Thursday, January 29, 2009

I'm getting old


Well... it will be in roughly 1.5 hours.

I am getting I will be twenty-four.

It's bittersweet, but I am going to celebrate it anyway. I didn't celebrate last year, it was my first birthday after my diagnosis. It was also 3 months after the diagnosis, actually, and I just wasn't in the mood.

It probably helped that no one seemed to notice my birthday, or to care about it... so I was okay with doing nothing. But, life is fragile. Life is short. I decided I was going to celebrate my birthday this year.

So... I am cleaning my house tomorrow.

And then going out to dinner with my husband.

And Saturday, my husband is going out with his friends.

While he is out, I am having an "I'm Getting Old" party/girl's night in/movie night at my house. Should be fun :) We're watching "Love and Sex," a really great movie. If you haven't seen it, you should check it out sometime. I know it sounds like a porno, but it isn't. Funny story about that actually... I called a video store once to see if they had it on stock to rent... the clerk I spoke with must have thought it was a porno. I could tell by her tone of voice, she then told me they didn't have it... which is strange because later that very same day I found it out on the shelves... in plain sight. Hmmmm. Anyway, it's a good movie. And, you'll be saying, "I cheese sandwich you," after you see it. Watch it sometime.

Before that movie though, I decided I needed a group viewing of "Empire Records," because it is one of my favorite movies. It's a lot like "The Breakfast Club," but more modern, and instead of high school students, they're more college aged... and there's more drugs/sex in it... but it's a great movie. Watch it sometime if you haven't.

So, I am going to enjoy myself Saturday night. Should take my mind of things, and alleviate some stress.

Oh, and I have the weekend off work! Oh, I love my job. I have a boss that is understanding, people that are laid back, and I am helping people (I don't get paid much, but... meh.) It's stressful, but... any of my other jobs, if I had asked for my birthday off? They would have laughed at me. But, my new boss knows I go to school Monday through Thursday, and I work every weekend (I typically only have Sunday's off.) So, I asked for just Saturday off to celebrate my birthday, and she gave me the entire weekend! How awesome is that?

(It's a good thing too. Because they're having a baby shower tomorrow for another employee, and I don't think I want to be around some stranger's baby shower on my birthday. Too depressing.)

I'll leave off on that note.

Hopefully it will be a good weekend. Fingers crossed.

Monday, January 26, 2009

Psyche Out and Pensive

I hate it when my body lures me into a false hope. I think, just maybe this time, just maybe, I will respond. There are all sorts of signs; achy ovaries, a feeling inside, followed by a temp rise... and then... nothing. Nada. Bullshit. Temp back down, back to square one.

It was all a lie.

I don't know why I bother hoping anymore. It's become quite apparent that the only way these damn ovaries are going to work is if I shoot myself up with the necessary hormones. Yet a small part of me dares to hope, month after month after month, that perhaps this time I will respond to the stupid pills. Nope. Nada. Nothing. My body is laughing at me. It thinks this is funny.

I don't.

I spend so much of my time searching, re-reading, re-analyzing, revisiting old data... hoping that some miracle is going to pop out at me. It's like I hope that suddenly something will appear between the lines and tell me what I'm doing wrong.

It never does.

I need to just come to terms with the futility of it all, and acknowledge that I will not be able to get pregnant until spring or summer... when I have enough money to go ahead with injectable medications. I know this on the conscious level, but it's my subconscious that dares defy me. It, being stupid, keeps hope alive. Futile, stupid, useless hope. I feel like such a masochist for even hoping to respond to the drugs. Such a fool.

Damn my body, it's incompetence, it's failure to even perform the most basic function.

I am coming to terms with the fact that I will have to wait until spring to move forward with my treatment. Not coming to terms very well, but slowly I am coming to terms.

Why is having a baby so hard?


Maybe I'm just a little emotional. I'm stressed, my body totally psyched me out this cycle, and another birthday is going to pass me by.

I started trying to concieve at twenty-two. I thought I would be a mother by twenty-three (I was so naive.) I would have made that goal though, if I hadn't lost my baby. I would be turning twenty four with an almost one month old baby. It would have been nice. I would have been so happy.

Sometimes I imagine that I hadn't lost the baby; I imagine how different this past year would have been, how different I would be now. It's a nice dream, like when you're someplace frigid cold, and you close your eyes and picture someplace sunny and warm, and you can see it so clearly that you can almost feel the heat on your skin. This vision is so beautiful, me with a child in my arms, my baby didn't die, and everything is alright, I can almost feel him in my empty arms... but then I open my eyes back up and I'm right back where I was, because it did happen; it's still happening.

Friday I am turning twenty-four, in all my anovulatory, childless, and bitter glory.

I don't know if I can take another year of dealing with infertility.

Thursday, January 22, 2009

Blog Slacking

I am blog slacking... not just at posting here but commenting on others. However, I am reading and thinking about everyone.

I've been so absorbed, and swallowed up, by my current course load at the university... that I can hardly find time to watch television right now. I can't even seem to find time to clean. I think I may have taken on more than I can handle this quarter... but no matter. I switched one of the classes to pass/fail, thereby eliminating one research paper and lots of pressure. Hopefully it will be easier from here on out.

I am on cycle day 8 now. Waiting for something to happen, or to not happen.

I can really tell how the years of trying to concieve have affected me, when it gets to this part of my cycle. The follicular phase, which in my case almost always ends up being the "ovaries-do-nothing" phase. Because they don't normally do anything, and even if they start to they just don't seem to want to follow through.

I feel like screaming, "Ovaries, I am begging you! Please, just give me one damn egg."
Not that it would do any good to do so... but I do think screaming is in order.

Lots of woman do fertility treatments, and ovulate wonderfully. Even if they don't get pregnant that cycle, I can't help but feel jealous of them. They actually had a chance, a possibility of pregnancy... I don't even get that.

Ungh. Self pity looks so ugly on me.

I decided to at least try and be positive this cycle. I'll let you know how that goes.

Monday, January 19, 2009

Barren Bitches Book Tour

Once your done here, hop along to another stop on this blog tour by visiting the main list at Stirrup Queens. You can also sign up for the next book on this online book club: Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro.

This time we are reflecting on Elizabeth McCracken's memoir, An Exact Replica of a Figment of My Imagination.

The first time I read this, I could not put it down. The second time I read it, I could not put it down. I think the third time I actually spent savoring certain passageways, reveling in the words. It was very powerful, very moving. The book was so strongly packed yet so open for understanding, I loved it both as the story and as the power of the words containing it.

It's hard to say,"This is a wonderful book," because it is such a sad story. Even sadder because it really happened, and not only to Elizabeth McCracken, but to many. Yet, I dare say I enjoyed this book. In this book I cried, I mourned, I sympathized, and I confirmed. Yes, indeed, "Closure is bullshit." but someday we too will be able to say, "It's a happy life-"

Okay, enough of my rambling. On with my questions to be answered... And this is my first time participating, so bear with me.

I was so moved by the writing and emotion in this book, and I wanted to pass it along to many people just because it's a great book, but I realized that a dead baby book is an awkward and probably inappropriate gift for most people. While reading, was there anybody that you wanted to give the book to? Why? Did you pass it along to anyone? If not, what held you back? Is it more appropriate for a woman who has lost a baby to give out a loss book than a woman who has not? What about a woman who has lost a baby, but the loss is unknown to the recipient -- does the gift expose her secret? Would you give the book to a woman that you know has lost a child?

Last month I ordered it on amazon and had it shipped straight to my sister's home across the country. I was unsure of how she would take it, you see she lost her daughter 10 years ago at full term. One day, healthy baby, the next day the heart had stopped.

Right after I sent it I worried, I fretted. Was she going to take it the wrong way? Would this upset her, would she even read it, would she quietly donate it to a local thrift store? I was starting to feel guilty, wondering if I'd done something wrong in sending it to her. She hadn't called me since she'd gotten it.

I finally heard from her yesterday. She thanked me for it. She was quiet, she told me that it was so strange because so much of it could have been a parallel of her own story. She told me how it was interesting to see how someone else handled it, how they survived as opposed to how she did.

Back to the original question; I think it would just depend on the situation. My sister yes, someone I barely know... I don't know what I would do. I agonized over it enough just wondering how my own sister would take it, let alone someone I barely know. I would like to say I would, but at the same time I'm afraid of making a wrong move.

I guess I, in turn, pose this question to all babylost mammas: How would you feel if someone sent you this book?

I know I would have graciously accepted it, but it would depend upon the hands it came from. My mother who said, "It could have been worse," after my miscarriage... I would wondered about her intentions. I would be critical and assume she was trying to show me just how bad it could have been. My sister, though? If she gave it to me, it would have been a nice balm. I would have known it was out of love.

Ah, and here's where we hop right back into bed with indecision. What's the situation, who's the person, what are they saying... circumstance.

McCracken views "A Figment" as her "calling card" -- the card that says, My first child was stillborn. "I want people to know about it but I don't want to say it out loud." She'll (figuratively) hand it to everyone who asks a stupid or just hard-to-answer question ("Is this your first?"), and everyone she generally just wants to know about her back story without the awkwardness of waiting for the segue and going through it. We obviously all blog -- do you view your blog as your calling card (do you have a calling card)? If you wrote a memoir, would it differ from your blog in any significant way? Do you think it would attract a different audience and would that change what you wrote?

Undoubtedly, who the audience is changes a piece. I have wrote on my blog about my loss, little pieces here and there in the privacy of my home about the entire journey, and I have wrote a short story that's still in the works.

I can honestly say that I do find myself unintentionally censoring myself in my work of the short story; this is something I am trying to work on. See, I want to tell it from a safe distance but I don't want to sugar coat it. I want to convey the pain, and the joy. I don't want to drive people away, because I want them to know and understand at a level they're comfortable with. I want it to be accessible to everyone. I also deal with accessibility with issues such as telling someone about ALI, people in the ALI community would know what that means, while people outside might think it's a weight loss drug. I try to write it in terms that everyone can understand, instead of just the people who have been in the same shoes. I want to open minds.

As far as my blog, these pieces are anonymous (mostly), and I feel more free here. I can talk about how painful my cervix was during the miscarriage on here (Okay, even here I feel a little dirty writing that) but in a short story that my English professor is helping me to edit? I think I'd feel very dirty if I threw that tidbit in there, if you know what I mean. I was afraid it would turn away certain audience members that I wanted to reach... so I editted. However, here on my blog anything, and everything, is game.

I very much admire that about Figment. I think that McCraken wrote the book in just the right tone, with just the right amount of pain, to convey the spectrum of it without turning people away. She made it real, but not so real that you couldn't come back from it.

On page 94 Elizabeth McCracken writes, "I've never gotten over my discomfort at other people's discomfort" also "I don't even know what I would have wanted someone to say", and I am wondering how you have handled that discomfort when something terrible happened to you (suicide, miscarriage, failed cycle, etc.) Is it better for another person to say something cliche that makes you feel awful or is it better for them to ignore the topic all together?

Ah, yes. I like to tell people I have a super power, the power to hush a room and drive people's of all religions, sex, race, away from me. Because... I am the elephant in the room. I am the infertile, the one in four that miscarries. I loved that statement in the book, "I've never gotten over my discomfort at other people's discomfort." Neither have I.

I was surprised how much comfort it brought after my miscarriage just to hear someone tell me, "I'm sorry for your loss." It moved me so much to have others acknowledge the baby's existence. As opposed to how much it hurt when people said things, trying to be helpful that just... well, weren't (I wanted to do some face stomping every time someone said, "It could have been worse.")

I didn't like that everyone ignored the topic, and I didn't like having to be the advocate to teach them what to say, or to have to be the bigger person and understand that they just don't know what to say or do. I didn't like it when people stopped talking, grew morose if I mentioned it, or simply walked away awkwardly.

I too wish that they had said something, even though I wasn't sure what it was I wanted. It wasn't until after a friend emailed me to say, "I'm sorry for your loss," that I grasped that it was all I needed. Just for someone to acknowledge that this beautiful little life had left the world.

But, since we can't chose the comments we get... I would rather have had silence to some of the comments I received. I really, really, would have.

My favourite line of the book comes on page 103: "Closure is bullshit." In your opinion (whether or not you have experienced pregnancy loss yourself), is this true or false?

This was also my favorite quote... and I feel it sums up the entire memoir. You never get closure, as in 'you get to say good bye and everything in your life returns to normalcy.' But you will be able go on with your life someday; someone will always be missing, but you can go on. I think this book tells that quite beautifully.

I believe closure really is bullshit. You never stop missing that person, that piece of you, that is missing. You never "get over" it. They can not be replaced. It's like a jigsaw puzzle that will always be missing a vital piece. Yes, the overall picture may come out stunning, but if you look close enough you can see that vital little piece. You can see that the picture is not whole, and never will be.

Friday, January 16, 2009

You say I Fetishize

(I've been playing around with this post in my head for awhile, I just didn't have time to write it. So busy. Okay, so no one has ever said this to me really... but it's like, paranoid, I can hear them saying it in their minds, behind my back, beyond my grasp. I wonder if I'm the only one that feels that way, afraid of others not understanding what you're going through with a loss, and assuming you are mentally unstable and morbidly attracted to your own suffering. But really, it's just that they can not understand... it's that thought that drove this post I think.)

I sometimes believe that some people have this belief that I fetishize my miscarriage; as if I focus on it with a dark intensity. I assure you I do not. I simply can not let go, no matter how much I try. We can more easily disarm hate and longing, than love and pride.

It's not just that he was my first pregnancy. It's not just that he may be the only pregnancy, the only baby, I ever create. It's not just that it hurt, the sharp decline from bliss to loneliness. It's not just that I waited so long for him to come.

It's just that I love him.

I can hear you now, "How can you love someone you never met?"

Well, that's where you are wrong. See, we've met, him and I. I've seen him hundreds of times when I've closed my eyes. I've spoken to him in the womb. I'd awaited him for years. I've daydreamed about his curled lips and soft downy cheeks, my arms have ached for his warm embrace. No, it's not that I haven't met him; it's that you haven't met him yet. Your disbelief in my acute pain arises simply from your inability to see what I see. But it's right there, if you look hard enough with your sallow heart.

I can hear you again, "But, how can you love someone who never came to be?"

Ah, but he did come to be. It's just that his stay was cut short. He was here, just as real as you or me, it's just that you couldn't see him yet. He took my egg, my husband's seed, and sprouted. He grew roots into my womb, he took heed in his mission. It's just, he chose not to break forth; instead of becoming a towering sycamore, he resigned to forever being a stalk of grass. He left traces of his existence all around me, if only you would look hard enough to see them. His roots have wound their way down my steely veins, they are still firmly bound in my heart.

I am proud to have been a carrier of something so precious, even if we were always chasing each other down, always one step behind or one step ahead. I treasure the few moments I had with him. I do not stick to these memories out of dark resolution, but rather out of that stillness of love and pride. The quiet place where you miss, but smile at the same time. I will not give that up.

I do not fetishize; I love, I laugh, and some days I mourn. My child is not simply his death, no matter how much you think he is. You try to take this love, affection, away from me by calling it by other names. But it is cruel to turn the beauty of life into a dark and twisted thing. Besides, I can see beyond you; I can see what you can not see with your blind blissful eyes. I am whole, complete, as was he. And so are we.

Thursday, January 15, 2009

All systems are go

I can bend my neck now, thank goodness for steriods! That sounds wrong... but it's so true.

I love having health insurance and being able to go to the doc. I can pay $20 to see my doc, then have reduced pay on my meds, and it's great. For instance, I used to have to pay $50 out of pocket for my doctor's visit, then $40 for an inhaler. A whooping total of $90 to not die of an asthma attack. Geesh. Now I pay $20 to see my doc, or free to call it in and ask, and then like $20 for my inhaler. Total of $20 to $40 max. It is so nice. I am soooo grateful. For as crappy as my insurance is, I am still grateful I have it. I know what it's like not to.

And having it, I am using it up. Before, I would have suffered for weeks with my injury from my fall on Monday. But now? I go to the doc, and it's 3-4 days later, and I am feeling a lot better. It's amazing. I was sick last month, and if I hadn't went to the doctor I would have been sick for 2 weeks. I was only sick for 4-5 days I think. It was such a huge difference. I'm still not quite used to being able to visit a doctor whenever I need to.

That being said, I still have to pay out the butt for infertility because that service just ain't covered. But... I guess I shouldn't complain too much.

I woke up today, and dear Aunt Flo is here. Oh yes, cycle day one we meet again. I am taking the Clomid this cycle, and hoping for a birthday surprise ovulation. Will I get it? Probably not, but it would be nice. Onward!

But for now, I must gather my kitty in the ole pet carrier and cart her to the vets. It's time to get her stitches out. Yes, stitches. I got her fixed. I kinda feel bad for taking that right away from her, but there is a pet overpopluation problem... and I don't want more kitties right now. Not to mention she was too dainty to even handle this litter. She only got milk in 2 of her nipples, for 4 kittens. I had to supplement the runts because they were loosing weight, momma was loosing weight, and I was concerned. So, I suppose it's all for the better, but still... the guilt nags me. Who am I to take that right away from her, if you know what I mean? She just wants to be a momma... and I can totally relate.

Tuesday, January 13, 2009

Stupid Winter

Yesterday as I was heading to my car, I stepped on the porch steps like I normally do. Except for this time I slipped on the almost three inches of ice on them. I fell on my back, right onto the nice pointy steps. I was fine for 5 hours, until my classes were over. I was getting ready to head home when... my back started to hurt. Then, my neck started to hurt. It got worse and worse as the night wore on. I could hardly sleep it hurt so bad. Yes, I know a normal person would have went to the ER, but I don't like going to there unless I need to. So I waited to see how I was in the morning... ungh, no? Owie!

I set up an appt. this morning, and I just got back. I seem to have pulled my neck muscle, like Whiplash, as well as thoroughly bruised my back. But my doc hooked me up. I got a shot and some pills, and he said I should be feeling better in a few hours. We shall see! I hope so.

Stupid crappy ice and snow, how I hate winter. Pretty? Yes. Harazrdous? Plenty! Worth putting up with the hazards for the priveldge of beholding this beauty? Not so much.

A- was driving me home from my appt, and I swear that boy has no common sense sometimes. He wasn't driving slow enough in the slush and we started skidding and hit a telephone pole. We were only going 10mph, and the car wasn't damaged, but geesh.

I hit the seat belt pretty hard, and my knee hit the glove box. At least I'm already medicated. I am so mad, I TOLD him to take it slower. He never listens to my backseat driving advice, and really he should. I am a winter weather driving veteran. He doesn't have as much experience as I do. Of course I have learned the hard way after my first 360 degree skid out one winter... but learn I did. The lesson? Take it slow.

Sorry. Needed to vent!

But we're safe, the car is safe, and that's what matters.

I hate winter and all it's glory.

What's this have to do with infertility? Nothing. Just wanted to rant.

I am still taking my Prometrium. I always feel at a loss for words when I'm in between cycles. I suppose I could rant about the wait, the unknowns, the depression, the loss of optimism... but you have most likely already heard all that from me before. So, instead I offer you... I dunno. Still working on that. Perhaps occasional ramblings will do for now.

Thursday, January 8, 2009

Shout out

Mel over at Stirrup Queens was nominated for the 2008 Weblog Awards. So go vote for her, will ya? I want to see her win, her website really opened the blog world of infertility up to me. It was a catalyst, it even moved me to start my own blog. And if you don't know who Mel is, well go check her out... and then vote for her ;)


In other news, I think I'll call this cycle quits tomorrow... or maybe the next day. Who knows. I hate this part of the cycle, giving up and bringing on the next round.

I will be doing Clomid next cycle, so we'll see how that goes. It's my last time doing Clomid (Unless it makes me ovulate, which would be a freaking miracle.) I'm going to take them weird. See, Clomid makes me start to respond, but then my ovaries don't follow through. The cycle I was monitored my ovaries started making 4 follicles, but by the end of the week when I came in for another ultrasound all 4 had reabsorbed. Crap, if you ask me. (Ovaries, what were you thinking?) So, I'm going to take the Clomid longer than normal at 150mg, instead of doing the 200mg in 5 days. We'll see how that goes. Probably won't make a difference, but who knows.

I'm sure it will at least give me a headache. It always does. (Thanks Clomid.)

Tuesday, January 6, 2009

For serious?

This came in the mail for me this week from my health insurance provider. I thought I would share it with you, in case you didn't know. Oh, it was so helpful. I hope it's not toooo blurry, because you should read this. For serious.


Ah, the mysteries of the woman body. What should you know? Well, let me share some tidbits. How about...


It is? For reals. I did NOT know how fragile my reproductive system is. Did you?

And this is what it has to say about those said issues.


No way. Cysts on the ovaries? Endometriosis? Those are totally new terms to me! You can get an infection in you lady parts? Cervical cancer? OMG! This was all new information to me!


What really pissed me off about this pamphlet, aside from the obvious wasting of a tree... the fact that it has such limited and not even basic information about anything. There's no explanation for the crap in it, it's just like... "Go talk to your doctor." type of feel.

It mentions ovarian cysts, but not PCOS. What the hell? I thought PCOS was extremely common? Yet... not even a glazing over. Wow.

And furthermore, what universe do they live in where a doctor notices these things in you at a regular check up?Are you serious? I had regular check ups for years, and you know what? My PCOS and subsequent infertility were not diagnosed until I was trying to have a baby for awhile. After I had missed my period for a dangerously long time.

Thanks insurance company, I know you were trying to help. But you are a dumb ass. If you want to help, be more... I don't know, helpful?

I guess it really doesn't matter to you anyway, right? It's not like any of your plans cover infertility.

Ah, I feel better now :)

Sunday, January 4, 2009


Time has passed me by since I had my miscarriage. I know that. It's just been hitting me hard lately. See, I have been on a forum thread for woman who lost babies due around the same time as mine. We have supported each other well. But, time has passed us by.

We are still very close, and I love these woman. Words can not express how much I love these woman, how I care about them. But I am being reminded almost daily about how much time has passed us all by.

I am so happy for each and every positive pregnancy test they get. I send my heart out into the universe, I beg for it to let these woman have happiness at last. Let them carry to term. Please.

But it also reminds me of how much time has passed, and how I am not yet closer to having a baby of my own. I don't want to be misunderstood. This is so hard to put into words. I am so happy for them, but I am hurting.

I want to hear everything, I want to know they are doing well, I want these babies, these pregnancies, to make it. I want it with every fiber of my being. But, I feel sorry for myself.

I keep reminding myself that someday... someday I will get the positive test myself. And if I don't? I will become a mother, someday, somehow. I can have a child, a living breathing honest to goodness baby. Even if adoption is the way to go.

Time just keeps ticking on by. Tick, tick, tick. And I still have these aching empty arms, and worthless barren womb.

I feel like a downer all the time. I'm always going on about the negative. But it's so hard to stay positive, to see the sunshine with these infertility blinders on my eyes. I'm just getting tired of fighting so hard for something that is starting to feel like it might never happen.

I'm sure we all feel that way from time to time.

I need to buck up, and look on the bright side of life. I am alive, I have a wonderful loving husband, I have a home, a job, my animals; life is good today. I need to smile for the beauty of today, instead of looking for something worthwhile in tomorrow. Today is here, tomorrow is just a dream.

Friday, January 2, 2009

In Memory of Sebastian

***I'm posting this a couple of hours before the melt down tomorrow. The cheap pink champagne is leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. I probably won't be on here tomorrow... I have to work from 4pm until Midnight, thereby fucking up absorbing my entire day. Not intentional, I assure you. I actually wanted tomorrow off, but forgot to request it off. So, without further ado... my memorandum.***

January 3, 2009-

You were due today, I thought you would have came early and that I'd be holding you by now. Did you know that 8 months ago tomorrow is when I lost you? I still think about you everyday. It took me all this time to realize that I had to let you go. I have to let you go; and I don't want to. You'll always be in my heart, and I will always love you. You were my first pregnancy, my first baby, and nothing will ever replace that niche in my heart that you now hold. I waited so long for you, I was so happy to discover you, so surprised that I had not only ovulated, but that I had conceived. It was so long in the making, who knew it would take me a year to ovulate?

It was a wonderful dream come true.

And then, 8 days later, the nightmare began. That nightmare still hasn't ended.

I miss you so deeply. You took something vital from me that day, a piece of me. When I lost you something in me died that day. I don't know if I'll ever get it back. I don't know if I want it back.

You can keep it for me.

Losing you grounded me, made me hyper aware of the fragility of all life. I still get scared when I think about what would happen to me if I lost your father. I have lost so much in this life. I get so sick of losing and never gaining. Scratch that, I do gain some beautiful things in this life at times; only I always seem to end up losing them too soon.

Of all the things I've lost, losing you hurt the most. You were this precious, miraculous, gift that I didn't deserve. I knew from the beginning that it was too good to be true. Yet, I tried so hard to enjoy it while you were here with me. I decided that whether you survived or not, I was going to enjoy every second of having you. I wasn't going to live ruled by fear, or by the negativity of assuming I would lose you. I was going to enjoy the moment, I would never get those first few moments of pregnancy back. I loved you more than I have ever loved anyone else in this world. For those 8 days you were so loved.

And then I found out, you really were too good to be true.

I still love you more than I have ever loved anyone else in this world. I hope you know that. Even if no one else mourns your passing, know that I love you. People kept telling me that it could have been worse. Oh, my sweet baby, how could anything ever be worse than losing you? Everyone carried on around me as if you had never even existed. The world revolved around me, and left me standing with my empty arms. I lost the most important thing in my life, and no one even noticed. No one saw you for what you were, my child.

I blamed myself, for failing you, for your genes failing you, for my piece of crap body that can't get pregnant or carry to term (yet) I can forgive myself today, because I know I did my very best. I gave you everything I had, I wanted so badly to meet you. I tried so hard, and it got me nowhere. Maybe you were never meant to be mine. You barely touched my life, but the impact of you bent me to the ground.

I would give anything to have you back. But I can't, and you're gone; so my yearning lingers beyond me going nowhere. It spans out the distance, a displaced emotion without foundation and without hope. It reaches into the nothingness around me, and floats aimlessly. It is an empty longing; hopelessness.

Sebastian, if you were ever able to know anything in this life... I hope my love touched you. I hope you felt how much you were wanted, desired, cherished, how much we loved you. I won't hold you back anymore, but I won't ever forget you either. You'll always be in my heart, but I have to take my heart from off my sleeve now. I have to learn to smile. I have to love you with that smile, instead of loving you with my tears.

I have to let you fly.

All my love,
Your Mother
(I posted this poem several Show and Tells ago... but I wrote it for Sebastian, so I'm re-posting it.)

In My Heart

I never met you in the flesh
but you were always on my mind.
I felt my soul tearing in two
as the nurse told me that unfortunately
we had lost you.

But you were never lost,
you were where you belonged all along,
in my heart.
And I hugged myself believing that one day
you'd come back to me,
even though I knew it'd be the other way around.

And I imagined a field of daisies
washing away the pain of infertility,
and their seeds growing up
as flowers obscured the pain
of pregnancy loss.

I dreamed of you tonight
curled in oblivion,
playing with your hair as you slept,
and the light kissed you as
I wished I could.

Softly crying through each night
I think of you,
and what should have been,
and what couldn't be.

And I hold on
to the memory of you
and what short time
we had.

And it's never enough.
One more day,
one more month,
I still wouldn't have had enough time
to say goodbye to you.



Miscarried on May 4, 2008
EDD January 3, 2009

Thursday, January 1, 2009

A good start?

How my day began.

I got up to go to work.
It was early, 7am. Very early for me...

I stepped out into the fresh air. It was cold, crisp, bitter. The frigid air nipped through my sweatshirt. I hopped into the car and began to drive, the world around me was still. Quiet. As I got a little further down the road I noticed the sunrise, so beautiful up ahead. It was tangerine with pink overlaid on broken clouds that floated aimlessly like broken dreams. They were beaten out, but there was a subtle beauty within it all.

I kept driving, and noticed the empty lot, to my right, wasn't empty anymore. Where once there was a school, the same school my husband attended as a child, it had became an empty lot during the cities mass school demolition last year. Today there is the beginning of a playground, erected almost overnight. What was once whole, became broke, and is being reborn again. It was a good way to start the new year, giving me faith again. Perhaps there is hope after all.

And surrounding this, is something I can not explain. I woke up today and felt like this enormous weight, that I didn't even know I was carrying, has been lifted from my shoulders. This morning, when I woke up, I felt I could finally accept that my child is gone. I felt like, finally, I can let him go. I can stop holding each little memory like a life preserver, as if should I forget one detail he would disappear. He will not disappear, but I have to let him go now. I have to stop looking behind me, and I need to start looking ahead of me. Looking behind is fine at times, but I can not do this everyday. There is this peace that I can not explain. I'm sure it will leave me by tonight, or tomorrow, or the next day, and the pain will come back and become all too real. But right now, today, I can smile. I can accept that my child is gone, and he's never coming back. I can let him go, I can dance in the rain instead of waiting for the storm to pass. I am going to be okay today.