When There Are No Words

Today I met with my psychiatrist for the first time in 3 months. He asked how I was doing and I thought “what a loaded question!” But I answered calmly. I told him how much this month has sucked so far. I told I’ve had a few morning where I just didn’t think I was going to make it out of bed. I told him about the day I locked myself in my classroom for two blocks and just cried. I told him how I call Zach when I feel like I just can’t do it anymore. I told him I post and read in the various support groups I’m in online. I told him about the book drive and how we are trying to do some good in this world. I told all of the crazy, sad thoughts and moments in my life the last three months and you know what he said? He told me it sounds like I’m doing the best I can.

The best I can. I say that to myself all the time, I’m doing the best I can. My friends tell me I’m doing the best I can. Zach tells me I’m doing the best I can. Hell, most people tell me I’m doing better than they could! But there was something reaffirming hearing it from a professional. Someone who has been on my journey through mental health the last few years. I was expecting to hear things I could and should be doing differently, but instead my doctor provided me with reassurance. He told me this month was going to be shitty, but more importantly, that that’s ok.

I’m allowed to have bad days. I’m allowed to have moments, hours, days, even weeks of darkness. That doesn’t make me weak. That doesn’t make me crazy. That’s real life. That’s my life! I’m not ashamed that I see a psychiatrist. Quite frankly, I think the more people should, but that is a personal choice. For now, I will continue on this path of healing. I will continue to do the best I can.

In the face of tragedy, it is easy to blame the world. The world is a bad place. Bad things happen. The universe is unfair. I blame the universe a lot. Why me? Why my daughters? Why my family? When tragedy strikes, you have two options; run and hide, or get up and act. I did my fair share of running and hiding, and quite frankly, I still do. As Stella & Joy’s first birthday approaches, I want to run and hide. I want to hide away and pretend that it hasn’t been a year since my daughters passed away. Pretend that it hasn’t been a year since my life crumbled right below my feet. A year since my world fell apart.

As much as I want to, I am not going to run and hide. Instead, I am going to do some good. For the month of November, I will be collecting children’s books. Since I will not have the opportunity to give my daughters birthday presents, I am going to donate these books to a low-income daycare center so that other children can enjoy them.

My girls had a purpose. My girls had meaning. Stella and Joy deserve to be remembered. If their passing can somehow better the lives of those less fortunate, then their memory can be preserved. I need my daughters to have a purpose and to be remembered. My greatest fear is that everyone will move on with their lives, Stella and Joy will be forgotten, and their existence will have been meaningless. I can not let that happen. I will not let that happen.

So, in the face of tragedy and grief, I am choosing to do good. To better the world we live in. To impact the lives of others, even if just in some small way.

Please, if you are able to donate even just one children’s book, I would so greatly appreciate it. If not, I ask that you do some good in this world. No act is too small. Just think of my girls, Stella and Joy, and make this world we live in just a little bit brighter.

Once again, I participated in an event that I never imagined would be part of my life, The Wave of Light. As I have posted before, October is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month.  In addition, October 15th is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day. At 7:00 pm, local time, people light candles in remembrance of those children who never had the chance to come home or grow up. The idea is, if everyone lights a candle at 7:00 pm and keeps it burning for at least one hour, there will be a continuous wave of light over the entire world.

In my attempt to preserve the memory of my daughters and to bring awareness to the overwhelming world that is pregnancy and infant loss, I posted about the Wave of Light and asked for participation from my friends and family. I must say, I am completely overwhelmed by the love and support I received. Friends, family, and co-workers all took part, lighting candles in memory of Stella and Joy. I received texts, Facebook and Instagram notifications, and pictures from those who participated. Surprisingly, I did not cry. Instead, I smiled. It was amazing to see how many lives my daughters touched, even though they never had the chance to live or grow up.

In the months since delivering Stella and Joy, I have joined numerous support groups on Facebook. Connecting with women who have also experienced stillbirth or pregnancy loss has helped me feel that I am not alone. My timeline was FILLED with candles, lights, pictures, and stories posted by these women. It is overwhelming to see just how many lives this affects, but there was something peaceful about seeing the wave of light. Something calming.

So thank you to those of you who participated in memory of Stella and Joy. It means the world to me and Zach that you took the time to remember and honor our girls.


 

Another baby was born this week, healthy and alive. To put it bluntly, this shit sucks. People around me have continued to go to have happy, healthy pregnancies and babies. Some even at the same hospital where Stella & Joy were born sleeping. I’m still angry, still bitter, still resentful. It’s not their fault, they deserve their healthy babies, but so did I! Don’t get me wrong, I am beyond thrilled for the families who get to take their babies home, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.

Even as my pregnancy progresses and this baby is growing and moving and doing great, I find myself struggling to connect. I struggle to bond with this baby. Every time I sit in a doctor’s office, I have already mentally prepared for those five words, “I’m sorry, there’s no heartbeat.” I have accepted that fate as my own. Again.

Sometimes I catch myself dreaming about the future. Making plans. Talking about “this time next year…” and “when the baby’s here…”. I try to remind myself that I can’t plan that far ahead. Statistically speaking, I only have ~3% chance of anything bad happening by this point in my pregnancy. But I was that minuscule percent last time. I want nothing more than to connect with this baby and to be fully invested, but past experience is keeping me from letting my guard down.

I love this baby. Really, I do. But disconnection is my natural defense mechanism at this point. From time to time I sit in my glider in the nursery-to-be and read out loud. I’m doing the best I can, but this isn’t easy. 

As the first trimester draws to a close, I can only hope for the best. I can hope for a happy, healthy baby. I can hope for an uncomplicated pregnancy. I can hope for the bond to grow, for me to be less disconnected.


 

October has always been breast cancer awareness month. Go pink! What most people don’t know, is that October is also pregnancy and infant loss awareness month. Most people don’t know this because it is such a taboo topic.

I first learned this from my friend Cathy. She lost her second child, Sean, to SIDS a few months after he was born. Cathy posted links and information on Facebook to charities and organizations that supported and raised awareness for SIDS. I would occasionally share one, trying to support my friend, but of course, Go Pink! still ruled October.

This month, I will be posting a lot. Some may be long, some short. By talking about the loss of Sean, Cathy made me aware of October being about more than just “saving the ta-tas.” I hope I can continue to spread this awareness and end the taboo nature of pregnancy loss.

1 in 4 pregnancies end in loss. That is a staggering number. You don’t realize just how many people it effects until you open up the conversation. Since I publicly announced the loss of Stella and Joy, the number of friends who reached out telling me stories of miscarriage and loss, their own or someone they know, has been overwhelming. This is real life. It’s happening everyday. Let’s open the door to discussions and honesty.

Don’t stop going pink this month, but take a moment to add a little blue every now and then.

In honor of Cathy and in memory of Sean, I am including a link to First Candle (originally called CJ’s First Candle), the same charity Cathy posted about years ago.

http://firstcandle.org/

Nausea. Fatigue. Headaches. Congestion. Pregnancy brings with it a plethora of oh so enjoyable friends! Guess what, I HATE IT!! Yes, I am complaining. Why? Because pregnancy is hard! For ~40 weeks your body is not your own. You have apps, books, doctors, family, and friends all giving you advice and telling you what to do and it takes all the self control I can muster to simply smile and nod. To those who think I should “be grateful that I get the chance to try again,” or say that I shouldn’t complain “especially after what I went through before,” I respectfully ask you to shut up. I am acutely aware of what I have been through. I am beyond thankful that I am fortunate enough to get pregnant the first month we tried. I know not everyone “is so blessed.” But guess what, pregnancy is hard. It is emotionally, physically, and mentally exhausting. Every woman, regardless of their past, has the right to bitch and moan when they are pregnant. WE ARE GROWING HUMAN BEINGS!!

So, the next time you ask how I’m feeling and it sounds like I’m complaining, feel free to commiserate with me and tell me “that sucks!” or “sorry to hear.” But please, keep your condescending opinions of my reaction to pregnancy symptoms to yourself.

For as long as I can remember, I have dealt with anxiety and depression. It has always been a part of my life. When I was pregnant with Stella & Joy, doctor appointments were a huge trigger for me. Google is a pregnant woman’s worst nightmare, especially in a high risk pregnancy. I would have nightmares that one twin “ate” the other. That twin-to-twin transfusion syndrome was happening. That they would perform the ultrasound and there would be nothing there. Appointment after appointment, however, the girls continued to grow and flourish, healthy as can be. Eventually I let myself relax. Doctor appointments became less scary and more exciting, as it gave me a chance to see my daughters growing. At one point, the number of appointments actually became annoying. I felt like I was always going to an appointment.

Then, December 2nd happened. My mom took me to the hospital for my routine NST (non-stress test to check the girls heartbeats and monitor if I was showing any signs of labor) because I was feeling way to big to drive. I was joking around with the nurses and my mom about the girls hiding and making what should be a 20 minute appointment into an hour-long appointment sometimes. All the joking stopped when the only sound on the monitors was silence. After weeks and months of appointments, letting myself relax and enjoy the ride, my world fell apart at that appointment.

When Zach and I talked about trying again, I told him my fears. I worried how I would be able to mentally handle the stress, anxiety, and fear of more doctor appointments. Now that I am pregnant again, I find that I am much calmer than I anticipated, but for a very morbid reason. I have come to accept that at any appointment, this baby may be gone. This is my new reality. I am not excited, I am not scared, I am not anxious. I am realistic.

Thursday night I have an appointment at Abington Hospital. It is my second ultrasound. I am hopeful that this baby is alive and well, showing signs of growth since I saw it a few weeks ago. But I am also realistic. I know how this can end.  Perhaps the scariest part of all is that I do believe this baby is ok. My heart has already decided that this pregnancy will work out and I will go home with a happy, healthy baby. My mind, however, is much more logical and knows that I may not get my happy ending. But my heart won’t give up hope.

“Let me tell you something my friend. Hope is a dangerous thing. Hope can drive a man insane.” (Red, Shawshank Redemption). My hope for a happy ending will keep me going, even if I go crazy in the process.