Blessings

Today has been a trying day.

Many of you noticed earlier that my Facebook status today was simply "So...two months ago, today would have had me hiding in bed in tears...today- I just shrug and watch the girls dancing to Tangled music, so blissfully unaware of anything else."  That was prompted by a slight accounting error on my part that had me in a bit of a funk.  There is no doubt in my mind that just two months ago, I would've been beating myself up about it and stressing all day.  Today, I can literally pinpoint the moment at which I decided it just wasn't really a crisis...I was watching the girls spin around in the middle of the living room and singing with all their hearts and it dawned on me, "Oh well." 

Then when Chris got home, he brought in the mail.  We haven't received the bill from our specialist appointment yet, but we did receive the EOB...and it shows our responsibility to be about six times what we expected to pay.  Why?  Because the "insurance year" started over on October 1st...fourteen days before our appointment.  *Sigh*

Again, two months ago...I would've been a sobbing mess trying to figure out how to take care of that little surprise.  Today - I swore a little, then thought "Well, we knew we'd have to pay that deductible next year for the delivery anyway...so we'll deal with it a little sooner I guess."  

Don't get me wrong...my anxiety is still a little higher than usual and seeing bills already piling up for a baby that we don't get to keep is more than a little disheartening ...but my point is this: I am amazed at what just one month can do to completely alter our world view and our approach to life.

I hope that no one reading this ever has to face what we're going through right now, but what I do hope is that you stop and think about how you see things.  If you learn nothing from anything else I write during this journey, learn to look for what is important.  It isn't the bills on the table, or the pile of work waiting for you Monday morning.  It isn't the dinner you burnt or the permanent marker stain on your wall.  It isn't the unfinished project in your garage or the Facebook game you have to finish.  It isn't the fight you had with your friend or a silly feud dividing your family.

What matters most are the blessings we are given every day and what we choose to do with them. 

Baby Girl...probably. :)

Yesterday we had our first doctor appointment since receiving our diagnosis - hard to believe it has been an entire month.

Chris and I were both pretty apprehensive about how the appointment would go; we really didn't get a chance to talk with my doctor after the initial ultrasound because we probably wouldn't have heard anything she said anyway.  Since we weren't exactly sure what to expect and didn't know how well it would go for us, my younger sister came up to stay with the girls (many thanks Jules!) and Chris and I had the opportunity to have a nice quiet lunch beforehand.

Our regular nurse was the one who took us back, so she said nothing about the fact that I've lost eight pounds this month; she didn't need to.  She also asked gently how we were doing and said she had been thinking about us all month.  She also told us that she had thought about calling me one day last week just to check in and gave us both a hug before she stepped out of the room.  (She has been with us from the time we first found out Tori would be joining us, so we've gotten to know her over the last five years.)

A few minutes later, our doctor came in and pulled out the stool.  Usually our visits are quick and there is no need to sit, but she sat and discussed all of our questions and gave us her point of view on several things.  There was no rush and it was clear that we had as much time as was needed.  We talked about how unfair the world can be because she just had another couple earlier in the day who was coping with a miscarriage, despite the fact that they were a loving couple who wanted their child and would've been great parents, much like us.  We discussed our visit with the perinatal specialist and she said they were happy to do any other detailed ultrasounds that needed done.  We mentioned that we wish we'd gotten to find out gender so people quit referring to baby as "it."  Her response?  "Well come on, we'll just go across the hall and take a peek."

She grabbed the nurse as we rounded the desk and we all went in to take a peek at baby.  I was already almost in tears before the images on the screen came up; although I thanked her several times, I don't know if she will ever really understand how much this meant to me and to Chris - there is a very real chance that we will see our baby alive more in ultrasounds than we will in real life.  Once again, Baby was being less than cooperative (and once again Chris blames me for this) and the umbilical cord was right between those two incredibly long legs.  Baby Girl looked quite comfortable with her legs all stretched out, tapping one tiny foot. The doctor spent quite a bit of time checking out different angles and said she is reasonably certain that Baby #3 is a little girl.  :)

Then the doctor told us, "Well, we can always take another look when you come back in next month and try to see for sure."  After that, she and her nurse both took the time to say some of the kindest words I think I've heard in the last month, "If you need anything at all, please don't hesitate to call.  Please don't think that, because of the circumstances, we're going to blow you off or treat you any differently.  Don't think that you have to wait until the next appointment, just call if you need anything at all."  This should seem pretty obvious, but it's actually an amazing reassurance to offer someone in our shoes.

We left knowing that she is our doctor for a reason - I can not imagine going through this with a practitioner who didn't understand us and with whom we weren't comfortable.  There is no doubt in my mind that she supports our choices and will do her best to do what is best for us.  I also have no doubt that she is struggling with what we are facing and truly cares for us, not just as patients but also as parents.

Footprints

Footprints in the Sand

One night I dreamed I was walking along the beach with the Lord.

Many scenes from my life flashed across the sky.

In each scene I noticed footprints in the sand.

Sometimes there were two sets of footprints,

other times there were one set of footprints.

This bothered me because I noticed

that during the low periods of my life,

when I was suffering from

anguish, sorrow or defeat,

I could see only one set of footprints.

So I said to the Lord,

"You promised me Lord,

that if I followed you,

you would walk with me always.

But I have noticed that during

the most trying periods of my life

there have only been one

set of footprints in the sand.

Why, when I needed you most,

you have not been there for me?"

The Lord replied,

"The times when you have

seen only one set of footprints,

is when I carried you." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   This has always been one of my favorites. I've always enjoyed the notion that God was there to carry us through our darkest moments.  I actually like it so much that I even got four little footprints tattooed across the top of my left foot a few years ago.   It is no secret that I have been struggling with my faith this last month and I'm nowhere near the end of the quest. There are days where I want nothing to do with God and am so angry that I don't want to even think about talking to Him or uttering a single prayer.  There are other days where I desperately try to still believe that He is in control and is truly there for us.  There are even occasional days where I feel His strength or see some circumstance that has helped prepare us for all of this and know that we aren't entirely alone. There is no real rhyme or reason as to what category a given day will fall into; at this point, it is still kind of random.   Last night, however, as I was putting Abby to bed and had some quiet moments to myself as she was drifting to sleep, I started thinking about the footprints on my foot and what they mean to me.  I got them shortly after Chris's mom passed away in 2006; it was partly because of how much I have always loved "Footprints" but also because it was one of her favorites too and it seemed like a fitting way to honor her memory.  I have always thought of them as a reminder to myself that God is always with me and will carry me when I need Him.   In the last month, I have completely ignored that reminder and felt like we were just roaming the beach of life without anyone to walk beside us.  Tonight, however, I ended up having a quiet conversation with God, not really intentionally but just as a natural consequence of pondering our footprints right now.  I found myself asking God to help me let him carry me right now because I'm overwhelmed and not sure how to keep making footprints of my own.   I think that's what it comes down to...I don't have to ask God to carry me.  I have to figure out how to let that happen.  That is the biggest obstacle to my faith these days: I want to believe in God, I want to trust God, I want to find comfort in God... I'm just having a rough time with knowing how to do it all right now but I do believe that I'll get there eventually.

"The List"

I swiped this from another blog...fortunately we haven't had too many ill-advised comments yet, but it's worth putting out there, I think.  These don't really just apply to our situation - they could pretty much apply to any tragic situation where you just don't know what else to say. 

When women experience the loss of a child, one of the first things they discover they have in common is a list of things they wish no one had ever said to them. The lists tend to be remarkably similar. The comments are rarely malicious - just misguided attempts to soothe.


This list was compiled as a way of helping other people understand pregnancy loss. While generated by mothers for mothers, it may also apply similarly to the fathers who have endured this loss.

When trying to help a woman who has lost a baby, the best rule of thumb is a matter of manners: don't offer your personal opinion of her life, her choices, her prospects for children. No woman is looking to poll her acquaintances for their opinions on why it happened or how she should cope.

-Don't say, "It's God's Will." Even if we are members of the same congregation, unless you are a cleric and I am seeking your spiritual counseling, please don't presume to tell me what God wants for me. Besides, many terrible things are God's Will, that doesn't make them less terrible.

-Don't say, "It was for the best" - there was probably something wrong with your baby." The fact that something was wrong with the baby is what is making me so sad. My poor baby never had a chance. Please don't try to comfort me by pointing that out.

-Don't say, "You can always have another one." This baby was never disposable. If had been given the choice between loosing this child or stabbing my eye out with a fork, I would have said, "Where's the fork?" I would have died for this baby, just as you would die for your children.

-Don't say, "Be grateful for the children you have." If your mother died in a terrible wreck and you grieved, would that make you less grateful to have your father?

-Don't say, "Thank God you lost the baby before you really loved it." I loved my son or daughter. Whether I lost the baby after two weeks of pregnancy or just after birth, I loved him or her.

-Don't say, "Isn't it time you got over this and moved on?" It's not something I enjoy, being grief-stricken. I wish it had never happened. But it did and it's a part of me forever. The grief will ease on its own timeline, not mine - or yours.

-Don't say, "Now you have an angel watching over you." Oh, great just what I wanted an angel. You're right I didn't want my baby I wanted an angel. I didn't want him to be my angel. I wanted him to bury me in my old age.

-Don't say, "He/She is in a better place." What better place is there than in my arms? How is it better that my child is in heaven than with his mommy and daddy? How is that better? Since you want what is best for your children too, would you rather have your child in heaven?...Didn't think so.

-Don't say, "I understand how you feel." Unless you've lost a child, you really don't understand how I feel. And even if you have lost a child, everyone experiences grief differently. And especially don't say this and associate it with something like your dog...it isn't the same.

-Don't tell me horror stories of your neighbor or cousin or mother who had it worse. The last thing I need to hear right now is that it is possible to have this happen six times, or that I could carry until two days before my due-date and labor 20 hours for a dead baby. These stories frighten and horrify me and leave me up at night weeping in despair. Even if they have a happy ending, do not share these stories with me.

-Don't pretend it didn't happen and don't change the subject when I bring it up. If I say, "Before my baby died..." or "when I was pregnant..." don't get scared. If I'm talking about it, it means I want to. Let me. Pretending it didn't happen will only make me feel utterly alone.

-Don't say, "Well, you weren't too sure about this baby, anyway." I already feel so guilty about ever having complained about morning sickness, or a child I wasn't prepared for, or another mouth to feed that we couldn't afford. I hate myself for any minute that I had reservations about this baby. Being unsure of my pregnancy isn't the same as wanting my child to die - I never would have chosen for this to happen.

-Do say, "I am so sorry." That's enough. You don't need to be eloquent. Say it and mean it and it will matter.

-Do say, "You're going to be wonderful parents some day," or "You're wonderful parents and that baby was lucky to have you." We both need to hear that.

-Do say, "I have lighted a candle for your baby," or "I have said a prayer for your baby."

-Do send flowers or a kind note - every one I receive makes me feel as though my baby was loved. Don't resent it if I don't respond.

-Don't call more than once and don't be angry if I let voicemail pick up and I don't return your call. If we're close friends and I am not responding to your attempts to help me, please don't resent that, either. Help me by not needing anything from me for a while.


If you're my boss or my co-worker:

-Do recognize that I have suffered a death in my family - not a medical condition.

-Do recognize that in addition to the physical after effects I may experience, I'm going to be grieving for quite some time. Please treat me as you would any person who has endured the tragic death of a loved one - I need time and space.

-Do understand if I do not attend baby showers/christening/birthday parties etc. And DON'T ask why I can't come.

Please don't be upset if I can't talk about your pregnancy, your new baby or someone else's. If your niece is pregnant, or your daughter just had a baby, please don't share that with me right now. It's not that I can't be happy for anyone else, it's that every smiling, cooing baby, every glowing new mother makes me ache so deep in my heart I can barely stand it. I may look okay to you, but there's a good chance that I'm still crying every day. It may be weeks before I can go a whole hour without thinking about it. You'll know when I'm ready - I'll be the one to say, "Did your daughter have her baby?" or, "How is that precious little boy of yours? I haven't seen him around the office in a while."

Above all, please remember that this is the worst thing that ever happened to me. The word "loss" is small and easy. But my baby's death is monolithic and awful. It's going to take me a while to figure out how to live with it. Bear with me."

Daddy's Book

I just had to share a quick story about my sweet, smart, sensitive daughters tonight.

When I ordered the children's books from Amazon, I also ordered one for myself and one for Chris. I was flipping through Chris's book for a moment this afternoon when Tori came walking through and asked "What's that book Mama?"  I told her it was Daddy's book about the baby and when she wanted to read it, I let her know that it was Daddy's and we should put it back so he could finish reading it.

She headed for the family room and I went around the other way through a different room, but when I came back into the family room...there she sat looking at Chris's book despite just having been told no.  She looked so sheepish because she knew she wasn't following the rules, so I just simply asked "Hey Tor, whatcha doin'?" 

Her reply?  "I'm looking at Daddy's book so I can figure out what's wrong with our baby."

I'm pretty sure my heart broke into a million pieces, so I just sat down and pulled her into my lap for a hug.  She told me "I'm sorry I wasn't being a good girl, but I just wanted to read it."  I told her that I understood and sat with her while she continued to read, then she wanted to read their books again.  She went to get them and as we sat down, Abby climbed into my lap too.  Although there were no tears from me this time, she still rubbed my arm and said, "'Kay.  'Kay."

We read the stories and I answered all of Tori's questions from last night again. Then, just as quickly, she wanted to know if we could watch "the sharp Aladdin" (known to everyone else as "Aladdin and the King of Thieves").  While they settled in to watch their current favorite, I couldn't help but squeeze them a little and thank God for such amazing little girls.

The Rest of the Ripple

When we honestly ask ourselves which persons in our lives mean the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving much advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a gentle and tender hand. The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not-curing, not-healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is the friend who cares."

-Henri J.M. Nouwen, "Out of Solitude" (as quoted in Pregnancy After A Loss) 



I come from a family of fixers and do-ers...we are people who want to solve problems and we don't like to be stumped by anything.  For the most part, we are logical people and prefer to believe that every problem has a solution.  As it turns out, I have tended to surround myself by just exactly that type of person with the friends that I have chosen in my lifetime - some have been in my life for more than a decade, others just a few years, and some that I've met only recently along the road that we've been walking this last month.  So for my family and friends (and certainly for us), this sudden feeling of complete powerlessness is a hard pill to swallow. 

I have to say, though, that I have really been fortunate that nearly everyone who has found themselves in our "ripple" for the last month has been absolutely amazing. Some have come forward with very practical offers of support or tangible things that they could do to help us, others have been there to listen when I needed it most, and still others have shared intimate details of their struggles and pain on their own journeys.  Many, many more have offered their thoughts and prayers. 

I am grateful for each of you and thank you sincerely for the hands you have offered to help pull us through these last few weeks.  It gives me quite a bit of strength to know that those offers have been extended and that I have a network of friends who are so very supportive.  I have seen so many others whose friends have openly criticized their choices or have abandoned them because their pain was "too difficult to deal with."  
  
As in the quote above, we truly aren't looking for anyone to give us answers or cures - none exist - but the touch of a friend or relative who understands the importance of "simply being present" in whatever capacity you are able is the most valuable support of all.

  

How Do You Break A Heart On Purpose?

We told the girls tonight - A wasn't terribly interested, but T was a whole different story.

I had ordered two children's books from Amazon - Something Happened and We Had an Angel Instead -  and they arrived today.  I've been wanting so badly to tell T each time she asks about the baby because it seemed so dishonest to do otherwise.  So when we opened up the package, we all sat down and read them together.  The books were honestly worth every penny and as difficult as it was, they helped.

I read Something Happened first and couldn't stop the tears from silently falling as I read; honest to God, I had every intention of keeping it together but it didn't happen that way.  A immediately wiped my cheek and repeated "'Kay? 'Kay." as is her habit whenever she thinks anyone is upset.  T simply wanted to know why I was sad.  This ended up being a really good way to talk to her about being sad - a way to let her know that it's okay to cry and be sad but that we can still be happy too.  

When the story was over, we told T that the baby in Mommy's tummy was sick.  We told her that the baby was going to grow in Mommy's tummy for a little while still, but wouldn't be able to come home from the hospital with us.  ("But I want the baby to come home, I want to keep her!")  We explained that the baby would have a big owie on the head and that the doctors weren't going to be able to fix it ("But if they put medicine on it, it will get better." "No, honey-it's a really big boo-boo and the baby isn't going to get better." "Then they can use LOTS and LOTS of medicine.").  We let her know that we would all get to meet the baby at the hospital, but that the baby was going to die ("But I don't want the baby to die! I want a baby sister!").  We talked about how the baby would be an angel and could go live in Heaven with God and Grandma ("And our balloons! The baby can fleeew up to Heaven just like my balloon did and A's balloon did!").  Then she wanted to know if we could buy balloons to send up to Heaven for the baby, of course we said we would.

She also talked about wanting to hold the baby and hold her hands so she could teach her to walk ("I can hold her hands and help her walk! Cuz she'll get bigger while she's growing in your tummy!").  Once we explained that the baby would still be very tiny when it was born and wouldn't be able to walk, then T was adamant about getting to hold the baby ("Mommy and Daddy can put her in my lap and I'll hold her. But if she wants me to put her down, I'll give her back to Mommy.").  She seemed satisfied with knowing that she'll get to hold the baby and meet him/her before the baby "flews" up to Heaven.

The rest of the night was a lot of repeating those same questions and reading each book another five times...interestingly, she never wants to read books over and over again anymore like she used to but that seemed to be her way of processing everything.  Each time we got to the page that said "Our baby died because something happened" she wanted to know what happened to the baby in the story, so we would explain that maybe their baby was sick or was too little or maybe his body just didn't work quite right. Then she would ask, "Like the baby in your tummy is sick?"  So we would start again and go through each question for her.  I know it won't be the last time we answer these questions, but it was so interesting to watch her processing and working through everything.  As for A, she'll be nearly two when the baby is born and will likely understand more then than she does now, so I suppose we'll just do the best we can and help her however seems best along the way.

**I know there are those of you reading this who are going to disagree with our decision to inform the girls about what is going on and with our decision to bring the girls to the hospital.  And that is okay.  Luckily for you...they aren't your children and this isn't your situation.  If you know us, you know that this isn't a decision we came to lightly and know that it is one we've done plenty of research into.  Rest assured that we've made the decision that we feel is best for our children and our family and we appreciate your support.**