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.

                                                    

.

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:

And The Soul Felt Its Worth

I realized I've never published a link to my short memoir on my blog for easy access, so here it is!

https://amberhanni.wixsite.com/worthofasoul

I also wanted to share my beautiful sculpture that arrived this week; it means so much to me.

Finally Named

Wave of Light 2018-

I had so much to ponder on this year. It’s interesting how different stages of grief continue to change, develop, and show themselves as the years pass by.

For many years, I was told by various women, in support groups or even casual conversation, that it may help me in my grief to name our lost babies. I objected to it initially. I wasn't ever able to do testing to find out the gender of any of our babies. Some women have a strong feeling of what they were carrying and go with it. Some women joke they may have a boy in heaven with a girl's name and that’s fine with them. But it bothered me.

I also had guilt that my gestation wasn't far enough along for a name. That I was trying to "claim more grief" than I had a right to. Even though I have cried for those little lives that I loved from the second they were within me. I have wondered who they are and I prayed for them every moment that they were growing.

It's difficult to find validation when the medical community names your baby “spontaneous abortion.” It's hard when the pro-choice community tells you that your baby was “just a bunch of cells” in the first trimester of development. If a large portion of this country believes that, how can I have claim to the grief I feel? How can my baby be real? How can the condolences be sincere from people who believe that? Just because I wanted the baby to survive? It’s either a life or it isn’t, right? (By the way, these are actual questions, not sarcasm.) How can I have claim to a NAME?

Well, I would like to reclaim the right. As a mother. Because I'm still a mother. As the years go by, our losses are all becoming clumped and grouped together, and it makes me pause.

If they were not “real” or “individual, ” then where does all this love go? What do I call all this sorrow? The twinges of pain with little memories. The candles I light for them. The ornaments I hang for them each year on my Christmas tree. My birthstone necklace. The prayers I still say for them, asking God to keep them in His presence. I have spent so much TIME in my own mind just defending my right to grieve and assuring myself that my babies are real instead of actually allowing myself to grieve and heal. 

Where is the threshold? The invisible one that society has? Clearly, if a mother loses a living child, we expect her to grieve; knowing that it will be a painful lifelong burden. If she delivers a stillborn child, society (we hope) is sensitive and anticipates that she will need time and space (certainly she will never just “get over” that loss either). Both a living child and a stillbirth are different than a miscarriage (I would never think of comparing them) but you are not any LESS pregnant at any point in gestation (as if it were possible to only be “a little pregnant”) You either are, or you are not. So where is the threshold? When does it becomes ACCEPTABLE to mourn your own child?

“Grief, I’ve learned, is really just love. It’s all the love you want to give, but cannot. All that unspent love gathers up in the corners of your eyes, the lump in your throat, and in that hollow part of your chest. Grief is just love with no place to go” ~ Jamie Anderson

Grief is the price of love, and I'm happy to pay.

As the years have gone on, and I have participated in ceremonies of remembrance for babies gone too soon, I have become tired of saying "all 6 Hanni babies" or "my six angels" because I very much think of them as individuals. And after all this time, I am ready to call them as individuals.

Kevin and I already talk about them as individuals but I'm ready to stop referring to them as number 3 or number 5. Out of nowhere, it suddenly felt disrespectful to continue to use numbers as I reference them. Kevin and I had a very long and tearful conversation, and we spent Wave of Light 2018 naming our Lost Babies.

The baby from our first loss, our second pregnancy, was the most interesting to name. Reflecting on the pregnancy, it was the time of “ignorance is bliss.” We had no idea of what was ahead. When I think back to that pregnancy, I feel pure joy. Warm, safe, excitement spilling over. Wrapping up a present to break the news to Kevin. The feeling in our home was tangible. Hugs and dreaming, sharing the news early. We will never have that again. Not in that way. Kevin has mentioned that he feels robbed, because we will never have that again. Life turned a positive pregnancy test into immediate injections, medications, emergent ultrasounds with bleeding, coping mechanisms to get through the anxiety and PTSD. Daily home doppler, midnight calls, panic attacks. Pregnancy will never be the same for us. 

We wanted to give a name to this baby that encapsulated that wonderful moment of innocent joy and unassuming hope and happiness. We originally decided on Caia (rhymes with Maya) because it means “to rejoice.” It’s a beautiful name and we both felt very pleased with it. I even told a few friends about the name.

Now for the interesting part. The morning after choosing the name, ​I woke up, and walked over to the bathroom counter thinking about how I was going to write the babies’ names on the candles later. Suddenly the name Caia didn’t sit right with me. I shook it off because I loved the name. Continued to get ready for the day. Then out of nowhere I heard the name "Elliot" in my mind. I've never even thought of that name. Again I disregarded it, I didn’t want to change Caia. But the experience stopped me- why would this name come to my mind out of nowhere? Especially a random name so different? Very much a boy’s name and I didn’t even know the meaning.

All morning I couldn't shake the thought out of my mind. I laughed, “maybe we have a boy who just didn't want to be named Caia or something.” So I came home and I looked up what Elliot means, and it means "Jehovah is God.” So in a way, it felt like it was about rejoicing. I told Kevin about my experience and he immediately agreed that we needed to change it and he loved the name. It was a blessing to have a spiritual experience like this. If it didn’t matter, this wouldn’t have happened. But it did matter. The name needed to be Elliot. Elliot matters.

Our other names were chosen in similar ways. I could go into great detail, but suffice it to say that each name came to us and felt right for the short experience we had with that baby.

Our third pregnancy- Amil. Meaning “One who hopes.” Losing Amil was like living in a nightmare. Something I thought wouldn’t actually be possible but only a dream resulting from my anxiety. I remember being physical ill from the news. Shocked, terrified for the future.

Our fourth pregnancy- Micah. Meaning “Who is like God.” The sentiment here is meant to express “Thy will Oh God be done.” This was one of my toughest losses. I was across the country from Kevin. I had done daily belly injections and I was sure if I was brave enough to do that, Micah would survive. I had lots of bloating and cravings and I was sure that meant healthy growth. It was at this point that I had to accept what was happening to us. After Micah, I started my blog and my life really started changing.

Our fifth pregnancy- Quinn. Kevin decided he wanted to name this baby after the humility we felt after this loss. Quinn means “wisdom, reason, intelligence.” We lost Quinn very suddenly. We were sitting on a couch in my Dad’s basement, at Christmastime, surrounded by holiday lights when those horrible pains started. I’ll always remember Kevin’s strength holding me through the pain and my screams. I had written lots of little notes to Quinn through the pregnancy that said “dear baby.” I’m glad there can be a name now.

Our sixth pregnancy- My most vivid memory with this baby was begging God to spare their life. On my bathroom floor I cried and pleaded in prayer like a little child. It was October, gorgeous time of year- our favorite time of year. I wanted to carry the life inside of me through the season. When the baby passed, I had to orient for a new job the next day. I absolutely had to take the job and couldn’t miss orientation. I took progesterone to keep the miscarriage from progressing, and carried them inside of me that whole day, like a secret, and tried not to cry. We named the baby Autumn. Our October loss, such a beautiful sentiment and tribute to that time of year. It’s October now and we can think of you.

Our seventh pregnancy- We knew when we saw that second line on the test that it was out of our hands. We did the injections and everything we could, but we knew by that point that it was not likely for you to survive without God intervening with a miracle. We named you Isla. Isn’t that just a gorgeous visual? An island off the coast of Scotland. An escape from all the anxiety and everything impossible in this world. Freedom. That’s what you might have been for us, but we hope that you have that now Isla. Peace and fresh air.




Elliot 2012, Amil 2013, Micah 2013, Quinn 2013, Autumn 2014, Isla 2015

I recognize this post may seem a bit “out there” or hippie-ish or bizarre. That’s ok. If it doesn’t sit well with you, I get it. Honestly I wouldn’t understand it either if I hadn’t experienced what I have. Just know that every mama who is hurting has to heal in her own way. If you are aware of someone’s hurt, all you have to do is support her/him in the way that she/he needs at that time. <3

Wave of Light 2017

I give myself the day. Today I'm allowed to feel sad. To do nothing. To hurt and stop normal life for a moment. To remember. To imagine. To accept that I am forever changed. Because of my experiences, my heart is that much fuller, and that much more broken.

​It’s October 15th- Wave of Light. It’s the 5th year I’ve participated and I’ve always found it to be very healing to reflect, mourn, and also give thanks for miracles.

This year has been amazing and my heart has been healed in more ways than I can explain. At some point you have to let go of your loss more than you had allowed yourself in years past. To get through the day to day. But it doesn't just go away. It never goes away.

I look forward to this day of memorial because it's the one day a year I give myself permission to feel completely devastated. And say “This is really unfair. It’s so unfair that this happened.” It’s still shocking to me when someone is 6 weeks pregnant and buying baby items, making plans- like, they are just confident their baby will live. Kevin and I have discussed how stunned that makes us feel- ignorance is bliss. Our reality still hurts. Many times I block out memories of particular days because the pain is still so rich and deep.

Some treat miscarriage as the loss of a potential person instead of the loss of an individual person. But I saw Aidia when she was just a "fetal pole" with the tiniest heartbeat. All of us start out the same way, in that fragile category. “Normal fetal pole with a heart rate of 129 beats per minute,” the radiologist recorded, “Crown-rump length: 6 mm.” She could have so easily turned into "loss number 7." After all, when I saw her it was Mother’s Day, and I was in the hospital, bleeding. With my history, being diagnosed with a “threatened miscarriage” didn’t provide much hope. But because she miraculously pulled through, I was blessed to know her. Just as I wish I could have known the others who didn't make it.

I just use this to illustrate the point of what is truly lost when our little ones perish so early on in their existence. So why does society tell us to hide our devastation?  It's true at times I've told myself my losses would have been more real if they happened at 8 or 9 weeks instead of 5 or 6.  I've been embarrassed of how traumatic they were for me.

I read an article recently that spoke of early losses and the way they are discussed in the healthcare setting. He said:

"This language change seems to be out of an effort to decrease a patient's feeling of loss, leading the woman to believe that this pregnancy was somehow “less” of a pregnancy... But to me it sounds like the old line about being just “a little pregnant,” as though it were possible. Sadly, this is no joke, and the language change doesn't stop many women from experiencing the loss just as real as any other miscarriage or lost child."

It's tempting to be frustrated that Aidia cries crocodile tears and produces piercing screams when I try to set her down.  It can be exhausting to have a baby in tow 24/7. And then I think- if she wasn't so clingy she never would have made it here. I needed a clingy baby. My rainbow after 6 consecutive losses. She held on tight to me and hasn't stopped.

She is everything I dreamed of. I love her more than I could put into words and I'm glad she loves me as fiercely. We both had to work and fight together to bring her into this world. That kind of bond is distinct and beautiful. And it gives me life and sunshine every day.

Lingering Effects

Aidia 6 months

I've been procrastinating this post for a while.  It's kind of embarrassing and it's hard to write about this stuff- but I told myself when I started this blog that I would always do my best to be honest so others going through similar experiences would feel validated and have some support.

So here's a shout out- to anyone in similar circumstances.
To you, who never wants to feel anything but happy because by some miracle, your baby made it to you alive.  Your joy is so full and overwhelming.  It's such a relief to be engulfed by such happiness and to be content for the first time in a long time.  But all those big and devastating emotions you felt repeatedly through the years don't just disappear instantly.  They have to go somewhere.

Sometimes it's hard to know how to process those "left over" feelings in this new season of bliss.
You still mourn your little lost ones.
You still have trigger moments.

A little over a month ago, we moved Aidia into her own room and I realized just how much postpartum anxiety I really have.  I knew in my mind it was the best thing for her because she is such a light sleeper.  She was constantly being awakened by us tiptoeing around our room.  We would even brush our teeth in the closet and still she would toss and turn.  I did want her to sleep better for all of our sakes.  I have a video monitor that responds to sound and/or movement.  I have her on an oxygen and heart rate monitor all night that I can check from my phone or its base station.  So WHY did the idea of being more than an arm's length away from my baby send me into such a spiral?

But with the help of my supportive husband- we gave it a try.  Instead of sleeping better, I had three panic attacks in three nights.  I would lay down, check on her with my multiple monitors, but the second I touched my head to the pillow, my thoughts raced unceasingly.

"What if there's a fire and I can't get to her because I'm trapped on one side of it and she's on the other."

"Her window is locked but we forgot to reinforce it with wood today so someone could get in." (Everything has since been reinforced to ease my mind- thank you hubby.)

And so on and so forth.  I would have horrible graphic nightmares.  The kind that are burned into your memory.  And it's hard to explain, but in that moment all these bizarre scenarios feel SO REAL and I was overcome with guilt if I were to TRY to sleep.  So I forced myself to stay awake.  When I started feeling sleep overtaking me, the panic attack would start.

The third night, and the third time it happened, was the most severe episode I've ever experienced.  Kevin thought for a moment that I was having a seizure.  I couldn't feel my hands or feet.  I couldn't see. I had so much chest pain and I just felt myself flop over and start twitching around.  I was really out of it- kind of like I was watching it happen from outside my body.  Kevin pulled me up and propped me up on a pillow and immediately went into the baby's room.  He set up the Pack n Play right next to our bed, and moved Aidia into it to sleep by us for the night.  Immediately I was calm and slept all night.  It's like ACTUAL separation anxiety.

But guess what- it's been getting better.  After that episode I decided to go get some help.  Which is SO HARD.  I am a huge fan of counseling, but it's not always possible right in the moment that you need to start seeing a counselor again.  My former grief counselor told me I was showing signs of PTSD after all my losses but before I was pregnant with Aidia.  It makes sense that some of those problems would linger.  I had medication that really helped me before, but I can't take it while I'm nursing.  And "safe while nursing" meds have not always been a good match for me.

So I went and had a really uncomfortable conversation with my doctor.  But I'm glad I did.  I feel like just doing something and admitting the problem helped start the healing process.  I now have some new medication.  I can't usually take it during the day because it makes me tired and kind of nauseous, but it does help me on the bad nights that I feel panic coming on.  I've taken medicine on the nights when I feel that build up, and I haven't had a full panic attack in a month!

I also reached out to my support group (and can I just say I belong to the most wonderful online support group in the world) and I found many women struggling with similar things after their losses.  We discussed all those feelings that you just can't "quite put your finger on" but they make you do weird things.  Like many of us don't buy clearance clothes that are several sizes too big because it's like... you wonder if your child will still be around.  Probably comes from never buying baby clothes too early in a pregnancy.  Some women confessed to never taking tags off of new clothes until dressing the baby in them- just in case.  Some mothers have talked to me about how they can't sleep if their baby isn't in their arms, or if their baby isn't in the room- even older babies past a year old.  One particular story resonated with me.  The mother told me she had been awake all night going over this scenario in her mind.  If her van went into a lake, which one of her kids would she need to get to first in order to save them both?  She agonized over this decision and was discussing which carseat would be harder to get to, or if the baby vs. the older child would need assistance first.  An impossible choice in a fake situation that's highly unlikely to happen. And yet it keeps her awake at night.  We know it sounds crazy- but talking about the crazy helps everyone.  Just because it seems ridiculous doesn't mean it doesn't plague your life.

I'm working on leaving Aidia with Kevin for a couple hours at a time, and I've left her with her grandma a few times for short periods.  It's still hard but it's getting better.  I'm really working at it!  I may still have to take a few deep breaths before I let someone else hold her.  But progress is progress.  I try to be logical about it- I really do.  But logic can't make the sick feeling in the pit of your stomach go away.  I'm a believer that you can't live your life waiting in fear and that's why I'm working to manage my anxiety.

Fellow mamas- postpartum anxiety is SO COMMON especially if you've had other issues to complicate your concern for your baby.  Some research suggests it is even more common than postpartum depression (or goes right along with it.)

It is okay to feel like this! You are validated! I feel so embarrassed after an episode but my husband is very loving and reassures me. So if you are going through this before or after your miracle, I'm here to reassure you and encourage you to find help and support.

What if we treated physical issues like we did mental issues?  Scary to think about. Why are we SO hard on ourselves? Maybe that's why our body ends up "acting out" in such physical ways.  It's saying, "Hey! I need some help!"  I've struggled with really severe headaches since Aidia was born.  But I find that when my emotional health is better- my headaches get better for the most part.

I loved this article if you want to read more about parenting after miscarriage or loss:

http://beckythompson.com/2017/06/12/parenting-after-miscarriage-exposing-the-underlying-fear/


Anxiety can sneak up on you.  You could be having a totally normal day, and then feel like you can't go anywhere because you just KNOW you're going to get into a car accident with your babies in the car.  But when you push through it as much as you're able, and practice good self-care, it gets better.
It's a haunting realization to think... If I had given up after 5 losses or even after 6, I wouldn't have Aidia. I can't give up the fight now to enjoy her and not live life in fear!

I also worry about ripple effects from being too anxious at home.  Jack is getting a little old for me to be sharing his feelings on the internet, but this experience really spoke to me and motivated me to work harder on my problems.  He has this recurring nightmare about his baby sister dying- often by very violent means  (and no, I don't let him watch anything more violent than power rangers.)  I woke up to his sobs about a week after we moved Aidia into her own room.  He came into my room and he was sobbing her name.  It was the same bad dream.  I showed him all my monitors and told him that sometimes I also get scared that Aidia is ok at night, but looking at these help me feel better.  That calmed him down and he was able to go back to sleep after checking on her.  He was so worried through the whole pregnancy right along with me.  He's experienced these traumas and losses right alongside me as he's grown up.  Now he's nearly 6 and responds well to logic.  It helps ME to explain things to him and comfort him.  It's the reminder that I need.  But I certainly empathize with his worries!  He's doing better, and has this nightmare less often than he used to.

People seem to justify challenges with logistical reasons- for example, "you lost all those babies because you weren't supposed to have another kid before Kevin finished his doctorate, it would have been too hard."  I refuse to see life that way.  To see God that way.  Like do people think it was easier going through school having losses?!  People have kids when they're poor and overworked all the time.  However, I do believe that God guides us through challenges to change us into better versions of ourselves.  I am a changed person.  I can see the changes in myself just by looking back through the years of blog posts I've shared.

Her special "Omera" quilt!

We are so happy with our beautiful miracle.  Gifts and well wishes are still coming in from around the world.  They continue to remind me of the wonder of this miracle!   We felt that Aidia's middle name, Omera, fit her perfectly because it means "inspiring"  Aidia's namesake is my friend Marie who I adore. We helped each other survive being music majors in college. When I found out Marie's first name was Omera I just fell in love with it.  Marie's mama (a perfect stranger to me!) sent us this gorgeous quilt.  She hid her own name in the stitching, as her middle name is also Omera.  I hope Aidia will treasure the quilt and love the history it contains.

I love how sing-songy Aidia is.  Her little voice lifts my spirits.  I love watching the love Jack has for her too.  Baby girl has Daddy wrapped around her little finger.  She was worth the journey!  And to anyone struggling with anxiety of any kind- you are not alone!  Help is available.  Getting help provides the tools needed for you to live a happy life.  I'm living proof!

A Witness of His Miracles

Every time I look at Aidia...it's confirmation that God heard every one of my prayers.  He never abandoned me in my grief and I'm glad I understood just enough of that to keep going.

There are rare times in life where you become thankful for how impossibly difficult your trials were.  The joy truly matches the struggle and pain- and far surpasses it.

After writing so much over the years about our dreams of having another child, it would seem ungrateful to not follow up and speak of how wonderful it is!  Aidia is a little over 11 weeks old now!  She is healthy and thriving and the most gorgeous little person I have ever seen.  Even now, writing this, I still cannot believe that my blog now joins the league of the blogs that offer hope after recording the struggle.  It seemed so impossible.  And yet, here we are!  It truly speaks to the love our Heavenly Father has for us.  It is now my testimony that MIRACLES HAPPEN!  I want to go back in time and hug my past self for never giving up that last tiny bit of hope.  I would tell myself that dreams come true and to keep fighting for it.

I started writing this blog after my third miscarriage.  That was nearly 4 years ago.  I couldn't have imagined that I would go on to lose 3 more before meeting my daughter.  Those of you who have been reading since then know what a hard and painful road we have traveled.  The grief and sorrow nearly overtook my entire life.  Now I feel a responsibility to testify of God's love and miracles.  If anyone had reason to doubt, it was me.  I miscarried six babies in a row- how on earth did my pregnancy that followed all those losses bring me a perfect little girl?

Sometimes God really does give us the desires of our hearts after we've done literally everything we can.  I was preparing myself to find the faith "not to be healed."  I was trying to square away how I would live my life and keep my faith if I never had another baby born alive.  And yet, when I was finally able to surrender that will (and I was pretty stubborn about it), that bitter cup was taken from us, and a little angel came into our home.  She heals my heart each day.  Every single day feels like a gift- in a way I would not have understood had it not been for the loss I experienced first.  Some nights when I rock her to sleep I feel literally overwhelmed with gratitude- like please don't let this be a dream.  I love her so much it hurts!!

So many little moments have been cause for celebration!  I nearly cried when I got that beautiful piece of paper in the mail that read "Certificate of Live Birth."  Live birth.  With my name as the mother.  My heart overflows.

Life still has its moments.  We had a sudden move when Aidia wasn't even a month old yet and our whole world got flipped upside down.  I kind of felt like I was plucked right out of my support system immediately after having a baby.  My five year old can no longer attend school all day, we had to give away our doggie, and start all over with meeting people.  Kevin just officially started his career and there is plenty of stress for him (despite loving his job) with long and busy hours.  Then he gets to come home to two screaming children and a frazzled wife after work.  He's my hero.

I've struggled quite a bit with postpartum depression and anxiety- it makes me feel so guilty to struggle because I love my baby more than anything.  Luckily I've had no trouble connecting and bonding with her despite feeling depressed.  But I struggled before I was pregnant so I knew I was at risk postpartum.  I've also learned that those who have had extreme anxiety during pregnancy (...like me trying to be brave while pregnant after recurrent loss...) are very likely to have that anxiety linger on after birth.  I'm praying a lot to get me through it because I simply don't feel comfortable with going back on medication while exclusively breastfeeding.  Baby girl eats so often, and won't suck on a bottle (even though we continue to try.)  So even if I decided to bottle feed...it wouldn't really be an option.  However, breastfeeding is very important to me so it is worth suffering through being med-free to enjoy these moments with my baby (and I think breastfeeding helps with feeling happy.)

I lost about 22 pounds by the time Aidia was 2 weeks old, and that's where my weight has stayed.  I do want to start exercising soon, but Kevin says I need physical therapy first so I don't injure my back further.  He's probably right....  I should involve Jack with my exercising because he has been such a handful since moving- almost impossible some days.  But I know his whole world was just changed all at once too- so we're taking it a day at a time the best we can.

When I was in grief counseling, I talked a lot about my triggers for panic attacks.  One of the best things I've experienced since Aidia's birth is that the triggers have lessened immensely.  I can go to church without running out in tears.  I can grocery shop without a brick in my stomach and tears behind my eyes.  I even went to a diaper shower today and enjoyed it- I was genuinely happy to celebrate new babies coming into the world.  Having Aidia doesn't automatically take away my sorrow for my six lost ones- but I feel healed in a new way.  There's a little guilt for feeling better about my losses- but I'm sure that is normal.  I've put on my ring with my lost babies' "birthstones" in it (the months that I lost them in).  All six are different and it makes the ring look like a rainbow- it's so fitting now that I hold my rainbow baby in my arms.

 

When things are painful now, it's easier to run away from them.  I don't need to have the baby-hungry hurt anymore, because I have a baby at home.  There is still fear of losing more pregnancies in the future, and still hurt from the past- but I'm taking this season to rest from the pain and worries and just enjoy this most beautiful gift from my Heavenly Father.