I'm Sorry, This Uterus Has Been Closed Until Further Notice

Copyright JSH 2011

"You're not having more kids? That's not right. Are you sure you know that's what you want?"

Those words came to me in an email after I had stated that I do not intend on having anymore kids. Am I sure that's what I want? No, I'm not sure. At this time, it's the right decision. Unless I have some life-altering epiphany or God personally chucks a dove through my window, I am done getting myself knocked up and pushing babies out of my body. When I tell people this, they think I must be insane. They think I must not know my own heart and my own body. It's not an easy decision to make.

As I write this, my news feed on Facebook is blowing up with news of a pregnancy announcement. I am happy for the person, but I will be honest and tell you that it stings my heart a little bit. I secretly have been jealous of people announcing pregnancies and having new babies. It's because I know those days are done for me. I'm done charting temperatures and obsessing over gobs of cervical mucus. I'm done peeing on sticks to determine fertility or pregnancy. I'm done carrying secrets for a few weeks before surprising everyone with a happy announcement. There are so many things I will miss about being pregnant. I see preggoids every day and jealously gaze upon their bellies knowing I won't ever experience a gloriously large belly with brand new stretch marks again. I will miss the feelings of my little baby kicking, rolling and dancing within me. I will miss keeping my hand on my belly and telling my little one - through my heart - that all will be well and mama loves him/her. There are so many joys in pregnancy and I will miss each one and I long for them when I see other women experiencing it.

I always wanted at least 6 kids for as long as I could remember. I didn't come from a large family - I have two older brothers and that's it - but I just loved the idea of large families. If you told my 20 year old self that her 33 year old self would be writing a blog about being done after three pregnancies she would have told you to fuck off because that's just dumb. And here I sit, writing about being done after three pregnancies that resulted in two live children. Me...the girl who has been so involved in birth activism since she was 16 years old. I was born to have lots of babies on my hip. That's what I always told myself. It wasn't just one thing that changed my cards and gave me a new deck entirely. It's been brewing. I've slowly had to realize that something I always dreamed of won't come to fruition for me.

My first pregnancy was relatively smooth. I had a hiccup here and there because a few things nearly risked me out of a birth center birth and my birth plan was eventually  fucked up by my own midwife, but things were pretty smooth overall and the birth could have been much worse. I had a glorious and giant belly. I was happy and secure and didn't worry much about pregnancy or birth. I started to show symptoms of pre-eclampsia in my final week of pregnancy, but my midwives helped me manage that with diet. I was able to give birth naturally. Breastfeeding came easily and so did mothering. I like to think I did a splendid job during the first three years of my son's life. I was the quintessential gentle mother and attachment parent. I was calm, happy and I loved my role as a mother above all else. 

I got pregnant again in 2010 and things rolled along perfectly fine until 8 weeks when I discovered that my baby, River,  died and I ended up miscarrying. I don't know why it happened. Maybe it was from low progesterone. Maybe my thyroid was wack. Maybe I was exposed to something scary at my job in a veterinary clinic. Maybe God hated me. I don't know why and I never will. That miscarriage kicked me down a giant negative hole from which I have barely escaped. Gone were my days as a gentle mother. My poor son was caught in the crossfire of my grief and my inability to control my emotions. I became depressed, withdrawn and enraged. My family, my friendships, my job and my sanity suffered big time. Horrible thoughts about the death of my baby would invade my mind at all hours of the day. I couldn't escape it and knew that, if I survived, I would never be able to get through something like that again. I was lucky to have the strength of my family and a few good friends to pull me through and push me back towards some passable semblance of sanity. I question whether I would ever be pregnant again. I ached to carry a child once more and to successfully bring that child into the world, but I was wrapped up in a fear of loss and ashamed that I had lost my sense of serenity in my parenting.

Despite my fears, I charted, temped and progesterone (Progest-E) supplemented my way into getting pregnant again in November of 2010. I told myself and my hubby that there was at least one little spirit who was still waiting to make her way into the world. I knew I was meant to have a little girl. When that line showed up I was excited and terrified. When I first got my positive preggo test with my son, I was terrified of becoming a new mom and being good enough. With my 2nd, I was terrified of having more than one kid and loving more than one. With this third pregnancy, I was terrified of loss. From the day I peed on that first stick (I probably took a wee on 10 in subsequent days, obsessing over the darkness of lines even though I know that it means nothing) to the moment she flew out of my vagina, I could not relax. That fear of loss was stuck right there in the back of my mind at every moment. It was completely palpable.  I was afraid to truly bond with my baby because I felt like I was always sitting on the edge of tragedy. The fact that my pregnancy wasn't as smooth as my first did not help matters. By the time I was 8 weeks I was experiencing a lot of pain in my tailbone. This left me in a panic because I experienced the same symptom just days before my miscarriage with River. After breathing some calm into my brain, I told myself it was likely due to the fact that I have a retroverted uterus and the weight of the growing baby was putting pressure on my tailbone. This does happen to some reason and it usually resolves itself by the 2nd trimester when the uterus is large enough to tip into a more forward position. From that time on, I had near debilitating pain in my tailbone and pelvis. I did yoga. I walked. I stretched. I belly danced. I whined. It didn't help. Granted, it would have been worse without all of that. There was constant pain on my pelvis' part and constant worry on my brain's part. There were many days where it felt like my vagina was being stabbed by at least a thousand knives. Now, that may sound kinky and perhaps it's in the pages of Fifty fucking Shades of Grey, but I assure you it isn't a walk in the park. Speaking of walks in the park, those became limited. I am a very active person and I like to be out and about. We take frequent walks and hikes, but those activities became limited when I was pregnant. I was not able to keep myself in the proper shape. By 20 weeks, I realized it was never an issue of my uterus dry humping my tailbone. I actually had symphasis pubis dysfunction (SPD). That's where the little bit of cartilage that holds your pelvis together (feel your pelvic bone right by your clitoris - that's where it is) just says, "fuck it," and gives up on it's job and makes you all out of whack and painful. I need to write a separate post on that one of these days. While it is agonizing for some women, including myself, it is not threatening. Doing my job became more difficult and I stupidly did my best to work through the issue and not complain about it. Because when you complain about it to women who have not suffered with SPD you are met with eyerolls and comments that, "of course your back and your crotch hurt when you're pregnant. Suck it up." So, that sucked. In the middle of my second trimester, I developed the flu from hell. I was sick for three weeks straight. It ended in a trip to the hospital where they diagnosed strep throat and Scarlett Fever on top of the flu. My mind was washed in anxiety over losing the baby due to my constant 102 degree fevers and the stupid illnesses. I recovered from the flu and started to feel more definite and regular baby movements. I was happy. Then, toward the end of my second trimester, I apparently decided to have high blood pressure one day. My BP spiked to 158/70 one day at work and continued with an erratic pattern for weeks. The initial fear was placental abruption, which wasn't the case. Then we ruled pre-eclampsia out. Turned out I had iatrogenic systolic hypertension - translation: we really don't have a fucking clue why your blood pressure is high, so take it easy. My midwife was frustrated for me. I managed the pressure with diet and acupuncture (it literally dropped the day I got my first treatment and never came back) and I faithfully check my pressures through the day, gave in to many blood and urine tests each week and was ordered to restrict my activity. I was placed on desk duty at work and had to keep my feet up at home. After my pressure got under control, my feet started to swell to the size of small toddlers. I had pitting edema and deep calf pain. Oh fabulous - now we had to worry about the possibility of deep vein thrombosis, which does run in my family. Another hospital trip. No DVT, but I was given more orders to stay the heck off my feet. Because that is easy with a 4-going-on-five year old. Wait, we're not done. I then ended up with a ruptured ear drum and was completely deaf for two weeks. So, my crotch hurt, I was worried about blood pressure, my feet were fat, I wasn't allowed to be up for more than 15 minutes at a time and I couldn't hear the people who were talking to me and asking me if it was normal for a human to have "ankles so big." Oh, and I was anemic. Geez. I was constantly worried that the other shoe would drop throughout the entire pregnancy. Here I am, some birth activist who tells other women to truth their bodies and I was unable to relax, exhale and truly trust in my own body. I was always scared.

I don't even consider that pregnancy to have been complicated. It was just colored with a lot of ups and downs, and the downs really affected my psyche. I knew by the end of that pregnancy that I will likely never have another baby. It's been almost a year since I gave birth to my daughter and my feelings are pretty much the same. I don't think I can do it again. It's not just the physical things that worry me, the fear is incredibly overwhelming. I've had constant anxiety about terrible things happening to my children since my miscarriage and to have that heightened during pregnancy is rough. I don't want to put a sweet, developing little baby under so much stress in what's supposed to be the warm and nurturing environment of my womb.

I also think I'm a crappy mother. My emotional life has changed drastically since my miscarriage. I have been working hard to rid myself of so many negative feelings and rage. It's a constant battle on some days. I miss the super gentle and laid back person...mother that I was before losing my baby. I yell way too much. I get overwhelmed too easily. Perhaps I can't emotionally handle another child. I feel weak to admit that.

Maybe I'm a wimp. Maybe I should suck it up. Maybe I wasn't truly meant to be a mother. Whatever it is, I think I'm done with the pregnancy and birthing phase of my life. It makes me so sad to type those words out. There is a large part of me that feels like I failed myself. I won't ever be that glorious fertile Goddess, always beautifully pregnant. My dream of a large, happy family is dashed by my own emotional, physical and even financial short-comings. It's not an easy decision to make. My husband is saddened by this. He wants one more and he feels a bit bummed when I tell him that I feel like we are done. He is very understanding of my reasoning, though, so it's not an issue that causes a rift in our relationship.

It's other people. I constantly get, "oh come on! You love preggos and babies. You can squeeze out one more!" As if it were really as simple as "squeezing out one more." I've also gotten, "you can't let a couple of bad experiences get you down." Really? A dead baby isn't a bad enough experience? Really? I know people aren't trying to tell me what to do and they don't intend harm when they make comments. It sends a bit of a pang through my heart when I am constantly reminding folks that, yes, the uterus is closed for business.

It goes without saying that we must always be careful when we advise other people on their reproductive happenings. We never know what is really going on inside a woman's heart. For many reason, the decision to have more children is not at all easy and takes a lot of thought. It's definitely not always an easy decision to stop having more kids, especially when you have always planned on having a big houseful of them. Of course, the moment you change you mind and say, "sign me up for 6 more kids," the world will then accuse you of being a "breeder" with too many kids and ask if you realize that your vagina is not a clown car. Sometimes, you just can't win.

What about you? Did you originally intend on a gaggle of babies, but ended up scaling back on those dreams? Has the decision whether or not to have more children been hard on you and your family?

P.S. looking through some pregnancy photos of mine to choose for this blog was sad. Just sad. I will miss that part of my life.

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.

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.

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..."