Yesterday marked one year since we lost our little Appleseed. Tonight I was telling Ryan everything I could remember about that day. Of course, I became emotional. In an attempt to brighten the mood, he said something like, "Look where you are now!"
That is true. We are weeks (or maybe even days) away from meeting our little girl. Anyone who knows me, spends time with me, or reads this blog understands how grateful I am for this blessing.
But one does not replace the other, and I still feel sad when I think of the teeny tiny life we lost one year ago. I just wanted to say in all the excitement of the new life that will be joining us, I have not forgotten the one we lost last September 9th.
Showing posts with label Appleseed. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Appleseed. Show all posts
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Appleseed’s Due Date
In September 2010 we lost our little Appleseed, our first pregnancy. At some point, during the bliss of the positive pregnancy results, I had googled my due date. I knew it wasn’t ‘official’ until the doctor confirmed it, so I didn’t pay much attention to the specific date other than to note it was right near Mother’s Day.
How perfect, I thought. After 7 years of waiting (exactly), I find out we’re expecting on our anniversary with a due date near Mother’s Day. Life couldn’t be better.
A week or so later, the world came crashing down, and that date I googled became a distant memory.
On Mother’s Day, I thought about our Appleseed. I wondered what that day would have been like if he or she had made it. Would I have a brand new baby? Or would I be waddling along, praying for labor to begin?
There were a few friends and a couple acquaintances that became pregnant at the same time I did. Over the past couple of weeks, I have seen their birth announcements, new baby pictures, etc. I think about our Appleseed and it makes me sad and wistful. He or she would have been here by now too, right? I wasn’t sure.
I didn’t want to know Appleseed’s due date prior to that day. I can’t explain why. But as I watched my last friend give birth to her May baby, I figured it was time. Last night, I again googled my due date: May 12th, last Thursday.
I am so grateful to have Katelyn at this time in my life. She does not replace our Appleseed, just like she doesn’t take away the pain of losing Andie. I love all my babies. But it is such a comfort to have Katelyn with me, to touch my belly and know that one of my babies is still here and, Lord willing, I will be able to mother her in person in only 4 more months.
-------------------------
Update on Katelyn's heartbeat: It is still skipping beats, although sometimes more frequently than others. I was able to get an appointment with Nurse G tomorrow morning.
How perfect, I thought. After 7 years of waiting (exactly), I find out we’re expecting on our anniversary with a due date near Mother’s Day. Life couldn’t be better.
A week or so later, the world came crashing down, and that date I googled became a distant memory.
On Mother’s Day, I thought about our Appleseed. I wondered what that day would have been like if he or she had made it. Would I have a brand new baby? Or would I be waddling along, praying for labor to begin?
There were a few friends and a couple acquaintances that became pregnant at the same time I did. Over the past couple of weeks, I have seen their birth announcements, new baby pictures, etc. I think about our Appleseed and it makes me sad and wistful. He or she would have been here by now too, right? I wasn’t sure.
I didn’t want to know Appleseed’s due date prior to that day. I can’t explain why. But as I watched my last friend give birth to her May baby, I figured it was time. Last night, I again googled my due date: May 12th, last Thursday.
I am so grateful to have Katelyn at this time in my life. She does not replace our Appleseed, just like she doesn’t take away the pain of losing Andie. I love all my babies. But it is such a comfort to have Katelyn with me, to touch my belly and know that one of my babies is still here and, Lord willing, I will be able to mother her in person in only 4 more months.
-------------------------
Update on Katelyn's heartbeat: It is still skipping beats, although sometimes more frequently than others. I was able to get an appointment with Nurse G tomorrow morning.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Andie and Appleseed
Like many women who have lost a baby due to miscarriage, I often wonder how the eternal perspective comes into play in situations like these. There are a lot of opinions about when the spirit enters a body. I have heard it’s at the moment of conception, when the heart beats, or when a baby takes his or her first breath. Some people have said that these miscarried babies return as other babies at a later time. It’s hard to know what to believe.
My gut has always told me they are individual spirits, that life begins at conception, and that my babies won’t return as other babies. I have had some personal experiences that have helped me feel this way.
Recently, I watched a video and read the story of a little boy who claims he saw heaven. He was close to death for 17 days when he was 4 years old. Once he had recovered, he began to talk about the things he had seen while he was so ill. Many of the things he had seen were shocking to his parents, as they were situations he had no prior knowledge of and couldn’t have known. For example, he was able to describe exactly where his dad was praying during the boy’s surgery. When asked how he knew this (as not even the boy’s mother knew where the dad was at this time), the boy simply said during that time he was sitting in Jesus’ lap, watching his father pray. There were several examples of this.
Personally, the most touching part of his experience is described in the following narrative from The Today Show:
"The real shocker came when Colton told his mother, “Mommy, I have two sisters.” Sonja told her son that he had to be referring to his oldest sister, Cassie, and his cousin Traci, but he responded: “No — I have two sisters. You had a baby die in your tummy, didn’t you?”
Sonja told Matt Lauer (who was conducting the interview) the family had never uttered a word about the miscarriage to Colton — and what’s more, they never even learned the sex of their miscarried child. “It was a private hurt that we didn’t even share with our friends,” Sonja said, adding Colton’s revelation was at first “shocking, but then a relief that she’s OK, which we didn’t know she was a she.”
In a subsequent TODAY segment Monday, Sonja filled in Colton’s description of his meeting with his sister: “He told us what she looked like, and she wouldn’t stop hugging him. And she doesn’t have a name.”
“When he told us about his sister in heaven, that we hadn’t told him about, [it was] another one of those ‘holy cow’ moments — OK, he can’t make this stuff up, he can’t invent this; no memory was planted,” Todd told Lauer. “But the peace that came over us, and the healing, like, ‘Wow, I have a daughter in heaven waiting for me’ — I think a lot of people need that type of hope and healing, too. And I think that’s what a lot of people are finding when they hear Colton’s testimony, to know what they have to look forward to.'"
When I saw the video, and read this narrative, I cried for a long time. To some, this may just be a silly child’s story, but to me this gave me so much hope. I have always felt that my children lost to miscarriage were special spirits, and even a glimmer of hope that I might meet them someday is comforting. The thought that we could have celestial children waiting for us is overwhelming. It brings so much joy and peace.
To watch the interview and read the full narrative, CLICK HERE.
Read about Appleseed
Read about Andie
My gut has always told me they are individual spirits, that life begins at conception, and that my babies won’t return as other babies. I have had some personal experiences that have helped me feel this way.
Recently, I watched a video and read the story of a little boy who claims he saw heaven. He was close to death for 17 days when he was 4 years old. Once he had recovered, he began to talk about the things he had seen while he was so ill. Many of the things he had seen were shocking to his parents, as they were situations he had no prior knowledge of and couldn’t have known. For example, he was able to describe exactly where his dad was praying during the boy’s surgery. When asked how he knew this (as not even the boy’s mother knew where the dad was at this time), the boy simply said during that time he was sitting in Jesus’ lap, watching his father pray. There were several examples of this.
Personally, the most touching part of his experience is described in the following narrative from The Today Show:
"The real shocker came when Colton told his mother, “Mommy, I have two sisters.” Sonja told her son that he had to be referring to his oldest sister, Cassie, and his cousin Traci, but he responded: “No — I have two sisters. You had a baby die in your tummy, didn’t you?”
Sonja told Matt Lauer (who was conducting the interview) the family had never uttered a word about the miscarriage to Colton — and what’s more, they never even learned the sex of their miscarried child. “It was a private hurt that we didn’t even share with our friends,” Sonja said, adding Colton’s revelation was at first “shocking, but then a relief that she’s OK, which we didn’t know she was a she.”
In a subsequent TODAY segment Monday, Sonja filled in Colton’s description of his meeting with his sister: “He told us what she looked like, and she wouldn’t stop hugging him. And she doesn’t have a name.”
“When he told us about his sister in heaven, that we hadn’t told him about, [it was] another one of those ‘holy cow’ moments — OK, he can’t make this stuff up, he can’t invent this; no memory was planted,” Todd told Lauer. “But the peace that came over us, and the healing, like, ‘Wow, I have a daughter in heaven waiting for me’ — I think a lot of people need that type of hope and healing, too. And I think that’s what a lot of people are finding when they hear Colton’s testimony, to know what they have to look forward to.'"
When I saw the video, and read this narrative, I cried for a long time. To some, this may just be a silly child’s story, but to me this gave me so much hope. I have always felt that my children lost to miscarriage were special spirits, and even a glimmer of hope that I might meet them someday is comforting. The thought that we could have celestial children waiting for us is overwhelming. It brings so much joy and peace.
To watch the interview and read the full narrative, CLICK HERE.
Read about Appleseed
Read about Andie
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Tomorrow
And I will also ease the burdens which are put upon your shoulders, that even you cannot feel them upon your backs, even while you are in bondage; and this will I do that ye may stand as witnesses for me hereafter, and that ye may know of a surety that I, the Lord God, do visit my people in their afflictions.
Mosiah 24:14
Tomorrow morning at 9:30am, we were supposed to see our baby's heartbeat. Every time I think about that, my heart breaks a little. I am grateful that my boss scheduled a staff meeting for tomorrow, so I won't be staring at the clock thinking about what might have been. I am even more grateful that I found out the baby had stopped growing prior to tomorrow's appointment. As devastating as it was to get that phone call, finding out in the doctor's office would have been even harder.
I am saying extra prayers tonight that tomorrow goes by quickly.
Ryan had a dream today that I was pregnant again. I asked if we were nervous or scared in the dream and he said no. We were happy.
Mosiah 24:14
Tomorrow morning at 9:30am, we were supposed to see our baby's heartbeat. Every time I think about that, my heart breaks a little. I am grateful that my boss scheduled a staff meeting for tomorrow, so I won't be staring at the clock thinking about what might have been. I am even more grateful that I found out the baby had stopped growing prior to tomorrow's appointment. As devastating as it was to get that phone call, finding out in the doctor's office would have been even harder.
I am saying extra prayers tonight that tomorrow goes by quickly.
Ryan had a dream today that I was pregnant again. I asked if we were nervous or scared in the dream and he said no. We were happy.
Friday, September 17, 2010
Beautiful
Ryan's step-mom shared this beautiful quote with me tonight, and I can't get it out of my head:
Where there is life, there is hope.
Where there is life, there is hope.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Time Out
It’s been one week since I got that awful phone call. I can honestly say it’s been the longest week of my life.
We are blessed to have so many people who love and care for us. Many people have called, emailed, or left comments. I am so grateful. If there is one thing I can say, I don’t feel alone in all this. A lot of women do, so I am very blessed.
Some people have asked what they could do to help. I know if I was watching someone I love go through this, I would want to do something, find some way to cheer them up or help them forget.
Honestly, I think I need more time. I know it’s selfish, but I just want to crawl in a hole somewhere and hibernate for a while. That is what feels good right now. And all I want to do is something that feels good, anything that takes some of the pain away.
I know many, many women experience miscarriages. I’ve heard from a lot of you who have. I know some of you think I should just put on a brave face and jump back into life. Thank you for encouraging me to do so (including my hubby, who sweetly suggested a vacation). I look forward to the time I can. But every person is different, and this was devastating to me. I waited 7 years to see those 2 lines, got one week to live in paradise, and then had my entire world crash down. I need time. I wish I was stronger, but I want to be realistic about where I am now. And this is where I am.
We are blessed to have so many people who love and care for us. Many people have called, emailed, or left comments. I am so grateful. If there is one thing I can say, I don’t feel alone in all this. A lot of women do, so I am very blessed.
Some people have asked what they could do to help. I know if I was watching someone I love go through this, I would want to do something, find some way to cheer them up or help them forget.
Honestly, I think I need more time. I know it’s selfish, but I just want to crawl in a hole somewhere and hibernate for a while. That is what feels good right now. And all I want to do is something that feels good, anything that takes some of the pain away.
I know many, many women experience miscarriages. I’ve heard from a lot of you who have. I know some of you think I should just put on a brave face and jump back into life. Thank you for encouraging me to do so (including my hubby, who sweetly suggested a vacation). I look forward to the time I can. But every person is different, and this was devastating to me. I waited 7 years to see those 2 lines, got one week to live in paradise, and then had my entire world crash down. I need time. I wish I was stronger, but I want to be realistic about where I am now. And this is where I am.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Where Can I Turn for Peace?
I did not make it to church today. I was tormented about whether to go because I knew it's where I needed to be, but facing people today seemed too hard. I haven't been in public (or even left my home really) in 3 days.
Fortunately, as I was trying to decide what to do, God showed me a little mercy and the miscarriage began on its own.
I am grateful for that, as it seems I avoided a D&C (surgery where they basically scrape the uterus). A D&C is rough anyway, and because I am over-sensitive to anesthesia it would have been even tougher. Usually, a D&C is necessary for women who are further along in their pregnancy, but I had been warned that some women on Prometrium need to have them too, even if they lose the pregnancy early.
Because I was missing church, I tried to find some way to feel spiritual today. I was hoping it would help bring me some peace. I pulled out my copy of "Fertile in our Faith", an infertility book written from a LDS perspective. I read the whole book, reading the portion on pregnancy loss twice. I was looking for something (anything!) that could bring me comfort.
The pregnancy loss chapter focused on learning to 'release the hug'. It is said that when a child hugs you, never be the first one to release that hug; always hold on until the child lets go first.
In the book, the author relates this to pregnancy. Pregnancy is your opportunity to "hug" your child and, just as it is outside the womb, you should never be the first to let go. The author encourages the reader to enjoy pregnancy, savor those moments, and hold on to hope.
That is one thing I can say about my brief time in pregnancy, I hugged our baby. Although I was nervous and scared of losing the pregnancy, we still savored each moment we had in that state. We celebrated, gave prayers of gratitude, and spread that happiness to others around us who wanted it almost as much as we did. Not for one minute did I begrudge anything about that experience: the waiting it took to get there, the pregnancy symptoms I was having, the overwhelming feeling that life was going to change. I held onto our baby as hard and as tight as I could. It ended up not being enough, but I tried 100%.
The author goes onto say, if the time does come that your baby releases the hug, it is helpful to acknowledge the loss in a tangible way. This is true even for people like us, who lose their baby so early in the pregnancy. It was a relief to read this because I hadn't really given myself permission to do that. I felt silly, like our baby wasn't "real" enough yet to other people for us to grieve over.
There were suggestions in the book on how to acknowledge the loss. None of them seemed quite right for us, so I researched around a bit more and found something that felt good. This brought me some comfort.
One thing I have learned the last few days is how fleeting those moments of peace and comfort really are. Seems I mostly just try to make it from one peaceful moment to the next, without falling apart in between. But this morning I had the opportunity to feel comforted for quite some time, and for that I am grateful.
----------------------------------
Where, when my aching grows,
Where, when I languish,
Where, in my need to know,
Where can I run?
Where is the quiet hand
to calm my anguish?
Who, who can understand?
He, only One.
Fortunately, as I was trying to decide what to do, God showed me a little mercy and the miscarriage began on its own.
I am grateful for that, as it seems I avoided a D&C (surgery where they basically scrape the uterus). A D&C is rough anyway, and because I am over-sensitive to anesthesia it would have been even tougher. Usually, a D&C is necessary for women who are further along in their pregnancy, but I had been warned that some women on Prometrium need to have them too, even if they lose the pregnancy early.
Because I was missing church, I tried to find some way to feel spiritual today. I was hoping it would help bring me some peace. I pulled out my copy of "Fertile in our Faith", an infertility book written from a LDS perspective. I read the whole book, reading the portion on pregnancy loss twice. I was looking for something (anything!) that could bring me comfort.
The pregnancy loss chapter focused on learning to 'release the hug'. It is said that when a child hugs you, never be the first one to release that hug; always hold on until the child lets go first.
In the book, the author relates this to pregnancy. Pregnancy is your opportunity to "hug" your child and, just as it is outside the womb, you should never be the first to let go. The author encourages the reader to enjoy pregnancy, savor those moments, and hold on to hope.
That is one thing I can say about my brief time in pregnancy, I hugged our baby. Although I was nervous and scared of losing the pregnancy, we still savored each moment we had in that state. We celebrated, gave prayers of gratitude, and spread that happiness to others around us who wanted it almost as much as we did. Not for one minute did I begrudge anything about that experience: the waiting it took to get there, the pregnancy symptoms I was having, the overwhelming feeling that life was going to change. I held onto our baby as hard and as tight as I could. It ended up not being enough, but I tried 100%.
The author goes onto say, if the time does come that your baby releases the hug, it is helpful to acknowledge the loss in a tangible way. This is true even for people like us, who lose their baby so early in the pregnancy. It was a relief to read this because I hadn't really given myself permission to do that. I felt silly, like our baby wasn't "real" enough yet to other people for us to grieve over.
There were suggestions in the book on how to acknowledge the loss. None of them seemed quite right for us, so I researched around a bit more and found something that felt good. This brought me some comfort.
One thing I have learned the last few days is how fleeting those moments of peace and comfort really are. Seems I mostly just try to make it from one peaceful moment to the next, without falling apart in between. But this morning I had the opportunity to feel comforted for quite some time, and for that I am grateful.
----------------------------------
Where, when my aching grows,
Where, when I languish,
Where, in my need to know,
Where can I run?
Where is the quiet hand
to calm my anguish?
Who, who can understand?
He, only One.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
I am struggling...
On top of all the emotions of the last couple days, I am struggling to make sense of something far more deep than I can explain... but I guess I'll try.
I have always believed that embryos are life. They are sacred. This I know. The question I keep asking myself is, when conception occurs, does that embryo already have a spirit?
In other words, were the few weeks that this baby spent inside my womb considered his or her journey to earth, and sufficient enough for God's purposes? Part of the reason for life is to gain a body and be tested. Well, my baby never really got a body. But did he or she have a spirit?
I don't think anyone out there truly knows the answer. I know I sure don't. I'm not asking for anyone to speculate or give opinions, I'm just trying to make sense of all this. All I know is that deep down inside, I loved this embryo like a child, and the loss is overwhelming. I'm sure most people wouldn't consider me a "mother", but I know I feel the emotions of one. I have never felt my heart break like this.
I read this poem a while back. Every time I read it now, I cry. I wonder if it applies to me. Is this baby a real spirit waiting for me on the other side? Or did this baby not live long enough to gain a spirit? This question just torments me. I wish I knew the answer...
------------------------
I thought of you and closed my eyes
And prayed to God today
I asked "What makes a Mother?"
And I know I heard Him say.
"A Mother has a baby"
This we know is true
"But God can you be a Mother,
When your baby's not with you?"
"Yes, you can," He replied
With confidence in His voice
"I give many women babies,
When they leave is not their choice.
Some I send for a lifetime,
And others for the day.
And some I send to feel your womb,
But there's no need to stay."
"I just don't understand this God
I want my baby to be here."
He took a deep breath and
cleared His throat,
And then I saw the tear.
"I wish I could show you,
What your child is doing today.
If you could see your child's smile,
With all the other children and say...
'We go to Earth to learn our lessons,
Of love and life and fear.
My Mommy loved me oh so much,
I got to come straight here.
I feel so lucky to have a Mom,
Who had so much love for me.
I learned my lessons very quickly,
My Mommy set me free.
I miss my Mommy oh so much,
But I visit her every day.
When she goes to sleep,
On her pillow's where I lay
I stroke her hair and kiss her cheek,
And whisper in her ear.
Mommy don't be sad today,
I'm your baby and I'm here.'
"So you see my dear sweet ones,
your children are okay.
Your babies are born here in My home,
And this is where they'll stay.
They'll wait for you with Me,
Until your lesson's through.
And on the day that you come home
they'll be at the gates for you.
So now you see what makes a Mother,
It's the feeling in your heart
it's the love you had so much of
Right from the very start.
I have always believed that embryos are life. They are sacred. This I know. The question I keep asking myself is, when conception occurs, does that embryo already have a spirit?
In other words, were the few weeks that this baby spent inside my womb considered his or her journey to earth, and sufficient enough for God's purposes? Part of the reason for life is to gain a body and be tested. Well, my baby never really got a body. But did he or she have a spirit?
I don't think anyone out there truly knows the answer. I know I sure don't. I'm not asking for anyone to speculate or give opinions, I'm just trying to make sense of all this. All I know is that deep down inside, I loved this embryo like a child, and the loss is overwhelming. I'm sure most people wouldn't consider me a "mother", but I know I feel the emotions of one. I have never felt my heart break like this.
I read this poem a while back. Every time I read it now, I cry. I wonder if it applies to me. Is this baby a real spirit waiting for me on the other side? Or did this baby not live long enough to gain a spirit? This question just torments me. I wish I knew the answer...
------------------------
I thought of you and closed my eyes
And prayed to God today
I asked "What makes a Mother?"
And I know I heard Him say.
"A Mother has a baby"
This we know is true
"But God can you be a Mother,
When your baby's not with you?"
"Yes, you can," He replied
With confidence in His voice
"I give many women babies,
When they leave is not their choice.
Some I send for a lifetime,
And others for the day.
And some I send to feel your womb,
But there's no need to stay."
"I just don't understand this God
I want my baby to be here."
He took a deep breath and
cleared His throat,
And then I saw the tear.
"I wish I could show you,
What your child is doing today.
If you could see your child's smile,
With all the other children and say...
'We go to Earth to learn our lessons,
Of love and life and fear.
My Mommy loved me oh so much,
I got to come straight here.
I feel so lucky to have a Mom,
Who had so much love for me.
I learned my lessons very quickly,
My Mommy set me free.
I miss my Mommy oh so much,
But I visit her every day.
When she goes to sleep,
On her pillow's where I lay
I stroke her hair and kiss her cheek,
And whisper in her ear.
Mommy don't be sad today,
I'm your baby and I'm here.'
"So you see my dear sweet ones,
your children are okay.
Your babies are born here in My home,
And this is where they'll stay.
They'll wait for you with Me,
Until your lesson's through.
And on the day that you come home
they'll be at the gates for you.
So now you see what makes a Mother,
It's the feeling in your heart
it's the love you had so much of
Right from the very start.
Friday, September 10, 2010
Wake me up when September ends...
If September 1st was one of the best days of my life, September 9th was one of the worst.
The day started out normal, well as normal as possible when you are walking on a cloud. I was at the lab as soon as they opened to give blood for my second beta test. Afterwards, I came home, did a little laundry and got ready for the day. I told Ryan that morning, there was nothing in my life I could possibly complain about. It was such a weird feeling, that I was completely content, that those 7 years were completely worth it. For the first time in years and years, I felt completely happy.
He had the day off too, and we headed out for a lunch date. I kept glancing at my phone, waiting for the phone call from the doctor's office. After lunch and a little browsing around River Park, we decided to venture into Babies-R-Us for the first time. We were originally going to wait to go in there until we had seen the heartbeat, but I wanted to get my mind off the impending phone call. So we decided to go for it.
Although I had been there before to pick-up gift cards, I had never been further than the cashier up front. As we walked in, we passed the registers and headed towards the back of the store.
I can't explain the awful feeling that came over me. It felt like a feeling of dread or foreboding. I instantly felt like I didn't belong there. I couldn't breathe. Ryan followed me as I looped around the store and headed right back into the parking lot. That is where I started to cry.
I just figured it was because of the infertility. Perhaps after 7 years, I just couldn't imagine that I could really be in a store like that. I felt like I couldn't be one of those happy pregnant women or new moms browsing through the isles; it just couldn't happen for me.
Now I think that God was trying to tell me something.
We headed home and I still hadn't heard from the doctor's office. At 2pm sharp I called. The nurse stated they couldn't find my results and she would call me back. I waited and waited. I started to feel like something was wrong.
At 3:30pm I called again. The girl put me on hold for several agonizing minutes. Finally, she came back and said the nurse practitioner had taken my file home with her, and was going to call me directly about it. My voice started to shake as I asked if everything was okay. She said she wasn't sure, but she would text her right away and tell her to call me.
The next hour was the longest hour of my life. Finally, at 4:30pm, the phone rang. My hands shook as I answered the phone and picked up a pen to write down my results.
I don't remember much about the conversation. I remember her saying she was sorry over and over. I remember shaking and crying. I remember her telling me the baby stopped growing and my numbers went from 147 to 34. I remember writing those numbers down and staring at them. I remember looking at Ryan and watching him stare at the ceiling and rub his eyes. I vaguely remember her telling me what would eventually happen next, none of it sounding pretty.
Since that time, I have been a roller coaster of emotions. I bawl, I get pissed, I cry and I've even laughed a few times. I'm a total crazy person. And completely devastated.
The angry times are the worst. They scare me. I feel like my entire body could explode. I even declared out loud that God hated me, even though when I said it I knew full well it was untrue. And in the next breath, I am thanking Him for giving us such a wonderful blessing, even if it was just for a moment. I feel like a mess.
The last 24 hours have been spent just waiting. Feeling my stomach clench and cramp and waiting for the ax to fall; not looking forward to seeing the evidence of this nightmare, whenever it decides to arrive.
I used to spend time imagining how wonderful it would be to finally be pregnant. Now I know, and it was unlike anything I could ever imagine. I was the happiest I had ever been. I remember driving to work one morning thinking that after years and years, I was starting to feel like myself again. The real me. The 'me' that infertility stole. Now I look in the mirror and she's gone again. I want her back.
I miss the tiny appleseed that once brought joy to so many people. I wanted to see him or her grow and thrive. I wanted to hold this baby in my arms someday. I have to come to terms that this will never happen now. Even though I know it's crazy, I feel like I failed.
In my good moments though, I still have faith. I have faith to try again, and when that waivers I borrow Ryan's, because he has even more than I do. He is my rock.
Somehow, I'll get through this day, this week, this month. I look forward to October. A new season, a new start, a new hope.
-----------------
here comes the rain again
falling from the stars
drenched in my pain again
becoming who we are
as my memory rests
but never forgets what I lost
wake me up when september ends
summer has come and passed
the innocence can never last
wake me up when september ends
The day started out normal, well as normal as possible when you are walking on a cloud. I was at the lab as soon as they opened to give blood for my second beta test. Afterwards, I came home, did a little laundry and got ready for the day. I told Ryan that morning, there was nothing in my life I could possibly complain about. It was such a weird feeling, that I was completely content, that those 7 years were completely worth it. For the first time in years and years, I felt completely happy.
He had the day off too, and we headed out for a lunch date. I kept glancing at my phone, waiting for the phone call from the doctor's office. After lunch and a little browsing around River Park, we decided to venture into Babies-R-Us for the first time. We were originally going to wait to go in there until we had seen the heartbeat, but I wanted to get my mind off the impending phone call. So we decided to go for it.
Although I had been there before to pick-up gift cards, I had never been further than the cashier up front. As we walked in, we passed the registers and headed towards the back of the store.
I can't explain the awful feeling that came over me. It felt like a feeling of dread or foreboding. I instantly felt like I didn't belong there. I couldn't breathe. Ryan followed me as I looped around the store and headed right back into the parking lot. That is where I started to cry.
I just figured it was because of the infertility. Perhaps after 7 years, I just couldn't imagine that I could really be in a store like that. I felt like I couldn't be one of those happy pregnant women or new moms browsing through the isles; it just couldn't happen for me.
Now I think that God was trying to tell me something.
We headed home and I still hadn't heard from the doctor's office. At 2pm sharp I called. The nurse stated they couldn't find my results and she would call me back. I waited and waited. I started to feel like something was wrong.
At 3:30pm I called again. The girl put me on hold for several agonizing minutes. Finally, she came back and said the nurse practitioner had taken my file home with her, and was going to call me directly about it. My voice started to shake as I asked if everything was okay. She said she wasn't sure, but she would text her right away and tell her to call me.
The next hour was the longest hour of my life. Finally, at 4:30pm, the phone rang. My hands shook as I answered the phone and picked up a pen to write down my results.
I don't remember much about the conversation. I remember her saying she was sorry over and over. I remember shaking and crying. I remember her telling me the baby stopped growing and my numbers went from 147 to 34. I remember writing those numbers down and staring at them. I remember looking at Ryan and watching him stare at the ceiling and rub his eyes. I vaguely remember her telling me what would eventually happen next, none of it sounding pretty.
Since that time, I have been a roller coaster of emotions. I bawl, I get pissed, I cry and I've even laughed a few times. I'm a total crazy person. And completely devastated.
The angry times are the worst. They scare me. I feel like my entire body could explode. I even declared out loud that God hated me, even though when I said it I knew full well it was untrue. And in the next breath, I am thanking Him for giving us such a wonderful blessing, even if it was just for a moment. I feel like a mess.
The last 24 hours have been spent just waiting. Feeling my stomach clench and cramp and waiting for the ax to fall; not looking forward to seeing the evidence of this nightmare, whenever it decides to arrive.
I used to spend time imagining how wonderful it would be to finally be pregnant. Now I know, and it was unlike anything I could ever imagine. I was the happiest I had ever been. I remember driving to work one morning thinking that after years and years, I was starting to feel like myself again. The real me. The 'me' that infertility stole. Now I look in the mirror and she's gone again. I want her back.
I miss the tiny appleseed that once brought joy to so many people. I wanted to see him or her grow and thrive. I wanted to hold this baby in my arms someday. I have to come to terms that this will never happen now. Even though I know it's crazy, I feel like I failed.
In my good moments though, I still have faith. I have faith to try again, and when that waivers I borrow Ryan's, because he has even more than I do. He is my rock.
Somehow, I'll get through this day, this week, this month. I look forward to October. A new season, a new start, a new hope.
-----------------
here comes the rain again
falling from the stars
drenched in my pain again
becoming who we are
as my memory rests
but never forgets what I lost
wake me up when september ends
summer has come and passed
the innocence can never last
wake me up when september ends
Thursday, September 9, 2010
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