Breakfast Bomb

I usually take it for granted that our little community of family and friends and coworkers were all aware and sensitive when Haven died. Today I got a taste of someone who didn't know and who wasn't sensitive.

We were at the window at a Tim Horton's drive through to get some breakfast and tea when Danny recognized one of the ladies working inside (an old coworker). I smiled at her. 

"Oh heyyyy," she said, popping her head around the woman serving us, "listen, did you have your baby?" Silence reigned for a few seconds until Danny said, "yeah, we did, but unfortunately she, uh, she didn't make it." The lady dramatically covered her mouth, "oh, I'm sooo sorry!" She stepped away from the window and I thought that was that.

Nope.

She popped back into the window: "were you full-term?"

Danny: yeah.

Lady: "oh my, you don't think about that happening. What happened?"

Danny briefly explained.

"Oh, that's terrible. It must have been so hard." She popped away again, and the other lady in the window (a total stranger!) asked, "was it a boy or girl?" 

Danny answered, but I was just staring off into space at this point, barely believing this was happening.

The old coworker popped back into the window and asked in a conspiratorial tone, "I hope it doesn't sound nosy, but are you guys going to try again?"

I just sat there in shock while Danny said, "uh, we're hoping to, yeah." 

"Oh, that's good." Other random lady chimes in, "hopefully it'll work out this time."

I completely broke down by the time he got me to work. I understand not knowing, but a response to this situation needs to end at "I'm so sorry" and nothing else. I am still in shock that someone who barely knows my husband AND a complete stranger could go on such a nosy tear of questions immediately after finding out we lost our child.

Now I need to somehow let this go and focus on work... I am in disbelief. What is wrong with people?

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!)

The Upswing

I have started a new blog where I am focusing on gratefulness as a means to finding joy again. I still intend to keep posting here (I still need a place to process my grief), but this new blog is a step toward life.

If you would like to follow, you can view and subscribe here (CLICK).

I hope you all find moments of joy and reasons to smile today. One day at a time, that is the only way through this.

If you also blog, I would like to come and check out your posts. Feel free to leave a comment below with your link!

6 Months and Counting: An Update.

I can't even believe that it has been six months since The Worst Day. Well, technically, today was the middle of the three worst days. I was in the middle of my long induction, hopped up on morphine, and my thoughts and emotions were scattered.

I thought I was okay yesterday, which was six months since the day we first heard the terrible news. I was at work doing my thing when it just hit me. Thankfully, my boss is very supportive and didn't question it when I asked if I could have the next day off. She sent me home right then, in fact. I am so grateful.

Six months.

My depression has ebbed, though the past two weeks have been hard. I supervise summer camps as a part of my job, and this particular camp was full of little girls. A friend and a coworker had babies on the same day. Six months happened yesterday.

I have been sleeping most nights, which is a true blessing. The four months of not sleeping is what really sent me spiraling, I believe. Being back to work has lifted my mood and reminded me that there is still life outside the walls of my home. That I am good at things, and useful, and that someday I will have joy again.

I held a newborn baby yesterday for the first time since I held Haven. It was so hard, and my heart was heavy all evening afterward, but I think it was a good thing. He was just a beautiful little guy, sleeping so deeply as Danny and I passed him back and forth. His mom had a placental abruption and had to have an emergency induction. Though the situation was so different than what we experienced, I could tell that it had shaken them, made them think of us, made them so grateful for a good outcome when it could have been so different.

On that note, I am weaning from my antidepressants and hope to start trying again this month or next. I am so grateful now that I did not get pregnant when we were trying a few months ago. I was not anywhere near ready, and I was half out of my mind with grief and mental, physical, and emotional exhaustion. Now I feel like I can start this again with a fresh head, with a new strength.

And I am strong. It has taken me all of this time to realize that people were right when they said that I was strong as I put one foot in front of the other in the days after Haven was born. I was strong when we buried her. When I sunk to the bottom of the pit. When I crawled back out. When I faced the world again. When I learned how to smile again.

Joy comes from weird places, I find. Instagram, for instance. I didn't know what it was for months, until my boss explained (I might be the oldest 29-year-old ever). And now I am hooked. It actually brings me a lot of joy to take pictures and publish them. Cooking has been another joy. I love cooking, but when I was depressed I just couldn't. Crafts bring me joy. I have been making tutus and painting picture frames with friends, and it is lovely. Exercising. Well, I am working on that one, ha ha! I have also started another blog. Where this one has been a depository for my pain, the new blog will be a place where I track my redemption, my new beginning. I will post the link when it is ready to share, if you are interested in following. I will continue to need this space to put the pain, but I am now in a place where I need to sort out other feelings too.

Let's be clear: I have not arrived. I am not "all better." I never will be. I still cried on my way home yesterday thinking about my daughter's tiny body resting in my arms. No, I am not okay yet. But I will be. This is not where my story ends. It's just where it begins.

An Average Night in the Life of an Insomniac...

Insomnia. I have been fighting this particular demon for about four months straight, and it's not my first battle (it's been a part of my life as long as I can remember). It is so frustrating to tell people you're exhausted because you have insomnia and can't sleep, and they're like, "oh my god, that happens to me sometimes too, like when I'm stressed out and I can't get to sleep for a night or two." And then I look at them blankly, four months after the last restful sleep I had, and envy them wholeheartedly.

Insomnia can be caused by a variety of reasons. Mine is caused by severe anxiety.


Here is what it is like sometimes:

Me: I am so exhausted, babe, let's go to bed early tonight.
Hubby: Sure!

5 minutes later, Hubby is sleeping, and I am laying there with my earplugs in (snoring defense) and my eyes closed, waiting hopefully for sleep. My body relaxes and I think, "I am so comfortable!"

And then...

Brain: Hey!
Me: UGH, what do you want?

Brain: Oh, I was just wondering if you wanted to think about everything stressful that happened today and all of the potentially stressful things that are going to happen tomorrow and in the future. And for fun, let's make those worries be about the worst possible outcome!
Me: That does not sound like fun at all. Leave me alone.

Brain: Too bad, I'm sending you some thoughts now!
Me: Sigh.

Hours of racing thoughts later...

Brain: I think you dozed off there for about ten minutes, so I thought I'd surprise you. YAY, YOU'RE AWAKE!
Me: Leave.Me.Alone. I am so tired. I JUST want to sleep.

Brain: Nah, let's think about...Haven!
Me: I...I want to, but I can't right now.

Brain: Too late! Hey, let's think about the most traumatic three days of your life. WITH flashbacks! Let's relive every painful moment! Man, you're probably never going to be happy again. What a bummer! You sure were happy there for about 9 months. What a moron! You really thought everything would be okay! You sure look like a fool now.
Me: I hate you.

I turn over in bed and curl into a ball, crying. I wake up two hours later, thinking I must have dozed off...

Brain: You're back! I was bugging you for about 15 minutes trying to get your attention! Well, I'm kind of thinking we should go back to the impending doom thoughts.
Me: Why? I was resting there for a little while and that was nice. Can we just go back to that?

Brain: You're no fun. How about your heart starts racing now and you find it hard to breathe? I like that game. Oh wait, let's also add in...PALPITATIONS! Woo!
Me: Please, no. Seriously, why are you doing this? *tries to breathe slowly to calm down*

Brain: Oh, I'm just your pal and I like playing with ya! I want to see how much you can take!
Me: I've had enough, really! Can I just sleep now? I'm so tired...

Brain: Nah, let's think about Haven again. About how the nurse's face looked when she couldn't find the heartbeat. And the doctor's face. And your husband's face. How quiet the room was when she was born. How you could hear that baby born down the hall and you thought you might die. How your voice sounded when you sobbed. How soft her skin felt when you kissed her face. How your arms still feel so empty. How you feel like an outsider all the time now. How-
Me: Please leave me alone.

3 hours later...

Brain: Hey, it's almost morning! You slept for about two hours, I think! Look, there's a bit of light coming in through the curtains. That means it's time to feel wired. YEAH! I love mornings!
Me: It is not morning. I know it's not morning. Would you just shut up?

Brain: It's morning. It's just that it's overcast today. You'll have to get up soon, so no point in trying to sleep more. I think your heart should race some more now.
Me: AUGH. *reaches for phone* ...it's only 4:30am!

Brain: Well, you're awake now, so let's think some more about that impending doom stuff. About how everything you have, you're going to lose. How you're going to be alone. What's the point, anyway? Man, I like to play this game.
Me: I'm too tired to even fight you.

Three hours later, after half-sleep and whirling thoughts and uncertainty over whether I slept or not...

Brain: Wake up, wake up, wake up!!!
Me: What? What is it?

Brain: Oh, nothing. Just seeing if you wanted to think about things again.
Me: NO! I don't!

Brain: Oh well, it's time to get up soon anyway.
Me: There must be a little more time left... *dozes off*

The alarm goes off. I take a deep breath and pull together my scraps of resolve to tackle the day.



And that is what most nights are like for me. This is not even one of the worst nights. I must be a superhero to still be physically and mentally functioning enough to get by. Maybe tonight I'll finally sleep...

What "They" Don't Tell You About Post-Partum Hormones

A young friend of mine has been battling an undiagnosed disease for around a year now. They can't tell her if it is M.S. or Parkinson's or something else, so she has been through the ringer with a wide range of quickly-progressing and often surprising symptoms. She has held onto her sense of humour through this, and today I read her blog from start to finish. It really spoke to me that she could find laughter in what is a really shitty situation, so I thought to myself (after several hours of trying to avoid a panic attack), "dammit, I am going to write a funny post instead of talking about how anxious and depressed I am!" Here it is.

What "They" Don't Tell You About Post-Partum Hormones

1) BOOBS. When your milk comes in and you are not nursing, your boobs are going to expand to roughly the size of planets and develop gravitational pulls...and they are going HURT. No, "hurt" is too mild a word. It will feel like breast explosion is imminent. They will turn warm and hard and knotty, and you will try anything to relieve the pain. Like putting frozen cabbage leaves on them. And, if you're like me, your mind won't be thinking logically (see #13), so you'll go to bed with the leaves still tucked into your huge sports bra, thinking that the magical curative properties will continue to work through the night to give you back your sanity (and normal-sized breasts). Then you'll wake up the next morning to the most sour, putrid cabbage stench imaginable (a little like hot garbage juice). I can still recall that smell in vivid detail. Apparently, you're not supposed to leave them after they get warm. But if you do, just know that triple-washing your sheets and clothing probably won't even come close to getting the gag-inducing reek out.

BOOBS AGAIN. On the topic of boobs, having your milk come in (what a tame expression) means that they will be leaking. Everywhere. Like enough that your husband has to wait outside the shower with breast pads waiting so that you don't soak the bath mat. You will find a way to turn this into a game.

These might actually be Salma's regular boobs, but even so, these are small
compared to what milk boobs usually look like! (Image credit here)

2) YOUR VAGINA. Do yourself a favour and just don't look. And don't let your partner look. Though if you're like me, you'll have a very strange pulling pain in your stitches one day and you won't be able to see well enough to check if there is something wrong, so you'll make your poor husband take a peek. His face will turn green, then ashen, then red, and he might gag a little, but he will still love you afterward. A friend's husband described it as "Sarlacc-gina," but I still think that's too tame.

SARLACC-GINAAAA! Geek reference for the win. (Image credit here)

3) YOUR HAIR. Your hair is going to fall out either in clumps or in a never-ending stream. It'll start innocently around two months after birth, then kick into overdrive around two months after that. The heaps of hair will be so large that, if you hot-glued some googly-eyes onto them, you could probably sell them as pets. Also, because your hair is all falling out and thousands of new hairs are growing in, your head might be unbearably itchy and flaky. If you are a dummy like me, you will give in to the itch and scratch so hard that you draw blood. YEAH! You'll find stray hairs stuck to your socks, in your food, and maybe even in your butt crack! What joy. Maybe you'll even discover that you are a long-lost cousin of Edward Mordake and find a face hiding in your (remaining) hair! Okay, that part didn't happen to me. But the Ewok hairballs and bloody, flaky scalp part did. In fact, it's still happening. To be fair, someone did actually warn me about this, but I really thought they were exaggerating. Nope!

4) PHEW! You're probably going to start sweating more and you'll smell bad. Sorry, babe. Turns out pregnancy hormones were actually awesome and now your body is in withdrawal. I have gone through so much more deodorant since birth!

5) THE RABBIT HOLE. Deep depression. Raging anxiety. Uncontrollable crying. Insomnia. These can happen to you whether or not you get to take your baby home. They can also strike anywhere from immediately to several months later, so you might think you're home free, then WHAM! you're eating boxes of ice cream bars and sobbing at episodes of Call the Midwife early into the A.M.

6) PIZZA FACE. You'll be able to play "Connect the Dots" with the pimples on your greasy face. And your back. And boobs. And arms.

All of the blotches. (Image credit here)

7) IT WOBBLES TO AND FRO. Even the slimmest of us don't usually get lucky enough to avoid what my friend affectionately calls the "meat curtain." No, it's not that kind of meat curtain, you perv, it's the soft blob of loose flesh that dangles under your belly button in a lovely fold that feels like bread dough. Personally, I like "skin skirt" better. A week ago, I squashed my spongy muffin top back into my favourite pre-prego pants and called it a win. This bod will never be the same, but that's okay. I think I can cut it some slack since it grew a human being then pushed her out all on its own! In fact, I think it deserves another box of ice cream bars.

8) IT RUBS THE LOTION ON ITS SKIN. Well, turns out it doesn't really matter if you did this or not while you were pregnant; stretch marks are mostly hereditary and they affect almost every mother. I kind of lucked out with the belly marks and escaped with a small patch on the bottom left and one scar above my belly button that looks like an eyebrow (like it is permanently saying, "are you kidding me?") I did, however, get a whole lot of stretch marks on my boobs, so reserve your hatred for energetic pregnant women and moms with sleep-through-the-night newborns. (Just kidding, don't hate anyone please!)

The lotion ain't gonna work, honey. (Image credit here)

9) THE BOOM. Sex is going to suck for awhile. I'm sorry. It just will. You'll finally scrape together enough libido to take a stab at it (or to let it take a stab at you...yeah, I really did just make that joke) and then you'll be surprised to find that your attempts are much like trying to drive a Buick through the eye of a needle. The good news is that it'll get better. I PROMISE.

10) AUNT FLO. If you are not on the birth control pill, your period is going to come back with a vengeance. Maybe not right away, but it will. My first one was this gentle three day spotting and I thought, "that's it?!" And then I had a nine-day period about three weeks later that I thought might be the end of me. I could have soaked up a whole flock of sheep and a cotton factory just in the first three days and I had every period symptom in the book - it was worse than puberty! Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. It wasn't all that bad. (Hrrrmm...shuffle shuffle).

11) NUTTER BUTTER. On the topic of cycles, you might go bat-shit crazy when you get PMS for the first few cycles. I am talking psychotic. That happened to me almost a month ago. Now I am "eagerly" awaiting Aunt Flo's return. Oh goody! I wonder what she will bring with her this month. Paranoia? Surrre, why not? We'll just heap it on top of the sharp increase in anxiety, cramping, mood swings, insomnia, panic attacks, and all the rest. It'll be a party up in here!

Eyeballs and teeth. (Image credit here)

12) OW, OW, OWWW! You're going to hurt. I'm not even talking about the stinging of your nethers when you go pee for the first week or the throbbing of your bosoms. I'm talking about all of that sweet, sweet Relaxin hormone leaving your bloodstream, making your loosey-goosey joints suddenly feel quite geriatric. Oh, and you're going to probably still have low back pain and stiffness for a few months, bee tee dubs. If you're really unlucky, your pelvic pain will also stick around. Lucky you!

13) THE FOG. You'll discover that your "pregnancy brain" was permanent and you're going to be a little dumb forever. This is something I find endlessly irritating, as I like to believe my mind was sharp before pregnancy sapped it of its memory and thinking juices. Alas, I am now so absent-minded that Husband has long since stopped chiding me (I just get an exasperated "seriously?!" from time to time).

Yeah, I know I ended with the number 13. That's because you're going to be feeling pretty unlucky when you're a sweaty, spotty, mammoth-breasted baldy with a dangling pooch, an angry vagina, and a side of crazy and ouch.

While I genuinely believe that it was all worth it and that birth is a beautiful, magical thing, it isn't easy on the ol' bod. I'm trying to tell you what "they" won't; enjoy your pregnancy hormones while they last, sweetheart. They're a cakewalk compared to what comes next.

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