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.
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.
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 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.
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.
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.
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