AF, Baby Loss Blogs & and an Earthquake

The three of these combined do NOT make for a good day. Oh yeah, add in some ornery kids and a husband gone on business again, you've got the recipe for an emotional mine-field of a day.

Summer routine: Wake up, read news, read Heartbreaking Choice threads, check email, get ready to (1) go to Mass and/or (2) do a "project" around the house and/or (3) clean house and/or (4) do errands, etc. Tuesday was really no different, except that morning I was feeling especially lazy and the kids hadn't started acting up yet, so I navigated over to Glow in the Woods. I read one achingly frank and brutal account of one woman's loss, and I was off on a crying jag. I got up to take a shower, because it is in the shower that I can cry, off by myself alone, without having to have DS and DD see or hear me. I just looked up at the ceiling in the shower, crying more bitter tears, and whispering how much I hated being a part of this club--the baby loss club. I hate it. As the administrator of the HC site often says to newcomers, "Welcome . . . it's not a club that anyone wants to belong to, but we're glad you've found us." I'm glad I found them, too, but as many have said in response to a posting I made that day about how much I hate to be in the club -- and this is a response I agree with too -- I'd trade all of the new friendships I've made there for the chance to have my baby back healthy and not riddled with anomalies.

Nevertheless, after a good cry in the shower, I got out, toweled off, and began to get ready to take my kids swimming at the pool at my mom's house. Aunt Flo arrived, so that probably accounts for all my emotion this morning, too. F***ing hormones are just a force of nature that I constantly underestimate. I just couldn't stop weeping, though. I felt like Two-Face, the Batman villain . . . weeping quietly as I blew dry my hair in the bathroom, but then hastily wiping away tears and putting on a cheery act whenever DD or DS came around the corner to visit me for a minute to check on my progress. They already had their bathing suits on. What's the hold up, Mom? They're aggravating each other by this point, and pissing me off because I'm having to stop and go settle petty arguments. Sometimes in summer, we forego the naps. But not today, I think.

So finally we're all ready. We go downstairs to get sunscreen. I send the kids to get towels as I quickly make my "I hate being part of this club" rant post to HC, and then we leave. Except I forget the keys to my mom's house, so we need to come racing back to our house to get the keys. Serendipitously, DH calls at that same time and we are all able to talk to him while he is taking a break from a "war" simulation. The kids take the chance to act up "in front of him" on the phone, which I secretly enjoy, because there's always some part of me that says, "See? See how hard it is to be a single mom when you're gone?" And I'll be the first one to admit that I have very good kids and it hasn't been all that bad. But still. He talks sternly to them from wherever he is in Kansas, we say goodbye, and then we're off again.

EXCEPT now instead of forgetting keys, I get caught in our earthquake, said epicenter of which is only about 10 miles from my house. I was driving to my mom's house; I've never been driving when a bigger earthquake hit before. I thought that all of my tires were blown out, except when I looked down at my dashboard, there was no light showing I was having pressure problems. I slowed to a stop. The steel signal holders were shaking. An earthquake, I thought. I was afraid to drive through the major intersection I was approaching; I didn't want any signals toppling down onto our car. Things settled down; I continued driving, but I pulled into the shopping center on the other corner, where I saw numerous people standing outside, and asked, "That was an earthquake, right? There's nothing wrong with my car??" Yes, we had a temblor.

I proceeded to my mom's, and I checked her house for any fallen objects. Nothing, really, but some crooked pictures and a few toppled things. The family's heirloom clock on the mantle was okay, but I took it down in case of aftershocks. My brother gets that; I get my mom's sparkly (big) wedding ring (and other jewelry). We went swimming. The whole while, though, I tried to make contact with DH to let him know we had an earthquake and we were okay, but the system was overloaded. I couldn't get anything more than a random text through. The kids swam off some steam in the water, we went home, and they settled in for naps.

During naps, I took the time to search through my insurance network for a new psychologist. Before everything happened that led to our HC, I was musing on changing therapists, anyway. I felt like I wasn't accomplishing much, and I thought I needed a new, more directive therapist. Then, when our poor prenatal diagnosis came, and we made our HC, I thought, "Better to already be seeing a therapist rather than have to find one right now." It was just too overwhelming for me to face the day at that point, much less to think about trying to research someone new. But just the previous night, I was answering a 6-by-6, a series of questions posed by the moderators from Glow in the Woods, and I realized the questions I was answering were better than the ones my current psychologist was asking me. (See my answers here.) I want one who will give me "homework" and all that. One who is even more resourceful than I already am. One who will ask me questions I haven't already ask myself, or at least some one who will ask me what questions I'm asking myself and talk through the answers with me. So I spent the afternoon cross checking names of psychologists in my insurance network against those that are certified to perform EMDR, a form of therapy many on the HC site have tried and have found beneficial, and then making sure those psychologists that matched have experience with grief or postnatal issues. Then, I made calls to make sure they were accepting new patients and that they weren't philosophically opposed to abortion. (Because my current psychologist, even though I think she understands our choice, I'm not sure she fully supports it, being a full on Christian. Not that I'm NOT Christian -- I am -- but she's that kind, more evangelical and born-again.) I have an appointment with someone new on Aug. 5.

The kids slept late, so we ran errands late. We went to our NEW Target to get things, then to Home Depot to get paint (because one of my "projects" includes repainting the kids' bathroom). At Home Depot I texted DH that I was "buying paint, buying beer next" which immediately elicited a phone call.

"You okay?"

"Sure," I replied, because the kids and my nerves really had settled down by then. "I'm just going to finally get that beer we meant to get at the store this week and kept forgetting."

"Oh, okay, because I told the sergeant here that the kids have finally really pissed her off or they had another earthquake."

"No, no, they're better now . . . I just need to have a beer because it has been that kind of day."

And so I did.

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.

I met some friends and we came up with a plan

So I belong to this support group online of other (mostly) moms who have had to make a Heartbreaking Choice like I did. It is an AMAZING site and it has been helpful ever since we got our poor prenatal diagnosis. However, I know the value of "real life" support groups, so that was one of the first things I had on my list of things to do upon recovery from my procedure. I asked a nurse that was helping me for the gestational diabetes I developed during the pregnancy to have a social worker friend call me with a list of groups through our hospital. She gave me the name of one, which I looked forward to attending. I showed up at the appointed date and time, only to find it had been disbanded for lack of a facilitator. I was, to say the least, devastated. I had really gotten my hopes up that I would be able to meet other people like me in my same situation; who knew exactly how I felt; and who could possibly give me some experience, strength, and hope until the next time the group met again. That I wouldn't be able to meet these people deflated me. I cried in the car on the way home. I love my online circle of women, but . . . I just knew there were people out there in my area who had had the experience I was seeking.

So I went online to the group, and I posted this:

dulcemija wrote:

---

So it has been about a week and a half since our HC. I was set to attend a grief support group in my area tonight, only I showed up and was not able to find it. Upon asking one of the people in the lobby where it was, I was told it hasn't met for many weeks because they don't have a facilitator.

I love this board, but I find it helpful to meet with people in person, too. I was bummed that it wasn't available and that alone made me start crying on the way home.

Anyone know of a support group in the Orange County, CA area?

Thanks for letting me vent.

Luckily, there were women who responded to my post and who were willing to make a date with me to meet in person.

And we met on Sunday!

Just to be able to talk to other women, without having to explain anything, without having to wonder if I can be totally honest or if I have to hold back for fear of offending someone, was a MIRACLE. When I said something, one or all would nod their heads with agreement, or add in their two cents' worth of experience. It was fantastic. We met for about two and a half hours; I was on a high as I drove home. I felt SO good. We agreed we would like to meet again, perhaps in September, and we will keep in touch in the meantime.

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 DH was driving along yesterday (he is home from business) but, as we were moving, I was unable to carry out our plan. My eyes are peeled everywhere I go.

More later . . .

More on Catholicism

So I was talking about my "take what you like, leave the rest" viewpoint on Catholicism. I am actually very religious; I read the Bible and various books about the saints and Mary almost daily. I've been attending daily mass almost, well, daily since our HC (heartbreaking choice). It makes me feel better.

(I started off my prayers in church before mass the same way I always do [see the first post], with the added thanksgiving for a safe plane ride on Sunday for DH, who is traveling on business.)

The things that I don't necessarily subscribe to are the church's teachings on social issues, like homosexuality, contraception, and, obviously, abortion. I've always been quietly pro-choice, never vocal to anyone in my beliefs. Let's be honest: It's a divisive issue, and I don't want to get in an argument about it nor do I want to feel like I have to defend myself. And, although I support a woman's right to choose, I always thought it would never, ever be my choice. I was very wrong. Getting a catastrophic prenatal diagnosis changed all of that.

I've struggled with my choice and whether I should seek forgiveness from the priest (participate in confession) and, through the sacrament, God. I've only been to confession once, and that was so I could have first communion and confirmation. I haven't been back since. DH has probably been to confession as many times as I have, and he was raised Catholic! (Okay, that's an exaggeration, but you get the idea -- he never goes.) Every mass starts off with a moment where we ask God to forgive our sins, and in my own personal conversations with God, I've asked for forgiveness. In my mind, I've demonstrated remorse, so I don't know why I've suddenly become "Catholic" enough to want to participate in confession, when I completely flaunt other teachings of the church. Where has this "Catholic guilt" suddenly come from? The homily today at morning mass was about confession, in a sense, so I still remain intrigued by the idea of "confessing" my HC. The thing is, it was the right thing to do; I don't think I've sinned in that sense. As someone wrote on a grief board I visit for others who've made HCs: I am a good person who had no good choices. That's all I regret, that I had to make the decision, not the one that I made. I can be proud of the fact that I chose to spare my child a lifetime, if he even got that, of suffering and pain. I look at it like there was a DNR (do not resuscitate) on my child, just like there was on DH's uncle.

I don't know . . . the jury's still out.

In any case, today was a good day. Even though DH is gone for the next two weeks on business, the kids and I had a great day. DS wasn't even acting depressed (like he normally does) that DH was gone. We did a video iChat tonight before I started writing this post. Having the ability to actually talk face to face, albeit via computer, is a great thing!

I know this looks bad . . . (and random other things)

(Regards to picture at left) . . . I have to say, really, that half of those are root beer bottles. Yes, the other half are beer bottles. DH and I are finding a beer in the evening takes the edge off. I don't consider myself a drinker, but after losing our baby, well, it relaxes me at night. Not every night, just nights of trying days. We've had some this week.

* * *

DH's uncle died Thursday evening. As I was writing my first post, probably. He was a very smart man, crotchety and opinionated in his old age (who isn't?), a doctor for a profession. DH and his brothers and sisters went to Dr. W as children and youth, and played with his children, their cousins. The huge family is less one more member now, and that's sad. The rosary is on Monday, and the actual funeral on Tuesday. I probably will not go to either because DH is leaving for business for two weeks and I will have no one to watch DS and DD. (I don't want to take them.) DH said probably, given everything that's happened to us in the past month, he wouldn't have gone even if he was going to be home. We're just sick of being sad and crying; for sure there will be plenty of that there.

* * *

For those of you who are Mac users, of which I am! (proudly), you may use iWeb, which is a handy program for creating one's own website. I have created one for our family. Unfortunately, I don't post to my family blog there as often as I'd like, but I do post big things, and this has been a big week for us. DS promoted from kindergarten and we celebrated DS and DD's birthdays last weekend. I also recently put up a slide show and write up about a quick day trip our family made to Legoland. As I was going through and updating our site with pictures and blog commentaries, I happened upon one I forgot I made: "Baby No. 3 is on the way" and it shocked me when I saw it. I didn't know what to do with it. I left it up there, posted all the new stuff I wanted to publish, and then left the computer to go upstairs and take a nap. I just took it down before continuing this blog; I don't want to dishonor Michael, but seeing it up there is too painful for me to deal with--because he's not on the way anymore. Under the "Our Family" section, I did leave a picture of an angel and wrote "Michael, angel" under the names of our other two children.

I have read on other blogs and postings how other women deal with the question, "And how many children do you have?" How do I answer that now? I like the feisty ones who say, "I have two living children" to intrusive, bitchy askers (kind and friendly women I would never say that to) and just let the implication of what they've said hang in the air. I'll keep that in mind when I encounter nasty, thoughtless people. I guess I've been considering myself a mom of three, it's just that one of them was born an angel instead of to me on earth.

* * *

I went to mass this morning. Since I have been home on disability and emotionally healing more than physically healing, one of the things I've incorporated into my routine to keep me busy is nearly daily attendance at mass. Catholics have the luxury of attending church every day if they want -- not just Sundays and a bible study during the week -- but actual church every day, and I've been doing that. I start off the morning by making the kids' lunches, take dear daughter to school, do an errand or two (or none, just going to Starbucks and working on crosswords) before heading over to the 8:30 service. Because our week was so busy this week, I didn't get to go any day Monday through Friday, so I resumed today. All the "regulars" I've come to recognize through my own attendance were there, and a few more, possibly because it is a weekend day.

In case you're wondering, yes, I am Catholic, and I did have a (medical) termination of a pregnancy. And I haven't had any problems returning to church. I did perhaps, the first mass back -- wondered if I should go to perform the Sacrament of Reconciliation first (confession) -- but I see the church as there to give me strength, and so I go there to get it. I have confessed privately to God, and God knows my pain . . . whether or not I will "confess" to a priest, I don't know. I don't feel the need to, as I've had these conversations with God already and each mass starts off with a request from God anyway to forgive us of our sins.

I guess you could call me "pick-and-choose" Catholic, and I suppose I am this way because I was not raised in the church. I joined when I married DH eight years ago, and I did it because I wanted any future children of ours to have one faith to follow rather than try to wonder what they should be -- "Gee, dad is Catholic and mom is . . . spiritual, so, um, . . ." So I don't have a lot of qualms about not following the dictates of the church to a T.

More on that later . . . we're getting ready to go out to Father's Day dinner.

Positives, then some negatives

So I want to start off with a bit of a gratitude list before I move on to all that I find crappy in my life right now.

1. I love my dear husband, whom I will call DH for (dear husband). I am so grateful for his love and his strength, and the fact that we have an awesomely strong marriage. He is an amazing dad and my best cheerleader lately.

2. I love my two beautiful children, DS (dear son) and DD (dear daughter). I am grateful they are healthy and happy children.

3. I am grateful for my parents, for being great parents, and for being supportive, and that they, too, are currently in good health.

4. I am grateful for my in-laws, DH's parents, for their support and for their current good health. I am happy to say that I feel I have a great relationship with my in-laws. Not all DILs can say that!

5. I am grateful for my good job; I have job security. It provides me health insurance. I get paid a nice living . . . I have a wonderful home that DH and I feel comfortable in, that we fill with nice things. I get to shop in more upscale and "trendy" stores for gadgets and clothes and things that I like and want; my kids lack for nothing. We take nice vacations; we have a sizable nest egg in the bank. I love my car.

I go through this mantra nearly daily as I say my prayers at mass in the mornings. I've taken up attending the morning mass, nearly every day. I offer this gratitude list up to G-d before I start making my petitions to Him. I feel like I should say "thanks" before I offer up my lamentations and complaints. It's only fair, right?

So today was a Very Bad Day.

I was filled with grief today. It has been nearly a month since we said goodbye to Michael, our son who never got to be born. I live with grief every day now, but today it hurt more than it has been.

Here's why:

I went in to work today. I had some loose ends to wrap up upon the end of the school year (I'm in the education field). As soon as I received our poor prenatal diagnosis a little over a month ago, I took off work. At first, it was just a week, until we got more news about the extent of of our poor diagnosis -- just how bad was it?? -- and then when it became clear that it was really bad, and what our choice needed to be, I decided to take off at least until the end of May. Physically, I'd be able to return to work by then (and it might be good for me to keep my mind off the devastation at hand), telling others we'd simply "lost" the baby, but emotionally, who knew? I might feel "up to it" or, as it turned out, maybe I wouldn't. So I said "fuck it" to those last two weeks after Memorial Day and I've been off healing emotionally . . . but the world still keeps going and work matters beckoned. My co-workers -- JM, JP, LH, and KC -- have been amazingly helpful taking care of what they could at work for me, but ultimately, there's some things I just needed to do. So I came in to do them.

The problem was that a another coworker of mine there, too, and she'd just had a baby in March. And she had her baby with her. He's a little over two months old now. I held it together while I was doing what I needed to be doing . . . and I did smile at him and say "hello" to her, but it killed me. All I could do was look at him and think about how I was supposed to have a son, too, in a few months' time. And he was perfect and cute and beginning to make smiles for people other than his mom and soothing himself as he sat in her arms . . . I couldn't take my eyes off of him, but I couldn't bear to see him either.

And then people started coming up to me, who haven't seen me in the past month, and who know what has happened, that we "lost" the baby, and who come up to me with these looks on their faces -- with a sort of pity on their visage -- who say, "How are you?"

How the hell do you think I am? Do you WANT me to tell you how I really am? Really? Are you prepared for the emotion that's going to come out of my gut and my eyes and my mouth? Can you handle it?

("How are you?" is such a loaded question, and I know that now more than ever. It is this fake cordiality that people ask without even really caring about the answer.)

And I start crying. Because the baby is there and I'm still focused on what I want and what I'm not going to get and then there is this question looming there and their pitying eyes. I have various answers . . . "It depends on the day," or "Better than some, not as good as some," or sometimes I can even say how I am, I just shake my head. And then there was one who didn't know I "lost" the baby, and I had to tell her. I thought everyone knew, that it had been spread quietly through hushed word-of-mouth through our ranks.

I couldn't get out of there fast enough. I know she feels bad that she had her baby there and I was there and she knew I lost mine, and I tried not to start crying in front of her, but I did.

I cried all the way home. I cried for the next two hours. And then I calmed myself a bit. I read other women's blogs. I visited my online support site for moms and dads and families who had to make the same heartbreaking choice DH and I did. I got the courage to start this blog and actually start writing about this new life of mine.

(I thought about a blog before, that this could be a way for me to process my grief. Part of me didn't want to write about it, because through writing about it, I would have to face it and all my feelings. I didn't think I could go there because the feelings are just too much. But what the hell . . . they're swimming around in my head constantly. At least this way I could write them down, get them out, and move on to the next that pop in my head.)

DH came home and I was able to get a bit of time with him while DS and DD were playing to be honest with him and let him know that today was Not a Good Day, and I got to let him hug me while I weeped and tell me things are going to be okay.

Because, ultimately, that's all I want. I just want to know that everything is going to be okay. Because I don't believe that myself yet. That the grief won't go away, but it will deaden and it will be bearable.

So as I was reading other blogs, we got a call. DH's dear uncle is in the hospital, waiting for Extreme Unction, commonly known (for non-Catholics) as last rites. DH raced to the hospital to be with his parents, siblings and cousins -- many of them, remember we're Catholic -- only to call me but a half an hour later telling me he couldn't stay there in the hospital. It was just too painful to be in such a medical setting with our own loss so recent. He was on his way home, crying as he spoke . . . it was my time to be the cheerleader and to be the strong one. So much crying, on his part and mine . . . I have really begun to loathe crying. I hated it before, but now . . . we both really hate it. What can I say?

So here we are, both of us drinking a beer. Alcohol helps; I'm not a drinker, and I'm worried that I have had a beer (or if we are at a restaurant, something appropriately full of alcohol and fruity tasting) nearly every night with, or after dinner, for the past week and a half. But it just relaxes me. Even though I've been at home with nothing to do but laundry and cleaning, reading and watching TV, surfing blogs and other internet sites . . . so I should already BE relaxed . . . I don't know, the beer just takes the edge off. It is that fuzzy, buzzed "ahhhhhhh" feeling that I'm just liking. I stop feeling the grief so badly for the hour that it takes for the alcohol to process through my system, I guess. And that's comforting. Tonight, also, will be (probably) a sleeping pill night because I'm still reeling from crying so much and I know I won't sleep well. My OB prescribed it for me about two days after we got the poor prenatal diagnosis because I was going crazy with anxiety and panic and was sleeping but two hours a night. I haven't felt the need to take one more than a few times since our loss, but tonight is one of those nights. I don't have problems falling asleep, but at least this will help me to stay asleep instead of fitfully toss, which is my normal modus operandi, and which I can, most other nights, deal with.

DH is playing a computer game which helps him get out of his grief and distracts him. It is his way of coping.

I should take up gaming. I have Sims and Guitar Hero.

Will go for now . . . DS and DD are wanting their nightly treats and then it is time to get ready for bed. And for me, at least, sleep will bring a few hours of blissful unconsciousness. Tomorrow is another day, as Scarlett says, and I deal with it tomorrow.