Still waiting to ovulate and driving myself bonkers with this TTC (trying to conceive) hoopla. I'm on Day 19 and signs indicate I'll be ovulating soon. I (barely) avoided buying a thermometer and ovulation test strips today, but I did buy some pregnancy tests in faith that I'll have reason to use one soon. We have never "tried" before; Haven was a flukey (but very welcome) surprise, but we always prevented in one way or another before that. We're only in cycle one and I'm already so antsy. I have a whole new respect and sympathy for those who have been up and down this road for months and years.
My quirky mind likes to think that the little troops are waiting around at a gents-only, spermy expat bar (called, say, The Tube), for the egg to make her grand stage appearance. Maybe they're having a pint and a cigar in there, ribbing each other in friendly competition, exchanging strategies. Y'know, sperm conversation starters.
"I'm gonna get 'er this time!"
"No - I am!"
"There she is! CHARRRGE!"
It's a good thing we have a sense of humour about this, considering everything. It is still an emotional thing to be thinking about another pregnancy so soon, but I feel good about the fact that we're in this place.
Good luck, boys! May the best gent win!
If you want to be blown away by the crazy science of conception, check out this video. I am continually in awe of how our bodies work.
Wednesday 30 April 2014
Tuesday 29 April 2014
Headstones
The ground is thawing and we are starting to think about buying a headstone for our little one. I'm checking out the websites for local spots that do this sort of thing. I didn't know such places existed before. What a crap way to learn, huh?
Sometimes this all seems so surreal, like something that happened to someone else. I look at pictures of us from before The Worst Day, and I don't recognize myself. Who are those naive, happy people? They have no idea their lives are about to fall apart. That all of their plans for the future are about to be derailed.
Black, brown, or gray?
"Beloved daughter of..."
"Safe in Heaven"
An etched bird, perhaps?
Or some flowers?
Just one date.
How did life bring me here? When will I wake up from this horrible dream?
Sometimes this all seems so surreal, like something that happened to someone else. I look at pictures of us from before The Worst Day, and I don't recognize myself. Who are those naive, happy people? They have no idea their lives are about to fall apart. That all of their plans for the future are about to be derailed.
Black, brown, or gray?
"Beloved daughter of..."
"Safe in Heaven"
An etched bird, perhaps?
Or some flowers?
Just one date.
How did life bring me here? When will I wake up from this horrible dream?
Monday 28 April 2014
Baby-dancing, Month #1
Those in the online forum world will get a chuckle out of the title. Almost three months out, we have decided to head down the "trying to conceive (TTC)" road. Aaand, I am obsessed already. I know it's not fair, but when we conceived Haven, she was a total surprise after the one and only time we ever "baby-danced" unprotected around ovulation. But in reading so many forum and articles online, I know it's pretty unlikely that we will have the same luck so close after a full term delivery. Even though my ovulation is already late this cycle, I've been reading into every little ache and twinge and imagining I'm pregnant. I wish I could say I'm being cool about the whole thing, but I know I'll be crushed if my period comes in a few weeks.
It is emotional to be heading in this direction. On the one hand, I am totally excited and ready, but on the other, my fears and worries cover me like a heavy blanket. What if I am infertile now? What if it takes a long time to become pregnant? What if we're trying too early? What if I miscarry, or worse, lose another baby late-term? To be honest, my mind can't believe that I am capable of bringing a living baby into this world. It feels impossible. I am sad, because I know that my innocence regarding pregnancy is gone and can never come back. I know another pregnancy will be so bittersweet. But here we are. I am eager, despite it all.
I know I can never replace my beautiful daughter, but I do hope that I can make her a little brother or sister. I hope that we can bring home a baby, and find healing in that. I miss my baby so much, but I know this is the path I need to be on. Focusing on it has been a saving grace in this wasteland of grief.
One of the only things I have complete confidence in is my relationship with my wonderful husband. I know that, no matter what happens, he will support me and be there by my side. I hope, more than almost anything, that I can make him a dad to a baby we can take home. Nothing could bring me more joy.
It is emotional to be heading in this direction. On the one hand, I am totally excited and ready, but on the other, my fears and worries cover me like a heavy blanket. What if I am infertile now? What if it takes a long time to become pregnant? What if we're trying too early? What if I miscarry, or worse, lose another baby late-term? To be honest, my mind can't believe that I am capable of bringing a living baby into this world. It feels impossible. I am sad, because I know that my innocence regarding pregnancy is gone and can never come back. I know another pregnancy will be so bittersweet. But here we are. I am eager, despite it all.
I know I can never replace my beautiful daughter, but I do hope that I can make her a little brother or sister. I hope that we can bring home a baby, and find healing in that. I miss my baby so much, but I know this is the path I need to be on. Focusing on it has been a saving grace in this wasteland of grief.
One of the only things I have complete confidence in is my relationship with my wonderful husband. I know that, no matter what happens, he will support me and be there by my side. I hope, more than almost anything, that I can make him a dad to a baby we can take home. Nothing could bring me more joy.
Friday 25 April 2014
Autopsy Results: Hyper-Coiled Cord
Two weeks ago, we were shocked to find out that Haven's autopsy/pathology report turned up a cause of death. From the day she died and onward, we had prepared ourselves to to hear that they couldn't find a cause, because, in most cases like ours, they don't find one. All of the nurses and doctors had told us that we would likely never know.
The report said that she was a perfect, healthy baby girl (which we knew), but that her cord was abnormal. It was hyper-coiled, meaning that the cord had way too many coils in it. The nurses didn't catch it when they delivered her, and even specifically said that it looked normal. The coiling doesn't seem to have caused a problem until the end, because she was a normal weight and had developed perfectly. There were areas of low Wharton's jelly (meaning the veins were less protected), and there was clotting, swelling, and fibroids in the cord, so it looks like at some point (probably in the last few days), blood started being restricted, then was cut off. The hyperactivity the night before we found out she was gone was probably her dying due to lack of oxygen. My theory is that, when she changed sides of my belly about a week before, that put her into a position where she ended up leaning on the cord, cutting off blood flow. I had a bad feeling about it at the time, but my doctor didn't seem concerned. And for any normal pregnancy, it wouldn't have been cause for concern. Hindsight is 20/20.
Research indicates that mothers tend to produce the same types of cords with subsequent babies, but it's not guaranteed. And another cord like it would not necessarily be fatal, though it would be dangerous. There is no prevention of hyper-coiling; it happens very early on. There are only two theories: one is that it is caused by the embryonic/fetal movements when the cord is developing, or that it is caused by uneven blood flow. Diabetics and cocaine users are more likely to have this happen, but I am neither of those things. All I can really do is keep in good health and hope for the best the next time around. There is some indication that they can look for it on ultrasound and test blood flow with cord Doppler testing, so I am hopeful that we'll have luck with that. I also hope that we will be very closely monitored. I plan to go off work much earlier the next time so that I can focus on being healthy and rested, and so I can more carefully monitor the baby myself.
We will be seeing a specialist in a few months to go over the report in more detail and to learn about our odds of recurrence, as well as what the plan will be the next time I am pregnant. It may be up to six months until then. I hate how slowly the medical world moves sometimes.
I can write all of that in such a clinical way because I'm still a little in shock over it. That's why I waited two weeks to share it here. Even our OB was very surprised by the report, as it didn't seem like we would ever know.
We really thought it would make us feel better to know why she died. I think it did, in a way, because it has given closure, and will continue to do so. I don't regret the autopsy, but it was very emotional hearing the details at the doctor's office. We were shocked, first and foremost, but hearing the details and picturing our poor girl being in such trouble without us knowing...that hurt. Knowing she was perfect but just terribly unlucky...I don't know if that makes us feel better or worse. Or both. Grief over losing a child causes the most paradoxical and illogical thoughts I have ever experienced.
We left the office and drove straight to the grocery and liquor stores, where we bought a lot of alcohol and food, then proceeded to eat our faces off and drink a bottle of wine each. We even bought a pack of smokes (we don't smoke) and had a bunch of those. Was that destructive? Probably. But it did make us feel a little better at the time.
So that's our story. Anyone else have experience with hyper-coiled cords? I'd love to hear your stories and/or to hear of any advice or information you received regarding subsequent pregnancy. It seems fairly rare among causes of stillbirth, so there is not a lot of information out there.
The report said that she was a perfect, healthy baby girl (which we knew), but that her cord was abnormal. It was hyper-coiled, meaning that the cord had way too many coils in it. The nurses didn't catch it when they delivered her, and even specifically said that it looked normal. The coiling doesn't seem to have caused a problem until the end, because she was a normal weight and had developed perfectly. There were areas of low Wharton's jelly (meaning the veins were less protected), and there was clotting, swelling, and fibroids in the cord, so it looks like at some point (probably in the last few days), blood started being restricted, then was cut off. The hyperactivity the night before we found out she was gone was probably her dying due to lack of oxygen. My theory is that, when she changed sides of my belly about a week before, that put her into a position where she ended up leaning on the cord, cutting off blood flow. I had a bad feeling about it at the time, but my doctor didn't seem concerned. And for any normal pregnancy, it wouldn't have been cause for concern. Hindsight is 20/20.
Research indicates that mothers tend to produce the same types of cords with subsequent babies, but it's not guaranteed. And another cord like it would not necessarily be fatal, though it would be dangerous. There is no prevention of hyper-coiling; it happens very early on. There are only two theories: one is that it is caused by the embryonic/fetal movements when the cord is developing, or that it is caused by uneven blood flow. Diabetics and cocaine users are more likely to have this happen, but I am neither of those things. All I can really do is keep in good health and hope for the best the next time around. There is some indication that they can look for it on ultrasound and test blood flow with cord Doppler testing, so I am hopeful that we'll have luck with that. I also hope that we will be very closely monitored. I plan to go off work much earlier the next time so that I can focus on being healthy and rested, and so I can more carefully monitor the baby myself.
We will be seeing a specialist in a few months to go over the report in more detail and to learn about our odds of recurrence, as well as what the plan will be the next time I am pregnant. It may be up to six months until then. I hate how slowly the medical world moves sometimes.
I can write all of that in such a clinical way because I'm still a little in shock over it. That's why I waited two weeks to share it here. Even our OB was very surprised by the report, as it didn't seem like we would ever know.
We really thought it would make us feel better to know why she died. I think it did, in a way, because it has given closure, and will continue to do so. I don't regret the autopsy, but it was very emotional hearing the details at the doctor's office. We were shocked, first and foremost, but hearing the details and picturing our poor girl being in such trouble without us knowing...that hurt. Knowing she was perfect but just terribly unlucky...I don't know if that makes us feel better or worse. Or both. Grief over losing a child causes the most paradoxical and illogical thoughts I have ever experienced.
We left the office and drove straight to the grocery and liquor stores, where we bought a lot of alcohol and food, then proceeded to eat our faces off and drink a bottle of wine each. We even bought a pack of smokes (we don't smoke) and had a bunch of those. Was that destructive? Probably. But it did make us feel a little better at the time.
So that's our story. Anyone else have experience with hyper-coiled cords? I'd love to hear your stories and/or to hear of any advice or information you received regarding subsequent pregnancy. It seems fairly rare among causes of stillbirth, so there is not a lot of information out there.
Friday 18 April 2014
Blaming God
I have run across several threads on loss forums in which parents blame God for the death of their child(ren). I have wanted to comment, but don't want to give the impression that I do not understand the pain, anger, and bitterness. The seemingly bottomless grief that can well up at a moment's notice. I also haven't wanted to spark any religious debates in a place that is meant for support and healing. There is a time and place for all things. So I will respond here from my perspective. You may not agree with me, but please know that I would never belittle your grief and that this post is not meant to judge. I do know how it feels. This is just my journey. I hope this is coherent...
Even on the day we found out that Haven had died, it never occurred to me to blame God. I was, and am, crushed, but blame for God never entered my mind. This world is often a cruel place. I grew up poor, with a mean, abusive, and mentally ill father. My mom was a shell of a person for many years due to crippling depression. Fear and anxiety were my constant companions. Abuse of every kind was rampant among my extended family on both sides, and the same goes for mental illness. My aunt also lost a daughter, Katarina, at full term and only got to glimpse her before the nurses whisked her away. I lost a cousin at 31 to cervical cancer. She was a gentle soul and mother to a little girl. My father-in-law died at 48 after suffering through severe illness for 11 years (crohn's, a liver transplant, medically-caused diabetes, cancer, then a prolonged, excruciating death). He was a minister and a good, kind man. His mother died young from breast cancer. And then my daughter died suddenly at the height of my joy and the most precious thing in my life was ripped away. All of these things are unjust, unfair. But terrible things (genocide, war, murder, rape, forced prostitution) happen around the world every day and I never once blamed God for those before, believing that they are all a part of this broken world full of broken people. Why should I blame him when the pain lands on my doorstep? And I won't pretend I'm not in pain. It's on every breath, in every movement, in every thought and prayer and wish.
Faith is a choice, or rather, a long string of choices. Today, I choose to believe in God's goodness. Today, I choose to believe that God has a plan. Today, I choose to believe the promise that all things work together for the good of those who love the Lord. Either I believe in God, or I don't. Faith is not dependent on circumstances. In the Bible, God never guaranteed that life would be easy and that we would always receive what we want (unfortunately, a lot of Western teachings imply this). You need only read the stories of those in the Bible who went through unimaginable things to see that their faith did not bar them from pain. The point is that God is there with us through every one of the difficult things we walk through. He knows our pain, weeps with us, and strengthens us if we allow him to do that.
I have read facebook posts by atheist friends who imply that it is the weak who cling to faith. But to be honest, it takes serious strength to choose a life of trust and surrender in the face of loss. It would be much easier to sink into hate and bitterness and anger and never crawl out of that place. In choosing faith, I am choosing life. God sees my life from its humble start to its humble end, the good and the bad, and he has a plan. I may not understand it, but I trust him. I know that God sees all that has happened and all that is to come, but I don't believe that he caused Haven to die just because he knew that she would. Our minds always want answers, but the truth is that bad things happen to good people. Every single day.
I think it's important not to deny our feelings, but to acknowledge them. Today, I am pissed off and I can't stand the sight of pregnant women or kids. Today, I am terrified that I will lose another child and I'm angry that I have to feel this way. Okay. I let myself feel it. Sometimes I spend entire days feeling angry and ripped off. I believe that anger is a part of grief and should be felt and expressed fully. But I look at my feelings this way: these intense feeling are temporary; they don't change my long-term, overarching feelings. Bitterness is not somewhere I want to set up camp. There is recovery. I really do believe that. It won't be tomorrow or next week and maybe not even next year, but there is life after loss. Someday I will smile again without forcing my lips into an upward direction. There will be pure joy again. Have I lost innocence? Yes. And I'll never get that back. I'll never know pregnancy without fear again. I might never even know the joy of mothering living children. But I choose to believe that I will be okay in time, no matter what.
I choose faith.
Because this is a sensitive topic and I do not want debates on this blog, I am going to close comments on this post. But if you would like to talk about this with me, please do send me a private message.
Even on the day we found out that Haven had died, it never occurred to me to blame God. I was, and am, crushed, but blame for God never entered my mind. This world is often a cruel place. I grew up poor, with a mean, abusive, and mentally ill father. My mom was a shell of a person for many years due to crippling depression. Fear and anxiety were my constant companions. Abuse of every kind was rampant among my extended family on both sides, and the same goes for mental illness. My aunt also lost a daughter, Katarina, at full term and only got to glimpse her before the nurses whisked her away. I lost a cousin at 31 to cervical cancer. She was a gentle soul and mother to a little girl. My father-in-law died at 48 after suffering through severe illness for 11 years (crohn's, a liver transplant, medically-caused diabetes, cancer, then a prolonged, excruciating death). He was a minister and a good, kind man. His mother died young from breast cancer. And then my daughter died suddenly at the height of my joy and the most precious thing in my life was ripped away. All of these things are unjust, unfair. But terrible things (genocide, war, murder, rape, forced prostitution) happen around the world every day and I never once blamed God for those before, believing that they are all a part of this broken world full of broken people. Why should I blame him when the pain lands on my doorstep? And I won't pretend I'm not in pain. It's on every breath, in every movement, in every thought and prayer and wish.
Faith is a choice, or rather, a long string of choices. Today, I choose to believe in God's goodness. Today, I choose to believe that God has a plan. Today, I choose to believe the promise that all things work together for the good of those who love the Lord. Either I believe in God, or I don't. Faith is not dependent on circumstances. In the Bible, God never guaranteed that life would be easy and that we would always receive what we want (unfortunately, a lot of Western teachings imply this). You need only read the stories of those in the Bible who went through unimaginable things to see that their faith did not bar them from pain. The point is that God is there with us through every one of the difficult things we walk through. He knows our pain, weeps with us, and strengthens us if we allow him to do that.
I have read facebook posts by atheist friends who imply that it is the weak who cling to faith. But to be honest, it takes serious strength to choose a life of trust and surrender in the face of loss. It would be much easier to sink into hate and bitterness and anger and never crawl out of that place. In choosing faith, I am choosing life. God sees my life from its humble start to its humble end, the good and the bad, and he has a plan. I may not understand it, but I trust him. I know that God sees all that has happened and all that is to come, but I don't believe that he caused Haven to die just because he knew that she would. Our minds always want answers, but the truth is that bad things happen to good people. Every single day.
I think it's important not to deny our feelings, but to acknowledge them. Today, I am pissed off and I can't stand the sight of pregnant women or kids. Today, I am terrified that I will lose another child and I'm angry that I have to feel this way. Okay. I let myself feel it. Sometimes I spend entire days feeling angry and ripped off. I believe that anger is a part of grief and should be felt and expressed fully. But I look at my feelings this way: these intense feeling are temporary; they don't change my long-term, overarching feelings. Bitterness is not somewhere I want to set up camp. There is recovery. I really do believe that. It won't be tomorrow or next week and maybe not even next year, but there is life after loss. Someday I will smile again without forcing my lips into an upward direction. There will be pure joy again. Have I lost innocence? Yes. And I'll never get that back. I'll never know pregnancy without fear again. I might never even know the joy of mothering living children. But I choose to believe that I will be okay in time, no matter what.
I choose faith.
Because this is a sensitive topic and I do not want debates on this blog, I am going to close comments on this post. But if you would like to talk about this with me, please do send me a private message.
Friday 4 April 2014
Do It Anyway
I have been thinking a lot this week about life with grief, and the life to come after. This line of thinking was prompted by an episode of Call the Midwife (my guilty pleasure tv show). In one of the episodes, the main character has lost someone. One of her patients, a Holocaust survivor, says to her, "You will feel better than this. Maybe not yet. But you will. You just keep living until you're alive again." Simple, but profound. Because when you lose what is most precious, a part of you dies too. I don't think I'll be the same me when this grief fades, but I do know that I will someday feel joy again.
I read a blog post today regarding fear and our response to it. The blogger's fear was linked to following through with a desire of hers. She went on to say that her theme for 2014 was "do it anyway." I really liked that, and I've decided to adopt it. See, I'm riddled with fear right now. Fear of venturing outside my house. Fear of returning to work in June. Of not being able to bring a living baby home to stay. The fear of all of the days without my daughter that stretch before me like a never-ending sea of sadness. I am realizing that the only way to the other side is straight through. I need to give myself time and space to grieve, but I know I can't stop there.
I don't agree with people who think that you need to deny your struggle in order to overcome it (fake it 'til you make it). I think that real courage is looking your fear in the face and forging onward in spite of it. So right here and now, I am making the decision to choose life and hope and to "do it anyway." Despite the fear, I am going to move forward. One step at a time. One anxiety attack at a time. One tear-filled night at a time. I am going to summon all of my courage and do it anyway. I'm going to live until I'm alive again.
I took a small step yesterday. I was wandering around Walmart and I saw maternity clothing on clearance. I bought four shirts for when I am full term next time, even though I don't know if I'll ever have that wonderful experience again. It made me feel anxious, but I rang them through and brought them home, where I promptly ripped off the tags so I wouldn't chicken out and return them.
As if to cement my thoughts on the subject, I received a package in the mail today from a friend in Tennessee. She had been sewing a gorgeous quilt for Haven while I was pregnant and finished it the day she found out that she had died. I opened the long-awaited package, and accompanying the quilt was a beautiful, handcrafted glass heart. I immediately knew that this would be my symbol of hope in the months to come. I hung it in the nursery so that I can peek in and see it whenever I need a reminder.
When I logged in today, I noticed that my page views had doubled since the last time I logged on. If you find yourself here, I want first to tell you that I am so sorry that you have felt the grief that comes with the loss of a child. But I hope that you find some comfort in reading about my journey. It's ugly at times, but I hope it all leads to a joyful end. Please feel free to comment or to contact me privately if you would like to.
I read a blog post today regarding fear and our response to it. The blogger's fear was linked to following through with a desire of hers. She went on to say that her theme for 2014 was "do it anyway." I really liked that, and I've decided to adopt it. See, I'm riddled with fear right now. Fear of venturing outside my house. Fear of returning to work in June. Of not being able to bring a living baby home to stay. The fear of all of the days without my daughter that stretch before me like a never-ending sea of sadness. I am realizing that the only way to the other side is straight through. I need to give myself time and space to grieve, but I know I can't stop there.
I don't agree with people who think that you need to deny your struggle in order to overcome it (fake it 'til you make it). I think that real courage is looking your fear in the face and forging onward in spite of it. So right here and now, I am making the decision to choose life and hope and to "do it anyway." Despite the fear, I am going to move forward. One step at a time. One anxiety attack at a time. One tear-filled night at a time. I am going to summon all of my courage and do it anyway. I'm going to live until I'm alive again.
I took a small step yesterday. I was wandering around Walmart and I saw maternity clothing on clearance. I bought four shirts for when I am full term next time, even though I don't know if I'll ever have that wonderful experience again. It made me feel anxious, but I rang them through and brought them home, where I promptly ripped off the tags so I wouldn't chicken out and return them.
As if to cement my thoughts on the subject, I received a package in the mail today from a friend in Tennessee. She had been sewing a gorgeous quilt for Haven while I was pregnant and finished it the day she found out that she had died. I opened the long-awaited package, and accompanying the quilt was a beautiful, handcrafted glass heart. I immediately knew that this would be my symbol of hope in the months to come. I hung it in the nursery so that I can peek in and see it whenever I need a reminder.
When I logged in today, I noticed that my page views had doubled since the last time I logged on. If you find yourself here, I want first to tell you that I am so sorry that you have felt the grief that comes with the loss of a child. But I hope that you find some comfort in reading about my journey. It's ugly at times, but I hope it all leads to a joyful end. Please feel free to comment or to contact me privately if you would like to.
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