Sunday, December 30, 2007

I'm a cougar?!

Okay, so after my last post I needed to find something not so sad to think and write about as we head into the new year. After all, it's just too g*d damn easy to find sad stuff to write about these days. I mean, really, it is just too f*ing easy. I don't even have to look or think for that. It's just there.
It's a lofty goal, I know, but I am hell bent to find something that will give all of us, at least a few moments where we get to be someplace else, think about something else and find out something else about ourselves. So in my continued quest to be the blog world's best serial plagiarizer (yeah, I know not a real sounding word but spell check said it was okay and it's all I could come up with) I found this quiz on another blog which I will credit when I figure out how to add a link with just a highlighted title and not the whole web address as many of you already do... (hint hint...HELP!!)

So here is your mission, should you choose to accept it...Take this sort of cool "Find out what your spirit animal is." quiz and then share it and your thoughts, if you dare, with the rest of us. We'll find out what crazy animals are lurking here in our world:) The link for the quiz is after my results. Good Luck!

Here's mine:

Your Score: The Cougar

Your spirit animal has a nobility ranking of 13 out of 18.

Your spirit animal is the cougar. It is a stealthy and deadly protector. With a cougar as a spirit animal, you have nothing to fear in this world. Your life is blessed and you are on the right path. You will still have hard times, but you will pull through them, always stronger for your travails. Congratulations, few are fortunate enough to have such a spirit animal!

***Wondering how this animal was chosen for you? These questions were carefully thought out to see how important you hold certain virtues such as: humanism, self-knowledge, rationalism, the love of freedom and other somewhat Hellenic ideals. Some of the questions were very subtle. Your score was then matched with an animal of corresponding nobility.

Link: The What is Your Spirit Animal Test written by FindingEros on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the The Dating Persona Test
View My Profile(FindingEros)

What's funny/ironic to me about the cougar, (1) Isn't cougar what they call "older" hot mom's? I am definitely older, my recent medical diagnosis "advanced maternal age", but hot?? (2) I love that a cougar has hard times but always pulls through them and comes out stronger. Not to put too much faith in an Internet quiz.... BUT..... I sure as hell hope that part is true.


Wednesday, December 26, 2007

So, this is the week I should have had a baby...that lived.

As if Christmas isn't enough to deal with anyway, right?

I mean, last year, we managed to get pregnant in September, despite our son C. being in the hospital. I camped out in the room with him all three days...asthma is a bitch! which was almost the entire time we were supposed to be "trying", but still we did it, the eagle landed and we were the BFP! But, as our luck would have it, just after Thanksgiving, and of course, after we told the fam and the kids, I had a miscarriage. Which although I was sad, I had told myself, I am 39, if something is wrong with the baby, this is how it should end and we will try again. IT SUCKS....but I don't ever want to have to choose to end a life.

But, this couldn't just be any miscarriage, NOOOO. I went in to have the "routine" D & C at an outpatient facility and I woke up to the doc saying "Oooops, I accidentally perforated your uterus and your blood pressure is low and we have called an ambulance and are having you transported to the hospital, we need to make sure we can control the bleeding and that you don't need further surgery. Oh, and also, I think I left most of the baby in you so we'll need to do another D & C". can imagine where my brain was going. On drugs, way to much information and then a bunch of guys saying can you slide over onto the gurney or should we lift you?? And all I could think was, "Will I still be able to have another baby??" "Where is my husband?" "I am going to be sick, please get me a pan."

So after 2 days in the hospital, my old (she's young really) wonderful but retired OB coming into save me and "fix" everything, we had Christmas of 2006. I was sad, but I thought, we can do this. I had done it before.

I had had a miscarriage in between my son and daughter too. I got pregnant the second month we tried, miscarried about 9 weeks into the pregnancy on Friday, October 13th, with a FULL MOON, yep, that freaked me out having to go under general, but I came out of it and then got pregnant in November and had a "perfect" pregnancy, despite a failed attempted induction (I wanted a VBAC) at 38 weeks, (didn't know you could fail at induction but my body and my baby said, "Not now, we're not done yet"), at 40 weeks I delivered my beautiful, perfect daughter.

So I thought, we had one miscarriage before, baby girl C was perfect after that, so we'll get back at it, and we'll make it happen.

And God laughed at me. Alot, apparently.

So we didn't really even try in January, but gave it our all in February, no luck, then March and April, BINGO. We'd done it again! And as fate would have it, so did my sis in law. We were due a day apart. January 5th & January 6th, 2008, me, then her. Or so we thought.

It wasn't a perfect pregnancy. I spotted early on, but had done that with my daughter too. I went in for ultrasounds almost every week, I was so paranoid. But everything was fine, every time. I knew the ultrasound tech "J", really well, she had done my son, my miscarriage, my daughter, my miscarriage and now this pregnancy. Every time I went in she would take a million pictures for me, checked everything over and over. She would joke, this will be the most photographed baby in utero ever!

At 11 weeks, I passed a blood clot. I thought for sure the pregnancy was over. It was a weekend. I was bleeding, not the good brown "old" blood, but real blood. I called my ob's service and she called me right back. She said, it's probably just a clot, we have so many images of the baby, it's SOOOO unlikely at this point that anything would happen. You have an almost 99% success rate now. So I watched it over the weekend and went in Monday morning sick to my gut and sure enough, there was my baby, happy as a clam tucked away, heart beating, moving around, apparently oblivious to the hell we had been through and the bullet we had dodged. Or so I thought.

So then I went in for my "advanced maternal age" ultra sound to test for downs and other chromosomal abnormalities. I didn't want an amnio and had found this "new" technology, at least for me, being almost 7 years out of maternal fetal testing, that would look at the baby, test my and hubby's blood and risk factors and then give us a new "risk" probability for the baby. But the biggest indicator would be what the baby looked like. So I went in for my test and told the tech my whole history and she was so sweet. She told me that if she saw something that made her worry, she would tell me. So she did the whole test, and everything was perfect. I watched the baby move around, wave,flip, and most important, all of the baby's measurements were perfect, all of them. And for a brief moment, I thought ok, this one is going to make it. She hugged me and even shed a few sympathy tears with me. (I was trying to be subtle but my tears were flowing). So I went home and we told the kids. Again. And they both said, "Is this one going to die too?" Yep, nice that my kids even know to ask that, but, they do. And we told them no, we thought this baby was healthy and that it was already much bigger than the one that had died. And we told them it was okay to believe, to hope and to love this new baby because we thought everything was going to be alright.

But in the back of my head, the voice, the fear, the knowing that everything isn't always going to be okay, something kept pounding away at me. I think I knew, or at least I was afraid of it because I kept thinking if I can get past 20 weeks, then there is no way I can have another miscarriage, then it would be a stillborn and that almost NEVER happens...

So, fast forward to the end of summer, I've had my "routine" 16 week ultrasound, again, perfect. In fact, baby was moving so much that it was hard for my friend, "J", ultrasound tech to capture all of the heart, brain, kidney shots they wanted for the radiologist. She told me and hubby, who came to the scan, she would get everything she could but that this baby was so happy and bouncy we'd probably have to come back if she couldn't get a still of the heart/brain/kidney's. She gave us a reel of film and my husband made sure to tell her which pictures he wanted for his desk and he had the shit eating grin he gets when I know he is really happy on his face. So after we left the docs, we went to breakfast and then he said, "Now, it feels real. Now I really feel like we are going to have another one...."and he was so excited, so happy. He looked at the ultrasound pictures over and over and over again. SO much so you'd think he'd never done it before, that this was his first baby.

I had started feeling the baby move around 15 weeks or so. Just the little flutters but I knew who it was. Then as our screaming hot summer progressed, I was reunited with an old friend of mine from graduate school, Haagen Daz Chocolate Peanut Butter Ice cream. I used to eat it when I was studying for exams and then it just sorta disappeared from the shelves. But this last summer it was back! So I began my evening ritual of going upstairs, sitting back on my bed and eating a few, or many, bites of the yummy stuff straight out of the pint. Then the best part, the baby would start kicking and I would just sit and watch and laugh and love it, a lot. I would cal out "Baby, baby, baby..." and just like that the kicking would start. I did this every night from June to thru August, never missed it. I told my husband I was going to screw up the stores inventory of the ice cream because I was buying it so much and when the baby was born I would probably start eating it like a normal person again, not a crazy pregnant woman and they would suddenly have all this ice cream and no one to buy it. He just laughed and would put his hand on my belly and we were happy.

I was right tho, I did stop buying the ice cream, after. I threw what was left in my freezer away too.

So it's the end of August and we are going to squeeze in two quick vacations before school starts. One to the river with my dad and baby bro and one to San Diego, just us. So the night before we leave for the River, I think the baby isn't moving the same, but I figure it's just because I have been running around so much trying to get ready. I will not panic I tell myself. I am 21 weeks now, everything is fine. We go on the trip and my husband and I spend a good part of the drive out there "picking" names for the baby. All the kids have "C" names and we came up with every silly name we could think of but in the back of my mind I was worried. I kept poking at my belly saying in my head, move, move but never got the big kick I wanted. When we got back from that trip, I scurried around to get ready for the next trip we were leaving in three days. My OB called, she wanted me to come back in for another ultrasound. She said everything was fine, but just as "J" had suspected, they didn't get enough shots of the heart and brain. I told her we were leaving for vacation in a few days and she said, not to worry about it just come in when you get back. So I made the appt for the day after we got back from vacation. I was going to mention to her my concern about the moving but my son was in the car with me and I didn't want to worry him also I had just spoken to my my sis-in-law and she had told me that she had been worried about the same thing and when she called her doc about it they told her it was very common at that point in the pregnancy for the baby to turn and to not be able to feel anything when the baby moves. I thought to myself, go on vacation, let your kids have these happy days and when we get back then I'll know.
I spent the whole vacation trying to make the baby kick like he had before but I never could. One night the baby moved into a spot where you could really feel his whole body along my belly. I even had my husband feel it. But now I don't think he was moving, I think my stomach contracted and that's why I could feel him like that. But that's the last time I felt him in my belly.
When we got home I took the kids to my parents house while I went to the doctors. I said I'd be back in an hour. I lied, but not on purpose.
I waited in the office, it was lunch time, Friday before Labor Day(can you hear God laughing) weekend and no one else was there. The ultrasound tech came out and it wasn't "J" it was the one I didn't like. She had done me a few times before when I had the miscarriage and I always felt like she didn't listen to me. So I was already anxious and now I had to have her there instead of my friend. I told her I was worried, that I wanted her to check and then if everything was okay, I told her don't tell me the sex. She just brushed me off and started scanning. I wasn't looking and she just kept scanning. I asked her can you see, is everything okay??? And she says to me, "Oh, yeah. I am just getting the placenta and all that then we'll get to the good stuff." And I ask her again but you can see the baby, right? Every things okay?" "Yes, yes" she says. And I think, thank God, okay, I am just a big worry wart. Then she stops and says it's so hot in here. I have to turn the air on, which she does and then stands there putting her hair up. Then she comes back to scan some more. And she does. And I am still not looking and she is scanning, and scanning and she's quiet and then she grabs my hands and looks at me and says "If the news is bad is someone here with you?" And I scream at her, "What, what is it," my head starts spinning, my thoughts are going wild because I still think the baby is alive, so now I am thinking it's missing an organ or a body part or what....and she says as all of this is running through my head, "I can't find a heartbeat, there's nothing there. I am so sorry." "FUCK" I scream. "What am I going to tell my kids" I am sobbing and in my head I am quietly thinking "Why does God hate me so much?" "no, no, no, no, no, no..." over and over and over.
She asks if there is someone I want to call. I tell her my husband. I ask her if my OB is there and she says no. I ask if my old OB is there, she says no. But she is going to go call my OB. She leaves me with my cell phone, lying like an bug trapped on its back, shirt up, belly exposed and a silent ultrasound machine. I call my husband. No answer, call his office line, no answer, cell again, nothing, cell again, nothing. I think about calling my parents but just can't. Call the cell again. He answers. "What's up honey?" Me, crying, "It's bad", him, "WHAT, what is it!?" Me, "It's dead, the baby's dead" crying so hard I can barely talk. "I'm coming, I'll be right there."

Some other doctor came in and told me that they had called my OB and she is on her way here. I ask her, "What happens now?" She tells me, you have to talk it over with your doctor. Then she leaves and the ultrasound tech comes back. I ask if I can sit up. She says oh, yes, of course. She helps me up and then quietly unplugs the machine and wheels it out. I am alone. It's quiet except that I can hear outside the walls. I can hear them talking. "She called her husband, her husband is coming" "Tell the front desk to bring him back to her" "Carla(my OB) is coming in."
I am thinking in my head, "my kids, who is going to tell my kids, how will they ever understand this, how will we ever get through this" . "Oh, baby, baby, baby...what happened to you?" Then I hear my husband. He opens the door and just holds me while I sob. I can hear his heart racing and his deep breaths through his nose. I know he is trying to be brave and not cry but when I look up I can see that he is crying too.
Then my OB comes in. I wish I could say she was a huge comfort, so sweet so kind. But that's not her. She was all business. Okay, I've called the hospital, spoken with a high risk OB and here are your options. You can deliver vaginally but you're at greater risk for rupture with your 2 c-sections. My husband, "Wait a minute, she has to deliver the baby??? She has to go through labor? Can't you just put her out and take the baby out?" Doctor, " No, you're at 23 weeks, it's either a vaginal delivery or a c-section, but let me tell you if you do it vaginally, "You'll feel great when you leave the hospital." (Ummm, no I won't. I will be leaving the hospital after delivering my dead baby. No matter how it happens, one thing I know for certain is I will not feel great when I leave the hospital. ) We talk more about "options" none of which is, can I go back in time and make my baby okay?? We decide to go straight to the hospital. I don't want one more person to see me pregnant, I don't want to spend another moment thinking or feeling any of this. I want it over. I want to forget, I want so desperately to be anyone else but who I am and who I know I will be for the rest of my life.
I tell my husband, we have to call my parents. So he says he'll do it. He starts to call but then looks at me and says, "I can't do it, not right in front of you, not like this." So he goes outside the room. I can still hear him. I know my dad answered the phone. I know my dad screamed because I could hear my husband tell him to not let the kids hear him. I know my dad was crying. I stopped listening.

When we were on our way to the hospital my husband was trying to make arrangements to have someone pick up my car. He was trying to give my mom directions to the doctors office. He had left a key for them at the front desk at the doctors. He was going over and over the directions with my mom. I was sitting there thinking who cares about the fucking car. It's the weekend, I don't need it, leave it. Just leave it. The whole way to the hospital that's all I could think about. "Why is everyone so worried about my car?"
We walked into the hospital and I prepared myself for the "looks". And they came. The "oh, look they're here to have a baby" looks. The nice smiles, friendly glances. They had no idea. How could they? I resented it all the same. I left my sunglasses on and tried to keep my head down. Of course the hospital admitting desk didn't have any information on us, even tho my doctor assured us we'd be able to walk right in and get to our room. Nope. We had to sit in the lobby and wait for them to figure out what to do with us. They finally told us to go to the security desk and a volunteer would take us up to Labor & Delivery. Sweet, little old lady. She was all excited, we walked up and she started to say "Oh how fun your having a " then she must have seen me or my husband gave her a look because she stopped talking and never said another word, the whole way up in the elevator, down the long halls, into an empty office. She just quietly went on her way. No one ever knows what to say to the lady with the dead baby.

They assigned a room to us and we were alone again. It was awful to walk into a delivery room all soft pastels, baby bed, heart monitor, a room that had brought so much joy into our lives was now welcoming us into hell.

We sat on a couch and waited. A nurse, came in and introduced herself to us. She told us what would happen. She was waiting for orders from the doctor. They would be drawing blood, lots of blood. I could get into bed. Did I feel like I wanted to get into bed? I thought, no, I feel like I want to leave. I feel like I don't want this to be happening to me. I feel like I don't know who I am anymore. I just wanted to stay on the couch. So I did. She told us about the special "sticker" they would put on our door so that everyone who came in, lab techs, nurses, etc would know that we were not having a "happy" delivery. I never saw it. I was always on the other side of the door. I don't know what it looked like but I am sure it's not what I pictured. A baby with a big red circle around it with a line through it. Whatever it was,it didn't work for everyone. But that's later. There was a shift change and a new nurse came in, Libby. She finally talked me into getting into bed. She had to start my i.v.. She didn't like my veins and told me she only wanted me to get stuck once so she left and got another nurse to do it. She got it on the first try and I was all hooked up. They started the drugs that would start the labor. But I didn't tell them, I had started to have cramps while I was sitting on the couch. My baby would have come that weekend whether or not I had gone to the doctors. I knew that then. A lab tech came to draw the blood. I had sent my husband out to eat. They had told us it could take two days for the baby to come. I wanted him to be with me once it really felt like everything had started so I told to go out and get something better than hospital food while he had the chance. So I was alone. She was young, I swear she looked like a teenager. But she was quiet and she apologized for having to draw so much blood, vial after vial after vial. Then it was done and she started to leave. She stopped at the door and turned back to me. "I'll say a prayer for you tonight" she almost whispered it. It was the nicest thing anyone had said to me all day. I tried to smile at her before I started crying.
The contractions went on thru the night and by 2 or 3 in the morning they were pretty regular and strong. They gave me some pain meds in my i.v.. That worked for a bit but then it started to make me feel sick. A new nurse brought me some other meds to make the nausea go away. She had had a stillborn too. She said, I know how awful it is. I know you can live through this. I asked her if she had others after the stillborn and she said no, it didn't work out for her that way. I didn't feel any better after that.
Around 4 or so I wanted an epidural. She caled for the doc. He didn't come. Called again. Still no doc. Finally about 30 minutes or more later, he came charging into the room. "Okay Mrs. X", "You've had two other s c-sections, no problems with the epidural, no issues with ....." he was ratling on and on and I amthinking in my head, "He didn't see the sticker, he didn't see the sticker" "Okay, lets get you up, sit up now, come on, lets get that baby out!!" he is still talking. No one else in the room is talking, I am quietly crying, legs over the side of the bed, the nurse is holding my shoulders. I am leaning into her chest, staring at the floor. He is still talking, loudly, going through the motions he is so used to. So cocky, so sure of himself. But he didn't see the sticker. The nurse doesn't say anything to him, my husband doesn't say anything and neither do I . I just sit as still as I can while he sticks his needle in my back, hoping my crying doesn't make the needle miss. I want him gone. As he cleans up his stuff, he says something to the nurse, some kind of code I think stands for "difficult patient". He packs up and says "Good Luck!" as he flys out of the room. My husband says, "What a dick.", the nurse says he didn't see the sticker, he didn't know, I will tell my supervisor, she will talk to him. I tell the nurse, "I don't want him back in here again, ever." The nurse leaves. I lay back and just keep waiting for it all to be over. I think in my head, "If this is the worst thing that ever happens to me, I can handle it." I had no idea what handling it meant at that moment. I just thought, this has to be as bad as it gets and I am still here. I can handle it. I still have my two C's, losing one of them would be so much worse I thought. And I think it would be. But, it as it turns out, that doesn't make losing the baby hurt any less either. Much as I was hoping that thinking in that kind of twisted logic would make it easier, it didn't.
The nurse came back in. She had talked to the doctor. He was SO SORRY! He wanted to apologize to us but understood that I didn't want him back. I was still pissed and didn't feel like letting him make himself feel better by apologizing to us. I told my husband, if he has to carry that feeling with him, maybe next time he goes barrelling into a room, he'll slow down and look, and listen and then if he doesn't see the sticker at least when he's in the room, maybe he'll remember us and what our room was like, the feeling and he'll be able to figure it out so next time he can offer some compassion to the parents or if nothing else, at least silence.
My water broke. There was meconium in it. The nurse thought maybe the baby had pooped too early and had ingested it and that was what killed him. My doc told me later, no they usually poop after they die, just the bodies way of releasing everything. Ifell asleep for a few hours. When I woke up it was after 8:00 a.m.. The new nurse, who had also had a stillborn baby, wanted to check me. My husband was still sleping on the couch. She said it'd probably still be a while but wanted to check my progression. She did. She looked up at me and said, I can feel the babys head, you're ready. I yelled to my husband to wake up. He came to me. The nurse told me, I am going to page your doctor but if she doesn't come in time, I can deliver your baby. I have done it before and I will take care of you. She sat me up and put a lot of those little fake hospital blankets down for when the baby came out. I leaned into my husband, buried my face in his shoulder and I was crying from somewhere deep down inside me I didn't know exisited. I had never heard a sound like it before. It was the only sound in the room. She told me , "When you're ready, go ahead and push." I did.

It only took two, maybe three pushes, and I felt him leave my body and then this earth. He was gone. It was quiet, not a sound. Not even me. Everything was still, just like it says. Stillbirth.

She was wrapping him in a blanket when I asked her, "What is it?" . (When we first got into the hospital we were asked whether we wanted to see the baby or name the baby or hold the baby, my husband and I hadn't wanted to know, we didn't want to name the baby or see the baby.) So she asked me are you sure you want to know. Yes, I said. "It's a little boy." I knew it. I had had the dream, I had always suspected and know I knew. "Do you want to see him?" Yes, I said. My husband now, "Are you sure?" "I have to." I said. "I can't" my husband said. Ok, I said. She brought him to me and laid him on the bed next to me where my husband couldn't see him. I lay on my side and he was beautiful. So tiny but a perfect little man. He looked just like his sister. I could only focus on his nose and mouth and they were exact replicas of my daughter. I looked at his tiny red body and thought how my whole hand covers his chest and belly, just like it did that night in San Diego, I could cover him with my hand. I held his tiny foot on my finger. I was surprised that he was warm. I don't know why I thought he wouldn't feel warm but I did. So I lay there with him and then my husband came over to look too. And he just stared down at me and we looked at our tiny son and it was the most unbelievably sad, heartbreaking and tender time, all the love in the world for this tiny baby, all the amazement that he looked so much like his siblings, and then all of the lost hopes, the broken dreams, the nightmare that was our reality, that this was the only time we would ever have with this beautiful tiny little creature and he would never get to share it with us, he was already gone.
The nurse took him away. She brought back pictures and his footprints and handprints but the pictures don't look like him, not the way I saw him and his foot prints have blood on them. But he is perfect in my minds eye. Always will be. For that brief moment in time, he was perfect.

Except that he should have been born this week. And he should have been alive.

And that is how I joined "the club".

Friday, December 21, 2007

Sometimes they do, just "get it", too.

So in the spirit of the season, I wanted to take a moment to talk about the friends and family who have done sooo much or even the littlest bit to make this terrible nightmare just the tiniest of bits easier and try not to focus on all the other stuff that makes it worse.

1. The inspiration for my post: Today at my daughters ballet class (which if you've read my earlier posts you know I have been avoiding since September, but I have gone once before today) one of the moms who I know the "best", (i.e. she and my friend who I joined with and then the other mom who is pregnant and due 3 weeks after I was, have all hung out outside of ballet) but I haven't seen her since Caleb died, but she has sent her sympathy stuff my way, walked into the studio. I gave her my best rendition of the look I have come to know as the "We both know about the elephant in the room but I am okay and don't expect to make you uncomfortable by making you talk about "it" greeting, and she just walked up to where I was sitting, sat down next to me, looked me straight in the eye and said, I am so glad to see you, I am so glad your here, I missed you. And then she gave me the biggest hug. A tight squeezing and loving hug with just the tiniest bit of tears. And it was perfect. Sometimes no words are the best words.

2. My husband. Who when I called to give him the "news", said, "I'm coming, I'll be there." And those words meant more than anything either of us could have ever imagined in that moment.

3. My husband. Who has been there. Always. When you say your wedding vows and they talk about "better or worse" or "sickness and health" who stands there thinking "Will you be able to handle the funeral home, cremation and autopsy details when our son dies?".

4. My husband. Who has lost his son too and yet had the strength to pull both of us up and found a place where we could breathe.

5. My parents. Who I asked to watch my kids for 'about an hour" while I ran in to get the "routine" ultrasound. It's been 112 days now and they haven't stopped.

6. My Dad. Who "fixed" everything in our house he could get his hands on in those first few weeks. Because he wanted so desperately to fix this nightmare for his daughter.

7. My Mom. Who walked into my hospital room and just hugged me and said, "It's so awful. I don't even know what to say." And cried.

8. My parents. Who for the rest of their lives will always have to live with this horrible dual pain of losing their grandson and having their daughter have a stillborn child. As horrible and tragic as all of this is, the only worse thing I can imagine would be having to watch one of my children suffer through this night mare, how on earth do you parent a child through this? I don't know, but my parents do. They get it like I hope I never have to.

9. My sister. For just coming. She didn't call, email or anything. Just showed up and hugged me. And cried. And then apologized for crying. And cried some more. And then bought me a beautiful remembrance necklace with Caleb's' birthstone, and pink and blue crystals and a butterfly charm. And then bought key chains for my mom, me, my sister-in-law and herself, with baby footprints and a red gem for love, so we'd all have him with us where ever we go. She doesn't have kids herself, but she gets it.

10. My baby brother. He's 8 years younger than me and I swear to you, my son could be his son. They are so alike, and I soo love it. And then there is my daughter who just is so absolutely in love with him, I could go on and on but.....the point is: When he called, he said, "I just want to know how you are, how the kids are" and I of course started crying and he just waited. He didn't say a word. He just let me cry until I could talk. And then he said, "I'll come talk to C, make sure he is okay, let him have a place to talk that's safe"...his job takes him away for months at a time but I know, if my son needs to talk, he'll be there. He so gets it.

11. My older bro & sis-in-law. We were due a day apart. They were visiting her family in Europe when Caleb died. The first thing my sis-in-law said was "OMG, she'll never want to see me again." It sounds weird, maybe selfish to some, but to me it was my dear friend, and sis, crying for me and thinking I would somehow resent her because her baby was still alive. I swear, she is so kind that if she could hide her pregnant belly from me, she would. I hate that. She's had a miscarriage, then she and I were trying to get preggo at the same time, she was a year into it, me only 2 months when we both got the BFP and were due a day apart. I hate that this has taken even one seconds joy away from them. But thank God, they get it.

12. My dear friend M. I've known her the last 15 or so years. She's been there for the wedding, the babies, all the really good life stuff. She's the kind of friend who when she calls and I see her on caller ID, I can pick up the phone and say I'll call you later and she'll hang up. Not because she's mad, but because she knows I'll call her later. I love that about her. So when Caleb died, I had my mom call her. I didn't pick up the phone for WEEKS. But she called everyday, she left messages, she left jokes, she sent emails and she left HOPE. She would call my husband and my mom, just to make sure everything was ok. And one day I called back. And she let me talk about the stuff I wanted to talk about. The only outright thing she did about Caleb dying, was when I called and told her my OB had sent a bill for a "routine OB delivery" and charged me "full price" for a full term pregnancy ( I delivered at 23 weeks), she said "Throw it away and when the next one comes, I'll handle it for you." and she didn't mean she'd pay for it. She meant she'd tell them what she thought of them sending that kind of bill to a mom like me....Everyone needs a friend like my M. Cuz she gets it. Also, she begged me, in one of her millions of emails, that if anyone ever said to me "It's God's will", that I would tell them to "FUCK OFF", if not for me, then for her. She soooooooooo gets it.

13. My dear friend S. I've only known her since our 10 year olds were in 'kinder' together. We've done the Room Mom thing together for 6 years. She was the first new friend I made when my son started elementary school. At the end of first grade we stayed up almost all night building a video montage, (her idea and skill, NOT mine) and then I found out she was also a mom who wasn't afraid to say FUCK. That's when I knew she and I would be great friends...SO when Caleb died, she was who I had my husband call to "get the word out" to our other friends. She never called (Part of my husbands "protector" gene had him tell everyone who he told about Caleb to give me privacy and leave me be) but she did send me the best email. She wrote, "When you are ready, I am here with a latte, a shoulder, an ear or silence. Just tell me what you need." When she did come over, she helped me make the most beautiful and treasured remembrances for Caleb. I went to the mortuary, before he was cremated, and held him, put pictures of his brother and sister with him, and then left him with a blanket (that wrapped his big brother when he was born) to be cremated in, and then I made, 12, individual cards, (they are birth announcement cards each with a cute little blue baby bonnet at the top), each with his original tiny and perfect little footprint and hand print (my mom went and bought me an ink pad like you buy when your baby is born healthy..see, thanks again mom). I brought the cards home and my friend S, made individual name plates for every card and then sat at my dining room table and affixed each name plate to each card with some crafting tool and these beautiful little metal rings ( I am not crafty mom, so I have no idea what she did but she had a whole kit for it.) She easily spent an hour doing it. And all she said was, "It is so good to sit with you again. I miss you.". See. She gets it.

14. My friend D. She just started taking my son to his swimming practices after Caleb died. Every day. She has five kids in her blended marriage, her ex is in jail, her step daughters are so desperate for a mommy but give her so much shit, all the time, her new husband, their dad, is trying to build his own business, they have no $$, she has barely any time to herself or otherwise and still, when we got back from the hospital, she just showed up in our driveway to take C. to swimming. Everyday. For and hour and a half. Everyday. And she brought him home too. And then, when I started back to mommy swimming duty, she'd sit with me for the whole hour and a half, she's the one who asked "How are you?" and really meant it. She is the one whose mom had a stillborn son, her brother, 40 years ago. She still asks me, "How are you?" and then asks about the autopsy, the funeral we still haven't had, if we think we might try again, if I think I want to, how the kids are....she's just there, and she gets it.

15. My "non-conforming" PTA friends. I know, everyone sees or hears PTA and thinks, AHHH, Stepford wives, psycho, sorority moms..But no. Not my PTA. Not these spitfires. I could blog forever about why they/we are not that, but it doesn't matter. My family received meals, and I mean meals like breakfast, lunch and dinner type meals for WEEKS, and I often didn't even know who they were from. Those moms, just get it. I never even went grocery shopping until more than almost two months had passed since Caleb died and even then it was only for cat food and toilet paper.

16. The "stranger" mom. I've known her casually in this last year before Caleb died b/c of PTA at school, but she's always been a sort of lurking in the shadows type mom. I'd seen her a few brief moments in the immediate weeks after Caleb died but I think she was operating under the whole "husbands' directive of not saying anything to me. Then one day we were in a "workroom" cutting out something incredibly vital to our children's education and she just stopped and said, "Is it okay now for me to say how sad I am for you and your baby?" "Can I just, at least, hug you?" And we did. And I knew. She gets it.

17. The even "stranger"moms or dads or friends.... They knew I was pregnant. They are my neighbors, grocery clerks or even a mail carrier. They shared our joy when we were visibly pregnant, one even shared it when I bought the pregnancy test, and then saw me after my isolation and I didn't have a baby and I wasn't pregnant and they just let it be. They get it. Thank God they get it. And they didn't ask. Because they get it. I mean really, what else do they need to know anyway????

18. My blogger friends...those who post and those who don't...obviously. You get much as it sucks...thank God, you are all here to get it. Enough said. Except. I am so, so, sorry that you get it.

Wednesday, December 19, 2007

Stop trying to fix can't

In my new life as a cyber stalker, I have been lurking all over dead baby land, reading, "listening", comparing notes, laughing, crying and generally just sitting in utter amazement as to the sheer number of us who are walking around in our new "shoes". Doesn't it just shock the hell out of you how many of us are here???? And I think to myself for every one of us who are blogging there has to be at least two or three who aren't. At least. And then I go back to the awful statistics, you know them,... after 12 weeks gestation 90-95% survival, after 20 weeks 97% survival, after 26 weeks 98%, after 30 weeks 99% etc. etc. and yet here we all are, the 1, 2 or 3% living on the wrong side of the numbers. It's like my husband said, makes you want to run out and buy a lottery ticket...except that we've all learned it SUCKS to be on the wrong side of the numbers and why add insult to injury? Does that make sense?

Anyway, back to my original post. We all live here in cyber land and it's like home. It feels like the "shoe fits", pardon the pun in re my earlier blog. I mean, the other dead baby moms just get it. When I read a post from another mom's blog and then read the comments, it's so obvious who is a dead baby mom and who is not. That is not to say that the "shoeless" don't matter or don't have important things to say but the difference is glaring. I am struck by how almost without exception a dead baby mom will comment with a similar experience, feeling, or just a "I know, I'm here". While the innocents will respond with a whole bunch of suggestions on how to deal with whatever it is that was blogged about, how to handle that particular issue, a whole book on "How to...." in fact. Even tho they have never "HAD TO".

So it occurs to me, that maybe the reason we all (mostly) blog anonymously and the reason we all find so much strength and comfort here and the reason we can't or don't talk like this IRL is that (1) we can be utterly and at times offensively honest, (2) we know we are talking to someone who just knows, (3) we aren't looking for answers necessarily, just ears and (4) we don't want anyone to "Fix Us", this is us. Leave it. Alone.

Just to be clear, I am not trashing anyone, especially not anyone who reached out and said, "I am here, tell me what I can do?". I am just saying to everyone else, "Stop trying to fix me, you can't."


Somebody said
it was all for the best,
that something was probably wrong.
Somebody said,
it was meant to be.
Different verse,
same miserable song.
Somebody said,
"You can have another!"
As if that would make it alright.
Somebody said,
"It was not a real child."
Somebody's not very bright.
Somebody thinks it is helpful
To say when grieving should end.
Somebody shows their true colors.
Somebody isn't a friend.
But somebody said, "I'm sorry."
And sat quietly by my side.
And somebody shared my sorrow
And held my hand when I cried.
And somebody always listened
And called my lost baby by name.
And somebody understood
That I'd never be the same.

*Thanks Olive Lucy:)

Tuesday, December 18, 2007

A Pair of Shoes

I found this poem on another mommy's blog, so I thank Olive Lucy and her big clown feet, for finding her way to me and my Caleb.

"A Pair of Shoes"
I am wearing a pair of shoes.
They are ugly shoes.
Uncomfortable shoes.
I hate my shoes.
Each day I wear them, and each day I wish I had another pair.
Some days my shoes hurt so bad that I do not think I can take another step.
Yet, I continue to wear them.I get funny looks wearing these shoes.
They are looks of sympathy.
I can tell in others eyes that they are glad they are my shoes and not theirs.
They never talk about my shoes.
To learn how awful my shoes are might make them uncomfortable.
To truly understand these shoes you must walk in them.
But, once you put them on, you can never take them off.
I now realize that I am not the only one who wears these shoes.
There are many pairs in this world.
Some woman are like me and ache daily as they try and walk in them.
Some have learned how to walk in them so they don't hurt quite as much.
Some have worn the shoes so long that days will go by before they think about how much they hurt.
No woman deserves to wear these shoes.
Yet, because of these shoes I am a stronger woman.
These shoes have given me the strength to face anything.
They have made me who I am.
I will forever walk in the shoes of a woman who has lost a child.

Author unknown

So to all of my new friends who, like me, have suddenly found themselves in this new pair of shoes...thank you for walking with me.

Monday, December 17, 2007

Let it all Out...

The anger. SO much anger. I have been trying to figure out why I have so much anger. And really, not about Caleb dying, not about Caleb at all. For him and for losing him, I just feel such sadness. I mean, obviously I am pissed as hell that he died but that's a concrete thing to be angry at and it doesn't even touch all of the other anger. So I thought to myself, where is the anger coming from. So I am making a list. I am checking it twice and then I will add more...feel free to add yours. I know there is enough anger out there and it is time for all of us to LET IT ALL OUT!!!!!!

1. Okay. Given. I am angry that my baby is dead.

2. That my kids will never know their baby brother.

3. That we had to explain to our 10 year old son that yes, even tho Caleb is dead, he is still your brother.

4. That our 6 year old daughter knows the difference between her "alive" brother and her dead brother.

5. That after telling our kids we were pregnant last year, we had a miscarriage two days later and had to try to rationalize a 12 week loss to them. "Nature's way , ohhhh how I wish we would have waited just a few more days...)

6. That when we told our kids we were pregnant again, the first thing they both said was "Is this baby going to die too?"

7. That my kids even know that babies die inside their mommy.

8. That for the whole 23 weeks that I was pregnant, I had to continuously reassure my kids that this baby was okay. After no less than nearly weekly ultrasounds, weekly heartbeat checks and then actually getting to feel Caleb kick every night for weeks, I kept telling them it was all going to be okay.

9. Having to tell, (well, my mom and dad had to do it, since I was in the hospital) that the baby had died.

10. That someone else had to tell my kids that the baby had died.

11. That the baby dying made me a liar in my kids eyes.

12. That the baby dying means my kids will never enjoy the blissful ignorance of a pregnancy where nothing goes wrong. They will always know that Caleb died in mommy's tummy.

13. That I couldn't protect my kids from this nightmare.

14. That my kids had to see mommy cry.

15. That I had to explain to my kids why it's okay to cry when a baby dies.

16. That my husband had to explain to our kids why mommy was still crying.

17. That my son won't talk about Caleb, because he doesn't want to cry.

18. That my son has to deal with feelings that even adults can't explain.

19. That my daughter spent time this year picking out ornaments for our Christmas tree that were for her dead baby brother.

20. That my son told my parents not to talk about Caleb because it made his mommy sad.

21. That my son is trying to protect me....way too big a job for a 10 year old little boy.

22. That my daughter wants to talk about Caleb all the time, to know if it's still okay to miss him.

23. That my husband had to leave the room when he called my parents to tell them that the baby had died. He said "I can't do it, not right in front of you."

24. That even after we knew the baby had died, my husband was still trying to protect me.

25. That my husband couldn't protect me and I couldn't protect him.

26. That my Caleb's ashes were given to me in a white gift bag, similar to what you might give a bride on her wedding night. It was a nice "high end" gift bag, but still. A gift bag???????????

27. That I missed the first day of school for both my kids, but especially kindergarten for my daughter.

28. That I am always wondering when people talk to me if they are thinking, "Her baby died. How awful."

29. That I am always wondering when people talk to me, "Do you know my baby died?"

30. That I am still avoiding people who knew I was pregnant and don't know about Caleb dying.

31. That one day I will have to tell them what happened.

32. That my sister-in-law and I were pregnant at the same time, due a day apart. She is still pregnant, I am not.

33. That my relationship with my sister-in-law is different now. And it's my fault.

34. That I am afraid I won't ever be able to look at her child and not think, "My son is dead."

35. That I will never forgive myself if I don't love that baby as much as I love his or her older sister.

36. That I can't bring myself to be there when the baby is born. I was there for my niece, even video taped her arrival, but going into a L & D ward at a hospital now makes me feel physically ill.

37. That everyone in my family is afraid to talk about "the baby" to me.

38. That everyone in my family is talking about "the baby" without me.

39. That I have to make a list about why I am angry that my baby died.

40. That I can't just miss my baby without being angry.

41. That my 16 year old cat is dying, peeing everywhere, shitting everywhere and I can't bring myself to take her in to be "put to sleep".

42. That my mom offered to take the cat in and I couldn't let her do it.

43. That I am a coward, hoping every day when I wake up that my cat is dead because I can't deal with having to make the decision myself but won't let anyone else help me.

44. That every time my kids do something really dangerous, like building a "sled" out of cardboard boxes and launching themselves down our staircase, I feel like yelling at them "How many kids do you think I can stand to bury!"

45. That for the rest of my life I will always have something to add to this list.

46. That my baby is dead.

Anyone else need to vent???????????????

Friday, December 14, 2007

Parents, please put your oxygen mask on first, before securing your childs....

It's the stupidest directive, we've all heard it, at least if we've ever been on a plane. Yet it's probably the most basic form of good parenting there is. You are absolutely no good to your child if you're dead. No one else will take care of them like you will. No one could ever love them and all of their "unique" character traits like you do, no one will ever appreciate the sheer genius in an elaborately planned, folded and executed paper airplane the way you will, nor will anyone ever truly see the most amazing use of dimension in a drawing that contains macaroni, glitter, yarn, oatmeal, sand, very tiny rocks and something I hope is not cat crap.

I got slapped in the face today with the realization that I am not doing anyone, least of all my kids, any good right now. My previous "supposed to" post pretty much says it all. I am doing everything on the surface with great success but I am not in any way there, for anyone.

My last "previously scheduled programming" (something I volunteered for when I was happy and pregnant) ended today. I have had my nose, head, body and mental sanity completely buried in heading up huge events at my kids school. So much so that I have physically and emotionally blown off, pretty much everything else I used to do. So when my mom dropped off my daughter from ballet class, (I couldn't take her b/c of the "event" and also I have been avoiding going because one of the other mom's there is pregnant and due 3 weeks after I was due with Caleb. How's that for handling things???) Anyway, my mom asked me how I was doing and I just lost it. I thought I was only going to say how tired I was and then all this other emotion came up and I started sobbing. She was hugging me saying let it out, let it go and I thought to myself, if I start, I won't be able to stop. Ever.

So now I am left with this feeling that for the rest of my life I will always feel this horrible, oppressive emptiness. And no matter how hard I run through my life I will never get away from it. I wonder if I will ever truly enjoy something again. I wonder if I will ever not think about my dead baby when I am having what appears to be, to everyone else and maybe even me, a good day.

I am still breathing but I feel like I am running out of air and I have no idea where my oxygen mask is.

Wednesday, December 12, 2007

The dreams

I had two dreams when I was pregnant with Caleb that really stand out in my head. The first was before I even officially knew I was pregnant. The dream wasn't even that long or detailed, it was more like a little video clip. In the dream I was watching a boy running through a field of really long grass, he had dark, almost black hair and lots and lots of freckles and he had this huge smile on his face. I knew he was my son and I knew all I could do was watch him. I couldn't talk to him or catch him.

I woke up and I knew that I was pregnant.

Weeks later after I officially knew I was pregnant and had had many ultra-sounds, (I am considered "advanced maternal age, God, I HATE that phrase), and every one of the ultrasounds was normal, fine, baby is growing well, moving well, no downs, no trisomy all looks good etc..I had a dream that the baby was stillborn and I kept telling myself in the dream, wake up, it's a dream, and finally I did wake up and it was a dream.

But I knew. Deep down I knew. It was coming.

I remember in the hospital, August 31, waiting for labor to start, closing my eyes and screaming in my head, "WAKE UP, WAKE UP, WAKE UP, WAKE UP, WAKE UP, WAKE UP" It didn't work. Because I was awake and I wasn't dreaming anymore.

A boat beneath a sunny sky
Lingering onward dreamily
In an evening in July-
Children three that nestle near
Eager eye and willing ear
Pleased a simple tale to hear-
Long has paled that sunny sky:
Echoes fade and memories die:
Autumn frosts have slain July.
Still he haunts me phantom wise
Caleb moving under skies
Never seen by waking eyes.
Children yet, the tale to hear,
Eager eye and willing ear,
Lovingly shall nestle near.
In a wonderland they lie
Dreaming as the days go by
Dreaming as the summers die:
Ever drifting down the stream-
Lingering in the golden gleam
Life what is it but a dream?

Tuesday, December 11, 2007

To Caleb:

We haven't had our memorial for Caleb yet, it will be in January, when he should have been born. I am putting together everything I want read when we scatter his ashes. They are from my favorite children's books.

This is the first:

“Pooh, promise you won’t forget about me ever. Not even when I’m
a hundred."
Pooh thought for a little. “How old shall I be then?”
Pooh nodded. “I promise,” he said.
Still with his eyes on the world, Christopher Robin put out a hand
for Pooh’s paw.
“Pooh, whatever happens, you will understand, won’t you?”
“Understand what?”
“Oh, nothing.” He laughed and jumped to his feet. “Come on!”
“Where?” said Pooh.
“Anywhere,” said Christopher Robin.
So they went off together. But wherever they go, and
Whatever happens to them on the way,
In that enchanted place on the top of the Forest,
A little boy and his Bear will always be playing.

Somwhere, I hope my Caleb is playing with his Bear.

Monday, December 10, 2007

Do I look different?

In this new life I am living, I go out into the world everyday and do my "supposed to's". But everywhere I go there is this background music in my head, every conversation I have I hear it, every person I am with, I wonder do they know? It never stops.

"Can't you see my baby is dead???"

My mom has a good friend from grade school who had a stillborn baby girl at term, just a few months before I was born. This was many (ok truth time, 40) years ago. I always remember thinking as a child that she had the saddest eyes. There was something missing, something I could never wrap my little girl brain around, but I knew it was awful. I have this memory of her playing her guitar and singing to me and all of the other kids from our "river group" who vacationed together on the Arizona shores. She sang lots of songs, but the one I remember is "Puff the Magic Dragon". I can see her sitting on the dock by the river, with her guitar on a warm summer night and I can hear her singing and I can remember thinking, there is something about her that is different.

I don't know when I found out about her baby girl, I only know that when my mom was with me after Caleb died she started talking about it as if I didn't know, but I did. So maybe I overheard something over the years or maybe my mom forgot that she had told me, I am not sure. What I do know is that my mom and her friends NEVER talk about it with their friend who went thru it, and since they only talk about it as the "baby girl" she lost, I can only try to imagine how completely alone and devestated she was and is, since she obviously never had the opportunity to name her daughter, never felt she could talk about her and was left to survive this loss alone. My mom told me that she and another one of her girlfriends were talking about how horrible it had been for their friend to lose her daughter and then talking about my Caleb and wondering how you live with it and my mom's friend said, "I don't think she ever got over it." My mom, (I love you mom even tho you'll never see this) told her, how would you ever get over losing your child???

I have another friend who shared with me after Caleb died that her mother had lost a son, her brother, at term. She told me that when it happened, the nurses threw a towel over her mother's face, delivered the baby and told her mother not to look, it was better if she just forgot about the whole thing. Jesus f'ing Christ..are you kidding me?????????????????????
Her mother, this year, 40 some years later, put up a gravestone, for her baby son. She told me that her mom told her that for the first time in her life since the baby died she felt like she had finally found peace. She had been able to acknowledge that he had been here. And that he mattered.

I got to name my baby, we got to see him, hold him, love him, miss him least for a while. And yet everyday, I go out in the world and I do my 'supposed to's' and I think, "Do I look different?' "Can't you see my baby is dead?"

Sunday, December 9, 2007

Trying to find normal

I spend so much time doing all of the things I am supposed to be doing, you know the list, laundry, groceries, cooking, cleaning (well, to be honest that hasn't been happening, much), homework, bedtime stories, heading the school fundraisers I signed up for "before", and while I am doing it all I think, I am okay, look at me doing all of this and not losing it. But I am just doing it, the joy is gone. It's just stuff I am supposed to be doing. I used to want to do it and now it's become a hiding place.

I didn't even realize I was hiding until we started to decorate for the holidays. Here's some background: Last year on Thanksgiving we told the kids we were pregnant and that the new baby was due on our oldest sons 10th birthday, June 26, 2007. The kids then got to make the announcement to the whole family at Thanksgiving Dinner. (I had my misgivings but that's yet ANOTHER story). Anyway, everyone was so excited, didn't know we were trying, baby #3, squeezing one more in before I hit the Big 40...etc. On the following Monday, I miscarried. (Another story)

So the holidays last year weren't everything we had planned, my theme song. But we still did it all, the decorations, the tree, the friends over for drinks and kids gift exchange, I hated being so sad but I wanted to do it all, for my kids, and do it just like they had always done it. And I did.

So , fast forward to this year. I think, if I did it then I can do it now. First sign things are not normal, every year my kids and hubby both look forward to and dread the "tree hunt". It takes me FOREVER to pick out a tree. It has to be fat, full, poofy, perfect, I spend more time every year picking out "THE" tree, than I did picking out my wedding dress. This year, in and out of the tree farm in less than 15 minutes. Hmmm, something is different. Next, decorating the house, pulled out everything I need to put together a beautiful Christmas Dining table and yet, can't seem to budge the Pilgrims and turkeys off of table to make room. Definitely not right. Front door garland looks great, except the right half of the doorway won't light up. Doesn't bother me.
Then, in the middle of the garland and twinkly lights I realize I am trying to make everything "look" normal, the way it was "before", and like my half lit doorway, they aren't.

I have just been hiding behind all of the 'supposed to's' thinking if it all looked normal then I would be too.

Turns out I was wrong.

Ohhh, I just want to be normal again.

Saturday, December 8, 2007

This is who I am now.

I was actually happy today. I have been happy before, even since Caleb died. I have been happy for my kids, for my husband and for things that I have accomplished since Caleb died. But today for the first time, I was happy for me. I posted my blog and found I have friends who really know. And as wacked out as that is, it made me happy. It's the first day since September 1, 2007, Caleb's day, that I didn't think to myself, no one will ever get, that this, is who I am now.

Thursday, December 6, 2007

Does Hallmark make a card for this?

I opened my mail yesterday, I thought I was opening a Christmas card from my sister's sisiter-in-law, who I know pretty well from a decade of being "sort of" related. We don't socialize often but are kept up on each other via my sister and see each other at the big family events. She lives only 15 minutes away from me. She knows about my horrific miscarriage last year and she most certainly knows about our Caleb.

She never sent anything to us when Caleb died. No card, no letter, no phone call, nothing.

Yesterday, she sent me the Birth Announcement of her daughter, photos and all, born two weeks after my Caleb.

I threw it away.

Maybe I should send her my pictures of Caleb. No, that might be upsetting, wouldn't want to spoil thier day. (sarcasm included)

Wednesday, December 5, 2007

the ending that begins the story...

We named him Caleb Robert.

It isn't the name we had chosen for him the week before, when we were planning for a "normal" baby...a baby who would come into the world the same way his or her, (we never wanted to know, boy or girl, before the baby was born), brother and sister had entered our lives, screaming, kicking and making me puke my guts out to the point that I have actually never been able to hold my newborn children because I have been so afraid of barfing on them. I always had to wait for the morphine to wear off (c-sections)...another blog, another day.

We named him Caleb Robert.

I'll post the whole story in pieces, as I find the words.

getting started

How did I get here? This is not what I had planned. I am not even much of a planner, but, I do know, I never planned on having a stillborn child. Who does?
In the darkness of those first weeks of hell, I somehow found my way to a blog by "ashleigh" entitled, "Bite Me" and I finally felt like I had a friend in this nightmare.
So, now, for me, it begins...