Sunday, October 17, 2010

Losses.

This week I've been doing some remembering. October 15 is Pregnancy Loss and Rememberance Day, which means, I spent a good part of Friday remembering. And remembering. And remembering. And remembering. And as I sit here in the wee hours of yet another no-sleep night watching my one very healthy son sleep, still remembering. Especially since a friend of mine has been asking for advice on how to help her friend and neighbor cope with her impending loss. I'm glad to be able to offer advice, though I wish I had no experience in that realm.

I have had several losses. Early in my adulthood I was thankful when it happened, felt it was God's way of looking out for me in my college years. Then I felt it was God's mercy in my first (and unhealthy) marriage. Then after that marriage ended and I found myself with my current husband, and things just seemed right. In 2006, I was doing triple-duty: working the bank, the store, and pursuing my MBA. I was forty pounds lighter than I am now, stressed, not healthy at all... then I came up late. Figured I was just too stressed, and good ol' mother nature would make her appearance soon enough.

About this time it seemed like everyone in my world was turning up pregnant. Three women at the store, several people at the bank, classmates, friends elsewhere in the world. Then I was. Then I was terrified- how on earth was a temp/part-time employee of two companies and the sole breadwinner of the household with no health insurance going to be pregnant? I was further stressed out, but couldn't talk with my husband (then fiance') about it because he had his own issues to work through. He had recently become unemployed (a condition that continues still today) due to his disabilities and was only receiving $250/month from the VA for said disability (that's improved a bit). He was also getting to know the VA medical system on an intimate level. Very bad timing indeed.

Then one morning, I was queasy and crampy, and suddenly not as worried as I had been. I was only a month and a half late. I was wracked with lower back cramps and passing clots the size of quarters. Three days I didn't go to work. I couldn't face the gathering horde of women who I simultaneously loved and hated as their bellies grew. As thankful as I was that it wasn't happening for me because of my circumstances, I was somewhat bitter that it wasn't happening for me, because I've always wanted kids. I left my first husband because he asked me to 'get fixed' (among many other things which may end up in another post). I kept quiet because I didn't need to scare the pregnant women and didn't need pity or advice. I felt alone.

Fast forward to 2008, when we bought our house. The first thing I said the night we put in our offer is that this house would be where my babies would be born. By this time, my husband and I had known each other three years, been married for a year and some change, and things were stable. We decided that winter after we moved in that 2009 would be the year of the Parent for us. So, we made plans, and started charting. February 28, 2009 we saw those magical crosshairs on a test and told the world on March 4. We made an appointment with our midwife. We had waited for so long and were ecstatic. We even started calling our little embryo 'Peanut'. Then, about a week and a half into this magical adventure, my body did what it always seemed to do. I woke up to spotting and cramping Saturday, March 8, 2009. I tried at first to not get worried since my husband had the car torn apart in the garage that day and had enough to deal with... disassembling and reassembling a Volkswagen Cabrio is not an easy task. Being an emotional wreck would not help either of our causes, but as the day wore on and the spotting grew heavier and redder, I finally involved my husband (after the car was reassembled) and we ventured to the local emergency room.

We endured 45 minutes in the waiting room at the hospital where a young mother was ignoring her two toddlers as they ran amok. We endured nine hours in the actual room. I had blood drawn. I had a pelvic exam. I had a violent intravaginal ultrasound with bladder catheter. I probably cried a liter of tears and my nose was fully raw from tissues. I had a misogynist OB/GYN who came down to say 'oh, another one? What is this? Some sort of epidemic?' and 'well, it's probably not a miscarriage, but it could be. Don't get too attached anyway- pregnancies really aren't a sure thing until 20 weeks anyway.' They ruled out ectopic (though looking back, I think it's possible that's what it was by the symptoms...) through the ultrasound. They saw nothing. By this point there should have at least been a little sac, but no. The lights were on and no one was home. But they gave me a tiny glimmer of hope that maybe my dates were off. Maybe I really didn't know by my charts what day I conceived. Maybe in a few weeks there'll be something, so maybe we should just check in with an OB in a few days for a follow-up.

I accepted that nothing was going to change the facts, it was what it was. It didn't make me feel any better about the situation. The worst was yet to come. Arriving home after the hospital, I wrote about it, then went to bed. I missed church. I woke that afternoon to more cramping, heavier bleeding. Clots. I broke down. I called my friend. I consulted with my due date group and my TTC groups online. I called off work. I wrote this:
"I don't know how to make sense of this situation. I'm not sure I even have the words to do more than awkwardly convey what the emotional rollercoaster has been the last three days. There probably aren't words even made in this language beyond screaming, shouting, tears, and an overwhelming sense of helplessness and rage against whatever defect I possess that would make this happen again. I dread going back to the bathroom because I don't want to see it happening.

Last week was awesome. No doubt about it, it was awesome and so packed with joy. I was facing motherhood and things were going well. I felt okay, I was gaining weight appropriately, and every home test I took (every couple of days) was darker than the last. We even had a nickname for the little embryo and had picked out names for the big day in November.

We knew this was a possibility from the beginning though. Maybe I should have been more pessimistic than optimistic. How could I not feel some surge of optimism though?

My dad wrote me last week and warned me that if it happens, it's not the end of the world... but now that it is happening, I have a hard time believing that. There's a grave injustice in this world when crack whores, high school and middle school students, and people who in general just don't want a child can carry one to term with no complications. I quit drinking three years ago to prepare for this. I changed my lifestyle completely. I prayed so hard for that moment to come when the test went positive... and it did... then this happened. How is it that I can do so much for this very wanted child, and not be able to keep it?

I'm not fishing for sympathy. I just feel hollow and so very alone right now. It's a different kind of alone to go from two people in a body to just one. Why can't this just happen to the people who don't want kids? I don't want their kids either. I want my own. I'm selfish like that. I want to give birth to my own healthy, whole, and pink little infant. Maybe it's in the cards for the future. I'm trying to find that bright spot. Right now, however, it's very, very, very hard. "

I didn't have answers. I didn't know where to go with it. I felt as though the God who was so generously looking out for me in the beginning was now just a big meanie in the sky who was out to get me, and after three days away from work I had to go back. I didn't get bereavement time for it, it was considered a sickness, not a true loss of a child... and my co-workers had all chipped in for a dozen white roses which were sitting on my desk on my first day back.

For anyone who knows much of anything about me, I'd rather have seeds and live plants any day of the week. It's part of my love of gardening. In this situation especially... seeing twelve cut flowers sitting in a pretty glass vase, I was seeing twelve empty uteruses. Twelve lives cut short before their time. Premature ends. It made my soul break. Not my heart, my soul.

I was angry, bitter, and confused. I felt alone, damaged, broken. I was almost certain I would never, ever be the parent I had dreamed of being. I was a porcupine in human form.
I fought with my mother about how I needed to be medicated in the couple weeks after the event, or needed to go see 'a real doctor' for any future pregnancies. I alienated my husband who was allowed to stay home through the duration of his grief while I had to return to work and put on a brave face. I was so wrapped up in my grief I felt I would never heal.

The sun kept coming up. The moon kept coming up. My broken body kept going through its routines. Two weeks later, a true miracle... I conceived again. I grew a tenacious little boy this time, one who made it through to a wonderful homebirth. I cautiously embraced my pregnancy, wanting to revel in every sensation, enjoying even the nausea because it was proof of life. So thankful for every day we were pregnant, but every day we were pregnant was colored by prior experiences that I feel almost as though we were robbed because every cramp and spot brought back my fears.

If you're suffering through a loss, I offer my wholehearted prayers for your heart and soul to mend. It's tough. There will be people who completely downgrade your grief, though your grief is valid whether you've been pregnant a day or a whole 40+ weeks. You need to make a space for yourself to heal, even if it means stepping away from the outside world for a bit. Surround yourself with loving people, supportive people. Ask for help from your partner, family, friends. Be kind to yourself. Rest. Pray if you're a pray-er. Talk if you're a talker. Write if you're a writer. Paint if you're a painter. Let it out. Do not hide your grief to make others feel better. This is a powerful experience you're having. It's a hard concept for others to deal with unless they, too, have felt loss on your level.

If you have a friend suffering a loss, one of the best things you can do is just BE THERE. Be the shoulder, be the ear, be the extra pair of hands around the house, be the extra set of legs for errands. Consider also this link: http://www.diaperswappers.com/forum/showthread.php?t=832479.



-L.