Our Loss

Anyone who has ever navigated a pregnancy or fertility journey in the forums across the internet has no doubt gotten a crash course in the use of acronyms.  From AF (aunt flow) to LMP (last monthly period) to the highly sought after BFP (big fat positive) there is short-hand for quite literally every topic that you could wish to discuss with total strangers in a virtual support group.  And as a former special education teacher, I am no stranger to acronyms (IEP, FBA, BIP, LRE, FAPE...I could go on and on and on!) But last Sunday, which just happened to be Easter Sunday, I was introduced to a new abbreviation I was not familiar with: CP.  Chemical Pregnancy.

On the bright side, it is much easier to say "chemical pregnancy" out loud than to share its more descriptive meaning: a miscarriage occurring before 5-6 weeks of pregnancy.  Most women do not even realize that they are having a miscarriage when this occurs.  It is far less painful and traumatizing than a miscarriage later on in pregnancy.  In most cases, a chemical pregnancy does not even warrant a trip to the doctor.

I read all of this information via "Dr. Google" on Sunday morning.  By that time I had known I was pregnant for a full week.  I had taken a test before leaving for church the previous Sunday and was happily surprised when I saw a faint line. Later that day and throughout the week, it was confirmed with more definite tests.  We were going to have baby #3.  We joked this would be our tie-breaker baby, tipping the scales for the girls or the boys.  We squabbled playfully over names.  We told a few friends and I ordered a shirt for our youngest that said "this boy is being promoted to middle child."  

Now I know what you are thinking.  It was way too early to do all of those things.  But after two successful and totally uneventful pregnancies, you come to expect the routine.  I wouldn't say we got cocky, we just felt safe. Like, here we go again.  We never expected it to end.  Except, I sort of did.  I had already let go of hoping to get pregnant last month.  So when I saw the lines, I was totally shocked.  As I sat in church that morning, I felt a little crampy, but I prayed and prayed for that little nugget to stick.  I obsessively checked and checked to see if I was "still pregnant."  I just had this nagging feeling that it wasn't going to happen.  But with each day, I felt a little better, a little more sure.  On Friday, I even called the Dr.  The receptionist and I joked because it was so early.  I told her I knew you had to call early to get the good appointments.  She thanked me.

So when it all went away on Easter morning, it was devastating.  I know it was only a week.  There will undoubtedly be someone who reads this and thinks, "Big deal.  I lost a baby at 10 weeks," or "I had to have a D&C" or worse someone who had a stillborn child.  Or someone who lost a child after they were born.  Let me just say I know I am so lucky.  I am so lucky that God knew there was something amiss with our little one and stopped it before we really got started.  I am lucky I have had no pain, no trips to the Dr. except for bloodwork to confirm our loss.  But it still hurts.  It hurts because over that week I came to believe it was real.  I thought we were getting our third and possibly last miracle.  And honestly, it hurts because it feels like it shouldn't hurt.  There is a degree of shame that I am mourning the loss of a cluster or cells.  With all the loss and pain and horribleness in the world, it feels selfish and maybe even silly to mourn something that most women wouldn't even know about.  

These are the thoughts I had on Sunday as I quietly sobbed in the bathroom in between dressing my two beautiful, healthy children and hiding eggs for them in the yard.  (My poor husband had the nastiest stomach flu, so I couldn't even hole up in bed and hide like I wanted to.)  We missed church, but my daughter wanted so badly to wear the dress she picked out.  And I really wanted to smile and feel ok.  I wanted to focus on something other than what was going on with my body.

In the days since, I have tried to do what the experts suggest and give myself permission to grieve.  That is probably the hardest thing to do.  I gave our lost cluster of cells a unisex name.  I have to go in tomorrow to get more blood drawn to make sure that the levels are dropping, and after that I feel like I will have closure on this whole event.  I give thanks to God for making the decision his and for bearing that burden for us.  And I will continue to pray and wait for our "rainbow baby."  But if I could tell our baby one thing, it would be that you were wanted.  You were so very wanted. 

-E

January 2016 is in the Books

(That title was actually the first sentence of this post, until I realized what a perfect pun it turned out to be.)

I have decided that since I am absolutely terrible when it comes to sticking to resolutions or establishing new habits, my official resolution is to add something to my life each month.   It doesn't have to be something done daily, or even weekly.  It certainly does not need to be something big.  Just the addition of SOMETHING every month that enriches my life and keeps me from coming to the end of another year saying, "What the heck did I do all year?!"

With this in mind, January was all about reading for me.  First of all, it was a month of unrelenting illness in our home.  {E} caught it first, then she lovingly passed it on to her brother, {S}, then I was out for over a week with a fever that topped out near 102.5.  Ouch.  The point being, there was a lot more time than normal for reading, as we were homebound and even more anti-social than usual.

I was able to read two books, which is actually not bad when you consider that I have two children aged three or younger (and two dogs and a volunteer gig).  The first book was a Christmas present that I was greatly anticipating, Rosemary: The Hidden Kennedy Daughter, by Kate Larson.  I had read briefly about Rosemary in another Kennedy bio, The Kennedy Men, (which I have yet to finish) and after starting to work for the Special Olympics, I definitely wanted to know more about her.  I was not disappointed.  Larson gives an intriguing look into the Kennedy lifestyle and expectations, and how they shaped the care that Rosemary received.  What struck me most as I read was how similar their journey was to that of families today.  The only difference being at that time, the chance to educate a child with disabilities was reserved for the elite who could pay for 1:1 aides and private schools that would take in these students.  I was truly only aware of the institutional side of special education at that time and had no idea that these opportunities existed, albeit only for those with the means to pay.  Prior to the controversial and tragic surgery that would change her life, Rosemary's educational experience could easily have happened today.  Her parents were changing environments often, looking for the next "fix," or cure-all for her disability.  I do understand the educational decisions her parents made, but I also understand the frustration of the educators who knew that what she needed was structure and stability.  It is a fight being played out in schools across America every single day.  But thankfully for students, it is now a RIGHT and not a privilege.

The next book I read was a quick Mitch Albom read, The First Phone Call from Heaven.  I received that book as a Christmas gift as well, but last year.  It sat on my shelf for a year and I read the first chapter a half dozen times at least.  It just did not hook me right away the way some of his other books have.  I was firmly resolved to cross it off the list this time though and once I was a chapter or two in, I enjoyed it.  There isn't a ton to say about it, other than it is typical Mitch Albom.  It tugs at your heart strings, give some good lessons about life and grief and has an interesting twist.  I feel like he also touches on sensationalism journalism and fanatical religion without being overtly political or critical.  Overall, a good read.

I read another book last week, but it was technically February so it counts toward this month's list I suppose.  I pulled out My Sister's Keeper, read two chapters and promptly decided to give it away.  I think I picked it up at a garage sale before I had children.  Well now, it literally made me sick to my stomach to read about a sick child and I just couldn't do it.  Every night in my prayers I thank God for my children's health and this book gave me such a visceral reaction I knew I would never make it through.  So that was out.  Instead I decided to tackle a Willa Cather book that I had not read, O Pioneers!  I do not know what it is about her writing but I cannot get enough.  She has a sensibility in her style that perfectly compliments the subject matter.  She can beautifully relate the majesty of the untamed frontier without being overly romantic about it and therefore betraying the ruggedness and rawness of pioneer life.  Perhaps it appeals to my own "Midwestern-ness" or maybe there is something left in my blood somewhere from the tough farm life in which my Amma (Icelandic for Grandmother) was raised.  The really funny part is the Willa Cather quote that framed my last post is actually from O Pioneers!  I really enjoyed that.  And at any rate, I can't get enough.  I'm re-reading My Antonia now.  I'm telling you these books are poised to take over as my all-time favorites, even over Gatsby.  That's pretty huge for me.

Ok, so now that I am done geeking out and exposing myself for the literary nerd that I truly am, I need to figure out what I am adding for February.  I do have some "upcycle" crafts that need to be done. I guess that is not really an addition, but the routine of doing, say, two a month would be.  Or maybe yoga...stay tuned!

-E

A Toast to 2016

"There are only two or three human stories, and they go on repeating themselves as fiercely as if they had never happened before." -Willa Cather

Well, here we are.  Another door opened, another blank canvas, another cliched metaphor to start us on this new calendar year.  Despite all the trite celebrations and empty resolutions, I do find myself feeling a renewed hope in the clinking of champagne flutes and singing of "Auld Lang Syne."  I have always been a person who responded to change and transition when it was associated with dates, perhaps it is a function of my meticulous personality. So it is with optimistic excitement that I approach 2016.

A great deal has changed for me over the past year.  At this point in 2015, I had a two month old baby boy tethered to me, and a two and a half year old self-described "big girl" helping out.  I was at the nearly six month mark in my decision to stay home with my growing family and was deeply enjoying the hibernation of a true Midwestern winter.  (A new baby is an excellent excuse to stay inside and cuddle!)  

While I am still committed to my decision to stay home with my children, I have since begun various volunteer ventures both in our church and the community that keep our family busy.  I do my best to support my husband's career and keep our household running smoothly.  ("Smoothly" being a relative term, and should not be confused with "neatly" or "in a manner free from mess or clutter.") I am acutely aware that while I view my staying home as a sacrifice I make for my family, there are so many others who would view it as the highest luxury.  I would not trade it for the world.

We still face the challenges of not living close to our family and not having that tangible support system to watch our children as needed.  We are, however, blessed to have a comfortable lifestyle that affords babysitters as needed, within reason.  There is nothing terribly exciting or outstanding about our story.  We try to make a difference where we can while providing the best for our kids, just like generations before us.  This is why I chose the Willa Cather (one of my favorite authors) quote.  In our ultra-demonstrative society, we all want to believe what we are doing is extraordinary, and for some people perhaps that is true.  But I think more of us fit into Ms. Cather's way of thinking, into those two or three stories that play out again and again.  And truth be told I don't think there is anything wrong with that.

So I propose a toast to 2016, whatever it brings.  May the New Year renew your purpose as it has mine, and help us to find our way in telling our stories.

-E