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.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Monday, November 22, 2010
Gratitude is About More Than Turkey
Thanksgiving week is upon us. Time for stuffing our faces with...well...stuffing, turkey, veggies of all sorts and an endless assortment of pies and pastries. Of course we're thankful for the opportunity to gorge ourselves, right? Of course we're thankful for the ability to gather with our families on this holiday. There are so many out there who don't get the same perks and we must not forget them. There are some other things to be thankful for besides the local high school football game, food galore and the anticipation of your Black Friday assault. We forget that there are people out there who serve us and who don't get the luxury of always staying at home on Turkey Day or perusing Black Friday ads for the best deals. Their professions involve situations that don't care if some European folk hit a rock onto the East Coast and supposedly had some corn fritters with the Indigenous peoples. So...let's give them some love.
Midwives - don't forget these women who will be on-call throughout the holiday season in order to bring babies into this world. Babies don't care about turkey or sales. Countless midwives will be paged/called just as they are about to stuff that turkey or sit down at the table. They'll grab their supplies and head to the house, birth center or hospital where they are called to deliver a baby.
Doulas - they will be on call, too. Cellphones will ring with calls from mothers/families needing labor support right now. Rather than hold drumsticks, they will be holding a mother during her birth sway or holding a hand as she bears down.
Obstetricians - sure, a good many of them already induced their patients early in the week or scheduled non-emergent c-sections in order to avoid having their feasts interupted. Yet, babies still come on their own schedule and many OBs, regular doctors and anesthesiologists will be called into work.
Nurses - on the maternity floor, in the ER, at a desk in the CRICU...many nurses are required to work this holiday as illness, birth and death don't take a break. Placing IVs, running EKGs and ridding a drunk homeless man of fleas...
Veterinary Technicians - what? You still think all we do is cuddle puppies and clean cages? We're working this holiday season, too. Just like human medicine, the veterinary medical world doesn't stop for turkey. In fact, it gets worse because of it. Many of us will already be at the hospital that day because IV pumps need monitoring, blood will need transfusing, c-sections will be happening and someone will need to administer treatments to a variety of the non-human folk. Some of will be called in to help with emergencies like the dog who began vomiting blood after eating half a turkey carcass that afternoon. Or for the cat who got a piece of wishbone lodged in his esophagus. Pancreatitis is THE WORD of the Thanksgiving weekend as many of us in the veterinary field will work extra hours pouring over lipase and amylase results, placing feeding tubes, monitoring vomiting and diarrhea and thinking healthy pancreas thoughts. Some of us will be monitoring anesthesia and passing instruments as our veterinarians dig turkey tibias from terriers.
Veterinarians - will awake from that tryptophan slumber as their cellphone goes off with a call about a labrador who may or may not have drank a gallon of gravy with a side of eggnog. They be in the clinic ordering radiographs, bloodwork and reviving someone's precious pet. They'll be out in the field treating a farmer's cow who wandered off and came back with a furiously bleeding wound. They will be in someone's barn inserting a naso-gastric tube in order to reflux the stomach contents of a horse whose intestines decided to twist.
Lactation Consultants - babies need to eat, too. Even on Thanksgiving. Many of us will take calls from frantic mothers who can't get the baby to latch because he is too overwhelmed with the 50 new people who invaded his home that day. They will guide new moms who are worried about a decrease in supply because they were up since 3am fixing that damn turkey and baking those damn pies, not taking the time out for themselves to eat or drink enough water. Troubleshooting latches, supply issues, nursing strikes, SNS systems, letdowns galore and more requires someone 24/7/365.
Kennnel Attendants - well, you did have to drop off Fluffy and Scratch because you are visiting your beloved Mother-in-Law for the next 4 days. Who do you think will be there to walk them 6 times a day, feed them, give them medicine, change the litter box, pet them and love them? They won't be visiting family in a far off place that weekend because they will be taking care of your fur family.
Home Health Aides/Hospice Care Workers/Certified Nurse's Aides - hey. Grandma has the dementia. She doesn't even know it's Thanksgiving. We'll stop by the home in the morning for a quick visit to alleviate our guilt before joining the rest of the family for a feast at Aunt Jane's house. Besides, the home serves up a lovely mashed combo of strained turkey 'n' gravey, watered down mashed potatoes, creamed spinach, a side of "pumpkin-flavored dessert" and a healthy dose of 18 medications. The Aides will take care of giving her a sponge bath in bed, checking for bed sores, putting on a new adult diaper, dressing her, brushing her teeth and hair, change the already soiled diaper and wipe her butt with dignity, change her clothes again, slide her out of bed into her wheelchair and get her to the table for some grub and conversation. It's all good.
Priests/Pastors/Nuns/Rabbis/Priestesses/Religious Folk - you may need an emergency confession session at St. Joey the Carpenter's RCC because you may have intentionally beat your stepbrother with a drumstick after he ate the last stuffing ball. There's a priest for that. The dying don't keep calendars and some families need the comfort of a spiritual leader at the time of death, even on Thanksgiving. Last Rites don't wait until after Father McIrishskinelli has finished his mashed sweet potatoes.
Retail Workers - for some reason Americans have decided that they cannot bear the thought of all the stores being closed for one day. So, many retail stores have decided to open their doors just so you can buy a new labelmaker or Shake Weight. Millions of hardworking Americans will spend their day at their job assisting customers with carry outs, ringing them up at the cash registers and listening to them bitch that the OTHER store offers a 15% discount on all Thanksgiving Day pruchases and that you NEED to accept their expired coupons. Then, these workers will go home, jam some fowl leftovers down their throat and hit the hay early. No, not because they plan to rise early to take advantage of sales. Because their boss said all personnel MUST report to work at 2am in anticipation of greeting loud, rude and sweaty customers who will line up at 2:30 am so they can be first in the store to buy a new Wii just because it's fucking red or get a Dyson vacuum that they don't need but it's 12% off and they have a coupon for a $5.00 giftcard with purchase. And, no, just because they came in at 2am doesn't mean they get to leave by 10am. No. They are "allowed" to work overtime that day...many pulling in 12 to 18 hours during the Black Friday madness with a lunch break that was (illegally, but big boss just DARES you to report it) cut back to 1/2 hour. All to watch people squash each other in line and fight over who gets the last Deported from Arizona Dora the Explorer doll.
Rescue Workers - Cops, firefighters and paramedics are patrolling and on the ready for fights that break out between family members because your father-in-law thought it was funny to tell your sister that she needs to back off the cranberry sauce since her ass is getting wider by the minute. They will be there for Uncle Larry who downed 7 pieces of pumpkin pie before you can say, "green bean casserole," and then mistakes his resulting indigestion for a heart attack. Or to pull over the jackass who thought it was just fine to drive after drinking 14 glasses of Aunt Mary's "special" spiced eggnog. And to put out the fire that engulfs half of the patio furniture after your cousin Eddie learns that perhaps the turkey fryer wasn't the best idea.
Mom. Grandma. Aunt Bee. Uncle Floyd. Cousin Janet. Your friend, Georgia. Your husband. Your wife. Your daughter. Your son-in-law - somebody was at the helm early in the morning thawing out that "motherfucking turkey that they put in the fridge 10 days ago to thaw and they swore it was fucking thawed out yesterday" turkey, cranning the berries, pie-ing the pumkpin, snapping the peas, beaning the casserole, mashing the damn potatoes that over-boiled, candying the yams, baking the fucking cookies that burned because I just went upstairs for 10 seconds to pee and downing most of the cooking wine. After spending the last 7 hours slaving over a stove so you can stuff your mug they either pass out at the table or don't even feel like eating. Give them some love.
The Turkey - he's just chillin', killin' and practicing his gobble when BAM, next thing he knows he's on the other side watching you and your family slice his cooked body with a black and decker electric knife. Give him (or her) respect for that sacrifice. All life is sacred.
Members of our Armed Forces - Air Force, Army, Marines, Navy, National Guard - all have service men and women, gay and straight or both, of all colors and backgrounds who are missing their families....waiting on a care package, hoping the 6ABC camera man will notice them so they can send a video greeting back home, sitting in a tent with sand blowing in their faces while keeping an eye out for any suspicious activity. And keeping your American ass safe so that you can enjoy your American right to the freedom to eat your turkey 'n' trimmings and go shopping.
So let's not forget. Let's respect. I know I missed a lot of professions, but this was just a sample. Much love.
Midwives - don't forget these women who will be on-call throughout the holiday season in order to bring babies into this world. Babies don't care about turkey or sales. Countless midwives will be paged/called just as they are about to stuff that turkey or sit down at the table. They'll grab their supplies and head to the house, birth center or hospital where they are called to deliver a baby.
Doulas - they will be on call, too. Cellphones will ring with calls from mothers/families needing labor support right now. Rather than hold drumsticks, they will be holding a mother during her birth sway or holding a hand as she bears down.
Obstetricians - sure, a good many of them already induced their patients early in the week or scheduled non-emergent c-sections in order to avoid having their feasts interupted. Yet, babies still come on their own schedule and many OBs, regular doctors and anesthesiologists will be called into work.
Nurses - on the maternity floor, in the ER, at a desk in the CRICU...many nurses are required to work this holiday as illness, birth and death don't take a break. Placing IVs, running EKGs and ridding a drunk homeless man of fleas...
Veterinary Technicians - what? You still think all we do is cuddle puppies and clean cages? We're working this holiday season, too. Just like human medicine, the veterinary medical world doesn't stop for turkey. In fact, it gets worse because of it. Many of us will already be at the hospital that day because IV pumps need monitoring, blood will need transfusing, c-sections will be happening and someone will need to administer treatments to a variety of the non-human folk. Some of will be called in to help with emergencies like the dog who began vomiting blood after eating half a turkey carcass that afternoon. Or for the cat who got a piece of wishbone lodged in his esophagus. Pancreatitis is THE WORD of the Thanksgiving weekend as many of us in the veterinary field will work extra hours pouring over lipase and amylase results, placing feeding tubes, monitoring vomiting and diarrhea and thinking healthy pancreas thoughts. Some of us will be monitoring anesthesia and passing instruments as our veterinarians dig turkey tibias from terriers.
Veterinarians - will awake from that tryptophan slumber as their cellphone goes off with a call about a labrador who may or may not have drank a gallon of gravy with a side of eggnog. They be in the clinic ordering radiographs, bloodwork and reviving someone's precious pet. They'll be out in the field treating a farmer's cow who wandered off and came back with a furiously bleeding wound. They will be in someone's barn inserting a naso-gastric tube in order to reflux the stomach contents of a horse whose intestines decided to twist.
Lactation Consultants - babies need to eat, too. Even on Thanksgiving. Many of us will take calls from frantic mothers who can't get the baby to latch because he is too overwhelmed with the 50 new people who invaded his home that day. They will guide new moms who are worried about a decrease in supply because they were up since 3am fixing that damn turkey and baking those damn pies, not taking the time out for themselves to eat or drink enough water. Troubleshooting latches, supply issues, nursing strikes, SNS systems, letdowns galore and more requires someone 24/7/365.
Kennnel Attendants - well, you did have to drop off Fluffy and Scratch because you are visiting your beloved Mother-in-Law for the next 4 days. Who do you think will be there to walk them 6 times a day, feed them, give them medicine, change the litter box, pet them and love them? They won't be visiting family in a far off place that weekend because they will be taking care of your fur family.
Home Health Aides/Hospice Care Workers/Certified Nurse's Aides - hey. Grandma has the dementia. She doesn't even know it's Thanksgiving. We'll stop by the home in the morning for a quick visit to alleviate our guilt before joining the rest of the family for a feast at Aunt Jane's house. Besides, the home serves up a lovely mashed combo of strained turkey 'n' gravey, watered down mashed potatoes, creamed spinach, a side of "pumpkin-flavored dessert" and a healthy dose of 18 medications. The Aides will take care of giving her a sponge bath in bed, checking for bed sores, putting on a new adult diaper, dressing her, brushing her teeth and hair, change the already soiled diaper and wipe her butt with dignity, change her clothes again, slide her out of bed into her wheelchair and get her to the table for some grub and conversation. It's all good.
Priests/Pastors/Nuns/Rabbis/Priestesses/Religious Folk - you may need an emergency confession session at St. Joey the Carpenter's RCC because you may have intentionally beat your stepbrother with a drumstick after he ate the last stuffing ball. There's a priest for that. The dying don't keep calendars and some families need the comfort of a spiritual leader at the time of death, even on Thanksgiving. Last Rites don't wait until after Father McIrishskinelli has finished his mashed sweet potatoes.
Retail Workers - for some reason Americans have decided that they cannot bear the thought of all the stores being closed for one day. So, many retail stores have decided to open their doors just so you can buy a new labelmaker or Shake Weight. Millions of hardworking Americans will spend their day at their job assisting customers with carry outs, ringing them up at the cash registers and listening to them bitch that the OTHER store offers a 15% discount on all Thanksgiving Day pruchases and that you NEED to accept their expired coupons. Then, these workers will go home, jam some fowl leftovers down their throat and hit the hay early. No, not because they plan to rise early to take advantage of sales. Because their boss said all personnel MUST report to work at 2am in anticipation of greeting loud, rude and sweaty customers who will line up at 2:30 am so they can be first in the store to buy a new Wii just because it's fucking red or get a Dyson vacuum that they don't need but it's 12% off and they have a coupon for a $5.00 giftcard with purchase. And, no, just because they came in at 2am doesn't mean they get to leave by 10am. No. They are "allowed" to work overtime that day...many pulling in 12 to 18 hours during the Black Friday madness with a lunch break that was (illegally, but big boss just DARES you to report it) cut back to 1/2 hour. All to watch people squash each other in line and fight over who gets the last Deported from Arizona Dora the Explorer doll.
Rescue Workers - Cops, firefighters and paramedics are patrolling and on the ready for fights that break out between family members because your father-in-law thought it was funny to tell your sister that she needs to back off the cranberry sauce since her ass is getting wider by the minute. They will be there for Uncle Larry who downed 7 pieces of pumpkin pie before you can say, "green bean casserole," and then mistakes his resulting indigestion for a heart attack. Or to pull over the jackass who thought it was just fine to drive after drinking 14 glasses of Aunt Mary's "special" spiced eggnog. And to put out the fire that engulfs half of the patio furniture after your cousin Eddie learns that perhaps the turkey fryer wasn't the best idea.
Mom. Grandma. Aunt Bee. Uncle Floyd. Cousin Janet. Your friend, Georgia. Your husband. Your wife. Your daughter. Your son-in-law - somebody was at the helm early in the morning thawing out that "motherfucking turkey that they put in the fridge 10 days ago to thaw and they swore it was fucking thawed out yesterday" turkey, cranning the berries, pie-ing the pumkpin, snapping the peas, beaning the casserole, mashing the damn potatoes that over-boiled, candying the yams, baking the fucking cookies that burned because I just went upstairs for 10 seconds to pee and downing most of the cooking wine. After spending the last 7 hours slaving over a stove so you can stuff your mug they either pass out at the table or don't even feel like eating. Give them some love.
The Turkey - he's just chillin', killin' and practicing his gobble when BAM, next thing he knows he's on the other side watching you and your family slice his cooked body with a black and decker electric knife. Give him (or her) respect for that sacrifice. All life is sacred.
Members of our Armed Forces - Air Force, Army, Marines, Navy, National Guard - all have service men and women, gay and straight or both, of all colors and backgrounds who are missing their families....waiting on a care package, hoping the 6ABC camera man will notice them so they can send a video greeting back home, sitting in a tent with sand blowing in their faces while keeping an eye out for any suspicious activity. And keeping your American ass safe so that you can enjoy your American right to the freedom to eat your turkey 'n' trimmings and go shopping.
So let's not forget. Let's respect. I know I missed a lot of professions, but this was just a sample. Much love.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
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
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
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
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.
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.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
There, but for the Grace of God...
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.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
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.
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.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
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!
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!
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