loving maddie & ava

I use to love fall. It's a sign of new beginnings with the start of school, the end of a growing season with the harvest of agriculture products, and less hot and humid! Fall has always been my favorite season--but the last three years (more accurately the last seven) have made it challenging emotionally.

Three years ago 10-14 we found out Maddie was a girl and everything was happy and hopeful. We had no idea how our lives would change so drastically in 7 weeks. 10-14-06 was the day my nephew passed away after his 11 day life in the NICU as a 24 weeker. I was hoping that our positive news would help ease the pain of that day. Little did I know we would join that unfortunate fraternity of baby loss parents not quite 2 months later.

Last year we should have become the parents of a "rainbow" baby in late October. However, our dreams were cruelly again cut short with the loss of Ava in July. We then experience a very early miscarriage in September last fall that really knocked us down for awhile.

The combination of all of our losses and infertility issues has been frustrating. We just want to be parents! I know there are alternative routes to having children, but until my doctor (or we decide) no more pregnancies, that's not on the table.

I feel frustrated when I see people who are so young and struggle with unplanned pregnancies and children. I know I don't know their whole story, but WHY can't we be blessed? I feel frustrated when I read of online pregnancy loss groups that post about how awful they felt "before we had our rainbow baby"and how they are now (better) and feel for those who may not ever have that precious rainbow baby. In a sense it's rubbing salt in an already open wound. It's saying that there's a chance you're not going to be ok if you don't have a subsequent healthy pregnancy. It's maddening. I know they're just trying to be supportive, but it hurts like hell none the less.

There is a very real chance we won't ever be parents. I sincerely hope not, but it's a reality that might have to be faced. I try to remain positive and take life a day at a time. I try to remain mindful of all of the truly good things in this world and how it could be so much worse so easily.

One day I hope I can love the fall season again.

Fall is bittersweet. The beginning and the end all in one.

One year ago our world was once again turned upside down. I feel compelled to write something to honor Ava's short time with us, but find myself unable to make the words flow.

I feel guilty. I mostly feel guilty that I have not honored Ava's memory as much as I did Maddie. I don't have her birth/death certificate framed yet. I felt overwhelmed with all of the "dead baby" stuff we accumulated from two stillbirths and put a lot of it away. It's just all too much...the fact that our two precious babies both died before they were born...the fact that it's possible to carry on with all this heartache...the between.

The between is all the time of unknown.The between is not happy or peaceful. It's a time of uncertainty and is fucking miserable.

The grasp of the between seems to be lessening. I am trying to let hope in...trying to find the old me buried beneath it all.

I never thought this would be my reality, but it is and that's ok. It's unfair and tragic, but life has gone on and the only thing to do is to keep on and let hope in.

Love you to the moon and back and miss you every moment.

<3 Ava <3 7/7/12
<3 Maddie <3 11/30/10

I woke this morning to do my day-off ritual of cruising my email and facebook while lying in bed.  The first interesting thing I saw on FB was this video--apparently done by Cleaveland Clinic about empathy. It resonated on many levels--as a nurse, as a bereaved mother, as someone who has health 'issues.' View it if you get a chance.

http://youtu.be/cDDWvj_q-o8

The second (I can't say interesting--more heartbreaking) thing I saw on FB was a birth announcement. It was not the typical "8# blah blah inches babyboy/girl healthy etc." --it was the announcement of the stillbirth from a woman I went to high school with. The interesting part of the announcement was that she asked people not to say they were sorry, but to cherish who they have in their lives today a little more--they can so easily be taken away in the blink of an eye.

This woman reached out to me after we lost Maddie. She, too, had a loss between two of her children. Placental abruption if I remember correctly. She expressed her sadness for us and believed that our babies were together in heaven.

This news is the third loss I've heard about in 8 weeks. I came to a realization because of this: I am not alone.

I knew on a superficial level that babies dying before they are born, at birth, or as infants is not a new phenomenon. As a teen, I mowed the grass in an older cemetery during the summer. There were many tiny graves--some unmarked--that noted a beloved child who had died. As sad as cemeteries are, I found a strange peace.

After Maddie, there were a lot of people who reached out to us and told stories that helped bond us in the baby loss community. There was support. After Ava, there were fewer people reaching out (with stories of multiple stillbirths). It felt lonely in that space...we lost our "rainbow" baby, too. What do you say to someone who has been unfortunate enough to give birth to two still babies?

It's a special kind of hell, but it's not empty. Unfortunately the number of people I know who have had to bury (I use this term loosely) two babies is growing. I am not alone.

There is some comfort in that, but also a tremendous amount of sadness. How did our ancestors survive all the difficulties of everyday life plus the grief of lost children? I think of that cemetery not far from my grandmother's house with all of the tiny grave markers. I think of their sad mothers--did they talk about the babies they buried? Did their aunts and uncles tell their children about the brother they didn't know growing up?

Our March for Babies is this Saturday. I am excited, nervous, and sad/happy about it. I am equal parts sad/happy about it because I am happy I have two daughters and a nephew and wouldn't wish them away to spare the heartache, I am sad the organization has to exist to help sooooo many people. Walking reminds me how not alone I am. Mother's Day follows on Sunday.

I am a mom. If people don't accept that, I am not going to be crushed this time. It makes me sad, but I understand. Everyday I think of my babies and what might of been. Everyday I unconsciously hope for people I know who are pregnant and deliriously happy and naive. I hope they can stay that way. Everyday I grieve my unfulfilled dream of being a mom to babies on earth. Every day I dream of holding my own child and hope the day comes when that dream becomes a reality. Every day I love my children even though they are not with me. Every day I am a mom.

Losing two baby girls to stillbirth and one to an early miscarriage has been a hard rock to swallow at times. The other night my mind was filled with memories of Ava's short time with us. I remember how scared I was waiting in the MFM waiting room with about 15 other couples--couples I really couldn't identify with for many reasons. We were at the two week follow up after a less than stellar 20 week u/s that showed severe growth restriction. At the time I misheard (or maybe heard right and had to protect my sanity) Ava's percentile rank at 15% when it was really 5%. Our doctor wasn't pessimistic or optimistic. We would just have to wait and see. The blood flow to the placenta was still ok and her heart rate was still good, too. I was sentenced to two weeks of couch potato rest and lots of tv watching.

I dreaded that ultrasound. This was July 5. Two days earlier I had a nightmare that I had started bleeding and the baby was gone. I woke up very shaken and scared. I tried to lose that feeling, but it never truly left me. I don't remember the sequence of the ultrasound as clearly as I remember Maddie's. I do remember asking why the hell this keeps happening. I was in shock--I had to have been. I remember going into an exam room and the doctor meeting with us and forming a plan. We knew what would happen. I would be induced. The day was about 100 degrees and we were worried about our dog if the a/c stopped working. We went home and packed...tried to take a nap and planned. We had been watching Mad Men on NetFlix and we tried to watch an episode, but mostly everything was a big blur.

We got back to the hospital at 8 p.m. My friend who has had a stillbirth came up to support us. They started the induction with the cervadil. Every 4 hours I was woke to check progress. Nothing happened the first night. The next morning was more of the same. Family started arriving. The day started to drag on. I felt more uncomfortable, but nothing was happening. Evening came. I was so tired but felt so bad since family and friends were still there to support us. Later it was just hubby and I...I started feeling nauseated and started throwing up. Then came the itching. I felt like my skin was going to crawl off me. My blood sugars dropped. I took off my insulin pump and let the nurses take over. The pain was excruciating. Finally after a few hours of miserable labor, Ava came to us quietly and peacefully.

All of this came to me while I was trying to sleep. I don't think I've allowed myself to feel it as much as I need to. I didn't try to push it away. I let the waves flow over me and eventually fell asleep.

I've been trying to work through the grief of three losses. My grandpa recently died and that was the catalyst that made me start working through the pain of all of my losses. I know I have a lot of work to do, but the good days are starting to outnumber the bad.

After returning to work, I begged off caring for any pediatric patients. The pain was just too much and it was too soon. My initial goal was to starting taking them again at the beginning of the year. I started slowly...I've only had a couple so far and they were 3 and 7. Yesterday an 8 month old was under my care. I was so nervous. Luckily the mom was awesome, involved, cooperative and asked smart questions. Many peds patients we have seem to have drawn the short straw when it comes to parents. Sometimes I feel like the doctors are admitting the kids to protect the kids from their stupid parents when they are sick. This mom and baby were the best under two crowd I could have possibly been dealt. Mom never questioned if I "had little ones at home" when we struggled to place an IV. She got it. I related to her. The baby was so sweet and so sick. I struggled at times to not cry when the baby cried.

While I was checking the babe's temp, the dad received a phone call. I don't know the whole story, but evidently someone is expecting a baby girl and her name will be Madalyn Jean. I felt my heart skip a beat after hearing this. I can't help but think that Maddie was telling me I was going to be ok.

Last night I was lying in bed telling hubby about my day. He was proud of me for helping the babies. I was pretty proud of myself, too. Not every day is great, but I'm counting this as a small victory.

It has been six months since we brought Ava into the world silently, and a little over 2 years since Maddie was stillborn. I also had an early miscarriage in September that very few people know about. I am having a very, very hard time with my grief. I feel compelled to keep it inside--even though I really don't want to--to keep up the pretense that I am doing ok. To me, ok means I go to work and function like a "normal" human--but I feel so sad, empty, pained. To even really think about how awful it really is to have two stillborn babies and a miscarriage in less than two years makes me nauseous.

I often question why this awful thing had to happen to us. I don't want god or any other deity brought into it--if there really is a god, why the hell did he/she decide to punish us so horribly? I am horribly angry, sad, envious, lonely over our losses. I haven't been to my blog in 6 months, and when I logged in I noticed that most of the baby loss blogs I had followed before are now writing primarily about their "rainbow" baby or babies. I really wish I was one of them. It pains me so much to not fall into that category.

Every pregnancy or birth announcement makes me want to cry. Pregnant people send me into a whirlwind--I want to warn them that not every pregnancy ends happily. I want to yell out, "My babies died and yours could, too." Then I want to ask them what it feels like to be utterly naive, happy and hopeful about the life inside them.

Not many people have asked what our plans are for the future, but inevitably the ones who do offer up the suggestion of adoption. Like there's any chance in hell that we hadn't thought of that already. **sarcasm** Thanks, I already know my body is deadly for babies so why don't we just give up having our own biological child. (there is NOTHING wrong with adoption, but I don't want people telling me that we should consider it instead of another pregnancy.)

I had gone to two different grief groups and I find that neither one fits well anymore. Most people go on to have a subsequent pregnancy that works and I don't fit into that mold. It was easier to go when I still thought that stillbirth couldn't possibly happen to a couple twice. I was very, very wrong.

I am not writing this to garner sympathy. I just simply need to release some of this grief I am holding on to...and this seems to be one outlet that works for me.

The only way out is through...so on I will go...hoping for peace about our lost babies. Hoping with every fiber of my being that we will get to be parents someday.

July 6 we had our repeat ultrasound.

My heart stopped a second time. Why is this happening?

Ava's heart was no longer beating. We have two angel babies and zero living babies. Ava Theresa was born silently at 0936 p.m. July 7, 2012. She was 8.3 oz and 8.5" long. She was tiny and perfect. Ryan says she looks just like me--with my eyes and she definitely had my long fingers and toes.

We had a small service in our hospital room the next day before I was discharged from the hospital. It was perfect. My already fragile heart is broken once again. I was terribly scared that this would happen again, but I was optimistic that things would be ok. Lightening couldn't possibly strike twice.

I don't even know what to say, think or do. My heart hurts...so much.

Yesterday we had our 20 week ultrasound. It's a baby girl! She's small, though, which is a worry for us due to my clotting issues with Maddie. Less blood flow to the placenta and cord==bad outcome for baby. The blood flow looks really good so far, but baby is on the small size--9 oz--which could be a sign of problems (mostly only due to my history). Her fluid is a little on the low side of normal, too, so for those two reasons I am on "couch potato rest" for two weeks.

Since my job requires me to be on my feet almost constantly, the doctor is hoping that only being on my feet for 20 minutes at a time will help increase blood flow and give baby a little growth burst. Of course, she may just be a smaller baby, too. We won't really know for two weeks when we have a repeat ultrasound.

So...this is my summer "vacation." I would rather be at work, but I definitely want a healthy, alive baby.

Why is it so hard for some people to become parents the old fashioned way? I am feeling very frustrated and helpless right now. I have done EVERYTHING the doctors have asked of me to ensure the safe passage of this baby into our world but it still is going rocky.

I have started saying little prayers to Maddie to ask her to help her little sister make it to our world safely. I just hope she's listening.

Please keep us in your thoughts and prayers, too.