Category: loss

friends & family, loss, TTC after loss

Thank you for being a friend…

Keeping up with the Hoffmans

Do you have the Golden Girls theme song going around your head now? You’re welcome.

So, one of my good friends is due in July and I’m helping plan her baby shower this weekend. I’ve actually been handling it pretty well until very recently. I just remembered that I volunteered to take care of games, which includes decorating onesies, and just the thought of going into Target and buying onesies made me start crying at work. I’d probably end up a sobbing mess on the floor of the store if I actually had to do it. So I emailed my friend who’s co-planning the shower with me and explained that between Mother’s Day and our upcoming due date that I haven’t been in a good place lately, and asked her if she’d mind getting the onesies. I also told her I may have to step back this weekend and may need an easy exit strategy during gift opening. My pregnant friend also knows about our loss, and while I know she’d be understanding if I broke down on Saturday, the last thing I want to do is spoil her day. I hope I can hold it together.

I never quite know how friends and family will react when I talk to them about our loss and how I’m doing. I had one friend imply that I should be “over it” by now when we were only about two weeks past our D&C. I don’t think she meant any harm by it, but simply put, if you haven’t been there, it’s hard to empathize with just how emotionally scarring pregnancy loss is. Only my parents and a small handful of friends know what we’ve been through, and while most have been supportive, they don’t always say the right thing.

But this friend immediately replied back, telling me not to think twice about it. She empathized with how hard this must be for me and that she absolutely understands if I need to step away from everything for a bit on Saturday. She told me she’s there for me if I need dinner, drinks or a walk to talk about things, and that she knows that D and I will have a healthy, beautiful baby when the time is right and that all the “aunties” who will be at the shower on Saturday will love this baby and be at my shower too.

Her email brought me to tears. I am so thankful to have good friends in my life.

loss, musings, TTC after loss

D-Day.

Keeping up with the Hoffmans

A few days ago I got an email, titled “Week 34 of your Pregnancy.”

Ouch.

I must have gotten on some mailing list a while back, and clearly they didn’t get the memo that I am in fact NOT pregnant anymore.

34 weeks. I should be huge right now. Uncomfortable. Swollen ankles. Unable to sleep. Just ready to get this baby out of me already. (sigh) That sounds wonderful. Instead, I’m coming up on another ovulation soon and hoping that just maybe this will finally be our cycle. Because if it isn’t, I won’t be pregnant when our original June 15 due date rolls around. (Well, theoretically we could conceive just a few days beforehand, but there would be no way we’d knowingly be pregnant when D-day arrives.)

June 15. That date has been at the forefront of my thoughts for the past 7 months, ever since we got our positive test on October 6th. First it was a date I was looking forward to — this was to be our baby’s birthday! (or at least close to it). And then after we lost the baby, it was a date that was looming over me like a dark cloud on the horizon. I knew I would be sad when that day came around, but of course I would be pregnant again by then, so maybe by that time it would only be a bittersweet day. I’d be sad about the baby we lost, but that sorrow would be overshadowed by the excitement about the new baby I was carrying. And there would be a new date permeating my every thought.

But here I am, with June 15 just around the corner, and not pregnant yet.

While a big part of me feels like I NEED to get pregnant before then in order to physically survive the day, a small part of me just wants the date to get here already. Rip the band-aid off. I know that day will be hard on me, but perhaps the anticipation of the day is worse than the day itself? Maybe afterward I’ll feel less pressure and anxiety for it to happen by a certain time. I sort of went through similar emotions with trying to have a baby by the end of the calendar year, for insurance reasons. When we lost the baby in November, I figured we had until March to conceive and still have a 2012 baby. Easy peasy, right? We would start trying again in December, giving us a whole 4 months to get pregnant. We did it in the first month the first time, so how hard could it be? Well, then I had some complications from the miscarriage and we didn’t even get to start trying again until the end of January, shortening our window of opportunity. Still, I had hope. But the months went by and — nada. Interestingly, once I had resigned myself to the fact that we wouldn’t have a baby in 2012, I felt less pressure. If not for this looming due date, maybe I’d feel even less pressure? Who knows… What I do know is that time pressures or not, I do want to be pregnant again as soon as possible… and that’s something that won’t ever change.

health & body, loss, musings, TTC after loss

No dice.

Keeping up with the Hoffmans

Welp, cycle #2 of trying to conceive after our loss is a bust, and I’m having a really hard time with it. I know it’s normal for it not to happen so quickly — that it takes the average couple six months, and blah, blah, blah — but it doesn’t make it any easier. Especially since it did happen so quickly the first time around. I’d heard pregnancy changes your body, even if you don’t carry to term, and I’m definitely seeing evidence to support this (I’m getting new PMS symptoms I’ve never had before, while some of the old standbys are nonexistent), so I can’t help but wonder if one of these changes is that I’m simply less fertile than I was before? People keep saying, “at least you know you can get pregnant.” Correction: I know I could get pregnant before… who knows whether I can now? I know, it’s only been two cycles and I’m being dramatic. Hey, it’s what I do best. But I just can’t help my mind from wandering to worst case scenario, and I’m quickly learning that this time of the month — when I know it’s not happening this cycle — is always going to be a dark time for me. I’ll probably feel more optimistic in a week…

I just hate that as more time passes, I get more anxious and more depressed about the whole thing. I’m now realizing that if we don’t get pregnant within the next two cycles, I won’t be pregnant for our original due date in June, and I think I’ll simply break if that day comes and my uterus is still empty. I know this added stress doesn’t help any, but it’s not like there’s much I can do about it. Which reminds me of another thing I hate: people telling me to relax, and it’ll happen. Um, sure. I’ll just snap my fingers and relax. Why didn’t I think of that before? Can we please circulate a manual of what not to say to people in this situation? Because I’m pretty sure telling a woman with pregnancy/fertility issues to relax is about the most aggravating thing you can say.

Scratch that – the most aggravating thing someone has said to me, was last night when I told my acupuncturist that it was looking like this cycle was a bust and she responded with, “I’m glad.” Seriously?! I wanted to throat punch her. She has been trying to convince me since our loss to wait a few cycles before trying again, even though we got the green light from my doctor after one (very long) cycle. I had been very firm with her that we did not plan to wait any longer than M-E-D-I-C-A-L-L-Y necessary. While I do believe in the holistic benefits of acupuncture and have seen it help me in many ways, I think it should complement western medicine, not replace it, and in areas where there’s discrepancy, you’d better believe I’m going to side with my doctor. I know she means well, but professional opinions aside, who says that? Who tells a woman who is still grieving the loss of her baby and wants nothing more in this world to be pregnant again that it’s good that she hasn’t succeeded yet? I did tell her that her comment really upset me, and she apologized, but still… Thankfully, we’re on the same page regarding trying next cycle, otherwise I think I’d have to find a new acupuncturist. I just can’t be around people who can’t support me right now. I don’t need that added stress.

Wow, this post turned into a giant bitchfest. Well, onto cycle #3. Here’s hoping third time’s a charm…

celebs & pop culture, house, loss, songs, quotes & poems, TTC after loss

Pour yourself a drink, put on some lipstick, and pull yourself together.

Keeping up with the Hoffmans

This wasn’t our cycle. I am not pregnant.

I’ll admit, I took it really hard at first. Really hard. I know it was naive of me to think it could happen on the first try again, but a big part of me really hoped it would. After everything we’ve been through, I just want so badly to be pregnant again. It doesn’t help that it seems like everyone around me is pregnant. While I’m very happy for them all, it honestly just amplifies my pain.

I came across the above Elizabeth Taylor quote on Pinterest, and I’m really trying to keep some perspective. I’m reminded of the episode of Sex and the City where Charlotte miscarries and is completely debilitated by her grief, unable to leave her living room, until she watches an E! True Hollywood Story about Elizabeth Taylor. Inspired by the way Elizabeth overcame adversity, Charlotte pulls herself off the couch, puts on a fabulous pink dress and a pair of dark sunglasses, and finds the strength to finally leave the house with her head held high.

I know it’s fiction, but I’m trying to channel this type of positive attitude. I’m willing myself to believe that it’s okay it didn’t happen on the first try; that it’s normal, in fact. I still hope it doesn’t take us a long time, but success on the first try isn’t typical and isn’t a standard I should hold myself to. I’m also trying really hard to remind myself that other people’s pregnancies have no bearing on my own fertility. Not to mention, I don’t know what they’ve been through to get there. Some of them may have suffered multiple losses or struggled through invasive fertility treatments, or been through even worse circumstances than we have.

In my quest to keep a positive outlook, I’m also reminding myself that we are in the middle of a very messy master bathroom addition, which has made me severely congested and has caused my asthma to really flare up. All this old dust and crap falling out of the attic and walls probably isn’t great for me to be inhaling anyway, but I know I would be extra-nervous if I were pregnant now. I just don’t think I could forgive myself if something were to happen again and I had any doubts about whether it was something I could have caused or prevented. So in the grand scheme of things, it’s probably better to get this bathroom project wrapped first. Not to mention it’ll be so nice to have the room complete when those middle of the night bathroom trips kick in again. With any luck, we should be done in the next couple weeks – just in time to start trying again!

Speaking of house stuff, we didn’t end up getting that house I was obsessed with. We went to see it and loved it — we even talked to a lender and got pre-approved, and were all set to make an offer when it was suddenly pulled off the market. Apparently an ex came out of the woodwork and didn’t agree with selling or something. The real estate agent said it could very likely come back on the market as a foreclosure, but there were already three offers ahead of ours, anyway. I’m disappointed, but the idea of trying to rush the bathroom remodel and find a renter, while juggling a complex bankruptcy purchase did make me a little nervous. We’re still looking, and at least now we know we can financially make it happen, so we’ll be ready to pounce when the next house comes along.

At some point, things should start falling into place… right?

loss, musings

I did not need to see that.

Keeping up with the Hoffmans

Here’s the thing. I can respect both sides of the abortion debate. While I wholeheartedly believe in a woman’s right to choose, I respect that some people are morally opposed. And while I could personally never do it, I don’t even pretend to know what it’s like to walk in someone else’s shoes while having to make such a hard decision.

But my respect for the other side ceases when people use graphic photos to make their point. There have been photos circulating on Facebook and Pinterest from pro-lifers showing what a fetus looks like at various stages in the first trimester. Today I happened to stumble upon such a photo on Pinterest and I can honestly say it’s ruined my day. I immediately unfollowed that person.

As if I haven’t already grieved for my lost baby every day for the last three months, I did not need to be reminded of what my baby looked like when he or she was taken from me.

People should put more thought into how their actions might unintentionally hurt people.

loss, songs, quotes & poems

A better mother.

Keeping up with the Hoffmans

I came across this today and it brought tears to my eyes. Simply beautiful.

There are women that become mothers without effort, without thought, without patience or loss and though they are good mothers and love their children, I know that I will be better.

I will be better not because of genetics, or money, or that I have read more books, but because I have struggled and toiled for this child.
I have sat by while my child was taken from me.
I have cried and prayed.
I have endured.

Like most things in life, the people who truly have appreciation are those who have struggled to attain their dreams.
I will notice everything about my child.
I will take time to watch my child sleep, explore and discover.
I will marvel at my surviving miracle every day for the rest of my life.

I will be happy when I wake in the middle of the night to the sound of my child, knowing that I can comfort, hold and feed him and that I am not waking because of grief.
I will be happy because my baby is alive and crying out for me.

I count myself lucky in this sense; that God has given me this insight, this special vision with which I will look upon my child that my friends will not see.

I will be a better mother for all that I have endured. I am a better wife, a better aunt, a better daughter, neighbor, friend and sister because I have known pain.

I know disillusionment as I have been betrayed by my own body.
I have been tried by fire and hell that many never face, yet given time, I stood tall.

I have prevailed.
I have succeeded.
I have won.

So now, when others hurt around me, I do not run from their pain in order to save myself discomfort. I see it, mourn it, and join them in theirs.

I listen.

And even though I cannot make it better, I can make it less lonely. I have learned the immense power of another hand holding tight to mine, of other eyes that moisten as they learn to accept the harsh truth and when life is beyond hard. I have learned a compassion that only comes with walking in those shoes.

I have learned to appreciate life.

Yes, I will be a wonderful mother.

-Author Unknown

loss, musings, songs, quotes & poems

The biggest loser.

Keeping up with the Hoffmans

One of the hardest parts of dealing with a miscarriage is feeling the need to justify your grief. As I’ve mentioned previously, our society treats miscarriage as a taboo topic. One in four pregnant couples experience it, yet no one talks about it. Someone shared with me an article today that may partially explain why this is. Our society treats grief as a hierarchy – where losing a grandparent is inferior to losing a parent, which is inferior to losing a sibling, which is inferior to losing a spouse. In our culture, we tend to compare losses, and if those around us have had what we deem bigger losses, somehow our own grief is inferior. The following passage from the article resonated with me especially:

There’s definitely a self-imposed hierarchy of grief in the land of early pregnancy loss. You feel you certainly should not be in the kind of pain like someone who suffered a stillbirth. Worst of all are the parents who held that baby in the NICU while she died in their arms. They are totally the Biggest Grief Losers, right?

So there you are, with your sad little loss. Would you even get a nametag in the Loss Club? Your pregnancy was only six weeks. Six weeks or two weeks or eight weeks or even just one afternoon between when the little blue stick said yes and then your body said no. Do you get any legitimate grief points if you only had an afternoon to glow and dream and weep for your future that has finally, finally come – and then it’s gone. She’s gone. He’s gone. You can totally go to the movies if you’re miscarrying a really early pregnancy. Go out for dinner and take in a show, the doctor says.

And yet.

And yet you are full of death and your heart is as broken and so I invite you up here on the stage to claim your loss, too.

What beautiful, poignant words. Full article HERE.

dreams, health & body, loss, musings, songs, quotes & poems, TTC after loss

Try again.

Keeping up with the Hoffmans

On Friday, I finally got what I had waited 68 days for: the start of my period.

It’s bittersweet, really. On the one hand, I was practically doing flips, I was so excited. FINALLY, my body was on its way to being normal again. But I also found it kind of sad, realizing that the last time I had a period (I don’t count the crazy post-miscarriage bleeding), was right before I was pregnant. I’m back to the beginning, making the time I was actually pregnant feel like a distant dream that I woke up from too soon.

Have you ever woken up from a good dream and tried so hard to fall asleep again so you could get back to it? That’s how I feel about being pregnant. And just like it’s hard to just fall asleep and go back to a dream, so far I haven’t been able to get back either. Waiting for that first period, that new cycle, has essentially been keeping me “awake.”

But now it’s here, which means we can start trying again. I’m equally excited and terrified. Excited to get back to my dream, but terrified because I know it just won’t be the same. I feel robbed of that naive excitement I had the last time we found out we were expecting. Sure, I knew things can go wrong in the first trimester, which is why we hadn’t shared our good news yet. But what I wasn’t prepared for was just how much losing our baby would hurt. I know the odds are in our favor that this next pregnancy will be healthy, but that small chance that something could go wrong again is killing me. Can I physically and emotionally handle losing another baby? I honestly don’t know. What I do know, is that the only way to get our baby is to try again.

I came across this poem a while back, and thinking about it gives me the strength to try again.

A Different Child

A different child, people notice
There’s a special glow around you.
You grow surrounded by love
Never doubting you are wanted;
Only look at the pride and joy
In your mother and father’s eyes.
And if sometimes between the smiles
There’s a trace of tears,
One day you’ll understand.
You’ll understand there was once another child.
A different child.
Who was in their hopes and dreams.
That child will never outgrow the baby clothes.
That child will never keep them up at night.
In fact, that child will never be any trouble at all…
Except sometimes, in a silent moment,
When mother and father miss so much
That different child.
May hope and love wrap you warmly
And may you learn the lesson forever:
How infinitely precious,
How infinitely fragile is this life on earth.
One day, as a young man or woman
You may see another mother’s tears
Another father’s silent grief
Then you, and you alone will understand
And offer the greatest comfort.
When all hope seems lost
you will tell them with great compassion:
“I know how you feel.
I’m only here because my parents tried again.”

-Author Unknown

loss, musings

Two steps forward, one step back…

Keeping up with the Hoffmans

Lately I’ve felt like I’ve been making real progress in the emotional healing department. A few days ago, I was able to have a conversation with my coworker (the one whose due date is just a few days after what ours should have been) about baby stuff without feeling the need to burst into tears. And tonight when we had our good friends over for dinner and they announced their pregnancy, my first reaction was genuinely a squeal and a hug. I am so happy for them. And the fact that my gut reaction was to feel happy for them instead of bitter or jealous made me even happier.

After they left, D and I hung out, watched some TV, and overall had a nice night together. It wasn’t until we were in bed about to fall asleep hours later that the grief came creeping back to me. Just when I thought I was finally healing, I’m suddenly aware that I’m still not fully healed. The tears began flowing harder and harder, until I was sobbing so hard that I had to get up out of bed so I wouldn’t wake D, who was sound asleep and has to work in the morning (I have the day off tomorrow for MLK Day).

So here I am, blogging after midnight. It makes me sad to realize that I originally created this blog to document our journey to parenthood, with the intention that I would eventually share the blog with our friends and family. But throughout this loss, I’ve found solace in blogging more for the sake of my own benefit, and a lot of what I’m sharing is so intensely personal that I sometimes question whether I’ll ever be ready to share these feelings with a broader audience. Caveat: I do have this blog linked to a message board I have been frequenting with others who are in the same boat as me. I have found the women on that board to be so incredibly supportive, when not many people in real life know what we’ve been through. It’s somehow much easier to share my feelings with a bunch of random strangers on the Internet, than it is to let my friends, family and coworkers in on this very private side of me and the physical and emotional turmoil I’ve been through. As I mentioned in an earlier post, the topic of miscarriage is taboo in our society. And while I wish that would change, I don’t know that I’m ready to lead the charge in making that change.

I wonder if I’ll ever get to a point where I no longer cry when I think about our loss. The crying episodes are definitely fewer and farther between as time goes on, but sometimes I wonder if 20 or 30 years from now, I’ll still cry from time to time at the memory of the loss of our first baby. I know I’ll never forget what we’ve been through, but I wonder when I’ll reach the point where our loss stops being this all-consuming… thing that defines me. While I’m finding myself less outwardly upset these days, I can honestly say that it’s always on my mind. I don’t think I’m exaggerating when I say I think about the baby we lost at least every 5-10 minutes.

It’s weird – while I do still feel very guarded about sharing our experience to people, at the same time I also have this overwhelming desire to validate our baby’s existence. When our friends tonight asked how “things” were going for us (this was the friend I told we were trying), rather than just simply say “not great so far” or similar ambiguous answer, I blurted out that we had a miscarriage. I’m definitely experiencing this weird dichotomy of emotions where on the one hand I want to keep our struggles private, and on the other hand, I’m afraid that if I never talk about our baby, it’s like he/she never existed at all… like I never was pregnant. And I love my baby too much to do that. Yes, even though I was only 8 weeks along… which means I only knew I was pregnant for about 4 weeks, I was head over heels in love with that baby the moment I found out I was pregnant.

health & body, loss, TTC after loss

60 days.

Keeping up with the Hoffmans

Today marks 60 days since my D&C.

Sixty.

As in, six-zero.

And I still have not gotten a real period.

I should have had two by now. Our doctor asked us to wait one cycle before trying again, which means if my body had cooperated, our waiting cycle should have already come and gone, as would our first cycle trying again. If my body had cooperated, I could have already been pregnant again. Yet, here I wait for Aunt Flo to show up so we can finally get back on the ball.

The good news is, I’ve been charting my cycles via taking my temperature, and, despite wacky post-miscarriage temperatures, I am pretty sure that I finally ovulated a week ago. Not that we could do anything about it, but ovulating last week means that my body is hopefully finally regulating itself, and my period *should* be here in less than a week now.

In theory, anyway.

I’ve come to realize that I can’t count on my body behaving the way it used to.