So much has happened already this new year of 2011. After over a year of traumatically losing my daughter to pPROM, I have discovered that my cervix has been incompetent. PPROM is complex and it happens for numerous reasons; every mom experiences the rupture of membrane under her own unique circumstances. I had the IC on the back of my mind just because my RE examined how odd looking my cervix was. Then my new OB's nurse practitioner also identified the same observation in January. I was frustrated to not fully understand why my cervix was in a bad shape. She looked through my records and connected my condition to the hysteroscopy when the cervical fibroid was removed back in '08. I remembered that OB suspected a cervical polyp but it turned out to be a fibroid. I think he briefly explained that a deeper incision had occurred due to the fibroid but of course, what did I know back in 2008 about my body?! I only wanted to conceive so desperately and none of this made sense to me at that time. After I changed OBs for infertility issues, I only recalled the term "polyp" and kept referring to that procedure as a polyp removal....
Mid January I had a phone consultation with Dr Haney in Chicago who specializes in TAC. There were two moms that I know personally who had TAC with him. He had no doubt that I had pPROM'd from IC. I discussed TAC (transabdominal cerclage) with my new OB and she completely supported this decision since she already had one of Dr Haney's TAC patient. She also measured my cervix as short but wasn't sure if her measurements were accurate. My OB described how a portion of my cervix was "gone" or effaced. I couldn't go with Dr Haney's date in April - it didn't seem worth the wait when there was another skilled doctor in New Jersey. So here I am typing this blog the day before my TAC surgery with Dr Davis in New Jersey. He also examined my cervix and it was even shorter than what my OB described. Not only that, my cervix was tender and weak which shouldn't be for someone who's NOT pregnant. If my cervix was this weak, then there was no barrier such as a protective mucous plug that could have protected the pregnancy from bacteria. I had placenta previa - maybe the placenta was infected first causing the rupture. Dr Davis primarily does post-pregnancy TACs but he emphasized the advantage of pre-pregnancy TAC for me under my circumstances. I am relieved the timing of this is all working out.
It feels like redemption to finally know what went wrong after losing Joey but I have to admit it hurts...I wish this was not the way my life went. I wish I was able to change every event to save her. I am trying to remain hopeful for another child while I miss Joey so much. Tomorrow I will be TAC'd.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Sunday, January 23, 2011
More Obstacles
I have a few symptoms regarding my health that I am worried about. These symptoms pertain to other health issues that have nothing to do with TTC. Well, I guess it does because if I have other issues then I can't TTC!!! At this point in my life, I know that I am not in control of these obstacles. I had to learn to surrender my short life to God and life sure does feel shorter now that I have lost my own daughter. I will post more details later. I came across this verse while reading "Choosing to See" by Mary Beth Chapman -
My health may fail, and my spirit may grow weak,
but God remains the strength of my heart;he is mine forever. (Ps 73:26, NLT)
I feel like my body has "fallen apart" through this journey of infertility and losses. The more I find out about what went wrong with losing Joey, the more I grieve not just for her but this body that couldn't protect her. I had so many mothers to talk to through my support group and blogs. Many have survived multiple losses and I continue to see their courage to keep hoping for a biological child. I am so thankful to meet these amazing women...I can only keep going and learning to rest in the Lord through these challenges.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
An Article About Three Coaches and Fathers
I posted this on my Facebook as soon as I read it from another babyloss mommy. I am not a sports fan at all unlike my husband but I feel such connection to these coaches. You don't find many articles about fathers grieving for their babies in heaven. Here is the beginning of the article... Click on the title for the link.
Billy Donovan's Secret Sorrow by Jason King
Billy Donovan's Secret Sorrow by Jason King
The text arrived two days after Halloween, well before Billy Donovan got to the cemetery.
“Thinking of you,” it read.
For almost a decade, it’s never failed. Every year, on Nov. 2, Arkansas coach John Pelphrey – along with Alabama’s Anthony Grant - have reached out to their former boss at Florida. A phone call, an e-mail, a card or text. Just something to remind Donovan how much they care. And how they can relate.
“No staff,” Grant says, “has ever experienced what we experienced. What happened with all of us … I wouldn’t wish that on anybody.”
Long before they were all head coaches in the SEC -- long before they became competitors -- Donovan, Pelphrey and Grant helped Florida blossom into one of the country’s most-dominating programs during the early and mid-2000s. Still, the moments the three of them remember the most -- the three precise dates that spurred one of the strongest, most unique bonds in all of sports -- have nothing to do with winning NCAA titles and conference championships.
Instead, they involve the loss of life, and the strengthening of friendship.
“The human body is amazing,” Pelphrey says. “We can all sense when those days are coming closer.”
November 2 for Donovan.
February 6 for Grant.
August 22 for Pelphrey.
“I let John know I was thinking about him at the end of the summer,” Donovan says now. “He wrote back and said, ‘Tough, tough day. It never gets easier.’”
Donovan pauses.
“He’s right,” he says. “It doesn’t.”
Saturday, January 8, 2011
The New Normal - A Poem to Share
Someone on a PROM email list forwarded a really good poem on our new normals after a loss. I posted this on FB to deepen the understanding of my friends who have not been through a loss. Some new friends whom I have met after losing Joey are all in a different journey - as I have mentioned months before, one friend has filled her empty arms with the beauty of adoption, one friend is anxiously awaiting for her baby to be born full term, and another mom of beautiful daughters in heaven is still on the path of waiting like me. Just as the friend who adopted said, our normals are different too once we move forward to having a rainbow baby. However, I know that NO mom will ever forget her child even when her subsequent children bring much joy. Let me know what new normal you moms would write for yourselves if this resonates with you all. Here is the poem:
This is now what "normal" is...
Normal is having tears waiting behind every smile when you realize someone
important is missing from all the important events in your family's life.
Normal for me is trying to decide what to take to the cemetery for Birthdays
Christmas, Thanksgiving, New Years, Valentine's Day, July 4th and Easter.
Normal is feeling like you know how to act and are more comfortable with a
funeral than a wedding or birthday party...yet feeling a stab of pain in your
heart when you smell the flowers and see the casket.
Normal is feeling like you can't sit another minute without getting up and
screaming, because you just don't like to sit through anything.
Normal is not sleeping very well because a thousand what if's & why didn't I's
go through your head constantly.
Normal is reliving that day continuously through your eyes and mind, holding
your head to make it go away.
Normal is having the TV on the minute I walk into the house to have noise,
because the silence is deafening.
Normal is staring at every baby who looks like he is my baby's age. And then
thinking of the age they would be now and not being able to imagine it. Then
wondering why it is even important to imagine it, because it will never
happen.
Normal is every happy event in my life always being backed up with sadness
lurking close behind, because of the hole in my heart.
Normal is telling the story of your child's death as if it were an everyday,
commonplace activity, and then seeing the horror in someone's eyes at how
awful it sounds. And yet realizing it has become a part of my "normal".
Normal is each year coming up with the difficult task of how to honor your
child's memory and their birthday and survive these days. And trying to find
the balloon or flag that fit's the occasion. Happy Birthday? Not really.
Normal is my heart warming and yet sinking at the sight of something special
my baby loved. Thinking how he would love it, but how he is not here to enjoy
it.
Normal is having some people afraid to mention my babies.
Normal is making sure that others remember them.
Normal is after the funeral is over everyone else goes on with their lives,
but we continue to grieve our loss forever.
Normal is weeks, months, and years after the initial shock, the grieving gets
worse sometimes, not better.
Normal is not listening to people compare anything in their life to this loss,
unless they too have lost a child. NOTHING. Even if your child is in the
remotest part of the earth away from you - it doesn't compare. Losing a parent
is horrible, but having to bury your own child is unnatural.
Normal is taking pills, and trying not to cry all day, because I know my
mental health depends on it.
Normal is realizing I do cry everyday.
Normal is disliking jokes about death or funerals, bodies being referred to as
cadavers, when you know they were once someone's loved one.
Normal is being impatient with everything and everyone, but someone stricken
with grief over the loss of your child.
Normal is sitting at the computer crying, sharing how you feel with chat
buddies who have also lost a child.
Normal is feeling a common bond with friends on the computer in England,
Australia, Canada, the Netherlands and all over the USA, but yet never having
met any of them face to face.
Normal is a new friendship with another grieving mother, talking and crying
together over our children and our new lives.
Normal is not listening to people make excuses for God. "God may have done
this because..." I love God, I know that my baby is in heaven, but hearing
people trying to think up excuses as to why healthy babies were taken from
this earth is not appreciated and makes absolutely no sense to this grieving
mother.
Normal is being too tired to care if you paid the bills, cleaned the house,
did laundry or if there is any food.
Normal is wondering this time whether you are going to say you have two
children or one, because you will never see this person again and it is not
worth explaining that my baby is in heaven. And yet when you say you have 1
child to avoid that problem, you feel horrible as if you have betrayed your
baby.
Normal is avoiding McDonald's and Burger King playgrounds because of small,
happy children that break your heart when you see them.
Normal is asking God why he took your child's life instead of yours and asking
if there even is a God.
Normal is knowing I will never get over this loss, in a day or a million
years.And last of all,
Normal is hiding all the things that have become "normal" for you to feel, so
that everyone around you will think that you are "normal".
------ author unknown ------
This is now what "normal" is...
Normal is having tears waiting behind every smile when you realize someone
important is missing from all the important events in your family's life.
Normal for me is trying to decide what to take to the cemetery for Birthdays
Christmas, Thanksgiving, New Years, Valentine's Day, July 4th and Easter.
Normal is feeling like you know how to act and are more comfortable with a
funeral than a wedding or birthday party...yet feeling a stab of pain in your
heart when you smell the flowers and see the casket.
Normal is feeling like you can't sit another minute without getting up and
screaming, because you just don't like to sit through anything.
Normal is not sleeping very well because a thousand what if's & why didn't I's
go through your head constantly.
Normal is reliving that day continuously through your eyes and mind, holding
your head to make it go away.
Normal is having the TV on the minute I walk into the house to have noise,
because the silence is deafening.
Normal is staring at every baby who looks like he is my baby's age. And then
thinking of the age they would be now and not being able to imagine it. Then
wondering why it is even important to imagine it, because it will never
happen.
Normal is every happy event in my life always being backed up with sadness
lurking close behind, because of the hole in my heart.
Normal is telling the story of your child's death as if it were an everyday,
commonplace activity, and then seeing the horror in someone's eyes at how
awful it sounds. And yet realizing it has become a part of my "normal".
Normal is each year coming up with the difficult task of how to honor your
child's memory and their birthday and survive these days. And trying to find
the balloon or flag that fit's the occasion. Happy Birthday? Not really.
Normal is my heart warming and yet sinking at the sight of something special
my baby loved. Thinking how he would love it, but how he is not here to enjoy
it.
Normal is having some people afraid to mention my babies.
Normal is making sure that others remember them.
Normal is after the funeral is over everyone else goes on with their lives,
but we continue to grieve our loss forever.
Normal is weeks, months, and years after the initial shock, the grieving gets
worse sometimes, not better.
Normal is not listening to people compare anything in their life to this loss,
unless they too have lost a child. NOTHING. Even if your child is in the
remotest part of the earth away from you - it doesn't compare. Losing a parent
is horrible, but having to bury your own child is unnatural.
Normal is taking pills, and trying not to cry all day, because I know my
mental health depends on it.
Normal is realizing I do cry everyday.
Normal is disliking jokes about death or funerals, bodies being referred to as
cadavers, when you know they were once someone's loved one.
Normal is being impatient with everything and everyone, but someone stricken
with grief over the loss of your child.
Normal is sitting at the computer crying, sharing how you feel with chat
buddies who have also lost a child.
Normal is feeling a common bond with friends on the computer in England,
Australia, Canada, the Netherlands and all over the USA, but yet never having
met any of them face to face.
Normal is a new friendship with another grieving mother, talking and crying
together over our children and our new lives.
Normal is not listening to people make excuses for God. "God may have done
this because..." I love God, I know that my baby is in heaven, but hearing
people trying to think up excuses as to why healthy babies were taken from
this earth is not appreciated and makes absolutely no sense to this grieving
mother.
Normal is being too tired to care if you paid the bills, cleaned the house,
did laundry or if there is any food.
Normal is wondering this time whether you are going to say you have two
children or one, because you will never see this person again and it is not
worth explaining that my baby is in heaven. And yet when you say you have 1
child to avoid that problem, you feel horrible as if you have betrayed your
baby.
Normal is avoiding McDonald's and Burger King playgrounds because of small,
happy children that break your heart when you see them.
Normal is asking God why he took your child's life instead of yours and asking
if there even is a God.
Normal is knowing I will never get over this loss, in a day or a million
years.And last of all,
Normal is hiding all the things that have become "normal" for you to feel, so
that everyone around you will think that you are "normal".
------ author unknown ------
Sunday, December 26, 2010
A Reflection on a Movie
I made it through my second Christmas without Joey by keeping to ourselves. John's parents were away on their fishing vacation and his brother was out of town with his wife as newlyweds. We went to see Joey and I gave her a Tinkerbell toy... don't know why but it reminded me of my girl. It was my birthday also but I just wanted to make it another day as a way of coping. We went to the movies last night and watched "The King's Speech" - with an exception to not getting some jokes, I loved the movie. Before the movie started, the "Rabbit Hole" preview was shown. My dear friend had mentioned this movie before because it was about a couple who had lost their 4 yr old son... starring Nicole Kidman. I haven't seen the movie but my friend shared a portion of the script with me.... I think many babyloss moms can relate. Here is the link for the preview on Youtube. Nicole Kidman plays Becca in the movie:
BECCA
Does it ever go away?
NAT
What.
BECCA
This feeling.
They lock eyes. Nat can see she actually wants an answer.
Maybe for the first time ever.
NAT
No. I don't think it does. Not for me it hasn't. And that's goin' on eleven years. (beat) It changes though.
BECCA
How?
NAT
I don't know. The weight of it, I guess. At some point it becomes
bearable. It turns into something you can crawl out from under, and
carry around - like a brick in your pocket. And you forget it every
once in a while, but then you reach in for whatever reason and there it is: "Oh right. That." Which can be awful. But not all the time. Sometimes it's kinda... Not that you like it exactly, but it's what
you have instead of your son, so you don't wanna let go of it either. So you carry it around. And it doesn't go away, which is...
BECCA
What.
NAT
Fine...actually.
In my support group, many of us moms have expressed fear of feeling happy again and trying to move forward. My leader mentioned how common it is for us to hold back on happiness in front of others because we don't want them to think that we're getting over our babies. We never will. This part of the movie script made me think of how I looked happy in front of others because I set aside my grief for a little while. Then at the same time I didn't want them to think that I was completely okay - I just felt like my coworkers and friends assumed I was moving on... Maybe I want to always feel some part of this grief because it keeps Joey alive even as I heal over time. It is a "brick in my pocket."
BECCA
Does it ever go away?
NAT
What.
BECCA
This feeling.
They lock eyes. Nat can see she actually wants an answer.
Maybe for the first time ever.
NAT
No. I don't think it does. Not for me it hasn't. And that's goin' on eleven years. (beat) It changes though.
BECCA
How?
NAT
I don't know. The weight of it, I guess. At some point it becomes
bearable. It turns into something you can crawl out from under, and
carry around - like a brick in your pocket. And you forget it every
once in a while, but then you reach in for whatever reason and there it is: "Oh right. That." Which can be awful. But not all the time. Sometimes it's kinda... Not that you like it exactly, but it's what
you have instead of your son, so you don't wanna let go of it either. So you carry it around. And it doesn't go away, which is...
BECCA
What.
NAT
Fine...actually.
In my support group, many of us moms have expressed fear of feeling happy again and trying to move forward. My leader mentioned how common it is for us to hold back on happiness in front of others because we don't want them to think that we're getting over our babies. We never will. This part of the movie script made me think of how I looked happy in front of others because I set aside my grief for a little while. Then at the same time I didn't want them to think that I was completely okay - I just felt like my coworkers and friends assumed I was moving on... Maybe I want to always feel some part of this grief because it keeps Joey alive even as I heal over time. It is a "brick in my pocket."
Saturday, December 18, 2010
Surviving the Holidays
Oh my! I can't believe it's December again. I want to write about so many things on my mind but then I don't have the strength to blog. I've been coping by baking away, cooking, and doing dishes. I never had the time to bake when I worked but with all the time in my hands I had to take a break from GRIEF if possible by baking.
I didn't have to do the D&C after all... Dec 6th sonogram showed an empty uterus and I was so relieved. Right after the hospital visit I went shopping for the Faces of Loss ornament exchange with another mom named Brittaney. Then I was attacked with overwhelming emotions while shopping and seeing these pregnant ladies everywhere I went. Sometimes just out of humor I picture myself in Jim Carey's character from the movie "The Truman Show." If you've seen it, everyone is an actor in this man's life and every event is planned intentionally to see Truman's reaction! Sometimes life feels that way for someone like me that has been enduring infertility and two losses. As much as I wanted to "minimize" this loss, I just couldn't avoid what I really felt about this baby even if to others it was just a blighted ovum. My husband and I wanted this baby then this little one was gone too soon...then I had to get rid of the empty sac that metaphorically felt like an empty promise...then everything went my way medically...what a blessing it was...I should've been grateful to God but I still felt these emotions of loss during my shopping trip.
Dec 7th was the candlelight service. My husband and I cried not only for ourselves but for many others who lost multiple times or who felt fresh pain from their recent losses. It was good to say Josephine's name and call out Baby Lee as another loss instead of being in denial. That evening another mom, whom I met only a couple of times from our support group, gave me a sweet card for my miscarriage - it was a small gesture but it sure did make me cry from feeling vulnerable.
Even couple days ago, hubby and I went out to eat and I saw a waiter's name "Joey" on his shirt as he walked by. I was getting a lump stuck in my throat. I really wanted to run out and hug him and tell him that he had a special name just like my daughter in heaven. Now that would've been a Youtube moment if I had really done that, right?!! What would this kid have done to a crazy mom like me? He was a nice kid who came to us and gave us an inside tip on how to save money next time. I liked him even more! It is strange how seeing my daughter's name anywhere draws me closer to her. Love my Joey!
We don't have the tree up this year. The stockings give me some comfort knowing that I do have a family even though I miss Joey unbearably at times.
Tiny stocking above Joey's represents my little miscarried one.
Thanks to Brittaney's ornament exchange I have another ornament for Joey! Yes, she's with Jesus.
I didn't have to do the D&C after all... Dec 6th sonogram showed an empty uterus and I was so relieved. Right after the hospital visit I went shopping for the Faces of Loss ornament exchange with another mom named Brittaney. Then I was attacked with overwhelming emotions while shopping and seeing these pregnant ladies everywhere I went. Sometimes just out of humor I picture myself in Jim Carey's character from the movie "The Truman Show." If you've seen it, everyone is an actor in this man's life and every event is planned intentionally to see Truman's reaction! Sometimes life feels that way for someone like me that has been enduring infertility and two losses. As much as I wanted to "minimize" this loss, I just couldn't avoid what I really felt about this baby even if to others it was just a blighted ovum. My husband and I wanted this baby then this little one was gone too soon...then I had to get rid of the empty sac that metaphorically felt like an empty promise...then everything went my way medically...what a blessing it was...I should've been grateful to God but I still felt these emotions of loss during my shopping trip.
Dec 7th was the candlelight service. My husband and I cried not only for ourselves but for many others who lost multiple times or who felt fresh pain from their recent losses. It was good to say Josephine's name and call out Baby Lee as another loss instead of being in denial. That evening another mom, whom I met only a couple of times from our support group, gave me a sweet card for my miscarriage - it was a small gesture but it sure did make me cry from feeling vulnerable.
Even couple days ago, hubby and I went out to eat and I saw a waiter's name "Joey" on his shirt as he walked by. I was getting a lump stuck in my throat. I really wanted to run out and hug him and tell him that he had a special name just like my daughter in heaven. Now that would've been a Youtube moment if I had really done that, right?!! What would this kid have done to a crazy mom like me? He was a nice kid who came to us and gave us an inside tip on how to save money next time. I liked him even more! It is strange how seeing my daughter's name anywhere draws me closer to her. Love my Joey!
We don't have the tree up this year. The stockings give me some comfort knowing that I do have a family even though I miss Joey unbearably at times.
Tiny stocking above Joey's represents my little miscarried one.
Thanks to Brittaney's ornament exchange I have another ornament for Joey! Yes, she's with Jesus.
Saturday, December 4, 2010
It's Over...Almost!
I finally went to an OB to prescribe me some meds to dispel my sac. Dr M delivered Joey just last year and she remembered me. I had a lump in my throat as I recalled those memories of being at the hospital. I also had fond memories of Dr M taking care of Joey.
She was compassionate towards me knowing how much we wanted a baby... She gave me inducing pills to use at home and needless to say, I was so nervous. I have friends who shared me their stories and it's just not a pleasant experience. I was fearful of the risk of hemorrhaging and all the worst case scenarios. My husband had to go to work the next day but before I fell asleep I asked him if he remembered my blood type. Of course, being an obnoxious guy he is, he acted like he forgot! It was hard to put myself through the unknown without having a backup plan. I had excruciating contractions or cramping for 2 hours in the middle of the night. I kept going to the bathroom without saying much about that. I fell asleep early morning and woke up feeling better. I just hope this is it and hopefully the sonogram on Monday will show an empty uterus. I am hoping that I won't have to go through the D&C after all this.
She was compassionate towards me knowing how much we wanted a baby... She gave me inducing pills to use at home and needless to say, I was so nervous. I have friends who shared me their stories and it's just not a pleasant experience. I was fearful of the risk of hemorrhaging and all the worst case scenarios. My husband had to go to work the next day but before I fell asleep I asked him if he remembered my blood type. Of course, being an obnoxious guy he is, he acted like he forgot! It was hard to put myself through the unknown without having a backup plan. I had excruciating contractions or cramping for 2 hours in the middle of the night. I kept going to the bathroom without saying much about that. I fell asleep early morning and woke up feeling better. I just hope this is it and hopefully the sonogram on Monday will show an empty uterus. I am hoping that I won't have to go through the D&C after all this.
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