Contradiction

Grieving confuses me.  It makes me contradict myself.  I want to be happy and me again, but I don't want to be the me without her.  I don't want to dwell on my loss because it's so easy to marinate in it, but I don't want to move on.  Her images haunt me, but as much as it hurts, I don't want them to leave.  And though I ache, I don't want to stop thinking about her.  Grieving is strange. 

Evolution

I was walking across the street from the bus stop when I realized loss evolves.  The anger I once had and the way I rationalized last year's events no longer exist.  It isn't about what happened to me any more.

In the beginning, I carried the feeling of loss and of being victimized.  And I tried to understand why I lost my daughter.  I justified it, saying it had to happen to make me a better mother, which sounds ridiculous now.  This event appropriated the importance of things by showing what is not worth sacrificing.  Looking back on this, I feel guilty.

I only feel loss now.  I walk around empty and deflated without trying to stamp a reason for it.  No matter why or how, she is gone.  I frequently wonder if I made the right decision.  It's something that happens when I catch the date and calculate how old she would be.  There is no right answer when it comes to TFMR.  It's a decision made for the welfare of your child, but it does not have defined wrong/right boundaries.  It's your best choice made from the worst circumstance and you mourn your decision and you grieve for your loss because you lost your baby.

I used to think having another baby would help relieve my pain and though I still believe it will help, it will not make up for my loss.  I have been TTC since the return of my cycle and a part of me gets sad thinking about conceiving a healthy baby because that child will have the life my daughter deserved.  She will never experience a life with her parents.  She will never learn what sounds or tastes make her smile.  She'll never know what it's like to wait on Christmas day for presents or what snow feels like when it falls on her face.  And so TTC is a painful process because as much as I want another baby, I think about the little person who should be with me now waiting impatiently for a brother or sister.

I try to keep these feelings from peaking, but it's difficult.  I can only keep my momentum forward, hoping to maneuver physically what cannot be done emotionally.        

The 5 Stages of Grief

In my experience, these stages aren't always one directional.  You can be pinballed between two, move to the third stage only to return to the second.  Grief does not abide by order or timetables.  

Helping Hands

I don't know if I mentioned it before, but I follow my basal body temperature (BBT) throughout my cycle to pinpoint ovulation.  I did the same when conceiving Nahuatl and it's a method I have confidence in.  There are many online and phone applications that help log and store waking temperatures to use as future predictions for when ovulation may occur again.  Because my temperatures are post pregnancy loss, I share my monthly cycles with communities so that others can compare and see how it may affect BBT in the beginning and later on. When I was waiting for my menses to return, I didn't know what to expect.  But I noticed my temperatures were uncharacteristic of past measurements and I wished I had examples to confirm what I was experiencing was normal. So I hope my early charts can give insight to others.

But now that my hormones have balanced, I still share my cycles so that others can see how long I've been TTC.  It's my way of providing statistics to demonstrate the time it may take someone who lost a baby to conceive again.  There are many factors to consider.  We're dealing with hormone fluctuations, grief, and sometimes depression.  All of which affect fertility.  So I share my cycles to indicate that it can take a while.   But I also share for the support I can't find elsewhere, especially since I no longer see a therapist. And I needed a lot of it this month.

I had been crying for days at the start of this cycle and could barely get up from the couch where I brought all my blankets and a pillow to.  My husband can only provide so much assurance because he experienced my pregnancy through me.  He didn't establish a bond with Nahuatl like I did.  He didn't feel her kicks or her presence that came from physical ailments and a protruding belly.  My husband didn't feel or see how different it was once she was gone.  So when sharing my chart, I asked for positive comments from others. And I received them.  They didn't try to console me, which is what I think many people try to do without realizing there are no direct words that can accomplish this. Instead, many women left notes letting me know they were traveling the same journey. And others who haven't experienced the same loss were still there saying they were glad I was a part of their community and they gave me warm wishes. One woman who lost one of her twins 2 years ago said her daughter showed her how precious it is to live. And even though my daughter's life has made it so that I sometimes want to join her, it touched me that a woman would share herself and her daughter like that.

If it weren't for the support of others, I don't know where I would be right now.  I don't know why, but it's a lonely place to lose a child.  The lack of understanding and empathy from others angers me, though I can't explain why.  The loss festers and overwhelms without helping hands and I sometimes feel like I'm drowning.  It's harder because I can't identify what I'm feeling or discern why I respond the way I do.  And it's difficult finding others that can help or are willing.  But I've noticed that the support exists. Not always where you expect it.  But it's there.  And it helps pull you out of the abyss.  

December and Dealing with the Holidays

I started this entry so long ago, but didn't have the energy at the time to finish or post it.  I have never experienced a loss like this before.  It affects my commitment and intention.  Writing often feels like a task and I have little volition to push forward.  I recognize how much I've given up, but today's goal is to get through one post no matter how unfinished it is ...

As expected, December was a very difficult time for me.  I love Christmas, but looked forward to it more when I found out I was pregnant.  A tree with baby gifts underneath.  A cozy family spending a happy day watching holiday films.  That is what I imagined when my doctor confirmed my due date. A December baby having a December baby, I was thrilled.  But instead, we were a sad family reminded of our loss at every turn.  That is why this year's holidays weren't festive and made my own birthday heartbreaking.  Friends and family only added to it.

They littered my mailbox with holiday cards of their children.  The older children were more favorable compared to the photos of toddlers and babies I received.  The latter brought me to hysterics, but both made me angry because I couldn't understand why friends and family would think it was appropriate to give a grieving mother difficult reminders so near her own baby's birthday and so close to her loss. Their insensitivity dismissed my daughter, which hurt and offended me.  But it also made me feel uncared for.

As the days from December accumulated and put more space between it and me, I noticed I was experiencing more better days than none.  I could speak to my daughter without overwhelming sadness and I started believing she would return to me.  Renewed confidence and optimism didn't help me heal, but it enabled me to look beyond the missing piece lost in August.   My bad days revolved around the end of my cycle when my body confirmed I wasn't pregnant, but I quickly recovered finding hope in my next cycle.  I thought her soul would somehow come home to me.

This cycle has been different though and I don't know why.  It has been almost a year since conceiving Nahuatl and it has been almost 6 cycles since trying to conceive another baby. I'm sure the weight of both are contributing to how hopeless and lost I feel today, though I can't assert that either reason yielded my relapse.  Right now I need to hear positive comments from mothers who lost their children late in pregnancy.  I really need to hear words that will support me.

Cocoon

These last few months I've had very little desire to write or talk to anyone, which is why I haven't posted anything in a while.  Even though the isolation exacerbates my loneliness and the pain I've accumulated by going through my loss alone, living inside a cocoon is safer than the alternative. When I talk to people, it seems as if no one can say anything right or what they say is timed poorly.  I end up getting offended or become so overwhelmed with sadness and grief I can't function. And with my daughter's due date approaching combined with not having conceived yet, I can't return to certain relationships or every day life as if my experiences and losses didn't happen or matter.

So right now I'm not a good friend, wife, or daughter.  And I don't want to be.  I am so tired of being accommodating that I've given up on things that don't center on what I am enduring.  My therapist told me it's normal to feel like that and it was good to hear someone say it.  In fact, I got a lot out of this morning's session compared to previous ones because it was very reassuring to have someone tell me my reactions and emotions are expected.  Having someone understand why I would be upset over specific and general situations was a relief because someone finally understood why losing a child is tragic in nature and devastating to the mother.  Most of the people in my life have treated my daughter and I with very little care or concern and it hurts.  But I'm also angry, which has shaped how I see people.  It's made me step back from relationships.

My therapist said my loss is still too new and that things are going to be difficult, especially with it being December.  But that it's okay.  It's okay that I haven't moved on.  It's okay that I'm focusing on me.  It's okay that I have new perspectives and expectations of people.  It's okay.

Rainbows

I don't know if this is the normal route a person takes when coping with baby loss, but for weeks I have been bouncing back and forth between a surge of hopefulness and melancholy.  Like a manic faith positioned against despair.  But a few weeks ago I crashed and I've been stuck crying inside my own bubble.  Crying on my mat in relaxation yoga.  Crying on the bus.  In the doctor's waiting room. To the staff at the hospital.  Crying from looking at my husband.  At his hands and feet.  I've been full of salt and snot.  And when I'm not crying, all I think about is a rainbow baby.    

When I was pregnant with Nahuatl, my head was full of doom.  I was cautious even before her diagnosis. It's as if I was waiting for misfortune and I couldn't bring myself to experience anything good in case it was taken from me.  But I think my approach limited the moments I had with her (the moments that were rightfully ours).  I regret how negative I was and I'm trying not to be like that anymore.  So I've been knitting baby clothes because I am hoping for a rainbow.  It comforts me.

I still have many fears and personal questions.  Questions of right and wrong that won't ever get answered (i.e. is it right to try again).  But I am tired of over analyzing and trying to control cosmos. Anything can happen, but I don't want to see it as always getting the brunt end.  Anything can happen and that's just the way it is.        

Baby Names

Naming a baby is tricky because you have to think about derivations.  Sometimes a nickname is worse than the original, so before I got pregnant I thought about how to control that.  It was impossible to come up with a boy's name I liked, but I knew what I wanted to name my daughter if I had one.

My husband's mom comes from a town in the Mexican state Nayarit and I always liked the way it sounded.  I thought Naya for short would be perfect and my husband liked the idea because he lost touch with his mom when he was younger.  He took naming our baby after her as an homage and it made him feel good.  So we agreed if we had a girl, we would call her Nayarit.  

But once we received a poor prenatal diagnosis and the amnio showed that she was a she, I didn't know what to do.  My therapist said naming her would help with the grieving process if we decided to terminate the pregnancy, but my husband couldn't bare to name her after his mom because it was too sad for him.  I never asked why, but I wondered if Nahuatl's diagnosis represented the dysfunction between him and his mom.  And even though I didn't know for sure, I had to respect my husband's feelings.  A father grieves differently than a mother and I wanted to help him as much as I could.  But I wouldn't give my daughter any name just for the sake of moving on.  I wanted to put care into it.  So I went through traditional Aztec names and found the language Náhuatl is sometimes used. Though Náhuatl literally means "someone who makes an agreeable sound (someone who speaks my language)," some sites indicate Nahuatl depicts the migration of Mexican Indians by meaning four waters. And since I'm a sucker for meaning, we named our baby Nahuatl.  

Now that she is gone, I am compelled to do things for her.  I make sure she always has flowers (we decided her color is purple).  I kiss her everyday.  I look at my ultrasounds and touch her handprints/footprints frequently.  I rub the foot that was missing a toe.  I find ways to share her with people.  And I buy her a variety of memorial pendants.    

But a vendor has to replace one of the pendants from the necklace I received today because Nahuatl's name was misspelled.  And it's funny because I was upset at first.  I was initially horrified looking at it and couldn't understand why everything always goes wrong despite how hard I try to make life work. Nahuatl's chromosomes didn't separate right after doing everything I could to ensure a healthy pregnancy and now someone misspelled her name after leaving specific instructions at the check out. I spent all that time thinking about nicknames and choosing a new name we cared about, but at the end of the day Nahuatl was processed as Nahuati.

I sat with it for a while and I had to laugh.  A typographical error for a meiotic defect.  No matter how much I try to control events, I can't.  Some days this upsets me.  While mothers push baby strollers, I'm the one standing in line purchasing purple flowers.  But sometimes I can breath through it and find hope in acceptance.

The First Step is Always the Hardest

Your mind will answer most questions if you learn to relax and wait for the answer. - William S. Burroughs

I think the body heals faster than the mind.  I had clearance to resume normal activity 2 weeks after the procedure, but I had incredible reservations.  I was worried about my health and I wasn't sure what level of activity would be pushing it.  My endometrial lining was still healing and my nutrition had been compromised by how hard the pregnancy was.  So even with my doctor's evaluation, I was concerned about what resources I could spare on exercising. But I've coaxed myself into at least one routine each day and I think it has been beneficial on all levels.  There is one activity I've been having a difficult time with though.


My doctor didn't identify all the things I could jump back into, but sex was included from the few she named and it has not been easy.  Sex is a trigger.  It represents Nahuatl and what surgeons did to her. Allowing anyone to be where she last was feels debasing.  Sex makes me hypersensitive and aware of how different I am now that this happened.  And it makes me feel as if I am doing something wrong by trying to return to normalcy. It also means attempting to conceive again knowing that another trisomy event could occur and I don't know if I could cope if it did.

I've read on several support forums the right time to try again is when your desire for another baby outweighs your fear.  Taking my age into consideration and how much my body aches for the baby I lost, I don't know if I want to wait for that to happen.  It's cruel to think I can replace one life with another, but having a second will not only give me the baby I have wanted for years, it will also help me get through losing my daughter.  But I'm still scared.  That one percent feeds my apprehension. Though my perspective on livelihood with regards to trisomy conditions and my views on what I believe is the best choice for my child have not changed, I don't know if I could make the same decision again. And that concerns me because I don't think it's fair to a baby.  So my mind is twisted over what I want to do and what I think I should do.  Luckily my period hasn't returned yet.  Nature has provided time for silence.          

A 360 Degree Turn

The last couple days I have been keeping myself busy by going to work with my husband.  He works for a delivery company so we're on the road for most the day jumping from location to location delivering books. Normally I don't like leaving the house, but it's good going with my husband because I've been in a strange mood the last few days.  I've been abnormally calm (almost sedated). I'm not upset, but I'm not happy either.  There is this empty feeling that becomes somewhat oppressive by the middle of the day and my mind begins obsessing over what happened and wanting another baby.  It's overwhelming when I'm alone and so I think I have to keep myself busy so I don't turn catatonic.  It's not that my thoughts disappear when I'm involved with something, but I'm able to control how much they affect me when I am. And right now I'm trying to manage my mood naturally.  My therapist wants me on anti-depressants because she thinks my history suggests a biological predisposition to depression, but I would rather try alternative routes as I believe my state to be situational.  Who wouldn't crawl into his/her mind after the death of a much desired baby?

It has been difficult staying active though.  As much as I need to get involved, I have to push myself to do anything because everything feels like bullshit. Socializing, reading, hiking, working out, knitting, tackling and reinventing gourmet recipes, all the things I used to do feels like manure.  But I've been managing a few activities on the days I am not with my husband.  I have been running/walking or riding the stationary bike while watching old favorite movies.  I can't push myself to knit anything because my last project was a blanket for Nahuatl, but I have been searching for sewing patterns.  I'm curious about making my own clothes and I think easy designs will help reclaim an interest in being creative.  When I was younger I wanted to be a fashion designer, but I didn't get into one of my choice schools and I opted for plan B.  So it would be nice to revisit who I was when I was 17 especially having gravitated so far from that person.

Sometimes I wonder if Nahuatl's condition and the choice I made for her had to happen because I was going in the wrong direction as an individual.  It sounds heliocentric, but I mean that with regards to how I was mistreating people.  Making my goals a top priority at any cost sacrificed many relationships and so I can't help but think that cosmos or whatever is out there is redirecting me for a future benefit.  Perhaps this was needed to make me evaluate and grade parts of my life I've ben neglecting.  Not to trash my goals, but to make decisions about who and what is more important so that I change the way I work toward them. Was this to balance me out so that I can be a better mom, wife, daughter, friend, and doctor?

Or maybe it's all random and this is just me rationalizing to cope with something bad that happened. But trying to make sense of it and rediscovering certain interests does provide a sense of renewal. Like a second chance to be better or make things right.