So. Tired.

I finally finished bleeding.  The process was every bit as brutal and cruel as I remember. I went in for all my follow up blood draws and watched all traces of hCG slowly disappear from my system. The tubes of blood I had to verify were labeled “post-spontaneous abortion.” I despise everything about betas after a loss. I understand that they are necessary, and I never fight doing them. I’m thankful I don’t require surgery. There’s just something so violating about hauling your broken soul into the hospital, and submitting your body to more poking and prodding, even after you know all hope is lost. The pain of miscarriage was somewhat extreme on random days, and I would end up hunched over my bathtub, wailing like I was in labor, but also weeping in heartache. I didn’t understand how I could be in that much pain with so little hCG left.

Grief always hits strongest when you're not expecting it to. I'll be rocking Aidia to sleep and singing a lullaby, when suddenly I get so choked up, I can't get any more sound out, and tears just stream down my face. I rock her in silence instead, holding on so tight to that huge blessing in the form of a little girl. Sometimes grief comes in the form of vivid and painful dreams, or panic in the middle of the night.

Music is my saving grace right now. I may not be making any money with it at the moment, but I majored in it for a reason. It carries me away from my problems and lifts my spirits, it boosts my energy, and gives me some purpose again. It can make me feel human.

I reluctantly set up an appointment with a counselor, at Kevin’s request. I believe in counseling; I have done it a few times before...I just literally could not understand it would be feasible right now. Jack already does counseling nearly weekly.  I ran into so many obstacles, between the counselor’s schedule and mine; it felt impossible. I set up a late evening appointment on a weeknight next month. Still not sure how I’m going to work it out.

Honestly, where do people get their energy from? Not like “Life Coach” type energy, just normal, regular energy for the mundane tasks of life. I have no energy. Blame it on the Hashimotos, blame it on depression. But I'm telling you- I am tired down in my bones. It takes every ounce of effort I can muster to take care of my kids' needs. Need after need, all through the day, and there is literally nothing left over. Except for me to fall into a heap, overweight and surrounded by a mess, and cry thinking about an upcoming night shift at work. I feel weighed down and out of breath just walking around my house. My head is always pounding.

Everything is so much work. It all feels harder than it should. I remember this feeling starting at around age 21. Where even just starting a load of laundry yielded this impending sense of doom. The bending over to switch the clothes to the dryer left me totally out of breath. And I was doing a Zumba class several times a week, it wasn't about being out of shape. The class started at 6am, so I was always trying to go to bed early (to get up and exercise to have energy through the day.)  It never worked. After the class, I felt like I had to crash on the couch the rest of the day (even though Jack was a baby then so that was impossible.) It was within the year that I was diagnosed with Hashimotos. And maybe that's all this is. Probably adding to the reason my back and joints hurt all the time. Kevin constantly reminds me I need to do physical therapy. He's right.

Thyroid hormones control how the body uses energy, so they affect like every organ in your body. Without enough thyroid hormones, the body’s functions slow down. It's been a pattern after loss for me to have my thyroid crash hard, since it gets “happier” during pregnancy. But it takes months for it to even out- which is just merciless. I hate to think about how often Jack is late to school. Always by like 5-10 minutes. Between our long drive, some of his issues, plus my exhaustion- it’s the perfect storm.

A few days ago, I had the kind of migraine from the hormone crash that had me rolling around and begging God for death. I took turns between trying to catch my breath from sobbing, and trying not to vomit into the trash can. Those kinds of migraines always seem to come on the hardest at like 11pm. By that point, even if I did get someone to sit with the kids (so Kevin could drive me to the Instacare for the magic IV Benadryl and toradol shot) I would never wake up in the morning to take care of them or get Jack to school. I feel all this despair wash over me during episodes like that. I try to pray, and just end up saying, “Help, I physically can't do it.” And my kids deserve better. They deserve a present and happy, healthy Mom. I so desperately want to be that for them.

Despite my extreme exhaustion during the day, I’m still struggling to sleep. The insomnia doesn't make sense to me. Really? This is the only time I can’t sleep is at night? But I'm too tired to do any work in the middle of the night either. Unless I’m literally working at the hospital overnight. Then I push through.  I usually get my best sleep during the early hours of the morning after the help of some medication. This makes me an exhausted zombie and not-present mom when it's time to get ready for school. Jack almost always makes his own breakfast. Once I finally fall asleep in the early morning hours, I could sleep into really late in the day. But that doesn't really work on a mom schedule.

I'm just wading through each day with difficulty and accomplishing (maybe) the bare minimum. And I swear if someone tries to sell me some MLM stuff to restore my energy, imma hafta cut a fool. It's not the same. Grief is exhausting. Also, I am still actually postpartum. People don't think about that, but my body is going through that adjustment of no longer being pregnant. My dear mother may have put it best "your poor womb must just feel like it’s been through a cheese grater by this point." That actually made me laugh. But yes, 9 pregnancies that have all varied in length takes a toll on your body- I think.

People may say, "You should see a doctor."  But I already know. I have Hashimotos, diagnosed depression and anxiety, and I have chronic migraines. I just had a miscarriage. I have every reason to be exhausted all the time. I have meds I can try and use for all of it if I wanted. But how do you function in spite of it? PS- meds are sedating.  Every day feels like I'm getting up at 230am for something, and I just stay in that blurry-eyed fuzzy state.  Constantly.  And at the end (or should I say beginning) of the day... I still have a job to do. To take kids to school, and grocery shop, to feed and care for a toddler, and a second grader with high needs. I still have a job that employs me at all strange hours. Most days, I'm in tears when Kevin gets home at around 7pm and I HATE that.  For me, but mostly for him.  It's like he never sees the best of me.  Half the time I don't cook, half the time my house is destroyed and I'm still just surviving. More than half the time. I'm. So. Tired.

I know I have textbook symptoms of depression. Some days I feel like a shell of a person. Then randomly I get so angry. I will get better again, it’s going to take some time.  I've done it before.

Maybe if I had some energy, I could deep clean the house and that would make me feel some peace, or a little bit in control. On second thought, forget deep clean, maybe I could just clean something.  Anything.  I wish that I was tired from keeping my house clean and my kids occupied with healthy things all day. But I’m tired from doing the bare minimum, from surviving. There’s so much guilt that accompanies that.

I've had bursts of energy at times in my life. I've lost a decent amount of weight in the past. I've had years where my house was kept really organized. But right now, I have no drive for life.

Maybe if I had energy, I could keep my body in shape and have some confidence.  How will I ever find it in myself to start exercising regularly? Getting up earlier is out of the question (and yes I tried it before, for years). Some people recommend off-the-wall diets (I'm sorry do you know how much energy THAT takes?) I need physical exercise for my heart’s sake (literally.)

I really think I would feel better about myself if I lost some weight. Kevin is gone 12 hours a day and I usually work if he's off work. And Aidia won't go to gym child care. I need to find something that works. Also, I’m sad and tired.

Even so, I'm going to try to start doing some workouts at home because I'm kind of disgusted with myself.

In my experience, exercise does not lift me or give me energy. Runner's high?  Who made that up?  It sucks up every last molecule of my reserve. Kevin says it will take 6 full weeks to feel changes, and usually by 4 weeks the exhaustion has broken me.  I still have some work to put in.  Somehow.

We took a weekend trip to visit my Mom, and I was really frustrated that Kevin didn’t take a half-day off like I had asked him (weeks in advance) for our drive up. I kept pushing him and demanding answers. He finally told me that he didn’t take it off, because he had decided to save all his PTO for when the baby was born. Obviously by the time we went on the trip, it was too late to change the decision. Little things like that sting so much. He was being thoughtful and trying to protect me. We really thought our baby was going to be healthy.

I feel like people judge you a little bit more for trying again and again when recurrent loss is an issue. Perhaps more than failed fertility treatment attempts or things like that. People look at you like.... Why don't you just give up?

I understand- I get that it's different. There's a life involved. But the end goal of a live birth and a child to raise is the same. And unless you've lived through recurrent pregnancy loss, you don't really get to have an opinion about when people choose to give up. Because everyone I know who has lived through it, is extremely supportive and careful of each other.  I know it's possible, I've carried two full-term healthy babies.  That's probably the most frustrating part about it.  It's like Russian Roulette. 

In my journey to have children I have met dozens of amazing people, through my blog and support groups. When I was pregnant with Aidia, I met 4 people who were also pregnant with their rainbows. We leaned heavily on each other during our pregnancies and talked daily, and we've never stopped. Between the 5 of us we have had 23 losses. We also have a total of 11 living biological children, an adopted child, and a foster child. I don't know a group of braver Mamas. And women in general.  I'm thankful for some of my best friends (who I've never even met!) And that we support each other from all over the country. They sent me the most meaningful care package. <3  These days the little things mean EVERYTHING.

There are so many things  that are extraordinary and exceptional about my kids. It's been such a privilege to give them life, and bring them into the world. I believe I have one more waiting to come, and grow up with us. I just hope we only have one more surgery that stands in our way- before a healthy, normal pregnancy.  In the meantime, we continue to miss Vincent.

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"see you soon, Little Conqueror"

I'm Not Okay

I’m not okay. But it’s not because I’ve been forgotten. It’s not because no one has brought us meals, or that no one has offered to watch my kids. It’s not because my loved ones wouldn’t literally move mountains if that would somehow offer even the slightest relief. It’s because- what can you do? What can anyone do? My baby is gone; I’m not 7 weeks pregnant, I’m negative one week. Again. That fact alone makes me very much, not okay.

I’ve been warmly looked after by friends, family, and neighbors. I received dinners, flowers, small gifts, even some babysitting. Jack’s teacher even sent me the book “Tear Soup” to read, and for a moment I felt like she was MY second grade teacher, and I was ready to listen to what she wanted to teach me.

I hope people understand how their acts of kindness lift my spirits, when the loss has already happened, and the problem itself cannot be fixed; all anyone can do is try to lessen the blow. And it does. I am reminded of the goodness and empathy of humankind. I know that there are those mourning with me. Usually when tragedy strikes, it’s really no one’s fault. Showing kindness to each other goes such a long way.  If there was really something that could be done, I wouldn't hold back; I would ask.

If I had limitless money I'm sure I would go on a vacation, or dye my hair, or buy a bunch of things for my house. Anything to distract myself. To break the monotony of life. But sometimes you just have to keep forging on in the terrible, painful routine of normal life.

When you are in labor to give birth, every contraction and even the searing pain of pushing, brings you closer to your baby. You find a deep strength to endure. When you miscarry, every contraction-like pain takes you further from your baby and closer to being empty inside again. Even though the baby is already dead, you want to resist it, you don't want it to happen, but you have no choice in the matter. The pains persist.

I feel like all my excitement about life has been sucked out of me. I miss my baby being with me. I numbly gathered the few maternity pants I had used and packed them back up. I watched Kevin haul them to the garage to hide them again.

Being happy feels so fake and so disgusting. How could I possibly be happy? Come on in and stay a while depression, I honestly couldn't care less about most of my life right now.

It's not like we got “greedy” about wanting one more. Our kids are incredible, and if you've ever been a baby-hungry mom, you just know there's a little person following you around saying "I want to be part of your family." And by the way, being a parent is pretty much the least greedy thing you can do in this life- I can’t think of a more selfless and thankless job.

It has been suggested to me that we have a boy and a girl, and just don't need to put ourselves through any more. Well guess what, people said that same thing to me when we were several losses in and only had Jack. But Kevin and I KNEW Aidia was meant to come. We had her named at least 4 years before she was born. She is the most INCREDIBLE person. I will never regret the hell I went through to bring her to me. It makes me physically ill to imagine giving up after 6 losses and never having my Aidia. Kevin and I know we are meant to have 3 children. Then they can tie my tubes for all I care because it would kill me to do this any longer.

My OB wanted me to come in and do another blood test at 48 hours past my first draw to see if the levels were rising or falling. I told them, respectfully, I know it's falling because I'm passing clots, and it's too emotionally difficult to come in every two days to watch it drop lower and lower. I told them I've had 6 natural complete losses with no need for a D&C, and would come in at the week mark to make sure I've made it back to zero. I think they were a bit taken aback that I basically refused to do what they said, but I know my body. I have done this so many times.  Also, walking into an OB office honestly is hell right now, seeing all those beautiful third trimester bellies, kicking around with life. I thought I was pretty clear about it, but they called me multiple times in the same day and told me to come in. I was less kind about it during the third call. There was no way I was paying bills just to watch my baby leave me. I knew the warning signs to look for complications. Eventually they agreed.

Today was that week mark. When I went to get my blood draw, there were like no parking spots except for “reserved for expectant mothers.” So that bites. I had to drive past them and try not to cry. I had to take my kids with me into the lab, and Jack asked if the blood draw was for Vincent. Poor Jack. He’s been brave about this whole thing but I know it’s affected him. He had his first ever asthma attack at school where we had to take his inhaler to him (and he's had asthma since he was 3), and he wet the bed once this week. He also screamed some horrible things at us, that I know he couldn’t have meant.

By the way, the hCG dropped again but isn't zero (or technically less than 5) yet, so I have to repeat again in a week. I’m hopeful I won’t need any surgery and will be able to pass everything naturally, as my body has not let me down in that sense yet.

I keep looking at all the people around me. Thinking about the billions of people in this world. And I just think, how? How did the pregnancy that produced you work out? How did millions of tiny things that have to go EXACTLY right, all work out for you? How does this system keep failing me? I look at my own children and wonder, despite me telling them, if they have any clue how miraculous they are.

I don't know how I can be expected to ever leave my house again. In Utah. Where every third woman my age is pregnant. These are the ideal childbearing years. It takes the air out of my lungs and the floor from under my feet to see full pregnant bellies. My belly was growing just a few days ago, but nothing can fix it now, because my baby died, and nothing can be done about it now. I miss him. If I run into someone and they want to ask me how I'm doing I just want to "nope" and hurry the other way. I'm so not ready to deal.

The suffering is just too great, even more so because I feel that this story is becoming "old hat" to people. But my loss previous to Vincent was 4 years ago, and was a totally different little soul. The wound is fresh and real, and I feel like everything is tainted. What can I look forward to in my life when my heart feels so impossibly incomplete?

I'm so thankful Aidia still lets me rock her to sleep. I can hold her close and ponder on the gift she is, just as her name means. Her life, and Jack's life, they remind me that God must love me in spite of this impossible misfortune and grief.

When I was 10 weeks along with Jack, I was told by doctors they were “surprised” I didn't lose him. I nearly lost Aidia several times when I ended up in the hospital bleeding. I feel like there's one more babe strong enough to make it through the risk, I just hope it doesn't kill me first. Studies show women with infertility (or secondary infertility like me) have the same stress levels as those going through cancer. I've never doubted that.

Right now I feel this consuming need to know why. Not spiritually exactly. Physically. When Kevin's surgery was done in 2015, the Reproductive Urologist said it had a 98-99% chance of NOT recurring. Of course, I'm used to being in the 1%. But we feel like lighting has struck twice, and perhaps varicoceles are damaging his DNA and he needs surgery again. That we can't afford. Unfortunately, he has started complaining of pain again at the old surgical site.

Or, an even worse thought; what if his DNA fragmentation index is still fantastic and we are back to square one?

Blocking all the facebook ads and emails that target me as a pregnant mom is like a full time job at the moment. I feel so weird right now. Like part of me wants to finish all the nesting I wanted to do for my house- to help me feel better and like I have control over something. But at the same time, I just keep lying in my bed crying. Things that I would normally do to make myself feel better, like binge a show or get a massage, comfort food...none of it would work because I can't let myself feel relaxed or feel better. It's too soon. Sometimes I'm too sad to sleep. It feels wrong to rest.

One of my biggest pet peeves is people showing relief when I say I was 6 weeks along. I know it’s different than a stillbirth, I get that. But sometimes I just respond, “does it matter?” Do people realize that at 6 weeks the baby not only has a heart, but a developing spine, and a brain and most organs starting? Arm buds and a nose and eyes are starting to form. Growth has to start right away. Do they think everything just magically appears later on? I can't say I blame them for that reaction, but it hurts. My baby probably didn’t develop properly, and was probably not healthy. But the weight of the loss is unchanged.

Two posts ago, I wrote about the tattoo I ALMOST got, but that it didn’t feel quite right. After we lost Vincent, it felt right to change the design to be more simple. Forget-me-nots. Those sweet, tiny flowers summarize everything I feel for those lost sweet, tiny babies. So with that confidence, and I’m sure just a little dash of nervous breakdown, my best friend took me to get my tattoo.

Now normally, in the church world, tattoos are “frowned upon” I would say, because it is marking the body God gave you. I’m not saying I disagree in all cases. But I prayed and I felt like this process was important to me. Healing and cathartic. Maybe there’s a "good, better, best" type way of dealing with grief- but in my case, I don’t regret that I chose to do something permanent.

My 7 babies don’t have grave sites. They don’t have trees. They don’t have anything physical, and I wanted that- a physical memorial. When I decided to get the tattoo, a scripture came to my mind. 

Isaiah 49:16-17

15 Can a woman forget her sucking child, that she should not have compassion on the son of her womb? yea, they may forget, yet will I not forget thee.

16 Behold, I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands; thy walls are continually before me.

Now I don’t want to sound sacreligious, or blasphemous at all. Certainly I don’t want to compare myself to Christ. But I think of that image, how the nail prints remained in His hands after His resurrection, to show His love for us. To identify Himself.  He engraved us on the palms of His hands. A mother’s love is the only love I will know in this life that is closest to how Christ loves us. I wanted to also engrave that love on my body.

I had another baby box show up this week, with onesies and binkies and bibs. It was from one of those free gifts from a company. My sister-in-law happened to send a bath bomb and some chocolate that showed up at the same time. Again, lessening the blow. I appreciate everyone trying to comfort me. I also worry about Kevin. The father is so often overlooked in these situations.

I don’t talk about it online very often to respect Jack’s privacy, but he has some pretty high priority needs, and one of those needs includes counseling. He has been going since he was 5 years old. Between that and his inpatient hospital stay last year, making sure his needs are taken care of has created a huge financial burden for us. We met with our Bishop yesterday, and he is going to look into church resources to help pay for counseling for Jack AND me. I don’t know what the outcome will be yet, but just the idea provides some relief. I don’t feel ready to do counseling again yet, but it’s mostly at Kevin’s request. Since he’s the one who has to try and defuse my panic attacks, I’m sure I owe him that much.

My bishop and Kevin gave me a blessing of comfort, and to have a clear mind to know when to reach out when I'm slipping into darkness. My Bishop blessed me to be aware of triggers that would cause pain and fear and panic. He told me Christ has felt my pain and will take my burden from me if I ask him to.

I have to lean on that. It’s my only choice. What am I supposed to do with my kids when I don't even want to get out of bed? Even when Kevin is home, I hear Aidia downstairs crying for Mama. But I’m trapped in my own brain, screaming and sobbing, “THIS WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN. WE FIXED THE PROBLEM.” I can't do it. I can't fake it. Not even for my kids. My baby is gone.

How dare time keep moving? I'm not ready. How dare there be bills to be paid and errands to be run and lunches to make? I can barely breathe. How am I supposed to go to the hospital for blood draws with my kids? How on Earth can I even wake up in the morning? How can I get out of bed? How can I eat well or get some exercise?  How will I ever go back to work?  How can I miss any work at all and lack the paycheck?

Kevin says to fake it for the kids for their sake, so they can be happy and okay. He’s not wrong. But I literally, physically can't. I can feel the adult diaper I'm wearing to try and help with the postpartum blood. I can't think straight. How could I? I'm too busy scribbling out the appointments we had set up for the baby on my calendar, and trying not to die from a broken heart. 7 times. How much can one heart take.

I was happy, (insert any explicit word here,) we were really happy. We had our Rainbow who was more of a miracle than we are able to explain, and we were over the moon and joyful. We were ready for our last one. I would never have put myself through this again. This was not supposed to happen. Not only did the surgeon say there was a 98-99% chance of it not happening again...we called before we tried to conceive and was told retesting wasn't even necessary.

And now the road unfurls before me...and it looks really long and really painful again and I'm just pissed. Jack is always so lonely for a playmate. Aidia is too young to REALLY play with him. He turns 8 this fall. I was thrilled that Aidia could have a sibling 3 years apart from her. But that was me being stupidly optimistic. As if we ever AREN'T in the 1%. I mean honestly, how many times have I heard that. What a rarity we are.

I know these posts are a little raw.  Maybe even hard to read.  But I see no other way to be an advocate for those with Recurrent Pregnancy Loss, other than, to tell it like it is.

Vincent

It’s funny the things I was tearful over just a few days ago. Here I was, just about 6 weeks pregnant, but I had somehow already gained ten pounds. I tried to tell myself it was blood volume and water, or from the hormones I was supplementing with. I was crying because I had worked so hard to lose weight before we became pregnant, to try and avoid gestational diabetes. I started my pregnancy a full 30 pounds less than I started my pregnancy with Aidia. And yet, already a 10 pound weight gain.

I cried because my belly popped right out in the 5th week of pregnancy. I know it’s mostly a bloat that comes with the hormones, and the way my muscles had relaxed. I know it’s because that’s what happens when you are on your 9th pregnancy. And still it was difficult to hide. I had a patient at work congratulate me on the baby when I hadn’t said a word. Coworkers knew. I couldn’t even keep these first two months private. Kevin was encouraged by it however, it looked like things were working as they should. So a few days ago, I broke out my tote of maternity clothes, and the relief was immense. So comfy and wonderful, and the clothes gave me all the warm fuzzy feelings.

                                                    

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Each day was so painfully slow as it passed, as I tried not to agonize over every symptom (or lack thereof.) But as we neared our ultrasound coming up on Thursday, we started to just feel pure joy. We were going to see our baby’s heartbeat, and nothing had even gone wrong yet. Truly after our Aidia, our rainbow, we knew now that Kevin's surgery must have fixed our most major problem. I was still treating my thyroid, blood, and folate disorders. And I was supplementing with hormones. But I did all of those things with Aidia and they worked. We let ourselves be happy. And I guess trying to get back to that place of innocent hope jinxed us.

Then that afternoon straight from hell began. I was home with Aidia, and ran in to try and pee in record time before she caused some sort of havoc. To my absolute shock, I found some blood. Not much, just spotting. Tell that to my PTSD though, which started in full swing. I could not stop shaking. I called my OB, and said I just needed to have a scan to make sure the sac was in utero, rule out ectopic, check the length of the fetal pole, and honestly that nurse could not have cared less. She tried to explain all these things to me that I already knew. I reiterated how many times i have done this. How desperate I was to check on the baby. She said something about the doctor not even coming in during the afternoons, maybe she could call me back tomorrow. I told her through tears how extremely difficult this is for me, as I cannot afford the ER and I just need some resources. It was all for not. Perhaps "small time" is not the way to go after all (see previous post.)

So I called my former OB office, the one that has real resources at multiple hospitals. I had to leave several messages with several people. I said whatever I had to in attempts to get their attention, I just needed the Dr to order an outpatient vaginal ultrasound at the hospital so I could go check on my baby. I didn’t even need to be seen.

While I’m pleading my case over the phone, my darling 2 year old found my nice foundation (the only expensive makeup I have ever purchased for myself, a recent purchase at that) and in a matter of minutes, used the ENTIRE bottle. On her face, clothes, every item I had in the bathroom drawers, the cupboards, her toys. I could not believe the carnage. It was enough to make me cry with the added stress of waiting for answers.

The bleeding stopped and I told myself, this is probably an SCH like I had with Aidia, after all, I’m still on the aspirin. My symptoms are strong. Baby is ok. I had to call the office 3 times in 4 hours and they could not get on the same page of which doctor was to call me back. I eventually refused to hang up once it was so close to the office closing. The doctor said she would not do an ultrasound until she saw a quant hCG of at least 3000. Which was frustrating because the fertility clinics do them way before that. But I understood. I was told to go get my blood drawn at the hospital that night, and then go to the office in the morning to get the prenatal and thyroid labs drawn (don’t ask me why they refused to combine them.)

This was turning out to be the longest afternoon ever. I was an emotional wreck. My bathroom looked like a war zone. And of course, Aidia had a poopy diaper and I could NOT find any wipes ANYWHERE in the house. Much later they were all found stashed under her bed. I had to open my gift bag as a congrats for being newly pregnant, and use the sample wipes it came with. For some reason, that little situation was enough to about send me over the edge.

I was calling Kevin and begging him to come home and help. I was not in an emotional state to deal with this fear alone. He was booked back to back to back with evals at work, and, wouldn’t you know it, they had some sort of gas leak at work and he had patients he had to tend to. He was desperately trying to come home but it was out of his hands.

My mom called to check on me, and I don’t think she could stand the sound of my sobbing being at home alone. Like a hero, she took the next day off and immediately started driving down to my house from Idaho.

Just then I got another phone call, and it was Jack’s teacher. I won’t go into all the details, but suffice it to say Jack had a rough day at school and was definitely going to need some parenting attention that night, despite my medical emergency. Too. Freaking. Much.

The spotting returned. My mother in law had picked Jack up from school and a few hours later, met me at my house to watch Aidia so I could go to the hospital. I drove myself to the lab to get the quant hCG done. Trying not to gag on all the butterflies in my stomach. I kept telling myself it would be ok, this happened with Aidia too. I kept thinking, I ordered two of those welcome baby boxes that you get for free when you sign up for a registry, and they are going to show up this week. I was just trying to outwardly manifest my hope, my belief that my baby would be healthy.

I was headed back from the hospital, putting gas in the van, and told Kevin I would pick up a Little Caesars pizza on the way home so we didn’t have to think about dinner. I didn’t expect the quant to be at 3000 quite yet. With the doubling time I told myself I would be happy with anything from 1000-1500, to assure me that baby was right on track. I checked the results on my phone and saw a quant of 845. I was like, ok, that’s not too bad, good strong number, we’ll give it a few days to double and then that heartbeat should be nice and clear. I took a deep, cleansing breath, texted Kevin, patted my belly and got ready to keep driving, when I suddenly saw the date refresh and realized that result was from early 2016. That was a quant from Aidia, not this baby.

I called Kevin and told him. We said "I bet this result comes back even higher." I headed to the pizza place. I got the right result. It was only 61. This baby had already died and the numbers were dropping fast.

I went in the restaurant and stumbled over my words to get a pizza to feed my kids. I’m sure I sounded drunk. I took 3 or 4 wrong turns on my normal route just trying to make it home. I was in shock. My baby was dead. I felt like the grief might actually fold me in half and kill me. A 7th loss. Impossible.

We knew there was a risk, but after Aidia was born, we believed, and our doctors believed, that our problems had finally been solved. This was like living out my absolute worst nightmare. I loved this little baby. So much. More than I could explain. 2 weeks of prepping everything to try, knowing I'm fertile enough to conceive the first attempt. The 2 week wait where I was pretty sure we had conceived. The 17 days I kept you with me once I knew for sure.

I did so many hard things in preparation for this baby, even just to prepare to try to conceive. It was all a willing sacrifice for love, and it hurts that much more that I'll never hold him.

I have made so many sacrifices. Smaller ones like injections and needle pricks, driving for hours after oral surgery with no pain meds to be sure my baby got the hormone treatment needed.

And the big sacrifices, like wearing my heart on my sleeve and having it obliterated because my babies keep dying

My life suddenly felt so bleak. The year ahead looks so daunting. Easter we were going to announce on Facebook. July is our Oregon trip, I imagined it with my summer maternity clothes that were just unpacked. Nov 6 was my due date. Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas will all sting so much

I feel like I've hit rock bottom. How can I ever be happy again? We were worried about not "quitting while we were ahead;" but, tried to have faith that if we felt a prompting from God that we have one more for us, they could be delivered safely. I don't feel like I can do this, because I already know what it entails. It's too hard and I don't know how to keep on living through it. I’ve done it and too many times and the future is too daunting.

I was hoping for a girl, but as soon as I was pregnant, we both thought it was a boy. It was a very strong feeling. We named him Vincent. It means “to conquer.” I thought of the beautiful line that Josh Groban sings in the song Vincent, “ I could have told you Vincent, this world was never meant for one as beautiful as you.”





I leaned on my support group of friends, who I talk to every day. We met online when we were all pregnant with our Rainbow Babes. Between the 5 of us, we have 23 losses. And many wonderful, living children also. They understand this brutal reality I’m facing.

I miss my baby already. Just being with me. How will I ever go back to work again and face it? I had told myself to buckle down and deal with the job, even though the hours can feel brutal, because we need the money, but I could quit once the baby came. That hope helped me push through. And now what? I feel so hopeless looking ahead to the future. I was used to this chronic pain for so long, I'm not ready to go back into that suffocating depression. To keep Vincent healthy, I went gone off my migraine meds, my antidepressant, any rescue anxiety meds, my sleep meds...I mean I have really thrown myself for a loop and am in no way ready to deal with a crisis.

I fall asleep here and there in little bits, but when I wake up and remember, it’s so painful that I’m afraid to go to sleep.

I feel so trapped in all our responsibilities, in our finances we're behind on. I've been working through the night at the hospital just trying to keep our heads above water with everything. So many of our bills just increased. But I wish we could just take a vacation. Several months after our 6th loss (Isla) we drove to Disneyland and took Jack for two days. It was so good for my soul. To just feel joy. I crave that. But there's no way in hell we could afford any kind of vacation right now.

Or afford it if Kevin needs surgery once again...it’s not covered by insurance.

The two weeks wait was unbearable on its own because I just knew we were pregnant, I found out in the 3rd week of pregnancy and then started to lose him right as we approached our 6 week mark. Every day was agonizingly slow. I would be worn out from trying to be optimistic, and show signs of hope. Encourage myself. And for what? To make it this much more painful. Also, somehow I will once again have to lose all the weight I just gained. Only now, with no motivation.

I wish I could be like “Well that's it. We're done. No more,” but we feel so much like there's another child waiting to come, which is that much more daunting because...what does that mean for the future ahead? Years more of this? What else could we have missed? Unless Kevin needs another surgery. How on Earth would we pay for that? Was it my body this time? There’s no way to know.

If there is a next time, we'll probably do the HCG draws and go through RCC (my fertility clinic.) Maybe so we know earlier on where the pregnancy is leading. I'm not in for the long haul again, or 5 years of losing more babies despite treatments. I was so thrilled for Aidia to have a sibling only 3 years younger than her. Jack gets so lonely for a playmate.

I fell asleep for a little bit and then woke up and now I want to die all over again.

It's almost more crushing because after Aidia was born I truly did have a new and different kind of hope. Sure I was still swallowing my PTSD but I told myself it was old fear. And it just bit me in the ass.

The physical pain I'm experiencing can't even hold a candle to my broken heart. How did I let myself imagine his sweet little face? Plan out the new dressers and carseats? Should I have known better? Of course not because I HAD to believe in the life of my baby.

And I am now the most empty I've ever felt. But still with the weight I gained which makes me despise my body more. How will I ever muster up the motivation to lose that ever again? I could barely call and cancel the ultrasound that we were looking forward to so much.

Poor little Jack. We were going to surprise him Friday. I had a little fun plan. Instead we had to tell him why Mommy can't stop sobbing. He's so sad.

It's getting to the point where nurses can't even help their faces when they look at my chart. 9 pregnancies, 2 live births. I just want to scream I KNOW. IT'S EXCESSIVE. I'VE BEEN THROUGH HELL. SAY SOMETHING IF YOU WANT.

The problem is, as much as I wish I could be content and done. I know there's a third baby meant to survive and live with us. Why why why. I can't shake it. I know it. Which means I have to buck up and deal with this for who knows how many more years. Again.

We didn't start at the fertility clinic this time even though originally we planned to. I guess we were fools to think we had graduated.

I'm in such pain that it hurts to breathe in and out. And it's invisible to the outside world. My kids still have needs. I still have work. And all along I am suffocating. The pain is physical. Like I think my heart is actually broken. I just need to be sedated for like a month.

I'm wearing depends, just like you do postpartum to help with all the bleeding. And right when the heavy bleeding picked up, the doorbell rang with the first baby box full of congratulations and supplies.

It's been four years since our last lost. The pain and grief of loss has come out and surprised me in many ways over the years, but the really raw impossible part of it was mostly a nightmare lurking in the shadows. And now it's back, with a full vengeance. And it's even more terrifying than I remember. It might actually bury me alive

Tomorrow I will be passing the blood and tissue and have to endure the gutting feeling of having no choice but to flush it down the toilet. The hormonal symptoms are hanging on, making me nauseous, and my breasts tender. But, wouldn't you know it, my belly is already smaller.

4 weeks + 5 days

3/4/19- 4 weeks + 5 days pregnant

Kevin and I have been hoping to add one more healthy babe to our family- and despite some chaos and ovarian cysts at the start of the year, the stars aligned and a new little person is on their way to us!  We found out just over a week ago (seems like it has been decades longer- these first few weeks are so hard.)  

 

Thoughts on my 1st OB apt:

I switched from a big, mainstream OB with multiple offices. They are so busy that I can’t ever get in for an appointment. I was really uncomfortable with that since I have a high risk pregnancy. So I nervously switched to a small, 2 doctor office, that the receptionist described as “quaint.”

I’ll admit when I first showed up I was a bit put off by the office. I was told to be there a few minutes early, so I showed up at 12:45 for a 1pm visit and the entire office was locked. I realized they must be at lunch until 1- so i sat on the floor in the hall until they got back. When I went into the office- NO computers. It’s a very outdated, old school office. My appointment and phone number were written on a calendar in pencil, paper charts lined the walls in the back, and my medical history was taken down on a half sheet of paper.

When my weight was taken, it was on a very old (non-digital) scale that made big clunking sounds. I saw the weight and told the nurse that according to the scale, I had gained 12 pounds since yesterday. She said the scale was kind of “meh” and it was afternoon anyway. What?! Ok, note to self, track my weight at home. When the Dr came in, I was surprised to see that he was older, like, old. He must have started this practice and never got computers. In my mind I was getting ready to deal with the hassle of switching back to the busy office. But then, he talked to me.

He asked, “How are you,” and I gave a polite, “Good, thank you.” He raised an eyebrow and said, “Really, you’re not like riddled with anxiety?” Wow- this is the first doctor I’ve ever had who has addressed the obvious. Of course I am! This is my 9th pregnancy and I only have two kids at home! He immediately started offering provisions that would be helpful to me. He said for someone in my position, I would probably want scans every 10-14 days even just to help with the anxiety. Wow, I could never afford that, but I was thankful thinking that I am going to be in control of imaging when I feel like it’s necessary. This also means I don’t have to go to the MFM and pay them a million dollars for the same thing.

He also said we could start NSTs at 32 weeks and do them once or twice a week depending on if I was nervous or what I wanted. (Mind blown you guys!) He didn’t force me to do Lovenox injections just on protocol- I didn’t have to FIGHT him on anything- he totally trusted me and everything I’ve learned on this journey. He was happy to let me stay on baby aspirin through delivery. The doc was also fine with my progesterone supplementation twice a day, and I didn’t have to explain that I know the clinical research is inconclusive but it can’t hurt and might help! Plus I’ve had low draws in the past! He thought my diagnosis of Gestational Diabetes was a bit silly since it was by 1 point on the 3 hour- but we talked about ways of trying to avoid it this time. He agreed with how I want to treat my Hashimotos- like it was just all easy.

He told me how he and his wife had a couple losses also, and shared some stories of grief and how it really is a huge loss. That empathy is everything I think. Just knowing that helps me trust him more. He gets it and he wants to do everything he can to help ease my mind and watch baby carefully. On his way out he said, “We’ll get through this together.” My first scan is in 2 weeks, when I will be 6 weeks + 5 days to check for a good heartbeat. Then probably again two weeks after that to check growth. Their billing doesn’t charge for anything until the very end, which is an immense relief to me right now as we’ve had some unexpected financial strain (like i stay up at night crying and worried about it, type stress.)

Paper charts it is!

Also, it's a long story, but my BFF is moving this week (we've been inseparable since high school and have somehow ended up all over the country together, but she's headed home to Carolina without me.)  A while back she designed a tattoo concept for me that I wanted for my little lost ones, a bouquet of flowers with specific meanings, 

Baby's breath for everlasting love

Virginia Bluebell for humility

forget-me-nots

chamomile for patience

salvia meaning "i think of you"

and myrtle being the emblem of marriage (and the family they belong to)

Once the basic design was finished and the deposit was paid (!!!) I ended up not going through with it.  I'm not sure why I felt so worried about it, but it is around the time we got pregnant so maybe it was just safer this way.  Perhaps someday I will still go get it, I've been imagining something like it for years and I put lots of thought and effort into the design process.  Obviously it was a very emotional decision to not get the tattoo right now, but before she moved, she drew the concept design onto a canvas for me- and literally there's not a more perfect gift from someone who just gets you.  It was too beautiful not to share: