It still hurts.

National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day is today, October 15th. It's a sad day, a good day, a frustrating day.

Truth?

Well obviously I'm going to give you the truth, but I'm still sad a lot. I cry. A lot. Sometimes an entire week will go by that I don't cry, and then I do. I feel a lot. It's not that I'm depressed, I'm not, I'm actually a pretty happy person, but I feel very deeply. I was going to say I feel too much, but I don't think it's such a bad thing. I only wish I could turn it off sometimes. I wish I could be hard and cold when needed. But I like to feel...I cry watching the news, I cry when getting good news, heck I cried today at the Pumpkin Festival when the band played "I Got A Feeling." It reminded me of the Oprah episode where they surprised her with a giant flash mob, and the entire audience of 30,000 people we're all happy and dancing in sync that I was overwhelmed with emotion. Hearing the band play this song today brought on a happy cry, and I was mortified to be crying in the middle of the Pumpkin Festival at 11am on a Saturday because a band played a happy song. But anyway, yes I cry. A lot. I can't control it.

I cry about Rose. I thought it would get easier, but it hasn't. I never thought losing a child at only 14 weeks would have this kind of affect on me, and I don't see this changing, ever. It brings so many other questions and emotions about life after death. Does it really exist? Do we just hope it exists because it brings comfort in situations like this? Do we hold on to this because it makes the fear of the unknown more comforting? I hope my baby girl is in heaven watching over me, I think she is.

Sorry to be so heavy. I have much more to talk about soon on this topic, and have some blog posts lined up that I hope to share with you soon.

For now, enjoy this lovely Oprah moment. It moves me every.single.time.

Xx.

Feeling funky

I'm in a funk today. I am 10 dpo, which I know is pretty accurate given I'm charting. I feel pretty naive for saying I was a certain day past ovulation before charting because there really isn't anyway to know for sure unless you are charting. Anyways..

10 dpo, and a negative test. What does this mean? A. It's just too early, B. I'm not pregnant. I don't know what is going on with my body but I'm starting to get freaked out. I know 6 months isn't that long to try, but something.doesn't.feel.right. You know? I made an appointment to see my OB tomorrow. I need to move along and have some testing done. Before my D&C, I didn't have a problem getting pregnant. I mean, it was too easy and I know it pissed some people off. I was lucky, and I knew it. With my daughter, we tried once, and BAM it happened. And I don't mean once as in one cycle, I mean once as in we did the deed one time around ovulation. I know, it's okay to hate. I hate me too.

And now, I'm here. I've spent way too much time on Google researching Asherman's Syndrome - if you've had a D&C, don't do click this! It's scary, I mean really scary. Basically, it's possible having a D&C procedure can cause infertility in small percentages because they can scrape your lining so much that it just doesn't grow back preventing the little embryo from sticking. And then I get to thinking that I know one month conception occurred - but implantation did not because of the faint + tests, and then AF arriving a few days later. Now I feel like a freak for thinking about all of this and getting ahead of myself. I'm sure I'm just paranoid. (Please God). I hope everything is okay. I hope I have a HSG and they find something minor, maybe a by product of my miscarriage still lingering that is preventing me from getting pregnant, and they clean it out - and boom, pregnant. Or really, I hope I am pregnant right now, and it's just too early. Which is actually a possibility but given I've had + tests at 10 dpo before, I secretly expect to know by now, even though the date you get a + can vary each pregnancy - which is what I tell myself when I don't see a + by 10 dpo.

And I know I'm really jumping the gun here, but sometimes I'm really scared. I'm scared that I won't ever be able to get pregnant again. I'm scared that Carter will always been an only child. I'm scared I'll never get to experience pregnancy again or having a newborn again. I'm scared I'll never see two beautiful lines on a pregnancy test again. I'm scared that I'll never get to make a decision on birthing again, or nursery decor. I'm scared I'll never get to breastfeed again. I'm just scared. I mean, if I knew having Carter was my one and only chance, would I have done anything differently? Would I have savored each and every moment that much more?

Already, I have friends and family who unknowingly have made comments about me having a difficult time getting pregnant, or struggling with fertililty. Am I really there yet? Isn't still early?  I have also found those same people acting more "sensitive" to that subject around me. Maybe it's due to my loss, maybe it's because I'm not yet pregnant I don't know, but I don't like it. I mean I don't want them to say insensitive things to be, but I don't want people to have act all weird about it. It makes me feel broken, and I don't want to feel broken so just treat me normally. Thanks.

I also find it really hard to respond when a stranger (or business associate / client) asks when we're having a second child. What do I say? I had one and then I lost it and now I can't get pregnant? How do you politely say that? I've just been responding with "hopefully soon" and that seems to work.

I do know one thing for certain, if and when it does happen again, I'm really, really going to appreciate it so much more. I mean, I always appreciated it, but I'm REALLY going to appreciate it because who knows if and when it'll happen again. I'm not going to question whether it is too soon for another. I'm not going to bitch and moan when I have to wake up 5+ times in the night to pee or to feed my screaming newborn (okay, maybe just a little).

Like I said, women have been trying for years, and here I am whining that I'm barren because it's been 6 months of trying. And that makes me feel really crappy. I wish I didn't feel this way, but I can't change the way I'm feeling.

And the worst part is? Everything has to be a damn race for me. I feel like I have to hurry up and get pregnant so I can join my friends / bloggers who are also pregnant. Or I have to get pregnant quickly because the women I knew who had babies around the same time I did are already pregnant or have had their 2nd. Isn't that crazy? In some weird subconscious way, I'm comparing myself to them. Women I don't even know who had babies months after me are already pregnant, and I'm freaking out because too much time is passing and maybe I'm abnormal in some way because my kids will be further apart in age then theirs. It's nuts. Even when I was pregnant with Carter, I would compare myself to celebrites who were pregnant at the same time, and I would be SO envious of anyone who was due before me. I remember being slightly jealous of other women on my message boards because my due date with Carter was at the end of September, and most of them were due before me, and further along than I was. I always felt inferior. When they were 6 weeks, I was just finding out I was pregnant and would think "I can't WAIT to be at least 6 weeks and I finally feel really pregnant." And then 6 weeks would come, and I'd say "man, 6 weeks is nothing, some of these women are 9-10 weeks, WOW, when I'm 9-10 weeks I'll feel much more pregnant like they are.." And the endless cycle continued until the babies were born, and the jealously increased much more because I was still pregnant and they had their babies. But as soon as Carter popped out - I yearned for being pregnant again. I missed it. And then I was secretly jealous of everyone who was still pregnant. It's a vicious cycle, really.

But I am stopping all that crap. This isn't a race. I'm in no hurry. Yes, I want another child and when he / she decides to make her presence, that will be okay with me. When it happens for me, it will be my time and my journey. It doesn't matter how many weeks / months / days I'm behind anyone or how far apart my kids will be compared to someone elses, because this is about ME, not them. This is my family, not theirs.

Sorry for this longish rant, just having some revelations. I'm going to try this whole patience this out - you know, after I go to the doctor and have a bunch of tests done to ease my mind. It's ok if it takes a while, I just want to know I'm ok.

Baby Rose, The Last Part

My heart is heavy today. I haven't been able to finish my story yet because once again am avoiding any type of closure that involves my baby girl. Just getting those words written out causes a lump in my throat and my eyes to water up. My baby girl? Did I really have a baby girl? Will I ever have another baby girl and be able to say those words without a thousand daggers stabbing me in the heart? I don't know the answer to that.

I thought getting a pregnant would help ease my pain and transfer my focus elsewhere, but that hasn't happened yet and now I'm not only hurting for my loss, but I'm hurting for the child I want to be carrying.

My iVillage message board signature for the August '11 Expecting Club.

I know it sounds pretty selfish to those of you who want a child, any child, and I'm suffering and angry because I want another child. I know a lot of people struggling to conceive, dealing with miscarriages and infertility; actually I know more people dealing with those problems than can easily get pregnant. I do know that it hurts me very much for those I'm close to dealing with this. My heart aches every month that they are trying and not able to conceive. I wish I could do something, but I can't. I wish I could take away their pain, and split my own child in half and share him. I would. When you really think about it, it's a miracle any of us are here.

We started our journey for baby #2 last September when I began charting and temping. Has it been a year already? And still no child. I know my family is not complete with just one child, and I would be truly devastated if we learned we couldn't have any more children. I am very grateful for my son. I am so happy that he is here with us and is healthy. It doesn't make my loss any easier to deal with, and it doesn't mean I'm any less deserving of another child. I've been noticing all these little moments lately where Carter would benefit from having a sibling around. And it kills me that we have failed so far at giving him one. I know 5 cycles isn't a long time at all, and I hate complaining when others have been trying longer. I feel guilty feeling sad for myself sometimes.

My due date was August 16, 2011. I would have been due in exactly three weeks today. I would have been considered full-term today. Several members of the August 2011 Expecting Club that I was a part of have had their babies already. I should be with them. On a daily basis all the "what ifs" run through my head. I've been having a harder time dealing with those what ifs now that my due date is approaching. I remind Andy on a weekly basis how far along I would have been, and of the impending "d" day as it approaches as if it's a countdown to doomsday or something. I wonder what our nursery would have looked like, what my baby shower would have been like, what name we would have decided on... All those things would have been said and done by now.

Immediately following my surgery, I was all hopped up on pain medication and trying to process everything. I thought I was okay, I thought I was going to be okay. But I wasn't. It's amazing how many things I had collected related to pregnancy in those three short months. Prenatal vitamins on the night stand, pregnancy books, baby related TV shows on the DVR, email reminders of how far along I was, iPhone app's, doctors appointment reminder cards, message board signatures, maternity clothes, pictures of positive pregnancy test pictures, bookmarked baby sites, weekly bump pictures taken so far, ultrasound photos, and the worst of all, bills and hospital bracelets from the loss itself.

Honestly, I still haven't gone through most of this stuff. I put the obvious away, but there is so many reminders that continue to come out of the wood work. My plan was to put all of these mementos in a box and store it somewhere, but I haven't been able to do this yet. Someday I'll tell Carter and my future children the story of their sister. But nothing feels like it will be enough to properly remember our baby. I'd like to plan a tasteful, small and hidden tattoo - but not sure when or if that will happen.

I did really appreciate the people that were there for me after my loss. Some friends were very kind, and others didn't know what to say or do, so they did nothing. I think the worst thing you can do is nothing. I wanted to talk about it, I wanted others to show emotion about it. When people avoided the topic there was a big pink elephant in the room that we were all avoiding. It's okay to tell me how sorry you are. It's OK to ask me questions. Even though it pains me to talk about it, by ignoring what happened, it's as if you are not acknowledging the existence of my child and the severity of what happened. She was my child. I really appreciated the people that took the time to send cards or brought me flowers. Thank you. Those small gestures made me feel like she was more of a human being than just some small fetus and that she deserved to be mourned.

BFP pictures - memories of our little one lost

Some family members, who I thought I was very close to acted just horribly. Not only did they not acknowledge what happened at all, but they were very mean. They told me to "snap out of it" just days after the procedure. I was yelled at for my "off" behavior at work not even a week later. Another person in my family became very distant to me during this time, when we were normally very close. I was very sad in the weeks that followed and they used this opportunity to kick me while I was down. They never asked me how I was doing or feeling, and when I would bring it up, they would get very tense and change the subject. Even though we are close again today, I can't forget how they acted in the days when I needed them the most. Some people won't understand until they have gone through something similar, and even then they may never understand my pain. Because my pain is personal.

One of the most astounding things I've learned is that that grief is universal and personal at the same time.

Today, I'm surviving. I'm happy. I'm content. I'm hopeful. There is a hole in my heart that might as well never be filled and I'm learning to live with that. My physical scars have healed and I'm working on the emotional scars. I'm looking forward for the future and open to what it may bring.

My fortune from today's lunch:



Thank you fortune cookie Gods. I needed this.

This is the last Ultrasound photo I have, taken 02/09/2011, just days before we lost her.

This photo also taken on that same day shows the sound waves of her strong heartbeat.

Why it stopped beating, we will never know.

Rose York
12/05/2010 - 02/18/2011
May you always rest in peace.


Mommy can't wait to meet you someday. I love you.

Support

After posting my story about baby Rose, I received so much support from everyone! I was amazed at how many people told me they were touched by my experience in some way. I'm glad that in her short little life, baby Rose was able to touch other people, and not just my friends and family, complete strangers shed tears for her. She will always be my baby, always. I'm still working on the last part to my story about how I'm dealing on a day to day basis, but I'm not finished with it yet so please stay tuned.

A lot of people wait to share pregnancy news until they are in the "safe" zone of the second trimester or 12 -13 weeks. I shared very early with both of my pregnancies, and I'm glad I did. I don't think having a miscarriage is anything to be embarrassed or ashamed of. Too often it goes unspoken. I personally was happy that others knew around me what I was going through. This is a part of my life like anything else, and I want everyone to know that yes I have a daughter, her name was Rose and we lost her. I was also happy that I didn't have to cover up my sadness because nobody knew what was happening. I wanted to be sad and comforted and I was. Sometimes I still do.

I posted on Facebook about my loss within days of it happening. Everyone on my FB knew I was pregnant, and I toyed with not saying anything, but didn't want people to ask me about the pregnancy, so I announced it. Announcing a miscarriage on FB was difficult to do, and I received a ton of support back.

One of my old friends from high school in particular saw this post. She is always so sweet and commenting on my pictures and videos of Carter. She had remembered that I had posted about my experience back in Feb, and she reached out to me last week as she is currently going through a loss. I'm really happy I'm able to talk to her during this and I find a lot of comfort knowing that I've helped her. She has put up her story on her blog: Help, I'm Alive and she gave me permission to blog about it in hopes that she can help others in a similar situation.

If you've been in a similar situation and want to talk about it, please do! Feel free to email me MYork28 at gmail dot com.

Women who complain about being pregnant..

**Warning - Picture of pregnancy at the bottom of this post. Do not continue if it makes you uncomfortable**

I've noticed on the miscarriage boards I follow that a lot women who have struggled with pregnancy loss and infertility have a problem with women who complain about being pregnant. I get why it sucks to read that so and so is feeling SO sick and can't wait for the pregnancy to be over when all you want is to be pregnant and would give anything to be. I GET it. But I wanted to give my two cents on it because this is my blog and I can.

After having my loss in February, I announced my miscarriage on FB. I was 13ish weeks and had already told everyone so I felt it would be appropriate to say something about losing the baby. I didn't want someone to ask me, out of the blue, how I was feeling or doing with the pregnancy, and thought this was the easiest way. The very same day I announced my miscarriage, in the same news feed (after my announcement) there was more than one pregnant woman complaining about their pregnancy. Ouch. That was definitely in poor taste and a little hurtful.

However, I do feel like complaining about being pregnant comes with the territory. Most women will be pregnant very few times in their lives (unless you're Michelle Duggar), and I think it's important to soak up every bit of it, even the ugly parts. It's your right to be able to complain about how you're feeling especially if it took you a while to get there. You shouldn't pretend that you are pooping out flowers and walking on clouds all day long cuz that's a lie.You'll probably have hemmoroids the size of a quarter on your ass that will make you feel like you are pooping out razor blades (yes that happens). And you don't have to keep all that pain to yourself and lie and tell people that pregnancy is wonderful all of the time because you don't want to seem "unappreciative". It's ok to say it blows sometimes.

If you had the flu continuously for 9 months, would you complain about it? Umm yes, yes you most definitely would. You might even say you HATED it. Right? And that's an awful comparison to what it can be like when you're expecting, but it sorta feels like you have the flu almost every single day. It's not a walk in the park. But it doesn't mean that these women don't appreciate their babies and wouldn't be devastated if they lost them. Or it doesn't mean that they would rather be struggling to get pregnant than be pregnant. It's just that it sucks so darn bad sometimes that they complain about it. Just like we all complain when we aren't feeling well or when life has us down (and some of us will complain because we just enjoy complaining, cough :Mom: cough.). It's easy to take things personally, but none of it is personal. It wasn't personal that someone was complaining about feeling sick while pregnant minutes after I said I lost my baby. And I know that. It was definitely odd, and hurtful (but I had so much hurt going through me, it didn't phase me at the time).

Dealing with a loss is hard. Really really hard. But I don't think it means that when you do conceive and carry a healthy child again that it should be any different of an experience for you. You shouldn't have to pretend you are happy ALL of the time. If you have been struggling with infertility or miscarriage, when you finally get pregnant, I hope that you DO complain when you've been hugging the toilet for hours, or your too exhausted to shower. YOU out of anyone should be reveling in all the little things that come with being pregnant, even if they are the bad things.

You know you wouldn't trade where you are at for the WORLD, but it's ok to admit it kinda sucks sometimes.

BUT, here's the but, please use some sensitivity when doing so. I'm not going to call up a friend who just had a miscarriage and tell them that I am a miserable pregnant woman. And if someone tells me that they are struggling with infertility, I won't tell them I dislike being pregnant (if I have done this unintentionally, I am sorry).

I do think it's OK to post things on FB, or talk about about how far along you are, and if you aren't feeling well etc, even if you know someone is going through a hardship related to pregnancy. Just use tact. Don't say right after something bad has happened to them. This is your experience and your time to enjoy it. I don't think you shouldn't experience all the glory that comes as a pregnant woman because you are afraid you're going to hurt someones feelings. Just be a bit sensitive to others.

So no, it doesn't bother me when women complain they are pregnant, unless they do it to my face, right after telling them I've lost my baby, that I've also just had a chemical pregnancy, and that my due date is closely approaching and I'm still not pregnant after trying every single cycle since the loss. Then I would want to punch you in the face. And I do want to know how you are feeling, and how the pregnancy is treating you and I don't want anyone to feel weird telling me that stuff.

Life's too short to walk on eggshells all the time.

So I hope you complain.

Maybe this will be me again?

What we wish you knew about pregnancy loss....

I found this posting on the Miscarriage, Stillbirth, & Infant Loss Support board on Baby Center. It's such a great board but I usually end up sobbing hysterically each time I visit. The stories are painful and each one get's me where I hurt the most. But it helps me to remind myself that what happened to my was very, very painful and it's ok to grieve. And that I'm not alone.

I found this original post here.

______________________________________________________________

A letter from women to their friends and family

by Elizabeth Soutter Schwarzer

I assert no copyright for the material. Please use it as you see fit to help women who have endured this terrible grief. Thank you.

Date: Sat, 23 Mar 2002

When women experience the loss of a child, one of the first things they discover they have in common is a list of things they wish no one had ever said to them. The lists tend to be remarkably similar. The comments are rarely malicious - just misguided attempts to soothe.

This list was compiled as a way of helping other people understand pregnancy loss. While generated by mothers for mothers, it may also apply similarly to the fathers who have endured this loss.

When trying to help a woman who has lost a baby, the best rule of thumb is a matter of manners: don't offer your personal opinion of her life, her choices, her prospects for children. No woman is looking to poll her acquaintances for their opinions on why it happened or how she should cope.

-Don't say, "It's God's Will." Even if we are members of the same congregation, unless you are a cleric and I am seeking your spiritual counseling, please don't presume to tell me what God wants for me. Besides, many terrible things are God's Will, that doesn't make them less terrible.

-Don't say, "It was for the best - there was probably something wrong with your baby." The fact that something was wrong with the baby is what is making me so sad. My poor baby never had a chance. Please don't try to comfort me by pointing that out.

-Don't say, "You can always have another one." This baby was never disposable. If had been given the choice between loosing this child or stabbing my eye out with a fork, I would have said, "Where's the fork?" I would have died for this baby, just as you would die for your children.

-Don't say, "Be grateful for the children you have." If your mother died in a terrible wreck and you grieved, would that make you less grateful to have your father?

-Don't say, "Thank God you lost the baby before you really loved it." I loved my son or daughter. Whether I lost the baby after two weeks of pregnancy or just after birth, I loved him or her.

-Don't say, "Isn't it time you got over this and moved on?" It's not something I enjoy, being grief-stricken. I wish it had never happened. But it did and it's a part of me forever. The grief will ease on its own timeline, not mine - or yours.

-Don't say, "Now you have an angel watching over you." I didn't want her to be my angel. I wanted her to bury me in my old age.

-Don't say, "I understand how you feel." Unless you've lost a child, you really don't understand how I feel. And even if you have lost a child, everyone experiences grief differently.

-Don't tell me horror stories of your neighbor or cousin or mother who had it worse. The last thing I need to hear right now is that it is possible to have this happen six times, or that I could carry until two days before my due-date and labor 20 hours for a dead baby. These stories frighten and horrify me and leave me up at night weeping in despair. Even if they have a happy ending, do not share these stories with me.

-Don't pretend it didn't happen and don't change the subject when I bring it up. If I say, "Before the baby died..." or "when I was pregnant..." don't get scared. If I'm talking about it, it means I want to. Let me. Pretending it didn't happen will only make me feel utterly alone.

- Don't say, "It's not your fault." It may not have been my fault, but it was my responsibility and I failed. The fact that I never stood a chance of succeeding only makes me feel worse. This tiny little being depended upon me to bring him safely into the world and I couldn't do it. I was supposed to care for him for a lifetime, but I couldn't even give him a childhood. I am so angry at my body you just can't imagine.

-Don't say, "Well, you weren't too sure about this baby, anyway." I already feel so guilty about ever having complained about morning sickness, or a child I wasn't prepared for, or another mouth to feed that we couldn't afford. I already fear that this baby died because I didn't take the vitamins, or drank too much coffee, or had alcohol in the first few weeks when I didn't know I was pregnant. I hate myself for any minute that I had reservations about this baby. Being unsure of my pregnancy isn't the same as wanting my child to die - I never would have chosen for this to happen.



-Do say, "I am so sorry." That's enough. You don't need to be eloquent. Say it and mean it and it will matter.

-Do say, "You're going to be wonderful parents some day," or "You're wonderful parents and that baby was lucky to have you." We both need to hear that.

-Do say, "I have lighted a candle for your baby," or "I have said a prayer for your baby."

-Do send flowers or a kind note - every one I receive makes me feel as though my baby was loved. Don't resent it if I don't respond.

-Don't call more than once and don't be angry if the machine is on and I don't return your call. If we're close friends and I am not responding to your attempts to help me, please don't resent that, either. Help me by not needing anything from me for a while.

If you're my boss or my co-worker:

-Do recognize that I have suffered a death in my family - not a medical condition.

-Do recognize that in addition to the physical after effects I may experience, I'm going to be grieving for quite some time. Please treat me as you would any person who has endured the tragic death of a loved one - I need time and space.

-DO understand if I do not attend baby showers/christening/birthday parties etc. And DON'T ask why I can't come.

Please don't bring your baby or toddler into the workplace. If your niece is pregnant, or your daughter just had a baby, please don't share that with me right now. It's not that I can't be happy for anyone else, it's that every smiling, cooing baby, every glowing new mother makes me ache so deep in my heart I can barely stand it. I may look okay to you, but there's a good chance that I'm still crying every day. It may be weeks before I can go a whole hour without thinking about it. You'll know when I'm ready - I'll be the one to say, "Did your daughter have her baby?" or, "How is that precious little boy of yours? I haven't seen him around the office in a while."

Above all, please remember that this is the worst thing that ever happened to me. The word "miscarriage" is small and easy. But my baby's death is monolithic and awful. It's going to take me a while to figure out how to live with it. Bear with me.

_________________________________________
 

Baby Rose, Part IV

If you want to catch up, read Part I, Part II, and Part III.

I left off where I was just wrapping things up with my doctor. Complete with hugs, sorry looks and plenty of "it's not your fault, don't blame yourself" conversation. She told me to think about whether I wanted the D&C procedure, or I wanted to let my body miscarry on it's own, and to call her back. She also gave me the number to a "very good" abortion clinic in L.A. who could perform the D&C if I chose that route. I left in complete confusion, sadness and shock. I needed time to talk to Andy and process what just happened.

I finally made the call to Andy and my mom met me in the parking lot to drive me to her house. It's difficult to tell anyone that you've lost your child but telling Andy was the hardest thing I've had to do. I didn't want to tell him. I couldn't get the words out between utter hysterics. Andy left Vegas and started a 6 hour drive home that involved a lot of tears on his end from what I've heard. I started texting close friends and family, and got into bed and cried. Emotionally I started to suppress what had just happened. I told myself this wasn't the right time for us, and to look on the bright side of things - I finally wasn't feeling so sick anymore, I could have a glass of wine, enjoy Carter more, etc. I started to accept what happened, although I think I was only pushing my pain far far away. I knew it would have to be dealt with at some point, but in that moment I didn't want to think about it anymore so I tried to act as if I was ok with it all.

A few hours later, my mom offered to treat me to a mani / pedi and then take me to pick up Carter from daycare. I went. I sat there getting my feet rubbed by the pedicurist while she smiled at me happily. I kept wondering what she would think if she knew that I had found out hours earlier that I had a dead baby inside of me. Did she know that on this particular day my life had changed forever?  I also started to wonder what I would say if someone asked me if I was pregnant. I wasn't exactly showing, but I was in maternity jeans and I had been asked before so it wouldn't have been a total surprise. What would I say? Sort of? No? Yes? Please just don't let anyone ask me.

Once Andy returned home, we did some thinking (ok, we didn't need to think about it), and we opted for the D&C procedure. We both wanted to move on as soon as possible. I felt guilty about having a glass of wine because my baby was still inside of me. I called my doctor to let me know that I wanted to have the D & C procedure, but I begged her for any other option besides going to an abortion clinic. She told me she would look into it and call me back. Andy, Carter and I went home that night. I remember lying in bed, rubbing my belly and telling my baby how sorry I was for not protecting it better, and how I loved it so very much and couldn't wait to meet it someday. Although I wanted this procedure done and over with, the thought that I still had my baby with me comforted me.

The next day I decided to make an appointment with the clinic. I couldn't go back to work with my baby still inside of me and pretend everything was ok until I found another option. I felt weird even going to the grocery store or leaving the house at all. I needed to be cocooned until this was over. But every time I thought about driving to downtown L.A, and walking into the clinic with other women who want to get rid of their unwanted babies, I cried a bit harder. The clinic set my appointment for Friday and sent me off for blood work while they verified my insurance.

My doctor called me a few hours later and told me she had performed a C-Section with another doctor that day and that he could perform my surgery, let's call him Dr. Smith. She gave me his name and number. I decided to give him a call but his number didn't work and when I googled him, it gave me the same phone number. It wasn't meant to be I thought, and because I was already progressing with the clinic I decided to continue with them.

Later that day, Andy picked me up from the house and then we picked up Carter from daycare and we drove to the lab to get my blood work done. As I walked into he building, and down the long hallway to the lab, when I noticed the office next door to the lab had a paper sign on it that said "Dr. Smith, OBGYN." This was the same doctor my doctor told me about. He just moved offices! No wonder why his number didn't work. What a coincidence. But I still decided to continue with the clinic because I had already scheduled my procedure and given them all my information.



One of my good friend's Samantha had come by with her son to check on me when I received that call. I told her about the other doctor, but I didn't have a working number for him - but I remembered that I knew where his office was. She told me we should just show up at his office. So that's exactly what we did. When we arrived, I told the nurse I didn't have an appointment but that my doctor recommended him as I needed a D&C procedure due to a missed miscarriage. She told me to have a seat. Within minutes the doctor came out into the waiting room to meet me. He shook my hand and had the most reassuring kind smile. He said he had spoken to my doctor about me and was glad I came in. He led me back to an exam room and we sat and talked about everything. I usually don't feel comfortable with male Obgyn's, but I didn't with him. He was the first person who gave me a sense of peace about everything and I finally felt like I would be taken care of.

 I told him I wanted the procedure done as soon as possible, preferably before the weekend. He told me it wasn't possible to book the surgery on such short notice with the hospital, and that the earliest would be Monday. I just wanted this over. Emotionally I couldn't handle walking around and living my life knowing this child was no longer thriving inside of me. I pleaded with him and he said he would make some calls and stepped out of the room. He returned a few minutes later with beautiful news. They could fit me in at 7pm the following night. Hallelujah! I thought about his wife and kids at home (he told me about them) and how he was going to spend his Friday night operating on me because he truly cared for me and wanted to help me. I am so grateful I walked into his office that day. I went from hopeless to re-assured within an hour.

He gave me several prescriptions, including one that I needed to start taking that day called Cytotec to soften my cervix. It would make the procedure much easier to perform. It would also cause my body to contract and bleed. Basically it would send my body into labor. It is also used to induce abortion in pregnancy. And after midnight, I could no longer eat or drink - I had to fast completely. Sure, whatever I need to do, I thought.

Let my tell you, cytotec was not a pleasant experience. Within hours I started cramping and contracting intensely. I couldn't sleep because it hurt so much, and I couldn't take painkillers because I was fasting. I woke up in the morning and I was gushing blood. I started to freak out. What if I give birth to my baby before the procedure? Can I handle this intense pain ALL day? Should I be bleeding this much?


Read Part V here.

Baby Rose, Part III

If you want to catch up,  read Part I  and Part II.

We left off where I had left my doctor's office to go to an imaging place to check on the "viability" of my pregnancy. My doctor was unable to find a heart beat on her Ultrasound equipment. I heard the nurse make a call to the imaging place before I left and use the words "viability determination." Sting.

I drove myself over in a complete panic. It felt surreal. I walked into the imaging place (in the Four Seasons Hotel no less), and checked in. They asked me to fill out routine paperwork and have a seat. (UM HI I THINK I JUST LOST MY CHILD THAT I'VE BEEN GROWING AND LOVING FOR THE PAST THREE MONTH'S AND YOU WANT ME TO FILL OUT PAPERWORK?!) I remember one of the questions was "Reason for visit?" What would one put there?? Possible dead baby?!?

They called me in quickly, and got me on the table. At all of the Ultrasound's I've ever had, the screen is facing you so you can ooo and aaaaa over your growing baby. In the waiting room I told myself that I would know for sure once I saw my baby on the screen because it wouldn't be moving, or there would be no flicker. But this time the screen was facing away from me. This was not a fun ultrasound appointment. I couldn't even see what the tech was looking at and I so desperately wanted to see my child again.

She worked silently taking images and clicking on the keyboard making notes and measurements. She tried to remain expressionless as I think she knew I was staring at her for any hint of emotion that my baby was still alive. Finally I looked away. I started to silently cry and because I was laying down, tears streamed down each side of my face on to the paper mat below me, I tried not to make a sound so she could concentrate. Thoughts raced through my mind. Was this really happening? My heart ached. I wasn't allowed to ask questions. I couldn't even ask her if my baby was ok.

After 5-10 minutes of this, she asked me if my doctor gave me instructions on what to do after. I told her no. Here I am, all alone, mascara soaked tears staining my face and all I want to know is if my child was ok. I could tell she felt really, really sorry for me.

She called my doctor, right in front of me which I thought was odd. Wasn't she going to ask me to leave the room first? I heard her ask the doctor if she should send me back, and then she said the words I'll never forget that made my heart sink, "Yes, fetal demise, measuring 13 weeks, 5 days." And I lost it - sobs came out harder and harder. I couldn't hold it together anymore. Does she not realize I know what demise means? I felt a lump deep in my throat. At 13 weeks, 5 days, that would have been just three short days ago. I quickly think back to three days ago. It was Andy's Birthday, we went to dinner at the Cheesecake Factory. Did I lose my baby while eating dinner at the Cheesecake Factory? What did I eat? What did I do? I remember having a sharp pain in my abdomen while driving there that caused me to wince - was that the moment my baby died? Did I feel my baby die?

Andy's 35 Birthday Dinner at the Cheesecake Factory

She told me to go back to my doctor's office and then she started giving me directions on how to validate my parking. I just sat there nodding and sobbing. And then she started to cry too. We sat there and cried together for a minute. She brought me in the bathroom and helped me wash my face. I must of looked completely helpless and hopeless, so she rode the elevator with me and got my parking validated for me. I wasn't able to speak. And then she hugged me. Bless her heart. I walked the looooong walk back to my car, and my phone rang, it was my mom calling to say hi. I reluctently took the call and in between sobs and screams, I told her my baby was gone.

Again I drove myself back to my doctor's office all alone even after my mom insisted I stay put and she would come to me. I thought about running my car off the road. I wanted to hurt as much as I did on the inside on the outside. But then I thought about my sweet innocent baby boy waiting for me.

I walked inside my doctor's office and waited in the waiting room with other lovely pregnant women all happy and glowing. Pure torture. I know it must be very hard for women who so desperately want to be pregnant to see pregnant women, but it's something else to be around them knowing that they have growing live babies inside of them, and yours is dead. I waited for 15 minutes in that chair surrounded by pregnant women and I wanted to throw-up. What if one asked me when I was due? What would I say?

Fourteen weeks is a long time to grow a baby. Plans have been made, names have been talked about, everyone has been told. Did we tell everyone too soon? No, at 14 weeks you are past the normal 12 week mark that people usually wait for. Only a few short weeks later and this would have been considered a still-birth. A still birth! But I wasn't quite there so it's considered a miscarriage, or missed miscarriage because you don't bleed or have any symptoms. Actually hospitals and doctors still refer to this as a "missed abortion." Did you know this? I had no idea. A missed ABORTION. Imagine checking into a hospital and watching them write down "missed abortion" on your chart, referring to your condition. Umm, can you all stop calling this a damn abortion please? I wanted this child more than anything! I already loved it with my every being and would have given anything for this child to still be with me. Another sting.

One of my favorite pictures of Carter on February 12th, 2011 (3 days before)

My doctor gave me the number to an abortion clinic in downtown L.A. and told me that because of how far along I was she wasn't comfortable performing a D&C on me. Ok, it's time for a new doctor. Or I could have the option of letting my body miscarry on it's own. It could take weeks and or month's and it may not happen on it's own. How could I go about my usual life with a dead baby inside of me? I know that sounds harsh and awful, but honestly this is what was going through my head. And because of how far along I was, I could be at home, and give birth to my baby in my toliet while going through the most excrutaiting pain ever. And it would feel just like real labor at how far along I was. Um, yay! No thanks. Oh, and the last thing she told me was not to feel bad because the baby was still really small. That makes me feel a lot better. My baby was still SMALL, only the size of a lemon according to my due date / fruit calendars. It was as though I shouldn't feel bad because my baby was not quite the size of a real baby yet. Oooh, ok, I feel much better now. Thanks.


Read Part IV here.

Baby Rose, Part II

If you want catch up, read part one here.

We left off on Valentine's Day. I worked as usual, and then I picked up Carter and my brother Alex, as my parents were also out of town, and went grocery shopping to make a nice Valentine's Day feast. We had taco's and made chocolate covered strawberries for dessert.

Num.

Sometimes I think about that night before and how much fun we had. I had no idea how much my life would change that very next day. We ate our strawberries and played with Carter - not knowing the life I thought I was growing had suddenly ended.

And then the next day, "that day," I went to work as usual after dropping Carter off at daycare. I ran out the door at 9:50am for my 14 week appointment, but before doing so I stopped at my sister Kat's office and let her know that I'd be back in about an hour. I was wrong.

My doctor's office is right down the street. I arrived and did my usual pee in a cup that you do at every appointment, and then waited. I was brought back to the exam room where I happily read a magazine for about 20 minutes. I remember reading celebrity gossip stories, and thinking about work, and the baby. I felt very peaceful. When the doctor came in, we went over the usual questions, how I was feeling, how my son was, etc. I told her that I had been feeling very, very ill up until the last few days, and I was finally feeling better. I felt somewhat normal for the first time in months.

And then she asked me to lay down to check the heart beat. I laid there and she rubbed some jelly on my belly, and placed the wand down - and ... nothing. Which actually isn't that uncommon. I remember with Carter at each appointment holding my breath while they checked the heartbeat. It always took a minute to find it, and it was always the longest minute of my life, but she always found it. I felt very calm as she moved the wand around trying to hear the heart-beat and I was confident it was around there somewhere. Heck - we had just saw and heard the heart beat days before. It had to be there.

Having one healthy pregnancy before had made me more relaxed about the process. I was always so worried and paranoid during my first that I was sure that I wasn't going to end up with a baby in the end - and I did. I started to trust that everything would probably be okay and all my worrying with my last pregnancy was all for nothing. You need to do that for your own sanity. I still feel this way even after going through what I went through. You can't prevent a miscarriage. You can't. Your doctor will tell you that as mine did to me. When I do get pregnant again, I'm going to try and keep my worrying to a minimum. I was super relaxed and confident with this pregnancy as my last one resulted in a healthy baby - and we know how this one ended.  I don't think worrying and stress would have made any difference. So it's best to let go and let what will be, be.

Ultrasound #2 at 9 weeks

My doctor kept moving the wand around and waiting. And waiting. And after a minute or so, she said she wanted to "cheat" and do an ultrasound so she can find the exact location of the baby. She said this with a smile. And I smiled back. Cool, I thought. I'll get an ultrasound today and get to see my baby! At this point I was only a tiny bit worried but this had happened before with Carter and once I saw him on the Ultrasound he had a perfectly strong heart beat. So this would be the same, right?

She placed the Ultrasound wand on my belly, and instantly I saw my baby on the screen as perfect as can be. Aw, my baby! And I immediately looked at the baby's chest area so see the flickering heart beat that always gave me a sense a peace. I kept staring at it, but something was wrong. There was no flicker. I looked harder, maybe I was missing it. I looked at my doctor and back at the screen. There was no flicker. There was no heart beat.

This is when panic set in and my heart started to race. The doctor did a measurement of the baby's size and it was measuring 13 weeks, only a few days behind. I told her that I had an elective Ultrasound just 6 days ago, and the baby had a strong heart beat. She asked me if I was sure. Yes I was sure! It was there. We all saw it. I started to question my own sanity.

She turned off the machine and I asked if everything was ok. Obviously it wasn't - that was a stupid question. She said she didn't want to scare me yet, but that she was going to send me for a scan at a nearby imaging place. She walked me out, gave me directions, and sent me on my way.

How does one walk out of a building, get into a car, and drive 10 minutes to another location knowing that you possibly have a baby that is no longer living inside of you? Oh and you're all alone. I wasn't sure if I should call someone, or keep it to myself until I knew for sure. But deep down I knew we had lost the baby. I was in shock. Maybe my doctor's machine wasn't very good and my baby did have just a very low heart beat?Maybe there was something that could be done? I wasn't crying just yet. This was my worst nightmare come to life.

I decided to call my sister Kat and tell her that I wasn't sure when I'd be coming back to the office, and then I started to cry. I told her I thought I lost the baby. She kept trying to re-assure me that maybe everything was ok and that they don't know for sure yet. But I knew. I've done all of these appointment's before, this is not normal. This doesn't happen. She insisted on coming to meet me, and I told her no. I don't know why I wanted to be alone. It was almost as if having someone else there would have made everything more real. If I was alone, maybe it wasn't really happening. Looking back, I really should have told her yes.

Read Part III here.

Baby Rose, Part 1

This is a difficult subject to talk about, and it might be hard to read. I'm not doing this to gain your sympathy, but I wanted to tell my story about how we lost our baby girl. I really haven't dealt with my pain and maybe telling my story will be therapeutic for me. I don't know if the pain will ever go away, or if I will ever stop wondering "what if," but I do know that time helps. I believe everything does happen for a reason - even something as horrific as this. Maybe I was meant to have this angel in heaven watching over me. I do know that someday we will have another child who I will love and adore, and I will think about the child I lost and how this other child wouldn't be here if that didn't happen. I get that.

I originally wrote this out and realized how long it was so I am dividing it up into parts. I don't recommend reading it if this subject makes you uncomfortable.

Sometimes I re-live that entire day in my head and it still feels like a dream.

But first a little back story. We decided we wanted a second child and late November of 2010 we found out we were expecting. My due date was August 16th. Andy and I were hoping for a girl this time around (but we would have been happy either way). We announced our pregnancy to our family on Christmas Day by handing out presents to each member and asking them to open them at the same time. The picture is here:

The whole family was thrilled - my dad cried. I was so happy to give Carter a baby sibling and have the family I always dreamed about. They would have been close in age - exactly to the month as close in age as I am with my sister. Here is the video of our baby announcement:

What an exciting moment!!



This pregnancy was much different from my first. I felt very, very sick and exhausted all of the time. I started getting intense headaches at work, and I couldn't focus. I felt sluggish and had very little energy to do anything. I wanted to throw-up all of the time. With Carter, I felt very good most of the time and only a little bit sick and exhausted. I felt something was off, but I was told girl pregnancies can vary from boy pregnancies so I thought *maybe* this was a girl. I was tired and kept hoping that the dizziness and headaches would ease up so I could focus on my work.

Baby's first picture at 6 weeks

In my 13th week of pregnancy we went to Prenatal Peek, an elective Ultrasound place in the Valley to try and get a good look at our little one's "goods." This was February 9th, 2011. They said they can do gender determination as early as 12 weeks. I was surprised because I thought the absolute earliest was 16 weeks. We were thrilled. On the way there, we picked up Carter to bring him along to see his baby sibling for the first time. For some reason Andy and I got into this really stupid fight and I was *this* close to turning around. I am truly happy we didn't as it was the last time we saw our baby living, and I had a reference point to when we possibly lost our child. I remember yelling at him during the car ride and telling him that stress wasn't good for this baby. I should have been happy. I had everything in the world I wanted. I had my beautiful baby boy and was almost 4 month's pregnant with our 2nd child.

At the Ultrasound, we saw the baby moving around, and at one point the little one kicked me! I couldn't feel it, but we all saw it. Then the tech turned up the volume and we heard the little heart beat. She also showed us the sound waves, they were glorious. But, our little one wouldn't show us the goods, and the tech commented that my fluid seemed low. Note: Because this is an elective ultrasound company, and they are not doctors - they are not supposed to say things like this. So that scared me. She said it just looked like I was dehydrated (and I probably was). She also said that it wasn't harmful for the baby yet but it could be if I didn't increase my fluid intake in the coming weeks. I asked her if I should see my doctor and she told me it wasn't necessary that everything was ok. She gave us a few pictures of our little one, and we re-scheduled for the following week. I went home and started guzzling water. Maybe the headaches and dizziness were all due to dehydration?! Duh. I had an answer. I started keeping a large water jug on my desk each day and made it my mission to finish it every day before I went home. Within a few days, I felt better. Silly me, I thought, this whole time I wasn't getting enough water! I was finally feeling better and my symptoms eased up because I was getting more water in. Or so I thought.

On Sunday, Feb 13th, Andy and I celebrated Valentine's Day a day early at Mastro's as he was going to be out of town for work the following day I remember telling the waitress I was pregnant so I couldn't drink. I asked her if there was any special non-alcoholic beverages they had and we talked about babies and pregnancy. Andy and I sat there and talked about the life we were growing, and the future plans we had. We had a wonderful evening together.

I originally had my 14 week appointment scheduled for Valentine's Day, but the week prior I re-scheduled to the following day, February 15th at 10am.
On the actual Valentine's Day, I spent it with my brother Alex, and Carter as my parents were also out of town, and we cooked a nice dinner and dessert. We laughed and made jokes, and also talked about the pregnancy and his future niece or nephew.

Read Part II here.