Signs

Robert was a very active baby--I first felt movement from him at approximately 9 weeks--and it wasn't gas!  And the bigger he got, the more he used to move.  Whenever his sisters would yell and scream and run around and get hyper, he would move.  When my husband used to goof off with my daughters, he would move.  When I tried to sleep at night, without fail, he would move.
When school started in the fall, I figured he would be quiet in the mornings and while I was on my feet all day moving around (my school gave me a horrible schedule, where every 40 minutes I was moving to another room, upstairs one period, downstairs the next, and I teach freshmen so the option to sit and let them be independent, especially in September is out of the question!).   As I sat in traffic one morning during that first week back, the Black Eyed Peas song I've Gotta Feeling came on the radio.  And as I sat there impatient to get to work after sitting in the line of cars pulling in to school, the baby started to move.  A lot!  It seemed as if he was dancing in there!  I was so amused, and pleased as punch!  I was just tickled.  Unfortunately for him I was able to pull into my parking spot, and the song was still playing and he was still moving.  I felt bad, but I was going to be late, and I had to turn the car and music off.  I told him I was sorry, but he could still keep moving.  And off to work I went.  After that, every time a Black Eyed Peas song came on the radio he would start dancing his little touchie off, )or 1 or 2 Katy Perry songs if he was in the mood, .  I experimented with other artists, other songs, but he wouldn't budge.  Only Black Eyed Peas was the sure thing).

So my first Monday back to work after the d & e, I was sitting in the line of cars, waiting to pull into the parking lot.  The radio was on to a random station.  I was trying to concentrate on the day ahead and what I was going to anticipate, and how I was going to deal with seeing everyone the first day back.  (I work with many lovely supportive people, and their hugs, while rough and made me cry that first week back, helped me to know and remind me still that i'm not alone).  And suddenly, I heard the first few bars of the song I hadn't heard since he left us.  If you know the song, you know that the beginning is unique and can't mistake it.  I turned up the radio, and realized it was I've Gotta Feeling...I started to cry and shake right then and there.  In my car, with senior students staring at me as we were pulling in.  I pulled in, and texted my husband that his song just came on the radio, and I didn't think I could do this after all.  He called me back immediately and wanted to make sure I was going to walk into school.  I had turned off the song, and tried to calm down, and eventually did walk in, and went back to work.

Today, it is 7 weeks since we learned of our baby boy's demise.  During my 7th period class (the ones that nicknamed the baby), one of the students asked if I liked the Black Eyed Peas.  I responded I used to, and the kids at his table quickly realized that I might start getting upset, and tried to get him to change the subject.  That only confused the student more, because he didn't remember the class discussions we had (well, debates) because the students wanted the baby to move always during their class and tried to get me to put on this song so the baby could move.  But it was so sweet to see the kids be that sensitive to me, and we managed to get back on task, and moved on with class.  The next period is my prep period, and I am dealing with a huge issue at work (not student related--my kids are awesome) and was having a tough emotional day...I still had to put grades in the gradebook,  handle writing a letter and grading.  I started bringing my ipod to work when I came back to tune out everything around me when I needed to.  Today was one of those days.  So I broke out the ipod, turned on the laptop that is assigned to me, and opened up Word and starting typing...or I tried too.  The first song on my ipod that came on...you got it...I've Gotta Feeling.  I stopped typing, and just sat there.  I wanted to cry, but something just stopped me.  I took a deep breathe, listened to the song and just allowed myself to remember the happy times associated with that song--and looked out the window at the clouds and sky, and realized that my little boy was up in heaven dancing his little booty off.  And that thought made me smile (if you knew me and my husband you know we aren't dancers lol).  My baby is dancing and is ok.  I went onto my message boards to write a quick message about my good moment of acceptance, and then got back to work, still smiling.  I thought about how maybe this song is now my sign from my son from heaven, that he is thinking of me still and watching over me.  When I got in my car this afternoon to leave work, I am now absolutely sure that having this song play is my son's way to letting me know he is still looking after me...because guess what song was on the radio?
It is so bittersweet because I want to feel sorry for myself, that I'm not feeling him kick in real time to the music, but to know that he and I have this special song...it gives me a sense of knowing he was my boy, and always will be there for me!
Robbie--Thank you for today.  I needed that so much from you to know you are ok.  Have fun dancing with your friends in heaven and save a dance for me...okay? i love you...mommy

No Guarantees

So since New Year's Eve, I have been writing out everything in Word, editing it, and then posting it on this blog. On top of that, I have been exercising like crazy, because the more I exercise and write, the better I feel, and more I sleep.  I do about 25 minutes of cardio or strength training thanks to Comcast On Demand, then 10 minutes of pilates, and 10 minutes of yoga (it really does help release the anger).  I just hope I can continue doing this during the work week--or else my PMS on top of grief won't be pretty for me, my students or my co-workers.  But staying off of xanax is definitely a hard choice-it would be so much easier to just stay on it, and not worry about finding "me" time.  I know I need to lose at least 15 pounds to get back to my pre-pregnancy weight.  It sucks to think about that if I just was able to breast feed, the weight would have been gone weeks ago!
But I was hesitant going back to work today--almost worse than the first day of school jitters.  This year is going to be very different from what I had envisioned.  Instead of going out on leave in approximately 8 -10 weeks, I am in school through June, with a summer job lined up pending approval for the deli.  There are other issues at work, that I really feel are so unimportant, but you still have to handle them.  And I really do have to have faith that things are just going to work out, and obviously Mario and I are poor planners because the life we had planned for slipped through our fingers.  My job, my family, having another baby, somehow its just going to have to all work out, one way or another.  Its a lot easier to type that than believe it!
But today, at work at the copier, a fellow teacher came up to me, and told me she didn't want to make me upset, but she wanted to share with me that she had 4 miscarriages, and that she knew what i was going through, but not really because her pregnancies were not as far along as mine.  I told her I am learning that it doesn't matter--once we see the two lines, we are already new mommies.  We talked about how we are both Christians, but even this has us perplexed and we don't understand why God could allow something like this to happen--such heartache and sorrow.  We talked about the innocent belief of pregnant women about milestones: if you see "this" at 6 weeks, you are doing good.  At 8 weeks if you see the heartbeat, that's great!  At 12 weeks, at the end of the first trimester, and you see the heartbeat, you are in the clear until the anatomy scan.  But if bloodwork comes back normal, and you are feeling okay, and the ultrasounds in between look good and baby is growing, then you should bring your baby home in your arms after 9 months--right?  Wrong!  There are no guarantees, even as late as the 39th week.  But for new naive mothers, they allow themselves to believe the milestones guarantee because you can't fathom the reality of what if something did go wrong?  And it was so nice, that even though I've posted this before on my board with my supportive group of ladies, to actually hear another mother bring it up!  Life truly does have no guarantees.  But she also wanted to tell me to have hope, and that one day I will have my take home baby.  That this sad, dark time, will get better-never leave.  I appreciated her coming up to me and sharing this with me.  She said she realizes that no one talks about it--its a taboo subject, and i agree.  Why can we light up message boards, and have blogs and online support groups, but where do we talk about it in real life?  No one wants to hear that there are no guarantees--even in pregnancy.  So does that mean our grief is less than others who have lost loved ones?  Does it mean our little angels don't get to be remembered by anyone but ourselves and  our families?
I don't think so.  I'm sure it makes other people uncomfortable, but I need to talk about my son, and how he is watching over all of us right now.  There was no guarantee I would hold him, and sing him to sleep, but there was the guarantee that I would love my little boy the moment I first knew I was carrying him.
I appreciate each person who allows me to speak of my grief, who understands I am not the same person I was 7 weeks ago, who is patient and lets me ramble, who comes up to me in parking lots and gives me a hug, because they know I need it and they want me to know they care, who allows me to stay in bed as long as I may need or work out as much as I want to make myself feel better,  who helps to bring a little bit of happiness and distraction for my family when I just can't pull it together some days.
Chamilia charm bracelet--was special because my mother in law--your "nanny" gave me an angel charm.  So all day today I kept touching the bracelets as a reminder of you and that although life may go on, there are no guarantees, but at least i have the fact that i love you very much, and know that you will always be my angel, watching me, your daddy, your sisters and the rest of your family.

New Traditions

 My New Year's Eve consisted of being with my husband who was sick with a bad cold and took Nyquil at 9:00 that night and passed out dead asleep by 9:30, and I played Solitare until the sleeping pill kicked in (yes, I am aware that I should be mindful of how much I take it, but I'm pretty sure since I didn't sleep the night before and was having a rough time with the new year, it was warranted to be okay to take it).  When I woke up, I immediately went to go work out--I still have 20 pounds to lose of the baby weight.  Plus our counselor thinks that if I don't want to go on a drug like Lexipro or stay on the Xanax (which I don't), I have to find an outlet for my anger and sadness.  So, off to exercise I went--I hate feeling like I can't get out of bed.  I just want to lay there and think of what I should be doing right now, instead of what reality has brought me.  I have to say I'm proud of the fact that I got up and exercised for 30 minutes (20 minutes Fitness 360 and 10 minute of Fitness 360 yoga), and that afterward I felt a little more normal.  If only I can do this every morning before entering the world!  Work has me extremely anxious right now--there's lot of issues going on (that were happening before my son died) that when you have an insensitive supervisor (i'm a high school physical science teacher), who doesn't get that I wasn't home for 2 1/2 weeks eating chips and shopping and relaxing.  Harassment would be the best would I can use to describe his attitude toward me.  And unfortunately, where I would have just smiled and dealt with him as best I could till June, I don't have that care in me anymore to make him happy.  He and I had a conference within my first week returning...but more on that another day.

Anyway, after I was done exercising, Mario and I had to get ready and go pick up my daughters from his parents house (they wanted to have them for a sleepover New Year's Eve, which was great for them, to be spoiled and have fun with their grandparents).  Plus he and I were supposed to go to our friends' house, but with Mario being sick, and me being an emotional mess , I didn't think it would be a great idea.

People on the beach watching

As I was getting ready, I was thinking about what we could do for New Year's Day, without spending tons of money--like going to Longwood Gardens (but with Mario being sick I didn't think being around pollen would help!) and going to the aquarium was expensive for the 4 of us to go.  So I had a brainstorm, and when I looked it up, it seemed to be a great idea!  Ocean City, NJ is our go to vacation spot.  We can go there for day trips, weekend trips, overnight trips, or week long vacations.  They have a celebration called "First Night" which culminates with fireworks on the beach at midnight to ring in the New Year.  The next day, its a shopping extravaganza, a 5K run on the beach, and the "1st day at the beach" where people gather in silly costumes, and take their first dip of the year into the Atlantic.  I brought the idea up to Mario, and while he still felt crappy, he was okay with it.  So we went to pick up the girls, and presented the idea to his parents, to see if they wanted to go with us.  We asked my sister and law and her boyfriend too.  But all politely declined.  

People getting ready to swim!

That was okay--we piled into the van, and off we went.  We arrived in Ocean City around 12, and set out to find a parking spot.  Ocean City was crazy! It was full of people, parking lots were full, and the roads were still covered in snow so street parking was tough.  We went to a parking we were familar with that was near the boardwalk, the bathrooms and our pizza stop.  And what do you know...we found a spot right away!  Normally this erupts into fighting and yelling...instead we were happy and smiling--go figure!

So we went up the boardwalk, and my girls saw snow on the beach for the first time.  They were so confused!  I'll post pictures.  It is surreal seeing snow on the beach, but so unique too.  We sat down in our favorite pizza place, Mack and Manco's, and ordered a large cheese pie, and 2 slices of white for my oldest, with 3 birch beers and 1 lemonade.  While this is our usual when we go to the beach in the summer, to do it New Year's Day was sweet, and nice, and gave the negative view I had for 2011 a bit of a positive spin.  Maybe life can go back to normal after all.  When we were eating, my husband's phone rang, and it was his mom--they had decided to come after all!  We laughed--we knew she couldn't stay away.  But she and my father in law were just walking the boards.  We could catch up with them later.
We finished up lunch, with pregnant women and infants in strollers walking around with  no break downs.  Then we walked on the beach, and while it was a bit nippy, we found a spot to observe the people jumping in the water at 2pm, and waited.  We saw dogs, my girls ran and played in the sand/ snow.  We laughed at costumes, and shook our heads at the girls and guys walking around in just their swimsuits (keep in mind it was about 48 degrees F yesterday, with a slight breeze).  And then, the countdown started, and a noise signaled for everyone to jump in (I think it was a noise, like a horn, but I'm not sure)...and right away you heard squeals and squeaks and yelps as people hit the cold water.  It was amusing!!  As we walked away, my oldest told me she wanted to do that one year, and so did my youngest.  I told them fine, I'll be waiting with the towels on the beach.  We went and got my oldest funnel cake, and my youngest asked for cotton candy (which they didn't have), so she settled for gummi worms instead from Shrivers.
As we walked back to the car, I reflected as to what a great tradition we started.  Take a great summertime tradition, but start it on the first day of the New Year.  There was a feeling of contentment that I felt, of reassurance, that life isn't all sad, going through our family's traditions of the Ocean City boardwalk.  And while my little boy won't be joining us next summer, there was a part of me that knew he was the reason we started the new tradition this year, so that in the summer maybe I won't be as upset.
Here's to new traditions in this new year!

Robert's Story

My husband and I really weren’t trying.  But our vacation to Chincoteague Island was going to be the start of us not being as careful.  We had no idea that 5 weeks after our vacation we would be pregnant.

I knew I was late, but didn’t think much of it.  One of my friends put it into my head just to test.  So, one morning, I got up, and took a home pregnancy kit.  And within a couple of minutes, sure enough, it was positive.  I was nervous, excited, and scared all at once.  Were he and I ready to add to the family? How would my girls take the news?  That we got pregnant so quickly amazed me.  I was going to keep quiet until I went to the doctors to get the bloodwork, but my new ob/gyn didn’t want to see me until I was 8 weeks along—3 weeks from when I found out.  Of course, I wanted to tell my husband in a special way, but we were going on a road trip that included going to an amusement park with roller coasters, and my doctor said no way.  Since my husband would be suspicious of me not going on the roller coasters, I had to tell him.  I took another test—just to make sure—and caught up with him in what was the office (now “the baby’s room”).  I told him guess what, showed him the stick, and explained what he was seeing.  He said “oh crap”.  Yes, just the thoughtful, meaningful, thing you want to hear from your spouse when you are caught off guard by the news too.  But I didn’t expect an over joyous reaction either—we knew that when I did become pregnant, he was going to be a nervous wreck the whole time.

So we went on our road trip—the morning sickness hadn’t kicked in quite yet.  We went to Niagara Falls, and then to Hershey (after visiting friends in NJ and seeing a hot air balloon festival).  While in Hershey we made a candy bar wrapper to show to our families when we announced the big news. 

The next few weeks went by quickly—morning sickness quickly set in, and I constantly wore sea bands, and had to sit in the recliner and watch Keeping up with the Kardasians (my guilty pleasure).  We had to hide from family because they would become suspicious.  Finally, the big day arrived, and we were so relieved to see a flicker of a heartbeat, and our little baby.  We took the pictures, along with the candy bar wrapper, and announced to our friends and families by the weekend. 

Every 3-4 weeks we went back, heard a strong heartbeat, and were content to know that the baby was growing well.  The morning sickness subsided just in time for school to start, but my belly expanded rapidly.  Everyone thought there were twins, or that it was just how big I was going to get for my third child.  But the doctor didn’t think anything of it.  If there was a baby hiding, we would find him/her at the anatomy scan.  

During these few months, we moved our office to the basement, and began painting the baby’s room.  My husband and sister in law painted a Calvin and Hobbes mural on one wall that went with the bedding my husband picked out.  We were waiting for the ok from the anatomy scan to buy furniture—I don’t know why, but I wouldn’t pick anything out, look at baby things, until we knew what the baby was, and that everything was growing fine.  I know my husband was going to be cautious—glass half empty—but I normally get very excited after the 12 weeks are over.  Looking back, I think I knew something wasn’t right.

At my 16 week check up, everything was fine.  We got the script to get the anatomy scan (normally 20 weeks).  When I called to make the appointment, I was so anxious to find out the sex of the baby that when the receptionist asked if we wanted to come in 2 weeks (putting us at 18 weeks, not 20), I couldn’t resist.  Besides—my daughters had their ultrasounds 1-2 weeks before the 20 week and we could see everything we needed.

So, on a Monday night my husband my mother in law and I went to the hospital to get the big ultrasound.  The woman wasn’t pleasant, and complained the entire time about how she couldn’t see any of the organs clearly to measure them.  We did however find out we were having a little boy.  She told us we were going to have to come back to get re-measured.  So, we left, knowing that we finally were having our little boy, and going to see the report in 3 weeks that wasn’t going to matter.

On November 17, I met my husband with my daughters at the ob office for our visit.  We were going to let the girls hear the heartbeat for the first time, and possibly see the baby and tell them they were going to have a baby brother.  What seemed like an unusually long wait, we were called back.  They did the normal vitals, and then the doctor told me about watching my weight, and that the radiologist didn’t report anything unusual, so we were good to go.  She got out the Doppler to hear the heartbeat, and she called my daughters back.  After 5-6 times of trying to “catch” the baby (we thought he was hiding), she said that she guessed their little brother just wanted to be seen instead, and we moved to the ultrasound room.  After 1 minute, the doctor asked my husband to take my girls to the waiting room.  I took that moment to look at the screen and noticed my baby was still—not moving.  He appeared to be sitting, with his little hands right in front of his chest.  I panicked and asked why was he so still.  Then it set in…there was no heartbeat, no movement.  My baby was dead.  I began to sob as my dr explained that she was sending me over to the hospital for a more detailed ultrasound, because maybe there was a heartbeat and her machine was too weak to detect it.  My husband called my aunt and his mom to come get the girls.  I called the girls in and explained that the baby was sick, and we had to go to the hospital to see what was going on, but we would be home later.

That began the darkest hours of my life.  I remember bits and pieces—the woman doing the ultrasound-Natalie, and her soft voice and apologies.  The people in the waiting room who helped get my husband from the hallway when we were called back.  My doctor coming in to tell me that I had to be brave, and that I had to see a doctor the next day to take the next step and find out why the baby died.  I remember walking into the house, with my aunt giving my daughters dinner, and the hugs.  My mother in law meeting us at the hospital, and supporting me as we walked out.  Me apologizing over and over, to no one in particular.  My husband not showing many emotions-just trying to figure out what to do because he had parent teacher conferences that night, and he couldn’t reach anyone to see if he was excused.  I remember calling my ex husband to tell him he was going to have to get the girls because we didn’t know what the procedure was, or what it was going to entail.  We thought we would be in the hospital the next day.  I remember my husband telling him to get the girls that night—which was the wisest choice made that day.  I remember not sleeping at all because nighttime was when I had special time with my son.  I would lay there and as I fell asleep, he would kick and move.  I couldn’t go near the bed because any time I lied down, I broke down.  He was still in me, and my heart broke because I couldn’t hold him. 

The next morning, we had to go see Dr. Davis.  My mom, my aunt, my in laws all called first thing to find out what was going on.  My aunt explained that the office would be sympathetic to my story, and wouldn’t let me stay in the waiting room with all the other expectant and new mothers.  I am so grateful, because it was 3 minutes I began to break down and sob because of all the women.  I asked the nurse to please have us sit somewhere else, and within seconds we were removed from the mothers and their babies. 

Dr Davis wanted us to get 1 more ultrasound—I knew I wasn’t emotionally prepared to see my dead son again…but they needed me in there.  My mother in law, father in law and husband all came into the room.  I covered my eyes and just cried as he put the jelly on my belly.  He kept apologizing too.  Soon, I heard my husband crack, and he was hugging me and crying.  My mother in law was behind him.  The technician was listening for the non-existent heartbeat—so all you heard was white noise.  My husband told me later that it was also the tech typing no heartbeat that got to him. 

We went back into the doctor’s office, where he explained that our baby died from fetal hydropsy.  Meaning that our little boy was absorbing the amniotic fluid.  And he pulled up the ultrasound from the 18 week one, and showed us how it was evident on that that our baby had it all along it seemed.  However, there were many causes and while he was going to try to find out, there was no guarantee.  It could have been a virus I contracted, a heart defect, or a chromosomal abnormality.  Because it was a Thursday, and I had never dilated, he wanted 2-3 days of prepping before the d & e.  Because Thanksgiving was the following week, we scheduled 1-2 procedures for Monday, 1 more on Tuesday, and Wednesday the d & e.  So I had to walk around for a week with a pregnant belly, knowing my baby was still in there.  It was the cruelest thing to ever have a mother do.  Friday we spent the day working on house projects that no longer seemed important—I was trying to have the house done before the baby was born.  Saturday and Sunday my girls came to visit.  We only had them for one night.  My mom came up with her kids, and she and my mother in law took all the girls to see a Cinderella show Saturday afternoon, so I could rest.  Sunday we went to my aunt’s house to visit with my mom.  It had been decided that Allie would go back to Virginia with my mom and sisters until Thanksgiving because they had tickets for The Nutcracker Ballet at the Kennedy Center in Washington DC.  And besides-my mom home schools her children, so Allie would just sit with them, so she would still have school.  Em would have to stay with us and we would take her to school Monday morning.  Unfortunately, I started to have contractions Sunday night.  I already had begun to notice my body going back to normal…my belly was not as firm, or large.  My face and upper body was thinning out.  The doctor wanted to meet us at Kennedy, and em went to spend the night with TT and PopPop.  The good thing about Sunday night was that we started the procedures so I wouldn’t have to have two on Monday. 

The next 3 days were nothing but filled with tears, pain, indescribable pain, uncomfortableness, and Harry Potter movies.  When Dr. Davis said he had to induce—he wasn’t kidding.  By Tuesday night, the Vicodin wasn’t even touching the pain.  Each time we saw Dr. Davis (Sunday night, Monday morning and Tuesday morning) he had to put in luminaries to help me dilate.  By Tuesday I was pushing them out unknowingly.  My husband sat by me, holding my hand, because as I cried, and tried to breathe through the pain, there wasn’t anything more he could do.  We even brought the iPod in Tuesday to try to distract me from the pain.  It didn’t.  Now, when I hear Alien Ant Farm’s “Movies” or Fall Out Boy, I can’t help but go back to that dark, dark, place in the chair. 

Wednesday morning my D& E was scheduled.  It was one week since we learned about Robert.  My in laws met us at Kennedy, at 6:30 in the morning.  My procedure was scheduled for 8:30 am, the day before Thanksgiving.  We went to admissions, and then told where to go upstairs.  I was ushered into a pre op room, where I was told to get into a gown, and slippers, and nothing else, and sat on a chair with a blanket covering me while nurses came in and out, asking questions and taking vitals.  The uterus pain at this point was inexcrucible, and my heartburn, which I had since 12 weeks, was rising up in my throat.  We were asked for the funeral home’s number (which my mother in law had).  I was asked a dozen times about the last time I had eaten or drinken, and any allergies I had.  Then a nurse asked if we wanted the baby baptized or blessed.  My husband and I hadn’t even known or prepared for this, so we decided on the spot to have the baby blessed.  We had to give his name, Robert Francis, and then asked if we wanted a copy of his footprints.  We were under the impression that we weren’t going to be able to see or have any memento of our son, so we answered of course, but didn’t really think we’d get that lucky. 

By 8:45 I was being wheeled into the OR.  They had given me a shot of something to relax me—I’m not sure what it was.  But I was out cold quickly and it seemed only moments later, I woke myself up sobbing “My baby, my baby, I just want my baby.”  Yes, I remember that quite clearly, as the doctor was on one side and the nurse on the other, comforting me, knowing that even though I was asleep when they took my son out of me, my mind knew, my subconscious knew.  I gave birth and would never hold him.  The doctor then told another nurse to get my husband in with me (I know no one is allowed in the recovery room with you, so this was another act of kindness).  And so we stayed, until I had eaten a cookie and had some ginger ale, and then they moved us to the post op room.  And there we stayed until 7:30 that night.  Apparently the 600mg of ibuprofen I was told to take every 4 hours, even when stopped at midnight, thinned my blood enough.  By 1pm, my blood pressure was dropping, and my bleeding was out of control.  I received a shot to help me contract more, and I was told there was a chance I would be wheeled back into the OR.  I knew I didn’t feel right.   The nurse on duty told me to rest, but I told her I was afraid I wouldn’t wake up.  It was that truthfulness of the nurse that made me realize how bad it was—she didn’t tell me I was being silly, or emotional.  She told me that she would find a way to wake me up—it was ok, they were watching me.  I told my husband to call my aunt—something wasn’t right.  Dr. Davis came in and out, and it was a waiting game to see when the bleeding would subside.  We had told Mario’s parents to go home earlier, before the bleeding was out of control, thinking we would be home right after them.  Boy were we wrong, and instead, we had phone calls from everyone, seeing why weren’t we home yet.  One of the darkest days had just gotten darker.  And, later, we learned that my mom received a phone call from my cell phone, with a voicemail from me…”Mom, you can come and get me now.” Click.  My phone was in my husband’s back pocket, or on the table on the other side of the room.  Never did I pick up the phone, or was I physically able to move at that point.  Once the bleeding had slowed down, everyone sighed.  We were given a packet full of information, and our son’s footprints.  So tiny…the length of my thumb.  But it was something tangible besides the memories.  This wasn’t just some awful nightmare—he did exist.  He was a part of me for 5 ½ months.  Those little feet moved to Katy Perry and Black Eyed Peas during the ride to school.  They bumped me when the girls and Mario were loud.  They kept me awake at night while I tried to sleep and he was wide awake. 

My aunt came by and relieved Mario so he could go grab dinner, and she and I sat and “visited”.  I remember her sharing with me about her breast cancer recovery—things I know she hasn’t told many people.  It made me realize just what a strong family I am a part of.  When Mario got back, we got the okay to get dressed and go home.  It was probably 6 or 6:30pm.  We had to go fill a prescription to keep me contracting to keep the bleeding under control.  I was on bed rest for the weekend to make sure my bleeding was under control.  I was weak, tired, emotional, and leaving the hospital with empty arms.  My baby bump was officially gone—which was a relief.  But I felt much different than just that. 

The last few weeks have gone by in a blur.  While Mario went back to work on the Monday after Thanksgiving, I stayed home an additional week.  My family checks on me everyday—through phone calls and texts.   My first week back wasn’t easy.  My students only know part of what happened—they think the baby just disappeared.  On Thursday a dear co-worker came up to me on hall duty and asked “remind me, when is your due date again?”   Speechless isn’t even enough to describe her reaction..She was furious no one was told.  Apparently, it was only by word of mouth.  Then Friday, three students on three different occasions came up and asked me either how was the baby? When did I have the baby?, and what happened to my belly?.  All former students from last year—my former freshmen.  We forgot that they were involved too—they asked about the baby.

My 7^th period has been the best—they had a nickname for our son—wauwubawu.  It was stupid and silly—but in some of the darkest moments, I remembered how that class would talk to the baby as a whole, and try to get him to move, and they came up with that nickname. 

On Saturday December 18th  we put Robert’s cremains to rest with my grandfather.  We wanted to also put some with my husband’s grandparents, but the cemetery isn’t being reasonable.  And Mario wants to keep some of the cremains in a little keepsake in a teddy bear in the house.  So, we ordered three keepsakes, and 1 we will keep until we decide what to do with it later.  (*we have decided that Robert's cremains are going into a stuffed dog that I gave Mario the first year we exchanged gifts as co-workers.  He had just moved into his new house, and was alone, and really wanted a dog.  So I went out and bought him a stuffed yellow lab, so that he would have his dog and not be alone.  We think this is more meaningful than just going to Build a Bear and building one together.  Plus there's infants and pregnant women at Build a Bear.  That way Robbie will be with what probably would have been his first hand me down stuffed animal.  Mario then wants to put him in a shadow box and we will hang it in our room.*) While I know Robert is in heaven, with his great grandparents, enjoying this time with them, looking down at us, it still pains me that I have to bury my son.  Life has to go on.  I am being told to take my time, do what I need to survive right now, take what I need for my family.  While in most aspects of my life I can do that, there are elements where life is a cruel reality, and there are those that aren’t sympathetic, who told me I have taken enough time.  There is the fact that it is the holiday season, and my daughters still expect to decorate a tree, bake Christmas cookies, and put out the Christmas lights.  Malls are filled with Christmas songs, sales and new mommies pushing their babies, eager to buy the presents for their first Christmas.  There are reminders everywhere of how I should be enjoying this Christmas—the first Christmas we are married, me pregnant with our first child, our little boy, anticipating the year to come.  I should be glowing, and have a big belly, and my husband should just be able to feel him kick and move, if not actually see the little feet and fists move across my skin.  But instead I am not eating—even if I was hungry, my belly doesn’t want any food, I am on the elliptical trying to lose these last 15 pounds.  I am trying to explain that Christmas isn’t about me getting anything—the one thing I want seems incomparable to anything else.  Nothing else matters above my own family’s health and happiness.  Any item I receive will only serve to remind me of this season.  I try to put on a smile, to get out of bed, and go shopping, and go through the motions.  But inside of me is just gray—where I feel like I am in a fog, just putting one foot in front of the other.  I do hope that this fog does lift…but until it does, I am barely making it by each day.  There are days I am making it hour by hour—until the end of 3^rd period, until lunchtime, until the end of the work day, until I get the girls from school, until dinner time, until bath/bed time.  I hope the days get easier.  Each morning I awaken to a new harsh reality—that I am not pregnant, there will be no baby in March, and my baby son is dead.  It is almost like when I sleep, I forget the horrors of this pain.  I sleep to escape.  But each morning I have to restart/reset. 

Having a stillborn isn’t talked about in society.  It is almost a taboo subject.  But for those that are brave enough to comfort, to share stories, to approach me, words can’t tell you how appreciative I am.  Without hugs, or words of comfort, I would feel so alone.  

Life's Not Fair

Remember when we were little, and our parents/ teachers/ adults in our lives used to tell us “Life’s Not Fair”.  After these last 7 weeks, I can’t even fathom what I thought was fair about life.  Nothing is fair about life.  Why some women get to enjoy pregnancy, oblivious to the dangers surrounding the unborn life they carry.  Why some women get those last few moments to hold their little one, to greet them, even if just for a short while, but have the memory of a picture, their touch, their smell, how they looked.  I don’t get any of this.  Even if we try again, I will constantly have the fear of what if.  Sure, the chances of a structural abnormality is nil, according to my perinatalogist.  But explain to me what the odds were of this happening the first time?  Numbers don’t comfort me anymore.  They mean nothing when you are that 1 in 4000 that this happened to.  If life was fair, I would be awake at 2:20am because my little boy would be rolling around, playing and kicking, experimenting with his hands.  Instead I’m awake because I can’t stop crying.  Tomorrow is New Year’s Eve, and my dear husband wants me to go with him to our friends’ house to celebrate.  He understands that I don’t want to go to their house because it was the last place my baby was alive.  What I don’t think he understands is that just like with Christmas and the holidays, I don’t have anything to celebrate.  Yeah, bring on 2011.  Sure…as my facebook friends are posting their well wishes for their friends in the new year, its just a slap in my face that 2011 is going to bring me : 1) no baby in March 2)  possibly no job by April and 3) the continuation of a lawsuit that started about a year ago, which has incurred several thousands of dollars that I don’t have for attorney fees.  I want to scream leave me alone.  I don’t have anything to look forward too.  If I could, I would pull the covers over my head and hibernate until 2012.  Maybe then 2012 would seem brighter than 2011, which hasn’t even started yet.  But I know its not fair to lash out at the innocents on facebook.  Its even more unfair to lash out at my poor husband, who is so confused by what to do to make me “normal” again.  So tomorrow he is going to change my password so that I’m not tempted to put anything on there that people might take offense to. 

Life sucks.  And at my darkest times, like right now, it is hard to see the silver lining.  Hell, its hard to see any lining at all.  Its now 2:25, and I’ve been in the bed crying because my dear husband doesn’t like me to cry alone.  I got up at 1:00am, with the idea in mind that I would cry myself to exhaustion out here, but apparently that didn’t work.  Instead I found myself back at the computer, playing Solitare again (I had played earlier this evening while my husband watched Book of Eli—as a side note, probably not a great movie to help cheer you up or lighten the mood).  I began crying with almost no effort while I lost game after game.  It wasn’t until the end of the movie that he looked over at me and saw the tears.  He was very confused.  The poor man.  He just wants to know why I’m crying all the time.  And I can’t even get any words out to help him understand more.  So I played at least 10 games of solitare with the plan that once I won a game I’d start typing my feelings out.  I tell my 7 year old all the time to write in her journal when she is upset, scared, or just can’t talk about it.  What type of role model am I if I can’t do the same thing?  By the way—I still haven’t won a game tonight.  But my hope is that somehow if I start writing my feelings out, and expressing myself, that my healing will begin.  I’m sure it has already, but on nights like these I am put back right to the doctor’s office staring at the ultrasound screen with my little boy so still.  You don’t forget that—ever.  And again I am reminded that life’s not fair.  In fact, its pretty damn well cruel.  

Introduction

I have been told since we learned of my little baby boy's demise at 21 weeks and 1 day that blogging is a useful tool in the healing process.  While my mother sent me tons of books to read in the early days following our news, there is  not much out there on the process.  What happens after you are told "I'm sorry, there is no heartbeat".  In the frantic hours after, with going to get another ultrasound to verify, and you are still processing that the little baby on the screen was your baby, and wasn't moving.  In fact, he was very still.  But more on his story later.  I first started writing just as a Word document, for my own healing.  But I think sharing it might help others help heal too.  To let other women know that they are not alone!  And in those confusing days that follow, what they might expect, and answer questions as to whether or not this is normal.
I am also grateful to have a great message board that has some wonderful women on it, that listen and show their support.  Please know that while I am simply a woman learning to find my own way through this personal hell, this darkness, I am not a professional.  I am just sharing my random thoughts and experiences.