Right where I am 2013: three years, three months, eight days

Just like the past two years, Angie at Still Life with Circles, has encouraged us all to share right where we are at this moment in our grief.  My post from last year can be found here.

So, where do I stand in this up and down journey on this rugged terrain of grief? My grief has changed shape and size in the past three years, as life takes me down more paths that intertwine with this same road that I've trudged along. Right now, I am stuck. That's the only way I know how to describe it. Losing my daughter, Avery, three years ago at 25 weeks caused a ripple affect that has not seemed to cease. It's brought about so many other circumstances that I was never prepared to face, and now, I still face them everyday.

My son, my Rainbow Baby, will be two years old next month. As he gets older, my insatiable desire for more children gets stronger. Because of the unpredictable nature of my high risk pregnancies, I have been strongly advised to never attempt another pregnancy again. This has been a struggle that I still have never been able to accept. Right now, I am watching everyone who was pregnant with their Rainbows along with me become pregnant once again. Their bodies no longer fail them. They've seemed to be able to remedy what caused them to have their losses. But not me. Even those who have the exact blood clotting disorders I do have gone on to have healthy, full term pregnancies, and are having third babies now as well. My premature Rainbow was nearly lost as well, my body barely responding to what was supposed to fix it. All of this leaves me with so much anger. I don't understand why my body was not made for the one thing my heart has always longed for. I am grateful for my precious Jude, but I never wanted him to be alone.

When I had Jude by emergency c-section while on blood thinners, it caused me to develop blood clots in my lungs. I was hospitalized for his last week in the NICU, and it was one of the most traumatic experiences I've ever endured. I thought I would be over it by now, but it still haunts me. I have been left with a ridiculous struggle with anxiety. Because of the clots nearly two years ago, I am on coumadin and have to get my blood checked once a month (PT/INR). My anxiety has turned these routine finger pricks into horrifying moments to dread all month long. As they get closer, I am filled with fear. I know there is nothing to really worry about, but I cannot shake the feeling of dread over it. Things that never would have bothered me before have my stomach in knots now. I worry that I could lose my husband. I worry that my son could get cancer (ever since his febrile seizure seven months ago). I think about things no one should dwell on. I rob my life of the joy I should have by marring it with the fear of what isn't. I truly cannot control this and sometimes it consumes me.

Right now, I long for another daughter. I so badly want to be able to raise a little girl. I eat my heart out at the store, glancing over the sweet pinks and frilliness of the baby girls' section, knowing that the only baby girl clothes I'll ever buy are in a box in the top of my closet, purchased for a sweet girl that never made it home. I long for the little sandals and the dresses. The dolls and the bows. I love having a son, but I want a daughter again too. I was supposed to have that. I feel like there will forever be a gaping hole in my heart without a daughter to watch grow up. I'll never see my little girl as a bride. Never share girly heart to hearts or give mother-daughter advice. There's so much I can't have and I am dreadfully aware of that. I wish I didn't want it so badly, but I do.

I have a hard time with people who question my situation, just shrugging it off like I could just go to a specialist if I want another baby. They don't understand how serious it is. I almost died twice having my son. He almost died. My daughter did die. Since there are no guarantees at all when it comes to pregnancy for me, how could anyone think I should try going against the advice of more than one doctor? Then people nonchalantly suggest adoption, as if I've never heard of it before. That is not something that we can afford. And my heart aches for my child, so adoption does not heal what is broken. My dream is surrogacy, if that is even possible one day. If someone is truly selfless enough to give us the greatest gift imaginable. It's a huge deal. And very unlikely, but even so, I still keep a mental log of my favorite names... just in case.

I am convinced that if what happened to Avery was the end of our losses, that I would be a much better version of myself now. I grasp onto my loss more tightly than I would if we hadn't lost our future children as well. When I was pregnant with Jude, and everything was going perfectly, I felt at peace. I thought of her lovingly, without so much pain attached to her memory. I felt like I could survive and move past it, always carrying her close but never letting her death define me. But as soon as things went badly with Jude, and I lost all of his future siblings, a dark cloud moved in and it's hovered over me ever since. I'm stuck in the mud. I'm standing still while everyone moves on... But at least I'm standing.

The Inevitable

I've been a part of this awful wonderful community of women since I started my blog in June of 2010. The community of baby loss moms. Before I started my blog, I was alone. I was the freak of nature whose baby died inside her. I knew no one like me. The only outlet I had was, sadly, Facebook... the vast sea of normal people with constant pregnancy announcements and photos of living chubby pink babies. I felt so alienated. So isolated. I didn't start getting better and healing until I started finding mothers like me.

I had so much anger, so much pain, so much grief... I didn't know what to do with it. How to express it and how to just release all of the pent up emotions that were plaguing me. Finally, when another baby loss mom's blog inspired me to start mine, it was the best thing that could have happened. I was able to get all of those tormenting thoughts out but I also found so many other women out there who had been thrown into this journey around the same time I had.

We'd all lost our firstborn babies within months of each other. We were all in the very early raw stages of our grief, some of us still trying to process our losses, some of us still waiting for the results to tell us what had happened to our babies. We went through so much together, pouring out tortured posts and leaving each other encouraging and loving comments. We started adding each other on Facebook and being a part of each other's lives. I didn't feel so alone anymore. It made such a difference to have people that understood this. It was vital in trying to heal.

The next step we all worked toward was being ready for our Rainbow Babies (a baby born after a loss... the rainbow after the storm). It seemed we all started getting pregnant around the same time, one after another, until we were all pregnant again together. It was very exciting and hopeful, sharing these sacred pregnancies together, sharing our fears and understanding each other's worries. And of course our babies are all pretty close in age (though Jude came a bit earlier than he was supposed to). One by one, we had our precious Rainbow Babies. Each miracle entered the world, healthy and perfect. It was glorious.

But then things changed... It was me who quickly found out that Jude would be my last. It was me who was told not to have any more children. Even though I have come to know a few other women who have the same exact blood clotting mutations I have, I was the only one who didn't have a successful Rainbow pregnancy with the same corrective medical regimen. The other women carried to term. None formed blood clots. None had their future children taken away from them. It was just me. My body still failed to sustain my unborn child. My emergency c-section almost killed me... twice. I was the only one with complications. What is wrong with me? Why can't I just be like them?

Even though all of these new realities came to be, I was, for the most part, still the same as these mothers. We were torn between happiness and sadness. Thrilled to finally hold our living, breathing children like we'd always dreamed. But we were sad because it reminded us all over again what we'd lost with our first babies. We were all experiencing what we'd bawled our eyes out for through dozens of agonizing, sleepless nights. It was glorious. And we all shared it together. First smiles. First visits to the cemetery to meet big sister/brother. We all understood each other. I felt like I belonged so well, though I knew one day, it would change again...

And that time has come. I knew it would. I was fully aware it would happen. I don't think I expected it to start happening so soon, but it has. My baby loss friends are slowly getting pregnant again. I'm surprised by how much it bothers me. I am, without a doubt, happy for them all. I would never want any of them to be in the same boat as me. I wouldn't want them to never have more babies. I know I would if I could! I would never want any of them to think they have attributed to my struggles. Trust me, the struggles were already here! I have no bitterness or ill will toward them. Am I jealous? Sure. My feelings all stem from how I feel about myself... how I feel about the cards I have been dealt... the horribly unfortunate flawed nature of my body and its inability to do the one thing I desire more than anything. The sadness I feel is not geared toward these lovely mothers. It is not their fault. They're just doing what they have every right to do... what I wish I could do. And I feel sorry for myself. I'm slowly becoming different again. But I'm so glad they're not like me.

I feel stuck in my grief. I like I can't move on like I would be able to if I could continue having more children. I feel like I grasp onto Avery tighter than I would if I could have another daughter. Not that she could or would be replaced. But that ache in my heart to raise a daughter could possibly be quenched. I wouldn't know what it would be like to raise Avery and watch her grow up, but I could experience a daughter and all the girly sweet things I would have experienced with Avery. Now, none of that is possible and I am left with dreaming of what could have/should have been. I can't fully move on because I am still being injured by all of this. What took Avery nearly took Jude and it's taken away all of the babies I thought I would have... All the babies I wanted so badly and still do. I will never feel life fluttering away inside me ever again. I will never bring another life into this world. I will never caress another newborn cheek in the middle of the night. I'll never cradle another tiny body close to my chest. I still can't get over that. I can't get past it. It's all I've ever wanted. I'd do anything to change this.

I get so angry when I think about all of this. About this life I have been given. This life sentence of losing so much of what I wanted for my life. I planned it all out since I was a kid. But I'll tell ya... This body of mine has really screwed up so much of my life. I've always hated my body, but never more than I do now. There's this sense of betrayal. A sense of failure... That because of my body, I cannot do what a woman is made to do. That a life was lost because of my body and another was severely compromised because of it as well. It really takes a toll on how I feel about myself. I know it's not my fault. But my body, inside and out, has always been what's wrong with my life. I always feel like I'm trapped inside this disgusting shell. I wish I could just break out of it and be normal. Be happy.

I wish we could start talking about another baby and decide when we're ready to start trying again. I wish we could make another pregnancy announcement and tell the world with excitement that Jude is going to be a big brother. I wish we could reuse all the precious clothes we loved on Jude. I wish Jude wouldn't grow up alone. I wish he could know what it's like to share life with a brother or sister who would always be a friend. I wish I could watch my belly slowly get bigger, counting the weeks with joy. I wish I could feel the kicks and the rolls once again. I wish I could feel the excitement of the ultrasounds and the thrill of the gender reveal. Keeping the list of names. Journaling every little tidbit. Dreaming of who it is dancing beneath my heart. I miss it. I miss all of it. I hate how much I want it. I swear I was given the wrong fate. Why has God allowed me to grow up with this insatiable desire if He knew I'd be denied it? I just don't understand.

Flashback : 1.21.11

Today, two years ago (two years already?!), we found out I was pregnant with Jude. I remember it so well, still. Such an amazing and unbelievable day.

It was so difficult, trying again for another baby, when we were supposed to be raising our little girl but weren't. The fear mixed with the excitement mixed with the frustration. Not only was I trying for something I was supposed to already have, it was taking longer than it should. For couple who struggle with infertility, I know nine cycles is a dream. But for me, who is supposedly "normal" is that department, it was just another nagging thing. I can't imagine being one of those women who get pregnant on the first try... or even on accident. I can't fathom how that's possible.

So today, two years ago, as soon as I got up that morning, I dragged Daniel into our bathroom and took a test. I wanted to just put myself out of my misery and see that we failed yet another month. I thought it would be easier for the test to tell me than to wait for my body to. We stood there for just seconds, it seemed, as the little hourglass displayed on the digital screen. Suddenly, there was just one beautiful and alarming, glorious and terrifying word: Pregnant. I couldn't believe it. I let out a joyful shriek and threw my arms around Daniel. It was the beginning of a lovely and scary journey that would end in both victory and defeat.

Pregnancy after loss is such a rollercoaster of emotions. In one moment, you can feel both excited and scared. Both confidence and doom. The bliss is gone, but there's still so much joy in carrying life again, in the same exact spot where there was so much loss. I remember I used to think about how strange it was to have Jude dancing around where Avery died. That his heart beat exactly where hers stopped. He is the only person to be in the very place where she lived, and the very place she passed away.

Her death saved his life... Her death is the reason he is even here, just as he is. I never would have gotten pregnant two Januaries ago if Avery had lived. She'd only be 2 1/2 right now if she'd made it to her due date, so I doubt we'd even have another baby by now. Even when we would give Avery a sibling, in this alternate universe where she never died, it wouldn't be the Jude we know now. He would be a completely different person. It's crazy to think of that. I'd never change Jude, but I wish Avery was here.

I'm so grateful how everything turned out with my second pregnancy, despite the new horrors that came with it. Standing in my bathroom with that positive test in my hand, I was not promised that our second baby would make it here alive. There was so much left to uncertainty. So much fear and worry. So much hope and joy. I've never prayed more in my life than I did when I was pregnant with Jude. Most days, I begged God for his life. I thank God He brought Jude here safely, even if it was too early and not the experience I dreamed of. I'm so glad this day in our history is still a happy day, the day we found out our boy was coming.

"Mighty glad you stayed..."

Halfway there

I hit the big 20 week mark yesterday. I think that's pretty monumental. Halfway to my little boy. I cannot wait until he's here safely and I can snuggle him. Thank God time is going faster than I expected. I can't believe I'm 20 weeks already. It dragged for some reason with Avery. With Jude, it seems to be flying and I am grateful for that. 40 weeks is a long time to worry and to wait for something I once lost before. I cherish feeling him inside of me, but if the time til he's here goes quickly, I'm fine with that.

I had another perinatologist appointment on Friday, May 13th. My blood pressure is still perfect and according to their scale, I've gained 4 pounds since my last OB appointment. We'll see what their scale says when I go for my appointment on Thursday. Of course, I got to have another ultrasound. It was the longest one I've ever had. The tech measured everything. Even pieces of his skull. I watched intently to see what gestational age everything measured. I was thrilled to see that everything measured either exact or bigger than he was (19 weeks and 5 days). Part of his leg measured 21 weeks! I think that's what the tech at the 3D place measured, and that's why she said he was a week ahead. She was basing it only on one part of his body. But that's okay. Overall, with all of Jude's measurements, he measures two days ahead. To me, that is good. Anything ahead makes me happy. Like I've said, Avery was always behind.

Jude is sucking on his hand in this beautiful profile shot.

I love his little face already.

The bottom of his sweet foot.

Jude's nice long leg. :)

His arm, with his precious little fingers to the left.

I loved watching the tech fill in the blanks on her screen with words like 'normal' as she made the report on Jude. She zoomed in on his precious little heart, measuring the parts as it beat away. I could never hear his heartbeat enough. It is so sacred to me.

I love that as I'm typing this, Jude is kicking and dancing away. I can feel him so much now. Everyday, several times a day. It was not this way with Avery. Even at 25 weeks, her last week, she was not this active. I love feeling Jude move around. It's my favorite thing in the whole world. This all feels like such a new experience to me. Jude is doing things that Avery never did or doing them completely different. That's how I know he's doing so well. I am so grateful for that.

I am very proud of myself because I now give myself my own Lovenox shots. I was having Daniel do it, but on Friday evening, when it was time for my shot, we were at Daniel's brother's wedding. Daniel was the best man and definitely busy, and even if he wasn't, there was no way he could come into the ladies' restroom with me to give me my shot! So I did it all by myself. I found it wasn't so bad, once I had no choice. Haha! So now, I'm able to do it and it actually doesn't hurt as bad (Michelle, you were right!).

Because of the above mentioned wedding, I finally got to see a dear friend who is the cousin of my brother-in-law's new wife. She had her rainbow baby in September. She has been here for me since Avery passed away, knowing what I was going through since it happened to her as well with her precious son. I don't know what I would have done without her. And now here she is along my next journey, helping me with my pregnancy and in my moments of fear or doubt. When I finally got to hold her sweet little boy, I cried. It was so special to hold him, knowing she was in my shoes not too long ago, aching for him just like I ache for Jude. She is my encouragement, my inspiration and I thank God for her. Thank you, Kelly. For being a true friend. I can't wait until Jude and Caleb can play together. <3

13 week rambling

I am now 13 weeks pregnant with this precious baby. Just one week left of the first trimester. It's nice to know I'm out of the woods in miscarriage territory, but in my case, that's not the worry here. Yes, I worried a bit anyway (especially when some of my precious fellow BLMs (baby loss moms) miscarried their sweet rainbows) but I know my problem lies later on in pregnancy. I do like to believe that all this baby needs is for my blood to be thinner, which is what my daily injections are doing. Maybe that's all that went wrong for Avery. Blood clots forming in her cord that cut off her nutrients. Maybe that will never happen again now that we know what is wrong with my body. These are the thoughts I have a lot of the time, convincing myself that I'll never know additional loss. And a lot of times I really believe it.

I already feel physically pregnant. Last week, my stomach started to round out a lot more. I'm not tiny to begin with, but with Avery, I didn't think I looked pregnant at all until about 18 weeks. Here I am, at 13 weeks, looking pregnant and not just fat. I would say that means this baby is doing well, on track for size. Avery never was and they never noticed.

I've already been able to find baby's heartbeat with our doppler twice in the past two weeks. I love it so much. But as soon as I find it and Daniel confirms that it's not my pulse that I've found, I just start laughing and lose it again. I can't imagine ever taking that precious heartbeat for granted.

Lately, I'm feeling impatient about finding out baby's gender. I have an appointment with the perinatologist again on May 13th when I'm just two days shy of 20 weeks. I'm pretty sure they'll do another ultrasound and I'd assume they could tell me the sex of the baby by then. That's just a little more than 6 weeks away!! I can't wait to put a name to this little miracle. This little one is such an intimate part of us and it feels so wrong not even knowing the gender or name. People have been asking me if I have any intuition telling me which it'll be. At first I had absolutely no inkling whatsoever, but so many people have been saying they think it's a boy. I guess since then, I have been picturing a boy more, but I still find myself picturing a girl too. I really have no preference. I just want to bring him or her home with us! The only thing that makes me prefer a boy is that I have no girls' names that I'm in love with. I have a list of 'okay' names that I'm not even sure I can fathom using. Our boy name is chosen though. He will be Jude. Just like Avery would have been if she'd been a boy. I've loved that name for at least four years now.

I'm so excited to find out who this little love is. But even more excited to bring him or her home with us to stay. <3

Whatever it takes

I am currently 7 weeks and 2 days pregnant with this precious Rainbow Baby. I've already had three doctor appointments. On Thursday, I met with my hematologist. He told me that it's not the MTHFR that he's worried about, but my Factor II clotting mutation. He put me on daily shots of Lovenox to remedy that. Lovenox will target the clotting system in my body. That sounds pretty good to me. My next two appointments with him are already set up so he can monitor my blood.

I've been having Daniel give me my daily injections. I've only done it for five days so far, and let me tell you, I really hate it. I'm not a baby when it comes to pain. In fact, I believe I actually have a high tolerance. It's not even the needle going into my stomach, it's the medicine that stings so badly. I have a huge bruise on my stomach from the needles. I actually start getting nauseous right before it's time for my shot because I get so nervous about it. I'm surprised how much I dislike it, really. But... regardless of how much I hate the pain, I will do that and anything else I have to for this baby. I'd give a limb to save this baby's life. I am already in love with this little one. He or she is only the size of a raspberry, but I am already head over heels. I'll continue to do whatever I have to. Gladly.

Friday, I had my first actual OB appointment. My official due date is October 2, 2011. I was shocked to see that I was 2 pounds more on the 11th than I was on the 1st. With Avery, I stayed the same weight for a while, then I lost a pound, then the week of her death I had lost 3 more. I'm not the tiniest to begin with, but I didn't think losing weight more than halfway through my pregnancy was a good sign. I'd like to think that gaining 2 pounds already with baby #2 is a sign that things are going better this time. I have more of an appetite (when I'm not feeling nauseous) and my nausea even started a whole week earlier this time. Maybe that means this baby is thriving more and demanding more of me. That sounds good to me.

I feel like my caretakers are doing everything they can right now to prevent the same outcome with this baby. I really like being able to see their concern and their attention. I already have an appointment on the 25th to meet with a Perinatologist. My doctor's office set that up for me on their own. I'll also be getting ultrasounds once a month and I'll continue to go in for blood work.

Even though all is going well, I still have worries. Especially when I hear of others in my boat having miscarriages. It's so hard not to worry as I think about them and pray for them. But I just have to remember that worrying will not change anything. This is all in God's hands and all I have to do is take care of myself and love this baby. I'll do whatever it takes.

Rainbow

Rainbow baby: (n) A baby that comes after a loss; the rainbow after the storm.

Our Rainbow is finally on his or her way! Nine long cycles, hoping and waiting. Frustration and dismay. Missing the baby that is supposed to be here. It definitely has been a storm this past year. But God has painted a rainbow in our sky. There is still thunder grumbling in the distance, and a steady drizzle that won't subside. But ever since we have found out another little one is on the way, my heart has felt much lighter.

A quick recap for readers that may not know me already, as this is a new blog. We lost our daughter, Avery Nicole at 25 weeks gestation. She was stillborn on March 13, 2010. Many blood tests later, we have found that I have MTHFR and Factor II blood clotting disorders. These are what took her life. Because Avery died, our Rainbow has a chance at life. We know what precautions have to be made. Avery is a little hero. Unfortunately, nothing is ever certain, but we have our hope and our trust in God.

I am choosing to feel excited and happy about our new baby. I know I will have times of weakness and fear. Loss is all I know. But worrying and entertaining problems will not help my baby. I am aware of the chance but I have to believe the best. I have to believe that we will hold this baby in our arms in October and he or she will look back up at us. We will hear this baby cry. We will take this baby home. I have to believe that.