Homeland

We've finally settled into our home enough to find time in the evening to watch a show and Homeland Season 6 is the show of choice.  Peter Quinn returns in this season as a central character and it made me think about how I can trace so much of what has happened in the past 4 years to which seasons of Homeland we were watching (I know, it is ridiculous).

We were watching Season 1 while I was pregnant with Q and it's where we first heard the name Quinn, which ultimately became our first daughter's name.  It's a character's last name, but we fell in love with it and thought it would be perfect for our little girl, which it is.  After Quinn died, we returned home in a cloud of grief and I recall binge watching Seasons 2 and 3 when it was easier to lose myself in a TV show than to allow myself to obsess over everything going terribly wrong in our life.  We watched Season 4 in the weeks leading up to B's birth and in her first days at home (I was so worried about watching it while she slept on my chest because it's so violent - I'm pretty sure she couldn't even make out my face at that point).

I am, miraculously, still pregnant and here we are watching Season 6.  It's a wonderful distraction from obsessing over miscarriage rates (I have visited this site more times than I'd like to admit), possible chromosomal abnormalities, blood clots, and the myriad ways in which a pregnancy can go awry.  I haven't allowed myself to worry too much thus far, mostly because I've been trying to pretend this isn't happening in an effort to protect myself.  We all know that never works.  I'm hugely invested in this pregnancy and the swell of joy I feel at each ultrasound when I see those little arms and legs moving and listen to the baby's heartbeat is truly incredible.  Today was no exception.  I am officially a patient of my regular OB now instead of my RE and today I got to see this tiny person bopping around in my belly and measuring 10 weeks with a heartbeat of 170 bpm.

R and I have literally exchanged 10 words on the topic and he hasn't been to an appointment yet (I felt superstitious and wanted to go alone), but he'll join me next week (my regular OB wants to see me weekly through the first trimester).  I've been feeling okay - definitely strong aversions to certain foods, some nausea, and exhaustion.  I caught strep throat last week, which hit me like a ton of bricks.  Thankfully, you can take penicillin when pregnant and I'm already feeling much better.

I'm also likely to commit to a new job this week and since I feel so uncertain about this pregnancy, I'm trying to not let myself ponder what it would mean to start a new job at 12 weeks pregnant.  Instead, I'm focusing on making B's Halloween costume, enjoying this luxurious period where I have childcare and no job, seeing friends, and relaxing.... and trying to take this all one day at a time.

An Update from the Southern Hemisphere

Wow, I've been terrible about blogging.  I have been writing on my other blog, but I've been preoccupied with traveling and having fun.

Mercifully, the day after my doctor's appointment, my body started to miscarry on its own (I started bleeding).  It was as if my body had known for weeks but my mind was clinging to the pregnancy. Once I let go of it in my head, my body followed.  I took Cytotec anyway and it was a pretty easy process albeit uncomfortable as many of you unfortunately know.

5 weeks later, I have just had my first cycle since the miscarriage.  I haven't had any menopausal symptoms this time around for which I am eternally grateful and I haven't fallen into a depression like I did last spring.   Part of it is certainly that I have learned to manage my expectations a bit but more so I think it is just that I refuse to let this ruin our trip.  We had an incredible time in Hawaii, fell in love with Sydney, and are having the best time exploring New Zealand.  My health is good all things considered and I love spending time with R & B.  Am I incredibly sad and disappointed?  Of course.  But I won't let it swallow me whole this time around.

So, that's the update from here.  My OB did write me another prescription for Clomid before I left Hawaii and I filled it, but I don't plan on taking it right away.  I'm going to see what happens the next few cycles and try not to focus too much on trying to get pregnant.   I feel more resigned than ever to not having another baby.

I did read a fascinating NY Times article today about stillbirth and three tests that can help determine the cause in many cases: placental examination, fetal autopsy, and genetic testing.  We had all three of these done on Q and the placental examination did tell us what happened to her although we still don't know why.  In any event, an interesting read for those of us who have experienced stillbirth (at least I find myself wanting to read and know everything about it).

You all are still very much in my thoughts, I'm just not at a computer very often (which is the whole point of this trip).

Grieving

A double rainbow with my rainbow baby beneath.  I'm choosing to see this as a good sign.

We have a lot going on over the past two weeks, much of it wonderful.  We celebrated Christmas (it's difficult to believe that was just two weeks ago), B's birthday, and the New Year, we packed up our house and moved out, moved our cat to my parent's, and left the mainland for Hawaii.  In the midst of all of the good, there is the anxiety that comes with early pregnancy and all of the thoughts that are always in the back of my mind but are front of mind this time of year on the anniversary of Q's death and the day I gave birth to her (Was she "born"? What is the the right word?).  I thought constantly about Q over the past few weeks and reflected a lot on everything that has happened since December 2013.  We didn't have the opportunity to do anything in particular to memorialize the day other than to light a candle and talk about her and what happened (and to think about how lucky we are to have B), but I feel the heaviness of the season even here in Hawaii.

"The Japanese Art of Grieving a Miscarriage" appeared in the NY Times this week and I love that the culture embraces and encourages publicly honoring babies who are never born.  I'm going to keep my eyes open for a Jizo when we are in Japan and try to bring one home to honor both Q and the little baby we lost this spring.  There is something so comforting about an object -- when Q died, the hospital gave us a box and inside was a tiny bear.  It isn't anything special, but I have slept with it every night since we left the hospital.

I've been particularly upset this week about some favorite bloggers (who I do not know personally) who just lost their son who was born prematurely.  Their grief and sadness and loss is so palpable in the photos and how courageous of them to share something so personal.  For whatever reason -- this time of year, being pregnant and emotional, or just the fact that their situation is heartbreaking -- I find what they are going through so upsetting and I wish I could reach out to them.  I have no idea what I'd say, but I just want them to know they aren't alone.

All of this just serves to remind me that, three years out from losing Q, I still acutely feel her absence and it is front of mind, more so in December and January than is typical.  And even in the midst of an exciting adventure and the possibility of another life, I'm grieving.  Still.

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I did find an OB in Kauai and have an appointment at the end of the month.  They have no perinatologist or MFM on the island and they don't do "level 2" ultrasounds as they called it (e.g., the 12-week anatomy scan) so I'm going around 10 weeks for another ultrasound and the Progenity chromosomal test.  If I need additional monitoring or testing, we'll spend a night on Oahu before we head to Sydney.  At this stage with Baby B, I had weekly ultrasounds (for my peace of mind). I'm trying my best to be Zen about this -- what will be, will be.

September, Sadness, and A Year of Travel

It's been six weeks since my last post and there has been a lot going on.  Frankly, there has been so much going on in our lives that I haven't had much time to dwell on my wacky cycles and getting pregnant and it has been a welcome break from the subject.  To briefly mention it, I've had two more cycles, one that was 35 days and one that was 19.  I don't think I ovulated either cycle.  C'est la vie.  I feel fine and haven't been having any menopausal symptoms, so I'l take it.

Two things have dominated my life in the last few weeks:

First, my best friend died.  I don't know how to share this news without being blunt.  In a period of my life that seems to be marked by grief (as well as by extreme joy), this is yet another example of how life can be so incredibly cruel.  At the same time, her death is a reminder to live each day to the fullest.  Each night when I read to B and rock her to sleep, I smell her head, kiss her cheeks, and tell her how much I love her and relish those moments because Chelsey doesn't get to do that to her little ones anymore. It breaks my heart.  She was the first person with whom I shared my infertility news, the first person at my side after Quinn died, the only person other than Rob who attended ultrasounds during my pregnancy with Blythe, and the friend I visited for coffee immediately after my miscarriage this spring.  We've been through so much together and I don't quite know how I'll get through more without her.  But I know I will because she was the toughest lady that I know and I'll use that as my inspiration.

I'm not particularly religious.  At times like this, I really wish that I were.  Chelsey's father passed away a year to the day before Quinn.  She always talked to me about how Quinn was in heaven with her Dad and he was talking the best care of her for me.  When I got pregnant this spring again, she said "thanks, Dad and Quinn, for sending Darcy another baby."  And now the only comforting thought I have about Chelsey is that she is with her Dad (who she missed dearly) and with Quinn.  I know she believed that she would be, so I'm going to believe it, too.

This photo is of me and Chelsey after our marathon in June (I'm on the right).  She was the kind of friend who would agree to run a marathon in 6 weeks because you had a miscarriage and need something to work toward.  This won't be the last time I mention her on this blog, but that's all I can say for now.  I miss her dearly and keep waiting for her to text me about our next long run or dinner with the kiddos.

Second, we have made a momentous decision: we are taking 2017 as a year to travel.  We have booked tickets, departing January 2nd, for Kauai.  From there, we'll head to New Zealand and Japan and then to Europe.  It's a crazy decision, but it felt like the right time for both me and R in terms of work.  I'm desperate to spend more time with B and with R.  It's been a tough couple of years and it will do us some good to relax, travel, spend time together, and just enjoy life.  We aren't putting ourselves in any financial hardship by doing this trip and we are so excited.

Given that we are all acquaintances via the Internet, this probably sounds insane and like something I'm making up.  I'm really not.  I will be blogging about the trip on my regular blog, which you are all welcome to follow (although we aren't leaving until January): www.darcyeden.com.  I just ask that you please respect the fact that I talk about Q and infertility in a very different way in that space (which is not very much - I'm not ready) and REALLY do not want this space revealed on that site.

It's hard to be joyous about this adventure giving Chelsey's death.  It's actually astonishing to me how differently I'm experiencing grief about Chelsey as compared to Q, but I think that is a topic for another post.  I haven't wrapped my head around it yet.

Hug your husband, wife, partner, parents, family, littles, etc. extra tight.

A Follow Up on Regrets

Dearest friends - I want to thank all of you so very much who commented on my post about Regrets.  This community that I've become a part of means more to me than perhaps you all know (although I suspect you all feel the same way).  Thank you, thank you.  R is out of town for work this week and I've been quite sad and you all just made me feel like I wasn't alone.

Reading your comments made me think of a few things about which I don't have regrets or which worked out better than I could have expected.  Part of it was people around us knowing better than we do about what we might need or want in the coming days, weeks, or months.  I'm eternally grateful for the doctors and nurses who guided us and told us what we probably would want when we were so unsure of how to proceed.

And before I detail what I'm glad we DID do, a disclaimer: everyone makes their own choices and each is right in that moment and right for that situation and family.  Please, please, please don't misinterpret any of my comments about what we did or didn't do as judgment. It isn't.  These are just the decisions that R and I made.

First, photos.  We asked to not have photos taken.  We don't have any photos of the three of us - as a family - which breaks my heart.  But we have quite a few that a photographer took of Q when she wasn't with us.  I didn't even know they took photos of her, but when we checked out of the hospital, they gave us a box of mementos with her footprint on top, and inside was a CD of photos, as well as a few that were printed.  I'll confess that I don't look at them often, but when I do I am SO glad I have them.

Second, we held Q.  You all know I wish I had done more (hold her longer, bathe her, etc.), but we did hold her.  When we initially found out that Q died, we told our doctor we didn't want to hold her, but she talked to us about it more and suggested we reconsider, which we did.  I'm thankful for her guidance and persistence.

Third, we also weren't sure what to do with Q when we left the hospital.  That probably sounds unloving, but we just didn't know.  Would we have a service?  What kind?  When?  We initially were not going to do anything, but the hospital gives you 30 days to change your mind.  Thank God.  We called back a week later and asked to have Q cremated.  We have yet to do anything with her ashes, but we will when we decide what is right.  I'm so glad I didn't leave her at the hospital.  We planned to do something just the two of us on the anniversary of Q's death, but Baby B was 2 days old and we were still in the hospital.  And now we think we'd prefer B to be a part of whatever we do.  Truthfully, we still don't know, but I'm glad that when we do figure it out, we'll have her ashes.

Fourth, we gave Quinn a name.  Initially, we were insistent that we would not name her.  We hadn't settled on a name yet and neither of us knew how we'd feel down the road.  But about 2 days after we left the hospital, I realized that I wanted to talk about Q all the time and I didn't want to call her "the baby."  For me, it didn't do her life justice to not name her.  We didn't make a widespread announcement about her name at the time, but we let close friends and family know.  When we sent out B's birth announcement, we included a note on the back where we talked about losing Quinn.  It felt so important to us to share her name and story with all of our friends and acquaintances.

These were just the things that popped into my mind as I read all of your comments.  They reminded me to not just focus on what I wish we did differently, but also to think about what we did that has served us (and Q's memory) well.

Thank you again.  And I'll leave you with some photos so end this post on a happy note!

Deciding what sort of trouble to get up to!

Chasing poor Forest.  Luckily, he is considerably faster and more stable on his feet, but it is not for a lack of effort from B.

Regrets

When I think of L (also known as Q - see this post for an explanation of names), my mind frequently wanders to the regrets I have related to her birth and the very brief time we had with her.  As many of you know, there is no way to prepare for the decisions you are asked to make in rapid succession when you know you are giving birth to a stillborn baby.  There are so many decisions and each is more torturous than the next.  

I delivered L vaginally while on more morphine than I can even imagine. I couldn't have an epidural because of my blood clot and I don't feel like the morphine helped the pain all that much, but it did make me feel completely separate from my body.  I remember feeling like I had floated up above my body and was watching what was happening from above -- I couldn't possibly be going through this myself.  For the record, I hated this feeling and wish I hadn't taken any drugs and just experienced the birth.  It is easy to say that now, but my mind doesn't handle narcotics well and I hate the way they make me feel.

R and I have never really spoken about L's delivery.  We certainly talk about her, but we mention that night mostly in generalities, so perhaps my recollection is wrong.  In my mind, L came into the world in silence (both hers and ours).  It was the middle of the night and the room felt eerie.  A doctor arrived and out she came.  The nurse asked if I wanted to hold her and I did, but not yet.  My OB arrived shortly thereafter, L was given a bath, and my OB asked us if we were ready.  R was in the bed with me and I took tiny L into my arms.  She weighed only a pound, but she looked like... well, she looked like a very small baby.  Her eyes were closed. I remember her hands seemed disproportionately large, but I loved her tiny fingers and held each one, marveling at how very much she looked like the sweet girl I had imagined growing in my belly.

We each held her and kissed her tiny forehead.  But I was still totally out of it from the meds, it was the middle of the night, and honestly the whole experience is a total blur for me.  Eventually my OB returned and took L away.  The next morning I awoke and headed to surgery.  I remember wanting desperately to have another chance to hold L once I felt aware of what was going on, but she was gone and there was never another offer to bring her back. That said, I never asked.  Admittedly, there was a lot going on with my surgery and being in the ICU, but I never asked to hold her again.  It both breaks my heart that the only time I had with her I was not myself, not cognizant of my surroundings and it makes me feel like I didn't do her justice.  I didn't spend the time with her that she deserved and that I so desperately wanted.  Why didn't we bathe her?  Why didn't I memorize every inch of her tiny body?  Why didn't I hug her and hold her for as long as I wanted to?  Was it fear and a shortcoming in my personality?  What kind of Mom does this make me?  

I have so many regrets about that brief time we had with L.  I think about it often and search in my mind for details from the night she was born to no avail.  I know there is no playbook for handling grief and loss, but I wish I had handled it differently...

(I'm feeling very sad today and this week generally, for no apparent reason.  Sigh.)