Category: musings

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…

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, 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.

celebs & pop culture, loss, musings, songs, quotes & poems

Glory.

Keeping up with the Hoffmans

The past few days, the gossip sites have been abuzz with the news of Beyonce and Jay-Z’s new baby, Blue Ivy Carter. I really don’t understand why celebrities can’t just give their kids normal names, but that’s a topic for another day…

What’s captivated my attention the most has been the news that Jay-Z and Beyonce suffered a miscarriage prior to Blue’s arrival. Yesterday, Jay-Z quietly released a track on his website called “Glory,” in which he not only professes his love and pride for his newborn daughter, but acknowledges the pain and fear brought on by the earlier miscarriage.

“Last time, the miscarriage was so tragic,
We was afraid you would disappear. But nah, baby, you magic.”

And

“False alarms and false starts,
All made better by the sound of your heart,
All the pain over the last time
I prayed so hard it was the last time.”

This part of the song touched me, especially. We’ve been in so much pain since the miscarriage. I, too, pray that was the last time. We were supposed to have heard the heartbeat that day we went into the doctor and found out our baby was gone. I can’t even describe how much I’m looking forward to hearing a heartbeat of our take-home baby someday. While fear could easily consume me if I let it, I just have to focus on the big picture and know that all the pain we’ve been through will be worth it one day. As Jay-Z states in the hook of his song:

“The most amazing feeling I feel,
Words can’t describe the feeling, for real,
Baby I paint the sky blue,
My greatest creation was you, you: Glory.”

Jay-Z and Beyonce have always been a very private celebrity couple, and I applaud them for opening up about something many people are reluctant to share. Obviously, I’m guilty of this too, since I didn’t even tell my own parents until a week ago. But it seems miscarriage has always been sort of a taboo topic, and it isn’t until you actually experience it that people start coming out of the woodwork to admit that they, too, have experienced pregnancy loss, or that their sister/mother/aunt/best friend has. It’s really too bad our culture isn’t more supportive, since the statistics for miscarriage are so high – one in four pregnant couples will experience it. I think if more celebrities and high-profile people were open about it, the rest of society would follow suit.

(photo via Getty Images)

loss, musings, songs, quotes & poems

For auld lang syne.

Keeping up with the Hoffmans

2011 has been a year full of ups and downs. Unfortunately, most of the “ups” of the year have been grossly overshadowed by one significant “down.” Needless to say, I was thankful to put 2011 to bed and am ready to start fresh with 2012.

I’ve never really given much thought to the lyrics for Auld Lang Syne until now. The title of the song, which is based on an old Scottish poem, literally translates to “old long since.” It’s become synonymous with New Years, and while the actual phrases and lyrics of the poem don’t translate well to modern English, the overall sentiment is that we should hold onto our memories and reflect on the past as we look toward the future. In other words, while we shouldn’t live in the past, we should never forget it, because it’s made us into the people we are today.

While our loss is still very raw to me emotionally, I know it happened for a reason, as D and I are much closer because of it. It’s the most difficult thing we’ve ever been through, and tough times are often true tests for relationships. It’s good to know we can go through something like this and become stronger because of it, when many couples would fall apart.

I will never forget our first baby – he or she will always have a place in my heart – but it’s time to move forward. So, as I look forward to 2012 and what I hope will be the year we get our take home baby, I’m allowing myself to let go.

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot
And auld lang syne?

CHORUS:
For auld lang syne, my jo,
For aluld lang syne,
We’ll take a cup o’ kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

And surely ye’ll be your pint-stowp!
And surely I’ll be mine!
And we’ll take a cup o’ kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

(chorus)

We twa hae run about the braes,
And pu’d teh gowans fine;
But we’ve wander’d mony a weary fit,
Sin auld lang syne.

(chorus)

We twa hae paidl’d i’ the burn,
Frae morning sun til dine;
But seas between us braid hae roar’d
Sin auld lang syne.

(chorus)

And there’s a hand, my trusty fiere!
And gie’s a hand o’ thine!
And we’ll tak a right gude-willy waught,
For auld lang syne.

(chorus)

So long 2011. Here’s to a happier 2012.

friends & family, loss, musings

You can’t reason with crazy.

Keeping up with the Hoffmans

One of the hardest things about not telling many people about our loss has been the baby and pregnancy references from other people. Most of these are well-intentioned — friends asking when we’re going to have kids or parents asking if we have any big news to share. They sting, but I can usually force a smile and get through it.

This Christmas, though, D’s grandma got us a very “special” gift and I’m having a hard time getting over it.

A little background to set the stage: Grandma Hoffman is crazy. And I don’t mean in a sweet old lady who forgets things kind of way. I mean in a truly lost her mind sort of way. On top of it, she is just plain mean. Even her own kids can’t stand her, and everyone tiptoes around her so as not to upset her. Not that they necessarily care about her feelings, but no one wants to hear her nonsensical tirades when something sets her off. No one will tell her which grandkids are living with their significant others, or that our brother-in-law is gay. This woman believes with all her heart that homosexuality evolved as a result of women’s lib — and I quote, “Women stopped letting men open doors for them, so men started kissing each other.”

You can’t make this kind of crazy up. But I digress…

Anyway, we often get strange things from her for Christmas, and I’ve learned to take most things with a grain of salt. This year, though, she took the concept of strange gifts to a whole new level. She got D furry handcuffs. Yes, you read that right. Furry handcuffs. Like the kind you would find in a sex store. And they came with a note. Something about how she is 87 years old and wants a male great grandchild to carry on the family name before she dies and that D can use these to tie me up and make it happen. She obviously doesn’t know what we’ve been through, and if she wasn’t so crazy I would have had some words for her. But there’s absolutely no reasoning with her, she is simply that crazy.

I’ll admit, in the 9 years D and I have been together, I’ve always just sort of laughed at crazy Grandma Hoffman. I never let her upset me the way she did to D and his sister. But this “gift” hit a nerve. I’ll probably go to hell for saying this, but I kind of hope this is her last Christmas.

health & body, loss, musings, songs, quotes & poems

To become whole, first let yourself be broken.

Keeping up with the Hoffmans

I ran across the above quote today and have decided that it perfectly fits where my life is right now. I am trying so badly to accept what I have been through, and remember that everything happens for a reason. In a way, I feel like I’ll love my eventual baby that much more because of the hell I will have gone through to get him/her.

Friday night was another chapter in my journey through hell, when I ended up in the emergency room due to excessive bleeding.

Yes, after everything I had been through to make the bleeding stop, it started up again Friday night, and with such a sudden intensity that my doctor told me to come straight in to the emergency room. I’ve never seen so much blood in my life, and it was incredibly scary. My doctor said they would check to see if I was still retaining tissue, and that I should prepare myself for the possibility that I may need a second D&C. I cried. And perhaps the worst part was that D wasn’t home when I was going through all this. He was at a concert about 45 minutes away, and since he had gotten a ride with a friend, he had no way to get back early unless he caught a cab, which I’m sure would have cost a couple hundred dollars from that distance. I told him to sit tight and that I would drive myself to the ER, and if it did come down to me needing another surgery, then he should get a cab; otherwise, I told him to get home as soon as he could and I would keep him posted.

By the time I got to the hospital, things were getting progressively worse. I’ll spare the gory details, but let’s just say I was passing solid material in addition to blood. I try not to think too hard about what exactly that may have been, but I think it’s safe to assume it’s what the D&C left behind. They got me into ultrasound and determined that I still had enough tissue left behind to be “borderline” in requiring another D&C, so I had to wait while they brought in another doctor for her opinion. Eventually, they decided to take the more conservative approach and gave me an injection of Methergine (the same medication I had taken in pill form just a week earlier) and hope that this would be a final dose that would effectively cause my uterus to contract and expel anything remaining. If the Methergine didn’t do its job, they’d next look into Misoprostol, which is a suppository that’s sometimes given instead of a surgical D&C to cause the body to miscarry when it’s not doing so naturally. Instead of. Not usually in addition to. Apparently I’m just one of the lucky ones.

The good news is, I eventually did stop bleeding, and I didn’t need another D&C or the Misoprostol. At least not yet. Then again, I stopped bleeding once before. I’m terrified that this isn’t the end. I also have a million questions and don’t feel like I’m getting any answers besides “these things sometimes happen.” Meanwhile, all I want to do is try again, but my body is not letting me move forward.

Six weeks ago today, we got the heartbreaking news that changed our lives. Since then, I have been broken. When will I be whole again?

health & body, loss, musings, TTC after loss

Patience, grasshoper.

Keeping up with the Hoffmans

If I had to pick one word to describe myself, let’s just say “patient” wouldn’t be the first thing that comes to mind.

In addition to being the most heartbreaking and emotionally draining thing we’ve ever been through, this whole process has been a huge test of patience for me. You see, when I get it in my head that I want something, now isn’t soon enough. So when we decided we were ready to try for a baby, waiting to get a positive pregnancy test seemed to take forever. Once we finally saw those two magical lines, waiting for that first 8 week appointment and ultrasound took an eternity. And when we got that bad news, I waited one week to miscarry on my own before getting a D&C just to get it over with.

That surgery should have represented the beginning of the healing process for us. We would still have to wait approximately one month for my period to return, but after that we could begin trying again. As devastated as I was over the loss of our baby, I knew I wanted to be a mother, and the prospect of trying again was the only thing that kept me sane some days. If I could just get through this month of waiting, things would surely start to look up.

But things didn’t go as smoothly as they should have. Instead having some mild bleeding post-surgery that disappeared after a few days, the bleeding didn’t go away… in fact, it began to get heavier. When two weeks went by and the bleeding wasn’t ceasing, I called the doctor, and found out that sometimes they don’t get everything with the D&C, and I was likely bleeding because my body was trying to expel what was left behind. I waited for another week to see if my body would take care of it on its own before going into the doctor’s office, where they performed a procedure to attempt to manually suction out the contents of my uterus. One of the most painful things I’ve ever experienced in my life. She then sent me home with a prescription for Methergine, which would make my uterus contract and expel anything that was left. That was one week ago, and besides some very mild occasional spotting, the bleeding seems to be finally done… 32 days later.

Thirty-two days. By now I should have already gone through one cycle of waiting and we should be on our way to trying again. But I’m still getting a very faint positive pregnancy test, which means the pregnancy hormones have yet to completely leave my system. I have to wait for my hormones to drop before I can ovulate, after which point I have to wait approximately two weeks for my period to arrive. We can’t start trying again until after I get my period, and even then, I will have to wait about two more weeks to ovulate, and then wait two more weeks after that until I can take a pregnancy test. If it’s negative, the waiting game just got extended by another month. When will this end? When will we get our baby?

In a previous post I was optimistic about the future, and even thought there could be a good omen in the possibility of having a September baby, as we have so many September birthdays in our family. I had visions of surprising my parents with the happy news that there would be another September birthday to look forward to.

But with the setbacks we’ve experienced, September has most likely slipped away. So now I’m looking forward to October. It doesn’t hold the same magic to me as the month of September does, and it’s that much farther away from our original June due date, but I’ll take it. I really am trying very hard to be patient. I truly believe everything happens for a reason and I keep reminding myself that we’ll get our baby when we’re supposed to, whether that’s October, November… or beyond. But it’s hard. It’s hard not to look at the calendar and see where we should be, and then realize that we’re back to square one. No, we’re behind square one, since we’re still waiting to begin.

Did I mention I’m impatient?