So this post is going to be REALLY hard to write. Please know that and be generous with me. It may also be hard to read, as it is the long-overdue story of Puff's birthday. Puff's first birthday was 12/10/15. I wrote a post on 12/8, which was the one year anniversary of finding out he had died, but 12/10 was the day he was born. I will never forget that day.
J and I drove up to the hospital with my mom. J's mom stayed with M all day, until my mom came back to get her ready for bed. We checked in on the exact same floor in the same hospital where M was born. We were just a few rooms down, at the end of the hall in a corner. We later learned that the nurses often put loss families there because it is quieter and more secluded. A paper with a purple heart and a tear was placed on our door so everyone who came in would know what was going on. We had two nurses on day shift. They were wonderful. We couldn't have asked for better care. They loved us and Puff so well that day. They administered the first round induction meds at 9:00 am. J read to Mom and me throughout the day from a Jim Gaffigan book to help keep our minds occupied and bring some much needed laughter to a horrible day. Our nurses came in and out, giving us pieces of information in small doses so we could process, think, and (when needed) decide at our own pace. They brought us choices of clothing for our baby, choosing more gender neutral items, since we didn't know the sex. They told us what the hospital had to offer us, which was so much more than most families get. They laughed and even cried with us throughout the day.
At around 3:30, we thought labor was starting. My ob/gyn's office is attached to the hospital, so he rushed down to deliver our baby. Turns out, it was a false start. I remember getting two rounds of pain meds throughout the process, though I had a drug-free labor and delivery with M. As the nurses, J, and my mom kept telling me, there was no need to be a hero. I still wonder about that. He was gone, yes, but I pushed through the pain with M and not with him. No sense dwelling on it, though. I made the best choice at the time and I think I would do the same thing again. As the day wore on, we began discussing when Mom should head home to put M to bed. She was going to take my car, which had been sitting in a parking garage on the other side of the hospital complex since J took me home from the doctor's after finding out Puff had died. She didn't know how to get to the other garage, though. We asked the nurses, who volunteered to come back after they got off shift at 7pm and changed to pick Mom up and walk her to my car. It was close to where they parked, but still...this extra level of care meant the world to us. After Mom and our nurses left, we got another extraordinary nurse. She hadn't been with us long when I felt Puff coming. After all day of nothing, once he was coming, there was no stopping it. There wasn't even time for the on-call doctor to make it to the hospital, so the doctor in-residence delivered our firstborn son. He told us it was a boy, then looked me in the eyes and said,"I want you to know...I truly believe your son is in Heaven right now." Then, he called J down. "You need to see this," he said as he showed J the tight nuchal cord that likely took our son from us. We will probably never know exactly why Puff died, but that is the most likely culprit at this point.
Our nurse gave him to us. I'll be honest, it was hard. He'd been gone for a few days, so deterioration had started. But he was my baby and I held him as long as I was allowed. I was and am so proud of him. I'll never forget his perfect fingers, his tiny feet and toes, his eyes, his mouth. We weren't sure if we wanted pictures, but our nurse insisted. "You can always put them away and never look at them, but if we don't take them now, you'll never get this chance again." God bless her...she was so right. She worked so hard, making sure we had pictures, a beautiful outfit, a memory box, a teddy bear, a duplicate of the blanket they gave him, and even handprints and footprints. She let J give him a bath, which has been his job with M until recently. Our priest came and prayed a blessing over us and Puff. We had a few more moments with him before the hospital staff had to take him away. I cherish the memory of those moments with him and the pictures we have. My love for him is every bit as all-encompassing as my love for M.
That is a big reason why walking this road has been so hard. Every step is a step closer to seeing him again, but every step is a step away from him also. Every step feels wrong because it is without him. My sweet baby should be 8 months old. Cutting teeth, sitting up, crawling, working on walking and talking. We should be introducing new solid food and having bedtime nursing snuggles. Instead, we are still waiting for a baby who will come home, waiting for testing, for the unlikely possibility of answers. As I said to a friend earlier today, it is a tough place to be, but it is the only place I have. So sometimes, I stop, stand still for a moment, and remember with joy and pain. And sometimes, I walk, slowly, down the path. Time moves inexorably onward, and so we move ever farther down the road.
Friday, January 8, 2016
Monday, January 4, 2016
Fitting In
I know I've been absent for a while. I wanted to take a bit of time today to write about something seasonal, sort of. I've always thought "We Three Kings" was an odd song. The strangely haunting melody seems somewhat out of place with the rest of the Christmas carols we sing. Plus, you often only sing the first and last, sometimes second, verses. However, in the year plus since Puff died, I've come to really appreciate this song and how little I understood about it growing up.
I think the true power in this song is only revealed when you sing all the verses. So why don't we? Let's be honest, that fourth verse is kinda creepy.
Myrrh is mine: it's bitter perfume
Breathes a life of gathering gloom.
Sorrowing, sighing, bleeding, dying
Sealed in a stone-cold tomb.
Not exactly what we like to think about at Christmas. Call me morbid, but having lost three children, I have a much greater appreciation for this verse. It calls us to remember that this baby isn't just a cute, cuddly baby. This baby is the King of kings. But that doesn't mean He won't face hardship. This baby brings about our "happily ever after," but the story certainly has it's dark plot points. We can't look at this baby and forget the cross. This verse speaks to me in a way it didn't before. I feel like I can relate to the "sorrowing, sighing, bleeding, dying" bits...it resonates strongly with how I felt after the deaths of Puff, Luke, and Bunny. I've felt the "gathering gloom" waiting for the doctor to confirm the losses of Luke and Bunny. I've stood graveside and lowered an urn with Puff's ashes and his and Luke's memorial blankets. There is a stone-cold marker commemorating my babies in a grave in Georgia. I still have days that seem scented with a bitter perfume.
The fifth verse soars into a glorious statement of the "happily ever after," but it means so much more coming after the third verse.
Glorious now behold Him arise,
King and God and Sacrifice
Alleluia, Alleluia!
Sounds through the earth and skies.
Even this verse speaks to the fact that this baby is a King, this baby is God...but this baby is a Sacrifice, born to die. This baby, though, rises. This King gives Himself on behalf of His beloved. This sacrifice fully atones for the sins of the whole world. Because of the truths in these two verses, I remember that I have a God who truly understands the fourth verse. I remember that He sees me and loves me as I am, enough to send His Son so that pain of sin and loss may be temporary, so that I can have hope to see all of my children again.
The holidays have been hard, I won't lie. This Christmas was easier than last year, but not by much. I am so grateful to the friends who took time out to ask me how I was and wanted an honest answer. I am grateful to the people who didn't ignore, didn't forget, didn't give platitudes or gloss over how much this season hurts. I am grateful to those who saw me going ever so slightly insane this year and rode it out. "We Three Kings" may not seem to quite fit in with the other, often more popular, kids on the Christmas Carol playground. This year, I didn't feel like I quite fit in during the holidays either. But there is hope.
And so we move down the path, remembering our babies who died, remembering a baby born to die and live again. One step at a time.
I think the true power in this song is only revealed when you sing all the verses. So why don't we? Let's be honest, that fourth verse is kinda creepy.
Myrrh is mine: it's bitter perfume
Breathes a life of gathering gloom.
Sorrowing, sighing, bleeding, dying
Sealed in a stone-cold tomb.
Not exactly what we like to think about at Christmas. Call me morbid, but having lost three children, I have a much greater appreciation for this verse. It calls us to remember that this baby isn't just a cute, cuddly baby. This baby is the King of kings. But that doesn't mean He won't face hardship. This baby brings about our "happily ever after," but the story certainly has it's dark plot points. We can't look at this baby and forget the cross. This verse speaks to me in a way it didn't before. I feel like I can relate to the "sorrowing, sighing, bleeding, dying" bits...it resonates strongly with how I felt after the deaths of Puff, Luke, and Bunny. I've felt the "gathering gloom" waiting for the doctor to confirm the losses of Luke and Bunny. I've stood graveside and lowered an urn with Puff's ashes and his and Luke's memorial blankets. There is a stone-cold marker commemorating my babies in a grave in Georgia. I still have days that seem scented with a bitter perfume.
The fifth verse soars into a glorious statement of the "happily ever after," but it means so much more coming after the third verse.
Glorious now behold Him arise,
King and God and Sacrifice
Alleluia, Alleluia!
Sounds through the earth and skies.
Even this verse speaks to the fact that this baby is a King, this baby is God...but this baby is a Sacrifice, born to die. This baby, though, rises. This King gives Himself on behalf of His beloved. This sacrifice fully atones for the sins of the whole world. Because of the truths in these two verses, I remember that I have a God who truly understands the fourth verse. I remember that He sees me and loves me as I am, enough to send His Son so that pain of sin and loss may be temporary, so that I can have hope to see all of my children again.
The holidays have been hard, I won't lie. This Christmas was easier than last year, but not by much. I am so grateful to the friends who took time out to ask me how I was and wanted an honest answer. I am grateful to the people who didn't ignore, didn't forget, didn't give platitudes or gloss over how much this season hurts. I am grateful to those who saw me going ever so slightly insane this year and rode it out. "We Three Kings" may not seem to quite fit in with the other, often more popular, kids on the Christmas Carol playground. This year, I didn't feel like I quite fit in during the holidays either. But there is hope.
And so we move down the path, remembering our babies who died, remembering a baby born to die and live again. One step at a time.
Tuesday, December 8, 2015
A Shadowed Place
My pregnancy with M couldn't have been less eventful. No major complications, some heartburn, minor ligament pain and cravings, and that was about it. Labor and delivery was practically textbook. My water broke at home 3 days before her due date and M was born in the hospital 9 1/2 hours later. We were sent home on our 2 year anniversary. We had always intended for our family to grow. We wanted at least one more biological child. So we were thrilled to find out we were pregnant again just days after M's 3rd birthday. Our new baby was due April 30, 2015, right between J's and my mothers' birthdays. What a joy-filled spring we had planned. I was more nauseous than with M, but still, the pregnancy was going smoothly. At 9 weeks, J and I went for the first ultrasound. There was our sweet baby, strong heartbeat. J looked at me and said "The baby is waving its arms like the Stay-Puft Marshmallow man from Ghostbusters." And so, we nicknamed the baby "Puff." We told my parents when we went down to visit for my grandmother's funeral. The news brought so much hope as we grieved.
But...one year ago today, my world stopped and then shattered. It was supposed to be a routine visit, 19 weeks. The gender/anatomy scan was supposed to be just over a week later, when my parents would be in town for Christmas. But the nurse couldn't find a heartbeat. Then the doctor couldn't find a heartbeat. Then the ultrasound technician confirmed my nightmare. I heard the words no Mama should ever hear..."I'm so sorry...there is no heartbeat. Your baby is gone." I will never forget seeing his perfect face, those chubby cheeks on the ultrasound. I will never forget sitting in the chairs while various people tried to find my baby's heartbeat, tears rolling down my face, fear gripping my heart. I will never forget calling my husband and mother, to tell them that our sweet baby had died. I will never forget sitting in a room at my doctor's office (yes, the room with the scratchy tissues, for those who know the story) waiting for J to arrive. I will never forget sitting there, wondering how on earth to tell M that her sibling we all already loved so much had died. I will never forget the kindness of our friends, who had us over so we wouldn't be alone that evening. I will never put the pieces of my life back together because some of them are missing. I may never be whole, but I don't want to be.
That may sound strange, but the holes that should be filled by my sweet baby are holes I never want filled. Nothing in my life, no matter how good, and beautiful, and wonderful, can ever fill them. I want them there as a (sometimes bitter) sweet reminder of the joy and hope we felt, of our innocence. I will never stop loving my baby. I will never forget, and as long as I remember, I will long for what could have, should have, been. As long as I remember, the holes will always be there. In the past year, the grief has lost a good deal of its sharpness and edge. It doesn't cut as often, but it still cuts just as deeply. Not a day goes by that I don't think of all my babies, miss them, and wonder what life would be like. Nothing, not even a new baby, will fill the holes. While that is what we want and are working towards, we are under no illusions that all will be well and healed when we have a new baby.
So we walk this road and today, the road is a bit darker, a bit more shadowed, a bit more protected and sheltered. Today, I walk a little slower, a little more bent over. But still, I walk, ever forwards. Ever one day closer to seeing my beautiful children and holding them in my arms
But...one year ago today, my world stopped and then shattered. It was supposed to be a routine visit, 19 weeks. The gender/anatomy scan was supposed to be just over a week later, when my parents would be in town for Christmas. But the nurse couldn't find a heartbeat. Then the doctor couldn't find a heartbeat. Then the ultrasound technician confirmed my nightmare. I heard the words no Mama should ever hear..."I'm so sorry...there is no heartbeat. Your baby is gone." I will never forget seeing his perfect face, those chubby cheeks on the ultrasound. I will never forget sitting in the chairs while various people tried to find my baby's heartbeat, tears rolling down my face, fear gripping my heart. I will never forget calling my husband and mother, to tell them that our sweet baby had died. I will never forget sitting in a room at my doctor's office (yes, the room with the scratchy tissues, for those who know the story) waiting for J to arrive. I will never forget sitting there, wondering how on earth to tell M that her sibling we all already loved so much had died. I will never forget the kindness of our friends, who had us over so we wouldn't be alone that evening. I will never put the pieces of my life back together because some of them are missing. I may never be whole, but I don't want to be.
That may sound strange, but the holes that should be filled by my sweet baby are holes I never want filled. Nothing in my life, no matter how good, and beautiful, and wonderful, can ever fill them. I want them there as a (sometimes bitter) sweet reminder of the joy and hope we felt, of our innocence. I will never stop loving my baby. I will never forget, and as long as I remember, I will long for what could have, should have, been. As long as I remember, the holes will always be there. In the past year, the grief has lost a good deal of its sharpness and edge. It doesn't cut as often, but it still cuts just as deeply. Not a day goes by that I don't think of all my babies, miss them, and wonder what life would be like. Nothing, not even a new baby, will fill the holes. While that is what we want and are working towards, we are under no illusions that all will be well and healed when we have a new baby.
So we walk this road and today, the road is a bit darker, a bit more shadowed, a bit more protected and sheltered. Today, I walk a little slower, a little more bent over. But still, I walk, ever forwards. Ever one day closer to seeing my beautiful children and holding them in my arms
Tuesday, November 17, 2015
Step 1...for real this time
Yesterday (11/16/15), I went to the Perinatal Diagnostics Center (PDC) and saw one of the doctors there. Typically, ob/gyns specializing in high risk pregnancies and preconception diagnoses are called MFMs (short for Maternal Fetal Medicine). It didn't start well, but quickly recovered.
I found the clinic just fine, though I'm not sure how I had never noticed it. My ob/gyn has been located at this hospital for the entirety of the ten years I have been seeing him. M was born at this hospital, as was Puff. Somehow, I never noticed this office tucked in a side corner in the front of the complex. I had already completed the registration packet they had on their website, so there was minimal paperwork required once I got in to the office. I waited just a few minutes before a nurse called me back. So far so good, right? Well, it went a little south at that point. The nurse ushered me in to an ultrasound room. I knew something was wrong. As I talked about in my last post, I'd had an ultrasound with my ob/gyn less than a week earlier. So why was I in the ultrasound room?
"Ok, Mrs. Alexander, so we're looking at a due date of May 28, 2016, correct?" My heart stopped just for a second...Bunny's due date. "Actually...no. I just miscarried that pregnancy. That's why I'm here. We've had three miscarriages in ten months. I guess that wasn't in the paperwork from my ob/gyn." "No, I don't see it...so do you need an ultrasound to confirm the miscarriage?" "No, my ob/gyn did one on Wednesday. The miscarriage has completed." "Oh. I'll go talk to one of the doctors and get you moved in to a different room."
Luckily, that was the worst part of the whole appointment. The rest went quite well, but that was enough for one day. It could have been worse, but I didn't cry and managed to keep a good attitude about it. To be fair, it does look like there is not a "reason for referral" on the MFM's referral form.
The MFM came in and was quite nice. He started out by expressing his sympathies for our losses. "I'm so sorry you are here for this reason. Many people think that recurrent miscarriages must get easier with each loss, but in my experience, it doesn't. It compounds and gets worse. I'm so sorry, Mrs. Alexander." I can't express to you the value of his words. I knew I was in the right place. Basically, he reviewed my chart and reiterated to me several times that with three losses, there is about an 80% chance that testing won't reveal anything. However, we are also statistically likely to go on to have a healthy pregnancy, whether or not testing finds anything. He always finished by saying that he felt perfectly comfortable moving ahead with testing!
We will need to wait three months for all the pregnancy hormones to be totally out of my system and I am to stop taking the 81mg aspirin I've been on for 10 years (due to my migraines and a family history of heart/clotting problems). We go back on February 8 to start testing. He will run tests to check me for clotting disorders and auto-immune disorders, and he will do a karoytype test on J and me. We are happy to pay the extra month or two in wait time before trying to get pregnant again to have whatever information these tests give us. Even if the tests reveal nothing, we will go in to our next pregnancy knowing more than we would have. We have to wait at least two months anyway, so we would rather add a bit of wait time and a lot of information in to the mix. The MFM was impressed with my body of knowledge about miscarriages, statistics, and the standard testing (thank you Dr. Google and my dear friends who shared their experiences with testing). Because we have to wait to run the clotting tests until the pregnancy hormones and aspirin to be fully out of my system, he decided to wait for ALL the tests until February. Because he waited on all the tests and because he did not have to spend a lot of time explaining procedures/tests/etc to me, he decided not to charge us for the visit. No co-pay, no office fee, nothing. I was definitely in the place I needed to be. Small blessings are much appreciated!
So we keep walking this road. We now know for certain it will be a little longer than we thought, but the trade off is well worth it, in our minds. One day, one step at a time, we are moving closer to our redemption.
I found the clinic just fine, though I'm not sure how I had never noticed it. My ob/gyn has been located at this hospital for the entirety of the ten years I have been seeing him. M was born at this hospital, as was Puff. Somehow, I never noticed this office tucked in a side corner in the front of the complex. I had already completed the registration packet they had on their website, so there was minimal paperwork required once I got in to the office. I waited just a few minutes before a nurse called me back. So far so good, right? Well, it went a little south at that point. The nurse ushered me in to an ultrasound room. I knew something was wrong. As I talked about in my last post, I'd had an ultrasound with my ob/gyn less than a week earlier. So why was I in the ultrasound room?
"Ok, Mrs. Alexander, so we're looking at a due date of May 28, 2016, correct?" My heart stopped just for a second...Bunny's due date. "Actually...no. I just miscarried that pregnancy. That's why I'm here. We've had three miscarriages in ten months. I guess that wasn't in the paperwork from my ob/gyn." "No, I don't see it...so do you need an ultrasound to confirm the miscarriage?" "No, my ob/gyn did one on Wednesday. The miscarriage has completed." "Oh. I'll go talk to one of the doctors and get you moved in to a different room."
Luckily, that was the worst part of the whole appointment. The rest went quite well, but that was enough for one day. It could have been worse, but I didn't cry and managed to keep a good attitude about it. To be fair, it does look like there is not a "reason for referral" on the MFM's referral form.
The MFM came in and was quite nice. He started out by expressing his sympathies for our losses. "I'm so sorry you are here for this reason. Many people think that recurrent miscarriages must get easier with each loss, but in my experience, it doesn't. It compounds and gets worse. I'm so sorry, Mrs. Alexander." I can't express to you the value of his words. I knew I was in the right place. Basically, he reviewed my chart and reiterated to me several times that with three losses, there is about an 80% chance that testing won't reveal anything. However, we are also statistically likely to go on to have a healthy pregnancy, whether or not testing finds anything. He always finished by saying that he felt perfectly comfortable moving ahead with testing!
We will need to wait three months for all the pregnancy hormones to be totally out of my system and I am to stop taking the 81mg aspirin I've been on for 10 years (due to my migraines and a family history of heart/clotting problems). We go back on February 8 to start testing. He will run tests to check me for clotting disorders and auto-immune disorders, and he will do a karoytype test on J and me. We are happy to pay the extra month or two in wait time before trying to get pregnant again to have whatever information these tests give us. Even if the tests reveal nothing, we will go in to our next pregnancy knowing more than we would have. We have to wait at least two months anyway, so we would rather add a bit of wait time and a lot of information in to the mix. The MFM was impressed with my body of knowledge about miscarriages, statistics, and the standard testing (thank you Dr. Google and my dear friends who shared their experiences with testing). Because we have to wait to run the clotting tests until the pregnancy hormones and aspirin to be fully out of my system, he decided to wait for ALL the tests until February. Because he waited on all the tests and because he did not have to spend a lot of time explaining procedures/tests/etc to me, he decided not to charge us for the visit. No co-pay, no office fee, nothing. I was definitely in the place I needed to be. Small blessings are much appreciated!
So we keep walking this road. We now know for certain it will be a little longer than we thought, but the trade off is well worth it, in our minds. One day, one step at a time, we are moving closer to our redemption.
Friday, November 13, 2015
Step...1?
Well, I went to the doctor on Wednesday (11/11/15). The takeaway was positive, even if the overall experience wasn't as much. It was, honestly, slightly traumatic, which I was not expecting. To get to the big stuff first, I'm fine, the miscarriage is progressing without complications, and I have an appointment with a specialist on Monday.
Ok, now that we have the important things communicated, here's some more detail. The first unexpected slight-trauma-inducing event was that my doctor wanted to do an ultrasound. This is technically the third for this pregnancy, which officially makes it the most I've ever had for any of my four pregnancies. He decided to do this one in his office, where we had the confirmation ultrasounds for our pregnancies with M and Puff. While I was waiting for my doctor to come back in, I kept having flashbacks to the two other ultrasounds in his office, holding hands with J, excited to see our babies. We were so innocent. We had the standard worry that accompanies this scan, but nothing compared to the waves of anxiety that accompany every doctor's visit after a loss. I may have leaked a tear or two, but it wasn't too bad, especially since the ultrasound confirmed that the loss is progressing without complications and should be over soon.
The next slightly-traumatic thing was my doctor's opinion. First, let me say, I love my doctor. I trust him and am very satisfied with him as my ob/gyn. I have been seeing him for almost ten years, so he and his staff feel like family in lots of ways. He was with me through my pregnancy with M and was hugely supportive of our choices. I couldn't ask for a better doctor and have recommended him to my friends. However, given all that, I wasn't exactly prepared for what happened during this appointment. Maybe I caught him on an off day, or maybe I misunderstood what he told me the day we confirmed Bunny's miscarriage. However, basically he told me he wanted me to stay on baby aspirin (which I've been on since my early twenties due to a family history of heart problems and my history of migraines) and that he wants to start me on progesterone earlier in our next pregnancy (I took progesterone with Bunny, as well). I asked him when we were going to start testing. He said that since Puff's loss was so much later (almost 20 weeks) and somewhat explained (nuchal cord), Luke's loss was so early with no explanation, and Bunny's loss was early but explained by the hemorrhages (I'll post another time with more details on the losses), he thought we were probably just having "a string of bad luck." To be quite honest, I didn't appreciate hearing my babies' deaths called "bad luck." At all. Bottom line, he didn't think the losses were related and so he didn't think testing would be helpful. (I really wish he had just said it like that.)
Here's where the part about me really liking, trusting, and respecting him come to play. I simply looked at him and said .250 is a decent batting average (my parents would be proud of that analogy) but it is a really shitty baby average. We need to get that up, so what are we going to do about it. My doctor said that I was right and if I wanted him to, he would write me a referral to the Perinatal Diagnostics Center (PDC) at the hospital. They handle high-risk cases and would review my chart to see if they had any recommendations beyond what he has suggested. I immediately agreed. He was really great about it and encouraging once we settled on that course of action. I just hadn't expected to go there. I went to the appointment with the expectation that my doctor was on board for starting testing. I was shocked to find out he wasn't planning on doing any himself.
The lesson here is that you should never be afraid to trust your gut or to advocate for yourself. Some people are afraid to tell their doctors they want a second opinion, or that they disagree with the doctor's conclusions. In this case, I knew I couldn't face the idea of our only change being starting progesterone earlier and losing another baby, knowing I didn't speak up and fight for testing, or at least seeing the high-risk doctors (PDC). Even if PDC doesn't recommend any testing or other courses of action, if we lose another baby, I will know I spoke up. I will know I did what I could to fight for this next baby, to advocate for myself and for this baby's life. So I go in on Monday to see PDC. I'm already a little nervous, but whatever happens, we are ready...I hope!
Ok, now that we have the important things communicated, here's some more detail. The first unexpected slight-trauma-inducing event was that my doctor wanted to do an ultrasound. This is technically the third for this pregnancy, which officially makes it the most I've ever had for any of my four pregnancies. He decided to do this one in his office, where we had the confirmation ultrasounds for our pregnancies with M and Puff. While I was waiting for my doctor to come back in, I kept having flashbacks to the two other ultrasounds in his office, holding hands with J, excited to see our babies. We were so innocent. We had the standard worry that accompanies this scan, but nothing compared to the waves of anxiety that accompany every doctor's visit after a loss. I may have leaked a tear or two, but it wasn't too bad, especially since the ultrasound confirmed that the loss is progressing without complications and should be over soon.
The next slightly-traumatic thing was my doctor's opinion. First, let me say, I love my doctor. I trust him and am very satisfied with him as my ob/gyn. I have been seeing him for almost ten years, so he and his staff feel like family in lots of ways. He was with me through my pregnancy with M and was hugely supportive of our choices. I couldn't ask for a better doctor and have recommended him to my friends. However, given all that, I wasn't exactly prepared for what happened during this appointment. Maybe I caught him on an off day, or maybe I misunderstood what he told me the day we confirmed Bunny's miscarriage. However, basically he told me he wanted me to stay on baby aspirin (which I've been on since my early twenties due to a family history of heart problems and my history of migraines) and that he wants to start me on progesterone earlier in our next pregnancy (I took progesterone with Bunny, as well). I asked him when we were going to start testing. He said that since Puff's loss was so much later (almost 20 weeks) and somewhat explained (nuchal cord), Luke's loss was so early with no explanation, and Bunny's loss was early but explained by the hemorrhages (I'll post another time with more details on the losses), he thought we were probably just having "a string of bad luck." To be quite honest, I didn't appreciate hearing my babies' deaths called "bad luck." At all. Bottom line, he didn't think the losses were related and so he didn't think testing would be helpful. (I really wish he had just said it like that.)
Here's where the part about me really liking, trusting, and respecting him come to play. I simply looked at him and said .250 is a decent batting average (my parents would be proud of that analogy) but it is a really shitty baby average. We need to get that up, so what are we going to do about it. My doctor said that I was right and if I wanted him to, he would write me a referral to the Perinatal Diagnostics Center (PDC) at the hospital. They handle high-risk cases and would review my chart to see if they had any recommendations beyond what he has suggested. I immediately agreed. He was really great about it and encouraging once we settled on that course of action. I just hadn't expected to go there. I went to the appointment with the expectation that my doctor was on board for starting testing. I was shocked to find out he wasn't planning on doing any himself.
The lesson here is that you should never be afraid to trust your gut or to advocate for yourself. Some people are afraid to tell their doctors they want a second opinion, or that they disagree with the doctor's conclusions. In this case, I knew I couldn't face the idea of our only change being starting progesterone earlier and losing another baby, knowing I didn't speak up and fight for testing, or at least seeing the high-risk doctors (PDC). Even if PDC doesn't recommend any testing or other courses of action, if we lose another baby, I will know I spoke up. I will know I did what I could to fight for this next baby, to advocate for myself and for this baby's life. So I go in on Monday to see PDC. I'm already a little nervous, but whatever happens, we are ready...I hope!
Friday, November 6, 2015
Complications
Well, I was hoping to write on Wednesday about my doctor's visit. Sadly, I had to reschedule. M woke up at 4:30 in the morning throwing up that day...not exactly conducive to going to the baby-sitter. Her grandfather came over to watch her, but he had his own doctor's appointment at the same time as mine. I don't think the miscarriage has progressed enough for my doctor to be able to do any testing anyway.
So that brings me to something I'd hoped to have time to write about. This season (may it be blessedly short) is more complicated and awkward that I can say, but I'll try. By "season," I mean the period from when we found out Bunny was gone until the miscarriage is over and I'm no longer chemically pregnant. We can't move forward with testing until my hormone levels are low enough that I don't qualify as pregnant. So on that note, I have wanted the miscarriage to start and finish quickly. However, that means I am looking for signs of miscarriage almost eagerly...which feels disloyal and wrong. I feel torn. I don't want to lose the connection to Bunny, though I know she is gone. I spent the month we knew I was pregnant anxiously looking for signs of miscarriage with dread. Now, those same signs are the necessary steps before we can begin to look for, diagnose, and treat a problem, God willing. I can't describe the feeling, but I can honestly say that I've never felt so conflicted in my entire life. Especially right after we found out she was gone, I waited with baited breath for the signs to start. I was hoping it wouldn't drag out and require medical intervention. I was hoping it wouldn't take so long that we wouldn't be able to do anything at the appointment today. (See what worry gets me? Today's appointment didn't even happen!) I didn't want to have to keep going back and having my hCG levels tested again and again. I wanted the miscarriage to start and finish quickly so we can move forward. At the same time, moving forward feels wrong, since I have to do it without my precious baby...again. It feels like a betrayal to want this to go quickly.
I know these are normal feelings. I know I am not to blame for wanting to be able to move forward and hopefully find a way to bring a baby home. I hope that, had we gotten the chance to raise any/all of our babies, they would want this, too. I hope they would understand. I'll never get that closure in this lifetime. I'll never know for sure. But I am as sure as I can be that our babies would want our family to honor them even as we move forward with testing to try to find a reason and a way to bring home a baby. Grief is never easy. Finding a new normal, finding a way to keep our babies in our hearts as we keep living day-by-day...it is complicated beyond explanation. But we find a way, each day, to take another step down the road. Closer to an answer, closer to a baby in our home, closer to seeing our babies again with our Father.
So that brings me to something I'd hoped to have time to write about. This season (may it be blessedly short) is more complicated and awkward that I can say, but I'll try. By "season," I mean the period from when we found out Bunny was gone until the miscarriage is over and I'm no longer chemically pregnant. We can't move forward with testing until my hormone levels are low enough that I don't qualify as pregnant. So on that note, I have wanted the miscarriage to start and finish quickly. However, that means I am looking for signs of miscarriage almost eagerly...which feels disloyal and wrong. I feel torn. I don't want to lose the connection to Bunny, though I know she is gone. I spent the month we knew I was pregnant anxiously looking for signs of miscarriage with dread. Now, those same signs are the necessary steps before we can begin to look for, diagnose, and treat a problem, God willing. I can't describe the feeling, but I can honestly say that I've never felt so conflicted in my entire life. Especially right after we found out she was gone, I waited with baited breath for the signs to start. I was hoping it wouldn't drag out and require medical intervention. I was hoping it wouldn't take so long that we wouldn't be able to do anything at the appointment today. (See what worry gets me? Today's appointment didn't even happen!) I didn't want to have to keep going back and having my hCG levels tested again and again. I wanted the miscarriage to start and finish quickly so we can move forward. At the same time, moving forward feels wrong, since I have to do it without my precious baby...again. It feels like a betrayal to want this to go quickly.
I know these are normal feelings. I know I am not to blame for wanting to be able to move forward and hopefully find a way to bring a baby home. I hope that, had we gotten the chance to raise any/all of our babies, they would want this, too. I hope they would understand. I'll never get that closure in this lifetime. I'll never know for sure. But I am as sure as I can be that our babies would want our family to honor them even as we move forward with testing to try to find a reason and a way to bring home a baby. Grief is never easy. Finding a new normal, finding a way to keep our babies in our hearts as we keep living day-by-day...it is complicated beyond explanation. But we find a way, each day, to take another step down the road. Closer to an answer, closer to a baby in our home, closer to seeing our babies again with our Father.
Monday, November 2, 2015
Isaiah 35
Isaiah 35: The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad, the desert shall rejoice and blossom; like the crocus, it shall blossom abundantly, and rejoice with joy and singing. The glory of Lebanon shall be given to it, the majesty of Carmel and Sharon. They shall see the glory of the Lord, the majesty of our God. Strengthen the weak hands, and make firm the feeble knees. Say to those who are of a fearful heart "Be strong, fear not! Behold, your God will come with vengeance, with the recompense of God. He will come and save you." Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf unstopped; then shall the lame man leap like a hart, and the tongue of the dumb sing for joy. For waters shall break forth in the wilderness, and streams in the desert; the burning sand shall become a pool, and the thirsty ground springs of water; the haunt of jackals shall become a swamp and the grass shall become reeds and rushes. And a highway shall be there and it shall be called the Holy Way; the unclean shall not pass over it and he is for them a wayfarer. No lion shall be there, nor shall any ravenous beast come upon it; they shall not be found there, but the redeemed shall walk there. And the ransomed of the Lord shall return, and come to Zion with singing; everlasting joy shall be upon their heads; they shall obtain joy and gladness and sorrow and sighing shall flee away.
This has always been one of my favorite passages of Scripture. It has my name! It always seemed like a special promise, written to speak to my heart. I've spent ten years of my life working as a therapist/behavior specialist with kids from all walks of life with all sorts of problems. Helping the eyes of the blind open, the ears of the deaf hear, the lame leap, and the dumb sing seems to be my life's calling. Plus, my favorite daily devotional has been "Streams in the Desert" since college. However, recently, this verse took on new meaning for me.
I'll share a more in-depth background later, but here is an overview. My husband J and I met in early 2008 and were married in 2009. In 2011, after an entirely uneventful pregnancy, we welcomed our daughter, M. In 2014, we decided we were ready to add to our family and found out we were pregnant again in late August. On December 8, I went for a routine prenatal visit to hear the words every mother dreads. "I'm so sorry, there isn't a heartbeat." Two days later, our beloved son, Puff Warren Alexander, was born into the arms of the angels. In March of 2015, his brother, Luke Robert Alexander, met him in heaven after we suffered a miscarriage at 6 weeks pregnant. On October 16, 2015, we found out that a sister, Bunny May Alexander, would join our boys after a miscarriage at 8 weeks pregnant.
With Bunny, we may have found an answer, but right now we aren't sure. There were two large hemorrhages that inhibited growth and/or implantation. Basically, it was the early version of a placental abruption, from what I understand. The same thing may have been a factor with Luke, but it doesn't seem likely with Puff. We just aren't sure.
Why all that background? Well, you can probably guess that my plan for this blog is to chronicle our journey from this point. We are going to go back to the doctor for a follow-up visit on November 4, 2015 and will start testing as soon as we get the go-ahead from my doctor to see if we can find answers...and (we're praying) a fix so we can add another biological child to our family. I feel very much like a weary wayfarer, traveling on foot down a hard, dusty road filled with lions, jackals, and ravenous beasts. I feel (at times, anyway) as though I am traveling the road of grief blind, deaf, lame, and dumb. I also know that our dear family and friends are saying to us "Be strong, God will save you." And we believe He will. So this blog is to allow you to come on the journey with us. To find the redemption and rest promised to the wayfarer, to find the place of "joy and gladness, [where] sorrow and sighing shall flee away".
This has always been one of my favorite passages of Scripture. It has my name! It always seemed like a special promise, written to speak to my heart. I've spent ten years of my life working as a therapist/behavior specialist with kids from all walks of life with all sorts of problems. Helping the eyes of the blind open, the ears of the deaf hear, the lame leap, and the dumb sing seems to be my life's calling. Plus, my favorite daily devotional has been "Streams in the Desert" since college. However, recently, this verse took on new meaning for me.
I'll share a more in-depth background later, but here is an overview. My husband J and I met in early 2008 and were married in 2009. In 2011, after an entirely uneventful pregnancy, we welcomed our daughter, M. In 2014, we decided we were ready to add to our family and found out we were pregnant again in late August. On December 8, I went for a routine prenatal visit to hear the words every mother dreads. "I'm so sorry, there isn't a heartbeat." Two days later, our beloved son, Puff Warren Alexander, was born into the arms of the angels. In March of 2015, his brother, Luke Robert Alexander, met him in heaven after we suffered a miscarriage at 6 weeks pregnant. On October 16, 2015, we found out that a sister, Bunny May Alexander, would join our boys after a miscarriage at 8 weeks pregnant.
With Bunny, we may have found an answer, but right now we aren't sure. There were two large hemorrhages that inhibited growth and/or implantation. Basically, it was the early version of a placental abruption, from what I understand. The same thing may have been a factor with Luke, but it doesn't seem likely with Puff. We just aren't sure.
Why all that background? Well, you can probably guess that my plan for this blog is to chronicle our journey from this point. We are going to go back to the doctor for a follow-up visit on November 4, 2015 and will start testing as soon as we get the go-ahead from my doctor to see if we can find answers...and (we're praying) a fix so we can add another biological child to our family. I feel very much like a weary wayfarer, traveling on foot down a hard, dusty road filled with lions, jackals, and ravenous beasts. I feel (at times, anyway) as though I am traveling the road of grief blind, deaf, lame, and dumb. I also know that our dear family and friends are saying to us "Be strong, God will save you." And we believe He will. So this blog is to allow you to come on the journey with us. To find the redemption and rest promised to the wayfarer, to find the place of "joy and gladness, [where] sorrow and sighing shall flee away".
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