by Band Back Together | Oct 27, 2010 | Baby Loss, Coping With Baby Loss, Grief, Help For Grief And Grieving, Livng Through A Miscarriage, Loss, Miscarriage |
When I was 18, I miscarried twins. It still hurts. It hurts even more that my husband doesn’t seem to understand. They were his babies too. I don’t know if he cares and just doesn’t show it or if there’s something wrong with me that I just can’t let it go. Should I still cry at baby product advertisements and while writing these posts?
I wish I knew.
We’ve been married for almost four years now. We decided early this year, around my husband’s birthday, that after Christmas 2010 we’d start trying for a baby. We had a house, we were both settled in our jobs and had a stable income, and the time felt ‘right’. I’ve wanted a baby so badly since the miscarriages that it hurts.
So a few weeks ago, I made an appointment with my doctor (who seems to be perpetually on vacation) for next week, to discuss removing my IUD, going on the pill and to find out if I need to find alternatives for any of my current medication.
Last week I lost my job. Cutbacks. Laying off those of us making barely minimum wage while they give the executives five-figure bonuses and hire six-figure middle-managers. I work – worked – in payroll, I see the numbers.
No job means barely enough money to pay the bills.
No job means no baby.
It feels like my husband doesn’t care.
It feels like my heart is breaking all over again.
by Band Back Together | Oct 26, 2010 | Grief, Help For Grief And Grieving, Loss, Parent Loss |
Today, my mother would have been 55. She passed away on my 17th birthday. She was very ill and she fought bravely right until the bitter end. That doesn’t mean that I was never angry at her for dying. I needed her at that age. Hell, I still do. I have several aunts and an awesome mother-in-law, but that’s not the same.
As I get closer to becoming the age she was when she died, I notice that I am a lot like her. I am afraid of what happens once I get past the age she was when she died. She was no angel by any means, but she’s irreplaceable. She brought me into this world.
I miss my mother a lot today. I miss her everyday.
by Band Back Together | Oct 25, 2010 | Grief, Help For Grief And Grieving, Livng Through A Miscarriage, Loss, Miscarriage |
Tonight, I was sitting in my room, sick with the flu watching the season premiere of Grey’s Anatomy with my husband. I love this show. I was so excited to watch it.
What I forgot, of course, was the way last season ended. I hate that I have to brace myself for these things, that I have to avoid this – but tonight I was unexpectedly punched in the stomach. I was blind-sided by seeing a woman lying in a hospital bed with her legs up in stirrups on television about to get a D&C.
I lost it.
I cried.
My husband held me without me having to say a word.
He knew.
I hate that I know I am going to have nightmares again tonight. I get them often and tonight I know they will come.
Painful.
Real.
Nightmares.
I hate that something as silly as a television show triggers them.
I have not healed from these 10 miscarriages. I don’t know if I ever will fully. I am tired of the pain but I know I have to feel it.
I just wish it wasn’t so hard.
by Band Back Together | Oct 21, 2010 | Anniversary Reactions, Grief, Help For Grief And Grieving, Livng Through A Miscarriage, Loss, Miscarriage, Pregnancy |
I hate math.
But lately, I’m obsessed with numbers.
It’s been 112 days since I got my first positive pregnancy test.
And it’s been 60 days since I had to have a D&C to remove the baby that didn’t thrive.
My period should arrive in 2 days.
But I’m waiting 5 days to test, because I promised a friend we’d test together.
She’s gone through this too.
I’m constantly counting days, averaging them out, marking my calendars, and keeping track. Who knew trying to get pregnant would become my new full-time job? I spent so much time trying not to get pregnant, and now that I want to? Well, so far, it hasn’t been easy.
A friend of mine is due the day before I was. It kills me to know this. All the other February mommies are finding out the sexes of their babies, marveling at their growing bellies, buying clothes, furniture, and picking out names.
And I’m back at square one, thinking about things like mucous levels and peeing on sticks.
Trying to get pregnant is so sexy.
So here I sit. This week could change things forever.
Or not.
I hate waiting…
by Band Back Together | Oct 19, 2010 | Addiction, Addiction Recovery, Alcohol Addiction, Baby Loss, Coping With Baby Loss, Coping With Depression, Grief, Help For Grief And Grieving, Loss, Major Depressive Disorder |
Three months after my third pregnancy loss, I started drinking.
In my mind, I’d done everything I was, as a faithful Mormon woman, “supposed” to do. I was married in the temple. I attended church regularly. I prayed, read my scriptures, paid my tithing…all the things I was taught would bring me true happiness.
I wasn’t happy.
Every time I heard “multiply and replenish the earth” I started crying. Nothing in my Mormon upbringing had prepared me to give birth to a dead baby. I was supposed to stop taking birth control, get pregnant and then have a baby. End of story. Nobody mentioned the awful things that might happen between point A and point C.
I was angry.
God told me to multiply and replenish the earth and I tried, dammit. What kind of messed up God tells someone to do something and then totally messes with them?
I was disconsolate. I was livid. I was miserable.
I had a plan.
I’d done everything I was “supposed” to do, but it obviously wasn’t working for me. Now I would do whatever I wanted, because really, it couldn’t possibly get worse.
So I went to a bar. I chose it carefully, because I had no idea what I’d be like or what might happen. I just knew there was the potential to feel better. I went to a bar where I knew the bouncer–we’d been on a few dates before I got married–and I felt like I could trust him to kind of watch over me.
Darin, if you ever read this…thank you. For more than I’m willing to discuss on a public forum.
I don’t remember what that first drink felt like, but it must’ve been decent, because it wasn’t my last.
I learned to drink.
I learned which drinks packed the most bang for my buck. I learned which ones made me gag but were totally worth it because once they were down they made me feel warm and fuzzy and like everything was okay in the world.
I didn’t drink every night, or even every weekend. Most of the time I was achingly sober, which gave drinking an allure that seemed not only difficult but pointless to resist. Why would I not do something that brought me a moment of respite?
I’ve had a lot of trite phrases thrown my way during this whole journey, and this is the one that always makes me laugh: “It’s not true happiness. When the glow wears off, you’ll be even more miserable.”
Bullshit.
At that point there was no such thing as more miserable, and if I could get 30…60…120 minutes where I didn’t think, I’d take it. Anyone who throws that phrase around has no idea what true depression feels like, and I’m happy for them. I’d prefer nobody feel that way.
So I drank. And I distanced myself from my husband, my family, my church. I still participated in all the things I had before, but it seemed empty. That was the one problem with alcohol–it wore off, and I certainly couldn’t spend every waking moment drunk. After all, that’s what alcoholics do, and I certainly wasn’t an alcoholic.
I couldn’t admit that I was drowning. I had to be strong, because that’s what you do when horrible things happen. You pull on your big girl panties and press forward. You don’t say that all your dreams and hopes for the future vanished overnight and now you feel like there’s nothing to live for.
That might make other people sad, and I was sad enough for everyone.
Luckily, I found a solution. I didn’t have to drink all the time, because there was something even better! It was cheaper, more accessible and, best of all, every bit as legal as alcohol.
by Band Back Together | Oct 18, 2010 | Breast Cancer, Cancer and Neoplasia, Grandparent Loss, Grief, Hospice, Loss, Sadness, Stroke |
Cancer sucks. My grandma, barely sixty years old, died from breast cancer when I was four. Even though I was so young, I still remember watching her suffer. I remember watching my mother and her sister suffer, too. Even though I was young, I still remember thinking if there was really a God, why would he put my grandma through all of this?
She never hurt a soul…and I loved her.
Cancer claimed my mother-in-law, too. I loved her as though she were my blood. Maybe even more than that because she never said a harsh word to me, or as far as I know, about me.
She had lung cancer and yes, she smoked. “I shot myself in the foot,” she said to me when she was diagnosed. She fought like the feisty Scottish lady that she was. She was diagnosed around Thanksgiving and lost her battle that following June.
Just about six months. DAMN! It was so quick! I know it didn’t seem so quick to her.
She went through chemotherapy and all of the horrible shit that went along with it. She did everything she was supposed to do. She did everything right. And then they found cancer in her brain. The woman never took a fucking pill in her life and here she was having fucking brain surgery! She made it through the surgery. My sister-in-law and I went into the recovery room and damn it if that lady wasn’t sitting up and talking right after having her skull busted open.
While she was in rehab, she had a stroke. It was a kind I had never heard of. It was progressive so it started out slowly. She knew what was going on.
Chef and I went to visit her in the hospital and at that point she said she had had enough. She said to us, “if they find any more cancer, I don’t want to be treated.” If she had known that she only had six months to live, she would have said, “Screw chemo,” and gone to visit her grandchildren in Wisconsin.
I know that because she was an open book. She had no secrets. What you saw was what you got.
The next day she could not speak.
We were the last of her children to carry on a conversation with her. When the doctors finally determined that she had had a stroke and that it was progressive, my sister-in-law decided to bring her back home. The doctors said she had less than a week to live, so she would come home to be surrounded by her children, grandchildren and her beautiful antiques.
My husband and his sisters took care of her for that week. Because my children were so young, I stayed home and came for the weekend. My two year old daughter stood by my mother-in-law’s bed and spoke to her. She called her “gammy.” My mother-in-law would grunt occasionally. Sure enough on day seven – just a week after we had our last conversation with her – my mother-in-law lost her battle.
I ask the question once again, forty years later… if there was really a God, why would he put my mother-in-law through all of this?
She never hurt a soul…and I loved her.
