The Room

November 2, 2009

It’s there.  In the house.  The room that was to be the boys’ room.  It’s filled with baby boy clothes, toys, a crib, a car seat, broken dreams, dashed hopes, lots of sadness.  I haven’t set foot in that room since we moved in.  The crib was never set up in there, the decorations never hung on the wall, the walls never painted.  I can’t even tell you what the closet looks like in there – the last time I saw it, I was pregnant and we didn’t own the house and now, I can’t really remember life before April 8th. 

I walk past the door about 14 times a day and I think, “I’m never going to get in that room.”  I lay in bed at night and I can see the door from where I lay and I think, “I’m never going to get up in the middle of the night, pad across the hall, scoop up my crying baby and rock him back to sleep.  It’s never going to happen for me.”  I lay there, not sleeping, staring at the door.

This is my life now.  Trying to live with my disappointment.  Trying to survive this loss.  I thought I was doing okay but really, these last few weeks…I’m not.  I’m not okay.  I want so badly to look at the people around me and say, “help me.  Please, help me.  I’m hurt and I can’t go to the doctor to fix it because it’s deep down inside….they won’t know what to do for me…Someone please just take me in your arms and hold me, let me cry…”  I have conversations with people about the weather, books, shopping, whatever but my eyes are searching their faces, begging, “please, ask me how I am…ask me about them…ask me if I’m okay….but only if your prepared for the answer…I can’t freely give this information if you don’t mean it when you ask the question, if you are not prepared for the answer then don’t ask…”

But I don’t.  I’m supposed to be better.  I’m supposed to be moving forward.  The people around me, they have lives, they can’t be taking care of me.  I have to take care of myself and Hubby.  I’ve always taken care of myself.  Always.  I have to be strong, I can’t fall apart again.

I want to get into that room…I want a baby to hold and cuddle and love who will live in that room but I fear that will never happen.  I want my boys and I KNOW that won’t happen.

 

Advertisements

Silver

October 29, 2009

I have moments where I think “it didn’t really happen.  I didn’t really lose my boys.”  I do, really, all these months later – over a year later – I still think, “it didn’t happen.” 

I saw the lady with the silver in her hair at Fosters again.  I’m a little fascinated by her.  I sat there, watching her read her book, eating her sandwich and I thought, “that will be me in a couple of years.”  I’m so far lost in grief and disappointment that I can’t see soccer games, birthday parties and Halloween costumes.  I just see aging – getting older without children to run after.

I don’t know when I starting losing the ability to see a future that has a child in it.  Just last month I was thinking about and actually talking about playing the violin for my baby….now, I just can’t imagine it.  I try really hard to see our baby and all I see are my boys.

Squashed…

October 28, 2009

That’s how I feel.  I feel squashed.  Hopes, dreams, desires, everything just feels squashed.  I can’t even breathe right now, I’m just so defeated and deflated.  I continue to try and find options for financing for adoption and I think that I’m out of options.  A personal loan is the only thing I can think of that I haven’t tried and no one is giving personal loans.  Hell, Hubby couldn’t even get student loans this year without his mother cosigning for him and they used to hand that money out like it was prostitute advertisements on the Vegas Strip.  My last ditch effort was trying to take a loan against my life insurance policy and I was denied (haven’t had the policy long enough).

I haven’t felt this bad in a while.  When the world around you seems to be moving forward and you feel stuck, it’s hard not to feel bad.  I hate feeling sorry for myself, I hate it.  I’m trying to be proactive and do something to ensure that the boys will have brothers and sisters.  I’m trying but I can’t do anything right.  I can’t make money grow on trees or my fucked up genes split properly and aligned with each other so as to produce a beautiful sibling for A and B. 

Compounding this is that I want to be happy for all of my pregnant friends but the ones that haven’t had losses, it’s hard to get excited for them.  I know that sounds screwed up.  I totally understand that some of you might read that and think, “what a bitch.”  Those women get to be part of a club that I will never belong to…”the blissfully ignorant shiny new baby mommy club.”  Not me, I will never get that again.  Fine, I’m a bitch.   And that’s totally not fair to those women because I would hate for anyone to feel as bad as I do right now.  I wouldn’t wish this on anyone – not my worst enemy…so I’m considerate and sweet and post congratulations and send cards and gifts when all I really want to do it scream, “I’M SO PISSED OFF AT THE UNIVERSE RIGHT NOW I CAN’T STAND IT!!!!”

I think to myself, “I really want to be pregnant again and you know, this will be THE month it happens” and I smile like a jackass.  And then negative me counters with, “get pregnant all you want, honey, you will never make it to 40 weeks – hell, you won’t make it past 8 weeks.”  And there are lots of tears alone in the car.  What do I do with negative me?  She’s right, that’s the thing, she’s right.  All I know is that I fear getting pregnant but I want to be pregnant more than anything but one thing – I just want my boys back.

Daydreaming…

October 27, 2009

I posted this over at Glow in the Woods and then thought that many of  you might like to read it as well…

This afternoon, I sat at Fosters having a bowl of soup and daydreaming.  I love Fosters.  It’s bright and airy and reminds me of a coffee place I used to go to when I was in college.  I can smell espresso and pastries and pizzas being made in the oven.  There are large open tables with mis-matched chairs and college students, studying history or math or something.  Probably chemistry.  I hated chemistry.  They have their futures in front of them, I think, bright shiny futures – futures full of promise, hope, good times and hopefully, nothing bad will ever happen to these people.  Just as they are sitting here at these tables with the mis-matched chairs, wallowing in clean, pure, happy youth, I sat at tables with mis-matched chairs many years ago.  Years and years ago it feels like.  So long ago that I feel like that wasn’t even me – I’m not the same person I was back then.  I dreamed of working as an environmental attorney, I struggled with my math homework, I dated someone who didn’t appreciate me for me, and I made bad choices (that ended up having benign consequences looking back).  I dreamed of getting married to a wonderful man and having babies, living in a house, not struggling to pay my bills.

Some of what I dreamed has happened – the amazing husband, the cute house that’s all mine.  Some of what I hoped for hasn’t.  Actually, I guess it did but not in the way I thought it would.  I look in the mirror and I’m not that girl in a coffee house in San Diego wondering what I’m going to wear to our next formal because I can’t really afford a new dress.  I’ve gained weight, gone is my cute little size 6 self that ran the beach in a bikini without thought.  I’ve got gray hairs that refuse to stay hidden under an expensive dye-job.  I’ve got pain in my eyes.  It’s the eyes that are the most different, I think.  I don’t have wrinkles like you might think.  Instead, I have a hollowness – an emptiness – that looks back at me from the other side of the mirror.  It’s all my pain and grief and anger and loss and it’s manifested in my eyes.  I smile at people and that smile doesn’t reach my eyes like it used to.

I look around amongst all of these young, bright faces and see another woman sitting alone.  She’s clearly older than I am as evidenced by the fact that she’s lost her battle with gray hair and surrendered to a lovely silver running through her brown curls.  She’s reading (or maybe, like me, pretending to read).  I catch her eye and smile.  She smiles back but her smile doesn’t reach her eyes either.  I wonder, “what happened to you?  Why do you have pain?  Did your babies die too?”

It all comes back to them.  My boys and the fact that they died.

No amount of daydreaming in a coffee house can change that fact or the pain in my eyes.

is over.  Yup.  Yesterday morning.  I was sort of surprised but not really.  The nausea went away on Saturday and my breasts stopped hurting Sunday morning .  I had one of those moments (I call them “Sidney moments” after our puppy who, upon learning something or seeing something fascinating, cocks his head to the side and perks his ears up…sort of like, “huh.  Oh.  Okay.”).  It was a Sidney moment because I sat in bed Sunday and thought, “Hubby was right, we were pregnant.”  As a result of the BT, I’m guessing the embryo grabbed on (I did have implantation spotting which is why the negative test was so confusing) and then just didn’t have the genetic material necessary to keep growing and therefore, didn’t produce enough HCG to show up on a test.  Classic BT.  Despite what the movies tell you, it is possible to be slightly pregnant.  This is my 4th or 5th time proving that fact…I’ve lost count.  How much does that suck?

But, glass half full me is also happy that I clearly ovulated and got pregnant again.  I was worried since I hadn’t been pregnant since February – the Clomid experiment produced nothing and a 42 day cycle is not normal for me.  Only time I’ve had a cycle that long was when I was pregnant.  Hubby said the same thing, he was ready to call in the RE out of fear that something as wrong.  Good to know we already know what was wrong, it’s “just” the BT. 

Also, anyone else starting to notice a pattern here?  I seem to get pregnant in the Fall.  The boys were conceived in November, 2007.  I had two confirmed pregnancies in November and December 2008 and now this one.  Maybe I’m more like a bear than a panda.  I want to eat, get fat, get pregnant and hibernate until the cub comes.  I really, really want that….Prehaps it’s my love of Halloween…I get happy with the approach of my favorite holiday and I’m sure my mood has something to do with my ability to conceive…

Whatever.  There is always next month, right?  That seems to be the story of my life…next month, and then the next month, and then the next.

Thoughts….

October 15, 2009

Day 39 of my cycle and no period and 2 negative HPTs.  I got all excited because I was queasy and my breasts hurt (still do actually) and I’m tired…damn universe, she’s such a bitch.  I’ve never gone this long without a period (except when I was pregnant).  My guess is that I didn’t ovulate last month because of the flu.  I had the flu the same time I should have ovulated and I thought that I didn’t get a positive OPK because I tested too late (because I was sick with the flu).  It is what it is, right?

I didn’t get invited to a baby shower and it really hurt my feelings.  I wouldn’t go – actually, my best friend is coming into town and I couldn’t go – but that doesn’t mean I don’t want the invite.  I think, because this was an accidental pregnancy, the person thinks I’m judging her.  I’m not.  I don’t have the energy to judge.  It just hurt my feelings.

Also, Hubby’s cousin is pregnant and everyone thought it best to hide it from me until there was no possible way of hiding it from me any longer as she showed up at his mother’s house when we were there this past weekend.  Thing is, I already knew.  I had known for a while.  Facebook does not hide secrets well.  But what if I hadn’t known?  They would have just sprung it on me 5 minutes before she showed up?  That doesn’t seem fair.  I just want people to be honest with me and let me deal with the situation.  Anyway, it hurt me more than I can explain to them so I didn’t.  It made the visit with L more awkward then it needed to be because L didn’t know that I previously knew she was pregnant so she’s holding pillow over her stomach trying to hide it.  Finally, I said something about her being pregnant and she was more open about it.  She wouldn’t even get up to hug me.  I cried all night because I hate the idea that his family thinks I’m too crazy to deal with L and her pregnancy.  Thing is, L is probably one of my favorite people in Hubby’s family.  She’s the most similar to us in our views – both political and religious and when I was there getting ready to go to CHOP, she was really comforting and kind.  Everytime we visit she makes an effort to stop by and see us.  The whole situation just made me feel alone and isolated and really uncomfortable despite the fact that I know the family was only trying to spare my feelings.  How do I explain that?  I’m open to suggestions.  Do I say anything or just let it go?  I feel like such a leper anyway because his family never asks me about how I’m feeling or how things are going for us.  I guess they are afraid of the answer.  This, coupled with the lack of invite to the baby shower, made me feel even worse.

Finally, I’ve spent every minute of every day since we went to the adoption information session trying to figure out how to come up with the money we need.  I’m at a loss.  I told Hubby I wanted to wait until January to try and work something out but I can’t stop thinking about it.  I just don’t know if we can get anyone to cosign on a loan for us – if we can even get a loan. 

As a result of all of this…in my head, there is a constant voice on a continuous loop that keeps saying, “let it go, it’s over, there is no way you are going to have another baby, just let it go, the boys were it, just let it go and move on.”

God, I’m tired.

Losing the Battle…

October 6, 2009

I heard this quote this morning on NPR:

“The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places. ” – Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms.

I had forgotten about this book and this quote having read it YEARS ago.  When the person being interviewed said the quote, he was referencing his own war experiences.  He mistakenly thought the quote was a reflection of the character “Henry” and, by extension, Hemingway’s experience of being wounded in a mortar attack in Italy during World War I.

In fact, the quote is made by the character “Henry” in reference to his son being born still, not war.  I realized as I was driving that while the interviewee attributed the quote to the wrong loss for the main character, death of our boys was like a battle.  It was like a war.  I’m hurt, I’m bruised and bloodied.  Hubby is wounded – there exists collateral damage in our life.  There is tremendous loss and a deep well of anger.  There are days when The Battle of Grief and Loss is more costly than any other war I can think of…There are days when I’m sure I’m losing The Battle and those are days I am grateful for The Silent Army…

I just wish The Battle would end soon….