Remember November

November 28- My scheduled due date for my first pregnancy. I don't think I will ever forget that date.

Before writing this post, I opened a closet door in our bedroom and found the pregnancy tests. I searched around in a keepsake box for the ultrasound picture. I put them together to remember the baby. I remembered the joy, happiness, excitement, name planning, and picturing what our baby would look like. I stared blankly at the sticks and the ultrasound and became filled with sadness.





For the past couple of months, I thought of this month as the month that was supposed to be the birth month of my child. I have come to accept the fact that that's simply not true. That pregnancy was not meant to be. I do not know if I will be able to get pregnant again. Who knows what the future holds. All I know is that I am now grateful for my short pregnancy.

This entire year has been the saddest and most grief stricken year of my 28 years. It certainly has been a learning process. I am growing more now than I have in years. I don't think I am "getting over" the miscarriage, but I like to think that I'm beginning to fully accept it. A part of me is empty. A part of me is still sad. A part of me longs for what I cannot have. A part of me is lonely. A part of me is still angry. I am trying to turn those hurts into something positive.

I still get sad when I think about the event and most of all the 28th, but I no longer spend the entire day in sadness. I try to stop the sadness and self-pity, I try to turn it around. I cry less and for shorter period of times. Maybe the next step for me is to not cry at all when the sadness hits.

Something that has had a profound effect on me is a book- The Art of Happiness. To end this post, I want to share with you a section that opened my eyes and heart.

"Initially, of course, feelings of grief and anxiety are a natural human response to a loss. But if you allow these feelings of loss and worry to persist, there's a danger, if these feelings are left unchecked, they can lead to a kind of self-absorption. A situation where the focus becomes your own self. And when that happens you become overwhelmed by the sense of loss, and you get a feeling that it's only you who are going through this. Depression sets in. But in reality, there are others who will be going through the same kind of experience. So, if you find yourself worrying too much, it may help to think of the other people who have similar or even worse tragedies. Once you realize that, then you no longer feel isolated, as if you have been single-pointedly picked out. That can offer you some kind of condolence."


Thank you Dalai Lama and all you readers for kind words and thoughts. I hope that by sharing my experience, you find some comfort in knowing that you are not alone and that things will get better.

Until next time, Merry Thanksgiving to you and yours. I hope that good things come your way very soon.

Kristin

Drowning. Almost.

As November looms around the corner, there is nothing that can be said or done to make the painful memory of the miscarriage go away. Come November 28, there will be no child in our arms or family of three. Dwelling on this makes me incredibly sad at times. Will there ever come a time when that date doesn't make me sad?

For me, this entire year has been one gigantic hurdle. One large mountain to climb. One nightmare that will not end. One year filled with tragic and life-altering events.

At times I feel like I struggle to just keep a grasp on my sanity. Most of the time, I want to hide under a rock for an indefinite amount of time. Months ago I wanted this year to end, and now I'm afraid to think of what a new year will bring. This to shall pass, right? Who the hell knows.

My faith is not doing much to sustain me. Friends and family bring me temporary joy. My husband is supportive and loving beyond belief but still I feel a void. School and work keep my mind off of things but contribute to my stress levels. The only way to explain how I feel is that there is an emptiness inside of me that won't go away. That emptiness seems to not want to be filled by any of the positives in my life.

I've done enough poo-pooing for the day and need to pull myself together. My heart goes out to you all that are swimming through a similar sea of crap.

From the Heart of a Husband

I gave the Husband access to my blog. Enjoy-

March 20, 2011

Today is one of the happiest days of my life. Around 4:30 this afternoon, Kristin and I found out that we are going to be parents. When she showed me the test, I was overwhelmed with joy, excitement, and pride. After making a life for ourselves, we have created life together. I cannot put into words how it feels to know that our son or daughter is growing inside the body of my beautiful wife. Soon, I will be able to see a picture our child in her belly. She is the most special woman in my life, and I could not be happier to be starting a family with her.

This is the first entry in my baby journal. I vividly remember being called into our bathroom by a shocked Kristin, seeing a plus sign on the pregnancy test, and being unable to do anything other than crack the biggest smile of my life. I knew instinctively right then and there that my life was never going to be the same again, and that I was going to do everything in my power to ensure that my wife and child were happy and provided for.

As new parents, our lives became about our baby. We researched which foods to avoid, which supplements to take, and argued about baby names while we waited for our first chance to see our baby on the ultrasound. After a seemingly endless two weeks, the day finally came. As Kristin lay on the doctor’s table with her hand in mine, we saw our baby for the first time. Just as I thought my capacity for joy and love were saturated, they grew ten fold. Far beyond a mark on a stick, I was now looking at an actual picture of the life we created growing inside her.

Five days later, I was working a 17-hour overnight shift. It wasn’t the sort of work I would normally take, but I had a family to support so I bit the bullet. In the wee hours of the morning I felt pretty good, having gotten most of the shift behind me without any trouble. Then it started. Kristin told me she was having problems. We were both scared. Her obstetrician offered little comfort. After an eternity, I convinced her to call an ambulance while I made my way to the hospital. It was raining hard and a few streets were flooding, but my only thought was getting there as fast as I could. I didn’t want to believe that we were going to lose our baby. I hoped that they would find nothing wrong and send us home.

When I finally arrived and found Kristin’s room, it was already too late. Overcome by shock, all I could do was hold her. After a few moments, it started to sink in: our baby was gone. We would never get to see or hold our baby.

I joined Kristin in a complete emotional breakdown. We cried and prayed together, trying to come to terms with what had happened. Our world was destroyed. There was nothing we could do to change that. All we could do was mourn our loss.

I wonder where the term “expecting parents” came from. In my experience, there is no such thing as an expecting parent. From the very moment I found out that Kristin was pregnant, I became a dad. Not an expecting dad; just a dad. Even though I never got to see our baby, or hold or kiss or snuggle with our baby, he or she was a real human child with a heartbeat, and I am his or her father.

Going through a miscarriage is losing a child. That may seem obvious, but many people seem not to understand it. I doubt anyone would try to console a parent who lost a 10-year-old by saying that they will have other children, or that everything happens for a reason. Why then do some find it acceptable to offer such words to victims of miscarriage? Yes, I take comfort in the knowledge that we are likely to have other children—and I hope that what we’ve been through will only make the experience sweeter—but that does not in any way, shape or form make up for the child that we lost. Nothing ever will.

After losing a child, there is really nothing comforting that can be said. I found comfort in genuine interest from loved ones. Being reminded that I have family who love and care about me was the only thing that made me feel better.

Because of this experience, I now know a father’s love. I also know the love a man has for the mother of his children. There is a incredible level of intimacy that comes from creating life together.

Our baby lives on. Not only in our hearts and memories, but in the very essence of our beings and our relationship. Our baby is part of us, forever.

Writing from the Heart

I came across this little dedication while browsing through an after miscarriage jealousy forum:

Some nights i wake up wondering how different life
would be if God hadn't decided to make you one of
his angels.. and then i think long and hard you came
into my life for as long as you did because that was
both our destinies.. There isn't one day i don’t
wonder what if.. One thing i am sure of is that you
are forever in my heart i love you baby girl!

Isn't it beautiful? It describes my feelings exactly.

I have been having a hard time lately with jealousy. It seems like everyone I know is pregnant. I cannot honestly say that I am happy for them because the jealousy I feel is overwhelming. Whenever I talk to people about this, they tend to say the same thing- "You will have a baby someday".

That statement bothers me a bit because I feel like they are assuming that I only want a cute, cuddly baby to oh and ah over. I don't want to have a baby to have a baby, I want a family. In addition to jealousy, I also feel very lonely. Sure it's nice to be able to do what I want, when I want. Sleep whenever I want and for however long I want, but I would trade those things instantly for a family. It sure does get lonely with just the two of us.

Another thing I would like to leave you readers with is this-

I feel like the emotional toil of a miscarriage will never be understood by those that have not had miscarriages. I also get a sense that a lot of women do not put themselves in the place of a woman that has had a miscarriage. If you are a mother that was fortunate enough to deliver and raise a child, imagine what your life would be like if your child was never born. Could you imagine life without your child? Women that have had miscarriages, stillbirths, or infant loss have to imagine life without their child each and every day. Chances are when these women found out they were pregnant their entire life changed the instant the pee stick showed positive. They planned and prepared. They saw their baby on a sonogram and heard their baby's hearbeat. Their pregnancy was real and their child meant just as much as your child or children mean to you. With that, I encourage you to open your heart and sympathize with the women that have had to carry the burden of pregnancy and infant loss.

Blessings of peace and comfort to all of you grieving mothers out there.

September

September.

Sweet little one, had you have stuck around, you would have been born in a little less than three months.

Time of the Month

Since my miscarriage in April, I have this ridiculous fear that every period I have is really a miscarriage in disguise.

Why? Because the painfulness of my cycles have been miscarriage level pain minus the amount of bleeding. My OB informed me that it might take up to three or four cycles for my cycle to return back to normal. Never in my life have I experienced such horrible, intense cycles as the ones post miscarriage.

-A little history-

My cycles before my pregnancy happened like clockwork thanks to the medicine Metformin. Not to worry, I do not take Metformin for insulin/diabetes control. I take it for ovarian cysts, possible polycycstic ovarian syndrome, and to help manage my endometriosis. After the first six months of taking the medication, my cycles became normal. Before the medication my cycles were sporadic and ovarian cysts occurred monthly.

Sometime in the late 90's, can't remember the exact year, I was hospitalized for severe lower abdominal pain. I remember the day vividly. I was playing in the Gus Macker basketball tournament and my dad was my team's coach. I was on the sidelines waiting to play when suddenly I felt sick beyond belief and had some serious stomach pain. I ran to the nearest trash can to lose my cookies. I had trouble walking upright. My friend's mom told my parents that she thought I had appendicitis. I was rushed to the hospital. They did some rebound tests and a scan, but no pesky appendicitis was diagnosed. My white blood cell count was down and I was very, very ill. I was in the hospital for a week. It was determined that either I had a ruptured ovarian cyst or some sort of lower intestine infection. After knowing what a ruptured cyst and cyst pain feel like, I'm positive that I experienced a ruptured cyst.

In 2004 I was hospitalized for severe lower stomach pain. My appendix was determined to be the possible culprit again until a softball sized cyst was located on the CT scan. The pain was just awful and luckily the cyst dissolved on it's own and no further action was needed. I was so happy that that blasted cyst dissolved itself before surgery was scheduled.

In 2008 I had surgery to remove some endometriosis from my uterus. The surgery was successful at eliminating a large portion of the pain I experienced all the time. For example, there were times when sneezing would hurt me so bad I would want to pass out, bowel movements were excruciating, brushing my belly against the counter or some other object would make me squirmish and some adult activities simply could not be done because of the pain.

-History complete-

It's been four months since the miscarriage and you can say that we are TTC (Trying to Conceive) since we are not actively preventing pregnancy. In fact, we are doing nothing to prevent pregnancy. No luck so far, but that is OK. My body is still recovering and getting back to normal. We welcome the blessing of another pregnancy with open arms and look forward to the day we will be able to meet that sweet little spirit.

Many Mountains to Climb

To add insult to injury, I was laid off of my full-time job of four years. Although said job has recently returned to me with a new part-time proposition that I accepted, I am still very, very bitter about what happened.

The lay off happened on Wednesday the 20th.

After I was let go, I was escorted out of the building, boarded the light rail, and made my way back home, completely alone. The loneliness and pain that I felt yesterday was reminiscent of the loneliness and pain felt during my miscarriage. Of course the two are completely different, but both experiences initiated similar feelings.

Once again my life completely changed. Too much of that has happened this year.

In this year alone, I have lost my dear grandfather, first child and job. My husband earlier in the year lost his job and has since found another. We have been slammed with medical bills and passed due bills since the miscarriage. It was not because my husband was out of work that these bills were not paid, it was because I stopped paying them(I'm the bill payer of the house) after the miscarriage. It is not that I didn't want to pay them; I literally did not even think to pay them. The thought did not register in my mind. I wish it had.

I've heard that calm seas do not make great sailors, but are these experiences really making me a great sailor? I just can't tell. There are days when I want to give up and days when I literally do not want to get up. I question on occasion how I continue on in this mess of a life I have for myself right now. When and how will things get better?

If the big man upstairs is testing me, I truly hope he is finished for now. I realize that I am having a tiny pity party and need to focus on what and who I have in my life, but at this very moment, it is not easy.

All in all, I'm blessed to have my family, friends, animals, house, vehicles and other things in my life. I have to focus on the positives and I will try my best.
If you're going through a hellacious time in your life right now, my heart is out to you. We will get through this I'm sure, we just cannot lose whatever faith we might have. May we start climbing over these mountains soon. Peace and blessings.

Someday

Someday our pain will be gone.

Someday our hearts will mend.

Someday the tears will stop.


I would like for someday to be today.

Someday is bound to come right?

Stuff Your Sorries in a Sack

After losing my baby, I found that I am easily angered by stories of child abuse, negligence, marital abuse, teen pregnancy, etc. Nothing though really hit me to the core quite like the conversation I had with my SIL a week ago.

My SIL recently went through a very dramatic and abusive situation with her husband. They have two children. Upon asking her one night how she was doing, I received the response “I’m pregnant.” This will be their third child.

I became enraged with anger when she told me the news.

How could someone like my B and SIL have a child right now? Why would they bring a child into a negative environment? I would never subject my child to abuse and my child would have a loving home. How is it fair that they can have a baby, but I can’t?

SIL proceeded to tell me that she had a dream that she lost the baby and that if my miscarriage was anything like her dream, she was so very sorry for what happened. Thanks, but NO thanks for that lame gesture of sympathy.

Now I realize that it’s not completely rational, fair or right of me to say that my B and SIL do not deserve to have children. Who am I to say that they shouldn’t have children? They’re entitled to a family just like everyone else and I don’t doubt that they love their children.

What bothers me is the fact that there are people out there that reproduce in bad living situations. They bear children into a broken home or if not that, maybe a home that will not provide the child with enough maternal and paternal care because of various reasons. It breaks my heart to know that children each and every day are subjected to abuse of all forms and their parents seem to not care. Parents that practice abuse towards their children or subject them to it are just plain selfish.

I know that I am not perfect and my marriage is not by any means perfect, but I do know for certain that my DH and I will provide the best abuse-free home we can possibly provide for our child(ren). If our baby was still with us, he would know so much love. I hope that he knows our love for him now and always.

Being a mother for a short period of time completely changed my outlook on life. I understand, albeit only pregnant for 7 weeks, what unconditional love truly means. I was preparing to give my whole life to the child that needed it so that I could give him the best life possible.

Beyond all of this, I can contribute the ridiculous emotional break down after talking to SIL to jealousy. I AM jealous that my B and SIL are going to have another child. I AM jealous of the teen mom that’s 9 months pregnant. I am jealous and sad that I will not be a mother come November.

Life is seemingly unfair, but I will have to take mine for what it is and appreciate the blessing I was able to have for a short while. I pray that this anger and jealousy will be lifted from me soon.

The Painful Truth

Weeks after my miscarriage, my MIL called and asked how I was doing. Yes, weeks- not days. The belated phone call was semi-welcomed but seemed to me, hardly needed. I thought to myself, “if she didn’t care enough to call sooner, I don’t care to talk much about it with her.” I quickly changed my tone. It turns out that she needed to hear what I had to say. She had a misconception of miscarriage and seriously needed some clarification.

During the phone call, my MIL was surprised to hear that I was physically and emotionally not well. Still not well? Yes, still not well. Why was she surprised to hear that? Would someone actually expect a grieving mother to push her feelings away?

When surprised by my lack of well-being, I explained to my MIL that I went through a very traumatic experience. We talked about my hospital visit and the horrendous care I received, the bleeding that wouldn’t stop, and the literal physical pain of the entire process. In great detail I explained to my MIL what a miscarriage feels like- or at least- what it feels like to me.

My miscarriage started late in the afternoon, around 4pm, on April 10. I called my doctor about some light spotting and was instructed to go to the hospital if the bleeding got worse or cramping began. For hours the bleeding progressed but the cramping did not. I did not think I was miscarrying. My DH was at work 45 minutes away from our home. With the exception of my two dogs and one cat, I was completely alone.

As the bleeding continued, my fear grew. I managed to fall asleep only to be woken up by the arrival of a nasty Texas-sized thunderstorm and some severe cramping. I stumbled to the bathroom at 12 in the morning and passed my first large clot. I looked down to find blood on the floor and toilet seat. I called DH and told him that the miscarriage was starting. He told me to call 911. I told him I was too scared.

“Kristin we’re losing precious time!”
“I know.”

I managed to call 911 and DH made the long trek home. The paramedics arrived at my house. I could barely stand because I felt sick. They helped me gather my purse, turn off the TV and made sure my dogs and cat were OK. "Please leave a light on for them," I yelled as I was being wheeled out my front door. I called my mom from the ambulance, then I called DH.

I waited to see a doctor and miscarried alone for most of the time. Finally when the doctor came in to examine me, I heard her say “the bleeding is severe, hand me the suction.” I was on the table, holding the nurses hand, in the worst pain of my life, all while the little life inside of me was being forced out. I watched my blood go through the tube and into a big container. I felt like I was going in and out of consciousness. I remember the nurse putting a wet towel on my head and telling me to hang on and to keep squeezing her hand. The suctioning stopped; I was cleaned up and left alone. I was on the bed, sobbing and in tremendous physical pain. The door finally opened after what seemed like hours. It was my DH. He finally made it to the hospital. We cried together. He sobbed and said a prayer. He asked that our child return to Heavenly Father in his perfect form and that he wanted him to know that we love him very much. It was the most tender prayer I have ever heard.

That was, in a very small nutshell, my miscarriage.

“Oh my, I didn’t realize miscarriages were so bad. I’ve had women tell me that they’re nothing, just a little bleeding. Maybe they didn’t really want to tell me how bad it was.”

You think?

April 11

"Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation"
— Khalil Gibran

My name is Kristin and on April 11, 2011 I lost my first child to a grueling, traumatic miscarriage. Very few people want to know the details of my miscarriage and many people cannot comprehend what I went through. Few people, after finding out about the miscarriage, offered their condolences and expressed a genuine concern for my well-being after the death of my child. Some people even offered these "words of comfort":

“You will have another kid”

“You will be a mother some day”

“These things happen”

“These things happen for a reason”

“I didn’t realize it was such a traumatic ordeal for you”

A large number of individuals that know I miscarried did not say one word to me. Why did they not say anything? Were they afraid to hear about my miscarriage? Did they not think my child was a “real baby”? Were they afraid of offending me?

What is more alarming to me is the number of women that shared their miscarriage story with me after my miscarriage was said and done. Miscarriage stories came out of the woodworks. About half of the women with miscarriage stories DID NOT tell and still HAVE NOT told their friends or family about it. Their miscarriages are a deep, dark secret- A secluded secret that was not meant to see the light of day. I was saddened to hear their stories then and my heart breaks for them now.

My heart breaks for the mothers and fathers that silently grieved their baby and for the children that are nameless and unknown because of the silence. Our babies were real, they were important to us, they had heart beats. They were uniquely designed and created; they were our future and our family. By choosing not to speak about our miscarriages we overlook the child that we loved, nurtured and longed for.

I think of my child often and miss him dearly. I wanted everyone to know that he existed. He deserves to be recognized as my first child. Miscarriage should never be taken lightly by anyone- it is a loss of life. We should mourn openly without fear for our babies that had to endure the horrific experience of miscarriage.

Let us remember the children that we lost- from weeks, to years old. If you would like to share your miscarriage story on this blog, please email it to me at kpenter@hotmail.com

Blessings of peace to all.