I always said I would try, but never thought I could do it. I did it. And, somehow, I never cursed either. I didn't even cry until I was wheeled into surgery and the anesthesiologist asked me to pull my knees to my chest for an epidural. I couldn't move anything, I was so exhausted and sick. I started to cry. Did he seriously think I could voluntarily move anything? I mean, really. When was the last time this guy had gone through labor and a 3 hour contraction. Loser. And then I passed out.

When I came to, I learned the cause of all the drama. A second placenta. My body had arranged for twins or something strange and I couldn't be left to my own devices to take care of it. I had to go and try to bleed to death. I didn't get to see Lexy until later that evening. I didn't get to hold her until the next day. I got 15 minute intervals for days. I'll write about the NICU days at some other time.

The one good thing about the whole situation was that I knew the second I saw Lexy in the NICU, lying in that incubator with all those tubes and wires, that I was completely connected to that little girl. I had no fears, no feeling of doubt about being a mother, nothing at all. My only concern was getting her better and taking her home.

I still have those feelings of guilt about not wanting to be pregnant. So many women want children and are desperate for pregnancy and there I was ambivilent about the whole arrangement. I know God brought me through those 13 days of Lexy being in the NICU with strength, and hopefully some dignity, to be Lexy's mom. I am so proud that I'm her mother.