Getting sick when you're 38 weeks and 6 days pregnant is no joke. In fact, it lands you in Labor and Delivery getting IV rehydration while watching cable television.
I'll spare you all the gory details but let me just say that I started feeling sick early yesterday morning and it quickly progressed into a full blown stomach bug by mid-morning. By mid-afternoon I was on the phone with my OB and she was telling me to go to the hospital for fluids, since I was completely unable to even keep water down, and for monitoring since I hadn't felt the baby moving quite as much as normal. By the time I got to the hospital it had only been twelve hours since I started feeling sick but because I was so dehydrated already they had an incredibly difficult time finding a usable vein to start the IV. First the nurse gave it a try, then the nurse anesthetist tried, and finally they had to call in the anesthesiologist to get it going.
Of course, we ended up being placed in a room two doors down from the room where we held George after he died. The rooms all look identical and before we were even inside I was crying, remembering that short amount of time we had with him. I don't mean to sound dramatic but it was pretty horrible. Possibly if I was there under different circumstances it would have been less traumatizing but as it was, being there sick and somewhat concerned about this baby, I had a difficult time for the first hour or so. It was impossible not to allow myself to go back to the afternoon of March 31st, 2010 and visualize everything that happened.
We did not have to stay long, only about five hours or so. At first the baby's heart rate was on the higher end of normal but as soon as they got the fluids flowing her rate fell back to her normal and stayed that way. At one point I was having pretty consistent mild contractions three minutes apart but, again, as I started getting rehydrated they tapered off. In some ways it would have been nice to just be admitted and get this party started but really I am glad to have the time to come home and recoup my energy.
At my appointment with my OB this morning she said that because I had an elevated white blood count she thinks that I most likely picked up a virus, either through food or someone else, although no one else I've been around has been sick. I'm just that lucky, I guess. At this point I am feeling better but I still have some of the same, albeit milder, symptoms I was having yesterday. Mostly I've been sleeping and trying to drink as much water as possible. Oh, and eating dry Cheerios, that seems to be working fairly well for me.
Also, in other unfortunate news, my cervix is still closed. I was really bummed about that because I had hoped that the contractions last night had at least caused some movement in the right direction towards getting labor underway. Not so much. Sometime this week my OB will be calling us to schedule our appointment for the c-section for next week. I had my heart set on trying for a VBAC but Leif and I are terrified of waiting until after her due date for too long and if my cervix remains closed they cannot induce me because of my previous c-section scar. As each day crawls by my anxiety about a cord accident and/or a failing placenta climbs. We could continue to wait, getting NSTs and ultrasounds twice a week after 40 weeks but I'm not sure that my (or Leif's) anxiety can handle that.
As for now we wait and hope that my body starts to make a move on its own sometime this week.
Please body, get a move on, please, please, please.
Showing posts with label procreation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label procreation. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
we're actually getting stuff done
The Nursery Edition.
When we found out I was pregnant with a boy the first time around one of the first things I did was figure out how I wanted his nursery to look like. It was all part of the expectation that our future was going to be exactly as I planned it would be. This time around it has been a struggle for me to believe that we would even need a room for our baby because it was hard to believe we would even have a baby to bring home. I still have my doubts but as we creep closer to her due date I've made the effort to start investing in her future as much as I did with her brother.
This time I went with something that, sans the crib, could be adequate for a guest as well.
We bought a Jenny Lind style crib through Overstock, payed 3 dollars in shipping, and it literally came two days later. Unfortunately Leif was in New York all last week (sad face) so we, and by "we" I mean "he," assembled her crib on Sunday.
Leif decided to dress for the occasion. Notice the watermelon sitting on the counter. That is watermelon number two for this week. We realized that one a week was not cutting it so this time we bought two. Number one is 3/4 gone already and it is Tuesday. At least it is mostly water, right?
The curtains were about as girly as I could go in this room, it does have pink in it though! I'm just not a super girly person. As a kid I was more interested in catching lizards than playing dress up.
The rocking-chair and the brass lamp were thrifted as well. Initially both of these items were going to live in the living room but I think they look better in the baby's room. Plus I recently thrifted an ottoman that I recovered with Leif's help and it now lives in the living room in place of the rocker.
Crib, all assembled along with the fabric I used for the hoops. Still need a mattress and about a dozen other things but we're plodding along. Besides, what does a baby really need other than a carseat, a place to sleep, diapers, and clothes?
Best part of the room; Husband, content with a job well done.
When we found out I was pregnant with a boy the first time around one of the first things I did was figure out how I wanted his nursery to look like. It was all part of the expectation that our future was going to be exactly as I planned it would be. This time around it has been a struggle for me to believe that we would even need a room for our baby because it was hard to believe we would even have a baby to bring home. I still have my doubts but as we creep closer to her due date I've made the effort to start investing in her future as much as I did with her brother.
This time I went with something that, sans the crib, could be adequate for a guest as well.
We bought a Jenny Lind style crib through Overstock, payed 3 dollars in shipping, and it literally came two days later. Unfortunately Leif was in New York all last week (sad face) so we, and by "we" I mean "he," assembled her crib on Sunday.
The cabinet and the mirror we thrifted and fixed up (I'm kind of a thrift store junkie) but the mirror isn't staying because I think it needs something smaller. The clothes in the cabinet are the full extent of the clothes that we have for her at this point. The top shelf is still occupied by George's memory box and some other item's of his that are special to us. Not sure where they are going to go at this point...
I cut up some fabric that coordinates with the curtains and used embroidery hoops as frames, that is what is sitting on the chair in this photograph. They are super light-weight and so I think they will go up behind the crib so that if there ever is an earthquake (and living in Los Angeles that is a real concern) and they fall they won't hurt the baby.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
return
For the better part of a year I could not even drive by the hospital where George was born without my eyes welling up with tears. When errands would take me to that side of town I would take circuitous routes to avoid the large buildings but occasionally I would have to pass by and thus I would find myself unable to look away from the glass windows, attempting to remember which one was ours. In my mind the hospital had become a huge green and glass monster; hundreds of eyes peering at me and tempting me to remember everything.
At first, when I thought about having another baby, I was repulsed by the idea of going back to that hospital. Every hallway, every door, every piece of equipment, every person seemed like a trapdoor to some unpleasant memory. But another baby seemed so far away and it seemed so unlikely that we would even be in Los Angeles, since for a good while after George's birth we were still planning on moving to Portland. Then things changed. I could not muster up the courage to leave the city in the wake of the trauma of losing George. I was still learning how to live in a life that was never supposed to be my own and so the thought of trying to do that in another city and state was terrifying to me.
So we stayed. Then eight months later I was pregnant again and now here we are, six weeks away from being back in that same hospital for the birth of our daughter.
I mentioned before in an earlier post how we had decided to take a birthing class at the hospital with the intention of a) educating ourselves about labor and delivery and b) dealing with any trauma going back there might expose us to before we have to go there for the real deal.
Our first class was this past weekend and walking into the hospital both Leif and I were expecting things to have changed in some way in the time since we were last there. Instead we got coffee at the same Starbucks, walked the same hallway to the lobby and sat on the same couch and I cried, where I did the same thing numerous times before. I think we had both wanted to see that something had changed here but instead it was just reinforcement that life (and death) had continued as usual.
There were eleven other couples and, of course, everyone went around and introduced themselves. As it turned out we were second to the last and we listened as every single one of those couples said something along the lines of this baby being their first. When it was our turn I just said our names, that were were expecting a girl and what her due date was. I took the easy way out, I admit, but I couldn't bring myself to say that this was my first child or that I had a son who had died.
The class itself was fine, nothing too exciting or inspiring. We talked about the stages of labor and the signs of labor and we practiced some breathing techniques. At the end we watched a video of actual labor and delivery. I was relieved we were in the dark because I was crying again at this point, watching and listening as everyone talked about how amazing it was and how much having their babies changed everything. Words were used like, "perfect," and "beautiful," and "life-changing." Tiny crying babies, filling up my vision on the screen.
As I sat there watching twenty-two other people watching the same video all I could think about was something I had read over at GITW during the early days after George's birth, which was this; "Birth Matters. Until it doesn't." An epidural matters. Until it doesn't. Birth position matters. Until it doesn't. A birth plan matters. Until it doesn't. None of those things mean very much to me anymore while it seems like they mean so much to so many. Perspective changes everything and while I don't fault anyone for placing emphasis on these things, I just don't feel the same way. I'm not going into this experience with any expectations for what I want other than a healthy baby and a healthy me. It does not matter to me if she comes out the usual way or the way her brother did- through an incision in my abdomen.
Three hours of class and I only cried twice. Not too bad. But next week includes a tour of the labor and delivery floor, which I am having some significant anxiety about.
When we left, we did so through the exit I had left two times previously. The first time, in a wheelchair, vomiting because of the digoxin, but pregnant and with a small hope that things might still turn out positively. The second time we left, I was again in a wheelchair but sobbing because George was dead and we were leaving for good without him. This time I left walking on my own two feet and that felt pretty good.
At first, when I thought about having another baby, I was repulsed by the idea of going back to that hospital. Every hallway, every door, every piece of equipment, every person seemed like a trapdoor to some unpleasant memory. But another baby seemed so far away and it seemed so unlikely that we would even be in Los Angeles, since for a good while after George's birth we were still planning on moving to Portland. Then things changed. I could not muster up the courage to leave the city in the wake of the trauma of losing George. I was still learning how to live in a life that was never supposed to be my own and so the thought of trying to do that in another city and state was terrifying to me.
So we stayed. Then eight months later I was pregnant again and now here we are, six weeks away from being back in that same hospital for the birth of our daughter.
I mentioned before in an earlier post how we had decided to take a birthing class at the hospital with the intention of a) educating ourselves about labor and delivery and b) dealing with any trauma going back there might expose us to before we have to go there for the real deal.
Our first class was this past weekend and walking into the hospital both Leif and I were expecting things to have changed in some way in the time since we were last there. Instead we got coffee at the same Starbucks, walked the same hallway to the lobby and sat on the same couch and I cried, where I did the same thing numerous times before. I think we had both wanted to see that something had changed here but instead it was just reinforcement that life (and death) had continued as usual.
There were eleven other couples and, of course, everyone went around and introduced themselves. As it turned out we were second to the last and we listened as every single one of those couples said something along the lines of this baby being their first. When it was our turn I just said our names, that were were expecting a girl and what her due date was. I took the easy way out, I admit, but I couldn't bring myself to say that this was my first child or that I had a son who had died.
The class itself was fine, nothing too exciting or inspiring. We talked about the stages of labor and the signs of labor and we practiced some breathing techniques. At the end we watched a video of actual labor and delivery. I was relieved we were in the dark because I was crying again at this point, watching and listening as everyone talked about how amazing it was and how much having their babies changed everything. Words were used like, "perfect," and "beautiful," and "life-changing." Tiny crying babies, filling up my vision on the screen.
As I sat there watching twenty-two other people watching the same video all I could think about was something I had read over at GITW during the early days after George's birth, which was this; "Birth Matters. Until it doesn't." An epidural matters. Until it doesn't. Birth position matters. Until it doesn't. A birth plan matters. Until it doesn't. None of those things mean very much to me anymore while it seems like they mean so much to so many. Perspective changes everything and while I don't fault anyone for placing emphasis on these things, I just don't feel the same way. I'm not going into this experience with any expectations for what I want other than a healthy baby and a healthy me. It does not matter to me if she comes out the usual way or the way her brother did- through an incision in my abdomen.
Three hours of class and I only cried twice. Not too bad. But next week includes a tour of the labor and delivery floor, which I am having some significant anxiety about.
When we left, we did so through the exit I had left two times previously. The first time, in a wheelchair, vomiting because of the digoxin, but pregnant and with a small hope that things might still turn out positively. The second time we left, I was again in a wheelchair but sobbing because George was dead and we were leaving for good without him. This time I left walking on my own two feet and that felt pretty good.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
we're actually getting stuff done
The Labor and Delivery Edition.
Today marks thirty-three weeks!
The last two or three weeks Leif and I have started to let ourselves believe that perhaps this baby is coming home with us. For us, that has meant that we have finally started to actually prepare for that possibility, something we just had not been ready to do until recently. So here is what we've done so far in regards to Labor and Delivery.
.
.
.
We are delivering at the same hospital where George was born. This was kind of a tough decision for us, for obvious reasons. It is difficult for me to even think about going back there because the minute I do I am sucked back to that pre-op room, watching the last hour of George's life tick away on the clock, feeling utterly helpless and hopeless. It scares me. I don't want to end up in that same OR again. But at the same time I know that it is one of the best hospitals in Los Angeles, which makes it one of the best hospitals in the country. It makes me feel a little safer. Ultimately what made us decide to deliver there again was the fact that our OB and our Perinatologist have privileges at the hospital and we wanted to stick with them throughout this pregnancy. They're good people and excellent doctors and we didn't want to lose them. Oh yeah, plus, in the hospital they bring all the moms in the MFC and post-partum units warm, fresh chocolate chip cookies and cold milk every single afternoon.
My doctor is letting me attempt a VBAC. I know many hospitals and OBs aren't cool with this for liability reasons but my OB and the hospital are so that means I get a trial of labor (and from what I understand the words "trial" and "labor" are key descriptors for this process). My OB seems to think that I am a good candidate since my c-section was not due to a failure to progress through labor. So, yay for that. This also means that I've had to come to the realization that I at least need a little preparation for what that is going to be like. During school I saw maybe half a dozen deliveries while in my OB/Gyn rotation but as I was always with the doctor it meant I never saw someone actually laboring for any significant amount of time.
So we bought an instructional birthing video called something about Laughing Through Labor or Laughing and Laboring. I can't remember the exact title and I am too lazy to get up and look at it sitting less than three feet away, but it implies something to the effect that labor and birth aren't really as traumatic as the world thinks. I beg to differ, but whatevs, I guess for most people it isn't. Mostly it has been pretty informative but we haven't got to the actual segment yet where they discuss the process of laboring, positions, pushing and all that good stuff. Also the labor coach seems somewhat biased toward "natural" birthing, which kind of bugs me, but we've all got our opinions so I just tend to ignore the really preachy parts. But I think it has been helpful at least to get us used to the idea of labor.
This weekend we start a two part birthing class at the hospital. For a few weeks before we actually registered Leif kept asking me if I wanted to take a class and I kept saying "no," "nope," "not really," "I don't think so," and so and and so forth. My biggest hesitation was that I was terrified of being in a group of first time parents and amidst all of their -what I imagine to be- blissful ignorance. It makes me super uncomfortable. Plus, I don't particularly like the idea that the instructor will want everyone to go around and introduce themselves and what not. What am I supposed to say?
"Hello. I'm Brianna and this is my husband, Leif. No, this isn't our first. We had a baby last year but he died right after he was born. Nice to meet you all."
Or do I lie?
"Hello. I'm Brianna and this is my husband, Leif. This is our first child and we could not be more excited!"
I don't really like either option. I don't want to make things uncomfortable (for them and for me) by bringing up a dead baby in a birthing class but I also don't want to pretend to be someone I'm not. Sometimes babies die and people really don't want to hear that, especially first time parents.
But then I spoke with my therapist about the situation and when I told her the class we were thinking about going to was at the hospital she thought that it might be a good idea for us to go. Her reasoning was that it would be better to go and spend some time in the hospital prior to heading there for delivery so that any emotional trauma that might -will- be brought up by the experience would happen before hand and not during labor. Can't argue with that logic. I'd much rather have a meltdown prior to going into labor so that I wasn't in the thick of it while trying to give birth to my daughter.
As far as an actual "birth plan" goes, well, mine goes something like this:
I want to have a VBAC but if for some reason it becomes necessary to have a c-section then, by all means, do whatever you need to do to get my baby out alive, pink and screaming. I'm not picky. I just want a healthy baby. No, really, I know everyone says that but I mean it. A healthy baby by whatever method my doctor deems necessary. Also I would like an epidural. Thank you very much.
.
.
.
So there it is; where we are so far in planning for her birth. I welcome any suggestions or comments from folks who have done this before. I would especially appreciate any insight from those who have done this before in the wake of a previous loss because I foresee things being really difficult in ways that they would not be for people who haven't had a loss before.
Next up...We're actually getting stuff done: The Nursery Edition.
Today marks thirty-three weeks!
The last two or three weeks Leif and I have started to let ourselves believe that perhaps this baby is coming home with us. For us, that has meant that we have finally started to actually prepare for that possibility, something we just had not been ready to do until recently. So here is what we've done so far in regards to Labor and Delivery.
.
.
.
We are delivering at the same hospital where George was born. This was kind of a tough decision for us, for obvious reasons. It is difficult for me to even think about going back there because the minute I do I am sucked back to that pre-op room, watching the last hour of George's life tick away on the clock, feeling utterly helpless and hopeless. It scares me. I don't want to end up in that same OR again. But at the same time I know that it is one of the best hospitals in Los Angeles, which makes it one of the best hospitals in the country. It makes me feel a little safer. Ultimately what made us decide to deliver there again was the fact that our OB and our Perinatologist have privileges at the hospital and we wanted to stick with them throughout this pregnancy. They're good people and excellent doctors and we didn't want to lose them. Oh yeah, plus, in the hospital they bring all the moms in the MFC and post-partum units warm, fresh chocolate chip cookies and cold milk every single afternoon.
My doctor is letting me attempt a VBAC. I know many hospitals and OBs aren't cool with this for liability reasons but my OB and the hospital are so that means I get a trial of labor (and from what I understand the words "trial" and "labor" are key descriptors for this process). My OB seems to think that I am a good candidate since my c-section was not due to a failure to progress through labor. So, yay for that. This also means that I've had to come to the realization that I at least need a little preparation for what that is going to be like. During school I saw maybe half a dozen deliveries while in my OB/Gyn rotation but as I was always with the doctor it meant I never saw someone actually laboring for any significant amount of time.
So we bought an instructional birthing video called something about Laughing Through Labor or Laughing and Laboring. I can't remember the exact title and I am too lazy to get up and look at it sitting less than three feet away, but it implies something to the effect that labor and birth aren't really as traumatic as the world thinks. I beg to differ, but whatevs, I guess for most people it isn't. Mostly it has been pretty informative but we haven't got to the actual segment yet where they discuss the process of laboring, positions, pushing and all that good stuff. Also the labor coach seems somewhat biased toward "natural" birthing, which kind of bugs me, but we've all got our opinions so I just tend to ignore the really preachy parts. But I think it has been helpful at least to get us used to the idea of labor.
This weekend we start a two part birthing class at the hospital. For a few weeks before we actually registered Leif kept asking me if I wanted to take a class and I kept saying "no," "nope," "not really," "I don't think so," and so and and so forth. My biggest hesitation was that I was terrified of being in a group of first time parents and amidst all of their -what I imagine to be- blissful ignorance. It makes me super uncomfortable. Plus, I don't particularly like the idea that the instructor will want everyone to go around and introduce themselves and what not. What am I supposed to say?
"Hello. I'm Brianna and this is my husband, Leif. No, this isn't our first. We had a baby last year but he died right after he was born. Nice to meet you all."
Or do I lie?
"Hello. I'm Brianna and this is my husband, Leif. This is our first child and we could not be more excited!"
I don't really like either option. I don't want to make things uncomfortable (for them and for me) by bringing up a dead baby in a birthing class but I also don't want to pretend to be someone I'm not. Sometimes babies die and people really don't want to hear that, especially first time parents.
But then I spoke with my therapist about the situation and when I told her the class we were thinking about going to was at the hospital she thought that it might be a good idea for us to go. Her reasoning was that it would be better to go and spend some time in the hospital prior to heading there for delivery so that any emotional trauma that might -will- be brought up by the experience would happen before hand and not during labor. Can't argue with that logic. I'd much rather have a meltdown prior to going into labor so that I wasn't in the thick of it while trying to give birth to my daughter.
As far as an actual "birth plan" goes, well, mine goes something like this:
I want to have a VBAC but if for some reason it becomes necessary to have a c-section then, by all means, do whatever you need to do to get my baby out alive, pink and screaming. I'm not picky. I just want a healthy baby. No, really, I know everyone says that but I mean it. A healthy baby by whatever method my doctor deems necessary. Also I would like an epidural. Thank you very much.
.
.
.
So there it is; where we are so far in planning for her birth. I welcome any suggestions or comments from folks who have done this before. I would especially appreciate any insight from those who have done this before in the wake of a previous loss because I foresee things being really difficult in ways that they would not be for people who haven't had a loss before.
Next up...We're actually getting stuff done: The Nursery Edition.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
scandinavian demon
I wanted to title this post "Scandinavian Demon" because at our previous ultrasound with the Perinatologist he made a joke about how one of the images of the baby looked vaguely demonic. We laughed and made a reply something to the effect that our two bloodlines never should have crossed. Maybe this would have offended some but it just made us like him that much more. Having a doctor with a sense of humor is nice, at least from our perspective.
This past Tuesday was our last visit with him. From the beginning of this pregnancy his goal -aside from the ultimate one of helping us have a living baby- was to get us into the third trimester. Had George been but a few weeks older, say 28 or 29 weeks, when his condition first started they would have just delivered him and ablated his heart immediately when it became evident after the first few days that the medications weren't working. The long-standing hydrops would not have had the time to rob him of any real chance at living a normal life. Who knows, maybe we would have a fourteen month old baby right now and I would be blogging about first steps instead of this.
Well, we are hovering on the cusp of the third trimester at this point. On Tuesday I will be twenty-eight weeks. According to March of Dimes if for some reason I delivered this baby right now there would be a 96% chance of survival. An impressive number (and one I am truthfully dubious about) but statistics are a joke- just a way to soothe ourselves into believing that we will be exempt from the bad things that happen.
Still, after speaking at length with my therapist on the subject, I am doing my best not to live in the future where I have to say goodbye to another baby. Tonight, as I am writing this, I am mother to a dead son but also mother to a daughter and right now, at this very minute, she is alive.
This past Tuesday was our last visit with him. From the beginning of this pregnancy his goal -aside from the ultimate one of helping us have a living baby- was to get us into the third trimester. Had George been but a few weeks older, say 28 or 29 weeks, when his condition first started they would have just delivered him and ablated his heart immediately when it became evident after the first few days that the medications weren't working. The long-standing hydrops would not have had the time to rob him of any real chance at living a normal life. Who knows, maybe we would have a fourteen month old baby right now and I would be blogging about first steps instead of this.
Well, we are hovering on the cusp of the third trimester at this point. On Tuesday I will be twenty-eight weeks. According to March of Dimes if for some reason I delivered this baby right now there would be a 96% chance of survival. An impressive number (and one I am truthfully dubious about) but statistics are a joke- just a way to soothe ourselves into believing that we will be exempt from the bad things that happen.
Still, after speaking at length with my therapist on the subject, I am doing my best not to live in the future where I have to say goodbye to another baby. Tonight, as I am writing this, I am mother to a dead son but also mother to a daughter and right now, at this very minute, she is alive.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
all befuddled
Sometimes I wonder if I am going to need to continue seeing my therapist twice a month until she dies. Or I die. She isn't too much older than me so who knows which one of us will go first. If I have learned anything this last year it is that you can't bet on the natural order of things to keep any order at all. It is all just random chaos. So like I said, until one of us dies.
Each day that moves me farther from George and closer to this baby's arrival -and let's be completely honest I still have my doubts about the "arrival" actually happening- seals my lips more securely. I recoil from questions, other than the most superficial, regarding this pregnancy with an almost allergic response. So my therapist has become one of the very few people who I feel comfortable enough with to share what has really been going on inside. Let me just say that what has been going on inside has been confusing and not all that pretty.
I feel sad. I feel happy. I feel overwhelmingly lucky and at the same time overwhelmingly unlucky. I feel grateful and ungrateful. I feel envious. I feel loved and I feel love.
I feel lonely, definitely lonely.
I feel like I don't want to write any of this because I feel like I can't write what I want to anymore.
It is probably a self imposed restriction that is only real in my own head. But it doesn't feel that way. It feels like I have to be one of two people. The person who misses my son and writes about that here. Or the person who is happily pregnant with this baby and who doesn't acknowledge the more complicated aspects of what being pregnant again means. Either or but it feels like there is no room to combine the two.
I can't write about how impossible it is to feel like a normal pregnant person when sometimes I so desperately want to feel like one that I pretend I am. I can't write about how I feel undeniably separate from the rest of the pregnant, baby-having world and how sometimes I actually prefer it that way. It gets so damn confusing at times to remember at any given moment which person I am. Am I the person who wants to be like every other pregnant mother or the person who finds the idea of pretending that I am stomach-turning?
I can't write about how being pregnant again has fixed nothing (not that I thought it would). It has only made things more muddled and difficult to dissect. It has made me more intensely protective of his memory and of myself.
I can't write any of that because I should be nothing but excitement and love and nursery decor and birth planning. I can't write any of that because it makes me feel terribly guilty that by not being those things I am not loving this baby the way I should be. Honestly, it makes me feel ashamed and like I've already failed.
I've never been good with failure or with people seeing me fail, which is why for twenty-six weeks I have remained so silent here (and why I have been so neglectful about commenting on others blogs).
I am just so grateful my therapist is willing to see me on Saturdays.
Each day that moves me farther from George and closer to this baby's arrival -and let's be completely honest I still have my doubts about the "arrival" actually happening- seals my lips more securely. I recoil from questions, other than the most superficial, regarding this pregnancy with an almost allergic response. So my therapist has become one of the very few people who I feel comfortable enough with to share what has really been going on inside. Let me just say that what has been going on inside has been confusing and not all that pretty.
I feel sad. I feel happy. I feel overwhelmingly lucky and at the same time overwhelmingly unlucky. I feel grateful and ungrateful. I feel envious. I feel loved and I feel love.
I feel lonely, definitely lonely.
I feel like I don't want to write any of this because I feel like I can't write what I want to anymore.
It is probably a self imposed restriction that is only real in my own head. But it doesn't feel that way. It feels like I have to be one of two people. The person who misses my son and writes about that here. Or the person who is happily pregnant with this baby and who doesn't acknowledge the more complicated aspects of what being pregnant again means. Either or but it feels like there is no room to combine the two.
I can't write about how impossible it is to feel like a normal pregnant person when sometimes I so desperately want to feel like one that I pretend I am. I can't write about how I feel undeniably separate from the rest of the pregnant, baby-having world and how sometimes I actually prefer it that way. It gets so damn confusing at times to remember at any given moment which person I am. Am I the person who wants to be like every other pregnant mother or the person who finds the idea of pretending that I am stomach-turning?
I can't write about how being pregnant again has fixed nothing (not that I thought it would). It has only made things more muddled and difficult to dissect. It has made me more intensely protective of his memory and of myself.
I can't write any of that because I should be nothing but excitement and love and nursery decor and birth planning. I can't write any of that because it makes me feel terribly guilty that by not being those things I am not loving this baby the way I should be. Honestly, it makes me feel ashamed and like I've already failed.
I've never been good with failure or with people seeing me fail, which is why for twenty-six weeks I have remained so silent here (and why I have been so neglectful about commenting on others blogs).
I am just so grateful my therapist is willing to see me on Saturdays.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
.procreation.
There is a term, an acronym really, used frequently in the infertility world as well as with people who have had a pregnancy end in the death of a child. It is TTC, or "trying to conceive." Now before anyone gets unduly excited, we are not TTC. In fact we are TNTC and we will be on that path for the foreseeable future. But I have been thinking about what TTC means to us in the current version of our lives.
Right after George died we made the decision that we would not start trying to have a second child until well after his due date, at the very earliest. The reason being that if we were lucky enough to have a child in the future we were wary of being able to reconcile the fact the living child we would have would only be alive because George was not. That conundrum occurred to me only as I was reading the memoir An Exact Figment of a Replica of my Imagination and came to the point in her story when she outlines that very aspect of her own experience. Since then the idea has taken up residence in my mind and I don't imagine that it will vacate...ever, which means there will be no trying to get pregnant until I can reasonably justify in my mind that if George had lived it would be plausible that we would be trying to have another baby.
But that hasn't been the only issue we have had to wrestle with in deciding our time frame for our next attempt at procreation. There is also the matter of my new job (which I don't have yet but I am hopeful that I will in the near future). Because I am a new grad there is a certain amount of training that I will need to complete before I am profitable to any office or hospital that hires me. I've been told that is a minimum of six months and because of that I don't want take any kind of maternity leave until I have been there for at least a year. Assuming that I am employed by November that means, and I won't bore you with the math involved, that basically the earliest I feel comfortable starting on the road to pregnancy again is in February or March of next year. Which if everything goes right, and I am all too aware that there is no guarantee that it will, the soonest we will actually have a live baby in our arms is December 2011.
But that hasn't been the only issue we have had to wrestle with in deciding our time frame for our next attempt at procreation. There is also the matter of my new job (which I don't have yet but I am hopeful that I will in the near future). Because I am a new grad there is a certain amount of training that I will need to complete before I am profitable to any office or hospital that hires me. I've been told that is a minimum of six months and because of that I don't want take any kind of maternity leave until I have been there for at least a year. Assuming that I am employed by November that means, and I won't bore you with the math involved, that basically the earliest I feel comfortable starting on the road to pregnancy again is in February or March of next year. Which if everything goes right, and I am all too aware that there is no guarantee that it will, the soonest we will actually have a live baby in our arms is December 2011.
That seems so unbearably far away yet it also feels like it is a timeframe that makes the most sense for us. Before we start down that scary path again I need to finish gathering the pieces of my former self and make an attempt at putting them back together again. As of now I am not sure what that person will look like and I am not convinced the person I am today would make a very good mother. Luckily I have a husband who loves me and is willing to give me as much time as I need, even if that means waiting at least another five or six months before we start TTC.
So there it is. A plan. One that doesn't even necessarily mean that I have the desire to have another baby because most days I don't think that I do (unless my desire for a baby is disguised as envy, which in that case I totally want a baby). But really I just want the baby who should be here but isn't.
So there it is. A plan. One that doesn't even necessarily mean that I have the desire to have another baby because most days I don't think that I do (unless my desire for a baby is disguised as envy, which in that case I totally want a baby). But really I just want the baby who should be here but isn't.
.L.
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