That Time of Year

It's been exactly a year since I last posted here. (Drafted a post or two, but didn't publish them). The last line of my last post was, "I guess it's just the time of year." I guess it is. Over the last several weeks, a friend has been put through the wringer, going through follow-up testing after a genetic screen showed an increased risk for anomalies for their little one.  Because of multiple procedural errors with the lab work, the final diagnosis was delayed, and the tests had to be repeated. Finally, yesterday, they heard what they didn't want to hear. We're not besties, but my heart is breaking for her and her husband.

Random ramblings

I didn't sleep well last night. It was partly because I was very aware that today was Morgan's due date anniversary, and partly because of a tragic story I read before bed.  I knew today was coming. This, the fourth holiday season without Morgan, and it affects me differently each time. This morning, my first thought upon waking was that we should be having a Frozen" birthday party this weekend. Would she have liked the sagas of Elsa and Anna? Would my days be filled with alternating between multiple ear bursting renditions of "Let It Go" by Morgan, and repeated reading of Lola Loves Stories for Avery?

Morgan is the little girl I never knew, but I miss everything about her. Based on their in-utero behaviors, I'm pretty sure my girls would be like night and day. Avery is a pretty chill, go with the flow kind of kid, but Morgan did not hesitate to let me know if she was not happy with the position in which I was laying or sitting. Anyone who thinks the rainbow will replace the lost baby and make everything better is sorely mistaken. One of the hardest parts about parenting a rainbow is that it drives home all that you've missed the first time around.

It seems lately, that reminders are, oddly, everywhere. Somehow, the book Someone Came Before You ended up on Avery's book shelf. This weekend, she pulled it out from amongst her many books. I held my breath, and silently  begged her not to ask me to read it as she turned it around in her hands, looking it over. While we talk about big sister often, I'm not ready to read this book.

A coworker is pregnant, and experiencing some complications. Her pregnancy has nothing to do with me, but it puts me on edge. I stay low level anxious until anyone I know has safely delivered their little one. Between my own pregnancy, and two coworkers, I've had some degree of pregnancy related anxiety for nearly 2 years!

At work, a recently hired coworker has a baby girl named Morgan. Another new coworkers name is Morgan. I don't think I've ever known a Morgan, and suddenly, they're everywhere.

When I was pregnant with Morgan, a classmate was pregnant with twin boys, due just days before me. A Facebook photo of them and their birthday presents a few weeks back physically hurt.

In guess it's just the time of year.

Three years...

Roughly five hours from now, at 2:25 am, will mark three years since my Morgan entered and left this world.  I've been dreading this week since the beginning of the month.  The first year, I was miserable.  Nashville is just cold enough to spawn a wave of fall time babies.  July 2013, everyone except me, it seemed, was pregnant.  July 2014, it was my turn, and close enough to our due date to be optimistic.  This year, I'm not pregnant (and not wanting to be, right now), and baby Avery keeps me too busy to mope and mourn.

It's an interesting place, parenting after a loss.  How to parent the living child? The only child who's not an only child.  The child who allowed me to smile a true smile for the first time in two years.  How to parent the child who does not get to play with her baby sister, show her how to be a big girl, and blame her for so much mischief?  How to preserve her memory when no one else does?  When I purposefully suppress it to fully enjoy the days with baby sister?

As we've done the last two years, we'll celebrate Morgan's day with a birthday treat.  This year, it will be a homemade cookie cake.  With work, and the every day routine, there won't be a lot of time to truly focus on Morgan's memory, and that, by itself, makes me sad.

Introducing...

Little Miss Avery Makena!  We are beyond excited, grateful, and relieved that our little girl is here safe and sound. Avery certainly has her own personality, and decided to schedule her own C-section. She was born at 10:59am on September 23, three days ahead of the plan.  6pounds, 11 ounces of sweetness.

Catching up

Things have been pretty quiet here on the old blog.  There hasn't been too much to say.

HOWEVER, Friday was a red ribbon kind of day.  Why? I officially made 34 weeks pregnant! In just under three weeks, we WILL have our healthy little girl in our arms.  Last week, my doctor said Friday would be the "point of no return."  If I happen to go into labor between now and C-section day, they won't stop it.  Straight to the OR I'll go.

Why did we keep it a secret for so long?
We felt that social support after losing Morgan was pretty limited, and thought it would be easier to endure an unannounced loss than another announced loss where it seemed as if no one cared.

Long before I conceived, we were pretty sure that knowledge of this pregnancy would be on a need-to-know basis.  It's certainly been a weird place to be: growing more and more excited as each week passes uneventfully, but afraid that the moment anything was said out loud, that everything would fall apart.  We didn't even tell our parents until the very end of  the second trimester.  That wasn't too hard, considering we don't live anywhere near family.  I've started, several times, to reveal here, but chickened out. Again, it seemed like speaking of the pregnancy would be the moment it fell apart. No one else knows and will not know until she's here safe and sound.  I'm sure there will be some hurt feelings, but tough turkey.

How are things going?
Aside from what seems like a billion doctor's appointments, it's been a pretty uneventful pregnancy.  The TAC is doing it's job, and my cervix hasn't budged.  I only saw the high risk doctor once, when we developed a care plan. My OB has stuck to the plan, and we haven't had any issues.  But boring does not mean stress free! The physical demands have been few, but the emotional demands of a rainbow pregnancy have made up for that, and even made the physical discomforts worse. When you know too much, it's easy for your mind to run wild.

What was the care plan?
Because there's not a whole lot they could do for my incompetent cervix above and beyond the TAC, it's been mostly a lot of monitoring.  I have had several ultrasounds to check cervical length in the second trimester.  Because I tested low for a protein (pregnancy associated plasma protein A aka Papp-A) associated with placenta dysfunction, I was placed on a regimen of baby aspirin to prevent pre-eclampsia.  I also got another series of ultrasounds to monitor Baby's growth.  Aside from being anterior (on the front side), the placenta is fine.  Little miss missy has stayed around the 75th percentile!  I also have been getting weekly Makena (17OHP progesterone) injections to prevent preterm labor since week 16.  Only 2 more to go!

Birthdays

Have you ever forgotten your own birthday?  Have you ever wanted to?

Last week, a coworker suggested we have lunch sometime this week.  She suggested Thursday. We have a standing conference call every Thursday morning that lasts about two hours, and it drives her crazy.  So, I, not really thinking it through, asked if she was expecting this week's call to be especially horrendous. "No, you know,...it's July 24...."

Oh. Yeah.  It is my birthday, isn't it?  Two years ago, I would have spent the entire month leading up to my birthday planning out some new cake flavor combo or recipe, complete with piped frosting or even fondant.  This year, I picked up a cake mix that I may or may not make.

These days, I only think of my birthday in an abstract way.  It's another day, but more than anything, it ushers in the week leading up to Morgan's day on July 28.  Rather than think of my own cake, I wonder what kind of cake she'd like.  Would a two year old really have any kind of preference? Chocolate only, like her Daddy? Would she be able to pick her own party theme? I'll never, ever know.

What I do know is that I miss my little birthday girl terribly.  The day to day is OK, but times like this are the worst.

Angel Tree

Morgan was supposed to have been our Christmas present last year, with a due date of December 10th. This year would have been her first "real" Christmas where she might have some idea of what was going on and be able to play with the pile of toys she surely would have gotten.

Last week,  while discussing our future family, my husband told me, "We have a lot of love to give".  This is true, and while I would love to pour that love on our baby girl, that is not to be.  But, I thought it would be a good idea to pour that love on another little girl Morgan's age by adopting an Angel from the Salvation Army's Angel Tree program.

If you're not familiar with the program, families who are unable to provide holiday gifts to their children can sign up with the Angel Tree program.  The parent lists a couple of needs and a couple of wants. Individual children (or entire families) can be adopted.  The Salvation Army suggests filling the need plus 2-3 toys.

It's funny, I felt really good to have had this idea, and went into the room where C was to tell him about it.  By the time I walked across the house, I could barely get the words out.  They give you the option to select the Angel from the trees at the mall or online.  I chose the online option, as you can filter by age and gender, and I had no intention of going to the mall this weekend.  Doing so was a good option, as that also made me cry.  It hurt my heart to see eight one year old girls were in need and had not yet been selected.  Especially with the donation deadline coming up next week.

Parents of the children don't ask for much.  Our child needed clothes and wanted a push toy and a doll. We got her a couple of outfits and the toys.  Since I'm no longer in school, we had it to give.  I'm pretty sure we would have spent way more on Morgan, just to watch her put the boxes on her head!

I don't know what happens to the kids who aren't chosen.  But if you can, and you're looking for a positive way to deal with missing your baby, this might be an option.

Thankful

This time last year, I didn't feel that I had very much to be thankful for.  In fact, I spent a bit of time after Thanksgiving dinner, in my car, in my mother's driveway, crying.

This year, I still miss my Morgan and wish she was here with us.  But this year, I'm thankful for the gift of hope.  One week ago, we flew to Chicago for me to get a transabdominal cerclage (TAC).  Though I  am shuffling around with a sore belly, I now have real hope that I can carry a baby to term.  This is the first time I've felt this way in a year and a half.

While I'm laying in bed, with plenty of time to think, I wonder if I'm not being overly optimistic.  Shortly after we scheduled the surgery, I bought two little onesies, one pink, one blue, online.  And this weekend, I crocheted the sweetest little yellow baby sweater.  A little premature, but that's OK.  I like to think it's no different from the Pinterest board of baby items I started collecting before we even started trying the first time.  My perspective will likely ebb and flow over time, but to even think that I have a snowball's chance of a "normal" pregnancy is more than enough to be thankful for.

Halloween

I've never been much of a Halloween person.  But this year, I've though a lot about Halloween and dressing Morgan up in a little costume.  This would have been her second Halloween: the first where she could "kind of" go trick or treating, and probably the last where I could dress her up as something totally adorable.  I figured by next year, at almost two and a half, she might have some ideas of her own.

Last year, the time from Thanksgiving to New Year's was pretty sucky.  Hopefully, this year won't be so bad, or last so long.  It's hard walking the line between the disaster that has defined my life thus far, and being optimistic that there could soon be a next time and things will change for the better.  Bouncing back and forth is tiring, though.

Worry wart

Every day after work for the past week, I immediately turn on my computer and check a specific email account, as well as the insurance company's website.  Why?

In early September, we had a phone consultation to determine whether a trans-abdominal cerclage was an option for us to help me carry a baby to term.  After deciding it was the right thing to do, I scheduled myself for surgery in November.  The surgery is just over three weeks away, and my insurance pre-authroization hasn't been approved.  So, I'm nervous that they won't approve it.  In addition, three weeks is cutting it close when you're traveling out of state.  Many ladies on Abbyloopers, a site dedicated to info on this procedure, have the same insurance, and had no issues.  Worries, worries.

Anxious and worried that it won't be approved.  Anxious and worried that it won't work.

To Be a Fly on the Wall

Remember several years back when MTV had a show with the tagline, "You think you know, but you have no idea"?  I think it was called "True Story".

Yesterday, I went to spend the morning at a knitting/crochet event.  I opted to sit at a table with a younger woman and her older companion.  Well, the younger woman (Tattoo Chick) was pregnant and talking to her friend (Purple Hair) about the upcoming baby shower.  No big deal, didn't bother me at all.  Tattoo Chick goes on to discuss how a mutual acquaintance of theirs had stopped speaking to them after their pregnancy announcement, but was now speaking to her and her boyfriend again.  Turns out the mutual acquaintance has PCOS and has not been able to conceive a child.  Tattoo Chick and Purple Hair proceed to go on an on about how it's this third woman's own fault she can't get pregnant.  You know why?  "Because all you have to do is go to the doctor."

Infertility has not been my struggle, but I do know it's a little (!) more involved than just going to the doctor.  Overhearing this entire conversation just pissed me off, from start to finish.  No wonder the friend stopped talking to Tattoo Chick.  Tattoo Chick and Purple Hair also went on to say the friend probably wouldn't be a good mother, anyway.  I, of course, don't know these two women or their "friend", but I could just as easily say that a woman with tattoos all over her arms, chest and neck with barbells hanging out of her nose isn't a good mother, either.

So here I am, sitting there with my pregnancy loss awareness ribbon on, stewing in my own juices.  I felt bad for the friend, having to put up with these know-it-alls who are lucky enough to pop out babies like gum balls, telling her how easy it is to get pregnant.

See, they think they know, but have no idea.

A Breath of Fresh Air

I mentioned a few weeks ago that we were considering a trans-abdominal cerclage.  Today, we had a phone consultation with Dr. Haney in Chicago, and it really was like a breath of fresh air.  Compared to that awful postpartum appointment this same time last year, today's discussion was like getting fresh air after nearly suffocating.

All day at work, I was excited to speak with him, almost as if he was going to hand us a baby over the phone.  In the minutes before I dialed, my stomach was in knots as if going for a job interview.  Worse, actually.

Dr. Haney was very friendly, and explained everything clearly.  Most importantly, he saw no reason for couples to have to jump through hoops and lose 3 or more babies before "believing" a woman has an incompetent cervix.

The (Anti) Grief Diet

In the three weeks after we lost Morgan, I lost about 15-20 pounds.  I'd been wanting to lose the weight I gained in graduate school (about 30 lbs.), and in  this terrible twist of fate, VOILA!  At the time, I told my husband that at least I wouldn't be a "Biggest Loser" sob story.  Every season, they have a contestant who has suffered an extreme family loss and gained lots of weight after.  There I was with two of the classic weight gain excuses: grad school and death.

Flash forward a year, and not only did I regain those 15 or so pounds, but they brought along a few friends.  Once I started eating again, I really started eating, and an extraordinary amount of those calories came from pure-d-sugar.  I mean, really, I was denied my daughter, was I really going to be denied a brownie (cake, cupcake, doughnut), too?

But on Monday, I officially turned over a new leaf.  Apparently, public accountability motivates me.  My department at work started a "Biggest Loser" type wellness challenge running through November 1.  But it's not their prize I'm after.  I want to be as healthy as possible when we're ready to try conceiving again.  There are going to be many things out of my control, but my weight and physical fitness are entirely in my own control.  I want to fit into the myriad of clothes in my closet, rather than the handful of things that currently fit.  From a vanity perspective, I don't want the doctor to have to heave my belly fat out of the way if/when I have the TAC surgery.  And, tight abs pre-surgery will help the recovery go faster!  I'm tired of feeling sluggish and tired.

So, anyway, here's my public declaration.  The grief and pain of losing Morgan has made it easy to let myself go, physically and emotionally.  But, now, I'm getting my self and sense of self back!  I'm officially on the anti-grief diet.  The girl in this picture is coming back!

Me, fall 2007.  A bit extreme, perhaps, but it's doable!

Only a Husband

I used to have a blog called 'Only a Husband'.  It was for all of those little things C does that are not fuss-worthy, but certainly not the way I would do them.  After only 3 or so posts in a year, I took it down.

Anyway, I had one of those moments today.  After losing Morgan, I immediately started my research to learn more about what incompetent cervix was, and what could be done about it.  I found out about a procedure called a trans-abdominal cerclage, which is when the surgeon places a loop of suture at the junction of the uterus and cervix.  The procedure is similar in many ways to a C-section, without actually cutting the uterus.  As the stitch is meant to be permanent, it requires a C-section delivery.  I told C about this, and we both felt it was pretty extreme, though I could see the allure in such a procedure.  Fast forward to last night, when I decided to send an email to one of the few doctors in the country who does this surgery on a regular basis.  Just to see what he had to say.  At first, C seemed upset that I'd sent the email.  But, oh boy!  This morning, when I forwarded Dr. Haney's response, his tune certainly changed!  Now, after reading the doctor's repeat of the things I'd already said, he's almost 100% on board with us flying to Chicago for this surgery.  Now, I don't have MD behind my name, but  folks do call me Dr.  I understand where he's coming from and that he's worried about me in surgery, but c'mon! Give me a little credit in deciphering the situation!

I know his heart is the right place, and his hesitance comes from concern.  This is just one of those 'Only a Husband' moments.

Morgan's Daddy Speaks

On the anniversary of losing Morgan, her daddy had a few things to say.  Check out the main video, and the addendum, below:

Morgan's Day

Today is the one year anniversary of my Morgan's death.  I don't know how to refer to this day.  "Birthday" isn't really right.  She died before she was born.  And besides, birthday is always preceded by "happy".  "Anniversary" is an option, bit also doesn't sing for me.  Some use the term "angelversary", but that doesn't work for me, either.  I've just been calling it Morgan's day.

Whatever it's called, it's not the day is should be.  I've been thinking for months of how to mark this day, and I'm still empty handed.  I abandoned the idea of releasing one of those Chinese paper lanterns with a candle, but I would hate to set the state of Tennessee on fire honoring our daughter's memory.  And after participating in several balloon releases, it's like letting her go all over again.  Every. Single. Time.  What I've been thinking are the unrealistic things: what kind of cake would she like?  Would she a sweets eater like her parents, and dive in to her cake headfirst? Or be one of those timid babies who just sticks a single finger into the frosting?  Would she have learned to stick up one finger to tell people she was one?  I know exactly what this day is: sad, painful, and full of pretend memories.  I also know what it should be: a bright, happy, sunny day with balloons, cake, and sticky, frosting flavored kisses from the birthday girl.

A few weeks ago, to add Morgan's presence to our home, I got the idea to buy a child size rocking chair.  It turned into a small wooden rocking horse that I'm going to sand down and stain.  I also am making a small quilt to drape over the seat.  In my head, I think of these projects as Morgan's birthday presents, but they won't be finished for today.  As of 7am, there is no plan.  I guess we'll continue to play it by ear.

Random

No theme, just random grief related thoughts...

A (hair) blogger that I follow shared that she had just had a miscarriage.  I'm sorry that she had to experience that, but I'm glad she chose to share with her mainstream audience.  I was especially glad when she wrapped up her post with "I entirely understand how statistically common it all is. But that doesn't make me feel any better.  Not right now."  I was especially glad because she's a licensed therapist.  It seems everyone's telling you to go to a therapist so you can get over it.  HAving a therapist validate  the pain is interesting.

I was driving to work today, and got stopped at a light behind a mini van.  As usual, per mini van law, they had those stick figure family decals.  They had two baby/child angel decals.  Since I was headed into the downtown government area, I kind of hoped they were going to the same parking lot as me so I could ask where they got them.  Stalkerish, I know.  I usually think these are cheesy! This wasn't it, but something similar.

Image from stickfamilyfiguresdecals.com

Yesterday was my birthday.  Yet another day I'd been dreading because it's just 4 days before Morgan's day.  It seems my own mother "forgot" why I wouldn't be looking forward to it.  Last week she asked if I was excited or looking forward to my birthday.  When I said, "Not really, it's just another marker of non-happy things," all she could say was "Oh, I guess it is."  The icing on the cake was when I got home from work yesterday, there was an envelope from the hospital where Morgan was delivered.  It was a sympathy card inviting us to a memorial service.  The rational me would say, "That's nice of them."  The angry me who got no kind of sympathy from them at all when Morgan died says it's too little, too late.  And isn't it just great that it arrives on my birthday, in time for Morgan's day.  Don't they have good timing.  (The day wasn't a total wash.  We went out for a nice dinner.)

365 days of Unhappy

Today, July 22, marks the one year anniversary of the last day I was happy.  On this day last year, I was completely and deliriously happy; so blind and oblivious to my body's betrayal.  On this day last year, I was looking forward to our 20 week ultrasound the next day. Finding out our baby's gender was to be the best birthday and Christmas present ever, all rolled into one.  I got my gift (It's a girl!) and had it snatched away less than five minutes later (...but she's going to die).

If you asked most people when was the last time they were happy, they would probably tell you some story about how happy they were when the good barista was on duty at the coffee shop. And they'd probably have some little thing that made them happy each and every day.  This past year, I've thrived on "the little things."  If I hadn't been finding joy where or when I could, I'd be beyond certifiably crazy right now.

Perspective is a beast.  This new perspective makes you appreciate those little things so much more, even while realizing they are so absolutely unimportant.  This weekend I went fabric shopping for the first time since March or April, and had a good time chatting with the ladies at the quilt shop and buying fabric.  I bought some fabric for a "birthday" quilt for Morgan, and for work clothes for me.  Most would find fabric shopping lame, but I survived the fall months by sewing.  Today, I was laying out some fabric and realized I got more than I needed, and it was enough for the pants I intended plus a bonus skirt.  A little perk!  An extra bonus that the pants and skirt will total $15!  Those are the little things that make me happy these days.

Ricochet

I feel like I've been thrown back in time. Ricocheting between today's reality and various points in time over the past year.  One year ago, I was counting down the days until our 20 week anatomy scan, eager to see if our Little Tater Pop was a boy or girl.  Today, I'm thinking of how to mark the first anniversary of her death, not her first birthday.

For whatever reason, it seems like the one year mark is held up as the finish line for surviving the loss of a child.  Survive the first year, and you're good.  Maybe so.  But the weeks leading up to it are crap.

To Raise a Son?

I tend to keep my political opinions to myself.  But today, I must speak.

Since losing Morgan, I've thought on more than one occasion that Baby #2 should be a boy.  I'm sure Baby #2 will have more than his/her share of issues being raised by paranoid parents who know how easily loss can come.  I also want to prevent any projections of the hopes or dreams we had for Morgan onto another baby girl.  She deserves her own hopes and dreams.  We actually just talked about why Baby #2 should be a boy yesterday afternoon.

But, today, I wonder if that's the best decision.  By now, we've all heard the "not guilty" verdict in the George Zimmerman/Trayvon Martin case.  I was not a witness to the events that night in Florida, so I'm not commenting on the verdict itself.  My comment here is on the society in which we live that allows issues such as these to come to light.

Do I want to raise a son who can be legally followed down the street because his skin is brown?  A son who can't legally follow a suspicious White man down the street? A son who is perceived as a threat because, in winter, he had his hood pulled over his ears?  It's unfortunate that we live in a "post-racial America" where justice is a one way street.  It's scary to think that despite my and my husband's best efforts, our straight A, well mannered, clean cut son will have to observe a different protocol than his White peers when pulled over by the police to avoid getting shot for pulling a gun, which is really just his license and registration.  I'm not even close to being a petite woman, and my husband is a tall, husky guy.  Any son of ours will certainly cast an imposting shadow in the dark.  Are these unwritten protocols the things we want to teach him?  It's our hope that one day, we'll be home owners.  Maybe even in a gated community with a neighborhood watch patrol.  Will our son be able to feel "at home" when at home?