'Thankfulness'

It's been years. YEARS. Since I've posted here. I like to break up sentences with periods more. I blame facebook. Important thoughts need a period, not a comma. A real freaking pause. So screw grammar. This is how I write. I've been reading though my blog. I do almost every year at this time. But this year I wanted to say something that I can't say on facebook. Mostly because facebook is filled with superficial drather, and because I deactivated it over a week ago and so have no social, creative outlet. Upon reading through those first two years without my son, I am thankful. Not for stupid shit. Not like most of what I read on facebook. I'm thankful I'm sane. I'm thankful I've been able to not just be alive, but to live. I've learned how to fall in love again, have hope again and be excited for the future again. I've done all of that in the last three years. Not without paying for it. That's for sure. I knew what I had was special this time. I know it, and I knew it, and I am grateful for it. I'm grateful for my daughter, for my life, for my annoying dogs, for my old house, for the uncertainty of my future job prospects. I'm thankful I've felt any of it. Because I could hardly feel anything but pain and grief those first few years. And I FELT this. Really felt all of it. And for that, I am thankful. I don't get mad at thankfulness because I don't thing people deserve it. They do. We all deserve a bit of happiness in this life. Recognizing it is good. I get angry because I think that for the majority of people, they don't really get how precious their THANKFULNESS is. I lost that completely once. Not just once, for years. They all just take it for granted and list it off like they didn't have to fight for it. Thankfulness is a feeling in itself that they should be grateful for. Everyone should be thankful for thankfulness first, and for those who have not suffered the loss of a child, thankful that they have their loved ones to share it with on facebook at all. I could be thankful all day to everybody, and the one person I want to thank, my son, is not here. THAT I am NOT thankful for. I don't make apologies. So, be thankful you aren't me if it is too hard for you all to imagine. For those of you going through the worst of it. I'm so sorry, and I hope you are able to someday find your way back into the light of life and to even contemplate thankfulness. That is a huge battle, and I wish you all the strength, love and light I can muster. If you are like me, someone who lost their child at Thanksgiving, then you have an uphill battle. But if I can do it, you can do it. I never thought I could, not once, but I did. (((((((((((((hugs))))))))))) and peace to you.

All I want for Christmas is you

I've listened to this song about 50 times tonight. I like to think I can sing. I sing it, and it just chokes me up. Seriously. I just blubber to this song :(

I'm just so sad again. It seems like I've noticed so many birthdays in the last couple of weeks, everytime I turn around. My daughter was invited to a party on Saturday, and I just thought, we should be having one of those now and cried.

I've just been in such a funk. Just bone tired. I'm finding it hard to get out of bed again. I have little affect, I"m such a pessimist. My boss said (nicely) that I was 'in a bit of a mood today'. I didn't realize it was so obvious, i do try. I'm just so blue. Everytime I hear a sad Christmas song I cry.

There is just no preparing for these waves of sadness. Life goes on, and I hate life for that.

MISSing my son, Myles, this Christmas and always.

A poem for Myles on his birthday

Born at Rest

Born to the world
Already at rest
Our search for lifes meaning
Is put to the test

Unlike his name
His journey not far
The road Myles traveled
Led right to his star

To walk with his family
And those here on earth
A path not to be
For his miraculous birth

Expressions to ease
Our need for a reason
With words meant to comfort
When too short the season

For tears shed in sorrow
And to eyes that have cried
On the wings of a butterfly
His spirit does glide

Those Myles touched
Should look to their heart
To bring them the peace
That he had to depart

Ever so close
In our mind's eye
His essence you'll find
Never to die

For our dear "Little Myles"
Is beyond our embrace
But etched in our soul
Is his sweet newborn face

Written by Myles' Great Aunt Rosary

Myles 2nd Birthday

The days leading up to these big days are the worst, but after being on this journey for two years, I realize no day is ever how we expect it to be. So I don't know what today will bring. I just know I wish I was planning my son's second birthday.

Losing him sometimes feels like yesterday, and sometimes it feels like a century ago since I held him. The hardest part is remembering my daughter's second birthday. I've been packing and moving and ironically happened upon a bunch of cards from when she turned 2. I remember it like it was yesterday. I remember the gifts she received, how big she was, all the things she could say. It hurts that I can't imagine Myles doing any of those things. It hurts that he will forever be only what my imagination will allow, it just feels so inadequate. Trying to picture him doing those things, grasping at what should be today. It makes me frustrated and angry, he should be here. I'd love to hold him and hug him forever and ever and i can't, i want to so badly it hurts

So, we're going to a movie, decorating a cake for him, taking a birthday balloon and decorations to the cemetary. I find myself doting on l/c to make up for the little one I don't have to dote on. Like its another birthday for her. They say your heart expands everytime you have more children. It's so hard having this heart made for two and only having one to give it all to. It's a hole. And today I know that as much as I'm trying to celebrate, as much as I'm trying to make it a special day to remember my son, that really deep down I'm trying to fill a hole that can never be filled. Grasping to give love that I cannot physically express.

I just wish things were different. I wish this time of year was how I had imagined it would be for the rest of my life. My little turkey Myles should be here. And it makes me sad. It makes me wish I could turn back the clock and change something, anything to make it different today. But we get what we get. So I'm going to try to have the most gentle day I can.

Happy 2nd Birthday, Son. I miss you and love you and I am so proud of you and I wish so badly that you were right here so I could make you pancakes and surprise you with balloons and give you all the love I have to give.

Still here . . .

Yep. Still alive. Doing well. Was without internet for about a month so that was not a bad hiatus. Can't say the fally doesn't hit me hard. Partially why I'm here again. I decided some time ago this was my grief blog, and with my divorce and move and new life (even dating) it's not that I don't grieve but it's harder to write about. I'm afraid. I think about that story about grief in a jar, and how you store it and then suddenly, the jar falls off the shelf and you're covered in grief and nobody understands.

So I'm a little covered in grief at the moment. Naturally I find myself back here. Today is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day. I've got a candle lit for Myles now. This Fall I've found myself more raw than I've felt for awhile. It's been tough. I've got a new job, soon I'll have a new home, everything has changed. It's happy and sad and fuck; i'm ambivalent old me.

I've been trying to take it easy as the raw grief has resurfaced. I don't want to let my old bad self take over again. I want to be wiser, understand my limits, worry less about disappointing people than I worry about myself and my maintaing. I've learned that this life isabout knowing your own limits, and keeping the gentle people and distancing from the hurtful people.

Bah. So here I am. And as I've eluded. I'm thinking a blog less about greif and more about my other tribulations needs to happen. So. When it does, I'll let you know. If you have followed my grief blog I'd love for you to join me on the other side on a blog less about grief and more about my life as I find it today. When the time comes you can email me and I'll let you know. I've been longing for that anonymous venue for some time. Today I know I need it.

Remembering our children today and this Fall and just always and forever . . .

Failing my daughter

My daughter was so excited to become a big sis. She knows she is still a big sis even though her brother died. She takes so much pride in him, sharing him freely with anyone who lets her, she is her brothers keeper and i'm so thankful for that. She has always been my constant reminder of all of the wonderful times we had with her brother, how loved he was, how happy he made us, and how he will never be forgotten.

Still, she wants a living sibling so bad. Her father and I are separated and it is likely we will get divorced eventually, it just hasn't been urgent to file the paperwork at this point.

It seems like at least twice a week, she brings up having another baby or (because she's precocious and knows) she wants me to adopt.

How do I explain to her the complexities of the world? I don't know that I could ever handle a sub preg, i'm not ruling it out because i am 29 and you never know what the future will bring, but it is obvious that this will not happen anytime soon. I also can't explain to her that being a single mom, my options for adoption are limited. I don't have any money for adoption, and I don't know enough about the child welfare system to know if they would allow a single mom to be a foster parent, let alone an adoptive parent. Even if they did, could I handle a child in my current capacity? Could I afford it? Do I have the emotional resources to foster a child? And if we did take that route, that child may not be with us forever, so I would be creating an attachment that could inevitably end in another loss (not the same, but i see parallels).

My daughter is almost six, her brother and her would be four years apart. It feels like time is ticking away and i'm losing any chance i had at giving my daughter the experience of having a living sibling. I certainly can't tell her, well maybe when you're older or I get remarried (bah, never want to get remarried!) or whatever. That's too much for her to understand, and I would never ever want to ever promise her a sibling ever again. That's what happened the first time and here we are.

I usually just find myself, each time she asks, just disappointing her all over again. That's what it feels like anyway. All I can say is that I don't know. That it might just be me and her, and that I'm so happy I have her in my life. She is all I need, not all I ever wanted, but she makes up what remains of my heart.

I know that many only children (i hate saying that, she is not my only child!) would have liked to have a sibling, and they are fine being the only child. It just seems doubly unfair though that she SHOULDN'T be an only child. That she had and has a little brother, yet she has very few of the experiences most children have and she perhaps will never know the love (and all the other stuff) that is a part of having a living sibling.

This has been my biggest turmoil since the moment the nurse couldn't find the heartbeat. How could I tell my daughter? As my marriage eroded, i've still grasped at any conceivable chance that maybe, just maybe I could somehow be a mommy to a rainbow baby. I don't know that I'll ever be there. And that is okay for me I've accepted that, but I feel like I'm failing her everytime she asks for a sibling.

Anyway, I know there aren't any answers really. It just feels like I need to get this off of my chest. How could I fail both my children so fully? How can I keep failing her? How can I possibly just tell her, life isn't fair? 'I don't know' seems like such an inadequate answer to her pleas. She deserves so much more

Out of the funk, then back in again

I was such an insomniac for so long, I don't really remember having any bad dreams in the beginning. Maybe I've forgotten them. I dreamed that Myles wasn't dead, that it was all a mistake. That was a good dream, waking up was awful.

Having said that, I had an awful dream two nights ago. So bad I'm still trying to shake it. I dreamt that I was pregnant and had to have a c-sec (i've never had one before). My baby died, but it wasn't Myles, it was the next baby. I'm not pregnant or planning on ttc anytime soon. But there I was. And I remember trying to hide the fact that my baby had died. That I had even been pregnant. I didn't want to tell anybody. It was awful. It was like proof that there was something wrong with me, and I was so ashamed.

So that, and the assassination of Dr. Tiller both have me feeling sad and shaken. All of those women, enduring the worst time of their life, making the hardest choices they've ever had to make, and now the only person they could turn to is gone. Pro-life my ass. This man has helped and saved the lives of so many women. He will be missed by so many people in so many ways.

The abortion debate is front and center as a result it seems, and I can't help but feel stepped on by both sides. There is a way to promote womens' choices without devaluing the love and pain women like me feel. I know it.

He counts

I've been struck recently by how I'm often off count. I get together with my sister, or go out to dinner, and someone asks me the number of people, and I'm never right it seems. It noticed for the first time last Christmas. I'm counting and recounting stockings and presents, and I'm off. Bam, it hits me. Myles. I'm counting Myles. What a shot in the gut.

It has me thinking a lot about feminism and the right to choose. I guess what bothers me is that I think that the right to choose MEANING is often overlooked. The right to view your child as a person, with a life and future is often overshadowed by the pointless banter, back and forth, under and over each othdr.

My son was not a fetus to me. Medically, yes. But to me; he was a baby, a toddler, a little boy, and a man. He was my son. He counts to me. He counts to me the same whether he was born still or alive. He was loved and wanted, and he was our son.

I just want that reality recognized. That a child can be loved at conception, and that their loss at any gestation means the loss of meaning, the loss of the future and the loss of many women's dreams.

My son was very much a person to me, and I want that to be respected as much as anything.

Sigh

I'm still debating on the deletion thing. Mostly I just don't want cruel people to have access to my personal thoughts, and I don't want people who can't constructively talk to me in real life to get the privelege of knowing what's going on with me. With family like this, who needs enemies? Sigh.

Anyway, that's not why I'm writing now. Last night Simone had a teary night. Sometimes she is upset about something else, and it turns into her being sad about Myles. Her pain over Myles generally grows out of a general feeling of shittiness for her, and I totally get it. Last night was different though. We were laying next to each other as I tried to get her to wind down and she said she had a lump in her throat. Usually the crying isn't crying like when she gets hurt (feelings or otherwise) it's a little more dramatic, somewhat forced. Her crying about Myles has always been that way. Last night, though, she really got swept up in tears like I haven't seen.

I think it was good for her. She doesn't see me cry like I once use to. When I cried last night as we were talking about what we had wanted for Myles, I could tell the sense of reciprocity and her ability to empathize and comfort really gives her a sense of mastery. Her compassion is unparalleled.

Okay, but teary nights we've had. What I have never heard her say before is what's been bouncing around my head:

'Mom, I just knowed it was going to happen. I tried to just act normal and smile, but I just knowed he was going to die.'

?! huh ?!

Simone will be 6 in August, is just finishing up her first year of Kindergarten. Kids grow so damn fast. When I told her she was three when we learned about my pregnancy, and we celebrated her 4th bday when I was very much prego, it blew us both away to contemplate how little she was, how long ago it was. She has grown so much since he died. She loves to play this game, how old would Myles be (or would he have been). So she'll say, When I'm 8, how old would Myles have been. She'll go up into their teens and 20's. It's so sad.

So watching Simone develop, and watching her understand her loss more deeply as she ages has really given me some insight. I know lots of women who have felt they've had a premonition. Hell, I look back and even B has looked back and said (because of x, y, and z) we knew something, even though we didn't KNOW. It makes me wonder if going back, and giving more weight to the fears and anxieties we felt during the pregnancy, is part of being human. I don't think anyone can know, but I think we have this inclination as humans to go back and make sense of the events in our lives. We create forshadowing in the aftermath. We tell some story in our minds leading up to whatever terrible life altering event we've been through, that makes sense like a book makes sense. I think perhaps it gives us some sense of control in a world where we really have no control. Where do psychic beliefs originate from? Are they something that evolved?

Sigh. I'm still thinking on it. Has anyone out there felt they didn't have a sense of forboding about their child's death?

Simone said a lot of interesting things last night. She also said, for the first time, that nobody knows what she feels. 'Nobody knows what it's like to lose their little brother'. It remeinded me of my blog a few weeks ago when I said nobody knows what I live through each day without Myles. That sense of loneliness I wish I could take for her. I know how painful that is :(

I'm so fortunate to have her, and I'm so glad to be her mother.

debating on deleting all of this

I'm debating on deleting this blog. Quite frankly, i was stupid enough to let some family members see it, and i haven't remained as anonymous as i probably should have (using pseudonyms etc.). It makes me really kind of sad, but i don't really know what else to do? I've basically stopped blogging on myspace for the same reason, and/or kicked family members off (it's a private blog). I guess I'm just bummed because I really like being able to come here and vent, and for the few readers i have, read your replies. It's just not the same genre as posting on an online forum if you all know what i mean. I guess what's even more sad is that I used to not give a damn, but I feel so vulnerable, and I feel the world is so cruel, that I would delete this very personal diary/chronicle simply to protect myself from the hurt or questions forced on me by others. This blog has been with me since the beginning, and having to say goodbye to it is something i would mourn.

I just don't know what to do. Does anyone have any advice? :(

Time doesn't heal this

I'm having a rough day today. I don't know why. It's 17 months to the day since I buried my son, and here I am again, crying alone in the shower, in front of my computer, smoking in the garage, tears running down my face everywhere I go.

It just feels like each day brings added weight, not relief. That I'm losing Myles each and every day because as time moves forward, I move further away from him and my life as I knew it. I'm a shell of a my former self, bitter and sad.

Mother's day is coming up and I think Simone and I are just going to make some cards together. Me for my mom, her for me and maybe for Myles too if she wants. I wish I could go to the zoo to see the butterfly plaque my family got last November in honor of Myles, but Simone and I will go see it together soon if not on Monther's day. Simone never tires of remembering Myles, she'll love to see his name there with all the children and butterflies. Everything is so bittersweet. She wants to take the plaster casts of Myles' two hands and one foot to school. I don't know if I can do it, and I can't let her take them alone, but for her I'll try.

Sadly, Mother's day doesn't remind me of what it should; this time two years ago when I had my two children with me. I didn't know that was my only true Mother's day, the only one I'd ever have. Instead, the upcoming Mother's day reminds me of last year, and crying in the parking lot at Perkins as my first family betrayal scorched my already tattered heart. I didn't know I could hurt more than I had. What little I knew almost 6 months out.

The trauma of the first year weighs heavily on me the second. Time moves forward and everyone else forgets. Nobody lives with this daily as I do, nobody. Each year, you remember the last. Last year at this time I was so utterly lost, more than I could fathom. This year I'm here, but my life is on it's head. I feel so defeated. I didn't know I could feel more defeated than after I lost Myles, but the death of my marriage is it's own loss. 11 years together, 8 years of marriage on May 26th; this will be our first anniversary apart. Somehow, it seems like we're failing both our children.

Anyway, there is no point to this, just thinking, typing, rambling, crying, blowing my nose. I'm just worried about next month, and the old pain it will dredge up and the new losses I will have to deal with. I used to love May, once upon a time. I will somehow have to find the courage and strength within me to sustain me through the month ahead :(

Redemption

I've been in hell for the last 3 or 4 weeks, battling a depressive episode, working on my dissertation proposal, missing all the deadlines it seemed, and struggling to find the will or the energy to pull it together. While doing this, other drama weighed heavily, we lost the dogs (then found them), my stepdad may be very sick; I've just felt so helpless, hopeless, and alone.

On monday I passed my proposal defense (first 3 chapters of my diss.), and the positive response i got surpassed my wildest dreams. I got so many compliments they liked it 'as is' but had great suggestions. I could just about cry. I realized just how much i tear myself down in my own mind. I'm my own worst enemy.

So, there is the good news, my faith in my ability to do my job is returning. I feel redeemed.

My depression was better today, but here I am sleepless at 430am in limbo. I'm hoping to move back to home May 21st. It's my birthday and I can't think of a better present than being able to pick Simone up from her last day of school that day and just drive back, lol. Where we will live is yet to be seen. But at this point I don't care. I just miss Lincoln and so does Simone, so i want to make it happen very badly.

Anyway, just wanted to share some happy news, my actual dissertation and final defense do not feel near so intimidating, and that feels reassuring. With the response I got, I think things are going to work out well. Maybe I'll actually get my PhD after all?!

My shitty plan

Okay, the plan, moving back to my hometown, uh . . . not so good. I didn't realize that what I needed was my ideal family, not the one I have. Because the family I have are just are who they are; each their assets and faults. They don't have a magic wand. They can't be what I need when I need it. Because on a very fundamental level they don't understand.
And I shouldn't expect them too.

And when they say things, hurtful things, they think they're helping. It's a catch 22 as another bereaved parent described the phenemonen of familial anlienation after the death of a child. What they want to do to help, hurts. They're destined to do everything wrong. Because they just want the old you back, and they want to 'fix'. There is no fix.

Well, my family has done EVERYTHING wrong (cept sweet Heidi ;).
From micromanaging our lives, to saying I don't deserve my daughter, to saying I'm doing my son's 'legacy' a disservice, to telling me they understand exactly how I feel and Myles would want . . . (rip someone's fuckin head off). When I skipped Thanksgiving (Myles died on Thanksgiving) I was told to 'get with it'.
I think I've been criticized for everything you can be criticized for. And I miss Lincoln, and the drama with families (Brandon's families have been probably the biggest jerks but there is a good competition) and with B and I trying to figure out our shit, and parenting, and defending my diss. proposal (April 13th, yay), and working, and I'm just about ready to lose it.

When will I be back in my home? I think the most depressing part is I can't say. Simone has to finish school, she finishes on my bday, and I think that might be the magic day. But . . . only . . . if things pan out like they need to. And I have so little hope for the minor things. For big things? I don't think I have it in me.
Missing Lincoln, and Myles, and my sanity.

Awful nightmare

Not about Myles. My mom is 55, and has had more than her fair share of health problems. Well she went into urgent care for being dizzy, and I'm sick, and I went to bed at 830. The last thing Simone and I did was call her and we figured she was coming home soon, doctors said as soon as her heartrate came down.

Well, I just had the most horrible dream that she died. Just awful. And I had to tell my daughter, who adores her grandma Cyn, and it was more heartbreaking than words can describe. I just woke up sobbing, its 344am, and I don't think I'm going back to sleep. Just went and checked her bed. (okay, i was going to go cry to her and tell her how much I love her) but she wasn't there. Docs must have kept her in over night to watch her :(

I know she's going to be fine, but in my dream, all the things about her grandchildren's life she was gonna miss flashed through my head. It was excruciating thinking she would never see any of it. So, no one to console me, here I am.

I love my mom so much, and living with her, it seems like shes been driving me crazy. But none of that lame stuff matters that much in the grand scheme, and I'm feeling like an unappreciative heel.

I thought losing Myles had taught me something about life and death, and now I'm feeling like I learned nothing at all. That the next time life takes its inevitable course, I will be just as unprepared as anyone. And I know loss and grief, they have been my partners for so long. But something tells me that when it happens again, it will be like meeting them anew, and dealing with this human condition all over again.

For the first time, I wish I could call my brother (whom I haven't spoken to since around Christmas. I'm still angry with him, I just need someone to talk to.

I just want my baby

I JUST WANT MY BABY!!! I just want my son. Thats all I want. Fuck school, fuck relationships, fuck it all. Just give me my baby you motherfuckers, cuz I don't think I can take another step without him on days like these.

What I think happened

I'm a researcher, and was always that kid who wanted to know 'why'. I remember the first time I searched the internet for an illness. It was way back in 1998 when I was diagnosed with shingles. This also happened to be my first foray into academia, but scholarly journals were not yet in my repertoire. Thus I worked myself into a panic, thinking i had some autoimmune disorder. Hell maybe I do.

Anyway, that's where it began, but my need for more and more information would only increase from there. I'm an information junky. As I moved into graduate school, I only became more sophisticated, especially with the increased access to scholarly journals.

When I was pregnant with Simone, I read everything I could. When I was breastfeeding Simone, I read everything I could, so much so my dissertation is over that topic today. I'm a breastfeeding factotum.

So when I was pregnant with Myles, and knew I got to be home with home for at least 6 months, I was stoked. B was a SAHD, so I went back to work full-time when she was 8 weeks. She was exclusively breastfed (except when we added solids) and then we continued breastfeeding until she was 2 and 1/2.

I so looked forward to breastfeeding, Myles. But I researched a million other things too, going diaper free, using cloth diapers, making baby food. I was sooooo ready. And I remember writing a blog when I found out he was a boy, so enthralled with the idea of raising a son.

That's when, after my 20 week appt. my doc called and said there was an echogenic foci on Myles' heart. It looked like a little bit of calcium in his left ventrical, and it can be a marker for down syndrome. Well I got the quad screen and the level two, and I had a 1/2300 chance, and I ended up teaching my ob/gyn about it as it is a normal variant and it generally means nothing in and of itself. His heart was perfect, just a blip. So I told myself, so I told her, so the research said. But deep inside, I worried.

Then there was my girth. I measured 7cm big through most of my pg (at 20 weeks, I measured 27), I was borderline polyhydramnios (which I also researched the hell out of) but was assured that everything else was okay. This worried me, deep inside though.

During my pregnancy I had shingles (yep, remember those shingles when I was 18) twice. Never had I had them so close together. They are an indicator of stress for me, I've had them 6 times since I was 18.

I had awful ear infections. I had never had an ear infection in my life. I never knew how excruciating they were, I feel so sad for all those little ones who suffer. Oh, nights were the worst, wake up, ear throbbing; and that was in addition to all the other things that wake you up when you're giant prego. I had recurrent ear infections, with a total of 5 appointments for them starting at my 18th week of pregnancy. My last appt with the ENT I cancelled the Monday after the Saturday that Myles was born still. I knew deep down, that my ear infections would be gone soon. They've never returned.

I had carpal tunnel. This seems like and odd ante dote, but it was very painful and I hadn't had it with my last pregnancy (add that to the long list) so it was another piece of a puzzle I was frantically trying to figure out.

Well, it wasn't frantic yet. On Sept. 23rd, 2007, I went into preterm labor when Myles was 28 weeks. Bam, my world changed. Had blood and mucous, went to hospital, dilating, drugs, worry. Go home, bed rest, more and more worries. Gobs or research. I couldn't sleep, I was on bedrest, and I was glued to my computer. What was wrong with me? Why was my uterus irritable (I contracted 5 times or more an hour for 12 weeks). I had a couple non-stress tests, another level II ultra sound, I was put on the drugs visteril (sp?) and (procardia) and I as left all depressed and OCD.

And the ticking tock for me was a shift in the amniotic fluid. Up until 28 weeks I was measuring 7cm, by the time I had my appt. on the Tuesday before he died, I was 37 weeks and 37 centimeters. I remember commenting to midwife, I wonder where all that amniotic fluid is going? Then pooh poohing myself for finding something else to worry about.

My theory:
First, I think it has to do with gender. I already knew from my studies that boy babies did worse 'on average' than girl babies. They're less hardy, more likely to have complications, etc. They are also more likely to die from SIDS and stillbirth.

Then I read all these articles on testosterones effect on the immune system, and a lot of stuff on how autoimmune disorders are sometimes temporarily relieve during pregancy because the immune system is tuned down so the body does not reject the baby.

So what do I think happened? I think my immune system did the opposite, and that the cells from the placenta and uterine wall did not properly bind, or as they grew, did not grow quickly or were restricted in some way.

I believe that the scar tissue band in my uterus, and my placenta accreta are evidence of this.

I believe that Myles was smaller than he should be. Simone was born at 35 weeks and weighed 6lbs 11oz. I gained more weight with Myles (60lbs) than I did with Simone, and with 2 weeks longer in the oven, he only weighed 6lbs 7oz. He was big through every sonogram and I'm 5ft 8in and I'm the runt in my family.

Finally, I believe he died of fetal asphyxiation. I believe that when I went into pretern labor, that blood was indicative of an abruption or of the placenta hitting that band. I believe that is why I went into preterm labor, and why he fell off his growth chart between 28-37 weeks gestation.

I can't figure out that foci though, thats the part that haunts me. And so does the research on stress and pregnancy outcomes. I pushed myself to the brink that pregnancy, for what?

So, I actually do have a doc I saved all of this stuff on, its filled with articles and webpages to links to each piece. I will probably come back through and hyperlink, and would be thrilled to get such a request! The one thing I love about research is talking about research!

cautiously happy

As deep and dark as my last two posts have been, it makes me wonder if perhaps I'm posting today to maintain some sense of balance on my blog. As perplexed as I am, and as much time I have put into pondering these facts of my life, these things that have forced themself onto my life and now are part of my very definition, for some reason, I'm just not that 'upset' about it all.

I don't think my lack of unrest or torment is a feeling specific to the horrible events I'm finally grappling with. No. Overall, I'm just not that upset about much anymore. I'm not upset about my broken marriage; even broken things can still 'work' at some level. I'm not upset at the haters. When I say they can go fuck themselves, its with an air of indifference. I'm not upset about my move, it is what it is, some good some bad.

I guess what I want to let everyone in blogland know is that I'm doing 'good'. Not the, 'my life is perfect good', the REAL good. The 'good' with the bad.

And for the first time in my life I'm feeling some congruence. I don't put on a happy front for many (unless i am in fact 'happy' at that moment), I don't pretend that everything is okay, I don't try to appear perfect, or act like wonder woman, or wonder grad, or wonder mom, or wonder wife.

And it's such a motherfucking relief.

So, I'm (oh my god it's so hard to say this right now) happy. Cautiously happy. And I think I haven't been this comfortable with me (and all my faults and all my mistakes) since perhaps when I was a child? I don't know!? Maybe I've discovered a new plane of being?

So, I hope some of you out there in blogland have found the same thing or will someday soon. Cyber cheers to all, here is hopeing for a moment of true peace and happiness for each of us!

I was raped. Was I raped?

raped - despoiled: having been robbed and destroyed by force and violence; "the raped countryside"
wordnet.princeton.edu/perl/webwn

Any sexual behavior that involves an unwilling partner. Forced sexual contact, especially sexual intercourse, with an unwilling partner.
www.cpcphoenix.org/resources/glossary/

forced or manipulated nonconsensual sexual contact, including vaginal or anal intercourse, oral sex, or penetration with an object.
www.devoschildrenshospital.org/

I have not come to terms with the torture I endured after the birth of my son. You see, to me, both now and then, there was nothing that could be worse than his death. Not physical pain, not even my own death. Everything pales in comparison the searing anguish and despair of your childs death. That is worse than torture, that is worse than death.


I was not raped in the classical sense of the word. I don't believe what happened to me had to do with sex, though it had to do with my sexual organs being violated without my consent. I was not being assaulted out of hatred for women, but perhaps out of disregard.

I've discussed a few times on this blog the problems I had birthing my placenta. I birthed Myles' body naturally in the bath, 'problem free' except for THE PROBLEM that he had died. It was when I got out to birth the placenta that a tragic situation turned into a major emergency. Shit hit the fan, no placenta and lots of blood loss, and my Peri from my preterm birth is on call. I did not like this man then, never liked him. I did not like that he would be 'manually removing my placenta' but I had no choice.

My doctor tried to manually remove my placenta four times, he gave me a second degree tear. After the second time, after I writhed and screamed and was held down by four people (including my husband), everyone told my peri to 'stop'. My midwife told him to take me back for a D & C. My husband told him take me back. I cried frantically that I couldn't take it. He insisted on 'one more time'. Except. That one more time turned into two more times.

All I know is that this, in and of itself, profoundly effected both my husband and I. And I've never given it it's weight. And part of me wonders how much of my suicidal ideation, and my past risky behavior can be linked to this trauma I experienced?

I almost died that day. My husband watched me tortured (violated?) that day. He was powerless. I was powerless. I was raped. Was I raped? I don't know.

The Stillbirth Secret

I'm just angry right now. Angry all over again it seems. I knew I wasn't past the anger, that there is no 'past' any part of this grief. I guess it's just been awhile and I've grown complacent about it, and feeling it again both surprised and scared me.

So, this is an official rant. And it's a rant at the medical community.

Why the fuck do Drs, Midwives, OB/GYNs and even PERIs keep stillbirth such a giant fucking secret?!

Is it because they're ignorant? Is it because you don't know what causes it, and they don't want to have to say that? Is it because it's easier to play the odds that chances are, the mother you're telling that everything is going to be fine is not the 1/200 that will lose her baby to stillbirth?!

Because somebody OWED IT TO ME to tell me.

They owed it to me to tell me to trust my instincts, they owed it to me to tell me my risk of stillbirth (and that it was increased due to preterm labor), they owed it to me to tell me what they DON'T KNOW, not just what they fucking know.

Having Simone first, I know how inundated new mothers are about SIDS. They scare the fuck out of EVERYONE, all new parents. They risk the breastfeeding relationship due to their demonization of co-sleeping (an arrangment done in EVERY stinking culture since the beginning of time that is evelotuinary based (see Dr. McKenna at Notre Dame). This public health campaign is everywhere.

Back to sleep. Back to sleep. Back to sleep.

And the SIDS back to sleep campaign has been good. They've reduced the rate of SIDS by half.

And what's that rate? Well, before it was 1/5th of the stillbirth rate, and now it's 1/10th. So now, only 2500 babies dies from SIDS every year, and anywhere between 20,000 and 40,000 die from stillbirth.

Forgive me if it seems like I'm minimizing SIDS, I am not, it's tragic and awful, and even with my own experience, I cannot imagine the pain of losing a child to SIDS.

BUT

Shouldn't I hear 5 times as many messages about stillbirth? Shouldn't I hear even ONE, just one message about the incidence and prevalence of stillbirth? Kick counts, eh? Fuck kick counts. Unlike the back to sleep campaign (and only the back to sleep campaign cuz the co-sleeping demonization is BS), kick counts are not evidence based. There is no scientific evidence that shows kick counts to save any lives. (and if anyone can show me different i'll gladly eat humble pie) Which brings me to the research community.

Where the fuck are you?! 20,000-40,000 babies are dying each year, 50% we have no fucking clue why. Where the fuck are you?

Which brings me to the March of Dimes.

Fuck you MOD.

You're supposed to be 'saving babies lives', and in your little bible of marternal child health, you don't even bother to mention stillbirth once. Not ONCE in over 100pages of statistics you fucking pukes.

This has got to change, as long as stillbirth remains the dark secret of childbirth, no one will ever do anything. I want to see goddamn billboards on stillbirth, I want to know that every pregnant woman talks about it with their provider, just like miscarriage, just like SIDS.

More Rilke

This one speaks volumes about Rilkes understanding of child loss, particularly stillbirth I think:

You who never arrived

You who never arrived
in my arms, Beloved, who were lost
from the start,
I don't even know what songs
would please you. I have given up trying
to recognize you in the surging wave of the next
moment.

I wonder here if he is talking of his mother? He could be talking about any of us who blog and comment and support others who are grieving.

Do not assume that she who seeks to comfort you now, lives untroubled among the simple and quiet words that sometimes do you good. Her life may also have much sadness and difficulty, that remains far beyond yours. Were it otherwise, she would never have been able to find these words

And I liked this bit of feminism

Letter to a young poet (letter 7)

Someday there will be girls and women whose name will no longer mean the mere opposite of the male, but something in itself, something that makes one think not of any complement and limit, but only life and reality: the female human being.