Thursday, July 11, 2013

One Month

Dear Nathaniel,

A year ago I never would have thought that you'd be here. A year ago, my heart was shattered by the loss of another baby, a baby your dad and I never got the chance to meet.  After years of waiting, it was a devastating blow, and I thought we would never have the chance to welcome a child into our lives.

So, when we first found out about you, it was a different pregnancy. I didn't run out and buy the baby books or the journals. I didn't take pictures to document every step of the journey. I thought that, like our first baby, our journey with you would end abruptly. When we lost our baby the first time, I had to go back into the photos and delete everything that I had taken, because it just hurt too much to have that memory. All the presents and books and momentos were a constant reminder of what we had lost. I fully expected for you to disappear, too, and, for the sake of self-preservation, I tried not to get too excited about you.

But, now that you're here, it's time to write down what I can remember, for posterity's sake. You're already a month old and the moments are so fleeting that I'm realizing how quickly I'll forget the precious details of you - details I don't want to forget. Because if there's one thing I've learned. It's that's I don't know how much time we have with you, and I don't want to forget a single second of it.


Saturday, May 26, 2012

May 26, 2012


Sunday, February 12, 2012

February 12, 2012

It's been nearly 2 months since we lost our little one, and although life has seemingly gone back to "normal," I still feel like I'm holding all my tears at the back of my throat, ready to lost it at any given moment.

I thought I'd be much better by now.  I thought I'd be more positive, happy, and accepting of what had happened and the possibilities of the future.  Instead, I'm angry, bitter, and resentful that we're exactly where we were 6 weeks ago.  Without a little one, and with no possibility of having one any time soon.

I'm so tired of feeling sad.  I'm tired of choking back tears when I see reminders of what we had, tired of being angry at people who don't understand, and tired of feeling guilty for being sad.  I just want to be happy again.  How long is that going to take?

Sunday, January 22, 2012

Found this today...

My Mom, she tells a lot of lies she never did before
From now until she dies, she'll tell a whole lot more.
Ask my mom how she is and because she can't explain,
She will tell a little lie because she can't describe the pain.
Ask my Mom how she is, She'll say "I'm alright."                                                  
If that's the truth, than tell me why does she cry each night?
Ask my Mom how she is, she seems to cope so well.
She didn't have a choice you see, nor the strength to yell.
Ask my Mom how she is,"I'm fine, I'm well, I'm coping."
For God's sake Mom, just tell the truth just say your heart is broken.
She'll love me all her life, I loved her all of mine.
But if you ask her how is she she'll lie and say she's fine.
I am here in Heaven.
I cannot hug from here.
If she lies to you don't listen, hug her and hold her near.
On the day we meet again, we'll smile and I'll be bold.
I'll say, "You're lucky to get in here mom, with all the lies you told!"
- Author Unknown

Saturday, January 21, 2012

January 21, 2012

It's been exactly one month since we lost our baby.  And it doesn't hurt any less.

Monday, January 02, 2012

January 2, 2012

It is such a relief to have a new year to look forward to.  2011 was a relatively good year for us, but it was totally overshadowed by our loss at the end.  Although I've been trying to count my blessings, it's been hard to stay positive when I feel so empty inside.

I have great hopes for this new year, that we will continue to be blessed with health, family, and friends.  This year I hope to manage my health better, and to be a better wife, friend, teacher, sister, and daughter.  I will try to find time to pray more, love more, and learn more.  Thank goodness for the promise of a new year.

Tuesday, December 27, 2011

Christmas weekend 2011, I'm sure, will be one that I will remember for a very long time.  But the details of this experience are already starting to fade -- I am forgetting dates, people, and faces.  But those are the dates, people, and faces that belonged to our first baby, and I don't want to forget, no matter how devastating the experience was.

Friday night we left Urgent Care with heavy hearts.  Dr. Wong hadn't been able to confirm the miscarriage was happening, and Damon and I walked out to the parking lot holding tightly to each other, and to that small glimmer of hope that we would be ok.  We called our parents, and Hollie, and I know that everyone was praying extra hard that night. 

I cried myself to sleep, knowing in my heart what was happening inside of me.  As I walked in and out of sleep, I remember waking up in the middle of the night and seeing more blood.  And I knew.  I knew baby wouldn't make it.  I finally fell asleep sometime around 3 a.m.

I woke up Saturday morning and for a brief second, the world felt ok -- the sunlight was warm, and the hope of Christmas Eve filled my heart.  Then, the nightmare of the last evening came flooding back, and the tears started to flood my eyes.  I got up and cried by myself for a while in bed, waiting for Damon to get up. 

Damon and I were determined to be positive -- to spare each other the grief, I think.  We got up and acted like it was any other day, focused on helping each other cope and celebrating Hollie's birthday.  Thank goodness we had things to do -- it kept our minds off of what was happening to our precious little one.  We went to Porto's to pick up Hollie's birthday cake, picked up some good food and brought it back home. 

The rest of that morning is blurred in my mind already -- I think we spent the morning cleaning up, and I know that at some point we went to the grocery store.  I remember that I had left my phone at home, but didn't care because I knew our loved ones could reach Damon instead. 

Once we got home, I noticed a missed call from my sister on my phone.  I checked my voicemail and heard the voice of Dr. Wong.  "I have your test results.  Please call me back at Urgent Care," he said.  I called the office but he was with a patient.  Damon and I sat on the couch quietly, while I called my sister back and she said, "Are you ok?"  No one had told her what had happened, since she had been away from home the night before.  But a bad dream about the baby made her worry, and she called to check up on me.  Just as she asked her question, my phone beeped.  It was the doctor.  I switched over, holding the phone between Damon's face and mine.  My hcg levels were dropping and we were definitely miscarrying the baby.  Dr. Wong continued talking, telling me that these things happen, that he was sorry, that I needed to take care of myself now.  All I remember is the look on Damon's face - that last glimmer of hope had faded.

I called my sister back and gave her the bad news that she had already dreamed the night before.  We called our parents, and Hollie, and then I just broke down and cried on Damon's shoulder. 

Eventually my parents came over, then Damon's, then my sister.  Not knowing how to cope, I focused my energy on baking Christmas cookies for the family and Damon worked on his Oakley case.  It's as if we each needed to take our love for baby and put it somewhere new.  Somehow, having a project and people around us gave us the strength we needed to get through it.

Somewhere around 3 or 4 o'clock that afternoon, I felt it start.  The blood was rushing out in waves, completely unexpectedly.  Our parents left back to their homes, and I was getting scared.  The waves were coming more frequently now and I eventually gave up managing all the blood and decided to shower before getting ready for Hollie's birthday dinner.  In the shower I cried the hardest I had ever cried in my life, as I saw all of our baby's life go down the drain.  Every wave of blood was another reminder that we were losing our baby, and I heaved heavy cries with each one.  My heart was breaking.  But that's when I stopped crying.

An hour later, I was trying to get dressed, but the blood kept spilling out.  It was so much and so frequent that I couldn't even get dressed without having blood spill out on the floor and all over me.  I got back in the shower, thinking that I could wait it out, but the pain worsened.  Our friends had come over by then, and I tried to see if the blood would subside, but it didn't.  Eventually I had to tell Damon to let them go on without us.  Maybe, just maybe, we could make it to dinner as planned.  Maybe it would stop and we could go on with our lives and pretend like the nightmare wasn't real.

I ended up spending 3 hours in the shower that night.  The most horrifying 3 hours I've ever lived through.  And yet, it was very peaceful.  I was blessed that as baby was leaving my body, baby didn't cause any pain.  I was blessed that Damon sat with me, holding my hand and offering his support through each wave of loss.  At one point, though, the pain in my stomach grew very strong.  I could feel small contractions and that's when baby left me.  My face grew cold and I was dizzy.  Damon and I got scared and called the doctor's office.  The nurse told us to go to the E.R.

We got in the car and drove what seemed like forever to get to Beverly Hospital.  They admitted me right away and we went through the same motions of the night before - taking blood, an exam, and an ultrasound.  We were done by 10:30, and waited a long time in the waiting room for the results.  I was eventually discharged just seconds before midnight Christmas morning, with a stack of papers showing that baby was no longer with us, and the only evidence of pregnancy a small number of hormones still left in my blood.  We were numb with the cold of the night and the emptiness in our hearts.  But I still didn't cry.

Thank goodness our friends came to spend some time with us at home.  We played games and still had a chance to celebrate Hollie's birthday, although it was a bit somber.  I went to bed that night and although my heart was heavy with our loss, it was also filled with all the love and support of our family, our friends, and especially of Damon.

Though I am still bleeding, and still going through the loss, I am counting my blessings today.  Despite the fact that this experience tarnished the holiday, I am very grateful that I have been continually surrounded by friends and family as we go through this difficult time.  I am so very thankful that this nightmare happened when I was at home, on vacation from work, when I didn't have to worry about my students or hiding what was happening.  I am so lucky to have had Damon with me, every step of the way, so that our loss wasn't one that I had to handle on my own.  I am so glad that my body was able to handle the loss on its own, without surgery or medicine to force baby out.  I am grateful to baby that the exit was quiet, quick, peaceful, and without physical pain.  Thanks be to God that this happened early in the pregnancy, before Damon or I got to hear our baby's heartbeat or see their beautiful face.  It would have been so much more devastating had this happened later in our pregnancy. 

Although I fear that this could happen again, I'm also determined to have that happiness once more.  I know that Damon and I are going to be great parents, and I hope that God will bless us with the chance, completely this time.  I pray that our baby made their way to Heaven and is looking down on us now, our own little Guardian Angel.