Grief is a confusing and frustrating thing. Just when you think you are starting to heal, it feels almost as if you're back at the beginning. And although, while knowing "there's no time limit on grief," it still feels like you should be moving on, like you should be "getting over it," like you should feel better than you do.
Today has been hard, for no discernible reason. Maybe it's because it's the 19th. I have a feeling that day will forever be hard. My miscarriage was on the 19th of October. My due date was on the 19th of February. It's a dreaded day. It's a hard day. It was supposed to be a happy day.
I remember feeling, within weeks after leaving the hospital, that I got over things too fast. I felt like a monster, like this baby didn't mean enough to me. I didn't feel sad enough, like there was something wrong with me. There were days when I was so upset that I hadn't thought about the baby for the entire day. I didn't want to forget about her. I didn't want to forget that she existed. I feel like there were far more happier days then than there are now.
It's been five months since the miscarriage. In my mind, I feel like I should be over it by now. I shouldn't be as sad as I am, but today...today feels endless, bottomless, hopeless. There is an unbearable heaviness on my heart. It feels truly like I'm having a continuous panic attack for hours on end, like it's hard to breathe. It hurts to pick my head up, it's a struggle to move my arms, to walk across the room, to keep my eyes open, to write this...
I remember when my stepdad died, saying that there was now such a definitive timeline of things: those that happened "before" and those that happened "after." And that's how it feels now, too. Before this happened, I was happier, optimistic. I rushed to hold any baby, to spend time with any child, to ask parents to see pictures, to hear stories, to surround myself with all things baby. And now, after, god, those conversations hurt. Those pictures crush my spirit, make things feel impossible. Those should be my photos. I should be the one telling stories now.
I got locked in a conversation with two coworkers the other day about babies. The one woman was telling a story about changing her daughter's diaper when she was about three months old - it was a blow-out, a disgusting story. And, it made me so incredibly sad. To think that some day I'd be sad about not being able to clean baby poop off a wall. Grief is weird.
Today is a day that feels impossible. I still struggle with not wanting to forget that that baby existed. I told Ben the other day that I don't want to be sad anymore, but I also don't want to forget our girl. And, it still doesn't feel like those two things can exist at the same time. How can I ever be happy again while still remembering the baby I lost? How can I remember what should have been without feeling an unbelievable emptiness? Some days I think, "If I can just get pregnant again, then I'll feel better," but am I just trying to replace her? No matter how many future babies there are or aren't, that one still existed. She was still real. And we still never got to hold her. She's still gone. And any other ones that are conceived will be different babies. It's not the same.
I have always prided myself in bouncing back from things quickly. I've been through my fair share of difficulties. Things always sort of happen at once for me. The ceiling caves in and the bottom falls out all at once. And this obviously falls solidly into that category. And, at first, I did bounce back fast. The doctors were shocked with how quickly I was better, how soon I wanted to go home, how great I looked a week later. But, emotionally, it feels endless. It's only been and it's already been five months at the same time. There are days when I'm able to tell myself "use this sadness to get you through the next pregnancy. Remember this sadness and do what you have to do to see the next one through." Because, being told I have to give myself daily injections for nearly a year feels impossible to me. They may as well have told me I can't have kids. Days like today, I can't do it. And I'm so scared that there will be too many of these days during an actual pregnancy. What happens on those days when I can't do it? What happens on the days when I'm just too emotionally drained to put myself through it? Again, it feels impossible.
Today, the weight of the world is on my chest. Today, there's a boulder on my heart and an emptiness in my stomach. Today, I resent your baby pictures, and your pregnancy photos, and your happiness. Today, I can't do it. But, grief is weird, and it's unpredictable, and it's confusing. So, tomorrow may be better. Ben and I have a short road trip planned for the weekend coming up, and it will be the first time we've gotten away from everything since it all happened. It's desperately needed. To reconnect with each other, away from the stress, away from the sadness, away from the memories. It's the first thing I've had to look forward to in five months, and I am hoping beyond reason that it will re-energize me and make me feel alive again. In the meantime, I grieve - still - and I try to breathe.
Tuesday, March 19, 2019
Tuesday, February 5, 2019
A Letter to My Daughter
My Dear Girl,
I hate today. I hate this month. I hate what's coming.
Two weeks from today is February 19th. Two weeks from today is exactly four months since we lost you. Two weeks from today is your due date. The day we were supposed to meet you. The day we would finally get to hold you in our arms, to see your face, to kiss your head. The day all of our dreams were supposed to come true.
We spent five agonizing, exciting, terrified, miserable, suspenseful months awaiting this day. We spent five months wondering what you'd look like, who you'd favor. Whose laugh would you have? Whose eyes would you get? Would you have Daddy's curls? Would you have Mommy's nose? Would you be the perfect mix of both of us? Who would you become? We spent five months dreaming and planning, imagining and preparing. We spent five months looking forward to your arrival. We counted the weeks, the days, the months. Time was moving unbelievably fast but agonizingly slow at the same time. We were not prepared, but we'd never been more ready.
And then...
We spent the last four painful, heartbreaking months dreading this day. No more planning, no more dreaming, no more imagining or preparing. We never got to know what you looked like, who you favored, whose eyes or nose you had. We never got to hold you, to see your face, to kiss you. But, you were real, sweet girl. You existed. To the rest of the world, you were only ever an idea, a thought, something that would be here sometime but in the grand scheme of things, not really change much. But for me, your mama, you were everything. I felt you move. I felt you hiccup. I felt your feet kicking, your fists punching. You liked spaghetti and bread and every kind of carb there is. You made my back hurt, my clothes tight, my bladder full. You were real. And to us, you were a person.
I hate that your daddy never got to feel what I felt. I hate that he never got to feel those little tiny flutters and those soft little kicks. He never got to feel life growing inside him, and he never got to feel it from the outside, either. You're like a little secret that only I understood. A secret that only you and I shared. We knew each other. We nourished each other. We lived for each other. And I'm so sorry, Baby Girl. I'm sorry that I couldn't protect you. I'm sorry that I didn't know. I'm sorry that you had to die for me to know anything was wrong. You were healthy, but I was not. And even if you weren't, you would have been perfect.
I go through this month with the heaviest heart I've ever had. I spend each day trying not to cry at your memory. How can you miss someone you never technically met? I wonder constantly if I will ever emotionally be able to get pregnant again. Will I ever not be scared? Will I ever not be sad? How on Earth will I ever be able to go through the daily injections I will need to carry any sibling of yours to full term? How do I endure everything I need to to bring a healthy baby into this world?
I keep asking myself and other people, "how do you psych yourself up for these shots every day?" and they all tell me that they just remind themselves that it's for their baby. And until today, or yesterday, or sometime very recently, I couldn't quite get myself there. But, at some point, I was hit with the realization that if they had told me that's what I would have had to do to save you, I would have done it. No questions asked. I would have done anything. I would have endured anything. I would have suffered anything they threw at me if I could have just brought you safely into this world. But, I didn't get that option. So, Baby Girl, for you, I can endure this. I can do this. I can do what I need to do to bring a little brother or sister into this world for you. And I know that my love for you and the memory of you will help me on the journey.
I love you, sweet angel. Rest easy.
Love,
Mama
I hate today. I hate this month. I hate what's coming.
Two weeks from today is February 19th. Two weeks from today is exactly four months since we lost you. Two weeks from today is your due date. The day we were supposed to meet you. The day we would finally get to hold you in our arms, to see your face, to kiss your head. The day all of our dreams were supposed to come true.
We spent five agonizing, exciting, terrified, miserable, suspenseful months awaiting this day. We spent five months wondering what you'd look like, who you'd favor. Whose laugh would you have? Whose eyes would you get? Would you have Daddy's curls? Would you have Mommy's nose? Would you be the perfect mix of both of us? Who would you become? We spent five months dreaming and planning, imagining and preparing. We spent five months looking forward to your arrival. We counted the weeks, the days, the months. Time was moving unbelievably fast but agonizingly slow at the same time. We were not prepared, but we'd never been more ready.
And then...
We spent the last four painful, heartbreaking months dreading this day. No more planning, no more dreaming, no more imagining or preparing. We never got to know what you looked like, who you favored, whose eyes or nose you had. We never got to hold you, to see your face, to kiss you. But, you were real, sweet girl. You existed. To the rest of the world, you were only ever an idea, a thought, something that would be here sometime but in the grand scheme of things, not really change much. But for me, your mama, you were everything. I felt you move. I felt you hiccup. I felt your feet kicking, your fists punching. You liked spaghetti and bread and every kind of carb there is. You made my back hurt, my clothes tight, my bladder full. You were real. And to us, you were a person.
I hate that your daddy never got to feel what I felt. I hate that he never got to feel those little tiny flutters and those soft little kicks. He never got to feel life growing inside him, and he never got to feel it from the outside, either. You're like a little secret that only I understood. A secret that only you and I shared. We knew each other. We nourished each other. We lived for each other. And I'm so sorry, Baby Girl. I'm sorry that I couldn't protect you. I'm sorry that I didn't know. I'm sorry that you had to die for me to know anything was wrong. You were healthy, but I was not. And even if you weren't, you would have been perfect.
I go through this month with the heaviest heart I've ever had. I spend each day trying not to cry at your memory. How can you miss someone you never technically met? I wonder constantly if I will ever emotionally be able to get pregnant again. Will I ever not be scared? Will I ever not be sad? How on Earth will I ever be able to go through the daily injections I will need to carry any sibling of yours to full term? How do I endure everything I need to to bring a healthy baby into this world?
I keep asking myself and other people, "how do you psych yourself up for these shots every day?" and they all tell me that they just remind themselves that it's for their baby. And until today, or yesterday, or sometime very recently, I couldn't quite get myself there. But, at some point, I was hit with the realization that if they had told me that's what I would have had to do to save you, I would have done it. No questions asked. I would have done anything. I would have endured anything. I would have suffered anything they threw at me if I could have just brought you safely into this world. But, I didn't get that option. So, Baby Girl, for you, I can endure this. I can do this. I can do what I need to do to bring a little brother or sister into this world for you. And I know that my love for you and the memory of you will help me on the journey.
I love you, sweet angel. Rest easy.
Love,
Mama
Monday, January 21, 2019
Questions
Today was my first appointment post-diagnosis. When I met with Dr. M. (the doctor of maternal fetal medicine) three weeks ago, I was told that in order to truly get a diagnosis, I needed to test positive twice at least twelve weeks apart. So, today was meant to be that second test.
I worked from home today, since the appointment was in the middle of the day and there was a winter weather advisory (that ended up being nothing, as always). I called in to my first meeting at 9:00, told my boss what he needed to know from me for the 11:00 meeting I was going to miss, checked some emails, and then left for the appointment at 11:30. We waited roughly five minutes before a nurse came to get us. She told us in the hallway that Dr. D. (the OB/GYN) had just looked over my chart and realized that the test we needed could only be done in the lab. *sigh* I had waited for this appointment for weeks, counted down the days, hoping that this would be the day they would give us the all clear to try again. Thankfully, the doctor walked by during this conversation with the nurse and I said, "That's fine, but I still have questions for you." He said, "Okay, then! Let's go to my office."
We sat down at his desk, and I opened my notebook that I'd been writing questions in for the last couple weeks. Fourteen in total:
1. Is it dangerous to try again?
2. Have you worked with patients with this condition before?
3. Are both Aspirin and the blood thinner injections necessary?
4. What is the success rate? What are the chances of losing another one?
5. What are the potential risks and complications during pregnancy?
6. Are there additional risks during delivery?
7. Will I need a hematologist on top of everything else?
8. Should I start the Aspirin now?
9. What happens if I miss a shot?
10. Are the shots covered by insurance?
11. How frequent will my check-ups/ultrasounds be with future pregnancies?
12. Did my age have any effect on this?
13. Will I need a C-section/induction?
14. Should I continue the blood pressure medication?
And he answered them all. Now that we know what caused the loss, no it is not dangerous to get pregnant again. He said this confidently, without hesitation. Put us at ease immediately. While he was answering that question, he answered the second one. Yes, he's worked with people with this condition. Many times. And, the course of action that they are choosing for me is the Aspirin combined with the blood thinners. Seems to be a common treatment for this.
The success rate is high, but my chances of losing another one are still dramatically higher than the average person. There are no added risks with the blood thinners, but I will be very closely monitored for pre-eclampsia and delayed fetal growth, because those were the major issues during the last one. That risk will not change. And it sounds like there are not too many risks during delivery either. Four weeks before my due date, they will change me to a different blood thinner that will be out of my system sooner so that if I need to be induced or get a C-section bleeding won't be an issue. He said he has never had a problem with any of his patients before. Another reassuring statement.
I do not need a hematologist, but he said it couldn't hurt if it puts my mind at ease. And I can start the Aspirin now if I want to, but it's not necessary. It won't hurt anything if I do. He wouldn't answer the question about missing the shot. That conversation went something like this:
K-"What happens if I miss a shot?"
Dr.-"Don't."
K-"Well, I mean people miss medications."
Dr.-"People forget to take pills. No one forgets to take an injection. Even diabetics remember."
K-"Okay, but what if I do?"
Dr.-"Why would you?"
K-"Because I don't like needles."
Dr.-"Then I can't work with you!!"
This was said tongue-in-cheek with his usual sense of humor, and although he didn't directly answer the question, the message was clear: don't miss your injection. And yes, they should be covered by insurance. If they're not, we will fight "tooth and nail" to get it covered.
I'm still a bit confused about the frequency of check-ups, but it sounds like my OB/GYN check-ups will proceed as normal until 32 weeks, but that ultrasound appointments will be more frequent. And then, I will be seen probably twice a week. I feel bad for my boss already for all the time I will need off, but such is life.
He didn't seem to quite understand what I meant about my age effecting things and I guess I didn't either, but it doesn't matter anyway. It was a hypothetical question and it could only have made us upset if the answer was "yes," so I let that one go. I didn't ask about the C-section/induction directly because it was addressed. It seems I won't need either of those things. They hope for the best, as always. And, for the last question, I'm to meet with my GP again (*sigh*) and have them switch my medications. I'm so tired of doctors.
Thankfully, the lab for the blood testing is not one that requires an appointment, and there was one a mile from where we were. So, we stopped there afterwards to get the blood drawn. I came prepared this time, because the first time I had a major blood draw, I didn't know how much they'd be taking. I almost passed out, turned ghost-white according to the nurse, and needed some sugar stat! This time, I came equipped with a bottle of water and a Reese's peanut butter egg (yay for early Easter candy!). I sipped my water while she took the blood and told me all about her spoiled cat. I made sure to let her know that I was freaked out and asked her to talk to me about cats. She was very nice, very cool about it, and kept asking me if I was okay. I did get clammy, I did get hot, I did get worried, but it was all okay. I sat in the waiting room for a few minutes before leaving getting my bearings back and chomping on my Reese's egg. Going out into the below-freezing weather helped lose the sweats.
Now we wait some more. We wait for the results and for that call from Dr. D. letting us know what they say. But, we are all expecting them to be positive. But, before we left his office, he asked, "so, when are we trying again?!" I answered, "whenever you tell us we're allowed." He said, we got the test, I started my cycle again, and we have a plan. And even though we haven't gotten the official confirmation yet, I told him I'd like to proceed as if it's positive. So, we are good to go. All clear. All systems go. And I'm terrified.
I worked from home today, since the appointment was in the middle of the day and there was a winter weather advisory (that ended up being nothing, as always). I called in to my first meeting at 9:00, told my boss what he needed to know from me for the 11:00 meeting I was going to miss, checked some emails, and then left for the appointment at 11:30. We waited roughly five minutes before a nurse came to get us. She told us in the hallway that Dr. D. (the OB/GYN) had just looked over my chart and realized that the test we needed could only be done in the lab. *sigh* I had waited for this appointment for weeks, counted down the days, hoping that this would be the day they would give us the all clear to try again. Thankfully, the doctor walked by during this conversation with the nurse and I said, "That's fine, but I still have questions for you." He said, "Okay, then! Let's go to my office."
We sat down at his desk, and I opened my notebook that I'd been writing questions in for the last couple weeks. Fourteen in total:
1. Is it dangerous to try again?
2. Have you worked with patients with this condition before?
3. Are both Aspirin and the blood thinner injections necessary?
4. What is the success rate? What are the chances of losing another one?
5. What are the potential risks and complications during pregnancy?
6. Are there additional risks during delivery?
7. Will I need a hematologist on top of everything else?
8. Should I start the Aspirin now?
9. What happens if I miss a shot?
10. Are the shots covered by insurance?
11. How frequent will my check-ups/ultrasounds be with future pregnancies?
12. Did my age have any effect on this?
13. Will I need a C-section/induction?
14. Should I continue the blood pressure medication?
And he answered them all. Now that we know what caused the loss, no it is not dangerous to get pregnant again. He said this confidently, without hesitation. Put us at ease immediately. While he was answering that question, he answered the second one. Yes, he's worked with people with this condition. Many times. And, the course of action that they are choosing for me is the Aspirin combined with the blood thinners. Seems to be a common treatment for this.
The success rate is high, but my chances of losing another one are still dramatically higher than the average person. There are no added risks with the blood thinners, but I will be very closely monitored for pre-eclampsia and delayed fetal growth, because those were the major issues during the last one. That risk will not change. And it sounds like there are not too many risks during delivery either. Four weeks before my due date, they will change me to a different blood thinner that will be out of my system sooner so that if I need to be induced or get a C-section bleeding won't be an issue. He said he has never had a problem with any of his patients before. Another reassuring statement.
I do not need a hematologist, but he said it couldn't hurt if it puts my mind at ease. And I can start the Aspirin now if I want to, but it's not necessary. It won't hurt anything if I do. He wouldn't answer the question about missing the shot. That conversation went something like this:
K-"What happens if I miss a shot?"
Dr.-"Don't."
K-"Well, I mean people miss medications."
Dr.-"People forget to take pills. No one forgets to take an injection. Even diabetics remember."
K-"Okay, but what if I do?"
Dr.-"Why would you?"
K-"Because I don't like needles."
Dr.-"Then I can't work with you!!"
This was said tongue-in-cheek with his usual sense of humor, and although he didn't directly answer the question, the message was clear: don't miss your injection. And yes, they should be covered by insurance. If they're not, we will fight "tooth and nail" to get it covered.
I'm still a bit confused about the frequency of check-ups, but it sounds like my OB/GYN check-ups will proceed as normal until 32 weeks, but that ultrasound appointments will be more frequent. And then, I will be seen probably twice a week. I feel bad for my boss already for all the time I will need off, but such is life.
He didn't seem to quite understand what I meant about my age effecting things and I guess I didn't either, but it doesn't matter anyway. It was a hypothetical question and it could only have made us upset if the answer was "yes," so I let that one go. I didn't ask about the C-section/induction directly because it was addressed. It seems I won't need either of those things. They hope for the best, as always. And, for the last question, I'm to meet with my GP again (*sigh*) and have them switch my medications. I'm so tired of doctors.
Thankfully, the lab for the blood testing is not one that requires an appointment, and there was one a mile from where we were. So, we stopped there afterwards to get the blood drawn. I came prepared this time, because the first time I had a major blood draw, I didn't know how much they'd be taking. I almost passed out, turned ghost-white according to the nurse, and needed some sugar stat! This time, I came equipped with a bottle of water and a Reese's peanut butter egg (yay for early Easter candy!). I sipped my water while she took the blood and told me all about her spoiled cat. I made sure to let her know that I was freaked out and asked her to talk to me about cats. She was very nice, very cool about it, and kept asking me if I was okay. I did get clammy, I did get hot, I did get worried, but it was all okay. I sat in the waiting room for a few minutes before leaving getting my bearings back and chomping on my Reese's egg. Going out into the below-freezing weather helped lose the sweats.
Now we wait some more. We wait for the results and for that call from Dr. D. letting us know what they say. But, we are all expecting them to be positive. But, before we left his office, he asked, "so, when are we trying again?!" I answered, "whenever you tell us we're allowed." He said, we got the test, I started my cycle again, and we have a plan. And even though we haven't gotten the official confirmation yet, I told him I'd like to proceed as if it's positive. So, we are good to go. All clear. All systems go. And I'm terrified.
Saturday, January 5, 2019
Answers
It's been a rough couple of days in our house. Since the loss of our baby in October, we've been playing a lot of the waiting game and asking a lot of questions, trying to figure out what happened. It was looking more and more like a "fluke" and simply a bad placenta, but an appointment this past Tuesday turned up some results.
It turns out, while I was in the hospital, they ran a slew of blood tests on me, checking for many different things. One of these tests was for a condition called antiphospholipid antibody syndrome. It's an autoimmune disease, meaning that my white blood cells, instead of attacking dangerous bacteria, attack my own body. So, the assumption is that they attacked the placenta. This disease is known to cause blood clots and is found often in women who experience multiple miscarriages or late-term miscarriages. Somehow, I've lived 33.5 years without ever knowing I have this, or showing a single symptom until pregnancy.
What this means is that, without treatment, it will be very difficult, if not impossible, for me to carry a baby to full-term. What the treatments consist of would be low-dose aspirin and blood thinner injections from day one of any pregnancies until delivery, and probably a few weeks postpartum. You are talking to a person who has cancelled doctor's appointments because they wanted to draw blood or give me a shot, so this is not great news. I was initially optimistic, thinking that's a small price to pay to have the family I've always dreamed of. And then, I started researching and joining Facebook groups, and Googling, etc. And I'm not feeling terribly awesome about it. There is a chance this won't happen for me. There is a chance I will never have this baby that I have spent my entire life planning for. Every decision I've ever made in my life was to get me to a place where I would fell comfortable bringing a child into the world. And to find out that might not actually happen is beyond devastating. And while this condition isn't a death sentence and certainly doesn't mean a family is impossible, it's not going to be an easy road. I will likely lose more babies. It will be physically and emotionally painful. Due to the nature of the blood thinners, an epidural during delivery may not be possible, as it causes blood clots in the spine and may cause permanent paralysis. One thing is certain: carrying and delivering a child would be dangerous for me. On top of this, I have been told that I can no longer take hormonal contraception due to the risk of blood clots. So, not only is getting pregnant dangerous, but so is preventing it.
I'm scared. I'm incredibly sad. I'm angrier than I've ever been. I'm depressed. But, underneath all of that, I'm still the fighter I've always been. I'm still willing to look for answers. I'm still willing to learn as much about this as I can. I'm still willing to do what I have to do to have my family. And if carrying my own is not in the cards, other options are not off the table. I'm exhausted from being strong all the time. I'm just tired. I want someone else to do it for me, to take the burdens, to take the pain, to take the weight. But, no one else can. I know this journey will be the most difficult thing I've ever had to do, but when I eventually look into the eyes of my child and hold them in my arms for the first time, it will be worth every painful injection, ever single tear that was cried, every broken heart, and every difficult day that was endured to get there. For now, I'm not done being angry. For now, I'm not done feeling sorry for myself and hating those who so easily had a nice, healthy baby without even trying. I'm not done hating people who did nothing to deserve the healthy family they have. But, eventually, something good will come out of this. Until then, I continue gathering information and preparing my body for the next try. And I build a kick-ass medical team to help me someday realize my dream of being a mama.
For those of you who effortlessly built your family, don't take a second for granted. Look at your child and know how lucky they are to exist, how lucky you were to be able to carry them, to hold them, to love them, to bring them into this world. I never, in a million years, imagined this would be my journey, but here I am.
It turns out, while I was in the hospital, they ran a slew of blood tests on me, checking for many different things. One of these tests was for a condition called antiphospholipid antibody syndrome. It's an autoimmune disease, meaning that my white blood cells, instead of attacking dangerous bacteria, attack my own body. So, the assumption is that they attacked the placenta. This disease is known to cause blood clots and is found often in women who experience multiple miscarriages or late-term miscarriages. Somehow, I've lived 33.5 years without ever knowing I have this, or showing a single symptom until pregnancy.
What this means is that, without treatment, it will be very difficult, if not impossible, for me to carry a baby to full-term. What the treatments consist of would be low-dose aspirin and blood thinner injections from day one of any pregnancies until delivery, and probably a few weeks postpartum. You are talking to a person who has cancelled doctor's appointments because they wanted to draw blood or give me a shot, so this is not great news. I was initially optimistic, thinking that's a small price to pay to have the family I've always dreamed of. And then, I started researching and joining Facebook groups, and Googling, etc. And I'm not feeling terribly awesome about it. There is a chance this won't happen for me. There is a chance I will never have this baby that I have spent my entire life planning for. Every decision I've ever made in my life was to get me to a place where I would fell comfortable bringing a child into the world. And to find out that might not actually happen is beyond devastating. And while this condition isn't a death sentence and certainly doesn't mean a family is impossible, it's not going to be an easy road. I will likely lose more babies. It will be physically and emotionally painful. Due to the nature of the blood thinners, an epidural during delivery may not be possible, as it causes blood clots in the spine and may cause permanent paralysis. One thing is certain: carrying and delivering a child would be dangerous for me. On top of this, I have been told that I can no longer take hormonal contraception due to the risk of blood clots. So, not only is getting pregnant dangerous, but so is preventing it.
I'm scared. I'm incredibly sad. I'm angrier than I've ever been. I'm depressed. But, underneath all of that, I'm still the fighter I've always been. I'm still willing to look for answers. I'm still willing to learn as much about this as I can. I'm still willing to do what I have to do to have my family. And if carrying my own is not in the cards, other options are not off the table. I'm exhausted from being strong all the time. I'm just tired. I want someone else to do it for me, to take the burdens, to take the pain, to take the weight. But, no one else can. I know this journey will be the most difficult thing I've ever had to do, but when I eventually look into the eyes of my child and hold them in my arms for the first time, it will be worth every painful injection, ever single tear that was cried, every broken heart, and every difficult day that was endured to get there. For now, I'm not done being angry. For now, I'm not done feeling sorry for myself and hating those who so easily had a nice, healthy baby without even trying. I'm not done hating people who did nothing to deserve the healthy family they have. But, eventually, something good will come out of this. Until then, I continue gathering information and preparing my body for the next try. And I build a kick-ass medical team to help me someday realize my dream of being a mama.
For those of you who effortlessly built your family, don't take a second for granted. Look at your child and know how lucky they are to exist, how lucky you were to be able to carry them, to hold them, to love them, to bring them into this world. I never, in a million years, imagined this would be my journey, but here I am.
Tuesday, December 11, 2018
My Pregnancy and Loss (*Trigger warning*)
June 12, 2018. The day I found out I was pregnant. I dreamed about this moment my whole life. How I would react. How it would feel. The excitement of finally starting my own family. The reality of the situation was so far beyond what I imagined...
I have wanted children from as long as I can remember. There are dozens of pictures of me as a child surrounded by my dolls, all with their own unique names (some even with middle names!). There were 36 children in the dollhouse I had growing up. If there's a party and you can't find me, look for the babies; that's where I'll be. I adore children. And I never once imagined my future without having any. When I got divorced without children, I mourned the loss of the ones I'd never have, hoping I wouldn't be too old when I got married again to still have a family of my own. And when Ben and I began talking about children, we argued. He wasn't ready, I couldn't be more so. After a while, we decided to just "see what happens." We were not actively trying, but we were no longer preventing it, either. I was excited but realistic. It would probably take a while, and we'd be in a house and making more money by the time it happened.
I remember being extremely emotional the week I found out. I chalked it, and the sore breasts, up to PMS. I had been on the pill for so long that my cycle wasn't what it used to be and symptoms were different. A friend tried to tell me to take a pregnancy test, even though it wasn't late yet. "I'm definitely not. The timing isn't right, anyway." For, you see, I knew exactly when it would have happened, and it wasn't the right time. In fact, it had been our very first "try." But, finally, the day my period was due, I came home and told Ben, "I just want to let you know that I'm taking a test. I'm certain it will be negative, but just to ease my own mind, I'm going to take it." The next few minutes changed everything.
Ben was doing the dishes, and I came out of the bathroom shaking, holding the positive pregnancy test. "Ben...what does that say...?" The second line was a little too faint for me to believe. I even texted a friend to ask what he thought it said. He let me know, excitedly, that it said I was pregnant. The vibe in our home was not what I thought it would be. There was no celebrating. There was no jumping for joy. There were no tears of happiness, or hugging, or exciting talk about our future. Instead, we sat in silence. I apologized. We didn't speak. What the hell is going on?
I quickly ran out to get both dinner and some more pregnancy tests. Two more confirmed the news, and in the next few days I got it confirmed with the doctor too. I will admit, it took us quite a few weeks to get used to the news. We were scared. Could we do it? Could we handle it? Did we make enough? I cried a lot, terrified of the experience, not wanting to actually be pregnant, but wanting to have a baby so badly. I did not feel prepared at all. Our dads both cried. Our moms were less enthusiastic but still excited. My mom made the decision to retire at the end of the year to watch the baby, that was due in February, while we worked. We had our eight-week pre-natal appointment and they did an ultrasound, where we got to see our "bean." It still didn't seem real at that point. From there on, all of the appointments went well. There were no complications, no medical issues, nothing. At sixteen weeks, to the day, I got in a car accident on the way to work. The car was totaled and I was shaken, but a trip to the OB/GYN showed everything was okay. At 19 weeks, I went in for another check-up and some routine blood work. A few days later, the doctor called with news that the tests came back abnormal, showing a possibility for spina bifida or other neural abnormalities. She told me that nine times out of ten, it means nothing, but she was going to add a doctor consultation to our next ultrasound appointment, which was in two weeks. The wait was agony.
We showed up at the appointment the day before I reached 22 weeks, excited to find out if we were having a boy or a girl. We were hoping for a girl so badly that I was honestly worried we wouldn't be excited for a boy. During the ultrasound we got to see the baby's legs, counted fingers and toes, saw the face (baby stuck its tongue out at us!), etc. A vaginal ultrasound was required at one point, because the baby was not in the correct position to see what was necessary to clear all abnormalities. We got to see the brain, which looked fine, and the heart which looked 'okay,' but they were not able to get a reading on the spine, which was crucial. And, we finally got to hear...it's a girl. We were elated. Ben teared up at the idea of having his daddy's girl. There's the excitement we were missing.
The consultation afterwards left me feeling confused. I was diagnosed with a "leaky placenta" and protein in my urine. The baby was measuring more than two weeks smaller than she should have been (only 10 oz.). We were presented with three possible scenarios. One was that the baby had spina bifida (and it wasn't too late to have an abortion if that was the outcome and that's what we chose), but only an amniocentesis would completely rule it out. We decided against that, due to the risk of miscarriage and because we didn't feel it was necessary given other information. Another was that it was nothing and the baby would just be small. And honestly, at this stage, I forget the third scenario. And it doesn't matter, because that's not what it ended up being. I didn't have a lot of questions for the doctor, because there was a lot to process. We made an appointment to come back for another ultrasound in two weeks and a fetal echo a few weeks after that. I was being monitored for the rest of the pregnancy. This was on Monday.
On Tuesday morning, I emailed the doctor with follow-up questions. There is a history of pre-term labor in my family (my aunt lost a baby at 8 months, a cousin lost one at 6 months, and a great-aunt lost one at delivery). I asked about the chances of pre-term labor. I asked what I could or should be doing to protect myself and the baby. I asked what exactly a leaky placenta was and what it meant. I asked if the car accident could have caused any of this. The doctor answered me two days later, on Thursday. His answers were short and vague: A car accident wouldn't cause delayed fetal growth (no shit, but would it cause placental issues?); I "probably wouldn't" go into pre-term labor; there was nothing I could do except eat healthy. I asked what the worst case scenario was and he refused to tell me, instead telling me that the best case scenario was a healthy baby who was just small. I was not satisfied with any of those answers.
By the time I left work that Thursday, I was a nervous wreck. I called the OB/GYN as soon as I left and they called me back while I was driving home. I told them I wanted to come in and talk to someone because I had some questions that I didn't feel were being answered by the perinatologist. I was told on the phone that they agreed with the assessment from the doctor. When I asked if I could just come in for a quick ultrasound because I hadn't felt the baby move that day, the response was "no one's here tonight. I'm just answering phone calls. You can come in tomorrow morning." I hung up and burst into tears. Ben called in the middle of my hysterics. He had tried to maintain a positive attitude throughout all of it, telling me that the doctor hadn't said anything that was particularly alarming to him. But I just knew. I knew something wasn't right. I had only gained three or four pounds and, at 5 1/2 months, I was barely showing. Besides that, I'd had almost no pregnancy symptoms, other than a backache.
I went home and tried to calm myself down. I looked up some things in the pregnancy books I was given by the doctors and tried to convince myself that everything was normal. I took a bath to try to relax, the whole time talking to the baby, saying "I know we're going to spend the rest of your life telling you to sit down and shutup, but please do something. Move just a little. A tiny kick. A hiccup. Anything." I ate dinner and laid on my side, because those were the two things that usually got the baby to move. Still nothing. I remember telling Ben that I felt bloated and my stomach seemed bigger than usual. This was my first pregnancy, I knew absolutely nothing.
I went to bed that night, thinking and hoping things would be better in the morning. Maybe the baby was just sleeping. I hadn't been paying attention all day, and besides, the day before we were convinced she'd be a gymnast. Just calm down. I was asleep for less than an hour when I got out of bed, thinking I needed to use the bathroom. I quickly broke a sweat and sat on the toilet with a cold washcloth on my neck and forehead. And then, I laid down on the bathroom floor, with my head in the hallway, yelling Ben's name. He came running into the hallway, delirious with sleep, asking what was wrong. I was having severe abdominal pains, but I still wasn't convinced it was anything other than gas. I wanted to believe that's what it was, so I told him to hold off calling an ambulance yet. He kept asking, "what should I do? Should I call an ambulance? Should I take you to the hospital?" and I kept saying "I'll feel really stupid if I get there and it's just gas." And then...I threw up. Violently. And that's when I knew I needed to go in.
The ambulance arrived in minutes. I was still laying on the floor when the EMTs came into the apartment. They asked how far along I was and if there had been any bleeding. I told them no and they said, "good, that's good!" Once in the ambulance, they took my blood pressure and put an IV in. "Do you have a history of high blood pressure?" I was asked. "No, my blood pressure has always been perfect. Why? Is it high?" "It's pretty high right now." I don't know what made me ask, but I wanted to know, "pretty high? Or alarmingly high?" And the answer came: "Well, we don't like to use the word 'alarmingly'...'" I was remarkably calm. She told me about her one-year-old son. I asked if she'd had a complicated pregnancy, and she said no. She asked if we were excited and I said, "well, I was..." and she told me I still should be. But, I knew she was wrong.
Once at the hospital, I was taken to Labor & Delivery. I continued vomiting in the ambulance and in L&D. They couldn't figure out why. The doctor did a quick ultrasound and confirmed a heartbeat, but I wasn't buying it. I said, "but it's not moving!" and she said "yes it is! I'll show you in a minute." They then proceeded to give me a magnesium drip to lower my blood pressure and plasma to increase my platelets. I was "very sick," as they kept saying. And at some point, the doctor did another ultrasound, where she finally said, after a few minutes, "I'm sorry, but there's no heartbeat." I looked at Ben. His face was a mix of anguish and horror. I have never seen a look like that in my life and I never want to again. It haunts me still. I think my response was, "it's okay, we can try again." Because I knew. She wasn't telling me information I didn't know. I don't know why she claims she saw the heartbeat earlier (she said she thinks we were watching it happen, but I doubt it).
From there, a lot of things started to happen. I can't quite recall the exact sequence of events, but I remember discussing options for getting the baby out. We decided on the D&E procedure, which is essentially an abortion, but the baby is already gone. At the time, this decision seemed like the right one. It's a common procedure. Takes 20-30 minutes. I'd be in and out of the hospital in a few hours. But, first they needed to stabilize my vitals. They couldn't figure out why I was still vomiting, and they couldn't get a urine sample from me, because I wasn't able to provide one. They had to use a catheter to get one eventually. I was told at one point that if they didn't get my blood pressure stabilized I could go into a seizure. And then I was diagnosed with severe pre-eclampsia. The doctor came back in the room and told me that what she was seeing showed that the baby wouldn't have survived the week. WHY DIDN'T THE PERINATOLOGIST TELL US THIS?!?! I didn't have time to be angry or sad or anything else. At this point, I was just trying to figure out what was going on. I had finally had to ask for something for the pain, because I was, in fact, in labor. And while they began prepping me for the D&E, my water broke. I remember asking, "Is that blood?" and they said, "your water just broke. You may have to deliver." We discussed an epidural, but I had no idea if I'd need one. This baby was less than a pound. I hadn't done this before. Should I get one? What was going on? After a little while, they checked me again, and I wasn't dilating anymore, so we decided to go ahead with the procedure. We had been in L&D about 6 or 7 hours by this point. I hadn't been able to get ahold of my mom until nearly 8:00, so we were there all night before she knew anything.
Everything is a bit of a blur from there. I know I was coherent enough to ask questions about the IVs they were giving me and the tests they were running. I never got a read on my blood pressure, but I heard a whispered conversation about it being "high one-hundred over low one-hundred." Around 10:00am, I was wheeled out of L&D and brought to the OR. I remember being surrounded by doctors and nurses and Ben. I was still remarkably calm. I had remained calm the entire time (except for those few bouts of excruciating pain). And then, some old doctor who I hadn't met until that point began telling me what was going to happen during the procedure. For some reason, the idea of a breathing tube set me off, and I became hysterical. I said, loudly, "I thought the procedure was only 20 minutes!!" and he said it was, and that the tube would be out before I was awake. I'd never know it was in there. This did little to calm me, and I asked him to stop telling me what was going to be done and to just do it. He said okay. I looked at Ben during all of this, and he was a mess. Apparently me breaking down was too much for him and he broke down as well. It was an ugly scene. And the last thing I remember was him telling me that my mom and brother had just arrived and were in the waiting room. I don't remember being wheeled away. I don't remember saying good-bye to him. I don't remember going in the OR. My next memory is from hours later, hearing the nurse say "look who's here!" I opened my weary eyes and saw my mom, brother, and dad standing across from my bed. Ben was noticeably missing. I didn't know what time it was then, but it was hours and hours later. I want to say maybe 5 in the evening. My 20-minute procedure had not gone well. And the breathing tube was still in me...I couldn't talk. I was afraid to move. I could only nod yes or no to the questions I was being asked. I heard my mom ask if I had my contacts in and shook my head no. I heard my dad ask if I could hear him and I nodded my head yes. I don't remember what my brother said, but I remember smiling and him saying "I saw that!" And I was informed that Ben had gone home to shower and sleep.
It took a while for me to get all the pieces of the story. There is almost an entire day missing from my memory. When Ben finally came back, I used his phone to type messages to him because the tube was still in (for HOURS!!!). I was groggy but fully conscious and aware. I kept trying to ask the nurses what time it was by pointing to my wrist, and asking them for Ben by pointing to my ring finger, but the message wasn't always clear. It was frustrating. I was fully awake when the tube was taken out, and it was horrific. The respiratory doctor was awesome and so nice, so that made the experience as pleasant as possible, but it was not expected. However, I did end up being glad for that pesky old doctor who told me about it, because I would have freaked if I woke up with that in not knowing why.
I spent three days in the hospital. I was admitted around midnight on Friday, October 19th, and went home around 2 pm on Sunday, October 21st. Apparently when my family came into my hospital room after the procedure, they had no idea if I'd live. Besides the protein in the urine, the high blood pressure, the low platelets, and the vomiting, they had also discovered fluid in my lungs, and when they finished the procedure and took the breathing tube out, I didn't wake up. They were forced to put it back in and wait for me to come around. When my family asked if I'd be okay the doctors' response was "we don't know yet." I was listed as critical but stable. Still, we wait to find out what the hell happened to me that day. Why didn't I wake up? Why did I get so sick? Why didn't anyone notice the pre-eclampsia? Will this happen again?
I waited to grieve until I came home. I didn't want to be a hysterical mess in the hospital where so many people could see me. The first thing I did when I came home was throw away the pregnancy calendar my mom gave me when we told her I was expecting. Then, I gathered all the pregnancy books and baby name books we'd acquired and put them in the pack-n-play a friend had given us that we'd set up in the would-be-baby's bedroom and closed the door. I threw the ultrasound pictures in there with them. And then I cried. Hard. So hard, that when Ben's parents stopped by later that day to drop off food, I could barely see, my eyes were so swollen.
I don't recall Ben ever crying, but I think he was too relieved to see me alive to mourn for too long. He almost lost his baby and his wife that day. And since then, my own emotions have been all over the place. There are emotional triggers you wouldn't normally notice. For example, did you know that they hang baby bibs in random aisles at the grocery store? And if you go to the King of Prussia Mall, there is a giant poster for my medical team and their maternity ward hanging right in the middle of everything. And then, the owner of my company adopted a baby (my first thought was, now people are just giving babies away, and I don't get to have mine). They're everywhere. And some days, I'm stronger than others. Some days, some things still feel too soon. But, let me say this about the guilt. I never really understood that, because I assume that most people know it's not your fault when you lose a baby. Unless you actively try to miscarry, there's very little that can be blamed on the mother. So, emotionally, I knew this wasn't my fault. I knew there was nothing I could have done. I even knew that if the pre-eclampsia had been caught sooner, we likely still would have lost the baby. But, where the guilt kicked in was for other people. Because, we all lost something. Not only did Ben and I lose a child, but our parents lost a grandchild. Our siblings lost a niece. I kept thinking of my mom retiring to watch the baby and now she wouldn't be doing that. I kept remembering her telling me she bought baby clothes, because she just couldn't help it. I kept remembering my stepsister screaming in excitement when we told her and immediately planning the baby shower. I couldn't stop thinking about our dads crying, and me forcing my whole family to get flu shots before they could see the baby. People were excited. And they were excited because of this baby that I was carrying. And even though I knew it wasn't my fault, I still felt so friggin' guilty that everyone was so sad. That part felt like my fault. I didn't want so many people to be sad, and I didn't want them to be sad because of me. And I still feel that. That part still breaks my heart along with everything else.
We had my work Christmas party this past weekend and I held that baby that made me so bitter. I had no desire to look at that child when I first heard of her existence, but I couldn't resist it when I saw her in person. I was informed that she was "six weeks tomorrow." I had lost my baby six weeks ago that day. The math wasn't lost on me. That sweet baby girl fell asleep in my arms for at least an hour. Well-intentioned people and some who didn't know made comments such as "oh, you're such a natural," and "when are you going to have your own?" And somehow I was okay. That baby sleeping on my chest brought me so much peace while breaking my heart at the same time. And I told Ben when we got home that night that I missed our baby. And I still do.
As we wait for more test results and more doctor consultations, I still plan for "trying again," even though we haven't been given the all clear yet. Next time, I won't complain about the aches and pains of pregnancy. Next time, I won't think it's gross when I feel the baby kick. Next time, I won't find the necessary lifestyle changes annoying and inconvenient. Next time, I will be so thankful for the life inside me. I will cherish every hiccup, every kick, every flutter, every tiny movement. I will be thankful for all the aches and pains and nausea, because I'll know that it means my baby is growing and healthy. I will be more open to the lifestyle changes, because it means I'm giving my baby the best possible chance at life. I will not roll my eyes at the well-meaning people asking how I'm feeling every single day (okay, maybe sometimes), and I will not try to hide the baby bump when it starts to show. I will embrace the next pregnancy with all of its agonies and joys.
Some days, I feel like a monster because I "got over it so quickly." And there are days, like today, when I am inexplicably sad and missing this baby that never came to be, and I wonder if I'll always feel like this. As the due date gets closer, I can't help wondering how big the bump would be, if we would have settled on a name yet, how many weeks I'd be now, who would this baby have looked like? I don't want to be sad about it for the rest of my life. But, I also don't want to forget this sweet girl who was wanted so very badly and loved so very deeply by so many people.
If you're reading this and you were invested in this pregnancy, or lived through a story like this of your own, I'm sorry for your loss. All I know now is that somehow, life still goes on, even when you think it shouldn't.
I have wanted children from as long as I can remember. There are dozens of pictures of me as a child surrounded by my dolls, all with their own unique names (some even with middle names!). There were 36 children in the dollhouse I had growing up. If there's a party and you can't find me, look for the babies; that's where I'll be. I adore children. And I never once imagined my future without having any. When I got divorced without children, I mourned the loss of the ones I'd never have, hoping I wouldn't be too old when I got married again to still have a family of my own. And when Ben and I began talking about children, we argued. He wasn't ready, I couldn't be more so. After a while, we decided to just "see what happens." We were not actively trying, but we were no longer preventing it, either. I was excited but realistic. It would probably take a while, and we'd be in a house and making more money by the time it happened.
I remember being extremely emotional the week I found out. I chalked it, and the sore breasts, up to PMS. I had been on the pill for so long that my cycle wasn't what it used to be and symptoms were different. A friend tried to tell me to take a pregnancy test, even though it wasn't late yet. "I'm definitely not. The timing isn't right, anyway." For, you see, I knew exactly when it would have happened, and it wasn't the right time. In fact, it had been our very first "try." But, finally, the day my period was due, I came home and told Ben, "I just want to let you know that I'm taking a test. I'm certain it will be negative, but just to ease my own mind, I'm going to take it." The next few minutes changed everything.
Ben was doing the dishes, and I came out of the bathroom shaking, holding the positive pregnancy test. "Ben...what does that say...?" The second line was a little too faint for me to believe. I even texted a friend to ask what he thought it said. He let me know, excitedly, that it said I was pregnant. The vibe in our home was not what I thought it would be. There was no celebrating. There was no jumping for joy. There were no tears of happiness, or hugging, or exciting talk about our future. Instead, we sat in silence. I apologized. We didn't speak. What the hell is going on?
I quickly ran out to get both dinner and some more pregnancy tests. Two more confirmed the news, and in the next few days I got it confirmed with the doctor too. I will admit, it took us quite a few weeks to get used to the news. We were scared. Could we do it? Could we handle it? Did we make enough? I cried a lot, terrified of the experience, not wanting to actually be pregnant, but wanting to have a baby so badly. I did not feel prepared at all. Our dads both cried. Our moms were less enthusiastic but still excited. My mom made the decision to retire at the end of the year to watch the baby, that was due in February, while we worked. We had our eight-week pre-natal appointment and they did an ultrasound, where we got to see our "bean." It still didn't seem real at that point. From there on, all of the appointments went well. There were no complications, no medical issues, nothing. At sixteen weeks, to the day, I got in a car accident on the way to work. The car was totaled and I was shaken, but a trip to the OB/GYN showed everything was okay. At 19 weeks, I went in for another check-up and some routine blood work. A few days later, the doctor called with news that the tests came back abnormal, showing a possibility for spina bifida or other neural abnormalities. She told me that nine times out of ten, it means nothing, but she was going to add a doctor consultation to our next ultrasound appointment, which was in two weeks. The wait was agony.
We showed up at the appointment the day before I reached 22 weeks, excited to find out if we were having a boy or a girl. We were hoping for a girl so badly that I was honestly worried we wouldn't be excited for a boy. During the ultrasound we got to see the baby's legs, counted fingers and toes, saw the face (baby stuck its tongue out at us!), etc. A vaginal ultrasound was required at one point, because the baby was not in the correct position to see what was necessary to clear all abnormalities. We got to see the brain, which looked fine, and the heart which looked 'okay,' but they were not able to get a reading on the spine, which was crucial. And, we finally got to hear...it's a girl. We were elated. Ben teared up at the idea of having his daddy's girl. There's the excitement we were missing.
The consultation afterwards left me feeling confused. I was diagnosed with a "leaky placenta" and protein in my urine. The baby was measuring more than two weeks smaller than she should have been (only 10 oz.). We were presented with three possible scenarios. One was that the baby had spina bifida (and it wasn't too late to have an abortion if that was the outcome and that's what we chose), but only an amniocentesis would completely rule it out. We decided against that, due to the risk of miscarriage and because we didn't feel it was necessary given other information. Another was that it was nothing and the baby would just be small. And honestly, at this stage, I forget the third scenario. And it doesn't matter, because that's not what it ended up being. I didn't have a lot of questions for the doctor, because there was a lot to process. We made an appointment to come back for another ultrasound in two weeks and a fetal echo a few weeks after that. I was being monitored for the rest of the pregnancy. This was on Monday.
On Tuesday morning, I emailed the doctor with follow-up questions. There is a history of pre-term labor in my family (my aunt lost a baby at 8 months, a cousin lost one at 6 months, and a great-aunt lost one at delivery). I asked about the chances of pre-term labor. I asked what I could or should be doing to protect myself and the baby. I asked what exactly a leaky placenta was and what it meant. I asked if the car accident could have caused any of this. The doctor answered me two days later, on Thursday. His answers were short and vague: A car accident wouldn't cause delayed fetal growth (no shit, but would it cause placental issues?); I "probably wouldn't" go into pre-term labor; there was nothing I could do except eat healthy. I asked what the worst case scenario was and he refused to tell me, instead telling me that the best case scenario was a healthy baby who was just small. I was not satisfied with any of those answers.
By the time I left work that Thursday, I was a nervous wreck. I called the OB/GYN as soon as I left and they called me back while I was driving home. I told them I wanted to come in and talk to someone because I had some questions that I didn't feel were being answered by the perinatologist. I was told on the phone that they agreed with the assessment from the doctor. When I asked if I could just come in for a quick ultrasound because I hadn't felt the baby move that day, the response was "no one's here tonight. I'm just answering phone calls. You can come in tomorrow morning." I hung up and burst into tears. Ben called in the middle of my hysterics. He had tried to maintain a positive attitude throughout all of it, telling me that the doctor hadn't said anything that was particularly alarming to him. But I just knew. I knew something wasn't right. I had only gained three or four pounds and, at 5 1/2 months, I was barely showing. Besides that, I'd had almost no pregnancy symptoms, other than a backache.
I went home and tried to calm myself down. I looked up some things in the pregnancy books I was given by the doctors and tried to convince myself that everything was normal. I took a bath to try to relax, the whole time talking to the baby, saying "I know we're going to spend the rest of your life telling you to sit down and shutup, but please do something. Move just a little. A tiny kick. A hiccup. Anything." I ate dinner and laid on my side, because those were the two things that usually got the baby to move. Still nothing. I remember telling Ben that I felt bloated and my stomach seemed bigger than usual. This was my first pregnancy, I knew absolutely nothing.
I went to bed that night, thinking and hoping things would be better in the morning. Maybe the baby was just sleeping. I hadn't been paying attention all day, and besides, the day before we were convinced she'd be a gymnast. Just calm down. I was asleep for less than an hour when I got out of bed, thinking I needed to use the bathroom. I quickly broke a sweat and sat on the toilet with a cold washcloth on my neck and forehead. And then, I laid down on the bathroom floor, with my head in the hallway, yelling Ben's name. He came running into the hallway, delirious with sleep, asking what was wrong. I was having severe abdominal pains, but I still wasn't convinced it was anything other than gas. I wanted to believe that's what it was, so I told him to hold off calling an ambulance yet. He kept asking, "what should I do? Should I call an ambulance? Should I take you to the hospital?" and I kept saying "I'll feel really stupid if I get there and it's just gas." And then...I threw up. Violently. And that's when I knew I needed to go in.
The ambulance arrived in minutes. I was still laying on the floor when the EMTs came into the apartment. They asked how far along I was and if there had been any bleeding. I told them no and they said, "good, that's good!" Once in the ambulance, they took my blood pressure and put an IV in. "Do you have a history of high blood pressure?" I was asked. "No, my blood pressure has always been perfect. Why? Is it high?" "It's pretty high right now." I don't know what made me ask, but I wanted to know, "pretty high? Or alarmingly high?" And the answer came: "Well, we don't like to use the word 'alarmingly'...'" I was remarkably calm. She told me about her one-year-old son. I asked if she'd had a complicated pregnancy, and she said no. She asked if we were excited and I said, "well, I was..." and she told me I still should be. But, I knew she was wrong.
Once at the hospital, I was taken to Labor & Delivery. I continued vomiting in the ambulance and in L&D. They couldn't figure out why. The doctor did a quick ultrasound and confirmed a heartbeat, but I wasn't buying it. I said, "but it's not moving!" and she said "yes it is! I'll show you in a minute." They then proceeded to give me a magnesium drip to lower my blood pressure and plasma to increase my platelets. I was "very sick," as they kept saying. And at some point, the doctor did another ultrasound, where she finally said, after a few minutes, "I'm sorry, but there's no heartbeat." I looked at Ben. His face was a mix of anguish and horror. I have never seen a look like that in my life and I never want to again. It haunts me still. I think my response was, "it's okay, we can try again." Because I knew. She wasn't telling me information I didn't know. I don't know why she claims she saw the heartbeat earlier (she said she thinks we were watching it happen, but I doubt it).
From there, a lot of things started to happen. I can't quite recall the exact sequence of events, but I remember discussing options for getting the baby out. We decided on the D&E procedure, which is essentially an abortion, but the baby is already gone. At the time, this decision seemed like the right one. It's a common procedure. Takes 20-30 minutes. I'd be in and out of the hospital in a few hours. But, first they needed to stabilize my vitals. They couldn't figure out why I was still vomiting, and they couldn't get a urine sample from me, because I wasn't able to provide one. They had to use a catheter to get one eventually. I was told at one point that if they didn't get my blood pressure stabilized I could go into a seizure. And then I was diagnosed with severe pre-eclampsia. The doctor came back in the room and told me that what she was seeing showed that the baby wouldn't have survived the week. WHY DIDN'T THE PERINATOLOGIST TELL US THIS?!?! I didn't have time to be angry or sad or anything else. At this point, I was just trying to figure out what was going on. I had finally had to ask for something for the pain, because I was, in fact, in labor. And while they began prepping me for the D&E, my water broke. I remember asking, "Is that blood?" and they said, "your water just broke. You may have to deliver." We discussed an epidural, but I had no idea if I'd need one. This baby was less than a pound. I hadn't done this before. Should I get one? What was going on? After a little while, they checked me again, and I wasn't dilating anymore, so we decided to go ahead with the procedure. We had been in L&D about 6 or 7 hours by this point. I hadn't been able to get ahold of my mom until nearly 8:00, so we were there all night before she knew anything.
Everything is a bit of a blur from there. I know I was coherent enough to ask questions about the IVs they were giving me and the tests they were running. I never got a read on my blood pressure, but I heard a whispered conversation about it being "high one-hundred over low one-hundred." Around 10:00am, I was wheeled out of L&D and brought to the OR. I remember being surrounded by doctors and nurses and Ben. I was still remarkably calm. I had remained calm the entire time (except for those few bouts of excruciating pain). And then, some old doctor who I hadn't met until that point began telling me what was going to happen during the procedure. For some reason, the idea of a breathing tube set me off, and I became hysterical. I said, loudly, "I thought the procedure was only 20 minutes!!" and he said it was, and that the tube would be out before I was awake. I'd never know it was in there. This did little to calm me, and I asked him to stop telling me what was going to be done and to just do it. He said okay. I looked at Ben during all of this, and he was a mess. Apparently me breaking down was too much for him and he broke down as well. It was an ugly scene. And the last thing I remember was him telling me that my mom and brother had just arrived and were in the waiting room. I don't remember being wheeled away. I don't remember saying good-bye to him. I don't remember going in the OR. My next memory is from hours later, hearing the nurse say "look who's here!" I opened my weary eyes and saw my mom, brother, and dad standing across from my bed. Ben was noticeably missing. I didn't know what time it was then, but it was hours and hours later. I want to say maybe 5 in the evening. My 20-minute procedure had not gone well. And the breathing tube was still in me...I couldn't talk. I was afraid to move. I could only nod yes or no to the questions I was being asked. I heard my mom ask if I had my contacts in and shook my head no. I heard my dad ask if I could hear him and I nodded my head yes. I don't remember what my brother said, but I remember smiling and him saying "I saw that!" And I was informed that Ben had gone home to shower and sleep.
It took a while for me to get all the pieces of the story. There is almost an entire day missing from my memory. When Ben finally came back, I used his phone to type messages to him because the tube was still in (for HOURS!!!). I was groggy but fully conscious and aware. I kept trying to ask the nurses what time it was by pointing to my wrist, and asking them for Ben by pointing to my ring finger, but the message wasn't always clear. It was frustrating. I was fully awake when the tube was taken out, and it was horrific. The respiratory doctor was awesome and so nice, so that made the experience as pleasant as possible, but it was not expected. However, I did end up being glad for that pesky old doctor who told me about it, because I would have freaked if I woke up with that in not knowing why.
I spent three days in the hospital. I was admitted around midnight on Friday, October 19th, and went home around 2 pm on Sunday, October 21st. Apparently when my family came into my hospital room after the procedure, they had no idea if I'd live. Besides the protein in the urine, the high blood pressure, the low platelets, and the vomiting, they had also discovered fluid in my lungs, and when they finished the procedure and took the breathing tube out, I didn't wake up. They were forced to put it back in and wait for me to come around. When my family asked if I'd be okay the doctors' response was "we don't know yet." I was listed as critical but stable. Still, we wait to find out what the hell happened to me that day. Why didn't I wake up? Why did I get so sick? Why didn't anyone notice the pre-eclampsia? Will this happen again?
I waited to grieve until I came home. I didn't want to be a hysterical mess in the hospital where so many people could see me. The first thing I did when I came home was throw away the pregnancy calendar my mom gave me when we told her I was expecting. Then, I gathered all the pregnancy books and baby name books we'd acquired and put them in the pack-n-play a friend had given us that we'd set up in the would-be-baby's bedroom and closed the door. I threw the ultrasound pictures in there with them. And then I cried. Hard. So hard, that when Ben's parents stopped by later that day to drop off food, I could barely see, my eyes were so swollen.
I don't recall Ben ever crying, but I think he was too relieved to see me alive to mourn for too long. He almost lost his baby and his wife that day. And since then, my own emotions have been all over the place. There are emotional triggers you wouldn't normally notice. For example, did you know that they hang baby bibs in random aisles at the grocery store? And if you go to the King of Prussia Mall, there is a giant poster for my medical team and their maternity ward hanging right in the middle of everything. And then, the owner of my company adopted a baby (my first thought was, now people are just giving babies away, and I don't get to have mine). They're everywhere. And some days, I'm stronger than others. Some days, some things still feel too soon. But, let me say this about the guilt. I never really understood that, because I assume that most people know it's not your fault when you lose a baby. Unless you actively try to miscarry, there's very little that can be blamed on the mother. So, emotionally, I knew this wasn't my fault. I knew there was nothing I could have done. I even knew that if the pre-eclampsia had been caught sooner, we likely still would have lost the baby. But, where the guilt kicked in was for other people. Because, we all lost something. Not only did Ben and I lose a child, but our parents lost a grandchild. Our siblings lost a niece. I kept thinking of my mom retiring to watch the baby and now she wouldn't be doing that. I kept remembering her telling me she bought baby clothes, because she just couldn't help it. I kept remembering my stepsister screaming in excitement when we told her and immediately planning the baby shower. I couldn't stop thinking about our dads crying, and me forcing my whole family to get flu shots before they could see the baby. People were excited. And they were excited because of this baby that I was carrying. And even though I knew it wasn't my fault, I still felt so friggin' guilty that everyone was so sad. That part felt like my fault. I didn't want so many people to be sad, and I didn't want them to be sad because of me. And I still feel that. That part still breaks my heart along with everything else.
We had my work Christmas party this past weekend and I held that baby that made me so bitter. I had no desire to look at that child when I first heard of her existence, but I couldn't resist it when I saw her in person. I was informed that she was "six weeks tomorrow." I had lost my baby six weeks ago that day. The math wasn't lost on me. That sweet baby girl fell asleep in my arms for at least an hour. Well-intentioned people and some who didn't know made comments such as "oh, you're such a natural," and "when are you going to have your own?" And somehow I was okay. That baby sleeping on my chest brought me so much peace while breaking my heart at the same time. And I told Ben when we got home that night that I missed our baby. And I still do.
As we wait for more test results and more doctor consultations, I still plan for "trying again," even though we haven't been given the all clear yet. Next time, I won't complain about the aches and pains of pregnancy. Next time, I won't think it's gross when I feel the baby kick. Next time, I won't find the necessary lifestyle changes annoying and inconvenient. Next time, I will be so thankful for the life inside me. I will cherish every hiccup, every kick, every flutter, every tiny movement. I will be thankful for all the aches and pains and nausea, because I'll know that it means my baby is growing and healthy. I will be more open to the lifestyle changes, because it means I'm giving my baby the best possible chance at life. I will not roll my eyes at the well-meaning people asking how I'm feeling every single day (okay, maybe sometimes), and I will not try to hide the baby bump when it starts to show. I will embrace the next pregnancy with all of its agonies and joys.
Some days, I feel like a monster because I "got over it so quickly." And there are days, like today, when I am inexplicably sad and missing this baby that never came to be, and I wonder if I'll always feel like this. As the due date gets closer, I can't help wondering how big the bump would be, if we would have settled on a name yet, how many weeks I'd be now, who would this baby have looked like? I don't want to be sad about it for the rest of my life. But, I also don't want to forget this sweet girl who was wanted so very badly and loved so very deeply by so many people.
If you're reading this and you were invested in this pregnancy, or lived through a story like this of your own, I'm sorry for your loss. All I know now is that somehow, life still goes on, even when you think it shouldn't.
Sunday, November 19, 2017
I Want My Mommy
Tell me other people get completely overwhelmed with adulthood. Some days I just don't want to do it anymore. And lately, there have been more of those days than not. I feel like I'm the kind of person that's fine as long as things keep moving. But, as soon as I have time to relax and to think, I start freaking out. I'm not doing enough. I'm not saving enough. I'm not eating well enough. I'm not socializing enough. I'm not working hard enough. I don't see my family enough. I don't call my mom enough. I don't clean my apartment enough. Sometimes, despite feeling like I never have time for myself, I feel like it's just never enough.
I had a minor meltdown last night. I'm blaming it mostly on the fact that Ben's been going through his nicotine withdrawal, and for the past month I've been focused on him. I've been walking on eggshells, because his fuse has been the shortest I've ever seen it. Some days, it doesn't take much to completely set him off. And I'm terrified of upsetting him to the point where he goes back to cigarettes for comfort. That's not in any way blaming him. It's just part of the process. I expected it to be difficult for both of us. I just didn't really expect it to be this difficult for me. I'm not what you'd call a patient person, so I ran out of sympathy and nice gestures pretty quickly. When the second week was harder than the first, I was completely thrown. And when he was still moody after a month, I just started retreating into myself. I didn't really know what I could say to him, how I could help him. I've just been waiting it out. And he's doing really well. But, still. There have been days when I've needed him, and he just couldn't be there for me, because he had his own stuff going on. Such is life.
In any case, last night was just my breaking point. No particular reason. Nothing earth-shattering happened, nothing terribly stressful. I just suddenly couldn't deal anymore. I woke up yesterday just feeling like I wanted to run away. I wanted to be alone. But, not in the sense that I wanted Ben to make himself scarce for the day. I just didn't want to be where I was. I ended up at a children's bookstore (naturally) after trying to get my niece and/or nephew, and a friend's kid to come with me. None of them were available. Probably for the best anyway. That completely defeated my whole "alone time" thing. Getting out of the house and doing something for myself made me feel better, even though I had anxiety about spending money, since my paycheck doesn't seem to be going as far these days (I haven't even thought about Christmas yet...don't ask me...I can't deal with it right now). The rest of the day basically just consisted of Ben and I hanging around the house doing some chores and watching a movie (Bambi...he'd never seen it...it's much more boring than I remember). But, that night, we were laying in bed, and I just told him that I've been feeling really anxious lately. He told me that he could tell I haven't been feeling like myself lately, and I confessed that I've been trying really, really hard not to take my anxieties out on him. It's been difficult. Almost every day this week, I've wanted to pick a fight with him. Why? Just to make myself feel better. Just to get it out. Just to yell at someone about something. But, I didn't. And if you knew me five or six years ago, you'd agree that that's an enormous amount of growth.
I told him that I just wanted my mom to come do things for me, because I just didn't want to deal with anything anymore. He asked me what I wanted my mom to do. So I started naming things. Load the dishwasher. Clean the apartment. Feed the cat. Buy my clothes. Pay my bills. Plan and cook my meals. Do my laundry. Make my doctor appointments. Put my clothes away. Buy my groceries. As the night went on and I began to feel better, I sporadically called out something else I thought of that I wanted her to do. It became an amusing game after a while, but I was immensely overwhelmed in the beginning. Crying that I just felt stuck. I drove past the college where I got my graduate degree, on the way home from the bookstore, and my thought was, "I should go back to school." Ben damn near had a heart attack. I feel overwhelmed with my hobbies; like I don't have enough time to maintain them all, even though hobbies are meant to be relaxing and not stressful. For days, I felt like I was one wrong word away from crying.
It's been a long time since I felt like that. When I was with my ex, my general state of being was "I just want to run away by myself for a weekend." I remember that feeling so strongly. But, I haven't felt it in years. And yes, I suppose I was overwhelmed back then, but I was always busy, always doing something, so I didn't even notice. When I started focusing on myself is when I started seeing how unhappy I was and how too much weight was on my shoulders. So, I'm not really sure why now I feel like I'm simultaneously too busy and not doing enough. Things are definitely easier now. I finally have someone who helps around the house (though, generally needs a gentle reminder). The entire state of our relationship doesn't fall on me anymore. And he maintains his own family relationships without needing me to remind him that it's someone's birthday or that there's an event this weekend. I'm also only working one job for the first time in a long time, and I'm no longer in graduate school. I have more time at home to myself than I've ever had before. So, what the hell is the problem?
I think I'm bored, to be honest. Like, I keep thinking about going back to my job at the bookstore, but then I think about having to give up my nights and weekends again and I can't do it. But, then the nights and the weekends come and I'm bored, and a little bit lonely, and I don't feel like doing any of the 5,000 hobbies I've acquired over the last few years. I'm just restless lately. I keep thinking, "I need to just have a damn baby and I'll never be bored again," but then I remember last night and wonder how that would have played out if there was a child involved. Is that a feeling that parents get? I would imagine so. But, like, I just wanted my mom last night. What happens when I'm the mom? Yikes! I have to do all the things I don't feel like doing for someone else. I'm so overwhelmed by my own monotonous life, and now I'm considering adding another human being into the mix? Am I actually insane?
And the holidays are coming, and my experience has only ever been a nightmare trying to squeeze in both sets of parents. With my ex, Christmas was the nightmare, because his mom required his presence on Christmas Eve, which was when my family did their thing (we were together ten years and spent exactly one Christmas Eve together). With Ben, it's even more complicated. Because both of our parents are divorced. So, that's essentially four stops we have to make on Christmas and Thanksgiving. His dad makes it easier by having his Christmas shindig in mid December, but Ben still hasn't outgrown the whole "I want to wake up at my mom's house on Christmas morning" thing. So, now Christmas day becomes the problem, when I have to see both of my parents and his mom. And I honestly wouldn't mind skipping my family's stuff every other year if he'd agree to do the same, but he won't. And I so appreciate how close he is with his family, but at what point do I become the priority? At what point does he try as hard to spend the holidays with me as he does to spend them with his entire extended family? I know, we see each other every day, but it's Christmas...
And I didn't even mean to go on that tangent, but that's where I'm at lately. I'm all over the place. I can't stay focused on one thing without becoming overwhelmed by something else. I used to pride myself on getting things done. If I had three places to be in one day, I'd figure out how to make it happen. It was go, go, go, and I thrived on that. It was like a puzzle to me; how can I make this all work? And I don't know if it's because I'm getting older now, or if it's because I got tired of being the person who was holding it all together, but I just can't anymore. I just don't feel like putting that much effort into every single thing. I want someone to just come do it all for me again. I was in such a rush to be an adult and call my own shots and have my own space, and I was so friggin' stupid. I want to smack sixteen-year-old Kim so friggin' hard and tell her to have some damn fun. And now I'm twice that age and I still don't know how to have fun.
Three days ago this post was going to be about whether it's possible to be an atheist and still believe in ghosts. And now it's this. Because that's how quickly things change. I might still write that one, though. In the meantime, tell me I'm not the only one who finds adulthood overwhelming.
I had a minor meltdown last night. I'm blaming it mostly on the fact that Ben's been going through his nicotine withdrawal, and for the past month I've been focused on him. I've been walking on eggshells, because his fuse has been the shortest I've ever seen it. Some days, it doesn't take much to completely set him off. And I'm terrified of upsetting him to the point where he goes back to cigarettes for comfort. That's not in any way blaming him. It's just part of the process. I expected it to be difficult for both of us. I just didn't really expect it to be this difficult for me. I'm not what you'd call a patient person, so I ran out of sympathy and nice gestures pretty quickly. When the second week was harder than the first, I was completely thrown. And when he was still moody after a month, I just started retreating into myself. I didn't really know what I could say to him, how I could help him. I've just been waiting it out. And he's doing really well. But, still. There have been days when I've needed him, and he just couldn't be there for me, because he had his own stuff going on. Such is life.
In any case, last night was just my breaking point. No particular reason. Nothing earth-shattering happened, nothing terribly stressful. I just suddenly couldn't deal anymore. I woke up yesterday just feeling like I wanted to run away. I wanted to be alone. But, not in the sense that I wanted Ben to make himself scarce for the day. I just didn't want to be where I was. I ended up at a children's bookstore (naturally) after trying to get my niece and/or nephew, and a friend's kid to come with me. None of them were available. Probably for the best anyway. That completely defeated my whole "alone time" thing. Getting out of the house and doing something for myself made me feel better, even though I had anxiety about spending money, since my paycheck doesn't seem to be going as far these days (I haven't even thought about Christmas yet...don't ask me...I can't deal with it right now). The rest of the day basically just consisted of Ben and I hanging around the house doing some chores and watching a movie (Bambi...he'd never seen it...it's much more boring than I remember). But, that night, we were laying in bed, and I just told him that I've been feeling really anxious lately. He told me that he could tell I haven't been feeling like myself lately, and I confessed that I've been trying really, really hard not to take my anxieties out on him. It's been difficult. Almost every day this week, I've wanted to pick a fight with him. Why? Just to make myself feel better. Just to get it out. Just to yell at someone about something. But, I didn't. And if you knew me five or six years ago, you'd agree that that's an enormous amount of growth.
I told him that I just wanted my mom to come do things for me, because I just didn't want to deal with anything anymore. He asked me what I wanted my mom to do. So I started naming things. Load the dishwasher. Clean the apartment. Feed the cat. Buy my clothes. Pay my bills. Plan and cook my meals. Do my laundry. Make my doctor appointments. Put my clothes away. Buy my groceries. As the night went on and I began to feel better, I sporadically called out something else I thought of that I wanted her to do. It became an amusing game after a while, but I was immensely overwhelmed in the beginning. Crying that I just felt stuck. I drove past the college where I got my graduate degree, on the way home from the bookstore, and my thought was, "I should go back to school." Ben damn near had a heart attack. I feel overwhelmed with my hobbies; like I don't have enough time to maintain them all, even though hobbies are meant to be relaxing and not stressful. For days, I felt like I was one wrong word away from crying.
It's been a long time since I felt like that. When I was with my ex, my general state of being was "I just want to run away by myself for a weekend." I remember that feeling so strongly. But, I haven't felt it in years. And yes, I suppose I was overwhelmed back then, but I was always busy, always doing something, so I didn't even notice. When I started focusing on myself is when I started seeing how unhappy I was and how too much weight was on my shoulders. So, I'm not really sure why now I feel like I'm simultaneously too busy and not doing enough. Things are definitely easier now. I finally have someone who helps around the house (though, generally needs a gentle reminder). The entire state of our relationship doesn't fall on me anymore. And he maintains his own family relationships without needing me to remind him that it's someone's birthday or that there's an event this weekend. I'm also only working one job for the first time in a long time, and I'm no longer in graduate school. I have more time at home to myself than I've ever had before. So, what the hell is the problem?
I think I'm bored, to be honest. Like, I keep thinking about going back to my job at the bookstore, but then I think about having to give up my nights and weekends again and I can't do it. But, then the nights and the weekends come and I'm bored, and a little bit lonely, and I don't feel like doing any of the 5,000 hobbies I've acquired over the last few years. I'm just restless lately. I keep thinking, "I need to just have a damn baby and I'll never be bored again," but then I remember last night and wonder how that would have played out if there was a child involved. Is that a feeling that parents get? I would imagine so. But, like, I just wanted my mom last night. What happens when I'm the mom? Yikes! I have to do all the things I don't feel like doing for someone else. I'm so overwhelmed by my own monotonous life, and now I'm considering adding another human being into the mix? Am I actually insane?
And the holidays are coming, and my experience has only ever been a nightmare trying to squeeze in both sets of parents. With my ex, Christmas was the nightmare, because his mom required his presence on Christmas Eve, which was when my family did their thing (we were together ten years and spent exactly one Christmas Eve together). With Ben, it's even more complicated. Because both of our parents are divorced. So, that's essentially four stops we have to make on Christmas and Thanksgiving. His dad makes it easier by having his Christmas shindig in mid December, but Ben still hasn't outgrown the whole "I want to wake up at my mom's house on Christmas morning" thing. So, now Christmas day becomes the problem, when I have to see both of my parents and his mom. And I honestly wouldn't mind skipping my family's stuff every other year if he'd agree to do the same, but he won't. And I so appreciate how close he is with his family, but at what point do I become the priority? At what point does he try as hard to spend the holidays with me as he does to spend them with his entire extended family? I know, we see each other every day, but it's Christmas...
And I didn't even mean to go on that tangent, but that's where I'm at lately. I'm all over the place. I can't stay focused on one thing without becoming overwhelmed by something else. I used to pride myself on getting things done. If I had three places to be in one day, I'd figure out how to make it happen. It was go, go, go, and I thrived on that. It was like a puzzle to me; how can I make this all work? And I don't know if it's because I'm getting older now, or if it's because I got tired of being the person who was holding it all together, but I just can't anymore. I just don't feel like putting that much effort into every single thing. I want someone to just come do it all for me again. I was in such a rush to be an adult and call my own shots and have my own space, and I was so friggin' stupid. I want to smack sixteen-year-old Kim so friggin' hard and tell her to have some damn fun. And now I'm twice that age and I still don't know how to have fun.
Three days ago this post was going to be about whether it's possible to be an atheist and still believe in ghosts. And now it's this. Because that's how quickly things change. I might still write that one, though. In the meantime, tell me I'm not the only one who finds adulthood overwhelming.
Wednesday, November 8, 2017
Adulthood is Not For the Weak
So, I've only posted three times this year. I guess there hasn't been a lot going on since I finally got the job I've been looking for. I've always joked that you can tell I'm happy when I stop writing. It's always come in waves throughout my life. I get on a kick of writing on a semi-regular basis, and then I completely stop. I have been busy, though, which means obviously something's been going on in my life. And I really do enjoy keeping up with the blogging thing. I just ran out of ideas, I guess. My blog has evolved to so many different things since I started writing nearly ten years ago. It's not even close to what it was intended to be, but I guess that's a good thing. That being said, the reason is because I have a difficult time keeping it interesting. I was writing about my marriage before, and I think people enjoyed seeing how in love I was. Then it was about my divorce and the shit storm that became my life for a few years, and I think people enjoyed seeing the struggle, and the realness, and the eventual happiness. They enjoyed the journey. Then it was looking for a job, and all the crappiness that comes with that, and I think a lot of my friends just related to that. It struck a chord, because so many people were there. But, now I got the job. I got the guy. What more do I have to write about? So, I thought about it on the drive home from work today. Life.
Being an adult sucks. Like, a lot. There's always something more difficult than the day before. There's always something that you're not prepared for, always something you didn't plan for, something you want no part of. How does anyone keep their sanity trying to keep up with work, a social life, family obligations, finances, food (I have to think about this three times a day?! For real?!), health, etc. And how do we all do it on the measly salaries that we make?
Now, don't get me wrong. I guess you could say I'm comfortable. Looking back at where I was in 2009, or even 2014, I'm doing pretty damn well. But, in 2009, I was 24 and optimistic about the future. I also bit off more than I could chew buying a house mere months after getting my first professional job. And 2014, was my absolute lowest. I moved into a 585-square-foot apartment for $800 a month and could barely make ends meet. I remember not having enough bags to clean my cat's litter box, because I didn't have enough money to go grocery shopping regularly. I was using random boxes and emptying things out so I could have something to use to dispose of the dirty litter. I was also eating boxes of Stove Top Stuffing for dinner, or going to my mom's, because I couldn't afford to eat real meals. I was in the depths of grad school, the pit of depression, suffering through a job I hated, and not making enough to live. I was feeling every bit of that missing second income.
In any case, I pulled myself out of it. I finally moved into a two-bedroom, 1100-square-foot apartment, that I got approved for on my own. Ben moved in a few months later, but his name was never added to the lease. It's technically just mine, but he helps with the rent. I pay a little extra each month, since I make more than he does and have less debt, but I don't mind. I take home $600 a week and immediately put $200 aside for rent. I then put $100 towards my credit card or, if it's paid off, into my savings account. That leaves me with $300 a week to pay for food, fun, gas, and anything extra. If I have to get a haircut, I'll need to plan for it. If I want to buy clothes, I have to plan for it. If there's a birthday or a holiday coming up, I have to plan for it. This week in particular, I spent too much last Friday. I tried to make a deal with myself that every time I wanted to go to Barnes & Noble to buy more books, I'd go to Target instead and get myself some new clothes, since nothing fits me anymore. Only problem is that I spent nearly $150 at Target, whereas I would have probably spent less than $50 at B&N. So, yeah, that put a cramp in this week. Aside from the two birthday parties we had on Saturday (my nephew, and his cousin), it turns out my boss's birthday is on Sunday, so the team decided to treat him to lunch this week. I said I'd make cupcakes. The cupcakes didn't happen. It turns out, I didn't have the ingredients I needed in the house, and I don't have the money to buy them. At time of writing, I have about $60 in my account and I still have to get through two more days (and a gas fill). I'm feeling every bit of those new clothes I bought (and the snow shovel...and the potholders...and the wrapping paper....shutup). I had to ask a co-worker to spot me for the boss's lunch, because I just can't risk overdrawing my account...again.
I've also decided this week, after the clothes shopping, to try to start eating better...again. Literally nothing I own fits, because I haven't gone shopping since before I gained thirty pounds. Ugh. Last night I made a cream of asparagus soup from scratch (using a cookbook, obviously), which was surprisingly easy and quick. But, I blended it wrong (you'll find that's a common theme in my cooking), and it's just not very good. Oh well. It wasn't enough for dinner anyway, so PB&J came to the rescue. Don't judge. Needless to say, it hasn't been going well. I had a salad for lunch today, but Ben literally just walked out the door for pizza. I just friggin' like food, okay?
On top of that, I have a $1200 credit card bill from my yearly car inspection, and the holidays are coming up. It's kind of just never-ending. Last week I stood in my living room screaming for my mom, because I didn't feel like doing laundry. She wouldn't accept my offer of $20 for her to come pick it up, wash it, and bring it back. Thanks anyway, Mom. Oh, and let's not forget the random hip pain I've been getting all week. I doubt the $320 a month I pay for insurance gets me good enough coverage to cover whatever that's gonna be. I'm only 32, guys. Why do I feel like I'm 65?
Adulthood is not for the weak.
Being an adult sucks. Like, a lot. There's always something more difficult than the day before. There's always something that you're not prepared for, always something you didn't plan for, something you want no part of. How does anyone keep their sanity trying to keep up with work, a social life, family obligations, finances, food (I have to think about this three times a day?! For real?!), health, etc. And how do we all do it on the measly salaries that we make?
Now, don't get me wrong. I guess you could say I'm comfortable. Looking back at where I was in 2009, or even 2014, I'm doing pretty damn well. But, in 2009, I was 24 and optimistic about the future. I also bit off more than I could chew buying a house mere months after getting my first professional job. And 2014, was my absolute lowest. I moved into a 585-square-foot apartment for $800 a month and could barely make ends meet. I remember not having enough bags to clean my cat's litter box, because I didn't have enough money to go grocery shopping regularly. I was using random boxes and emptying things out so I could have something to use to dispose of the dirty litter. I was also eating boxes of Stove Top Stuffing for dinner, or going to my mom's, because I couldn't afford to eat real meals. I was in the depths of grad school, the pit of depression, suffering through a job I hated, and not making enough to live. I was feeling every bit of that missing second income.
In any case, I pulled myself out of it. I finally moved into a two-bedroom, 1100-square-foot apartment, that I got approved for on my own. Ben moved in a few months later, but his name was never added to the lease. It's technically just mine, but he helps with the rent. I pay a little extra each month, since I make more than he does and have less debt, but I don't mind. I take home $600 a week and immediately put $200 aside for rent. I then put $100 towards my credit card or, if it's paid off, into my savings account. That leaves me with $300 a week to pay for food, fun, gas, and anything extra. If I have to get a haircut, I'll need to plan for it. If I want to buy clothes, I have to plan for it. If there's a birthday or a holiday coming up, I have to plan for it. This week in particular, I spent too much last Friday. I tried to make a deal with myself that every time I wanted to go to Barnes & Noble to buy more books, I'd go to Target instead and get myself some new clothes, since nothing fits me anymore. Only problem is that I spent nearly $150 at Target, whereas I would have probably spent less than $50 at B&N. So, yeah, that put a cramp in this week. Aside from the two birthday parties we had on Saturday (my nephew, and his cousin), it turns out my boss's birthday is on Sunday, so the team decided to treat him to lunch this week. I said I'd make cupcakes. The cupcakes didn't happen. It turns out, I didn't have the ingredients I needed in the house, and I don't have the money to buy them. At time of writing, I have about $60 in my account and I still have to get through two more days (and a gas fill). I'm feeling every bit of those new clothes I bought (and the snow shovel...and the potholders...and the wrapping paper....shutup). I had to ask a co-worker to spot me for the boss's lunch, because I just can't risk overdrawing my account...again.
I've also decided this week, after the clothes shopping, to try to start eating better...again. Literally nothing I own fits, because I haven't gone shopping since before I gained thirty pounds. Ugh. Last night I made a cream of asparagus soup from scratch (using a cookbook, obviously), which was surprisingly easy and quick. But, I blended it wrong (you'll find that's a common theme in my cooking), and it's just not very good. Oh well. It wasn't enough for dinner anyway, so PB&J came to the rescue. Don't judge. Needless to say, it hasn't been going well. I had a salad for lunch today, but Ben literally just walked out the door for pizza. I just friggin' like food, okay?
On top of that, I have a $1200 credit card bill from my yearly car inspection, and the holidays are coming up. It's kind of just never-ending. Last week I stood in my living room screaming for my mom, because I didn't feel like doing laundry. She wouldn't accept my offer of $20 for her to come pick it up, wash it, and bring it back. Thanks anyway, Mom. Oh, and let's not forget the random hip pain I've been getting all week. I doubt the $320 a month I pay for insurance gets me good enough coverage to cover whatever that's gonna be. I'm only 32, guys. Why do I feel like I'm 65?
Adulthood is not for the weak.
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