With A Little Help From My Friends

Image Copyright JSH August 2010

Two years ago, my world was nearly finished. I had just learned that the baby I was carrying, River, died. I was waiting for my body to release her. If you have been following my blog for a while, you know I have gone through many ups and downs. Lots of downs. Down deep. My emotions and sanity were flung so far down to a level I never knew existed. When I step back and look at myself, I wonder how I am even here. Truly, if it wasn't for my little boy, I may not be here. Th love for my little boy is what kept me holding on and the support from some amazing friends kept my head above water as I was drowning.

During my miscarriage, I experienced all levels of support. As I have written in the past, being a mother who has miscarried puts you in a weird place. Society doesn't know what to do with you. A lot of people are uncomfortable with the idea of someone losing a baby. A lot of people are uncomfortable with the grief that accompanies such a loss. As such, many parents who lose babies feel very alone. There may be an initial burst of support, but that quickly wanes. Many experience an outright shunning. People no longer want to deal with your grief. YOU inconvenience THEM. I certainly experienced this. I have never, ever felt so alone. I have never felt so guilty for being a human and having those pesky emotions. I am so thankful for the love of my family and some friends for reminding me of the light. I lost friends because of my miscarriage. I lost my own respect for certain people in my life after I heard things they said about me not two weeks after I found out River died. It was so hard to grasp at those leftover pieces of sanity after all of the bullshit that I heard and read about myself. Thankfully, there were a few people who helped me.

Amongst all the negative, I had wonderful support from my family and my husband and some of my friends. I don't want anyone to feel slighted because I don't mention them, but I really appreciated their support. Some old friends from grade school and high school shared their stories of loss with me and told me how they were able to regain their strength and make it through. Friends from work also shared their stories and their strength. Others who hadn't experienced such a loss rallied around me, listened to me and gave me their love. A co-worker made me a necklace with River's name on it and that meant so much for me, especially at a time when I struggled to find people there who acknowledged what happened to me and that I was NOT crazy when I had emotional breakdowns. Two friends stand out, Eve and Lauren.

Eve is a nutrition goddess. She's not one of those weirdo dietician people who spout outdated and incorrect diet information from 1967. She has studied for a long time and she really knows her shit. Helping people achieve their optimal health through nutrition and exercise is her business (along with her husband). She knows food is medicine. She is not, however, judgmental. She isn't going to make you feel like crap because you ate a twinkie pizza. She'll just gently guide you to the right resources. She doesn't do this because she wants you to be a robot follower. She genuinely cares about the health of people and our planet. After my miscarriage, she gave me lots of love and good energy. She is three thousand miles away from me, so we communicated via text and Facebook. She was one of the few who would check in on me almost daily to see how I was doing. We talked about the fact that I was emotionally so out of whack and that my depression was scary. We talked about what was going on with me physically that could have contributed to my miscarriage. I'll admit, for all of my hippie, crunchy granola lifestyle, I wasn't eating the best. I tend to take care of others while I neglect myself. I would make sure my son ate optimally. Same for my husband. I won't feed my cats anything without reading all of the ingredients and understanding them. When it came to taking care of me, I wasn't so careful. After lots of talking, she thought I might have an issue with low progesterone and way too much estrogen. It's a common problem for women today, especially due to the piss poor standard American diet. She encouraged me to use a natural progesterone supplement called Progest-E, which is a gel that you rub on your gums. She also counseled me on making wiser choices with my food. She knew that the right foods would heal my body and my mind. For the past two years, Eve has put up with my random texts asking stupid questions about foods, hormones, exercise and  the like. With her help, I started taking the progesterone and changing my eating habits. It most definitely made a difference. My cycles evened out (I had a short luteal phase, which is usually caused by low progesterone and can increase the risk of miscarriage) and I began to feel better both mentally and physically. To this day, Eve is always there when I need nutritional advice at 1am or just plain old emotional support. Everyone needs an Eve.

And Lauren. We all need a Lauren. Lauren is one person who has seen the ugliest side of me many times and she still loves me. Lauren has had many chances to tell me that she is so over me, over my drama, over my issues and that she can't handle me anymore, but she doesn't do that. For me, Lauren is that single set of footprints in the sand during some shitty times in my life. I've known her for about 6 years now. I met her on the other side of my cervix, as she was one of my midwives when I was pregnant with my son. Lauren and I are a great example of how two people with quite a few differences can still be awesome friends. On the surface, we are both natural birth crunchy people, though I take the granola cake here. We have super opposing views on certain things. She is a very conservative Christian and conservative republican. I am a filthy liberal Christopagan. We definitely have different views on some issues, but that isn't what friendship is about. While the rest of the world would like you to think that polar opposites can't get along, we happen to be mature adults. It's about more than sharing common social ground. We share a very similar spirit, even if it's expressed differently. Honestly, we're just both awesome and awesome attracts awesome. That's why we work. I mention all of this because it seems like it's so easy to give up anymore. It's easy to brush people off if they don't fit a certain ideal or behave a certain way. Back to my miscarriage. I have written before that Lauren would always call or text at the exact moment that I really needed her. It would be the middle of the night and I would be crying in bed, asking God if He really listened and was there and my phone would go off with a text from Lauren (working the night shift in maternity) just checking up on me and sending me love. She was always there right when I needed someone. She heard the worst of me. She listened to my sadness, my promises to kill myself, my hatred for myself and other people and God. Like I said, Lauren is a Christian - the daughter of a Pastor - and I would sit on the phone and pretty much tell her that God was an asshole and that I hated Him. Heck, I didn't believe in Him. She never preached. She never told me I was sinning by saying those awful things. She gave gentle reminders that He understood my anger and that He wouldn't be mad at me. After all, He lost a child, too. She heard me say how much I hated this person and that person. I spewed a lot of vile anger at the time in an attempt to pin my pain on anything but myself. Whatever I said, she listened without judgment. She let me get it all out. In those really dark moments, she was right besides me pointing out light. Not to get all preachy, but she reminded me of God's love way more than any Bible, preacher, church or sermon ever could. I was in an awful state and hard for anyone to deal with, but Lauren wasn't going to let me go down. I was drowning in my sea of personal depression and she was my lighthouse, guiding me back to the shore. I've had many dark moments since, especially during this time of year, and she is still there. She has gone through a really horrible time in the past year and I hope that I have been some sort of comfort to her and she finds her own way back to the light just as she has done for me. Even in her rough times, she is still there for me if I need support. She is an excellent example of what true friendship is about.

It can be hard and frustrating to watch people go through shitty moments. Sometimes, it's easy to get angry at them, especially if they wrongly lash out at you in their pain. It's easy to want to slap them and tell them to put on their big girl panties and get the fuck over it. It is easy to write people off as a lost cause. True friends, however, understand that people are not perfect. We all have our dark moments. We all have to sail our little ships on rough seas now and then - those true friends will help you navigate through it. Many times, I have been that person whose hand steadies the wheel at the helm of the ship. I am grateful, then, to have friends who have done the same for me.

I'm writing this to honor special people who have stood by me and who have allowed me to stand by them. I want to remind you all to honor those who have stood by you. Sometimes, we get lost in the chaos of life and we don't truly reflect on the value of friendship. There are times when we don't see ourselves as a value to others. But, you are valuable. Even if your friends suck at expressing it. Most likely, just the knowledge that you are there is what gets them through a rough day or two. They may not need to call on you to fix everything. They may not need you to listen to hours of ranting. Just having the knowledge that you are available to them if they need that shoulder and that you will be there for them with love and without judgment can be one of the most perfect gifts in friendship. They may just need that glimpse of a lighthouse to guide them out of rough waters. While I have had my share of letdowns with people, I take time to remind myself that I do have some wonderful and amazing friends who are nothing less than an absolute treasure. They have helped me keep my eyes on the horizon. I can only hope that I have been able to do the same for them.

Love to ALL.

The Last Flicker

That was my belly on March 1, 2010. I was six weeks pregnant with River. I was just beginning to get hit by the all day nausea that blesses me in all of my pregnancies. Before this, I had been eating 3lb shank steaks as a snack. Obviously, my body was preparing to not eat for a few weeks.

I wanted to share this photo with everyone. I don't have many from that pregnancy. I just have a couple of belly shots, showing wonderful growth, a picture of my positive pregnancy test and the picture the ultrasound tech gave me of my dead baby. I need to share some sort of photo with you. I need the world to see that she existed. She was real. In this picture, she was snug in my womb, safe and alive. Her growth was causing things in my body to move...making my little belly stick out like that. She caused my breasts to swell and my skin to clear up and glow. She was real. You can see that she was a part of my body then. Everything was hopeful and alive.

I have many anniversaries from that pregnancy. She was conceived in the first week of February - probably the 3rd or the 4th. The test turned positive on February 18th. There is this picture, taken on March 1st. Then there is today. March 13th. Two years ago today was the last day that I saw her alive. I was working and decided to pop the ultrasound probe on my belly. Not a good idea, don't do it. It was a bad pregnancy habit of mine. It wasn't the 1st time I checked for her. I had seen her a couple of times. Alive. Heart beating. March 13th...there she was. She was perfect for a nearly 8 week fetus. She was so much bigger than the last time I had seen her on ultrasound. Growing strong. Her little heart flickered the way it was supposed to. Fast. Regular. Perfect. I counted the beats. She was in the 150's. I felt a sense of relief. I put the probe away, wiped the goo off my belly and shut the machine off. I told myself I wouldn't do another ultrasound until about 20 weeks and I would get it done at the hospital. All was well.

March 15th. I was filled with so much anxiety. I felt a horrid little black rain cloud following me around. I tried to shake it away. I told myself everything was alright, but I couldn't focus on work. I did everything to get my mind off it. I went out for water ice to soothe my nausea. My car broke down. Ah, perhaps that was the anxiety - I sensed car trouble. Miraculously, my car started up again within minutes of calling the tow truck. I went about the rest of my day - dinner, belly dance class, bed.

March 16. I had my first prenatal appointment with my midwife. We discussed my plans. I was feeling super nauseous and even wore sea bands. My midwife was happy that I was so nauseous. I declined the 8 week ultrasound, explaining that I had done my own and that baby was perfection. I went to work that night and things proceeded as normal. I had a sudden wave of feeling very dizzy and very unwell. I told myself it was all normal ... I was even happy as it meant things were working. But, I got this nag. Something was telling me that I needed to check myself with the ultrasound. I tried to push it all down, but it didn't work. The nagging in my brain continued. I gave in and took a peek. We all know the story from here. I stared at that screen for so long, willing that flicker to start up again. I jumped up and down. I jiggled the probe on my belly. I prayed, begged and pleaded in my mind to get the flicker to start up again. But it never did.

March 30th - the follow up ultrasound to confirm what I already knew. A day where I was treated like some subhuman piece of trash without feelings. I'll never get over the way I was treated. Never.

April 1 - the day my midwife called after 8am and said, "it's just as you expected." I finalized my decision then to allow my body to miscarry naturally, knowing that it could take weeks of carrying my dead baby until my body and my heart were ready to let go.

April 18th - the day I finally birthed her into Heaven. My first homebirth, technically.

October 27th - her due date.

It's been two years of frequent spirals downward. This time of year is always hard for me because of the memories. It's hard to escape. I have a bunch of sad anniversaries coming up. I'll deal with them as they come along. Today, I'll remember that moment two years ago when my world was right. When I was standing on the edge of the cliff before starting my depressive free fall. Today I will focus on the memory of her being alive. I will keep that flickering heartbeat forever carved onto my own heart. She was alive.

Somewhere Around the Rainbow

 I am a master of being fake.

 Not a fake friend. Not even a fake person. I mean, I usually tell it like it is. But, I faked so much when I was recovering - mentally, spiritually and physically - from my miscarriage. 

 I've written a bit on it and how it made me feel. I had a lot to process. I was so depressed. So angry. I was writing to let it out. And then, I stopped. Not because I was healed. Not because anyone told me to stop. I just wanted the thoughts to stop. I was turning into a different person, someone I didn't ever want to be.

You could say that I have rage issues. As a child, I was bullied and tormented in school. No, really tormented. Things happened that would shape my psyche forever. As a result of what I went through, I lost my ability to trust other people. I became insecure and unable to have confidence in anything about myself. I felt rage. I was never able to feel like I got any justice for what was done to me in school. I wanted so badly to hurt the people who hurt me, but I kept it in. I didn't want to worry my parents and I didn't want my friends to know the truth about what I was going through. My rage has always been on the back burner, just waiting. If you watch Dexter, he talks about his "dark passenger." That's rage for me ... a dark passenger, riding along in my cerebral depths, waiting for just the right time to stop the car, get out and make a grand entrance. I was able to suppress it for years. I acknowledged it, knew it was there and told myself it would always stay buried. In my heart of hearts, I'm a pacifist. I don't believe in wishing harm. I believe our thoughts eventually lead to reality and I didn't want to open that box. Until my miscarriage. Every restraint I had placed upon my rage just snapped. Broken. Unleashed. It was here and it wasn't leaving.

  Losing a child - there are no words to describe the pain. No one can understand what you are going through. Our society has made it a stigma, keeping grieving parents quietly tucked away in a corner lest our grief cause anyone to become uncomfortable. I have a wonderful family and wonderful friends who were my rock during that time. They read my woeful status updates, they talked to me, they acknowledged me. My friend Lauren heard the brunt of it. She took frantic phone calls from my husband, who was worried I was going to harm myself. She listened to me ramble psychotically. She stayed on that rocking boat with me in my sea of fear and wild emotions, dropping her anchor and steadying me when I needed it. Who knows where I'd be without my hubby, my little boy, Lauren and my other friends and family. It wouldn't be a good place.

I had never felt anger like that before. As I've written before, anything would set me off. Work was especially hard on me. Things were said that really hurt me, even if it wasn't meant to be that way. I felt so caged up, like I was going to crack at any moment. I raged on in status updates, on this blog and on online forums. That was only the tip. No one saw the real me. The once gentle mother who screamed at her little boy every hour of every day. The mother who believed so much in gentle discipline spanking her little boy. The mother who believed too much TV was bad for her child's brain letting that little boy watch TV for 4 or 5 hours straight while she lay catatonic on the couch. The mother who was gung-ho about a natural and organic diet for her family giving in to buying fast food and allowing more junk food in the home. The mother who would go outside and play and hike and run with her little boy just laying on the couch while he watched TV and destroyed the house. The wife who would listen to her husband and support him now cut him down. The wife who used to be loving and playful became verbally abusive and hateful. The wife who wanted to keep a happy and semi-neat home just letting the house go to shit. The woman who loved peace and non-violence punching and denting the car of a stranger. The employee who cared about her job and her co-workers would violently snap at them at random moments. I was nothing. I became so absorbed in my hatred of this world and all the happy things in it. Friends were announcing pregnancies and I wanted to punch them. How dare they have what was taken from me. I was more apt to spew venom at cashiers with attitude or strangers who looked at me the wrong way. My fuse was short and ablaze with all of my sorrowful anger. I wanted people to hurt. I wanted people to feel my pain. I was suffering and I needed the world to suffer, too. I didn't care who or what I hurt. I didn't care if I hurt myself. I need to feel that rage and let it burn.

  Is this the part where I tell you that the clouds parted, the sun shone through and the angels sang? Not exactly. There is a little sunlight, but it's a mostly cloudy day and the only angel singing is tone deaf - worse, he only knows one Justin Bieber song. Yes, the rage subsided somewhat, but allowing it to come out has made it harder to stuff back in. Kinda like those old gag "snakes in a can." You'll eventually get that bastard back into the can, but it takes a lot of pushing and shoving and the snake springs back out at you from time to time before you finally stuff it back in. I'm working on it. I became pregnant in November of 2010, 7 months after River died. Pregnancy kept the anxiety flowing. I never had a moment where I relaxed. Loss was always in the back of my mind. I had a few moments where I snapped. I had a health issue here and there and the fear of loss would slap me in the face and I'd flip out. And then I would get anxious about flipping out, worrying that I would hurt my little baby girl. It was a viscous cycle. I didn't relax until the moment she slipped out of my womb and into my arms.

  Why am I writing this? I've been reading comments here and there on Facebook. I won't get into specifics, but they involve judging a mother for the angry way she has been dealing with the loss of her baby. I understand  that the anger must eventually subside for the sanity and health of the mother and all involved. You don't want to use hate and anger for your baby's legacy. I get that. But, I get the pain. I get the rage. I get needing to lash out at people and make them feel as bad as you. Not everyone grieves that way, but I certainly understand those that do. My heart breaks for mothers who lose their sweet babies. It breaks when I see them judged in their grief. While their emotional outpourings may be hurtful towards others, it's still no excuse to berate them. These mamas need support so they can make through the rage and work on putting their peace puzzle back together. If we feed into their hate - and there are those who do - then we don't do the mama or her sweet baby's memory justice. I know I needed to feel that anger, but I didn't want it to become River's legacy forever.

  I'm trying to climb my way out of this fog. The sun is beginning to shine through the rain and I can make out the faint colors of my own symbolic prism. I am ashamed that I lost myself so badly in the last year and a half. I am ashamed that I disrupted my son's happy childhood because I could not adequately deal with my emotions around him. I'm trying to pick up all of those broken little pieces and put them back together again and I can only pray that the damage isn't permanent. I need myself back. I know I'm out there and I'm getting closer to finding me again. I'm waiting for myself.

Sparrow

I love tattoos. I only have three so far, but more will come. They are as addictive as coffee. My most recent tattoo is the one pictured here. I got it a year ago, in memory of the baby I lost.

This wasn't my first tattoo. I'd had one done in memory of my kitty, Abigael. When she died, I stamped her paws into a stamp pad and made little ink footprints and had a tattoo artist etch them into my ankle. There wasn't any question that I'd have one done after my miscarriage.

It took a while to come up with something. The more I thought about it, the harder it was to decide what I wanted. So I decided to stop thinking so hard about it. That's when the idea of using a sparrow popped into my head. Sparrows have amazing symbolism around them. All across the world they are linked with safe travel to Heaven/The Underworld. In some cultures, it is the sparrow who guides the soul to Heaven. Sparrows also represent safe travel and finding one's way home. This could also be why they are linked to helping souls navigate to Heaven - they safely guide the soul's travel to the next place in life. Wayward souls would be caught by sparrows and brought to Heaven. Sparrows also remind us to find joy, even when things seem down. They are symbols of family ,fertility and the Mama Goddess. They tell us that being small doesn't mean you can't do big things. In Christianity, the sparrow reminds us that God cares for even the least among us. In Matthew 10:29 Jesus says, "Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from the will of your Father." A similar sentiment from Jesus is found in Luke 12:6 - "Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies? Yet not one of them is forgotten by God." We are reminded that no matter how insignificant a creature may seem, it is still important to God. Sparrows have also come to symbolize The Resurrection, both in Christian terms and in the idea of the resurrection of life that occurs each Spring.

It was a combination of all those things that made me realize the sparrow was a good choice. And it.just.felt.right. My sparrow is a symbol of River's soul taking flight and safely arriving in Heaven. My sparrow reminds me that her life, though short, was still very significant. My sparrow reminds me of my connection to the Earth, the promise of resurrection and as a reminder of my fertility. I googled some sparrow images, but didn't totally settle on one. One particular sparrow caught my eye, but I didn't take the image to my artist. I figured I would discuss it with her and decide if I wanted a "real" sparrow or a cartoon version.

At the shop, my artist, Christina, googled sparrows. The first image she clicked on was the exact one that had caught my eye previously. It was meant to be. She then suggested having my little sparrow sitting on a Cherry Blossom branch. Cherry Blossoms are symbols of Spring, new life, resurrection, joy (especially finding joy within sorrow), hope and fertility. Of course they were a perfect symbol.

This is my biggest tattoo and the only one with color. The others are quite small and black. Getting the tattoo was a great experience. It didn't hurt at all. I had a great conversation with my artist. Some tattoo artists are quiet and don't want to talk while they are working. Christina was very talkative, engaging me to talk about why I chose this particular story. She listened to the story of my miscarriage. We talked about my birth philosophy, which she seemed pretty interested in. It was a good, healing tattoo session. My little baby was etched into my memory, my heart, my soul and now into my skin.

It Hurt. I Screamed. I'm Still Legit.

Walking while in labor. Pre-screaming.

Ok, I might piss some people off with this. There is something in the natural birth community that annoys the heck out of me sometimes. I need to vent a little.

It's pain and the attitude towards it.

You see, in the natural birth world, there are many who believe that a natural birth should not be painful. It shouldn't hurt. You should only feel an intensity that is almost a relief. Something you work with. Furthermore, everything should be gentle. You should birth your baby in near silence with a serene smile on your face. Bonus points for popping an orgasm while you're at it. Pain and/or screaming is a sign that the woman is not prepared for her birth and that she is afraid. It's a sign that she has let fear take over the labor. Screaming will make the pain worse. Screaming will scare your baby and scare that precious child for life.

I call bullshit.

Now, I am not knocking how anyone else gives birth. Please know that this is not an attack on anyone who was smiling serenely or having an orgasm. I completely support a woman's right to educate herself and empower herself to have the birth of her dreams. I'm totally behind those who want to use hypnosis, orgasmic births or other techniques to help them through the process of labor and birth. What I'm knocking is the holier-than-thou attitude that can be seen in many discussions of pain in labor and birth. This idea that if you're feeling pain then you're doing it wrong.

I'm serious - those words have been typed out by some of my fellow hippie, loving, gentle natural birth comrades. You are doing it wrong if it hurts. You are too afraid. You don't know how to give into the intense sensations of labor and let your body take over. It's only painful because you are calling it, "pain." It's only painful if you don't know how to cope and if you let it "get to you." It's painful because you are not educated enough and you don't know what to expect. If you don't imagine that your vagina is a beautiful lotus flower slowly unfolding, petal by petal, then it's going to hurt. The worst I've seen is some women telling other women that normal births are not painful.

It makes me want to bang my head on my desk when I read these things - but, that would hurt. It's true that your emotional state plays a part in your labor. It is most certainly true that fear can hinder labor. And I definitely advocate for women to be educated about the birth process, partly to eliminate that fear. But having pain and even experiencing fear do not equal failure. It's not an all or nothing scenario. Birth is not black and white.

I gave birth three times. Twice to live, full term babies and once during my miscarriage @ 12 weeks (baby died at 8 weeks and, yes, that was "real" full-blown labor). Guess what? It hurt. No, it really fucking hurt. I screamed. All three times. I screamed.

My first birth was in a hospital. It was a last minute transfer. I did not have a single medical issue that needed a hospital. I was supposed to give birth in a birth center, but the head midwife closed it down that weekend because she had a horsie show to attend and didn't want her sleep interrupted. The other midwife was not able, per birth center policy (and the law, I believe) to attend my birth at the birth center on her own. So, I had to have my birth at the hospital with her. In all, it was 27 hour labor with a posterior little boy. I spent 8 hours of that labor in the hospital. My labor was fine and manageable at home. I got to the hospital and let her check me - 4 cms. Things began picking up and my contractions became more intense. They were - gasp - painful. They remained painful for the rest of my labor, until that little guy slid out (more like rocketed out) into the world. I was able to deal with the pain through position changes, a little dip in the birth pool, walking and saying "fuck" as many times as possible. I dealt with the pain. the pain had a purpose. I don't remember the actual sensations of pain, but there was pain. Pain was part of it. I screamed while pushing. Like I was being murdered. I pushed for about 45 minutes. Looking back on it, I wondered if my pain was caused by the fact that I was in the hospital. I was upset that I wasn't having the birth center birth that I had planned for nearly half my life. That could have been part of a lot of things. That may have made the pain worse. Would I still have had pain at the birth center? Would I scream at a birth center?

My second labor was to birth my angel baby, River. River died at 8 weeks, but the physical miscarriage didn't happen until 12 weeks. I had chosen to allow it to happen naturally as opposed to getting a D and E. My midwife told me to expect "real labor." It was her experience that miscarriages after 8 weeks were more likely to feel exactly like any other labor. I was prepared for that. I tried so hard to manage that labor - all 6 hours of regular contractions and actual transition - as gently as possible. Once I knew it was really happening, I got into the tub and prayed (the "Hail Mary" is my go-to labor mantra, until transition when Mary is replaced with "fuck"). It hurt like a mother fucker. Of course, I was birthing death. In a few hours, the last of my physical connection to this little baby that I had bonded with in 8 weeks would be gone. There was emotional torment like you wouldn't believe. Of course that contributed to physical pain. I later wondered, would it have been painful if I was giving birth to a live baby at home?

My third labor was just two months ago. This time, I had a homebirth attended by two midwives, one of whom is a best friend and the midwife who delivered my son. I had been telling myself for my whole pregnancy that I was going to have a pain-free, 5 hour labor with one painless push. Positive thinking, you know? I had no fears about labor. I even studied some hypnosis techniques. My labor was about 17 hours from the time my water broke until the time my daughter was born. I slept during the early part of that labor. My midwife/friend came over late in the morning and we hung out while I contracted. My contractions were definitely manageable with movement, especially belly dance. I walked, I prayed, I cursed, I ate, I took showers, I pooped. I moaned beautifully like a humpback whale in heat. All the fun stuff. There was pain and I worked through it. Then transition hit and OMG it hurt like a mo-fo. Transition is the point where I'm almost certain I will die unless I get an epidural. So I ask for an epidural. I have done this through all three labors. It feels good to me to ask for that epidural. Before the birth of my first son, I was told that the moment where I feel like I can't do it anymore and that I need an epi is when it's almost over. So, feeling like I needed that told me that I was close to the end and I embraced it. But, it still hurt like a mother and I began my usual screaming. From transition to pushing was barely an hour. I began to whine. My other midwife arrived at that point. I whined to both midwives that I was "supposed" to be that woman you see in all the natural birth videos who just smiles through labor and doesn't feel pain. I said that over and over until both midwives said, "Jenn, that's bullshit. You're doing great and this is almost over." I pushed for about 15 minutes. And screamed. I screamed that I was going to die. That I gave up. I screamed that I just knew she was going to get stuck. I screamed because pushing that baby - all 6lbs 8 ounces of her - hurt so freakin' bad. The dialogue inside my head was slightly crazy. I'm going to die. I'm not going to die. This hurts like hell. She'll be here any minute and it'll be over and you'll forget the pain. She's stuck. Oh my God, the ambulance will have to come and take me to the hospital. They'll take me out of the house on a gurney with her head halfway out and all my neighbors will see my vagina and that I missed a spot shaving and...oh God, she's going to be stuck. I'm going to die. Oh my...and she's here. That was the actual dialogue inside my head while I was screaming. And then my daughter was here and all that pain was worth it. My placenta - the part I dreaded because I remember it hurting when I gave birth to my son - slipped out 5 minutes later without so much as a single second of discomfort. Well, there was the painless birth, I guess.

My question had been answered. I gave birth at home. No hospital. My baby was full term and alive. No sadness. I was educated and empowered. It still hurt. It may just be me. That might be what I need to get motivated to push a baby out of my vagina. It's part of my physiological make-up. I experience pain in labor. It doesn't stop me from birthing naturally. Yet, I had a little nag inside my head. One one hand, I was proud of myself for having the homebirth I had desired for so long and for rocking it. I was proud of the sweet little girl nestled up to my breast. I was an awesome birthin' mama. On the other hand, I wondered why I screamed. I went into this with the specific intention of not screaming like I did with my other labor. Why did I scream? Then I felt like I failed. I felt a sense of failure for allowing myself to feel pain, for not being able to get into some peaceful, serene or hypnotic state. I felt like I failed myself and my baby for screaming. Then I worried that I scarred her because the last things she heard while in my womb were, "fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuccccckkkkk!" and my pain-induced bellowing. Within days after her birth, I actually googled to see if other natural-birthin' mamas were screamers. I came across a blog entitled "Judging Birth." I'll let you read that, and the following comments, without expanding on it too much. In essence, she says we need to stop judging how we labor and that not all of us are quiet birthers. It made me feel better to read that blog and then the comments. And then it made me mad. Why was I seeking "acceptance" for my birth behavior? Why did I feel the need to justify why I felt pain and why I screamed? I was mad that I allowed myself to feel like some sort of failure. Yet, to read many of these blog posts, comments, discussions on facebook, you will feel like a failure if you admit to feeling pain or having the slightest fraction of fear during your birth. We need to stop this.

I find it funny that the natural birth community can actually have these discussions. Aren't we the ones telling women to empower themselves to have the birth experience that's right for them? Aren't we the ones fighting to make sure women feel supported with their births? Aren't we the ones who admonish the OB who tells a woman to "hush" if she is too loud in labor? Aren't we the ones who yammer on and on and on about how birth is a normal, biological and very primal event? So why are we judging women who are, in fact, acting very primal? Why judge someone who feels pain? It's upsetting to me. We talk all about empowerment, but then we rip each other apart if our birth wasn't the right kind of natural. It's the granola wars, man. We're not helping anyone. We have mamas who are going to have natural births and feel pain and want to scream. They'll feel good because they gave birth naturally. Then they come online and read these comments that if they felt pain then something was wrong with the way they gave birth. Or you have the mamas who are pregnant and reading all of this before labor. So they hype themselves up into thinking they must have a completely painless labor. When it doesn't go that way, they feel like they failed. Those of us who feel the pain and scream it out fail Birth 101? Bullshit. This is no different than women feeling like failures because they ended up getting induced, getting epidurals and having c-sections. Only this time, we don't have an OB or evil hospital to blame. This time it's the woman's fault for allowing her psyche to take over.

Again, I have no problem with wanting a painless birth. I don't doubt that there are women who give birth without pain. I've seen it. I've seen women birth without making a peep because it wasn't hurting them. That's awesome, but those same women should never turn around and tell another woman that she failed because she felt pain...that it wasn't normal because she felt pain...that she wasn't educated enough to be pain-free. I'm very educated when it comes to birth and have been for a very long time - way before my first child was born. I grew up with a mother who worked in maternity and told me that birth is just plain old normal and natural. I know birth isn't something to passionately fear. I know all the biological, chemical, emotional and mechanical processes that are part of birth. I know what they say about high-pitched birth noises vs. low-pitched noises and I understand why that works. But, I also know that fear is a normal response. No, you shouldn't be in absolute horrified fear, but you shouldn't feel like you're doing something wrong if a moment of anxiety happens. You can't tell me that I wasn't educated or empowered. You can't tell me that I was a fraidy-cat. It's not true. Yet.I.Still.Felt.Pain. I still had moments of fear. In fact, those moments of fear may play an important role towards the end of labor. Check out this article by Michael Odent.

"A typical fetus ejection reflex is easy to recognize. It can be preceded by a sudden and transitory fear expressed in an irrational way ( “kill me”, “let me die”, etc.). In such a situation the worst attitude would be to reassure with words(5). This short and transitory expression of fear can be interpreted as a good sign of a spectacular increase of hormonal release, including adrenaline. It should be immediately followed by a series of irresistible contractions."

If you can birth with nary a fearful thought or moment of ouch then you go girl. If you start feeling the pain and you lose your rational brain toward the end then embrace it, work with it and know that your sweet little baby is so, so close. Don't feel like a failure if you didn't hypnotize as planned. Don't put yourself down for crying and telling everyone that you can't do it because you're going to die. You didn't fail. We all experience birth and pain differently and no one is better than the other because she did or didn't feel a certain way.

On another note, there is a lot of criticism of the natural birth community. There are blogs dedicated to trashing us or trying to debunk us. There are trolls who visit our blogs and facebook pages to stir up trouble and controversy. A lot of people see us as crazed hippies. They don't see that we're striving for better outcomes for mothers, babies and families. They don't see us for the good work that we're trying to do - for wanting to change such a failed maternity system. They see us as judgmental and insane. It doesn't do us any good to judge one another on this subject. It doesn't help get our message across. It just feeds the criticism and turns people off to the message.

Judging is for crappy reality shows, not childbirth.

Peace and much love.

Suffering shouldn't be silent

This article was just shared with me:

http://www.babble.com/pregnancy/my-pregnancy/coping-with-miscarriage-pregnancy-secret/

It's all about women feeling like they have to suffer in silence after we have a miscarriage because society is too afraid of the subject. It's something we need to change. NOW.

A helping hand for broken hearts

I recently came across a very important website. There is an organization called The Amethyst Network. They provide doula care to women experiencing miscarriage.

A miscarriage is a devastating time for a woman and her family. Often, we feel very alone. Since most miscarriages are just like "regular" labor, it makes sense to have a person who is trained in labor support and who, in this case, has experience with pregnancy and baby loss. The organization also advocates on behalf of family who have experienced pregnancy and baby loss. They plan to work with care providers across the country in order to get this support into the hands of families dealing with this devastation.

What an amazing group. They are new still, but growing very quickly. I urge all of my 8 followers to get the word out, donate and/or help where you can.


The Amethyst Network

Cracked Actor

I don't know why I do it. A few times a week I look at the October Due Date 2010 message boards. I was once a member. I once shared symptoms, stories and belly photos. Now, I'm a bystander, watching other women having the experience that I'm supposed to be having right now. Watching their bellies grow in the photos, like mine should be growing. A few babies have made their way into the world already and I know I should be sitting here, hand on my belly, reading those birth stories with the knowledge that my own should be in a few weeks. Sometimes, I forget for a moment and I rest my hand there anyway and pull it away when I realize it's empty, small and not the 35 week belly that should be there. My due date should be 29 days away. October 27th, 2010.
I'm so empty lately. I don't know how I'll pull through this next month. The date is in front of my eyes all day long, getting closer and more real. I try to sleep time away, but insomnia rules and I just lay awake thinking and thinking and thinking and thinking. It's becoming so real. No matter how many times I close my eyes and wish and pray that it was just a bad dream....hoping to feel a swollen belly with feet, arms, knees and elbows poking me...it doesn't happen. It's so unescapable and I'm just being hurtled forward into that day. And I have to smile. I have to pretend that it's okay, that I'm okay. I'm not okay. Everyday at work I am so numb. I feel nothing. I know they expect me to put on my brave face, be quiet, don't yell at doctors who make stupid comments about my tattoo, and act like the dumb, ditzy, sarcastic Jenn that everyone expects. Otherwise I'm "whiny, over-sensitive, over-reacting, looking for attention, not over it." I have to be concerned that my feelings make everyone else feel uncomfortable. I have to take care of others. It's my responsibility to keep my emotions in check so that no one else has to deal with me. I must carefully craft my little bullshit show of fake, happy emotions. If an unacceptable emotion rises up, I must push it down. It's an act I can't keep up with. I've cracked on occasion. Do you know what it's like being a woman who has miscarried who is experiencing a mini-breakdown? It's like being radioactive. People may stare at you all wide-eyed for a moment because that radioactive glow sure is odd. But then they step away, avert their eyes, keep their distance and take cover. They don't want to suffer the fall-out. If you bury yourself deep in your grief fall-out shelter, complete with non-perishable cans of avoidance, you can be sure that the annoying radioactive sobbing mother will eventually go away. How dare she shed her tears? How dare she feel awful, especially 6 months later. How dare she ... how could she ... why would she want to make US uncomfortable. Those sad people are so annoying. If you roll your eyes and sigh when you think she might not notice and turn around so she can't make eye contact she will probably comfort herself and just go away. Whew! Bad situation avoided. Oh dear, there's sarcastic Jenn. She's writing right here. She's back! Life is normal.
Fuck that shit.
There are days when I will be standing in line somewhere and I just want to scream, "Does anyone here have any clue what's going on with me?" To the cashier, I want to yell, "Do you know I lost a baby? Do you know what's going on inside of me?" Why was I the only one who noticed that the world stopped it's orbit on the day my baby died? Oh, but we can never be so up front about our sorrow. I hear you. You are thinking it right now. I wish she would just shut up about it already. Stop jamming your 'feelings' down our throats.
I'm tired of shutting myself up for people. I'm tired of hiding my discomfort for the sake of other people's comfort. I'm tired of being ashamed because I flipped on someone for saying the wrong thing. Tired of being ashamed because I NEED TO FUCKING TALK ABOUT IT. I'm tired of the expected silence. Tired of the deep sighs. Tired of the eye rolls. People think they are so clever. So hidden. They aren't. I've seen and heard it ALL. I'm fed up with being PUNISHED for so many different reasons. I have suffered the ultimate punishment - my child was taken away from my life, from her life. The supercedes all punishments available. Just an FYI. You think I'm not hard on myself? I could make a career out of being hard on myself. I do it well. And it's eaten at every single last fiber of my being. There is nothing left to me. A few sparse threads that you couldn't even weave through a needle. I've torn myself down. Others have torn me down. I'm tired. I'm tired. I'm tired. I can not put on a show any longer. The reality is bitch-slapping my ugly face day after day. Every dark bit of energy is trying to bring me down and I'm losing all the strength I had to resist it.
Let us all take a moment to thank God that Monkey is here. Without him....it would be so easy. So easy.
So easy for me to take the next exit. To leave a letter saying, "Thank you for shutting me out. Thank you for making me feel ashamed of my grief. Thank you for trying to box up my emotions and send them to a storage bin out of your sight and mind. Thank you for using my grief against me. Thank you for finally pushing me to the edge, for giving me that one last little nudge I needed to let myself go and join her." Bang.
And what would be done? People so surprised? I can't believe she really did it. Would you be happy with where we left off, permanently? Would you wish you sent that card or collected a few pennies to send us flowers or called and offered to help while clots of blood were running down my legs? Would you wish that you would have spoken up when you saw me cracking? Wished that you didn't join others in judging me and the way I am handling this? Because I don't need your fucking judgment. I don't need your bullshit "well this is how I would handle it stories." I needed understanding. I needed people to realize that I'm fucking serious. I needed people to step out of their comfort zone and say, "hey I know it's been a few months, but I know it still bothers you. Are you okay?" I needed people to say, "hey, cool tattoo" instead of, "that's not organic." It's all adding up, being etched onto the trigger.
So easy.

There, but for the Grace of God...

I got a tattoo. Would love to show you a picture. However, I only took a pic with my cell phone when I first got it and the light does not so it justice. It's only been about two weeks so it's still in that healing phase. Pictures soon. It's a sparrow, a real sparrow, on a cherry blossom branch holding a banner that says "River." I'll write more on my tattoo at another time. Right now, I'm mad. As hell.

All 7 of you who read this may have gathered that I'm a bit of a crunchy, tree-hugging hippie-type person who prefers organic and natural things. I like to use products that don't harm the earth, re-use, reduce, recycle and compost. Everyone at work knows this. So, when I got my tattoo less than two weeks ago, one of the doctors said, "tattoos aren't organic." I was so not prepared for that comment that I kinda brushed it off and didn't really respond. It wasn't until I got home later and thought about it that it pissed me off. Here I just inked myself in memory of my baby and you make a flippant remark about it. So, I released the anger. I'm getting tired of negative energy and I made the choice to forgive. Until yesterday. Yet another doctor came up to me and said, "you know, tattoos aren't very natural." And the doc who had made the first comment was right there and had started to chime in and laugh. So, I spoke up. I said, "No. You can make fun of me for anything else. Anything else. But not about my tattoo for my DEAD baby." And the doc who had made the comment first started to say something, like she was going to argue my point. I just looked at her and kept saying, "No, no, no, no." And I couldn't hold back the tears or the shaking. The one doc said, "I'm sorry. I had no idea." And the doc who was the first to make the comment did act a little concerned and just rubbed my back.

What the FUCK? First of all, I don't care why anyone gets a tattoo. Obviously it means something to them. I consider a tattoo to be part of a person, almost like their hair or their eye color. It's not something you can wash off. I may not like the decomposing skull tattoo that my friend's boyfriend had done, but it's his body and he can choose what he puts on it. I'm not going to make fun of it. As for me, everyone knows who River is at this point. One new chick at work had no clue, so she asked and I told her. That was that. What kind of person thinks it's okay to make fun of a tattoo done in memory of someone. I just lost my baby in April. I was supposed to be due in October. It's Septemeber - I should be 8 months pregnant at this point. Every single day I think about how I should be pregnant right now. How my belly should be alive with movement. And I look down and see the same old flab. No life. The wounds are so fresh. The pain is no less than it was a few months ago. I did that tattoo as part of the healing process. It felt very good to get it. It makes me want to vomit to think that someone who is obviously aware of the pain I am going through (the one doc - the first to make the comment - is on my Facebook, where I have been very honest about my emotions) would make a comment like that. I'm trying so hard to heal and remarks such as that just throw me back and erase any "progress" I have made. All the negative energy comes swirling in. I even entertained the following thought - I wished they would go through the same thing, so that they could understand that this isn't just something you get over and laugh at. I would never wish harm like that on someone, but I couldn't stop that thought.

And you know what? I'll be seen as overreacting. Oh, Jenn is so oversensitive. She needs to get over it. I'll be seen as the bad guy for speaking up and getting angry. It'll be just one more thing for people to make fun of. It's a wonder I don't burn the place down.

P.S. Tattoos have been part of human culture since we stopped swinging in trees a million years ago. It may not be natural, but it's a very normal part ofthe human experience to want to modify your body. Even God is into it - "See! I will not forget you. I have carved you on the palm of my hand." ~somewhere in the Bible in Isaiah.

The Truth I Haven't Told

There is something that I have held back for months because I haven't really been able to let it out to anyone but my husband and a friend or two. I post on Facebook and many of my co-workers are friends there. Anything I say there can be related to a manager. So, I'll say what I have always wanted to say here.

I hated the way my job treated me when I had a miscarriage. Sure, a few people were kind. I got 2 cards from 2 different people, one being someone I never thought would send me a card. Another wonderful lady made me a necklace with both children's names on them. I also received some texts and facebook messages. And one boss was very understanding.

But....

I frequently heard through the grapevine that people didn't support my desire to miscarry naturally. It seemed that some thought I should have a d and c and "get it over with." Some were not keen on my postings to facebook, saying it was "just" an early miscarriage, I was "only" 8 weeks and that I needed to "move on." There was another comment that I wanted attention. Nice.

I will admit that I was little expectant. I DID expect that I would probably get flowers. Maybe that's a little self-centered. Maybe that's because I would have done that for one of my co-workers if this had happened to them. Ok, so now flowers. But, I didn't get a card. Once again, I got 2 cards from 2 people. But no group card. I work with 50+ people. In a veterinary office. We send out cards everyday when a pet dies. If you walk in to my clinic and haven't been to a vet in 15 years, yet you bring us your 15 year old dog who needed to die 4 years ago and we euthanize the dog we will send you a card. Even though you are not a client. Even though you didn't do what's best for your pet and take care of him. We still send you a sympathy card. And all employees sign these cards. Yet one of their own who lost a baby didn't get a card. I guess I didn't rate. You could buy a hamster at Kritters in the mall and if it dies the next day and you bring it in to be cremated - guess what? We send you a card. You work there for 3 years and lose the baby you loved with all your heart. Nothing. They just shit talk you while you were gone.

And my first day back. Silence. Awkwardness. The knowledge that my presence made THEM uncomfortable. And the knowledge that no one acknowledged my discomfort at their silence and discomfort.

This whole experience has completely changed the way I view my job as a whole. And not for the better.

Ah, it felt good to get that out at 4 am. Sadly, no one reads this, but I do feel a little better.

Never Fading

The following three blogs are among some of my favorites. These wonderful women have created blogs to help us remember our little ones. Please visit them!

http://facesofloss.blogspot.com


A site for parents who have lost babies to share their stories, help others and to heal.



This mama created a blog for parents to request a sidewalk chalk writing of their children's names.



A blog from a mama who releases butterflies in memories of little ones we have lost. My own River had a butterfly released in her name:
http://tripletbutterflywings.blogspot.com/2010/07/river.html

Please visit them!

Carved on to the palm of my hand.

This is an entry written on Facebook a few months ago. I've edited out some identifying information. This was originally written April 21, 2010.

*****

This will ramble. A lot.

We all know I recently had a miscarriage. We all know I blog. Most people like my blogging, some make fun of it. Petty. Anyhoo, it's not surprise that I would blog about this, too.

My pregnancy was oh-so-planned. We had been trying since the late summer of 2009. I practice the Fertility Awareness Method, which many people confuse with the Rhythm Method. Sooooo, not the same. FAM requires you to be in tune with your body. I did the morning basal temperatures, the charting, I got familiar with my cervical mucus and I peed on ovulation predictor kits. To some that may seem like too much. I think it's incredibly important and empowering to know how your body works. There are way too many young girls and women out there who do not have a clue how their cycles work. And so many say, "Oh, I don't need to do that because I can feel when I ovulate." You sure can, but charting helps you understand exactly how your hormones are working. My hormones weren't working 100% correctly. I had a little low progesterone and some wonky cycles. It was frustrating as all hell, but I had faith that things would kick into gear...and they did. I got pregnant very early in February. I knew pretty much from the get-go that I was pregnant. This caused a major freak out for me at work one night when I was alone at the clinic and got locked out of the building in our enclosed kennel yard, in 1.5 feet of snow, a blizzard, no phone, with a disabled dog and my son. I ended up climbing the 8 foot wooden fence and jumping over it to get in the front door of the clinic. The whole time I thought, "I know I'm pregnant. please God, don't let this hurt my baby." I flipped out from it, pissed people off at work for flipping out, but I had reason. I was so worried and then so grateful that everything turned out okay at that point.

I took a pregnancy test on February 18th. That date is significant to us as it was the third anniversary of the day our Abigael kitty died. Don't roll your eyes, she was a VERY special cat and will have a spot in my heart forever. I was elated that good knews came on such a somber date and took it as a reminder that new life always follows death. I took three tests that day, mainly because seeing that second line was so exciting and because I had a bunch of tests I didn't want to waste. And those lines were DARK. Nice and strong. And so, I was definitely pregnant. And excited. Being a mother is what I was born to do. We all know how much I love pregnancy and birth, babies and children. I love being pregnant and there isn't anything about it that I take for granted. The nausea, tiredness, ligament pain, heartburn, constant peeing, constant not pooping - all that can suck. It does. But, I embrace it. During this pregnancy, I would frequently say that I was glad to have the symptoms. The tiredness and nausea knocked me off my ass and it was so hard to stand up or even keep my head up at work. But, I was happy to have those symptoms to remind me that my body was doing something magnificent. I enjoyed every moment of those weeks.

I got my bump early. I'm a skinny chick with no torso. I'm all legs. Since my torso is short, there is practically no where for my uterus to grow. I was huge with Monkey and everyone swore he was 12 lbs. He was 7. With this pregnancy, my body saw those two lines and said, "well, time to move stuff around." I got that wonderful bloating, my muscle separated (bitches) and my intestines shifted within the first 4 weeks. By 6 weeks I looked 5 months pregnant. That's common with subsequent pregnancies. I needed maternity shirts pretty early as a lot of mine just didn't make it over my flubber. I had to buy a couple of tops because I didn't have much in the way of cool weather maternity clothes. Monkey was a summer baby and I lived in tanks and dresses with that pregnancy.

And I was bad at work. As a veterinary technician, I have easy access to ultrasounds. So....I popped a probe on myself at 5 weeks. All you could see was a sac at that point, but I checked again at 6 weeks - twice - and saw a little nugget with a beating heart. I looked again about a week later and saw a much bigger nugget with a very strong heartbeat. I had one of the vets come in and count the heart rate for me to double check the rate I got - 150. Very nice. Very strong. Girl, according to the wives tale. I had a sense she was a girl. I was elated to see that flicker on the screen each time. And I told myself I was not going to do another ultrasound for a while. The jury is out on the safety of frequent ultrasounds. ACOG doesn't support them routinely in the first trimester. A few days later I had my first prenatal with my midwife. I declined the 8-12 week ultrasound scan, telling her that I saw my baby looking perfectly formed with a perfect heartbeat. I told her I would do the 20 week scan.

That night, I went to work and felt like supreme shit. That was a good thing to me. As we closed up the rooms and got ready to leave, my mind nagged the shit out of me to check myself with an ultrasound. I told myself to fuck off, that I wasn't doing it again for at least four weeks. My mind wouldn't shut up, though, so I relented. Just for a second, I said. I popped the probe on my belly. I saw my perfect little baby, already a little bigger than she had been 3 days prior. The flicker was gone. I moved the probe around and jiggled my belly, figuring I just needed to reposition. No flicker. I shut the machine off. I turned it back on. I looked again. No flicker. No heartbeat. I turned it off and went downstairs as everyone was getting ready to leave. I locked myself in the radiology room and tried the other ultrasound. Same baby. No flicker. I prayed hard to God and every Saint. I looked again. No heartbeat. I composed myself and left with my co-workers. A few sensed someone was wrong, noting that I wasn't as talkative as usual. I said I was just tired and hungry. I got in the car, drove off and started bawling. I called Mike and proceeded to freak him out. And then I felt my blood pressure plummett to the floor, my heart skip more beats than ever and heard the sound of white noise in my ear. I did my best to compose myself and to calm down. It didn't work. My heart went nuts. My blood pressure barely made an appearance. Afraid of a cardiac event (I have heart issues), I had no choice but to visit the emergency room at [name removed] hospital. All but one of our experiences with [name removed] have sucked. They were great with my husband and the people in their billing department have always been so nice. I had two experiences there when I was pregnant with Monkey. I have absolutely nothing nice to say about their maternity care. Nothing. Especially since their only objective is to keep women quiet and slice them open. Anyway, that's where I went. My other choice was [name removed], but it had a bad reputation when it was [name removed] and I didn't want to take a chance. I didn't tell them anything about doing my own ultrasound as I knew they wouldn't be nice about it. I explained all my cardiac symptoms, they hooked me up to an IV, an EKG and oxygen. They pulled a ton of blood. I asked them over and over and over and over and over to check my baby, but they refused. Mike was persistant and they refused. They said if something was wrong with my baby they "wouldn't do anything about it anyway." It was determined that I just had a typical syncopal episode and I was sent home. I tried to relax. I convinced myself that I was wrong...that I did something wrong with my ultrasound, that our machines sucked (my opinion and it does not reflect the opinion of my place of employment)and that I was anxious over nothing. I called my midwife the next day and she said to try to stay calm and to scedule a "real" ultrasound in a few days. I agreed. I called or texted Lauren who tried to calm me, explained that I'm not a trained ultrasound tech and that everything is fine.

I was okay for two days, but then I broke down again in the car on the way home from my parents. I begged and begged God to let me keep my little baby, to not take her away from me. I prayed hard. I told Him I needed Him RIGHT NOW because I was falling apart. Lauren called at that moment (10 o clock at night, I believe) and talked me through my anxiety and calmed me down. This would be the theme for the next four weeks. I would have these desperate moments of fear, sadness and lonliness where I would call on God to guide me and hold me and then Lauren would either call or text at that exact moment. If that isn't God answering...I don't know what is...

It took longer than expected to get in for an ultrasound. I don't have insurance and one place was just completely confused as to how to proceed with someone paying out of pocket. I don't know how that's more confusing than insurance or how it's atypical for her - there are over 50 million people just like me in this country. In the end, I had to wait two weeks to get the ultrasound. I spent those two weeks praying and asking everyone I knew to pray or think positive. I put myself on prayer chains/lists. I went to the [A Catholic Saint] Shrine and said a billion prayers and lit many candles. Everyone told me things would be alright. Everyone had a positive feeling. I was feeling positive. My symptoms were changing, but I brushed it off at that moment.

During those two weeks, the name River came to me. River is not a name we have ever considered, but it came to me while I was praying at the shrine. It literally came into my head as a sentence, "You will name this baby River. It can be for a boy or girl and is perfect since you aren't sure of the gender. River." I immediately shook that thought out of my head. I'm not thinking of any names for a dead baby because my baby is alive, I told myself. But, the name followed me everywhere.

The day of my ultrasound came. I stuffed my bra with a St. Jude prayer card, kept some medals in my pocket and two rosaries in my pockets. I had to take Monkey with me as I was without a babysitter. The ultrasound was at [name removed]. I was so nervous, but I tried to remain calm. I focused on positive images. I just knew I would see my baby with her little heart beating away and that I'd feel a huge sense of relief. I knew I'd come home and change my Facebook status from "please pray for me" to "Praise Jesus." I was technically 10 weeks pregnant at the time. The ultrasound chick was nice. Just doing her job, right? She kept the screen at my head so I couldn't see it. She kept the probe on my belly for 1/2 hour, telling me she was also taking pics of my ovaries, my cervix and everything in the area. Ok. I expected her to finished taking her pics and then wheel the screen around so I could see my baby, but she took the probe off and said, "the first part is over now. Did your doctor tell you that there is a second part?" Noooooooooooooooo. And I had already mentioned 59897569 times that I didn't see a doctor. I saw a midwife. I told her, "no," and she rolled her eyes and said with flair, "Oh, they never do. We have to do a vaginal ultrasound." I gave her my best "what the fuck you talking 'bout Willis" face, cocked an eyebrow and said, "At 10 weeks? Why would you need a transvaginal ultrasound at ten weeks?" She said, "Oh, it's very common. It's our policy." I KNEW that wasn't true. Sorry lady, but I'm not your typical woman who sits there and let's the medical profession walk all over her during pregnancy. I don't lay their with my tail between my legs while you presume I'm too stupid to know anything about my own body. I said, "That's not true. What's wrong? What did you see that's making you want to go vaginal?" She said, "No, it's just policy. We always do this." I normally would have been a major bitch at that point. I'm one of those patients. You cannot bullshit a bullshitter. I've been in this game long enough. But, something stopped me from being my usual bitch self. I think I was afraid of bad karma if I was nasty. I thought, maybe this is a test and I have to be humble and nice to this lady - because my baby is ok." So, I relented. Mark that down in your calendars, folks, because that's one of the last times I give in. I took off my pants and wrapped the sheet around my waist. Yeah, don't forget my son was there. He stayed in a chair by my head and colored in his books. Such a good boy. It was so fucking humiliating. I hadn't shaved above my knee since the baby was conceived. K? She took another 20 minutes to do that ultrasound and then told me to get changed while she showed her images to the doctor. Ok. She came back in and said, "Okay, you can go home now. Our doctors will be in contact with your doctor." Oh HELL no. Again, a prime oppurtunity for super bitch. I said, "I'm sorry. I don't get to see anything? I don't get to know anything?" She just stood their looking all stupid and stunned. Probably not used to having a patient actually advocate for themselves, such is life in the obstetrical world - your patients should be quiet little sheep. I said, "This is not cool. Something is wrong. I know this means something is wrong and I have to wait HOW LONG?" She said, "24 to 48 hours." I said, "Hell no. Did you see a heartbeat. Can you even tell me if you saw a heartbeat?" She said, "I'm not allowed to tell you anything. Our doctors will call your doctor." Fucking cunt. "MIDWIFE! I said that 100 times. I don't go to a doctor...is my info even going to be sent to the right place? Why won't you tell me anything? Why couldn't I see my baby. This isn't right." Again, looking stunned she just stuttered, "O--Our d-d-d-d-doctors will call your doctor with the information probably by tomorrow. Here I can give you a picture." And she printed out a picture. I looked at it and at her. She knew I knew. I left. I was so angry, scared, sad, anxious - you name it. I called Mike, my mom and Lauren. Everyone was frustrated for me. Lauren said maybe the tech was just a new girl who didn't want to get in trouble by saying my baby was alright. Everyone tried to give me hope. I barely had a strand of hope to hang onto, but I clung to it for dear life. I called my midwife via her emergency number since the office was closed by then. Oh, she was so angry for me. So she called [name removed] to try to get information. They told her it could take up to 48 hours to send a report. She said she needed to know if my baby was okay. The lady said she couldn't tell her anything, but that "they usually don't send a woman home if something is wrong." Ok, so I hung onto that and tried to relax. I looked at my ultrasound picture and thought maybe I was interpreting it wrong. You see, she gave me the picture showing the blood flow. There was no blood flow to or from my baby. Only around my uterus. And only a small pool behind my placenta. Still, I talked myself out of it. Maybe I was interpreting wrong. Maybe they can isolate the blood flow images to show only outside the uterus. Maybe that's a sub-chorionic hemorrhage and that's why she couldn't tell me anything. A SCH is usually just fine. I went to bed.

When my phone rang early Thursday morning I was filled with dread. Monkey had just been running around telling me that he was building castles with his sister. He had been talking about playing with his sister for the past two weeks. I answered and it was my midwife and I knew before she even got her name out. "It's just as you expected." She said the baby had died two weeks earlier, measuring 8 weeks and 1 day. So, she actually was measuring ahead because she died at 7weeks 6 days. There was nothing else visibly wrong. A small bleed behind my placenta, but not major and unknown if it was prior to her death or after. She told me what to expect, saying the miscarriage would most likely be just like real labor and could take a couple of weeks to happen. The placenta doesn't take over until 12 weeks and that's why many women don't experience their miscarriages until then, even though the baby dies weeks prior. And so there it was. Confirmation. The swords were in my heart - piercing away. I was outraged. I was numb. I was hysterical. I called Mike, my mom and texted Lauren. Mike came home right away. I blamed myself. I blamed Mike. I blamed my job. I blamed God.

The following weeks were a rollercoaster. I immediately took off work as that would be the last place I'd want the miscarriage to start happening. I was very angry at first. I yelled at God. How dare He. Why would He do this to me. Why weren't my prayers and the prayers of my friends good enough? Why did he let 16 year old crackwhores have babies they would abandon? What did I do to deserve this? Why didn't He love me enough? Why didn't He love my baby enough to let her live? Why? Why? Why? Why? Finally, what the FUCK was His problem with me. Hadn't I been crapped on enough? At the end of every angry session yelling at Him I would have an overwhelming peace.

I have no idea how I've gotten this far. Who knows if I would have survived this if I didn't have David. Many times I have felt that I could just die right along with her if I didn't already have a child here who depended on me. If this had happened with my first pregnancy there is a good chance I wouldn't be blogging now. The grief has been unbelievable. It was hard to carry around a dead baby for two weeks, yet it was also comforting because she was still with me. I have prayed A LOT. It has been hard to hold myself up. I'm a strong woman in most circumstances and don't usually take shit from anyone, but this is too much. I don't know how I would even begin to live through this without my faith. No offense to those who don't believe. But, I'd be doubly crushed without my faith. Besides, God sent me a text message. Haha. Seriously. I was laying in bed at 2:30 in the morning crying my little heart out. I was bitching at God again and asked Him, "Do You even hear me? Are You even listening?" A second later I got a text message from Lauren that said, "Thinking of you." I swear, everytime I call God out I get a call or text from Lauren. That's probably God slapping me upside the head saying, "I'm here, dude. Chill." And Lauren - though she doesn't know it - opened my eyes to a big DUH moment by saying, "God knows your hurt. He lost a child, too." Lauren has been a total rock for me throughout all of this.

There has been a lot of anger, of course. Especially for people who think they know what's best for my own body. I have heard more than once that I was just dragging everything out and that I should just submit to a D and C. A D and C is when they knock you out and scrape or suck (then it would be a D and E, right?) out the contents of your uterus. Just like an abortion. Ok, no. First of all, I know what's best for my body. Thanks. I'm an anesthetic risk. Heart. Hello. There is also a risk of infertility associated with the procedure. There is also the issue of me having a problem with my baby being torn up inside me, sucked out into a vacuum and tossed aside with biohazard. That is fine for some, but not for me. No offense to those who had that procedure and are fine with it. We all view things differently. I view all life as very, very sacred. For me, life begins at conception. Actually, I believe it begins before conception, but we won't get into that. You are talking to a woman who will not kill a bug. We don't get much more than spiders, stink bugs and those scary house centipedes here. Stink bugs are escorted outside. Spider and 'pedes can stay as they both eat other bugs. I bless every animal I touch. I pray over every animal I hold during euthanasia. I pray over ever puppy or kitten born into my hands or placed into my hands after a c section. I bless every dead animal I see on the street. For God's sake, I apologize to plants when I cut them - hahaha. See how crazy I am? But that should tell you how much I value life and why D and C wasn't for me. There is also the issue of money. All the people who suggested D and C never offered to pay my hospital bills. No insurance, remember. I can only have insurance if I'm pregnant, so......... But it pissed me off to no end that people have been like that. And for future information - no grieving mother EVER wants to hear, "it's for the best" or "God has His reasons" or "You can try again soon." Another baby is always a joy, but NEVER a replacement. Another word of advice, it doesn't matter when you lose your baby - it hurts like a mother fucking bitch. It tears your heart up in pieces. It doesn't matter if you miscarry the day after your test is positive, at 5 weeks, 8 week, 14 weeks, 20 weeks, 28 weeks, 32 weeks, 39 weeks or at birth. It hurts like hell no matter when it happens. We grieve no matter when it happened. It sticks to your soul for the rest of your life no matter when that loss happened. So, saying, "well at least you weren't very far and didn't have a chance to get too attached," hurts way more than it will ever help. I was very attached to my baby and I praise God for every minute I had her, no matter how short that time was. And note: I will not get over it. I'm sorry if that bothers you. If you have a problem with the length of time it has taken me to grieve and the way I have chosen to deal with this, I would love to invite you to kiss my ass and then go fuck yourself. I can't even say this to most people because most people have not had the courage to say anything to my face. I guess that's a good thing, because I would destroy them. The violence in me these past two weeks has been scary at times. And, yes, I realize that some people are coming from a good place and a place of concern. I get that. Although, why I have to "get that" and why they can't get me is another thing. But, there are some folks who are not coming from a good place. There is a place they can go.

So, I officially miscarried this past Sunday. My midwife wasn't lying when she said it would be like real labor. I didn't take that 100% seriously. I mean, I read other women's accounts and knew it could be awful. But other women had easy miscarriages. It's like any other birth - some are easy and some are very hard. I had it very hard. I had a week of spotting and then light bleeding, so I knew it was on it's way. By Saturday night, I knew it would happen within 24 hours. I was slammed into real life labor at midnight. Regular contractions. Back labor. I got into the tub to help deal with them. Everything about it felt EXACTLY like real labor - like when I gave birth to Monkey. I had to move through the contractions, breathe through them and moan through them. I did my usual Hail Mary's through the contractions (did this with Monkey), which later turned into cursing. And I had the urge to push. Amazing, really, when you think about it. Here I am birthing a teeny little one inch baby and it's just the same as labor for my 7 lb baby. It was not the home waterbirth I wanted. Like any other birth, I brought her into this world in pain and blood. I held her in my hand. If you are curious, I did save her and she will be buried among our flowers and trees. Before you think that's weird, it's actually VERY VERY common. Many mothers bury the babies in first trimester miscarriages. I never thought of that before. I pushed the placenta out. I thought I was done. My uterus wasn't done as it sought to get rid of the blood and extra tissue, but the uterus can't contract and expel as effectively as it would during a regular birth. The pain after I birthed her and the placenta was 5,000 times worse. I finally got to the point where I thought I could easily die. I wasn't losing a ton of blood or anything, I just had tons of anxiety because I was still contracting hard and pushing even though nothing but a little blood was coming out. I called my midwife who assured me that what I was experiencing was normal and wasn't concerned as I wasn't light-headed, dizzy or losing tons of blood. She told me it was ok to go to the hospital if it made me feel comfortable. I didn't want to go to the hospital and felt better after talking to her. But, that changed. I couldn't eat or drink anything and felt dehydrated. I got myself anxious because I couldn't take anything in and was scared I would faint. Of course, I worked myself up until Mike was forced to call 911. And ambulance came and took me. Mike stayed behind as it was 3am and Monkey was sleeping. I didn't want Monkey freaked out. I assumed we'd go to [name removed], but they took me to [name removed] because it was closer and it's a trauma center. They don't have a maternity section, but the worry was hemorrhage, not whether I'd need to be scraped out. I puked on the nice paramedic guy. He said it was okay as long as it wasn't poop. I was dreading the hospital since it never really had a good reputation. My nurse came in once I got there. Holy Christ she was so nice...and funny. They got me hooked up to fluids right away which is exactly what I needed. I asked for a pain med, too. Hey, I'm all about natural everything, but I did the birth and wanted the afterpains to stop so I could relax. They gave me hydromorphone. It doesn't stop pain, it just makes you loopy so you deal with the pain better. I got two doses - very low doses. I've never been high. Apparently, I made a lot of weird phone calls to my mom,my dad and hubby. I told my mom to come over and feel free to dig up some of my flowers and plant them in her yard. High is not for me. I could never be a druggy. At least I got some sleep. They did an internal and swabbed a big clot away from my cervix. My midwife said that blood kinda clots after you pass the big stuff but the uterus doesn't contract effectively enough to get it all out, so the blood and clots pool at the opening of your cervix and it causes more irritation and pain as your uterus still tries to push it out. Confused? Sorry. They did an ultrasound to check for extra retained tissue and all was clear. The pain subsided a bit and my bleeding slowed. I was fine to go home. I really needed those fluids. They helped so much. They pulled blood which all came back happy. OMG - they were so nice. What a different experience than [name removed]. I know a trip to [name removed] would have been terrible. These nurses and doctors were so nice. The ultrasound lady was so nice. Everyone was the best. It may not be the best hospital in the area (though they got rid of a lot of crap people and are trying to change), but that was one of my best hospital experiences despite the circumstance.

My mom and dad came up. Well, my dad had to work so he could only be there a little, but he brought my mom who stayed overnight, cleaned, cooked and took care of Monkey so Mike and I could rest. Moms are the best. So, there. I'm recovering. Physically, I am kind of okay. The pain isn't too bad, but I've realized that I can't do as much as I normally want to do. Emotionally, well that's a different story. It's a trip. I have moments where I realize she is really, really gone. She isn't in my body anymore....and that makes me so sad. I know for certain her Spirit is right here with me. I know that. I hold onto that as much as I can when the grief pulls me down. A wonderful mother who has also experienced loss told me it's like navigating a ship through stormy seas. As time goes on, you learn how to sail your ship a little better. And I know I have to embrace my grief. I know for certain I will see her again. It's too early to make sense of anything, though I try. I want to know how I can use this experience in a positive way. Lauren says I will be able to help mothers better because I have experienced loss first hand. I know some sort of maternity career is in my future and maybe this experience will help others. I don't know yet. River will never be forgotten by us or many of those who heard of her through me. Her name is forever carved into my heart and soul. I will carry her in my heart for as long as it's beating. On the day it stops, I will carry her in my arms forever.


P.S. So many people have reached out to me and have been wonderful to me during all of this. I haven't responded to everyone yet. I will. Just know that I appreciate and love you all and have not forgotten you.

"For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother's womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well. My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed substance; in your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there was none of them." Psalm 139:13-16

"God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear though the earth gives way, though the mountains be moved into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam, though the mountains tremble at its swelling. There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God, the holy habitation of the Most High. God is in the midst of her; she shall not be moved; God will help her when morning dawns. "
Psalm 46:1-11

Triplet Butterfly Wings: River

Below, you will find the link to the butterfly release for my baby, River. I lost River @ 8 weeks (tough the actual physical miscarriage didn't happen until 12 weeks). Triplet Butterfly Wings is an wonderful site dedicated to helping parents heal through the release of these gorgeous Monarch butterflies. I encourage everyone touched by miscarriage/stillbirth/infant/child loss to check out her site.


Triplet Butterfly Wings: River: "Born to Heaven on April 18, 2010 'See! I will not forget you. I have carved you on the palm of my hand.' Isaiah 49:15 We will love you for..."