Whole

I think I'm feeling...healed.

I've been afraid this day will come and that I would forget and that it would be awful and I would feel like a terrible mother.

But healing does not equate with forgetting. Healing is beautiful remembrance. Healing is moving forward to the future while still cherishing the past. Healing is gratitude for what has happened, and acceptance of life as it is.

One thing I've realized is that you can have a wound that has completely healed but that still leaves a scar, a reminder of what was so deep, so painful, and so poignant. A physically healed wound changes the landscape of your body, just like an emotionally healed wound changes the essence of your soul. It leaves you a forever different person.

So while I have a scar, a reminder of my wonderful little boy, I am whole again.

I'll still keep that ultrasound picture in a frame next to my bed. I'll still long for him on his due date. I'll still cry on anniversaries of his death. I'll always think about how old he would be and what it might be like if he were here.

But I had a very poignant revelation today.

Instead of mourning that we only had three months with him, I found myself rejoicing that I got to have him for three whole months.

And someday, I believe I'll get to see him again.

Thoughts

Is it selfish that I'm feeling grateful for sleep right now?

Due Date

It's August 8th.

And it's almost over, and I've made it. I've been okay so far.

I had a wonderful weekend with my mom and my sister just having fun and not thinking about things. Just kind of ignoring the fact that this should have been an excruciatingly painful weekend. And it worked. Mostly.

Friday night, after they had both gone to sleep, I broke down and sobbed for a good five minutes. I thought about where I should be, what I should be doing. I begged God for some comfort and some understanding. And it came. And I stopped crying and went to sleep. I was okay.

Saturday we walked past a Grandma sitting on a bench holding a tiny newborn. This little thing couldn't have been more than 2 weeks old. And I just couldn't pull my eyes off her. I just wanted to stand there and stare, to reach out and say, "let me hold her for you for a few minutes." As I turned around and walked away, I broke down, grateful for dark sunglasses to hide my tears. But I was okay.

Then today, I was just fine until we got home and I walked in my house and went upstairs, and then it became so real. I escaped it for a few days by distracting myself, but here, in my home, where the emotions have been so raw and so real, there are reminders everywhere. The nursery that should be covered in little boy bedding and the closet that still has 3T girl clothes instead of little blue onesies. The bathroom where I bawled my eyes out every night for weeks. The couch where I spent months throwing up only to find the little one who I loved so much and had suffered for was gone. Layers of different emotions came back and I broke down again. But it was short. And I was okay.

The night is still young. I'm sure there will be a few tears yet before I go to sleep, and maybe even more later this week when I realize that we're not bringing a little baby home to our house like I was expecting. But I'll be okay.

Last Christmas, when I was about 8 weeks pregnant, my mom gave me two gifts that I will always cherish. She gave me some adorable little baby girl shoes that I had seen in a store some months back and fallen in love with. She also gave me the softest, cuddliest, brown newborn boy's jacket. I love that jacket. Every time I miss William, I just pull it out and hold it and hug it, and it's like my little Liam is snuggling up next to me, his baby soft skin kissing my cheek. Tonight, I will hold that next to me as I fall asleep and dream of my strong, handsome son in Heaven.

Last Monday, my cousin's wife had a baby boy. I was due the day after her, and it's been hard watching her belly grow and seeing her excitement as they welcome this little boy into the world just when our son was supposed to be coming to us. But, Monday, he was born. We're not super close, and they didn't know much about our grief except that we lost our baby. They hadn't read this blog and didn't know anything about us naming our little boy. Yet, when he was born, they gave him a name that brings me so much comfort and peace, just by coincidence.

They named him Liam.

Away

I've started so many posts the past few weeks that I just haven't felt like finishing.

Just wanted to post quickly. My due date is two days away. The 8th. I'm not sure how I feel about it. I'm actually doing okay. Mostly due to a really good book and a really good 8-hour movie that I've absorbed myself in this week.

My mom and sister are here, and we're about to leave for a really fun girls' weekend. I think I'll be okay.

More to come.

Anxious

I've been feeling so...blah.

That's not even a word, I know, but ...what other word fits?

I've just felt anxious, and itching for change, and ready for something big in my life. It took me a long time to figure out why that was. Why all of a sudden am I wanting to move, or start a company, or take on some other massive project? Something HUGE.

And then I realized what it is. I was expecting a big change right now, and there's not one coming. And everyone around me is going through that change and I'm not. Instead my life is just more of the same. I feel like I have nothing to show, nothing to look forward to.

All last week I had periods of emotional breakdowns thinking about this. And then, all of a sudden, it's stopped. And I feel good. Really good.

I don't know what it is. Maybe that was my final grieving push. Not that I'll ever finish grieving, but maybe that was just what I needed.

I'm heading into a difficult month. My due date is only a few weeks away. Many of my close friends are delivering their babies. In fact, three have delivered in the past week with one more due in a few days. I'm not going to lie, it's going to be tough. But I'm realizing now that I'll make it.

Thank you for your comments and your love. To Anonymous, thank you for your comment. I'm going to repeat that over and over again during the next month. "I am a strong, confident and healthy woman, and I am looking towards my future, but will never forget the past."

And I never will. But I will move on.

Due

My due date is only 7 weeks away, and I'm starting to feel it.

There's just this little tug at my heart that's missing that little boy I should be holding in just a few weeks. And I'm wishing I could see him and know what he looks like and sounds like and if he has my creativity and Ben's sense of humor. But I'll have to wait.

I'm deciding what to do on my due date. I think my mom and sister are going to come out, and we're going to go away for the weekend and just have fun. I think that's what I need. I'm fine thinking about it and remembering him all week, but on my actual due date, I think I need to do something fun and keep my mind off of it or I'll be a wreck.

August 8th. Will I ever forget that date?

Or February 3rd. Or January 25th.

I'm afraid I'm talking about him too much. I'm trying not to bring it up too often. But sometimes it can't be avoided. I can't just not talk about it. But I don't want people to think I'm just always complaining or always being depressing by bringing it up. And it probably just feels to me like I talk about it all the time. Because it's so much a part of me.

And I want to honor and remember, not avoid it, even though it might make other people uncomfortable. Is that rude?

For example, I just made a mother's necklace for myself.

And I couldn't just put the "E" on there for my daughter. It just didn't feel right. I needed the "W" too to be complete. But then I get questions as for what it's for, and then I feel bad bringing it up...I don't know.

If anyone's reading this, what have you done? Has anyone else felt like this too?

Miss you, Liam.

April Showers....May Showers...June Showers....

I haven't written in a long time, mostly because we've had some other family emergencies and things that have been keeping me really busy. Which is probably a good thing because they've been keeping my mind off William.

But now that everything is under control again and I'm at liberty to grieve again, all my emotions are so close to the surface that any little ripple causes a tidal wave. August 8th is barreling closer and closer, and there's nothing I can do to stop it. And there's nothing I can do to stop the bellies of my 14 pregnant friends from growing.

It seems like every day I get another baby shower invitation. Last week I had 3 baby showers to attend. And each one of them just makes the hurt a little deeper.

I have one really really good friend that is not pregnant (and really, that's it), and she's been trying for a long time to have a second child. While I pray that this month will be the month for them, selfishly I rejoice that I have someone who is feeling that pain with me and who I can relate to. Which is the most terrible thing I can possibly think of to rejoice over a friend's pain.

I guess I just feel so alone and so terrible. Alone because no one understands and everyone is doing what I SHOULD be doing, and terrible because I unintentionally hate all my pregnant friends and am terrible about my non-pregnant friend. These are very confusing emotions I'm trying to sort out.

I think people must think I have to be over it by now too because the things that come out of people's mouths are....ugh. I was sitting at a shower with three of my very best pregnant friends last week, and one started going on and on about how EVERYONE is pregnant and how fun it is, etc. And every word was just torture. And I just wanted to jump up and down, waving my arms and saying, "Hello! Do you not see me sitting directly across from you? Do you not remember that my baby is dead and that I'm supposed to be exactly in your position? Do you not remember the tears you shed with me just three months ago?" How can you forget something like that?

I know I can't. It's getting harder again.

Writing

So I'm going to write a book. Or at least an article.

More people need to know what it's like to go through this. I think it's terrible that it's such a taboo subject. So I'm going to open it.

It's probably been done before, but I want to write sort of a memoir of people's experiences with miscarriage. Mine included. Nothing scientific or medical about it. Just emotions. Reactions. Reality.

It will probably never get published, but it will be more for me, for us, in honor of our little ones.

So if you're willing to share your story, let me know. Kirstenbradford@gmail.com. Thanks.

Trying

So now I'm starting to get the questions about when we're going to try again. It really doesn't bother me, which is somewhat of a surprise. I thought for sure that would surface all these emotions again and I would feel that anger rise up inside and be angry.

But I'm not.

For the most part, people are very respectful and are asking just because they would love to see me comforted with another pregnancy. But that's not what I want. Really, that's not what would bring me comfort. I know a lot of women can't wait for their first period so they can start trying again, but I guess I'm not in that group.

I'm in a completely different group, or maybe it's not even a group at all. Maybe I'm alone in my thinking. I just can't bring myself to start thinking about another baby yet, and I think it will be some time before I can. I've analyzed that perspective, and I think there are several reasons why I, personally, am feeling this.

1) There's the obvious physical reason. I get terribly sick. Horribly sick. Emergency Room sick. And I don't want to do that again any time soon.

2) Maybe it's selfish, but I'm kind of enjoying my time with E and with Ben and with...myself again.

3) I feel like trying this soon takes away from honoring the little one that we lost. I want there to be a spot in our family for him, more than just one extra month than we thought would be between E and our next child. I feel like there needs to be a space big enough for me to remember, "there's another child in between these two."

4) I want to be emotionally healed enough that if, God forbid, something like this happened again, it wouldn't totally destroy me.

5) I think the biggest reason is that I want to make sure I'm ready for the sake of our next baby. I want to make sure that I want THAT child, and it's not just that I want to be pregnant or I want to have a baby this year. I want to be able to focus on that specific little one that will come to us and not always be thinking and grieving for William.

So really, I think it will probably take me a good year. Past my due date, past the day we found out what had happened. Or at least close to that. Maybe Christmas. It has to be after Thanksgiving, because I think having another August due date would be too difficult. September or October would be great. But who knows? I may change my mind next week. Or God may have another plan in store for me too.

So in a way, I'm glad people are starting to ask. Because then I can tell them and they won't be watching for that pale, sick look, or that little pooch under my shirt, or for frequent runs to the restroom. They'll know that when it comes, it comes. And that may be a while off.

On a different note, I'm at the point where I've started sending this blog to a few of my very close friends. I'm okay now with people who actually know me knowing what I've been feeling. But I do want to say one thing to everyone who reads this blog that I've been thinking about writing for several weeks now, as a disclaimer of sorts. Don't feel like you have to feel sorry for me. That's not the purpose of this blog, to gain sympathy. Though it's been awful, and terrible, and I wouldn't wish it on anyone, the only thing I would trade this experience for is having that baby in my arms. But I wouldn't trade it for anything else. I've grown like I've never grown before and learned things that have made me so much better. This blog is to help. It's to help those who are going through the same thing, it's to help those who know someone going through the same thing so they can understand, it's to help anyone who is grieving, it's to help people understand what this is like so they can see that perspective. And most importantly, in my eyes, it's to help me heal. Thank you so much to all of you who read this, whether I know you in person or not. I couldn't do this without you.

So if you are reading this, please take away some joy and understanding and the big picture of what life is all about--grieving, growing, and finding joy.

Starting Again

So two Sundays ago was terrible.

Sunday morning I woke up to terribly sharp pains on my right side. I was completely hunched over while I was getting ready for church. I could barely get dressed.

About a week-and-a-half ago I had the same thing, though not as severe. I thought for sure I had appendicitis, that on top of everything else going on, I would have to have an appendectomy, bringing me back to the hospital where everything happened. But I called my doctor and found that no, it wasn't my appendix. I was ovulating.

So I've been dreading the inevitable start of the bleeding. And that Sunday, doubled over in pain, I knew it was starting.

Sure enough, by the time I got to church, I was normal. I was having a normal cycle. My body knew it was no longer pregnant.

Ugh.

So then I walk into the meeting, and the first thing is a baby blessing.

You've got to be kidding me.

I thought ot myself, "I'll be fine. It's been over a month. Surely I can sit through a baby blessing." But no more than two words into it, I felt that sob creeping up into my chest, and I had to get up quickly before I disturbed anyone.

I had a good cry in the bathroom.

Just too many emotional things in one day. I hate having a period. I'm not supposed to have one for a good year at least. And the blood just reminded me of everything.

Sorry to be graphic, but...what else can I say?

New

I feel like a completely different person.

I don't know if I can pinpoint exactly what it is, but I'm going to try.

I think I just view life completely differently now. Things seem a little more fragile, a little more real, a little more temporary, but also a little more eternal. I just think of things in different ways. I notice more. I listen more.

But you know, I think I might be happier. Maybe not happier, but more carefree. I find myself not caring about what everyone else thinks. Today in Target, I ran up and down the isles and rode on my shopping cart just because it makes E laugh. And making her laugh is what I live for now. I could care less that other people are staring at me and probably thinking I must be her babysitter because I'm too immature to be her mom. But I love it. And I just talk to her all the time too. We have silly little conversations in the store and and sing at the top of our lungs and just have...fun. I don't feel that need to have adult conversation anymore, aside from with Ben, of course. I'm just, well, content. I think my priorities are finally right.

I realized today that it's been over a month since we lost William. I can't believe it's been that long. He is still so real, everything still feels so fresh. But I think I've grown up in the past few weeks, faster than I ever have before. And while it was the most terrible, heartbreaking, gut-wrenching growing up I've ever experienced, I think it will make me better.

I guess that would mean being William's mom makes me better.

Away

So we took off and left.

We decided our family needed a vacation from everything and a chance to readjust to what are family is like and will be like for a while. Just three for now.

So we decided to take off and go to Disneyland for three days. Planning this trip has been keeping be busy, which was part of it's purpose. I think I could tell you every single Disneyland tip in the book...that's how much I researched.

We got to our hotel late Wednesday night, got up, ate, and hit the parks. Let me say, watching E meet her idol, Cinderella, was the happiest moment I've had in a long time. It was so wonderful to just go and be away from everything that reminded me of the grief of the past few weeks and just have some wonderful happy times with E and B. Not that I forgot. I thought about William the whole trip, but in a happy way. In remembrance. In love.

When we were driving home Saturday night, I didn't dread getting back into real life. I actually found myself looking forward to it, to starting over, to recreating myself with all these new lessons and things I've learned woven in.

I think that leaving was the best thing we possibly could have done. It provided some separation. It was like a little happy bridge between the sad past and the hopeful future. And with what I hope are our saddest moments behind us, and our memories and thoughts of William in our hearts, there is only hope ahead.

A Whole Week?

So it's been a whole week since I've written. There have been times I've wanted to write and haven't been in a place to, but for the most part, I've just felt okay. At least the past few days I have. Which sort of scares me a little. It means I'm moving on. And that I might forget.

I realized today that while the pain of a miscarriage and the grief of it is exactly the same level of intensity as losing a child that has already been born and as been with you for some time, it is probably shorter in length. While you miss being pregnant and having that child with you, there's nothing to miss about them being around. It's not really one fewer person in your house (though in your heart it is), it's not missing hearing their voice or seeing their smile or interacting with them. So maybe the duration is a little shorter, though no less painful. Just a thought for today.

Is anyone reading this? I wonder.

So on Thursday I bought a bracelet. And I actually attribute a lot of my doing-wellness to this purchase. I've been aching to have some physical reminder of all this. I tried some tulips. Good, but I'm in constant fear they're going to die. I bought some rings. Nice to have something, but they had no significance. They were just something I could wear every day as a reminder. And then I thought of this bracelet.

I have a friend who designs jewelry. And when I say designs, I mean really designs. Not just makes it for her friends or what not, but well...let's just say while I was at her house on Thursday, Cheryl Crow called to place an order. That kind of "designs jewelry." Anyway, she has this bracelet that I've always really loved, but can't afford. But I immediately thought of this piece.

It's called "Tapestry." Here's the link to it so you can see what it looks like:
http://www.twisted-silver.com/default.asp?256n675=qrsn7y6_241q7p6_qr5p4v26v10&c41q7p65gB2r5_VQ=E&c41q7p65_VQ=HDE
Anyway, I liked the symbolism of a tapestry. It might sound a little cheesy, but every time I look at my wrist now, I remember that our family is woven together forever, that Liam is always part of our family and is woven in our hearts too. And nothing can break us apart.

Also I heard this address a long time ago comparing life to a tapestry. If you look at the underside of one, it's ugly. There are knots, and strings, and parts that don't look so great. But when you turn it over, all those parts make up something beautiful. That's how life is. There are parts of life that are ugly, and difficult, and terrible. But it's those parts of life that make us into something beautiful, that make us into who we are. Now, when I look at my wrist, I think about that. This part of my life is ugly and terrible, but we will get through this, and it will make me better and stronger, and more able to help people around me. So while I hate going through this, and while I miss my baby like crazy, I know everything will be okay. And that I will see William again soon.

Amazing Organization

I stumbled across this amazing organization today. They provide free photography services for families who have stillborn babies or who have infants who are not expected to live. Really incredible. Check out the website:
http://www.nowilaymedowntosleep.org/home
And here's a clip from the Today show:
http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/21134540/vp/23481435#23481435
Go look.

A Great Sadness

I'm not really sure what to write now. Now it's just kind of sadness. That's all I'm feeling. A great emptiness, heaviness. And it's just not going away. I'm not really crying that much (only once or twice a day, and it's very calm), but I just feel...sad.

I've really felt like being alone the past few days too. What stage of mourning is this? I think I'm somewhere between the depression and acceptance stages. But I'm scared of getting to acceptance, because that's the end of the stages. There's not another one.

I spent pretty much all day by myself yesterday. Ben stayed home and watched E so I could have some time to be alone. I drowned my woes in shopping. Not very healthy I suppose, but that's what I felt like doing. And it just depressed me more. I was trying to find clothes that don't make it look like I could still be pregnant, but everything out there is high-waisted and looks like maternity clothes. So I came home with nothing. Lots of clothes for E, but nothing for me.

But it was nice to have some time alone to just feel sad and be able to focus on grieving and not have to worry about taking care of anyone else.

Today at church we had a baby blessing. It was the little baby girl of my good friend. About three words into it I started sobbing and had to go out in the lobby. My friend who has helped me through this (she also had a miscarriage) happened to be out there, and she just hugged me and we cried for a long time. That bond between women who have been through this is so real. It's a terrible and wonderful sisterhood to be a part of.

Finding the Positive

1) I don't have to wear maternity jeans.
2) E and I can take swimming lessons this summer.
3) We'll be able to go out for dinner for my birthday in Sept.
4) I'll be able to wear the swimsuit I got on clearance last fall that wouldn't fit a baby belly.
5) E and I can play and play all summer.
6) No more morning sickness.
7) No more disgusting tasting Zofran.
8) No more disgusting pregnancy taste in my mouth.
9) I can paint E's room.
10) Ben said I can go buy myself some clothes that will give me a figure.
11) We'll get to go on Ben's work trip in June.
12) I'll be able to visit my parents in August.
13) I'll be able to help all my friends who are having babies around when we would have.
14) Maybe our next pregnancy will coincide with my sister-in-law's first child.

But ultimately, who am I kidding. In the grand scheme of things, none of these matter at all. I feel guilty trying to find joy in triviality.

Recovery

It's over.

The D&C went perfectly yesterday. I remember being wheeled into the operating room and I remember them starting to lift me onto the table, but I don't remember ever getting there. And then I woke up in recovery.

I'm feeling very lucky. I had several friends who told me they were in extreme pain for several days following their procedures. I haven't really had any pain at all. Just little twinges here and there. And almost no bleeding at all. The nurse taking care of me in recovery was absolutely amazed by how well I was doing by the time I left. Obviously, I'm still going to take it easy for a few days, and I'm still feeling tired, but I think by Monday I should be feeling pretty normal.

My 3-month belly is about half the size now, which is a fresh reminder that there's no longer a little body in there. That's hard. My morning sickness is starting to go away. I took a Zofran last night, but I haven't needed one yet today. That's not hard. That's a relief. At least the 3 months of hyperemesis (extreme morning sickness) are behind me. One positive thing.

Last night after we got ready for bed, I again begged Ben to go get E and put her in bed with me for just a little bit. I was feeling very empty. The three of us snuggled up, E still asleep. This is what, in normal circumstances, E would call "Family Snuggle." But it didn't feel like a family snuggle to me at all. We were missing someone. Before, when I was pregnant, I felt like all four of us would snuggle, even though one was in my tummy. And now, not even that body is there anymore. And now that I don't even have that piece, I'm terrified of forgetting. I'm terrified this will all start to seem like a dream. I'm terrified he won't feel real anymore.

"When I was pregnant." I don't like that. Now I'm really really not anymore.

There will be better days, right? There will be.

More Comfort

Today was my appointment.

Ben and I went in promptly at 8:00am. I was fasting, just in case they could get me in for the D&C today.

Dr. Newman met us in the ultrasound room and pulled up the picture of that little lifeless body. Still no heartbeat. It was the first time that Ben had seen him. I wish he could have seen him alive too. Someday I think he will.

Another doctor came in and had a look, just to double check, and still nothing. Then he said something like, "Did you notice on the neck?"

"Yes, I did see that today."

We were in suspense for a few moments, until she explained what they were seeing in the ultrasound.

Apparently, our baby had a growth on the back of his neck. In normal circumstances, the spinal fluid drains somewhere into your body or something (obviously I'm not an anatomy expert), but sometimes, there's a defect and the baby develops this growth instead and the spinal fluid drans into that. If that occurs, the baby never survives the pregnancy. It's a one-time occurrence thing too, nothing genetic that could turn up in future pregnancies unless just by chance.

What a comfort. It's so nice to know what happened, and to know that it's for sure nothing we did or nothing we could have done differently, that's just what happened. And it's not something we have to worry about in the future. Just for some reason, this child was not meant to survive. And that actually makes dealing with things a little bit easier, to know the why, to not have to wonder. And I'm just grateful that I got to see that little baby twice while he was alive and see that heartbeating and know he's ours. Now he's just waiting for us in heaven.

So my D&C is first thing tomorrow morning. I started spotting tonight. I think it's perfect timing. Now I know this is for real, and I can't put this off any longer. I couldn't go through the emotional and physical pain of miscarrying on my own.

Almost a Week

It's been six days today.

Tomorrow is my appointment with Dr. Newman. They're hoping to be able to get me in for the D&C tomorrow, but it just depends on scheduling and on the hospital surgery room availability I guess.

How am I doing today?

Physically: I dropped E off at a friend's house this morning and almost passed out in her entry hall. I sat down just before everything went completely black. Don't know what that was all about. And then I almost threw up in her driveway because I hadn't taken my Zofran yet. So still definitely suffering from morning sickness. That's one of the worst things. I have all the physical reminders of pregnancy, but nothing to be happy about. It's not fair, really. Oh, and still no signs of miscarrying on my own.

Emotionally: I'm feeling very sad. But I'm feeling some peace today too. I'm not dreading tomorrow with as much fear as I was last night. I know everything will be okay. Today I bought a really nice cheery pot to plant William's yellow tulips in. It's supposed to rain a lot the next few days, so I think I'm going to wait until there's a break in the weather. I don't want to risk them getting killed by the storm. Hopefully I can coax them to continue coming back every spring. My thumbs are definitely not green, so if you have tips, let me know.

Today I almost broke down sobbing in both Wal-Mart and Old Navy. I don't remember why in Wal-Mart. Usually there's not a why. At Old Navy I had the unpleasant job of returning two maternity dresses, one that was for my sister-in-law's wedding in March. They would take one back, but since I bought them online, one I could only return by mail. I just about broke down right there and just told them to take it and get rid of it because I didn't want it in the house anymore, but I decided it wasn't worth wasting $25. I'll have Ben mail it for me. He's a saint. I don't know how he's going through this and watching me go through this and holding it all together. I certainly married the right man.

Sunday

Today has had many ups and downs.

I was brave and went to church today. We got there late and ran out as soon as it was over so I wouldn't have to talk to anyone. But I almost left about 3 times during the meeting. Everyone was just too happy for me today. Nothing wrong with that, but I think I'm in the anger stage of grieving right now. I just don't want to be around happy people with seemingly happy lives and families and kids and families with kids close together. Our kids will probably be about 4 years apart now instead of the 2 1/2 to 3 we were hoping for, so seeing siblings close in age just hurts. And there are lots of them at church.

After church I came home and cried, then took a nap, then got up and cried. Then we went to my parents' house to celebrate my cousin's birthday and to see her 2-month-old baby boy for the first time. Ugh.

But I was surprised. Seeing that peaceful little face actually helped more than it hurt. Holding him in my arms just felt so good. I'm aching to babysit, to have a baby around, even if it's not my own.

I had maybe my lowest moment tonight after we got home and put E to bed. Again, while I was brushing my teeth, I broke down.

I'm dreading Tuesday when I go in for my D&C. I just want to hold on to this little piece of my baby for as long as possible. And now I'm just grieving the loss of the physical part of this little person. There is no funeral. There is no memorial. There is no gravestone. There's nowhere to go and remember. I go into the hospital, they put me under, and they suck my baby's body out of me and that's it. There's nothing beautiful or peaceful about it. I never see him. I never hold him. I just wake up and he's gone.

It was scary hearing myself cry tonight. I could barely breath. It was almost an out of body experience, listening to myself and thinking, that sounds like someone who is truly in extreme pain. I had no idea I could physically cry like that. I could barely get any air.

It was a long time, but it finally died down, and I lay on my bed, silently, Ben holding my hand. And then, I felt this incredible peace. It was a wave of warmth and comfort just washing over me. And I knew everything was okay. And that even though things would be hard, everything would keep being okay.

Saturday

Today is tough, because I really think it was last Saturday that William passed away. I don't know why. I just felt a little different that day. I felt really good nausea-wise, and I just felt...different. Empty. Like there wasn't a living person inside me. I only see that looking back. I figured I was feeling a little different because I was finally feeling good and feeling semi-normal. But really, I think that's what happened.

Today I went to Lowe's to get paint samples for E's big girl room. I was doing okay until a couple came over to the paint chips. She was about 7 months pregnant. They were picking out paint for their nursery. I wanted to yell at them and tell them what I was going through. Of course, I kept running into them in the store. They even ended up right behind me at the check out. Somehow I held it together until I got home. I picked up some beautiful yellow tulips too. A friend told me that she had planted some bulbs right after her miscarriage, and that was her way of remembering her children every spring when they started to bloom. I liked that idea.

We were up until 3am last night again. I hate going to bed. I put it off until my eyes hurt from watching too much mind-distracting TV, and then it has to be done. It's always when I'm brushing my teeth that I break down. I think it's just because I have nothing else to think about while I'm getting ready for bed. And there's something about seeing myself in the mirror that makes everything more real. It's like when I see myself I'm reminded that this is all happening to me and that I'm looking at a woman with a 3-month pregnancy belly who is supposed to be pregnant but who is carrying a dead baby. And then I break down into great sobbing fits with my mouth full of toothpaste and Ben runs upstairs and we talk and cry until 3 am. And then I beg him to go get E and put her in bed with me. And he does, and I hug her until I fall asleep and Ben puts her back in her crib. And then he wakes up at 6 and goes to work. And the next day it starts all over again.

Thoughts for Friday

Some reasons why grief after miscarriage is more complicated than grief after the death of a loved-one:

1) It's almost always very sudden and you don't know when it happens. You can't pinpoint a date or time of death. You will always mourn the day that you found out, not the day it happened.

2) You have to deal with the fact that you will never meet this person that you already love so much.

3) You're mourning the loss of a future for a person you will never meet.

4) There's nothing physical to bury or to memorialize. There's no body to have a funeral. There's nothing that other people can physically see.

5) No one understands what you're going through unless they themselves have been through the same thing before.

6) You have no good memories or photos of your child to get you through the tough spots.

7) You feel strange having extreme grief for a person you never met or touched and almost doesn't seem real, yet the grief you feel is very very real.

8) There's always the what if--what if I had been better about my prenatals? What if I hadn't taken that medication? What if I hadn't lifted E's carseat?

9) You've been through months of suffering, through extreme morning sickness, fatigue, etc. all knowing that in the end it will pay off--and now it won't.

10) You go through the physical pain of miscarriage and again, come out with nothing.

11) Because I have another wonderful child, I know what I'm missing out on.

12) I never got to hold him, but he's so real. I feel just like I've lost E. The pain is no different.

13) All of a sudden the plan that you have for your family changes dramatically.

14) You're grieving the loss of the innocence of pregnancy. You know that if you're pregnant again, it will be filled with dread and anxiety, not just the pure happiness and innocence it once was.

15) You're grieving the loss of the idea that you are in control of your life. You realize that all is up to God and we have no control.

Some things I've been thinking about.

Thursday: Babies R Us

I'm having a really hard time going into E's room since she still sleeps in the nursery. We just got her a big-girl bed and were going to transition her in April so that she'd have enough time to get detatched from the crib before the baby took it over. Ever since her bed came, I've been thinking of our other room as her room, and the nursery as the baby's room.

Now that the baby is no longer coming, I can't go into that room without crying. Ben has had to get her ready for bed every night because all I can do is get her out of her crib in the morning and plop her back in for her nap. So we decided that we would switch E into the new room this weekend instead. Which meant I had to go to Babies R Us to get a bed rail for her. Only place I could find them around here.

I begged my mom to come with me for moral support. She was going to meet us over there. E and I got there a few minutes before she did, and as soon as I pulled into the parking lot, I started to sob. Every car had a mom pulling out an infant carrier with these tiny little babies in them. It was terrible.

I managed not to cry while I returned the little brown herringbone suit I had bought on clearance for Christmas pictures in next December. I managed to hold it together as we steered clear of the maternity section.

Even then, I kept finding myself looking at quilts and decor and thinking, "oh, that would be cute for the baby's room."

And then reality would set in.

Wednesday

I woke up repeating "Liam" over and over again in my head. He just seemed so real, so tangible to me. Giving him a name really helped me to give him an identity, to make him a real, living person, to make me sure he wouldn't be forgotten. It eased some of the pain, gave me someone to grieve.

I think I've been pretty much crying all day. This feels nothing like I would have expected it to feel. I feel like I've lost a living child, it feels just like if I lost E. This baby is so real to us. At least to me. Ben of course, is devestated, but it's nothing like what I'm feeling. I think that surprised me. I think he's more distressed by seeing me so distressed.

Why doesn't anyone talk about this? I wish I would have been warned. No one ever says how hard it is to lose a baby. No one. I wish people would be more open about this.

I've been checking my Facebook and email all day. I can't believe how many comments and messages I've gotten. I really feel very loved. Just missing the little one I love so much.

Naming

Ben got home late from the airport.

I don't think he expected to find me how I was--basically doubled over in grief, sobbing my eyes out. But that's how I felt.

We talked and cried (mostly I cried) until about 3:00am. I wanted to do something to keep the memory of this baby alive, to help us always remember, to make sure they were always part of our family. So we decided to give our baby a name.

Every time I had seen the ultrasound, despite the fact that I desperately wanted another girl, I couldn't help but feel like that little person I was looking at was a boy. I was fairly certain about it.

We sat in silence for a long time. Once in a while one of us would make a comment. Finally it came to me. William. Ben's dad's name, a long traditional family name, and a name that we had always thought we would use as a middle name if we had a boy. It was perfect. We could call him Liam, and if we ever do have a boy, the middle name of William will have even more meaning.

I apologized profusely if our baby was a girl, and said she could be Mina (short for Williamina).

I cried some more, but went to bed at least feeling better knowing that this little person had an identity and wouldn't be forgotten.

The First Day of Grief

I sobbed in the car all the way to my mom's house to pick up 2-year-old E. I couldn't wait to hold her in my arms, to have my child to touch.

They were sitting on the couch when I walked in.

"There's no heartbeat."

I could barely get it out before collapsing onto the couch.

I don't remember what was said. I calmed down, and we talked some more, and then we both started crying again. And sweet E, wonderful little girl, came running in from the other room where she was watching us, and looked up at us with those innocent little barely 2-year-old eyes and said,

"What's wrong guys?"

We both started laughing. Then she turned to me and said,

"Sorry, Mommy." And to my mom, "Sorry, Grandma." And she put her head down and pretended to cry too, for a good 30 seconds. Just the compassion of a 2-year-old was incredible. I'm so grateful for her.

My mom was wonderful enough to drop everything she was doing that day and come to our house. I didn't want to be alone.

After lunch I got on the phone and called to cancel my first-trimester ultrasound sceening. That was one of my favorite things when I was pregnant with E. It was supposed to be the next day. The nurse got my information, and I told her I needed to cancel my appointment for the next day. And then came the dreaded question.

"What's the reason for the cancellation?"

"The baby no longer has a heartbeat."

Silence.

"I'm really sorry. Thank you for calling."

Why do they have to ask questions like that? The other one I'm dreading is "What's the reason for the return?" when I go return the maternity clothes and few baby items I've bought. Those are terrible questions.

Mom stayed for hours and watched mind-numbing TV. Then she went home. And I started telling people.

I sent out an email to close friends. And then I did something that seemed so unfeeling, but the most efficient way to get the word out since we had told everyone already. I logged on to my Facebook account and posted simply,

"Sad news. No heartbeat today."

And then I cried some more.

A Child Lost

So I’m staring at this blank page.

That’s kind of how I’ve been feeling. Just blank inside. January 26th, I went in for my normal 12 week appointment with Dr. Newman. She checked me out, everything looked great, and then she got out the Doppler thing to listen to the heartbeat. It would have been the first time actually hearing it. I had seen it twice on ultrasounds, both at 8 weeks and just 2 weeks before, at 10 weeks.

She pushed it all over the place, but we couldn’t hear anything. She said the placenta was probably just blocking it, so we headed over to the ultrasound room. I got up on the table, and she showed me the picture of our little one. She measured him, measurements looked fine. But she kept moving the probe around, looking for that heartbeat. I could see her getting more and more concerned. After a few minutes, she told me she was going to go get another doctor for another opinion.

“I really hope I’m just missing something, “ she told me.

Dr. Nunes came in and took over. He picked up the probe again and looked for a long time. He turned to Dr. Newman and said something like “yeah, this is where we should see…” and that was it.

There was no heartbeat.

Our little one was gone.

Dr. Newman turned to me, and with real sorrow on her face just said, “I’m so sorry. I was not expecting this at all. It’s probably only been 2 or 3 days.”

I didn’t know what I was feeling. It was shock and disbelief and fear all together.

“It’s nothing you did or could have prevented. There was just some congenital defect that made it so this child couldn’t survive,” she told me, her hand on my shoulder. “I’m truly sorry.”

She left to give me a few moments alone. I sat up, still in shock, and called Ben on his business trip.

I was so grateful he answered.

“There’s no heartbeat.”


And I started to bawl.
All I could hear was “Are you serious? Are you serious?” Then a pause, and “Kirs, I’m so sorry.” I managed to get out some sort of conversation with him before the nurse came to check on me.

Dr. Newman came back in again.

“Why don’t you take a week, and then come back in and we’ll discuss your options here. Give yourself time to digest all this and talk to your husband. Again, I am so sorry.”

And that was it. I walked out of the office, carrying my dead baby inside, and a heart that felt dead too.