Thinking a lot about puking

The spotting stopped.  The pregnancy is still on as of right now.  I have told the bare minimum number of people in my life about it, mostly because I still have such a hard time believing.  Don't get me wrong - I love the little spark of life, but I don't believe it will turn into a real baby that we get to love and plan a future with.  I pulled out my "Pregnancy Week by Week" book, to follow along and be happy for each little development, but with not much expectation that it will lead anywhere.

BUT - the first wave of real nausea hit me this morning,  and I feel such gratitude! and  -almost - nostalgia.  I don't know if I've written about this before, but I had Hyperemesis with Elizabeth's pregnancy.  By week 10, I often couldn't keep down anything, even water.  I ended up losing a lot of weight, on modified bed rest to avoid hospitalization, taking medicines that were originally meant for chemotherapy patients.  It was bad.  At the time, it was the worst thing I'd ever been through.  It's still the worst physical thing I've ever been through.  Basically, it felt like bad food poisoning combined with a terrible hangover, every day for nearly four months.  Don't get me started on the well-meaning idiots who would hear I was sick and ask if I'd tried sipping ginger ale.  That's a little like recommending a band-aid for someone who just had their hand chopped off.

Now I welcome the first signs that we're headed that way again.  Maybe it means this baby is going to be strong enough to make it to term, while we monitor fiercely for any signs of umbilical cord problems.  With Baby Bean (our miscarriage in June), I barely felt nauseated and only threw up once the whole 10 weeks I carried him.  I believed people when they said, "Well, maybe the world is finally cutting you a break" - but in my heart I thought it might be because the pregnancy just wasn't strong enough.  And I was right.

So, yeah, I'm strangely happy that food is starting to repulse me a little.  That's messed up, right?  Pretty sure I won't be so excited by the time I'm projectile vomiting the anti-nausea meds and admiring the broken blood vessels all over my face.  I got through it once.  I can get through it again.

Halloween

I'm making the best of this.  I made puppy a lion costume and am dressing myself as a lion tamer.  I even sewed fake flames on a hula-hoop.  We are going to a doggie costume party this afternoon at puppy's doggie daycare/boarding place.  (As an aside, I realize how very Southern California the phrases "doggie costume party" and "doggie daycare" are.  Stuff like this didn't exist in Lake Wobegon where I grew up.  Dogs just ran around the yard and dug holes and killed rodents.)

But it fucking sucks.  This was supposed to be Elizabeth's first Halloween.  While I was pregnant we were already talking about costumes.  Should we be the Incredibles?  The Flintstones?  Two chefs with a baby lobster in a pot? A hen, a rooster, and a chick?  The possibilities and potential for cuteness were endless.  Instead, she's dead, my husband is away on business, and I'm doing a family costume with puppy.  Thank goodness for puppy.  He loves his costume, as you can see:

To tell the truth, we did sneak in a little costuming during Elizabeth's life, like the baby polar bear snowsuit.  Not enough, not nearly enough for a lifetime, but at least it was something...

See the baby polar bear paw and ears?

It will take more than this to destroy me.

Woke up this morning to a tiny bit of spotting.  Cried for a few minutes, howled "Why Me?" at the world.  Then got dressed, took the puppy to the beach and laughed at his antics while breathing in the crisp fall air.

Because I know I'm strong.  I've been to hell and back and lived to tell about it.  I've been broken beyond recognition.  I've held my daughter's lifeless body against my chest and contemplated whether to join her in the great beyond.  It will take more than another miscarriage to destroy me.

Elizabeth's cord accident and death made me feel like a pathetic tragedy, a marked woman, an object of pity and shame.  But through all of that, I learned that I am actually strong, self-reliant, and resilient.  Sometimes I hardly recognize the person I was just a year ago.  I finally grew up when I became a mother. 

Officially Pregnant

Pregnant!  It still feels very temporary, and fraught with peril at every turn. 

But I am a little excited, too :) 

I'd like to apologize for the stab of pain that this news causes some of you.  I've been there (and quite honestly expect to be there again).   Hugs.

The Emotional Rollercoaster Continues

Too much going on right now to really get a handle on...

1.  Am I pregnant?  Hard to tell.  Very very faint positive on the home pregnancy tests for the past three days - not getting darker though.  No period.  Even if I am pregnant, will I stay that way? I had a dream last night in which I told someone that Elizabeth died and then we had a miscarriage and then we had a chemical pregnancy.  I guess I'm anticipating our quickest unhappy outcome yet.

2.  Elizabeth's first birthday is approaching (Dec. 20) and we haven't settled on a plan for what to do.  We were going to serve a meal at Ronald McDonald House that day, but now I'm wondering if we should do that a different day.  I might not be functioning well enough on her birthday to be in public or witnessing a bunch of families in crisis.  Maybe just simple cake and balloons and walk on the beach is more appropriate for her birthday.  I keep crying when I think about it.

3.  Just dropped a whole group of college friends by removing myself from the group email list that's been going since we graduated college 12 years ago.  I have so many wonderful sources of support in my life that I just didn't see the point in sticking around a community that has failed to be minimally appropriate in their response to Elizabeth's life and death.  Looking forward to never again reading their boastful baby updates and petty complaints, which they use to fill the ringing silence that greets unhappy news.  Felt really good, but a little scary too.  Hope that when tragedy inevitably strikes one of their lives they know they can reach out to me and find support.

4.  My husband just left for a ten-day business trip.  In fact, he's been away more than home this fall.  It's been hard on our marriage, which was (obviously) stressed to begin with.  But we're getting through it.  The other day we were driving home and saw a woman walking with two small children.  As we passed her and saw her hugely pregnant belly, I yelled "Really?  Is that really necessary?" and my husband yelled "Fuck you, too!" (don't worry, she couldn't hear us).  WOW did it feel good to both be on the same page at the same time.  This grief process is so different for men and women and we so often miss each other.  Of course, I guess it's better to trade lowest points so we can pick each other up.   He's my rock of support.  Last night on DWTS Martina McBride sang a song called "I'm Gonna Love You Through It."  I'm not usually a sucker for sappy country songs, but this one was talking about our marriage:

When you’re weak, I’ll be strong
When you let go, I’ll hold on
When you need to cry, I swear that I’ll be there to dry your eyes
When you feel lost and scared to death,
Like you can’t take one more step
Just take my hand, together we can do it
I’m gonna love you through it.

And when this road gets too long
I'll be the rock you lean on
Just take my hand, together we can do it
I’m gonna love you through it.

(context is young mother with cancer, not infant loss, of course, but it still hit home)

Thanks for listening.  Guess this post is more like a journal entry than anything else.

Here's my current favorite picture of Roo, sleeping and cuddled while I read a magazine, two days before we left the NICU.  This was my first taste of more peaceful days to come, the eye of the storm:

Changed my profile name

Just thought I would explain why my profile name went from being first name to some initials.  I've become a bit paranoid that people from my "real life" will find this blog and I'll lose the ability to speak freely.  I did a google search that was some combo of my name and Elizabeth's name with key words and my blog popped up, so I'm hoping the profile name change will get rid of that.

nothing else to say

Why isn't my baby here with me tonight, laughing and crying and crawling and living?

The first time I held Elizabeth outside of me

Towards the very end

This is a love story, and like all great love stories, it is a story of loss.

A friend just send me this New York Times article.  The writer's son is dying from Tay-Sachs.  It hit me hard.  I am a babylost mother but I was also the mother of a terminally ill child for three months.  Ours was a complicated journey from wide-eyed pregnant innocents to bereaved parents, not the express train that most of my babylost friends took.  I will always be grateful for the short time we had to love Elizabeth on this earth.  The weeks with her at home were the most precious of my life.  I feel guilty just writing that, like I'm gloating over people who didn't get that chance - who saw no heartbeat on a monitor.  But why should I feel guilty?  Weren't we all supposed to have a lifetime together?  Yes, I covet those three months, even as they were the worst of my life.  It's been almost a year since Elizabeth was born but I still struggle every day to process what has happened.

I think I might be pregnant again even though the test I took this morning was negative.  I feel different.  I am unable to picture us ever having a living healthy child, though.  That's just not our story.  I have no faith anymore. 

In Remembrance

Altered Reality

I'm doing pretty well today.  Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day is Saturday and I'm organizing friends and family to light candles for Elizabeth.  I usually feel better when I'm in the middle of an Elizabeth-related project.  Motherhood is supposed to be *active* and involve a lot of work, you know?  Plus it's mid-month, so I feel optimistic about getting pregnant again soon.  And work/school is going decently well.  And I'm busy making Halloween costumes for three different dogs (they will be a lion, a supervillan, and a bat).

But for some reason I am remembering when I wanted to kill myself, a few weeks after Elizabeth died.  One evening, I became completely convinced that she still needed me, wherever she was.  Sure, anyone could change her diaper and give her medication on schedule, but who was pumping milk for her?  Who was monitoring her breathing to figure out when she needed her nose or mouth suctioned? Who was watching her face and hands for the subtle signals she gave when she was in pain?  SHE CAN'T CRY - SHE NEVER HAS - NOT SINCE SHE WAS BORN - YOU HAVE TO PAY ATTENTION TO KNOW WHEN SHE NEEDS SOMETHING!!  Who was doing these things? 

Clearly, I needed to follow her to where she was and take care of her.  My bereavement counselor says this kind of altered reality is a hallmark of severe postpartum depression.  A friend who lost her father after caring for him through a long illness said she had similar fears about his care in the afterlife.  It was scary.  I had a plan for how I would die, and I was working up my nerve to follow through with it when - thank goodness - a more logical part of my brain kicked in.  I told my husband what was happening and we talked it through and came out the other side of the episode just fine.  But it was scary. 

Nothing like that has happened since - no more altered reality.  Sometimes reality itself weighs me down unbearably, but that's just the nature of our grief I guess.

Missing Roo

We usually called Elizabeth by one of her two nicknames - Roo or Bunny. "Roo" came from doing Kangaroo care in the NICU.  The source of "Bunny" is unknown.  These were definitely not the nicknames we had in mind when we picked the name Elizabeth, but they stuck.

Bunny, Bunny, Bunny - oh, I miss you, Bunny.  Where are you?  That's what I hear myself saying when I can't stop crying.

Good night, Roo.  We love you, Elizabeth.  We miss you.  That's what we say after we read her poem every night.

One of my favorite Elizabeth-at-home memories was overhearing my stepfather talking to her while changing her diaper (he didn't know I was listening).  He's a wonderful man who provided a stable home and raised me through my teens.  However, he's not really fond of babies or nicknames.  But he was talking away to her and calling her Bunny.  That's how lovable Elizabeth was.

Anyway, I missed Roo a lot today.  We went to the annual avocado festival.  Last year I was in the third trimester and too tired, so we skipped it.  I remember thinking we'd be taking our daughter to it the following year.  That she wouldn't be alive today never ever entered my mind. 

Kanga-Roo care time in the NICU

Innocents

"Innocents" - finally, the I have the right word to describe people whose lives have not been touched by tragedy.   I found it in the book "Losing Malcolm" (highly recommended).  Since losing Elizabeth I have become very aware of innocents in our lives, in their different incarnations:

Some innocents sent a card or flowers and then turned away from our grief because it was unfathomable to them.  I understand.  I was an innocent like that once upon a time.

Some innocents are charming in their naive optimism and failure to think others might have suffered tragedy.  These are the acquaintances  in our lives who saw us months after Elizabeth's death, when there were clearly no baby-ish clues about us and asked cheerfully how the little one was doing.   These are the pregnant women who glow with the innocent belief that babies don't die in our modern society.  They are sweet and mean well.  They even make me a little nostalgic for when I was more innocent.

Some innocents mistakenly believe they have suffered tragedies.  I know they just want to connect with me, but please please please don't act like the death of your 80-year-old grandmother is in the same league as the death of my 3-month-old baby girl.  Generations are supposed to die in a certain order.  Death of a loved one is sad, hard, and life-changing, yes.  Not always a tragedy though.

Some innocents are obnoxious in their belief that tragedy will never happen to them because it hasn't  so far and because they are responsible people.  They often ask subtle leading questions trying to figure out where we did something wrong on the way to Elizabeth's death.  Or they make breezy statements like, "our children's births are quick and easy" - yes a 9-month pregnant mother of two said this to me recently.  And she knows what happened to Elizabeth.  Cord accidents don't scare her because, well, her children's births are quick and easy, didn't you hear?  These people make me see red.  They make me feel judged and marked.  Maybe I'll call them "ignorants" instead of "innocents."

Crazy Lady on the Beach

Yeah, I'm talking about myself. 
This happened last week, and I keep thinking about it:

I'm on the beach for a jog with our puppy, and he starts playing with another puppy.  I stop to take a stretch break.  The other owner is a friendly woman with a sleeping baby girl (about six months old) in a Baby Bjorn.  We chat about our dogs and how nice it is for them to socialize and play at a young age.  An awkward silence follows.  It's perfectly clear that now is when I ask about/admire the baby.  I am having a pretty rough day and realize I can't do this without crying.  Awkward silence continues...puppies continue to chase and wrestle...I stare out at the waves, feeling rude.  Then I feel mad that on top of the mountains of other pain, now I seem like a rude person.  I am not a rude person.  I am a grieving mother.  So I decide to face it head on.

Me:  I'm sorry, I must seem rude.  It's just that my daughter died recently and I have a hard time with people who have babies.  I don't know what to say to you.

Her:  Oh, wow.

Another awkward silence.

I guess she didn't know what to say to me either.  I called the dog and we jogged off down the beach, me sobbing.  We stopped later so I could write Elizabeth's name in the sand, as usual. 

Puppy kept a close eye on me for the rest of the day:

Elly loves Elizabeth

One of my college friends has two kids,  Elly (4) and Tad (2).   Elly's mom has proven to be a one-in-a-million true friend this year in so many ways - small (cards and phone calls) to large (she flew all the way across the country to come meet Elizabeth during her six weeks at home).  I'm lucky enough to have a few friends who are this amazing.

Elly was interested in Baby Elizabeth from the beginning (Elly's full name is Elizabeth, which definitely helped).   Elly's parents didn't hide Elizabeth's existence or her illness, translated into preschool language, and answered her questions as best they could.  My favorite story has to do with Elizabeth's feeding tube.  Elly saw a bath picture like this one day (she liked to look at Baby Elizabeth pictures):

 
and wanted to understand the feeding tube.  Elly's mom said, "You remember I told you that Baby Elizabeth can't swallow, right?  But she needs to get her mommy's milk into her tummy, so the doctors put this tube and milk goes in through that."  Elly thought for a moment and then declared this a good idea by the doctors and moved on to more pictures.  As in, she dealt with it better than many adults.

Here is a picture of Elizabeth reading the Valentine's Day card Elly (and family) sent:

At one point while we were in the NICU, Elly painted a picture for us that she titled "A picture of Baby Elizabeth for your room" - it is a beautiful abstract mess of a rainbow.   It still hangs on our wall and makes me smile.  Somehow the sweet love of little Elly for my baby girl means so much.