Emotional wall?

I realized today at my dermatologist appointment that I probably have an emotional wall up.  Or I'm not grieving properly.  The nurse was asking if I had any other children, which of course led to the conversation about Alex.  He just kept saying he was sorry over and over again.  Here I am laughing with him and smiling and I felt like maybe that was wrong.  Maybe I should be sad all the time?  He kept saying I was doing so great, etc.  Am I?  I don't know.  I'm just... living.  Getting through each day.  Some are easier than others.  But none of them are "great."  I always feel like a huge piece of me is missing.  When I put Emma in the car sometimes and pull away, I sometimes have this "I'm forgetting something" feeling like I'm leaving him at home.  It's hard to explain.  I don't know if I'll ever feel whole again.

I've started nesting for Zoe, which helps keep me busy.  But it's also very difficult at the same time.  I had to sell the swing I had from Emma and Alex because there is no way I could put Zoe in it without thinking I'm seeing Alex.  I replaced it with a pink frilly girly swing.  I have 2 bouncers from Alex that I'm torn on.  One he used a lot and the other he was just started to use before he died. 

One thing I know for certain is I can never ever use the Rock n Play sleeper again.  Ever.  It's still got the dried fluids and blood from him dying.  I'll never wash it.  It's the last tangible part of his body that I still have.  I can't even see them in pictures with other children without getting emotional. 

I'm 2 weeks away from the day that I was admitted to the hospital with pre-eclampsia with Alex.  I've been getting very nervous about that.  My blood pressures have been fine so far but that's nothing reassuring to me at all.  They were fine with Alex too.  They were perfect 3 days before I was admitted and then all of a sudden everything went to hell and we were both very sick within just a matter of days.

I made a pretty important decision regarding Zoe's birth and Alex's death day.  First of all, what are the freaking chances that Zoe would be due exactly a week after Alex died and I'd need a scheduled c-section at 39 weeks (September 23)?!  Once again, God's "plan" eludes me.  I've been really worked about the timing. I've been dead set on not wanting her born on his death day (obviously) or after.  I wanted a happy time leading up to the sad time so that I wasn't always crying before her birthday.  Once I started really looking at the logistics after the OB told me to start thinking of a date, I realized that I'd really need to plan it so that I wasn't in the hospital on the 23rd.  Because God knows... I want to as far away from Reading Hospital that day as possible.  I still panic a bit when I pass the emergency trauma center.  Finally, I realized that I'm being incredibly selfish.  I'm thinking of MY feelings when in reality, I should be thinking about Zoe's health and wellbeing.  And honestly, I want her to stay inside and bake as long as possible.  I want a nice chunky full term baby.  So we decided on the 24th.  Hopefully I can handle it emotionally.  I'm terrified that something will happen to her on the 23rd because it will forever be known to me as the shittiest day in the entire history of days.

I hate that I even have to think about any of this.  I just wish I could be happily pregnant and carefree like so many others.  I get soooo angry when I see women wishing for their babies to come earlier than their due dates.  Seriously, 37 weeks may be considered full term but it's not your due date.  Those extra 3 weeks are there for a damn good reason.  Lungs aren't always full mature by 37 weeks.  So if you're trying to get baby to come before 40 weeks, I give you the big huge side eye.  Be careful what you wish for....

Triggers

Driving today, I ended up behind an ambulance and I freaked.  All of a sudden I was right back to that day almost 9 months ago, riding in the ambulance with Alexander and screaming at the paramedics to save him.  I had to pull over because I literally could no longer see the road. I couldn't see anything except that exact moment in the ambulance.  Calling Jeff at work and screaming/sobbing at him to come immediately because Alex wasn't breathing.  Calling my mom at work and begging her to come from Maryland.  The frantic looks on the paramedics faces because Alex kept crashing and they couldn't get him back.  Seeing the pain in their own eyes as they were most likely thinking of their own children at home.  Realizing that the police had actually created roadblocks and stopped traffic from coming off the on-ramps so that the ambulance wouldn't have to stop.

On paper, Alex has been gone so much longer than he was actually with us.  But somehow it doesn't feel like there ever was a time that he wasn't with us. 

I'm still waiting to "feel" him around me.  I read so much about it and how you can just feel your loved ones around you but I haven't felt that.  I felt it when my dad passed away.  Perhaps it doesn't work the same for babies?  I don't know.  I just wish I felt him.  I wish I knew if he was really out there somewhere in the universe. 

I wonder how long it will be in my life before I can see an ambulance or emergency room without flashing back. 

Alone.

I've read about it but never really believed it.  But it seems that people with experience tell the truth.  As time goes by, it feels like everyone has disappeared.  Forgotten what happened.  Moved on with their lives.

And it feels like they expect me to as well.  But instead, things get worse.  I cry every night after everyone goes to sleep.  I go through all of Alex's pictures and videos and I cry harder.   No one talks about him anymore.  No one reaches out to see how I'm doing.  No one has even brought up his birthday or asked if I'm doing alright as it gets closer. 

Alex's birthday is in 3 days.  I cannot believe he's not here to celebrate it.  That we'll never know if he would smash the cake and make a huge mess or be prissy like his sister and barely touch it.  We'll never know what kind of gifts he'd get or if he'd try to open them himself.  We'll never know if he'd be walking by his birthday like Emma or just crawling.   Right now I should be stressing about all of the details of his party, making sure everything has been ordered and is ready.   Not making sure we have enough Sharpies for everyone to write on the balloons we are going to release to him in Heaven or worrying if I'll be strong enough to go to the NICU floor and drop off the hats and sleepers we have for them.  I should be excited that Jeff is taking the entire day off to celebrate his birthday.... not that I'm grateful to have him at home just in case I can't even take care of Emma because I'll be such a mess.

We started getting things out for Zoe and getting ready.  I put up the jumperoo and had no issues with that because he never lived long enough to use it.  But when it came to the swing... I seriously just wanted to smash it into a million pieces rather than bear to put it up.  I know that all I'll see is him cooing at the animal mobile above his head and curled up swaying to the nature sounds.  Same thing for the bouncy seats.  They are both full of memories of Alex.  I thought I'd be able to use them for Zoe but I'm just not sure I can.  My grief is still so fresh and new.  He hasn't even been gone a year. 

Down the rabbit hole

And here I go again.  Falling down that spiraling rabbit hole of darkness again.  Where I just want to hide away in my house and not talk to or deal with anyone.  Where instead of feeling excited or happy about certain things, I feel bitter, angry and jealous.  Where I know that my reactions aren't normal and I can't talk about them to anyone because no one would understand. 

Sometimes I feel more broken than is possible to repair.  That my heart will never be whole again.  That the pain will ever go away.  That I'll go a full day without crying.  That fear and anxiety won't be a permanent fixture in my life. 

I don't want to not miss him or forget about him.  Not by any means.  I just want to not hurt so much anymore.  Almost 8 months later and I still remember every single thing about him.  His soft crazy hair, his sweet lips, the way his skin smelled and felt, his face buried into my neck. His sleep squeaks. The way he grabbed his Wubbanubs and held them tightly.  His big beautiful smile.

I hate that I only get a couple of hours to really let it all out.  I wait until Jeff has gone to bed and stay up really late to just cry it all out and then wake up in the morning and hold it in all day long until everyone has gone to bed and repeat. 

I hate that I can't feel happiness over any baby born since Alex died because I'm so consumed with jealousy and bitterness. 

I hate that instead of enjoying my pregnancy, I want to rush to the end so I can have the baby here and hover over her and hook her up to an apnea monitor and watch her 24/7 to make sure she's alive and breathing. 

I hate that I can't just be normal anymore.  That I can't buy a new Rock N Play for Zoe, even though she would probably sleep great in it, because Alex died in one.  I hate that other people can use them without giving it a second thought.  I hate that I'll never sleep without fear of waking up to find my child dead.  That I've considered never letting Zoe nap.  Ever.  Or only napping on me. 

I hate that I'll never be the mother she deserves.  Whole and complete and unbroken.  That she'll grow up in the shadow of sadness. 

CVS is scheduled...

I had wavered and thought about not doing it after all but Jeff really wants to get it done.  It's scheduled for March 19th.  We should have the FISH results back within 48 hours letting us know if there is Trisomy, 13, 18 or 21... and the gender. 

I'm still very nervous because there is a very small risk of miscarriage (.3%) and let's face it, our luck sucks lately.  But the person doing my procedure has been doing it since the procedure was invented and even helped to pioneer the procedure so I feel confident that he's very good.  Jefferson University Hospital is one of the BEST places to have it done so that makes me feel better as well. 

Today I go for my preliminary bloodwork and tomorrow I start my first 24 hour urine test to get my baseline protein for this pregnancy.  Dear protein, stay FAR away from this pregnancy, okay?

Giving this another shot....

We had a D&C in December, right before Christmas.  A month later, I went in to see Dr. P, our RE, for a consult on TTC again and starting treatments.  I mentioned that I still hadn't gotten my period and that I had gotten some positive pregnancy tests.  I told him we had only had sex twice in that last month, with no thoughts of getting pregnant.  Based on our history and that we were on a d&c cycle, he was convinced that it was retained tissue from the d&c and scheduled me for a second d&c 2 days later and ordered blood tests.  When they called that afternoon, something in my gut just told me to cancel the d&c so I asked for a few more blood tests to see what was going on before we went ahead with the surgery.  4 days later, my HCG level had increased.  4 more days later, it increased again. Since the idea of me having become pregnant was so inconceivable, he thought I had a rare placental tumor that would require chemotherapy.  We came back a few more days later for more tests.... And then we saw a gestational sac on the ultrasound.  Holy cow.  Dr. P was blown away. 

Fast forward to Friday... our miracle baby is now almost 10 weeks old.

Michelle, the ultrasound tech, was surprised that we were able to see the arms and legs so clearly!!! She said that the baby was moving around like crazy and had a wonderful heartbeat of 175!!

My OB's office has been truly wonderful.  They know the hell we've been through in the last year and they are being beyond amazing.  Instead of having appointments every 4 weeks like normal, I go every 2 weeks.  They are going to monitor me extremely closely with many ultrasounds, 24 hour urine tests, etc. 

We are currently debating CVS testing.  I am not sure that I could handle delivering a baby with Trisomy 13 or 18 and having to bury another baby.  The risk of miscarriage is low but there is still a risk and I'm afraid that we'd be in that small percentage like we have been for everything else so far.

Oddly... this baby is due October 1, 2012.  Only 1 week after Alexander's death date, September 23rd.  Since I'm supposed to have a scheduled c-section at 39 weeks (if we're lucky enough to escape pre-eclampsia this time), it was difficult to imagine having a baby born at the same time that our son died.  I felt that the baby's birthday would always be overshadowed with grief and sadness.  The OB's office agreed wholeheartedly and we will do an amnio at 37-38 weeks to check the lung maturity and deliver around 38 weeks instead of 39 weeks.

In the meantime.... we just pray and hope that everything goes well.

Closure?

Hardly.

The coroner's office called on Friday.  The autopsy had finally been completed 5 months after his death.  The results?  Inconclusive.  They determined, by exclusion, that he died of sudden unexplained infant death due to his prematurity.

So basically, we know as much as we knew 5 months ago.  Nothing.

Part of you wants so badly for there to be a REASON.  Something to blame it on.  Some tangible reason why his life was taken from us so early, after so little time together.

And all there is to blame is prematurity.

Eff you, prematurity.  Eff you, pre-eclampsia.

What was the POINT?!  What was the point in the month of bed rest in the hospital?  The 3 weeks of him hooked up to wires and tubes in the NICU?   Why on earth did we have to go through all of that fighting to lose him when we thought we were finally in the clear????

I don't understand.  Did I do something to deserve this?  One of Jeff's friends told me that I did.  That I deserved to have him die.  And that's all I can think about sometimes.  Did I anger God by getting divorced and this is my punishment?   Did I anger God by having a baby when we weren't married?   Did I anger God for defying nature and seeking infertility treatments to become pregnant?

And if I did deserve it for some reason, why did HE deserve it????  He was a tiny, innocent, sweet and perfect baby.  He deserved a long life full of love and first kisses and getting married and playing sports and annoying his sister and having his own children.   He was cheated out of so much.

I recently read a book called, "Heaven is for Real" and I'm trying desperately to cling to the ideals of the book.  That there really is a Heaven.  That God and Jesus are there taking care of and loving our children, even the babies that we miscarried.  That my loved ones (my Mema, Grandpa and Dad) are there loving them and caring for them until we are able to be with them again. 

Triggers.

When you least expect it, there are triggers that knock you off your feet.  Today I was grocery shopping and wandered down the baby aisle.  Usually I'm okay with this.  Today, however.... I passed the baby food and stopped and looked.   And I almost lost it.  All I could think of was what kind of baby food would Alexander be eating?  What would be his favorite?  What would he hate?  How funny would his first taste of food have been?  Would he be independent like his sister and insist on trying to feed himself? 

Which then led to thoughts of... would he be chubby by now?  Would he still have red hair?  Would his eyes still be blue?

I watched a video this morning of when he was born.  Of his very first angry cry.  Of the oxygen mask on his face and the NICU team stimulating him.  He was so very tiny. 

For such a tiny little baby, the hole in my heart is so very huge.

I love this song.

Grief Resolutions

From The Compassionate Friends:

This year I resolve to:
1. Not put a time limit on my grief. Loving someone means loving them for my life time whether they are physically present or not.
2. Tell their stories, the happy and the sad they will live on through me.
3. Teach others that they cannot “make” me cry, tears are only an external expression of how I am feeling all the time.
4. Understand that crying or otherwise expressing my pain is healthy and normal. “Doing well” means expressing my feelings.
5. Understand that others will not understand my pain and it isn’t fair to expect them to do anything but listen.
6. Recognize that asking for help from those that love us is a really a gift that we give to them.
7. Help others, reaching out to others in pain will help me to heal.
8. Do something nice for myself everyday.
9. Know that if today I can not do everything that needs to be done, tomorrow is another chance to get it done.
10. Cry when I need to, laugh when I can and to not feel guilty about either one.
11. Let go, bit by bit, of the guilt, regret and anger that can be so damaging.
12. Take a risk and let others into my life and heart.
13. Take care of my physical, emotional and spiritual health.
14. Reinvest in life a little bit each day…

"Family is not everything"

This blog link was sent to me by a friend and really hit home with me.  I hope you take the time to read it.
http://www.aninchofgray.blogspot.com/2011/12/some-christmas-thoughts-with-photos.html


2011 Lesson #1 – Family is not everything.

It can’t be. Because sometimes beloved sons die. And husbands leave. And daughters lose their minds for decades. And beloved babies are broken by broken men behind the wheel.  And fathers abuse and mothers neglect and sisters and brothers betray. And friends walk away.
Family cannot be everything, everything, everything. Because if it is, then everything can be taken away in the blink of an eye. Or maybe never offered at all.
If family is everything, everything, everything, then it follows that if my family was taken from me, I would have and be nothing. And because if family is everything, then I would need to parent my kids and love my parents and Sister and husband in a state of constant fear. And fear taints love. Fear makes the lover hyperventilate and the beloved suffocate. Fear makes love a cage.
Down past the terrified, ridiculous part of me that believes something terrible will happen if I acknowledge this- I know that family is not everything. It’s a lot. It’s a whole damn lot. If my family were taken from me, or never given to me in the first place, I would feel shattered. But I would still be something. I would still have something. I would still have the most important part of me, as a matter of fact.
And this is something I’ve learned only this year. At the start of 2011, I definitely would have told you that family is everything.
But a few weeks ago I sat with my friend Anna, who lost her Jack this year. She is suffering  through excruciating pain that I’m afraid might just morph and never ease. But listen- when I looked at Anna- I was not looking at a woman with nothing. And it wasn’t just because she has Tim and Margaret left on this side. What I mean is that I was in the presence of a woman who has the entire world in her hands.
Anna is a woman who has power to heal -herself and others. Because Anna has choices. She could curse God and die, and we would all understand. But she doesn’t. She’s alive. Anna’s decision to write, to stay open, to invite us in when she’s most vulnerable, to get out of bed each morning, to keep choosing hope and love and life and to face the horrifically painful truth instead of hiding – her determination that THERE WILL STILL BE JOY, DAMNIT – these choices are healing and awakening her family, friends and readers. A teeny, teeny bit at a time. And since the worst has already happened, Anna is a woman who, at the moment, is loving and living without fear. And that is something.
I know she’d trade all this in a hot second to get her Jack back. But the fact remains that she is still Anna. She is a new Anna. A very, very different Anna. And being with her right now is healing. She makes me less afraid. I just want to be with her all the time. I can’t explain how or why- but being with her right now feels a little bit like being with God. Even with the F-bombs we throw around. (Thank you, God, for curse words. Sometimes they are really all that helps). My friends, Anna has not lost everything. She is still Jack’s and Margaret’s mother and now she’s also mothering multitudes. She had no say in losing her Jack. But she certainly has a say in each moment now. And most days she’s choosing life. THAT is everything. Just mark my words, please. That precious Jack did not die in vain. Anna is going to help heal the world. They are going to do it together, Anna and Jack. One foot on each side.