Good-bye

He's leaving me.

I knew the minute I got home and received the news. I just had a bad feeling at the pit of my stomach.

The man who's seen me naked on a regular basis.

The man I share my deepest darkest secrets with.

The man who has shared in my biggest joys and my deepest sorrows.

The man I call when I'm not feeling well.... who calms me down when I'm stressed out.

The man whom, when I found him, I just knew we were the right match.

The first person to see Logan when he was born.

That sonofabitch He's leaving me....

My OB is moving on - and we couldn't be more bummed of the news.

Something about "giving back" through International Medicine and "treating individuals who are often poor, displaced, unloved and ignored" - as if that is more rewarding than delivering automatically well-off babies, born into suburban Silicon Valley homes.

As if.

I suppose it was bound to happen sometime, I just didn't think it would happen this soon. So, what the hell am I going to do now?

(We wish you well, but will miss you dearly Doc. *sniff sniff*)

Seven Stages

Today would have been our first scheduled ultrasound to see the new little baby. And, just when I had thought I was finally coming to accept events over the past week or two, another wave of sadness has hit me.

It's interesting what grief will do to a person. And, how each person deals with it so differently. Without realizing it, I've slowly been working my way through the seven stages of grief. I know there will still be some setbacks, like today (when I had to explain to my back doctor that my increased back pain was due to my recent miscarriage). But overall, I am feeling SO. MUCH. BETTER.

Thank you to everyone for your kind words and support. I haven't had a chance to answer each of you personally - it's tough and I tend to hole myself up when the emotions get too overwhelming, but know that I appreciate it and thank you all from the bottom of my heart.

In no particular order (other than alphabetical)... :)

1. Acceptance. As I said before, I know that things are for the best and this was Nature's way of taking care of a little baby who wouldn't have been able to survive on his own in our harsh world. I've come to terms with the fact that I accidentally (wonderfully!) got pregnant, and that unfortunately, it didn't work out. And, amazingly enough, when I am not pulled down by the depression, I actually look brightly toward the future. And wistfully dream about the next little baby to add to our family. Thinking about getting pregnant again tells me I've hit acceptance. And I'm ready for whatever comes next.
2. Anger. I don't think I've felt particularly angry. Sad, yes. Devastated, absolutely. But not angry. I've read that in natural death, anger is not as severe (as in cases where the death could have been prevented). But, if there was any twinge of anger, it was that Jon didn't seem as affected by the loss as I was. I found out, however, the loss did hurt him too. Appearances are everything, and if there's one thing I've learned, it's that everyone grieves and shows their feelings in oh so different ways!
   
3. Denial. I started this one LONG before I ever miscarried. I was in denial that I was even pregnant! :) This can't be happening to me, I thought. I can't possibly be pregnant. And then, I miscarried. And again, all I thought was, this can't be happening to me. I can't possibly be having a miscarriage. It was so surreal. I would (and still do) sometimes conveniently "forget" I was ever pregnant or ever miscarried. Talk about a bad dream.
   
4. Depression. The biggie. The sadness I have felt from this loss is overwhelming. And, I have felt hopeless to boot. As soon as I started bleeding, immediately, I felt empty inside. I literally felt like I was dying. A part of me was dying. And, altho I am doing much better now, I'm not quite sure I have dug myself out of this dark hole just yet. Because, I find myself still trying to fill the emptiness inside. With words (especially when I cannot sleep late at night). With distracting errands and activities throughout the day since I cannot concentrate on anything else. With food. Food has actually been the biggest symptom that tells me I'm not 100% better yet - since I have struggled every day so far, with what I am eating, what I am putting in my mouth. That, conscious or not, I am physically trying to fill the emptiness inside. And, I know this is definitely not good for my diet, not good for my weight loss goals. And yet, I don't really give a shit right now.
5. Fear. What if this happens to us again? Will I be able to deal with another loss? Can I ever get pregnant again? Do I *want* to get pregnant again?
   
6. Guilt. Was there anything I could have done differently, to prevent the miscarriage? Was it because I was on Aleve morning, noon and night? Was it because I let Logan climb on me like a jungle gym and use my belly as a stepping stool to push off of? Was it because of the many ultrasounds I had during PT? Was I exposed to too much scatter in the room, when I held Logan's hips down for his recent x-ray? But more than any of those things, what I feel most guilty about, is feeling better.
7. Shock. I have been operating in a fog, sometimes efficiently, sometimes not. But, I'm coping regardless. And, I'm pretty sure any shrink would tell me the fog is protecting me from more serious mental problems or instability. That this is the way humans cope during a very devastating time. Whatever the explanation, I am still in shock. Yes. I am still in complete, utter, disbelief.
   

I know that this loss may disappear as a faint memory 50 years from now. But I don't want to forget about this little one. Not now. Not yet. Not ever.

And so, there are many reasons why I write in this blog. But most of all, it's been very therapeutic. I can share my stories. I can record my stories. I can preserve my stories.

~~~~~~~~

My OB actually apologized when he found out we were leaving for our vacation so shortly after the miscarriage. He told me this was no way to start out a big fun trip. I suppose one could look at it that way. However, I'm actually really looking forward to our trip. I'm looking forward to it more than I did before, if that is even possible. Because, as well as I feel like I am doing physically, mentally, emotionally, I still need to get away. I need to get as far away as possible. I need to get off the grid for a little bit.

I need to relax, smile, soak up the sunshine and laugh as Logan squishes sand between his toes. I need to enjoy our close friends' company. I need to rediscover my love with Jon.

I need to heal.

What better place, than New Zealand?

Life and Death

Just last week, I had written out a beautifully touching, witty, fun post when we (officially) found out that we were pregnant. Unfortunately, this is not that post.

Within the past week or so, I was riding one of the biggest emotional roller coaster rides of my life. I had an idea that I was pregnant for a number of weeks, but resisted taking a test to make it official. When I finally peed on a stick I held my breath while reading the result. And, upon seeing those two little lines, I suddenly had a wave of emotions wash over me. Relief, nervousness, excitement, elation, and more than anything else probably, overwhelming fear.

It took most of that day for the news to sink in. Jon and I started discussing how we’d need to change our lifestyle, our finances, our furniture! In order to make room for a new little bundle of joy. How close will the babies be in age? Just 17 months – YIKES. It was a conversation we hadn’t planned on having for quite some time, yet I found myself enjoying it, nonetheless.

By the following day, we were getting excited. We were both on board, and whether too soon or not, we were ready to welcome this little one into our family in just 9 short months. I skipped through the rest of the week at work happier than ever. I had a dirty little secret that was making me smile inside and out. I was DYING to tell the world. WE’RE PREGNANT! But, I held back. We had told my dad about the news, but no one else, not even my mother (she was out of town), nor our best friends.

As the days flipped by, I could tell I was getting more and more emotionally attached to this little one. I called our doctor, spoke to him about some of my initial concerns, and made an appt for our first ultrasound. I got a journal (same one I had for Logan) and started filling in the dates to calculate when we conceived, and when we were due (May 1st). I signed up for the weekly pregnancy newsletter. I felt light "flutters" which were probably nothing more than gas this early in the game, yet it brought back so many old happy memories of what it was like to be pregnant! I started re-arranging the house furniture and rooms, within my head, to make room for another baby. I even went to a “Pregnant Mom’s Lunch”, lying to everyone that I wasn’t pregnant but just there to give my friend some moral support (which was true). I obsessed over when we should tell everyone our shocking news – our family, our close friends, everyone else on the Internets. I debated back and forth whether we should spill the beans before, or after, our trip to New Zealand.

I started looking at the decorations in Logan’s room, wondering if we were going to have a girl (and whether I’d need to buy additional, more girlie, stuff?) or if we were going to have another boy. I thought long and hard about whether I’d prefer having another boy or a girl. And, came to the conclusion that, I honestly didn’t care. Whereas before, I was leaning toward wanting a girl (because I thought I’d be able to relate to my first born more if she was a girl); now I wasn’t so sure. Could I relate to a little girl anymore, now that I have a boy? Wouldn’t it be fun for Logan to have a little brother to rough house with? Maybe two boys would be great fun. But, chances are, we wouldn’t have a third, so would I be okay with never having a daughter? Yes, all these thoughts and more, raced through my head. I even started thinking about names, all over again. And, which ones I liked best for a girl and which for a boy.

A little over a week ago, I was scared shitless about what our lives would be like with a second baby added to the mix. A few days later, I was impatient for the months to just skim by so we could meet Logan’s younger sibling.

So, you can imagine, how my highest of highs, suddenly plummeted to the lowest of lows, when I started bleeding Saturday morning. And, shortly after, I started cramping and feeling pretty achy all across my hips and lower back. Though some women do bleed early on in their pregnancy, I somehow - instantly - knew this was not good. Visions of sugarplums no longer danced in my head. I wanted to crawl into a dark little black hole and cry myself to sleep instead.

My OB happened to be on-call, so I was lucky enough to talk to him about what was happening. Unfortunately, since it’s still fairly early in the pregnancy, there’s not much we could do but sit and wait. I had some blood drawn on Saturday, and some more drawn yesterday, to monitor the pregnancy hormone, hCG, and see whether it was rising (still pregnant) or falling (miscarried).

It fell. Dramatically.

But I knew it would. I had hoped it wouldn't, but I knew it would. The bleeding and cramping has continued, throughout the weekend and this week. I have struggled going about my normal day. I have trouble carrying on any sort of real conversation. I keep thinking back to the past week of wonderful happiness and day-dreaming I had done. And how none of that is going to come true. I'm in a daze, not believing I've actually miscarried. I lost my hope, my desire, my will to live. I’ve been consumed by a dark depression; tears won’t stop streaming down my face.

And, I’ve had the mother of all headaches.

I know that, in the end, everything happens for a reason and it’s all for the best. That it was a blessing when we accidentally got pregnant but that we actually weren’t really ready. I know miscarriages are nature’s way of taking care of the unhealthy babies that are having problems developing. I know they are also a sign that the mother’s body isn’t ready for a(nother) pregnancy (especially after a traumatic delivery like I had with Logan, I'm sure). I know I should think positively, that this is nature's way of righting our course, that it’s not the right time just yet, that we now have a chance to plan the second one so much better, and that it will give us a chance at creating a stronger and healthier baby next time around.

I know, in my mind, that’s all true, yet none of it makes me feel any better, nor makes the grieving process any easier. My heart refuses to believe any of it and is instead screaming at me. Scraping and pounding on my chest inside.

But I know, that just like I embraced this pregnancy whole-heartedly in just a few short days, the pain will also, somehow, slowly melt away. That time is the best medicine. That writing it out here is about the only thing that’s made me feel any better so far.

That and, hugging my beautiful son, loving husband and pillow that muffles my cries and soaks up the days’ tears each night.