I wonder and I remember

I often wonder what God has planned for me.

I desire to be many things for myself and for others.  But, I continue to have this nagging ache to just be peaceful and whole.  That is something internal that can't necessarily be acted out or shown.  That is a desire of my heart.  And that I don't know how to be. 

I feel scarred and broken.  That I know how to be.  That I am.  But I want more.  I want- I desire a genuine peace in my heart and I just don't know if that will ever be.

I wonder if my ability to feel whole and complete has been taken.  Maybe that is just not for me?  When a part of you is gone from this earth, how can you ever be complete again?

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At night, as I try to sleep, I re-live each moment leading up to Jeremiah's birth. 

I remember the early morning contractions.  I remember the denial.  I remember watching each passing minute on the clock.  I remember my tearful phone call to my sister asking if she would watch my son so I could go to the doctor's.

I remember driving to my doctor's office alone- unable to reach my husband.  I remember my relief as I finally got ahold of him.

I remember sitting in the waiting room with my husband waiting to be called to see the doctor.  I remember my fear growing with each passing contraction.  I remember seeing my beautiful, healthy baby boy on the ultrasound screen.  I remember the look on the doctor's face as she confirmed that my worst nightmare and greatest fear was happening again. 

I can literally hear my own screams of agony as I heard the words come out of my doctor's mouth.  I remember the blood. 

I remember the look on my husbands face as his heart broke once again.

I remember my heart breaking.  I can feel my heart breaking- over and over and over again.

I remember another stage of denial and my brief hope that everything would somehow still be okay.

I remember my realization that I would deliver my son much, much to soon...

I remember asking for gloves to wear because a part of me was afraid of all of the blood.  There was so much of it.  I am ashamed to admit that the first time I held my little boy, I was wearing rubber gloves.

I remember quickly taking off the gloves as soon as I realized I had nothing to fear.  I held a blessing in my arms, my precious baby boy, and craddled him in all my love.  

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Nearly every night this is what I remember. 

And I wonder... Is the desire for genuine and pure peace in my heart too much to achieve in this lifetime? 

Maybe that will just have to wait for when I get to heaven???

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P.S. Don't worry.  I have no plans to get to heaven any time soon.  :)  My work here is far from done.

Progress

I think you have two choices when you are going through grief.  You can either learn and grow (about yourself and about others) and move through the journey. Or become stagnant and lifeless.

It's not easy.  But, I think those are our choices.  Those are MY choices.

Me?  I keep moving.  I fought through my grief after the loss of Aiden and I continue to fight through my grief after the loss of Jeremiah. 

Daily I remind myself to take control over my journey and be led by my faith in God and His many plans for me.  I have to give Him and His promises the control instead of letting my grief control me.  This is what keeps me moving.  When I don't feel like I can fight any more, I ask God to help me through.  When I am unable to see my future, I trust in the future that I know God has for me.

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Progress?  It's hard to measure on your own, but if you don't stop and measure your progress, you won’t be able to see it.  I think that is why people often get stuck, because they cannot see how far they have come. 

When I look at the posts on this blog and reflect on my own private thoughts, I see change and progress.  I see a lot of pain and sorrow too.  It’s all there, I’ve held nothing back- there's no place to hide.  I’ve been as real as I can be.  But know this: while I have had and will continue to have moments of weakness and sometimes feel like I want to give up, I know that it is in those moments, that I can trust God to take control and put me back on track.

I have fought many inner battles over the deaths of my sons...  Guilt, shame, anger, mistrust, and sorrow so deep that I can’t see my way out.  When you are so wounded it’s hard to fight the negative, sad and destructive thoughts.

“Warriors cannot fight when they are wounded. The kind of battle that rages in a grief-filled heart is one of hopelessness. When we don’t care if we survive, it’s hard not to give up on everything, even God. It’s hard to lay down the heaviness of grief long enough to put on our spiritual armor, but it is the armor that equips us for the rest of our journey.”

I've surrounded mysef with quotes like this.  I've put them up on my bathroom mirror so I could see them everyday.  I put messages in my pockets.  In my books.  On my laptop – anywhere I will see them to remind me I am NOT fighting this battle alone.

There are still moments when my heart is so heavy I feel like I can't bear it nor do I care to.  At times, I feel so wounded that I have little desire to move on.  I wish I could have and hold Aiden and Jeremiah in my arms and watch them grow.  But through friends, scripture and the love and grace of God, I get through those difficult moments.

Through the shadows, I see more and more light began to shine again every day.

Next?

I'm feeling a little guilty...

It's December 26th and already the tree is down, the decorations are put away- nearly all signs of Christmas (minus the wreath on the front door and a house full of new toys!) are packed away.  

I'm not sure what my rush is or was, but I think a part of me has been bracing myself.  Just get through Christmas, I keep telling myself.... 

Now, I guess I can check that off of my list and move forward.

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Next hurdle?  The excitement of the New Year and Jeremiah's due date.  January 19th.  Ready or not, it's coming.  And I am bracing myself...

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My goal for 2012 is to truly be hopeful.  I want and need to get beyond the words and really feel it.  I want to be happy and joyful again.  I want to quit thinking destructful and sad thoughts.  I want to be thankful.  Greatful.  Appreciative.  I simply want to feel like me again.  I don't like looking at life through these grief-colored eyes.

I'm torn between my grief and my future.  They are not sitting well side-by-side.  One is getting the best of me.

Before I got pregnant with Jeremiah, I felt the strongest and healthiest- both emotionally and physically, than I have in a long time.  I want to feel that strength and motivation again. 

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I will feel that strength and motivation again.

Because I am not alone:

I know good things are in store for me:

Although it may feel impossible to me:

Nothing is impossible with God. 

He is my strength. 

My courage. 

My hope. 

My future.

Hope

I often sit in silence with tears in my eyes and what seems like a permanent ache in my chest. In these moments I ask God to help me make it through. That’s all I want – to get through Christmas and the months ahead and to come out the other side as unscathed as possible.

So today, I remind myself what Christmas is about… HOPE.

Hope isn’t a wish, or a dream, or a warm fuzzy thought.

Hope is a reality.

Hope is a fact.

Hope is Jesus.

Hope is the reality that because of Christmas… because Jesus came in the form of a little baby to offer salvation to the world… I will one day stand in heaven with all my babies in my arms.

Until that day comes, I remember that I was chosen to carry them.

I remember that they have made me who I am.

And I will remember that I have been given the greatest gift of all.  Salvation.

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As I walk into this Christmas season with my heart aching for little ones no longer with us, I can rejoice and celebrate knowing that hope is a fact and I will one day hold them again.

Greatest blessings and prayers to you all this Christmas season.  May you have hope and peace in your heart.



 

The Unseen

This post is inspired by a post I read from Small Bird Studios.

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In between this world and the next there are many things that go unseen.

Tears.

Thoughts.

Wonders.

Frustrations.

Questions.

Silence.

Miracles.

Hopes.

Dreams.

A realization that He never, ever left my side.

Ever.

The sadness, anger, what-have-you, just has a way of smushing joy out.

In between my world and yours, sweet baby boys,

what others don’t see,

what I don’t allow them to see most of the time...

My lack of patience for Heaven.

The tears that fall late, late at night.

My fears.

The longing in my heart for my baby boys...

I’ve lost you, and big chunks of myself.

I can’t lose much more.

In moments of pure happiness, I miss my boys that should be in that moment celebrating with us too.

It doesn’t steal the joy of the moment.

But what goes unseen to the rest of the world, is seen by me.

And while the rest of the world does not,

and just simply put CANNOT see the holes in this life that I see everywhere I go…

I am certain, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that the tears that fall for you here are kept.

They matter to the One that holds you tonight.

The tunnel

I've decided that this isn't a roller coaster ride that I am on.  Although a roller coaster ride if often filled with twists and turns (which I am facing), there's far too much excitement connected to roller coaster rides.  And, there's nothing exciting about what I am going through.

What I am going through feels much more like a long and narrow, black tunnel.  An underground tunnel that has covered me with dirt and despair.  It feels suffocating.  There's so much darkness on this journey that sometimes, I just don't know which way is up or out. 

I keep crawling and climbing, searching for the light, but many days it feels it doesn't matter how hard I push through.  It doesn't matter how much I pursue the light.  It just feels like I simply can't get there.  I see glimses of the light, glimses of happiness, but at the end of the day, I feel covered in the darkness once again. I am suffocating. 

The fire within me has been dampened by tears and sorrow. 

I so badly want to be free from this deep pain, but it's not something that I can shake off or just choose to go away.  I wish I could.

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Closure?

Closure, our culture tells us, will bring about a tidy ending, a sense of completion.  I would like to neatly seal away all of this pain.  I would like to close all of the sad, confused, desperate, angry feelings out of my life.  I would like to put all of this pain behind me.

Closure.

What an odd concept really, as if we could truly close the door on pain... just turn the lock and throw away the key.  The truth is far more complex, of course.  Closure is for business deals.  Closure is for real estate transactions.  Closure is not for feeling or for people we love.

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I am not searching or hoping for closure, instead I am hoping for--- longing for--- praying for--- healing and restoration.

A little "hello"

Preparing to decorate the Christmas tree the other day sent me on an emotional rollercoaster ride.  A ride mixed with joy, despair, sadness, and hope.  It's amazing at times that all of these emotions can come out and fill a person at once.  But, they do.

Preparing to decorate the Christmas tree reminded me of how much I long to have a connection to my little boys in heaven.  It reminded me of how much I need to have them, in whatever way possible, be a part of my today and a part of my future. 

I look for signs of them all around me.

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A couple months ago, and a couple months after we lost Jeremiah, I was tearfully talking with my husband telling him that I was just so sad and unhappy.  At that time, he asked me if I could remember the last time that I did feel happy.  Sadly, I had to pause and really think about it.

I realized that it had been months since I had last been "happy."  And I realized that the last time that I had truly felt happy was when we, as a family, visited the Science Museum.  It was just a day or two before I delivered Jeremiah.  It was a day that I had the pleasure of witnessing the awe and amazement on the faces of our little boys as they viewed each exhibit.  It was a day that I walked around secretly sharing dreams with and visions of the little one in my belly.  It was a day or two before my world shattered (again).  I think back on it as a bittersweet moment of innocence.

During and after our visit to the museum, Gavin and Gabe excitedly talked about coming back and showing the baby that was to be joining our family all of the dinosaur bones and all of the other cool stuff they saw!  They were filled with joy thinking about sharing these things with their little brother or sister and so was I!

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Today, we decided to visit the Science Museum again.  A simple excursion, but nonetheless, it was one that filled me with anxiety.  The last time we were there, I was emotionally on a high- filled with happiness and anticipation.  I just wasn't sure how I would respond as we walked though the museum doors. 

Would I be able to enjoy and appreciate all of the things that I did the last time we were there?  Or would I be filled with dread and sadness thinking about all the moments that I will never share with our little boy?

Thankfully, I am here and I am able to say that today was a joyful day.  Although there is definitely a sadness and heaviness in my heart, I was still able to smile as I sat on the floor with Gavin and Gabe learning all about volcanoes and lava.  I was able to laugh as we opened a little door and were ''sneezed" on.  And I laughed again as Gavin accidentally found the piano steps and quickly jumped off thinking he did something wrong!

Amazingly, as we explored the Science Museum, I was able to be fully present in the moment that was before me.  I was able to fully be present to witness the joy that Gavin and Gabe were experiencing.

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And even more amazingly, I was surprised by a little "hello" from our precious Jeremiah when I least expected it...

As we turned a corner, we were greeted by a sign with the image of a beautiful peacock feather on it.  The peacock feather has become an image that I have chosen to connect me to Jeremiah.  Some people feel their loved ones presence in a gentle breeze or when they see a butterfly or a rainbow.  I feel Jeremiah's presence when I see peacock feathers.

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So, today, I feel blessed and thankful to have received a little "hello" from Jeremiah.  And today, that fills me with a little hope and a little peace...  Two things that I am greatly in need of.

The tree

Decorating the Christmas tree should be joyful, right?  I wish I could tap into some of that joy and Christmas spirit because right now my heart is breaking.

The tree is up and the lights are all twinkling.  Now, we wait for the boys to wake up and help put the ornaments on.

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Every year, as we decorate the tree, we pull out our box of special ornaments.  I love sitting down with Gavin and Gabe and showing them all of these and explaining why they are special.  There are some from when Tom and I were kids, there are ones that we've collected over the years of being a family and there are special ones that we've made for Aiden.  This box of ornaments, I cherish.  These ornaments embrace our family and the love that we have for each other.

I only could muster taking a peek into this little box of ornaments.  Quickly, tears filled my eyes. 

Not only Aiden, but now Jeremiah, will never get to help us decorate the tree.  Jeremiah will never help set cookies out for Santa and his reindeer.  He will never excitedly wake up on Christmas morning to open presents.

I am left with a HUGE whole in my heart and I know that no amount of special ornaments honoring and celebrating Jeremiah's brief life will fill that whole.  This year, I feel the ache of all that could have been.  Jeremiah has a special place in our family- not only on our Christmas tree, but our family tree.

My heart breaks at the thought of making special ornaments for Jeremiah.

But, I will do it.  Because there are so few things that I get to do for Jeremiah.

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There are absolutely no words to describe the black abyss you fall into when your child dies. This hole has no bottom; the descent has no final destination.  Life has gone from busy and noisy with the demands of a family, to the silence of a world entrenched in death. 

I want to rise back up to the light, past the whispered condolences, the endless “I’m sorry’s”—back to “normal.”

The only problem is that life has no “normal” after you lose a child.

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I have finally got through the shock stage and ventured back out in our everyday world. A world, a family, that feels so incomplete. 

I never got to know Aiden or Jeremiah.  Instead I get to honor them and their life by creating special ties and connections to them.  Be it tattoos, pictures, poems, Christmas ornaments.

Whatever I can do, I do. 

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My hope is that each turn I make, each encounter I have with these memories and symbols that I have created, they will be little "hellos" from our boys.  I do these things in order to stay connected to the little boys that I don't get to raise, but that I have loved so deeply from the moment I knew they were growing within my womb. 

The more I create and look for signs and symbols of our boy’s lives, the more they come my way. Instead of spending my days in bed under the covers, I find myself out looking for hope and a continued connection to my little boys.

Some may think that it would be easier to say good-bye and let go of their place in our lives. But instead, I work hard to find healthy, well-adjusted ways to keep them close.

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Christmas ornaments on a tree.  Tattoos on my body.  Pictures hanging in our home.  These are the signs and symbols that I have in order to remember and honor our little boys.

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I like to think of these things as, “moving forward but hanging on.” Going on without my little boys cheats me and our family. Moving forward with them still spiritually and symbolically close is the best answer for me and our family.

This is my journey after living through the darkest days I have ever known. 

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So, with tears in my eyes, I will make Christmas ornaments for Jeremiah. 

This is what I can do, when I love someone so much, that I just can't say good-bye.

The nursery

Hope is faith holding out its hand in the dark.

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Every day, for the last three months, I have walked past the room right outside our bedroom door that was to be Jeremiah's bedroom.  It sits empty and disheveled.

In anticipation of our baby's arrival, I had already begun the nursery room transformation.  The old pictures had been taken down.  The border and shelving on the walls were removed.  Ideas were swirling in my head about how to decorate!  Although we didn't know if we were having a boy or girl, I was going to get everything ready that I could!  I knew I had time so, I was just doing bits here and there- little by little.  Enjoying every little change as it came!

Our little boy Jeremiah, was born much too soon and sadly, he will never need the room that I had begun lovingly getting ready for him.  Sweet dreams of rocking him and nursing him flash in my mind.  Moments that will never be.

Sadness and despair creeps over me everytime I walk past this room.  It's unfinished and unused space.

Over the last few weeks I have been increasingly stumbling past the nursery room- not knowing exactly what to do with it.  It's been staring me in the face and I knew that I had to do something.

The hope in my heart compelled me to move forward and finish preparing the nursery.

So, as of today, there is fresh paint on the walls and new pictures ready to be hung.

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Although I think the emptiness of the room now seems and feels even more apparent, I have, a few times, caught myself longingly dreaming and looking into the nursery and I feel a smile creep across my heart and maybe even my face.

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I don't know what the future holds and there are many days when it may seem dark but, my hand is outstretched.  And I have faith.

Decisions

What do you do when it appears that God actually gives you what you asked for? 

I feel like that is the predicament that I am in.  I wanted to have a choice.  Now I do and I'm not sure that is really what I wanted after all.

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I went to my Perinatal Specialist yesterday to discuss treatment and plans for future pregnancies.  I went to the appointment with the assumption that my doctor would give me a specific recommendation.  He did... but it's not the recommendation that I expected.

Here's my story:

I have an incompetent cervix.  What this means is that as the weight of pregnancy (uterus and baby) grows, pressure is applied to the cervix.  For most women, their cervix acts as a seal/stopper and it remains closed and tight until you are ready to deliver.  That's not the case for me. 

As the weight of the pregnancy increases, my cervix is unable to sustain this weight and begins to open and dilate without contractions, unknowingly.  I was diagnosed with an IC after the loss of our first son, Aiden at 21 weeks.  The weight of a pregnancy comes into play at about 16 weeks.  Before that, the weight and size of the uterus isn't heavy or large enough to apply pressure to the cervix.

Statistics say that about 1% of women have an incompetent cervix.  I am that 1%.

For my pregnancies with Gavin, Gabe and Jeremiah, I had a surgery called a transvaginal cerclage (TVC).  During this procedure the surgeon places a strong stitch into the cervix (vaginally) and more-or-less ties it shut.  The cerclage (in my case) is preemptively placed at 13 weeks.  This provides enough support to the cervix to keep it closed throughout the pregnancy. The stitch is removed around 37 weeks and nature takes its course. 

The TVC has a success rate of about 85%. 

My pregnancies with Gavin and Gabe were obviously successful.  I was placed on a significant amount of bedrest with Gavin (17 weeks) and not quite as much (11 weeks) with Gabe.  Although the TVC was keeping my cervix closed, my cervix was still opening up to the point where the stitch was placed (called funneling). But, in the big picture, the TVC was successful and it was the amount of medical intervention that I needed to be able to carry Gavin and Gabe's pregnancies to term.  Praise God!

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Now, we get to the less clear-cut part: 

During my pregnancy with Jeremiah I suffered a subchorionic hemhorrage at 12 weeks.  I literally stood up and gushed blood.  Bright. Red. Blood.  Lots of it.   

To make a long story short, after I had an ultrasound and was able to see my doctor, I was told that I had a subchorionic hemhorrage and that it looked as if the hemhorrage was resolving on its own.  My doctors were going to continue to monitor it, but they assured me that I shouldn't be concerned.

At 13 weeks, my bleeding had stopped entirely and as planned, I went in for surgery and had the TVC placed.  Emotionally, this is a HUGE milestone in my pregnancies and a point where I feel like I can finally breathe.  My fear begins to subside and I gain a little confidence.  Usually.

The day after my TVC surgery, I went back to my doctors for a check-up because I was experiencing some pain.  My doctor did an exam of my cervix and the stitches felt as they should.  My cervix was really swollen and was bulging a bit- not uncommon after a surgery.  During my ultrasound examination, a large pool of blood was noticed between (as I understand it) my uterine wall and my amniotic sac.  Again, it was agreed that my doctors would continue to monitor this area and I was told that statistically speaking, I should be fine.  Generally, your body either slowly reabsorbs or expells this blood, which appears to be left over from the SCH that I suffered the week prior. 

After my TVC cerclage, I began spotting brown blood.  Some of this blood was from the actual surgery, but when it continued, I realized that I was also finally (and thankfully) expelling some of the blood that had pooled in my uterus from the hemhorrage.

Now, let me say: Bleeding during pregnancy is terrifying.  I dreaded going to the bathroom because I was so filled with fear about what I would see.  But, I kept telling myself that my doctors were confident so, I should be too.

At each of my check-ups over the next couple of weeks, the pooled area of blood was measured and it was slowly getting smaller.  My cervix was also measured via ultrasound and that looked great as well.  Things were progressing and looking good!

They were looking good that is, until the morning of August 4, 2011.

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Again, to make a long story short, I went into labor that morning and when I was seen by my doctors, I was told that I needed to go to labor and delivery immediately and that they needed to remove the TVC because I was dilated to 4cm and my cervix was literally being ripped open, through the stitch, by my contractions.

The current statistics for pregnancy loss with a SCH is 1-3%. Again, I am that 1-3%.

Within 3 hours of my fateful drive to my doctors office, I delivered our precious son, Jeremiah- much, much too early (15 weeks, 3 days).  I held him in my arms as his heart took its last beat. 

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So, fast-forward to today.  It is most likely, but not positively known, that the loss of Jeremiah is related solely to the SCH and not related to my previous diagnosis of an incompetent cervix.  Is there certainty that my incompetent cervix is totally unrelated?  No.  Most likely?  Yes.

So, for any future pregancies, what do I do?

Do I take a gamble and trust that another TVC would again be the necessary help that I need to carry a pregnancy to term?  It worked with Gavin and Gabe and probably would have worked with Jeremiah. 

Or maybe not??? 

Maybe my body was rejecting the stitch???

Maybe the stitch was complicated and aggravated by the separate issue of the hemhorrage??? 

Or maybe they really are two completely unrelated situations and statistically, I just personally have really crappy odds and have had two 2nd trimester losses for two separate and relatively rare reasons???

I don't know. 

My doctors are human and they don't know either.  They can give me statistics until they are blue in the face, but let's face it, I don't feel like statistics have really been in my favor.

So, again: What do I do?

There is another procedure that can be performed that has a 99% success rate for the treatment of incompetent cervix.  It's called an transabdominal cerclage (TAC) and it is much more invasive.  It requires an abdominal incision (just like a c-section) and suture of the upper part of the cervix via the abdomen.  The procedure can be done pre-pregnancy or right around 14 weeks.  It requires a c-section delivery and it is a permanent stitch.  Therefore, all future deliveries would have to be performed via c-section.

This surgery, although highly successful for the treatment and 'curing' of incompetent cervix, does carry its share of cons.  Such as, it's invasive and it requires a c-section deliver, among many other things.

Although my doctor is absolutely willing to do this procedure, he does believe that is it over-kill (my words- not his!).  If I were his wife or daughter, he would suggest the TVC and not the invasive and permanent TAC.  That is, if you can take emotions out of it and just look at the statistics.  Because if you look at my statistics with the TVC, I have had 2 successes and most likely would have had 3.

But, we can't take emotions out of it. 

Burying two healthy little boys who were simply born too soon is not something that I can ever forget or ignore.  And, I want to make the best decision I can to try to ensure that it doesn't happen again.

But, what is the best decision???

Do I opt for the less invasive TVC and be able to deliver vaginally???  It has worked in the past and probably was working with Jeremiah and probably would work in the future.

Or do I opt for the more invasive TAC and have to deliver via c-section???  It most likely will work, but is also probably more than I need.

Could I live with myself if I chose the less invasive approach and it fails???

Do I want to allow more medical procedures to be done when they probably don't need to be???

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Today, I simply do. not. know.

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If you took the time to read all of my ramblings, would you please take a few more minutes and say a prayer for Tom and me?  Please pray that we are able to find some clarity and peace with the decision that we will make.  Thank you~