Tag Archive: miscarriage

It’s done….kinda

If it wasn’t so depressing, I’d have laughed at the talk I had with Monster today. Ok, I did laugh a little, but who wouldn’t have seen it coming? I’m trying to have a serious talk with a three year old.

I was laying down reading and Monster was flapping around on the bed, driving his car on my book and trying to convince me it was a turtle. All was normal. Then he starts tracing on my back and he asks me “why did you want feet on your back?”. So I try and tell him, not really knowing the words I want even though I’ve had a long time to think about this.

Me: “I wanted the feet to remember my babies that aren’t with me anymore”

Monster: “Why?”

Me: “Well sometimes when mommies are growing a baby in their tummy, something happens and you don’t get to keep the baby. Something goes wrong and the baby dies…”

Monster: <insert crumpled irritation here> “I’m not talking about BABIES! I’m talking about TATTOOS!”

Me: “Yes, but I got the tattoos as a way to remember my babies and keep them close to me”

Monster: “Close to you?”

Me: “Should we read the story?”

Monster: “Yep”

So we sat down together and read this story that I ordered last year and donated to my local MOPS group. I was hoping that this would help to explain to him what had happened seeing as I often mention Darla and during my last pregnancy (I was never able to name that baby so I just call it Baby) he would regularly talk to my stomach and tell me when Baby was sleeping or awake. Immediately after I miscarried he just stopped mentioning Baby even though I never really told him what happened.

Monster: “What does died mean?”

Me: “Well, it’s like if someone goes away but they can never ever come back again”

Monster: “Is it like killing bad guys?”

Me: “Kinda, but we don’t kill people. Besides, it’s rude.”

Monster: “What’s on your face?”

Me: “A pimple”

Monster: “Why?”

Me: “It just happens sometimes. It will go away on its own”

Monster: “Let’s have a snack. Can I have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?”

And I knew I’d completely lost him. I didn’t bother pulling out Darla’s ashes, or the ring that I wear that some of her ashes are in. I accepted the hugs and the gentle arm strokes he gave me when I cried a little. Tried to answer his questions as best I could for a three year old. I didn’t really know what to say when he asked why babies turn into angels or how to explain that killing bad guys wasn’t really along the same lines as a baby dying. I guess next time he asks I’ll try again and just go from there. I know he remembers what I tell him, but understanding it is a much different story.

But it’s a start, right?

The tattoos

Believe it or not, they are done. It took a little hand holding and deleting email from our interactions to prevent me from throwing things at him, but it ended up coming out well. I’m even pleased to say that he apologized for the fuck ups and admitted that he’d been skim reading the emails and after I ripped a strip off him last week he went back and read my initial email that had all my VERY straight forward instructions in it. Yay for me, I guess?

But at least it’s done. And I’m really happy with how they have turned out. No to mention getting tattoos is almost as good as a message for me since I have a crazy high pain tolerance and the light weight of the persons arms on my back with the vibration of the machine nearly puts me to sleep (and has in the past). But he had a fancy-ass new kind of machine and it was the gentlest tattoo(s) I’ve ever had.

It’s not a great shot. The whole slathered in oil thing and my camera being a jerk is making for a fuzzy picture (that and I’m trying to get Hubby to stop playing WOW for two seconds to do it so he’s not really paying much attention). I’ll get a better picture of it shortly, but it gives you the general idea. I’ll put a picture of the other up with a different post about it too.

So, I guess now is the time to sit down with Monster and talk about this. I’ve got the tattoo, the story, the ashes, now I just need to time to sit down and do this. It’s so rare that I’m busy, but it is Thanksgiving weekend and Hubby and I are out today to celebrate our 8th anniversary.  I guess maybe it will be Monday.

Holy Crap! is one year old

It’s been a year. Can you believe it? A year since I started this blog. A year since I was so full of grief and loss that I couldn’t keep it to myself anymore.

I felt so alone, desperate to find others in the same position. Wishing to help others by my experience even if it was only to prevent them from feeling as alone as I did.

I wanted people to talk about it. I was so tired of miscarriage being a taboo subject, people made to feel that they had to keep it hushed up like it was shameful. Do we hide our grief when our parents die? Our brothers, sisters, friends? Our living children? No. People expect grief and mourning. So why are we supposed to hide it when we lose an unborn child?

So, months after my second loss, I decided that not only would I talk about it to others, but I’d write about my experience and hope that it could reach others. And then I found you guys. A whole community of women sharing in the same struggle, each in their own way, and I can honestly say that I have never been so grateful for a group of strangers in my life. And many of us aren’t really strangers anymore.

You guys have seen me through some dark times and some grade A quality denial, nearly giving up but then hopping back on that overly flogged horse for one more try. You guys have listened and supported, not judging when I needed to get things off my chest that were less than sweet, laughed with me and cried with me too. We all know that this journey can make us a little less than sane and at times others may question whether or not our logic is human logic, but at least we know we’re NOT alone here. We can be crazy with vegetable soup logic together.

I don’t know how much I’ve grown in the last year, maybe not at all. I know that I’m no longer nearly debilitated (that sounds like a made up word) with grief. I can go more than 60 seconds without focusing on my losses. I can talk about my miscarriages to others without turning into a puddle (I didn’t say without emotion). And the biggest thing, I can feel some hope for the future. I may never raise another child. My son may never have brothers or sisters. I may never get pregnant again or I may have another loss. I don’t know. But at least I can HOPE that someday Mo’s Flying Spaghetti Monster will deem me worthy of the gift of another child (through any means…anyone have a spare they want to send my way?).

So thank you guys. Thanks for witnessing my crazy ass go through it all, but mostly just for being here. I’m going to keep on keeping on, keep hoping, and well…keep being a crazy ass for the most part. But at least I know I’m going to be ok.

And just because I’m a big fan of the laughing…

The Help. Have you read it? (this isn’t a book review)

I’m only ~ half way or a little more but I have to say I’m a little surprised with myself. If you haven’t read it, I’m not giving any real spoilers here so don’t worry. But I will say that I like the book so far.

So, I’m reading this and there is a scene where the maid is trying to get into the bathroom to check on her boss because she doesn’t believe her when she says “go away, I’m fine”. She gets in there and finds a bloody toilet and so on and so forth, finds that the lady has lost a baby. She proceeds to give her crap “If you were pregnant then why the hell have you been boozing it up” (Ok, those are my words, not theirs) and  the lady says it’s not alcohol but a “catching tonic” from the native tribe near where she’s from.

“You can’t trust them Indians. Don’t you know we poisoned their corn? What if she trying to poison you?”

Maybe I’m going to hell, I’ve never been politically correct by any stretch, but I laughed and laughed. I don’t recall anything about poisoned corn in school, but maybe in Canada we left the corn alone? Or maybe I just didn’t pay attention (which I didn’t really in social studies).

But what I realized was that I had read over that whole scene and laughed at the black maid who is pissed about the white people treating them like shit while she’s being racist to the natives.

When did this happen? At what point did I get to a place where I could read about a miscarriage (and it was a pretty similar bathroom scene to my last miscarriage too) and not be effected? Just keep on going like the rest of the story. I didn’t think that it would ever happen. It’s not like “You planted tulips? Hey, I planted tulips too!” <insert high-five for a shared experience here>

Part of me is happy about it. That means I’m moving on more, right? But then there is the part of me that thinks “How could you? You just glossed right over that like they were cooking.” It made me feel kinda heartless. I figure only people who’ve never experienced a miscarriage should be able to do that.

Am I healing or am I just so jaded that I’ve started to ignore everything?

I couldn’t bite my tongue completely.

This little rant brought to you by the letter F and instigated by Eggs in a row.

So, the other day I was in the middle of a discussion. Middle in the physical sense, not really participating. Actually I was kinda trying to ignore it for the most part since it was baby talk. Future baby talk to be exact.

The jist: “We’re just going to wait until I finish school and then we’ll get pregnant…I’m going to have three children…”.

I couldn’t bite it back at that point. “Oh really?! You are? Just like that?” I may or may not have added in something else a little snippy but I can’t actually remember it so I can’t count it. What made this whole thing rub the wrong way?

A) She knows my history? Yes, but not the problem

B) She was in a room of at least three women, wait make that four, that have suffered miscarriages in the last few years (although nothing saying they weren’t just “coincidence”). Nope, that wasn’t it.

C) Common sence dictates that you can’t always get what you want and if you make a plan life with fuck you over? Nope, that still wasn’t it.

D) I was just being emotional since this was at the end of the baby shower I was at? Honestly no, this would have done it anyways.  (speaking of the timing can you tell that this has been bugging me all week?).

What really did me in was the fact that she has had 3…THREE! miscarriages before she’s even been trying. Don’t you just want to turn around and say “What the FUCK!? You KNOW better!” Or at least she should.

Maybe I should just congratulate her on her ignorance. We all wish we still had it. I just couldn’t understand it.

this will make sense at the end

Warning: Not for the faint of heart…or stomach. Dark humour involved.

I’ve mentioned before that my second miscarriage was a very traumatic incident, but it took me a long time to realize that I never actually posted what happened. So I figure, in order to explain what is going on between Hubby and I, it would make more  sense if the story was filled in.

Like I’ve mentioned recently, Hubby is finally coming to grips with what his issues are, regarding TTC, and I’ve been realizing that things were worse than I had thought.

It comes down to this. Hubby is terrified that if I get pregnant again, I’ll die. Even with no hint of danger from the Dr’s, nothing rationally stating that there is any physical danger to me getting pregnant again…twice isn’t a pattern, second time being worse than the first doesn’t mean the third will trump the second…but try telling your heart to listen to your head, right?

When we found that I was miscarrying for the second time, we did what do, and asked my MIL to come stay with me. She flew out to stay for a week, but of course we had no clue when it was really going to happen. I honestly can’t remember how long she’d been here…a day…a few? But it started in the morning, shortly after Hubby went to work. Yes there is the cramping, the starting to bleed. I was ready to spend a very bad morning in the bathroom while mom took care of Monster and checked on me occasionally but gave me my privacy.

But the bleeding was more intense than it had been the first time. Ok, nothing ever goes the same twice. But then I bled through my pad, underwear and pants instantly. Irritating, right? (did I mention that I go into practical mode at times like this?). So I changed…and instantly bled through everything again. Ok, I just need to pass a clot and this will tone down. I didn’t want to ruin more clothes, so I sat in the shower. I look down to find the disturbing view wow, it’s just a-coming, it looks like I’m peeing! And below me on the shower floor is huge pools of my blood. Wow, it sure clots fast…it’s really bright. I’ve never been bothered by the sight of blood, not even my own.

Side note (I can’t handle phlegm though, mucus does awful things to my gag reflex). give me blood, guts, gaping wounds and ANYthing else from the body, but please give the outwardly phlegmy patients to someone else.

After passing a large clot, things slow down. I get dressed again. But moments later…Gush. Right through my third full set of bottoms. I was strangely calm this whole time. not really feeling anything emotionally, like it was someone else that I was helping through this. (although god knows we could never be this calm when someone around us is hurting but you guys know what I mean). So back in the shower I go. Any time now, there is no way that this can keep up. Hmm, I’m tired, I guess I didn’t get too much sleep…so much blood again. Nothing like sitting in a pool of your own blood…at least it happens to be my favorite color…it’s clotting so fast it looks like jelly pancakes


I’ve lost more blood than a transfusion worth, this is getting bad, I’m starting to get loopy, I have to get to the hospital.

Well, in the three block drive to the hospital (mom drove of course) I went through another set of bottoms, and the towel I was sitting on. I walked up to triage, I’m not sure if she recognized me because it wasn’t my department but it’s a REALLY small hospital. She sent my straight to the bathroom to change and  a nurse came in a couple minutes later to walk me to a stretcher/ bed. And then it was all downhill.

I was still myself enough to be upset about the IV (ya, i knew I needed it but that damn needle issue I have doesn’t make my life here easy) but my nurse (I knew her but hadn’t worked with her…I don’t think she realized who I was) is an IV queen and managed a HUGE IV without me feeling too much. I could have kissed her. We weren’t even bothering with pads anymore, I was just on piles of soaker sheets being swapped out constantly. Dr Evil (never seen her before) showed up and DID SHE JUST STICK HER ENTIRE HAND UP THERE!!!!! FUCK!!!!! it was everything I could do not to scream in agony as she manually pushed clots out from inside and out. I’m not familiar with this technique and I’m pretty sure she should have offered me a few drinks first.

It was this point that I realize the entire emerg staff is flapping in panic, I kept waiting for my step-cousin to come in but turns out she thought I wouldn’t want her to come in under the circumstances (I would have though, just to have a comforting familiar face around). Hubby arrived finally and looked like death. Wow, I must look pretty bad. “I need to get up to the bathroom” “no, not a good idea” said another nurse. “it’s fine, Hubby will help me there” “Bedpan” “not a chance” “please” “I’ll be fine, stop worrying”. Well, it’s a well known fact that nurses are the worst patient (maybe Dr’s are worse, but..) and that we should be less stubborn with our fellow nurses when we are not at full mental function. I passed out the second I was up and Hubby barely had time to catch me. Fuzzy, whats going on, what a nice hug…oh, he’s not hugging me, he’s desperately trying to hold me to sitting in a chair…I guess even 100lbs of dead weight is pretty awkward.

I was lifted to bed, reprimanded for trying to do more than I should (aka anything more than staying conscious) and tilted head down in the bed. ya, it does feel like you’re going to slide off the head of the bed and that blood rush to the head was less than pleasant. but not much longer and I was being shoved into an ambulance to take me to the city for an emerg D&C and blood transfusion. I’ve never been in so much pain in my life as I was during that ride. It was like I was having an end of delivery style contraction for the entire 30 minute ride and I was strapped down and couldn’t even move. It never let up. Even when we arrived at the hospital that damn woman wouldn’t let me up. Apparently I was being forced to not push anymore clots out at this time. I had some serious hate of for the woman just doing her job (killer the messenger anyone?).

All in all, the OB Dr was in the middle of delivery and didn’t make it to see me in a timely enough fashion. Evil me was very glad the she took the amount of time she did because the bleeding had slowed to manageable enough by the time she got there that I was able to talk my way out of the D&C and the transfusion. Some of you may not see my logic for this, but my uterus is sacred to me and NO ONE is coming anywhere near it with anything that has a chance of causing infection or scaring, even if it is low. The transfusion was just an “if I don’t have to then why would I?” thing, like having surgery if you dont have to.

So Hubby saw me like this. He saw me grey as a corpse. He saw me in agonizing pain. He saw an entire emerg staff panick when trying to care for me. And he saw me still being stubborn as hell about wanting/ not wanting certain things. He saw me lose another child. And he saw me on what looked to him as me being on my deathbed.

Lets just say when I looked in the mirror later it scared even me (not an easy thing to do). You know those bug-eyed goldfish? you ever seen a grey one? how is it possible for someones eyes to puff out that much?

So I can understand why Hubby is so scared. But is he going to be able to get past that enough to ever try and having another child again?

I know he loves me. He wants to take care of me. He wasn’t to support me and give me everything I want. I know he’s going to be there for me through everything. Now it’s my turn to be there for him and show him I’m not going anywhere. And I hope that the time comes that he realizes that the rewards of more children are worth the risks. Then we’ll be able to move foreward.

Besides, worse comes to worst, I’m too stubborn to die.


CD 4 …and that no longer means anything here.

Starting tomorrow I will officially be back on birth control and I’m planning on using this asstastic event to bring on the bright side. I’m going to experiment to see if I can drink, lol. Ya, the girl with the alcohol allergy wants a drink. BUT, I actually had a glass of wine at my girlfriends house the other week, a WHOLE glass of wine, which I haven’t been able to do since I was a teen (pre developing allergies to everything under the moon). So I’m going to get a bottle of wine, make sure Hubby is near by in case things go to the shitter (lol, pun intended) and then see if I can have two glasses! I figure since I’m so unfamiliar with alcohol that it would be enough to make me tipsy and we’ll find out if I’m a friendly or belligerent festive participant. Hey, I’ve got to have something to do, right? What do you mean we don’t normally encourage drinking?

So today Hubby and I went to our first therapy session. It was a basic intro in which she found out our basic family info, support network, pregnancy history, and how each of us has dealt with the miscarriages. For me, it was all stuff I’ve talked about before. For Hubby, it was stuff that we’ve touched on and I’ve figured that he’s dealing (or lack there of) with, but it was so good just to hear him say the things. Not that they were particularly nice to hear, but to get them out in the open so we could each know where the other stands.

The main thing that caught my attention when she was talking with Hubby, was the constant use of the word “trauma”. I’ve read with you guys that PTSD seems to be a lot more common than I’d ever dreamed of in our circumstances. And listening to them made me wonder if Hubby didn’t seem to be suffering something similar. And thinking on it, it wouldn’t be surprising. He not only lost two babies with me, but during our last miscarriage he watched me become so critical, so fast, that our local hospital panicked. He finally let it be said that he’s afraid that another pregnancy will result in me dying. This is what I’d been thinking he was going through, but that he hadn’t come right out and said. So now it’s out there and we both know what’s really going on.

All in all, it was a good chat, but still an intro chat. We’re booked to go again in three weeks (that’s how his schedule works with his job) and she gave us some stuff to read. Now I just have to make sure he gets to it.

A different kind of progress

Well, it’s official. Hubby and I are no longer TTC. I can only hope that it’s not forever. I’m pretty sure that eventually we will try again, but I know that if we do and we loose again, there will be no options of ever trying again. Who knows, maybe he’d sneak out and get snipped while I wasn’t looking, just to be sure.

As has been painfully obvious to anyone in the know about our situation (aka you guys) Hubby has not been dealing with the issues at hand and was in some serious denial. He was so sure he’d dealt with the miscarriages and moved on but all he had done was to push them back and ignore them. What was the result? My own husband wouldn’t come near me with a ten foot pole, I became traumatized that he didn’t want me (way to kill any womans last ounce of self esteem), and our relationship has suffer right up to but not yet crossing irreparable damage.

I’ve tried talking to Hubby about these issues continuously, but in such a fashion that he was able to not admit to himself that the issues were anything other than in my head. I was depressed, he didn’t want to push me too much, so simply said that when I was ready to talk, he’d like me to see someone. One of those someones being his mother (actually that one turned into “If you dont call mom by the end of the week, I will and then you’ll have to talk to her”). She has suffered from severe depression and Hubby wanted me to have someone that could REALLY understand. But still, he was so sure that it was just a “me” issue and not an “us” issue.

So mom came out last week. I hadn’t talked to her yet because she’d been on holidays, and when she’d been here a couple days we had our chat. Well. No big shock that Hubby was pissed at the results because when she talked to him afterwards, he was still in denial. He didn’t talk to me for the next day, but surprisingly after about 24hrs, he pulled me aside to talk (aka rip a strip off me) and…he was forced to admit a lot of things…after the first half of the conversation chalked full of denial.

So the jist…

He wants more children, but is more afraid of me loosing another, and loosing me mostly, to follow through. My last miscarriage was so horrible physically (I’ll leave that for another post), that he’s afraid the next one will kill me (logic is not playing a role here, they don’t just get increasingly more severe each time they happen). So he’s set himself to me being selfish to risk my health/ life for a new child when he and Monster are here depending on me. He didn’t want to admit to himself that he didn’t want to TTC and was afraid that I would leave him if he refused. He finally admitted that sex and miscarriage were so linked in his mind that he couldn’t separate them enough to be with me, and that was where I made him realize that he didn’t deal with all this shit and he REALLY needs to see someone about it.

I’m going back on birth control as soon as The Red Lady comes, we’re going together to go see a counsellor from the Early Pregnancy Loss clinic as soon as she gets back to me, and he admits that he needs to be a bigger part of my and Monster’s lives (we have more of a roommate style relationship and that REALLY needs to change). Plus…he’s going to move me back into the city as soon as we can manage so I’m closer to my support network and have more resources available for me and Monster (since Hubby is gone so often with work).

Things are far from perfect here, but I’ve got some hope again that things can work out.

This may sound weird, I don’t really care. But I really miss breastfeeding.

This morning, sitting in my MOPS session (on teaching kids to deal with loss/ grief), listening to the video and knowing that I still haven’t really dealt properly with my own greif…across the table from me one of the other mothers is breastfeeding. Now, I’m a real advocate for breastfeeding, and I don’t feel that women should run off and hide in a dark closet to do so. When I was nursing my son, I’d nurse him anywhere and everywhere. I was courteous enough to put a blanket over if I was in public or around people that were less comfortable, but I wasn’t about to get up and leave when I had to nurse. So, when I saw this girl nursing her son today, during a session that  was bringing up all the loss of my babies (not to mention the others I’ve lost in my life) I was double choked with emotion.

I loved breastfeeding. I could spend my life as a wet-nurse. I nursed my son for 2 years (letting him self wean) and I thought I’d have a short break before having another child right back there. The closeness and bonding of breastfeeding was a very big deal to me, not to mention that my milk was like liquid butter and would instantly fatten up the scrawniest child. I’d finally found something my body was good at and  I could have fed an army with what came out of me.

And it’s just one more way that it feels the world is rubbing in my face that I’ve lost my babies.

This probably made no sense outside my head. But I had to get it off my chest (no pun intended).

If it happens…


The Red Lady came full force and I’m compensating with coffee. Surprisingly, I also slept last night. It was pretty nice, I have to say, and a bit of a shock after all my coffee and how bad my insomnia has been. Didn’t even need a sleeping pill but I can take them now for the next week and a half when I need to. I’m not sure if we’re going to be very active on the trying this cycle. I think we’ve downgraded to “if it happens…” for now. I just can’t stress myself about it right now. I’ve been feeling significantly better (mentally) as of late, but I’m still not feeling totally myself. This whole process is just so fracking traumatizing after so long. And I know that a few years isn’t really “so long”, but it sure feels like  life time to me.

I’d been considering going to a counsellor, finding someone that specializes in grief/ miscarriage/ fertility issues, but then I’ve been feeling better (or at least emotionally better) so I had been putting it off. Is there such thing as cheery denial depression? I can laugh, enjoy things, feel mostly content, but I can’t seem to deal with reality. I’ve been avoiding anything serious and keeping myself distracted at every minute to avoid reality otherwise that angry/ bitter/ sad  person surfaces. It took me a while to realize that I was feeling like I had gone through my miscarriages all over again, but I don’t know why. I was being bombarded with all those fresh style emotions all over, and very much like after my first miscarriage I’ve been uninterested in the outside world. I think the TTC stress just did me in and my lack of  “success” has snapped right back around to feel like another loss. I have no idea whether this is coherent to you or not, but it makes sense to me. Usually I just need to take the time (slightly longer than most it usually seems) to sort it out in my head and then I can figure things out from there. So now that I figured that out I’m hoping it will ease off.

So on a happy note…or more accurately, on a peaceful note…The weather is getting nice. I’ve got pussy willows sprouting like mad men on the tree in my back yard, always the first sign that winter is going away. We had a decent snow on Wednesday night and  when I decided to be productive at 3am (with the lack of sleeping and all) I took out the trash. I don’t dress seasonally…ever…so I was wearing a little sundress and my runners and I stepped outside to take the bags to the curb. I hadn’t really noticed the snow come, but there was a few inches just sitting there. It was so quiet and calm outside and I got halfway down my drive before I realized that I wasn’t cold. Well, minus a little chill from the snow getting in my shoes. But I was standing there at 3am in a sundress in the snow and it was warm and quiet. I couldn’t help but stand out there for a while and enjoy it. Have you ever had warm snow? Man I love chinooks.

Not that this is coming as a shock to you guys, but I’ll be cutting back here for a while…technically I’ve been cutting back for a while already, but I just need to not think about things for a bit. So I’ll be in and out of here at random for the next little while. Maybe I’ll tale a cycle off, I’ don’t know.