My July 6-by-6 (And My First)

One of the sites I visit about baby loss, Glow in the Woods, has a semi-regular feature where a series of six questions are posed and the moderators of the blog share their answers to them. Here are mine:

1. How would you describe your relationship to fear before and after the loss of your baby?

Unfortunately, fear and I go way back. I was, until that fateful day when we got our diagnosis, very motivated by fear. Now, I'm certainly not any less so. I hope I can get to the point (through therapy and just the simple life wisdom that comes through living) where I don't put off doing something because of what might happen. I tend to think in "doom is going to happen so I better be prepared for every possible contingency" sort of way. Like when I was pregnant with DS, my first, my husband happened to be deployed for "homeland defense" after 9/11. (I found out I was expecting a week after he left.) I was convinced that my husband was going to be killed, so that I would be left to raise my child on my own. And my child, by the way, was going to have a handicap of some kind, and I would be poor.

This is how I think. Really.

Actually, a friend, in a tongue-in-cheek, making-fun-of-me sort of way said, "Gee! I'm surprised . . . you actually are getting better!" Perplexed, I asked her how she could come to that conclusion, to which she replied that at least I hadn't killed myself off, too, making my child an orphan.

And I worried about the second pregnancy; this time husband was deployed AFTER my daughter was born when she was two months old, so I was convinced (again) he was going to die and my daughter would never know her father, and we would be destitute and have to live in a seedy section of town. And I would have to find a way to tell my DS that his daddy was dead.

Every time my husband goes off for Army work that requires a plane flight, I worry that the plane might crash.

Ironically, though I worry about everything, I didn't worry about Michael or fear anything would go wrong in his pregnancy. I'd had two successful pregnancies. I was completely blindsided. I was caught unprepared.

See? So even though fear and I are uneasy acquaintances, to me, in my tainted mind, it pays to be fearful . . . because at least one's prepared. At least you can start thinking in advance how to cope, instead of wondering how you're going to make it through this bomb that's just been dropped on your life.

2. Is your lost baby present in your life? In what way?

Everyday -- every moment -- he's with me. Mostly it is just in my thoughts; sometimes it is a little more tangible because I look at the envelope that I put aside with all of his paperwork inside: his ultrasound pictures, the notes I took during consultations with doctors; the insurance paperwork we got in the mail; the stick that I peed on that told me I was pregnant with him. I wish I felt his physical, spiritual presence, but I don't -- or haven't -- yet. But I think about him many, many times each day. And today I talked about him with my in-laws. And I told him just now as I was writing this that I miss him.

3. Tell us about something said or done after your loss that left you feeling nurtured or supported?

I can't think of any one thing in particular . . . a few things: just that I love it when my husband cries with me when we talk about Michael. It makes me feel like I am not alone in this grief, and it makes me feel closer to him; how my doctor and the pediatric neurosurgeon we met with were so "undoctorly" and warm, and went above and beyond through our whole ordeal of testing and diagnosis and afterward; how my best girlhood friend said just the right thing when she heard about our news, instead of the usual, "You're still young," and "You can have more."

4. Tell us something said or done after your loss that left you feeling marginalized or misunderstood.

I got pro-life propaganda in the mail . . . Enough said.

5. What's taken you a long time to do again? How did it feel, if you have?

I don't know what I can say to this; it's still all so new. It hasn't even been three months. Some things haven't taken as long to do again as I thought they would: playing music loudly and enjoying singing along to the songs in the car (although later I felt guilty for feeling good and enjoying the music); sex with my husband (it was emotional the first time because sex is so closely tied with pregnancy and procreation, but I enjoy the physical closeness now); visiting amusements parks (Hmm . . . I'm in the happiest place on Earth, but I'm not really happy; I just look like I'm happy to all the rest of you I quickly make eye-contact with in line.)

6. How would you describe yourself as a partner before, and after?

Before, my husband would tell you I was irrational and emotional, and I was self-absorbed. I think I'm still emotional (but understandably so, lately) and I know he'd say he's proud of my walk through this ordeal. He'd say he thinks I'm very strong. I'm still self-absorbed: worried about MY work and all the things I have to do, but I have a whole different perspective on that now. Work is work, and people are going to complain, and there's going to be stress . . . but you know, I really know now that there are worse things that could happen. I'd like to think I'm a better partner now, but you'd have to ask my husband to be sure. It's more clear to me how different we are, and that that's okay. I'd like to think I'm doing a better job attending to him as a wife, really being present with him, rather than being there in the same room with him but in a separate plane of existence. I've been doing more of my fair share around the house, and I hope he notices that. There's an ulterior motive to that, though: the mindless work keeps me physically and mentally busy and prevents my mind from going back into sad, dark neighborhoods.

The Plan

Well . . . I haven't had a chance to carry it out! This is disappointing. I've been hawkish, looking for pro-life propaganda that I can cover up with pink duct tape and take a picture of, or just flip the bird at and take a picture of my bird finger in front of the propaganda. (See excerpt from previous post below for a description of The Plan.)

We also devised a little game for ourselves. One of the things that has been very painful for us to deal with -- other than seeing pregnant women everywhere, and other than seeing little babies in strollers -- is seeing Pro-Life stickers on cars. None of us made our decisions callously, so seeing stickers on cars that lumps us in with others who made abortions for other reasons, is hard. We decided we will do one of two things when we see such stickers: (1) Take a picture of our finger flipping off the sticker and post it to our online support site in a thread that others can add to [with their own pictures]; or (2) Cover up the sticker with pink duct tape [on sale at Joann's for $4.99] and take a picture of it to post to said site.

I went out and bought my pink duct tape yesterday; my camera has been in my purse/bag for about two days. I am on the lookout. Who will post first? I saw one sticker as W was driving along yesterday (he is home from Army) but, as we were moving, I was unable to carry out our plan. My eyes are peeled everywhere I go.

I guess drivers in The OC are very vain about their cars (yeah, okay, that includes me) and don't want to put anything on their car, much less inflamatory stickers. So, instead, I decided to "flip the bird" at some offending political appeal DH got in the mail this week. He was supposed to sign it and send it in to our state senators and our state representative, all of whom are Democrats. The senators in particular are very pro-choice. Whatever. Here's my pic:




I posted the pic and a description of "the game" to my Heartbreaking Choice support board in the Pro-Choice forum. We'll see what kind of feedback it gets.

Pregnant ladies everywhere

OHMIGOD! Can I get a break?? Last night I saw them all over the place. Like a total of five or six. I saw THREE just while DH and the kids and I were sitting eating our frozen yogurt outside Golden Spoon. One was crossing the street when we were in our car. I assume everything is okay. They've passed that pivotal 20 week ultrasound. Is it a boy like mine was?

F***ing Hormones

I hate hormones. I guess this is what happens when your nearly five and a half months pregnant one day, and then not pregnant the next day. Yeah, that can throw them out of whack. And then the first AF starts up, which means that I can start taking The Pill again, because I definitely cannot get pregnant anytime soon -- and I haven't decided if I even want to again -- and so what all of this means is that my face is a f***ing mess. I'm all broken out and it sucks. Wah. So there.

Talking About Grief with DH

The good thing about summer and not having to work is that one can take care of things that come up at inopportune times, like late at night, and not worry about the need to wake up in the morning for work. It's okay to have a breakdown at midnight because I can sleep in (which means I don' have to wake up at 4:45 a.m.). And if the kids wake me up early at 6:30, and I'm still tired, I can take a nap. That's what happened yesterday.

Let me also say that I've been trying to decrease my Diet Coke consumption lately. Of course, when I was pregnant with Michael, if I drank any Diet Coke, it was caffeine free. And since I tend to be an anxious person, prone to panic attacks, well, caffeine isn't a good choice of a substance to put in my beverages. Especially lately, as I've been dealing with grief and my new life. But I still love Diet Coke, and I powered down 24 ounces of the stuff last night at my mom's when I took the kids over for dinner. I don't know what I was thinking. I should have known better.

DH asked me later that night, "You're up past your bedtime aren't you?" That's what two cans of Diet Coke at 5:30 p.m. does to me now, I guess. Mind you, my bedtime is normally like 8:05 p.m., which is about five minutes after we put the kids to bed. AND I hadn't taken a nap earlier. So the fact that I was still up and raring to go struck DH as highly unusual.

So I finally climbed into bed at around 11:15. I still wasn't tired. I needed to talk. I got teary right away. I was headed for a crying jag, but I had no worries because there was no work to wake up for.

Let me just say that DH pissed me off earlier in the week. It was over laundry and it was stupid, but I was still harboring anger. So I started off with this, but it led into the fact that I've been disturbed by the fact that in the past two weeks we hadn't been "connecting" as we had during and right after our whole baby loss debacle. We used to sit on the couch each evening after the kids were put to bed and cry or just talk about things, and we hadn't done that in a month, and I missed that. (For two weeks DH was gone for business, and the past two weeks . . . like two ships moving in the night.) So that broke the ice and we lay in bed talking a bit, "connecting" as I had wanted to, needed to. This led to me crying and telling DH about a dream that my Aunt shared about earlier at dinner, that she had felt my grandma's presence in the dream, and that because of the dream, she was certain that grandma and Aunt H (my grandma's sister) had reunited, because Aunt H had just passed this week. It was like a message that Grandma and Aunt H were okay. I was jealous; I wanted -- I've been praying for -- that dream that gives me the certain feeling that Michael is okay. I've even thought about going to see a psychic medium because I so desperately want a connection with Michael. I told DH that I missed Michael; I confessed I thought about him daily--many, many times each day. I probably think about Michael and how much I miss him as much as most men think about women and sex each day. It consumes my thoughts. I don't cry, necessarily, but he pops into my mind often. I said that I hoped he was in heaven with my grandma. That he was there with DH's Uncle J, who just passed, too. DH said he thought about Michael, too, but that it is a little bit easier to talk about him when the subject comes up, as it did when he was away on business for those two weeks. I felt better hearing from DH that he is still feeling the pain, too . . . that I am not alone in this walk I'm making down my new life path. And I agreed that it is getting easier . . . slowly, but it is. So it was a bummer conversation, and we both got depressed a bit, but we ended up laughing, too, and we were able to drift off to sleep. And I felt better because the connection was made again.

On Vacation, Day 2

Due to hijinks the night before, because of which the kids didn’t get to sleep until after ten p.m., which is way past their normal summertime bedtime of about 8 p.m., and because hotel rooms have such good block-out drapes keeping the room dark, we slept in until nearly 8:30 on the second day of our vacation. We reflexively turned on the cartoons -- aside: they had NO Nickelodeon and, hence, no SpongeBob(!!!) at this hotel . . . can you believe that?!? -- and I got ready to take a shower so that we could all go eat breakfast. (Because you know you cannot go eat breakfast looking like a hag when you are on vacation.)

Breakfast was surprisingly good. We ate at the hotel restaurant, which we don’t normally do, but this was nice. They set up a deluxe-ish buffet thing. I was able to make the kids a waffle on a self-serve waffle maker, get them some milk to drink and cereal to snack on (they like it dry; the milk and cereal don’t necessarily go together in my kids’ minds), and yet have an omelet made for myself. (I know! I ate eggs! But I had the guy put so much “stuff” in them like onions, mushrooms, bacon, bell pepper, etc., etc., etc., that I cannot taste the eggs themselves.) After eating, we got in the car, had GPS guide us the two and a half miles to the aquarium, and got ready to see some fish!

We spent a lot of time there, about four hours, which is probably good enough for families with young kids. If I had been by myself, I probably would have closed the place down because I like to read the captions for everything but my kids, obviously, don’t. Actually, DS is beginning to read lots of things now, like signs and billboards when we’re out, but the captions on the exhibits were too difficult for him and academic and, well, it is summer, and who wants to read academic stuff in the summer except for teachers-on-vacation like Mom? Duh.

We saw lots of very high-interest fish like sharks, as well as other fish that were interesting like tuna. I found them interesting because, frankly, I didn’t know they could grow to be so large. The otters and penguins were their usual crowd-pleasing selves. The jellyfish were beautiful -- an assortment of both large and medium-sized and tiny -- and the school-swimming sardines were fascinating because I’ve never seen fish swim so uniformly like that. I’m used to seeing the odd one or two in a private aquarium in our doctor’s office, rather than a whole school.

It was around two p.m. when we exited the aquarium and found ourselves on Cannery Row. We were hungry, but it was too late to eat a big lunch, because then we wouldn’t be hungry for dinner, and too early to eat dinner, so, DARN, I guess we were locked in to going up the row a bit to get some ice cream sundaes at the Ghiradelli store. It was heartbreaking, but we had to do it. Dad had the regular ice cream sundae with vanilla ice cream, the kids each had a scoop of mint ice cream with rainbow sprinkles (can’t go without rainbow sprinkles!), and Mom had the mint sundae, which was mint ice cream with a hot fudge-y mint sauce . . . altogether, very mint. All was delicious, and the store opened right onto the bay. Down below were kelp beds where free otters (not the ones in the aquarium) were frolicking in the water. It was beautiful.

This is getting long, but oh well.

We went back to the hotel, ostensibly to take naps, but more hijinks ensued. Mom got huffy and threatened no swimming in the hotel pool until kids took naps, and that seemed to do the trick. (But then, of course, I was wide awake and could not sleep myself, so I visited my HC support site and made some postings.) After cursory naps, Mom took the kids down to the pool while Dad made a scheduled Army phone call. DS practiced his swimming and DD practiced her dunks and blowing bubbles, and when the fog started rolling in, Mom decided it was time to go in. After a quick clean-up for dinner, we made our way back to Cannery Row to a restaurant called Willy’s Smokehouse for dinner. We were lured in the by appeal of a kids’ menu and comfort food, and we weren’t disappointed. The meal was delicious. I had a brisket (which is not normally my favorite cut of beef; strictly a filet mignon girl here) that was AMAZING, and Dad got marinated, grilled pork chops topped off with a bleu cheese sauce and a potato salad that was tops. Mom’s meal came with BBQ beans that were merely okay . . . I think I do better . . . but the cole slaw was yummy and not too “wet” with mayo, and had the addition of some sunflower seeds for crunch. DS and DD devoured the quesadilla we got them (which doesn’t happen at Don Jose’s, mind you!) and ate about half of the macaroni we ordered, too. The macaroni was not just the gold Kraft stuff, but really good stuff -- almost like the made-from-scratch kind Mom makes. We opted to get desserts of the kids’ menu, but I have to say they were as good as any I’ve gotten of the adults’ menu at another restaurant.

Michael was with us (me, in my thoughts) all day long. I hope he enjoyed Monterey with us.

Back to the hotel for bed time . . . there was less hijinks to deal with tonight . . . to get ready for another day -- Day Three!

On Vacation, Day 1

We left on a mini vacation to Monterey, CA, this week. We left on Wednesday and will return tomorrow. (I'm actually writing this from my hotel room in Monterey! DH brought his computer for work purposes.)

It has been a nice trip so far! After dropping off the dog at his "pet resort" on Wednesday morning, we hit the road. We weren't out to make great time; we took a relaxed trip up. And, when you have two kids, the only way to BE is relaxed on a long car trip like this one. And this is only Monterey! I don't know what we were thinking when we traveled to New Orleans two years ago, when DS was only four and DD was two. Demented? Probably, but we made it, so that I'm here writing this vacation round up.

But I digress . . .

The first stop we made was Ventura, at a Der Wienerschnitzel for hot dogs. We had been traveling for nearly three hours, and it was nearing noon, so we stopped. I knew we'd be nearing Santa Barbara in a bit, and I wanted to stop at the mission there. It is supposed to be the most beautiful of all the missions. I knew it also had a grassy area in front of the main chapel, which the kids could run around on to run off some steam. I was hoping, too, that I could visit the gift shop and maybe pick up a new cross for my collection. (When I joined the church, my mom bought me a beautiful tile and pewter cross, which we have hanging above our front door. We bought it at Mission San Juan Capistrano, but I haven't been able to find another like it since.) I saw plenty of tile crosses, but nothing that floated my boat. So, after snapping a few more photos (some of which DD actually cooperated in and smiled), we got back on the road.

Heading north on the 101, the next major city is Santa Maria. That was nostalgic for me passing through, because my paternal grandparents lived there for years. We have no reason to visit Santa Maria anymore, since they moved to Ohio to be near my aunt, who could closely watch over them and take care of them in their later years. And now, of course, they've both passed, so there are no ties left to this city that I spent many days in as I was growing up. The thing I always liked about Santa Maria was how WELL I slept there. I could nap for the US on cool, Saturday afternoons. My favorite afghan I inherited from my grandparents. It must have been the clean air. I don't know, but I just remember how deeply I slept.

On we passed through Pismo Beach, another town with ties for me. My grandma took me there when I was a kid. She was the kind of grandma that actually put on a swim suit and sat in the sand with you, or took a dip in the pool while you were in there, too. I remember digging for clams there, and finding sand dollars, and I told these stories to DS and DD as we were driving through toward San Luis Obispo. In San Luis we stopped again. First, we had some soft serve at the local Tasty Freeze, and then we went on to take a look at their mission. Theirs is nowhere near as extensive as Santa Barbara's, but they have a gift shop, too! Alas, I was stymied again in my search for a cross to add to our collection.

After San Luis we continued on our trek up the 101. We were making great time, passing more missions as we drove! (We didn't stop, though. One, Mission Soledad, was visible from the freeway as we drove, and it wasn't worth stopping for, if I could say so without being struck down!) We stopped quickly for gas outside of King City, and then drove toward Salinas, where we would leave the 101 for our trip toward Monterey. We arrived at our hotel and, after a few frustrations like the key not working in the hotel room door and the TV remote control being out of batteries, we settled in. DH looked for a suitable restaurant to visit for dinner: good, casual, and suitable for kids. He found a place called Hula's, and we were off.

Hula's was good, but it was HOT. It was cooler outside with the sea air blowing in off the bay than it was inside. We were almost sweating. It was also appropriately kitschy with tiki-themed frames on their Hawaiian pictures. There wasn't much of a kids' menu, but we settled on some chicken kabobs for the kids and a basket of sweet potato fries. We weren't sure about the sweet potato fries--weren't sure if the kids would like them, much less like them ourselves--but DH and I ordered them anyway. The good news is that they were delicious and we almost killed the half basket we ordered before our meals arrived. I had tiger shrimp tacos, which were good, and W had . . . something (I don't remember). It was good; I'm not sure, however, I would be dying to come back again when I came to town, like I am with the Corvette Diner in San Diego. After that, we walked a bit down to Cannery Row (three short blocks away), and then back to the hotel for bed time.

Hijinks ensued, as I kinda knew they would. There was a lot of giggling and shuffling around in bed. Even I started laughing after DD or DS used the toilet and the toilet started making noises as it filled back up again. Then DS announced he had a bloody nose, and it turns out that was due to DD stuffing her fingers up his nose! In the pitch dark of the hotel room he ran to the bathroom where we stopped the blood and cleaned him up. More sternly this time we said, "GO TO SLEEP!" and after a few more wiggles, we all were asleep. We had a big day tomorrow: Monterey Bay Aquarium!

This was the funniest thing I think I have ever read

While visiting my online support site tonight, I was reading through old posts, especially those pertaining to Aunt Flo, which as I mentioned in a previous posting, arrived for the first time after our HC. Someone posted a thread with this letter in it. It won PC Magazine's 2007 Editor's Choice for Best Webmail Award Winning Letter. A woman from Austin, TX, sent it to Proctor & Gamble regarding their feminine products:

Dear Mr. Thatcher,


I have been a loyal user of your 'Always' maxi pads for over 20 years and I appreciate many of their features. Why, without the LeakGuard Core or Dri-Weave absorbency, I'd probably never go horseback riding or salsa dancing, and I'd certainly steer clear of running up and down the beach in tight, white shorts. But my favorite feature has to be your revolutionary Flexi-Wings.

Kudos on being the only company smart enough to realize how crucial it is that maxi pads be aerodynamic. I can't tell you how safe and secure I feel each month knowing there's a little F-16 in my underpants.

Have you ever had a menstrual period, Mr. Thatcher? Ever suffered from the curse'? I'm guessing you haven't. Well, my time of the month is starting right now. As I type, I can already feel hormonal forces violently surging through my body. Just a few minutes from now, my body will adjust and I'll be transformed into what my husband likes to call 'an in-bred hillbilly with knife skills.' Isn't the human body amazing?

As Brand Manager in the Feminine-Hygiene Division, you've no doubt seen quite a bit of research on what exactly happe n s during your customers monthly visits from 'Aunt Flo'. Therefore, you must know about the bloating, puffiness, and cramping we endure, and about our intense mood swings, crying, jags, and out-of-control behavior. You surely realize it's a tough time for most women. In fact, only last week, my friend Jennifer fought the violent urge to shove her boyfriend's testicles into a George Foreman Grill just because he told her he thought Grey's Anatomy was written by a bunch of drunken chimps. Crazy!

The point is, sir, you of all people must realize that America is just crawling with homicidal maniacs in Capri pants... Which brings me to the reason for my letter. Last month, while in the throes of cramping so painful I wanted to reach inside my body and yank out my uterus, I opened an Always maxi-pad, and there, printed on the adhesive backing, were these words: 'Have a Happy Period.'

Are you freaking kidding me? What I mean is, does any part of your tiny middle-manager brain really think happiness - actual smiling, laughing happiness is possible during a menstrual period? Did anything mentioned above sound the least bit pleasurable? Well, did it, James? FYI, unless you're some kind of sick S&M freak girl, there will never be anything 'happy' about a day in which you have to jack yourself up on Motrin and Kahlua and lock yourself in your house just so you don't march down to the local Walgreen's armed with a hunting rifle and a sketchy plan to end your life in a blaze of glory.

For the love of God, pull your head out, man! If you just have to slap a moronic message on a maxi pad, wouldn't it make more sense to say something that's actually pertinent, like 'Put down the Hammer' or 'Vehicular Manslaughter is Wrong', or are you just picking on us?

Sir, please inform your Accounting Department that, effective immediately, there will be an $8 drop in monthly profits, for I have chosen to take my maxi-pad business elsewhere. And though I will certainly miss your Flex-Wings, I will not for one minute miss your brand of condescending bullsh*t. And that's a promise I will keep. Always.

Best,

Wendi ____
Austin , TX

Background: THE Experience (Warning: Not Easy Reading)

Here is what I wrote after my HC . . . about the procedure itself and my experience at the clinic.

Long post here . . . sorry!

So the new day is dawning, the house is quiet, and I cannot sleep, so I decided to--one day after the fact--post my experience on here in the hopes that other women in my same situation might gain from my experience. I did not, when I was lurking on here, see many stories like mine, but I know there are women on here in my same place.

So it was almost two weeks ago when I went in for my routine mid-pregnancy ultrasound. As this was my third (very wanted) child, and I had two healthy children so far (ages 5 and 3), I made my way to the appointment with no qualms. But, the ultrasound seemed to take a long time, and the technician was concentrating very much on one particular area of my stomach. I shrugged it off as the baby "not being cooperative" because that's the way the other two were too. I was told it was a boy (which my husband and I were hoping for), set off, sent a congratulatory text to DH, and went home . . . only to be called about an hour later by my doctor telling me there were significant brain anomalies.

Thus set off a round of more testing--a more detailed ultrasound, an amnio, a fetal MRI, only to confirm this was a baby with a severe brain malformation leading to an excess of fluid in the brain ventricles and, consequently, important parts of the brain not developing because of the fluid. The diagnosis was that this child would never have any awareness of us, if he even survived being born. We were DEVASTATED. I cried and cried and eventually became numb as we proceeded through the testing and appointments with specialists. My husband and I, though practicing Catholics, came to the decision that we could not allow our child to be born only to live a very limited existence, or to go through extra heroic, invasive, life saving measures in order to live (a limited existence) . . . so we decided termination would be the best parenting decision we could make for our baby.

Selfishly, we knew we were not strong enough emotionally to navigate what this would mean for the marriage (stress leading to divorce? It happens too often, and we did not want that); for our other children (less and less attention on them, because of the overwhelming needs of this baby); and our own emotions.

So thus began my appointments with the clinic where the termination would take place.

It was a bewildering experience. Because I was so far along, my procedure ultimately took three days. On the first day, there was an ultrasound and then then inserted some seaweed sticks called laminaria into my cervix to dilate it. I was also given a shot of something right into my stomach to stop fetal heartbeat. That was tough, not because it hurt me (I was so numb with grief I hardly felt any pain through this whole process) but because I knew what it was doing. Over the coming night, the baby's movements gradually stopped. The laminaria were uncomfortable, but as I went home and basically went to lay down, I didn't feel much.

The next day, I went back to the clinic. I had another ultrasound (to ensure fetal heartbeat had stopped--it had), and to insert more laminaria to dilate me further. As I understood from talking with the nurses, the sticks of seaweed are rolled up tightly, but that as they are in your body, they gradually enlarge, ultimately dilating the cervix so that the ultimate procedure is safer. This day, as the nurse was inserting the laminaria, I began to bleed, which was extremely upsetting to me. (Most women don't bleed.) There was a lot of blood. I began to worry that I wouldn't make it alive through the procedure, that I would bleed out during the experience, and that my DH and would lose not only the baby, but me, too. I began to worry that I wouldn't make it out of anesthesia the next day, with the same results. My mind and imagination were going to catastrophic places . . . it was horrible. I kept asking, "I'm going to be okay, right?" The nurses said yes, they were going to take good care of me. The thing is, all the literature they give you so that you are making an "informed choice" planted these things in my mind . . . particularly women that have had previous C sections, which I had, tend to bleed more and in less than one percent of cases, a hysterectomy needs to be done, etc., etc., etc. So, of course, my mind was going there. I was sure that I was going to be one of those "less than one percent" women.

(Because, after all, I was one of those "less than one percent" with a baby with Dandy Walker Malformation, but I digress.) Read on:

Nevertheless, DH and I went home, where I spent the evening, uncomfortably, in bed. I slept not a wink past 12:30, knowing what was coming in a few hours.

Yesterday, the last day, DH and I arrived at the clinic. Knowing that I bled the day before, they would have two attending physicians in with me during the extraction procedure, which made me feel better. I waited a bit with the other women there, all of us prepped for the same procedure. Waiting. It seemed endless, but once things happened, they happened rather quickly. I was brought back into the room, the anesthesia was given, and the next thing I knew, I was coming to in a nice recliner as my vitals were being taken. I slurred, "Thank you for taking good care of me," to the nurse, because I was immensely grateful that she had. As the nurse told me, I was only out for about ten minutes total, the actual procedure taking about two to three minutes. Very quick. I felt pain "down there," but it wasn't a sharp pain, just a dull crampy pain. I could live with that; actually, I had--when I was a teenager, I had horribly crampy periods, so bad I sometimes had to leave school. Nevertheless, we were encouraged to use the restroom if we needed, so I did, and I was pleased to see I wasn't even bleeding as much as the day before. I felt immensely better. Back in my recliner to fully come to, I also gave thanks to God for walking with me through the procedure and restoring me to consciousness and all my faculties.

I was in the recliner for a bit (about an hour) before they took out the IV and let me get dressed. I was then given medicine (antibiotics and something to help shrink the uterus and Advil for pain) and DH was summoned to drive me home. Once home, I drank a nutrition drink and laid down to (hopefully) sleep and watch TV. (A guilty pleasure of mine is to fall asleep watching TV.) Surprisingly, I only slept about an hour! My DH napped for longer than I did! I felt good enough for another car ride to go fetch my children from my mom and dad's--I was SO happy to see them and hug them, and it was after bringing them home that we settled in our bed with them and let them know that mommy's baby was now with God.

Overall, though a very bewildering experience, surreal even, it was for the best, and I don't regret our decision. Of the clinic, I would say that they acted very "business like," but then I would think that's appropriate for them too, knowing that it must be hard to see so many women come in like me and knowing what we're there for. The nurses and staff always would ask, "How are you?" and my best advice is not to say you're fine, because you're not. Be honest (as I was) and say, "I'm nervous" or "I've been better" or "I'm scared to death" and they will respond to that with a smile, and a pat on the back or a hug. I always got reassurance and compassion when I was honest about how I was feeling. I did try not to cry while there because my tears are copious and the kleenex was so crappy and industrial and worthless. Also, while I was waiting in the pre-op room with the other women on three successive days, we broke the ice and began to talk to each other. At first, we all avoided each other's eyes and didn't say a word, but then one of us spoke up, and then another, and then we began to talk, especially on that last day before the final procedure. It was immensely anxiety reducing, and we got to share a bit about how we felt bewildered and we talked a bit about our child's anomalies (because all of us were there not by choice, but because of our babies' conditions). Some of us already had children, and some were there because the first pregnancy went awry. (That especially broke my heart!) It may seem uncomfortable to break the ice, but I'm glad that once someone did (because it wasn't me!), I opened up and chatted because we all felt better talking about it than keeping it bottled up. We all knew we would probably never see each other again, and we would all deal with the decision differently and as best we could, but for the time being we were able to function as an impromptu support group.

I haven't cried since the procedure, and I'm not sure where the grief process will take me. But, I thank you for the support of this board in the last (almost) two weeks, and I hope I was able to offer some support to others here.

Suffice to say, I've cried much since all has happened, and they've been bitter, sorrowful tears. But I am gradually getting hope and putting this grief to work constructively; this Blog is proof of that.

Oh yeah, Aunt Flo arrived today

This is the first since our HC in mid May. I guess I should be somewhat relieved, and I am on some level, because it means my hormones are stabilizing again and I am healthy. I have to say that I didn't know what to expect; I read many postings on my online support group, and they all varied widely. I could expect anything between "normal and not a problem" to "debilitating" . . . hmm. I was prepared for debilitating, but have been pleasantly surprised with normal and not a problem. Probably TMI for you.

I always expect the worst -- a TRUE pessimist -- and I am grateful when things don't go as I have (catastrophically) predicted. Funny . . . the only thing I didn't worry about was the fate of baby Michael -- why would I worry? I have two perfect children! -- but the universe dealt me a really bad hand. When I heard that diagnosis, I felt like I had been savagely beaten, pistol whipped, and left to find my way back out of the woods where I had been left for dead. How could I have not seen that coming? This one time I didn't worry . . . it came back to smack me in the face in a really big way.

My life is so different now. I have no more innocence. Horrible things happen. Many different, horrible things happen, and they can happen to me. They might happen again. My whole world -- my life's paradigm -- has shifted. Hence the name for this Blog. I do not see things -- the world -- the same way anymore. This is me, Version 2.0.