two months without you

Today marks two months without you. It feels as if it were yesterday that I was choosing colors for your nursery... 

All I have today are pictures. Pictures I constantly find myself reviewing and zooming into, trying to memorize everything I have left of you.

More often than not, I have to remind myself that men do not grieve like women do. I feel so lonely... Not even my husband understands. It's not like I talk about my feelings much, but when I do, he just doesn't get it. We have such different outlooks on the subject. 

This week has been the hardest so far. I'd wake up to workout, and then go back to bed for most of the day or stayed in PJs on the couch. I only made it to work once. Sleeping is the only thing I don't get tired of. I feel like I could do it forever. I haven't felt like doing much ever since I picked up the ashes. My shrink says I should take it slow and pamper myself.

Trying to get my life back on track, I started a 4 week meditation program on Wednesdays last week. I want to be better.

I've started running. I think if I train hard enough, I'll be able to run a half marathon next year... (funny thing about goals is the higher you reach the cooler they sound, I have yet to run a 5K without dying). I might enroll now that I'm motivated. Then I think... "What if I get pregnant? I will end up losing the money."

I hate that this year revolved around the sole thought of getting pregnant, being pregnant, or staying pregnant. I don't want to continue living around my desire to have a baby. I want to live fully, even if I don't get to have a living baby. 

I ask myself... Will I be able to do so? Will I live fully with empty arms?

what my thanksgiving looked like-

I started a list about the things I'm grateful for. And around number 3 I stopped. I do not feel grateful. My heart is shattered. I lost two babies. 

I was forced to go to dinner at my brother in law's. His wife just gave birth to a beautiful baby girl (my first due date was exactly one week after hers). And then her sister in law is pregnant and my due date and hers were about two weeks apart. Ever since I got there, I felt my tears would overflow. 

No one asked me how I was doing. People I had not seen in a while sat next to me and talked about babies and future babies and counted how many boys and girls the family has. No one talked about my babies, of course. To them, they did not exist. 

My brother in law's wife complained about the pain of pumping and about all the milk she's producing. That's when I got up and went to my niece's room. 

We spent the night watching Tangled. I didn't even make it to the dinner table. I didn't even excuse myself. And I really don't care. 

Overall, we had a pretty good time. Even if it was just the two of us. It was a perfect Thanksgiving for us. 

I cried the whole ride home. 

worth reading.

Nothing to add. 

http://stillstandingmag.com/2013/11/grateful-grieving/

8 weeks of heartache.

Eight weeks have gone by and I feel nothing but emptiness. I miss you every day a little bit more, and my heart feels heavier every second that goes by. Yet it's smaller. It's been broken so many times and I've lost so many pieces, there's not a single thing on Earth able to mend it back together. Everything I do reminds me of you. Every child at school is a picture of what I have lost and will never get back. I've become more cynical (if that's even possible), and I've become more afraid. Afraid of death, of continuing to lose, of fighting these eternally long battles all by myself. I've become more anxious, more depressed, more alone. I have accepted that this pain will never leave me. And a part of me doesn't want it to go. Pain is all I have to remember you, the only existing bridge between you and me. I have begun to regret. I regret not holding you longer, not taking more pictures, not having brought a piece of you back with me. I regret not telling you enough how sorry I am. I regret not reading to you as much as I would have liked. I really did try my best to make your last moments here on Earth more comfortable, but I keep imagining the pain I put you through... I feel it myself. I hate myself for it. I hate that you had to suffer. I hate that I had to choose to let you die. I hate my body and I hate what's become of me. I can't think. I can't work. I can't be myself. I just want to go to sleep and wake up a million years from now. It's not always like this. I'm not always like this. There are days less painful than today. There are days when I can't wait to be pregnant again. There are others, like today, that I don't want other babies. I want you. I don't bother telling anyone how I feel, I'd rather not listen to any more "encouraging" talks. No one cares to ask how I feel either. Maybe they're afraid of my cynicism. But I don't want to be told I'm young and have time. I don't want time if it's not with you. You represent the happiest and darkest days of my life. I am grateful to have been chosen as your mom, even if it hurts this much. As long as I'm living, my babies you'll be...

what hope looks like

Four years ago, I started dating my now husband. One of the things I loved and still love most about him is his family. I quickly became friends with his mother and sister, who in no time became a second mom to me and the sister I never had. 

Since then, I witnessed my sister's struggles with infertility. I suffered every one of her losses as my own. Throughout the years, we lost everything but hope. We had nothing to hold on to or look forward to, as every attempt on having *living* children had failed. Then in 2013, after having lost two sets of twins (the first set at 14 and 17 weeks, the second at 21.5 weeks), the surrogacy journey started. In March 2014, my favorite girl in the world was born. Sure, her cute cheeks and long lashes help, but she's my all-time favorite mostly because of what she represents. 

She's the definition of hope and perseverance. She's the perfect rainbow after a hell of a storm. 

Her sole presence encourages me to keep on, because someday I too might have a rainbow in my arms. 

wordless wednesday

only for a moment, and that moment's gone.

all that's left of me...

the waiting game... part II

I finally got answers. Perhaps not the ones I wanted, but answers nonetheless. 

Our baby tested positive for CHARGE Syndrome. A relief, because I now know what was wrong and can continue to test to know the cause. The bad news is, this is the first time this "genetic spelling" has been found. In the world. Yes, that's right. My baby's genetic spelling of the CHD7 gene found on chromosome 8 is the first of its kind. So there's no information about it. This makes me feel special in a real twisted world... 

They ordered blood tests for me and my husband to find out if one of us is positive for a mutation of the CHD7 gene. If neither of us test positive, and this was just a random event, (which is what they are inclined to), then we are allowed to start trying on my next cycle after we get the results back. If either one of us is positive, this could indicate that the first missed miscarriage is somehow related to the second pregnancy. They then would suggest Preimplantation Genetics Diagnosis (PGD), as 50% of our offsprings could potentially be positive for CHARGE. I had my blood drawn today, but unfortunately my husband won't be able to fly to the States for a while because of work. The results will take 4-6 weeks for each test just like they did with our baby. They also did a genetic panel testing on me to figure out if I test positive for other recessive diseases that might explain my missed miscarriage other than "bad luck". I did hear the "might be just bad luck" a couple of times today, but a doctor also said "good luck was long overdue". I was comforted and agreed. 

If this was just a random case of mutation, then our odds for this happening again are less than 3%. The same doctor explained how 1% statistically means so little, but to those of us part of the 1%, especially those of us who repeatedly are members of that group, the 1% is so traumatic that it means an awful lot. I myself can write a book about the heartache that comes with being a hopefully not permanent member of the 1% club.

The PGD would take about a year. There is no known test for a mutation of the CHD7 gene to be performed on the few cells taken from an embryo, so they would have to create a special test for our family. This is possible and has been done for other families. I can only imagine how expensive this would be. I promise to do my best and not think about all of this; we'll cross that bridge if we get there. (First attempt at staying positive...) 

They suggested blood work on day 3 and a hysteroscopy between days 5-12 of the cycle 6 weeks from now, just to make sure everything's OK with me and there's nothing in there that could harm a future baby. This is only for my peace of mind and I can choose to not have it done, since it would mean me traveling to Boston again in January. Right now I think that whatever is suggested I should do, if only to not be forever wondering "what if I had done this or that test"... 

I stopped at the gift shop and bought a couple of things for a Christmas tree I might never put up... But this elf reminded me so much of my beautiful boy, I just had to have it. 

Here's to positivity during my waiting game...

here's to answers...

My mom and I flew into Boston early this morning. I have four appointments tomorrow at the BWH. We will be picking up A's ashes on Wednesday. My husband was not able to come since he was off work for too many days when I gave birth to A. I am glad I am not here alone though. As soon as we got here, we went out searching for the perfect spot to scatter the ashes. I think this one did the trick... Hoping to get some answers and that the scattering goes as smoothly as possible...

even if your faith is broken...

November 14th used to mean nothing to me. It was a date like any other; nothing special went on. Except this year, November 14th was my first due date. I was supposed to give birth to a healthy baby just in time to dress up for Thanksgiving. Instead, I am mourning the loss of my two children. I lost two children in 2014. 

I have two pregnant women at school. The first one gave birth last week. The second one gives birth by the time I was supposed to deliver A. So there is really no escaping this feeling. Even if there's a shitload of work to do, I have two constant and vivid reminders of what I no longer am. 

Being a preschool administrator is about the worst job ever when having lost a child. Every activity is a detonator. I am a ticking bomb that is dying to go off... but for the love of kids have managed to get a grip of herself and not give in to her tears. 

Instead of celebrating my children, the lives I was supposed to bring to Earth, I am receiving birth announcements at work. Stupid emails with stupid pictures of a stork. I hear stories about women complaining about their baby crying too much, or pooping too much... I hear stories about women in my family who are experiencing postpartum depression. Jesus!! If anyone knows what postpartum depression feels like, it's me. I'd trade places with them any second. 

I can honestly say I am holding on to whatever bit of faith there is left in me. This is fucking hard. It seems like everyone is out there sprouting children, especially women who have little to no income, a couple of other children to take care of, and are teenagers. On my way to work, I see about 7 pregnant women during my 6 minute drive. 

Anyway, I'm OK. There are good days and there are bad days. I have accepted that and the fact that I can do nothing to change this. 

Next Monday I have 4 appointments at the BWH. A part of me really wishes they tell me something's wrong with me. Maybe then I'll have a reason. Maybe then I'll know it wasn't just "bad luck". Maybe then I'd have peace. 

My husband gave me a late anniversary present yesterday. I think it's the perfect way to honor A. 

sunday bloody sunday-

Literally. After a week of no signs of blood, I've began bleeding again. There's enough blood to need to change tampons several times a day. I started last Sunday my second pack of mini-pills. This coming Tuesday will be 6 weeks since the induction. I just hope this blood is considered normal and it's no indication of something being wrong down there. 

I have developed much more anxiety than my regular "I'm overthinking" kind of days. Every time I call my husband and he doesn't pick up I think he's gotten in an accident or has been mugged. I picture myself as a twenty-something year old widow, childless. My grandfather hasn't been well during the last couple of days, and every time my phone rings I expect someone to tell me he has died. I keep imagining his death, and I often find myself crying because he'll never get to meet my *living* baby. These thoughts usually come at night so I have adopted the habit of working even later until I feel I'll fall asleep quickly. I don't know what to do to stop thinking about my fears. 

I have been thinking a lot about Christmas and how it will go down this year. When in Boston, fall was my favorite season, and Christmas was definitely my favorite holiday. The songs, the shopping, the snow. The awesome feeling of finals being over and the cheering and toasting for a new year. Flying back home to family who I'd missed dearly. And even though my grandparents didn't celebrate Christmas, these two weeks home were the best with them. 

Two and a half years ago my grandmother died. My grandfather agreed to come to dinner with us (first time in 22 years) and we dine in our matching Christmas PJs. 

This year, I had first imagined Christmas with a newborn. It would have been literally my dream come true. I've always loved the season and couldn't think of a better one to welcome my first child. We all know how this dream turned out. 

The second time around, I was cautious enough to not think of the future until after the 12 week scan. After that, I'd lie if I'd say I did not imagine myself with my big belly and matching PJs on December 24th. This isn't happening either. 

I now have to shop for all the children in our family (there are plenty), and watch the season go by as people clearly forget about the amount of pain I'm in. 

Instead of Christmas with a newborn or Christmas with a belly about to pop, I have to deal with my family asking me why I'm not coming over to their homes as often, telling me to move on, that a month has gone by and I am doing nothing to help myself, that I am "stuck" in the same place I was 6 weeks ago, and that blogging isn't helpful as it gives me the wrong idea of how I should grieve. (As if there is a standard way of grieving... As if there's a standard way to grieve when having terminated such a wanted pregnancy.)

It seems everyone but me has forgotten what I have lived. And in part, I am to blame for the pain I put myself through. I am to blame for having chosen the induction, for having been awake when the doctors gave me an injection to stop my baby's heart. I am to blame for wanting to hold my child in my arms, even if it was just for a couple of hours, even if it meant seeing his red, tiny, cold, cute sleeping self wrapped in a blanket and then taken away forever.  

Sometimes I tell myself all I need is a friend to share my feelings with. But will I ever be able to share everything that's going through my head with a friend? I don't think it's worth sharing... I don't have a single friend that would understand my thoughts. 

I proceeded to order a candle from the "I live in your light" project for our babies. I can imagine this will be the only gift our babies get this Christmas... I must admit it is quite hard to shop for two dead babies. 

thursday thoughts-

thank god for stars.

wordless wednesday-

the sun will rise...

It's been a month and four days since I gave birth to our beautiful A. I have begun to accept it and little by little have come in contact with the outside world. I do go to the gym at 5am and this is mostly to avoid running into people I know (there are about 6 of us at the gym at that time), but I also practice yoga in a place where everybody knows my name. I have gotten in touch with some old friends and have even met for lunch or to exercise together. 

I'm at a better place right now despite my wide range of emotions. I find myself crying, then laughing at my situation, then jealous of other women, then upset, then angry... but most of the time I feel lonely. No one here understands where I'm coming from... No one here has felt this kind of pain.

I still get upset when I see babies and pregnant women, (and I usually walk the other way when I see one, especially one I know), and more often than not I'm mad at them and am mad at the universe for not giving me a living baby. I'm mad at people who drank and smoke and did everything I did not do and still got a healthy baby... I am jealous of never being able to have a care-free pregnancy. I suppose these thoughts are common among most of us standing in this place I have yet to name. 

I know I am not infertile nor struggling with infertility. But what do you call what has happened/is happening to me? Is there a name for the situation in which I'm in? The one where you can't create viable babies despite your karyotypes being normal? I find myself wondering and searching for the correct words and answers. 

I have been trying to keep my mind at ease. I must admit this is the hardest part for me. I find myself googling everything, comparing my baby to others, trying to figure out what was wrong with him and what led to that (even though the doctors repeatedly told me there was nothing I could have done to cause it, and showed me pictures of what a baby with this kind of syndrome looked like since conception). I believe this has a lot to do with me not having any answers. I have not seen a doctor ever since the induction and won't be seeing one until November 17th, where I will see an OB for the follow-up at the BWH, and will be seeing someone from Reproductive Medicine to hear what their input is on our case and how they think we should proceed. I have not even heard anything from the pathology tests yet. I really do hope to get more answers than: "it was just bad luck". 

My first loss back in March was a missed m/c, and we did not run any tests as this was my first miscarriage and the doctors said "it was a one time thing that happens often". I ask myself almost every day why we did not do the tests. Why no one suggested we do them. Why my doctors weren't cautious enough to order these tests. I will never know if what caused the death of baby 1 were chromosomal abnormalities or genetic disorders. 

So far, all I know is that our "products of conception" are damaged. 2/2. I hear the third time's the charm.

On a happier note, this past week my third niece was born. I managed to go to the hospital and stay there until she was born. She  is beautiful, chubby, and perfect. As I saw her take deep breaths, I wondered if I will ever have the chance to have breathing, healthy children. Tears ran down my face as I realized I may never have that. Even though I've been told by doctors that I can, I have also been through enough to know that it's a matter of chance... And that there's a chance I won't have that. I hope my husband's family understands my distance and acknowledges how hard it was for me to be there. 

We went away for the weekend to celebrate our anniversary. My brother, his boyfriend, and one of my best friends and her husband came along. On our way there, we spotted a rainbow. I'd like to believe this was our baby's way of saying he's OK, and that it's OK for us to have fun.

I am grateful to have had the change to go away and free my mind, at least for a couple of hours. The weather was lovely (perks of living on an island). My husband and I got to spend a lot of time together, which is really complicated for us during the week due to our different schedules. I am so thankful to have married my bestest friend in the world.

365 days ♡

one year ago today, I married the most wonderful man to ever walk the Earth. 

I am thankful for all we've grown this year, and for all the wonderful moments that I will forever cherish. It's been the most difficult year of my entire life, and I have him to thank for bringing out the best of me and standing by my side day and night. I would not have been able to go through any of it without him. 

happy anniversary, love of my life.  ♡

http://vimeo.com/m/78862035