I feel like for anyone who reads this blog regularly it must be incredibly depressing. I feel kind of bad about that. But I remind myself the purpose of this blog is not to be uplifting, but rather it is to share our journey, which is unfortunately a pretty sad and painful one. This is my life and it is pretty messy right now. So for those who are brave enough to continue the journey with us, here we go.
We celebrated Christmas. It was actually, all things considered, a lovely day. Watching Riley open her gifts and see how excited she was about them was an absolute joy. My favorite moment was when she opened a Hello Kitty (her absolute favorite!) outfit from my sister and her husband and Riley held it up, looked at it with big eyes, shook her head slowly back and forth and said very slowly, in almost a whisper, "Beautiful." But when the present opening was over and all the festivities were winding down, a sad feeling came over me. Maybe it was my sadness over losing the babies, maybe it was the fact that we will soon get the latest news on whether or not my my mother in law's cancer is shrinking, maybe it was just all the build up for a holiday that comes and goes so quickly. But I felt sad. Jason and I saw the doctor in St. Louis last week. Our appointment pretty much confirmed all the information we already knew from our previous phone conversation with him. We now just have to decide what we want to do. If we are ready to take that leap. The doctor is ready when we are. We are still thinking it all over.
We watched a movie recently, "The Words". It is an amazing movie. It confirmed many things I have already been thinking for a long time now. People may wonder how a person becomes so sad, so different than what they once were. The answer is simply this...life. Life happens to all of us and there is nothing we can do to stop it. Sometimes life is amazing and beautiful. Sometimes life is tragic. I have witnessed enough close family and friends go through tragedy and have faced enough myself recently to know this, we are all just one tragedy away from our lives becoming divided into what once was and what now is. I once was a young, beautiful, happy girl full of life. My life was divided by the death of my children. I am not that person anymore. But I am working hard to find my way to being a new person, one who has experienced tragedy but has not let it get the best of her. Sometimes even I think I should just get over it, move on, just stop being so sad about it all. But then I remind myself that my most recent miscarriage was just three short months ago. For most women just one miscarriage like that would be devastating. And I have had six. Jason told me recently that it is like the scar on his hand. When he owned his lawn and landscape business he dropped a mower on his hand and had to go to the ER for stitches. It was a pretty bad wound. It was deep. And even now that it has healed and scarred over, though the pain is not like it once was, he still feels pain when he hits the scar just right, claps, or when his wedding ring presses into it. My wounds are fresh. They have not healed yet and the worst part is just when one starts to heal, I get another one. My wounds will scar over and heal eventually, but I may never see a newborn baby and not feel a twinge of sadness, December 3rd may never come and go without me remembering it is the day my child died, finding out I am pregnant may never again be a happy time, but rather one of anxiety, just counting each day, each week as a success and as one day closer to the day my baby will be born and out of what may possibly be the most dangerous place it will ever be, in the womb of its own mother. But with time, just like the old man in "The Words" perhaps I will find my peace with it all too. Until then, I think about this, a life lived without any trial, any testing rarely produces faith, perseverance, trust, insight. A life lived with tragedy and hopelessness sometimes is the most perfect setting for God to work His greatest miracles.
I love you always and forever and no matter what.
Wednesday, December 26, 2012
Friday, December 14, 2012
Adoption
The last thing I want to do is offend anyone but I feel like, in our situation, the issue of adoption is too big not to be addressed. And before I share my feelings on the subject, I have to first say that I have two cousins who are adopted and they are more like siblings to me than cousins. I know they were always meant to be in the exact family that they are in. In fact, sometimes one of them will make a comment about being adopted and I think, "Oh yeah, that's right. You're adopted!" I really do forget that minor detail a lot because to me they aren't my adopted cousins. They are just my cousins. I love them dearly and can't imagine life without them.
That being said, I am always shocked at how brazenly people bring up this topic with us. Whether or not to adopt a baby is a very personal matter and not one I would discuss just off the cuff in casual conversation. To be honest, it really offends me, hurts me and makes me feel hopeless. Here's why...
1. Adopting a baby isn't the cure all for infertility related problems. Adoption is expensive. It's a lengthy process and all too often you hear the sad stories of a failed adoption and parent's to be are left mourning the loss of a baby, just like they would if they had miscarried. Adoption is a huge step and not as easy as people may think.
2. People say, "Well have you considered adoption?" Well of course we have! Who in our situation doesn't consider that. It's not like we have never heard of adoption before. But when people ASK us if we have thought about it, it really is just kind of insulting to our intelligence and it's really a passive way of them TELLING us that maybe we should consider adopting. Which brings me to my next point.
3. When people suggest adoption to us, I realize how hopeless our situation must look to outsiders. They must secretly think there is no chance of us having a biological child and adoption is our only option. I am hanging on to hope with all I have and those comments snatch it away so fast.
If I had never had a biological child I might feel differently on this topic. But I have. I know what it's like to carry a baby, to feel a baby move within you and subsequently your heart does too, to wonder if the baby will look like you or your husband and to watch that miracle unfold as you deliver and raise your child. I think adoption is a beautiful and amazing thing. I know it has brought many families together that would never be otherwise. I never say never, because as soon as I do God has a way of making me eat my words, but I can say that presently adoption does not feel right in my heart. It never has in the past and I do not anticipate it to in the future. And Jason feels the same way.
These adoption comments have been said to me since just after my first miscarriage which is just crazy considering how common miscarriage is. I could have had two or three healthy kids after just one miscarriage. If you are reading this and you have suggested adoption to us, I write this not to make you feel bad. I know your hearts are in the right place and often times people just want so badly to help us and say something to make us feel better and give us some hope. I write this to educate people. Miscarriage is such a taboo subject and people do not know what the right thing to say is. I can help people to know what the right thing is. Just like you would not say to a grieving widow, "You can just marry a new husband", you would not say to grieving parents, "You can just adopt a different baby." It doesn't work that way.
There are many couples out there who feel pulled in their hearts to adopt and to them I say that is amazing. I love that for them. For us, it's just not so, perhaps for no other reason than this, if we had given up and adopted there would be no Riley Grace in this world. And the world is definitely a better place for her being in it. I feel in my heart the need to keep trying to have another baby with my husband. When it works for us, it works beautifully! Just look at our girl! I'm not ready to give up on what God can create out of Jason and I just yet. And if I am wrong and there are no more babies in our future, then we will find our way to peace and acceptance and we will be a content and happy family of three and we will shower our one baby girl with all the love in our hearts.
That being said, I am always shocked at how brazenly people bring up this topic with us. Whether or not to adopt a baby is a very personal matter and not one I would discuss just off the cuff in casual conversation. To be honest, it really offends me, hurts me and makes me feel hopeless. Here's why...
1. Adopting a baby isn't the cure all for infertility related problems. Adoption is expensive. It's a lengthy process and all too often you hear the sad stories of a failed adoption and parent's to be are left mourning the loss of a baby, just like they would if they had miscarried. Adoption is a huge step and not as easy as people may think.
2. People say, "Well have you considered adoption?" Well of course we have! Who in our situation doesn't consider that. It's not like we have never heard of adoption before. But when people ASK us if we have thought about it, it really is just kind of insulting to our intelligence and it's really a passive way of them TELLING us that maybe we should consider adopting. Which brings me to my next point.
3. When people suggest adoption to us, I realize how hopeless our situation must look to outsiders. They must secretly think there is no chance of us having a biological child and adoption is our only option. I am hanging on to hope with all I have and those comments snatch it away so fast.
If I had never had a biological child I might feel differently on this topic. But I have. I know what it's like to carry a baby, to feel a baby move within you and subsequently your heart does too, to wonder if the baby will look like you or your husband and to watch that miracle unfold as you deliver and raise your child. I think adoption is a beautiful and amazing thing. I know it has brought many families together that would never be otherwise. I never say never, because as soon as I do God has a way of making me eat my words, but I can say that presently adoption does not feel right in my heart. It never has in the past and I do not anticipate it to in the future. And Jason feels the same way.
These adoption comments have been said to me since just after my first miscarriage which is just crazy considering how common miscarriage is. I could have had two or three healthy kids after just one miscarriage. If you are reading this and you have suggested adoption to us, I write this not to make you feel bad. I know your hearts are in the right place and often times people just want so badly to help us and say something to make us feel better and give us some hope. I write this to educate people. Miscarriage is such a taboo subject and people do not know what the right thing to say is. I can help people to know what the right thing is. Just like you would not say to a grieving widow, "You can just marry a new husband", you would not say to grieving parents, "You can just adopt a different baby." It doesn't work that way.
There are many couples out there who feel pulled in their hearts to adopt and to them I say that is amazing. I love that for them. For us, it's just not so, perhaps for no other reason than this, if we had given up and adopted there would be no Riley Grace in this world. And the world is definitely a better place for her being in it. I feel in my heart the need to keep trying to have another baby with my husband. When it works for us, it works beautifully! Just look at our girl! I'm not ready to give up on what God can create out of Jason and I just yet. And if I am wrong and there are no more babies in our future, then we will find our way to peace and acceptance and we will be a content and happy family of three and we will shower our one baby girl with all the love in our hearts.
Friday, December 7, 2012
Crazy Love
I have a saying I've used often since I met and decided to marry Jason...close your eyes and jump. I knew when I married him it was a risk. Marriage is always a risk. Anything in life worth doing is a risk. I knew there was no guarantee our life together would be perfect and there was no way to know what the future held. But I had faith that whatever was in store for us, we would love each other through it. We would survive it. I could think of a million reasons to never get married but instead I chose to put my faith in God and in a man I love and close my eyes and jump. We closed our eyes and jumped when we decided to start this journey we call having a baby, we closed our eyes and jumped when Jason decided to quit his secure job working for his dad and start his own agency and a few weeks ago when my sister got married, the last words I said to her before she walked down the isle were, "Close your eyes and jump."
And so when I started this blog I vowed to be brutally honest. There is no point in sharing this journey if it is not honest, open and transparent. So here is the honest truth, a miscarriage is hard on a marriage. Six of them wrecks havoc on a marriage. Take into consideration that a man and woman grieve the loss of a baby very differently. For a man it is sad. For a woman it is devastating. I carried the baby in my body. I connected with the baby on a level a man will never understand. I loved my babies from the moment I saw a pink line. I had hopes, dreams and a future all planed out. We were connected. I grieve these losses much deeper and much stronger than Jason does. Now imagine your husband is gone working late hours and you are on your own with a very "spirited" two year old. I am tired, I am sad, I am just trying to get through the days that make up this season of my life. And now, the real challenge, what if you both don't agree on how to proceed with your fertility problems. It probably goes without saying that I am willing to go to the ends of the earth to have another child. Jason is not. I want more children. Jason is completely content with having just one. I don't care how much IVF and all the treatments cost. Jason does. I don't care what my body has to go through to have another child. Jason does. And a few nights ago, in the depths of my despair, I whispered to him in the quiet darkness of our room, "I want another baby". His response, "I know you do. But it's probably not going to happen. The odds are just not in our favor." And I physically felt my heart drop into my stomach. Again, how differently we see things. Dr. Sher told us our odds were 50/50. To me that means just that, 50/50. To Jason that means the odds are not in our favor. Needless to say, the next day, a ferocious argument ensued. It ended with me saying this, "You are all hypocrites. YOU are a hypocrite. You say you believe in a God who can do immeasurably more than we could ask or imagine, who loves us and wants to bless us, who can do anything and nothing is impossible for Him. What is a miracle to us is simply the wave of a hand for God. And then in the same breath you tell me this is impossible and not even worth trying." Ouch.
The next day is Jason's birthday and despite our argument, we go out to dinner to celebrate and that's where it happens. On his birthday I give him a pair of jeans. And he gives me something more special than I ever could have imagined. He slides across the table a red notebook. I open it to the first page and it explains that back in March when we were on vacation in Mexico he decided to start writing down, every day, what he appreciated about me. Some days it is just a few sentences and other days it is pages. Some of his words are sacred, to be held forever in the hearts of just Jason and I, but I have his permission to share some of it...."My heart breaks for you", "You are the most deserving woman in the world of another child", "Thank you for being there with me for Grandma Parker's visitation and funeral", "I appreciate you", "Thank you for cooking dinner", etc....
And then dated December 6, 2012 is this excerpt from his entry, "I appreciate the way you give me a new perspective. All this time you talk about how I need to be a rock of strength for you but when I look back it is you who has provided the courage and strength to push forward. When it was time to get married, you pushed. When it was time to buy a new house, you pushed. When it was time to have a baby, you pushed. When it was time to try for a second one, you pushed. When we faced difficulty, you pushed. You always said 'close your eyes and jump'. All along the way you have reached back and grabbed my hand to jump. If you can find it in your heart to forgive me, we will jump. We will jump into the dead, dark, scary unknown. While you have always been the one to push and I have always been slow to come around, now I will jump with you."
All this time I have been feeling so alone in this struggle and unbeknownst to me, my husband has been taking time to write every day and he has been noticing my pain and he cares. He didn't know how to express it and this little red book was the only way he could. And we are finally on the same page. We are ready to close our eyes and jump, together, into whatever this endeavor to have another child holds for us. It may be more pain and loss. It may be more joy than we could ever ask or imagine. But whatever it is, we will face it, hands clenched tightly together, two hearts joined as one hoping against all hope for a miracle. Are we afraid of going down this road and what might be ahead? Unequivocally, yes. But Jason quoted this in the journal, "Fear never wrote a symphony, negotiated a peace treaty, or cured a disease. Fear never pulled a family out of poverty or a country out of bigotry. Courage did that. Faith did that. People who refused to consult with or cower to their timidity did that."
Our love has been shaped by tragedy. Our love is flawed and bruised because of it. But it's real. It's enduring. It's tragic and it's beautiful. It's the delicate leaf caught in the whirlwind of a ferocious storm, twisting and tossing us every which way. It's our love. It's crazy love that causes two people to cling to one another, close our eyes and jump into the abyss, step out of the boat onto the rocky waves where our God waits for us, arms outstretched, waiting to catch us, no matter what happens. My cup runneth over with crazy love.
I love you always and forever and no matter what.
And so when I started this blog I vowed to be brutally honest. There is no point in sharing this journey if it is not honest, open and transparent. So here is the honest truth, a miscarriage is hard on a marriage. Six of them wrecks havoc on a marriage. Take into consideration that a man and woman grieve the loss of a baby very differently. For a man it is sad. For a woman it is devastating. I carried the baby in my body. I connected with the baby on a level a man will never understand. I loved my babies from the moment I saw a pink line. I had hopes, dreams and a future all planed out. We were connected. I grieve these losses much deeper and much stronger than Jason does. Now imagine your husband is gone working late hours and you are on your own with a very "spirited" two year old. I am tired, I am sad, I am just trying to get through the days that make up this season of my life. And now, the real challenge, what if you both don't agree on how to proceed with your fertility problems. It probably goes without saying that I am willing to go to the ends of the earth to have another child. Jason is not. I want more children. Jason is completely content with having just one. I don't care how much IVF and all the treatments cost. Jason does. I don't care what my body has to go through to have another child. Jason does. And a few nights ago, in the depths of my despair, I whispered to him in the quiet darkness of our room, "I want another baby". His response, "I know you do. But it's probably not going to happen. The odds are just not in our favor." And I physically felt my heart drop into my stomach. Again, how differently we see things. Dr. Sher told us our odds were 50/50. To me that means just that, 50/50. To Jason that means the odds are not in our favor. Needless to say, the next day, a ferocious argument ensued. It ended with me saying this, "You are all hypocrites. YOU are a hypocrite. You say you believe in a God who can do immeasurably more than we could ask or imagine, who loves us and wants to bless us, who can do anything and nothing is impossible for Him. What is a miracle to us is simply the wave of a hand for God. And then in the same breath you tell me this is impossible and not even worth trying." Ouch.
The next day is Jason's birthday and despite our argument, we go out to dinner to celebrate and that's where it happens. On his birthday I give him a pair of jeans. And he gives me something more special than I ever could have imagined. He slides across the table a red notebook. I open it to the first page and it explains that back in March when we were on vacation in Mexico he decided to start writing down, every day, what he appreciated about me. Some days it is just a few sentences and other days it is pages. Some of his words are sacred, to be held forever in the hearts of just Jason and I, but I have his permission to share some of it...."My heart breaks for you", "You are the most deserving woman in the world of another child", "Thank you for being there with me for Grandma Parker's visitation and funeral", "I appreciate you", "Thank you for cooking dinner", etc....
And then dated December 6, 2012 is this excerpt from his entry, "I appreciate the way you give me a new perspective. All this time you talk about how I need to be a rock of strength for you but when I look back it is you who has provided the courage and strength to push forward. When it was time to get married, you pushed. When it was time to buy a new house, you pushed. When it was time to have a baby, you pushed. When it was time to try for a second one, you pushed. When we faced difficulty, you pushed. You always said 'close your eyes and jump'. All along the way you have reached back and grabbed my hand to jump. If you can find it in your heart to forgive me, we will jump. We will jump into the dead, dark, scary unknown. While you have always been the one to push and I have always been slow to come around, now I will jump with you."
All this time I have been feeling so alone in this struggle and unbeknownst to me, my husband has been taking time to write every day and he has been noticing my pain and he cares. He didn't know how to express it and this little red book was the only way he could. And we are finally on the same page. We are ready to close our eyes and jump, together, into whatever this endeavor to have another child holds for us. It may be more pain and loss. It may be more joy than we could ever ask or imagine. But whatever it is, we will face it, hands clenched tightly together, two hearts joined as one hoping against all hope for a miracle. Are we afraid of going down this road and what might be ahead? Unequivocally, yes. But Jason quoted this in the journal, "Fear never wrote a symphony, negotiated a peace treaty, or cured a disease. Fear never pulled a family out of poverty or a country out of bigotry. Courage did that. Faith did that. People who refused to consult with or cower to their timidity did that."
Our love has been shaped by tragedy. Our love is flawed and bruised because of it. But it's real. It's enduring. It's tragic and it's beautiful. It's the delicate leaf caught in the whirlwind of a ferocious storm, twisting and tossing us every which way. It's our love. It's crazy love that causes two people to cling to one another, close our eyes and jump into the abyss, step out of the boat onto the rocky waves where our God waits for us, arms outstretched, waiting to catch us, no matter what happens. My cup runneth over with crazy love.
I love you always and forever and no matter what.
Sunday, December 2, 2012
A Baby Changes Everything
I am babysitting a friend's son. He is asleep in the pack-n-play in my guest room and Riley is asleep in her crib. Both kids napping at the same time, sweet relief. I lay down, back aching, pounding head ache, exhaustion. A nap is just what this pregnant mother needs to regain some energy before the kids wake up. And before I slip off to sleep I listen to my baby's heart beat...for the last time. That was one year ago today.
The nagging feeling that the heart rate was too low pulls on my heart the rest of that day. I check it again the next morning...nothing. I eat and drink orange juice and then lay down and try again...nothing. I wait, wait, wait until the doctor will finally see me. My baby has now been gone at least 24 hours. And I am terrified. We finally get to see the doctor. Our friend's daughter's first birthday is this day. I remember thinking we could still make it to the party. I still hang on to the hope that it will be a quick in and out appointment where they will find the heart beat and tell me I am overreacting and send me home and we will go about our day and attend the birthday party. The appointment is not quick. I am not overreacting. We miss the birthday party.
A baby changes everything. Yes they certainly do. We've all heard this saying before and a baby, whether it's a fleeting spark of life or a healthy baby born into your arms, changes everything. That day, one year ago, that baby changed everything. I went home to a house decorated from top to bottom for Christmas. I love this time of year, which makes me so angry because now I don't like this time of year so much. Christmas is a sad time for me now. I lost a baby at Christmas time. I was due to have a baby just a few days ago, one I miscarried back in March. The death of one baby and the due date of another lost one are just days apart. On my tree hangs a new ornament this year, one in remembrance of my babies, especially my Christmas one. And what's worse is that Christmas is a holiday about a baby being born. Reminders of a baby in the Christmas music, in the nativity scenes, in the story of Christmas.
But if a baby changes everything, never was there a baby who changed everything more than baby Jesus did. He snuck into this world in the form of a human child on a star lit night and changed everything for every single soul forever more. Born into a world of dirt surrounded by animals, such a meek beginning for God's only treasured Son. He took on the pain, agony and heart break of this world all for the sake of love. He lived a life of love. He died a gruesome death on a cross to save others, his death was a death of love. His love in the form of a baby changed everything. I spoke to a friend recently and I told her this of all my babies...each of them has changed everything, for there are now six eternal beings in heaven who would never be there if not for love, the love Jason and I have for each other, the love God has for us. One of my favorite Christmas songs is "A Baby Changes Everything" by Faith Hill. The lyrics speak straight to my heart. Although our stories are very different the emotion is the same. A young girl is with child and she is scared. She cries, oh how she cries. And then she delivers a baby who changes everything and then Mary lost that child one day. Oh how she cried, how we both have cried. But Mary's loss was temporary and because of the baby she carried we all have hope of being reunited with the ones we have loved and lost. I know this is not what everyone believes, but it is what I believe.
That same sweet girl whose birthday party we missed last year turned two this past weekend. I made it to the party this year. Riley and I sang her Happy Birthday, watched her open her gifts, blow out her candles and Riley ate a lot of the cake she had been begging me for since we got there. But in my heart was an ache that I could not get rid of. It has really been a year since we lost you little one. How I wish I could have held you, seen you, kissed you, watched you grow, wiped your tears and tickled your tummy. You changed everything and each passing day is one day closer to the day I will get to see you, hold you, kiss you. And each passing day is one day closer to the day I will see the baby who makes that possible. Sweet baby, I love you always and forever and no matter what and God, I am trying, despite the pain and doubt and fear, to love you always and forever and no matter what.
Faith Hill singing live "A Baby Changes Everything"
The Story of the Baby Who Changed Everything
The nagging feeling that the heart rate was too low pulls on my heart the rest of that day. I check it again the next morning...nothing. I eat and drink orange juice and then lay down and try again...nothing. I wait, wait, wait until the doctor will finally see me. My baby has now been gone at least 24 hours. And I am terrified. We finally get to see the doctor. Our friend's daughter's first birthday is this day. I remember thinking we could still make it to the party. I still hang on to the hope that it will be a quick in and out appointment where they will find the heart beat and tell me I am overreacting and send me home and we will go about our day and attend the birthday party. The appointment is not quick. I am not overreacting. We miss the birthday party.
A baby changes everything. Yes they certainly do. We've all heard this saying before and a baby, whether it's a fleeting spark of life or a healthy baby born into your arms, changes everything. That day, one year ago, that baby changed everything. I went home to a house decorated from top to bottom for Christmas. I love this time of year, which makes me so angry because now I don't like this time of year so much. Christmas is a sad time for me now. I lost a baby at Christmas time. I was due to have a baby just a few days ago, one I miscarried back in March. The death of one baby and the due date of another lost one are just days apart. On my tree hangs a new ornament this year, one in remembrance of my babies, especially my Christmas one. And what's worse is that Christmas is a holiday about a baby being born. Reminders of a baby in the Christmas music, in the nativity scenes, in the story of Christmas.
But if a baby changes everything, never was there a baby who changed everything more than baby Jesus did. He snuck into this world in the form of a human child on a star lit night and changed everything for every single soul forever more. Born into a world of dirt surrounded by animals, such a meek beginning for God's only treasured Son. He took on the pain, agony and heart break of this world all for the sake of love. He lived a life of love. He died a gruesome death on a cross to save others, his death was a death of love. His love in the form of a baby changed everything. I spoke to a friend recently and I told her this of all my babies...each of them has changed everything, for there are now six eternal beings in heaven who would never be there if not for love, the love Jason and I have for each other, the love God has for us. One of my favorite Christmas songs is "A Baby Changes Everything" by Faith Hill. The lyrics speak straight to my heart. Although our stories are very different the emotion is the same. A young girl is with child and she is scared. She cries, oh how she cries. And then she delivers a baby who changes everything and then Mary lost that child one day. Oh how she cried, how we both have cried. But Mary's loss was temporary and because of the baby she carried we all have hope of being reunited with the ones we have loved and lost. I know this is not what everyone believes, but it is what I believe.
That same sweet girl whose birthday party we missed last year turned two this past weekend. I made it to the party this year. Riley and I sang her Happy Birthday, watched her open her gifts, blow out her candles and Riley ate a lot of the cake she had been begging me for since we got there. But in my heart was an ache that I could not get rid of. It has really been a year since we lost you little one. How I wish I could have held you, seen you, kissed you, watched you grow, wiped your tears and tickled your tummy. You changed everything and each passing day is one day closer to the day I will get to see you, hold you, kiss you. And each passing day is one day closer to the day I will see the baby who makes that possible. Sweet baby, I love you always and forever and no matter what and God, I am trying, despite the pain and doubt and fear, to love you always and forever and no matter what.
Faith Hill singing live "A Baby Changes Everything"
The Story of the Baby Who Changed Everything
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
Thankful
"Mama! Mama!". She calls me to her room. I have already put her to bed and I know I shouldn't go back in. But I can't resist her call to me, my only surviving child calling my name. I guess this is why they say only children are spoiled. I go to her and we cuddle and rock and I tell her a story. The story of a little girl who wanted to grow up, get married and have lots of babies. I tell her about how this little girl played with dolls and dreamed that one day they would be real babies. And I tell her of how one day God blessed this little girl with a real, live baby of her own, another little girl, with blue eyes and blond hair and fair skin, a beautiful smile and contagious laugh. I tell of how this little girl brings her mommy so much joy and how special she is and how she was put on this earth for a very special reason. I hug her tight. I kiss her all over and with a choked voice and tears in my eyes I tell her how much I love her.
Two days later I sit with Jason in his office under fluorescent lights. Everyone else has gone home. And we wait. We wait for a call from Dr. Sher from Las Vegas. He calls. He has gone over our records. He verifies that I have had five miscarriages. I correct him and tell him no I have had six. He apologizes. He did not see the one I had to write in the margin because there were not enough lines on the form for all my pregnancies. He goes on to explain our problem in more detail. We have Immunologic Implantation Dysfunction, of which there are two kinds, autoimmune and alloimmune. Alloimmune is worse and more difficult to treat. That is the one we have.
This is very scientific and tough to explain and we are still trying to figure it all out ourselves, so bare with me. Much of this is paraphrased from Dr. Sher's article found here. Every person has two of a specific gene called the DQ-alpha gene, one from their mother and one from their father. Alloimmune Implantation Dysfunction (AID) occurs in couples who have a DQ-aplha gene similarity. As I stated in my previous post I have increased Natural Kills Cells (NKC). I don't just happen to have an increased number of these. I have more of them as my body's response to carrying so many DQ-alpha similar embryos. This is how any woman's body would respond to similar DQ-alpha embryos. These embryos rev up my immune system and actually cause me to have more NKC than normal. Each pregnancy is different and the severity varies as Dr. Sher states, "The severity with which this occurs determines whether total implantation failure will occur, or whether there remains enough residual trophoblastic activity to allow the pregnancy to limp along until the nutritional supply can no longer meet the demands of the pregnancy, at which point miscarriage or pregnancy loss occurs." This was the case with my little 16 week baby. It wasn't as severe so the pregnancy "limped along" all the way to 16 weeks before I finally miscarried. The surgeon said the baby's placenta and umbilical cord was "a mess". This is characteristic of AID because way back at the beginning of that pregnancy my NKC was attacking that baby and although implantation occurred, it was not a true healthy implantation and therefore a perfectly functioning placenta was not able to form. It formed enough to get me to 16 weeks but it could not sustain the pregnancy to term. And even if it had the baby likely would have been born with severe handicaps due to lack of nutrition throughout the pregnancy. That is the scary thing with AID, you can lose a baby at any time, early in your first trimester, in your second or even in your third. You could deliver a stillborn or if you finally do have a baby, the baby may not be healthy due to a poor functioning placenta during the whole pregnancy.
So how is Riley here you may wonder, as we did. I asked Dr. Sher that question and here is the amazing answer. I have our test results right here in front of me. They say, "Maternal DQ-alpha 102 and 201. Paternal DQ-alpha 102 and 303." As you can see, Jason and I share 102 but not the other number...we are a partial match. This is good. If we were a full match there would be no way at all we could ever carry a baby to term. Even Riley wouldn't be here. So 50% of the time we will get a baby that is not a DQ-alpha match and 50% of the time we will. The matching ones will never survive. The non matching ones (like Riley) can survive with treatment. The problem is, now my NKC is so reved up from so many pregnancies with DQ-alpha matching embryos that my increased NKC will attack even the non matching ones. In fact every time I get pregnant it just gets worse and worse. It's like a snowball that builds and builds as it rolls down the hill. So all this time we thought if we just kept trying another baby would stick when in fact it was making the problem worse. Riley is here for two reasons, number one - she is not a DQ-alpha match and number two - she came along early enough in this process (she was only my third pregnancy) that my NKC were not high enough yet to fully attack her. And so she survived. That being said, I have always had a gut feeling that we almost lost her too. I could never explain why for sure, but I just knew it. And Dr. Sher confirmed that on the phone last night. I likely had some increase in NKC when I was pregnant with her, a result of my first two pregnancies that started those NKC to elevate but miscarried because they were likely DQ-alpha matches. So these NKC were probably attacking Riley a little, not enough to cause her to miscarry and thank God, not enough to cause any major negative effects on her (that we know of so far) but there were signs that this was happening. One - she did not move much the whole time I was pregnant with her, evidenced by my many frantic trips to the ER I took when pregnant with her, Two - She failed a Biophysical Profile Ultrasound Test at 38 weeks for lack of movement, which got us promptly sent to the hospital for an emergency induction (Which very likely saved her life. Thank you to my amazing OBGYN for being smart enough to recognize something wasn't quite right and induce me early), Three - she was small for her gestational age when she was born, 5 lbs, 14.9 oz, suggesting she may have had a small restriction of oxygen and nutrients and Fourth - she did have trouble learning to speak which may be because of the environment in the womb and lack of nutrients to her brain while she was developing. So I must stop for a moment and say there are no words to describe the sinking of my heart when Dr. Sher said all this. The thought that I could have lost her too, at full term is more than I can bare. I have gone into this mode of feeling just numb, so overwhelmed with all this info that my mind and heart just can't take it and to protect myself I have just gone numb. But so many times over the past few days I just start to weep uncontrollably out of nowhere as the sudden thought darts into my mind of the awful tragedy that could have happened. I love her so much. There isn't a thing in this world I wouldn't do for her and she perhaps was almost a victim of this awful diagnosis too. But now I know why she made it and the others didn't and why she had trouble learning to talk and it is an absolute miracle that she is here and that she is healthy and that she was able to overcome her speech delay. She is a fighter. I have never been more proud of my little baby girl!
So we sit, Jason and I, after four years, we finally have a diagnosis and a doctor who knows what he's talking about and doesn't just say he doesn't know. We sit with this new information. We are overwhelmed. I look at my husband sitting across from me, elbows on his knees, head resting in his hands, sharp breaths causing his back to sharply rise and fall....and I know. He is so done. He is so overwhelmed with all of this, with his job. He is close to his breaking point. My cries fill the quiet empty office and we sit there, cars and life whirling on by outside. We hold each other and cry. There is nothing wrong with me. There is nothing wrong with Jason. There is something wrong with the two of us together. Had we never found our way to each other and married other people, we would not be having any of these problems. It seems like a cruel joke.
Where do we go from here? We have an appt with Dr. Sher in December and we will discuss that then. There is treatment. We would need to do IVF and test the embryos. Once we have several healthy embryos, they will transfer only one at a time to my uterus. Usually with IVF they will transfer more than one but with this diagnosis they only transfer one for fear that if one is a DQ-alpha match and the other is not, my body will still attack them both and I will lose the non-matching one along with the matching one. In order for the baby to survive there must be only one non DQ-alpha matching embryo. There is no way to know that or test for that. It is up to God and nature. So we hope and pray that we get a non matching one. If we don't, it will miscarry despite treatment. But assuming we get a non matching embryo at some point, then I undergo treatment which is Intralipid therapy combined with a steroid Prednisone. These help reduce my NKC activity. He says we may have as good as an 80% chance of carrying the baby to term if we do treatment and have the right embryo. But its a 50/50 chance we will get that right embryo that doesn't match. Dr. Sher left us with a word of caution, "Do not get pregnant again. You WILL miscarry, putting yourself at risk and making the problem worse. Don't get pregnant." We can never again afford to get pregnant on our own. This treatment is essential for us to carry a healthy baby to term. I know this is a long post and is probably overwhelming to all of you reading it as it is for us. But there is really no short, easy way to explain this very complicated diagnosis. If you are following this blog and have repeated, unexplained losses and have been tested for everything and tests are all normal, you may want to consider testing for these immune related problems. Tests are expensive and not covered by most insurance, but having these answers is huge for us and perhaps for others out there too. Read Dr. Sher's article (link above). He explains it far better than I do!
Thanksgiving is tomorrow. One year ago I was 15 weeks pregnant as I ate my turkey and stuffing. I remember laying on the bed in our hotel room (we were out of town for Thanksgiving last year visiting family) using my fetal doppler to check my baby's heart beat. I found it right away. It was loud and strong, like galloping horses. Riley laid her head on my tummy. My mother in law came in to hear the baby's heart beat. One week later my baby was dead. I can't believe it has already been a year since my life took a nose dive off Mt. Everest. This has been and remains to be the hardest year of my life. We are supposed to be thankful in all things. Honestly, I'm not. I am not thankful for any of this. But I know despite all this, I do have so much to be thankful for. Number one, Riley. Outside of this problem, health. A home I love, a job Jason is excelling at, a husband I love (we must be soul mates...we are after all SO ALIKE!) and answers, finally answers. I didn't want to celebrate Thanksgiving this year. I don't have the energy or the spirit for it. I told Jason I just wanted to go out to dinner somewhere and pretend this day wasn't happening. But instead, I bought a turkey today and I will cook all day tomorrow and I will host the people I love and I will get through it. I have been reading to Riley about being thankful and eating turkey for three weeks and that's exactly what we will do. I do it for her, I do it for the people I love, I do it for all six of them. I do it because I am thankful and life must go on.
I love you always and forever and no matter what.
Two days later I sit with Jason in his office under fluorescent lights. Everyone else has gone home. And we wait. We wait for a call from Dr. Sher from Las Vegas. He calls. He has gone over our records. He verifies that I have had five miscarriages. I correct him and tell him no I have had six. He apologizes. He did not see the one I had to write in the margin because there were not enough lines on the form for all my pregnancies. He goes on to explain our problem in more detail. We have Immunologic Implantation Dysfunction, of which there are two kinds, autoimmune and alloimmune. Alloimmune is worse and more difficult to treat. That is the one we have.
This is very scientific and tough to explain and we are still trying to figure it all out ourselves, so bare with me. Much of this is paraphrased from Dr. Sher's article found here. Every person has two of a specific gene called the DQ-alpha gene, one from their mother and one from their father. Alloimmune Implantation Dysfunction (AID) occurs in couples who have a DQ-aplha gene similarity. As I stated in my previous post I have increased Natural Kills Cells (NKC). I don't just happen to have an increased number of these. I have more of them as my body's response to carrying so many DQ-alpha similar embryos. This is how any woman's body would respond to similar DQ-alpha embryos. These embryos rev up my immune system and actually cause me to have more NKC than normal. Each pregnancy is different and the severity varies as Dr. Sher states, "The severity with which this occurs determines whether total implantation failure will occur, or whether there remains enough residual trophoblastic activity to allow the pregnancy to limp along until the nutritional supply can no longer meet the demands of the pregnancy, at which point miscarriage or pregnancy loss occurs." This was the case with my little 16 week baby. It wasn't as severe so the pregnancy "limped along" all the way to 16 weeks before I finally miscarried. The surgeon said the baby's placenta and umbilical cord was "a mess". This is characteristic of AID because way back at the beginning of that pregnancy my NKC was attacking that baby and although implantation occurred, it was not a true healthy implantation and therefore a perfectly functioning placenta was not able to form. It formed enough to get me to 16 weeks but it could not sustain the pregnancy to term. And even if it had the baby likely would have been born with severe handicaps due to lack of nutrition throughout the pregnancy. That is the scary thing with AID, you can lose a baby at any time, early in your first trimester, in your second or even in your third. You could deliver a stillborn or if you finally do have a baby, the baby may not be healthy due to a poor functioning placenta during the whole pregnancy.
So how is Riley here you may wonder, as we did. I asked Dr. Sher that question and here is the amazing answer. I have our test results right here in front of me. They say, "Maternal DQ-alpha 102 and 201. Paternal DQ-alpha 102 and 303." As you can see, Jason and I share 102 but not the other number...we are a partial match. This is good. If we were a full match there would be no way at all we could ever carry a baby to term. Even Riley wouldn't be here. So 50% of the time we will get a baby that is not a DQ-alpha match and 50% of the time we will. The matching ones will never survive. The non matching ones (like Riley) can survive with treatment. The problem is, now my NKC is so reved up from so many pregnancies with DQ-alpha matching embryos that my increased NKC will attack even the non matching ones. In fact every time I get pregnant it just gets worse and worse. It's like a snowball that builds and builds as it rolls down the hill. So all this time we thought if we just kept trying another baby would stick when in fact it was making the problem worse. Riley is here for two reasons, number one - she is not a DQ-alpha match and number two - she came along early enough in this process (she was only my third pregnancy) that my NKC were not high enough yet to fully attack her. And so she survived. That being said, I have always had a gut feeling that we almost lost her too. I could never explain why for sure, but I just knew it. And Dr. Sher confirmed that on the phone last night. I likely had some increase in NKC when I was pregnant with her, a result of my first two pregnancies that started those NKC to elevate but miscarried because they were likely DQ-alpha matches. So these NKC were probably attacking Riley a little, not enough to cause her to miscarry and thank God, not enough to cause any major negative effects on her (that we know of so far) but there were signs that this was happening. One - she did not move much the whole time I was pregnant with her, evidenced by my many frantic trips to the ER I took when pregnant with her, Two - She failed a Biophysical Profile Ultrasound Test at 38 weeks for lack of movement, which got us promptly sent to the hospital for an emergency induction (Which very likely saved her life. Thank you to my amazing OBGYN for being smart enough to recognize something wasn't quite right and induce me early), Three - she was small for her gestational age when she was born, 5 lbs, 14.9 oz, suggesting she may have had a small restriction of oxygen and nutrients and Fourth - she did have trouble learning to speak which may be because of the environment in the womb and lack of nutrients to her brain while she was developing. So I must stop for a moment and say there are no words to describe the sinking of my heart when Dr. Sher said all this. The thought that I could have lost her too, at full term is more than I can bare. I have gone into this mode of feeling just numb, so overwhelmed with all this info that my mind and heart just can't take it and to protect myself I have just gone numb. But so many times over the past few days I just start to weep uncontrollably out of nowhere as the sudden thought darts into my mind of the awful tragedy that could have happened. I love her so much. There isn't a thing in this world I wouldn't do for her and she perhaps was almost a victim of this awful diagnosis too. But now I know why she made it and the others didn't and why she had trouble learning to talk and it is an absolute miracle that she is here and that she is healthy and that she was able to overcome her speech delay. She is a fighter. I have never been more proud of my little baby girl!
So we sit, Jason and I, after four years, we finally have a diagnosis and a doctor who knows what he's talking about and doesn't just say he doesn't know. We sit with this new information. We are overwhelmed. I look at my husband sitting across from me, elbows on his knees, head resting in his hands, sharp breaths causing his back to sharply rise and fall....and I know. He is so done. He is so overwhelmed with all of this, with his job. He is close to his breaking point. My cries fill the quiet empty office and we sit there, cars and life whirling on by outside. We hold each other and cry. There is nothing wrong with me. There is nothing wrong with Jason. There is something wrong with the two of us together. Had we never found our way to each other and married other people, we would not be having any of these problems. It seems like a cruel joke.
Where do we go from here? We have an appt with Dr. Sher in December and we will discuss that then. There is treatment. We would need to do IVF and test the embryos. Once we have several healthy embryos, they will transfer only one at a time to my uterus. Usually with IVF they will transfer more than one but with this diagnosis they only transfer one for fear that if one is a DQ-alpha match and the other is not, my body will still attack them both and I will lose the non-matching one along with the matching one. In order for the baby to survive there must be only one non DQ-alpha matching embryo. There is no way to know that or test for that. It is up to God and nature. So we hope and pray that we get a non matching one. If we don't, it will miscarry despite treatment. But assuming we get a non matching embryo at some point, then I undergo treatment which is Intralipid therapy combined with a steroid Prednisone. These help reduce my NKC activity. He says we may have as good as an 80% chance of carrying the baby to term if we do treatment and have the right embryo. But its a 50/50 chance we will get that right embryo that doesn't match. Dr. Sher left us with a word of caution, "Do not get pregnant again. You WILL miscarry, putting yourself at risk and making the problem worse. Don't get pregnant." We can never again afford to get pregnant on our own. This treatment is essential for us to carry a healthy baby to term. I know this is a long post and is probably overwhelming to all of you reading it as it is for us. But there is really no short, easy way to explain this very complicated diagnosis. If you are following this blog and have repeated, unexplained losses and have been tested for everything and tests are all normal, you may want to consider testing for these immune related problems. Tests are expensive and not covered by most insurance, but having these answers is huge for us and perhaps for others out there too. Read Dr. Sher's article (link above). He explains it far better than I do!
Thanksgiving is tomorrow. One year ago I was 15 weeks pregnant as I ate my turkey and stuffing. I remember laying on the bed in our hotel room (we were out of town for Thanksgiving last year visiting family) using my fetal doppler to check my baby's heart beat. I found it right away. It was loud and strong, like galloping horses. Riley laid her head on my tummy. My mother in law came in to hear the baby's heart beat. One week later my baby was dead. I can't believe it has already been a year since my life took a nose dive off Mt. Everest. This has been and remains to be the hardest year of my life. We are supposed to be thankful in all things. Honestly, I'm not. I am not thankful for any of this. But I know despite all this, I do have so much to be thankful for. Number one, Riley. Outside of this problem, health. A home I love, a job Jason is excelling at, a husband I love (we must be soul mates...we are after all SO ALIKE!) and answers, finally answers. I didn't want to celebrate Thanksgiving this year. I don't have the energy or the spirit for it. I told Jason I just wanted to go out to dinner somewhere and pretend this day wasn't happening. But instead, I bought a turkey today and I will cook all day tomorrow and I will host the people I love and I will get through it. I have been reading to Riley about being thankful and eating turkey for three weeks and that's exactly what we will do. I do it for her, I do it for the people I love, I do it for all six of them. I do it because I am thankful and life must go on.
I love you always and forever and no matter what.
Friday, November 16, 2012
For Better or for Worse
For better or for worse. This is the promise we make to each other, to ourselves and most importantly to God on the day we marry. Jason and I made this promise 5 years ago and just celebrated the anniversary of that day. But what happens when worse, so much worse, comes before the better. And you are left wondering if the better is ever coming at all.
Two days ago we finally, FINALLY got what may be the first answers, clues as to what is happening with us. We have been tested and tested and tested again. Everything is always normal. Until Wednesday this week when my doctor called with the results from our most recent tests, the ones where they had to take 10 vials of blood from my arm and I nearly passed out...yeah those...well it turns out it may have been worth all the pain. Dr. G. told me this, "It looks like you and Jason have a larger than average number of similar chromosomes and you have an increased number of Natural Killer Cells". So what does that mean? Kinda what it sounds like, Jason and I are just a little too similar and when it comes to baby making, different is good. So when our egg and sperm meet up it doesn't recognize that part of the baby is foreign and therefore it does not send off the protective antibody that is necessary to keep my body from attacking the baby. And then on top of that I have more Natural Killer Cells (NKC) than average. We all have NKC. That is what fights off infections in our bodies. But I have more than average and they attack the baby. So I have been sitting with the knowledge that my miscarriages were not just a failure to nurture my baby, but in fact are due to my body seeking out my own child and attacking it. That's going to take awhile to work through. And of course the awareness that Jason and I are somehow incompatible with each other for making babies and we are "too similar"??!! A devastating realization, definitely the worse of "for better or for worse".
So the problem is really one more of the immune system than the reproductive. Dr. G. said he knows very little in this area of Reproductive Immunology and he referred me to a doctor who specializes in this. Dr. Sher and he is out of Las Vegas. No doctors in Kansas City specialize in this as it is pretty new science. But as luck (or perhaps divine intervention) would have it, Dr. Sher has an office in St. Louis and he just so happens to be visiting it in December. On-Top-of-It/ Desperate me already has a phone consult scheduled for next week and an appt for December on the books. Hope. It's what makes all the difference and we have been given a tiny shred of it to cling to.
I'm making a playroom for Riley, primarily because I want all her toys off my living room floor. It is a nature/ owl themed playroom and it is all pink and green. As I buy new things for it and decorate it the thought creeps in that maybe I shouldn't make it quite so girlie...what if a little boy plays in there one day? And what if I put all this effort into a playroom that just has be turned into a nursery soon? And then just as quickly another thought comes. The thought that another baby seems so far from the realm of possibility right now and this one baby girl is it. So go all out, go all girlie, jump in head first, have fun with it and don't look back. For my own sanity I have to simultaneously live my life with one part that assumes we will not have any more children and another part that is pursuing that dream with all that I have, not quitting until we have tried everything. It's a difficult balancing act. But maybe, just maybe, the better is coming. Maybe, armed with these tests results and this knowledge, we are on the road to better. Maybe a day is soon coming when all of this is finally over and behind us and we have another little baby and we are finally finished (I always wanted three but I can now say with certainty we will be DONE after/ if two). The better side of things is here. We are happy. We are complete. And I have to balance that hope and idea of better with the thought that better is on it's way whether we have another baby or not. At some point, no matter what the outcome, this will all be behind us and it will be over and things will be better. I know I have to find a way to better whether we have another child or not, but right now, after all this pain and loss, after the worse, I have been given new information that lets me hope that better will come with a little cuddly bundle of joy.
I love you always and forever and no matter what.
Two days ago we finally, FINALLY got what may be the first answers, clues as to what is happening with us. We have been tested and tested and tested again. Everything is always normal. Until Wednesday this week when my doctor called with the results from our most recent tests, the ones where they had to take 10 vials of blood from my arm and I nearly passed out...yeah those...well it turns out it may have been worth all the pain. Dr. G. told me this, "It looks like you and Jason have a larger than average number of similar chromosomes and you have an increased number of Natural Killer Cells". So what does that mean? Kinda what it sounds like, Jason and I are just a little too similar and when it comes to baby making, different is good. So when our egg and sperm meet up it doesn't recognize that part of the baby is foreign and therefore it does not send off the protective antibody that is necessary to keep my body from attacking the baby. And then on top of that I have more Natural Killer Cells (NKC) than average. We all have NKC. That is what fights off infections in our bodies. But I have more than average and they attack the baby. So I have been sitting with the knowledge that my miscarriages were not just a failure to nurture my baby, but in fact are due to my body seeking out my own child and attacking it. That's going to take awhile to work through. And of course the awareness that Jason and I are somehow incompatible with each other for making babies and we are "too similar"??!! A devastating realization, definitely the worse of "for better or for worse".
So the problem is really one more of the immune system than the reproductive. Dr. G. said he knows very little in this area of Reproductive Immunology and he referred me to a doctor who specializes in this. Dr. Sher and he is out of Las Vegas. No doctors in Kansas City specialize in this as it is pretty new science. But as luck (or perhaps divine intervention) would have it, Dr. Sher has an office in St. Louis and he just so happens to be visiting it in December. On-Top-of-It/ Desperate me already has a phone consult scheduled for next week and an appt for December on the books. Hope. It's what makes all the difference and we have been given a tiny shred of it to cling to.
I'm making a playroom for Riley, primarily because I want all her toys off my living room floor. It is a nature/ owl themed playroom and it is all pink and green. As I buy new things for it and decorate it the thought creeps in that maybe I shouldn't make it quite so girlie...what if a little boy plays in there one day? And what if I put all this effort into a playroom that just has be turned into a nursery soon? And then just as quickly another thought comes. The thought that another baby seems so far from the realm of possibility right now and this one baby girl is it. So go all out, go all girlie, jump in head first, have fun with it and don't look back. For my own sanity I have to simultaneously live my life with one part that assumes we will not have any more children and another part that is pursuing that dream with all that I have, not quitting until we have tried everything. It's a difficult balancing act. But maybe, just maybe, the better is coming. Maybe, armed with these tests results and this knowledge, we are on the road to better. Maybe a day is soon coming when all of this is finally over and behind us and we have another little baby and we are finally finished (I always wanted three but I can now say with certainty we will be DONE after/ if two). The better side of things is here. We are happy. We are complete. And I have to balance that hope and idea of better with the thought that better is on it's way whether we have another baby or not. At some point, no matter what the outcome, this will all be behind us and it will be over and things will be better. I know I have to find a way to better whether we have another child or not, but right now, after all this pain and loss, after the worse, I have been given new information that lets me hope that better will come with a little cuddly bundle of joy.
I love you always and forever and no matter what.
Saturday, November 3, 2012
Hoping for Answers
I had a dream last night. I was on an airplane and I was flying across the ocean to Hawaii. There was a problem with the plane and there was no place to land. The plane spirals down and I am completely helpless. No control over my fate at all. This is a dream I have often. I have been afraid of flying for as long as I can remember. But the scary plane crash dreams have become worse since losing the baby in December. And the dream was no doubt triggered by a conversation we had at dinner last night about a vacation we might be taking in a few years. Yes, a few years away and the mere mention of flying across the Pacific starts the bad dreams already. But I think these dreams have been worse because of the loss of the babies, another situation in which I feel completely helpless, no control over my fate at all. Losing these babies might as well be a plane crash in my mind.
We have no idea how to proceed from here. We finally decided to have some less mainstream testing done to look for a cause for our losses. It's controversial and you could put 50 doctors in a room and no two would probably completely agree on this. But the theory goes like this...a woman gets pregnant. Half of the baby is foreign (the part that comes from the father) and her body should attack anything foreign, but the part of the baby that comes from the mother sends off a protective signal to her body and immune system telling it not to attack the foreign matter (the baby). Sometimes two people get together whose DNA is a little too similar (Weird right!! I had to ask Dr. G. if this meant Jason and I were related somehow...he said no...thank God!!) and the part of the baby that comes from the mom doesn't recognize that part of the baby is foreign because the DNA is so similar. Therefore no protective signal is sent out. The mother's immune system picks up that there is something foreign in her body and attacks it because there are no protective signals being sent out and the mother will miscarry. It's confusing. It's weird. If that is the problem, why was it not an issue with Riley? Why do some pregnancies progress for weeks, even into the second trimester, and others barely make it past the positive pregnancy test? No one knows and that is why according to Dr. G. it is something we can check for but he says the science on it isn't that great. The treatment if we do test positive is Intralipid therapy and something called IVIG...blood transfusions to suppress my immune system and therefore keep my body from attacking the baby. We feel we have no options left so we did the testing for this. Of course, nothing is ever easy. They needed three vials of blood from Jason, which they easily got in five minutes. They needed 10 vials from me...six needle sticks, a puddle of my own blood on the floor, dizziness, nauseousness, freezing cold with chills and and hour and half later they finally got it all out of me. We are awaiting the results now. These test results are another piece of the puzzle. If it comes back negative, we know that's not the problem and it helps us decide how to move forward. If it comes back positive we can decide if we want to do the treatment and again it helps us decide how to proceed. Hoping for results in a week or two.
So in the midst of all this and with my sister's wedding next weekend my house is a disaster. I decided to clean and organize our office/ work out/ catch all room today. I came across a stack of things I kept from when Riley was a baby. One of them was a chart I was sent home with from the hospital when I had her. Riley was a tiny baby and she lost a lot of weight right after she was born and initially had trouble gaining it back so I was given strict instructions to keep track of how often she nursed, for how long and how often she urinated. So there it was...April 19, 2010 at 1:45 pm she nursed 25 minutes and had a wet diaper. 4:00 pm she nursed 21 minutes and had a wet diaper. 6:15 pm she nursed 28 minutes and had a wet diaper, etc., etc... My mind is flooded with memories of her first weeks home with us. Nursing her religiously for weeks to avoid formula and help her gain weight (which she finally did...one of my greatest accomplishments as a mother :) ) watching her sleep, being so excited when she would open her eyes for a brief few seconds, taking hundreds of pictures a day, afraid to fall asleep at night because no one would be "watching" her and what if something happened and we didn't know it because we were asleep?? Jason finally moved her bassinet right beside our bed and brought a night light in our room so that she slept within inches of me and I could open my eyes in the middle of the night and see her right away and know she was OK, not that it really mattered since she woke up to eat every two hours all night long. All these memories...will we ever have a brand new little one in our home again? Time will tell.
In the mean time, I try not to miss all the amazing moments with the child I do have because I am hoping so hard for one that may never come. Like today, we went to the mall and Riley picked out a fluffy, girlie, Minnie Mouse night gown and she had to put it on as soon as we got to the car. The whole ride home she kept looking at it on herself, playing with the fabric, smiling ear to ear and saying "new night gown!" and "Mommy, I take a nap!" because I told her it was to be worn during sleep time. For a child that looks nothing like me with her blond hair and blue eyes, she sure acts just like me...a girlie girl through and through. And to think, because of the sadness and all that has been lost, I almost missed it. Thank God I didn't. And in these moments when I have no control and I am spiraling down to sure destruction, like a plane that suddenly levels out, all is OK and she saves me.
I love you always and forever and no matter what.
We have no idea how to proceed from here. We finally decided to have some less mainstream testing done to look for a cause for our losses. It's controversial and you could put 50 doctors in a room and no two would probably completely agree on this. But the theory goes like this...a woman gets pregnant. Half of the baby is foreign (the part that comes from the father) and her body should attack anything foreign, but the part of the baby that comes from the mother sends off a protective signal to her body and immune system telling it not to attack the foreign matter (the baby). Sometimes two people get together whose DNA is a little too similar (Weird right!! I had to ask Dr. G. if this meant Jason and I were related somehow...he said no...thank God!!) and the part of the baby that comes from the mom doesn't recognize that part of the baby is foreign because the DNA is so similar. Therefore no protective signal is sent out. The mother's immune system picks up that there is something foreign in her body and attacks it because there are no protective signals being sent out and the mother will miscarry. It's confusing. It's weird. If that is the problem, why was it not an issue with Riley? Why do some pregnancies progress for weeks, even into the second trimester, and others barely make it past the positive pregnancy test? No one knows and that is why according to Dr. G. it is something we can check for but he says the science on it isn't that great. The treatment if we do test positive is Intralipid therapy and something called IVIG...blood transfusions to suppress my immune system and therefore keep my body from attacking the baby. We feel we have no options left so we did the testing for this. Of course, nothing is ever easy. They needed three vials of blood from Jason, which they easily got in five minutes. They needed 10 vials from me...six needle sticks, a puddle of my own blood on the floor, dizziness, nauseousness, freezing cold with chills and and hour and half later they finally got it all out of me. We are awaiting the results now. These test results are another piece of the puzzle. If it comes back negative, we know that's not the problem and it helps us decide how to move forward. If it comes back positive we can decide if we want to do the treatment and again it helps us decide how to proceed. Hoping for results in a week or two.
So in the midst of all this and with my sister's wedding next weekend my house is a disaster. I decided to clean and organize our office/ work out/ catch all room today. I came across a stack of things I kept from when Riley was a baby. One of them was a chart I was sent home with from the hospital when I had her. Riley was a tiny baby and she lost a lot of weight right after she was born and initially had trouble gaining it back so I was given strict instructions to keep track of how often she nursed, for how long and how often she urinated. So there it was...April 19, 2010 at 1:45 pm she nursed 25 minutes and had a wet diaper. 4:00 pm she nursed 21 minutes and had a wet diaper. 6:15 pm she nursed 28 minutes and had a wet diaper, etc., etc... My mind is flooded with memories of her first weeks home with us. Nursing her religiously for weeks to avoid formula and help her gain weight (which she finally did...one of my greatest accomplishments as a mother :) ) watching her sleep, being so excited when she would open her eyes for a brief few seconds, taking hundreds of pictures a day, afraid to fall asleep at night because no one would be "watching" her and what if something happened and we didn't know it because we were asleep?? Jason finally moved her bassinet right beside our bed and brought a night light in our room so that she slept within inches of me and I could open my eyes in the middle of the night and see her right away and know she was OK, not that it really mattered since she woke up to eat every two hours all night long. All these memories...will we ever have a brand new little one in our home again? Time will tell.
In the mean time, I try not to miss all the amazing moments with the child I do have because I am hoping so hard for one that may never come. Like today, we went to the mall and Riley picked out a fluffy, girlie, Minnie Mouse night gown and she had to put it on as soon as we got to the car. The whole ride home she kept looking at it on herself, playing with the fabric, smiling ear to ear and saying "new night gown!" and "Mommy, I take a nap!" because I told her it was to be worn during sleep time. For a child that looks nothing like me with her blond hair and blue eyes, she sure acts just like me...a girlie girl through and through. And to think, because of the sadness and all that has been lost, I almost missed it. Thank God I didn't. And in these moments when I have no control and I am spiraling down to sure destruction, like a plane that suddenly levels out, all is OK and she saves me.
I love you always and forever and no matter what.
Friday, October 19, 2012
In the Club
After my first miscarriage one of my mom's friends, who has three grown children now, confided that she too had miscarried once. She said that no one really knew what I was going through except other women who are "in the club". Women who have suffered a miscarriage do indeed form a club, a very quiet club and we share a bond like no other, for we are the only ones who know what it's like to lose a child while it's still inside of us. This is not a club I ever wanted to be in, but like it or not, I think I may be the president!
I once read something written by another member of the miscarriage club. She wrote that after her miscarriage she would hear other mothers talking about all the things young, new mothers talk about....pregnancy, child birth, nursing, potty training, first words and first days of school. And she longed to be a part of that club, the Mommy Club. I think about my life since Riley was born and I am so thankful that I get to be a member of the Mommy Club, that I know what it's like to see your baby for the first time, hold her, smell her, marvel at her perfectness. That I know what it's like to be dog tired, getting up in the middle of the night 2,3,4 times in a sleep deprived haze to attend to a baby who needs you. That I know what it's like to finally go on a date with your husband again after having a baby...you take a shower, put on something other than sweats, put on make up for the first time in weeks and then just as you head out the door your little angel spits up all over you. I know what it's like to get poop on your fingers and not even be phased because it's the 10th diaper you have changed today. I know the joy of a first smile, first laugh, first step and first word. My days are filled with chasing, teaching, time outs, no-no's, kissing boo boo's and putting band-aids on imaginary ones, cleaning the same mess over and over, tickles, giggles, pretending, blowing bubbles and many days even tears over the frustrations the mother of a toddler faces. And then there are the nights out for drinks with other mommy girlfriends, the ones we take to get a break from our crazy toddlers and mommy duties but then end up talking about the kiddos all night anyway. The good, the bad, the ugly...the wonderful, this is what it is like to be in the Mommy Club. And as much as I hate the previous club, I had to be a member of that one to get to be a member of this one.
To those of you out there who are members of the miscarriage club but not yet members of the Mommy Club, take heart, because you too have days full of mommy adventures in your future. Don't give up. I am so thankful I kept trying and now have Riley. Many days I think about giving up on trying for another one. I think that it is definitely not the worst thing in the world to have an only child. But I know when the day comes that I see my baby, smell that sweet baby smell and marvel once again at the perfectness of God's creation I will be so thankful that I trudged my way through membership in the miscarriage club so that I could once again become a member of the mommy club. And if the measure of a mommy isn't how many children she bears, but how much love is in her heart, then perhaps I am the president of this club too.
I love you always and forever and no matter what.
I once read something written by another member of the miscarriage club. She wrote that after her miscarriage she would hear other mothers talking about all the things young, new mothers talk about....pregnancy, child birth, nursing, potty training, first words and first days of school. And she longed to be a part of that club, the Mommy Club. I think about my life since Riley was born and I am so thankful that I get to be a member of the Mommy Club, that I know what it's like to see your baby for the first time, hold her, smell her, marvel at her perfectness. That I know what it's like to be dog tired, getting up in the middle of the night 2,3,4 times in a sleep deprived haze to attend to a baby who needs you. That I know what it's like to finally go on a date with your husband again after having a baby...you take a shower, put on something other than sweats, put on make up for the first time in weeks and then just as you head out the door your little angel spits up all over you. I know what it's like to get poop on your fingers and not even be phased because it's the 10th diaper you have changed today. I know the joy of a first smile, first laugh, first step and first word. My days are filled with chasing, teaching, time outs, no-no's, kissing boo boo's and putting band-aids on imaginary ones, cleaning the same mess over and over, tickles, giggles, pretending, blowing bubbles and many days even tears over the frustrations the mother of a toddler faces. And then there are the nights out for drinks with other mommy girlfriends, the ones we take to get a break from our crazy toddlers and mommy duties but then end up talking about the kiddos all night anyway. The good, the bad, the ugly...the wonderful, this is what it is like to be in the Mommy Club. And as much as I hate the previous club, I had to be a member of that one to get to be a member of this one.
To those of you out there who are members of the miscarriage club but not yet members of the Mommy Club, take heart, because you too have days full of mommy adventures in your future. Don't give up. I am so thankful I kept trying and now have Riley. Many days I think about giving up on trying for another one. I think that it is definitely not the worst thing in the world to have an only child. But I know when the day comes that I see my baby, smell that sweet baby smell and marvel once again at the perfectness of God's creation I will be so thankful that I trudged my way through membership in the miscarriage club so that I could once again become a member of the mommy club. And if the measure of a mommy isn't how many children she bears, but how much love is in her heart, then perhaps I am the president of this club too.
I love you always and forever and no matter what.
Monday, October 15, 2012
A Day to Remember - Part Two
I lay alone in an exam room, my heart races, small tears are trying to escape through the corner of my eyes but I am fighting them with all my might. Bad memories flood my consciousness. I haven't been back here since losing my baby in December. Pregnancy Loss Remembrance Day just so happens to also be the day I scheduled my annual well woman's check up. I didn't realize that when I made the appointment over two months ago. I already wrote one post about this day, a day we remember. But nothing helps you remember like returning to the scene of the crime. Now I am going to tell you what this day was really like for me.
I sit in a waiting room amongst swollen tummies and little brand new baby cries. I over hear two expectant mothers complaining about their various pregnancy symptoms that are making them uncomfortable. I am escorted back to the exam room where a nurse, the nurse, checks my blood pressure. And I remember. I remember calling and speaking to this very nurse, telling her something was wrong and I thought my baby had died. I remember her telling me that my doctor was out of town and that she was sure everything was fine and I "just needed to relax". I told her I could not find my baby's heart beat on my rented at home fetal doppler. She knows I have miscarried before, but she refuses to allow me to come in to be seen. She tells me the office is closing early for a Christmas party that day and I will have to wait until the next day to come in and see the on call doctor who is scheduled for that Saturday. I plead with her, but she brushes me off and leaves me hanging, terrified, with no where to turn. Out of desperation I call Dr. G's office. He has already released me back to my regular obgyn but I hope he will see me and do an ultrasound. Unfortunately, he is in surgery all day. I contemplate going to the ER, but I did that one too many times with Riley and she was always fine and two weeks later I got a bill for $700. So i white knuckle my way through the day and night until I can go see a doctor.
Today I walked by the ultrasound room and couldn't help but peek in. And I remember. I remember laying in that very room eyes clenched closed while a doctor finally attended to me, searching and searching for a heart beat that was there two days ago, but now can't be found. I remember his words, "I'm sorry guys but I can't find a heart beat". I remember how quiet the office was that Saturday and how my sobs seemed to echo down the quiet halls as my husband held me. I remember looking into his red, swollen eyes and feeling so incredibly guilty for losing another one of his babies, feeling like I had let him down. I remember the plastic replicas in that room. Little plastic babies at all different gestational ages. I remember I stared for so long at the 16 week baby replica, so tiny, yet so big and perfectly formed, all the body parts there and functioning. I just stared at it.
I remember seeing my obgyn when she returned to town and discussing my options, D&E or induction of natural labor. She helped me sort through the most difficult time of my life and make the decision best for me. She came into see me today, immediately sat down and just said, "How are you and there are tissues on the wall." Many people have told me after the terrible experience with her nurse, I should find a new doctor in a new practice, but a good, thorough doctor who knows your history, knows you and gets you is hard to find. So I put up with said nurse so I can stay with the doctor who has been with me through it all, even calling me at night on her personal time to discuss this with me. She told me today my case is one of the worst she has ever seen, that she wishes there was something she could do for me but there isn't, except pray. She says she will pray for me. But I am beyond medical help.
I left the office today completely exhausted. I don't need a special day to remember. I don't need a candle to remember. I remember every day just by being awake, and even in my sleep sometimes. I slept all afternoon to escape this day, to escape remembering. But I sit here now, remembering and retelling with a candle lit beside me. My baby girl comes bursting through the door, runs up to the candle and says "I blow out candle!" I tell her at 8:00 she can. For one hour this candle will burn and when she blows it out the rest of the world will forget this day and these babies but the light that burns inside of me with love and longing for my babies will burn on forever. I remember you dear ones, each and every single one of you will never ever be forgotten by the one person who loved you more than anything while you were on this earth, your mother.
I love you always and forever and no matter what.
I sit in a waiting room amongst swollen tummies and little brand new baby cries. I over hear two expectant mothers complaining about their various pregnancy symptoms that are making them uncomfortable. I am escorted back to the exam room where a nurse, the nurse, checks my blood pressure. And I remember. I remember calling and speaking to this very nurse, telling her something was wrong and I thought my baby had died. I remember her telling me that my doctor was out of town and that she was sure everything was fine and I "just needed to relax". I told her I could not find my baby's heart beat on my rented at home fetal doppler. She knows I have miscarried before, but she refuses to allow me to come in to be seen. She tells me the office is closing early for a Christmas party that day and I will have to wait until the next day to come in and see the on call doctor who is scheduled for that Saturday. I plead with her, but she brushes me off and leaves me hanging, terrified, with no where to turn. Out of desperation I call Dr. G's office. He has already released me back to my regular obgyn but I hope he will see me and do an ultrasound. Unfortunately, he is in surgery all day. I contemplate going to the ER, but I did that one too many times with Riley and she was always fine and two weeks later I got a bill for $700. So i white knuckle my way through the day and night until I can go see a doctor.
Today I walked by the ultrasound room and couldn't help but peek in. And I remember. I remember laying in that very room eyes clenched closed while a doctor finally attended to me, searching and searching for a heart beat that was there two days ago, but now can't be found. I remember his words, "I'm sorry guys but I can't find a heart beat". I remember how quiet the office was that Saturday and how my sobs seemed to echo down the quiet halls as my husband held me. I remember looking into his red, swollen eyes and feeling so incredibly guilty for losing another one of his babies, feeling like I had let him down. I remember the plastic replicas in that room. Little plastic babies at all different gestational ages. I remember I stared for so long at the 16 week baby replica, so tiny, yet so big and perfectly formed, all the body parts there and functioning. I just stared at it.
I remember seeing my obgyn when she returned to town and discussing my options, D&E or induction of natural labor. She helped me sort through the most difficult time of my life and make the decision best for me. She came into see me today, immediately sat down and just said, "How are you and there are tissues on the wall." Many people have told me after the terrible experience with her nurse, I should find a new doctor in a new practice, but a good, thorough doctor who knows your history, knows you and gets you is hard to find. So I put up with said nurse so I can stay with the doctor who has been with me through it all, even calling me at night on her personal time to discuss this with me. She told me today my case is one of the worst she has ever seen, that she wishes there was something she could do for me but there isn't, except pray. She says she will pray for me. But I am beyond medical help.
I left the office today completely exhausted. I don't need a special day to remember. I don't need a candle to remember. I remember every day just by being awake, and even in my sleep sometimes. I slept all afternoon to escape this day, to escape remembering. But I sit here now, remembering and retelling with a candle lit beside me. My baby girl comes bursting through the door, runs up to the candle and says "I blow out candle!" I tell her at 8:00 she can. For one hour this candle will burn and when she blows it out the rest of the world will forget this day and these babies but the light that burns inside of me with love and longing for my babies will burn on forever. I remember you dear ones, each and every single one of you will never ever be forgotten by the one person who loved you more than anything while you were on this earth, your mother.
I love you always and forever and no matter what.
Sunday, October 14, 2012
A Day to Remember
Today is a day to remember. I have been aware of this day for several years now. Each year it comes it is a bittersweet day, Pregnancy Loss Remembrance Day. A day I appreciate because it recognizes my lost little ones and a day I dread because it sears into my heart the reality that I have lost so many little ones. October 15th, Pregnancy Loss Remembrance Day. At 7:00 pm in each time zone on this day baby loss families will light a candle for one hour in memory of their babies, creating a continuous wave of light.
I came across the story of a couple who had three children. They wanted another one and when the mother was pregnant with her fourth child she found out the baby girl had a life threatening condition and would not survive past birth and she may not even survive to term and in fact she did die shortly after her birth. It is an amazing and beautiful story of life, love and pain. A song was written for their little baby, "I Will Carry You". I have posted the link to the song below. If you ever wonder how I feel about losing my babies, this song says it all. It is the perfect song for me for this day. I have also posted the links to their full story. It is a bit long, about 30 minutes in three parts, but it so worth watching! This mother's words could be mine...I have thought many times that I shouldn't think about the could haves and the would haves. My babies were never going to live longer than the short moments they did. That was God's plan for them all along, His plan for me all along. And there is some measure of comfort in that. I am thankful God allowed me to carry them as long as he did. For allowing their little hearts to beat, their little arms and legs to wiggle, thankful that their days were lived out inside of me even if for just a short time. I carry them all, every day. I carry them on a chain around my neck, I carry them in a box of saved mementos from their short little lives, I carry them in the bright face and smile of my sweet Riley, I carry them in my heart...always and forever and no matter what.
"I Will Carry You"
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J2CnUtVY35o&feature=related
Part 1:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZBQYda-mkTM&feature=relmfu
Part 2:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gYzp2mu2g5c&feature=related
Part 3:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rD_HmwjPm80&feature=relmfu
I came across the story of a couple who had three children. They wanted another one and when the mother was pregnant with her fourth child she found out the baby girl had a life threatening condition and would not survive past birth and she may not even survive to term and in fact she did die shortly after her birth. It is an amazing and beautiful story of life, love and pain. A song was written for their little baby, "I Will Carry You". I have posted the link to the song below. If you ever wonder how I feel about losing my babies, this song says it all. It is the perfect song for me for this day. I have also posted the links to their full story. It is a bit long, about 30 minutes in three parts, but it so worth watching! This mother's words could be mine...I have thought many times that I shouldn't think about the could haves and the would haves. My babies were never going to live longer than the short moments they did. That was God's plan for them all along, His plan for me all along. And there is some measure of comfort in that. I am thankful God allowed me to carry them as long as he did. For allowing their little hearts to beat, their little arms and legs to wiggle, thankful that their days were lived out inside of me even if for just a short time. I carry them all, every day. I carry them on a chain around my neck, I carry them in a box of saved mementos from their short little lives, I carry them in the bright face and smile of my sweet Riley, I carry them in my heart...always and forever and no matter what.
"I Will Carry You"
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J2CnUtVY35o&feature=related
Part 1:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZBQYda-mkTM&feature=relmfu
Part 2:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gYzp2mu2g5c&feature=related
Part 3:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rD_HmwjPm80&feature=relmfu
Sunday, October 7, 2012
Faith and Doubt
If it isn't clear by now, this journey for me is extremely spiritual. I have always believed in God. My parents took us to church when we were little. My mom prayed the Lord's Prayer with me every night before bed until I could recite it back to her on my own. We prayed before dinner every night. The seed was planted long ago. I can remember being a little girl, and me being me, was deeply distressed by the Gulf War. I thought about my dad and how I was so happy he wasn't fighting far away and in danger. And I thought about all the other little girls out there whose daddies were fighting, in danger, dying. And I prayed. I don't know why I remember this but I do. I prayed all the time for those daddies and their families. And I couldn't have been more than 10 years old. So yes, I have always believed in God, in praying, in the hope that He hears us. But it wasn't until recently when I met my husband that I started attending church regularly, reading and studying the bible and developing a deeper relationship with God. And I suppose that is why I feel so incredibly let down by Him. You can't feel let down by someone you never knew. I began to know Him, to love Him, to want to live for Him...and then my world fell apart. And I am left with the pieces, struggling to hold on to a faith that was so young and vulnerable to begin with.
How do I continue to believe in God, prayer, the hope that He hears us when it seems to me that so many of my prayers go unanswered? I used to believe that Riley was an answer to prayer, but now I can't help but sometimes wonder if I just got lucky with her. I see examples all around me, three very specific ones just recently, of pregnant women who have something happen to them that could potentially have threatened the life of their babies. But every single one of them got through it fine and so did their baby...a miracle. Thank God for those miracles in their lives. But I am beginning to think miracles are for other people, not for me. I look back at my personal journal and with each new pregnancy I have expressed hope and excitement despite my past losses and each time it is proven I should not feel those things. How naive I am to think I have the luxury of feeling hope and excitement at the sight of a positive pregnancy test.
Maybe it's a bad day, maybe it is the darkness slowly creeping back in. Or maybe it is just the process of grief. The ebb and flow of grieving, dealing, trying to cope and heal. I hate doubting God. I hate questioning His infinite wisdom, His plan. But when I ask with an open heart and His answer is no time and time again, it is very hard to hang on to what I believe. But I am hanging on. As confused and upset as I am with Him right now, I can't imagine a life without Him. I can't imagine living life without the knowledge that my sins are forgiven because of Jesus. I can imagine nothing worse than to live in a world where God does not exist, where there is no redemption, where the hope of ever seeing my little babies is completely gone. So I hang on, I cling with all my might. And hope that one day He will redeem this pain and that I will find peace with a God who loves me enough to send His only son to die for me, but who is also the same God that allows me to suffer so much.
I love you always and forever and no matter what.
How do I continue to believe in God, prayer, the hope that He hears us when it seems to me that so many of my prayers go unanswered? I used to believe that Riley was an answer to prayer, but now I can't help but sometimes wonder if I just got lucky with her. I see examples all around me, three very specific ones just recently, of pregnant women who have something happen to them that could potentially have threatened the life of their babies. But every single one of them got through it fine and so did their baby...a miracle. Thank God for those miracles in their lives. But I am beginning to think miracles are for other people, not for me. I look back at my personal journal and with each new pregnancy I have expressed hope and excitement despite my past losses and each time it is proven I should not feel those things. How naive I am to think I have the luxury of feeling hope and excitement at the sight of a positive pregnancy test.
Maybe it's a bad day, maybe it is the darkness slowly creeping back in. Or maybe it is just the process of grief. The ebb and flow of grieving, dealing, trying to cope and heal. I hate doubting God. I hate questioning His infinite wisdom, His plan. But when I ask with an open heart and His answer is no time and time again, it is very hard to hang on to what I believe. But I am hanging on. As confused and upset as I am with Him right now, I can't imagine a life without Him. I can't imagine living life without the knowledge that my sins are forgiven because of Jesus. I can imagine nothing worse than to live in a world where God does not exist, where there is no redemption, where the hope of ever seeing my little babies is completely gone. So I hang on, I cling with all my might. And hope that one day He will redeem this pain and that I will find peace with a God who loves me enough to send His only son to die for me, but who is also the same God that allows me to suffer so much.
I love you always and forever and no matter what.
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
Reminders
There it hangs, oh so innocently, catching my eye and sending my heart spiraling into my stomach. As I go through Riley's closet and pack away her summer clothes, thinking vainly that I will save them for a future child, and make room for her new fall ones. There it hangs in the back of the closet. I had forgotten about it. A t-shirt that says, "I'm the big sister". The t-shirt that my sister found by accident and knew I was pregnant before I even told her. The t-shirt Riley wore under a jacket until we took the jacket off and waited for Jason's parents to notice and surprise them with our news. The t-shirt that meant we were having another baby and Riley would soon be a big sister.
These reminders are everywhere, sneaking up on me when I least expect them to. Like the bracelet that I got Riley that says "big sister", like the maternity jeans I thought I had packed away but find under a pile of clothes, like the gift still wrapped up from Christmas last year that contains new decorations for Riley's big girl room we would need to move her into to make room in the nursery for the baby. I came home from the hospital and yanked it from under the tree and threw it in a closet hoping to never see it again. But it too snuck up on me one day. Like the intersection of 143rd and Black Bob Road. I try to avoid it, but every now and then I forget and I accidentally drive by the funeral home where I sat in an office waiting for them to bring me the remains of my baby. I avoided that place like the plague until the day we received the sad news that Jason's grandma had passed away and her visitation was to be held at the same funeral home. I couldn't not be there for my husband for that. So I went. And as I stood there amongst the mourners, I was very newly pregnant. I didn't even know it yet. And it disappeared almost as quickly as it came. We were going to name that one Elinor if it had been a girl...after Grandma.
How do I live in a world full of reminders? Maybe I try to see them all as proof. Proof that little lives once existed. Proof that these babies were real and loved. The initial reaction is always the same, my heart drops and I feel sad, longing for what could have been. But then I tell myself that these reminders make them real. And then I move forward, packing away little summer clothes and little t-shirts that announce to the world a baby is on the way and I save them, along with all my hopes and dreams and prayers...just in case.
I love you always and forever and no matter what.
These reminders are everywhere, sneaking up on me when I least expect them to. Like the bracelet that I got Riley that says "big sister", like the maternity jeans I thought I had packed away but find under a pile of clothes, like the gift still wrapped up from Christmas last year that contains new decorations for Riley's big girl room we would need to move her into to make room in the nursery for the baby. I came home from the hospital and yanked it from under the tree and threw it in a closet hoping to never see it again. But it too snuck up on me one day. Like the intersection of 143rd and Black Bob Road. I try to avoid it, but every now and then I forget and I accidentally drive by the funeral home where I sat in an office waiting for them to bring me the remains of my baby. I avoided that place like the plague until the day we received the sad news that Jason's grandma had passed away and her visitation was to be held at the same funeral home. I couldn't not be there for my husband for that. So I went. And as I stood there amongst the mourners, I was very newly pregnant. I didn't even know it yet. And it disappeared almost as quickly as it came. We were going to name that one Elinor if it had been a girl...after Grandma.
How do I live in a world full of reminders? Maybe I try to see them all as proof. Proof that little lives once existed. Proof that these babies were real and loved. The initial reaction is always the same, my heart drops and I feel sad, longing for what could have been. But then I tell myself that these reminders make them real. And then I move forward, packing away little summer clothes and little t-shirts that announce to the world a baby is on the way and I save them, along with all my hopes and dreams and prayers...just in case.
I love you always and forever and no matter what.
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
Rainbows
Finally sitting down after a long day of doctors appointments, errands, laundry, cleaning, chasing, feeding, bathing a two year old and two trips back into her room to sing "tinkle tinkle star" one more time. And I have a confession to make...after my first post last week I completely panicked. Did I seriously just tell the whole world (OK, maybe just my little corner of it, but still!) about the most personal and painful thing that has ever happened to me??!! I actually regretted it for days afterwards. But so many of you sent me the kindest words of support and encouragement. To all of you who commented or sent me a message, thank you! One sweet friend even brought me Starbucks! Jason kept telling me how brave he thought it was and how he thinks this will be very healing for me. And someone else very dear to me, who suffered a miscarriage recently, told me she feels that no one really understands what she is going through, that it is awkward to talk about and that I should keep writing so people do know. And so, armed with all your supportive words and a husband and friend cheering me on, I write again.
I met with Dr. G today for my customary "I just had another miscarriage. What now?" appt. I got poked in the arm for the fourth time in one week as they monitored my hormone levels go up last week indicating I was pregnant and the pregnancy was progressing and now today to follow them back down to ensure my miscarriage is complete. Dr. G and I talked for about 30 minutes and again he told me he really has no idea why this keeps happening. It is just a mystery. He wants to take some time to review my records more closely and make sure he has not missed anything and then he said he will call me next week with his recommendation on how we should proceed. We discussed IVF and PGD and he gave me some more info on that. He then said that I have not been tested for any immune disorders, which can be a cause of recurrent miscarriage. I totally thought I had been tested for that, but apparently not. He said the research on it is not great, the testing is expensive and the treatment involves blood transfusions to suppress my immune response to the pregnancy. He said there are some risks...um yeah....we would be putting another person's blood in my body! But that is why he wants to review my history before he suggests that route. He told me he has had patients who have miscarried as much as me and they have gone on to have healthy babies. I point blank asked him if I was his wife what would he want me to do. He said, " I treat all my patients that way, and that is why I want to take some time to review your file and really make sure we haven't missed anything before we move on" and that is why I love Dr. G!
Rainbows. These beautiful multi colored creations hold a special place in my heart and here is why. I remember vividly the day I miscarried my first child. It was a Sunday, so I had to go to the ER rather than my regular obgyn (who I have sense left). I was told by the ER doc to follow up with my obgyn the next day. So that following Monday I had an appt with her where she told me in a very matter of fact tone that she had reviewed my records from the ER and she was sorry but my pregnancy was "no longer viable". Yeah, I think we figured that out when it was confirmed that our baby no longer had a beating heart. She then proceeded to perform a pelvic exam on me in which she used some rather barbaric tactics in my opinion to help my miscarriage along. I laid on the exam table, all by myself, with no pain medication, knuckles white from gripping the table, silent tears streaming down my face and my breath held in so I would not cry out. I left her office feeling completely drained, both physically and emotionally. On the drive home, there is was, a rainbow in the sky. Again, I had the feeling it was put there just for me. And I have never so clearly heard the voice of God say, "Just trust Me". And for a moment I did. And I knew it would all be OK somehow. I wish I could say that I kept that trust in Him throughout this whole ordeal and therefore the sadness wasn't so bad but grief doesn't work that way. But I did think about that rainbow a lot. And in the really dark moments I clung to His words to trust. And then August 10th came. That was the morning I woke up and took a pregnancy test and it was positive. The morning I sat in my bathroom alone and cried tears of joy, thanking God over and over for breathing life into me once again. The morning I felt both terrified and hopeful. Paralyzed by the fear of losing another one, but also with this gut feeling that it was going to work this time, that I really would be holding my baby in nine months. I crawled in bed next to my sleeping husband and whispered in his ear, "I'm pregnant". It was one of the happiest moments of my life. And later that day, driving to the hospital to see my best friend's baby who had just been born (weird huh??!!) there it was....a rainbow. I had not seen one since the awful drive home after my miscarriage. Pregnancy with Riley was nine months of anxiety, fear that I would lose her too, several panicked trips to the ER because I hadn't felt her move. And when I felt like that, I thought of the rainbow, His command to trust and it made me feel better. So that is why I love rainbows. God sent one to comfort me in my darkest hour and He sent one to celebrate with me in one of my brightest.
I have seen a few rainbows since then, most recently just a few months ago right in front of my house. Oddly that was the day I found out I didn't get pregnant from a cycle where we had tried a new drug recommended by Dr. G and were feeling pretty hopeful only to be disappointed. And it has happened on occasion that I take a pregnancy test, it is positive and I go stand outside my house looking up to the sky for one...not joking. I have actually done that. But I have never seen one again like I did that day. But like the picture above states, "When the world says give up, hope whispers try one more time". This world has given me every reason to give up, six reasons to be exact. I am probably crazy to still be trying. But that's the crazy thing about hope, about God...when everything else tells you to give up, a rainbow appears and whispers, "Trust Me. And try one more time".
Jesus looked at them and said, "With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible." - Matthew 19:26
I love you always and forever and no matter what.
Friday, September 14, 2012
Basking in the Light
I have never had the desire to be a blogger but lately I have felt the need to share. To put it all out there. For many years I have been enduring a secret trial. Some of my friends and family are aware of our struggle. But many know of it only on the surface. The deep, personal, gory details have been kept behind lock and key. But I am tired. Tired of pretending. Tired of smiling to the outside world while on the inside I am barely hanging on. We are private people, but today we are breaking the silence on an all too familiar struggle for many couples and the deep and profound pain and grief that comes with it. This is the truth. It is raw and it is honest and it is graphic. So consider yourself warned. And if talk of sex, making babies and pregnancy offends you, you may want to stop now. Here is our story.
I wouldn't call our struggle "infertility" per se. My husband and I are actually quite fertile, becoming pregnant by practically just looking at each other. Our problem is the ability to keep the pregnancy. It has been a problem that has defined our young, tender marriage. The general population has a 40% chance of getting divorced. If you suffer a miscarriage or stillbirth your chances increase to 60%. Imagine if you have several miscarriages, the strain it puts on a marriage and this started for us on our first wedding anniversary. We found out November 10th 2008 that we were expecting our first child. We were full of joy, excitement, anticipation and fear at this news. But these feelings were short lived, when exactly 12 weeks into my pregnancy I began bleeding heavily. No light spotting to gently tip me off that something might be wrong. But a sudden, harsh, heavy bleeding to terrify me and slap me in the face with the reality that I was having a miscarriage. It was January 3rd 2009. A trip to the emergency room and an ultrasound confirmed our tiny baby no longer had a heart beat. The baby measured between 8 and 9 weeks meaning my body carried the pregnancy another 3 weeks with no sign that anything had gone wrong. It was a devastating time to say the least, but my doctor assured me that miscarriages are very common and everything would be fine next time. And so in April that year, three months after my first loss, while on vacation in Hawaii, we found out I was pregnant again. But just one week later I miscarried again. I was just 5 weeks. Most doctors will wait until you have three consecutive miscarriages before doing any testing to determine a cause, but I am more proactive than that and this was far too painful for me to endure again, so I sought the help of a reproductive specialist. Dr. Dan Gehlbach, or Dr. G as he will be referred to from now on :). Dr. G ran every test imaginable on my husband and I both and we checked out completely normal. 50% of couples who experience recurrent pregnancy loss will have no identifiable reason....and therefore no real treatment. And so we tried a third time and in July 2009, our sweet miracle was conceived. 9 months later on April 7, 2010 Riley Grace was born healthy and perfect. She has been the joy of my life and the source of my hope. I thank God for her every single day.
We then had one blissful year of happiness, watching our little baby girl grow that first year was one of the happiest times of my entire life. And when she turned one we started thinking about having another baby. I saw Dr. G again and in August 2011 we found out we were expecting baby number four. Baby number four, the one that forever changed everything, the one that brought "miscarriage" to a whole new meaning. I carried that sweet one for exactly 16 weeks and on December 2, 2011 our baby died. This was unlike my previous two losses that were early enough I could miscarry naturally. For this one I was admitted to the hospital and labor was induced. But my body was as reluctant to let go of that little one as my heart was and after two full days in the hospital of induction attempts I finally had to have a surgical procedure called a D&E to remove my baby from me, the horror of which haunts me to this day. After the surgery the doctor said he felt the loss was due to a problem with my baby's umbilical cord which was twisted and kinked and "just a mess" as he put it. My obgyn assures me that cord accidents are random, one time occurrences and it is highly unlikely to happen again....we will see. After my surgery the doctor went to inform my mom and husband in the waiting room of how it went and he handed my husband a piece of paper. On the paper are our baby's foot prints, two teeny tiny perfectly formed feet with ten toes. They are the size of my fingernail.
When I was in the hospital those four days with baby number four, I was in a weird state that I cannot explain. I was fine. I scarcely cried. The nurses kept commenting on how well I was handling things and the grief counselor who came to see me every day was amazed by how well I was doing. But as they wheeled me down to the main entrance to discharge me, I waited for my husband to go get the car and come pick me up, I sat beside another new mother in a wheelchair waiting for her husband to come pick her up. Except she was holding her sweet, sleeping, healthy baby in her arms and mine were empty. And it was then that the darkness, the heaviness began to settle in upon me. I felt it come over me and intensify on the drive home. And it has been my constant companion ever since. Three more babies have joined their siblings in heaven since my little 16-weeker was lost. One at 4 weeks in March of this year, another at 4 weeks in April and as I sit writing this I am miscarrying baby number 7 at just 5 weeks. Miracle baby number 7...did you know you can get pregnant when you aren't even trying and your husband is out of town???!!! Yup, one determined little guy hung around from his goodbye send off and patiently waited several days for me to ovulate...like I said, no problems GETTING pregnant. Sweet baby number 7, thank you for making us believe that perhaps God still had a few miracles up his sleeve for us yet.
And so that brings us to today. I look at the last 9 months of my life and they have been marked by pain, grief, sleep deprivation, anxiety, racing heart beats, a messy home, a wife and mother that has been such a mess that two days ago when Jason was playing with Riley, she looked at him and said, "mommy sick. mommy cry". The darkness has been so thick that light could not permeate it, not even His light. Until Wednesday morning this week. That was the day I woke up to find I was miscarrying again. And the oddest thing happened...I felt relief. I don't know why, but I was relieved. The thing I have wanted most of all through all this is to find peace with God about it. My soul has felt so tormented and I can't understand why He keeps letting this happen. I don't know if I'm just becoming desensitized to the losses or if it's a defense mechanism or what but I just felt relieved. Glad it was over. Glad that a non viable pregnancy did not progress, allowing a baby to grow and develop, but a baby that would eventually die none the less. My babies have made it past the milestones before. They got a heart beat which is supposed to mean the chance of miscarriage is low, they got past the first trimester which is supposed to lower the risk even more. But they still die eventually. I am glad I don't have to face that again. I took Riley to the park/ lake that day and she cuddled in my arms by the water, laying her head on my chest and just cuddling with me. There was a nice breeze and the sun seemed to be shining down just for us, warming a heart and soul that has been cold for so long. She laughed and played for an hour, throwing rocks in the water. And I was overwhelmed with thankfulness for my miracle daughter, for simple things like playing, sunshine and the feeling of a little two year old snuggled against my heart, knowing that she feels safer no where else on earth but on my lap with my arms wrapped around her and my voice singing in her ear. His light finally broke through the darkness. I feel new resolve. Maybe it is naive and stupid, but I feel that one day, some way, some how we will know the blessing of another healthy baby. It may not happen this year, or even the next, but our day is coming. I hope I am not wrong, but as the sun came down on us Wednesday, I just felt so sure it will happen again one day.
Our predicament now is how to proceed. We will definitely be taking a break for a few months to recoup and heal. Like a "use-contraceptive-every-time" break! We learned our lesson with that! But after that, do we just keep trying and hope another one sticks. Or do we take the biggest gamble of our lives and pursue the only treatment plan our doctor says might help (MIGHT being the operative word) and do IVF combined with Preimplantation Genetic Diagnosis (PGD) and have our embryos tested before implantation to make sure all the chromosomes are normal, therefore reducing the risk of miscarriage? Our insurance will cover none of this and it is not cheap to say the least. I have thought this over a lot. I have prayed about it. There are pros and cons to both but I just don't know. And that is where we are at...contemplating what to do next. Maybe I will fall apart tomorrow. Maybe I will battle the heavy darkness again tomorrow, but for now I am basking in the light He shown down on me and my miracle baby this week.
That's enough for today. I promise all my posts won't be this long (OK, maybe I can't promise that but I will try really hard!). Next time I will tell you the reason behind the title of my blog, "Somewhere Over the Rainbow". Until then, welcome to our journey. You will probably find out more about Jason and I than you ever wanted to know! And to my Little Ones, I love you always and forever and no matter what.
14 Weeks with baby number 4. Tiny baby bump popping out.
Baby number 4 - 10 Weeks, my last ultrasound until the one we had to confirm there was no heart beat.
Baby's foot prints given to Jason after my surgery.
I wouldn't call our struggle "infertility" per se. My husband and I are actually quite fertile, becoming pregnant by practically just looking at each other. Our problem is the ability to keep the pregnancy. It has been a problem that has defined our young, tender marriage. The general population has a 40% chance of getting divorced. If you suffer a miscarriage or stillbirth your chances increase to 60%. Imagine if you have several miscarriages, the strain it puts on a marriage and this started for us on our first wedding anniversary. We found out November 10th 2008 that we were expecting our first child. We were full of joy, excitement, anticipation and fear at this news. But these feelings were short lived, when exactly 12 weeks into my pregnancy I began bleeding heavily. No light spotting to gently tip me off that something might be wrong. But a sudden, harsh, heavy bleeding to terrify me and slap me in the face with the reality that I was having a miscarriage. It was January 3rd 2009. A trip to the emergency room and an ultrasound confirmed our tiny baby no longer had a heart beat. The baby measured between 8 and 9 weeks meaning my body carried the pregnancy another 3 weeks with no sign that anything had gone wrong. It was a devastating time to say the least, but my doctor assured me that miscarriages are very common and everything would be fine next time. And so in April that year, three months after my first loss, while on vacation in Hawaii, we found out I was pregnant again. But just one week later I miscarried again. I was just 5 weeks. Most doctors will wait until you have three consecutive miscarriages before doing any testing to determine a cause, but I am more proactive than that and this was far too painful for me to endure again, so I sought the help of a reproductive specialist. Dr. Dan Gehlbach, or Dr. G as he will be referred to from now on :). Dr. G ran every test imaginable on my husband and I both and we checked out completely normal. 50% of couples who experience recurrent pregnancy loss will have no identifiable reason....and therefore no real treatment. And so we tried a third time and in July 2009, our sweet miracle was conceived. 9 months later on April 7, 2010 Riley Grace was born healthy and perfect. She has been the joy of my life and the source of my hope. I thank God for her every single day.
We then had one blissful year of happiness, watching our little baby girl grow that first year was one of the happiest times of my entire life. And when she turned one we started thinking about having another baby. I saw Dr. G again and in August 2011 we found out we were expecting baby number four. Baby number four, the one that forever changed everything, the one that brought "miscarriage" to a whole new meaning. I carried that sweet one for exactly 16 weeks and on December 2, 2011 our baby died. This was unlike my previous two losses that were early enough I could miscarry naturally. For this one I was admitted to the hospital and labor was induced. But my body was as reluctant to let go of that little one as my heart was and after two full days in the hospital of induction attempts I finally had to have a surgical procedure called a D&E to remove my baby from me, the horror of which haunts me to this day. After the surgery the doctor said he felt the loss was due to a problem with my baby's umbilical cord which was twisted and kinked and "just a mess" as he put it. My obgyn assures me that cord accidents are random, one time occurrences and it is highly unlikely to happen again....we will see. After my surgery the doctor went to inform my mom and husband in the waiting room of how it went and he handed my husband a piece of paper. On the paper are our baby's foot prints, two teeny tiny perfectly formed feet with ten toes. They are the size of my fingernail.
When I was in the hospital those four days with baby number four, I was in a weird state that I cannot explain. I was fine. I scarcely cried. The nurses kept commenting on how well I was handling things and the grief counselor who came to see me every day was amazed by how well I was doing. But as they wheeled me down to the main entrance to discharge me, I waited for my husband to go get the car and come pick me up, I sat beside another new mother in a wheelchair waiting for her husband to come pick her up. Except she was holding her sweet, sleeping, healthy baby in her arms and mine were empty. And it was then that the darkness, the heaviness began to settle in upon me. I felt it come over me and intensify on the drive home. And it has been my constant companion ever since. Three more babies have joined their siblings in heaven since my little 16-weeker was lost. One at 4 weeks in March of this year, another at 4 weeks in April and as I sit writing this I am miscarrying baby number 7 at just 5 weeks. Miracle baby number 7...did you know you can get pregnant when you aren't even trying and your husband is out of town???!!! Yup, one determined little guy hung around from his goodbye send off and patiently waited several days for me to ovulate...like I said, no problems GETTING pregnant. Sweet baby number 7, thank you for making us believe that perhaps God still had a few miracles up his sleeve for us yet.
And so that brings us to today. I look at the last 9 months of my life and they have been marked by pain, grief, sleep deprivation, anxiety, racing heart beats, a messy home, a wife and mother that has been such a mess that two days ago when Jason was playing with Riley, she looked at him and said, "mommy sick. mommy cry". The darkness has been so thick that light could not permeate it, not even His light. Until Wednesday morning this week. That was the day I woke up to find I was miscarrying again. And the oddest thing happened...I felt relief. I don't know why, but I was relieved. The thing I have wanted most of all through all this is to find peace with God about it. My soul has felt so tormented and I can't understand why He keeps letting this happen. I don't know if I'm just becoming desensitized to the losses or if it's a defense mechanism or what but I just felt relieved. Glad it was over. Glad that a non viable pregnancy did not progress, allowing a baby to grow and develop, but a baby that would eventually die none the less. My babies have made it past the milestones before. They got a heart beat which is supposed to mean the chance of miscarriage is low, they got past the first trimester which is supposed to lower the risk even more. But they still die eventually. I am glad I don't have to face that again. I took Riley to the park/ lake that day and she cuddled in my arms by the water, laying her head on my chest and just cuddling with me. There was a nice breeze and the sun seemed to be shining down just for us, warming a heart and soul that has been cold for so long. She laughed and played for an hour, throwing rocks in the water. And I was overwhelmed with thankfulness for my miracle daughter, for simple things like playing, sunshine and the feeling of a little two year old snuggled against my heart, knowing that she feels safer no where else on earth but on my lap with my arms wrapped around her and my voice singing in her ear. His light finally broke through the darkness. I feel new resolve. Maybe it is naive and stupid, but I feel that one day, some way, some how we will know the blessing of another healthy baby. It may not happen this year, or even the next, but our day is coming. I hope I am not wrong, but as the sun came down on us Wednesday, I just felt so sure it will happen again one day.
Our predicament now is how to proceed. We will definitely be taking a break for a few months to recoup and heal. Like a "use-contraceptive-every-time" break! We learned our lesson with that! But after that, do we just keep trying and hope another one sticks. Or do we take the biggest gamble of our lives and pursue the only treatment plan our doctor says might help (MIGHT being the operative word) and do IVF combined with Preimplantation Genetic Diagnosis (PGD) and have our embryos tested before implantation to make sure all the chromosomes are normal, therefore reducing the risk of miscarriage? Our insurance will cover none of this and it is not cheap to say the least. I have thought this over a lot. I have prayed about it. There are pros and cons to both but I just don't know. And that is where we are at...contemplating what to do next. Maybe I will fall apart tomorrow. Maybe I will battle the heavy darkness again tomorrow, but for now I am basking in the light He shown down on me and my miracle baby this week.
That's enough for today. I promise all my posts won't be this long (OK, maybe I can't promise that but I will try really hard!). Next time I will tell you the reason behind the title of my blog, "Somewhere Over the Rainbow". Until then, welcome to our journey. You will probably find out more about Jason and I than you ever wanted to know! And to my Little Ones, I love you always and forever and no matter what.
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