Miscarriage...Again

I miscarried over the weekend. We've determined that I can't ever go through this again so this is the end of our Embryo Adoption journey. That's all we know now. Thanks for your prayers.

We Remember You

Thank you, Kirsten.

A Person's a Person, No Matter How Small

October is National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month. The 15th is specifically National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day.


Did you know that 1 in 4 suffers the loss of a child? More likely than not, the child(ren) of one of your loved ones is included in this day.

1 in 4 lose a child, and yet the American dialogue remains largely silent on the subject. I think that's one of the reasons that it's rather hard to cope with. I can't speak to losing a child I've carried to term, but at least in the case of miscarriage, there are no pictures. There are few to no pleasant memories. In early miscarriage, there's not even visible physical evidence of your child's existence. There are no funerals. There's just a void in your heart for the baby you loved the moment you knew of her existence. A void that only that child can fill. Though Matthew fills up my whole heart, there are still simultaneously 5 baby-shaped, whole-heart sized holes that are reserved for his siblings.

But the world keeps going. It's maddening. You want everything to stop so that you can process what just happened, but the rest of the world keeps going, without even knowing your child existed. I remember the night of my first miscarriage, we'd been in the hospital all day and I'd lost a ton of blood. I left weak and hungry, so we went to a restaurant. They asked us if it was "just the two of us" and I nearly lost my head with the realization that the answer was "yes" even though hours before, it had been "no." Miscarriage grief can be a very lonely, silent kind of pain. Most of the world answers it with, "Goodness, get over it already. It's not like it was a REAL baby," as though your child was not yet old or big enough to have caused you pain to lose. Or, "you can have another baby," as if a new baby could take that baby's place. Or "Maybe there was something wrong with that baby, so thank God He took the baby early." Or the ever-generic, "these things happen for a reason." Especially among people who claim to be pro-life, it blows my mind to hear them. Or, people just say nothing. No matter how early in their life they are born to heaven, he or she is still a real baby who has died. Empty arms and an empty cradle await the parents who were so anxious to meet their little one.

We were blessed. We had (have) an amazing circle of immediate friends and family, most of whom did NOT say those things. I heard them, but more often, the things we heard were supportive and life-affirming. But I also know that many are often at a loss of what to do or say to support their loved ones dealing with miscarriage.

Here are some suggestions:

Pray for them. Pray with them.

Recognize that their child has died. You would offer condolences to someone in the event of a lost parent, aunt or uncle, sibling, or sometimes even a pet. You might even offer flowers or a card. It's ok to do the same after a miscarriage. Having someone else acknowledge that you experienced a "REAL" loss, having that person acknowledge that your child really was here, did exist, and did matter is immensely comforting and healing.

Don't try to explain their child's death away

Don't try to compare it to any other kind of loss

Ask them if they want to talk about their child

Talk about their child with them--it's so comforting to have your "secret" child's life acknowledged by someone else. My goddaughter shares the name with one of my girls. Before naming her, my best friend called and asked if it was ok if they used the same name. Of course they didn't need my permission, but for them to acknowledge that my own was a real little person who died was amazing.

If the miscarriage is recent, offer to bring them a meal. Miscarriage can be physically painful, exhausting, or both. Bringing a meal is sensitive to the grieving mother's physical needs and again, lets her know that you recognize her loss as "real."

Hug them

Cry with them

Recognize that some "milestones" might be hard, like Mother's (or Father's) Day, or their due date, or the anniversary of their miscarriage. Even if it's years after the fact, those days might be sensitive for them and that's ok.

If you don't know what to say, say "I'm sorry," or "I don't know what to say, but I'm here for you." Usually, we don't actually want or need to hear anything. We just need your love.

I know an overwhelming amount of my readers are among those 1 in 4. So I'm thinking of all of you today, mamas, and missing your babies right along with you.

A person's a person, no matter how small. They were here. They ARE loved. And Heaven is going to be one AMAZING reunion.

PS: As of the time of this posting (O'dark hundred ;) ) there was still time to submit your child to Kirsten's Say Their Names project.

Say Their Names

A couple of weeks ago, I asked you to pray for my friend Kirsten, who was approaching the anniversary of both the birth and the death of her son, Ewan.

October 15th is National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day. One of the hardest things about losing a baby (born or unborn) is that in much of the world's mind, that child no longer exists. When a child is lost early in his or her life, there are not a lot of memories or experiences or relationships to keep that child in the general conversation of life. His or her parents and family honor them, the rest of the world keeps on going as if nothing ever happened. That feeling is so maddening. You want to stand up and shout at anyone who will listen, "My child was here! She existed! She matters! She is loved!" There's something in you that wants to claim her life for the world. To acknowledge her. To honor her, even when the rest of the world didn't even know she existed.

In the spirit of honoring children lost too soon, Kirsten has created "Say Their Names," which is her way of declaring love, importance, and honor for these sweet children. She is inviting anyone who wishes to post the names of the children they lost too soon, either in miscarriage or infancy, and on October 15, she will light a candle, and simply speak their names. These babies mattered. They each had a soul, beloved unto the Lord. They had a life and a name and people who loved them.

If you would like your child included, or simply if you want more information on the project, I invite you to visit here.

In honor of my children, I am including them.
Lucy
Mary
3 Snowflakes* (more on their names, later)

I love you, babies.

More pregnant than I've ever been

At approximately at this time of evening, this exact number of days into my pregnancy, I was arriving home from the hospital emergency room after spending the worst night of my life miscarrying our daughters. It was an experience I hope never to experience again. The miscarriage itself was alone traumatic, but doing so among the worst hospital staff I've ever encountered, lying there bleeding helplessly all over the place, while the staff around me refused to answer me because "the doctor would be in soon" (7 hours later!), while the worst nurse imaginable dug around in my arms for almost an hour trying to start an IV (for what, i still don't know), none understanding why I was freaking out so much because it was "so early" and we could "always try again" was beyond what I could handle. Honestly, it was the stuff that nightmares are made of. And I've tried not to think about it because reliving it was too awful. Each woman needs to make her own choice, but if God does take these babies (or any future ones), I don't want to go through the experience in a hospital again.

So all day long, I've sort of felt in a fog. I've felt a numbness for this day, and a genuine surprise that I am at the end of it without incident. It wasn't a conscious fear; I have absolutely no reason to suspect that this pregnancy will turn out like the last one. My medications are adjusted properly (unlike last time), I weigh less, I am eating right, my doctor is better skilled, and most importantly, these are different babies than the last ones, and God has a different plan for them. But still, the scar tissue is there and it was sort of always in my head. I am now more pregnant than I have ever been. And I'm at a loss to describe how I feel. I truly don't have any idea what tomorrow will look like. Pregnancy up til this point has been sort of familiar. But starting tomorrow, it's all uncharted water!

I am overwhelmed with gratitude to God for the length of time we've had with the babies and I pray that these are just the first of many, many days. But in a lot of ways, I feel like I just found out I'm pregnant all over again. Everything from here on out is completely foreign to me. I have a sense of bewilderment as I look toward tomorrow! I don't have anything super spiritual to say about it all... I'm just working through my feelings. I'm missing our girls. I'm excited that God has seen fit to continue this pregnancy. I'm a little bit nervous, despite the fact that my head knows Who is in charge. I'm exhilarated and terrified at the same time. I'm just processing through it all I guess. I know the Lord will sort through the thoughts and emotions with and for me, so I'm grateful that I can leave that up to Him because I feel like my head is spinning.

We had a nice day today. We went to church and were very late because morning sickness necessitated a stop (that's not a complaint-I actually love the reminder that something is really happening). Then we had a lunch fellowship time at the church and then we came home and napped a while. I went to the gym and had a nice long workout, spent the evening with DH and now we're on the way to bed.

I actually have to call my regular OB tomorrow and get on their calendar for my first prenatal visit. I figured I'd wait til after my ultrasound, but I was just looking at their website and they like to do their first visit at 8 weeks, which is the same week as the ultrasound, so I guess I need to schedule it! That feels surreal too--the prospect of leaving my RE and returning to a "normal" doctor is just so...sublime. After so many years of doing everything unconventionally, to know that in a few weeks, this will be treated like every other "normal" pregnancy sort of blows my mind.

I find myself rubbing my belly and talking to the babies all the time. I can't wait til I have something external to show for it so I don't just look like a fat lady who is clutching her tummy because she's eaten too much or is suffering from indigestion ;) But, it's so wonderful to know that they're going here and there and everywhere with me :)

I'd best get to bed. Goodnight everyone!

Grief

I started this post on 6.26.09. I didn't have anything else to write, but I wanted to make sure the sentiment was shared.

First, thank you to everyone for your kind words about Mother's Day. I really wasn't trying to be a brat about it or make anyone feel bad. In my head I was just playing back a recording of how things had been--matter of fact, recitation. I didn't mean it as a guilt issue at all! I apologize if it came across that way.

************

Today, July 6, 2009

Dear friends,
My heart is in despair right now. The grief of missing my girls overwhelms me and the pain grows only stronger as their due date approaches. Time had quenched some of the fire, but the knowledge that I should be preparing to hold them in my arms but instead have an empty belly and empty arms, breaks my heart right now. I am crying out to God but I confess the hurt and loneliness feels new all over again. In recent weeks I felt like the mourning season was coming to an end and now I feel like it has just begun. All I did today was read and pray and cry and sleep. I've half heartedly attempted our household bookkeeping tonight, but I only go a few minutes before the tears start again. Oh, how I miss them!

Several people have mentioned that they wanted to say something, or ask me how we're doing or ask me about the girls, but didn't know if they could, or should.

I can't speak for every grieving mom, but for me, someone mentioning them helps. It helps me to know they and we are not forgotten. So please, always feel free to ask if you want. If you don't want to ask for your own sake, that's ok, but know it's always ok with me if you do want to. Silence hurts worse than any questions...

I love you all.

Broken,
Jen

Infant Loss Memorial Service Date Change

Because I've gone back to work, a scheduling conflict was created with our original Infant Loss Memorial Service Date. The new date is Saturday, March 14th at 1:30 pm, at Chandler Bible Church. The rest of the information remains the same. You can see the website here.

Long update, and some thanks and changes

I've sat down to write so many, many times. Sometimes I was prevented by busyness. Other times by fatigue. Other times by fear. Sometimes by sheer lack of anything to say. But, here we go.

First, let me start by saying that I pray you all had a wonderful Christmas and New Year.

I haven't written much since we lost the girls and in my silence I've refrained from taking the opportunity to publicly share about the Lord's generosity in ministering to our spirits in our grief, specifically through the tangible actions and gifts of both friends and strangers. Shortly before we lost them, we received in the mail the beautiful Gymboree Snowflake Outfit that I'd posted here before. It was a gift from someone we've never met but who wanted to bless us. I'm still overwhelmed at the thought.

After we lost them, we received countless cards, handmade crocheted snowflakes from our adoption agency, personalized ornaments from my mom, donations and organizational fundraising in their honor to Snowflakes and to other causes from friends and family, ornaments from our genetic family, a beautiful handmade figurine from my college roommate, precious flowers from my mentor and the most beautiful snowglobe I've ever seen with a gorgeous snowflake inside from a dear sister. God has been so generous to us in these tangible acts of kindness. If I've forgotten something, please forgive me.

My biggest fear in losing the girls was that people wouldn't remember them. That the world would never know they existed. That their lives wouldn't matter to anyone but us. That they'd be treated as disposable or replaceable. That they wouldn't be known.

Well, we'll never know them this side of Heaven but God was so generous to us in showering us with tangible acknowledgments of the knowledge that these girls existed and mattered and were loved by so many. That is the most precious gift we could have been given. So to everyone who shared your kindness and time with us in reaching out, thank you. Thank you for honoring our girls and loving us. I wish I could compose myself enough to write something poetic or at least proportionally deep to the amount of emotion I feel but all I can do is sit here and weep at your kindness.

People ask me if I'm over it or better yet. I'm not better yet, and I'll never be over it. They'll always be a part of our story and I never want to be over this. I want to hurt less from it, but I hate the very implication that they're "get over-able."

In truth, I do hurt less from it. The gifts and cards we received were so monumentally helpful in my healing process because they helped me let go of my biggest fear of moving forward. I wish I could explain it better.

I am saddened to report that two of my dear sisters, who were pregnant at the same time with adopted embryos, and one of whom was due the same day as we were, have both lost their precious babies too. Please remember their families in your prayers. Dear sisters, we love you. At least our babies are in good company with each other. Heaven will be one amazing reunion.

My cycle returned last week and I had a final blood draw yesterday so from a medical perspective, the miscarriage is now considered completed and things are back to "normal."

People ask us when we'll try again. We do still have the 10 other babies still waiting for us so we WILL try again...as many as 6 more times (we have 4 pair left and two singletons). But when is a little bit harder to answer. We don't mind sharing, we just don't know. Right now the earliest we COULD proceed with another transfer is sometime in March, but there are a few variables with scheduling because of my job and their major event that month as well as the Infant Loss Memorial and the fact that I will NEVER see Dr. Jerk again so I'll wait as long as I need to to be on the schedule when it's someone else's turn for surgery, so nothing is in stone but we're working toward that end. But it's also possible we'll get to March and not be ready to start again, so we're just taking it one day at a time. A March transfer means we start all the hormone therapy over again next month so that's when we'll need to decide. Right now we're just waiting and enjoying the fact that we don't have to decide yet. We'll see. I'm actually optimistic about it but am trying to take it slowly so that we don't jump into anything.

That's it for all! My fingers are the typing equivalent of out of breath! I'll try to check in again sooner between updates henceforth.

I pray this finds you all well and I offer you my sincerest gratitude for your continued faithfulness, friendship, interest, support, encouragement and prayers.

Love to you all...