Stupid Situation #11: Avoiding a Bridal/Baby Shower with Babies

It's surprising that I haven't been thrown into this situation until now, but one of my friends is getting married and she's having her Bridal Shower this afternoon. I had told myself that I would not be able to handle a Baby Shower, even for my best friend (assuming she got pregnant, which she isn't), but a Bridal Shower? This I could do.

Until I learned there would be at least two babies there.

Everyone handles their grief differently. Most of us stay well away from babies and small children because it's too painful of a reminder of what we don't have. A few of us rush to hold someone else's baby because it's a part of their healing process. Me? I don't want to be around any until I have my own in my arms. Even then, I can't say as when it will be comfortable for me to recognize that other people have had them too.

I realize I can't avoid babies. They're at the stores, my neighbors had them (three of them at once this past summer which was just a thorn in my eyeball every time I walked outside), they're being pushed around anywhere and everywhere you look. But I definitely can avoid getting in my car and deliberately driving somewhere where they will be right next to me, especially during this final week of my "loss zone". I can avoid a situation where people are going to pass around an infant and as a woman I'm supposed to coo and hold the baby.

The next baby I hold will be my own. Living and breathing. Or I won't do so at all.

And as I sat here thinking about excuses that I could make to not attend, my dinner decided not to agree with me and I've been gifted with a horrible stomach ache. I'm sending up my thanks right now.

Stupid Situation #10: Getting a Second Opinion on Baby Loss

A dear friend who just had her rainbow baby hooked me up with her doctor. The reason? After a bout of tests had been done and nothing had been discovered, my losses have been chalked up to the infernal "bad luck". I was told by my doctor that it would probably be fine next time.

You know what? Probably isn't good enough. You'd think that the doctor would be sympathetic enough to try anything and everything to help us. Instead, all I was told was to sit on my hands and wait.

So I saw a new doctor. I figured if she said the same thing after running tests, then I would sit back and let luck try a spin again. To my delight, this doctor, after learning my story, was pissed off. She told me that she had seen too many women with my story come into her office with a difficult or not found yet clotting disorder, she had put them on Lovenox injections, and suddenly a rainbow baby. It sounds a bit too good to be true, but seeing her want to get to the bottom of my situation gave me a new lease on hope.

The other surprising outcome? She thinks my losses are related. She's the first doctor I've spoken to who actually believes me. Until now, my stillbirth and my two miscarriages have been compartmentalized because my son had a perfect 20 week ultrasound. The truth is, at some point all three of my babies stopped growing. Doesn't that seem odd to anyone else? It did to me, and it does to my new doctor.

So I picked up my records at my old doctor and brought them over. They were supposed to have been at the new doctor's office for my appointment, but the medical records department decided that there were too many to fax, so they did nothing.

And yes, I opened them. And read. And read. And read.

I was told that my son died of a stricture in the umbilical cord. I was not told that my son had a small placenta. I was not told that the placenta had potential clotting activity.

And I am pissed.

I still have to get past step one of getting pregnant again, but once I do, it's quite clear who I won't be seeing anymore. Much love to my new doctor for being willing to help me, and to my friend who showed me the way. And for the old doctor? Karma's a bitch.

Stupid Situation #9: Losing Friends When You Lose a Child

What is it about our culture that makes us expect everyone to be happy all the time? If you're grieving for longer than the acceptable grieving period, you are thrust into the category of "a lost cause" by some. Those friends who were very supportive and caring about the loss of your child suddenly grow impatient for things to go back to where they used to be.

The one thing that our friends forget is that we don't know how to go back to where we used to be.

When you lose a child, it's like a impenetrable wall slams down behind you, and there is no going back. You might be able to salvage some of who you are, but it's only memories. You are cut off. All you can do is stumble forward, like an adventurer in a new cave who has lost her map, her lantern, and her soul. Hidden in the cave is the "new you". Unfortunately, it's hard to find something if you don't know what it looks like.

The definition of a friend is someone who is there for you through good or through bad, through happy times and sad times, who supports you and gives you the criticism when you need it the most. In the past year, I have noticed that the friends I had pre-loss now fall into one of the following two categories:

a) The friend who steps up to the plate. This friend can be a long time friend, but more likely, this is a friend who you didn't realize was that much of a friend. This is a friend that has been there and who calls you and texts you even when you don't want to talk. They keep checking up on you. They let you talk, and they listen, and when you're ranting and raving about the meth head who's allowed to have a child but you've lost yours, they're ranting along with you.

b) The friend who sends you a card, but then refuses to bring it up, or doesn't call, and certainly doesn't write. It's like your child never existed. This friend is eager for you to move on, to go back to the old you. When you decide to do that, they'll probably be there.

The sad thing is that many of us thought that those friends who are in category b were our best friends, friends that we have had for years. Yet when I look at my friends in category a I find that I've made a huge mistake. I've discounted those people who have come through for me in the past, yet these are the ones who have been there no matter how much I'm crying or laughing. I am blessed to have these friends.

As for the ones in category b, as much as it pains me, they need to be cut loose. Having a friendship should not be stressful. It occurred to me the other day that one of them hadn't even said "I'm sorry" when I told her I had lost a third child. Why did I accept this as okay? It's not okay. It's not remotely okay. Friendship is a two-way street.

I've also learned in the past year, is that I can make new friends, ones who truly understand me. These women I have met in the depths of despair, and we are clinging to each other as we walk through hell. I saw a quote the other day that said "beautiful people are not born, they're made". These new friends of mine have been crafted from pain and sorrow, which breeds sympathy and love. I wouldn't trade these new friends for anything.

But as for those who haven't been there? I'm not hunting them down. Maybe one day they too will lose a child and they'll finally understand...but no one will be listening.

Stupid Situation #8: Stop Patiently Waiting

It is commonly said that we fear those animals that have traits that are lacking in ourselves. I became embroiled in a conversation about the praying mantis the other day, and how I had a long, terrifying drive home a little over a year ago with one of these insects clinging for dear life on my windshield (of course right in front of where I had to look). My husband assured me that it would "just blow off", but no, that little bastard stuck on the windshield for that entire fifteen minute drive home. Then I happened to spy one at the cemetery many months ago, and it flew right past me.

It struck me...what trait do praying mantises have the most of? Patience. They can wait for an unfathomable amount of time for prey, or to do much of anything. Me? Not so much. When I teach, I have all the patience in the world. For everything else? Get out of my way.

Those of us who have lost a child, have not only had a child stolen from us, but time. It takes time to get our cycles back to normal. It takes time to wait for that ovulation time. It takes time to wait to pee on a stick. And if we're lucky, it takes time to go through that pregnancy where hopefully, we will finally take one home with us.

Waiting.

More waiting.

And more waiting.

I hate waiting. But one of the things I'm starting to realize, is that I have no choice. The other day while using a ferning microscope (to see if I was about to ovluate) and was heartbroken to see no ferning pattern yet. Later on, I looked in the little microscope again to see that perfect ferning pattern. All I needed to do was be patient, and wait.

But for those people who say "just be patient and it will happen", they're not correct either. It's not going to happen being patient, and screw being patient while we're waiting. What I propose we do need to do, however, is embrace that river of life going on around us. I know I've been sitting on the banks, twitching, afraid to step in the river, yet afraid to sit still. Not only am I feeling myself getting older, but I'm purposely putting myself in a position where a year is going to go by, and I will have absolutely nothing to show for it.

So I'd still like to tell those people who said "just wait, and it will happen" to shove off. If we have to wait, let's not be patient about it, let's embrace those dreams and passions we have, and carry the love of our children with us. I've already scheduled an appointment to dye my hair dark (as I'm blonde), and scheduled a crazy six day vacation somewhere that I never thought I'd be going just to be able to meet Amanda Tapping who I admire for her own strength and perseverance, and I'm going to write and work to get my book published like my life depended on it.

I don't have to be patient. But in the meantime, I do have to live. And when that BFP arrives, I'll just smile and keep on. And wait. But not patiently.

Stupid Situation #7: Teaching Your Child to Run...at the Street

One of my neighbors, the proud owners of a newborn that they just magically had during the month they wanted to and have never had loss etc. - that kind of neighbor, has just put up a new sign. It's fluorescent yellow, shaped like a gingerbread man and says "Attention: Children at Play". This isn't for a school, or a park. It's for their yard.

First of all, I'd like to point out that unless their 3 month old has developed the ability to walk, it should say CHILD at play. But that's just being petty, so I'll move on to point two.

Second, they chose not to anchor it and to put it on a hill, so every two to three days, it falls over and they leave it down for a couple of days before righting it again. After two weeks of this, they finally put a rock on it.

Third, it's an eyesore since it's right out my window.

But let's talk about the most important piece. Their child who is running around is not vision or hearing impaired. She's a willful three year old that they have taught to run at the road. All summer and fall last year, while I grieved the loss of my stillborn son, I watched them put her down, and she would run at the road to see the little boy on the other side. Her father would run after her, pick her up and with a silly little laugh, put her down again.

He taught her that running at the road is a game, and now they put up a sign because of their crappy parenting skills.

I'm not professing that I will be the perfect parent, but where I refuse to fail, is in teaching my child self-preservation skills. They worked so hard (not really) to have this child, and now they are teaching her the daredevil traits, the ones that will make this child live for adventure...dangerous adventure.

So let me tell the parents out there - if you love your child, and you want to keep your child, step up the training of teaching your child that cars and streets are dangerous. It's one of the first lessons in danger that a child should receive. Make sure they get an "A", for I sit here watching your child and wanting one more than life itself, as you teach your child to be reckless. Because I keep wondering if someday soon these parents are going to finally understand my pain...the pain of losing a child.

Stupid Situation #6: Talking About Your Loss at Work

Sorry in advance, but this one is going to be a bit long!

I have learned some very important things in the past year. Apparently there have been revisions to the amendment that grants us our freedom of speech, especially in the workplace. Typically employers look the other way at non-work related conversations outside of breaks or lunch (unless you work in the equivalent of a sweat shop). However, what I didn't know is that there are some rules about what is "appropriate non-work related conversations while working" and what is (insert horror movie music here).

A month after I returned to work after losing my son, I was taken into a room by my boss, my boss's boss, and an HR Representative, where I was told that I was making people uncomfortable by talking about my child. I was told that these people felt like they couldn't put pictures of their children in their cubicles. I was told that they felt like they couldn't talk to me about their happy times, like the births of their children.

At the time I burst into tears. Now, the anger rides over me when I think about it. What bereaved mother wants to hear even a portion of that? I know that all of us have our own way of coping, and how long it takes for us to be able to tolerate seeing pregnant women and babies, or to just hear talk about it in general, but I'm pretty certain that none of us wanted that thrust in our face during our first month back to work!

This friendly "well-meaning" HR Representative proceeded to tell me that my company had some "help" options for me, and she handed me a brochure which also included names of day cares and a giant picture of a baby on the front.

I was told to just tell people "I was having a bad day" instead of talking about it. I was told that I could only have these conversations at breaks or lunches and quietly. I argued back that it meant that these other people then had to only talk about their "good times" during breaks and lunches and was told, "That's not what we meant." Sure it is. And I wrote it down, every word they said, if I ever need to use it again, that's after I cried for two straight days.

It's taken me almost a year to cool off from that incident. And here I sit, three weeks after my second miscarriage after my stillbirth and my boss brings it up again that someone complained that me talking about my miscarriage was making them uncomfortable.

I'm not even the teeniest bit sorry. They have a moment of uncomfortableness, and I have a lifetime of it. The other thing that grates on me is the junior high attitude of a grown man or woman going to the HR Department to complain. I wish there were "Whiner" badges to hand out to people. Or to staple to their forehead.

So here is what I've been able to figure out about appropriate conversations

As generated by my current employer, acceptable non-work related conversations during working hours include:

Sports

This includes who won what game, what teams are playing, fantasy football/gambling, how many children are playing for what recreational teams and how many home runs they got and how you are training your three year old to be the next Venus Williams), and how many beers you had while golfing.

Celebrations

This includes marriages, births, birthday party planning for your one year old where you talk in detail about his/her accomplishments, successful doctor appointments for your newborn where you give great detail about his/her growth percentile or that his/her stool has changed for the better, announcements of pregnancies and every week that you have made it through so far, and how little Johnny lost his first tooth.

Food

This includes recipes, restaurants, picnic planning, and how little Johnny is breastfeeding still, and topics about stopping breastfeeding and moving to solid food.

Death

This includes mourning your grandparents, your parents, your siblings, your friends, and your pets.

The list goes on and on. Unacceptable topics include:

Baby Loss

This includes miscarriages, blighted ovums, chemical pregnancies, stillbirths, burials for your child, memorials for your child, or the surgery that you were forced to have when your child died.

And that's it. The list is remarkably shorter, isn't it?

I just hope that none of you have to deal with an employer that fails to try to understand a baby loss mommy's grief, and instead who spends a lot of time making sure that everything is getting done and making you feel bad if you are perhaps working a little slower than normal.

If you do, then my heart is with you, and feel free to rant away.

Stupid Situation #5: One Year After Stillbirth

On Sunday, June 5th, I passed my son's one year angelversary. This was after a grueling flight back from my brother's wedding in Hawaii. I stumbled through the day, somewhat thankful for the jet lag that wouldn't let me think too much. I learned that even though jet lagged, it was impossible not to relive every second that I lived one year ago on that day. The fear and the pain linger on, and as I go through this week, my ears remember what it felt like to be calling funeral homes and making arrangements. My body remembers the heat and the mugginess of the day I buried my child. My heart remembers what it felt like to shatter. We held a beautiful balloon release for my son, and all I could think of was that I hoped that the balloons made it past the tree line, because I was damned sure if they didn't, I would be yelling at my husband to get the ladder to send them on their way.

People say that it gets easier. I'm here, a year later, and some things have gotten easier. I can grocery shop by myself without hiding and deliberately taking alternate aisles to avoid pregnant women and babies. I can go on vacation and put up with droves of people, instead of hiding away in my house. But what I have noticed, is that I'm angrier. I can be around these people because I feel hatred, jealousy and envy. Those emotions are stronger than ever. Perhaps this isn't the healthiest way to go about my life, but for now, it's a security blanket. When I am too upset, I wrap myself up in my anger blanket and hate away the world.

In the midst of this hatred, and one day after my son's angelversary, I buried my third child. It struck me that I don't know if things would be easier if I hadn't kept experiencing death again and again and again. I don't know if I would be able to hold conversations with the women who kept their babies when I had to give mine up, instead of ignoring them and losing myself in my own little world.

I do know that burying one child is something sick and unimaginable and shatters your heart. Burying a second child shatters your spirit. Burying a third child shatters your soul.

Somewhere in here, I'm supposed to have hope. I'm supposed to believe that even though I've been tested for everything and everything is absolutely fine, that this, then, is just "bad luck". I'm supposed to believe that this will happen, and that the nursery that is complete upstairs will one day have a baby in it, instead of dust. I'm supposed to smile and get my work done, and keep cleaning the house.

I can't do any of these things. But what I can do is be the cockroach. The cockroach, impervious to a human boot, and impervious to a nuclear holocaust. Because that's where I am right now, in the middle of a war zone. But in the dust, and in the rubble, I will continue to scuttle with purpose.

And hopefully, one year from now, I will have joined the winning team.

Stupid Situation #4: What Google Won't Tell Me About Babies

This afternoon I found out that I am a three time baby loss mommy. Our little one stopped growing between last week and this week, just like our second, this time after seeing a very healthy heartbeat. After any loss, one of the first questions we ask is, "Why?" We want to search for answers. We demand answers. Sadly, answers are few and far between. Neither Google or Wikipedia seem to have the answers to some burning questions of mine:

- Why is my meth using, mother of two that she doesn't take care of, whore of a neighbor about to have her third child? Is she more deserving than the rest of us, or does using meth and watching Jerry Springer help you conceive and keep babies?

- Why do I have to suffer watching all of my neighbors and co-workers get pregnant and get to keep their babies? I hear that having miscarriages and stillbirths are fairly common (after all, I've had two of one and one of the other), so why don't they seem to happen to anyone I know other than me? When's it my turn to keep one?

- Why were my three children taken away from me? Am I being punished? Is this supposed to make me feel stronger? Because I don't feel stronger, I feel broken.

- When's it going to get "better"? Because I am damned sick of people saying to me, "Don't worry, it will get better". I would like to ask when that is? It wasn't with the New Year, or the Chinese New Year. It wasn't with the Spring. The only thing that even felt a little better was that brief wonderful month where I felt hope again.

- When will I learn to smile again? The other day a coworker made a comment to another coworker about how my smile and my angry look were exactly the same. I said it's been a good year since I've known how to smile. Most days, I'm not entirely sure how to. I see it on my face, but real smiles are seen in the eyes.

- Who is that person in the photograph? You know, the picture before I started losing my children. The ones where I looked self-assured and like I was on top of the world. The one who was sure that she would have at least two children who she would spoil and teach and love.

So if anyone happens to stumble across answers to these questions, please let me know. Because right now, I'm floundering, and for a while I'll be learning how to pick myself up off the ground again. It will take time. How much time? Well, maybe Google can answer that one too.

Stupid Situation #3: Putting Up With Mother's Day as a Baby Loss Mommy

Everyone reading this is painfully aware that Mother's Day is around the corner. This day is the bane of all baby loss mommies, especially the ones that can only visit their children at the cemetery. So let me make one thing perfectly clear from the beginning of this post.

Any woman who has conceived a child is a mother. After all, we have brought forth life, whether we miscarried our angels, they were stillborn, or they died of SIDS.

NOTHING and NO ONE will ever take that away from us.

Baby loss mommies wear a special Mother's Day badge, one of a grieving mother. It is an unspeakable horror to have to bury your child. Your child is supposed to bury you when you are old and gray and after you have spoiled your own grandchildren. I dare anyone to tell me that we wouldn't have done anything to save our child's life if we could. And as much as a non-baby loss mother is wonderful for paying for her child's dance lessons or rooting her child's football team, that mother has nothing on what we have had to endure as mothers.

Facing Mother's Day without our little angels, whether they would have been old enough to make you a homemade card, or whether they would have been little enough to just open their eyes and smile at you, is something that we should not have to do alone. All of us have to put up with hearing all of the special events for "Mom's only" and see our coworkers, friends, and family produce gifts that they have received from their child(ren).

Since only we will be able to remind ourselves, I encourage us to go out and buy that bracelet that says "Mom" and wear it proudly. I encourage us to call our friends who have loss a baby of their own and wish them a "Happy Mother's Day", or at the very least a peaceful one. If your mother has been there for you during this horrible time in your life, I encourage you to tell her how much you appreciate her love and support. She may never understand, having not been through it herself, but she sees her child hurting, and as we all know, we would do anything to take that away.

And if someone dares to tell us that we don't get to celebrate this very special holiday? Tell them to shut up, and be brazen about it. Only when we come together as a baby loss mother force of nature will people perhaps finally stop to listen and realize that we are all mothers too.

Much love and peace to all of you baby loss mommies this Sunday.

Stupid Situation #2: Assuming It's All Better Now

Wednesday morning, to my great surprise, a second line came up on my pregnancy test. This is now my third pregnancy, and it will be a long time before I tell anyone anything. This has less to do with the fear of losing the baby, since I've been through that twice, and more to do with dealing with those "well-meaning" people who assume that now that I'm pregnant again, well things are just all better.

I don't think any of us deny the fact that being pregnant helps, if just a little. But it's not a magical pill. It doesn't take the pain or fill the gaping hole that lies in our chests after losing our child(ren). Yet people assume that the real reason we're grieving is the loss of the pregnancy, not the loss of our child.

No matter how far along we were, this was a boy or a girl (or maybe two!) that we came to love and give a name to, even if we were still working out the details. This was a child to us that had the hiccups, that kicked us when we didn't want to be kicked, that asserted its way through nausea and heartburn. This pregnancy wasn't a disease that we got rid of, when we lost our baby, it was our baby boy or our baby girl.

Being pregnant again, feels like a temporary band-aid, something that helps make the nights a little easier, and provides a little bit of hope. But ask someone who has been shot if putting a band-aid over the wound will help staunch the flow of blood. The answer is no. The wound has already been made, and it will never heal. Like with us, it will take years and years before we even start to feel like ourselves again, and even when we do, the hole will still remain. If we're lucky to have children, we will know that there is always one or two missing.

So don't assume that just because I'm pregnant again, it's just all better. A good friend of mine told me the other day, "Goodbye frustration, hello fear". We've all seen what a trapped animal will do when frightened. That's what pregnant women are, after a loss. Trapped animals, and scared to death. They're afraid for the pregnancy, they're guilt ridden in thinking that their angel(s) will hate them for getting pregnant again, they're still mourning the loss of their child(ren).

So how is that better?

It is a ray of sunshine, but the sun isn't shining. So the next time you assume that everything is better, let me just remind you of how much we've lost, and how long that 40 weeks will be. And if you're not willing to listen, or to hold our hands? Then just get the hell out of our way.

Stupid Situation #1: Complaining About Your Living Children

There is one thing that separates a baby loss mommy from a regular mommy. The baby loss mommy does not have a baby at home. This seems like such a simple concept, yet people seem to forget it. People seem to think that I am going to sympathize with how long it is taking to toilet train their beloved toddler, or how horrible it was to have to stay up all night with their crying infant.

Let me correct that assumption. I would trade with these people in an instant. Any baby loss mommy would.

We would love to spend all night awake trying to coax our newborns to sleep instead of spending all night awake because nightmares haunt us at every sleeping moment.

We would love to clean pee and poop off of our exquisitely tiled floors again and again instead of deciding to scrub the toilet for a fifth time because the hard labor seems to be the only thing that takes our thoughts away from the fact that we had to bury our child.

We would love to have to stop the car every 15 minutes on a long trip because our little boy or girl has to go to the bathroom instead of stopping the car every 15 minutes because our tears have blinded us from driving.

Do not complain to us about your living children, the ones that you are lucky to have been able to bring home from the hospital. Do not whine about the lack of sleep, or the extra cleaning you are forced to do, or how you have not been able to see any movies because your children take up too much time.

You are lucky enough to have brought home a child. You are lucky enough to be able to raise your child, to lavish your child with attention, to teach your child everything, to have hugs and kisses from that child every day.

I hope that it doesn't take losing a child of your own to finally understand true suffering. Until then, just keep your complaints to yourself and your mouth shut.