Saying goodbye to complacency

They say there is no wrong way to grieve, we all do what we have to do to survive, but I can tell you that I was doing it wrong. I began using alcohol, "responsibly", at first, but had it spiral out of control over the many months, slowly breaking my little rules that I set up to convince myself drinking wasn't a problem. By summer I was abusing alcohol, period. I managed to shield Simone from the brunt of it for a long time, but in the end, I was not being a good parent. I think that was the hardest part, and still is the hardest part now that I look back. She deserved better.

I'm happy to say that I've said goobye to alcohol for awhile and I don't think I've felt better for a very very long time. I realized that all I was doing was trying to escape from the pain. Whether it was my alcohol, my ipod, or my computer; I did not want to feel what I was feeling. After hitting rock bottom and almost committing suicide (I had convinced myself I was a terrible mother and Simone would be better without me, 'crazy' I know), I checked myself into the Psych ward at the hospital. It was my daughter's 5th birthday, and i think it will always be the single best gift I've ever given her.

Being there, where everything is done for you, where there are no responsibilities except getting better; I had to figure out very quickly what to do with myself without my distractions. No phone, no computer, no housework, no work, no childcare. It was soooooo hard. It's like I had to start all over and really question everything. But I learned that I can cope with the pain, it is bearable . . . barely.

. . .

So, here I am. I clawed my way out of the bottom of the pit. For months and months, I thought it was a bottomless pit, but I was wrong. I've stood at the bottom, it's the worst place you can be. I can't say I wish I had never been there, however. I think that knowing there is a bottom, having stood in the darkness, seeing no light above me, but knowing I could sink no further, grounded me in a way I never expected. One thing I came to realize there is how alienated my dh and I have gotten from each other. I realized during my four days at the hospital, that I would not be able to heal if I did not address the problems in our lives. I was wonder woman for so many years, I didn't even realize that i was trying to be everything to everyone. I needed boundaries, space, and a room of my own. Hence, the separation.
We haven't been happy for a long time, and I realize now that I was putting too much pressure on Myles. In the first few months, I would always cry for the longest time about how he was my 'savior', oh how my life needed that baby. In the pit, and over the last few weeks, I've really thought about what I was saying. How could I have so much riding on him, this tiny little innocent baby? He wouldn't have been my savior, everything would not be miraculously perfect if he were here. I see this realization as a gift from him, he WAS perfect, will always be perfect, but nothing else in this life is. I am so grateful to have had him in my life, he has given me the most precious gift in this world. He has helped me to realize that I do not have this life figured out, that it is much tougher than I ever realized, and that I can make mistakes but be better for them if I work hard enough? I will be forever indebted to my son.
. . .

Brandon and I started counseling a few weeks ago, and it has already started to help us reconnect. He has had chronic back pain for many years, and the separation and counseling has helped both of us realize that what I was doing with alcohol he has been doing with painkillers. Now that he has had no painkillers for over a week, he realizes he was not just numbing his back pain.

It's almost like we took turns bottoming out. It's so hard seeing him standing at the bottom of that pit this week. One of us has to be here for my daughter, and it's hard to think that for awhile, we might have been meeting her needs, but we weren't really 'there' for her. We were just getting by. Today, I am 'there' for her, and for him, and that feels really good.It's been overwhelming to see him crying everyday, I've never seen him cry like this. For the first time ever, having him say to me, "I need you. Please, help me." My Brandon never asks for help. And I've been staying the night back at our house to take care of him. I see our separation as short term because I still love him and I do not want a divorce. I may even want more children together someday. But I am committed to it through November and maybe longer, and I fully realize that it may end in divorce, and that divorce does not necessarily mean failure. I think an unhappy marriage is a bigger failure than any divorce. Complacency is the root of all evil. Anyway, even after only a month, I can already thank our separation for a new level of awareness in our marriage and in our parenting. It seemed like forever that we were just trading off babysitting, going through the motions, and now we are being more concerted in our effort to heal, not just ourselves, but our family.
. . .

Last night, I asked DH, where would we be if Myles had lived? And we both, for the first time acknowledged together that WE might be no better. We would have our darling son, and there is no doubt he would've brought so much joy to our world, anyone who knows us knows we both looooove babies sooooo much. But we wouldn't have this opportunity to stand back from our lives and truly question everything, to be able to really ask, "am I happy?" and to be strong enough to answer, "no", and take that knowledge and have the courage to change our lives for the better. Moving out was the hardest thing I've done, it's still not easy today, but I've realized anything worth doing is not going to be easy.

So here I am, a day away from 10 months without my Myles, exactly a year from the day i began my preterm labor and the long weeks of bed rest that did not culminate happily as I was so certain they would. The countdown has begun, and I have no doubt the next few months will be hard. But I do not think they will be my hardest. I can look back now and clearly see the worst months behind me, and that gives me hope that no matter how many good and bad days await in my future, that they will never be as bad as they have been.

I will survive.

Sorry I've been gone

I can't say no news is good news. However, I have stopped drinking and have never had a more clear objective view of my life. It's terrifying and liberating.

Tonight, I was invited to go to a dinner for an organization that does work to improve maternal fetal health. The focus of the dinner was prematurity. Now, I had my daughter at 35 weeks, and I went into preterm labor with my son at 28 weeks, and proceeded to be on bed rest until I lost him for no reason at 37 weeks at Thanksgiving. He had always been wonderful, I'd always, always say, "I never worry about Myles, he's a fighter," because he kicked me soooo much. I thought I had made it when I lost him. All those weeks worrying, sacrificing, putting up with mom, mil rotating to come help and stay with us. I thought it was the worst thing in the world, bed rest, the fear of him coming early and being in the NICU.

So I had to listen to a panel of parents whose children were sick and in the NICU, pretty freaking terrifying. But I could not, just could not bear to hear there stories, as amazing as I know they would've been to me 18 months ago. They were talking about family support, and care packages, and all this stuff they gave them. They only made cursory mention of bereavement, none of the parents on the panel had lost an infant, and there book had one page on infant loss. But on that one page, they talked about helping plan funeral services. And the packages they got were beautiful. (Which makes me all the more made when I see that they would turn away bags from anyone for anything!!! ).

Nobody would say the word death. They'd just allude to it, and then they would cry about how close their children came. All I could think about was Myles. It was torture. And I couldn't help but being angry with them. I've said to myself many times, if Myles had come early, he'd likely be here. But then I look at the statistics for a 28 weeker, and they have a worst chance of neonatal death (5%) than anyone has risk of stillbirth (1%). So I can't say the statistics were in our favor if he had come on Sept. 23rd.

So I actually envied them. And while I was doing it, I was thinking how awful I was. I almost had to get up and leave. Then, they had speakers on about infant loss. I'm thankful for the work they do. But why wasn't anyone talking about stillbirth?! They were more afraid to utter it, than the word death. Sigh. Why is fetal death so taboo?!

I've been gone for awhile. It's good to be back. This fall has been hard, Myles seems to always be on my mind lately. I was walking in Walgreens, and I looked up, and I saw Halloween stuff!!! And my mind transported me instantly back, and for a millisecond I felt like it was a year ago. How can minutes seem like hours, but the time has gone by in a blink of an eye? I've lost almost a whole year now.

One thing I can remember with such utter happiness, is that my mom was down before Halloween and we decided to paint a pumpkin on my big pregnant belly. And it fills me with such sadness that he is not here with us to go trick or treating. But I'm so thankful that I thought of doing that then (I was on bed rest already, but with hope, as I'd made it through October). I'm so grateful I have those memories of his first halloween, when he was my little pumpkin.MISSing Myles and all our precious little ones this Fall

How I fell apart

I'm trying to figure out why I had a 'nervous breakdown'. All I know is I hate the terms crazy and insane now, especially now that I realize I tell Simone she's 'driving me crazy'. My dad and I came up with the new term blonders (kind of like bonkers, but with a small dig at the blondies out there).

We had Simone's 5th birthday up there in the Psych ward; it was actually kind of special. Everyone had cake and ice cream and sang to her, and my honey took her to red lobster for supper afterwards (she is a shrimpaholic, not breaded shrimp either). Anyway, knowing that I might not make her b-day, or party, it was so much harder to admit myself, but I am now convinced I gave her the best gift I could give at the time.

So what does a nervous breakdown look like? I don't know. Ask B. All I know is how it felt, and that whatever it was, it was definitely a negative energy just radiating off of me; racing thoughts, the inability to stop crying, sleep, eat. Impulsvity is through the roof. Um. I think it's like watching a house you've built yourself crumble before your eyes.

So when 'your house' falls down like that, there is no logic. No thinking. Nothing is rational anymore. I realize now I had a panic attack Tuesday night and was deeply depressed by Wednesday morning. I was a danger to myself, I felt unable to care for Simone.

I wish I could describe it better. It's like taking the butterflies that are in your stomach, and turning up the volume from 1 to 100, instantly. Fight or flight, I'm not sure which one I did, but they are both the same response really. Whether you're running away or getting ready to duke it out, your heart and mind is racing miles a minute. Then you realize you have no idea where the predator is, I think because really the predator is you. There is no running away except maybe in death, which is extremely tempting. I'd like to think I chose to fight it out and I won. I think, though, that I won the battle, but am I still at war? Yes. To deny it is to go back to complacency.

Psychiatric Ward

I'm back from the Affective Disorders unit at the hospital (the Psych ward). The grief finally caught up with me I've been there since Wednesday and got discharged about an hour ago. I wish I could say I'm feeling better, but I just found out my cousin died. His mom is such a special lady, his kids are such beautiful kids, my heart is in pain for them. He was a wonderful father and son, please keep my family in NY in your thoughts.

Because I have a mental illness, I will write about my experiences, because of the stigma, I will write about my experiences, I feel it weighing on me. So, I will write, like I always do, my friends, and because you're my friends, you'll listen I hope.

I want to survive, I will survive. It's just soooooo hard when you feel so down about yourself that you think you're doing other's a favor. That's how backwards your thinking can get. It's scary having thoughts you can't control, it's the most frightening thing I've experienced. It really is mental illness, I can't describe it (but has that ever stopped me from trying? smile:).

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?