I'm not sure when it happened, but something shifted. I went from being the kind of person who thought bad things only happened to other people to the kind of person who thinks that bad things only happen to me. Other people get the happy endings, not me. "They" will get exactly what they want with very little struggle and no unexpected "surprises" in the end. I will not be so lucky. I will forever live on the wrong side of statistics. I'm the 1 in 1000, aren't I special?
Actually I lie, I know exactly when the shift happened. It was on September 12, 2010 at my 36 week scan when I was told that my son had died. All through my struggle with infertility I kept telling myself that it would all work out in the end. That once I finally got pregnant then all would be well. I naively figured that after 7 years of struggle I was owed at least that. I had an easy (minus the morning sickness), complication free pregnancy. I was finally going to have my miracle baby.
Until that day, in that room, with those words... there's no heartbeat. That's the day it all shifted for me. I somehow went from a super optimistic person to someone who realized that there would be no easy road for me. I was the kind of person that bad things happened to. Not because I had done anything wrong or somehow deserved it. But because bad things just happen, and apparently the universe has decided that they were going to happen to me.
It's hard to continue to be happy for those "other people." The people out there that bad things don't happen to. The majority of folks who never struggle to get and stay pregnant. Those who just go off birth control, get pregnant, and then 9 months later share their happy post-birth photos of their new happy family.
Please don't think that I would wish my misery on them because I don't. It's just hard to see everyone else getting what I am fighting tooth and nail for with such ease. They are in a place that I can only hope someday to be.
Now I know there will be those of you reading this who want to reach through their computer screens and give me a good old slap. I know that many of you are still deep in the trenches of infertility. A place where that elusive positive pregnancy test seems to mock you at every turn. A world filled with hormone injections and cycle dates. Your life ruled by the calendar and completely taken over by doctors apointments. A world where the outcome of peeing on a stick will either fill you with joy or send you crying to your bed.
You are probably thinking, "Who are you to talk?? You're pregnant. All I want is to be pregnant. If only I could get pregnant than I could move on from the nightmare of failed cycle after failed cycle." Believe me, I get that and I probably deserve a slap or two for feeling so sorry for myself.
But you have to remember that I have been here before. For me, just being pregnant doesn't assure me anything. The last time I was pregnant I thought I was "all clear" only to have everything ripped away from me at 36 weeks.
After the baby shower. After all the clothes had been purchased and washed. After all the baby stuff had been purchased and delivered. After that terrible day when all I was left with was a house full of baby stuff and empty arms.
So for me, the journey doesn't end until I have a healthy living baby to bring home with me. Only then will I believe that perhaps it's all real. Only then will I start to allow myself to believe that perhaps something bad won't happen to me this time. That perhaps I've had my fair share of bad stuff happen. Although just writing those words down feels a lot like tempting fate to me.
I'm not sure I will ever be able to shift back to my old self. I think I will forever be "That Woman." The woman who bad things happen to. An outsider of sorts. Struggling to fit in and just be happy for other people without letting my own unhappiness and jealousy get in the way.
Dealing with the loss of a child is never easy, but it's even more difficult when you are an expat living far from home. Life will never be "normal" again and so now the challenge is to find my new normal. I am now back in the USA and the proud parent of two daughters, born using two different egg donors. "Frostina" and "Olea" are the loves of my life and I feel so grateful for the amazing women who donated their eggs and made my family possible.
Showing posts with label anger. Show all posts
Showing posts with label anger. Show all posts
Tuesday, 7 February 2012
Monday, 25 April 2011
Easter
Easter snuck up on me this year. I didn't realize that it would hit me so hard. It's never really been a big holiday for the hubby and I.
I usually do a ham and buy us some chocolate, but that's about it. We don't even go to church anymore because we don't go the rest of the year and it feels slightly hypocritical to go on Easter and Christmas but not the rest of the year. So it's normally just a nice Sunday with a special dinner and phone and skype calls to the family back home.
In retrospect I should have expected the tears.
Easter is so much more of a kids holiday than I realized. Getting the outfit, the Easter basket, the Easter egg hunts, dying eggs the day before; all of these things are done when you have kids.
As I saw my real life friends happily posting photos of egg dying sessions and videos of egg hunts it hit me.
I am missing out on all of this.
Not that an 8 month old can dye eggs, but he would definitely have been old enough to dress in a cute outfit. Perhaps he would have been crawling around the floor grabbing Easter eggs (well the plastic ones, not the real ones). There would have been the photos of him with the Easter bunny in his cute outfit. I would have sent them via email and facebook to all my friends and family back home.
Except that he isn't here.
That's what really set me off I guess. The things I was missing out on. That I will always miss out on.
The boy that will never be.
I usually do a ham and buy us some chocolate, but that's about it. We don't even go to church anymore because we don't go the rest of the year and it feels slightly hypocritical to go on Easter and Christmas but not the rest of the year. So it's normally just a nice Sunday with a special dinner and phone and skype calls to the family back home.
In retrospect I should have expected the tears.
Easter is so much more of a kids holiday than I realized. Getting the outfit, the Easter basket, the Easter egg hunts, dying eggs the day before; all of these things are done when you have kids.
As I saw my real life friends happily posting photos of egg dying sessions and videos of egg hunts it hit me.
I am missing out on all of this.
Not that an 8 month old can dye eggs, but he would definitely have been old enough to dress in a cute outfit. Perhaps he would have been crawling around the floor grabbing Easter eggs (well the plastic ones, not the real ones). There would have been the photos of him with the Easter bunny in his cute outfit. I would have sent them via email and facebook to all my friends and family back home.
Except that he isn't here.
That's what really set me off I guess. The things I was missing out on. That I will always miss out on.
The boy that will never be.
Tuesday, 19 April 2011
My Mother In Law
Warning, this is a rant. I have not taken the time to breathe or relax before sharing this info. The hubby is out of town and it's after 10 here in London so too late to call up a friend. So you, my internet friends will be the first to hear my rant.
I just got off the phone with my mother in law (who manages to always call when the hubby is away). I should start off by giving a bit of background to our relationship. She is not a particularly warm and fuzzy lady. It's just not her way. She tends to say what's on her mind without thinking about how her words may affect others. She's like this with everyone, not just with me.
It's fair to say that over the years she has said many things that have hurt my feelings. I'm not sure she means to be so hurtful, but she just doesn't get it sometimes. The hubby is quite aware of this fact and always does his best to give me hugs and reassurance. She is who she is, and she's in her 70's and isn't likely to change.
So really I shouldn't be surprised that she has an opinion about the fact that we are trying for another baby. Really, because when the hubby told her a few months ago her response was, "Oh, No!"
Tonight she asked me how things were going. I did my best to bring her up to speed without confusing her with all the medical lingo. She listened and then said, "Wouldn't it be easier to adopt?" So I had to explain that as expats we can't adopt a British child and went into how complicated it would be to adopt either a US or international child. I didn't get into the fact that we aren't ready to consider adoption yet. That we want to try and have our own baby. That we hate it when people think we should just give up on our dreams because of the false notion that adoption is so much easier and cheaper.
She tells me, "Well if this doesn't work then you should just call the whole thing off. You're not getting any younger you know." Then she goes on to tell me about how nature intended for us to have babies when we are young and healthy. That when we get old our nerves can't handle raising kids.
At this point I am crying but trying not to let her hear it. I have a million responses running around my head but somehow managed not to say any of them. I just listened and said things like, "I see."
Then she asked how my parents feel about the whole thing. I told her that they are very supportive and that they really want a grandchild.
To which she said, "Don't they already have one?? Doesn't your sister have a little girl?"
At this point my head is spinning and the tears are really flowing. "Did she really just say that to me," I ask myself?? Is she really suggesting to me that my parents shouldn't be excited about having a grandchild by us because they already have one by my sister?
I wanted to scream to her that my parents just want me to have a baby that I can take home. They want a grandchild that they can actually see, and hold, and play with. Not just one that they can pray to at night. Does she really not get it?
Not once during this whole conversation did she ask how the hubby and I are coping without our son.
Instead she shares this gem with me. "Maybe this is nature's way of telling you something."
Really??? Like what? That we aren't fit to be parents? That some woman who is addicted to crack and has had 4 children born addicted to drugs is more equipped to raise a child than us? That some irresponsible girl who gets pregnant and doesn't know who the father is more worthy to have a baby than we are? What exactly is nature trying to tell me???
I would love to be able to say that I ripped her a new one and told her where to shove her opinions. But as always, I simply smiled and just took it. I asked about how she is doing and how my father in law is doing and about their upcoming vacations. I was the good, loving daughter in law.
But inside I am fuming!
I just got off the phone with my mother in law (who manages to always call when the hubby is away). I should start off by giving a bit of background to our relationship. She is not a particularly warm and fuzzy lady. It's just not her way. She tends to say what's on her mind without thinking about how her words may affect others. She's like this with everyone, not just with me.
It's fair to say that over the years she has said many things that have hurt my feelings. I'm not sure she means to be so hurtful, but she just doesn't get it sometimes. The hubby is quite aware of this fact and always does his best to give me hugs and reassurance. She is who she is, and she's in her 70's and isn't likely to change.
So really I shouldn't be surprised that she has an opinion about the fact that we are trying for another baby. Really, because when the hubby told her a few months ago her response was, "Oh, No!"
Tonight she asked me how things were going. I did my best to bring her up to speed without confusing her with all the medical lingo. She listened and then said, "Wouldn't it be easier to adopt?" So I had to explain that as expats we can't adopt a British child and went into how complicated it would be to adopt either a US or international child. I didn't get into the fact that we aren't ready to consider adoption yet. That we want to try and have our own baby. That we hate it when people think we should just give up on our dreams because of the false notion that adoption is so much easier and cheaper.
She tells me, "Well if this doesn't work then you should just call the whole thing off. You're not getting any younger you know." Then she goes on to tell me about how nature intended for us to have babies when we are young and healthy. That when we get old our nerves can't handle raising kids.
At this point I am crying but trying not to let her hear it. I have a million responses running around my head but somehow managed not to say any of them. I just listened and said things like, "I see."
Then she asked how my parents feel about the whole thing. I told her that they are very supportive and that they really want a grandchild.
To which she said, "Don't they already have one?? Doesn't your sister have a little girl?"
At this point my head is spinning and the tears are really flowing. "Did she really just say that to me," I ask myself?? Is she really suggesting to me that my parents shouldn't be excited about having a grandchild by us because they already have one by my sister?
I wanted to scream to her that my parents just want me to have a baby that I can take home. They want a grandchild that they can actually see, and hold, and play with. Not just one that they can pray to at night. Does she really not get it?
Not once during this whole conversation did she ask how the hubby and I are coping without our son.
Instead she shares this gem with me. "Maybe this is nature's way of telling you something."
Really??? Like what? That we aren't fit to be parents? That some woman who is addicted to crack and has had 4 children born addicted to drugs is more equipped to raise a child than us? That some irresponsible girl who gets pregnant and doesn't know who the father is more worthy to have a baby than we are? What exactly is nature trying to tell me???
I would love to be able to say that I ripped her a new one and told her where to shove her opinions. But as always, I simply smiled and just took it. I asked about how she is doing and how my father in law is doing and about their upcoming vacations. I was the good, loving daughter in law.
But inside I am fuming!
Monday, 11 April 2011
Why Couldn't I Have Held Him?
I share a lot in this space. The good, the bad, and the ugly. No holds barred. It's the main reason I don't reveal myself here, so that I can be totally honest.
But this is something that I am not sure I should share. In fact, I may type the whole thing and then not publish it (if I do publish it then I apologize in advance because I'm sure my thoughts will be all over the place).
Why? Because I'm not sure you will ever think of me the same way after reading it. Not that any of you know me in real life (well except for 2 of you, 1 being my husband). But I fear that those of you who have gotten to know the "virtual me" will never see me in the same light.
You see, I am not like the rest of you.
I know this because I have read many of your stories on your blogs. I know what is "normal" for a grieving mother. I know what most other Baby Loss Mom's have done when their babies were born still. I have read how you held them, and kissed them, and told them you loved them. I have seen the photos of you holding your babies even after they were gone. I see the love and sadness in your eyes as you treasured this final embrace.
I know exactly how you were all feeling in those moments. I felt that way too. But there is one huge difference between your birth stories and mine.
I was unable to hold my son after he died. And for that I am ashamed.
Not because the doctors wouldn't let me, but because I just couldn't. Mentally, I was not in a place where I could even comprehend holding a dead baby. No matter that he was my dead baby. No matter that he was my firstborn son who I loved more than anything. I just couldn't do it.
They tried to talk me into it at the hospital. But each time the brought it up I went into a panic. I kept screaming, "No, No, No!" There were no other words that came out of my mouth. Just those words and a flood of tears. Each time they would back off as they could clearly see that I was on the verge of a total breakdown.
After several days, I was mentally able to see him. The midwives set everything up in a special room. They dressed him in the outfit my husband had picked out. I wasn't even able to pick out his own outfit at that point. When I finally saw him I almost collapsed with sadness. If it weren't for the wall that I propped myself up against I would have ended up in a heap on the floor. He was absolutely beautiful. But still I couldn't bring myself to hold him. I did touch his face, but it was cold from the refrigeration. That one touch would be the only contact I would ever have with my beloved son.
Tonight I was hit with a tsumani of regret.
Why couldn't I hold my son after he was born? Why was I so hysterical right before his birth that I had to be sedated? Why couldn't I just hold it together? I am normally such a strong person, why couldn't I handle this better? Why did I continue to act with such hysteria after his birth that I was unable to hold him and tell him how much I loved him?
Why?
Logically I know that we do the best we can in times like these. That we do what we are capable of. But in my heart I regret not having the strength to see past my fears of what a dead baby would look like. He was my only son after all. And now I am starting to feel like I have somehow rejected him. Even though I know that he had already left his earthly body before he was born, I still somehow feel like I have failed as a Mother.
Why couldn't I have held him???
But this is something that I am not sure I should share. In fact, I may type the whole thing and then not publish it (if I do publish it then I apologize in advance because I'm sure my thoughts will be all over the place).
Why? Because I'm not sure you will ever think of me the same way after reading it. Not that any of you know me in real life (well except for 2 of you, 1 being my husband). But I fear that those of you who have gotten to know the "virtual me" will never see me in the same light.
You see, I am not like the rest of you.
I know this because I have read many of your stories on your blogs. I know what is "normal" for a grieving mother. I know what most other Baby Loss Mom's have done when their babies were born still. I have read how you held them, and kissed them, and told them you loved them. I have seen the photos of you holding your babies even after they were gone. I see the love and sadness in your eyes as you treasured this final embrace.
I know exactly how you were all feeling in those moments. I felt that way too. But there is one huge difference between your birth stories and mine.
I was unable to hold my son after he died. And for that I am ashamed.
Not because the doctors wouldn't let me, but because I just couldn't. Mentally, I was not in a place where I could even comprehend holding a dead baby. No matter that he was my dead baby. No matter that he was my firstborn son who I loved more than anything. I just couldn't do it.
They tried to talk me into it at the hospital. But each time the brought it up I went into a panic. I kept screaming, "No, No, No!" There were no other words that came out of my mouth. Just those words and a flood of tears. Each time they would back off as they could clearly see that I was on the verge of a total breakdown.
After several days, I was mentally able to see him. The midwives set everything up in a special room. They dressed him in the outfit my husband had picked out. I wasn't even able to pick out his own outfit at that point. When I finally saw him I almost collapsed with sadness. If it weren't for the wall that I propped myself up against I would have ended up in a heap on the floor. He was absolutely beautiful. But still I couldn't bring myself to hold him. I did touch his face, but it was cold from the refrigeration. That one touch would be the only contact I would ever have with my beloved son.
Tonight I was hit with a tsumani of regret.
Why couldn't I hold my son after he was born? Why was I so hysterical right before his birth that I had to be sedated? Why couldn't I just hold it together? I am normally such a strong person, why couldn't I handle this better? Why did I continue to act with such hysteria after his birth that I was unable to hold him and tell him how much I loved him?
Why?
Logically I know that we do the best we can in times like these. That we do what we are capable of. But in my heart I regret not having the strength to see past my fears of what a dead baby would look like. He was my only son after all. And now I am starting to feel like I have somehow rejected him. Even though I know that he had already left his earthly body before he was born, I still somehow feel like I have failed as a Mother.
Why couldn't I have held him???
Monday, 21 March 2011
Anger and Shame- You Are Not Welcome Here
I've been angry lately. I'm not good a dealing with anger or even recognizing it in myself. I don't like to be angry and have irrational angry thoughts. I am ashamed of my angry irrational thoughts. They make me feel like I'm out of control, and I hate being out of control.
My natural coping mechanism for anger is to ignore it. But I am learning how to recognize it. The first sign is usually that I want to eat everything in sight. Being hungry or not being hungry doesn't matter, I get this voice telling me I need to eat, to graze, to snack. Logically I know that stuffing my face will not help stuff down the anger that is brewing, but most of the time I am unable to stop myself.
This is especially disturbing to me because I am trying desperately to get healthy and lose weight before trying to get pregnant again. I am paying a trainer to work with me once a week to help me get in shape. I have stuck to my exercise plan and am working out 5 days a week. But I just can't control my eating.
I am 15 pounds lighter than when I got pregnant last time but I'm still pretty far from and ideal BMI. I want to get as fit and healthy as I can before any new pregnancy. I know my weight isn't what caused my son to die, but a healthier me is a better me.
So I'm mad at myself for not losing weight, and when I get mad at myself, I eat. It's a vicious cycle. It's the reason I'm not a a slender size 6. I don't know how to fix it.
Once I get angry, any little thing can set me off. Here's what is currently driving me crazy.
I don't really believe in the phases of grief as a rule because I think we each follow our own path. But I'm feeling a lot of anger right now. And none of the things I'm currently angry about are new things. So I have to deduce that it's part of my grieving process.
But the timing sucks! We are just getting to the point where we are ready to try again. We fly to the US this week to meet with the egg donation clinic. I am so excited about this. I really am. So why the anger now??? At the worst possible time? Anger and shame, you are not welcome here!
Please go away!
My natural coping mechanism for anger is to ignore it. But I am learning how to recognize it. The first sign is usually that I want to eat everything in sight. Being hungry or not being hungry doesn't matter, I get this voice telling me I need to eat, to graze, to snack. Logically I know that stuffing my face will not help stuff down the anger that is brewing, but most of the time I am unable to stop myself.
This is especially disturbing to me because I am trying desperately to get healthy and lose weight before trying to get pregnant again. I am paying a trainer to work with me once a week to help me get in shape. I have stuck to my exercise plan and am working out 5 days a week. But I just can't control my eating.
I am 15 pounds lighter than when I got pregnant last time but I'm still pretty far from and ideal BMI. I want to get as fit and healthy as I can before any new pregnancy. I know my weight isn't what caused my son to die, but a healthier me is a better me.
So I'm mad at myself for not losing weight, and when I get mad at myself, I eat. It's a vicious cycle. It's the reason I'm not a a slender size 6. I don't know how to fix it.
Once I get angry, any little thing can set me off. Here's what is currently driving me crazy.
- Our house is a total mess. It looks like a bomb went off in here. It was spotless last week on Tuesday and now it looks like a tip. We are total slobs, and I am ashamed of that.
- I have not been able to control my eating as well as I would like. I haven't gained any weight, but I'm not losing either. I am ashamed of that. How is it possible that the one thing I know will help me get pregnant is the one thing I appear to be incapable of doing? Am I sabotaging myself? Or is there something seriously wrong with me?
- My husband got sick on Saturday so we couldn't have our date night. I was angry and disappointed. Not angry at him for not feeling well. But angry that we couldn't have our fun night out. I sulked silently as I ate my beans on toast for dinner. So not what I had in mind for the night. My husband noticed and felt bad about it. That made me ashamed of myself for sulking over something so silly and making him feel guilty.
- The laundry has piled up over the week. Nothing new but today I woke up angry that my day will be filled with nothing but laundry and cleaning our pig-sty of a house.
- I'm angry that I didn't shower yesterday, or get out of my pj's for that matter. So I look terrible, my hair is greasy, and I am all kinds of "fragrant." I am ashamed and embarrassed about that.
- I feel like a total slob, kind of like the state of my house right now. We match perfectly. Dirty, smelly, and neglected. So much potential underneath all the mess.
I don't really believe in the phases of grief as a rule because I think we each follow our own path. But I'm feeling a lot of anger right now. And none of the things I'm currently angry about are new things. So I have to deduce that it's part of my grieving process.
But the timing sucks! We are just getting to the point where we are ready to try again. We fly to the US this week to meet with the egg donation clinic. I am so excited about this. I really am. So why the anger now??? At the worst possible time? Anger and shame, you are not welcome here!
Please go away!
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