Today, I got blindsided by grief and sadness. I can't really say why. Nothing extraordinary happened. I didn't hear any good or bad news regarding pregnancies or babies. Joey and Laura are doing well and life is, generally, really good.
Except that for whatever reason, my heart aches tonight and I am sad. Tears flooded my eyes as I realized that this heavy feeling is from missing Hannah, Ryan and Abby and what could have been...
I am not a person who can close her eyes and imagine life with three 6 year old triplets running around. I don't know if I can't do it because I won't do it or if I won't do it because I can't do it, but either way, I don't imagine life with Hannah, Ryan and Abby. What I do wonder is who they would have been and what they would look like.
If I could take a short journey back in time, there is no doubt that I would travel back to the week they were born. It would be unbelievably painful to relive that week, but I can no longer remember what it felt like to hold them. Right now, I long to hold them, smell them and feel that overwhelming sense of love that comes right after your child is placed in your arms. And even though it would be unbelievably painful to relive that week, it would be worth the pain to remember.
Hannah, Ryan and Abby~I love you and I miss you so very much.
Friday, December 18, 2009
Sunday, November 22, 2009
TC
Tonight, for some strange reason, I sat at my computer and googled, "The Triplet Connection" and when it loaded, I learned that I'm still signed in as a member.
I didn't really do anything on the site. I entered the general forum and browsed some topic titles but didn't open any of them. Then I went to the bereaved parents section and did the same thing. And then I logged out. I spent about 2 minutes there, at the most.
I'm not negating that I gave birth to triplets whom I continue to love and cherish, but I'm certainly not part of the moms of multiples community and I found that I wasn't really interested in reading any of the posts. There was a time, while I was pregnant and even after Hannah, Ryan and Abby were born, when I spent a lot of time pouring over posts, first feeling very connected to the world of multiples, then desperately trying to hold on to my right to belong in that world. I spent a lot of time working through this with my grief shrink and she helped me realize how toxic the site had become for me. I knew I needed to stop going there, but it took a long time before I was able to do so.
I'm not sure why I went there tonight or what I hoped it would accomplish. Now I'm not sure why I'm even writing about it because honestly, what I felt during that 2 minutes was completely indifferent and detached.
Even now, thinking about it, it seems very bizarre.
I didn't really do anything on the site. I entered the general forum and browsed some topic titles but didn't open any of them. Then I went to the bereaved parents section and did the same thing. And then I logged out. I spent about 2 minutes there, at the most.
I'm not negating that I gave birth to triplets whom I continue to love and cherish, but I'm certainly not part of the moms of multiples community and I found that I wasn't really interested in reading any of the posts. There was a time, while I was pregnant and even after Hannah, Ryan and Abby were born, when I spent a lot of time pouring over posts, first feeling very connected to the world of multiples, then desperately trying to hold on to my right to belong in that world. I spent a lot of time working through this with my grief shrink and she helped me realize how toxic the site had become for me. I knew I needed to stop going there, but it took a long time before I was able to do so.
I'm not sure why I went there tonight or what I hoped it would accomplish. Now I'm not sure why I'm even writing about it because honestly, what I felt during that 2 minutes was completely indifferent and detached.
Even now, thinking about it, it seems very bizarre.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
10/29/09 The Present
This morning, I woke up and knew my week was over. I didn't jump out of bed with pure joy and energy, but that's because I never do that. However, I did feel different. The best way I can explain it is that even though I was up late watching baseball, I awoke today feeling less tired than I have the past few days.
Although I did have my moments, all in all, it was probably my easiest anniversary week so far. It was the first year that I didn't go through their memory boxes, look at their pictures and spend private time with each of them. During the day, I didn't have the time. I could have done it at night, after the kids were in bed but for whatever reasons, I didn't. And I'm okay with that.
Yesterday was Abby's birthday. I didn't sit and write anything in her memory because, again, I didn't have time. Although a larger than normal part of my heart was with my eternal babies this week, my focus was on my children who are here with me. I know Hannah, Ryan and Abby understand that they are quietly with me always, even when Joey and Laura are loudly demanding my attention.
Yes, this year was easier, by far. Perhaps in a few weeks or months I will want to sit and spend some time going through their tangible things and maybe then I will really cry, but right now, I'm warm inside knowing that they are with me, always and that my life is full. I am living in the present and it's a good place to be.
Although I did have my moments, all in all, it was probably my easiest anniversary week so far. It was the first year that I didn't go through their memory boxes, look at their pictures and spend private time with each of them. During the day, I didn't have the time. I could have done it at night, after the kids were in bed but for whatever reasons, I didn't. And I'm okay with that.
Yesterday was Abby's birthday. I didn't sit and write anything in her memory because, again, I didn't have time. Although a larger than normal part of my heart was with my eternal babies this week, my focus was on my children who are here with me. I know Hannah, Ryan and Abby understand that they are quietly with me always, even when Joey and Laura are loudly demanding my attention.
Yes, this year was easier, by far. Perhaps in a few weeks or months I will want to sit and spend some time going through their tangible things and maybe then I will really cry, but right now, I'm warm inside knowing that they are with me, always and that my life is full. I am living in the present and it's a good place to be.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
~~Ryan~~
My first thought today was of the son I will never know~the son who, of all my children, had the most peaceful entrance into the world. My son Ryan. He was so small and looked so gentle; perfect. And yet, I didn't have time for tears this morning because Joey woke early so I had to get up and start the day. Today was a crazy, hectic day. I took Joey to karate then piled 2 more kids into my car and brought all of them home to my house for the day. I'm helping a friend who needs help and the only way I can actually do anything is to take her kids for her, so I spent the entire day with (3) 4 year olds and a 2 year old. Needless to say, my brain was busy today and now I'm tired.
Somewhere inside me, there is a longing to sit with a little boy who never will grow up. I want to look at his picture and go through his things and try to remember the smell of him, through his blanket-even though it has long since faded. But today is not the day that it will happen. I can hear the music of Tigger and Pooh so I know I have less than 2 minutes until Joey and Laura start wandering, looking for me. And, at 5:15, I need to start dinner and the night time routine. No, this is not the day to go through Ryan's box, or write him a note, or spend a lot of quiet time "with" him. But even though it was a happy and busy day, when I did have a quick moment, my thoughts went to my son on his 6th birthday.
I love you Ryan and I miss you, my sweet boy.
Somewhere inside me, there is a longing to sit with a little boy who never will grow up. I want to look at his picture and go through his things and try to remember the smell of him, through his blanket-even though it has long since faded. But today is not the day that it will happen. I can hear the music of Tigger and Pooh so I know I have less than 2 minutes until Joey and Laura start wandering, looking for me. And, at 5:15, I need to start dinner and the night time routine. No, this is not the day to go through Ryan's box, or write him a note, or spend a lot of quiet time "with" him. But even though it was a happy and busy day, when I did have a quick moment, my thoughts went to my son on his 6th birthday.
I love you Ryan and I miss you, my sweet boy.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
The Gift
Yesterday, I received the most unexpected gift.
Since Hannah, Ryan and Abby's births and deaths, my in-laws have never handled things well. For years, I have suspected that my mother in law would have done things differently but that my father in law was always "in control" of what they do or say. Rod called them as soon as we knew we would lose Hannah and they didn't come because they had a dinner party that evening. I learned this months later when I asked them why they didn't come to see Hannah. My father in law responded, "We didn't want to offend our friends". I was devastated that they would choose a dinner party with friends over supporting their son during the most devastating time of his life.
Throughout the years, they have never mentioned Hannah, Ryan or Abby, unless it's to allude to the "miscarriage" or "loss". None of their friends were told about the memorial service and several family members were told "it will be a small service for immediate family only" so they didn't need to attend. I am grateful for those family members who felt strongly enough to attend and support Rod anyway, as it was totally appropriate for them to be there. The service was anything but a small~my entire family (including aunts and uncles from far away) attended, friends of my parents, our friends and many of their parents attended. The support was overwhelming, but I know that it was hurtful for Rod that there wasn't a stronger presence from his family.
In the past few years, my mother in law has made an effort. Although she never remembers the dates, she has recently started sending a note in October letting me know that she is thinking of us and of Hannah, Ryan and Abby. She has told me more than once that she regrets not coming when Hannah was born. She regrets not seeing her, not holding her and not supporting Rod and me. She is a woman controlled by her husband and in the past few years, I have learned to forgive her for the things she didn't do; things she couldn't do.
Last night was the memorial service for Rod's grandmother. My mother in law started the evening off with a few words about her Mom. But before she started, she thanked everyone for coming and then she said the most uncharacteristic thing: "I would like to pause for a moment to remember Rod and April's first three children, Hannah, Ryan and Abby, who died 6 years ago around this time"
Both Rod and I started crying and this unexpected acknowledgment of our babies. The remainder of the service was, appropriately, about his grandmother. However, for me the recognition and remembrance of my sweet angels was the nicest gift my mother in law has ever given me.
Since Hannah, Ryan and Abby's births and deaths, my in-laws have never handled things well. For years, I have suspected that my mother in law would have done things differently but that my father in law was always "in control" of what they do or say. Rod called them as soon as we knew we would lose Hannah and they didn't come because they had a dinner party that evening. I learned this months later when I asked them why they didn't come to see Hannah. My father in law responded, "We didn't want to offend our friends". I was devastated that they would choose a dinner party with friends over supporting their son during the most devastating time of his life.
Throughout the years, they have never mentioned Hannah, Ryan or Abby, unless it's to allude to the "miscarriage" or "loss". None of their friends were told about the memorial service and several family members were told "it will be a small service for immediate family only" so they didn't need to attend. I am grateful for those family members who felt strongly enough to attend and support Rod anyway, as it was totally appropriate for them to be there. The service was anything but a small~my entire family (including aunts and uncles from far away) attended, friends of my parents, our friends and many of their parents attended. The support was overwhelming, but I know that it was hurtful for Rod that there wasn't a stronger presence from his family.
In the past few years, my mother in law has made an effort. Although she never remembers the dates, she has recently started sending a note in October letting me know that she is thinking of us and of Hannah, Ryan and Abby. She has told me more than once that she regrets not coming when Hannah was born. She regrets not seeing her, not holding her and not supporting Rod and me. She is a woman controlled by her husband and in the past few years, I have learned to forgive her for the things she didn't do; things she couldn't do.
Last night was the memorial service for Rod's grandmother. My mother in law started the evening off with a few words about her Mom. But before she started, she thanked everyone for coming and then she said the most uncharacteristic thing: "I would like to pause for a moment to remember Rod and April's first three children, Hannah, Ryan and Abby, who died 6 years ago around this time"
Both Rod and I started crying and this unexpected acknowledgment of our babies. The remainder of the service was, appropriately, about his grandmother. However, for me the recognition and remembrance of my sweet angels was the nicest gift my mother in law has ever given me.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Hannah Rose born 10/24 and died 10/25
This is the first year I haven't been home for Hannah's birthday. Instead, we are on Cape Cod for Rod's grandmother's memorial service. My brother and law and his finance are here and so are my in-laws. The distraction has been nice, as we arrived on Thursday and I sailed through Thrusday and Friday without emotion.
However, last night, no sooner was I in bed then the tears started rolling down my cheeks. They were most unexpected, as I didnt' think I was thinking about Hannah, but I was. I gently and silently cried myself to sleep but I never fell into a deep slumber. My dreams were twisted~babies were born who looked like Hannah but were left nameless for years, a child born to me whom I did not know I had delivered and who was somehow found in a school locker. Dreams can be odd like that, making no sense but having touches of real like anxiety, stress or sadness peppered into their weirdness.
And now today, with the exception of Rod, nobody around me remembers what today means for me. Nobody remembers that today, my first born daughter made an extremely difficult entrance into this world and then a few hours later, she quietly passed into an afterworld. I am expected to smile, make small talk and be my normal self and all I really want to do is crawl into a ball, close my eyes and cry for my sweet little baby who never had the chance to grow into a toddler, a little girl, a teen or a woman.
While today will be a blur of activity and when I log off this computer, I will push my tears aside and dig deep to put on a happy face, my heart will be heavy and tears will puddle just under the surface for the pain and sadness I feel today.
Hannah~sweet Hannah. I love you and I miss you so much.
However, last night, no sooner was I in bed then the tears started rolling down my cheeks. They were most unexpected, as I didnt' think I was thinking about Hannah, but I was. I gently and silently cried myself to sleep but I never fell into a deep slumber. My dreams were twisted~babies were born who looked like Hannah but were left nameless for years, a child born to me whom I did not know I had delivered and who was somehow found in a school locker. Dreams can be odd like that, making no sense but having touches of real like anxiety, stress or sadness peppered into their weirdness.
And now today, with the exception of Rod, nobody around me remembers what today means for me. Nobody remembers that today, my first born daughter made an extremely difficult entrance into this world and then a few hours later, she quietly passed into an afterworld. I am expected to smile, make small talk and be my normal self and all I really want to do is crawl into a ball, close my eyes and cry for my sweet little baby who never had the chance to grow into a toddler, a little girl, a teen or a woman.
While today will be a blur of activity and when I log off this computer, I will push my tears aside and dig deep to put on a happy face, my heart will be heavy and tears will puddle just under the surface for the pain and sadness I feel today.
Hannah~sweet Hannah. I love you and I miss you so much.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Why I'm going to hate homework
Joey is in preschool and his class is learning about dinosaurs. Together, they made a paper-mache egg and later a stuffed animal dinosaur "hatched" from it. Each student gets to take "Platey" (the stegosaurus) home with him/her after their "snack day" and they are supposed to take care of it. Monday was our day to bring Platey home.
Mind you-I had no idea any of this was going on. When I ask Joey what he did in school, his answer is usually the same: "I played". I never hear about what's actually going on in class unless I happen to eavesdrop on the little girls chatting with their moms after school. In the last 2 months, I have concluded that girls tell all and boys tell nothing.
Anyway, between Monday afternoon and this morning (Wed) we somehow lost Platey. Joey could have cared less that the dinosaur was missing so he hemmed and hawed and lifted one pillow on the couch, poorly acting like he was looking for it. I was already slightly panicked that we wouldn't find the creature in time, but his lackadaisical attitude only added to my frustration. I have learned that if Joey thinks something is interesting, he'll give it 110%. If he doesn't like it, he will barely squeak out a 1% effort. He thinks the whole Platey idea is lame. When I asked him why he never mentioned it to me before his snack day, his response was: "It's kind of stupid, Mom. I mean, we built the egg, the teacher put Platey in it and now she wants us to believe it hatched and we have to take care of it?!"
When put this way, I do see his point.
The 2 days the thing was home with him, Laura showed more interest in it then Joey did. I never saw him play with it once. So where did it go???
In the end, we headed out to school without Platey. Joey had to tell the teacher that he couldn't find Platey while I stood there feeling like an inferior mom because we lost it. I then rushed home to search the house again so the next child in line wouldn't be disappointing that they weren't able to take Platey home with them.
Laura and I entered the house and I sighed and said, "Oh Laura. Where is Platey?" to which she replied, "I know Mommy" and she walked over to her training potty, lifted the lid and low and behold, there he was.
All I can say is: how fitting.
Mind you-I had no idea any of this was going on. When I ask Joey what he did in school, his answer is usually the same: "I played". I never hear about what's actually going on in class unless I happen to eavesdrop on the little girls chatting with their moms after school. In the last 2 months, I have concluded that girls tell all and boys tell nothing.
Anyway, between Monday afternoon and this morning (Wed) we somehow lost Platey. Joey could have cared less that the dinosaur was missing so he hemmed and hawed and lifted one pillow on the couch, poorly acting like he was looking for it. I was already slightly panicked that we wouldn't find the creature in time, but his lackadaisical attitude only added to my frustration. I have learned that if Joey thinks something is interesting, he'll give it 110%. If he doesn't like it, he will barely squeak out a 1% effort. He thinks the whole Platey idea is lame. When I asked him why he never mentioned it to me before his snack day, his response was: "It's kind of stupid, Mom. I mean, we built the egg, the teacher put Platey in it and now she wants us to believe it hatched and we have to take care of it?!"
When put this way, I do see his point.
The 2 days the thing was home with him, Laura showed more interest in it then Joey did. I never saw him play with it once. So where did it go???
In the end, we headed out to school without Platey. Joey had to tell the teacher that he couldn't find Platey while I stood there feeling like an inferior mom because we lost it. I then rushed home to search the house again so the next child in line wouldn't be disappointing that they weren't able to take Platey home with them.
Laura and I entered the house and I sighed and said, "Oh Laura. Where is Platey?" to which she replied, "I know Mommy" and she walked over to her training potty, lifted the lid and low and behold, there he was.
All I can say is: how fitting.
Friday, October 9, 2009
Pumpkin Season...
Remembering a child or children who died is such a person experience and there really is no right or wrong thing to do, as long as it works for the person and their family. My celebrations and remembrances tend to be private in nature. I have a special painting of three tiny birds hanging in my family room, a Swavorski crystal bouquet of 3 "forget-me-not" flower blooms, those types of things. I don't hang stockings or make birthday cakes or do balloon releases.
But I do think of Fall as "their time" and every year since they were born and died, Rod and I have ventured to the pumpkin patch and picked out one pumpkin for each member of our family. We get 2 larger ones for Rod and me, Joey and Laura pick theirs out and then we get three smaller ones for Hannah, Ryan and Abby.
This October has been very crazy for our family. Rod and I took a much needed "grown up only" vacation together and spent a blissful week on our boat exploring the creeks and rivers of the Chesapeake. We returned home and are now heading out to the Outer Banks, NC for a family vacation and when we get back from that, we turn around and head north to Cape Cod for a "Celebration of Life" service for Rod's Grandmother who passed away recently. We will be gone every weekend but Halloween this year.
Although my brain has known about our schedule for months now, it has only recently registered that it means that as a family, we wouldn't get to pick out our pumpkins this year.
And while it may seem like a silly thing to cry over, I know that the tears I shed today carried so much more meaning than just a missed trip to the pumpkin patch.
But I do think of Fall as "their time" and every year since they were born and died, Rod and I have ventured to the pumpkin patch and picked out one pumpkin for each member of our family. We get 2 larger ones for Rod and me, Joey and Laura pick theirs out and then we get three smaller ones for Hannah, Ryan and Abby.
This October has been very crazy for our family. Rod and I took a much needed "grown up only" vacation together and spent a blissful week on our boat exploring the creeks and rivers of the Chesapeake. We returned home and are now heading out to the Outer Banks, NC for a family vacation and when we get back from that, we turn around and head north to Cape Cod for a "Celebration of Life" service for Rod's Grandmother who passed away recently. We will be gone every weekend but Halloween this year.
Although my brain has known about our schedule for months now, it has only recently registered that it means that as a family, we wouldn't get to pick out our pumpkins this year.
And while it may seem like a silly thing to cry over, I know that the tears I shed today carried so much more meaning than just a missed trip to the pumpkin patch.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Good Enough
Let me start by stressing that I'm not extremely overweight. I'm just slightly, shall I say, "softened". If I were 10 pounds heavier, I'd be miserable. If I were 10 pounds lighter, I would feel more confident. My confidence wouldn't come from being thin-it would come from ACHIEVING the goal. It would come from the knowledge that I set my mind to it and I did it.
But for some reason, I can't do it.
Before starting my infertility journey-I was very active and I worked out on a regular basis. I was thin, fit, athletic and confident. For the first 6 months of infertility treatments, I did everything I could, when I could, to maintain an active lifestyle and eat healthy meals (most of the time). As time went on and the stress, grief, hormone treatments, and pregnancies happened, my active lifestyle and healthy living were pushed by the wayside and replaced with bedrest, sleep deprivation, ice cream and snack foods. I no longer deal with bedrest or sleep deprivation, but I somehow haven't gotten out of the ice cream and snack food mode.
For years now, I've been saying that "after such and such happens, I'll lose the rest of the weight and get back into shape" Such and Such could be anything: my foot feels better, my kids get older, my dog is calms down...but each time the "such and such" of the day happens, a new "such and such" replaces it.
I know what to do to change things: I certainly don't need to eat Laura's left over mozzarella sticks (Yes, this happened today-she ate 1 and I ate 7) and I don't need to have a sweet at night or the extra serving of rice with dinner. With a little self discipline, things would change drastically. I've tried it before and I drop weight and do really well until I hit about one-hundred-and-good-enough lbs on the scale.And then, for some unknown reason, I stop trying and start gaining again. It's rather frustrating.
And I can't believe that I, April, just dedicated an entire blog entry to this topic. And yet I did. Because the reality is, while I'm only slightly unhappy with my current weight and fitness level, I'm really unhappy with my inability to change it.
But for some reason, I can't do it.
Before starting my infertility journey-I was very active and I worked out on a regular basis. I was thin, fit, athletic and confident. For the first 6 months of infertility treatments, I did everything I could, when I could, to maintain an active lifestyle and eat healthy meals (most of the time). As time went on and the stress, grief, hormone treatments, and pregnancies happened, my active lifestyle and healthy living were pushed by the wayside and replaced with bedrest, sleep deprivation, ice cream and snack foods. I no longer deal with bedrest or sleep deprivation, but I somehow haven't gotten out of the ice cream and snack food mode.
For years now, I've been saying that "after such and such happens, I'll lose the rest of the weight and get back into shape" Such and Such could be anything: my foot feels better, my kids get older, my dog is calms down...but each time the "such and such" of the day happens, a new "such and such" replaces it.
I know what to do to change things: I certainly don't need to eat Laura's left over mozzarella sticks (Yes, this happened today-she ate 1 and I ate 7) and I don't need to have a sweet at night or the extra serving of rice with dinner. With a little self discipline, things would change drastically. I've tried it before and I drop weight and do really well until I hit about one-hundred-and-good-enough lbs on the scale.And then, for some unknown reason, I stop trying and start gaining again. It's rather frustrating.
And I can't believe that I, April, just dedicated an entire blog entry to this topic. And yet I did. Because the reality is, while I'm only slightly unhappy with my current weight and fitness level, I'm really unhappy with my inability to change it.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Mood Swing
I was cranky today. There really wasn't any reason for it other than I was irresponsible last night and didn't go to bed early enough so I was short on sleep. I was a bit snappy with the kids, especially when I was trying to have a brief but light conversation with a girlfriend via telephone, while I had 2 large entities called Joey and Laura attached to my person.
After I hung up, I sat Joey down and told him, basically, that it's not nice or appropriate to become an overly large chunk of Velcro while I'm on the phone (of course, these weren't my exact words). He surprised me by responding, "were you talking to a friend, Mom?"
His question was surprising because Joey's a friendly child but tends to be somewhat aloof (ironically, this makes most other kids really want to be his friend). He loves being with kids he knows well, but he's usually just as content playing with me, Laura or by himself. He almost never talks about or mentions friends unless prompted, and even then, he rattles off only one or two names-usually of kids we have just seen.
So, out of curiosity I decided to drop the Velcro conversation (I think I had made my point, anyway) and see where this new conversation led us.
I told him that yes, I was talking to his Aunt Erin, who he knows is a special friend. To which he said, "You know Mom, I have a best friend" and before I could say anything, he spread his arms wide, hugged me and said "Mom, YOU are my best friend"
As you can imagine, my mood changed drastically and my heart melted.
After I hung up, I sat Joey down and told him, basically, that it's not nice or appropriate to become an overly large chunk of Velcro while I'm on the phone (of course, these weren't my exact words). He surprised me by responding, "were you talking to a friend, Mom?"
His question was surprising because Joey's a friendly child but tends to be somewhat aloof (ironically, this makes most other kids really want to be his friend). He loves being with kids he knows well, but he's usually just as content playing with me, Laura or by himself. He almost never talks about or mentions friends unless prompted, and even then, he rattles off only one or two names-usually of kids we have just seen.
So, out of curiosity I decided to drop the Velcro conversation (I think I had made my point, anyway) and see where this new conversation led us.
I told him that yes, I was talking to his Aunt Erin, who he knows is a special friend. To which he said, "You know Mom, I have a best friend" and before I could say anything, he spread his arms wide, hugged me and said "Mom, YOU are my best friend"
As you can imagine, my mood changed drastically and my heart melted.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
3 Little Birds
I know Hannah, Ryan and Abby are shining down on us. I can feel them sometimes, all around me. While I was pregnant with them, I often sang this song to them. It's a cute, peppy song by Bab Marley and at the time, I honestly believed it. I was wrong.
It's taken me many years to be able to say that while it's never going to be "all right" for me, now, every little thing is "alright" and, most times, even better...
"Don't worry about a thing,
'Cause every little thing gonna be all right.
Singin': "Don't worry about a thing,
'Cause every little thing gonna be all right!"
Rise up this mornin',
Smiled with the risin' sun,
Three little birds
Pitch by my doorstep
Singin' sweet songs
Of melodies pure and true,
Sayin', ("This is my message to you:")
Singin': "Don't worry 'bout a thing,
'Cause every little thing gonna be all right."
Singin': "Don't worry 'bout a thing,
'Cause every little thing gonna be all right!"
Rise up this mornin',
Smiled with the risin' sun,
Three little birds
Pitch by my doorstep
Singin' sweet songs
Of melodies pure and true,
Sayin', "This is my message to you:"
Singin': "Don't worry about a thing, worry about a thing, oh!
Every little thing gonna be all right. Don't worry!"
Singin': "Don't worry about a thing" - I won't worry!
"'Cause every little thing gonna be all right."
It's taken me many years to be able to say that while it's never going to be "all right" for me, now, every little thing is "alright" and, most times, even better...
"Don't worry about a thing,
'Cause every little thing gonna be all right.
Singin': "Don't worry about a thing,
'Cause every little thing gonna be all right!"
Rise up this mornin',
Smiled with the risin' sun,
Three little birds
Pitch by my doorstep
Singin' sweet songs
Of melodies pure and true,
Sayin', ("This is my message to you:")
Singin': "Don't worry 'bout a thing,
'Cause every little thing gonna be all right."
Singin': "Don't worry 'bout a thing,
'Cause every little thing gonna be all right!"
Rise up this mornin',
Smiled with the risin' sun,
Three little birds
Pitch by my doorstep
Singin' sweet songs
Of melodies pure and true,
Sayin', "This is my message to you:"
Singin': "Don't worry about a thing, worry about a thing, oh!
Every little thing gonna be all right. Don't worry!"
Singin': "Don't worry about a thing" - I won't worry!
"'Cause every little thing gonna be all right."
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
The Map. I'm All Over It.
The last few weeks have been interesting for me (for lack of a better word). So many feelings have surfaced for so many different reasons and I am having difficulty processing everything.
Several weeks ago, a woman I used to work with lost her son. He was a young adult and died suddenly from an aenurism. Although she and I didn't know each other well, she did know about Hannah, Ryan and Abby and she has since reached out to me-looking for hope, for support, for anything that will ease her pain. We have emailed back and forth a few times.
Shortly thereafter, a woman I do not know at all called me. Her BBG triplets were born in April at 23+ weeks and all three of them died shortly after their births. She is devastated and after months of struggling on her own, she finally pulled out the support list of phone numbers given to her by our local hospital and called me. We have been emailing on and off for a few weeks now.
Then, just last week, a childhood friend contacted me because her cousin (a girl I saw periodically growing up but didn't know well) lost a child at 24 weeks. She wanted to know if I would reach out to her because she is struggling so. And I did. And I'm glad I did because I know she felt isolated, lost, hurt, sad and confused and knowing that her feelings are normal has helped her tremendously.
Emailing with these women has been difficult for me in an odd way. I would have expected that all this sorrow would throw me back into the depths of my own grief, but it hasn't.When responding to some of the emails, I have had to go back into my own (written) journals to re-read how I felt so that I can respond with appropriate words for their individual stages of grief. While reading my own words, I have been curiously detached from the woman who wrote them. That woman is a stranger to me in so many ways and reading her words has made me much more aware of how far I have come in the past (almost) 6 years.
However, just today my sister-in-law gave birth to her third child, a healthy baby boy. I took my children over to the hospital to meet him and I was completely unprepared for the emotions that invaded my mind and heart. I had expected to walk into the room and feel nothing but overwhelming love for this beautiful child and joy for my brother and sister-in-law. I did not expect to also feel jealous, sad or lonely. I did not expect for my heart to ache so deeply for my babies who died or for any future babies that I will never have. I did not expect to feel such a strong maternal pull to wrap my arms around my two children, hold them close and cherish whatever baby-ness is left in their 4 and 2 year old minds and bodies.
But I did.
Why is it that near strangers can share their grief, pain and loss with me and I can empathize, understand and support them without having their grief become my grief but I can't simply cherish the birth of my brother and sister-in-laws' son without it bringing some pain?
I will be so happy when those people closest to me have moved beyond the pregnancy and baby stage. It makes me so sad that I couldn't walk into that hospital room and feel nothing but complete joy. Is this a long term effect of grief? Is it a flaw in my own personality? I really don't know...
Several weeks ago, a woman I used to work with lost her son. He was a young adult and died suddenly from an aenurism. Although she and I didn't know each other well, she did know about Hannah, Ryan and Abby and she has since reached out to me-looking for hope, for support, for anything that will ease her pain. We have emailed back and forth a few times.
Shortly thereafter, a woman I do not know at all called me. Her BBG triplets were born in April at 23+ weeks and all three of them died shortly after their births. She is devastated and after months of struggling on her own, she finally pulled out the support list of phone numbers given to her by our local hospital and called me. We have been emailing on and off for a few weeks now.
Then, just last week, a childhood friend contacted me because her cousin (a girl I saw periodically growing up but didn't know well) lost a child at 24 weeks. She wanted to know if I would reach out to her because she is struggling so. And I did. And I'm glad I did because I know she felt isolated, lost, hurt, sad and confused and knowing that her feelings are normal has helped her tremendously.
Emailing with these women has been difficult for me in an odd way. I would have expected that all this sorrow would throw me back into the depths of my own grief, but it hasn't.When responding to some of the emails, I have had to go back into my own (written) journals to re-read how I felt so that I can respond with appropriate words for their individual stages of grief. While reading my own words, I have been curiously detached from the woman who wrote them. That woman is a stranger to me in so many ways and reading her words has made me much more aware of how far I have come in the past (almost) 6 years.
However, just today my sister-in-law gave birth to her third child, a healthy baby boy. I took my children over to the hospital to meet him and I was completely unprepared for the emotions that invaded my mind and heart. I had expected to walk into the room and feel nothing but overwhelming love for this beautiful child and joy for my brother and sister-in-law. I did not expect to also feel jealous, sad or lonely. I did not expect for my heart to ache so deeply for my babies who died or for any future babies that I will never have. I did not expect to feel such a strong maternal pull to wrap my arms around my two children, hold them close and cherish whatever baby-ness is left in their 4 and 2 year old minds and bodies.
But I did.
Why is it that near strangers can share their grief, pain and loss with me and I can empathize, understand and support them without having their grief become my grief but I can't simply cherish the birth of my brother and sister-in-laws' son without it bringing some pain?
I will be so happy when those people closest to me have moved beyond the pregnancy and baby stage. It makes me so sad that I couldn't walk into that hospital room and feel nothing but complete joy. Is this a long term effect of grief? Is it a flaw in my own personality? I really don't know...
Monday, August 17, 2009
Choices
(if you haven't a clue what this post is about, please read the post preceding it!)
What a week! All the fears and trepidation I had regarding my conference were completely unfounded. I was overwhelmed instead by how the community embraced and supported me and how readily they accepted me for who I am and where I am at. There were one or two special friends from long ago with whom I shared the reasons for my sudden departure from the field, my 8 year absence from the bi-annual conferences and my diminished skills but the other 2,000+ interpreters and Deaf people simply saw me as a woman who was taking a hiatus from work to raise my children and they supported that role.
I spent an entire week completely immersed in American Sign Language. Yes, I was rusty at first but it didn't take long for me to have full comprehension and participation of and in my surroundings. By the end of the week, I was understanding even the subtlest nuances of the language, laughing at jokes and I felt like I belonged to this wonderful community again. And I liked it. And I realized how much I have missed it.
After a week long conference, I realized that I will go back to work again some day. For now, I am not ready to go back on a regular, full time basis. I'm not even sure I'm ready to go back on a part-time regular basis. I enjoy my steady, one night a week assignment but I also recognize that to hone my skills again and to stay connected to an important part of who I am, I need to add an occasional all day job here and there. My goal now is to find a nice balance that works for me, R and the kids.
Because for now, although I love being an interpreter, I love being a stay-at-home mom more. And on so many levels, I'm grateful that I have this choice.
What a week! All the fears and trepidation I had regarding my conference were completely unfounded. I was overwhelmed instead by how the community embraced and supported me and how readily they accepted me for who I am and where I am at. There were one or two special friends from long ago with whom I shared the reasons for my sudden departure from the field, my 8 year absence from the bi-annual conferences and my diminished skills but the other 2,000+ interpreters and Deaf people simply saw me as a woman who was taking a hiatus from work to raise my children and they supported that role.
I spent an entire week completely immersed in American Sign Language. Yes, I was rusty at first but it didn't take long for me to have full comprehension and participation of and in my surroundings. By the end of the week, I was understanding even the subtlest nuances of the language, laughing at jokes and I felt like I belonged to this wonderful community again. And I liked it. And I realized how much I have missed it.
After a week long conference, I realized that I will go back to work again some day. For now, I am not ready to go back on a regular, full time basis. I'm not even sure I'm ready to go back on a part-time regular basis. I enjoy my steady, one night a week assignment but I also recognize that to hone my skills again and to stay connected to an important part of who I am, I need to add an occasional all day job here and there. My goal now is to find a nice balance that works for me, R and the kids.
Because for now, although I love being an interpreter, I love being a stay-at-home mom more. And on so many levels, I'm grateful that I have this choice.
Friday, July 31, 2009
A Bad Case of the Jitters
Languages grow, develop and change and the only way to stay current is to use the language regularly. I haven't used American Sign Language (ASL) regularly since Hannah, Ryan and Abby were born. As a matter of fact, other than the few signs I used with my children, I haven't really used it at all.
Recently, I started working again one night a week. It's an intimate assignment in an arena that I'm comfortable with and although I was rusty at first, I believe that I am doing a good job and providing a valuable service to the consumers of that job. For me, the intimacy of the assignment makes it safe.
When I worked full time, my work was very important to me. I was a skilled professional and a highly ethical interpreter. I was confident with my role in the profession and was involved and committed. My reputation was excellent on a local and state-wide level.
Then life fell apart and I took a hiatus from the world for a while. I slowly stepped back into life as I climbed out of the pits of grief, infertility and pregnancy. However, my desire to regain a place in the professional world has been half-hearted, at best. I love what I do, but I love staying home and being a Mom more. So, I have been happy with my one assignment a week because it allows me a chance to keep the doors open but it barely interferes with my family life. I know my skills are not even close to where they were 7 or 8 years ago, but I also know the reasons why.
However, in less than 24 hours I will step into a convention hall for a week long national conference for interpreters. I will see thousands of interpreters and Deaf people-many whom I know but haven't seen in years and most do not know where my life journey has taken me. All they will know is that my skills are not where they used to be but they won't know why.
To say that I am nervous is an understatement. My head is filled with questions of "what if" (what if I don't understand what's happening? What if I look stupid? What if I'm judged?) and I can't help but wonder how the week will pan out. I am hoping it will fly by and be full of opportunities for learning, growing and socializing but, again, there are those "what if's"-what if it drags by and I feel lost and insecure?
This is the last big hurdle I've yet to face in my post-Hannah, Ryan and Abby life. I've skipped the previous conferences because it wasn't time yet and I know it's time now. But I'm still petrified.
Recently, I started working again one night a week. It's an intimate assignment in an arena that I'm comfortable with and although I was rusty at first, I believe that I am doing a good job and providing a valuable service to the consumers of that job. For me, the intimacy of the assignment makes it safe.
When I worked full time, my work was very important to me. I was a skilled professional and a highly ethical interpreter. I was confident with my role in the profession and was involved and committed. My reputation was excellent on a local and state-wide level.
Then life fell apart and I took a hiatus from the world for a while. I slowly stepped back into life as I climbed out of the pits of grief, infertility and pregnancy. However, my desire to regain a place in the professional world has been half-hearted, at best. I love what I do, but I love staying home and being a Mom more. So, I have been happy with my one assignment a week because it allows me a chance to keep the doors open but it barely interferes with my family life. I know my skills are not even close to where they were 7 or 8 years ago, but I also know the reasons why.
However, in less than 24 hours I will step into a convention hall for a week long national conference for interpreters. I will see thousands of interpreters and Deaf people-many whom I know but haven't seen in years and most do not know where my life journey has taken me. All they will know is that my skills are not where they used to be but they won't know why.
To say that I am nervous is an understatement. My head is filled with questions of "what if" (what if I don't understand what's happening? What if I look stupid? What if I'm judged?) and I can't help but wonder how the week will pan out. I am hoping it will fly by and be full of opportunities for learning, growing and socializing but, again, there are those "what if's"-what if it drags by and I feel lost and insecure?
This is the last big hurdle I've yet to face in my post-Hannah, Ryan and Abby life. I've skipped the previous conferences because it wasn't time yet and I know it's time now. But I'm still petrified.
Monday, June 29, 2009
longing...
Babies. I love them. My own baby is really a toddler now and soon she'll leave that and become a little girl. Although she is still a baby, she is no longer a infant-baby.
Our lives are no longer run by nap schedules or thrown of kilter by our own sleep deprivation. We are doing things now: Rod and I have date nights, I have spent time with girlfriends of my own and as a family, we're able to go places and, well, do things. This summer has just started and already it's been so much fun for us. I'm happy with my stage in life. I truly am.
However, whenever I hear of another friend who is pregnant again, I feel a longing-a pull-for another baby of my own. I know that when my sister in law has her #3 (he is due at the end of August) I will hold him in my arms and the love will be only slightly stronger than the longing. Yet, I know I will never have another baby-it's too difficult for us on so many levels and even if I really, really wanted to go through it all again, I know that R is done. His heart isn't in it anymore and he's ready to live life. When we are trying or I am pregnant, we don't live life, we survive it. We did that for too long and neither of us want to go back to that stress again.
And I'm okay with it. I really am.
Except sometimes...
Our lives are no longer run by nap schedules or thrown of kilter by our own sleep deprivation. We are doing things now: Rod and I have date nights, I have spent time with girlfriends of my own and as a family, we're able to go places and, well, do things. This summer has just started and already it's been so much fun for us. I'm happy with my stage in life. I truly am.
However, whenever I hear of another friend who is pregnant again, I feel a longing-a pull-for another baby of my own. I know that when my sister in law has her #3 (he is due at the end of August) I will hold him in my arms and the love will be only slightly stronger than the longing. Yet, I know I will never have another baby-it's too difficult for us on so many levels and even if I really, really wanted to go through it all again, I know that R is done. His heart isn't in it anymore and he's ready to live life. When we are trying or I am pregnant, we don't live life, we survive it. We did that for too long and neither of us want to go back to that stress again.
And I'm okay with it. I really am.
Except sometimes...
Thursday, June 4, 2009
So Long Ago...
Yesterday, I was in picking up my new contact lenses. I am friendly with the owner and we were chatting as I was looking at the new glasses styles~they are so fun now-pretty colors and funky shapes. Not anything like the tortoise shell frames I have.
I was having fun trying all the styles on and found a great bright pink pair that I love. I asked her to look in my chart and tell me if my prescription has changed since the last time I purchased glasses. It hasn't.
"Drag" I said, "my old glasses are so boring but I can't justify purchasing new ones right now , especially since I rarely wear them"
She surprised me by saying, "you bought your last pair of glasses in Winter '04. You were in such a different place, emotionally, that you didn't even look at anything fun or funky. You just wanted to get a pair of glasses and go home. You really have come a long way"
It seems like such a long time ago-it was such a different life. I was such a different person.
I was having fun trying all the styles on and found a great bright pink pair that I love. I asked her to look in my chart and tell me if my prescription has changed since the last time I purchased glasses. It hasn't.
"Drag" I said, "my old glasses are so boring but I can't justify purchasing new ones right now , especially since I rarely wear them"
She surprised me by saying, "you bought your last pair of glasses in Winter '04. You were in such a different place, emotionally, that you didn't even look at anything fun or funky. You just wanted to get a pair of glasses and go home. You really have come a long way"
It seems like such a long time ago-it was such a different life. I was such a different person.
Friday, April 24, 2009
My only grandparent who is still alive is my Dad's mom. Of my four grandparents, she is the one I was least close to growing up and throughout my adulthood. It's no family secret that she favors my sister over my brother and me. And so, even though she lives 10 minutes from me, I don't often think to invite her over or spend time with her. Both my brother and I tried for years, but we became tired of being compared to our sister and eventually our invitations waned until they finally dwindled down to once or twice a year.
Less then two weeks ago, my Aunt died after a long battle with breast cancer. I loved my Aunt, my Dad's only sister. She never had biological children but she was a fantastic step-mom to my Uncles two boys and she was a great Aunt to me, Ed and Amber. I will miss her.
My Dad called me this week and asked me to reach out to my Grandma: "No one in our family can know what she is going through, except you. It might be helpful to her to have someone to talk to". His words brought tears to my eyes for my Grandmother and for me.
But, I had already called my Grandma and invited her to dinner because even though we aren't close, I now feel a connection to her. I was so touched to learn that my Dad recognizes this connection, but I know that my Grandmother doesn't. While she was sad for me when Hannah, Ryan and Abby died, she is from a different generation where people did not talk about babies dying. They did not hold funeral services or take photos of a baby after s/he had died. I don't fault her for that and I realize that our situations are different. I can not imagine what it feels like to come home to the house you raised your children in, knowing that one of them will never step foot in that house again. I do not know what it feels like to look at a lifetime of photos and think about a lifetime of memories that must bring both comfort and horrific sadness. I have promised myself that because I probably do understand best what she is going through, I will make the effort to reach out to her as often as I can and to listen to whatever she wants to say and that I would do so without ever saying "I know how you feel". I recognize that even if I do, she wouldn't understand how I could and it wouldn't be helpful for her to hear a comment like that. I can't force her to feel a connection of loss that she just doesn't see.
So, Rod and I let her talk and we listened as she talked about her feelings during the funeral service, how she could imagine my Aunt dancing while the organist played "Amazing Grace" (he started with a slow, beautiful beat which changed pace and ended in a breathtaking jazz rendition) and how thoughtful my Aunt and Uncles' friends are. Her mind was wandering as she talked, and eventually, she began sharing about her feelings of helplessness towards the end; how she felt, holding her daughter's hand, knowing she was going to die. Rod and I silently nodded and continued to listen. I felt tears in my eyes and when I looked over at Rod I could see his pain~the pain he felt, perhaps for my Grandma, but certainly for himself. Since I was unable to be there, it was Rod who sat, holding Hannah and then Ryan, knowing they would die and knowing he couldn't' do anything about it.
I knew this would be difficult but I didn't expect that listening to her would take me right back to the labor and delivery room that we lived in for so many days-the feelings of grief washing over me so strongly. I tried so hard to listen to her but my thoughts kept going back to my own grief, my own feelings of inadequacy, my own desperation to make sense of something that makes no sense.
I guess I thought I could understand her grief over losing her daughter without feeling my own grief over losing Hannah, Ryan and Abby. I now know I can't.
Less then two weeks ago, my Aunt died after a long battle with breast cancer. I loved my Aunt, my Dad's only sister. She never had biological children but she was a fantastic step-mom to my Uncles two boys and she was a great Aunt to me, Ed and Amber. I will miss her.
My Dad called me this week and asked me to reach out to my Grandma: "No one in our family can know what she is going through, except you. It might be helpful to her to have someone to talk to". His words brought tears to my eyes for my Grandmother and for me.
But, I had already called my Grandma and invited her to dinner because even though we aren't close, I now feel a connection to her. I was so touched to learn that my Dad recognizes this connection, but I know that my Grandmother doesn't. While she was sad for me when Hannah, Ryan and Abby died, she is from a different generation where people did not talk about babies dying. They did not hold funeral services or take photos of a baby after s/he had died. I don't fault her for that and I realize that our situations are different. I can not imagine what it feels like to come home to the house you raised your children in, knowing that one of them will never step foot in that house again. I do not know what it feels like to look at a lifetime of photos and think about a lifetime of memories that must bring both comfort and horrific sadness. I have promised myself that because I probably do understand best what she is going through, I will make the effort to reach out to her as often as I can and to listen to whatever she wants to say and that I would do so without ever saying "I know how you feel". I recognize that even if I do, she wouldn't understand how I could and it wouldn't be helpful for her to hear a comment like that. I can't force her to feel a connection of loss that she just doesn't see.
So, Rod and I let her talk and we listened as she talked about her feelings during the funeral service, how she could imagine my Aunt dancing while the organist played "Amazing Grace" (he started with a slow, beautiful beat which changed pace and ended in a breathtaking jazz rendition) and how thoughtful my Aunt and Uncles' friends are. Her mind was wandering as she talked, and eventually, she began sharing about her feelings of helplessness towards the end; how she felt, holding her daughter's hand, knowing she was going to die. Rod and I silently nodded and continued to listen. I felt tears in my eyes and when I looked over at Rod I could see his pain~the pain he felt, perhaps for my Grandma, but certainly for himself. Since I was unable to be there, it was Rod who sat, holding Hannah and then Ryan, knowing they would die and knowing he couldn't' do anything about it.
I knew this would be difficult but I didn't expect that listening to her would take me right back to the labor and delivery room that we lived in for so many days-the feelings of grief washing over me so strongly. I tried so hard to listen to her but my thoughts kept going back to my own grief, my own feelings of inadequacy, my own desperation to make sense of something that makes no sense.
I guess I thought I could understand her grief over losing her daughter without feeling my own grief over losing Hannah, Ryan and Abby. I now know I can't.
Friday, February 27, 2009
After Hannah, Ryan and Abby were born and died, I discovered the world of "on-line" and *met* so many women whom I've connected with. I've shared some of the most personal thoughts and feelings I've ever had with these women and together, we navigated through the tangles of our grief.
In the beginning of my grief and recovery journey, these women were my life-line. As I already mentioned, I shared thoughts and feelings with them that were so intimate, so painful and so raw that only another woman who was experiencing them would understand. Our grief was so new and in a way, we clung to each other with the hope that we could help each other find our way in a world which seemed like it had no way. And although it brought great sadness to know that they also felt such heart-wrenching grief, there was a comfort in knowing that my feelings were "normal" and that I wasn't alone. I came to know these women in ways that I have never known anyone before, or since.
Through the years, most of these relationships have since faded. Sometimes I wonder what happened to the women who were so important to me at such a difficult time in my life. Are they happy? (I like to believe that they are). Have they come to a place of quiet peace with their loss? (I hope that the have). I also wonder if they ever think of me, of Hannah, Ryan and Abby, the way that I think of them and their babies. Because there are still times that I do think them. I cannot look back on the last 5 years without thinking about them~people whom I've never met, but who have touched my life deeply.
I am sad for all these babies and children who never had a chance to experience all the joys, heartaches and wonders of life. But I am also eternally grateful for them. Their brief existence in our world helped bring their mothers and me together. And so tonight I honor all the babies whose lives have touched mine, through the strength and love so freely given to me by their mothers. And I thank these special women for allowing me to grieve openly and shamelessly when I needed too. Your support has helped me to heal.
~~
To: Julia, Scott and Jeremiah; Trevor and Shane; Molly and Joseph; Edward, Olivia and Liliana; West, Rebeca and Keating; Mallory; Liam; and Georgia. Thank you. Although we have never met, in my own special way, I love you.
In the beginning of my grief and recovery journey, these women were my life-line. As I already mentioned, I shared thoughts and feelings with them that were so intimate, so painful and so raw that only another woman who was experiencing them would understand. Our grief was so new and in a way, we clung to each other with the hope that we could help each other find our way in a world which seemed like it had no way. And although it brought great sadness to know that they also felt such heart-wrenching grief, there was a comfort in knowing that my feelings were "normal" and that I wasn't alone. I came to know these women in ways that I have never known anyone before, or since.
Through the years, most of these relationships have since faded. Sometimes I wonder what happened to the women who were so important to me at such a difficult time in my life. Are they happy? (I like to believe that they are). Have they come to a place of quiet peace with their loss? (I hope that the have). I also wonder if they ever think of me, of Hannah, Ryan and Abby, the way that I think of them and their babies. Because there are still times that I do think them. I cannot look back on the last 5 years without thinking about them~people whom I've never met, but who have touched my life deeply.
I am sad for all these babies and children who never had a chance to experience all the joys, heartaches and wonders of life. But I am also eternally grateful for them. Their brief existence in our world helped bring their mothers and me together. And so tonight I honor all the babies whose lives have touched mine, through the strength and love so freely given to me by their mothers. And I thank these special women for allowing me to grieve openly and shamelessly when I needed too. Your support has helped me to heal.
~~
To: Julia, Scott and Jeremiah; Trevor and Shane; Molly and Joseph; Edward, Olivia and Liliana; West, Rebeca and Keating; Mallory; Liam; and Georgia. Thank you. Although we have never met, in my own special way, I love you.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Second Chances
Mom went for a second opinion with a Pulmonologist who does nothing but specialize in Interstitial Lung Diseases and Pulmonary Fibrosis. Dad went with her and they promised to call as soon as they were ready, but I also knew that it may take a few hours for the assessment and then they may need to process the information they heard, so I tried to stay busy and not think about it.
I knew that if this doctor diagnosed Pulmonary Fibrosis too, then it would be confirmed that this is what she has. I was scared to answer the phone but also couldn't get to it fast enough when it did ring. My heart was in my throat when I heard my Mom's voice because it sounded like she had been crying. And she had.
However, her tears weren't from sadness, they were from hope. This doctor is confident that she does NOT have PF. Her most recent CT Scan showed some improvement with her lungs and even though it wasn't drastic, improvement does NOT happen with PF. He switched up her medications, is sending her to Pulmonary Rehabilitation and wants to see her back in 6 weeks with a new CT Scan. He doesn't know what she does have and wants to give her more time to recover from the Pneumonia before probing further to find out what the underlying issue(s) is/are. She is still very sick and we still don't know what is wrong with her, which is scary. But knowing it's not PF is a huge relief.
As a family, we still have a long battle ahead of us, but I know that we will all buckle down and do whatever we can to help my Mom get through this. Her new doctor thinks there's a chance she may be able to reduce her oxygen levels for most of her activity and daily life. There's a chance she won't, but more importantly, there is a chance she will and that's what we are all focused on right now.
I knew that if this doctor diagnosed Pulmonary Fibrosis too, then it would be confirmed that this is what she has. I was scared to answer the phone but also couldn't get to it fast enough when it did ring. My heart was in my throat when I heard my Mom's voice because it sounded like she had been crying. And she had.
However, her tears weren't from sadness, they were from hope. This doctor is confident that she does NOT have PF. Her most recent CT Scan showed some improvement with her lungs and even though it wasn't drastic, improvement does NOT happen with PF. He switched up her medications, is sending her to Pulmonary Rehabilitation and wants to see her back in 6 weeks with a new CT Scan. He doesn't know what she does have and wants to give her more time to recover from the Pneumonia before probing further to find out what the underlying issue(s) is/are. She is still very sick and we still don't know what is wrong with her, which is scary. But knowing it's not PF is a huge relief.
As a family, we still have a long battle ahead of us, but I know that we will all buckle down and do whatever we can to help my Mom get through this. Her new doctor thinks there's a chance she may be able to reduce her oxygen levels for most of her activity and daily life. There's a chance she won't, but more importantly, there is a chance she will and that's what we are all focused on right now.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
IPF
I haven't posted in a long time because I haven't been able to bring myself to write about all that is on my mind. It's too scary. Too sad. Too much for me.
My Mom is a wonderful woman. If I am half the Mom she is, I will consider myself successful in my parenting. She was an excellent role model for me growing up and she has been an excellent Granny to all of my children. She never forgets Hannah, Ryan and Abby's birthdays and always remembers them with me by bringing me 3 roses (2 pink and one yellow). Joey and Laura both adore her~and why shouldn't they? She gets children. She has infinite amounts of patience with them, enjoys them and spends enormous amounts of time with them.
But, my Mom is sick. Very sick. And if she has the illness that they believe she has, she will not recover. She is home from the hospital (she spent 14 days there, 12 of which were in ICU, with severe Pneumonia) but she is on a lot of supplemental oxygen and she really can't do anything without it, except sit and talk. With it, her mobility is extremely limited. However, worse than her current state is the "prognosis" for the disease she has. It is progressive, and the progression is often rapid. The mean life span from diagnosis is 2 years.
I cannot wrap my brain around this situation. On December 2, my folks joined us for breakfast with Santa at our local camp and my Mom was running after Laura, laughing and having so much fun. On December 12, she was whipping around the tennis court with her doubles partner and won an exceedingly challenging but enjoyable match. On December 22, she was in ICU. How does that happen? Why has this happened?
Idiopathic Pulmonary Fibrosis.
My heart cannot handle this.
My Mom is a wonderful woman. If I am half the Mom she is, I will consider myself successful in my parenting. She was an excellent role model for me growing up and she has been an excellent Granny to all of my children. She never forgets Hannah, Ryan and Abby's birthdays and always remembers them with me by bringing me 3 roses (2 pink and one yellow). Joey and Laura both adore her~and why shouldn't they? She gets children. She has infinite amounts of patience with them, enjoys them and spends enormous amounts of time with them.
But, my Mom is sick. Very sick. And if she has the illness that they believe she has, she will not recover. She is home from the hospital (she spent 14 days there, 12 of which were in ICU, with severe Pneumonia) but she is on a lot of supplemental oxygen and she really can't do anything without it, except sit and talk. With it, her mobility is extremely limited. However, worse than her current state is the "prognosis" for the disease she has. It is progressive, and the progression is often rapid. The mean life span from diagnosis is 2 years.
I cannot wrap my brain around this situation. On December 2, my folks joined us for breakfast with Santa at our local camp and my Mom was running after Laura, laughing and having so much fun. On December 12, she was whipping around the tennis court with her doubles partner and won an exceedingly challenging but enjoyable match. On December 22, she was in ICU. How does that happen? Why has this happened?
Idiopathic Pulmonary Fibrosis.
My heart cannot handle this.
Friday, January 9, 2009
Going Shopping...
For a while after Hannah, Ryan and Abby died, I turned my anger towards the Church. I felt like what I had learned about God growing up had failed me in my greatest time of need and when I turned to my Church for comfort I felt as if I had somehow failed them (Hannah, Ryan and Abby) because I didn't pray hard enough, or the right way, or that I wasn't Christian enough for God to save them. I'm sure a lot of this has to do with my own anger and sadness and needing a place to put those feelings, but some of it had to do with the Minister, his sermons and how adamant he was about what I *should* do regarding Hannah, Ryan and Abbys' cremains.
However, over the years, I have thought about going back-perhaps not to the same Church (although they have a new Minister now, so it's a possibility). Now that Joey is 3 1/2 years old, I realize that I can not take on the task of teaching him about God without the Church to guide and support me. So, this year, I will try different services until I find a Church I feel comfortable calling "home".
Last week I attended the Contemporary Family Service of one of the Churches on my list. I had not yet attended a "contemporary" service, although I have noticed that many of the Churches are going this route for the Family Service. Instantly, I noticed there are many differences between "contemporary" and "traditional" services: instead of the Choir, they had a Jazz band (who was quite good, actually), the Minister was in plain clothes and the service was held in the social hall (with coffee and snacks provided) and they used a power point presentation to illustrate points. The one thing I did really like about it was when it came time for prayers for celebration or healing, the Minister talked about the power of prayer's ability to heal us spiritually instead of physically. He never once said "We pray for so-and-so to get better" but he did say "We pray for so-and-so and hope that God's presence will ease his pain" (or help the family, etc). This was certainly something different from what I had in my previous Church.
When I thought about it later, I liked the Minister's approach towards prayer, but I don't know that the "contemporary" approach is what I'm looking for. I think I like the more formal, traditional style. The rituals that I learned in my youth (everything from the songs to the prayer readings) meant a lot to me during my wedding and have always provided me with a sense of comfort at any funeral service I have ever attending, include Hannah, Ryan and Abby's.
I have not crossed this Church off my list, but this Sunday, I am going to a more traditional service. We shall see...
However, over the years, I have thought about going back-perhaps not to the same Church (although they have a new Minister now, so it's a possibility). Now that Joey is 3 1/2 years old, I realize that I can not take on the task of teaching him about God without the Church to guide and support me. So, this year, I will try different services until I find a Church I feel comfortable calling "home".
Last week I attended the Contemporary Family Service of one of the Churches on my list. I had not yet attended a "contemporary" service, although I have noticed that many of the Churches are going this route for the Family Service. Instantly, I noticed there are many differences between "contemporary" and "traditional" services: instead of the Choir, they had a Jazz band (who was quite good, actually), the Minister was in plain clothes and the service was held in the social hall (with coffee and snacks provided) and they used a power point presentation to illustrate points. The one thing I did really like about it was when it came time for prayers for celebration or healing, the Minister talked about the power of prayer's ability to heal us spiritually instead of physically. He never once said "We pray for so-and-so to get better" but he did say "We pray for so-and-so and hope that God's presence will ease his pain" (or help the family, etc). This was certainly something different from what I had in my previous Church.
When I thought about it later, I liked the Minister's approach towards prayer, but I don't know that the "contemporary" approach is what I'm looking for. I think I like the more formal, traditional style. The rituals that I learned in my youth (everything from the songs to the prayer readings) meant a lot to me during my wedding and have always provided me with a sense of comfort at any funeral service I have ever attending, include Hannah, Ryan and Abby's.
I have not crossed this Church off my list, but this Sunday, I am going to a more traditional service. We shall see...
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Wait and See...
I strongly dislike not knowing what I'm dealing with. I am not a "stick your head in the sand" kind of person and I handle things much better when I know, rather than when I'm waiting to know.
But, that's where we are with my Mom. She was discharged from the hospital yesterday-not because she is well again-but because there is nothing more they could do for her there. She was sent home on a rather high level of supplemental oxygen and steroid medication and now all there is to do is wait and see.
What we're waiting for is her lungs heal enough so the doctors can figure out what the underlying lung disease(s) is and whether or not it is reversible, progressive or stable. There is a chance she'll come off oxygen. There is a chance she won't. There is a chance she'll get better. There is a chance she won't. And there is chance she'll get worse until the disease takes her life. They can not tell us anything else.
Limbo. It's a terrible place to be...
But, that's where we are with my Mom. She was discharged from the hospital yesterday-not because she is well again-but because there is nothing more they could do for her there. She was sent home on a rather high level of supplemental oxygen and steroid medication and now all there is to do is wait and see.
What we're waiting for is her lungs heal enough so the doctors can figure out what the underlying lung disease(s) is and whether or not it is reversible, progressive or stable. There is a chance she'll come off oxygen. There is a chance she won't. There is a chance she'll get better. There is a chance she won't. And there is chance she'll get worse until the disease takes her life. They can not tell us anything else.
Limbo. It's a terrible place to be...
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