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Triggers And TV Shows

by | Oct 25, 2010 | Grief, Help For Grief And Grieving, Livng Through A Miscarriage, Loss, Miscarriage | 3 comments

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.

Make Me A Day, Make Me Whole Again

by | Oct 20, 2010 | Anger, Anxiety, Family, Feelings, Guilt, How To Help A Friend With Infertility, Infertility, Jealousy, Loneliness, Sadness, Stress, Trauma | 0 comments

“baker baker baking a cake
make me a day
make me whole again
and i wonder what’s in a day
what’s in your cake this time”

Infertility has forever changed the fundamentals of my being.  Almost two years have passed since I suffered through the last of my IVF cycles.  Physically, my body seems to have recovered from that violation.  Emotionally, I am damaged beyond repair.  I mourn the loss of that whole, hopeful person I once was.  Even though he’d never admit it, I’ve also crushed my husband’s dreams of normalcy.   I can’t help but wonder how many maybe babies there were that we never knew, that never stood a chance.  I’m heartbroken for my friends who are still fighting the uphill battle towards motherhood and those who are suffocating under the crushing weight of loss.

Maybe today I’ll file away some of my bitterness and anger.  So much of it I carry around in secret.  After all, I have my beautiful, perfect little girl here in my arms.  What about my friends who don’t?  Don’t they better deserve to wear their heartache like a badge of honor?

Aren’t I supposed to just get over it and just be happy?  I want to, but I know I never will.

One Year, One Month, 16 Days

by | Oct 20, 2010 | How To Cope With A Suicide, Suicide | 2 comments

They say (and just who the hell are “they” anyway?) that the first year is the hardest. I keep waiting for this to be true, for it to get easier. Maybe no one dares tell the honest truth: that losing a loved one so unexpectedly, so needlessly, and so tragically never gets easier? I don’t know. I am still figuring it out.

All I can truthfully say is that September 9, 2009, marked the end of my carefully-constructed life. The walls of shelter I had built around my family – especially my boys – were instantly demolished, leaving no trace of the safety I believed they provided. After that day, I no longer understood anything. I didn’t view anything the same. Some things I became unable to appreciate, while other things that I had previously not noticed, I began to cherish. My days are still like this – full of the confusion and turmoil of what life means now that my brother is gone.

In some small ways, it does get easier. Rarely anymore is my first morning thought, “Jeff is gone.” I don’t cry during my morning showers anymore, or lock myself in the bathroom just for that purpose – in fact, I can’t remember the last time I did. I don’t feel that sense of impotent anger that I couldn’t stop his actions, and worse, that I wasn’t aware, didn’t notice, and/or missed the signs he was even considering such a drastic way to fix what he thought unfixable. I no longer hold myself responsible for not seeing what couldn’t, and wasn’t, seen by anyone, not even those closest to him.

The hard times come at unexpected moments, like when I am at the bedside of an elderly patient, dying due to incurable disease, for some reason being kept alive by every conceivable medical intervention. Usually I am involved with my team performing an intervention that will do nothing lifesaving or really even ease any suffering. I wonder if the patient truly is suffering, and if this moment in the future could have been foreseen, would choices have been made differently? Then I think of my brother – choice no longer applies to his mortality. And I think about the patient’s family; I re-experience how very painful it is to let go of someone you love, and whether or not I agree with their decisions to keep the patient alive. I empathize in my own way.

Other hard times come when I am with a newly-diagnosed cancer patients, in the prime of their lives, now with a disease that is quite possibly incurable – I sense their questions, sometimes before they even utter them, things like, “Will I see my son or daughter get married/have kids/graduate from college?” or “Will I be alive to see the birth of my next grandchild?” And questions like “What will be left of me as a functioning person after all the surgery, chemotherapy, radiation, etc….? Will the suffering be worth it?” To all of these questions, I do my best not to answer, as I simply don’t know. I try not to say much, if at all, and instead offer a hand to hold and a listening ear. I don’t want to influence other people’s personal dramas with my own loss. After such encounters I feel the whole cycle of emotions of losing Jeff again, from denial, to anger, to bargaining, to sadness, and to a sort of acceptance –  not necessarily in that order.

Do I still have times when I burst into tears because of a song on the radio? Or when my youngest child brings me a book to read that Jeff and his lovely wife bought for him? When my oldest son says, “Remember when Jeff and I would have sleepovers, play video games, and eat Oreos?”….or at any of the thousand other Remember When’s he has about his uncle? Yes!! Absolutely yes!! And sometimes, for no discernible reason at all – I simply miss him so acutely that I feel a physical ache. I don’t expect that to ever go away.

At the same time, I want my boys to know what a kind, giving, loving person their uncle was. I want them to know what a fantastic sense of humor he had, and how he had a way of charming even the most cantankerous person. The way he was a fantastic dresser, had impeccable taste, and was generous almost to a fault. Those were some of his many gifts. The world is definitely poorer without him and his light. And that is the saddest part of all – not that I miss him, or that my boys miss him, but for all the people who now won’t have a chance to meet him and be touched by what made him someone we all loved so much.

I love you Jeff! My boys love you!! We miss you more than words can say, but I know we were blessed to know you for the time you were here! Thank you for your love, for making us laugh, for having the grossest feet of anyone in our family, for being most comfortable making us all uncomfortable, and for always being there with a big, reassuring hug. On some of my worst days, especially lately, I remember those hugs, and imagine your big, strong arms are still hugging me from wherever you are. Then I feel a little better, and I remember just how much strength you have given me through the years to keep on going. So I do.

I love you, my “little” brother!

Broken Promises

by | 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 | 4 comments

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.

2010: Year of the Suck

by | Oct 12, 2010 | Brain Cancer, Cancer and Neoplasia, Coping With Anxiety Disorders, Coping With Domestic Abuse, Domestic Abuse, Helping Someone In An Abusive Relationship, Parent Loss, Pediatric Cancer, Postpartum Depression, Single Parenting, Things That Are Bullshit | 0 comments

Cancer took my Daddy not even three months ago. The rest of the year hasn’t been much better.

2010 was supposed to be a fun year. A great vacation with my little girl – she was turning 5. We were so excited. First inkling that 2010 would NOT be cool? My 5-year olds dad would not allow me to get her a passport to take her on a cruise. The bastard didn’t think I’d bring her back! Wha? Obviously he knows me even less than he did when we were married. Idiot.

So my dreams of a Mama and Gigi vacation were put on the back burner.

February 2nd, I turned 32 and I wasn’t happy about it.

Where was my life? Not where I wanted it even though I did everything the right way. I graduated high school, went straight to college, graduated college, married college sweetheart and waited the right time after the wedding to have baby. We thought that three years was a good amount of time.

Uhhh…not so much.

Marriage was not a happy thing for me. Every day, I was put-down. My self-esteem shattered. I found out I was pregnant (because, you know, that’s what happens when you have sex and don’t use protection. After, all it was “cheaper” to use condoms instead of birth control pills. Or something like that).

All my life I wanted to be a mother. My pregnancy was awful. Not because I was sick or anything but because my husband was an asshole. He called fat and crazy, I started believing him while I wondered what the fuck I was doing with this bastard? Well, I needed to work things out because we were having a baby. And not just a baby…MY daughter, the one that I been waiting my whole life to have.

She was born on a freezing cold St. Patrick’s day. Came screaming into the world and was…perfect. This child was sent to save my life, I knew that the moment I saw her. We named her Grace (I call her Gigi online for “privacy”). I promised that little girl on the first night of her life that I would never let ANYTHING hurt her. ANYTHING or anyONE.

Life went on with a colicky, very super-attached-to Mama infant. That child cried more than I thought anyone could ever cry EVER. I wore holes in the carpet walking with her jiggling her and whispering “shhhhhhh shhhhhhh” to get her to sleep. We moved to a brand-new city when she was five months old. Because it’s REALLY a good thing to uproot a mom with severe postpartum anxiety and depression from her only support system (her family) and move her with her colicky infant to a new place where she has to “bring home the bacon” while he leaves at 6:00 am every day to get a fancy-schmancy MBA. I was in a really good place in life. /sarcasm

Two months into the hell that was this move, I was on the phone with my mother while I was pumping in a dark, cold, hidden office at my work. I told her how awful The Husband had been. I told her that he’d said he would “rather me be dead than be Grace’s mom.” (Now there was more that happened but I’ve blocked most of it out. Some broken closet doors, a night spent sleeping with 911 dialed on my phone in front of my daughters crib and some other stuff)

Somehow, this didn’t concern me for ME…but for her. My mom decided that she and my father would hook up their trailer that night and make the 3 1/2 hour trek and move us home the next day.

The next morning I got up and dutifully kissed my husband goodbye. I called my parents as soon as he was out and could no longer be seen on the road. By 12:30 we were headed “home.” I called The Husband and told him that we were gone and things needed to change before we came back.

I fully believed that we WOULD be going back. But then? Then my colicky cried-all-the-time-unless-she-was-attached-to-Mama’s-boob became Super Happy Confident 7-month old. What? My child was picking up on every single source of stress in me and reacting from that. Weird. I’ve always said she is my heart and she truly was…we have been cosmically connected from the moment of her conception.

Anyway…4 years and much angst, tears, anger, hurt, hearings, court sessions, lawyers and judges later – I was declared free and divorced from The Husband. Whoopee! But yet I still had to hand over a piece of me every other weekend and every Tuesday evening. Grrr. I still hate him even though he is now The Ex.

Anyway…2010 was a year of promise. It was going to be good. I had a job that was as close to my dream job as I could get (or at least as close to my dream salary being somewhat geographically challenged). This was going to be a GOOD YEAR.

And then? It wasn’t.

February 4th. My Mama took a slip on the ice. A couple of scary moments where we thought she was bleeding in her brain. BLEEDING in her brain. That was bad. I took off work and ran to rescue my child (whom my mother took care of and didn’t know if she was at school or not because she wasn’t quite sure when or where she fell – a severe concussion will do that to you).

February 5th. I got fired from my job. FIRED FROM MY JOB. I’m a single mom who bought her very first house not even 5 months before and my jackass bosses FIRED me. I won’t get into reasons but let’s just say they aren’t exactly all “legal.”

Then my Daddy starts having health issues while we are still dealing with my Mama’s issues. Now yes, I’m 32 years old but when I say I’m close with my family – I am CLOSEWITHMYFAMILY. Multiple conversations with each of them a day. These people are not only my blood relations but my best friends.

So…winter turns to spring, I may or may not be enjoying a bit of unemployment fun and playing the “stay at home mom” gig. Never thought it would happen as I’m a single mom and well, I have no sugar daddy.

April…my fabulous Daddy is diagnosed with fucking brain cancer. BRAIN CANCER. It seriously doesn’t get much worse than that. He died not even three months after diagnosis. Motherfucking cancer and the motherfucking staph infection that came with his surgeries. I am not prepared to be half an orphan. I’m too young for this crap.

Then my sister…ahhh…my sister. There are not enough words or space on this site to even get into her. I love her, she drives me crazy and I love her 4 children as my own. She moved them 3 hours away. 3 hours away! Not the best choice given everything going on (and by everything I mean that this storyline could rival any soap opera…I’m NOT KIDDING). So my dad dies, my sister moves, my daughter-my heart-my sidekick in everything starts real life school and I have NO FUCKING JOB.

Add onto this that my nephew (0ne of the 4 that my sister has birthed) has leukemia. Yeah…unfortunately after everything we’ve been through this year that is an afterthought now. Poor kid. But he is doing well so that’s always a positive.

So…that’s my story. I have no “home.” This story could go under abuse (which I grazed with my marriage to The Ex), Divorce, Cancer, Parent Loss, Grief, Economic Struggles, Infidelity if I got into my sisters story, chronic illness if I went into all of my back story (Ulcerative Colitis), Depression, Anxiety, Postpartum Depression, Family Relationships, Pediatric Illness and it could go on and on. So I just choose to categorize it as “Things That Are Bullshit.”

So my Band friends, this is a small piece of the fucked up-person that is me.

I’m in a full scale “life sucks” moment now and just hope eventually maybe I can shit rainbows and see unicorns again. Maybe after I kick this damn strep throat that I have right now. School cooties.