2013

This year was much different. It was probably the most healing year I've experienced since Avery died. Life was relatively normal this year. Of course, it wasn't without conflict, but it wasn't fraught with profoundly earth-shattering circumstances to hurl us off course like previous years. I struggled horribly with my anxiety in the first few months and it wasn't until my writing took off that I felt some relief from that.

Possibly the most thrilling and notable detail of this year would have to be my novel. I can't stress enough how writing has saved me. I was becoming a shell of the person I'd been, so full of fear and sadness. I was constantly worrying about something, convinced that demise was certain at any moment. Writing gave me a reprieve, new thoughts to dwell on, something to be excited about. My characters became special to me and their fictional world my refuge. It might sound crazy to those who don't write, or to those who haven't experienced emotional turmoil. But this was the change I needed. 

Sure, I still have my occasional setbacks and I still have bouts of anxiety and worry, but I am no longer paralyzed by the darkness that was consuming me. My monthly doctor appointments don't grip me with fear any longer. I've learned to contain my thoughts better. 

The struggle I do still deal with is the insatiable desire for more children. As Jude gets older, it only gets worse. He is growing up alone, not even with any cousins, and I long for him to share life with someone like him. I grew up with three brothers who, to this day, remain my very best friends. It hurts that Jude won't know that bond. I find myself still holding onto hope that someday surrogacy will be possible, because that's all I have. I'm not sure what plans God has, but hope is greater than despair. 

New babies are still painful to me. Pregnant women still have me turning my head the other way. It still hurts very much and it's so difficult to be stuck in this place where everyone else around me can move along in their life while I cannot. 

I turned the big 30 this year, which I'm still in disbelief of. I don't think 30 is old, I just can't believe that I'm here already and that time has gone so quickly. Jude turned two in July and that is crazy to me as well. Didn't we just bring him home? 

We lost Bailey this year, but I was surprised to find how quickly I was able to get past it. I guess after losing my own daughter and my grandfather, the loss of a pet wasn't quite the crisis I'd imagined it would be.

Daniel left his CNA job at the health and rehab center and now works at a hospital. He's so much happier and I love that. Lately he's been caring for an elderly man in his home a few days a week and that has definitely helped us out financially. Less stress is nice! Next week, Daniel will begin nursing school to get his RN. I know that will open up so many more opportunities for him and a better life for us a family. 

I pray 2014 is gentle and kind. I pray I can continue on this better path. I look forward to watching my precious boy grow and learn. I will be finishing my book soon and will be publishing it in the coming months. I am very excited about that! 

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.

Anxiety lives here now

It's been over a month now since I've blogged. In my last post, I talked about my returning anxiety and how it had been worse than ever. I talked about how I hoped it would go away. But the truth is, it hasn't.

I have anxiety almost daily now. More often than not, I live in fear. Jude gets a heat rash and I worry and obsess that it's something worse (ruined my Mother's Day over that one). I see a fictional male character on a TV show that has cancer and I get worried that Daniel could have cancer. I see a child on Instagram who died of cancer and I worry that Jude could get cancer and die. I worry that he could get meningitis and die. I worry that he could have another febrile seizure. I just worry that he could die. (I still make sure he's breathing when he sleeps.) I get a headache and think about brain aneurysms. I live in dread of my monthly blood check appointments. I worry that my blood pressure will be high (so then it is). I worry they will find something wrong and make me go to the hospital. I worry they will charge me too much money when I already can't afford it. I get a pain in my stomach and I worry that my medication is making me bleed internally. I get a pain in my leg and think about clots, which is the exact opposite of the previous thoughts. I find myself just waiting for one of those sudden gasp moments when something awful occurs. Why do I let my mind dwell on these awful things? I hate what I have become. I really can't live like this.

I'm so desperate for peace at this point, that I'm willing to look into medication for my anxiety. A phlebotomist at the doctor's office recommended the medication she takes so I looked it up and found that people who take blood thinners shouldn't take it. Great. I wonder if this is the case with all or most medications. I really hope not. Someone also recently told me that vitamin K is a good natural supplement for anxiety... and vitamin K is exactly what I cannot have also because of my blood thinners. It counteracts it. I guess I have a lot of research to do before I fork out the money for another doctor to see me.

I have my monthly blood appointment in just three days and I am filled with dread. They are every 28 days but I feel like I am there so often. I feel like my life is consumed by this, by my medical health. It makes me feel like I'm unhealthy, even though I have no real reason to believe that. My medication prevents any possible clots from forming and my appointments make sure my dose isn't making my blood too thin or keeping it too thick. But my mind has a way of twisting that and turning it into something to fear and hate and dread. I cannot help it. My doctor is a hematologist at a cancer center so I go to a cancer center for my appointments. I sit with all of the cancer patients and I guess sometimes I feel like I'm as sick as they are. But I'm not! I am alive. I am well. I am not fighting for my life. I know that. But with any and every discomfort I ever feel, I worry. I worry that my heart is bad or that something is wrong. Why can't I just remember always that I am young and healthy and that my medication is keeping me even healthier and safer so I shouldn't worry?

I also wonder if I have depression as well as anxiety. Sometimes I just cannot handle my life. I am not exaggerating when I say that I come across a new pregnancy announcement every day. Lately, it has sure been that way. And I can't take it. It makes me angry. It makes me sad. It makes me hate myself. I despise this path I am on. I hate what God has allowed for me.

I don't want to adopt. It doesn't solve any of this. Surrogacy is so extreme and so difficult. I'm not even sure if that's possible for us. And it sure as hell is not the same as being able to carry and birth my own baby. Can I really allow someone else to carry my child? To share all of those beautiful full-term things I lost with both of my babies? I'll do what I have to, I guess. I just don't want Jude to be it. I want to experience these sweet things again. Baby things. I want my baby girl I was supposed to have. Or another baby boy. I don't care. Just someone alive. Someone healthy. Someone mine.

Even if you remove all of these emotional issues I have, I'm still so insecure, it's ridiculous. That's always been a struggle of mine, but through all of this, I think it's been magnified. I'm always pulling at my clothes, worried about how they are accentuating what I hate most about my body. I can't just enjoy being with people without worrying what I look like. I've never liked my body and I have never felt good about myself. That's just the truth.

I apologize for this being such a dark and ugly post. But it's what's real and it's what my life is right now. I feel like a failure for allowing this darkness to take a hold of me. If I could help it, surely, I would. I pray I can come away from this, medicated or not. I just want to live. I want to feel joy. I want to enjoy my family and what I do have. I want to be foolishly optimistic. I want to be unrealistically happy. I just want my life back.

Not allowed

Tonight (yes, after American Idol), I was watching the local news and there was a story about a wife and mother who desperately needs a kidney donor. My initial thought was that I wish I could help her. Of course, even if I was a match for her (I'm not), I would not be able to do something like that. Major surgery doesn't go well with someone on blood thinners... and surgery was how I got my blood clots in the first place.

After seeing that woman's touching story, I kept thinking about all the things I wish I could do for people. I used to donate blood, back before I was married... before I knew anything was wrong with me. I didn't mind doing that. I enjoyed feeling like I was helping. Now, with two blood clotting mutations, I am not a candidate for donation. Every time I see one of those blood mobiles parked somewhere, I feel a little guilty that I can't help.

Another thing I would love to do, is surrogacy. I would have no problem carrying a child for a couple facing infertility. I love being pregnant. My heart breaks for those who cannot conceive and who ache to hold their own baby. I know what that longing is like. I wish I could help even one couple. But of course, as we all know, my body cannot handle pregnancy. I can get pregnant, I just can't stay pregnant without my body failing the baby. I can't even carry another of my own babies without the risk of death (for both of us) let alone for someone else. I wish that weren't at all the case.

I've always enjoyed taking care of other people or using my abilities or resources to bless others. I know if I was the one in need, I would pray someone would step up to help. I wish these issues in my body didn't have to affect so much of my life and my desires.

I'm sure there are dozens of other ways I can help people, especially in situations close to my heart. I just have to realize them and go for it.