The Perfect Storm

Mom is still in ICU and they think there is the possibility of a hereditary lung disease that is progressive. While it's a slight possibility, it's still a possibility and I'm scared. I go to visit her every day and she's still the same Mom she's always been: caring, supportive, loving, grateful and happy. And yet she's on oxygen and has been in the ICU for a week now. It is serious. For now, we are hoping that she will be moved from ICU within the next 2 days, and we're really hoping that she doesn't have this lung disease. I'm scared. Very scared.

Two days ago, Laura flipped over backwards on her little chair and hit her head on the fireplace hearth. She cried for about 10 minutes and then started bleeding out her left ear. We spent the rest of the day going from doctor to doctor, including X-Rays and MRI's to rule out skull fractures and brain damage. Thankfully, all those tests were negative. She did have raging double ear infections and the impact of her fall caused one of her ear tubes to come out. They aren't sure why she had so much bleeding from the ear (which has, thankfully, stopped) but we're on a course of antibiotics (both drops and oral medication) to clear up the infections, then we'll determine what do to regarding the lost tube. While I remained perfectly calm during all the testing, doctor's visits, etc. Afterwards, all I wanted to do was fall apart and cry, but I couldn't because I didn't have any time alone.

And the kicker is that my sister-in-law is pregnant again, with number 3. I feel a whole mix of confusing emotions: jealousy, anger (at life, not at them), desire for another myself, joy for them but, most of all, sadness. WE were supposed to be the family of 5. WE were supposed to have more children. It comes so easy for them and yet it was so hard for us. We had so many complications and difficulties and sadness and pain that there was no real choice for us but to end our fertility journey. We wanted more children. We just couldn't take the chances that things would go wrong for us, yet again. The risks are now too high...

Whenever someone I know gets pregnant again, there is always a twinge of jelousy and awkwardness inside me. I don't wish away time but I do look forward to the days when most of my friends are finished having children so I no longer feel that awkwardness. I was so hoping that I wouldn't have to feel this way again with the people who mean the most to me. I hoped that my siblings wouldn't have any more children and we would be passed the baby-making days. But now I find myself thrown back into all that pain and sadness and awkwardness and it's so much more difficult when it's people I truly love. I want to feel nothing but happiness for them. And yet I can't because it hurts so much.

Power of Prayer

Today, my Mom was admitted into the hospital with severe pneumonia. After an hour or so in the hospital, they relocated her to ICU. She cannot breathe on her own and is very sick. The next 24 hours are critical-to see how she responds to IV antibiotics and oxygen. I am scared.

While I do not believe we can pray for specific outcomes or things, I do believe in the power of prayer to provide us with strength. Today, my family could use some support and some strength. I ask you to please to take a moment of time out of your day to say a prayer for my Mom, my Dad and the rest of my family.

Thank You.
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It's Christmas Eve day and I'm going to see my Mom today. It's the first time she's wanted visitors, so I take it that's a good sign. However, she's not responding to the treatments as they had hoped she would. She's still in ICU and will be there for quite some time. I feel so badly for her. She won't be home for Christmas, but we will take bits and pieces of Christmas to her, instead.

Last night, I went to my parents' house and cleaned it for my Dad and so that when Mom comes home, it will be nice for her. When Dad got home, we decorated the tree together and then spent a really nice time admiring our "work" and talking. It's been a very stressful week for my Dad and I think he enjoyed the company. I know I enjoyed being with him.

I wish you all a very safe, happy and healthy Christmas and may you and yours experience all the love and joy of this holiday. Again, please continue to keep my family in your prayers.

The Yuletide Begins

This past weekend, we went out as a family and purchased our Christmas Tree. It a Pennsylvania Douglass Fir, so it is tall but well tapered and not too wide. Joey, R and I decorated it together and it is beautiful.

I worked tonight, and as is customary for Mondays in our household, I arrived home after the kids were asleep. R had some work to finish up on the computer, so I made myself a cup of hot tea and took my book into the family room to enjoy the quiet and read for a while. When my cup was empty, I closed my book and let the dog out. I switched the lights off and went to turn the tree lights off, but stopped suddenly. The tree was magnificent with it's softly glowing lights in the now darkened room, and quite unexpectedly, I was overcome with emotion. Soft tears fill my eyes.

I wasn't sad by any means. I was just full of some rather powerful feelings. As it does so often during moments like this, my mind went to Hannah, Ryan and Abby. It was my first quiet moment of the Christmas season and I am grateful that I spent it with them.

Grief and Depression

Within months of losing Hannah, Ryan and Abby, people started asking me if I was going to take medication for my depression. I often heard this from well-meaning friends and I began to wonder if I needed medication. I knew I was sad and that my sadness wasn't like anything I had ever experienced before and I knew that how I felt certainly seemed to match the little I knew about depression, but taking medication didn't seem right to me, even during the darkest days of my grief. It somehow seemed like I would be denying myself the right to grieve, which I seemed to innately know that even though it was difficult, it was something I had to do.

However, as more time when by and I wasn't feeling better, I realized that if I wanted to piece my life back together (and I did) that I needed help, so I made an appointment with a counsellor. At my first session, I asked her this question: "Is what I'm feeling normal for someone whose children have died?" I wanted to know-I needed to know-that my feelings were normal. My counsellor helped me understand that, yes, what I was feeling was completely normal because I was experiencing acute grief and that it is a natural and healthy (albeit painful) process of grieving. She explained to me that losing a child (or children) is the worst loss a person can experience, ever and that acute grief lasts much longer than most people realize. When polled, most people say that it takes 2-3 months to recover from the loss of a loved one (any loved one, not necessarily the loss of your child/ren) but studies have shown that most people grieve deeply for at least a year after someone has died.

I am not an expert on grief or depression. I know very little about either, with the exception of my own experiences with losing loved ones. However, I find it sad that so many women are told they need medication after their child/ren die, when in truth, they would benefit more from counselling, support groups and support in general. I have no clinical knowledge about either topic, but I have to believe that it's important to go through the stages of grieving in order to start the process of healing. And yet so many people are denied this right by their family, their friends and even the professionals that they seek help from. I can't help but wonder why this is?
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Please don't feel like I am anti-medication, because I am not. I think medication can and does have a place in many situations and perhaps grief is one of them, but I think it's often used as a first attempt instead of a last resort in helping people-especially women-who are experiencing grief. If I have offended you, I am very sorry-that was not my intent in this post. I am just trying to understand why grief is so often confused with depression.

What a Difference Time Does Make

5 years ago, R and I decided to "host" Thanksgiving dinner. It was just 3 short weeks after Hannah, Ryan and Abby were born and I think we were both hoping that having something to do would help us through the holiday. I don't remember much, except that R grilled the turkey and burned it, char and I cried throughout Grace and most of the dinner. It was a very sad day and although I knew there were things I was Thankful for, I couldn't see them.

This year, we decided to host it again. The turkey was grilled to perfection, our table looked beautiful, and the house was full of life. We had my sister and her 4 children, my brother and sister-in-law and their 2 children, my parents and my grandma. It was complete chaos as the kids played and laughed and got alone the way only family can. When it was finally time to eat, we all sat around the tables and my 7 year old niece said Grace. I was listening to her, but I was also thinking about Hannah, Ryan and Abby.

This year, though, as I looked down the table at my family, I smiled and my heart filled with joy. This year, I can clearly feel and see all the things that I am Thankful for.

Saying Goodbye

In 6 days from now, my membership will expire from a comprehensive support site that I have participated in for 5 years. I have already written about this in a previous post, but now that's it's so close, I need to write about it again.

The women there supported me through the darkest days of my grief, through all the ups and downs of trying to conceive again, the roller coaster of emotions that surrounded my subsequent pregnancies (and the complications I experienced) and through the early days of nursing, sleep deprivation and parenting after experiencing such a devastating loss. There were times in the past 5 years that I needed a lot of support and was unable to give much back and there were other times when I provided a lot of support and didn't need much myself. In the midst of trying times, it was my lifeline and the women I "met" there are truly wonderful, caring people.

My life now has now developed a sense of normalcy and routine. I feel strong again, have a solid network of friends, and I'm fortunate that a few of them are special people whom I can talk to about almost anything. I am not afraid to reach out and share things about Hannah, Ryan and Abby with some of them, but it is a rare moment anymore when I feel a need to do this.

For a brief while after Joey was born, my feelings were all jumbled up~I was overjoyed and in love with the son that I held in my arms but my heart also ached for the children that I would never hold again. I felt the harsh reality of what was lost when Hannah, Ryan and Abby died: it was not the opportunity to love them-for there is no doubt that I love them-but it was the opportunity to know them. Although I never felt guilty for being so happy that Joey was here, there were many times (especially late at night when I was nursing him) that I would cry tears for Hannah, Ryan and Abby and then feel terribly guilty for not cherishing that time with Joey. In those early days, when everything was so new and confusing, the site and the women were really helpful and supportive. But once my hormones balanced out, I started getting more sleep and we developed a routine, I realized that I could love Joey and mourn Hannah, Ryan and Abby at the same time and that I wasn't shafting any of them. I also developed a confidence that Hannah, Ryan and Abby's births would not fundamentally affect the way I parent Joey or Laura.

And so in 6 days, I will no longer log on to the site that sustained me in my early days of grief and followed me through my years of recovery. This site was one small way that I stayed connected with Hannah, Ryan and Abby on a regular basis and so leaving it has made me just a little sad.

Getting Away

R and I are back from our vacation. I must admit that going into it, I was a bit nervous that we wouldn't know what to talk about now~for so long, our lives were consumed with grief, trying to conceive, the high risk pregnancies and then life as new parents. It's not that we don't talk at home, because we do, but it's different when you don't have every day life distractions and kids to focus on.

Thankfully, that wasn't the case. If anything, the opposite happened. R and I reconnected in a way we haven't since prior to Hannah, Ryan and Abby's births. We went into the trip as parents taking a much needed vacation from their lives and we came home as husband and wife, excited to see our kids. It was refreshing, relaxing and rekindling.

For both of us, this trip was symbolic of a new beginning, the start of a new chapter in our lives. We both still honor and remember Hannah, Ryan and Abby (each in our own special way), but the dark, painful days of grieving are behind us now. It's very liberating not having to focus our time, energy and money trying to build a family. It frees us up to focus on our family as well as our future and our every day life.

We are now home from a spectacular get-away. It's unlikely we'll take another 7 day trip without the kids any time soon, but we both have recognized the importance of getting away together and we've committed to prioritizing weekend trips every now and then.

It's so nice to be able to finally do this.

I'm Sorry Abby

I'm tired today. Not so much physically but emotionally. I'm ready for this day and this week to be behind me. It's not that I don't want to honor Abby on this day because I do. She was my kicker, my fighter and my largest baby. She was the one I was so sure would survive. But she didn't survive and right now, it feels like too much.

Really, there is so much and so little to say at the same time. When I think back to the week of October 23-28, 2003 it seems surreal. It's hard to wrap my brain around the magnitude of hope and pain we had and I can't help but wonder how we managed to function and survive. After I said goodbye to Abby, I wanted everyone to go away and leave me alone and yet I was scared to be alone. My nerves were frayed and the range of emotions that coursed through me was absurd. But in some ways, I felt relief. It was over.

It's now October 28, 2008 and it is a cold and rainy day. The kids and I were all cranky. Instead of going to the gym and taking care of myself, I tried to comfort myself by eating disgusting amounts of Halloween candy, all of it chocolate, and now I feel queasy.

I wanted to write something eloquent and beautiful for Abby today, but I can't seem to find the words. While it wasn't the worst anniversary week I have had, it was much harder than I thought it would be.

I'm sorry Abby. I wish I could have given you more in 2003 and I wish I could give you more, now. I miss you and I love you very much. Still. More than ever.

~Remembering Ryan~

Today is Ryan's birthday. He was born around 5:30 a.m. in a very quiet room that only had R and me in it at the time of his birth.

This morning, at 5:30 a.m. I was holding a different boy. For some reason, Joey woke up crying so I went to him. Instead of sitting on the edge of his bed, I crawled into it with him. I stroked his hair and whispered soft words to comfort him and he quickly fell back asleep. I continued to stroke his hair and closed my eyes, but I did not find sleep.

Instead I thought about my other son, Ryan. I thought about his entrance into this world. I thought about how, even in death, I was unable to lightly stroke his hair and whisper soft words to comfort him. He was the second child born to an interval birth. While there is never enough time with any child who is dying, with my son, I had to let go of him before he died. Shortly after his birth, just as in Hannah's birth, I was given a heavy dose of Magnesium Sulfate to stop contractions with the hope of saving my third child. Once the Mag hit me, I was physically sick, excruciatingly hot, and incapable of caring for my only son, even though the only care he required at the time was to be held and loved. I am so grateful that R was there and that he was able to do the things that I was not.

At some point this morning, I left Joey and went to Ryan. I sat and looked at his photo for a long time. I wonder who he would look like now? At birth, he resembled my family so much more than Hannah or Abby did. Would he have been my only child to look like me? Would he have been big, like my brother? Would he be blond with blue eyes like Joey and Laura or would he have had my brown eyes and auburn hair? It's impossible to know how he would look today because babies change so much as they develop and grow. I guess it doesn't matter. What I do know is that in his birth, he was an absolutely beautiful baby boy.

Today I am sad.

Today I miss my other son.

I love you Ryan.

~Honoring Hannah~

Today is Hannah's birthday. She would have been 5 years old.

Yesterday I was sad as I thought about my sweet babies and all the lost opportunities we have missed out on. Before falling asleep, I cried lightly while R held me, but then I fell into a deep slumber and slept soundly through the night.

This morning, I woke up to the sound of R and Laura laughing together. It made me smile and feel good inside. And then they were in our room. R put her on the bed and she was climbing all over me, laughing and giving me her big, sloppy, open mouth kisses. I felt Hannah near, in my heart, but I was up and starting another busy day.

It's only now that Laura is sleeping and Joey is having "quiet time" that I have the time to think about this day and about Hannah. If I wanted to, I know I could sit on the floor of my room, think sad thoughts and dredge up the darkness that engulfed my life 5 years ago. I could put myself back into the depths of grief and relive that horrible week. It would be easy to do, if I wanted too.

But this year, I don't have that awful feeling of despair that I have had in past years, and I don't want to force a sadness that I don't feel just to keep Hannah, Ryan or Abby "alive". For me, the way to keep them "alive" is not through grief, but through love.

And so, when I'm done with this post, I will sit quietly and go through Hannah's memory box. I will look at her pictures and gently unfold the soft, thin blanket that she was wrapped in for her short life and I will run my fingers over her footprints. I will cherish the tangible reminders I have from my firstborn child. I may cry, and that's perfectly fine. I may not cry and that's perfectly fine too.

I will try not to reflect on what I have lost, but rather, to see all that I have gained. Today, I will try to honor Hannah by seeing the many gifts that her life has brought me.

10/23/03

5 years ago tonight, my world started crashing. I remember so clearly our last hour of innocence. R and I were laying in bed, me on my side with his arms wrapped around my body and his hands lightly touching my belly, feeling Hannah, Ryan and Abby's kicks and bumps. We were talking, dreaming, about our life to come. We were excited. We were having triplets.

R turned off the light around 11:00 p.m. and was lightly snoring about 1/2 hour later until my panicked voice called to him from the bathroom: "R, call the OB. My water just broke" Although I had never experienced PROM before, I knew with great clarity that this is what had just happened. R was groggy and moving slowly and I felt so angry with him that he wasn't taking faster action. Later, he appologized for this because at the time, he didn't think my water had broken~it was just too soon for something like that to happen.

When we were in the car R kept asking me if it was a slow leak. We were both hoping, praying that it was, even though I knew it was a full rupture. There was just too much fluid. On the ride, I felt another big gush of warmth run down my leg and I was scared, but I had never had a baby before so I didn't understand the full magnitude of what this meant.

We were rushed up to L&D and the resident on call did an ultrasound. One of the babies had very little amniotic fluid. I remember asking if she could tell the gender and when she said "boy" I was devastated. Ryan. My baby boy.

And yet, there was amniotic fluid, which is always replenishing itself, so there was hope. I was told we would know more in the morning, when the perinatologist could come see me. That night, R slept on a lounge chair and I slept on my side, in trandelenberg position. I can't remember, but I'm pretty sure the Doctor gave me a sleeping pill because even though I didn't sleep well, I did sleep.

It would be the last time that week that I slept.

I still didn't understand that this was the beginning of the end.

The Wonderment of Joe

Today is Tuesday. Tuesday is soccer day.

Just like every soccer day, Joey, Laura and I arrived first. For some reason, we were exceptionally early today so we walked over to the skate park to watch a kid skateboarding for a while. Joey was enthralled by his tricks and how he flipped the board around.

When we saw Coaches John and Paul, I scooped up Laura and the 3 of us walked towards the field. I put Laura down and she started playing with one of the balls, and I turned to Joey.

"Ready?" I said in my most casual voice as I put my hand out towards his. With a less than enthusiastic voice he said "yeah" and put his little hand in mine. Together, we walked towards the coaches. Other kids were trickling in and running by us. Then, out of the blue, the most wonderful thing happened: Joey let go of my hand and started running with the other kids.

He proceeded to spend the next 30 minutes running, playing and laughing. He turned frequently to make sure I was nearby, which I was, but it was only for a second before engaging in the game again.

After 30 minutes, he had had enough, so we sat on the sidelines and talked about what they were doing. He laughed when Coach Paul or Coach John did something goofy (which, in a class of 3-5 year olds, is often) and when it was time to clean up, he jumped up, ran over to the cones and started picking them up. He gave both Coaches big "high fives" and he was beaming as we walked off the field towards our car. So was I.

This kid never ceases to amaze me.

Mounting the Balence Beam...

I am extremely social so when Joey was a baby, we started going to a playgroup with moms who have children his age. I loved it because my son was exposed to other kids and I had the chance to spend time with the women. As the kids got older, it became obvious that this situation made Joey uncomfortable. The other kids would run around and play with toys, but Joey would cling to me and rarely leave my side. I heard all sorts of advice about what to do: Expose him to more kids more often, leave him to fend for himself, put him in preschool, don't coddle him, if he wants you, walk out of the room, drop out of the group. None of these felt right to me.

I decided that we would keep going but that I would "help" Joey feel more comfortable. My friends would be gabbing away while I sat on the floor, playing with the kids as Joey warmed up. There were days when I didn't have any "grown up time" but Joey would eventually move away from my side and play. It was slow progress, but it was progress.

We still meet weekly and it still takes Joey longer than most to warm up. He's never directly "in the mix" but he's much more comfortable leaving me and playing on his own and recently, he's started interacting more with the other kids.

When I looked at preschools, I looked for one that had smaller classrooms and a higher teacher-student ratio. I found one that I liked and when he walked right into the classroom and started playing, I knew this was a good fit for him. Unfortunately, the kids in the 3 year old program need to be potty trained and Joey is not, so he didn't start school this Fall.

Instead, I enrolled him in a Pee-Wee soccer. I struggled with this decision because I just wasn't sure he would like it. In the end, I figured we'd try it and if it's a disaster, we'll stop. It's a 9 week program for 3-6 year olds and unfortunately, Joey is the youngest in the group. The only way he will even consider playing is if I'm running up and down the field with him. He never strays too far from me and often, he retreats back to holding my hand and "resting" on the sidelines. I have to coax him onto the field and there are times when he fights me hard. Most of the time, he cries and whines and then just when I think we should call it quits, he'll run down the field kicking the ball and a huge smile will creep across his face. Or he'll laugh as Coach John or Coach Paul chases him to the goal. Recently, I noticed he'll occasionally start talking to the kid next to him. When thess things happen, he looks like he's having a really good time.

Sometimes when I watch the other kids gleefully racing off, barely casting a second glance at their moms, I feel frustrated because Joey is clutching my leg or begging to be "up" (held). I would much rather be sitting on the sidelines drinking coffee with the other moms, not running up and down the field with him. And, when I'm honest with myself, I know I wish sometimes that Joey was less clingly and more sociable and that makes me feel guilty. I recognize the last thing he needs to feel is that I'm dissapointed in him, so I try not to show my frustration, but I'm sure there are times that he can sense it.

I know he's out of his comfort zone in soccer. That's not the question I ask myself. What I think about is if he's too far out of his comfort zone so that it's counter productive and hurting his social confidence. Am I pushing him too hard? Should we hang up the towel and call it quits? There are 2 more sessions of soccer left. He participates, laughs and smiles more than he did when we started, but he still doesn't love it. I'll be happy when it's over. I think he will be, too.

Parenting is so hard sometimes.There is such a fine line...

Life Goes On...

With Hannah, Ryan and Abby's birthdays falling right around Halloween, there are always a plethora of activities scheduled for kids. Since Joey was born, I've always said that I will take care of my own needs regarding my grief during this time until Joey was old enough to really enjoy these activities. When that time comes, my grief becomes secondary and Joey's enjoyment of this "holiday" become my priority.

This year my MOMS Club is going to the local senior citizens center so the kids can "Trick or Treat", sing songs, do crafts, etc. with some of the older seniors who don't have family nearby or many visitors. We do this several times throughout the year, but I've never gone to the Halloween event because it usually falls on Hannah, Ryan or Abby's birth day. This year, it's on Ryan's day.

My neighborhood does a Halloween party complete with games, scarecrow making, pumpkin painting and other fun activities. This year, it falls on October 25th~the day Hannah died. Our local Halloween Parade is also on October 25th.

So many activities. Would Joey miss them if he didnt' go? Probably not because he's only 3 1/2 and he wouldn't know they are happening if I didn't tell him. But I will tell him because at 3 1/2, he will really enjoy them.

Will it be hard for me? I really don't know. It's impossible to know how I'm going to feel. But, we will go because even though Hannah, Ryan and Abby died and I love them and miss them, life goes on. And even though it may be difficult at times, I know that's a good thing.

The First Time...

Last night I was snuggled in bed and nearly drifting off when I began thinking about Hannah, Ryan and Abby. My thoughts were gentle but sad and soft tears fell from my eyes. It was the first time this month that I have cried.

My sadness only lasted a short while before my eyes became heavy and I nodded off to sleep. I woke up this morning to bright sunlight streaming through my windows and Joey's head peaking out his bedroom door. He said a cheerful "Hi Mom!" and then I heard Laura giggling and babbling in her crib. My sadness from the night before was gone. I knew this was going to be a happy morning and a happy day.

My life is full now and as a person, I am happy again. But in a few short weeks, I will quietly honor the 5 year anniversary of Hannah, Ryan and Abby's births. I still love and miss them every bit as much as I did when they were born, and so I expect that as their birth days get closer, I will feel more moments of sadness. Last night just happened to be the first time.

I know it will not be the last time.

10 Years...

When R and I planned our honeymoon, 10 years ago, we chose a location that had everything we wanted: golf, tennis, skeet shooting (we didn't seek this out, but thought it might be fun to try), hiking, beach time with all the water sports and spa treatments. We wanted active yet serene. We wanted casual but elegant. We were so excited by our choice.

Less than 2 weeks before our wedding, the eye of a hurricane went through our resort and blew it pretty much off the map. When our travel agent called us and said, "Your resort is completely destroyed. How do you feel about Jamaica instead?" We both responded the same way, "Jamaica sounds great" We really didn't care where we went, as long as we were together. But we promised ourselves we would go to our original honeymoon resort at our 5 year anniversary. As 5 years approached, we postponed our plans because I was pregnant with Hannah, Ryan and Abby. 10 years. We decided we would go at 10 years.

Our ten year anniversary is October 31. We will take the kids out to trick or treat, then drop them off at my folks because on November 1st, at the crack of dawn, we will board a flight to our honeymoon resort.

I'm excited. We plan to play tennis, scuba dive, lounge out on the beach, relax and unwind. We will play all day and dress up for a nice dinner at night. We will go to bed early. Or not. It won't matter because we can sleep in, if we choose too. Although I will miss the kids dearly, I know that this is a much needed vacation for R and me. It will be our first "couple" vacation since before we conceived Joey-over 4 years ago. Our last "couple" vacation, although wonderful, was wedged between our grief over Hannah, Ryan and Abby and our anxiety over whether or not we would bring children into our lives.

The timing of this vacation isn't lost on either of us~yes, it's our 10 year wedding anniversary, but we depart on Saturday, 5 years to the day of our Memorial Service for Hannah, Ryan and Abby. It also comes just a short time after we made the final decision to donate our embryos for training purposes, therefore ending our fertility journey.

But rather than feeling sad about the timing, R and I both feel as if this vacation signifies a new beginning for us, as if we are walking through some imaginary door to another side of our life together and when we return, we will be ready to start living that life.

Corney? Perhaps. But I am ready...

Letting Go...

I was never an "Internet" person. I used it as a tool-a way to find directions or information for things I needed. I didn't understand the allure of chat rooms and message boards~honestly, for the longest time I didn't even know they existed...

Then when my pregnancy with Hannah, Ryan and Abby developed complications I found and joined The Triplet Connection. After they died, someone referred me to another site for "Loss Moms". On November 27, 2003 I paid a nominal fee for an upgraded membership and officially joined the online community. Every day, for weeks and months, I would log on and spend time pouring out my soul to women who understood my pain. After a few months, I began responding to newer loss moms and their posts. Eventually, I realized the site was comprehensive, and I found a board for "Trying to Conceive After the Loss of an Infant/Child". When I became pregnant, I moved onto the "Pregnancy after Loss of an Infant/Child" and when that pregnancy became complicated, I posted on the "High Risk Pregnancy" board. This site has everything and so it was easy to find a place to post about what was happening in my life and to read about what was happening with other people and their lives. Although I don't frequent the site as often as I did in the early days, I still log on often.

This summer, I spent most of my time at the shore. I didn't have computer access so while the kids napped, instead of "logging on" I did my chores then sat and read for a while. On the days I was home, I caught up on email, wrote a little here (on my blog) and caught up with friends, but I didn't spend much time on the support site. I was surprised when I realized that I didn't miss it. I was more surprised when I realized that I felt better and stronger than I have in a long time and I think some of that has to do with not being involved in the site.

From my grief/recovery experience, I have a new respect for the Internet and a new appreciation for chat rooms and messages boards. They clearly helped me through the darkest days of my life. However, I think it's time for me to say goodbye to the site. This year, when November 27 rolls around, instead of renewing my membership, I plan to let it expire.

Even though I'm a little nervous to let go, I know in my heart that I'm going to be okay and that's a very peaceful feeling.

Made My Decsion

This morning, I had an appointment with my OB/GYN because I have had a chronic problem (nothing serious) on and off for years but all it takes is a medication and it usually clears right up. This time, I asked the doctor if we should probe further to figure out why I keep having this problem instead of just writing the prescription to clear it up. This was something I never really thought to ask about before, probably because I was too busy being pregnant or post-partum and had many other things on my mind.

She surprised me by saying that it's very common for women in infertility treatments, pregnancy, post-partum or for women who are nursing to have my problem and once those elements are removed, after a course of medication, the condition usually doesn't return. She also added that all the stress that I was under throughout the all these processes probably exasperated my problem. Now that my body is more regular, I will probably be fine.

Later today, I talked with the RE from my clinic. I asked all kinds of questions with the hope that the answers would bring me clarity and comfort with the decision I need to make regarding my embryos. As the conversation was coming to a close, he asked if I wanted to make an established patient consultation to go over all the odds, percentages and options available to us. He said he would transfer me to the front desk for an appointment. I hesitated a little too long and he finally said to me "April, I can't tell you what to do-this is a decision only you and R can make. However, at some point you need to think about your physical health and emotional well-being..."

Today I spoke with two doctors that have my utmost respect and both of them, in subtle ways, confirmed what I know to be true: I am better off closing the door on my infertility journey. And so, today I checked the box "Donate to research and training" and I put the letter in the mail.

I feel sad in many ways. How could I not? But, honestly, I am also relieved. I am no longer ready to move forward. I am moving forward.
======
Later that night, I had a complete meltdown. I couldn't stop thinking that I've made a terrible mistake, that I'm not done having children, that I would use all of the embryos with the hopes of having one or two more children. All I wanted to do was curl up in a ball and have R put his arm around me and hold me while I cried. Unfortunately, R was traveling that day so all he could do was listen to me over the phone.

The next morning, I was still wondering if I'd made a grave mistake. I even thought about calling the clinic to see if they would rip up the form and bill me for another year of storage, instead. But, I didn't do this.

Now, almost 5 days later, I still feel sad, but I know that it will fade. It does make me feel better knowing that my embryos will be used for training-that the embryologists will study them and learn how to find and test different chromosomes. I'm holding onto the belief that my embryos will help save a family from having a child with T-18 or some other chromosomal factor that is incompatible with life.

What To Do?

It came today-the letter from my infertility clinic telling me that I have until September 8, 2008 to decide what I want to do with my frozen embryos. I have 4 choices:

1) Keep them frozen
2) Donate to an infertile couple
3) Donate to the clinic for research and training
4) Destroy

When we started this journey, R and I discussed what we would do if we had embryos left. Together, we decided we would donate them to research and training with the hopes that our embryos would, in some way, help someone else. Of course, at that time the embryos we were talking about were purely hypothetical. Now they are real and each one is a biological blend of R and me that could potentially become a person and could carry with him or her all the promise that new life brings.

However, I know we can not use these embryos. If there was one, perhaps 2, maybe I would consider a frozen embryo transfer (FET) but there isn't one or two, there are 7. Knowing I would never transfer more than one embryo again would mean we have 7 more FET attempts ahead of us. I get overwhelmed just thinking about all the hormone treatments, ultrasounds, blood work, driving to and from the clinic, and stress that the process brings. I can't even imagine what that would do to us as a family or to me as a woman, wife and mother. I've done it 9 times. I don't want to do it anymore.

So I read my choices again and think about each one.

Keep Them Frozen: Storing them, when I know we will never use them, isn't a good idea, financially or emotionally. It just prolongs the decision for another year and prevents me from truly closing the door and moving forward with my life.

Donate to an Infertility Couple: I so wish I were the kind of person who could donate my embryos to another couple, but I am not. The thought of my biological children and biological siblings of Hannah, Ryan, Abby, Joey and Laura, in this world but not knowing them-it would make me crazy. I would wonder who they are, who they look like, how their life is. It's just not something I can do.

Destroy Them: Destroying them seems like such a waste, not only of human potential, but of the potential to indirectly help other people through the knowledge that may be gleaned through research and training. Destroying them is not an option for me.

That leaves Donating to Research and Training. In my heart, I know that if I'm not going to transfer them that this is the right option for me.

So, why then, didn't I just check the Donate To Research and Training box and mail the letter back? Why did I pick up the phone and call the clinic to find out the exact quality of these embryos? Why can't I stop thinking about them in terms of the potential life that each one of them has? I know I don't want to go through it all again and I'm not even sure I want more children, but I'm not sure I'm ready to let them go, either.

I Don't Want To, Again. I Don't Think...

Because of infertility treatments, pregnancy and nursing, it has been over 2 years since I've had a period and I must say, it's been really nice. I'm very slowly weaning Laura from nursing and since I know I'll never nurse again, I haven't been in any big hurry to stop.

This morning, I got my period. Of course, I knew this could happen and, frankly, I'm a bit surprised it hasn't come earlier, but I was still taken aback a little. It's not that I'm menstruating that threw me off-it's that my body is ovulating again. This means that if I wanted to, I could go back into infertility treatments to try again.

I don't want to get pregnant again. Trying to getting pregnant and being pregnant are too complicated, time consuming and emotionally and financially taxing. Although it would be temporary, I know the stress of another pregnancy would impair my ability to parent Joey and Laura the way I want and it would cause a lot of tension for me and my marriage.

While pregnant with Hannah, Ryan and Abby, I loved the idea of life growing inside me and I know the joy radiated throughout me. With Joey, some of that spark was dimmed, but even through the stress I was still able to marvel and cherish the miracle of it all. However, with Laura's pregnancy, I was so stressed out that I found it too difficult to embrace anything. The pregnancy just felt really long and it was emotionally draining. All I wanted was to speed up time so the pregnancy part would end and I could enjoy my baby. My experiences have stripped me of the ability to take pleasure in the miracle of pregnancy.

And, there are other reasons I don't want to get pregnant again. I'm now almost 40 and my energy level and need for sleep are much different than they were at almost 30. We're at a good place in our life, we've settled into a comfortable routine, met a lot of great friends and we have a nice balance of family time, me time and couple time. Overall, our life is really good. It's easy, it's fun and I'm happy.

So, why then was I so rocked this morning when I realized my body could get pregnant again? I'd like to say it's all hormonal but I don't know that it is. Certainly I'm not going to do anything with this knowledge but it still has me feeling a little unsettled. A little unsure. A little confused...

Getting A Taste of the Teen Years...

My sister is in the middle of a very long, drawn out and nasty divorce from a man who is controlling and verbally abusive. I admire her for making the very difficult decision to leave him and since she filed (over 2 years ago) I've watched her transform from an empty shell of a woman under his control into the confident, fun loving and happy person that I know is my sister.

Am has 4 children-girl, boy, girl, boy. My oldest niece is 13 years old and on top of the normal angst that comes from the early teen years, she is angry with her parents and she is confused about where to put her trust. My sister has tried to talk to her about puberty, sex, drugs, alcohol and smoking, but hasn't felt like she's made any progress so asked me if I would give it a shot...

Um. Yeah. Sure. Okay. Me? Really?

So, this past week, Chloe and I went for a walk. Big Breath. Another Big Breath. And before I knew it, I was into my first ever "parent-child" heavy duty conversation. I wanted to see if I could gauge how much my niece actually knows about the topic of sex, so I asked her questions, which she answered much more candidly than I expected. We talked about menstruation, shaving, pregnancy and sex. We talked about respecting your own body and about what to do if someone does something, anything, that makes you feel uncomfortable. We talked about appropriate and inappropriate behavior and we talked about dating.

She asked questions, I gave answers. I asked questions, she gave answers. It was an actual conversation. A back and forth exchange. I ended it by telling her the reason I wanted to talk to her was because I know she is struggling with her relationship with her folks and might not feel comfortable talking to them right now. I told her I love her and I know this is a difficult time in her life. I want her to know that she can come talk to me if she has questions, concerns, things she doesn't understand or know how to deal with. When the conversation was over, she hugged me and said "Thank you, Aunt April"

And then it was over. She bounced away as if we had just been talking about something as mundane as the weather. I strolled back into the house thinking about our talk and wondering how much of it she will mull over, later. Overall, I think it was a good experience for both of us and I'm glad I was able to talk to her. However, I am thankful that I have many years before I need to face this discussion with my own children. When that time comes, maybe, just maybe, my niece will be old enough to do it for me...(just kidding~kind of).

I Miss The Crib!!

Yesterday was day 2 of the big boy bed.

I put Joey down for nap/quiet time (he's transitioning out of the nap but still needs down time/quiet time) and I heard him chatting away for a while then it got quiet, so I went downstairs to straighten up and have some of my own quiet time.

Later, I went back upstairs and heard him chatting again so I decided to get him "up". I opened the door and there he was, sitting on his bed, blissfully playing-his entire room was covered in tissues/tissue bits he had ripped up. Upon hearing the door open, he looked at me and said, with utter joy, "Look Mom, I made a tissue world"

I want the crib back.

Milestones!

Well~today is a huge day in our household. First, it started with Laura taking three wobbly steps then collapsing in my arms, full in a fit of laughter. She was so proud of herself and full of giggles as she did it again. Her face lit up in complete bliss. I just love to watch kids do new things-they get such a kick out of themselves and think they are so great. I do too.

Then, the mailman delivered a package to our door. That the mail truck drove up our driveway in and of itself is enough to bring Joey complete joy, but the fact that the package was for him made it all the more exciting. Although I knew what was inside (I did order it, after-all) I wondered what he would think. Would he really be happy about the contents? Would he care at all? Would there be dissapointment that the package didn't contain a toy, but rather, it had sheets and a comforter inside?

There was only one way to find out and that was to open it. I saw the confusion on his face when he saw what was inside, but then we took the comforter out of the bag and laid it on the floor and he beamed and exclaimed, "Hey-Mom, there's a digger right there. And a dump truck. And a steam roller. And a backhoe. And a...(okay, you get the point)"

While the bedding was in the wash, he helped me move his new big boy bed from the guest room into his room. Then, instead of quiet time today, he helped me make his new bed. I left his crib set up because I expected am adjustment period and thought it might be easier for him if we did a slow transition-perhaps a few days or a week of naps in the bed but nights in the crib, then a few nights in the bed before we take the crib out.

At bedtime, he wanted me to lay in bed with him and read him stories. I thought maybe he was scared to be alone in his new bed, so I asked him: "Are you nervous, honey?" "No Mom, but it's really cozy in my bed so I want to share it with you"

Who would have thought?

Then, before I left he said, "Mom, I think we should take my crib out tomarow. I don't need it anymore"

So much for transition.

No less then 10 minutes after I put him down, R came home from a late meeting. He went upstairs to say goodnight to Joey before he fell asleep and to check out his new bed but wouldn't you know it-Joey was already sound asleep.

Seems he's adjusted pretty well.

I think I had a harder time with this change than he did! Now if I could only get him to go on the potty....

Rainbow Baby

The expression "Rainbow Baby" refers to a baby born (who lives) after (a) child/ren dies/die. I've seen it used a lot on various support sites by loss moms but personally, I've never liked the term and I never use it in reference to either of my living children.

About a year-year and half after Hannah, Ryan and Abby were born, I was reading through my local, small town newspaper when an obit caught my eye. It was for a baby who died shortly after her birth. Although I don't know the Mom, I went to school with the Dad for years. I was deeply saddened for this family and for the pain I knew they now feel.

A year ago, I saw in the birth announcements of the very same paper that this couple had gone on to have another child-another girl. I was very happy for them because I know that having a another child doesn't replace the baby who died, but it can soften the pain significantly.

Today, I read in the paper that their baby girl died on June 20 of a rare form of pediatric brain cancer. She was one year old. There was a big article and it ended with "Olivia Rose is predeceased by her sister, Elizabeth Hope..." I feel sick with sadness for this family. Babies aren't supposed to die and certainly this isn't supposed to happen to a "Rainbow Baby". But it does.

Perhaps that's why I dislike the expression...

Is It Because 5 Years Is Right Around The Corner?

Recently, I bought new bedding, a lamp, sheets, throw pillows and a valance for Joey's room. His room is currently very "baby" and when he goes into his big boy bed (which should have already happened but hasn't) I'm going to redo everything.

The new theme is of trucks and cars and he's going to LOVE it. I tend to be one of those people who does the whole "Kit and Kaboodle" when I decorate (especially the kids' rooms), so I'll paint the drawer pulls navy (or maybe I'll paint the furniture navy and the drawer pulls red) and it will be "fun" and bright and cheery. And, did I mention that he's going to love having trucks as a theme?

So, why can't I bring myself to start pulling down the border? Why can't I take off the wall hangings that I painted while I was on bed rest? Why can't I stop thinking that this is the final "let go" of physical reminders from when I was pregnant with Hannah, Ryan and Abby?

Why is this so hard?

How Old Are They?

Every year, a theme park in my state hosts a Deaf Awareness Day and the entire park is accessible via interpreters. I did this job for years because it's a fun gig and very social. The last time I did it was in 2002 because the following year, I was newly pregnant with Hannah, Ryan and Abby and although there were no complications at the time, I didn't think it was a good idea to be in the heat and on my feet, even for part of the day.

When the coordinator called me this year to see if I was interested in interpreting again, I said yes right away. I was excited because it would be nice to have a day with people who know me not as a Mom, but as a professional.

An hour before the park opened, we (the interpreters) started "working". We had a 15 minute informal meeting with the Interpreter Coordinators to discuss the logistics for the day, then we had 45 minutes to socialize, have coffee and breakfast. It was wonderful for me: there were plenty of hugs, a few tears and a lot of laughs as I caught up with some old friends. But, before I knew it, the doors were getting ready to open and we all scattered to our assigned locations. The day flew by and working again was exhausting and exilerating for me at the same time.

Just as my day was winding down, a Deaf woman I worked with for many years but hadn't seen in a long time approached me and gave me a huge hug. She commented that it had been years since we'd seen each other but that she's thought of me often and wondered how I was doing. With a huge smile she signed, "I'm so impressed you're here with how busy you must be. How old are the triplets now?"

At that given moment, I would have done just about anything to be somewhere else. It wasn't that she mentioned Hannah, Ryan and Abby, or even that she didn't know they died. It was that she was so excited to see me and she was so happy for me and now I had to tell her what happened.

"Oh, I guess you never heard that unfortunately, they were born prematurely and all three of them died shortly after their births" and then, without missing a beat, I went into what I call "making them feel better mode" I rushed over the fact that they died and moved right into my current life: "it was very difficult but the greatest gifts they have given me are my 3 year old son, Joey and my 1 year old, Laura, who are the light of my life...and you, how are you doing?"

I did everything I could to make it easier for both of us, but it was clearly uncomfortable and it made me realize why I never went back to full time work after they died. Had I been able to walk into an office and see everyone the first week I was back, I may have done it. But as a freelance interpreter, I worked with so many different people every day that even now, 5 years later, people remember that I was pregnant with triplets but don't know that they died.

And still, almost 5 years later, running into people who ask such an innocent question with such excitement can still knock the wind out of my sails...

Remembering...

Today, I picked up the worn, beaten down journal that documents my first year after Hannah, Ryan and Abby died. As I held the book in my hands, I thought about all the pain it contains. I opened it and as I read, the words on the pages became familiar to me but there is so much that I have forgotten.

The uncertainty...

1/25/04
...This is so hard...Today, R was holding me and he told me that he wants only for me to be happy again. Then he asked me if being with just him was enough to make me happy. What a difficult question to answer...to have him as my life partner, to share the joys and sorrows of life together, yes, that makes me happy. I can't imagine my life without him and the thought of losing him terrifies me now. But is it enough for me to be "just he and I"? I no longer feel complete being just he and I. The desire to have more children, children we can raise together, is so strong in me now that I don't know if being just he and I will be enough to make me completely happy anymore. Is it enough to make him completely happy? I don't know the answer to that, either....

The longing...

1/29/04
...I tucked Chloe [my niece] into bed tonight and when I held her little body next to mine, my eyes filled with tears...I could hardly let go of her-to feel a child snuggled into my arms--to know the love of that child--for one brief moment, I let myself imagine that she was my own child and it broke my heart to let go of her and feel that emptiness fill up inside me again. Will I ever hold my own child close to my breast and kiss him/her good-night? If I am so fortunate, will the love that child brings to my life alleviate this emptiness that I feel?...

The physical aspects...

3/3/04
Could there be a crueler pain then the death of ones children? I do not think so...the grief has infiltrated every fiber of my being. I feel so out of sorts and so raw again. [I had learned recently that my sister-in-law was pregnant] My heart is so empty and my arms ache for my babies. I want to be excited for Ed and Kate but my own babies deaths are overshadowing my abilities to share in their joy. I feel angry and hurt and it's so confusing. I am so tired. So very tired. I want to lay my head down and sleep for days. My eyes feel so heavy and my head has a dull ache to it, always. The skin on my face is tight from my tears and my eyes are so red and swollen from crying. I can not get it together right now to face even the smallest tasks. I am just so tired...so very tired...

It's hard to explain what I felt, reading these entries. It's almost as if I were reading a book that I couldn't put down. But in some ways I was detached from the grief, as if it wasn't my own. As if it was just a story that I was reading that moved me deeply.

As the 5 year anniversary approaches, I have found myself thinking more and more about those early days of my grief and all they encompassed. I don't want to re-live it, I don't want to go back and be in the dark depths of those early days again, but I have this peculiar need to remember it. All of it.

FREEDOM!

Laura had deformational plagiocephaly. That's very fancy medical terminology for abnormal head shape. The back left side of her head was flat and in turn, the front left side bulged out, causing all her facial features to be out of symmetry. All this happened because she had torticollis (another fancy medical term that means chronic stiff neck) so she favored her right side because turning her head that way wasn't painful for her.

We had an evaluation with a cranio-facial specialist for a corrective helmet to help restore her natural head shape. We were told that without the helmet, her head may restore itself to a more normal shape but it may not. With the helmet, it won't ever be perfect but her features will re-allign and her flat spot would only be noticeable by people who knew it was there. However, in order for the helmet to work, she would have to wear it for 23 out of 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, taking it off only for a bath and so we could clean it. Even with daily cleaning, the helmet would eventually start to smell funky. And, insurance rarely covers them.

Despite our nervousness about how Laura would adjust, but we decided to do it and at 7 months of age, she went into her helmet. Although we had a few really rough nights of sleep at first, she eventually adjusted to it. We went weekly to have head measurements and helmet adjustments and Joey became very well versed in explaining to anyone who asked (and some who didn't) that his sister "...wears a helmet to fix her head shape because it is flat but won't be when she's done with the helmet".

Today, our measurements showed less than a 1/8" differential between her left and right forehead, which is considered completely normal. The flat spot has rounded out nicely and is hardly noticeable, her facial features are back in alignment and although her ears are still "off", it's not noticeable. Today we were told she no longer needs to wear the helmet. Y E A H ! She is free!

I just want to add that the one negative to her newfound freedom is that when she had her helmet on, she would bounce off of furniture or clunk her head without consequence because the helmet acted as a buffer. She's hit her head more than once doing things she's done 1000 times with the helmet but now it hurts! I'm fairly confident it will be a quick learning curve and she'll be bouncing off things again in no time (or perhaps learning to avoid them!)

Just as Guilty

R and I are friends with our neighbors. They have a son who is one year older than our son and the boys play together well. R and I have always liked both the husband and wife and they are in the process of adopting a daughter who will be 2 months younger than Laura. It's always been a really easy relationship and we've looked forward to their daughter coming home so Laura will have a (female) playmate on our court.

Our parenting styles are very different and there have been times when I've felt the Mom has been harsher then she needs to be with her son, but basically I have always seen them as loving, caring parents.

Except today, I witnessed something that made me feel very uncomfortable. Their son was disobeying his mom and she lost her cool. She started yelling at him and then she picked up a ball from the yard and threw it at him, somewhat hard, hitting him in the head. He started crying and she grabbed his arm, pulling him into a time out. Joey stood there, eyes wide, looking back and forth from Mom to son and then finally, to me. I managed to smile at my son, then I walked over to him, hugged him and started kicking a ball with him, as if nothing had happened. The only comment she made was something like "kids can make you crazy sometimes..." I didn't know what to say and so in turn, I didn't say anything. It was getting on in the day and Laura was getting tired, so we packed up and left.

When we got home, I felt the need to talk to Joey about what happened. I was honest with my son and I told him that L wasn't behaving well and his mom got angry, but Mrs. S didn't behave well, either, because it's not appropriate to hit someone no matter how frustrated or angry you feel. He accepted this and we moved on, but I know my son and I know it had an impact on him.

And, I know that there was something very critical that I left out of our discussion and that was my behavior-or lack thereof. While I feel that talking to Joey was important, the truth is, I should have done something while the situation was happening and I didn't. In many ways, I'm just as wrong as the mom. I want to teach my children to stick up for what they feel is right and yet I didn't do that myself. What kind of message did I send to Joey (and L) by doing nothing? It's not that I didn't feel it was my place to say something, because the behavior was so inappropriate that it deserved, no it needed, to be addressed. And yet, I didn't do anything. And so, by my lack of action, the message I sent to my son that it's okay to allow things like this to happen, even though they are grossly wrong.

I'm not sure what I could have/should have said, but I know that I shouldn't have sat, silent, and let it go. The truth is, it would have been very difficult to say something and so I took the cowards way and said nothing. And that makes me just as guilty.
===
Last night, after the kids were in bed, R and I talked about what happened. He agreed that saying something would be very difficult but that something should have been said. Since we live next door to them we will continue to have a relationship with them and so therefore, it's possible something like this may happen again. We talked about how this would be a defining moment in our friendship with them but we both agree that something needs to be said even if it means an awkward relationship from that point on. The question that still looms, that we're not sure how to answer, is what do I say to show that I won't condone this kind of behavior? We're both still thinking about the best way to handle it.

I hope I don't get into that situation again, but if I do, I hope I have the where-with-all to know what to say and the strength to say it.

Moments of Quiet Thoughts

Hannah, Ryan and Abby would have been 5 years old this October. They would have just missed the cut off for kindergarten in my state so they wouldn't be going this Fall, but still, they would be five.

Today, I had a rare situation where I was driving alone, which means I didn't have the chatter of Joey and the babble of Laura in the background. I chose not to turn the radio on and was just enjoying the silence. At times like this, I often find my mind goes straight to Hannah, Ryan and Abby. It's amazing to me that here I am, almost 5 years later, and there still hasn't been a day that I haven't thought about them.

Early on, people kept telling me that day would come and that the one day would eventually turn into 2, and then a week, etc. I didn't know what to think about that idea, 5 years ago. Part of me thought that would mean I had recovered from my grief and was living life again and part of me wanted to tell these people to "kiss off" because none of them had lost (a) child/ren so they had no idea how I would feel or think "one day".

It's interesting to discover that I do still think about them daily and I'm living my life and enjoying it again. I don't know why I thought thinking about them every day would somehow mean I was still constantly laden with grief. Perhaps it was because in those early days I could only think about them with grief and sadness and that's no longer true. It's difficult to explain what my thoughts and feelings are now because many times I'm not sure myself, but whatever the emotions are, they are not always heavy and sad. I'm so glad about that.

Anyway, when I have those rare times of being alone, my mind almost always wanders to them in some way. It makes me wonder, sometimes, what other (non-loss) moms think about when they are alone. But more importantly, it makes me cherish even more, my own moments of quiet thoughts.

Birthday Mania...

It's hard for me to believe, but both my children had their birthdays this month. Laura is now a year old and Joey is 3. Time sure does fly.

We celebrated Laura's birthday with family at our shore house. She was the party girl and had a great time. When everyone started singing "Happy Birthday" to her, instead of bursting into tears like many one year olds do, she looked around somewhat baffled then her face lit up into a huge grin. Without a doubt, she's my socialite!

Since we were at the shore, she had a sandcastle cake, which she loved.

Joey celebrated his birthday with a small party of 4 friends, at our house. It was a construction theme and each child got a hard hat and a paint brush. I set out 5 different paint colors and they painted a cardboard box "house", which was a huge hit for them. For his cake, I made a backhoe loader. (Although I can't take full credit for either of the cakes because I subscribe to a great magazine called Family Fun that gave me the inspiration and directions to make them both!)

What a year it's been...Happy Birthday Joey. Happy Birthday Laura. I love you both.

Ear Tubes

It's the eve of Laura's ear tube surgery-a date I've anxiously waiting for since February. I know the tubes will alleviate her ear discomfort, help her hear and sleep better, improve her balance and allow her to develop better babble/speech. I've wanted to move forward with this surgery for quite some time but all the insurance issues we had pushed us back a little. And now the date is finally here.

But now I'm am anxiously thinking about all the papers I had to sign last week-the papers that clearly outline the risks of the surgery and the anesthesia. The fine print disclaimers that state I can not hold the doctor or the hospital liable in the event that something catastrophic should happen. People keep telling me that ear tube surgery is the most common surgery done in children under three years old. I know that. It's not the ear tubes that I'm worried about; it's the anesthesia.

And so, while I know it's the right thing to do, I also know I won't sleep well tonight and that I'll be on edge the whole time, until I'm with her in recovery.
===
Monday May 19
9:30 a.m.

We're home from the surgery and Laura is doing great. I can see the difference in her hearing already, as she's searching for sounds she's never responded to before (the car starting, the microwave, etc) and who knows if this is a coincidence or not but she was cruising along the couch and she stopped, let go, started clapping, then cruised on. This was the first time ever that she stood independently. The doctor said he cleaned out all the "gummy nasty stuff" in her ears that would have affected her hearing and balance, so who knows.

Anyway, it was a very long 15 minutes from the time we left her until we saw her again and the fears ran rampant in my mind. I was never so relieved as when the nurse opened the door and we heard Laura screaming at the top of her lungs (a common reaction for babies as they come out of anesthesia. Thankfully, we were well informed it would happen)

I'm exhausted and feel like I could sleep for a week, but I'm so glad it's over and my little girl came through everything just fine.

I'm A Big Boy Now!

Joey turned 3 last week. How much he understands the concept that this day was his actual birth-day is unclear but he certainly understands that he is no longer 2 and that he is now 3.

"Three means I'm a big boy now, Mom" he continues to tell me. He even declared "Now that I'm three, I can go on the potty." This has been his first expression of interest in potty training, and although he has only wanted to sit on the potty once since then, it's a start.

He also gave me a "list" of things he can do now that he is three and a big boy: he can walk down the stairs by himself (a skill he has had since he was under 2 but Laura's arrival brought back a strong desire in him to be carried), cut his own food with a (plastic) knife, and help me with all kinds of projects, especially those that involved flat or phillips head screw-drivers and scissors, pour his own cereal, crack an egg and push the buttons on the microwave to cook his food.

He is growing up. The thought of him being a "big boy" sometimes brings a huge smile to my face but it also sometimes brings me a little fear and sadness. Fear because I want to keep him safe and close and protected from the harsh realities of life, even though I know that's impossible. Sadness because the older he becomes, the more independent he will become. I try to foster independence because I know it's a good thing, but it's also difficult to let go. I'm sure as the years go by, this will be more and more important yet more and more difficult to do.

The night of his birthday, I read him some new stories and tucked him in. R was working late, so I sat down and started reading my book. A little while later, Joey started crying so I went into his room and stroked his hair and asked him what was the matter.

In a small, scared voice he said, "I had a bad dream, Mom."

I asked him if he wanted me to sit down, hold his hand and sing him a song and he immediately said yes, put his tiny hand in mine and closed his eyes again.

As I was gently singing to him, my eyes filled with tears. Yes, he is becoming a big boy now, but he is also still so young and in the most tender way, he is still very much a baby.

Who Do You Miss The Most?

I received one of those "get to know you" emails today-the kind that asks you a bunch of questions so your friends can "get to know you" better. Usually I delete them without responding, but this one was from my 12 year old niece, so I decided to answer the questions and send it back to her. The 4th question down asked: "Who do you miss the most?"

I typed Hannah, Ryan and Abby's names and went on to #5. But later, I began to really think about this question and my answer. Do I miss Hannah, Ryan and Abby? Can I miss them if I never really had the chance to know them?

Surely I miss the opportunity to raise them, teach them and parent them. I miss the opportunity to know them, watch their personalities develop and help shape their values and morals. But does this mean I miss them, as people, or do I miss the opportunity of them?

I don't know.

When I was pregnant, I imagined who they would be, based on their movements. Abby was always kicking and jabbing me , hard and often. I dreamed I would be chasing her around the house because she was my wild one. Hannah was active but her kicks were more gentle-like bumps, so even though I felt her often, I pictured her to be quieter, more gentle and feminine. And Ryan, he wouldn't kick often, but when he did, it was constant and furious. He was my sweet little boy but he had a strong spirit and a stubborn side.

When I was pregnant with Joey, he kicked and moved all the time. Once, he kicked me so hard he knocked the wind out of me. I was sure he would be on-the-go nonstop. But when Joey was born, he was about as mellow as a baby could be. As a child, he can still sit and focus on something for a long period of time without getting bored and he's gentle and calm.

Laura almost never kicked me. Many times, I would panic because long stretches would pass without any movement and I would head to labor and delivery for an ultrasound-thankfully to learn that she was fine. Based on my pregnancy with her, one would expected her to be super laid-back. But Laura's nickname is "Spit-and-Beans" shortened from "a spit-fire who is full of beans". She is up at 5:45 every morning and is raring to go. There is nothing mellow about her.

When I think of the dreams I had for Hannah, Ryan and Abby while I was pregnant, I realize now that they were just that: dreams. There is no way to know who they would have become or how they would have grown because I didn't have the chance to learn that about them. And realizing how wrong I was about my living children, I realize too that the dreams I had about them probably aren't even close to the reality of who they would have been.

So, almost 5 years after they were born, when I think of a question like #4, "Who do you miss the most"? I feel confused. Is it possible to miss a person you never knew? Or is what I feel more of a longing for them? Is there a difference between missing and longing? I'm not sure. The only thing I am sure of is a love that I still carry deep within me and how much I miss sharing that love with them.

Maybe you don't need to know someone well to miss them, maybe you only need to love them.

I just don't know...

petty, petty, petty...

R and I live in a wonderful community with woods and walking trails, 2 lakes-one with a beach and floating dock for swimming and one that we stock for fishing. Most of our neighbors have kids and we can let our kids outside to play without having to be overly concerned for their safety. It's truly a town stuck in a time warp and we love it.

R is the current president of our little neighborhood association and I have recently starting doing a newsletter for the neighborhood. We have 78 homes in our community and almost everyone who lives here is pleasant.

Except 2 couples. One of them is the recent past-president. He's a social man but he's a hot-head and pretty controlling. He seems to be very bitter that he wasn't voted in again for a board position and he seems to be angry at R because he is the new president (although R didn't run against this man, he accepted a nomination afterwards, when we didn't have a president).

The other to people are the wife of the past-president and their neighbor. They seem to have a grudge against anything that's happening in the community. R ignores them and basically only deals with them when he absolutely has to. He's much better at staying neutral and not getting emotionally involved. When they attack him (publicly through email and letters to our entire community) I get upset.

This morning, I was happily walking my children and my dog on a blissfully sunny day distributing the newsletter that I had just finished publishing. It was the kind of experience that made me feel good to be alive, there was a light breeze, trees are in bloom, people were out and about and and I was proud of the newsletter I had recently put together. I was sure there were some errors in it, but for the most part, it's a good piece of work and doing it helps me maintain some level of intellectual use of my brain.

I just put the kids down for a nap and checked my email and there were 3 emails-one from each of the people I mentioned above and they completely ripped me apart for the newsletter. They found so many things "wrong" with it and they proceeded to point every single thing that they saw "wrong" out. The negativity was overwhelming and quite frankly, depressing.

I know they are trying to evoke an emotional response from me, which they have. However, instead of responding to their emails and the demands they have made regarding an explanation of some of the errors (um, they were mistakes?) I have chosen to vent my frustration here and delete their emails.

But, I just don't understand how people can be so petty and expend so much energy creating negativity. It's just mind-boggling.

In One Week....

my little boy will turn 3 years old. Is it possible to feel nostalgic when only three years have passed? Today, as I watched him pour his own cereal into his bowl, I realized that the little baby I gave birth to three years ago, is no more. He's not even a toddler. He's a boy.

I have to say, I'm enjoying the heck out of him right now. Three is a fun age (minus the tantrums and assertiveness). I'm having a little birthday party for him next week and he's been very involved with the planning-he told me which 4 friends he would like to have, he helped me "write" out the invitations and we put them in the mail together. He's excited about his party-it's a construction theme with games and a construction cone pinata that he helped me make and he's requested a "flat bed tractor trailer" cake. (Thankfully, I'm a certified cake decorator!)

The neat thing about all this is the milestone he's developed: anticipation. At Christmas time, he was excited about Santa coming, but only because we made a big deal about it, not because he understood it. At Christmas time, he hadn't really developed anticipation and now, 5 months later, he has.

With a baby, the milestones are pretty obvious-rolling, sitting, crawling, etc. Of course, there are more subtle milestones, too (pincher grasp, some of the cognitive processes, etc) but with a little boy (or girl) the major milestones can almost go unnoticed because they are so subtle (the use of prepositions in language (as well as other language developments), the understanding of cause and effect in a thought process, the concept of time becomes more relevant, etc) but they are no less significant and important. I love watching these things develop and emerge.

Anyway, it's hard to believe that in just 7 days, my little boy will turn 3 years old. I'd be lying if I said there haven't been days when I've wanted to pull my hair out and cry, but for the most part, the past 3 years with my little man have been wonderful and full of fun-so much more so than I ever imagined they would be!

Saying Goodbye...

Tonight, at 5:45, I will take my cat to the vet and he will put her down. I called this morning and as soon as the receptionist answered, my eyes filled with tears. I have unsuccessfully tried many times before to make this call. Today was the first time I was able to actually make the appointment because this time, I know in my heart, it is time.

I love my cat. She has been with me for over 15 years and she is a wonderful little beast. I got her at a "valley" period in my life and she helped through that period into a better "peak". She certainly has helped me through many more "valleys" since then. She's a small cat, often mistaken for a kitten. She is wonderful with the kids, loves people, is affectionate and friendly. But, she is old and she has a bladder problem and she is missing the litter box a lot.

While this is certainly not the worst thing I have ever gone through, it's so much more difficult than I would have imagined it to be. Already, there have been a few times when I've had to walk away from Joey because my eyes have been overflowing. And, I have no idea about what I'm going to tell him yet. I have no idea what to say to my 3 year old son about the cat he loves who will no longer be in his life.

The Vet has promised me that it will be a peaceful and humane experience for Poodie, and that I will be able to hold her the entire time. I am glad about that, because as difficult as it will be, it would be worse for me if I couldn't be there to say a final goodbye to my sweet little kitty.

Wow, this is a sad day.

Losing Another Piece...

While pregnant with Hannah, Ryan and Abby, like any new mom to be, I had dreams about what they would look like and who they would be like. I was thrilled to have both genders and I would imagine me dressing them, the girls in fancy dresses and Ryan in a dapper outfit and taking them out. I also looked forward to their rooms-decorating them and then helping my kids decorate as they got older. I have always believed that a bedroom is a great place for a child to express him/herself and that they should be allowed some creative freedom to decorate their own rooms.

I had decided that since Hannah, Ryan and Abby would probably be small and it would be easier for R and me, that they would share a room after they were born, so I "designed" a room that would be appropriate for both girls and a boy. When I was pregnant with Joey, I spent a considerable amount of time thinking about whether or not I wanted to change the room or keep the theme and color scheme the same. In the end, I decided that I love the room and that I wanted to keep it. I did give away the boy crib bedding I had gotten for Ryan and bought a new one for Joey. I just couldn't bear the thought of another child using Ryan's bedding, even though Ryan had never used it. And, I didn't want Joey to have to "share" his bedding with a memory of what should have been...

While I was pregnant with them, the room got painted, I set up a crib and had furniture, but that was as far as I had gotten before I went on bed-rest. There were no wall decorations, no pictures, no books, no trucks or toys. The room was basically "sterile" and it stayed that way for almost a year and half, until just after Joey was born. It was then that I was able to personalize it for Joey and it is now Joey's room, not Hannah, Ryan and Abby's room.

The other day, Joey told me he wanted a truck bed (his friend has one). I'm not running out to buy him a truck bed tomorrow, but I do recognize that it's just a matter of time before the room is too "baby" for him.

When the day comes that I have to swap the baby colors for big boy ones and pack up all the things in his room that make it "baby-like", a part of my heart will be sad that my little boy is growing up so quickly. Changing out his room will be a symbolic end of his baby-ness.

But, the sadness will run much deeper than that for me. Even though it is Joey's room, the vision and dreams of that room started with Hannah, Ryan and Abby and my visions and dreams for them. So when the room gets changed, I will lose another connection to my three babies who never had the chance to sleep there. In a world where there are so few tangible, touchable connections, it really stings to lose another piece.

I miss the memories that we'll never make.

A Little Sweat Brings A Lot of Clarity

Laura woke up at 5:15 this morning then after eating, she fell right back asleep. She's not really a snuggle-kid, so I love that she does cuddle right in and falls back asleep after nursing like this. I'll miss that when she's weaned...

Anyway, after listening to her light snoring for a few minutes, I decided to put her back in the crib and take a 6:15 a.m. spinning class. I'm not a morning person so the thought of working out in the morning isn't all that appealing to me, but I was already up. I considered going back to bed for a little bit, and believe me it was tempting, but I knew R would be getting up soon and I was already wide awake, so I decided to go for it.

Midway through the class my mind was blank, my legs were burning, and my towel was soaked. I heard the music and the instructor barking motivational commands, but my brain wasn't really processing either of them. I wasn't thinking about anything, really, until a random thought popped into my head: In the past 6 years, this is the longest I've gone without taking massive doses of infertility drugs or feeling the weight of stress that comes from being a high risk pregnancy.

When I finished the class this morning I was proud of myself. I felt strong and I was ready to enjoy my day. When I was going through infertility treatments or pregnant the hormones and stress stripped me of these feelings, and with each attempt, it became more and more difficult to regain them. I was left feeling robbed of my confidence and it's only now that I'm getting it back.

When I think of all we've been through emotionally, physically and financially, I know closing the door on treatments and pregnancy is the right thing to do for my family and for myself. I'm sure there will be moments of sadness, especially as Laura gets further and further away from being a baby, but today, as I think about my life, I feel happy about where I'm headed and relieved that infertility is no longer part of my future.

Remembering...

Today, I started to swap my winter for spring clothes in my closet. Hannah, Ryan and Abby's memory boxes sit on a corner shelf, high up in a safe location of my closet and as I went through my stuff, my eyes kept going back to their boxes.

Finally, I put my clothing project aside and did what I knew my heart wanted to do: I took down their boxes, sat on my bed and went through them. It's been a long time since I've done this. I carefully looked at each baby's photo, tracing the outline of their faces with my finger. I took out Abby's hat and turned it inside out to see the tiny spec of skin that remains in it-tangible evidence that she wore this hat. I inhaled deeply to try and draw the scent from Hannah's blanket. I know the scent has long since faded but as I inhaled, my mind could so clearly smell her. It made my eyes fill with tears...

At the bottom of each box, I keep all the letters I've written to them. The top letter of Ryan's box was one I wrote to the three of them, this past Christmas. I won't share all it, but I am going to share some~

Dear Hannah, Ryan and Abby,

Our tree is lit, a fire is burning and soft Christmas music is playing in the background. I have a rare moment to myself right now and I'm feeling so peaceful and happy. This morning was magical: Joey was in awe of the tree and of Santa's arrival and Laura was blissfully unaware of the spirit of Christmas that surrounded us.

However, now in this quiet moment, I think of you. As I feel the warmth of the fire, my heart aches for you. There has not been a single day that I haven't thought about you and I still miss you terribly. Time has worn the edges of my pain, softened them, but thankfully, it has not changed my love for you. It has been 4 years now and you are still very much a part of me and who I am.

As the years go by, I wonder if a time will come when I won't think about you every day. I can not and will not allow myself to hold onto grief and force myself to think about you daily just to keep your memory "alive". It's just not my way, and yet I still do think about you every day-it just sort of happens without any conscious effort. My thoughts are not always filled with the deep sorrow that I had in my early days of recovery~but they are always filled with love......
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There is always love but today there is also deep sorrow.

The Plan Is Working

Yesterday was my 39th birthday. It's a fairly inconsequential birthday number, except that it now puts me in the final year of my 30's.

When R and I talked about what we wanted to do this day, I told him there was a local 5K race I wanted to run in, as a family. I told him I didn't want him to run beside me (he's much faster than I am) I wanted to do this at my own pace, for myself and by myself, but that at the end of the race, I would love for him and the kids to be there to cheer me on.

However, when we woke up yesterday, the weather was cool and drizzling-not exactly great running weather. We decided to do it anyway but as we pulled up to the race area, the drizzle had turned to rain. R decided it would be better to drop me off and take the kids to breakfast, rather than run with them. I was a little bummed, but I waved goodbye and ran off to get my race number. About a minute before the race was to go off, I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned to see R with the double jogger and the kids all bundled up snug. Joey was blissfully eating Dunkin Donuts Munchkins and Laura sat happy as a lark, just taking it all in.

My face must have looked puzzled because R said "As I was driving away, I realized we should be out here as a family, so we came back to run". Before I could say anything, the race started and we both set off.

It didn't take long before he was well in front of me and fading out of my sight. I stayed focused on my breathing and kept a slow steady pace. Even though I could no longer see R, it was nice to know he was there.

I have run several races since Hannah, Ryan and Abby died, but I always ran them without emotion. This race was different for me-inwardly, I felt different. As I neared the finish line, I saw R, dripping wet in the rain and as I ran past him, he and Joey cheered me on while Laura sat looking out, cooing and smiling. It gave me the courage and the boost I needed to pick up my pace and sprint to the finish line.

I finished the race in 27 minutes and 42 seconds-just under a 9 minute pace. It wasn't even close to a personal best for me but I didn't care. As I crossed that finish line, hearing my son and my husband cheering me on, I was beaming inside and out.

See, what was different for me yesterday wasn't just that my family was there, supporting me. What was different for me yesterday, was that I felt strong.