When I got up, I quickly realized that I wasn't ok. I was bleeding more, was dizzy, lightheaded, and I felt horrible. I took a long shower, not by choice, but because I had to sit and even lay down in the shower several times to get through it. I was throwing up, couldn't stand, could barely even sit up. It was 6:30 and I crawled to the couch with the phone, calling my sister. "Something's wrong" I said, before I broke down in tears. I explained my symptoms in between sobs, all the while thinking, "This isn't fair."
Out of pure desperation to be reassured that my baby was where it should be and everything was alright, I went to my ultra sound. As I sat there I quickly became aware that my baby wasn't where it should be and everything was NOT alright. There was nothing where it should be. Instead, they thought that they could see the baby in my tube. An ectopic pregnancy. After speaking with the ultra sound technician and then the doctor there, I broke down again. I cried and told this poor ultra sound tech that this wasn't supposed to happen, we just lost a child, we couldn't be losing another, it's not fair. She handled it pretty well, she was concerned that Dayne was there with Steve, waiting for me in the waiting room. She asked if she could get Steve and send him in and take Dayne to get something from the treasure chest. I was so grateful for her to be so understanding. When Steve came in I was dressed and sitting on the chair. He was smiling until he saw his face. He asked "What's going on?" And I could speak. I sobbed and looked at him, choking out, "It's in the tube." and then "I'm not a bad person" He cut me off at that moment and told me to be strong, he said I had to be strong, that this wasn't a punishment, and I needed to stop thinking like that. He was firm and I felt...alone. I looked at him and said "Steven, I'm not strong" And he laughed, hugged me and said "I know, but try" It wasn't the response I was looking for, but it was one that came from a place of love. Once I was calm, we left there, dropped Dayne off with my sister and headed back to the doctor at the walk in clinic that I had been to the day before.
He explained that the pregnancy looked like it was an ectopic, that this is considered an emergency and I needed to get to the hospital. He gave me all the paper work I would need to have them shuffle me past the waiting room into a private room where they would do more ultra sounds, check my blood pressure a million times and make me keep a clip on my finger that measured my heart rate for hours and hours.
I don't know how long I was in that room for. Several doctors saw me, several nurses, and even a few people from admitting. They told me about my options if this ended up being an ectopic, they still weren't sure, the ultra sounds hadn't shown them very much. In the end, I was left in that room, with Steve by my side, hoping for the best case scenario, which was for my body to flush everything out on it's own. And if that failed, the second best scenario, which was a medication which would flush it out. The other option was most likely losing that tube, which didn't feel like much of an option to me.
So we waited. I asked the doctor if I would be able to go home soon, I explained that I wanted to be with my son, he would be missing me. And I was informed that we had to wait.
You're always waiting at the hospital, nothing is ever just explained and done, it's always explained a million times by a million different people, and then you wait and eventually, slowly, things happen. When the waiting finally seemed to come to an end we were told that the blood work that they had taken was essentially useless. The HCG levels were low, too low to see a baby in my uterus, where they hadn't seen one. And this meant that we had to do some more of their favorite thing...wait. They admitted me and told me that I would wait for a bed, in a room on another floor. The room that I would be spending the night in, and possibly another night after that. They had to take more blood in the morning and then wait for those results, to see what was going on with my HCG levels.
It was about 8:30pm when I was finally settled in my new room, Steve had left to get me a few things and then come back with Dayne. They visited until almost 9 and then went home. When I was alone, I read, and stared, I wondered why we had such bad luck. I wondered why I couldn't have another baby, I wondered if I ever would.
You don't really sleep in a hospital, with nurses coming in and out, they check your blood pressure and heart rate, ask if you need anything, it's not a restful time, to say the least. But I tried to get some rest. Who knew what the next day would bring.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Another Tragic Moment
Most people didn't know that this past December Steve and I decided that we would try again. We both always planned on having a family with two or three children, and we felt like maybe it was time to try again. So, around Christmas I went off birth control. I was excited to try again, I told Steve that Alexandra was waiting to choose her baby brother or sister.
We both thought that this would take some time, but I excitedly charted out when I should ovulate. Imagine our surprise when on February 10th, a home pregnancy test came back positive. Steve was on a trip to Edmonton at the time so I sent him a cute email with a picture of the test and congratulated him. He was happy, I was over the moon.
As the next days went by I felt like something wasn't right, something just seemed off. I didn't have the same symptoms that I had had for any of my previous pregnancies and this alarmed me. Everyone told me not to worry, that I was extra paranoid because of our loss. And to be honest, I felt that way too. We had a doctor confirm the pregnancy on Valentine's day and I set out making my first prenatal appointment, which of course, wouldn't happen until 11 weeks. I made the appointments for my first trimester screening and happily told a few family members and friends.
On February 22, my sister's birthday, we dropped our son off at school as usual and went to the cemetery as usual. On the way home I talked to Steve about my fear and he tried to reassure me in the best way he knows how...by telling me to calm down and not think about all the bad things that could happen. Dwelling on what COULD go wrong will get you nowhere. When we arrived home I went into the bathroom to change into some more comfortable clothes and that is when my fear came true. Spotting.
Panic ran through me like a freight train. I was horrified. I left the bathroom and told Steve "I'm spotting" he had no idea what this meant or what it could mean. I frantically hunted for the phone to call my doctor. My family doctor was booked throughout the day and they encouraged me to wait until later in the day to see him. Something in my head wasn't following what the nurse on the phone was saying...didn't she get it? I was spotting, this is urgent, someone needs to tell me what's wrong.
I opted for a walk in clinic, where I saw the same doctor that gave me the pregnancy test on Valentine's day. He ordered and ultra sound for the next morning and demanded that I consider myself on strict bed rest until he could sort everything out. I was fine with that, I was terrified, I didn't want to move around. That night I did something that I wouldn't really call sleep. It was more of dozing on and off from about 11pm until 5:30am, when I gave up. My stomach didn't feel right, I was anxious, I thought that I could sleep when I got back from my Ultra sound.
We both thought that this would take some time, but I excitedly charted out when I should ovulate. Imagine our surprise when on February 10th, a home pregnancy test came back positive. Steve was on a trip to Edmonton at the time so I sent him a cute email with a picture of the test and congratulated him. He was happy, I was over the moon.
As the next days went by I felt like something wasn't right, something just seemed off. I didn't have the same symptoms that I had had for any of my previous pregnancies and this alarmed me. Everyone told me not to worry, that I was extra paranoid because of our loss. And to be honest, I felt that way too. We had a doctor confirm the pregnancy on Valentine's day and I set out making my first prenatal appointment, which of course, wouldn't happen until 11 weeks. I made the appointments for my first trimester screening and happily told a few family members and friends.
On February 22, my sister's birthday, we dropped our son off at school as usual and went to the cemetery as usual. On the way home I talked to Steve about my fear and he tried to reassure me in the best way he knows how...by telling me to calm down and not think about all the bad things that could happen. Dwelling on what COULD go wrong will get you nowhere. When we arrived home I went into the bathroom to change into some more comfortable clothes and that is when my fear came true. Spotting.
Panic ran through me like a freight train. I was horrified. I left the bathroom and told Steve "I'm spotting" he had no idea what this meant or what it could mean. I frantically hunted for the phone to call my doctor. My family doctor was booked throughout the day and they encouraged me to wait until later in the day to see him. Something in my head wasn't following what the nurse on the phone was saying...didn't she get it? I was spotting, this is urgent, someone needs to tell me what's wrong.
I opted for a walk in clinic, where I saw the same doctor that gave me the pregnancy test on Valentine's day. He ordered and ultra sound for the next morning and demanded that I consider myself on strict bed rest until he could sort everything out. I was fine with that, I was terrified, I didn't want to move around. That night I did something that I wouldn't really call sleep. It was more of dozing on and off from about 11pm until 5:30am, when I gave up. My stomach didn't feel right, I was anxious, I thought that I could sleep when I got back from my Ultra sound.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
The Loss
Do you ever get the feeling that people just don't understand the magnitude of your loss? Like when you tell someone for the first time and they're like "Oh, that's terrible....So, guess what I did this weekend?" and you're left standing there thinking "HELLO! I just told you that my baby died! Don't you GET IT???"
I try so hard to think about the intention behind someones words before I get upset or offended, but when those words are "Well that really sucks, but you're strong, you'll be fine." I can't help but think "No, there's no but in there, it sucks and that's it, my strength or lack thereof has nothing to do with anything and no I most certainly will NOT be fine!" What is the intention there?
On some days I think that it's just the fact that people have no idea WHAT to say to me. It's so awkward and so unexpected that they just stumble and trip over everything that they want to say. Some days I think that people are just jerks and don't understand the fact that just because my baby wasn't born living doesn't mean she wasn't real.
Some people just don't seem to care and I can't help but be offended...of course you should care! This is my daughter, my little Alexandra, she lived and then died and you should understand how serious that is.
I want everyone to remember my daughter as a little girl that lived. As a perfect living child that was tragically taken from us. I want them to think about her every now and then and understand how hard this is for us. And the most offensive thing of all is when someone doesn't understand that and doesn't recognize my daughter for the living child that she was, just because she didn't take a breath.
It's not fair.
I try so hard to think about the intention behind someones words before I get upset or offended, but when those words are "Well that really sucks, but you're strong, you'll be fine." I can't help but think "No, there's no but in there, it sucks and that's it, my strength or lack thereof has nothing to do with anything and no I most certainly will NOT be fine!" What is the intention there?
On some days I think that it's just the fact that people have no idea WHAT to say to me. It's so awkward and so unexpected that they just stumble and trip over everything that they want to say. Some days I think that people are just jerks and don't understand the fact that just because my baby wasn't born living doesn't mean she wasn't real.
Some people just don't seem to care and I can't help but be offended...of course you should care! This is my daughter, my little Alexandra, she lived and then died and you should understand how serious that is.
I want everyone to remember my daughter as a little girl that lived. As a perfect living child that was tragically taken from us. I want them to think about her every now and then and understand how hard this is for us. And the most offensive thing of all is when someone doesn't understand that and doesn't recognize my daughter for the living child that she was, just because she didn't take a breath.
It's not fair.
Saturday, February 19, 2011
It's Been Awhile
It's been a while, hasn't it? I haven't forgotten about you, my wonderful readers, my friends on this journey with me. I have been busy these days. Alexandra's birthday is coming up and we are planning her party. If she were here with us, it would have been a grand affair, with a princess theme. Our little girl would have worn a big, pink, puffy dress with a tiara, no doubt. There would have been a million pictures. I would have documented every single moment. I'm sad that I don't get to have those moments. I'm sad that I don't get to have those memories.
I was at the doctor the other day and he told me that in all of his years, I am the first person he has ever met that had a baby die due to an actual knot in the cord. He's been doing this for decades and I'm the first...my daughter is the first. He commented on how this was just horribly, horribly bad luck. And I wonder...why did WE have such bad luck? Why did my baby have such bad luck?
But, I try not to dwell...I try really, really hard not to get caught up on the why. There is no answer to that question. Maybe one day, when I die, I will be given the answer, but as long as I am living, there will be no answer for me.
I don't get to plan Alexandra's princess party, but I do get to plan something. We are holding a fundraiser on April 30th...the day that I have no doubt, would have been Alexandra's birthday party day. We are raising money for the pregnancy and infant loss program in my city. We will be celebrating the memory of our little girl. Alexandra has pushed this family to grow and gain strength and she will continue to be the driving force behind everything that is to come. And wherever my little princess is, she is looking down on her family smiling, I know that she is. She is happy that we have all come together to help the families of all her angel friends to come.
We can't stop this tragedy from happening, but we can help to cushion the blow.
There will be more to come about this fundraiser, as we work to pull it together, but in the meantime, I wanted to stop by my safe place, and let my gentle readers know that I am here, I am ok and I have not forgotten them.
<3
I was at the doctor the other day and he told me that in all of his years, I am the first person he has ever met that had a baby die due to an actual knot in the cord. He's been doing this for decades and I'm the first...my daughter is the first. He commented on how this was just horribly, horribly bad luck. And I wonder...why did WE have such bad luck? Why did my baby have such bad luck?
But, I try not to dwell...I try really, really hard not to get caught up on the why. There is no answer to that question. Maybe one day, when I die, I will be given the answer, but as long as I am living, there will be no answer for me.
I don't get to plan Alexandra's princess party, but I do get to plan something. We are holding a fundraiser on April 30th...the day that I have no doubt, would have been Alexandra's birthday party day. We are raising money for the pregnancy and infant loss program in my city. We will be celebrating the memory of our little girl. Alexandra has pushed this family to grow and gain strength and she will continue to be the driving force behind everything that is to come. And wherever my little princess is, she is looking down on her family smiling, I know that she is. She is happy that we have all come together to help the families of all her angel friends to come.
We can't stop this tragedy from happening, but we can help to cushion the blow.
There will be more to come about this fundraiser, as we work to pull it together, but in the meantime, I wanted to stop by my safe place, and let my gentle readers know that I am here, I am ok and I have not forgotten them.
<3
Monday, January 24, 2011
Love You Forever
The book Love You Forever by Robert Munsch has always been one of my favorite children's books. It has always given me goosebumps and rarely do I get through it dry eyed.
It was one that I would read to my birth son when he was little, one that I received as a baby shower gift when I was pregnant with Dayne. And then it was the book that Dayne and I talked about reading to Alexandra when she was born. Only, she was not born living, so Dayne never got the chance to learn all the words of that book and never got the chance to read it to his baby sister.
If I had thought about it, I would have brought that book to the hospital with me and read it to her. I wish I had thought of it. I think I will take it to the cemetery and read it to her there...Or maybe I'll go sit in her room and read it aloud, so that she can hear it. Sometimes I think about turning her swing on and reading the book, like I used to do while Dayne was a baby, swinging in his swing.
Yesterday I went onto Robert Munsch's website so that I could show Dayne all of the other books he has. We have been collecting them and there are so many that we still need! While reading his biography I discovered that he wrote the book Love You Forever in memory of his TWO stillborn babies that he and his wife had in 1979 and 1980.
I could NOT believe what I was reading, I knew that there was something special about that book and now I know what it is. It's really an amazing book that teaches that love transcends everything, even death.
It made me wonder...what other celebrities know this pain that we all know?
"I'll love you forever,
I'll like you for always,
as long as I'm living,
my baby you'll be."
Robert Munsch - Love You Forever
It was one that I would read to my birth son when he was little, one that I received as a baby shower gift when I was pregnant with Dayne. And then it was the book that Dayne and I talked about reading to Alexandra when she was born. Only, she was not born living, so Dayne never got the chance to learn all the words of that book and never got the chance to read it to his baby sister.
If I had thought about it, I would have brought that book to the hospital with me and read it to her. I wish I had thought of it. I think I will take it to the cemetery and read it to her there...Or maybe I'll go sit in her room and read it aloud, so that she can hear it. Sometimes I think about turning her swing on and reading the book, like I used to do while Dayne was a baby, swinging in his swing.
Yesterday I went onto Robert Munsch's website so that I could show Dayne all of the other books he has. We have been collecting them and there are so many that we still need! While reading his biography I discovered that he wrote the book Love You Forever in memory of his TWO stillborn babies that he and his wife had in 1979 and 1980.
I could NOT believe what I was reading, I knew that there was something special about that book and now I know what it is. It's really an amazing book that teaches that love transcends everything, even death.
It made me wonder...what other celebrities know this pain that we all know?
"I'll love you forever,
I'll like you for always,
as long as I'm living,
my baby you'll be."
Robert Munsch - Love You Forever
Sunday, January 23, 2011
January 23, 2011
I have many random thoughts running through my mind today, so here I am...to talk it all out.
I can't believe that it's 2011, I wonder if this year will be better. Will good things happen? Will more bad things happen? I remain hopeful...and so far so good.
Yesterday Dayne had a birthday party to attend, so Steve and I went for a late lunch at Boston Pizza. They had hearts taped all over the door and windows. It's a fund raiser for the heart and stroke foundation that they do every year for Valentine's day. Steve and I read the hearts while we ate and at the end of the meal, when they asked if we wanted to buy one, of course we said yes. So, on a wall or a window at Boston Pizza there is a heart that says simply "In Memory of Alexandra Elizabeth Monique" and has a little picture that Steve drew with a halo and angel wings. If she had been here with us, we would have taken her for lunch with us. The meal would have been me taking cold bites of food while I played with her, just like when Dayne was little. She couldn't be there, but it made me feel good that we found another way to include her.
This afternoon Dayne and I are hanging out at home. While he has a snack and plays in the living room I sit on one of my loss boards, seeing page after page of women asking questions about what will happen to them next, when they lost their precious babies, reaching out to someone...anyone, for help, for guidance. I remember a woman that reached out to me. I came home from the hospital, broken by the news that my baby had no heart beat. I made an announcement to the same people that I had asked for help to wake my baby up, just a few hours before. I felt stupid and lost and I needed someone to help me, though I didn't know who that person was, or how that help would come to me. My inbox began to fill up with condolences and I read each one. One in particular was the help that I needed. A woman who had been in my shoes, who reached out and told me every little detail of every single thing that would happen. What to watch for, what I could expect...what NOT to be afraid of or alarmed by. She told me about how she felt and what she had gone through, and all of words stayed with me, during our darkest hours, I knew that someone who had been there had helped me prepare for what was going to happen, I knew that she was thinking of us and that we were not as alone as it may feel.
Alone...It's funny how alone a person can feel when they are surrounded by people just like them. I remember feeling more alone than I have ever felt, and yet, if I look, there are pages upon pages of women that are right there with me...Lost and grieving and feeling perfectly alone.
I will forever be grateful for the woman that reached out to me, and I hope that I can one day help someone else in such a monumental way. And in the mean time, here I am, blogging away.
I can't believe that it's 2011, I wonder if this year will be better. Will good things happen? Will more bad things happen? I remain hopeful...and so far so good.
Yesterday Dayne had a birthday party to attend, so Steve and I went for a late lunch at Boston Pizza. They had hearts taped all over the door and windows. It's a fund raiser for the heart and stroke foundation that they do every year for Valentine's day. Steve and I read the hearts while we ate and at the end of the meal, when they asked if we wanted to buy one, of course we said yes. So, on a wall or a window at Boston Pizza there is a heart that says simply "In Memory of Alexandra Elizabeth Monique" and has a little picture that Steve drew with a halo and angel wings. If she had been here with us, we would have taken her for lunch with us. The meal would have been me taking cold bites of food while I played with her, just like when Dayne was little. She couldn't be there, but it made me feel good that we found another way to include her.
This afternoon Dayne and I are hanging out at home. While he has a snack and plays in the living room I sit on one of my loss boards, seeing page after page of women asking questions about what will happen to them next, when they lost their precious babies, reaching out to someone...anyone, for help, for guidance. I remember a woman that reached out to me. I came home from the hospital, broken by the news that my baby had no heart beat. I made an announcement to the same people that I had asked for help to wake my baby up, just a few hours before. I felt stupid and lost and I needed someone to help me, though I didn't know who that person was, or how that help would come to me. My inbox began to fill up with condolences and I read each one. One in particular was the help that I needed. A woman who had been in my shoes, who reached out and told me every little detail of every single thing that would happen. What to watch for, what I could expect...what NOT to be afraid of or alarmed by. She told me about how she felt and what she had gone through, and all of words stayed with me, during our darkest hours, I knew that someone who had been there had helped me prepare for what was going to happen, I knew that she was thinking of us and that we were not as alone as it may feel.
Alone...It's funny how alone a person can feel when they are surrounded by people just like them. I remember feeling more alone than I have ever felt, and yet, if I look, there are pages upon pages of women that are right there with me...Lost and grieving and feeling perfectly alone.
I will forever be grateful for the woman that reached out to me, and I hope that I can one day help someone else in such a monumental way. And in the mean time, here I am, blogging away.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Long Time No See
I've been taking a break from writing, as I'm sure some of you have noticed. I haven't really had a lot to say and beyond that, I have just felt like holding some of my feelings in...for myself. I felt like writing today though, so here I am.
I've been feeling more sensitive lately, missing Alexandra and not really wanting to express my feelings. Seeing babies hurts me, hearing about them, hearing about pregnancies, seeing the baby things in stores and on TV, etc. It all stings. And why does it still sting? I wish I had an answer for that.
As well, I find myself sensitive to the things that people say. I can look beyond the things and I can understand that my feelings should not impact how someone else feels about certain topics, but it's like a bee sting...It's sudden and it hurts and if you're anything like me, you'll have a reaction to it that can sometimes last a week.
I often feel like there are things that people can never really understand unless they have lost a child. When a conversation goes to one of these things I often feel like the answers I hear from those around me would be drastically different if these people were sitting in my shoes. I try to tell myself that I'm wrong, but when you're surrounded by people that have not lost a child and they say the same thing that you did before your life changed, you kind of start to feel like you have the inside information that nobody actually wants...or wants to think about seriously enough to really go "there" in their own mind.
This probably doesn't make sense, and I'm being vague on purpose because if I delved into each conversation that I'm talking about, or each person that said something that I know I said before we lost Alexandra, this post would go on for pages and pages.
People just don't know though. You don't know how much that baby means until you've lost it. You don't know how hard it will be, until you've been there. Everyone has an opinion, and everyone is entitled to one and I hope from the bottom of my heart that they never get first hand knowledge to test those opinions.
Alexandra, my precious little girl, Mama misses you.
I've been feeling more sensitive lately, missing Alexandra and not really wanting to express my feelings. Seeing babies hurts me, hearing about them, hearing about pregnancies, seeing the baby things in stores and on TV, etc. It all stings. And why does it still sting? I wish I had an answer for that.
As well, I find myself sensitive to the things that people say. I can look beyond the things and I can understand that my feelings should not impact how someone else feels about certain topics, but it's like a bee sting...It's sudden and it hurts and if you're anything like me, you'll have a reaction to it that can sometimes last a week.
I often feel like there are things that people can never really understand unless they have lost a child. When a conversation goes to one of these things I often feel like the answers I hear from those around me would be drastically different if these people were sitting in my shoes. I try to tell myself that I'm wrong, but when you're surrounded by people that have not lost a child and they say the same thing that you did before your life changed, you kind of start to feel like you have the inside information that nobody actually wants...or wants to think about seriously enough to really go "there" in their own mind.
This probably doesn't make sense, and I'm being vague on purpose because if I delved into each conversation that I'm talking about, or each person that said something that I know I said before we lost Alexandra, this post would go on for pages and pages.
People just don't know though. You don't know how much that baby means until you've lost it. You don't know how hard it will be, until you've been there. Everyone has an opinion, and everyone is entitled to one and I hope from the bottom of my heart that they never get first hand knowledge to test those opinions.
Alexandra, my precious little girl, Mama misses you.
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