In addition to yesterday's post being a much-needed catharsis for me, as usual, it brought the added benefit of a heartfelt apology. I was able to speak my heartfelt truth, with my big girl panties on (which is so scary sometimes), and my words were received well and with sincerity. I will work on leaving that hurt behind, knowing, though, that I still will not go running to occasions with the larger group until I feel comfortable, which may be quite a while.
Meantime, at this moment, my dear friend is giving birth to her first child, a beloved son. She and I met at work...she e-mailed me, not even knowing me, after someone we both know told her I was pregnant with twins. We discovered we were only 5 days apart in gestation. Every Wednesday my gestation would flip by one week, and two days later, every Friday, hers would, always to the next week ahead of me. She was brave enough to stick by me, love me, ask how I was doing, after I lost the babies, even while her own kept on cooking...even when I freaked out (like, big time, big-sister-like) when she had a massive subchorionic hematoma (SCH) and bled and bled and bled for weeks...because MY bleeding led to catastrophy. Even though I'm sure it wasn't easy being my friend through all of that, all of my pain, all of my tragedy, she did. I was able to attend her baby shower at work and it was wonderful...we sat next to eachother and my apprehension of being there, in that situation, subsided.
So, now, today, she's maybe a couple of hours away from meeting her son, her husband about to meet the child whose gender he vehemently did not want to know until birth. They must be so excited, and anxious, and nervous. It's a moment I can't hardly imagine.
I am so, so thrilled for them...and yet so very, very sad for us...
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Saturday, January 28, 2012
On anger
There's a party going on right now, and I'm not there. Why? Not because I chose not to be. Nope, it's because I wasn't invited. I should have been, but I wasn't. Someone was apparently too afraid to consult with me and chose instead to make a decision on my behalf.
I am livid. I am deeply, deeply hurt. And I am very insulted. I understand two people spoke up for me and requested I be consulted, and yet I was not. I am so angry that last night, when Paul asked with a scowl on his face, "I just don't understand why you're so upset, you wouldn't have gone anyway," I nearly caused a scene in a restaurant. This close. Swear to God.
No one in this world has the right to make decisions for me, unless I'm dying and unable to speak up for myself, in which case Paul alone is authorized. There is no other situation in this life where anyone else has any right. I am a grown woman, more capable of making my own thoughtful decisions than probably many others in my life, especially given the circumstances and the cards I've been dealt.
It's true...had I been invited, I would have chosen not to attend, but not at all for the reasons I'm sure have been presumed. Unbeknownst to this group, I'm sure, is the fact I've already attended one of these (you BLMs I'm sure know exactly what I'm referring to, because you've been here, too), and I chose to, and I was happy to have gone.
Nope. I wouldn't have gone today because I have already experienced how it feels to be in a group where I and the loss of my babies have clearly been gossiped about, and to people who clearly do not know me well enough to actually have my best interest in mind. I have been in the position of feeling like a spectacle...of feeling the looks of, "Oh, there's that poor dear who lost her babies. How sad. Tssk tssk"...as I go about my own business. I've seen those sideways glances. I even had one woman say, "Oh, Amy!........OH...Amy....", which clearly meant - no translation needed here, folks - "Oh my God...I heard about you." This comment wasn't even followed by, "I'm so sorry for your loss," or any other comment that would have been appropriate. It was just 100% inappropriate...and hurtful.
I'm not going to do that to myself ever again, and I am positive it would happen in spades in the particular group at today's party. This is why I have chosen not to participate in other occasions with this large group in the past nearly six months, and why I will continue to make that choice for myself as long as I need to. I don't care who might have hurt feeling about it, either. This is about me and my emotional health...and about showing appropriate honor and respect to me as a grieving mother and to my beloved children, Aliya and Bennett.
I am livid. I am deeply, deeply hurt. And I am very insulted. I understand two people spoke up for me and requested I be consulted, and yet I was not. I am so angry that last night, when Paul asked with a scowl on his face, "I just don't understand why you're so upset, you wouldn't have gone anyway," I nearly caused a scene in a restaurant. This close. Swear to God.
No one in this world has the right to make decisions for me, unless I'm dying and unable to speak up for myself, in which case Paul alone is authorized. There is no other situation in this life where anyone else has any right. I am a grown woman, more capable of making my own thoughtful decisions than probably many others in my life, especially given the circumstances and the cards I've been dealt.
It's true...had I been invited, I would have chosen not to attend, but not at all for the reasons I'm sure have been presumed. Unbeknownst to this group, I'm sure, is the fact I've already attended one of these (you BLMs I'm sure know exactly what I'm referring to, because you've been here, too), and I chose to, and I was happy to have gone.
Nope. I wouldn't have gone today because I have already experienced how it feels to be in a group where I and the loss of my babies have clearly been gossiped about, and to people who clearly do not know me well enough to actually have my best interest in mind. I have been in the position of feeling like a spectacle...of feeling the looks of, "Oh, there's that poor dear who lost her babies. How sad. Tssk tssk"...as I go about my own business. I've seen those sideways glances. I even had one woman say, "Oh, Amy!........OH...Amy....", which clearly meant - no translation needed here, folks - "Oh my God...I heard about you." This comment wasn't even followed by, "I'm so sorry for your loss," or any other comment that would have been appropriate. It was just 100% inappropriate...and hurtful.
I'm not going to do that to myself ever again, and I am positive it would happen in spades in the particular group at today's party. This is why I have chosen not to participate in other occasions with this large group in the past nearly six months, and why I will continue to make that choice for myself as long as I need to. I don't care who might have hurt feeling about it, either. This is about me and my emotional health...and about showing appropriate honor and respect to me as a grieving mother and to my beloved children, Aliya and Bennett.
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Catching up
It's been a very eventful couple of weeks around here! We experienced "Snowmageddon" here in Western Washington, something the weather people warned about but I think most of us sort of half-ignored, since they're usually so, so wrong with snow predictions. Ahem. Truthfully, we ended up with more than expected, followed by a day of freezing rain, which led to 4+ days (6+ for some folks) of no power and lots o' stir-craziness. Thankfully, we have no large trees around the house (my logger hubby would never allow it!), so weren't subjected to things insurance will need to help with. Our big fir in the pasture lost most of its branches down one side and made a huge mess, and our four (super ugly, much hated, soon to be destroyed) scrubby pine trees all had significant damage (gee, oh darn!). We'll be having a massive bonfire once we have the time to clean up. (Yeah, the air quality around here right now pretty much sucks...everyone rural is burning stuff.)
The snow, however deep it was (deep enough to shut down my state government agency for two full days and most of a third!), didn't prevent us from getting to Dr. M's office in Olympia on Wednesday afternoon for our scheduled IUI (oh, yeah, I got a positive OPK on CD16...so technically I did actually ovulate two days later than I would have expected, so Dr. M. was right on that front). Paul's count was 10-15 million, which is his normal. All was well on that front. As of today, I'm at 8 days post IUI (8dpiui) with only the normal symptoms, which I'd attribute to the progesterone suppositories. My basal body temperature chart is looking mighty fine, but that could be due to my massive head/chest cold elevating my temperature. Only time will tell. I'm scheduled to have a beta blood pregnancy test on February 2nd, unless my period starts before then.
Not so great news, though, was hearing my actual AMH level. It turns out it's actually 0.28, not 2.8. That's a monumental difference, one that lands me in "poor prognosis through ovarian stimulation" land. Dr. M. plans a much more aggressive stim cycle in March, but also said if I'm not pregnant again in 3-6 months, we need to seriously consider donor eggs.
Bite me!!!!
Anyway, he also put me on 75mg of DHEA daily, which is a testosterone derivative that has some crazy side effect of boosting estrogen in women, and can also cause a) moodiness, b) chest and facial hair growth and c) acne. Awesome. I did a little online research and have decided I'm going to put myself on Royal Jelly with Bee Pollen, a natural combination of bee-produced goodness that also tends to boost things in the realm of the ovaries and testes. I read many good reviews of infertile women having success using both the RJ/BP and DHEA in combination, sometimes even conceiving naturally. The DHEA will help increase my AMH level (0.4 is the cut-off just before poor prognosis, so we're not aiming high here!), and the RJ/BP will help with that, too.
There's some other (good) stuff going on related to my recent hypnotherapy appointment, but I'll save that for another post on another day. I'll tease you by saying I feel more hopeful that I'll be pregnant and have a living baby again the past two weeks than I have, um, ever. I've got a little soul guiding me in my heart...and it's someone I've "seen" before, twice. I'll catch you up on that later. :)
The snow, however deep it was (deep enough to shut down my state government agency for two full days and most of a third!), didn't prevent us from getting to Dr. M's office in Olympia on Wednesday afternoon for our scheduled IUI (oh, yeah, I got a positive OPK on CD16...so technically I did actually ovulate two days later than I would have expected, so Dr. M. was right on that front). Paul's count was 10-15 million, which is his normal. All was well on that front. As of today, I'm at 8 days post IUI (8dpiui) with only the normal symptoms, which I'd attribute to the progesterone suppositories. My basal body temperature chart is looking mighty fine, but that could be due to my massive head/chest cold elevating my temperature. Only time will tell. I'm scheduled to have a beta blood pregnancy test on February 2nd, unless my period starts before then.
Not so great news, though, was hearing my actual AMH level. It turns out it's actually 0.28, not 2.8. That's a monumental difference, one that lands me in "poor prognosis through ovarian stimulation" land. Dr. M. plans a much more aggressive stim cycle in March, but also said if I'm not pregnant again in 3-6 months, we need to seriously consider donor eggs.
Bite me!!!!
Anyway, he also put me on 75mg of DHEA daily, which is a testosterone derivative that has some crazy side effect of boosting estrogen in women, and can also cause a) moodiness, b) chest and facial hair growth and c) acne. Awesome. I did a little online research and have decided I'm going to put myself on Royal Jelly with Bee Pollen, a natural combination of bee-produced goodness that also tends to boost things in the realm of the ovaries and testes. I read many good reviews of infertile women having success using both the RJ/BP and DHEA in combination, sometimes even conceiving naturally. The DHEA will help increase my AMH level (0.4 is the cut-off just before poor prognosis, so we're not aiming high here!), and the RJ/BP will help with that, too.
There's some other (good) stuff going on related to my recent hypnotherapy appointment, but I'll save that for another post on another day. I'll tease you by saying I feel more hopeful that I'll be pregnant and have a living baby again the past two weeks than I have, um, ever. I've got a little soul guiding me in my heart...and it's someone I've "seen" before, twice. I'll catch you up on that later. :)
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Running low
Dr. M. called me unexpectedly as I was driving the country back roads, my cell barely getting a signal, coming back from making sure the old cat belonging to the folks we lease summer pasture from had enough water in this cold, snowy weather. Dr. M. is always pretty quick on the phone, and usually mumbles, so I have to concentrate when I'm talking to him to be sure I get the information I need.
He got my first set of test results. My anti-mullerian hormone (AMH) level came back low. I think he said it was 2.8, or maybe .28, but I didn't fully get that part. He said, "We'll work with what we have." I'm sure his brain is already formulating a different, probably more aggressive plan for March's planned stimulated IUI cycle. Meanwhile, he wanted to check that I'm testing my urine LH level with OPKs (yep), looking for a positive (yep, still negative so far), so that we'll do an unmedicated IUI later this week (yep).
Tomorrow I'll have my first appointment with Pat, the Hypno-Fertility/Hypnobirthing teacher. She has a good idea of my background and knew I was having my AMH tested. I'll be curious to see what the crunchy midwife in her might suggest to improve my reserve, or at least the quality of however many eggs I have left. I've already been searching Mr. Google and have read a few suggestions, such as taking DHEA supplements, or Royal Jelly (haven't seen anything to back that up). I'm wondering if acupuncture might help there, too. Probably!
I was hoping my AMH would come back normal, but I'm not surprised it didn't. Neither was Dr. M. I am, after all, nearly 38 years old, well into "advanced maternal age." I'm going to try to stay positive and optimistic (which, surprisingly, I feel today) and trust that Dr. M. will know what to do.
He got my first set of test results. My anti-mullerian hormone (AMH) level came back low. I think he said it was 2.8, or maybe .28, but I didn't fully get that part. He said, "We'll work with what we have." I'm sure his brain is already formulating a different, probably more aggressive plan for March's planned stimulated IUI cycle. Meanwhile, he wanted to check that I'm testing my urine LH level with OPKs (yep), looking for a positive (yep, still negative so far), so that we'll do an unmedicated IUI later this week (yep).
Tomorrow I'll have my first appointment with Pat, the Hypno-Fertility/Hypnobirthing teacher. She has a good idea of my background and knew I was having my AMH tested. I'll be curious to see what the crunchy midwife in her might suggest to improve my reserve, or at least the quality of however many eggs I have left. I've already been searching Mr. Google and have read a few suggestions, such as taking DHEA supplements, or Royal Jelly (haven't seen anything to back that up). I'm wondering if acupuncture might help there, too. Probably!
I was hoping my AMH would come back normal, but I'm not surprised it didn't. Neither was Dr. M. I am, after all, nearly 38 years old, well into "advanced maternal age." I'm going to try to stay positive and optimistic (which, surprisingly, I feel today) and trust that Dr. M. will know what to do.
Twinkle twinkle, our little stars
Last night Paul and I received a most special gift from his family: they had stars named by the International Star Registry in memory of Aliya and Bennett. The stars are in the constellation Leo, because our babies ended up being born Leos (instead of Sagittarians or Aquarians like they should have been). Aliya's star, according to the booklets that came with the lovely certificates and and star maps, is right on the bridge of Leo's nose. Bennett's is on the lion's cheek. They're not side by side, but very close together in the heavens.
Aliya's certificate reads:
"Know ye herewith that the International Star Registry doth hereby redesignate star number Leo RA 9h 58m 57s D 29 degrees 6 feet to the name Aliya Amy Lagerquist. Know ye further that this start will henceforth be known by this name. This name is permanently filed in The Registry's vault in Switzerland and recorded in a book which will be registered in the copyright office of the United States of America."
Bennett's is the similar, but his star number is RA 10h 8m 30.46s D 25 degrees 21 feet 38.13 inches. They book their stars' names will be recorded in is the Your Place in the Cosmos, Volume IX.
The stars are too far away to see with the naked eye. We've talked about getting a telescope before, and I think this amazing gift will prompt us to move that purchase up higher in the priority list. I want to see them twinkle there.
Paul's brother said last night that he always thinks of them when he looks up and can see the stars. We do, too. Actually, just a few nights ago, as I took the dog out to pee before bed, it was clear and cold, and when I looked up I couldn't stop the tears. Now, I can direct my eyes to Leo's head and imagine our babies there.
Aliya's certificate reads:
"Know ye herewith that the International Star Registry doth hereby redesignate star number Leo RA 9h 58m 57s D 29 degrees 6 feet to the name Aliya Amy Lagerquist. Know ye further that this start will henceforth be known by this name. This name is permanently filed in The Registry's vault in Switzerland and recorded in a book which will be registered in the copyright office of the United States of America."
Bennett's is the similar, but his star number is RA 10h 8m 30.46s D 25 degrees 21 feet 38.13 inches. They book their stars' names will be recorded in is the Your Place in the Cosmos, Volume IX.
The stars are too far away to see with the naked eye. We've talked about getting a telescope before, and I think this amazing gift will prompt us to move that purchase up higher in the priority list. I want to see them twinkle there.
Paul's brother said last night that he always thinks of them when he looks up and can see the stars. We do, too. Actually, just a few nights ago, as I took the dog out to pee before bed, it was clear and cold, and when I looked up I couldn't stop the tears. Now, I can direct my eyes to Leo's head and imagine our babies there.
 |
| Aliya's star is up by the 30 degree line. Bennett's is slightly down and to the left. Both are circled red. Diagram from Wikipedia. |
Saturday, January 14, 2012
Into the light
I've decided to make this blog public once again. Things at work, though still chaotic and unsettled, are moving forward, and I feel like I'm safe to once again post without worrying who might see what. My old management team and all of my former co-workers are well aware of my story, and my new (even if temporary) management doesn't concern me. I have an official place to land; I start my new job on Tuesday morning and I'm excited about the shift that's been made in my career. I think it will be the start of even better things in that regard, and I'm looking forward to seeing how it plays out.
To those of you who had been following and who were locked out during the past month, sorry about that. I hope you understand...I had to protect myself during an exceptionally (and stupidly, given the rest of the load on my plate) stressful time period...a time when I should have been "only" dealing with trying to get through our first holiday season as babyloss parents, and preparing for these big due date milestones which were screaming toward us at lighting speed. I'm in the midst of those now...one has passed, one comes up this week, and the last will follow on February 1st. I can't wait to feel a bit of breathing room.
Thank you all for your continued support, encouragement and love...and to those of you in my babyloss community, for sharing your strength and experience...and hope. I cherish all of you so much more than you could ever know (except you probably DO know exactly what I mean, because you've been here!).
To those of you who had been following and who were locked out during the past month, sorry about that. I hope you understand...I had to protect myself during an exceptionally (and stupidly, given the rest of the load on my plate) stressful time period...a time when I should have been "only" dealing with trying to get through our first holiday season as babyloss parents, and preparing for these big due date milestones which were screaming toward us at lighting speed. I'm in the midst of those now...one has passed, one comes up this week, and the last will follow on February 1st. I can't wait to feel a bit of breathing room.
Thank you all for your continued support, encouragement and love...and to those of you in my babyloss community, for sharing your strength and experience...and hope. I cherish all of you so much more than you could ever know (except you probably DO know exactly what I mean, because you've been here!).
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Figures
On a day where every bit of energy has been sucked from my body, where I actually consider how nice it would be to stay home in my sweats instead of heading off again to our support group meeting 30 minutes away (in 30 minutes...don't worry, we ARE going!), it just figures that the infamous package of Enfamil formula - the one all of us BLMs love to hate - was waiting in the mailbox for me when I got home.
Amazingly, I didn't cry. I think I'm just too damned worn out to cry today. I'm busy packing up my desk, gifting co-workers with files they might need in my absence, preparing to start a new job on Tuesday. Dandy...but that's a post for a different day...
I think back to the "we're almost to the second trimester, we can be excited" Amy and Paul who blithely agreed to be signed up for all the bells and whistles when we bought my first maternity clothes at Motherhood back in July. "Of course, sign me up!" I thought, giddy at the fact that we'd nearly made it to the second trimester, that we had both seen AND heard our babies' heart beats four times already so our risk of miscarriage must be really low, that I was totally big enough that I needed not only maternity pants but also shirts (and almost bought underwear, too, because OMG regular underwear elastic stretching across a twin-pregnancy belly is horrid uncomfortable).
If we only could have known how badly our lives would go...
I received two issues of American Baby magazine before my "STOP!!!" request took full effect. (The response from the girl on the other end of the customer service line as I told her WHY I wanted to cancel my trial subscription was *classic*. Guess they don't get the "I don't need it, my babies died," answer very often.) I thought I'd covered my bases...but apparently there is no escape from the f*cking Enfamil.
Nice timing, too. The company has all our data. They know my babies should be here any day now. Except my babies came too, too early, long ago, and they won't be needing formula. (As an aside, I wouldn't have fed it anyway. I had every intention of tandem breast-feeding my babies, even if it killed me. The formula samples were to be stored away for those rare times when we didn't have breast milk in the freezer or boobs at the ready.)
Coincidentally, the actual 37-week/full term for twins milestone yesterday, January 11th, was sort of peaceful, at least in comparison to the days leading up to it. (Correction, in comparison to every day between Christmas and yesterday.) I'm very grateful the folks at Mead Johnson didn't actually get the Enfamil to me yesterday, on time. It would have ruined my peaceful day.
So, I'm not exactly sure what to do with this stuff. Should I donate it? Maybe I'll just throw it away...but geez, that seems so wasteful to me. Dilemma...
One thing I DO know...next time I'm in Motherhood buying maternity clothes - if I get to have a next time - I will fight the cashier to the death before I'll let her sign me up for all their marketing crap. I don't need to jinx myself yet again.
Amazingly, I didn't cry. I think I'm just too damned worn out to cry today. I'm busy packing up my desk, gifting co-workers with files they might need in my absence, preparing to start a new job on Tuesday. Dandy...but that's a post for a different day...
I think back to the "we're almost to the second trimester, we can be excited" Amy and Paul who blithely agreed to be signed up for all the bells and whistles when we bought my first maternity clothes at Motherhood back in July. "Of course, sign me up!" I thought, giddy at the fact that we'd nearly made it to the second trimester, that we had both seen AND heard our babies' heart beats four times already so our risk of miscarriage must be really low, that I was totally big enough that I needed not only maternity pants but also shirts (and almost bought underwear, too, because OMG regular underwear elastic stretching across a twin-pregnancy belly is horrid uncomfortable).
If we only could have known how badly our lives would go...
I received two issues of American Baby magazine before my "STOP!!!" request took full effect. (The response from the girl on the other end of the customer service line as I told her WHY I wanted to cancel my trial subscription was *classic*. Guess they don't get the "I don't need it, my babies died," answer very often.) I thought I'd covered my bases...but apparently there is no escape from the f*cking Enfamil.
Nice timing, too. The company has all our data. They know my babies should be here any day now. Except my babies came too, too early, long ago, and they won't be needing formula. (As an aside, I wouldn't have fed it anyway. I had every intention of tandem breast-feeding my babies, even if it killed me. The formula samples were to be stored away for those rare times when we didn't have breast milk in the freezer or boobs at the ready.)
Coincidentally, the actual 37-week/full term for twins milestone yesterday, January 11th, was sort of peaceful, at least in comparison to the days leading up to it. (Correction, in comparison to every day between Christmas and yesterday.) I'm very grateful the folks at Mead Johnson didn't actually get the Enfamil to me yesterday, on time. It would have ruined my peaceful day.
So, I'm not exactly sure what to do with this stuff. Should I donate it? Maybe I'll just throw it away...but geez, that seems so wasteful to me. Dilemma...
One thing I DO know...next time I'm in Motherhood buying maternity clothes - if I get to have a next time - I will fight the cashier to the death before I'll let her sign me up for all their marketing crap. I don't need to jinx myself yet again.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
So thoughtful
Another twin loss mama, Alissa, who lost her son and daughter in October, had trees planted in their honor by the Arbor Day Foundation. She then had the remarkable idea to volunteer to have trees planted in honor of as many lost babies as were mentioned in her blog comments.
I'm was so happy to see the resulting certificate and beautiful post on her blog tonight. What an honor to have trees planted in the Shasta-Trinity National Forest in honor of so many angel babies...40 trees for 65 precious lives, including Aliya and Bennett's.
Once again, my heart overflows...
Thank you, Alissa!
I'm was so happy to see the resulting certificate and beautiful post on her blog tonight. What an honor to have trees planted in the Shasta-Trinity National Forest in honor of so many angel babies...40 trees for 65 precious lives, including Aliya and Bennett's.
Once again, my heart overflows...
Thank you, Alissa!
Saturday, January 7, 2012
Coming to terms
Out of nowhere, late this afternoon, the weepiness started again. I was putting away some of our Christmas decorations, removing the withered holiday flowers I'd bought for us, putting away the Christmas cards and setting the mantle back to normal. I picked up our memory box from its (so far) permanent home on the TV armoire in the living room, untied the pale teal satin ribbon, and pulled out the contents.
As soon as I cracked open the first of our two "Baby's First Picture" cards in which Dr. M. had placed each baby's very first photo, 7 weeks 0 days, when they looked like little lumps with beating hearts, the tears came. I cried through each ultrasound picture, flipping through 7 weeks, 9 weeks, 11 weeks, 12 weeks 6 days, and, finally, 14 weeks, that last set of images, our babies' perfect little profiles, Aliya's little button nose, Bennett's hand up by his face, peeling that scab off my tender heart once again.
I feel so raw inside, knowing that in just days - four, to be exact - they would have been full term. I've popped in periodically on my former February 2012 Twins and Multiples online birth board, where I started out the furthest along and then became the first to crash and burn (but not the last). The girls who've "made it" have been dropping like flies, delivering their twins at 27, 29, 30, 31, 32, 34 weeks and now 35 weeks. The "second in command," a girl who was due a few days after me, is being induced next Friday at 37 weeks, full term for twins. My darling friend from work, who for some reason I always think of as being a week and a half ahead of me in gestation, but who, in reality, was only 5 days ahead, has been dilated to 1-2 cm and 70% effaced for days and is so ready to meet her little boy. And, today, I understand, the girl from my Christmas Day debacle had her baby, a girl.
My heart is so broken, knowing that all of my friends and (former) fellow twin moms - the ones with whom I commisserated with over aches and pains and vomiting and bed rest during my pregnancy - are now experiencing that which I am not...laboring and worrying about vaginal birth versus c-sections or "double whammy" (Baby A coming vaginally and Baby B needing to be delivered via c-section) and meeting their precious babies, learning to breastfeed and get rest where they can, and loving on their children. Worrying about how to survive those hard first three months with twins, how to pack them around, how daycare will work, what the future will be like.
I so hope that will be me again some day, even though it will never be what it should have been, full of innocent fears and simple worries. But, for right now, I have to just let the tears flow, my heart bleed, my soul ache for my babies.
As soon as I cracked open the first of our two "Baby's First Picture" cards in which Dr. M. had placed each baby's very first photo, 7 weeks 0 days, when they looked like little lumps with beating hearts, the tears came. I cried through each ultrasound picture, flipping through 7 weeks, 9 weeks, 11 weeks, 12 weeks 6 days, and, finally, 14 weeks, that last set of images, our babies' perfect little profiles, Aliya's little button nose, Bennett's hand up by his face, peeling that scab off my tender heart once again.
I feel so raw inside, knowing that in just days - four, to be exact - they would have been full term. I've popped in periodically on my former February 2012 Twins and Multiples online birth board, where I started out the furthest along and then became the first to crash and burn (but not the last). The girls who've "made it" have been dropping like flies, delivering their twins at 27, 29, 30, 31, 32, 34 weeks and now 35 weeks. The "second in command," a girl who was due a few days after me, is being induced next Friday at 37 weeks, full term for twins. My darling friend from work, who for some reason I always think of as being a week and a half ahead of me in gestation, but who, in reality, was only 5 days ahead, has been dilated to 1-2 cm and 70% effaced for days and is so ready to meet her little boy. And, today, I understand, the girl from my Christmas Day debacle had her baby, a girl.
My heart is so broken, knowing that all of my friends and (former) fellow twin moms - the ones with whom I commisserated with over aches and pains and vomiting and bed rest during my pregnancy - are now experiencing that which I am not...laboring and worrying about vaginal birth versus c-sections or "double whammy" (Baby A coming vaginally and Baby B needing to be delivered via c-section) and meeting their precious babies, learning to breastfeed and get rest where they can, and loving on their children. Worrying about how to survive those hard first three months with twins, how to pack them around, how daycare will work, what the future will be like.
I so hope that will be me again some day, even though it will never be what it should have been, full of innocent fears and simple worries. But, for right now, I have to just let the tears flow, my heart bleed, my soul ache for my babies.
Thursday, January 5, 2012
Five
Five months ago today, this minute, Paul and I were sitting in the ER waiting room at Providence St. Peter Hospital, wondering what the hell was going on and trying to believe everything would be ok. I think I was even cracking jokes while we sat there...totally oblivious that a mere 6 hours later, our lives would crumble to pieces, that Paul would see our babies on the ultrasound screen for the very last time, Aliya with no "room" around her body because she'd lost almost all of her amniotic fluid. We had no options. Without amniotic fluid, not only could Aliya not move around, she also couldn't practice breathing, nor could her kidneys and bladder continue to develop. And with signs of infection, both babies, the pregnancy and all our hopes and dreams were doomed in that once instance.
The last five months have been such a roller coaster of emotion for us and our families. I am so grateful to this loving community of fellow baby loss mamas (and daddies) I found, and to the friends we've made in our support groups, for without their specific understanding and compassion, we would not have made it. I would not have made it. The loss of a baby or babies is not something anyone should ever have to experience, most certainly alone. This is a very lonely journey, one where I can feel people in our lives pulling away, the "aren't you over this yet?" kind of distaste as I, especially, continue to reel and fight my way to some understanding of myself in this new life. Thankfully, we were forewarned about how people would react, how they'd grow impatient with our struggles, how some would fail - be it from inability to show emotion or worry they'd show too much - to say anything at all. None of this has been a surprise, but damn. Ouch.
I'm fast-approaching the final pregnancy milestones I have been most plagued by - full term (next Wednesday, when I should be 37 weeks pregnant), and January 18th, the 38-week due date goal I'd set for myself. The culmination of holiday expecations and dread, and the New Year full of promise and taunt, put me into a full-blown tailspin. I had a few very, very dark days in there. I'm better now...for now. I don't pretend to know when those ugly feelings will strike again, only that they will.. That's to be expected and is normal in this abnormal life I now find myself in. Even Paul, who rarely says anything about his grief anymore except during support groups, has been melancholy lately, snapping at co-workers and feeling generally tired and blue. It's all normal. I hope that once I get past February, the other milestones will feel more vague (although I'm sure both Mother's Day and Father's Day will hurt fiercely).
What we need, and crave, more than ever, is your love and support. We need to hear it, please. Tell us. I know who reads this blog - even with it set to private - and I know that you love us, but a tiny few have ever talked to us about our babies, our loss, our grief, our love for our children, or told us how it impacts them. Please, don't be shy. We need it. No one has the power to make us "sad," even though so many mistakenly believe that mentioning our babies' names or talking about our loss makes us sad...believe me, we LIVE sad underneath everything we do. It's hiding in the cracks in our thoughts, in the quiet times. And while we may cry at hearing our babies' names sometimes, it's not your fault. It's just our love and our hurt pouring out...and it has to come out, otherwise, it's a poison.
Our Christmas tree is still up. It's the most beautiful tree we've ever had, perfect in its half-groomed state, full of ornaments honoring our babies. It will be so hard to take it down. Fitting that we're celebrating the five month mark with beauty around us. Before we get to six months, I hope to have a special display place so that some of these can be out year round, to help us remember and celebrate our daughter and our son and their tiny, perfect lives.
The last five months have been such a roller coaster of emotion for us and our families. I am so grateful to this loving community of fellow baby loss mamas (and daddies) I found, and to the friends we've made in our support groups, for without their specific understanding and compassion, we would not have made it. I would not have made it. The loss of a baby or babies is not something anyone should ever have to experience, most certainly alone. This is a very lonely journey, one where I can feel people in our lives pulling away, the "aren't you over this yet?" kind of distaste as I, especially, continue to reel and fight my way to some understanding of myself in this new life. Thankfully, we were forewarned about how people would react, how they'd grow impatient with our struggles, how some would fail - be it from inability to show emotion or worry they'd show too much - to say anything at all. None of this has been a surprise, but damn. Ouch.
I'm fast-approaching the final pregnancy milestones I have been most plagued by - full term (next Wednesday, when I should be 37 weeks pregnant), and January 18th, the 38-week due date goal I'd set for myself. The culmination of holiday expecations and dread, and the New Year full of promise and taunt, put me into a full-blown tailspin. I had a few very, very dark days in there. I'm better now...for now. I don't pretend to know when those ugly feelings will strike again, only that they will.. That's to be expected and is normal in this abnormal life I now find myself in. Even Paul, who rarely says anything about his grief anymore except during support groups, has been melancholy lately, snapping at co-workers and feeling generally tired and blue. It's all normal. I hope that once I get past February, the other milestones will feel more vague (although I'm sure both Mother's Day and Father's Day will hurt fiercely).
What we need, and crave, more than ever, is your love and support. We need to hear it, please. Tell us. I know who reads this blog - even with it set to private - and I know that you love us, but a tiny few have ever talked to us about our babies, our loss, our grief, our love for our children, or told us how it impacts them. Please, don't be shy. We need it. No one has the power to make us "sad," even though so many mistakenly believe that mentioning our babies' names or talking about our loss makes us sad...believe me, we LIVE sad underneath everything we do. It's hiding in the cracks in our thoughts, in the quiet times. And while we may cry at hearing our babies' names sometimes, it's not your fault. It's just our love and our hurt pouring out...and it has to come out, otherwise, it's a poison.
Our Christmas tree is still up. It's the most beautiful tree we've ever had, perfect in its half-groomed state, full of ornaments honoring our babies. It will be so hard to take it down. Fitting that we're celebrating the five month mark with beauty around us. Before we get to six months, I hope to have a special display place so that some of these can be out year round, to help us remember and celebrate our daughter and our son and their tiny, perfect lives.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
The plan
It's 15 minutes 'til bedtime, here at Casa Lagerquist, so I'll make this quick. Tonight's 5:00 follicle scan, scheduled yesterday at Dr. M's suggestion (smart man!), revealed (sigh) two more residual ovarian cysts on the right side. It turns out that stimulation via drugs has a tendency to cause residual cysts, because as they burst to release egg cells, their large size - mostly fluid - causes them to seal up again, leaving a fluid-filled sac where there shouldn't be one.
The good news is two-fold: first, my "sleepy" left ovary has reawakened, and I have three pre-antral follicles (as he called them) gearing up to "go." He thinks I'll ovulate from the left side this month, despite the cysts on the right. Secondly, Paul and I want to wait until March to do another superovulation IUI cycle, and the timing is working out great. I need a break from the drugs, and it would take until February to get our drugs here from Europe, anyway. Also, since February is the anniversary of our first failed attempt - the one that resulted in the Little Embryo That Could but Couldn't - I'd rather not jinx ourselves by doing another stim cycle during that same month.
Oddly, even though there was a couple "in line" ahead of us at the clinic tonight, Dr. M. still did my ultrasound first, leaving them sequestered in his office by themselves, and then took LOADS of time to complete my charting, review everything, and discuss next steps. It seems that once your chart hits the more-than-one-inch-thick mark, you get VIP status and are moved to the front of the line. We left feeling very happy with our visit.
Dr. M. ordered a blood test for anti-mullerian hormone (AMH), which will check my ovarian reserve. This one scares me a little bit. I really, really hope it comes out normal, because if it doesn't, that means that I'm runnin' outta eggs. It's a little early for that...I'll only be 38 in March. Still, my peak estradiol levels - estrogen - were disappointing during all three stim cycles, so he wants to know what we're up against. (He did say the Metformin I've been on since July 2010 can suppress stimulation drugs, so he may have me go off them next time. I wish he would have told us that sooner!)
We also spent more time discussing our loss of Aliya and Bennett. He's quite displeased by the second trimester miscarriage. It shouldn't have happened, but it did. Chances are that the polyp is solely to blame. However, he also noted "chronic abruption," given Aliya had two placental abruptions (the first at 7w3d and the second at 14w). Therefore, he's ordering three more tests, all of which check for blood clotting disorders:
Paul and I both think these three will turn out normal, mostly because Aliya is the only one who had the abruptions (not Bennett)...and she also had the contributing factor of a slight placenta previa (which is more prone to abruption, being too close to the cervix), and Dr. A. from the HMO said both placentas looked free of clots or other deformities. On the other hand, if I do have a clotting disorder, usually they can be treated with baby aspirin and Heparin (or Lovenox) shots during pregnancy. I'd certainly rather NOT have a clotting disorder, but I'd also rather know for sure. (Most women who miscarry have to lose three pregnancies before doctors will order these tests. I'm "lucky", I guess.)
In the next week or so, I'll be calling around to price these tests and will get them drawn. Meanwhile, since Paul's and my contributing infertility factors (his male factor and my presumed endometriosis) mean that we're highly unlikely to conceive on our own, so we'll be doing a timed (single) IUI this month. The cost is pretty minimal, research shows slightly increased fertility after a stimulated cycle, and getting the best possible sperm sample a head start in my uterus could increase our chances of getting pregnant. In all, I'm pretty satisfied with the plan...medically.
Emotionally/mentally, I've had serious internal conflicts about whether I'll ever conceive again for awhile. Even immediately after our loss, as much as I wanted to be pregnant again, I had this nagging feeling that I'd never get to experience a healthy pregnancy. To help combat these beliefs and try to work through them, I'll be continuing my acupuncture but will add four sessions with a hypnotherapist who specializes in fertility (and also teaches HypnoBirthing), and who happens to be a retired certified nurse midwife. I had an hour-long phone consultation with her on Monday and really, really liked her. I start on the 16th, another day off for me, and I'm very excited to dig in. I'm certainly no stranger to therapy - having gone through 7 years of counseling and Prozac in my 20s - and while the traditional therapy scheme doesn't feel right to me today for *this* (at least not yet), talking with a skilled therapist who also fully understands both infertility issues and birth trauma totally does.
Here's hoping, between the two plans, we're starting off 2012 in the right direction...toward the point in the not-too-distant future when we bring home a living child or children.
The good news is two-fold: first, my "sleepy" left ovary has reawakened, and I have three pre-antral follicles (as he called them) gearing up to "go." He thinks I'll ovulate from the left side this month, despite the cysts on the right. Secondly, Paul and I want to wait until March to do another superovulation IUI cycle, and the timing is working out great. I need a break from the drugs, and it would take until February to get our drugs here from Europe, anyway. Also, since February is the anniversary of our first failed attempt - the one that resulted in the Little Embryo That Could but Couldn't - I'd rather not jinx ourselves by doing another stim cycle during that same month.
Oddly, even though there was a couple "in line" ahead of us at the clinic tonight, Dr. M. still did my ultrasound first, leaving them sequestered in his office by themselves, and then took LOADS of time to complete my charting, review everything, and discuss next steps. It seems that once your chart hits the more-than-one-inch-thick mark, you get VIP status and are moved to the front of the line. We left feeling very happy with our visit.
Dr. M. ordered a blood test for anti-mullerian hormone (AMH), which will check my ovarian reserve. This one scares me a little bit. I really, really hope it comes out normal, because if it doesn't, that means that I'm runnin' outta eggs. It's a little early for that...I'll only be 38 in March. Still, my peak estradiol levels - estrogen - were disappointing during all three stim cycles, so he wants to know what we're up against. (He did say the Metformin I've been on since July 2010 can suppress stimulation drugs, so he may have me go off them next time. I wish he would have told us that sooner!)
We also spent more time discussing our loss of Aliya and Bennett. He's quite displeased by the second trimester miscarriage. It shouldn't have happened, but it did. Chances are that the polyp is solely to blame. However, he also noted "chronic abruption," given Aliya had two placental abruptions (the first at 7w3d and the second at 14w). Therefore, he's ordering three more tests, all of which check for blood clotting disorders:
- Anti-cardrolipin IgG and IgM
- Lupus anticoagulant
- Activated Protein C resistance test (also called Factor V Leiden)
Paul and I both think these three will turn out normal, mostly because Aliya is the only one who had the abruptions (not Bennett)...and she also had the contributing factor of a slight placenta previa (which is more prone to abruption, being too close to the cervix), and Dr. A. from the HMO said both placentas looked free of clots or other deformities. On the other hand, if I do have a clotting disorder, usually they can be treated with baby aspirin and Heparin (or Lovenox) shots during pregnancy. I'd certainly rather NOT have a clotting disorder, but I'd also rather know for sure. (Most women who miscarry have to lose three pregnancies before doctors will order these tests. I'm "lucky", I guess.)
In the next week or so, I'll be calling around to price these tests and will get them drawn. Meanwhile, since Paul's and my contributing infertility factors (his male factor and my presumed endometriosis) mean that we're highly unlikely to conceive on our own, so we'll be doing a timed (single) IUI this month. The cost is pretty minimal, research shows slightly increased fertility after a stimulated cycle, and getting the best possible sperm sample a head start in my uterus could increase our chances of getting pregnant. In all, I'm pretty satisfied with the plan...medically.
Emotionally/mentally, I've had serious internal conflicts about whether I'll ever conceive again for awhile. Even immediately after our loss, as much as I wanted to be pregnant again, I had this nagging feeling that I'd never get to experience a healthy pregnancy. To help combat these beliefs and try to work through them, I'll be continuing my acupuncture but will add four sessions with a hypnotherapist who specializes in fertility (and also teaches HypnoBirthing), and who happens to be a retired certified nurse midwife. I had an hour-long phone consultation with her on Monday and really, really liked her. I start on the 16th, another day off for me, and I'm very excited to dig in. I'm certainly no stranger to therapy - having gone through 7 years of counseling and Prozac in my 20s - and while the traditional therapy scheme doesn't feel right to me today for *this* (at least not yet), talking with a skilled therapist who also fully understands both infertility issues and birth trauma totally does.
Here's hoping, between the two plans, we're starting off 2012 in the right direction...toward the point in the not-too-distant future when we bring home a living child or children.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
Forgetful
Grief has a really weird effect on the brain of the grieving person. It makes me think of folks with certain types of brain injuries who have to write notes to themselves so they remember to do simple things that used to be second nature before the injury.
In the early days of grief, we lacked the energy or wherewithal to dress ourselves, feed ourselves, make simple decisions, think. Those things have gradually improved, although I know for myself, some occur again every once in awhile.
As time goes on, though, Paul and I both realize we will forget to do things unless we write them down and place the notes somewhere conspicuous. He left his baseball cap in the Sunbirds store while trying on skull caps for work. We totally forgot until we were on our way home, giving him time to call and ask the customer service desk to find and hold it, but not enough time to go back and pick it up.
We left it there for two full weeks. Out of sight, out of mind.
In October, we bought a new vehicle, a 2011 Honda Pilot. We hadn't intended to buy that day, were merely test driving, but a last-minute closing-time visit to a dealer - truly just so Paul could take one last look - resulted in them making a deal we couldn't refuse. Heck, they took my 2004 beat-to-Hell Subaru as a trade, sight unseen...we'd intentionally taken Paul's truck on our little trip south to test drive the three top contenders specifically so none could see our trade and we wouldn't be coerced into buying. Backfire...but I'm satisfied with the purchase (even though I hate having a car payment). At least this one is reliable and big enough to fit as many babies as I can gestate at one time (should we get that opportunity).
Fast forward to late November. Driving to work one morning, not far out of town, I saw some sort of truck coming at me in the opposite lane, yellow lights flashing. It was foggy and below freezing, so I wasn't going full speed (the limit is 50 through there). Suddenly, my ears were attacked by a horrible sound...what my brain registered as a deicing truck, or maybe a sand truck, was actually throwing pea gravel. He shouldn't have continued to spread while passing me, but he did, pelting my brand new vehicle with hundreds of rocks, causing 10 rock chips in my windshield, dents in the paint on the driver's door handle, back of the driver's side mirror and headlight lenses, and full-on paint chips - down to the surface under the paint - all over the upper and lower surfaces of the bumper.
I told Paul and a co-worker when I got to work. I should have written down the date. By the time a week had passed and we got a lead on who to talk to, none of us could remember which day it happened...only that it was 7:10 a.m., dark, foggy and 26 degrees. Great. Now, more than a month later, Paul can't remember to call and pursue having the county (we're hoping that's who is responsible, rather than our fair-and-unlikely-to-pay small town) to figure out how to get a claim going so the car can be repainted.
The best example, though, happened just last week. On Christmas Day, as we were getting ready to leave to join Paul's family, he searched high and low for his jacket. This is a nice jacket, the shell of a Cabela's coat I bought him for Christmas last year (I think, who knows?), and it was nowhere to be found. Not only that, he couldn't remember when he'd had it last or where he wore it.
Midweek, during a brainstorm, we came up with a few restaurants we'd visited the week prior, and I called to ask whether his jacket was there. Nope. It wasn't left behind at the TEARS Foundation office, either, when we attended the holiday remembrance gathering. Another common behavior of grieving parents, especially, is dining out rather than in (we still only cook perhaps 3 times per week, at most, but want to improve in this area...dining out gets really old and expensive). I scoured our bank records looking for other places we may have eaten and left his jacket behind, but came up blank.
Late last week, Paul said, "You know, we ate at The Grill sometime before Christmas." Funny, I didn't remember that at all, and couldn't find it in the online banking account. We remembered later that I'd had to write a check because their debit machine was down that night. I called. Yay, they had the jacket!! We swung by and picked it up on our way to eat out somewhere else. :)
That night, as we were getting ready for bed, Paul looked at me and said, "I'm so glad you remembered we ate at The Grill." I thought he was joking, so was more confused when I asked, "What are you talking about?" He truly thought I came up with the idea, and had no recollection of reminding me we had eaten at The Grill.
Between the two of us, we couldn't fight our way out of a paper bag at this point.
Such is grief.
In the early days of grief, we lacked the energy or wherewithal to dress ourselves, feed ourselves, make simple decisions, think. Those things have gradually improved, although I know for myself, some occur again every once in awhile.
As time goes on, though, Paul and I both realize we will forget to do things unless we write them down and place the notes somewhere conspicuous. He left his baseball cap in the Sunbirds store while trying on skull caps for work. We totally forgot until we were on our way home, giving him time to call and ask the customer service desk to find and hold it, but not enough time to go back and pick it up.
We left it there for two full weeks. Out of sight, out of mind.
In October, we bought a new vehicle, a 2011 Honda Pilot. We hadn't intended to buy that day, were merely test driving, but a last-minute closing-time visit to a dealer - truly just so Paul could take one last look - resulted in them making a deal we couldn't refuse. Heck, they took my 2004 beat-to-Hell Subaru as a trade, sight unseen...we'd intentionally taken Paul's truck on our little trip south to test drive the three top contenders specifically so none could see our trade and we wouldn't be coerced into buying. Backfire...but I'm satisfied with the purchase (even though I hate having a car payment). At least this one is reliable and big enough to fit as many babies as I can gestate at one time (should we get that opportunity).
Fast forward to late November. Driving to work one morning, not far out of town, I saw some sort of truck coming at me in the opposite lane, yellow lights flashing. It was foggy and below freezing, so I wasn't going full speed (the limit is 50 through there). Suddenly, my ears were attacked by a horrible sound...what my brain registered as a deicing truck, or maybe a sand truck, was actually throwing pea gravel. He shouldn't have continued to spread while passing me, but he did, pelting my brand new vehicle with hundreds of rocks, causing 10 rock chips in my windshield, dents in the paint on the driver's door handle, back of the driver's side mirror and headlight lenses, and full-on paint chips - down to the surface under the paint - all over the upper and lower surfaces of the bumper.
I told Paul and a co-worker when I got to work. I should have written down the date. By the time a week had passed and we got a lead on who to talk to, none of us could remember which day it happened...only that it was 7:10 a.m., dark, foggy and 26 degrees. Great. Now, more than a month later, Paul can't remember to call and pursue having the county (we're hoping that's who is responsible, rather than our fair-and-unlikely-to-pay small town) to figure out how to get a claim going so the car can be repainted.
The best example, though, happened just last week. On Christmas Day, as we were getting ready to leave to join Paul's family, he searched high and low for his jacket. This is a nice jacket, the shell of a Cabela's coat I bought him for Christmas last year (I think, who knows?), and it was nowhere to be found. Not only that, he couldn't remember when he'd had it last or where he wore it.
Midweek, during a brainstorm, we came up with a few restaurants we'd visited the week prior, and I called to ask whether his jacket was there. Nope. It wasn't left behind at the TEARS Foundation office, either, when we attended the holiday remembrance gathering. Another common behavior of grieving parents, especially, is dining out rather than in (we still only cook perhaps 3 times per week, at most, but want to improve in this area...dining out gets really old and expensive). I scoured our bank records looking for other places we may have eaten and left his jacket behind, but came up blank.
Late last week, Paul said, "You know, we ate at The Grill sometime before Christmas." Funny, I didn't remember that at all, and couldn't find it in the online banking account. We remembered later that I'd had to write a check because their debit machine was down that night. I called. Yay, they had the jacket!! We swung by and picked it up on our way to eat out somewhere else. :)
That night, as we were getting ready for bed, Paul looked at me and said, "I'm so glad you remembered we ate at The Grill." I thought he was joking, so was more confused when I asked, "What are you talking about?" He truly thought I came up with the idea, and had no recollection of reminding me we had eaten at The Grill.
Between the two of us, we couldn't fight our way out of a paper bag at this point.
Such is grief.
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