Random Pregnant Thoughts

Just a few random pregnant thoughts:

Even though I may not have to pee when sitting down, as soon as I stand up and gravity takes over, it's practically a sprint to the bathroom.

I have to remember that even babies in the womb sleep.  When she doesn't move for an hour, I shouldn't try to coax her to move.  She will get grumpy that I've disturbed her nap, and kick that nerve in my spine that she's so fond of these days.

I'm scared to death of actually giving birth.  Scared.  To.  DEATH.

Some of my more recent cravings:

*movie theater popcorn (LARGE)
*shrimp scampi
*cranberry orange muffin
*soft pretzel (warm, light salt, with mustard)
*Sonic ice (those delicious pellets of frozen water!)
*McDonald's iced coffee (cream, no sugar)
*Krispy Kreme doughnuts

I really do think Sadie knows I'm pregnant.  She's spending a large amount of time sniffing my belly lately.

I have what might be my last specialist appointment tomorrow, and I'm not nearly as nervous as I have been for every other visit.

Carpal tunnel SUCKS, and I pray every single day that my case truly is pregnancy-related and that it goes away after she's born (like it did for so many friends of mine).

I get my stitch removed in 3 weeks!  The bad part?  I don't think there's any anesthesia like there was with the placement.  Ruh-roh!!!!!

Things you should never say to a pregnant lady:

*"WOAH!" when looking at her belly
*"Are you sure you're not due sooner?"
*"Why are you so tired?  The baby isn't here yet!"
*"You absolutely need to do/have {insert thing here} or you'll regret it"  I appreciate advice, but what works for you may not work for me. 

I am so looking forward to being able to resume normal activities without worrying about causing a baby to fall out.  

I'm sure there'll be a part 2 to this at some point.  :)  Can't wait to meet our little girl :)

It's been a while

That's the understatement of the year!  But, it's finally time to talk about the health issues that have been plaguing me for the past few months.  First, we start with the good part - meet our daughter!!

I'm a little over 27 weeks pregnant, and we can't wait to meet this little girl!

The pregnancy has been difficult, both emotionally and physically.  Worried the first 12 weeks that we'd lose her like we did Jordan.  Worried after that, especially up to 17 weeks, that we'd lose her like we did Nathan. Now, there's going to be two parts to this post - the quick part first, for those who don't want to read the gory details.  Then more info below for those who want to know.  If you've known me through our first two pregnancies, you know I'm not afraid to share details.  :)

As soon as I found out we were pregnant again, I found a new OB.  There were two important qualities - awesome, and NOT affiliated with CMC.  I couldn't deal with them again after everything that happened with Nathan.  Thankfully a friend suggested a place, and even though I didn't end up with her OB, I'm incredibly blessed to have gotten the one I did.  She's been amazing.  (If anyone is looking for a new OBGYN, Dr. Lisa Wilson at Providence OBGYN is just fantastic.  Amazing.  I couldn't ask for a better doctor.)

After telling her all about Jordan and Nathan, she decided that they wanted to monitor me very closely to keep an eye out for problems that are common with 2nd trimester losses like Nathan.  I had frequent visits with her as well as with the maternal fetal medicine specialists, frequent ultrasounds, etc.  Everything was going swimmingly until about 19 weeks, when my ultrasound showed some abnormal changes.  It wasn't an emergency, but they didn't want to let it get that way either.  I was scheduled for surgery the next day to try and fix the problem.  The surgery went fantastically, and everything's been holding up really well until this week.  As of Wednesday, things have started to change slightly for the worse.  It's still not an emergency, but very discouraging considering everything has been going very well for the 8 weeks after surgery.  They're going to start monitoring me weekly, at least for the next few weeks.  If all stays as it is now, we'll be doing well.  If things continue to change, we'll discuss what needs to happen to give baby girl the best chance possible.

If you know me at all, you know I'm a worrier.  Believe it or not, aside from a few breakdowns here and there, I've actually been doing mostly well.  A lot of credit goes to my family and the few friends who know listening to me ramble and praying for us.  I'm back to worrying a bit, but I know that God's in charge, and regardless of what happens, it's all in His plan.

So that's what's going on in a nutshell.  If you stop here, you will not be missing anything important.  If you keep going, you will get more details about me than you may want to know.  I feel I have sufficiently warned you.  :)

Here we go.

What they found at 19 weeks was an incompetent cervix.  I had kinda been suspecting it after my OB said it was something that was possible based on how things went with Nathan.  But after a few stellar visits, I wasn't expecting the changes to happen so quickly.  At 17 weeks, my cervix was somewhere between 3.5 and 4.0 cm long, which is completely normal.  At 19 weeks, it was closer to 2.0 cm and was funneled down to that point.  (I know this probably doesn't make sense to those of you who haven't had to deal with cervical issues, and really, you're better off :))  Since the change had happened fairly quickly (in the course of two weeks) and given my history, they decided it would be in my best interest to have what's called a cerclage.  I will not go into detail about what that is.  You can google it.  Just don't look at images or you'll be sorry.  ;)  Let's just say that the point of this procedure is to strengthen the cervix to keep baby cooking longer.  The surgery itself was quick - only about 20 minutes - but I was in the hospital for a few hours because they did a spinal, and it took a few hours for me to be able to walk again.

Every visit since then showed steady cervical lengths of right around 2.0 cm, and a healthy baby.  This week, however, my cervix had shortened to about 1.3 cm, down from 1.9 just last week.  The cerclage is still holding strong and is keeping my cervix closed, but the change in length is concerning.  They're going to start seeing me weekly for the next few weeks to see if the change continues or if everything holds where it is.  My OB says that it's entirely possible that everything will hold as-is and we'll have a full term baby.  However, this recent shortening does make it seem likely that we'll meet her sooner rather than later.

27 weeks is a fairly good place to be.  Survival rate is high, though there is still a chance of long-term complications.  28 weeks would be better.  32 weeks would be even better.  But every single day is a blessing and gets her closer and closer to being OK.  Please be in prayer that she makes it to 36 weeks!  I know it's not too much for God to do.  If she does come early, please just pray that she'll be healthy and won't have to be in the hospital for too long. 

We really appreciate any prayers that we'll make it at least 5 more weeks before we meet our little girl!

White Flag

I don't know why, but White Flag is one of my least favorite worship songs.  I really don't know why.  I like other tracks from the Passion album (namely One Thing Remains and You Revive Me) but just not that one.  I don't have anything against surrender--though I'm admittedly not good at it--I just....blech.

And then one week, I got that lovely, highly-anticipated Planning Center invite and saw it on the schedule for the upcoming Sunday.  Ehhh.  I've helped lead songs I wasn't terribly fond of before.  I knew I could make it through.  

Then a week or two later, same situation.  

Then a few weeks after that.

Then yesterday.  I got a text message at 6:15am asking if I could fill in for a vocalist who had a last minute situation.  So I got out of bed, got ready, and listened to the worship songs for the day.  Yep.  You guessed it.

In fact, if I'm not mistaken, every time this song has been on the set list at our church, I've been up on that platform helping lead.  (You'd think I'd have caught on by now...)

On my way to church yesterday morning, as the sun was rising (and as I was still waking up, honestly), I asked God to use me how he saw fit.  I mean, I hadn't had more than 30 minutes to prepare for the 7:30am rehearsal, so I really needed His help.

And as I rolled into the parking lot, it dawned on me that I *always* need His help.  I should *always* be asking Him to use me as He sees fit.  I should never be relying on myself alone, no matter how much time I have to prepare.  I took my small step towards surrendering, and managed to not stress out about the songs (well, except for this one :-P).  

I'm not always the best at surrendering.  The past year has forced me to at least get better at it.  But I definitely still have plenty to learn.  Especially this next week or so, as we approach what would have been Nathan's due date on Saturday.  And last week, as we mourned the first anniversary of losing Jordan.  And as I continue to struggle with stress and anxiety.  I need so so many reminders.  Being there on that platform yesterday was so much more for my benefit than it was for anyone else's.  

But I still don't like the song.  ;-)

Milestones

We've hit a few "milestones" in the past week or two.

*We hit a year since we found out that Jordan passed away
*We hit 4 months since losing Nathan
*We hit the point where we've now been without Nathan longer than we had him

I'm not sure why that last one hit me the hardest, but it has.

I have so many blessings in my life, big and small.  I have so much to be thankful for, and I have thankfully found myself amazingly happy, especially over the past few weeks.  But I'm also trying to give myself a little grace.  And let myself be sad sometimes.  Because I miss my babies.

Perfection

I've been thinking about perfection a lot lately.  I've written about it a bit before, so I won't go into all of those details again.  I also mentioned a little bit about my enneagram type, but not much.  I shall elaborate a bit.  :)

The enneagram is a personality inventory, a bit similar to the more well-known Myers-Briggs.  This is one of my favorite sites on the subject (and even has a few free tests to determine your type...if you take it, let me know what you are!).

I'm a 2 (with a 1 wing, if you want to get specific) which is the helper.  Among many of the positive and negative traits of 2s is the fear of being unwanted and/or unloved (it should be noted, as a bit of irony, that Amanda means worthy of love).  At our best, we help and love unconditionally.  At our worst, we become manipulative and self-serving.  My 1 wing brings in the perfectionistic part.  I want to help (in some cases, I "need" to help), and I want to do it perfectly.

Yeah.

Lately I've been having issues with this particularly in my home life and in my singing.  I feel bad when my house isn't clean (which is practically all the time) or when I don't cook dinner, even if there are valid reasons, such as working incredibly late hours.  I feel bad if I hit a bum note when singing, or miss a lyric, even if it goes mostly unnoticed.  Imagine, then, how I feel when I *really* mess up.  It ain't pretty.

I've been trying to give myself more grace lately.  That's something one of my doctors reminded me to do about a month after we lost Nathan.  Yes...I needed to continue to focus on my health, but I also needed to remember not to be so hard on myself.

For me, the balance between trying to be perfect and completely giving up is so hard.  If I'm not focusing my energy on it, it's an either/or thing for me.  If I can't be perfect, I might as well not do it at all.  My most impending example of this is the song I'm leading tomorrow at church.  It's a difficult one for me vocally, as it spends some time down in the basement of my range.  I've been focusing all week on the what ifs..."what if it sounds horrible?", "what if I can't even squeak out the lowest of the low notes?".   But that's just it.  What if those things actually happen?  The world won't end, people won't decide to UN-follow Jesus, friends won't ditch me, my husband won't divorce me, God won't shut the doors of heaven to me.  Point is, if I mess up, that's all that happens.  And people see that I'm not perfect.  And I'm trying to be OK with that.

(We'll discuss my affinity for worrying about what other people think about me on another day ;-))

Greed

I've had a lot of blog topic ideas floating through my head for the last few weeks.  But I've admittedly been a) lazy and b) horribly, terribly busy at work.  I'm still both of these things, but I was inspired by something yesterday, and feel the need to write about it.

Unless you've completely blocked me on facebook, you've heard me talk about our church and the series that we're getting ready to finish up called Decades.  It's been a TON of fun (see Exhibit A, Exhibit B, and Exhibit C...I could go on, but you get the picture) and there have been some great messages.  But yesterday's really hit me in an interesting way.

Yesterday, we were in the 90s, which can be described as the decade of greed.  At one point during the sermon, we were encouraged to take some time and consider what we were being greedy with in our own lives, and talk to God about it.  As I was thinking, the usual suspects crossed my radar...money, time, time with Jeremy...and then something I wasn't quite expecting...my singing.

I talked a little about music a few weeks ago, so I'll try not to repeat myself too much.  But suffice it to say...music is a huge part of my life, and is quite important to me.

I'm not greedy with it like I can be greedy with money or time.  With money and time, I want to keep them, and not give them away.  With music, I want to give it away perhaps too much.  I want to be able to participate all the time.  If I had it my way, I'd be up on that stage most every Sunday.  

And while I'm admitting my greed, might as well hit up some of the other deadly sins!  I'm quite prone to envy also.  I am incredibly blessed to serve with some amazing singers and musicians, and can find myself falling into the envy trap.  "If only I could sing as well as...."  "If only I had the confidence of..."  "I wish I could be up there with them singing this song..."

I've really been in tune with this envy and greed--though I would never have thought to call it greed until yesterday--for the past few months.  However, with all that was going on with the loss of Nathan, I put it on the back burner.  I finally started praying a few weeks back that God would help me with these issues.  That He would help me remember that there are many incredibly talented and passionate vocalists He has called to serve who probably love it as much as--if not more than!--I do.  If I were to sing every week, there wouldn't be a place for these folks.  I've also been praying that God will help me to remember that He uniquely gifted me, and I'm not supposed to sound like anyone else.  I'm supposed to sound like me...for better or for worse.

The one phrase that stuck out to me the most was this:

"The antidote to greed is trust."

I need to trust God to use me how HE sees fit, not how I see fit.  (And back to my money and time issues...trust that He will provide. I have all that I need for today.)

I know that God will help me with this...what I am really, really hoping is that I will accept His help, and not be stubborn like I can be so, so often.  And that I will learn to really, truly appreciate the time that I get to spend in this ministry and remember that it's a privilege and not something that I'm somehow entitled to.  And even more importantly, remember that while it's fun and enjoyable, it's ultimately not about me and my desires anyways.

(And on an unrelated note, 16 weeks today.  And I still miss him.)

Getting real

I reckon I can't be optimistic all the time.  And today's one of those days.

First, I guess it's possibly time to stop just posting the number of weeks since losing Nathan, as folks are starting to think I'm pregnant again.  It's a fair assumption, but no.  Not pregnant.  

And now for my rant--I HATE ANXIETY.  It sucks.  

I've actually been doing mostly well over the past couple of weeks, since being back on some medication.  I've had a few small incidents, but I've been able to talk myself down fairly quickly.  But today was a little different.  I had a slightly stressful morning...discovered that I had made a moderately important mistake, which for a perfectionist can be almost end-of-the-world epic, even though my boss was completely understanding and helped come up with a solution.  I wasn't feeling noticeably stressed about it at this specific moment, but all of the sudden, I had a mild--but sharp--pain in the center of my chest, and then felt tingling that moved from the top of my head down to the bottom of my toes.  All in all, these physical symptoms lasted at most 10-15 seconds, but then my brain took over.  It was thankfully about lunch time, so I clocked out and went for a 30-minute walk.  And talked to my mom on the phone.  And just generally tried to convince myself that it was just a panic attack.  And most of me knows that it was.  But the part of me that triggers panic attacks sometimes has a hard time understanding that.

All sorts of fears enter my brain, mostly about dying.  Is that bad?  Is it bad that, as a Christian, I'm scared of dying?  I mean, I want to go to heaven.  I'm looking forward to heaven.  I just always imagined going there at some lovely age like 90 or something.  Not 32.  

At any rate.  I was mostly able to stay calm for the rest of the afternoon, but I just hate that I had this episode.  It can be so paralyzing.  I know I said in an earlier post that I knew this was going to happen eventually, given everything that's happened in the past year.  But then I got to thinking today how completely unfair it is.  This sucks!  First, I had to lose two precious babies, and now I have to deal with this anxiety on top of the lingering grief.  How is this even OK?  And I know life's not fair, and I know God never said it'd be easy, but that doesn't mean that I can't be a little angry about it at times.  

And that's where I am.  I'm angry.  And I'm sad.  And I'm scared.  And I'm sick of being all of these things.

Will you pray for me?  For us?  Because Lord knows Jeremy is a SAINT for putting up with me through all of this.

I love you guys.

Why?

I promise it's not what you're thinking.

Those of you who knew me in Asheville know that I spent the better part of 6 years as a part of the music team at Covenant, and a large part of that helping with lead and background vocals.  Singing has been a part of my life as long as I can remember.  I was chosen for some sort of special kids' choir thing back in 2nd or 3rd grade, and we sang some song about a kite.  Haha.  I don't remember much about it, but I definitely remember having fun with it.  

Though I sang all throughout school, including college, I never really realized how alive I could feel when singing until I started singing at Covenant.  Just something about singing to God and with God's help...and helping lead people into worship.  It's so much less about me and what I do and so much more about getting out of the way and letting people see God.  (Which both takes pressure off, and puts pressure on.  But that's for another day.  :))  There's also, of course, the privilege of making music with other musicians.  When you see me smiling on stage, it does have a lot to do with praising God, but there's also an element of just loving making music.

When we decided we were going to move to Charlotte, I knew that was a part of my life I was going to miss immensely, and that I really wanted to make sure to establish here.  The first church we landed at was awesome in so many ways, but we just never felt like we fit in.  After about 4 months, I was finally able to audition for the band, and was allowed to sing with them.  And I really enjoyed it--they were nice, and VERY talented.  I never really felt like a real part of the group, and they weren't huge on using background vocalists.  So after about 5 months, we made the decision to start searching for a new church.  I was definitely missing being a part of worship.  

Our 2nd or 3rd week of searching, we came across the church we're at now.  Shallow though it may sound, one of the ways I really knew this was a church we should consider is because on our first week there, they played this song, which Jeremy and I had been singing for a few days non-stop.  After a couple weeks, we knew that this church was a strong possibility for us, so I emailed the creative arts pastor to see if they were open to new vocalists, and I got a resounding yes!  A few weeks later I was able to audition, and a few weeks after that, I was on stage with them.  It has been so much fun meeting new people over the past few months, and creating music again with some incredibly talented folks.  This past week, I was given the opportunity to lead a song for the first time since being in Charlotte, and it was awesome.  I had more fun than I've had in a long, long time.

I've spent a lot of the last 18 months wondering why.  Why did Jeremy have to choose a school in Charlotte, so far away from our friends and church family?  Why did we have to lose our babies?  Why were we having such a hard time finding a church?  Why was I having a hard time finding a place to make music?

It dawned on me as I was singing on Sunday that I think God wanted me to give me a new perspective on, and a new appreciation of, worship.  One that I could only have after having gone so long without any meaningful musical participation.  One that I could only have after losing my babies.  One that I could only have after being thrown into a new city without many friends.  I've had to rely on Him more fully in the past 18 months than in any other time of my life that I can remember.  And maybe that's the point.

10 weeks.

A is for Anxiety

I've debated posting something about this for about 2.5 weeks now.  Ever since all of the awful symptoms came creeping back in.  And finally decided that tonight, I'd get it all out.  Or, at least some.

Some of you know that I've battled depression and anxiety for years now.  I suspect they've been around for a good chunk of my life, but didn't really start to beat my door down until I was about 24.  I started having chest pains one day, and just wrote it off.  I mean, I was 24!  Obviously not a heart attack.  Or, at least, not very likely.  But after a few days, I couldn't shake the feeling any longer.  One of the ways my anxiety manifests itself is through hypochondria.  I went to the ER, and was, of course, told I was fine.  And I was OK with that answer.  For a little while.

I think all in all I went to the ER 3 times, had 4 - 5 EKGs and then ended up at a cardiologist and had an echocardiogram.  Everything came back perfectly normal.  But it wasn't until I finally realized (ie--was FORCED to realize) that all of this was an outward manifestation of my anxiety and depression that I was finally able to get past it--by getting the right help.  

I found a therapist (and finding a good one takes trial and error, TRUST ME), got on some medication (again, trial and error), and while it wasn't without bumps and bruises, I finally started to feel better.  Of course, as years went on, and life went on, there were tweaks in therapy (and long stretches without), and tweaks in medication.  Such is the nature of this disease.

Fast forward to the day after Christmas, 2012.  Our power went out that evening, so we went to Target to wander around.  We started to leave after we found out our power was back, and then I told Jeremy I wanted to check the grocery section for a Sprite Zero, since there wasn't one at the check-out.  We ran into some friends and chatted for a good little while.  We finally left to head home, and saw probably 10-15 emergency vehicles at an intersection near the store.  We were hoping it was just because we were so close to the hospital, and several people had responded to a minor wreck.  We came to find out later that a young woman and her mother passed away, while the young woman's two daughters survived.  (We even later came to find out that the young woman attended our church, though neither Jeremy nor I actually knew her.)  One of the first thoughts I had as we left Target was that Jeremy and I would normally have gone through that intersection heading home from Target and that if we hadn't seen our friends and stopped to chat, maybe we would have been in the path of the drunk driver instead of this family.

Normally, it would have been a sad, but passing thought.  However, for whatever reason that thought lingered.  And lingered.  And before I knew it, WHAM.  Full-blown anxiety.  The chest pain came back, the incredibly anxious and inconsolable thoughts came back....basically, I was a mess again.

I know in the rational part of myself that I'm fine.  I'm not having a heart attack, in fact, I'm likely not having any sort of heart troubles at all (though, trust me, I know it's at least a little more possible now that I'm older and diabetic).  But, if you've ever been in the throes of panic, you know that rational thoughts have no place.  And if you've never been there, a) you're lucky and b) please be kind to those of us who have been there, who are there, and who will be there.  Because trust me...it's not as simple as just "cheering up" or "getting over it".  If it was, I would have made that decision years ago.  Trust me.

It's not like I didn't know this was coming.  Because I did.  I had to wean off of my medications when we were pregnant the first time with Jordan.  Miraculously, I didn't have to go back on after the first miscarriage, as I really thought I'd have to.  But losing two in such a short period of time, and in such a traumatic way, I just knew it would come back.

Thankfully, I still keep in touch with some of my old co-workers from October Road and one of them was incredibly kind enough to spend time on the phone with me last week to teach me some ways to calm down in the midst of the panic.  And it actually does work most of the time.  It worked a little bit today, but I think I needed to be doing it ALL day for it to work completely.  :-P

At any rate, I really just needed to get all of that off my chest (pun somewhat intended).  Today was the worst so far, and prompted me to call the doctor's office--at which I had an appointment scheduled for January 24th--and practically beg to get an earlier appointment.  Tomorrow morning sounds much better.  :)  

I know I've been asking for prayers a lot lately, but I would really appreciate some for all of this.  The meds will take a little while to kick in, so I know I've still got a little bit of a rough road ahead.  

9 weeks.

Merry Christmas! (aka 7 weeks)

It's Christmas Eve, and we're with family, and that's nice.  And I can't help but think about my babies.  And how much I miss them.  And how much I wish they were here with me.  But, I reckon they're probably having the best first Christmas EVER in heaven, and they're together, and that helps it sting a little less.  At least for today.

Merry Christmas to you all!

Babies

I almost didn't write anything tonight, but I'm not quite ready to give up the "tradition" just yet.

I'm honestly not entirely sure WHAT to write.  Life has surely been full of ups and downs lately.  It's hard to believe that Christmas is a week away.  I was looking so forward to this Christmas...getting to feel our little one kick and move, getting some baby stuff for Christmas, setting up the nursery...let's just say a lot of Christmas wishes will not be coming true this year.  

But, deep down, I know that Christmas isn't about MY baby....it's about THE baby. The one who came to save us all, and because of Him, my babies are rejoicing in heaven right now.  They couldn't be happier.  And even though I know they don't miss us--I really don't think you can feel anything remotely painful in heaven--I do think they are looking forward to meeting us one day.  But for now, I reckon they're in pretty good hands.

The whole story

**Disclaimer--there are some swear words, and I use the phrase "dead baby" a lot.  It's awkward and uncomfortable, much like this whole situation.  I can't embrace phrases like "born sleeping" just yet, because if he was just sleeping, well, he'd have been ALIVE.  Just wanted to forewarn you.  Please proceed if you're so inclined.

I've been trying to write this story for more than a month.  In fact, pieces of this have been written for about that long.  But putting it all together has just been laborious, though so very necessary for me.  So, I present you with the longest blog entry you've probably ever read.  I decided to put it all in one post so that anyone who reads it can decide where they want to stop if they need a break, not me.

November 5th....I got to work a little before 7:30 and went into the bathroom.  This is thankfully where my water broke.  I mean, if it's gonna happen, I reckon that's one of the best places.  I freaked out, and didn't have my phone with me to call anyone for help.  I managed to flag down a co-worker to help, and proceeded to just freeze.  I didn't know what to do.  I knew there was another co-worker already at work who had 2 kids and 2 miscarriages, who better to ask?  So, I sent co-worker one to IM co-worker two (who is in a different building) to see what we should do.  She suggested the hospital, so co-worker one graciously drove me to the nearest hospital.  My OB's office wasn't open because it was so early, so the nearest hospital seemed to be the best bet.  In hindsight, I would have spent the extra time travelling to the hospital where my OBs are, but hindsight is 20/20.

My dear husband keeps the ringer on his phone off when he sleeps, so I knew he wouldn't answer, but it didn't stop me from calling and texting obsessively, almost as if I was trying to will him to wake up.  It didn't quite work, but thankfully my co-worker was willing to stay with me until I could get a hold of Jeremy.  I called my mom, slightly freaking out, to let her know what was happening.  I could tell she was shaken, but she did a great job at helping me calm down a bit. 

We got to the ER, and my co-worker went in to get me a wheelchair.  Honestly, I could have walked in on my own, but I was so scared of leaking more fluid or, honestly, the baby just falling out that I didn't want to walk that much.  Got into the ER, and thus began two days of "hospital time".  I read that in a blog recently....hospital time....where everything just moves so much more slowly than in real life.  

A couple of staff came in to get my basic information and take vitals (can I tell you how many times people said "You have a touch of tachycardia"?  I mean....DUH!  I'm worried that my tiny, incompatible-with-life-outside-of-the-womb baby is dead or dying.  I think a little tachycardia should be the least of their worries.  I think my blood pressure was a touch high, too.  Let's move past the obvious.).

I did eventually get taken to a "real" room in the ER (read: separated from other rooms by real walls and not curtains) and the first person to greet me is the fella looking for my co-pay.  Really?  I mean, I know they've got to get paid, but it just seemed a little insensitive at the time.  He was immediately followed by a nurse or doctor of some sort.  I can't remember what person held what title.  He was a nice fella, and did one of my ultrasounds, but my GOODNESS he was not gentle when it came to the internal exams.  Geesh.  But I digress.

The first ultrasound in the ER was a mostly silent affair.  He didn't say much until he was done examining, at which point he did let me know that the baby's heart was still beating, but there was very limited movement.  He didn't comment on the whole "my water broke, does my baby have any fluid?" situation, but instead said that he was going to let one of my OBs take a look at the ultrasound to see if they saw the same thing.  This was the only time that any of my OBs were consulted since they don't work at that particular branch of the hospital.  Made me happy for technology allowing those images to transmit between different parts of the city.

More waiting.  Hospital time.  Painful internal exams.  Finally hearing from Jeremy that he was on his way.  Making awkward small talk with co-worker, who is so young and naive that this probably literally shook her foundation a bit.  Someone came in with a wheelchair to take me "upstairs" (I can't remember exactly where) to have a higher-level ultrasound done.  Sat in the hallway outside of the ultrasound room for a while before finally getting wheeled in.  The room was almost completely dark with the exception of a few dim lights.  Another silent ultrasound.  Was told I was done, and sat in the hallway some more, waiting for my "ride" back to my ER room.  Got back there and, not too long afterwards, Jeremy finally got there.  I can honestly say there's scarcely another time in my life that I've been so happy to see him.  Co-worker got a reprieve, and Jeremy got introduced to my hell.  I was finally able to cry a bit, after feeling like I had to be so strong for my co-worker's sake.

At some point, two doctors who looked like they were approximately 14 years old came in, male and female, to give us an idea of what was going on.  It didn't sound good, not at all.  They were doing tests to make sure the fluid I was leaking was indeed amniotic fluid.  Things would certainly be better if it wasn't, and they wanted to make 100% sure that it was before proceeding.  A third ultrasound took place, I think during these final amniotic fluid tests.  This time, they asked me if I wanted to see.  I did, but I didn't.  I said no.  I wish I could take that back now.  I was afraid of what the baby might look like.  Jeremy looked, but afterwards said he really couldn't tell what he was looking at.

We finally got confirmation that it was amniotic fluid, and that my OB (well, not the one I saw primarily, but I had seen him twice) agreed.  The 14-year-olds gave us our options....go home and just wait for it to happen--which would pose a high risk for infection--or induce labor.  Neither of those even remotely sounded like good options.  At the time, the thought of birthing the baby just seemed horribly impossible, and, honestly, cruel.  I remembered how painful the first miscarriage was, and little Jordan was only 6 weeks in size when that happened.  I asked about surgery, and they told me the risk for excessive bleeding was pretty high (you'll see the irony in this later), and the safest option was to actually give birth.  We decided that was the way we were going to go.  Our teenage friends left us, saying we'd head to labor and delivery soon.  (We had to go to L&D if there was even the slightest chance I might want an epidural)

And then began more hospital time.  I'd be willing to bet it was 2-3 more hours in that room, just waiting for what we knew was going to be the hardest thing we had ever done.  We filled the time with texts, phone calls, and emails to close friends and family to let them know what was going on, and to ask for prayers.  The one small thing I found funny was that, even though we got the TV on, we couldn't get the volume on.  Thankfully, someone in an adjacent room was watching the same channel as we were, and had the volume sky-high.  This allowed us to hear a little of the dialogue.  It's not that we actually cared what was on TV, it was just a welcomed distraction.

Here's where things first started to go downhill.  So, as most of you DON'T know, I was diagnosed with diabetes at around the 8 week mark.  Not gestational, good ol' type 2 diabetes.  It runs pretty heavy and rampant through my family, so I was expecting it at some point, just not at 32, and not while I was pregnant.  But all of that is a story for another day. Since I hadn't eaten since 6:00, and it was well after noon, I sent Jeremy to ask the nurse if I was allowed to eat anything, as I had a snack in my bag.  We diabetics always have snacks in our bags.  She said she'd find out.  An hour went by.  An hour.  Seriously?  It takes that long?  I sent Jeremy out a few more times, and he could never find anyone else.  I was on the verge of just eating something when I sent Jeremy out one last time, and he found the same lady he had talked to earlier.  She said she'd find out.  Come on!  You've had over an hour to find out.  Jeremy mentioned both times that I was diabetic, but I guess it didn't sink in.  Someone finally came in to check my sugar, and it was only in the 80s, which is not terribly low for me.  She asked me what I'd do if I was at home with a blood sugar in the 80s...I said I'd probably eat something.  It was then she informed me that I couldn't eat.  Great.  So, she brought me some Gatorade.  It was at least something.  I asked if she could please check on us getting into a real room.  She had told me earlier that L&D was really busy, and it might be a while for a room.  She called up there, and was told that a room had been ready for a while.  This was my first taste of the poor communication here.  She paged someone to come wheel me on up, which took a while.  I'd say we finally got to our L&D room around 2:30 or so.  (I only remember this because we were in the room and settle in time for the NCIS marathon that started at 3:00.)

So, we got settled in to the VERY nice L&D room.  Being fully cynical at this point, I honestly wondered if they would have put us in such a nice room if they knew we were dead baby parents.  But, I wasn't going to say anything.  I get a little confused at this point.  I can't remember if our nurse came in immediately, THEN followed about an hour later by someone who came in and said "Oh! I didn't know anyone was in this room!" or if it happened the other way around.  But, the truth is, someone literally did come in and say "Oh! I didn't know anyone was in this room!"  Organization?  Uncheck.  

At some point after 3:00, though, our nurse did come in.  Now, I have to say that I've found myself living in What-If land lately, and I really, truly think that if Nathan hadn't been born directly before shift change and we had had this nurse all night, we would have pictures and footprints and anything else we wanted, because this nurse was awesome.  But, the last time I saw her was when I was birthing him.  But I'm getting ahead of myself.

The nurse (I really don't remember anyone's names, sorry!!) asked a million repetitive--though I'm sure necessary--questions.  Told me there would be (could be? this is again where I get fuzzy) pictures taken of the baby, we could hold the baby whenever we wanted after birth (IF we wanted), we would have the option of an autopsy, we could choose what would happen to the baby after birth, and all of these things.  She assured us we didn't have to answer any of those questions yet.  She really was awesome, and calming. 

At some point (maybe 4:00ish?) a doctor came in to give me the medicine to start labor.  I won't go into detail, but let's just say you don't get to swallow these pills.  I was told that it could take up to 24 hours to have the baby, and they'd keep giving me doses every 4 (6?) hours until the baby was born.  Great.  So we were possibly in this for the long haul.  At this point, I realized I really did want my parents to come, so I called my mom and she said when dad got off work they'd head down.  We filled the time watching NCIS.  The lovely nurse came in and checked my blood sugar a few times (finally, someone who was actually paying attention to my medical conditions), and gave me lots of tasty apple juice because my blood sugar kept dropping.

I probably started cramping mildly around 5:00 or so (and was thankful, because hopefully this meant it would NOT be a 24-hour process) and by about 6:15ish, they were getting too strong for my liking.  I was not wanting an epidural, just something to take the edge off, so I used the call button to ask for pain meds.  They'll come soon, I was assured.  About 30-45 minutes later, still no meds.  I used the call button again, apologized for calling a second time, but the pain was getting worse and I would really, really like some meds.  Someone all in their scrubs came running in, asked if I was OK.  I told her I would really like some meds, and she said that someone would be in shortly.  *sigh*  It wasn't until after 7:30 that super-awesome nurse came in to give me some morphine.  She talked me through a few particularly bad contractions, and pushed in the happy drugs.  Truthfully and honestly, it was less than a minute after she gave me the morphine that I could feel that the baby was on its way out.  I told her I thought it was time, and she called someone in.

Within another few minutes, our baby was born.  Super-awesome nurse told us we had a little boy, and asked if I wanted to see him.  At that exact moment, I couldn't even bear the thought, so I said no.  They took him away, and Jeremy went to look at him while the doctors examined me.  When I opened my eyes (I had them closed during the entire birth, as if not seeing it happen would mean it didn't happen at all), I noticed there were no fewer than 8 doctors/nurses/residents/medical personnel of some sort in my room.  Really?  I had been told at the beginning that this would be a calm, peaceful, as-non-interventional-as-possible process, and I had 8 people watching me birth my tiny, dead baby.  So, several strangers started looking at my junk, trying to get the placenta out.  Because nothing could work out right this day, it wouldn't come out.  They didn't seem too concerned, said they'd come back in later to check.  At this point, I called my mom to let her know that he had been born, and she said they had gotten there just as I was giving birth so, of course, they weren't allowed in the room.  (But 8 doctors/nurses/residents were?  Digressing...)  I asked one of the remaining staff if they could please show my parents where the room was, and she said sure.  Jeremy and I spent a few quiet minutes talking about what to name him.  Fairly quickly (at least it felt quick, maybe it was the stress or the morphine), Jeremy came up with Nathan.  It seemed perfect.  I picked the middle name of Jeremiah (since my dear Jeremy was supposed to be named Jeremiah but, due to an error on his birth certificate was actually named Jerimah, but that's another story for another day).  (Turns out the name was perfect, we just didn't know at the time)  So, it was decided.

After what felt like a long time, my parents still weren't in the room, so I sent Jeremy to find them.  The staff person didn't get my parents like we'd asked and, bless their hearts, they had just been patiently waiting.  They came in, took a peek at Nathan, and just hung out with us for a few hours.  They gave Jeremy a break (and a $20) and sent him out to get some food.  He hadn't eaten all day, and I'm sure he appreciated the break.

I felt like I was bleeding a lot more than I should be, and kept asking folks if I was.  No one ever really gave me a straight answer, but no one ever did anything about it either.  A few more attempts at getting that damned placenta out failed, even after more of the "you don't take this orally" medicine. A little while after the 2nd dose of medicine, I was getting crampy again and called for more pain meds.  I was told I couldn't have any.  Ummmm, OK.  Thankfully, about 30 minutes after that, someone came in to check on me and when I told her I was in more pain and wanted meds but was told no, she said that there wasn't any reason I couldn't have any and pumped a bit more morphine into my system.  The next couple of hours were a bit of a blur because of the morphine.  But, I guess that's OK given the situation.  I happily watched some mindless TV (because that's what normal people do after having a dead baby), and fell in and out of sleep.

My parents left, I would say, around 10:00ish (maybe a bit later) to get a hotel room and pass out for the night.  I was waiting for the placenta to deliver before I held Nathan.  I just wanted to have the pain done and over so I could really focus on our son.  (Hindsight....)  Sadly, around 11:00 or so, the doctors determined that I needed to have surgery to get the placenta out.  I was still pretty out of it, but I remember having to sign papers saying that I consented to a blood transfusion if needed.  I really think they knew all along that I was losing too much blood but just never said anything.  Frustrating.  Not long before midnight, I was whisked away to surgery, leaving Jeremy waiting.  I just found out today that the waiting room they directed him to was the same one where friends and family were happily awaiting the news of the births of live babies.  Seriously?  Was there nowhere else they could have had my husband sit?

Got into the operating room, and they knocked me out.  Of course I remember nothing, but the surgery that was supposed to last 10-15 minutes lasted hours.  They apparently had to give me 2 units of blood during surgery, and 2 more units after surgery while I was in recovery.  They brought Jeremy into the recovery room at some point, and he had to watch the hospital staff freak out because they didn't know how to use the new blood warming machines, and they were panicked about getting more blood in me since my heartrate was really high.  Yeah.  I'm sure that really made him feel awesome.  I remember waking up and seeing the IV-looking bag with blood, and the first thing I asked was if I still had my uterus.  They had said that there was a slim chance that I would lose it during surgery.  You know, one of those 1 in 100000000000 chance sort of things, but since things were already going swimmingly, I was just making sure.  I also remember them checking my blood sugar and freaking out yet again because it was kinda high (not over 200, I don't think, but somewhere in the 160 - 180 range) and they were calling all over the place to figure out what to do with me.  In my delirious state, I was thinking they probably shouldn't do ANYTHING because I wasn't pregnant any more and surely once my body calmed down from all the SHIT it had been through, the sugar level would drop.  But there was no way I could communicate that at that time, so I'm pretty sure I got dosed with some insulin.  I dozed in and out a bit, but finally was told that it was time to go to my new room.  

We got to the room probably around 4:30am.  They asked if we wanted to see Nathan, and I immediately said yes.  I had chosen--and then been forced--to wait way too long.  They brought him in, and put him in my arms.  He was so incredibly tiny.  I found out later he only weighed 5 ounces.  I was so scared to touch him, or to unwrap him, so I just held him.  I had Jeremy take a few pictures of me holding him, and then handed him to Jeremy.  I took pictures of him holding Nathan.  Around 5:00 we put Nathan down and tried to get some sleep.  Jeremy's little pull-out couch wasn't very comfortable, but he definitely got at least some sleep based on how much he was snoring.  I dozed in and out but a) had a catheter in and b) had those annoying little leg massage-y things on to keep my blood circulating, neither of which were very conducive to sleep.  Thankfully the speaker for the TV was on the remote next to my head, so me watching TV didn't keep Jeremy awake.  It seemed like every time I fell asleep or almost fell asleep, a baby cried somewhere.  Talk about a punch in the gut.

The early part of the morning was a bit of a blur...frequent vital checks, my parents came back, finally given the go-ahead to eat, text messages and emails from friends and family, things like that.  One of my diabetes doctors came to visit, and it was incredibly nice to see a familiar (medical) face as she was the only one to be had.  We were told fairly early in the morning that if my labs came back normal, we would be discharged.  Such wonderful news.  Of course, the best laid plans....

My dad and Jeremy went to pick up my car from work and take it home so that we didn't have to deal with that when we got discharged.  Mom and I hung out in the room, and a few folks from work and other friends came to visit.  Doctors kept coming in saying we could leave if my labs came back normal, and asking me if anyone had come to draw blood.  Well, yes, people have come and taken blood but no one's giving me any answers.  The doctors always said they'd make sure the labs got done.  More waiting.  More hospital time.

My parents had to leave early afternoon to make it back home for an appointment, but since we were so sure that discharge was imminent, we didn't mind.  In fact, we actually turned down a few offers to visit us because we didn't want them to get there and us be gone already.  One of the only positive experiences was that the dining staff put together a snack basket for us (including some sugar-free items, which was an incredibly sweet touch) and delivered it.  Incredibly sweet.  (Hoping to not see it on our bill ;-))  We never ordered lunch because we thought we were going to be discharged any minute, so we basically lived off of that basket for a few hours.  Afternoon turned into evening, and I was really starting to get frustrated.  People came in and took my blood no fewer than 3 times throughout the day, and yet, my labs weren't back?  Come on now.  

Our day nurse came in at one point and it dawned on me to ask what would happen to Nathan when we got discharged.  We were told that we could have something private done (which we couldn't afford), they could cremate him (but we'd never receive the ashes) or they could dispose of him as medical waste (no parents should EVER have to hear that).  Our only real option was to have him cremated by the hospital, so that's what we chose.  I shudder to think about the alternatives had we not thought to ask.  We should not have HAD to think of that.  Honestly, there should be some sort of checklist given to parents in situations like this. Pictures, yes or no?  Footprints, yes or no?  Autopsy, yes or no?  We should NOT have had to remember that stuff on our own.  In fact, we completely forgot about the autopsy, and I am absolutely kicking myself for not remembering.  That could have given us some much-needed answers as to what happened.  And the footprints?  The memory box they gave us had a little card for footprints, and no one did them for us.  Seriously, sorry to get all pissed, but I'm PISSED!  People really dropped the ball--lots of balls--with us, and I do not ever, ever, EVER want it to happen to another parent.  This shit is hard enough without all of this mess.

OK.  I'm a bit calmer now.  To sum up the rest of the evening, they finally un-cathed me (thank GOD), a dear friend drove a few hours to see us, bring us dinner, and then drive home (amazing!), we watched election coverage since that's all that was on TV (thank goodness for early voting), and tried to do anything but think of what happened.  Around 9:00 we got the word that my labs came back fine and I'd be discharged.  Let's just say I didn't get out of there until around 11:30.  The discharge instructions were incredibly difficult to understand (I even called one of my doctors the next day to see what part of them meant, and she said "Yeah, that would have confused me, too"), and the night nurse really seemed annoyed when I asked for my IV thingies to come out.  (I hadn't been hooked up to an IV in hours, but still had the needles and tubes in me)  Jeremy, thankfully, thought to grab the (mostly useless except for the piece of paper that told us what time he was born and how much he weighed) memory box and teddy bear.  We didn't think about the blanket he was wrapped in.  We said our final goodbyes, just the 3 of us, (which is making me tear up now even thinking about it) and I was finally wheeled out.  Aside from just being ready to be home, I was super-glad we were being discharged as there was a new mother in the room next to us whose baby was rooming in that night.  That wouldn't have been painful at all.  I know there may not have been anything they could do about that, but I've heard from a few friends who work in L&D that they always try to put parents of a dead baby as far away from living babies as possible.  Definitely not the case with us.

The lady who wheeled me down (Jeremy had gone to get his car) was trying to be nice and encouraging, and told me she had lost a baby around the same gestation as Nathan, but said a few things like, "It wasn't God's timing" or "Maybe it wasn't the right time financially".  Hmmmm.  Thanks for trying, but please don't throw those things out to me right now.  Keep talking about how your mother-in-law burned a turkey and still managed to get a refund from Wal-Mart because she insisted it was their fault.  That's a much better subject.

We drove the 20+ minutes home, and began life without Nathan.  At least, life without Nathan here on earth.  I really hope I've done this story justice.  And I really hope I have the strength to convey the missteps to the hospital in a polite way.  I don't want to be a "complainer", but as I said before, I really don't ever want any other parents to have to go through what we did.  I haven't talked to the hospital yet myself, but have a phone number and name and plan to call this week.  Trust me, this situation is hard enough as it is, let alone compounded with all of the mess-ups we experienced.

I do feel compelled to say thanks again to everyone who has helped us through this.  And especially to those who continue to reach out to us.  This is the kind of pain that doesn't go away.  It may dull, but there are always those "ambushes"...I can just hope they'll be fewer and farther between as time goes by.

Meaning

Nathan was never a name we had considered before our little guy was born.  We had tossed a few names around for both boys and girls, but Nathan wasn't on there.  In fact, Jeremy's not even sure where it came from, but it was his idea, and he came up with it fairly quickly after the baby was born.  Jeremiah was one of my ideas fairly early on, but Jeremy wasn't entirely fond of it.  I guess he was willing to concede after his wife had to birth a tiny, dead baby.

I finally decided today to look at see what the names mean.  I definitely think we were meant to name this wee babe Nathan Jeremiah.

Nathan--God has given
Jeremiah--God will raise up; God will set free; appointed by God

God gave us Nathan, and He will indeed raise him, and has set him free, just not in the way any of us were expecting.

One month

I never really understood why some parents celebrated both a 4 week "birthday" and a 1 month "birthday" with their babies.  I kinda get it now.  There is a distinction, no matter how small.  So here we are, at 1 month.

I started writing the story of it all tonight, but realized I was rushing through it, and wasn't doing it the justice it deserves.  So I'll save that for another day.  

We still don't really know much about why all of this happened, and it's seeming like we never will.  We're not dealing with an incompetent cervix, and the pathology on the placenta came back normal.  I really, really wish we would have had an autopsy done on Nathan, but after the nurse mentioned it to us as a possibility (a few hours before he was even born), no one else brought it up again.  Ever.  And though it crossed my mind a few times during my hospital stay, it wasn't ever when there was someone in the room.  

I know some of you are probably thinking I'm an idiot...forgot to mention autopsy, forgot to take pictures....but please take my word for it....there are just things you don't think of when you're in such a horribly stressful and sad situation.

My OB (who is actually an NP, but she's the one I've seen the most since the beginning, and she's seen me through both losses) is going to talk to one of the doctors to see if she thinks I should undergo any testing myself.  She's also just taken it upon herself to really be an advocate for us, and is trying to find out if there are any pics of Nathan, and if they have a blanket similar to the one he was wrapped in that we can have.  She's also trying to piece together the notes from the day to get a better idea of what may have happened, if that's possible.  We're really lucky to have someone fighting on our side.

I honestly don't know what else to say tonight, but I couldn't let the day go by without recognizing its significance.  I just miss both of my babies so much.

It's like an ambush

Yesterday was the first day that we have been to church since we lost Nathan.  Our pastor and his wife, very sadly, went through a similar experience a few weeks before us, so he and I chatted a bit about it all.  He started off by asking how I was doing, and I went through my typical "I'm mostly good, it just hits out of the blue sometimes" and he replied with something that really hit me...."Yeah, it's like an ambush".  And it is.

I'll be doing fine for hours, sometimes even (almost) an entire day and then WHAM.  It hits.  Yesterday, while I had a few smaller moments, I did really well until we were done decorating the tree.  Jeremy said that the top of the tree didn't look as green as the bottom, which made me worry that the tree may go brown and die, and I started crying.  Ambushed.  It then spiraled downhill into other sad thoughts ("I miss Nathan, he and Jordan will never get to help us decorate a tree..." and things along those lines).  I rebounded fairly quickly for the most part, and thankfully Jeremy didn't call the mental institute.  But still.  Those ambush-y feelings are quite possibly the worst.

Today is 4 weeks.  It feels like it can't have been that long while simultaneously feeling like it was forever ago.  Sometimes the hours feel like days, and the days like weeks.  Sometimes it's comforting to be around people who don't know...especially those who never knew I was pregnant.  But then there are days where I just want to tell everyone what I've been through, as if it would excuse the fact that I'm unable to concentrate/participate/whatever.

I found this website today, thanks to a friend, and I spent way too much time during lunch and my breaks reading it today.  I only say that because I was then on the verge of tears all day.  It's comforting to see that there are women going through this too.  Most of my friends who have been through a miscarriage have either only been through one, have only been through an early loss, and/or have living children also.  Regardless of whether or not they had kids when their miscarriage happened, I still find it a little bit harder to relate because they did, in fact, end up with a living kid or two (or three).  Now, of course that's fantastic for them, and I would never want anything else....but when I'm sitting here childless, it's nice knowing there are other women also sitting childless--though it breaks my heart for them, obviously.  I guess the main thing is not feeling alone, which is how I feel so often.

So far, we still have no answers as to why this happened.  Why my water broke at 17 weeks.  I don't think I was ever EXPECTING answers, but just hoping.  I've not given up yet, as my OB is still doing some investigating, but I'm trying to resign myself to the fact that I probably won't know until the good Lord tells me himself one day.

I'm running behind my self-imposed traditional 7:40pm posting, but I wanted to share a few pictures.  The angel ornament was a gift to us from a sweet friend of mine from high school, and it has Nathan's name and the year.  (We plan on ordering one for Jordan, too)  Then yesterday at Target we found the "n" and "j" ornaments.  We felt it was a nice way to include them in on Christmas, especially since Jordan would be here with us already if he/she had stuck around.

3 weeks

Today I have nothing eloquent or graceful to say.  I'm mad.  I knew I'd get to the angry stage at one point or another, and here I am.  I'm mad at myself, I'm mad at God, I'm mad at the doctors and nurses, I'm mad at the hospital, I'm pretty much mad at everyone who was involved in this at all.  It's not practical, it's not particularly helpful, but it's the truth.  It's my current reality.

I'm mad that I was sick before I got pregnant and didn't know it.  I'm mad that that could have possibly caused this to happen.  I'm mad that God let us get so far into the pregnancy before we lost him.  Why couldn't it have been another early loss?  Any loss is painful, trust me, I'm racking them up.  But I really have had a much harder time with Nathan.  Maybe because he really, truly looked like a baby.  Jordan barely began to live before he or she was taken to heaven, but Nathan was around for 4 whole months.  I'm simultaneously mad and grateful that I had to actually give birth to him.  It was awful and wonderful all at the same time.  I'm mad that I still had to go through surgery, and that the doctors waited so long that I needed 4 units of blood (that's quite a bit, apparently).  I'm mad that the hospital was so incredibly unorganized when dealing with me.  I'm mad that Jeremy had to sit and watch the hospital staff freak out because they didn't know how to use the blood warming machines when they were trying to give me blood.

But I know that the anger will subside at some point.  Right now, it just turns into sadness.  And I guess if I have the choice between being angry and sad, right now, I'd choose angry.

I think what I'm mad about the most right now, is that sometimes I actually forget that this has all happened.  For brief, fleeting moments I touch my stomach and then remember he's gone.  That's what I'm mad about the most.  And sad about the most.  

Another Monday.  7:40pm.  

Standing on a road I didn't plan

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9ylnx0NA9X4

I've loved this song from the first time I heard it several weeks ago.  It's honest and it's desperate.  It touched my heart in a way no song had in a while.  

What most people don't know is that, at 8 weeks, I was diagnosed with a very unexpected condition.  I was bombarded with a TON of information, which included the possible "damage" to my baby.  Immediate and drastic lifestyle changes began that very day.  To be honest, it SUCKED.  It wasn't anything I couldn't handle, of course, but to have to make any sort of huge changes that rapidly isn't fun.

At 9 weeks, I went for a non-OB doctor's appointment and immediately rushed to my OB due to heavy bleeding.  We just knew it was another miscarriage, and the 40 minutes in the OB's waiting room were torture.  Of course, you have correctly guessed that they found the heartbeat just fine, and our little Nathan was moving all over the place.  At the time, I took a guess that we might be having a girl since "she" was causing such a fuss just to get "her" picture taken again :)

From that point up until November 5th, the pregnancy itself was non-eventful, but the changes I had to make were still annoying.  I would complain about this or that, and some days just didn't want to keep working so hard.  I had to keep thinking about my little baby and how the changes were good for him.

It was in the midst of this frustration that I first heard this song.  I was definitely standing on a road I didn't plan.  Of course I had always planned to be pregnant, but just wasn't expecting it to be so difficult.  Little did I know...

Today (at this moment--7:40pm) marks 2 weeks since we lost Nathan.  While day-to-day life has resumed, and I don't spend every waking moment thinking about him any more, I do get hit with paralyzing pain at random points during the day.  Points that honestly feel like I need to ask God for the strength to just take that next breath.  And even if I don't see it in the moment, I know He will give me the strength for that, and for so much more.

(And if you didn't listen to the song before reading this, go back and listen now.  Seriously.)

Love you, my little Nathan <3

The right words are hard to find

I've been trying for the past 10 days to find the words to explain what happened last Monday.  I want to remember everything, or at least as much as I can, since it was the day our little boy was born and the day he went to be with Jesus.  But every time I try to write things down, I just can't find the right words.  I'm trying to at least capture the details, the events, the timeline so that I can fill it in later.  What I do want to share tonight might be TMI, so proceed with that knowledge:

He had the most perfect little nose.  I don't remember much else about his tiny face (and I don't think the hospital took pictures of him like they said they would, but I'm still holding out a little hope), but his nose was tiny and perfect.

He was really, really small....but he just looked like a super-tiny baby.  Not an alien like I was afraid of.

I wish I had looked at his hands and feet...but I was afraid to unwrap him.  He was so tiny...only weighed 5 ounces.  Jeremy saw him before he was all wrapped up and said he had 10 perfect little fingers, and 10 perfect little toes.

I am so glad that, even if we don't end up with pictures of him, we took pictures of us holding him.  These were taken at about 4:30am on Tuesday, after my surgery (that will be part of the big story) when we were moved to a recovery room.  That should help explain the incredibly tired looks on our faces.

I wish we had thought to take the beautiful crochet blanket with us, but we forgot.  There's a lot of things you don't think of when you've been through something like this.  As morbid as it sounds, I am totally going to make a list in case, God forbid, this ever happens again.  

Even though we didn't remember to keep it, I'm thankful for the organizations that make blankets for these--and other--medical situations.  I worked with one in Asheville, and plan to start working with one again here in the next few weeks.

I am incredibly thankful that Jeremy thought to grab the little teddy bear that was with Nathan.  It may sound silly, but this little bear has been an incredible source of comfort for me over the past several days.  Laugh if you want, but he even came to work with me today and sat on my desk.  Made me smile every time I looked at him.

I am thankful that we decided to name the baby.  It really has helped to have a name.  Nathan Jeremiah.  Jeremy picked the first name, and I picked the middle name.  It just fits.  In fact, it provided so much comfort that we decided to name our first baby, too.  We never found out the gender of that baby, but looked through some "unisex" names, and chose Jordan.  (Possibly Jordan Christian, but we've mainly just been calling him/her Jordan)

Even though it was painful, I am so glad that I was able to physically give birth to Nathan.  This ensured that we would get to see and hold him.  I hate that the rest of the delivery did NOT go so well, and I ended up in surgery, but being able to see and hold him meant the world.

I'm glad my parents could come down, and that my mom stayed with us for a few days.  She is pretty much the only reason we had real, balanced meals for those days, because Lord knows I had no energy or desire to cook.

I'm glad that Nathan stayed with us in our room until we were discharged.  It was comforting to have him there.

Both of us are insanely grateful for all the prayers, emails, notes, calls, visits, meals, etc.  God has really provided an incredible network of folks for us, and once we actually swallowed our pride and allowed folks to help, we realized how much of a blessing it really is.

I'm thankful for those who donate blood.  I lost a lot of blood during surgery, and needed a transfusion.  Without blood donors, I would definitely not be as healthy as I am now.  Once I'm allowed, I can guarantee you I'll be donating blood much more often!

There's so much more to be thankful for, but this is all I've got for now.  The delicious chicken and dumplings that a friend brought us tonight are calling to me.  I promise there will be more (or maybe that's more of a "threat", hahaha).  But for now....