Life, Again

Life is happening. I don't know when it started creeping in or when things started to feel normal again, but here I am. I truly couldn't see my way through to this even two months ago. A part of me didn't believe the other loss moms who told me that I would eventually feel like this again. Somehow, I am finding my way down this murky path and I am hoping again. I am doing well at work, I am having fun with friends and with Danny, and life is mostly good. Of course Haven is on my mind constantly, and I still have dark days and moments where I feel like my heart is going to burst out of my chest, but I am finding that I am stronger, and that I am bouncing back in a way that I just couldn't before now.

As I have noticed no real reaction to stage 1 of weaning from my antidepressants (other than an increase in anxiety), we decided to start trying again this month. I can't even explain to you how different it is this time around. I hope this does not sound ungrateful and that it does not hurt anyone for me to say this, but I am profoundly grateful that I didn't become pregnant a few months ago when we were trying; I was nowhere near ready, and I think the fear that my anxiety and depression and insomnia would be detrimental to the baby would have probably made all three of those things so much worse. This time around, I feel relaxed and excited. Yeah, I also have MANY fears, but I think those will now forever be a part of the process for us. So wish us luck!

This time around, there are no OPK's, no constant web searches, and no hourly symptom-spotting. And there will be no early testing either. I was entirely consumed the few months that we tried, and I can't imagine that helped things. This time around, I am focusing on being healthy and rested and happy. When it happens, it happens (though I selfishly would love a May or June baby!)

Down the Rabbit Hole and the Long Way Back to the Top

After Haven died, my mom warned me about slipping into the pit. She said, "it is a lot easier to keep from falling in than it is to climb back out again." My mom is a wise woman. And I am in the pit.

Since my last post, anxiety and depression completely took over my life and I broke one evening. It was a long time coming, and I am actually shocked now that it took so long for me to break. I slipped into a panic attack, where I sobbed and hyperventilated and felt like my heart would burst from my chest. Three months of heart palpitations, insomnia, muddy thoughts, and feelings of panic and depression all fell on me at once, with the weight of grief giving them the extra force they needed to crush me.  My husband received a text from me that caused him to worry, and when he called, I could barely form words. He rushed home and spent the day with me, cleaning the house, making supper, and holding me close. I don't think he realized until that day how badly I was doing.

Sometimes I look at myself almost like I am standing outside my body, and I think about how startlingly unhappy I am. Most days it is all I have been able to do to convince myself that I don't want to die, and that life is worth living. I don't intend to hurt myself, but I have had little will to live. It is like the joy has been sucked out of my life...kind of like one of those airtight clothes storage bags. I feel shriveled and pointless and other a lot of the time. But even though it has been a truly black time, I can still see from my low vantage point that this is not the bottom. I am afraid of the real bottom.

I returned to work this week. It has been a mixed experience. People's reactions are not always what I would expect, but I will say that everyone has been respectful. I feel entirely like a self conscious outsider, but I think that will ease in time as I learn to be among the living again. A glimmer of hope seeped in this week. For the first time, I have felt kind of useful and even sharp. I even laughed for real a few times as I sat in familiar surroundings and engaged in the banter. When I get home, though, the worries crowded my mind again.

Experiencing this prolonged period of anxiety has really opened my eyes to how it has been stealing from me for years. It has negatively affected and even destroyed some of my relationships. It contributes to my low self esteem and self worth. It steals joy by leeching worry into my thoughts until they spin and push me off course. It steals my sleep too, and it has since I was a child.

My doctor prescribed me antidepressants and sleep pills to help even me out. I am hopeful that they will do just that. Honestly, I regret not taking them during my last major depression. Insomnia really does take things from bad to worse. Of course, this medication means that we have to stop trying to conceive for awhile. I was really upset by that at first, but I am at peace with it now. Almost grateful, really, for a reason to not try. I don't think I was ready. So if, when this fall rolls around, I am doing better, I will ask the doctor to wean me off of these drugs, and we will start over again. My doctor said, "I think you owe yourself the pleasure of enjoying your next pregnancy." I think she is right. It's going to be so hard when the time comes, but I know I can't make it harder on myself by rushing into it.

Today, I am feeling almost positive. I decided today that this devastation and this crash are not going to kill me. I am too pissed off about my experience to let it beat me. I realized today that I have been letting this situation turn me into a victim, but no more. I am going to get my life back. If that means a new job, a new haircut, or new friends, I am going to do whatever it takes to get there. If it means risks, I'll take them. At the same time, I care so much less about the piddly things now. Perspective is an incredible gift, and I am not going to waste it.

I ran into this quote today, and I'll close with it. It made me think about how I have always put off doing the things I want to do, and how I have let life happen to me instead of taking charge. If losing Haven did nothing else, it made me realize how short life is and how nothing is guaranteed. So why wait?

"It's a terrible thing, I think, in life to wait until you're 'ready.' I have this feeling now that actually no one is ever ready to do anything. There is almost no such thing as 'ready.' There is only now." - Hugh Laurie

The Real World Approaches

In Canada, you would normally receive a full, paid year off from work (up to 55% of your normal earnings) if your baby is born alive and well. You still receive the pregnancy/maternity leave portion of your Employment Insurance when you deliver a stillborn child due to the physical recovery and time for grieving. That means 15 paid weeks, and two unpaid weeks. Your employer must give you your job back, or an equivalent job with equivalent compensation. Well, I am about a month away from the end of my pregnancy leave, and I am starting to think about reintegration into The Real World. I have been in a safe bubble of sorts; I've been able to choose the people I want to be around, I have been able to focus on physical recovery and grieving, and I have been able to start each day at my own pace. That will change soon, and I am afraid.

I am afraid of strangers' reactions, since I have such a public job. The more I read forum posts and pieces of people's stories, the more I realize that there are a LOT of people out there who don't understand stillbirth and don't ascribe personhood to stillborn babies. Therefore, they don't think a parent is justified in mourning as though their baby breathed on the outside, or in talking about them the same way as they would any other child they bore. It's ridiculous, frankly. There are babies born much earlier than the point where Haven died, and if they were to spend even a few hours breathing on the outside, even with assistance, a lot of people would think of those babies more as people than they would my daughter, because she never breathed on the outside. I am afraid of meeting these people because I am afraid I'll either lose my mind and yell and them, or that I will be dumbstruck, and they will take my silence as agreement or some sort of proof that they are right.

I am afraid that I won't be able to keep up with things anymore. My job requires me to be "on" all the time, and to remember things. To keep things running smoothly. An administration job is not the kind where you can just shut off your mind. I was always sharp, remembered the little things, did things without being asked or reminded. And now, here I am. I still have "mommy brain" from all the hormones (I've heard this might never go away), my grief is horribly distracting, my focus on trying to conceive (TTC) is distracting, my thoughts about how my husband is doing are distracting...there really isn't a lot of room left for sharp thinking. I hope that I am able to flip a switch and just turn the focus onto my job once I'm back, but I'm nervous.

I am afraid that, if I can't conceive before I get back to work, the exhaustion of full-time work will make it more difficult. I'm afraid that if I can't time conception right, I'll end up having to work next year during the most busy and stressful time at work (April and May) and put my baby at risk. I'm already afraid that if I DO conceive this cycle or next, that even those few months at work will be dangerous for my baby due to my stress and anxiety. Basically, I'm afraid of stress.

I am afraid that going back to work will make all of this seem more real somehow. Like it never happened. I should have been returning in February of 2015 after an exhausting and joyful year of nursing my daughter and watching her grow. Now I am returning early, empty-handed and exposed.

I am afraid that people will think that going back to work means I'm okay.

Sigh. I'm just afraid.

In the Quiet

I am someone who loves quiet and solitude. My husband is the opposite and would be perfectly happy to have the t.v. on all day, or to spend most days with friends. The funny thing is, since Haven I have been craving distraction. I'm afraid to stop and think, because thinking leads to the most painful memories, and to longing, and to guilt, and to self-blame. I suppose trying to distract myself from my grief is not the healthiest thing, but it seems to be the only thing that is helping me hold it together.

Oh, the thoughts I think...

"What if it was something I ate?"

"What if I wasn't sleeping on my left side enough?"

"What if she had been born a few days earlier? Would she still have lived?"

"What if there were signs and I missed them?"

"I was laughing the last time she kicked me - what if that was a warning sign and I laughed?"

"What if I had gone in to the hospital sooner? Maybe her heart would have still been beating!"

"What if I had taken that last week off like I had planned? Maybe if I hadn't been so tired and distracted, I would have noticed something was off!"

"Will they ever find an answer or will I be tortured for the rest of my life wondering?"

The questions just swirl around in my head, and images and mental video play over and over. The look on the nurse's face, then the look on the doctor's face. That sick knowing feeling as we went into the hospital. The fear. The wailing I couldn't hold in. My sweet husband being there by my side through it all, being so brave and so helpful. Holding her and kissing her cold little cheek. The softness of her skin.

I will never forget these things. I take some small comfort from others who have gone down this sad, sad road. They say it becomes easier to bear with time. I really hope they are right. Right now the grief cuts like a knife.