Five and One

The past three weeks of my life have been quite painful... both physically and mentally. About mid-October, we were shocked (but excited) to learn that I was pregnant.  We had previously decided we were not going to try to have anymore children, as we agreed it was too much of a mental struggle after what we have been through.  This though... this was a surprise.  There was no trying to get pregnant... no charting, no clomid, no stress.... I just was.  And it was terrifying and exciting.  I knew it would be difficult to afford another child, but I wasn't letting myself think about that yet... I, of all people, know that it is a loooong road from two pink lines to bringing a baby home.  I decided just to let myself be excited.  I even started a secret pinterest board of baby nurseries and bottle types and how to prepare your child for another baby at home.  Was I getting ahead of myself?  yes.  Did it make me happy?  yes.  Such is the life of a type-A person such as myself.

Due to some odd events early in the pregnancy, I had a very early ultrasound and bloodwork.  Then more bloodwork.  Things came back.... weird.  More ultrasounds.... more bloodwork. 

No baby. 

After about 2 and a half weeks of tests and hoping and worrying, it was decided I was probably experiencing an ectopic pregnancy.  After experiencing some consistent pain, I ended up in the ER early last week and was treated with a drug to "dissolve" the pregnancy.  While I am thankful I was able to avoid surgery,  this drug is not without its own host of fun side effects... the likes of which I am still dealing with. 


As I sat in my hospital room after getting the shots, I actually laughed out loud in my frustration and said to my mom, "can you believe this has happened to me?  After everything else... this is how the universe gets its last laugh at me??"  I have lost ANOTHER chance for a baby.  This pregnancy made FIVE.  They ask you at the hospital "number of pregnancies? number of living children?"  FIVE and ONE.  Right now I think I am still in disbelief that I have yet again become a statistic.  This happens in 1 in 50 pregnancies... so I guess that's more likely than the 1 in 7500 I had for Owen's CDH.  Too bad those odds don't work for me in playing the lotto.  I am in a state of anger right now I think.  After everything I went through to get to this place of being OK with my new life... to being a mother to Aden and a mother to Owen's memory, how could life do this to me? 

So here I am now.  Suffering yet another loss.  Another baby I won't get to know, or read to, or buy Christmas presents for. Aden will still grow up alone.  And there's not a damned thing I can do about it.  So instead, I hug Aden tighter, snuggle him more, and pour all of the love that I have into being his mom. 

I debated about writing this... feeling like no one wants to know this.  But if I can't break the silence, after all of the work I have done to bring awareness to child loss, then I am not being who I am.  I am not asking for anyone's sympathy, I know I'm going to be OK.  I am asking for your awareness to the fact that this happens... a  lot.  To a lot of women.  Pregnancy loss, infant loss, infertility, still birth... they are all heart-shattering. So if you're lucky enough to have your children at home with you and healthy, give them an extra kiss tonight for this baby that would have been so so so loved in our family. <3 br="">

And Here I Am

It has been a long while since I've posted on this blog.  I felt like I had said the same things over and over and nothing changed.  It has been 4 years and 3 months exactly since I said goodbye to my little fox.  I feel like in the past year I have learned some things about this journey... one of them being that as soon as I think I have come to the top of a particularly difficult hill, I see another one rise even higher before me. 

I have learned that I can be happy.  This past year I have allowed myself to actually take care of me.  I have kept up with doctor's appointments, I have gotten my hair colored and cut at an actual salon, I have gotten pedicures, and I have started working out for the first time in years.  My marriage has begun to recover and come to a more stable place.  I have let go of past hurts, and I have reconnected with old friends who remember who I was before my life changed.  It's interesting that you need those people more as your life changes.  To remind you that you were once the person only you remember in your mind. This is good momentum.  And yet-

When I read posts from the days after Owen's death, they don't seem so far away.  They seem like they have been engrained into me and I can feel them all over again.  While time has dulled the edge of my flashbacks and the acutely painful memories, there are things every.single.day that make me ache for my life in that alternate universe where I have both of my children with me.  When Aden's teacher sent home a questionnaire for a project they were doing, and it listed: "siblings and their ages".  I had to attach a separate piece of paper to explain.   This week they are doing a project with family photos, so I am faced with how to handle that.  Recently, Aden and I were walking up to his school, and he stopped next to a little angel statue in the front garden.  He patted its head and said "that's like Owen, that's my brother".  For just a moment I caught the smallest glimpse of how Aden sees his brother, and that it is all he will ever have.  I won't have the moments of seeing them together, getting into trouble, creating chaos in my life and driving me crazy :).  

I think one of the hardest things that each passing year brings with it, is that I don't know who my son is right now.  I don't know what he looks like- if he has my curly hair and if it has turned dark.  I don't know the quirks of his personality, what his favorite things are, what his lovey of choice is.  Next year he would be starting kindergarten and I won't know what kind of lunch box he would have chosen or what backpack he would have liked.  This is the thing about losing a child, that the only memories I have are brief and full of so much pain.  What I would give for one memory where I could have known he was happy and free from pain.  

So I think really what I have learned is that the grief of losing my son will never dissipate, because he was supposed to be with me for the rest of my life.  The fact that he is not means that my whole life is being re-written as I go along.  The people who could not accept this fact have long since been cut out of my new story, and the ones who can accept it are appreciated more than they know.  I am going to try to write here more as I continue this path "on the other side," because I miss writing about him.  I hope he knows how much he is still wanted and missed, and how our family is incomplete without him.  

~W