That day is coming soon...

That day that I would have been due.  December 6.  With my first miscarriage anniversary being Thanksgiving Day and this due date, I'm seriously thinking it's a good idea to just plan to crawl in a hole for a couple of weeks a year from now on. 

All the ladies in the group have gotten much closer, and as we all approach our due dates in the coming weeks, I know we have each other.  And for that, I'm supremely grateful. 

Making my way through moving on

It's been a while since I've updated... Finally started my first cycle since the D&C.  Huz and I have discussed trying again this month, and I'm so back and forth with it.  He's said it's totally up to me since I'm the one who has the physical aspects of it all - good or bad.  One minute, I can't wait to try again, the next, I realize maybe I'm not meant to be pregnant.  Not that I'm not meant to be a mother, but maybe I need to look at other options (adoption.)  I really would love to be a mommy, but the possibility of another loss scares the shit out of me.  For now, I'm really going to just focus on today - every day.

I still feel like I lost a whole month, and I need to get back to living life.  It's such a stumble to go through this.  Not only did I have the loss, but also the time leading up to it.  It never felt right, so I was in a haze for the weeks I was "pregnant."  I say pregnant in quotes because it helps me in some sick way to think I never really was since there's no baby at the end. 

My online group has been holding steady at 45 for a while, so the fact that the new members joining slowing down helps me.  I'm so sad for each of them.  The saddest part is, there's a new group of Jan and Feb mommies probably going through the same stuff now, and I wonder - who's there for them?

My little online support group

We've grown from 3 members on 4/30/12 to 41 with 3 invitations out today, 5/21/12.  WTH????

The worst emotion of the grieving process is...

...acceptance.  For me at least.  But I'm there.  Acceptance feels like giving in, like giving up, and along with that comes guilt.  I've been feeling better each day, and yesterday was such a beautiful day here that I didn't even have to try, I got up, went to a community event, went to the nursery (of the plant variety) and got flowers to plant.  Came home and planted all of the flowers, cleaned my car inside and out, and went to the grocery store.  Most productive day I've had in months.

Through this chain of events, I lost a month.  I took the home pregnancy test on 3/30, and found out on 4/30 that there was no longer a heartbeat (with events in between and after that have been outlined in previous posts.)  In those 4 short weeks, between the excitement/fear/hormones at the beginning to the sadness/fear/hormones at the end, I lost a month - plus a couple of weeks, actually.  I'm not even exaggerating - I was cleaning up my work email on Friday and came across several that had needed my response in April.  I let my housework go.  My poor husband has been living with a robot.  My dogs haven't had anyone play fetch with them in weeks.  I literally lost a whole month, and realized yesterday that if I didn't get my shit together, I was going to lose a lot more. 

My boss has been wonderful, but I know I have to get that focus back.  My staff doesn't know what happened, but I'm sure they know I've been absent and unresponsive.  The beautiful day yesterday, and the fact that it's the time of year for them to be a regular occurrence made me realize that I have to get back to life, MY life.  That makes me feel so guilty, but it is in fact my life, in which I have a great career, wonderful husband, beautiful home, and perfect fur babies.  Maybe someday I'll have a human baby as well, but not if I don't take care of the life I currently have.  I've been eating like crap, not drinking enough water, not exercising.  I picked up right where I left off with smoking.  I have to move forward in order to even have a chance at giving this another shot.  And that makes me feel terrible. 

How not to help a woman cope

They say the stats are 1 in 4 pregnancies end in miscarriage.  One in four.  So 75% of the time, a mother gets to take her baby home to the nursery that she’s outfitted so perfectly.  But I’m sure if you’ve found your way here, you’re sick of hearing stats.  Everyone from your doctor to your aunt to your long lost high school friend wants to give you stats when/if they hear you’ve had a miscarriage.  Screw stats.  I’m done with stats.

However, it was not lost on me that the stat reads “1 in 4 pregnancies,” not one in four women.  I’ve been unlucky enough to experience this twice, so I’m something of a pro.   Need to know what they will do when you show up at an ER at 5:30 am on Thanksgiving Day at about 5 weeks pregnant, bleeding?  Have questions about a D&C or what it feels like to be 7 weeks pregnant?  I’m your girl. 

The first time it was 11 days after I had found out I was pregnant, and this time, I should have been 3 days shy of 10 weeks, had heard the heartbeat at 6 weeks 5 days, and on that fateful day, there was no longer a heartbeat.  So not only am I in the “25%,” I’m also part of a very small number of women who lose the baby AFTER they hear a heartbeat.  I’m sure that a lot of the reason I had heard the heartbeat has to do with the improvements in technology and the capabilities of today’s ultrasound machines, but the last stat I’ll share is that less than 5% of pregnancies are lost after the heartbeat is heard.  They call that a “missed miscarriage.”  I guess the fact that they are no longer using “delayed abortion” should be something of a consolation prize.  The problem is, in my case, it wasn’t missed.  I knew it, “they” didn’t want to listen.  I’d been calling the doctors’ office every other day to tell them I had lost my pregnancy symptoms, had cramping, and I was spotting (bleeding.)  Every one of the nurses just kept telling me to “up my fluids, put your feet up – and use pelvic rest – no vacuuming, no lifting, pushing, carrying or pulling, and definitely no sex.”  Every one of them, every time I called.  Like it’s the standard speech they have posted at their desks for that crazy mom to be who calls every other day.   Until I called AGAIN and demanded to be seen or have my records sent to another doctor, no one would listen.  Finally, whether it was due to the threat of losing a patient covered by some pretty good insurance, or just a compassionate nurse, I was seen on the day I should have been 9 weeks and 4 days.

Yes, today I am very angry with the very large practice of doctors, midwives, and nurses who not only confirmed that I was indeed pregnant after trips to three of their offices in the county, but also that my baby’s heart had stopped beating 2 weeks and 6 days earlier (yeah – hadn’t grown since the day I first saw AND heard it.)  I’m angry that they didn’t check again, or have another tech take a look.  I’m angry that they immediately set me up for a D&C the next day.  I’m angry that I didn’t think to ask for another ultrasound the next day before they put me under, just to make sure.  I’m angry that I made all these decisions while I was very highly likely in a textbook case of shock.

I have found support online with other women who are experiencing this same loss sadly at about the same time.   We were all part of a “December 2012 mommies over 30” group.  The day I learned there was no more heartbeat, I started “December 2012 should have been mommies over 30" group.  The next day, there were 3 of us.  Now, 16 days later, there are 31 of us.  Some miscarried naturally at home or in a hospital, some have had the same fateful outcome that I have and “required” medical intervention, some have had ectopics, and some have no idea what happened.  One day they were pregnant, the next they weren’t.  One thing I can tell you, we are all grieving.  We are all confused, sad, angry, guilty, ashamed, broken.  Some of us have good days, and when we do it scares us.   Scares us into thinking we won’t be good mothers if we’re allowing ourselves to feel better about the little one we lost.  Scares us into thinking that maybe what that idiot said the other day is right – it wasn’t meant to be.  Scares us to ever try again.  Some have children at home, others like me don’t.  Some have been trying for years, even with the help of IVF and IUI treatments, some were “lucky” enough to get pregnant the first try, and some weren’t trying at all.  They have been my soldiers through this battle and have all helped me in ways only they can understand and I sincerely hope I’ve helped them along the way too.  We support, we rant, we cry, we ask questions and answer them.  Mostly, we’re just supporting each other in figuring out what the next step is, and on how to get back to moving through the motions of life.

One thing I’ve learned from this wonderful group of strong, heartbroken women is that people have no idea what to say to a woman when she’s experienced a loss.  There are so many things that should never be said to a woman when she shares with you that she’s lost a little soul, yet people continue to say them anyway.  If you’re reading this and you have never gone through this – this is where you pay attention. 

First of all, the only people who can ever say “I understand” are women who have had a miscarriage.  If you haven’t, all you are even half- way qualified to say is “I’m sorry.” If someone is sharing the news with you that they’ve had a miscarriage, they must either a) think a lot of you and your relationship with them or b) still be in shock.  Even if she says any of these things, please refer back to the italicized, bold, underlined sentence above and repeat.  Anything else is just horrible.  I’ve compiled a list of what are probably the most disturbing yet most common things people have said to me and these women.  If you don’t know what to say, tread lightly, as these words or any like them will likely be something that she will carry with her, and could likely tarnish the relationship you had for life.

1.       Maybe it was for the best.  (How is this for the best, exactly?  What would be best is me bringing a beautiful healthy baby home in a few months!)

2.       God is testing you.  (For what?  To know if I can grieve or get angry?  To see if I can overcome?  To get me to go to Church every Sunday?  What is the test?)

3.       You lost the baby because you are not married.  (Ok, “religious” hypocritical idiot.  How will He reward you for being so UN-Christian and judgmental?)

4.       You haven't really even tried, you have to try again!  (I’ve tried and I lost.  Thanks for being there.)

5.       There was something wrong with it.  (First of all, let’s not say “it.”  The moment I knew I was pregnant, maybe even before it was confirmed with a pregnancy test, “it” was a baby.  My baby.  As for the rest of that, I don’t even know what to say.)

6.       Would you really want a special needs child?  (What I want is a child.  A living, breathing child to hold and love and kiss.  Who says this one would have been special needs?  Maybe the embryo just didn’t attach correctly because I should be taking a medication that I don’t know about.)

7.       God knows what's he's doing.  (I’m sure He does, but why not pick on a mother who’s shooting up every hour or one  who’s going to end up killing her own children someday, why me – a healthy loving person who just wants to add a child to my family?)

8.       It just wasn't time.  (I don’t even know how I would have responded to this one.  It’s not like a cake that is sunken in the middle and still gooey.)

9.       You stressed out too much worrying.  (Yeah, that’s what I need – a little more guilt.  Also, while major life stressors like death and illness can cause the kind of stress that causes a miscarriage, every day stress and typical worries of a newly pregnant woman do not.)

10.   This is very common.  (Not as common as healthy babies who are born at full term.  And if it’s so common, maybe then, instead of making me sit in a waiting room full of happy pregnant women to check on the physical aspects of this there should be miscarriage only doctors.  And they shouldn’t wait until a woman has had multiple (typically 3) miscarriages to try run simple tests that could potentially STOP it from being so common!)

11.   What's the big deal? It wasn't even really a baby yet.  (refer to # 5 above)

And finally, my personal favorite…

12.   At least you know you can get pregnant.  (That’s great.  So how about when I get knocked up again I’ll just carry the baby in a backpack for the first 12 weeks.)

A woman who has lost her child has lost her dreams of her little girl with rosy cheeks and bows in her hair.  She’s lost her little boy’s first little league game.  She hasn’t lost a blighted ovum or an embryo or a fetal pole.  She’s lost her angel, and a little bit of her own heart and soul.  Treat her delicately, let her heal.  Clean her house or cook her dinner.  Take the maternity clothes that she just bought back to the store for her.  Help her if you can, and if you simply can’t, then just leave her alone.  That would be far better than saying the wrong things when she’s beating herself up enough as it is and feels like the whole world is collapsing around her, or getting so big that she’s terrified to go out into it again. 

One of the women wrote this in a post today to another woman who was beating herself up for having a good day. I wanted to share it because it needs to be heard and printed for the world to understand.

There is a reason why people used to have official periods of mourning and wear all black. The black was to let the general public know "hey - this person has just been through something really traumatic, and they may burst into tears/lose it/ yell at you for no reason, so tread lightly, be very understanding, and give them the space they need.”  Withdrawing from public was so the person in mourning could feel all the things they wanted/needed to feel without having to worry about being around other people while they were trying to process these terrible emotions - grief can express itself in different ways, many of them not seeming to be "acceptable" to the general public (laughing fits, periods of calm and happiness like you are experiencing). If you feel better surrounding yourself with people then of course you should, but do not feel bad if you need to process this by yourself. And do not feel bad about having a good day. It is perfectly natural to have a good day, even in a bad time.

There are plenty of books on pregnancy and what to look for as you progress through the mystery.  There are very few on how to cope with the loss of a not-yet-born baby that focus on the emotional aspects.  I’ve looked – they aren’t out there, maybe because this topic is still so taboo.  If you find yourself in this position, please please find a support system of women to help you through it.  Could be online like my group.  Could be in real life. ‘Cause hey, this is very common.

Everything has new meaning.

Anyone who knows me in real life knows I'm a huge Dave Matthews Band fan.  Like haven't missed a show in 15 years (16 years and couting starting next month!!) kind of fan. One of my favorite DMB songs is "Grey Street."  I heard it in the car today, mostly having a pretty good day after a pedi, seeing 3 pregnant women and not feeling anything negative.  (I did, however, catch myself staring at them for just a minute too long.  Sorry, pregnant ladies!  When another woman stares at your belly with a blank look in her eyes, chances are she's just suffered a miscarriage I guess.) Then for some reason, today, the lyrics took on a whole new meaning and I cried.

Video of live performance from YouTube:
http://youtu.be/yUWYToUinuw

Lyrics copied from:
http://www.davematthewsband.com/#/sounds

Grey Street

Oh look at how she listens
She says nothing of what she thinks
She just goes stumbling through her memories
Staring out on to Grey Street
She thinks, “Hey,
How did I come to this?
I dream myself a thousand times around the world,
But I can’t get out of this place”
There’s an emptiness inside her
And she’d do anything to fill it in
But all the colors mix together - to grey
And it breaks her heart
How she wishes it was different
She prays to God most every night
And though she swears it doesn’t listen
There’s still a hope in her it might
She says, “I pray
But my prayers they fall on deaf ears,
Am I supposed to take it on myself?
To get out of this place”
There’s loneliness inside her
And she’d do anything to fill it in
And though it’s red blood bleeding from her now
It feels like cold blue ice in her heart
When all the colors mix together - to grey
And it breaks her heart
There’s a stranger speaks outside her door
Says take what you can from your dreams
Make them as real as anything
It’d take the work out of the courage
But she says, “Please
There’s a crazy man that’s creeping outside my door,
I live on the corner of Grey Street and the end of the world”
There’s an emptiness inside her
And she’d do anything to fill it in
And though it’s red blood bleeding from her now
It’s more like cold blue ice in her heart
She feels like kicking out all the windows
And setting fire to this life
She could change everything about her using colors bold and bright
But all the colors mix together - to grey
And it breaks her heart
It breaks her heart
To grey

Today, I got dressed.

I not only got dressed, but I put on jeans, not just yoga pants or new pj pants like I have for the last 10 days.  (well, really, 40 days - since I got the BFP!)  My hubby got home and reminded me that I said this morning we needed dog food.  Since I don't want him to know just how much I pay for Blue Buffalo for my little man, I said I'd go out.  I put on jeans that didn't fit last time I tried them, Easter Weekend.  I actually wore a belly band and a long shirt with them that day because I was back in my hometown and not quite ready to share the news (thankfully) so I did my best to hide it all, and it worked.

So I got dressed and left my house for the first time since Saturday.  I didn't even realize that was the last time I had.  I consider myself lucky that I can work my schedule however I'd like and work from home as much as I want.  However, this has been probably about the worst thing for me - I've just been getting more and more depressed and obsessing more and more.  So today I got dressed, and I left.

Today was a typical Northeast Spring day.  The sun was shining bright, not a could in the sky but it was only about 65 -70 ish out.  Nice sweater w/ jeans and sunglasses day.  I took this picture when I got home so that I could show you all:

But, about 10 miles north, a half hour earlier, as I'm leaving PetSmart, I see this:

Maybe sometimes a rainbow is just a rainbow, but today, it meant the world to me.  For anyone reading this that doesn't know, the baby you get to bring home after a miscarriage is called a rainbow baby.