What Am I Now?

December 23, 2013

Darren and I went away for the weekend with some our free miles.  In the airport I spotted them instantly: boy/girl twins, 7 months old. The parents look so overwhelmed and so so  happy.  It stung.  This is my first time "out in the world" seeing twins.  There had to be at least 150 on the plane.  Guess who sat behind us?

We went to see the famous Santa on 34th Street in NYC.  Not sure the logic we put into that one, but I was in "land of the cutest kids and cutest families" line forever.  It sucked.  I should have a 3 year old by now, we've been trying since I was 27.  It cued a lot of emotions and we had to go back to the hotel for awhile.

I hate the unknown and I'm struggling so much with the shock of what was just ripped out of my heart.  I seriously am missing pieces of my heart; those babies were physically a part of me.  The closest one human being can get to another.  At the hotel, I explained to Darren that women have the curse of ALWAYS being aware and not being able to just "turn thoughts off."  I think about Jude, and Brinly, and miscarriage, and needles, and ivs, and ivf, and transfers, and success rates, and blood, and pain, and fear, and hope, and doctors, and pills, and risks, and money, and what if's, and whens, and hows, and how much and how soon, constantly.  Even when I'm happy, I'm sad because in some form, in some shape, I'm aware of the past and future pain.  That's just the start of it.  Often at night when I try to fall asleep my cruel mind replays the horrendous scenes from the hospital room: when I quit denying when I was in labor and went to the ER, the cord hanging out, the spinal shot, the epidural shot, the first loss in the bathroom, the 2nd loss knowing a live healthy child was going to be killed in the labor process, the look on the doctor's face when she removed my cerclage, the look on the doctor's face when they saw my contraction chart, the fear, the audible sobs of my Dad and Darren and my mom and Darren's mom and dad, and my sister and Darren's sister and me.  The insane amount of I-can't-breathe-cries that fell from my face and came out of my gut those days in the hospital.  Darren and my mom in the room watching helplessly as I slowly drowned. 

On the plane ride home I sat by a woman who looked about the size I would be right now.  She wouldn't stop rubbing her stomach. I tried so hard not to look-not to remember.  Why was I next to her?


Today a friend texted me about someone else that shares my struggle with becoming a mom. This threw me off guard.  I AM a mom.  According to Angela Miller, I am the "mother of all mothers" because I have to love my child in death.  I had to sign papers for the cremation.  I felt their kicks and kissed his face.  I carried my children to the halfway mark and then had to go through ALL the crap normal moms do-I labored and delivered each twin in the labor and delivery ward. 

I don't know why the need to be acknowledged as a mom is so sensitive to me?  Maybe to acknowledge Jude and Brinly were actual little people?  Maybe because I don't want to forget them?  Maybe because I want to remember that I CAN get pregnant and that my embryos CAN implant? It's such a lose-lose situation. People from the outside will most likely assume our delay to reproduction is because we are "focusing on our careers" or something like that.  If people ask "Do you have kids?" I don't want to say no.  How could I? I want to say "I lost twins at birth but we are hoping for the future; but that's heavy.  Why dump that awkwardness on people?  Maybe I haven't quite earned the "mother" title.  I mean, normal moms get to flaunt pictures of their babies.  I have to hide my pictures of Jude's face.  It's death.  It's uncomfortable. To me he is this precious beautiful face but to others? I cannot proudly show off my baby. My best friend was at my house last week and I told her I made a photo book of every picture of Jude.  She asked to see it.  I asked her like 5 times if she was "sure" and I had to do a long disclaimer "don't be scared, he is just miniature, he is small.  His face is bruised because he was breached and had to be pulled out." 

I turned to the page with his beautiful face.  I turned it around slowly.  I felt so vulnerable for some crazy reason.  I felt like I was getting naked in front of a crowd. She is the first to see his little face outside my immediate family (honestly, if roles were reversed, I would pass.  As mentioned a lot, I haven't even looked at Brinly).  She looks. She smiles. "He looks just like Darren," she says.  I feel my body relax; I smile too.  He does look just like his dad.  This is not the normal situation by flaunting pics of newborns. 

Mother's Day will come.  Where do I belong? What am I now?  I am infertile yet I'm a mother.  I'm a mother, yet I'm childless.  I'm trying to conceive.  I'm a grieving mommy.  I'm an empty armed mother.  I'm a working woman with no children.  I am the mom of Jaden and Isaac (although that seems so distant) and the mom  of Jude and Brinly (this seems so unfair). 

I feel like I have just been totally beaten up at war, I've been in a bad battle, I'm injured, but I have no proof.  No scars to show.  I look normal.  No one would ever guess I was holding my dead baby in my arms just a month ago.  No one outside would ever know that I should be 27 weeks pregnant.   I carried and delivered 2 babies in a hospital room.  My stomach is full of loose skin.  My milk came in full force.  Yet I sit her typing in a very clean house.  No little fingerprints on the furniture.  No screaming sounds coming from the backroom. 


I joined a couple of online support groups and someone posted this video.  I felt like I could have written 99% of the content-the shock, the disappoint, the pain that comes with stillborns; simply posting it for awareness and a taste of what this sad event does to a woman.

I don't want this to be a dark and sad post.  I'm truly going to come out of this some day.  We are working it through.  One day at a time.  I believe it will always hurt but I also believe brighter days are ahead.  I don't know why God does what He does but I know He isn't done. 

She Smiles Yet Her Heart Throbs

December 6, 2013

It's been awhile so I thought I would give an update.  This post will most likely be random as my emotions are obviously a big huge twisted random piece.

I'll start off with the "tougher" stuff.

1.  intrauterine fetal demise, the subject line from my OB's office.  I had to email my doctor to send a note to HR verifying I had a stillbirth for my bereavement days.  They sent me a copy and Jude's death was listed as this.  I googled it and it said "a pregnancy that died in the womb."  This caused a HUGE wave of "NO HE DIDN't"  one of the hardest things I've been dealing with is the fact that I had to hear Jude's strong heartbeat daily and I felt him moving around as they gave me the epidural.  He was killed because I was forced to deliver-he died as he came out because he was too young.  He didn't just randomly "die in my womb."  One of the hardest pills for me to swallow with this is that he was so perfect and so ALIVE.

2.  the phrase "I couldn't have handled that."   When people ask to hear what happened, I tell

them.  It's therapeutic.  I don't want to act like nothing happened.  Yesterday a mom of twins was talking to me and said the phrase with a shutter.  I looked at her and said "neither could I." If you would have told me at my gender reveal party that I was going to vaginally deliver my babies, at 2 different times, and go through all the contractions/pain all to have them die, I would have said "never in a million years could I do it."  And guess what? Life had other plans and when it's in your face, you have to.  I loved this idea-losing a child is something you can never imagine before or AFTER it happens.  It's so true. I have now done it twice yet I cannot imagine it. 

3.  Pregnancy.  The last 2.5 weeks have been 2 steps forward, one step back.  However, as a ttc blog, I follow tons of people trying to get pregnant and it happens; I'm also 30.  I'm right in that zone of people that are starting their families.    I have been so drowned in sorrow over the loss of my sweet and so-longed-for babies that I simply forgot that people around me are totally going to get pregnant all the time.  Where weeks ago, since I thought I was in the "safe zone" it was so easy to "root" for people since I FINALLY was in that zone, but now I am so angry at pregnancy.  Realizing that this could have been my only one, I embraced it.  I LOVED being pregnant.  I loved my stomach growing.  The kicks were out of this world.  The celebrating and anticipating.  And the BAM pregnancy played a cruel trick on me and robbed me of my dreams.

I hate it now.  I hate it because I still want it because I want children but it scares me.  I hate it for scaring me-if I ever manage to do it again I will be horrified month after month.  I hate it because i don't trust it.  Most of all I hate it because most women have the luxury of getting a positive pregnancy test and then believing it.  They become so excited and they go on to have a normal pregnancy.  I envy that un-jaded joy that new-moms get.  I will never ever have that.  Pregnancy really really let me down.  With 3 years of infertility I mastered the skill of "happy for them, sad for me."  Obviously right now I'm not "happy for them" because it just causes all of these flashbacks of things going wrong.  I know I will get to that place again, but I am so scared for the future "surprise" announcements from friends and family-I also accept that I am dead center in the zone of people who are getting pregnant and I know with time, I will again learn to cope-I'm mad at pregnancy because of the sadness it causes me when other people are expecting and I feel so guilty.

*Side note for people who get pregnant normally-more than likely you know someone infertile struggling/fighting to get pregnant.  The best thing you can do for her is to tell her when you get pregnant in an email or text.  It is the most sensitive and sweetest thing you can do as a friend-allow her to process it how she needs to.  It stings very bad initially and we do not want to cry in front of you (or worse in public when you do a surprise announcement) or have to respond instantly.  We eventually decided to be truly happy for women who achieve this and who don't have to struggle-we just have been so hurt.  I promise you don't have to tip toe or "hide" it from us.  Both my sister and sister in law did this for me in a gentle/distant way and it was so kind. 

4.  Why?  They have done several tests and so far haven't found where the infection was.  I hate that.


In other news:

1.  Grieving.  How do you grieve?  I have never in my life been faced with such sorrow.  Oddly, one of the greatest comforts has come from other moms who have lost multiples.  I have really struggled with the fact that I had to deal with stillborns TWICE.  To do it, and then have to do it all again has been overwhelmingly painful.  Another mom of lost triplets contacted me and she had to do it all too, but three times.  Two out of 3 of her babies lived for awhile.  She had it worse.  Other moms have lost twins at 30 weeks.  They have it worse.  We know someone who lost their live baby to SIDS.  If I constantly remind myself that it could have been worse, that bad things happen and life truly is "unfair" I can breathe.  Although I hate with my entire being what happened, I also "accept" that life has no promises and that just because I'm a Christian doesn't guarantee a pain free life.  I read a quote I LOVED:

 I can function.  I started back to work just 2 weeks after I kissed Jude's forehead goodbye.  I can smile.  I can laugh.  The students have no idea the level of pain I'm dealing with.  But then one thing happens and I can go into sobs.  I saw a picture of Brinly's hands for the first time.  I saw a woman with a huge stomach unexpectantly at the store.  I see the blanket I held Jude in, his one earthy possession.  I realize I just went through a crazy blender and have been shoot out asked to wonder what just happened? Yes, I can function.  But as mentioned "she smiles but her heart throbs." I feel like a heavy wet blanket of deep deep sadness is on me all the time.  I know it will get better with time but what a non-fun thing to carry.

2.  Next Steps:  As mentioned, despite the living hell we just experienced, we are not done in this fight.  We were too close to quit.  I want to cross that finish line.  I get to meet with our specialist at the end of the month and we will go from there.  What are the odds of this happening to me again (pPROM)?  If it's higher than 10% I'm almost 100% we will continue to knock on the door of surrogacy.  If it's lower, I'm still scared.  They suggest I get a cerclage no matter how many embryos implant since I had one before BUT when you sign the cerclage consent form it says there is a chance of water breaking, pre-term labor, and infection (all words that cause massive anxiety because those are all the reasons why Brinly and Jude and NOT in my stomach as I type).  I'm not sure if I can mentally handle another pregnancy and if there is risk, I don't want to send another baby to heaven if my body continues to be a "war zone." 

3. The human spirit:  It is amazing how kind "mankind" can be.  Someone anonymously sent us $100 and said it was on their hearts-Thank you to that person.  Just today on my doorstep was a little pink box. It didn't say who it was from but there were 4 charms with the letters "J, B, I, J"  I instantly knew it was for Jude and Brinly but I had to stare at the I and J again.  Then it hit me "Isaac" and "Jayden" our earlier miscarriages. How incredibly and overwhelmingly kind-I cried and cried holding it in my hands looking down and missing my 4 could-have-been and should-have-been babies and I cried because someone is so intertwined with our loss.  Those 4 letters on that necklace are more than any 4000 words of comfort. Thank you to you too.

In Loving Memory Of Brinly and Jude

November 23, 2013

Quick update: miraculously my stomach has almost returned to normal (I can wear normal clothes and no one would dare ask, and I'm only 5 pounds over my pre-pregnancy weight) but my milk is still down pouring.  My poor chest is in the cycle of being bound, double sports bra, ice packs, cabbage leafs, and nipple pads.  Yesterday it leaked all over my clothes.  It will be nice when that dries up, but many women have warned me that a new wave of sadness may come with that too.

During this pregnancy, Darren and I documented SO MANY joyful occasions in hopes of making a video for Jude and Brinly to show them someday.  We have video footage of me with the positive pregnancy test, telling Darren's grandma we were having triplets, a hidden camera of my parents reactions when we got to make our so-longed-for announcement, ultrasounds, and our gender reveal party.  Because of the fear I will NEVER document a future pregnancy at this level (or at least till I'm 24 weeks) but we didn't want to just delete all those happy moments we were allowed to experience. 

This little video shows all those moments, and then has pictures of us with Jude at the hospital.  I made it for myself and Darren and family and friends, but wanted to share clips of this journey with followers that have been praying for us too. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yCBlOAPzckI

Goodnight My Angel

November  17, 2013

I had so many dreams in regard to being a mom and being pregnant.  One thing I couldn't wait for was feeling those "flutters."  Jude had been kicking up a storm.

Oddly enough, I have daydreamed often about being in the delivery room, Darren by my side coaching me, and pushing out our future.  Honestly movies, tv shows, and facebook pictures of pregnant women in the hospital room create a wave of anxiety for me because I automatically think "what if that will never be me."

Last night that was me, but it was all wrong.  Yes, I was getting strong regular contractions.  Yes, Darren was by my bed, in the delivery room holding my hand and coaching me through deep breaths.  But it was wrong.  Not supposed to be here.  We have been ttc for over 1200 days. We needed 21 more days for Jude to have  39% chance.  21 cursed days.  My body had other plans.

The other bitterend was the kicks that I had grown to love, over the last 2 days have brought me deep grief.  I detested Jude's so-longed-for kicks because they would remind me his is alive! He is healthy!  He is perfectly perfect playing in his sack having no clue that his heartbeat was about to stop.  It made me sick to stomach.

Although they couldn't pin point the infection yet, my body wanted something out.  After trying to stop the contractions with pain meds, at 11:00 I couldn't take it.  They gave me an epidural.  With one look at the cerclage the doctor pulled it out and felt inside. 

Our saving grace would be that Brinly's placenta was the infection and that my body would just pass that.  But with a click glance in the doctor looked at me and said "all I can feel is his bag of water, this has to come out first."  Silence fills the room.  She then says "do I have permission to break his water."  Images of Jude stretching so happily in the fluid my body rush through my brain.  That lack of water that killed Brinly and that I so wished I could provide.  His perfect water sack. "Is there any other way, can the placenta shift and deliver first?" I ask.  She sadly shakes her head.  And tells me she is sure I have an infection and doesn't want me more at risk "Just do it then I guess."  Before I know it I hear the sound of a gush and feel warm water on my legs.  My sweet baby Jude. "Oh God" I whisper in a half prayer, half question as to if He is still near?

The epidural kept the pain away and when it came time to deliver, the dr. had agreed to allow me to go to the OR and get sedated followed by a d &C to make sure everything is cleaned out.

They rolled me back and I touched my stomach one last time "see you on the other side" I whisper to my angel.  When I woke up, it was over but as they were wheeling me back to the room, Darren told me that he had held Jude.  I was so anti-seeing Brinly because I knew she wouldn't look like a baby at 18 weeks.  He looked normal Darren said.  Suddenly my fear left and the mom that I am (although the world will never know it) wanted to hold him.  And I did.  He was perfect as ever.  He was beautiful.  Everything formed, gorgeous face with a nose that looks like mine.  I held his hand.  I kissed his head.  I whispered "I love you." This just isn't fair.

I am very afraid of the grief and sorrow to follow.  I'm afraid that I will burn with memories when I see a pregnant mom.  I'm afraid the wrong turn down a Target aisle can lead me to unconsable tears.  I'm scared of how long this will hurt and the days and the months to follow.  What if I change?  What if I'm harder?  My daughter died just 3 weeks ago and my son?  This morning.

A few people have asked again"how are you doing?" and I almost snicker.  The typical American answer is  "ok" "alright" "hanging in there" "surviving"

You want to know how we are really doing?

Imagine the strongest physical pain you have experienced, mix it up with what you dread the most coming true, then throw in a death, and then another death, and then throw in the sound of your family weeping, and a young mom who just had 2 hearts ripped out of her as she literally holds her dream in arms that is truly beautiful yet hopelessly dead,  mix in seeing your strong father sob and your confident husband stare at you with eyes like you've never seen before-eyes of pain as you yourself cry out "I cant take this any longer" and all he can do is helplessly watch her suffer as she loses his baby and then add the taste of bitterness and antibiotics lingering in your mouth with doctors poking and proding and breaking water=that is how I am.