Just when I think my head is above water....
I have a day like today. And it's only half over.
Nothing major, just one of those heart-ached, woe-is-me days where it hits me from another angle that my baby is dead.
And it's Halloween. In the past, one of my favorite holidays, and how I had looked forward to having a baby this Halloween. I wanted to dress her in a costume and take her to the relative's trick or treating. I wanted to go all out on decorations and have friends over.
Instead, M and I are settling in with our beloved movie channels. I may or may not answer the door, depending on my mood in a few hours.
I miss my baby girl.
I had my internist appointment on Wednesday. I did indeed get to come down on my dose of medication, and he said I can go off of it altogether in 2 weeks. Exactly what I wanted. I don't even need to follow up with him unless my bp spikes up again.
But, surprising to me, I was very sad as I left his office on Wednesday afternoon.
I felt silly driving home, wiping away tears. I couldn't figure out why I was upset; I had gotten the news I had hoped for. It didn't take long for me to realize that popping those bp pills was one of the only physical links I still have to Charlotte; one of the only remaining pieces of evidence of her birth and the trauma surrounding it.
So, even though I desperately wanted to be free of the medication, I am sad in a way to see it go.
Physically, now I'm (almost) normal.
Mentally, another story.
Happy Halloween, everyone.
Friday, October 31, 2008
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Daily Randoms
Hmm. So my weight is down to 172.5. It's slow slow slow, but at least I'm headed in the right direction.
I have 17.5 lbs to go to a BMI of 25. I'd like to be there before we TTC. As things stand, we'd like to start TTC after Christmas, so I have 2 months to lose 17.5 lbs. Probably not going to happen, realistically. I'll keep plugging away and see how close I can get.
The gym has lost its novelty, though I'm still going. I had a little hiatis at one point but I'm back on track now. I'm thinking about trying spinning, just to mix things up a bit. Anyone have any experience?
I was at cost.co yesterday buying some groceries. When I hit the checkout, the gentleman behind me commented on how healthy my groceries were. I had tomatoes, peppers, mushrooms, romaine lettuce, skinless chicken and blackberries. Yeah, pretty healthy. Story of my life. He starting making excuses for his two enormous toble.rone bars and two boxes of chocolate truffles. I just laughed and told him his choices looked a lot more appealing than mine.
Eating healthy and exercising is supposed to increase my chances of bringing home a healthy baby next time, so here we go. The healthy eating is getting old too, by the way. If anyone has some exciting low-sodium super healthy recipes, feel free to send them my way.
This afternoon I go back to my internist, Dr J. Dr J and I have a love-hate relationship. I think he's a very good doctor, but he has the bedside manner of a lamp. I started seeing him when my bp went up at 15 weeks, and I've been seeing him ever since. He saw me numerous times when I was in the hospital, both before and after Charlotte. My biggest disappointment with Dr J was when I went to his office for my first visit post-Charlotte, and his first words when he entered the exam room were Oh hi, Heather, how's the baby doing?
Um, the baby's dead. That was my response.
Oh right.
I was screaming in my head the whole time. How could you forget? I saw you two weeks ago in my hospital room obviously NOT with a baby. You gave me condolences. Plus, I have yet to see anyone besides me under the age of 60 in his waiting room. You'd think he'd at least remember me for that.
And he forgot. Thanks Dr. J.
Well, he's an internist. As a specialty I don't think they're known for their bedside manner.
So, Dr. J and I have plodded on. I am still on the blasted bp meds. My dosage has come way down, and I am finally down to a single medication. I'm hoping he'll drop the dose again today, and then hopefully a month from now he'll take me off of it altogether. Just in time for TTC. If I can help it, I'd like to be off all the drugs before we start trying. Start with a clean slate.
Oh, and guess what? Two of my undergrads took the opportunity to rewrite. One did a pretty good job, but the other? Printed pages off the internet and handed them in. With urls at the top of the page and display ads and the works. Can we say ZERO? I had to laugh. If you're going to attempt plagiarism at least retype the information!
Gave me a good laugh, if nothing else!
I have 17.5 lbs to go to a BMI of 25. I'd like to be there before we TTC. As things stand, we'd like to start TTC after Christmas, so I have 2 months to lose 17.5 lbs. Probably not going to happen, realistically. I'll keep plugging away and see how close I can get.
The gym has lost its novelty, though I'm still going. I had a little hiatis at one point but I'm back on track now. I'm thinking about trying spinning, just to mix things up a bit. Anyone have any experience?
I was at cost.co yesterday buying some groceries. When I hit the checkout, the gentleman behind me commented on how healthy my groceries were. I had tomatoes, peppers, mushrooms, romaine lettuce, skinless chicken and blackberries. Yeah, pretty healthy. Story of my life. He starting making excuses for his two enormous toble.rone bars and two boxes of chocolate truffles. I just laughed and told him his choices looked a lot more appealing than mine.
Eating healthy and exercising is supposed to increase my chances of bringing home a healthy baby next time, so here we go. The healthy eating is getting old too, by the way. If anyone has some exciting low-sodium super healthy recipes, feel free to send them my way.
This afternoon I go back to my internist, Dr J. Dr J and I have a love-hate relationship. I think he's a very good doctor, but he has the bedside manner of a lamp. I started seeing him when my bp went up at 15 weeks, and I've been seeing him ever since. He saw me numerous times when I was in the hospital, both before and after Charlotte. My biggest disappointment with Dr J was when I went to his office for my first visit post-Charlotte, and his first words when he entered the exam room were Oh hi, Heather, how's the baby doing?
Um, the baby's dead. That was my response.
Oh right.
I was screaming in my head the whole time. How could you forget? I saw you two weeks ago in my hospital room obviously NOT with a baby. You gave me condolences. Plus, I have yet to see anyone besides me under the age of 60 in his waiting room. You'd think he'd at least remember me for that.
And he forgot. Thanks Dr. J.
Well, he's an internist. As a specialty I don't think they're known for their bedside manner.
So, Dr. J and I have plodded on. I am still on the blasted bp meds. My dosage has come way down, and I am finally down to a single medication. I'm hoping he'll drop the dose again today, and then hopefully a month from now he'll take me off of it altogether. Just in time for TTC. If I can help it, I'd like to be off all the drugs before we start trying. Start with a clean slate.
Oh, and guess what? Two of my undergrads took the opportunity to rewrite. One did a pretty good job, but the other? Printed pages off the internet and handed them in. With urls at the top of the page and display ads and the works. Can we say ZERO? I had to laugh. If you're going to attempt plagiarism at least retype the information!
Gave me a good laugh, if nothing else!
Angel Mommy Blog Award
Many thanks to the lovely Jen for sending me this Angel Mommy Blog Award. It's being passed to mommy bloggers who are without our babies, with the following beautiful poem.
Don't Tell Me
Please don't tell me you know how I feel,
Unless you have lost your child too,
Please don't tell me my broken heart will heal,
Because that is just not true,
Please don't tell me my son is in a better place,
Though it is true, I want him here with me,
Don't tell me someday I'll hear his voice, see his face,
Beyond today I cannot see,
Don't tell me it is time to move on,
Because I cannot,
Don't tell me to face the fact he is gone,
Because denial is something I can't stop,
Don't tell me to be thankful for the time I had,
Because I wanted more,
Don't tell me when I am my old self you will be glad,
I'll never be as I was before,
What you can tell me is you will be here for me,
That you will listen when I talk of my child,
You can share with me my precious memories,
You can even cry with me for a while,
And please don't hesitate to say his name,
Because it is something I long to hear everyday,
Friend please realize that I can never be the same,
But if you stand by me, you may like the new person I become someday.
Monday, October 27, 2008
October babies
The October babies in my circle are all out, all living, all breathing happy little bundles. All boys.
Thank you God.
There were 4 of them; pregnancies that were gleefully announced before Charlotte was born. All due in October. The final one born yesterday morning.
So, I have one November baby that I'm waiting on, and then it's clear sailing for awhile.
But there may be others- later pregnancies would have been announced post-Charlotte, and I may have been spared the news. As we've been in hibernation mode for months I may not know.
I am just so grateful that they were all boys.
The jealousy is immense, though. Especially when viewing those first happy pictures from the hospital bed- mommy still strapped to the bp cuff, baby still a little pasty. Everyone looking so purely happy. As soon as I see the email birth announcement in my inbox a pit forms in my stomach. The jealousy is all-consuming. I can hardly talk.
Makes me hate myself a little.
So, only one more arrival until my acquaintance circle is finished birthing for awhile. I can do that, I think.
Thank you God.
There were 4 of them; pregnancies that were gleefully announced before Charlotte was born. All due in October. The final one born yesterday morning.
So, I have one November baby that I'm waiting on, and then it's clear sailing for awhile.
But there may be others- later pregnancies would have been announced post-Charlotte, and I may have been spared the news. As we've been in hibernation mode for months I may not know.
I am just so grateful that they were all boys.
The jealousy is immense, though. Especially when viewing those first happy pictures from the hospital bed- mommy still strapped to the bp cuff, baby still a little pasty. Everyone looking so purely happy. As soon as I see the email birth announcement in my inbox a pit forms in my stomach. The jealousy is all-consuming. I can hardly talk.
Makes me hate myself a little.
So, only one more arrival until my acquaintance circle is finished birthing for awhile. I can do that, I think.
Friday, October 24, 2008
In a year....
My weight loss has been sufficient enough that I am finally beginning to fit back into my pre-pregnancy clothes. Finally. That's great, but it comes with a horrible side effect. Every time I put on a newly-fitting garment my mind trails to the last time I wore it, about a year ago.
So, I've been thinking how much can change in a year.
One year ago, I was working 65 hours a week between three jobs and I didn't know I was pregnant yet. I was exhausted and in desperate need of free time, and my biggest problem was figuring out when I was going to do the Christmas shopping.
One year ago, I had no idea what "broken hearted" really meant.
One year ago, I was anxiously awaiting AF, and wondering if this was the month. (It was.)
So, so, much has changed in this year.
Where will I be a year from now? A few possibilities:
Maybe, I'll have a baby. If the stars align and the universe is on my side and I get pregnant our first month or two of TTC.
Maybe, I'll be pregnant. Lying on my left side popping blood pressure pills and hoping and praying that all will be well and I'll make it to the third trimester.
Maybe, I'll be shattered again by having another baby die. Maybe the HELLP will come back and not only will I lose the child but have worse long term effects.
Maybe, I'll have trouble getting pregnant this time and a year from now I'll be frustrated beyond words.
Time scares the shit out of me, to be honest.
What does a year mean to you? Where do you see yourself in a year?
So, I've been thinking how much can change in a year.
One year ago, I was working 65 hours a week between three jobs and I didn't know I was pregnant yet. I was exhausted and in desperate need of free time, and my biggest problem was figuring out when I was going to do the Christmas shopping.
One year ago, I had no idea what "broken hearted" really meant.
One year ago, I was anxiously awaiting AF, and wondering if this was the month. (It was.)
So, so, much has changed in this year.
Where will I be a year from now? A few possibilities:
Maybe, I'll have a baby. If the stars align and the universe is on my side and I get pregnant our first month or two of TTC.
Maybe, I'll be pregnant. Lying on my left side popping blood pressure pills and hoping and praying that all will be well and I'll make it to the third trimester.
Maybe, I'll be shattered again by having another baby die. Maybe the HELLP will come back and not only will I lose the child but have worse long term effects.
Maybe, I'll have trouble getting pregnant this time and a year from now I'll be frustrated beyond words.
Time scares the shit out of me, to be honest.
What does a year mean to you? Where do you see yourself in a year?
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
mainstream psychology
First, thank you to all of you for your comments and support on my posts. I really appreciate it more than I can say. I don't know where I'd be without you all. I'm really relieved, and feel slightly less like an idiot, that you all think it's odd my friend forgot her due date. I was shocked, and subsequently, felt pretty isolated here in Dead Baby Land. Glad to know I have some company here (even though I wish none of you had to be here). On with today's thoughts...
I love my PVR. It's the best thing I own. I love that I can scroll through the guide and select things to record, have it remember for me without me having to actually do anything, and then, when I'm ready, I can watch it and fast forward the commercials.
In accordance with my current weight loss journey (which is going ok), I record anything and everything regarding weight loss. Someone told me that dr p.hil was doing a weight loss series on Wednesdays, so I set the PVR to record on Wednesdays. Well, it must not be every Wednesday because I sat down yesterday morning to watch what I've recorded. It had nothing to do with weight loss; in fact, the daily topic was suicide.
Charlotte's death has not made me suicidal. There have been, however (no one panic, please), particularly dark days and nights where I wanted to die. I do think there's a big difference between wanting to die and being suicidal. Ultimately, though, I can somewhat understand why people do commit suicide. I can imagine being in a hole so deep you can't see a way out. I empathize with that. If nothing else, Charlotte's death has made me more compassionate.
I had a roommate in college that was depressed, and she contemplated suicide (she's happy and healthy now, doing great). At the time, I remember wondering how anyone could ever consider that. All I could see was this 20-year old with her life ahead of her, all the wonderful things that could come her way. My perspective has changed. I can think back now and understand her despair.
So, anyway, back to the show.
He profiled one couple who's seemingly perky 17-year old daughter jumped off a bridge. The couple, understandably, was devasated, and it was complicated by the fact that they blamed themselves, as their daughter's death followed a family argument. The poor mother was a shell, and I could imagine her pain. The father was similar.
What surprised me? Dr p.hil.
He basically sat there and dished out so many of the common "feel better" phrases that no one wants to hear. You had her for seventeen years... etc. Then he looked at them and said, You can't let this ruin three lives instead of one.
The father looked up, incredulous, and spoke: But it already has ruined three lives.
I just couldn't believe dr p.hil said that. I really couldn't. I know what he was getting at. I know that we all have to move on. But still. They lost their only child. How are they supposed to move on? Where are they supposed to go? I can't get my head around this.
I neither loathe nor love dr p.hil. My mother adores his show, and I usually watch it with her when I'm visiting. I've never related to an episode like this before. Now that I had a different perspective, it was pretty crappy advice. I'd love to hear what he would have to say to us. I'd probably want to hit him.
Anyone else see it? Thoughts?
I love my PVR. It's the best thing I own. I love that I can scroll through the guide and select things to record, have it remember for me without me having to actually do anything, and then, when I'm ready, I can watch it and fast forward the commercials.
In accordance with my current weight loss journey (which is going ok), I record anything and everything regarding weight loss. Someone told me that dr p.hil was doing a weight loss series on Wednesdays, so I set the PVR to record on Wednesdays. Well, it must not be every Wednesday because I sat down yesterday morning to watch what I've recorded. It had nothing to do with weight loss; in fact, the daily topic was suicide.
Charlotte's death has not made me suicidal. There have been, however (no one panic, please), particularly dark days and nights where I wanted to die. I do think there's a big difference between wanting to die and being suicidal. Ultimately, though, I can somewhat understand why people do commit suicide. I can imagine being in a hole so deep you can't see a way out. I empathize with that. If nothing else, Charlotte's death has made me more compassionate.
I had a roommate in college that was depressed, and she contemplated suicide (she's happy and healthy now, doing great). At the time, I remember wondering how anyone could ever consider that. All I could see was this 20-year old with her life ahead of her, all the wonderful things that could come her way. My perspective has changed. I can think back now and understand her despair.
So, anyway, back to the show.
He profiled one couple who's seemingly perky 17-year old daughter jumped off a bridge. The couple, understandably, was devasated, and it was complicated by the fact that they blamed themselves, as their daughter's death followed a family argument. The poor mother was a shell, and I could imagine her pain. The father was similar.
What surprised me? Dr p.hil.
He basically sat there and dished out so many of the common "feel better" phrases that no one wants to hear. You had her for seventeen years... etc. Then he looked at them and said, You can't let this ruin three lives instead of one.
The father looked up, incredulous, and spoke: But it already has ruined three lives.
I just couldn't believe dr p.hil said that. I really couldn't. I know what he was getting at. I know that we all have to move on. But still. They lost their only child. How are they supposed to move on? Where are they supposed to go? I can't get my head around this.
I neither loathe nor love dr p.hil. My mother adores his show, and I usually watch it with her when I'm visiting. I've never related to an episode like this before. Now that I had a different perspective, it was pretty crappy advice. I'd love to hear what he would have to say to us. I'd probably want to hit him.
Anyone else see it? Thoughts?
Monday, October 20, 2008
So now I feel like an idiot...
So, this morning I woke up and realized it was October 20th. This date was stuck in my mind as our friend's due date, our friend B who had a miscarriage at 11 1/2 weeks the day after Charlotte was born.
I've written about her before. The Everything happens for a reason friend.
Anyway, I had told myself to remember today because I wanted to send her a note that I was thinking of her. Her coworker delivered last week and they were due at about the same time. I figured today might be hard for her.
So, I sent a little e-card with a flower on it, and a note that said Just wanted to let you know I'm thinking about you today on what might have been baby's birthday. Simple. Not over the top sappy.
I get an email back a few minutes ago,
Oh thanks for the e-card. I forgot about it actually. I just can't wait to get pregnant again.
So, now I feel like an idiot.
Blah.
First, I feel like an idiot for remembering when she didn't. How is that possible?
Secondly, that last part of her message implies (and I know I'm reading too much into everything nowadays, it's been a character flaw lately), that she's looking towards the future. And I'm not. I'm stuck her reliving my baby's death day after day and while I'm functioning, I am not looking towards the future. Dreading the future maybe? Frightened to death of the future?
I know our circumstances are ultimately very different, but I thought that I could at least share this with her. Lend an ear on a day that no one else would likely acknowledge.
Wow. I couldn't even do that.
It's times like this that I feel that I have nothing, absolutely nothing, in common with the rest of the world.
Blah.
I've written about her before. The Everything happens for a reason friend.
Anyway, I had told myself to remember today because I wanted to send her a note that I was thinking of her. Her coworker delivered last week and they were due at about the same time. I figured today might be hard for her.
So, I sent a little e-card with a flower on it, and a note that said Just wanted to let you know I'm thinking about you today on what might have been baby's birthday. Simple. Not over the top sappy.
I get an email back a few minutes ago,
Oh thanks for the e-card. I forgot about it actually. I just can't wait to get pregnant again.
So, now I feel like an idiot.
Blah.
First, I feel like an idiot for remembering when she didn't. How is that possible?
Secondly, that last part of her message implies (and I know I'm reading too much into everything nowadays, it's been a character flaw lately), that she's looking towards the future. And I'm not. I'm stuck her reliving my baby's death day after day and while I'm functioning, I am not looking towards the future. Dreading the future maybe? Frightened to death of the future?
I know our circumstances are ultimately very different, but I thought that I could at least share this with her. Lend an ear on a day that no one else would likely acknowledge.
Wow. I couldn't even do that.
It's times like this that I feel that I have nothing, absolutely nothing, in common with the rest of the world.
Blah.
Friday, October 17, 2008
Dear undergrads....
A few tips for your next term project:
1. "Begun" is one word, not two.
2. The word "stuff" is generally not used in academic writing.
3. Neither is the phrase "rocked out"
4. Please please please learn the correct use of the apostrophe in it's.
5. You have spell check on your computer. Use it, but proofread too. Deign and design are not the same thing.
Thank you.
Can you tell I've lost my patience with teaching lately??
1. "Begun" is one word, not two.
2. The word "stuff" is generally not used in academic writing.
3. Neither is the phrase "rocked out"
4. Please please please learn the correct use of the apostrophe in it's.
5. You have spell check on your computer. Use it, but proofread too. Deign and design are not the same thing.
Thank you.
Can you tell I've lost my patience with teaching lately??
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
The "others"
So, a friend of mine, J., is visiting town this week. We went to university together, were great friends, and then had a stupid fight about three years ago and stopped talking for awhile. I hadn't heard anything from her until day 4 of my hospital stay, when she just appeared in my room, after hearing I was there. We've been close ever since. I can honestly say it's been the only good thing to come out of all of this.
She needed a chauffeur for a few errands, so I volunteered. We spent most of yesterday cruising around the city, and ended up at the mall. She got her watch fixed, I found a new pair of pants. Success all around.
Until.
We were on our way out when a woman and baby stroller caught my eye. I recognized the mommy, as did J, and neither of us said anything but uniformly tried to veer past unnoticed. It didn't work.
Heather! J! Oh my God! So nice to see you guys!
It was KL, another university friend, who I've only seen sporadically this year. The last time in January, when we were both pregnant.
She knew about Charlotte; we had exchanged a couple of emails after my delivery and before hers. I knew from her face.book page that she had a healthy baby girl, a little before Charlotte was due. She was basking in the glow of new motherhood.
There was no avoiding without coming off as rude. We went over, smiled at the baby (chewing on her stroller straps), made small talk. Congratulations on the baby, what is everyone doing now, that sort of thing. Then she started. And kept going.
Oh, being a mom is the best thing in the world. I so in love with her. My life was so incomplete before this and I didn't even know it. I don't want to leave her, ever. My husband is always trying to get me to go out and have a break and I don't want to. I'm with her every day, all day, and all night, and I love every second of it. She's the light of my life. I don't think I'm going to go back to work, maybe run an in-home daycare or something; I just can't imagine anyone else taking care of her. This is the best time of my life, I'm so attached. We can't wait to have more....
It went on, and on, and on. J (who is a self-declared baby-free zone), and I just stood there and smiled, and I'm thinking, she knows right? She doesn't forget what happened to Charlotte? I think I'm doing pretty good just standing here in front of this baby that's the same age Charlotte "should" be, and I don't need to hear the joys of motherhood. I don't need it rubbed into my face what I'm missing.
The conversation ended as soon as I could find an exit point, and J and I left the mall. Are you ok? she asked. I can just imagine how bad things like that must be. She was getting on my nerves and I don't even want a baby.
Yeah, really.
When I got home I was thinking, maybe she didn't know, maybe I'm imagining that correspondence from last spring. I went back through my email archives. There it was. The long condolence letter.
I really don't know what was going through her head. She adores her baby, clearly, and so should she. I adore mine too. Mine, however, will never chew on stroller straps or have her mommy talk to her in a sing-song voice, asking her to smile for the pretty lady.
In some parallel universe that could have been me. I could have been pushing a baby around the mall showing her off to acquaintances in full baby bliss. It seems so far now. I can't even imagine being able to do that. I'll never have that carefree sense of pure happiness. It's gone.
I was relaying the story to M last night. See? This is why I don't like going places. Just when I've managed to stand up straight again something so seemingly innocent happens and that's the end of that. People are so freakin' clueless. Clueless.
I want to go back and scream at her, See how happy you are? That's how sad I am! Feeling work in opposites, they really do. What can make you happiest in the world can also make you saddest. I'm on the sad side. I don't want to hear about the happy side. I really don't. Please shut up.
For a few days I'm going to hang out in baby-free zones, until my head is back on straight. On days like that I'm really reminded about how alone we really are IRL. How, unless you've been there, people really are clueless. Unbelievable.
She needed a chauffeur for a few errands, so I volunteered. We spent most of yesterday cruising around the city, and ended up at the mall. She got her watch fixed, I found a new pair of pants. Success all around.
Until.
We were on our way out when a woman and baby stroller caught my eye. I recognized the mommy, as did J, and neither of us said anything but uniformly tried to veer past unnoticed. It didn't work.
Heather! J! Oh my God! So nice to see you guys!
It was KL, another university friend, who I've only seen sporadically this year. The last time in January, when we were both pregnant.
She knew about Charlotte; we had exchanged a couple of emails after my delivery and before hers. I knew from her face.book page that she had a healthy baby girl, a little before Charlotte was due. She was basking in the glow of new motherhood.
There was no avoiding without coming off as rude. We went over, smiled at the baby (chewing on her stroller straps), made small talk. Congratulations on the baby, what is everyone doing now, that sort of thing. Then she started. And kept going.
Oh, being a mom is the best thing in the world. I so in love with her. My life was so incomplete before this and I didn't even know it. I don't want to leave her, ever. My husband is always trying to get me to go out and have a break and I don't want to. I'm with her every day, all day, and all night, and I love every second of it. She's the light of my life. I don't think I'm going to go back to work, maybe run an in-home daycare or something; I just can't imagine anyone else taking care of her. This is the best time of my life, I'm so attached. We can't wait to have more....
It went on, and on, and on. J (who is a self-declared baby-free zone), and I just stood there and smiled, and I'm thinking, she knows right? She doesn't forget what happened to Charlotte? I think I'm doing pretty good just standing here in front of this baby that's the same age Charlotte "should" be, and I don't need to hear the joys of motherhood. I don't need it rubbed into my face what I'm missing.
The conversation ended as soon as I could find an exit point, and J and I left the mall. Are you ok? she asked. I can just imagine how bad things like that must be. She was getting on my nerves and I don't even want a baby.
Yeah, really.
When I got home I was thinking, maybe she didn't know, maybe I'm imagining that correspondence from last spring. I went back through my email archives. There it was. The long condolence letter.
I really don't know what was going through her head. She adores her baby, clearly, and so should she. I adore mine too. Mine, however, will never chew on stroller straps or have her mommy talk to her in a sing-song voice, asking her to smile for the pretty lady.
In some parallel universe that could have been me. I could have been pushing a baby around the mall showing her off to acquaintances in full baby bliss. It seems so far now. I can't even imagine being able to do that. I'll never have that carefree sense of pure happiness. It's gone.
I was relaying the story to M last night. See? This is why I don't like going places. Just when I've managed to stand up straight again something so seemingly innocent happens and that's the end of that. People are so freakin' clueless. Clueless.
I want to go back and scream at her, See how happy you are? That's how sad I am! Feeling work in opposites, they really do. What can make you happiest in the world can also make you saddest. I'm on the sad side. I don't want to hear about the happy side. I really don't. Please shut up.
For a few days I'm going to hang out in baby-free zones, until my head is back on straight. On days like that I'm really reminded about how alone we really are IRL. How, unless you've been there, people really are clueless. Unbelievable.
Monday, October 6, 2008
Walk to Remember
Well, as I expected, this weekend sucked eternal suckitude.
It was all a bit too much, I think. I found Charlotte's six month anniversary hard. I was reduced to spontaneous tears that I haven't seen in a long time. Tears in the shower, tears while driving, tears during meals. Six months just seems like such a definitive amount of time. She's been gone now as long as I had her. Life is "back to normal", at least as viewed by the outside world.
Yet, I feel like crap.
The hospital's walk was nice, I guess. My parents, M's parents, attended with us. I would have rather have gone just the two of us, but people are trying to be supportive, and I'm trying to let them be, although in the end I just end up frustrated. No one can make this better. Having people try and fail makes it worse instead of better.
We drove to the park just the two of us, the four parents following behind in another car. We walked ahead of them to the lawn where the walk was supposed to start,
There were kids everywhere, running, climbing trees. Laughing. People standing around in clumps, chatting. No one seemed sad. Just me. I chocked back tears as I wrote our names on the list of families and Charlotte's name on the baby list. We pinned on our pink ribbons.
It started inside with a welcome and the obligatory poem reading. Some matter-of-factly read the list of baby names. It was noisy. A woman sat next to me with a carrier with a small baby girl, probably two or three months old.
Of course, I can't even come to a memory walk without having a baby right next to me.
I felt smothered in there. I glanced behind me to see another babylost mama with tears on her cheeks, and I felt a little less alone.
We stood to head outside for the walk. Someone tapped M on the shoulder. I heard a woman say I was working the night Charlotte was born.
When I looked at her it took a moment to register. It was D., Charlotte's nurse, who on that horrible day, said all the right things, did all the right things, made it all a little better.
She took such care of her. I can't say enough wonderful things about this woman. She treated Charlotte with such tenderness and gentleness. She prepared her keepsakes, helped us get organized for her funeral. She really was amazing. We sent her flowers as a thank-you a few weeks after I got out of the hospital.
I was so glad to see her.
She gave me a big hug and she cried with me, thanked us for sending her the flowers. My sister had a baby that died the week after Charlotte, she said. My first day back to work was the day I got your flowers and the note. That was really special.
It was her sister I had seen behind me, crying earlier.
I thanked her for taking such good care of Charlotte when she was born.
Oh, she was so beautiful, she said. I've thought about you both so many times.
And I, her.
I think the idea of a memory walk is great. The meeting room was stifling and claustrophobic, but the walk was lovely, through the crisp fall air, leaves turning colours and a cool breeze. I could breathe again outside. I could manage that. People spread out. There were babies in strollers everywhere, the younger and older siblings of the lost. We were given a sprig of baby's breath and we dropped it into the river from the bridge, and watched it float away.
In a few minutes we were back on the lawn, in the "Angel's Grove" where they plant a tree each year in memory of the babies. This year it was a short, chubby blue spruce with a perfect Christmas tree shape. 10 other trees share the grove, from the 10 previous memory walks.
A babylost mama spoke. Her son, Michael, was stillborn in 1997. Her family, along with others at the time, started this walk. She spoke of how a couple of months after Michael died, she found herself collapsed in front of her living room window, pleading that someone besides she and her husband remember their baby. The walk stemmed from that.
After the speech people dispersed around all the trees, looking at the tree from their baby's year. Kids were running, laughing. Adults a bit more somber. I was a wreck (what else is new).
We finished up back in that meeting room, listening to a CD recording of a song called "Rainy Days" by a local folk group, the Ennis Sisters. I've tried to find a link to post with no avail. I will if I come across it.
I've heard that song 1000 times but yesterday was the first time with babylost ears. It's a beautiful song, and now, so sad.
We stayed for some refreshments and shortly afterwards I wanted to go. We went home and I went to bed for a few hours.
I feel today like I did in the first few weeks after Charlotte's death. A little bit of nausea, no appetite, spontaneous tears, trouble breathing. In a way, I feel out-of-body, like all of this is happening to someone else and I'm just along for the ride. The difference is that now I'm trying to be productive while going through this. I have to teach in an hour. I have to dry the tears and focus and go on.
I so, so, wish I could just crawl back in bed with reruns of Sex and the City and just be, today.
We're back to our psychologist tomorrow. There's always something to talk about.
It was all a bit too much, I think. I found Charlotte's six month anniversary hard. I was reduced to spontaneous tears that I haven't seen in a long time. Tears in the shower, tears while driving, tears during meals. Six months just seems like such a definitive amount of time. She's been gone now as long as I had her. Life is "back to normal", at least as viewed by the outside world.
Yet, I feel like crap.
The hospital's walk was nice, I guess. My parents, M's parents, attended with us. I would have rather have gone just the two of us, but people are trying to be supportive, and I'm trying to let them be, although in the end I just end up frustrated. No one can make this better. Having people try and fail makes it worse instead of better.
We drove to the park just the two of us, the four parents following behind in another car. We walked ahead of them to the lawn where the walk was supposed to start,
There were kids everywhere, running, climbing trees. Laughing. People standing around in clumps, chatting. No one seemed sad. Just me. I chocked back tears as I wrote our names on the list of families and Charlotte's name on the baby list. We pinned on our pink ribbons.
It started inside with a welcome and the obligatory poem reading. Some matter-of-factly read the list of baby names. It was noisy. A woman sat next to me with a carrier with a small baby girl, probably two or three months old.
Of course, I can't even come to a memory walk without having a baby right next to me.
I felt smothered in there. I glanced behind me to see another babylost mama with tears on her cheeks, and I felt a little less alone.
We stood to head outside for the walk. Someone tapped M on the shoulder. I heard a woman say I was working the night Charlotte was born.
When I looked at her it took a moment to register. It was D., Charlotte's nurse, who on that horrible day, said all the right things, did all the right things, made it all a little better.
She took such care of her. I can't say enough wonderful things about this woman. She treated Charlotte with such tenderness and gentleness. She prepared her keepsakes, helped us get organized for her funeral. She really was amazing. We sent her flowers as a thank-you a few weeks after I got out of the hospital.
I was so glad to see her.
She gave me a big hug and she cried with me, thanked us for sending her the flowers. My sister had a baby that died the week after Charlotte, she said. My first day back to work was the day I got your flowers and the note. That was really special.
It was her sister I had seen behind me, crying earlier.
I thanked her for taking such good care of Charlotte when she was born.
Oh, she was so beautiful, she said. I've thought about you both so many times.
And I, her.
I think the idea of a memory walk is great. The meeting room was stifling and claustrophobic, but the walk was lovely, through the crisp fall air, leaves turning colours and a cool breeze. I could breathe again outside. I could manage that. People spread out. There were babies in strollers everywhere, the younger and older siblings of the lost. We were given a sprig of baby's breath and we dropped it into the river from the bridge, and watched it float away.
In a few minutes we were back on the lawn, in the "Angel's Grove" where they plant a tree each year in memory of the babies. This year it was a short, chubby blue spruce with a perfect Christmas tree shape. 10 other trees share the grove, from the 10 previous memory walks.
A babylost mama spoke. Her son, Michael, was stillborn in 1997. Her family, along with others at the time, started this walk. She spoke of how a couple of months after Michael died, she found herself collapsed in front of her living room window, pleading that someone besides she and her husband remember their baby. The walk stemmed from that.
After the speech people dispersed around all the trees, looking at the tree from their baby's year. Kids were running, laughing. Adults a bit more somber. I was a wreck (what else is new).
We finished up back in that meeting room, listening to a CD recording of a song called "Rainy Days" by a local folk group, the Ennis Sisters. I've tried to find a link to post with no avail. I will if I come across it.
I've heard that song 1000 times but yesterday was the first time with babylost ears. It's a beautiful song, and now, so sad.
We stayed for some refreshments and shortly afterwards I wanted to go. We went home and I went to bed for a few hours.
I feel today like I did in the first few weeks after Charlotte's death. A little bit of nausea, no appetite, spontaneous tears, trouble breathing. In a way, I feel out-of-body, like all of this is happening to someone else and I'm just along for the ride. The difference is that now I'm trying to be productive while going through this. I have to teach in an hour. I have to dry the tears and focus and go on.
I so, so, wish I could just crawl back in bed with reruns of Sex and the City and just be, today.
We're back to our psychologist tomorrow. There's always something to talk about.
Saturday, October 4, 2008
Six months
Well, Charlotte's anniversary is today. Birthday? Death day? Is there a right word for this?
It's been six months.
Feels like forever.
I've been retracing time in my mind for the last 24 hours or so....
6 months ago right now my sister and I were looking at wedding pictures and everything was looking fine. I had no idea what was going to happen that day.
6 months ago right now was when we had our last ultrasound and everything was fine. I thought I was safe, at least for a few more days.
6 months ago right now was when Dr D came in and told us about HELLP, and then we went to L&D.
She was born at 5:22, died at 7:32 p.m. I have a few more hours to go.
Tomorrow is our hospital's Walk to Remember. Fitting weekend for us.
I'm just so tired. This is all so draining.
It's been six months.
Feels like forever.
I've been retracing time in my mind for the last 24 hours or so....
6 months ago right now my sister and I were looking at wedding pictures and everything was looking fine. I had no idea what was going to happen that day.
6 months ago right now was when we had our last ultrasound and everything was fine. I thought I was safe, at least for a few more days.
6 months ago right now was when Dr D came in and told us about HELLP, and then we went to L&D.
She was born at 5:22, died at 7:32 p.m. I have a few more hours to go.
Tomorrow is our hospital's Walk to Remember. Fitting weekend for us.
I'm just so tired. This is all so draining.
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