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.
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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.
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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.

picnic

Leif and I have developed a habit of grading our weekends together almost every Sunday night as we lay in bed together.  Admittedly they are always good, so we rarely ever have a B weekend but this weekend was extra great. An A, even.  Why?  No particular reason but I think our picnic had something to do with it.  It doesn't happen very often in Los Angeles that one finds oneself in a beautiful park, with pristine weather, and absolutely no one else around.  We had the entire place to ourselves until right before we left when two adorable little pooches and their friendly human came by to say hello.

You will notice the large mound of watermelon.  It has been my only craving this entire pregnancy.  I can eat an entire watermelon by myself in under two days.  I would, if Leif would let me, eat nothing but watermelon for every meal.  Interestingly enough, it was pineapple with George.

I miss drinking coke.  It isn't like a drank a ton of it pre-pregnancy but I still miss it quite a bit.  This "Vintage Cola" -it's vintage and cool and trendy and look at that old-timey label- is pretty tasty though.  Not quite the same as Mexican Coke but pretty close anyway.  It also fits nicely in my oxfords, which are also vintagey!  Who is too cool?

More watermelon!  I got watermelon juice on my shirt by the dubs and it doesn't look like it is coming out.  Bummer.  I liked that shirt.  Oh well, at least that morning I figured out that I could still wear a pre-pregnancy stretchy skirt.  You win one, you lose one.

Meet Paco and Lola.  Lola is the closer one.  Super friendly.  Super shaggy.  I don't normally like little dogs (Except, have you seen Brooke's Little Mac?  He's pretty darn cute too) with all their yip-yappin' but these two lovelies were undeniably cute and surprisingly unbarky.

 Lola really liked Leif...but mostly she liked the smell of the salami that lingered on his fingers.

Yep, it was fun.

How was everyone else's weekend?  Good or at least partly good, I hope.

stupid

I don't really expect random people out in the world to care about the fact that my son died.  I would like them to have some small amount empathy but I don't really expect them to care.  I mean, people are all wrapped up in their own lives and most of the time there isn't a lot of room for anyone else.  I get that, I really do and I can't totally fault them for that.  I'm often guilty of the same thing.

But...

Yesterday someone at work asked me for the third time if this baby was my first.  The first two times she asked I told her, "No, I had a son last year who died right after he was born."  This last time I said "Yup," out loud while in my head I was saying, "Fuck You!"  Is it really that fucking difficult to remember something like someone sharing that they had a child who died?  Really?  I remember that you like to go on a walk everyday at lunch but you can't remember that I've told you twice already that I lost a baby.

Thanks for that, lady.

do you realize

Last week Leif and I went to see The Flaming Lips at the Hollywood Forever Cemetery.  Their shows are always so much fun.  Lots of spectacle and pretty flashing lights.  Plus confetti and balloons and people dressed up as bunnies and zombies and aliens.

We missed this song because the pregnant lady (probably the only heavily pregnant lady in the whole crowd*) was tired and wanted to go home early because it was a Tuesday.  Plus I could not stand having to use the port-a-potty one more time.  Oh well, them's the breaks.

Skip ahead to 2:34 if you want to listen.

"Do You Realize - that you have the most beautiful face
Do You Realize - we're floating in space -
Do You Realize - that happiness makes you cry
Do You Realize - that everyone you know someday will die

And instead of saying all of your goodbyes - let them know
You realize that life goes fast
It's hard to make the good things last
You realize the sun don'-go down
It's just an illusion caused by the world spinning round

Do You Realize - Oh - Oh - Oh
Do You Realize - that everyone you know
Someday will die -

And instead of saying all of your goodbyes - let them know
You realize that life goes fast
It's hard to make the good things last
You realize the sun don'-go down
It's just an illusion caused by the world spinning round

Do You Realize - that you have the most beautiful face
Do You Realize"

Good words to live by, I think.

Requisite crappy iPhone pictures:

*No worries here people, it was an outdoor concert where people brought blankets and food to nosh on so it was tame.  Also, the massive cloud of smoke from all the weed wafted over our heads for the most part.

for my husband

I love you.  You are my home.  That's all.  I just wanted to say that.

june 4

This morning I'm thinking about my friend Jenn and her family.  Today marks the one year anniversary of her son Micah's birth and death.  I can't help but return to the place in my head where I just cannot accept that these things happen as frequently as they do.  Jenn has been a tremendous support to me over the last year and although I am grateful for that I wish that there was never a reason for us to meet.  I wish this day meant something different for her than it does.

Please head over to her blog and lend her your support today.  Whether or not you have found yourself in the position to be missing one of your own children, support means the world to those of us who are.

where i am is right here

I’m alone, in the most literal sense of the word and it is usually then, in the solitude, when he comes to me.  I mean, of course, he is always there in my periphery – a wavering figure against the backdrop of everyday life.  But when I am quiet and alone my vision focuses and his blurry outlines solidify.  I’m tempted to pull out his three photographs and let myself sink into the familiar darkness.  There are times, like this moment, when his absence fills up the entirety of my being.  

We’ve just returned from a visit with Leif’s family in Oregon and the jolt of living in the truth of his death has left me reeling.  In those few days it became all too easy to imagine a reality different than the one we have been given and almost unbearable to live in the one we have.  

I still want to say his name and tell his story but I am finding it more and more exhausting emotionally to allow others to participate in –and observe- my grief.   The more time that passes the more uncomfortable I am in letting people see just how broken I still am, because this is the part in the screenplay when everything is supposed to start  wrapping up in a satisfying way for audience members.  This is the part where I should start expounding on the gifts that his death has brought me; a greater sense of sympathy for the world at large, a greater sense of appreciation for the beautiful things in life, a greater sense of self.  Maybe that is all true in one way or another but right now, at this very moment, I just want him back.

What I do know for sure, and maybe for now this is enough, is that I’m one year and forty-seven days older and in that time I have somehow managed to haphazardly stitch myself together into a whole person again, or at least a reasonable facsimile of one.  I'm not what I used to be, and certainly on days like these that shows more clearly than usual.  I’m threadbare in places, with oversized button eyes, mismatched threading and dingy cotton stuffing that peaks through in places and for which I am constantly trying to sneakily push back in less someone see just how shoddily I’ve been put back together.  I’m whole –as complete as I can or ever will be- but if anyone were to look closely enough just how timeworn I am would be apparent as would just how much I still miss my son.

*Thank you to Angie for bringing this project to life.