Mama of Seven

I wrote this post and first shared it on The Frugal Foodie Mama's blog, but I wanted to post it here as  part of my story as well. The Frugal Foodie Mama has a great blog that is about, well frugal fantastic food, and being a mama. She also shares her story of the two babies she lost in early pregnancy. I invite you to check out her blog and share some love.


Whenever I meet someone new, I harbor a tiny feeling of dread for the moment I get asked that question, especially when that someone is a parent. What do parents like to talk about the most? Their kids. Somewhere in that initial conversation, you're bound to get some variation of the question, "How many kids do you have?" Doesn't really sound like such a horrible question does it? An innocent conversation maker. How do I always answer?
"Just one."
Just one. Except I don't have just one. I have seven children. Seven. There's just only one on earth with me. I hate answering that question. I always feel a little bit of guilt, a small feeling of betraying my other children, because they all deserve to be recognized, to be known, acknowledged. I love them all, I miss them all, they are all part of my life, of what makes me, me. Part of me longs to answer, "Seven," or, "One on earth." I want people to know I have all these wonderful, amazing children, but except for the very, very rare time, I can't bring myself to do it. It opens me up to questions I don't always want to answer, things I don't necessarily want to share with relative strangers. It would make people feel sorry for me, or just sorry they asked the question in the first place, because "Woah. That's far deeper water than I was intending to get into," and then the conversation becomes all awkward and stilted. I don't want to be the one to bring a dampener to a casual conversation.
I think that if I could just say it casually, a simple statement of fact, that maybe it wouldn't be so bad, but then I'm afraid that I'll appear callous, making little of miscarriage and related losses, the permanent mark left on my soul. Or be reinforcing the idea that miscarriage is not a big deal, sad, but you get over it, you know? But it is a big deal. It's huge. It's heartbreaking and life changing. And you don't really get over it, you just learn (or try to anyways) to accept it as part of your life. The losses become part of who you are.
I also have trouble answering this question as honestly as I want to, because I don't want to be known as the women who had six miscarriages. I don't want this to be my identity. I have had six miscarriages, but more than that, I am Mother to seven children. Seven children who I love dearly, six who I miss daily. One amazing boy that I get to cuddle, hug, and put to bed every night, and six that I love from a distance. I call them by name, I tell them how much I love them and I miss them. I tell them how glad I am that they are happy and that they have each other. I remind them to look out for one another, even though they really don't need to do that there (the mother in me can't help it). I ask Jesus to give them the hugs I so long to give to them myself. I can see them, how beautiful and strong they are. I see how kind they are and how full of love and joy, and I'm so incredibly proud to be their Mama.
Despite my guilt at not acknowledging them, at not sharing with the world that I have six more wonderful children, I know they hold nothing against me. They love me without hesitance, despite my hesitance to bring them up in casual conversation. They have no needs from me, they simply love me as I am, as I love them. They know how proud I am of them, and with this post I will find a way to begin telling everyone else how proud I am of them too.

- Vanessa, Mama to JJ, Dunadan, Anastasios, Sayuri, Tacey, Aliento, and Nima

My Treasures

Feels like I should be writing a new post. I mean, I've been telling myself for months now that I should write, because it's been so long. I've only written four posts this year, and the last one was May and it wasn't even a real post. And of course, now I've got something really truly to write about, but somehow the drive just isn't there. The emotion that usually pushes me to put something into words is missing right now. I'm just kind of, well numb isn't really the right word for it... cold. Like I'm shutting it off. I don't want to get into right now. Or maybe I really am calloused to it at this point. Except I know that's not true. I guess I'm just temporarily hardening myself.
But for some reason, I'm sitting here writing and I know it's going to come out sooner or later. I'm not sure that anyone who reads this blog doesn't actually know already, because I think all my readers are on Twitter, but somehow it feels like I still need to keep things up to date. For my own sense of order I suppose.
And crap, I just thought of their name, "Nima" and the shell is starting to crack and the tears are filing my eyes for the dozenth time today.
I think it was a girl. Boy thinks it was a boy. Neither of us will ever know for sure in this life. Whoever they are, they are now safely with their brothers and sisters. I know that Nima probably knows more about them than I do at this point, but I'm glad I took the time to tell "her" about them while her life was still with me. I know JJ looks out for them all, not that's there's anything to look out for over there, but he's a good big brother, a true, gentle leader's spirit. Anastasios and Aliento are good brothers, too. One strong, quiet and deep, like a warrior, and one full of giggles taking delight butterflies that land nearby and energetic puppies that cover your face in slobber. Sayuri is full of energy with a strong spirit and a great mothering instinct, just like her aunt, who I'm sure she looks like. Tacey - gentler, a bit dreamy, but with a heart overflowing with love. My children who I've never had a chance to meet, but about whom I feel I've received tiny glimpses of who they are. 
And now there is Nima. I don't know much about you yet, but oh how I love you. From the moment I knew of you, I was your mama. I will always be your mama and I will always love you. I'm sorry that I didn't get to meet you, to see what you look like, to learn all about your personality, to kiss you, teach you, cheer you on, hold you when you cry. I know that now you are full of life, of love, of happiness. You will dance and play with your brothers and sisters, pick flowers, chase shadows, climb trees, all the wonderful things childhood should be made of. You will never know any pain or sorrow and your life will be truly perfect because you will never know any barrier keeping you from the pure, undiluted love of Jesus. There will never be anything that will come between you and him, no reason that will ever make you doubt or question him, nothing that keeps you from truly knowing who he is or how very much he loves you.
I'm so sad that I never got to meet you all, that you were gone before your bodies even finished forming, but when I think of you together, in that perfect place, I can't help but smile at how happy, how free, you all  are and I'm so glad you have each other. You are truly my treasures in heaven.

I'm Not Ok

I'm not ok. I know that I've not been doing very well for the past few days, but now I'm beginning to wonder if it goes deeper than that. The idea is kind of scary - I'm broken enough, I don't need mental/emotion issues on top of what's already there - and then what do I do if there are bigger problems? I just don't know if I can handle this.
Next week, I go for blood work to see if the thyroid medication I'm taking is bringing my TSH levels down to levels that are healthier for pregnancy. This is the one thing we've found to try for my unexplained recurrent losses, so if the levels are good we start "actively" (you know what I mean) trying to conceive again. Basically right away. For the first time in over a year.
I'm really, really scared.
Even though I've been doing my best not to obsess about it, and spend great chunks of time not thinking about it, it's getting to me. I feel like I'm entirely made up of stress and emotions. There is this weight in my chest that is just pulling me down. I'm this weird combination of numb and panic.
Every now and then I have a moment of calm and clarity. I feel ok, "I can do this. Even if I have another miscarriage, it will be horrible, but I can make it through. I've done this before. I will survive." But mostly, the possibility freaks me out. At one point I had hope that something would work, would make a difference to allow my body to carry a baby to term, but lately all I can feel is that it's just not enough. Tinkering with my thyroid is just not enough to make a healthy environment for a baby. How could something so slight be the whole reason that they keep dying? How could this tiny adjustment be a fix? It's not going to be enough, and I'm either going to lose another baby, or just not get pregnant at all. The hope is so small, that it's almost non-existent.
Should I give up? I ask this now and then, and I know that somewhere I have my breaking point, somewhere is the place where I have to just stop before it consumes me. But, I can't do it. Not yet anyway. I'm driven by a need for another child. A need to give my Bug a sibling. I know many people choose to have only one child, and I don't for a second think there is anything wrong with that, but for me, I feel like I'm doing my son a huge injustice if I can't give him a brother or a sister. Like, I'm keeping him from one of life's great experiences. I'm sure some of this comes from growing up in a family of five kids (not always roses and ice cream certainly, but my sister is one of my closest, most trusted friends), since Boy - an only child - doesn't feel this way at all. I feel like my family is incomplete. I've already given up my ideal of having four children, I just can't see it as an option anymore, but to concede to having only one? I can't. let. go. It certainly doesn't help that lately Bug has taken to telling us that he wants a baby sister, mentioning all the things he'll share with her, and occasionally asking, "Is that our baby?" when he sees another little one in life or pictures. I keep telling him we are going to try to make another baby, but it doesn't always work out; but of course, he doesn't understand any of this at all. I mean, despite our trying to explain how we hope to have a baby, he still doesn't understand that we can't just pick one out of a picture, or take home the little girl from church.
So I'm kind of a mess. I'm trying to focus on positive possibilities, but it's so hard. The negative ones are screaming at me.

This morning, Boy had his weekly meeting with the senior pastor. They talk about work, and life, and keep in touch on all things important. Today Boy shared what was going on with us right now, and how we were close to trying again. I don't know the full discussion, but there was mention about how I was handling it all, and SP wondered if I had fully processed my grief from all my losses. When Boy mentioned this to me, at first I was just pissed off. "How does any one else have the right to say I'm not ok? He doesn't even know me that well, he has no idea how I'm doing!" And honestly, I like this man. He's been nothing but kind and helpful to us since before we moved here. So maybe my immediate defensiveness is not really a good sign.
As I talked with Boy and began to think about it, some memories came to mind. Over the past several months there have been more than a few losses with all of my Twitter friends. With all of them, I feel great sympathy and heartache for those going through the loss. But, there have been a few that have shared starting with a tweet much like this, "I'm spotting." Reading those tweets makes my stomach plummet, my chest constrict, and my spirit scream, "No, no, no! Not again."
Wow, even writing those words, I can feel my heart beat faster, my breathing get shallower. As I keep writing, the tears threaten and I can remember exactly how I felt every time the first signs of pink showed on the toilet paper - that frozen panic fear.
See, this doesn't seem like a good thing. I think maybe I'm really not ok. But, what do I do about it? The idea of trying to deal with another problem is just overwhelming. I've already got so many things in my life that I'm trying to figure out, how do I handle one more?
And - it's March. The weather is warming up, Spring is trying to sprung, green things are growing in my garden. It's the time of year where I've always felt myself coming to life again, felt energy renewing after winter and the slight depression that it brings. It was always a time of joy for me. Until I lost my first baby as the crocuses bloomed. Three years after that I had my second loss at the very end of February, and then a year later had my fifth loss, also during the month of March. I love Spring and finally feeling the sunshine on my face, but it brings waves of grief, bittersweet memories of seeing the first flowers bloom, celebrating my first baby, not knowing it was all going to end in a few days. This season now brings me an odd combination of joy and sorrow. Maybe some of what I'm going through right now is simply part of all of this. Maybe this year, this season will bring renewal, and a bit of healing through new life, not just outside, but maybe also within my womb. Maybe this year will bring redemption to March.

New Year, Same Old Fear

Last year about this time, I wrote a post on the new year and feeling skeptical of what it would hold, worried that it would be as bad as the year before it. As this new year is staring me in the face, I'm not sure I feel much differently. 2010 was a year of loss, 2011 was a year of waiting (waiting on doctors, waiting on tests, waiting on answers, waiting on a job), and now 2012 is here and we have a job, a doctor, and what very little answer they could give us. So now it's time to try again.
There are moments when I'm excited and hopeful, but it's hard not to feel the fear. I want another little one. I've actually always wanted four. I thought four would be pretty perfect - avoid the middle child issue, and if it worked to have two boys and two girls, everyone would have a brother and everyone would have a sister. Perfect. In the past few months it's been concreted in my mind that our family will most likely never have more than two children. It's so sad to me. It's been a very hard thing to come to terms with, but I don't think I can go through this again. The losses, the fear, the anxiety. I'll persevere until I have another baby (or until I just can't anymore), and then that's it. I'm done. It breaks my heart. Even if we could figure out what exactly was wrong and how to fix it, I will be getting past the age where I wanted to be having children. I know I'm not that old, but I think I imagined that by 35 I'd be done, not part way through.
Anyway...... Fear. Fear is mostly what I feel now. Not overwhelming, not yet, but there. Whenever I think about this year ahead, I'm a bit afraid. We are still figuring out our new life in this new place, with Boy's new job, figuring out what things look like here - how much time will work take, how stressful will it be, what kind of schedule will Bug and I figure out, who will be our friends here, will we have friends? It's all a bit unsettled still with uncertainty having it's own small factor of fear, but the biggest thing we face right now is trying again. Trying to get pregnant and stay pregnant. We tried for over a year with no success, and as each pregnancy seemed to get shorter in duration, I've wondered if I've gotten to the place where I will have trouble getting pregnant at all.
We have no real answers for all our losses. Despite all the tests, there can be found nothing wrong with me. Except something isn't working properly or we wouldn't be here.  Right now our RE is recommending that I try thyroid meds, because my "high, but still normal" levels may or may not be a contributing factor. So that's it. I go on some drug, hope that it makes a difference, and dive in. Just a little bit terrifying. I don't know what I face this year. Will it be loss? Will it actually be pregnancy, which I will never again be able to get through without feeling varying levels of fear, from just a bit anxious to paralyzingly terrified? Will it take us months to get pregnant, worrying, afraid that somehow I've come to the place where I can't do it at all?
Oh Jesus, save me from the fear. This is not the life I want to lead. I don't want my moments to be wrapped up in the unknown and what it might mean to me. I want to live freely, vibrantly, expectantly. Trusting in Christ, God's love for me, has always been hard. Some of my experiences have made it harder still. I have not completely healed from all of that, from the pain of loss, and the bitterness it can bring, but I know that I'm not done yet. I am closer to Jesus than I was last year, and I believe this year will be bring me closer still. I have been able to recognize his love in my life more clearly, and I've felt as though those nerve endings that connected me to the Spirit have been slowly reviving. I imagine that it's similar to what someone with temporary paralysis might feel as things begin to heal. A tingling at first, ever so slight movement, a long slow process before full feeling, mobility, and strength are returned. We're early stages yet, but enough to give hope, to let me know that things are far from over.
So I'm afraid. But, I'm not content to let that be all. I am moving forward in my fear, trying and figuring out what it means to trust Jesus when nothing is certain.
Right now, the word I see what I look ahead to this year is "fear," but hopefully, when we get to the end, I will be able to look back with something much more positive, like "healing" "renewal" "strength" "comfort" or even "baby."

The Not So Much of an Answer Answer

Results time. All the testing done, from the 17 vials of blood, to the horrible biopsy, to the not so horrible sonohysterography, and the other blood tests in between. I felt ill as I headed to the appointment today, nervous about what we would hear.

It really was a bit anti-climatic as we sat there listening to, "You're healthy. The biopsy came back negative. The sono didn't show anything wrong."

As it turns out the only things that have shown up are some slightly elevated hormone levels and a TSH (thyroid) that was on the high end of normal. A lower TSH level is more ideal for pregnancy, and the hormone levels are often connected to poly-cystic ovarian syndrome although I don't really have any other symptoms. Dr said she would recommend some cycle monitoring to keep an eye on the hormone levels to see what they were doing over a longer period of time, possibly thyroid medication, and then monitoring and progesterone once I got pregnant to give the baby an optimal chance. 

There is one test that we don't have results from yet, and that's the genetic testing. It is possible that those answers will come back and will reveal an issue that will have been the main cause of all our losses, and that will be daunting since as far as I know there won't be anything we can do about it. I might be wrong - I haven't looked into it that much, but what do you do if your genes are screwed up?

Since we are moving next week, Dr is going to give us a referral to a clinic in our new city, and we will see about pursuing some of these options. I'm still not really sure how I feel about all of this - the meds make me nervous, and knowing that there is still a pretty decent risk of miscarriage doesn't really help. I'm really not much farther ahead than I was before, and I want to be able to try again, I want to have another baby, but what if there are just more losses ahead for me? What do I do with that? How much more can I handle before I give up? How successful would all of this be and how much would it screw with me on the way?
There is so much going on right now, so I will wait until the new year to focus on all of this and figure out what exactly to do from here. 

Fall Frenzy

 Is there anyone out there who doesn't have a crazy life? Because mine just seems to go from craziness to craziness. There is so much going on and it's only going to get worse over the next weeks. So I know that despite really only having a tiny bit of time to write tonight, that moments like this will get harder to come by. This will be my attempt to get down at least the main details of everything that's going on, even though there is so much going in my head that I want to write and share, too.

Part One
My last post was all about how we were waiting on word for a job that Boy really wants. If you aren't following my Twitter feed, or just missed it - he got the job! It's looking like it will be an amazing job for him and an amazing place for our family. I'm pretty sure I'm very happy with it, but for some reason, our excitement over it has been a bit lacking. I think it may be that we are somewhat overwhelmed with all we have to do and I know Boy is feeling anxious about this new and more intense position. Also, saying goodbye to family and my home town certainly carries it's own sadness. Hopefully, once we get there and start unpacking and meeting people, we will have that enthusiasm come back!
Things were greatly dampened as the job offer came in when, it did in fact, include the condition that we only bring two cats. I wept and sobbed and decided along with my Boy, that this is what we would have to do. We needed this job and the hope and future that came with it.
While still very emotional, I asked Boy to send a request begging (yes, I used that word) them to please reconsider. I had little hope they would do so though, and began to inquire with friends if anyone knew of a good home for our poor kitties. I was especially worried about one girl, knowing it would be very hard to find a home for her and that we might have to make the decision to put her down. She's a skittish little girl who doesn't like anyone to come near her, pick her up, or generally exist. Oh, and she tends to pee on things. Who wants a cat like that? (Heck, most of the time we don't even want a cat like that, but she's our cat, she's part of the family, and that's what you do.)
Then - surprise. They really did consider our words and think about whether they could change this condition. And they did. We could bring them all! They did place a few conditions on that, but none of it was more than we offered to do in the first place. I am so very relieved to be free of the burden and sadness of finding good homes for four kitties. I am very grateful that we get to keep our family - and that I don't have to try to explain to Bug where are kitties are going.
Now to be completely honest (cause this is my honest space), it can be a huge pain to have so many cats. After spending a few days adjusting my mind to what it would be like to have only two cats, I am feeling anew the burden of six. Transporting them, vet bills, expensive food, keeping them out of bedrooms, cleaning up hairballs or vomit every couple of days, and of course, the joy of coming across something that has been peed on. I disconnected from them a bit during that time, and while I still love them and would hate to say goodbye, I can see how much easier our life would be without so many, and I'm closer to being willing to let go of them than I've ever been before. I'm not sure I would openly admit this to anyone in real life, but there it is.
Everything else on this storyline is going well. We put our house on the market and had an offer accepted, conditions waived, in one week. Our realtor said it had been a long time, since he'd seen a deal come together this quickly and smoothly. Just another confirmation we are on the right road.
We hired a U-Haul, the biggest they have, and then worried that we still wouldn't fit, so we got a trailer for it too. Boy was pretty anxious about driving this and happened to mention it to our new pastor/boss. He found someone to drive the six hours down here with him, in order to drive the truck back up the next day. How amazing is that? And I think this is only the first sign of what a great church family this is going to be.
We seem to be doing well with packing, as the boxes pile up to the ceiling, and it looks like we will be on track to be ready before we need to start loading the truck! (not always the case for us) We do have a few things going on that make this a bit more challenging for us though.

Part Two
For over a year now, I have been moving towards trying to find some answers as to why I'm having so much trouble carrying a baby. It took months to get in to see an OB/GYN, and if you've been reading, you know how much of a disaster that turned out to be. After that, I knew I needed to take greater measures, and I contacted a clinic in Toronto. I was still pretty nervous that I would get all the way down there and they would give me the same, "sorry, can't help you," that I'd already heard, but even on the phone they sounded friendly and professional, and I was assured more than once that my own experiences and home pregnancy tests would be taken seriously.
My appointment finally rolled around this past week. We did the 90 minute drive while my phone chirpped with the never ending, ever so valuable support from twitter friends, and I worried that it would be a huge gaffe taking Bug into a fertility clinic, despite the fact that I had been told that was just fine. We had a bit of trouble finding the clinic in the huge building, but with a bit of help, we arrived on time. I was immensely grateful to see that not only was it ok to bring a little one, but it was also expected, as Bug immediately spotted the a children's area off to the side.
Meeting with this doctor was like night and day from my last experience. She was quiet spoken, professional, friendly, had the ability to listen, took the time to explain things, allowed me time to ask questions, and most importantly of all, told me my early losses did indeed count in the puzzle of my fertility. She didn't necessarily know what they meant, might not be able to figure it out, but they were important and she was going to see what she could find.
She heard my story and then took me step by step through what she wanted to do, pausing to make sure I followed along and agreed with everything.  The first thing we did was blood work. I counted and they took seventeen vials of blood from me! I've done blood work before, but definitely never that much at a time. Next  week I go back down for an endometrial biopsy. She explained it as doing a pap, but going deeper to get a tissue sample. Since I really don't like doing paps, and have never had one that didn't hurt, I'm really not looking forward to this. I have two more blood work requisition forms and will have to call later to book a sonohysterography - an ultrasound where they use a bit of saline to expand your uterus to get a better look inside. Also not looking forward to that.
She's been very understanding of our imminent move and has worked to get as much of this done before we are four hours away from the clinic. It's making our days that much busier and giving me that much more stress, but I'm appreciative of her efforts to take care of us.
At the end of this month, maybe we will not only have a new home, a new city, and a new job; maybe we will also have some answers, some hope, and some help, giving us a chance to add another precious little one to this precious little family of ours.


If anyone has any info, tips, or encouragement on these procedures I'm looking at, please share! I'm quite intimidated by them and will welcome anything that would help them go smoothly.

Still Standing Still (as my heart aches)

Exactly two months ago, we finally got in to see a gynecologist. The plan was to ask for testing to see if we could find a reason that I have five miscarriages. It didn't go how we hoped. We did the month of cycle monitoring, and then had to wait another two weeks for a follow up. That was today. The result - pretty much the same thing that went through at the first appointment - only less professional.
He came into the room, told my son to get off the "couch" and told me I had to sit there. Um, there's a reason I'm not up there already. I hate sitting up there. It makes me feel like a child. It makes me feel more vulnerable and less like a person with rights. We're already a bit crappy at speaking up for ourselves, so we shuffle around to our "appropriate" seats. I'm really not sure why this is an issue since Bug sat up there last time, and I definitely did not. But, maybe it has something to do with the young man standing in the corner, who we haven't been introduces to. I have to only assume he's a student doing some shadowing, since I get a glimpse of a McMaster badge hanging around his neck. Now, I have nothing against a student being in this appointment, but surely it would only be common courtesy to introduce him and make sure we are comfortable with his presence. Whatever.
He asks me how I am, what can he do for me?
"Um, I would like some testing, please?"
"Well, I see you are not pregnant."
No kidding. Didn't we have this conversation already? I'm not going to try until we can rule out causes of the miscarriages.
We are interrupted by his yelling at my son to sit down. Excuse me? Where exactly do you get off? Boy politely asks him if he having a bad day, because really he wasn't like this last time. He says no he's not, but this isn't the place for tots. He should be in the waiting room and not getting into my things. You mean the completely sealed package we immediate took away and move him away from? I try to explain that I need my husband with me and we haven't got anyone to leave Bug with, so here he is. He dismisses the issue.
We return to the frustrating circular conversation about whether or not he can do some tests for us. One moment it seems like he can, the next not. Essentially he says he has to have proof to report to the government on why he's ordering the tests. Without proof, he can't order them. There are no miscarriages and no reasons to do testing.
He says if we are "afraid" to get pregnant, that that is a different matter and we can check that everything is ok. What does that mean? What's the difference? At the end he tells us he can give us a referral for genetic testing "on patient request." (What does that mean? It won't be covered?) We accept it, cause it's all we've got right now, but it's not enough.
I'm looking at a clinic in Toronto, and so far it sounds ok - they have a specialist who is researching repeat pregnancy loss, but I'm so nervous that we will drive all the way down there, with hope for help, only to be told the same thing, "Sorry, nothing we can do without proof."
I was so anxious about this appointment for exactly this reason, and now it's staring me in the face. I'm still not moving forward. It took me ages to decide to do this, ages to get the appointment, and nothing. I have to start a new route somewhere and try to keep hoping someone will do tests without us obtaining more "proof."

God, I don't understand. Please, send us people who will help, and who will do so with compassion. Please let us be able to find some answers without having to first get "proof."

Step One

I'm not sure I even know where to start right now. It's been a very rough couple of weeks. The trip to New York was so stressful and took ages to recover from. Then, over Mother's Day I got sick, which passed to Bug (his first time really being sick, and it made us all miserable), which then passed onto Boy, who was sick for ages. Nobody was getting enough sleep and we were trying to take care of each other - it was a horrible week. I felt like I was never going to get my energy back and be in a decent mood again.
Finally, I began to regain some balance (it really is amazing what just weeding a patch of land can do),

what happens when you do yard work barefoot

and I had to begin to prepare for my appointment with Dr. O - the OB/GYN my family doctor had given me a referral to. When? Oh, back in January. Yes, he had a four month waiting list. So maybe I should have been prepared earlier, but really, I just prefer not to deal with stressful things until I have to. Plus, there have been so many other things going on, that I just felt like I couldn't deal with this yet.
So, at the end of last week, I sat down and wrote out my whole story, and I mean the whole thing. From the beginning of always having very crappy periods, to my first miscarriage, my endometriosis diagnosis, my healthy pregnancy, my easy periods after pregnancy, my next four losses, my trial with progesterone cream, my ovulation pain, and finally, my increasingly worse periods, again. I marked down all the important dates, listed specific questions I wanted to know about any test we might do, tried to gather info on what tests might be good to start with or might have not have heard of yet, and did my best to not be anxious about the meeting. It was just to talk after all.
Bah. So how many of you are thinking, "Well, that was a waste of your time?" Cause you'd be right. Any of you who aren't thinking that, can I have your doctor, please? I really wanted a chance just to tell my whole story, because I know it's all connected. I wanted a doctor who I knew was really listening to me and taking into consideration all I have experienced and learned. I'm not entirely sure such a doctor exists.
It went sort of how I actually expected it to. He asked a handful of questions - how many times have I been pregnant, how far along were the miscarriages, when did they happen, and oh - did I have any proof? Because apparently, if I don't have medical records to back up my statements, they might not actually be valid. My four pregnancies that are based only on HPTs might have been false positives. (What?! Am I just that clueless? Cause really I thought it was incredibly difficult to get a false positive. Like, you had to be intentionally adding certain hormones to your body...?) He was calm and professional throughout and not quite as horrible as he sounds, but it's not possible to nicely say, "Your babies, whom you deeply grieved, might have been imaginary." He then tried to explain that it was possible that despite my monthly ovulation pain and bleeding every twenty-eight days, that I might not be ovulating and having regular cycles. So, he wants to monitor my cycle for a month (or three to six) - do blood work and ultrasounds through my cycle to see what my ovaries and hormones are doing. Hopefully, one month will tell him what I already know, cause there is no way I'm waiting several months to even talk testing. Especially since he tells us that having five miscarriages would put me in a "high risk" group that would likely need to do chromosome testing - something that takes three to four months to get the results. Ugh. I knew this was going to be hard, but this is even more than I was expecting.
Somewhere in there, his words made me begin to wonder if he was going to have me try to get pregnant so that he could see what happens. I'm really hoping that was just my perception, because I really can't handle that. I can't do this again without a plan, without an idea of why my babies are not staying alive. Even if he doesn't think I've had five miscarriages, my heart knows, and it can't handle another attempt without hope for a different outcome.
Before we left the office, we sent up contact info and blood work dates with his administrator. She was happy to inform me that doing the ultrasounds would let me know the best time for "trying." Um, honey, I know when to try. Trying isn't the problem. Getting pregnant isn't the problem, staying pregnant is. "We won't be trying these months."
"How come?"
"From my perspective (notice that I, at least vocally, give allowance that they could be right), I've had five miscarriages, and I just can't do that right now."
"You might not have."
Slam, bam, thank you mam. I think I'll just go home and cry now.

(Giant SIGH) At home, totally drained, I try to work some of this out, sharing it with a few who care about me. Out of their love and caring, three separate people let me know I need to find a new doctor PRONTO. I get this. I would likely give the same advice to anyone in this experience, who also had a different medical system. I don't feel like I have many options. In order to see a new doctor, I would have to go back to my family doctor and get another referral, which would most likely take another three to six month wait for an actual appointment, and no guarantee that they wouldn't say the same things. While writing this post, I actually looked up fertility clinics in Ontario (the closest of which is about an hour and a half away). I would still need a doctors referral, but they say they try to see clients within two weeks of that, which would be great, but - their initial task is to do a month or more of... monitoring! So I wouldn't be in a much different position. Plus, their site makes it sound like all blood work, ultrasounds and other procedures have to be done in their clinic, requiring several trips a month to the city (with a three year old - or at least almost three!). So, I'm sticking with this and hoping I'm not making the wrong decision. I do feel a little bit better knowing that the top docs will do the same monitoring. I feel less disregarded knowing that.
I have been praying about this, and will continue to do so, trying to trust that God leads our path even now. Hoping that he will make sure we are with the right doctor and will receive the right tests and treatments. God, give me wisdom to make the right decisions, to take care of myself and my health, and grant me trust in your provision.

In Which I Am Not Pregnant

The past two weeks (well, just under) and been overly stressful. Boy and I decided to try one more time for a baby before stopping to wait for tests. A few days into the "two week wait" I was beginning to feel what could be pregnancy symptoms. I knew it was early yet, so I waited patiently. The patience lasted until I was about a week through and I had a complete emotional breakdown. Then I realized I was either pregnant or crazy. I was more and more convinced that I was indeed pregnant - heartburn, leg cramps, aching hips, runny nose, sore boobs, insomnia, mood swings. What else could be going on?

Then the back ache started. Oh, the familiar back ache. The indication that all is over. I hung on to hope. Some moments, I was convinced I was pregnant and feeling like it was all going to be ok. Some moments, I was certain I was pregnant and my body was already moving into miscarriage. Occasionally, I was just wondering what was going on. Was I really pregnant or not?

Eventually I gave into the temptation to test. Eight days past ovulation and a negative test. Well, really, it's too early to test anyways. Didn't you know that? Ten days past ovulation and a negative test. Ten days - nobody gets a positive at ten days. Hmm, but maybe, maybe I'm not pregnant...  Twelve days past ovulation and a negative test. Well, it's still early. Lots of people get negative tests this early.  But - I get a postitive test this early. Maybe I'm really not pregnant! That would also mean I'm not miscarrying! Oh, thank God. I don't know if I could handle another miscarriage right now. I'm still not convinced, but I think I will just be relieved. Thirteen days past ovulation and the barest hint of signs of period start to show.

And the sadness crashes down. The disappointment sets in. What the heck? I thought I would mostly be relieved to be not miscarrying, but somehow I'm so sad that there is no baby. Rationally, I know it's partly due to the crazy hormones that have been going on. Rationally, I know that I'm glad to not be fearing, dreading another miscarriage. Rationally, I know that it's probably good that we will now be waiting until our appointment, until tests are discussed and preformed, until we have a few more answers. Rationally, I know that it will be good for us to have a little break from baby maybe and worry and fear. But then, emotions aren't rational and I carry this weight around with me. I'm not pregnant.

Like a Breath - Losing Aliento

Last Tuesday, I started spotting, then bleeding, and Wednesday I passed a tiny piece of tissue that I knew had contained the life of my child. Honestly, I didn't think it would hurt as much as it did - does. I wasn't totally sure they existed, and I'd had a week to get used to the idea that I was losing whoever might be there, but the ache... It just goes and goes. I think the outside sees me as doing ok if a bit grumpy and short, but I'm not ok. I'm not. It hurts and hurts and hurts.
Things are not going well around here. I'm down and on edge, because of losing another baby and dealing with my FIL being sick, and Boy is on edge and down, because his Dad is really sick and he's lost another baby. (They are reverse for him and that's ok.) We're just barely supporting one another. Thankfully, Bug seems to be doing ok - nursing a lot more, but if that's all it takes for his world to be alright, we can nurse as much as he wants.
I couldn't handle telling all of my family in person (parents, four siblings), so I sent them a mass email. Every loss seems to get less response - one phone call from each sister and mom, one short question from a brother ("Have you thought about stopping?") For them it's just "again." "This thing that happens to my sister." Sometimes, even I think I should be getting used to this by now, and I'm surprised by how much it hurts, but it's just impossible. You can't get used to it.
What do I do with this pain? How do I handle this? I want to tell people, to get support, but not having any close friends, I'm not sure who to tell. I don't even know how to tell anyone. What do I say, "Oh, yeah, by the way, I lost another baby last week...?" There's no conversation intro for this. I felt desperate to talk with someone, someone who'd been down this path, so I posted a request on Facebook, knowing that I have "friends" who've been through this, but I got no response. Finally, in my need I sent a private message to a few ladies I know who've lost babies, and asked if any of them would be willing to meet with me. It shows how desperate I feel, because this is very out of character for me to contact people I don't know that well, to share intimacies with them and ask them to share with me. Thankfully, they were gracious to me and hopefully I will be able to connect with one and feel some freedom from this burden - this "secret" that I can't shout to everyone, even though I really want to.
Where is God in all of this? Really, I'm not sure. I don't feel "unloved" or "abandoned," but as the feelings that remind me so much of my depression surround me, I'm having a hard time connecting to him. I know I need to put more effort into that, time in scripture and not just the hasty, needy prayers I keep sending up, but I just. don't. want. to. Except maybe right now... when I don't feel like I have time. Maybe, he'll come and find me.

Baby, I love you. You'll always be mine. You have good company with your siblings there, and Jesus will hold you when you need holding. Wait for me. I will come to you.

Aliento (breath) 
 LORD, what are human beings that you care for them,
   mere mortals that you think of them?
 They are like a breath;
   their days are like a fleeting shadow.
Psalm 144:3-4

Today's Story

I've only just started talking about this to people today, because I haven't really known what to say. I think I might be pregnant. But - I really don't know for sure. My cycle was really different this go round and Boy and I decided just to take a test, even though we didn't think there was even a chance of a positive at that point - if I was pregnant, I was, at most, a week past ovulation. (I normally know when I ovulate due to intense pain, but still hadn't experienced it yet. I had all the lead up to ovulation symptoms, but then nothing. I figured there was a chance I slept through it this time, since I've been so exhausted lately.) So, we test... and nothing. Ok, expected as much. Assuming that something delayed ovulation, and I'm still waiting.
A hour or two later, I come back to the bathroom and take another look at the test (know I'm not alone in this), there faintest of faint, is a line. Well, technically this is not supposed to count. They say not to read the test after ten minutes - evaporation lines can happen, but my experience with these tests have never shown evaporation lines. We decided to try another one - same deal. I'm beginning to realize that I'd been experiencing a few things that generally only happen to me when pregnant - pain while nursing, leg cramps, etc. At the same time, a dull ache begins in my lower back, the kind of ache I get in the days before I miscarry. Now I'm just in a cloud. Am I  pregnant? Not? Pregnant and going to miscarry again? How much of this is simply psychological? I mean, the back pain started the moment I showed Boy the faint line.
Ok, let's give it a couple of days and try again. This time we decide to have have Boy do a test, too. A control group of sorts. Two hours later mine shows a faint line, his nothing. One hour later, his shows a line even fainter than mine. I say line, but they're really more shadows. If it's possible to feel more confused, I do. I tested twice more since then, two days apart each time, and gotten the same results. I know that "officially" these are not positive tests, but then why has my body felt this way for the past week and a half? But if they're positive why did Boy's test turn up a line? But, if they're just evaporation lines, why have these test never shown one in the past? (Believe me, I've checked.)
Here's one of my biggest problems right now - I don't know if there is any way for me to confirm that I'm not pregnant. I feel like I am, or was, anyways. I could be miscarrying and have it start the same day I would normally expect my period. On the other hand, I may never be able to confirm more than this that I am pregnant. I may never get a stronger test line, and, well, a miscarriage could start the same day I would normally expect my period. For some, this might not be a big deal. Don't think about it too deeply and when the period shows up on time, or a day or two late, assume that's it and move on. No pregnancy, no worries. This is basically what my sister said she'd do, when I tried to talk to her about it. But see, it just doesn't work that easily for me. I've had too many babies this way. If there is a baby there, they're mine. They're important to me. I want to name them, remember them. How do I do that if I'm not entirely sure they exist? But, how do I not do that, if I think they do? To not name them, write their dates down with all their siblings, tell my parents... I'm not acknowledging them, I'm ignoring them, disowning them. I can't do that to my baby! On top of that, how do I tell my family? "Yeah, so I'm pretty sure I was pregnant and miscarried, so I named them            ." My one sister has basically already said she wouldn't take it seriously.
My heart aches. I hate waiting periods. I hate not knowing what is going on (with pretty much anything). When I tested this morning, Boy and I watched the pink flow across the viewer, and for a minute saw a line come into sight. I was so happy. I knew it didn't mean that I wasn't miscarrying again, but it meant I could know. I could be sure of the life there and I'd know where I stood. But then, as the pink faded away to leave the control line (dark and strong), the test line faded too. Again, it's shadow showed up two hours later, but I still don't know what that means...

After that first shadow, I panicked. The familiar stab of fear shot through my soul. Pregnant? What if I lose them? What if I lose them? I cried and prayed, occasionally on my knees, hoping that God would see my earnestness and my humility before him. As much as I was asking him to let my baby (if one currently existed, or when the next one did) live, I was also asking how I would get through this again. Asking for simply the strength to handle it, to handle a pregnancy and the fear that would go with that; to handle another miscarriage, if that's what life held for me. I searched scripture - mainly the Psalms, like so many troubled souls before me - for comfort. I no longer search for words on what the outcome will be, or reassurance of the outcome I want. I simply want to find strength to get me through whatever happens. I want to find peace and the assurance that God is actively loving me no matter what my circumstances are telling me.
Eventually, the frantic, on edge feeling wore down, and I felt, not quite peace, but enough calm to move on with my daily life. Since then, God continues to give me a sense of calm about it all. It's not constant, but the emotions are more sadness and confusion than fear and panic. For that I'm thankful. I don't know what will happen when I finally get a reliable positive test, or the pre-peroid/possible miscarriage starts, but today I'm holding on.

All of that huge post is has been my life's background chatter for the past week. Today has added more to the pile. It's a very gray day here today. The sun is shining (thank God for sunshine) outside, but inside our house is a gray cloud. Last year, FIL had a malignant melanoma removed from the back of his shoulder. Today it was confirmed that the cancer had spread to his liver. As of yet, we don't have a definite prognosis or treatment plan, but it doesn't look good. Boy doesn't know how to process the likelihood of his father's life ending. A few hours after that news, Boy received a rejection letter from the last church he had an application out too, the last church with a position available that fit him and our family. Now what?
Matthew 6:32-34 ³² For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. ³³ But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. ³⁴ Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.

My Story

I used to know that God loved me. I was so confident in it. I knew I was cherished, treasured; deeply, passionately loved. That knowledge flowed through me like power.
Those that know my story (or that have never been connected to a pet) may find the next part of my story frivolous or shallow. I had a cat. I loved this cat. He cheered and comforted me when little else could. He was a sleek beauty that cuddled up with me. Then, I lost him. In mid-January, in Ontario. My heart broke, and every time I thought about him being out in the (literally) freezing cold it broke a little more. I prayed. And prayed. I searched scripture for comfort. This was my baby. I was so desperate for him to come home, for someone to find him. I believe God would return him to me. I believed God had shown me that my precious kitty would come home.
When Dodger didn't come home that was the beginning of my faith anchor coming loose. Shortly after that I went through a two year bout of depression. I've met a few other Christians who've dealt with depression, and none of them have made it through without losing, to various degrees, their connection to God. It was the same for me. I couldn't find him anymore. The God I'd felt so close too, became far away. I tried and tried, but I simply couldn't feel him. I used to see his love in the sunset, the wind, a bird singing on my porch. I saw him all around me and though out my life. Now the connection had withered away. I didn't know where God was.
When my body finally regained it's equilibrium, and I could function normally without anti-depressants, I worked on regaining that connection. I desperately wanted it back in my life. I wanted the peace and strength I had received from it. But, I could never quite figure out how to get there again.
When I began to miscarry my first child, JJ, I worried that it would destroy what remaining faith I had. It didn't. I knew that God hadn't caused the death, and that he could carry me through the pain, even if I couldn't feel him.
That fist miscarriage threw my body into upheaval. I went through months of hormonal caused intense anxiety, and constant pain in my side (which made the anxiety worse).  The pain was finally (stupid doctors) diagnosed as endometriosis, and as much as possible was removed reducing the side pain, and thankfully, my debilitating period cramps. Now I just get pain side pain when I ovulate, and pain killers actually manage the cramps.
All through those anxious months, Boy and I kept seeing bunnies (real, live bunnies) in unexpected places. I don't remember why exactly, but they became our signals from God - the he was with us, and loving us just as greatly as ever. The bunnies continued to show up throughout my (worry and fear filled) pregnancy with Bug. (It's fitting that his nursing/sleeping friends are two little stuffed bunnies.) There were also run-ins with people I hadn't seen in forever, and friends in unexpected places with just the right words, that made me think God was watching out for me and baby, and that maybe things were going to be ok this time.
My relationship with my heavenly father was healing, but never returned to it's previous security. I've become overly cynical, and critical of Christian platitudes. I used to be free and excited in worship. Now I question those who are overtly exuberant. These feelings have become more ingrained as I've lost three more children over the past year. I get frustrated at Christians who say things like, "God shows his love by bringing trials," and I wonder whether they've ever experienced great grief or trauma. Would they still believe that statement? I don't. I believe that God shows his love, not by bringing us trials, but by bringing us through the trials this crappy world is made of.
This is my story. This is my struggle to get back to believing God and the promises he made in his word. I continue to seek him and to pray for the healing of my bruised and broken spirit.

Change of Direction

I originally started this blog to talk about parenting, specifically attachment/natural/instinctive parenting since I didn't have anyone in real life to talk to about it (except of course, my very patient husband, who listens to me rant about the same things over and over). Lately, (as I'm sure you can tell) my urge/need/ideas for writing in this area have somewhat dried up (I do have a vaccination post that I'm sort of, vaguely working on, and may finish someday). Instead, I'm finding that I need a place to write about my journey of heartbreak through miscarriage, and how it's affecting my emotions and my faith.
I know that most of my readers came here for the parenting writing, and that talking about faith (specifically "I believe in Christ and salvation" kind of faith) may not be your cup of tea. If you decided to stop reading, I will be sad to lose you, but I wish you the best and you can find other excellent blogs in my "Friends" page. I will probably still post about parenting and related issues when the drive hits me, but as recent history has shown, it may not be very frequently.
Love to all, and I hope you'll hang around for a while yet!

New Year Blues

Anyone else not totally thrilled with a new year? As calendars turned over, I saw comment after comment excited about the new year. "Yay! A new year," "I love the new year, a fresh start," "Looking forward to a new year," etc. But for me I found that it only brought this vague feeling of dread.
The past year was a bad one for me and mine. We lost three babies, an uncle, and Boy's employment. I was looking forward to it being over, to having a chance for things to turn around. I just wanted to put that year and all it's bleakness behind me. But as the new year started, I realized that I didn't feel different. I didn't have a greater feeling of hope or a sense of a clean slate. Instead, I felt a subtle current of fear. What if this year isn't any different? What if we can't figure out why I've had four miscarriages so far? What if I have more? What if Boy isn't able to find a job? What if he finds one and it turns out to be bad? What if this year holds some other unexpected tragedy? This time last year, I had no idea what the months would hold for me. I certainly wasn't expecting all the heartache that would come. I want that clean slate, fresh start, but I realize that just because I pulled out a new calendar doesn't mean I've pulled out a new life. So I feel somewhat scared about what might happen this year.
I want to be someone who counts their blessings instead of focusing on the dark spots, so I talked to Boy today and asked him, "What were some of the good things of this past year?" We could think of a few - certainly watching Bug grow and develop, starting to speak in sentences, learning how to pedal his trike, gaining comfort and confidence in group settings; also a new nephew, enjoying times at the in-laws cottage,

Bug at the cottage

and starting a games night with some friends - but, those things feel overshadowed, creating a dark year for us.
I greatly hope that this year will be one of joy and celebration for us - a great job, a new baby, continued time to connect with family and friends. God willing, there is a change just over the horizon for us, something to give us hope and that fresh start. Heck, even writing all this down has given me a slightly brighter outlook.

I've never been one for New Year's resolutions, but in the spirit of fresh starts and new focus there is one thing that I want to do - sit down with Boy and detail a family vision. It's something that's been on my mind for a while now. Thanks to blogs like Passionate Homemaking and The Mommypotamus the idea of a family vision has been growing on me, and I can see the potential benefits it would have. It doesn't have to be anything huge or complicated, simply a list of what our priorities are and simple things that will help our lives to reflect them. For example, for us family is very important, not just our little family, but extended as well. One thing that I want to start doing to strengthen those bonds, is set up regular Skype dates with grandparents and other family we live far from. I think having a family vision written down will give us more focus and something to fall back to when making decisions, "Does it fit with our family vision?"  That's my new start for our new year, something fresh and hopeful to focus on.

May your new year be full of joy and wonderfulness. May sorrow be a stranger.

You Miscarried? (Crap, What Do I Say?) - Consolation in the Face of Uncommon Grief

Nobody is an expert at grief. We always feel bad when we don't know what to say or do in the face of someone else's loss, but it's normal to feel awkward and hesitant. Nothing can fix the situation, and some things can make it worse. We don't want to hurt the already hurting person. This all becomes compounded when dealing with a miscarriage. There is an extra level of mystery and confusion surrounding miscarriages, and for many, it's just more foreign. Almost everyone has experienced the death of someone they know and love, but fewer have personal experience with the death of someone who wasn't even born yet. People often feel even more clueless as to how to support and comfort in the face of this unfamiliar tragedy.
Having recently been through this for the fourth time (awesome), I'm beginning to get a better and better idea of what I want and don't want from other people, of what is helpful and what is not. I know that this list wouldn't be the same for everyone, but hopefully it will give some guidance to someone who is stumbling through this unknown. So, a few of my do's and don't's for dealing with someone who has had a miscarriage:

1. Do send a card, flowers, or food as you feel led. This shows that you acknowledge it as a real loss, not just an unfortunate incident.
2. Do say, "I'm sorry you lost your baby. Is there anything I can do?" There generally isn't, but is shows you care and want to be supportive.
3. Don't say it if you don't mean it. Can I really call you to help clean my house because I don't have the energy?
4. Do feel free to show interest, but don't pry. If I want to share details with you, I will.
5. Do remember that the pain doesn't stop after the first day. Grief is a long process. I'm not going to be over this tomorrow, or a week from now. One of the most helpful things for me has been my sister who, for the first little while, calls me everyday just to say, "How are you?" It shows me that she cares, she's thinking of me, and she wants to help. It gives me an opportunity to talk if I want to, but the freedom to move on to other subjects if I want that.
6. Unless you are close to me, please don't ask me how I'm feeling. First of all, I don't know if you are asking about me physically or emotionally. Don't make me guess. Secondly - if it's how I'm feeling physically, your question makes it seem like I was simply ill or have a physical problem, not that I'm grieving my baby's death. If there are physical symptoms I'm going through, I'm not likely to share that intimate information with you if we are not close. If your question is how I'm feeling emotionally, would you actually ask that of anyone else going through grief? They are likely to shoot you an, "Are you stupid?" look.  Pick a grief emotion and I've felt it - sad, angry, bitter, numb, betrayed, overwhelmed, guilty, alone, etc. Again, unless we are "share all our secrets" kind of close, I'm not likely going to want to share the intimate details of these emotions with you either.
7. Don't tell me about Susie, or Jane, or your three cousins, or whoever it is that you know that also had a miscarriage, or six, or trouble getting pregnant, or whatever their story is. It's so not helpful on so many levels. 
8. Do tell me your story, if you've been there. It is helpful to simply hear, "I had a miscarriage (or six). I've been where you are." It feels a just a little bit less lonely, and a little bit more understood. Also, a simple statement like that leaves the door open for me to ask about your story, without having it forced on me if I'm not ready.
9. Don't hint at understanding. "I know that it's hard." Do you mean you know loss is hard, or that you know personally that miscarriage is hard? Please just say it straight out. If you are trying to share, but I'm not sure, you haven't really shared anything. 
10.  During my miscarriages, the only people who know are generally family. Afterwards, I don't care anymore who knows. It's my grief and it just might be public. For some people, the whole situation is a very private thing. Unless you are very sure that it's ok, don't share your friend's story with anyone else.
11. Don't ask questions about what I did or didn't do before or during pregnancy. You may simply be trying to help find an explanation and hope for next time, but I'm already wondering if there was something I could have done to change the outcome. Even without a specific reason, a mother is likely to be feeling that she somehow failed her child. I always feel like I've let them, and my husband, down by not being able to hold on to them and support their life.
12. Don't make comments such as, "At least... you have your son... you can try again... it was early..." Those things may be true, and yes, my son is a comfort to me, but these statements just belittle the loss. This was a baby, they were my baby, and I want them.
13. Don't tell me that God had a reason for having this happen. I believe in God. I believe that no life begins or ends without his knowledge. I don't believe that God purposely ends my babies' lives. There is no reason good enough to justify the death of my children. Crap happens because we live in a crap world. I do believe that God can and does take that crap and bring something good out of it - nothing good enough to balance out the loss, but some small redemptive measure. Like, maybe after this, my fourth miscarriage, as I'm able to be more aware of what is helpful and what is not, and I'm prompted to write this post, someone will read this and be better able to support and bring a tiny measure of comfort to a friend going through their own miscarriage. Nowhere near worth being justification for losing my baby, but a tiny good thing that could come out of their very short life.

 Overall, what I want is to have it acknowledged. Acknowledge that I had a baby. Acknowledge that it died. Acknowledge that I'm grieving. Acknowledge that I will be grieving for a while. Don't ignore it. Don't try to make smaller than what it is. Don't make it common. This is my grief and it will be what it will be.

If you've been through pregnancy loss of any kind, feel free to add your own thoughts, tips, experiences.

Again

They all think
I'm doing fine
Handling well this grief of mine
But they don't know
Cause I don't show
Collapsing to the floor at times
The silent screams
The bitter cries
The heart inside me tries to hide

They can't see
What it means to me
Another loss that tried to be
It's old hat
She's used to that
It must have lost intensity
Don't understand
There's no old hand
No such familiarity

Each time is fresh
Each wound is new
Pain that I have not been through
I try to walk
But I can't stand
Crouching, clenching empty hands
Betrayed again
Can't make it stop

My Uterus = None of Your Business

This will not be an unfamiliar rant to any woman, so why are women the most common offenders?

I don't get how, you, a little known acquaintance, feel the right to ask me questions about my uterus, or perhaps, my sex life. Oh, you say you did no such thing? Really. Well, let's go back a little. There we were sharing a little conversation, commenting on how cute my son is, typical small talk topics, and then, out of the blue, "No more kids yet?" Hmm, well since you don't see any more kids kicking around me, haven't noticed the presence of a tiny being attached to my hip, shoulder, or any other visible body part, I have to assume you are asking about my uterus. Any kids in there? Essentially, you are asking, "Are you pregnant?" But some sort of common sense tells you that that is not an appropriate question to ask someone you barely know, so how does it fail to tell you that your chosen phrasing is still not ok? Seriously.

And you, yes, you, the one who never says more than, "Hello. How are you?" The one time you stop to comment on Bug and ask his age, is not the one time it becomes ok for you to ask if we are going to have any more. Or, decoded, "Are you having, or planning to have, unprotected sex with your husband?"  Sure, that's not what you intend to ask, but really, it's not that much different. It's still personal and not something you should be asking an almost stranger.

And then, my all time favorite, you have known me for a little while, we talk occasionally about children, jobs, the weather, but nothing bellow the surface, except now you decide to ask, "When are you having more?" For some unknown reason you have no idea that this might not be as casual a question as, "How's your weekend?" Well, let's see... first of all I would have to give you the information that my husband and I have indeed decided that we want more, and then of course would be the information that we have chosen to "get it on," and knock me up. Too much info? Wait, I'm not done. Next comes the information that we have been "doing it" for the past year and the result so far has been two miscarriages. Finally, I would need to tell you that we continue to mate on a regular basis, but who knows if the next one will end in miscarriage as well. It could even turn out that I may not be able to have another baby. (God grant that this is not true.) More than you wanted to know? Deeper than you wanted to go? Think before you ask.

If you really feel the need to ask something, try, "Do you want to have more kids?" This question doesn't touch timing - "Are you pregnant now? Will you be soon?" It doesn't inquire into my sex life or personal choices, require me to explain anything, or figure out how to avoid unwanted intimacy with you. I can simply say, "Yes."

Tiny

I haven't written in a long time, mostly because I knew I needed to write about this, but it still feels too difficult. It's hard to know what to say - do I write about events, facts, the practical side? or about the emotions and feelings? It's a major part of my life, especially as I'm getting to the point where I have to think about the future and make decisions, but mostly it's background noise, a subtle buzz, and really, I want it to stay there. I don't want to bring it to the front and tune it in so I can hear it clearly. I lived there, I've done that, I want to not feel the sadness anymore. So, I suppose this will start as more factual, to keep the emotions at bay, but eventually it will deteriorate to the personal side - maybe sooner rather than later, as I can feel the tears pressing on my eyes already.
Shortly after I last posted with all the hope my heart could drum up, I lost my baby. I didn't know it yet, wouldn't for two more weeks, but she was gone already. It took two ultrasounds for my heart to catch up to my brain, and seven weeks for my body to catch up to my baby. The bruise still hasn't caught up to my life, which is so far beyond the loss, that it's old news replaced by old news.
The waiting in between was the worst, knowing that she was gone, but not gone; feeling pregnant without being pregnant; ready to move on, but not able to; wondering when, when, when? Some people didn't understand why I didn't just end it with a d&c, some were concerned that I was endangering myself, few understood that I just couldn't do that to my baby. She was still my baby after all, tiny and lost to me, she was still mine, and it was my job to protect her for as long as I could, even if all I could do was protect the little body she left behind.
(And, that doesn't even get into the risks for myself with a d&c. Why must people be so eager to jump on the medicine bandwagon? This is natural and right - leave it alone! I'm not stupid, I know the signs of danger; let me take care of myself!)
When she was finally birthed (what else do you call it? I still can't find a good word for bringing a lost tiny into the world), we could see a tiny, little, bright, white spot in one of the brilliant red clumps. It was her hand, reaching out as if to say, "I'm here, Mama. Come get me."
We got to see her, her tiny inch long body. Fingers the size of candy sprinkles, ears smaller than a freckle, tiny feet to match her hands, and eyes bluer than the sky.  We don't really know if she is a girl, but to us it just seemed fitting. We named her Sayuri, "tiny lily." We took pictures to remember her by, and placed her on a piece of velveteen, in a small box we had.  Tonight we will bury her, underneath a potted bush that used to be in the yard where I grew up, a bush that blooms beautiful pink flowers every summer, a bush that will now be a reminder of my precious "Tiny" Sayuri.

"Consider how the lilies grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you, not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these."  Luke 12:27

I Had a Baby

"I had a baby, and now I don't have it anymore. I feel sad."
A fairly simplistic quote from a tv show, but a fairly accurate summation of my life right now. In some ways it's hard to imagine that this is the truth. How could it possibly be? Two weeks ago, I didn't even know I was pregnant. A week and a half ago, I was celebrating the new life within me with my family. Just over half a week ago, I miscarried. Again. It was all so fast. So unexpected from beginning to end. It almost feel like it never happened. I was never pregnant at all. Life goes on the same as it was before I found out. My husband goes to work each day. My son demands his mama's attention and love. And I move on, taking care of the things that need to be done. There were no cards given, no flowers sent, no outside sign to acknowledge the living and passing of this oh so tiny life.
But, they were here. Oh yes, they were. I have only to remember the excitement and happiness I felt when it had truly sunk in. I was thrilled to be pregnant again. I was calculating and making plans. Figuring out decisions that would have to be made in the future months. Watching what I ate and considering how it would affect the growing life. Talking about names and guessing gender. For one week. One week. That was all I was given. And then they were gone.
How did this happen to me again? I don't get it. How did God decide that I was one who was able to handle this? Someone who is so empathetic that she never intentionally watches a sad movie and constantly finds herself crying over tv shows. Someone who becomes so hard and fast attached to things that she'll turn the house upside to find a missing alphabet magnet. Does that sound like the ideal candidate for multiple miscarriages? Not that there is one, I suppose, but, why me?
I don't know. I don't get it, but it is me, and who knows how many more times it will be me. And perhaps next time it will be a little bit easier, and the time after that will be easier still. Because this time was easier than the last. I don't entirely know why, but maybe because they were with us for a shorter time? Or because we knew how easily it could happen? Or simply because we'd been here before and the terrain was familiar? I know that it was at least in part because of my precious Bug, having a child of mine to hold and hug, and not being simply left with empty arms. I am so grateful for him. He reminds me that just as it's likely that I will have more miscarriages, it's likely that I will have more children to hug and cuddle, too.
And so, somehow my heart was protected from the gut wrenching, world ending, spirit crushing grief that it endured last time, and is working now to heal from the simple sadness and loss, and occasional door slamming anger that has left new scars on my soul.
"I had a baby, and now I don't have it anymore. I feel sad."

Sucker-punch of Grief

Woke up feeling somewhat energetic. Somehow, within a few hours,  that changed to murky, crabby, irritable depression. Trying to shed my funk when the first one hit. Remember this? That poor little cat you lost, all alone in a strange neighbourhood in the cold of winter? You're not good at protecting little lives given to you, are you? POW! Left shaking and vulnerable, completely unsuspecting the second hit. Remember this? The time when your husband was happy and confident, had the smile of an expecting father, throughly unprepared for his own sucker-punch. POW! And I was undone. The grief swarmed and surrounded. Relentless pummels rained. Howls of pain and screams of rage emanated from a place I didn't know still existed. Almost three years have passed, but today it feels like I never left that moment. The grief is so strong I can't conquer it, and I lie beaten and bruised.
Little one, I'll never forget you. Every March and November, I'll remember the one missing from my arms. Every time I see the first crocuses of spring, I'll remember the joy you brought me for a few shorts weeks. And every now and then, I'll remember you, JJ, my baby who never had a chance to be, through the sucker-punch of grief.