"Everything happens for a reason..."

I got an email yesterday from a mutual friend wondering how M and I are doing with our friends' new baby. This particular friend was also pregnant along with us, and suffered a miscarriage the day after Charlotte died; she was 11 1/2 weeks. I was home from the hospital before the news made it's way to us. I was sad for them when I heard, but, selfishly at the same time, I was relieved to have one less pregnant friend. I thought that maybe I had, well, an ally, that would have some kind of understanding of what we're going through.

To my surprise, she's either doing really really well with her loss, or she's just in denial. I don't know what anguish she goes through in private but her outward appearance is just fine and has been, even from the beginning.

I thought about my email response before I sent it. I filled her in on the latest news with us, M's fence building, my new job. I told her that we were managing ok but it would be awhile before I would be comfortable visiting the new baby. I also said how sad I was- if things had worked out the way we imagined a few months ago, it would have been so perfect.

Her response was, I know, but everything happens for a reason...

I've had that said to me a lot. Before my sweet girl came and left us, I had a very justified view of the world. I firmly believed that what goes around comes around, God has a plan, and, sure enough, everything happens for a reason. Nothing like a baby's death to shake your core values. I believe none of this now.

I don't believe there is any reason, any justifiable reason, for a baby to die. I don't believe that what M and I went through made us stronger, made us better people, or that eventually what comes out of this situation will be better than raising our Charlotte. I think this whole situation is just one more example of how life isn't fair. If God is spinning a plan for my life I wish he'd clue me in to what it is. I don't believe there is anything, absolutely anything, that would justify Charlotte's death.

I read a lot of blogs by women who lost babies. I don't always comment, usually because I have so little to add and I feel like such a fledgling in the world of babylost mamas, but every story, every last one, truly breaks my heart. When I read of someone clearing away their nursery, of trying to return to some sense of a normal life, planting trees and flowers in memory of their little one, I lose it. It is truly heartbreaking. What a devastating loss we've all had. I don't believe that it all happens for some unknown "reason". I don't know why we've been chosen. It's all a mystery, and will always be.

To try to find a reason for Charlotte's death just makes me mad. There is no reason. It just was. And it's hard enough to live with that.

Finally, something.

I got a phone call from the university yesterday; I've been awarded the position I interviewed for on May 6th. They certainly took their time deciding! It's been such a rough couple of days but that short call gave me hope.

It feels so refreshing to have good news for a change. And to have something to look forward to. It's only a sabbatical replacement, so just an academic appointment for a semester, but that's great for me. It's for Jan-April next year, so I still have some time to fill before it starts, but the timing works out for me well. I may have a shot at some part-time teaching in the fall to fill the gap before the sabbatical kicks in.

So, I feel a bit more like myself. And I have a plan, at least for the next year or so.

Phew.

Thanks to you all who chimed in with experiences about dealing with our friends' new baby. We went to see our psychologist this morning to go over the scenario. I will not be going near their house, at least for awhile. To be honest, I can't imagine going at all, ever. Part of me thinks I should just go over there, no matter how hard, run in and run out, get it done. Come home and go to bed again. The rest of me says stay away, don't go anywhere close. Save yourself. That part's winning right now.

What scares me is that I feel like the whole situation undoes the work I've done grieving my sweet Charlotte. We've been very active in our grief; I haven't avoided it or pretended to be fine. I've managed to go from the weeks I spent in bed, to the days puttering around the house, to managing some semblance of a normal life. I can handle babies at the grocery store, pregnant women at the gym. I can't handle this. I really can't. It would be easier if this was their second or third baby, if they weren't making the awkward transition to parenthood. If life would still be similar at their house. But it won't. It will be upside-down, noisy, crowded with presents and well-wishers. I can't do it. My emotions are rubbed raw once again, and the pain is as strong as it was in the days following Charlotte's death. I don't want to go back there, I can't.

Maybe in a month? Six months? Three years? My psychologist said we'll revisit it in a few weeks and see where I am. I don't think I'll be much further ahead. Will it be easier when the baby is bigger? Harder? Will I ever be able to be a part of this social circle again without this baby being an issue?

If it weren't for my husband, I wouldn't be trying this hard. They're his best friends, have been since childhood. I've only known them for 3 years or so; my attachment is not that great. I can let them go. I really could. But I can't, for him. It's not fair to him. They're his people.

But I'm his people too, and I'm putting myself first right now.

Luck runs out.

I haven't left my house since learning of my friend's baby. I'm still here, in pajamas at lunchtime, debating whether or not I'm going to venture to the grocery store this afternoon. I have an appointment at the gym at 6:00 p.m.; I had signed up for a "Women on Weights" class a couple of weeks ago when I was feeling good. I guess I'll still go, maybe there's a punching bag I can take some frustration out on.

The baby was big. 8 lbs 5 oz. She only gained maybe 15 lbs her entire pregnancy. Me, um, more like 40. And I was only pregnant for 6 months. That's what bedrest and no morning sickness will do to you, I guess. I'm still struggling, and really struggling, with about 20 lbs. Hence the gym. And a lean protein, high veggie diet that is supposed to help my blood pressure. I can't bring myself to buy new clothes in a larger size, but I'm soon going to have to. I'm still wearing some of my maternity clothes, plus one pair of pants I bought for a job interview, and my gym clothes. Not exactly a winner's wardrobe.

Which is fitting, because I feel like such a failure.

I've always had a pretty easy road in life. I come from a good family, the youngest of three girls, and by anyone's definition I was spoiled. I don't think I was a bratty spoiled child, but I didn't lack for much, didn't have many daily chores, and led a charmed existence. My sisters are 9 years and 12 years older than me, so I grew up with 3 moms. I guess I had the best of both worlds- both being an pseudo-only child when they were grown and gone, but still with siblings to call on when I needed them.

I was always a good student. I worked extremely hard in university, loved every minute of it, and always seemed to make the right grades, get the right scholarship, make the right choices, meet the right boy. It was always so perfect. I got pregnant without trying too hard, prided myself on no morning sickness, figured I would sail through the pregnancy like I had sailed through so many things before. I never ever thought I would be one of those women, women who have trouble having babies. I figured I would be the textbook easy pregnancy, resulting in a perfect, gorgeous baby at the end of it. I was so happy. I remember thinking, many many times, while walking down our street or driving in my little car, that in this world at this time, I was exactly where I wanted to be; there was nowhere else or any other circumstance that was better than what I had.

Well, we all know what happened then.

So here I am, trying to deal with a loss so great that it cripples even the strongest women. And I've never really dealt with much loss at all before this, let alone something this debilitating. I've changed infinitely, my core values are shaken beyond recognition. I don't know who I am anymore. But I'm here.

I failed. I failed at bringing my sweet girl to a viable gestation. My body reacted so strongly against something I wanted so badly. I had no control, but I failed. I don't feel guilty, I know I did everything I could do to preserve the pregnancy, I know I made the best choices I could make at the time, but I am so angry that after all the golden moments and years, I failed. And I couldn't stop it.

So now I'm trying to find peace with this, and eventually be able to rejoin my circle of friends and watch the mommies and babies cuddle and laugh, and not hate them. I would give everything I owned to have my happiness back. I would sign over my house and car and all of it for another chance to feel like I had the best life in the world. Now I have this life, with pessimism and heartache and sometimes hope, and I have to live it.

Because it's mine, and it's all I've got right now.

Life gets worse...

Our friends had a girl. 6:30 this morning. Mother and daughter are doing exceptionally well, according to the voicemail left on our machine at 7:00 a.m.

So, after suffering a complete emotional breakdown and having resolved myself to bed for the remainder of the day, I've resolved myself to two choices:

1. Suck it up. Take our time, but eventually go visit and welcome them (and the surrounding circle of friends) as part of our lives. Try not to think that the little girl is a living, breathing, tortuous reminder of what Charlotte should be. Try not to think that the new-parent bliss is what we're supposed to have. Ignore everything pink, refuse to think in "should haves" and "what ifs". Stop cursing the universe for not having given them a boy.

2. Look for new friends.

Not sure yet which option works for me.

36, I should be 36 weeks pregnant today.

Days go by

Days are flying by lately.  I can't believe another week is half over, another set of boxes checked off the calendar.  It's like I'm waiting for something; whatever it is I'm not sure, but I'm glad time is flying by.

I told our psychologist if I could fast-forward the next year or so I would in a heartbeat.  I'd like to leave the intense part of this heartbreak behind, I'd like to think I'm over the 'hump' of this.  I've got a long way to go, M does too.  I'm still, very much, in the day-to-day management of my life.  I haven't been able to plan for much or to think ahead.  Next week might as well be next year.  Eventually I have to snap out of this; my maternity leave ends in a month and I realistically have to think about what I'm going to be doing with my time after that.  I am not planning on returning to my old job; I was overqualified and underpaid, and I was ready to leave when I found out Charlotte was on the way.  That said, the silly bills and mortgage will keep coming, and I have to find a way to contribute.  It wouldn't be fair to M to expect him to handle all the financial stuff on his salary alone, even though we could probably manage.

I've interviewed for a couple of prospective positions since I got home, but no luck as of yet.  I'm tired of doing the crappy job.  I want a position I can be proud of; something I can see myself doing for longer than "right now".  I worked so hard in university and grad school so I would be able to do this, but the cards haven't played right so far.  I had everything worked out career-wise when Charlotte was on the way- I was planning on starting my own business, beginning small and growing as she grew.  I'll still do that someday, but moving to self-employment right now seems irresponsible.  My maternity and sick leave would be non-existent, and I'll need them if we're going to try for another baby in the foreseeable future.  

So, I'm on the job hunt.  And I don't have the energy for it right now.  

I found out a couple of weeks ago that one of the contributing complications with Charlotte was a gene I carry called Factor V Leiden.  It's related to blood clotting disorders, and it reacts pretty strongly with high blood pressure.  When I googled it and found the typical pregnancy complications it was me all over; it was exactly what had happened with us.  I'm relieved to an extent- I'm glad they came back with something, although I wish it was more of a one-time issue.  Unfortunately we'll be dealing with this again, but there are steps we can take to maximize our potential in future pregnancies.  My obstetrician Dr K seemed fairly positive about it.  We have an appointment with our MFM on July 29th to further discuss the implications for future pregnancies.  I'm looking forward to meeting with her.  Dr K said I'll likely be on heparin next time.... fun fun!  I was on that during my hospital stay with Charlotte and I bruised so badly.  I can't imagine giving myself the shot but I'll do whatever I have to.  At least it's something I can do.

Our friends are now overdue with their baby.  I so wish I could be like everyone else, anxiously awaiting the sweet thing's arrival and showing up with balloons in the hospital.  That's not going to be me.  I'm happy for our friends, and I definitely wouldn't wish them in our shoes, but I am jealous beyond words.  I can't wait to get it over with, to make the obligatory first visit to the baby and come home and cry my eyes out and yell and scream and get it all out.  Life is so unfair.  Charlotte should be getting ready to be delivered now, not buried at the top of the hill.  Charlotte should be growing up alongside their baby; we should be signing up for baby swimming together and planning picnics and trips to the park.  They would have been best friends.  

Life really sucks sometimes.

Left behind

Yesterday we had a few friends over to celebrate M's birthday. Neither one of us was really in the mood to celebrate, but we figured a handful of couples would be nice.

In accordance with our current (involuntary) residence in BabyLand, we had one real live baby in attendance (with parents of course), one couple due tomorrow with their first, one couple who are actively TTC, and us. There was much discussion of breast feeding, baby clothes, pros and cons of certain cribs, maternity leaves, etc etc. Nothing I wanted to particularly discuss. My mommy friend told my expecting friend she thought she was having a boy, because everyone is having boys. We had a girl, I chimed in. No response, of course. I guess dead babies don't make the baby roll.

Later in the evening my mommy friend invited us to their house for a Canada Day party on July 1st. A Family Fun Day, she called it. She listed off a few names of people who were coming. It included at least four babies, two of which will be under a month old. I smiled and told her thanks for the invite, but later told M I don't think I'll be able to go. I cannot imagine how uncomfortable that will be for me. How am I supposed to sit there and chime in on conversations about breastfeeding when my sweet baby is buried? How can I listen to new moms complain about sleepless nights and spit-up and all that baby stuff without wanting to tear my hair out? How I can I keep my friends without spending time with them in their new lives? Should I just start over?

M agreed, no, we're definitely not going to the party. He suggested hosting our own and inviting the extended family. Maybe. What I really want to do is go to bed and not get up, maybe arm myself with DVDs and blindly watch episode after episode of an old TV show. We'll see. I want to ignore the fireworks and the little ones on their daddy's shoulders, ignore the cotton candy and the facepaint, and go to bed.

I feel so stuck. I am supposed to be in their club. The mommy-and-me, frizzy-haired, sleep deprived club. And I'm not. I'm back to square one. Actually, more like square -25. Not only do we not have our Charlotte, but we're so broken physically and emotionally that I don't know when we'll even be ready to "try again". Or if we'll even want to.

Know what I'm an expert on? Emergency C-sections. Mag sulfate. HELLP syndrome, pre-eclampsia, blood pressure. Baby caskets and hymns appropriate for a baby's memorial service. Colors of granite for monuments. How to literally force yourself up in the morning before you can convince yourself that it's not worth it. Hmm. None of these are likely topics of conversation in my mommy-club group of friends. Guess I'll be staying quiet for awhile.

Wow, I sound really bitter. Actually, broken is what I really am. So, so broken.

Charlotte's Story

My pregnancy started off beautifully. My husband M and I were married in July 2007, and were thrilled in November to find out we were expecting our first child. We were cautious at first, like many couples, and waited to share our good news until the end of the first trimester. I was doing great, no morning sickness or anything, and everything was looking good.

At my 14-week doctor's appointment in January we found my blood pressure, which had never been an issue before, had risen to dangerous levels (about 170/110 at that point). I was put on modified bedrest, referred to specialists, and watched very closely from that point forward. I was given substantial doses of several blood pressure medications, and the blood pressure was stabilized. Our doctors thought we were doing fine. We did too.

Towards the end of March my blood pressure began to creep up. The doctors upped my medications. The numbers continued to climb; the medications weren't effective anymore. After several consecutive appointments with high readings, I was sent to our hospital to be evaluated on Saturday, March 29th. I was quickly admitted for observation, and the blood pressure continued to stay high. I was almost 24 weeks along at this point.

We had a routine ultrasound scheduled for Tuesday April 1st, so it was convenient I was already in the hospital. The news wasn't what we were expecting. Baby's growth was stalled. We were measuring 21 weeks instead of 24. The amniotic fluid was also low. I was immediately put on hospital bedrest for the remainder of the pregnancy. The high blood pressure was restricting the amount of flow through the cord and we were in "absent flow". The doctors said it would only be a matter of time before it turned to reverse flow and we would have to deliver. We prayed that baby, who was currently being estimated at 430 grams, would grow enough to survive before that happened. We were heartbroken at the possibility that baby wouldn't be healthy or worse yet, wouldn't survive.

On April 4th we had another biophysical and baby was doing fine; the blood flow was no worse and we were hoping for growth. That morning, there was a different vibe in my hospital room; there were more doctors, interns and med students hovering around than usual, and there was a buzz in the air. I knew something was wrong. I remember sitting in my wheelchair waiting for my biophysical and telling my sister They're going to tell me something really bad, I just know it. Immediately following the ultrasound our MFM came in to chat. She sat down beside me and held my hand, and told us my morning blood work had determined I had developed HELLP syndrome. My blood pressure was out of control, my platelets were in the 50s, and liver enzymes were off the charts. I had no physical symptoms, except some epigastric pain the previous night that was remedied by Tylenol. I was shocked. We were taken directly to delivery.

As we navigated the hallways and elevators, I was in shock. M held my hand and I just stared into space. I remember going by triage hearing heart rate monitors of mommies in the early stages of labor. I was directed to Birthing Room 7, behind the nurse's station and out of the way from the other rooms. They were waiting for us. I was immediately hooked up to mag sulfate among other things. My blood pressure reached 225/122 and they thought I would seize any second. An art line was put in. The epidural was installed before the platelets crashed further, although it took several tries because I was bleeding too much. Our minister arrived. My sister had arrived the previous night so she was with me. My husband called our immediate families.

The neonatal team came in to discuss baby's chances. At 430 grams, we were given a 17% chance of survival. We were praying for a miracle. 24 weeks and 4 days put us over the 24-week hurdle, but the IUGR put us right back down.

At about 5:00 I was wheeled in for surgery. I don't remember much. M came in when he was allowed. I could feel pressure and pulling, no pain, and my eyes drifted shut for most of the surgery. Baby Charlotte was born at 5:22 p.m., there were no baby sounds of course, no announcement of It's a Girl. I had no idea of the baby's gender until I was alert enough that I asked the anasthesiologist. I had no concept of what was going on around me. My husband left with Charlotte and the neonatal team. She was weighed and evaluated. She was only 380 grams, well under the estimate. There was nothing the neonatal team could do with a baby that small.

By 6:30 I was back in my room and M and the team of doctors and nurses came back with Charlotte. I was trying my best to stay awake under the medications, and she was placed on my chest. She was so little; 11 inches long. Her little face was so sweet- perfect little nose, "my" mouth according to my husband, and beautiful little hands and feet. Her little heart was still beating but there were no other signs of life. M later told me that while I was in surgery she did make movements and gasped little "hiccups" as he called them. I didn't get to see that, but she was just beautiful. We held her and talked to her and cuddled her as long as I could stay awake. She was pronounced dead at 7:32pm, although I think she was gone before that.

I loved her so dearly, so instantly, I cannot even begin to imagine the pure bliss of giving birth to a healthy baby you get to bring home.

Ten weeks

Ten weeks ago today my beautiful baby came and left this world. Ten weeks, ten years, ten minutes, makes no difference really. Feels like eternity.

Fridays, always my favorite day of the week, feel forever tainted now. No longer does "Friday" represent expectation of the freedom of the next few days, it's the day my baby died, turned into an anniversary that occurs far too often. I'm sure, someday, when I've found the "new normal" everyone promises me is down the road, Fridays will no longer hold the dread and meaning they do right now. But I don't think they'll ever be quite the same.

This morning I went to the church where I'm organist; I'm playing this coming Sunday for the first time since January. They've been more than generous with my time off; I was on bedrest from January-April and since Charlotte died I've needed my peace and privacy. I felt like it was now time to go back. Sitting at the organ was foreign. The last time I sat there my pregnancy was perfect; I was mainly concerned with carving time in my busy schedule to get to the mall to by maternity clothes, grateful for the oversized organist's robe I wear each Sunday. This morning I felt somewhat like an imposter. I was not the same person sitting on the bench. I was performing the same functions, turning the same pages and pulling the same stops, but I am not the same. I feel, well, too sad to do this. Too pessimistic, too grieved, too broken, to try and play music that inspires people. Life has been laughing at me lately.

When I was trying to think of a title for my blog, I remembered a line from Anne of Green Gables, which has always been a favorite story of mine. The sun will keep rising and setting, whether you fail in geometry or not. That pretty much sums it up for me. I'm here, the world is spinning. I may not participate in it much right now, but it spins. Gradually I'll get back on, but I'll be looking at it differently, finding a new role, one where I can exist as the new me. Whoever that is.

Happy Birthday.

Today is M's 31st birthday. Not a remarkable number; last year we went all out with celebration. This year it will be small and low-key, just a dinner with his parents. That's all the party I have in me at the moment.

As I sit here, the early morning fog rolling in over the shore, I can't believe, yet again, that our baby isn't with us. I secretly wish, with all my heart, that I will wake up and find this all to be a long horrible dream. As the days go by and I feel every pinch, every tear that rolls down my face, I know logically that this is my reality. But I still secretly hope, for just a moment each day, that it's not.

We're in the midst of babyland, M and I. We've been blessed with a group of friends, all couples, on the same life-timelines as us. We bought houses the same year, got married the same year, were all expecting babies the same year. Our close friends are ready to deliver their baby any day now. I was convinced that they had already headed to the hospital when an email I sent them remained unanswered for several hours yesterday. As I mentally prepared myself for the events, I finally got my email response, and resolved that I'll be repeating this paranoia again and again until their little one arrives.

I don't know why it scares me so much. I am praying they have a boy. Dear God, please let them have a boy. I will not be able to handle seeing them with an infant girl, day after day in baby bliss, with pink dresses and hair bows and all the femininity. I had so longed for a girl my entire pregnancy; I'm not even sure why. I adore little boys; my preschool nephew is one of the lights of my life, but I wanted my own girl. It was salt in the wound to have her born only to die within minutes. Pure salt.

Oh, please let them have a boy.

I want my baby back.

First day...

I've been trying to start this blog for awhile. Actually, I've opened the startup page a number of times, unable to get past the "name your blog" requirement. Finally, here I am. Nearly ten weeks after the death of my precious baby I now have an outlet to vent, cry and hopefully relieve some of the tension built in my chest.

Today is one of the days I don't think I can do this. "This" meaning being a mom to a dead baby. Unfortunately, I have no choice. The events of the past few months have been, by far, the most intense and heartbreaking of my life. Somehow I am getting up in the mornings, existing through the day, and checking the box off the calendar as one less day I have to manage. As much as my husband M and I hurt, we can't stop the sun from rising and setting. The world keeps spinning, with or without us.

The events leading to our precious Charlotte's birth and death are long and complicated, which I'll save for another day. In so many ways I feel like I've carried this burden for years. In other ways, it feels like yesterday that I was still pregnant, anxiously awaiting our sweet baby, debating names and bedding sets in catalogs, picking out nursery colors, naively expecting everything to turn out just fine. Ha. I never expected the worst, I wasn't prepared for the worst, but here we are.

What a silly, silly girl I was. I miss her.