I can be surrounded by people, and I just feel so alone. So utterly desperately alone. I feel abandoned by my husband, he just doesn't get it. 8 months on Thursday, jeez, when is the 24th? It's like my subconscious knows it, but the rest of me is on pause while the world moves on around me.

I get 'better' I get 'worse' I get really 'better' then I get really 'worse'. I just want to disappear. Why do I feel so alienated around my old family and friends? I think they're plotting against me. They don't like my drinking, blah, blah, blah, they worry because I've lost a lot of weight. I don't know what to say? I'm not hungry. Food does not bring me joy.

My self worth is shattered. My body killed my baby, somehow, someway, and someday I'll know. Well, it's either drink and sleep at 10 or be up til 3, and I prefer to take some ibuprofen and handle the hangover, then miss sleep, wake up late for work (which I eerily don't get hangovers anyway) and I haven't had any blackouts, I'm maintaining.

Oh, fuck me, I'm just defeated, and the thoughtless comments have only just begun. My mom is putting pressure on me to be 'stronger', everyone wants the 'old Trish', my dad asked me if I was going to have another baby. They STILL don'te get that I will never the be the good ole predictable, debatin', grinning, thriving woman I once was. That's not me, they don't get it. My husband says he doesn't know me anymore, and I'm like, "join the club". Hell, I'd like to be let in cause I don't know what I'm going to do half the time; how I'm going to react.

Oh, this has turned into the nightmare blog of the century. On a happy note, I axed down a cedar today for my Myles garden (sorry Leigh, I do want to comment but sometimes I can't) and it just brought out so much anger. Has anyone here used an axe, they're fantastic, but where gloves. Of course, now I've got this tree to move but that didn't occur to me as I cussed at it and pulled on it, and tore that sucker to the ground. But darn it, my butterfly bushes and snowball bush weren't getting enough sun!

On an angry note, there was another burial in baby land today, I just drive up knowing, saying 'no, no, no, not another' seeing the awning, getting angry as I get closer, so mad it has happened again. Just so mad, I don't know what I'd do if I didn't have that 15 foot cedar to chop down.

Okay, I am losing. Don't know if it's just life (my laptop died, my transmission went out, my cell phone got lost) and I DO feel like Dory off of 'finding Nemo'. I hate the new me as much as my family, don't know how much I loved the 'old me' even then. So I'm just like everyone else, except I get to worry about being worried about, yipee.

I feel so alone, but surrounded by TOO many people who love me TOO much.
MISSing my son TERRIBLY, today, and always. I love you, Myles.

Can I rant about women's health issues?!

I mean, this is my research, so most of my ranting takes place in a confined academic setting where I can't actually 'rant' more like humbly share my opinion in 10 to 15 second intervals. I'm finding this all overlapping with my freakishly fucked up life and I'm just in the need to write a rant that covers the gamut of what I do each fucking day.

This morning, I woke up to this article:
http://www.time.com/time/health/article/0,8599,1823096,00.html?cnn=yes
Now, Cochrane reviews are the BOMB. And I know women who have had many benign biopsies that are fucking painful.

So, as a society, we're all obsessively individualistic. In the health world? Yep, it's all on US (me and you), ladies and gents. So as a public health person, there is nothing that pisses me off more than this individualistic view on health aimed at changing our individual behaviors and SHIFTING responsibility, guilt, blame, and shame on us.

What does this relate to, oh let me think . . . KICK COUNTS . Yes, you know, that magical solution to stillbirth. For the record, fuck kick counts. Yep. That's right. I would never tell anyone to do them, I didn't do them, and they wouldn't have done shit for me. So I'm not carrying that baggage for the public health community any fucking more. What else does this relate to, BED REST, CERCLAGES, FETAL MONITORING on low-risk pregnancies, pap smears (which are only really needed every three years if that!).

You know what else? Fuck self breast exams, I don't fucking do them, I NEVER have, and I HAVE FELT GUILTY. NOT ANY MORE!!!!

Fuck it all, because at this point, I don't think there is anything in women's health that is EVIDENCE BASED, it's all a bunch of fucking bullshit. And I'm tired of carrying this individualistic bucket of water around for the public health community and for the peace of mind of doctors who don't miss a wink of sleep over recommending stupid spoonfed BULLSHIT about CHOICES.

So, here is my message to the public health community, and this is my goal as a reasearcher, as a woman, as a mother to a daughter; get the fuck off our backs and start working on the motherfucking institutional and socioeconomic causes OF BREAST CANCER, CERVICAL CANCER, and STILLBIRTH and PREMATURE LABOR. Because there are studies, a fucking ton of them if you ever wanted to pick up a Soc of health journal or gender and health book written by sociologists that indicate this shit is societal. We are organizing our society in a way that HURTS WOMEN'S HEALTH. And, because we live longer, but have more disabilities (yes, took a comprehensive exam on this issue), it's in our societies economic interests to FUCKING DO IT.

Thank you. Had to get that off my chest this morning before I go talk about this bullshit all day at work with a big grin on my face being a yes girl to all the psychologists and MALE MD's who think they know what the fuck they're doing.

Wisdom from my Simone

I'm drying my tears, I can't tell if I'm crying because I'm happy or sad, has anyone felt that way before? I had to share this discussion before we leave town today.

Simone watches NOGGIN, which is like channel 36 here, and it doesn't have commercials and it's for preschoolers, blah, blah, blah. Well, in between shows they have these series' that teach and help kids learn, and one they introduced recently was Babu (a preschooler) and his pregnant mommy. It's very cute, the family is cute, the narrator talks with happy music in the background as the Babu helps is pregnant mom. Under most circumstances, it's fuckin' adorable. It's something I would've been all over last summer, showing Simone how she was just like the little boy on tv.

This summer, I see it, and I'm annoyed. I do my best to not have a reaction because I don't want Simone to know my aversion to this stuff, but she knows. Well today we saw the snippet (in between shows, I'm folding laundry, Simone's coloring) where the mom brings baby home and they talk about their cultural traditions, and how 'now he's a big brother' (as if he wasn't when his mom was pg, just a peeve) and I take a short breath and just leave the room. I'm cleaning so I didn't think Simone would notice. Well, she's more astute than I give her credit for. I come back five minutes later (I'd forgotten the commercial, the whole point of walking away) but then Simone says:

Simone: Mom, does watching Babu and the baby remind you of Myles?

Me: Yes (I say gently), does it remind you of Myles?

Simone: Yes

Me: What does it make you think of ?(I'm preparing for something really depressing, like I think, about him not being here, and us not bringing him home. You know, things I think when I see those commercials). Instead:

Simone: It makes me think about when Myles was in your tummy and we would sing to him and he'd kick me with his little foot, laughing the whole time.

Me: (surprised, joyous, stupored) yeah, he made us so happy didn't he?
Simone: Mom, maybe you and dad need to write that down, you know, like on a list, so you don't forget it.

She's so amazing, and so right, I see those commercials and all I think of is the bad, but good old Simone, this whole time when she's zombified watching this scenario on tv she's so familiar with, she's remembering how much fun we had. Why can't I be more like her. One more time, Simone takes my breath away, just like the day she was born, you know?

I missed my first 24th, but I didn't

The sixth month mark was so big, and June went by (in a good way to an extent) like one of those commercials where everything is moving in fast motion all around you. May was so horrid. And now I feel guilty because I forgot my baby. I was actually there on his day briefly, swinging by his grave like I like to do, I did have a 'bad' day, I was just down.

Ah, retrospect, how did I know? I knew I was missing something, missing my son who should be with me 24/7, giggling. Missing his day. How could I?

Seven months old, I should be trying sweet potatoes and solids and . . . I don't like the new me either, the new me is a slacker who is apathetic, indifferent, why can't the best be brought out in me? Instead, the anger and frustration.MISSing Myles, today, and every 24th and every other day of the month too, god damn it.

People talk to me about days, weeks, months, next week, last week, they're all so jumbled up. I've resorted to a calendar and frequent calls and emails reconfirming appointments I can't keep straight, I kept it all in my head before, and I can't do it now. Now that I've forgotten my little man's day, it makes me mad. That time has moved on around me. That I have moved with it, I just want to go back. It's like I'm moving further away from him. And all I want is to be close to him again. Every day, that would be my wish.

Time moving forward hurts, taking these steps through grief, so tricky, nothing is positive, everything is both, negative and positive. Painful and powerful, beautiful and cruel.

I'm missing that I missed Myles' day, missing that grief that I had always anticipated before, honored, acknowledged. I hope he would forgive me and maybe be happy though it breaks my heart. I would be happy for my mother, you know?

I drove to the cemetary today, a string of events has now led me down this different path of grief, one not so fresh, but old, and always there, but underneath even the happiness and joy sometimes.

I wrote my letter to him and him to me. It was good, I wrote it on butterfly paper given to me as a gift from an old garage sale, so precious. I wrote a letter from me to Myles and Myles to me, and left them there. It was good to do and I thank Joanne for suggesting it. My views are very naturalistic, and tonight I watched the fireflies.

Another mothers poem really made me try to rethink it all a few weeks back, and I felt myself moving on but it wasn't until I missed that day (the 24th, 7 months) I knew I had actually transitioned. We always yearn for the old and familar eh? The old grief I knew intimately.

This poem (about 6 weeks ago) made me think and notice everything about nature differently, that Myles is just not 'there' at the cemetary, that he is everywhere and in every beautiful thing I see. I'll repost:

Do not stand at my grave and weep,

I am not there, I do not sleep,

I am a thousand winds that blow,

I am the sparkle on the snow,

I am the sun, on ripened grain,

I am the gentle summers rain,

And when you wake in mourning’s hush,

I am the swift uplifting rush... of quiet birds in circled flight,

I am the Moon and Stars at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry,I am not here, I did not die.

I wrote it on the back of his tattered picture I keep in my back pock. In retrospect, it was his message to me when I wrote it on there that day last week.

And I've been learning gardening, and appreciating nature, and the cycle of life. It just hurts to 'move on' to change my hair, and to be changed (the new me is very different), and to find so much has changed, but everything is still the same (same house, same dogs, same family, same jobs) and we were a hous in anticipation of so much change . . . change that never happened like we'd anticipated but CHANGE nonetheless.

We got change all right.

A tornado swirled through my life and left everything in it's place but nothing untouched.

My Menses

Clockwork. Never skipped a period (except for pg), after Simone, I breastfed for 2.5 years, got mine back on month 12 and it was the same from there after.

30 days. 30 days give or take, but 30 days.

Now? Well, I waited 18 weeks to get a menstrual cycle, unheard of by all the moms I know who've experienced stillbirth.

Then, that one was so heavy I woke up in the middle of the night with blood all over my pj's, even though I was wearing some super duper night pad more akin to a diaper.

Then I spotted on days 15-18. They I waited until day 42 for the next one. Same as the first, heavy flow, spotting on or around those days, then it took 36 days this time.

WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME???

Why does everyone tell me it's fucking stress too. Don't tell me about stress. I'm a stressed person generally and I've gone through many periods of my life where my stress load was off the charts. Yeah, yeah, yeah, this is 'different', fuck that.

I'm not going to sit around and poo poo myself anymore, and I certainly don't want these MOFO doctors to do it to me either.

My shitlist of doctors, I'll never see Dr. D again which basically means I'm fucked when it comes to my next pg as I'm high risk.

Don't fucking tell me the second time you've met me that my stress level is high and then argue with me because I'm crying because MY SON DIED. I'm not crying because I'm being irrational, nothing you've said has made me cry, you're not that important to me doc. I cry because I love and miss my son, and if when I speak of him and I cry, it doesn't mean my fucking brain has shut off or that now I need treated like a mental patient. I have a psychiatrist and psychologist, I want a OB/GYN to sit and talk to me and answer my questions and speak to me like I know what or how the pituitary, hypathalomus, Follicles and their associated hormones work. I do. I just need some help

I hate doctors

I do. I will be one next year. But I'll be a research doctor, I'm the one who comes up with the statistics everyone else is SUPPOSED to go by. Of course, nothing in a doctors office is hardly ever evidence based, and you better bet if its a drug you're receiving from your OB/GYN it has not been FDA approved for pregnant women. Basically, me and you are the guinea pigs. And they wonder, hmmmmm, why is maternal mortality rising. What causes 50% of stillbirth and 50% of SIDS births a year. Some magic freaking charm?!!!!!!

So help me, if I ever go through pregnancy again, I am not telling anyone, I'm getting a doppler and I'm just going with the flow. Because all these mofo doctors base everything off of is the trend (pharmaceuticals, hitech machines that don't tell you shit) and NOT WOMEN.

Okay, I''ll give more detail about this rant, but I've bawled for two days now, and I just want to know why. Why did I know there was something wrong? Why do these tests keep coming up borderline? Why, why, why? There are no answers, even to why I have a 42 day menstrual cycle with spotting when half my goddamn life I'd have periods like fucking clockwork.

Do they really want me to believe that everything (and oh, could I make a list) that EVERYTHING is unrelated. Fucking bullshit. And don't tell me, 'chances are', because that was my whole last pregnancy, me telling myself, 'chances, everything is fine, I'm overreacting'. Well guess what? I wasn't. I knew. And I didn't know how or what or why or even imagine I'd ever lose my baby. But I knew there was something wrong. And I'll be damned if I don't pay attention to what I believe are warning signs now.

I just hate being pooh, poohed. Talk to me like a fucking colleague because I do research in the development and reproductive health. Don't fucking listen to me like I'm 'hysterical' (as in hysterectomy, as in emotional, as in angry) because I want to theorize about what might be going on based on the in depth calendar I have of my menses.

Fucking bastard. Sorry. Didn't realize how pissed I was until just this moment.

Menstruation; I'm for the 13 month calendar

hopefully the title filtered out those of you who don't care to hear my TMI blogs. If not, this isn't one, or it is. Toughen up and figure it out wusses. LOL. I am crazy.

I've become more naturalistic in my worldview, gardening, for example, and it's been my release (especially the axe and these horrid bushes out front). Well, here are some really neat facts about women and menstruation. (on re-reading these first two sentences have much to do with one another).

We've used natural family planning since Simone was born, which was completely predictable. I didn't know what I had until it was gone (ain't that everyone's life story? fuck.) Of course now I'm dealing with complete unpredictableness, and I can't figure out why despite OCD bordline searches for obscure articles that result in me being obsessed with chimeraism (women carry their fetuses DNA for sometimes up to 27 years, and fetuses carry their mothers, and they think it might have to do with autoimmune disorders).

Why!!!??? Why can't my body be normal and menstruate?!! (Where is that axe, that B accused me of swinging like a bat, Heidi, LOL. My chopping 'form' has gotten better). Shouldn't I get a 'life is easy' pass now that Myles is gone? I don't think I should ever have to put up with anyone's shit again, ask B, and especially not my own god damn body.

Blah, so now I think my body is dysfunctional (to say the least). I know many women have experienced this feeling, trying to conceive, or who have experienced miscarriage or pregnancy loss, like me. It's more than annoying.

Anyway, the whole point of this post was to share THIS site that (I'm linking and quoting) which cheered me up. Hope others are empowered by it too, Guys and gals :) Sorry about the bitchfest.

From the site: http://www.fwhc.org/health/moon.htm

Moon Time

Throughout all cultures, the magic of creation resides in the blood women gave forth in apparent harmony with the moon, and which sometimes stayed inside to create a baby. This blood was regarded with reverence: it had mysterious magical powers, was inexplicably shed without pain, and was wholly foreign to male experience. Early menstrual rites were perhaps the first expression of human culture.

Native American (Lakota):
"Follow your Grandmother Moon. Her illuminating cycles will transform your spirit." Begin with the Grandmother Moon at her brightest and most open. This is a time of outward activity and high energy. Sleep where the moonlight touches you. Walk outside where there are no artificial lights. Feel joy and creativity. As the Grandmother begins to cover her face, begin to withdraw into a quieter, less social place. Move to that inward place that is more about "being" than "doing." In the dark of the moon, when bleeding, the veil between you and the Great Mystery is the thinnest. Be receptive to visions, insights, intuitions. Go to a quiet separate place such as a Moon Lodge. Later, come out of the dark, a woman with a cleansed body. As the moon returns, come back out into the world, carrying your vision.

Customs and Traditions
Indians of South American said all humans were made of "moon blood" in the beginning.
In Mesopotamia, the Great Goddess created people out of clay and infused them with her blood of life. She taught women to form clay dolls and smear them with menstrual blood. Adam translates as bloody clay.

In Hindu theory, as the Great Mother created the earth, solid matter coalesced into a clot with a crust. Women use this same method to produce new life.
The Greeks believed the wisdom of man or god was centered in his blood which came from his mother.

Egyptian pharaohs became divine by ingesting the blood of Isis called sa. Its hieroglyphic sign was the same as the sign of the vulva, a yonic loop like the one on the ankh, RFLMAO
From the 8th to the 11th centuries, Christian churches refused communion to menstruating women.

In ancient societies, menstrual blood carried authority, transmitting lineage of the clan or tribe.
Among the Ashanti, girl children are more prized than boys because a girl is the carrier of the blood.
Chinese sages called menstrual blood the essence of Mother Earth, the yin principle giving life to all things.

Some African tribes believed that menstrual blood kept in a covered pot for nine months had the power to turn itself into a baby.

Easter eggs, classic womb-symbols, were dyed red and laid on graves to strengthen the dead. freaky

A born-again ceremony from Australia showed the Aborigines linked rebirth with blood of the womb.

Post-menopausal women were often the wisest because they retained their "wise blood." In the 17th century these old women were constantly persecuted for witch craft because their menstrual blood remained in their veins.

Calendars:
The Roman Goddess of measurement, numbers, calendars, and record-keeping; derived from the Moon-goddess as the inventor of numerical systems; measurer of time.
It has been shown that calendar consciousness developed first in women because their natural body rhythms corresponded to observations of the moon. Chinese women established a lunar calendar 3000 years ago. Mayan women understood the great Maya calendar was based on menstrual cycles. Romans called the calculation of time menstruation, meaning knowledge of the menses. In Gaelic, menstruation and calendar are the same word.

The lunar calendar's thirteen 28-day months had four 7-day weeks, marking the new, waxing, full, and waning moons. Thirteen months is 364 days. Pagan traditions describe an annual cycle as a 13 months and a day. Even today, Easter is the first Sunday after the first full moon after the spring equinox. The 13 month calendar also led to pagan reverence for the number 13 and the Christian attempts to demolish it. Generally, the ancient symbols of matriarchy were the night, moon and 13. Patriarchy (under Christianity) honored the day, the sun and 12.