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A Letter To My Younger Self: Miscarriage

by | Sep 15, 2010 | A Letter To My Younger Self, Grief, Help For Grief And Grieving, Livng Through A Miscarriage, Loss, Miscarriage, Pregnancy | 2 comments

Hindsight is 20/20 – that is what they say right? Do you ever wish you could go back in time – back to the future style – and share some words of wisdom to yourself? At times I find myself wishing I had that super power – or technology caught up because I could have some interesting/heartbreaking conversations with myself:

A Letter My Younger Self About: Miscarriage:

Dear Devan,

I think that you should sit down because what I have to tell you is not going to be easy to hear. It will seem near impossible but I am so sorry to tell you it is true. In 5 short years, you will experience one of the hardest journeys you will have been on in your 28 years of life and experience: 10 heartbreaking & painful miscarriages. Yes, 10.

You will bounce from worrying about ever getting pregnant because of your previous surgeries for ovarian cysts to worrying about never carrying a pregnancy to term. However, after your first 3 miscarriages you will become obsessed with basal body temping and you will be diagnosed with a short luteal phase and progesterone deficiency. Although this is part of the answer after you have your healthy boy and start trying to conceive again, you will be punched in the heart with 2 more miscarriages.

You will be strong and try to pretend this is not affecting you as much as it really is. You will not share your feelings with anyone, not your husband, your family, or friends. You will battle through it and you will be blessed with your second full-term child – a beautiful girl.

I wish I could tell you this was the end of your heartache. You will, in fact, endure 4 more and then you will become pregnant again and you will pass your 8th week and think you will be welcoming your third child in a handful of months. A phone call that literally brings you to your knees will have you broken in ways you could not imagine. Your amazing husband will be there to catch you. He will guide you through the surgery and he will be your rock. Triton will be with you forever and you will think about him a lot. After some new medical plans and medication you will welcome your third healthy child and she will bring you back from some of that darkness and sadness.

I wish I could tell you that all this wouldn’t happen. I wish I could stop it from happening. The reality is this experience, this wordless journey will define so much of who you are – not negatively. Good things will come from it – you will see just how strong your marriage is and just how incredible your husband is to help hold you up when you thought you were sinking. Your children will bring so much joy to your life because you know how much you fought and ached for them.

You will realize how strong you are and that this – motherhood – was without a doubt what you were put on this earth to do.

Lost

by | Sep 15, 2010 | Depression, Loneliness, Major Depressive Disorder | 7 comments

I really don’t know where to begin, so I’ll start with a question.

When does it stop being a funk and become depression?

This year has been a doozy. My personal maelstrom hasn’t been nearly as bad as so many of you here, but it’s rocked my little world to the core. Up until recently my view on life has been pretty optimistic, but I can feel bitterness and cynicism in everything I say and do now. My job has put me through the ringer, but I don’t see any other options at the moment. I’ve been losing the struggle to be positive when it comes to body image. I feel like shit. I’ve had no energy or motivation. I’ve had no desire to be social and whereas I’ve always been fairly outgoing, I find a new and disturbing anxiety at the thought of approaching anyone new. And, to top it all off, the loss of my grandfather last month knocked whatever little wind I had left in my sails fluttering to the depths of the cold, dark sea.

I keep telling myself that I can’t be depressed. That I’m just being a baby. I’m too strong and too independent for that. That things will get better on their own… Yet, here I sit, the beginnings of tears burning the backs of my eyes and that now familiar lump rising in my throat. I don’t think it’s going to go away. I’m terrified it won’t. I feel helpless and powerless and I haven’t the slightest idea where to start, what to do.

I’m lost.

What NOT To Say To Someone Who’s Had A Miscarriage

by | Sep 15, 2010 | Grief, Help For Grief And Grieving, Livng Through A Miscarriage, Loss, Miscarriage | 3 comments

This post is not intended to knock people who have said some of these comments. I myself have mistakenly said these to someone before I had gone through a miscarriage. I have been told each of these statements at some point during my losses and although it can be difficult to know what the right thing to say is and most people genuinely mean well, here is why I find these statements so hurtful:

You can always have another! -or- You can always try again.

Although it is true that many couples struggle with infertility, the end goal of getting pregnant is not the positive pregnancy test but the baby. Merely being able to get pregnant is not a comfort for most women who experience a miscarriage.

Many women can go on to try again after a miscarriage, and indeed many find comfort in that idea after time. However, for someone grieving a loss, one baby does not replace another. Each loss needs to be dealt with individually and the woman needs to think about trying again on her own time when she is ready.

Be grateful for the children you have!

Even if a woman has living children, they do not replace the baby she lost. Grieving does not mean you are ungrateful!

I know what you are going through.

If you have not lost a baby, please do not say this to a mother grieving a miscarriage. Just as with anything else in life, unless you’ve experienced it yourself, you simply do not know how it feels. However, if you have had a miscarriage, it can be reassuring to a woman grieving a miscarriage to hear your story.

It was not a real baby – it was just a fetus.

This comment is hurtful on so many levels! It was a baby to the mom – you feel the connection and the physical effects and your body changing from VERY early on.

At least you didn’t know your baby!

All women know their babies growing inside of them.  You mean before it was a real baby and I got attached? Nope, this does not make any difference. It still hurts like mad. Some of us love our babies from the minute we found out we were pregnant.

There must have been something wrong.  -or- It’s probably for the best.

Never speculate that a miscarriage was for the best. Miscarriages happen for many reasons, and you do not know what may or may not have caused this particular loss. The best for whom? Me? The now-dead baby? You? The greater good of the nation? This does not make the person feel better.

It won’t happen again

Everyone hopes that everything will be fine in the next pregnancy, but sometimes it isn’t. Women who have recurrent miscarriages often remember being reassured by others that everything would be fine next time, and sometimes this makes for an even harder time coping with the second loss.

After so many miscarriages you should be getting used to it.

I have had 10 miscarriages and each one was equally painful – no matter how far along I made it to. Each one was a baby and each one was important and wanted!

Be brave, don’t cry. -or- Get on with your life, this isn’t the end of the world!

It is healthy and important to grieve.

Remember, when a woman is going through a miscarriage, she is mourning over

  • the death of her child and the fact that she will not get to hold her child or meet her baby face to face
  • the knowledge that she will not get to watch her child grow up, see her child’s personality develop or see her child achieve his/her dreams
  • a sense of failure. I haven’t met a woman yet who has miscarried and hasn’t wondered if it was somehow her fault. She failed, her body failed, she’s being punished for a past mistake, she shouldn’t have eaten this or drank that – all of these thoughts can easily play through the grieving mommy’s mind.


6 SIMPLE WORDS TO SAY:
I AM SORRY FOR YOUR LOSS

So…

by | Sep 14, 2010 | Coping With Losing A Partner, Grief, Help For Grief And Grieving, Loss, Parent Loss, Partner/Spouse Loss | 4 comments

part 2

14
SEP
maybe.

so.

he’s dead.

dead..wtf? my life my future, my love? what the hell just happened?

i sit there, in the ER. all i can think about is my son, at home. not knowing. HE DIDN’T KNOW..his dad is DEAD!!!

friends have started to arrive at the ER, (friends….i got friends)…i don’t know how they knew (susan? yes)…and i have to comfort them, but my son is at home. TAKE ME HOME!!

so, of the friends who have arrived, i take sheri and david. david drives me home, sheri following in my car.

as we drive up..i see the kid in the driveway. HOW???HOW????

i get out of the car, and he starts to scream. i will NEVER forget that howl. later, i will learn that the same howl emanated from me in the ER..i don’t remember it. but the kid’s…i’ll never forget that sound as long as i live. the sound of a heart breaking, both of our hearts, broken.

prior to leaving the ER i had told them i was going to go get my son and could they please clean everything up so i could have him see his dad. they did great…when we got there…well, tom looked as good as a new corpse could. we cried, and held him, and talked to him and cried and cried and cried….

and there were more people there by that time. because, because my husband and i are so lucky to have the friends we do, did. when we were on the way to the hospital, my friend susan, who i called, called her husband, and the word started to spread.

and some came to the hospital, but most people went to another friends house. and when the word came that tom was dead, well…all those gathered headed for my house. and the word kept going out. and by the time my son and i got back home there were 40 people in the house . and an hour later 80. and food, like the loaves and fishes…..

i can’t write anymore tonight.

maybe a little more. this is MY story, our story, but grief.. god, grief is binding. and there is so much neo-natal and child grief on this board that i cannot read it because it KILLS me. but i know it, just differently.and i pray that someone else will come on with a story like mine because i need to be identified with. if you’re reading this and not posting…please do.

PLEASE.

Tears For Fears

by | Sep 14, 2010 | Anger, Anxiety, Breast Cancer, Cancer and Neoplasia, Caregiver, Coping With Cancer, Family, Fear, Feelings, Guilt, Stress, Trauma | 0 comments

I’m not even sure to where to start.  Remember that fever?  It finally went away.  Then it came back.  A second set of bloodwork later, the doctor still thinks it’s viral.  I get a chest x-ray to rule out pneumonia.  Next is a CT scan,  then a biopsy.  The biopsy has to be done under general anesthesia by a mediastinoscopy, and a bronchoscopy is thrown in for good measure.  Now they think I have Hodgkins.

I know that there are readers who will get this so much more than others that have already heard it from me.  My biggest fear?  What if I have to have chemo and stop nursing my daughter?  It’s going to break her little heart (and mine) if she looks up at me, her mama, with her pleading, beautiful blue eyes and signs for her nursies and i have to say no.

I can’t say any more than that right now.  I just can’t.  This fear is crippling me and the tears won’t stop.