A few months ago my sister called me and asked if I would be interested in planning a fundraiser to help celebrate Alexandra's birthday. She had an idea to sell children's art to raise money for the pregnancy and infant loss program in our city. My oldest nephew is quite the little artist and had always wanted to put on a show to display his art, this is what led my sister to her idea.
Of course I was interested, but how I could I possibly do this? With such short notice, how would we pull it all together? So, I sent an email to the woman who had been my grief therapist and I asked her what I could do with this idea. She worked quickly, forwarding my email along to the appropriate people, essentially getting the ball rolling for Alexandra's fundraiser.
Before I knew it I was having a meeting with a woman from Calgary Health Trust, the woman who would be there for me, replying to a million emails with a million questions about what to do and how to do it. I think I will be forever grateful for all of the help and support that this amazing woman has given me.
It's been a lot to pull together, for sure, and at times I felt like maybe I bit off more than I could chew. Calling, emailing, and going to businesses, soliciting things, for every ten places I asked one would reply and for every ten that replied, one would say yes. It was a lot of rejection, and some of the emails I received felt like a punch in the gut. I remember the first place I emailed, I was so excited to be celebrating Alexandra's birthday in such a special way, I emailed one of my favorite cake stores and asked if they would be willing to donate a cake to our event. The response I got made the air catch in my throat and my eyes well up, and not in a good way. The email explained to me that this company only helped with causes that made a difference. Are you kidding me? As if the pregnancy and infant loss grief support program didn't make a difference? Really?? I was blown away, so much so that I replied to the email explaining that they need to rethink the rejection email they send to people.
And for the record, I will never again purchase a cake from cakeworks, because I prefer to buy cakes from people that like to make a difference.
So, as these last few months have gone by and the huge fundraiser to do list has gotten smaller and smaller, I realize that that list is about to grow again, as we take this whole next week to pull it all together, running around, picking things up, setting things up, contacting the media, making all the last purchases and changes to the schedules.
I have been finding myself drawn to the idea behind what I now refer to as the "evil cakeworks email." What if nobody comes? What if my fundraiser is a complete flop? What if all the media I contact feels the same way as cakeworks? What if they don't think that my daughter and all of the other babies lost are important enough?
Without the Scott Smed room at the hospital I feel that so much of those last few peaceful moments with our daughter would have been robbed from us. The memory box, teddy bear, blanket, clothes, recognition of birth, finger prints, pictures, hair clippings, pamphlets, books for Dayne, the blessing our daughter received, it all meant more to us than we will ever be able to verbalize. The therapy that I received, the candle light vigils, the gatherings for loss families, it means everything to those that have lost. It means everything and it takes funding.
I have said this before, but I will say it again, my family will never be able to repay the gift that we were given, but we can try to pay those gifts forward by replacing the resources that were used for us, but also help other families in need.
This IS a cause that impacts people. This IS a cause that makes a difference, but I fear that the only people that TRULY get it are those that have lost a child or are close to someone that has...Is that enough? Let's hope so.
Friday, April 22, 2011
Monday, April 18, 2011
Balance and Definition
For the last year Alexandra's memory has been what I get up every day for. Don't get me wrong, Dayne, Steve, our dog and families are all wonderful and amazing gifts to my life that drive me every single day. While I give each of them the same time I always have, the same love I always have, I feel like, somewhere inside of me, they took a back seat to my grief. They took a back seat to my need for Alexandra to be remembered.
I have been a force for the last year, like King Kong, barrelling through my life, forcing everyone to look to me, look at my story, read my story, see Alexandra, hear her, acknowledge her, remember her.
And this isn't going to stop, really. Alexandra's fundraiser is quickly approaching, and when it's finished, Alexandra's charity is next on the list, and then her next fundraiser, and all of my time to come, helping families with their losses. Alexandra is working through me, every single day, pushing me forward, one step after another, and I feel like I am learning to walk with this new force within me.
But I have been wondering lately if I have defined myself ONLY as Alexandra's mom...baby loss mom.
It all started with a picture. The profile picture I use for pretty much everything, my Alexandra tattoo. It's a truly amazing tattoo, and I love it, but when the time came that I felt like, maybe it's time to change it to a picture of me, I felt that feeling that is so common to me now, guilt. How will people remember her, if everything that I do doesn't reflect her?
So this, I guess, is the next baby loss mom hurdle. Finding a balance between who I am as an individual, and who I am as Alexandra's mother, the carrier of her memory. Defining myself as both Alexandra's mom, the baby loss mom and Dayne's mom, the living boy's mom, and a birth mother, the possible future new baby's mom, a fiance, a pet owner, a friend, sister, daughter, a woman. There is a balance there, and as with anything in life, I will stumble upon it eventually.
I have been a force for the last year, like King Kong, barrelling through my life, forcing everyone to look to me, look at my story, read my story, see Alexandra, hear her, acknowledge her, remember her.
And this isn't going to stop, really. Alexandra's fundraiser is quickly approaching, and when it's finished, Alexandra's charity is next on the list, and then her next fundraiser, and all of my time to come, helping families with their losses. Alexandra is working through me, every single day, pushing me forward, one step after another, and I feel like I am learning to walk with this new force within me.
But I have been wondering lately if I have defined myself ONLY as Alexandra's mom...baby loss mom.
It all started with a picture. The profile picture I use for pretty much everything, my Alexandra tattoo. It's a truly amazing tattoo, and I love it, but when the time came that I felt like, maybe it's time to change it to a picture of me, I felt that feeling that is so common to me now, guilt. How will people remember her, if everything that I do doesn't reflect her?
So this, I guess, is the next baby loss mom hurdle. Finding a balance between who I am as an individual, and who I am as Alexandra's mother, the carrier of her memory. Defining myself as both Alexandra's mom, the baby loss mom and Dayne's mom, the living boy's mom, and a birth mother, the possible future new baby's mom, a fiance, a pet owner, a friend, sister, daughter, a woman. There is a balance there, and as with anything in life, I will stumble upon it eventually.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
The Struggle Continues
On March 30th I found myself in the hospital again, it was a planned trip this time, but none the less scary. I had been called just a few weeks before and told that they had a cancellation and wanted to squeeze me in for my surgery. I would have the cyst removed sooner than expected. This idea made me exceptionally happy, this meant that it would be out of the way and Steve and I would be free to try again.
So, on March 30th, we made our way to the hospital, got checked in and Steve and Dayne were allowed to sit with me in the main waiting area, while I waited to be called to the OR waiting area. Dayne was such a good boy, sitting quietly, coloring and chatting with me. He was, of course, the only child, this was not a child friendly place, I had actually been told that I couldn't bring him at all, but they told me it would be ok once I got there.
It was pretty quick, from the time we first arrived until when I was being called to change into a hospital gown, pants, robe and slippers. Dayne was quite upset that they would not allow me to wear the fluffy pink slippers he had picked out for me the day before, but they said they were not allowed in the OR. It was even more quick from time i had changed to when I was hugging Dayne and Steve goodbye and walking to the OR waiting room.
Sitting there, alone, I was scared. Steve could have come, but we had no one to watch Dayne, so alone I sat, and waited. And when it was time to go into the OR, I was terrified. The doctor's, nurses and anesthetist all commented on Alexandra's tattoo, how pretty it was, and it made me happy...and then I was asleep.
As I was waking up, I kept thinking that it had all been a dream and I had not had the surgery yet, was at home in bed, but every time I opened my eyes I heard people saying "Hello Melissa!" and it slowly came to me that I hadn't been dreaming, the surgery had happened, and was done.
Still fuzzy and not quite awake my doctor came to me and told me that everything with removing the cyst had gone very well, but commented that there was a problem with my right tube, the tube where I had just had an ectopic pregnancy. I remember saying OK, but nothing else, I remember wondering what she was talking about, the cyst was on the left, why was she talking about the right side? I couldn't find my voice though, I was still too tired.
After I was back in recovery, I slowly woke up, dozing off often. Steve and Dayne came and went a few times, checking in on me and seeing if it was time for us to go home. Once the doctor was finished with her surgeries for the day, she came down to talk to me about what had happened. By that time I had been asking the nurse what had happened, what happened to my right tube? She read my chart and told me it had been removed, was that why I was there? Why didn't I know? The doctor had the answers I was looking for.
She gently explained to me that she had taken a look at my right tube to see how it was doing and was shocked by how damaged it was. She told me that she had never seen a tube so damaged. It had stretched, had a hole in it, had filled with scar tissue and was substantially larger than it should have been. The likelihood of that tube causing me more ectopic pregnancies was very, very high and she felt that it needed to be removed, or we would end up back in that room for more surgery to remove the tube.
Even though I didn't choose to have the tube removed before I had surgery, I agreed with her decision, if the tube is useless and will only cause more problems, I would much rather have it removed...Still, that puts one more obstacle in my way and I wonder...are we meant to have another child? Is this ever going to happen for us? The question bounces around in my head, if it's not meant to happen, and I never have another child, will I be able to come to a good place about it? I just don't know.
So, on March 30th, we made our way to the hospital, got checked in and Steve and Dayne were allowed to sit with me in the main waiting area, while I waited to be called to the OR waiting area. Dayne was such a good boy, sitting quietly, coloring and chatting with me. He was, of course, the only child, this was not a child friendly place, I had actually been told that I couldn't bring him at all, but they told me it would be ok once I got there.
It was pretty quick, from the time we first arrived until when I was being called to change into a hospital gown, pants, robe and slippers. Dayne was quite upset that they would not allow me to wear the fluffy pink slippers he had picked out for me the day before, but they said they were not allowed in the OR. It was even more quick from time i had changed to when I was hugging Dayne and Steve goodbye and walking to the OR waiting room.
Sitting there, alone, I was scared. Steve could have come, but we had no one to watch Dayne, so alone I sat, and waited. And when it was time to go into the OR, I was terrified. The doctor's, nurses and anesthetist all commented on Alexandra's tattoo, how pretty it was, and it made me happy...and then I was asleep.
As I was waking up, I kept thinking that it had all been a dream and I had not had the surgery yet, was at home in bed, but every time I opened my eyes I heard people saying "Hello Melissa!" and it slowly came to me that I hadn't been dreaming, the surgery had happened, and was done.
Still fuzzy and not quite awake my doctor came to me and told me that everything with removing the cyst had gone very well, but commented that there was a problem with my right tube, the tube where I had just had an ectopic pregnancy. I remember saying OK, but nothing else, I remember wondering what she was talking about, the cyst was on the left, why was she talking about the right side? I couldn't find my voice though, I was still too tired.
After I was back in recovery, I slowly woke up, dozing off often. Steve and Dayne came and went a few times, checking in on me and seeing if it was time for us to go home. Once the doctor was finished with her surgeries for the day, she came down to talk to me about what had happened. By that time I had been asking the nurse what had happened, what happened to my right tube? She read my chart and told me it had been removed, was that why I was there? Why didn't I know? The doctor had the answers I was looking for.
She gently explained to me that she had taken a look at my right tube to see how it was doing and was shocked by how damaged it was. She told me that she had never seen a tube so damaged. It had stretched, had a hole in it, had filled with scar tissue and was substantially larger than it should have been. The likelihood of that tube causing me more ectopic pregnancies was very, very high and she felt that it needed to be removed, or we would end up back in that room for more surgery to remove the tube.
Even though I didn't choose to have the tube removed before I had surgery, I agreed with her decision, if the tube is useless and will only cause more problems, I would much rather have it removed...Still, that puts one more obstacle in my way and I wonder...are we meant to have another child? Is this ever going to happen for us? The question bounces around in my head, if it's not meant to happen, and I never have another child, will I be able to come to a good place about it? I just don't know.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Do You Remember Alexandra?
Alexandra will turn one this month. April 29th seems to be flying at me at a pace I am not at all comfortable with. The date means so much more than a regular birthday. For me, it's the anniversary of a day of firsts and lasts with my little angel. It marks a year that I have lived while my daughter hasn't, a year visiting her grave, a year trying to carry on without her. My daughter's first birthday will not be filled with all the wonderful things that Dayne's first birthday held, we won't be watching Alexandra smash a cake or open a present. But there will be a party, Alexandra's fundraiser, it will even have my favorite childhood clown. It will be wonderful, and I am even excited about it...But it won't be the same.
And as her day approaches, it brings with it something else that makes me sad. The thought that people will think that now that it's been a year, maybe I should move on...Those words that I hate "move on" Or because it's been a year, people will think that means they don't have to talk about Alexandra, to ask about her, to bring her up at all...To remember her.
I feel like I have already noticed it happening. People that I thought had some sort of special attachment to my daughter seem to have left her behind and it stings. Everything I have done to keep my daughter's memory alive, but I never thought that nothing that I do will matter if everyone else chooses to forget her. Maybe one day I will just be happy with knowing that I remember her, the Steve and Dayne remember her, that we will never forget her and will always know she existed, but that day has yet to come.
And as her day approaches, it brings with it something else that makes me sad. The thought that people will think that now that it's been a year, maybe I should move on...Those words that I hate "move on" Or because it's been a year, people will think that means they don't have to talk about Alexandra, to ask about her, to bring her up at all...To remember her.
I feel like I have already noticed it happening. People that I thought had some sort of special attachment to my daughter seem to have left her behind and it stings. Everything I have done to keep my daughter's memory alive, but I never thought that nothing that I do will matter if everyone else chooses to forget her. Maybe one day I will just be happy with knowing that I remember her, the Steve and Dayne remember her, that we will never forget her and will always know she existed, but that day has yet to come.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Not Jealous, Not Defeated, But Almost
The Real Housewives are shows that I very much enjoy watching. Those shows, all of them, have helped me kill time, zone out, be away from my feelings and my thoughts for a few hours. The Real Housewives of New York was one of my favorites and Bethenny Frankel was always my favorite. When she got her own show, of course, I had to check it out. I was so interested in the show that the fact that she was pregnant didn't really dawn on me. Now, I am watching episodes after the baby is born, a little tiny baby girl, perfect in every way. And it's hard...And I don't want to watch, but for some stupid reason, I have to.
The show is on every Saturday morning, and Saturdays are busy days for us, so I record it and watch it on my lazy day...Sunday. And so, this morning I go into my recorded shows list and look at the title of the show and I feel anxiety. I don't WANT to watch, but I HAVE to watch, and so I turn it on and I start to watch the show that no longer keeps my mind from running to thoughts of my daughter, but is still so much a part of my routines that I can't give it up and I watch. I'm watching what I missed out on. Bethenny had her baby on May 8th, so when I watched this episode this morning, and watched her walk into a Children's Place and I saw that clothes that I saw that day I chose Alexandra's burial outfit, I didn't know how to respond. Feelings rushed over me, I had never put it together, that Alexandra was born so close, it's TV, it's not even real to me, but seeing that store, with those close slapped me right in the face.
I would assume that I would have felt jealousy, but at that moment, I didn't. I just felt kind of sad, for what I missed out, what I'm missing out on, and what I WILL miss out on in the future. And I thought, it will happen for us one day, one day we will have another new baby that makes it safely into this world.
And then I think of my most recent loss and I feel a little bit defeated. And sadly, I had an appointment last week and they told me that we would not be able to try again for a little while because they found a fairly large cyst on my left ovary and they want to remove it, and they can't if I'm pregnant, so we wait some more, at least another 3 months to start trying again, and then however long it takes for me to conceive, and then the pregnancy, when I will be a wreck. So, I will not have a baby in my arms for over a year...if I'm lucky enough to have another one, and that is a hard pill to swallow.
I have to have faith though, that it WILL happen for us, one day. I have not been defeated...yet.
The show is on every Saturday morning, and Saturdays are busy days for us, so I record it and watch it on my lazy day...Sunday. And so, this morning I go into my recorded shows list and look at the title of the show and I feel anxiety. I don't WANT to watch, but I HAVE to watch, and so I turn it on and I start to watch the show that no longer keeps my mind from running to thoughts of my daughter, but is still so much a part of my routines that I can't give it up and I watch. I'm watching what I missed out on. Bethenny had her baby on May 8th, so when I watched this episode this morning, and watched her walk into a Children's Place and I saw that clothes that I saw that day I chose Alexandra's burial outfit, I didn't know how to respond. Feelings rushed over me, I had never put it together, that Alexandra was born so close, it's TV, it's not even real to me, but seeing that store, with those close slapped me right in the face.
I would assume that I would have felt jealousy, but at that moment, I didn't. I just felt kind of sad, for what I missed out, what I'm missing out on, and what I WILL miss out on in the future. And I thought, it will happen for us one day, one day we will have another new baby that makes it safely into this world.
And then I think of my most recent loss and I feel a little bit defeated. And sadly, I had an appointment last week and they told me that we would not be able to try again for a little while because they found a fairly large cyst on my left ovary and they want to remove it, and they can't if I'm pregnant, so we wait some more, at least another 3 months to start trying again, and then however long it takes for me to conceive, and then the pregnancy, when I will be a wreck. So, I will not have a baby in my arms for over a year...if I'm lucky enough to have another one, and that is a hard pill to swallow.
I have to have faith though, that it WILL happen for us, one day. I have not been defeated...yet.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Never "was" Always "is"
Sometimes I wonder if I'm the only one that does this...When I refer to my daughter I always say "Is" My daughter's name "is" Alexandra. I never say that her name "was" Alexandra, because her name still is Alexandra, even though she's not here with me.
I kind of feel like, my little girl would have been a lot of things and she's going to miss out on a lot things, a lot of days would have been important, and people refer to her birthday as "the anniversary" even though that drives me crazy...but there is one thing that we gave her, that identifies who she is, one thing that can't be taken away from her, one thing that will never be a "was" it always just IS and that is her name.
I kind of feel like, my little girl would have been a lot of things and she's going to miss out on a lot things, a lot of days would have been important, and people refer to her birthday as "the anniversary" even though that drives me crazy...but there is one thing that we gave her, that identifies who she is, one thing that can't be taken away from her, one thing that will never be a "was" it always just IS and that is her name.
Friday, February 25, 2011
February 24th, 2011
It was Steve's birthday, a big one no less, he was turning 30. I had planned a surprise party for him for Saturday, but with everything that was going on, I decided that it would have to be cancelled. I was extremely sad about this because I wanted to have a special celebration for Steve, he deserves to be celebrated. He wasn't upset about it being cancelled though, he doesn't really like parties anyway. Still, what a terrible way to spend your birthday, waiting for bad news, hoping for the least bad, but still bad, word to be delivered.
It was around 6:45am and I had just gotten into a deep sleep. I was dreaming, in my dream, I heard my name being called, as I came back from my dreamy state, I realized that my name was actually being called. I was woken up by a man that had come to collect some more blood. This is the blood that we would be waiting for next. By 9am I had learned that my ultra sound wouldn't happen until 12:45, so I was left to do some more waiting...and thinking. Why was this happening to us? This isn't fair.
Around 10am, after I had taken a fairly cold shower and was waiting for Steve to arrive, I had the news given to me that the blood work had come back. The doctor said the news wasn't good. She explained that my levels had dropped and because this was a tubal pregnancy, my body was taking care of it and I would lose the baby. This was the best of the worst to me because I didn't have to make any decisions, my body had, once again, taken away my choice...but this time, in a way that would cause the least amount of pain. I expressed to the doctor that this was better than having to have my tube removed and she said that that was true if I was looking at the bright side of things.
Before she left she talked about if we wanted to try again, how long to wait physically and also that we should wait until we are ready emotionally. When she left, I wondered, how am I supposed to feel right now? My eyes stung from crying, but still filled up with fresh tears. As I pushed it aside I wondered...how badly is this going to hurt, once it kicks in? When I'm at home, alone, with no baby to look forward to - again. How much will the pain eat at me this time? Despite my very strong pro choice stance, I had a hard time not seeing this little thing, that had lodged itself in my tube, as a baby...my baby, my fourth baby and the second baby that I would never get to meet.
But, there was not time to worry about that right now, I had to hurry up and wait. Because they were still doing the ultra sound and it would be a few hours after that before we would find out if I could go home or not.
Steve arrived shortly before 11am and we took turns playing spider solitaire on my laptop. When the time finally arrived for me to go for my ultra sound a porter came to get me. Steve walked behind me as the porter pushed me in a wheel chair. Apparently I wasn't allowed to walk on my own. The porter parked my wheel chair in the hallway outside of the place where they do the ultra sounds. I was amazed at how different this stay was than the stay that we had when I delivered Alexandra...even though I was in the same hospital, the experiences were worlds apart.
The ultra sound showed much of the same things that the others had shown. Nothing in my uterus, something in my right tube. Based on this fact, and my increased bleeding and lowering HCG levels, what was going on was very clear.
It was explained to me that this is called a tubal miscarriage. In my googling research I learned that they actually call it a tubal termination, though they don't like to say that to a mother about her very wanted pregnancy. No matter what you call it, it is another sad experience for my family. Another attempt to grow our small family, to no avail. Another emotional smack in the face.
After several more hours and close to dinner time, I was finally allowed to go home to Dayne. Feeling tired, sore and sad, I cuddled with my only living child until he fell asleep and then I cuddled with Steve until I fell asleep.
It was around 6:45am and I had just gotten into a deep sleep. I was dreaming, in my dream, I heard my name being called, as I came back from my dreamy state, I realized that my name was actually being called. I was woken up by a man that had come to collect some more blood. This is the blood that we would be waiting for next. By 9am I had learned that my ultra sound wouldn't happen until 12:45, so I was left to do some more waiting...and thinking. Why was this happening to us? This isn't fair.
Around 10am, after I had taken a fairly cold shower and was waiting for Steve to arrive, I had the news given to me that the blood work had come back. The doctor said the news wasn't good. She explained that my levels had dropped and because this was a tubal pregnancy, my body was taking care of it and I would lose the baby. This was the best of the worst to me because I didn't have to make any decisions, my body had, once again, taken away my choice...but this time, in a way that would cause the least amount of pain. I expressed to the doctor that this was better than having to have my tube removed and she said that that was true if I was looking at the bright side of things.
Before she left she talked about if we wanted to try again, how long to wait physically and also that we should wait until we are ready emotionally. When she left, I wondered, how am I supposed to feel right now? My eyes stung from crying, but still filled up with fresh tears. As I pushed it aside I wondered...how badly is this going to hurt, once it kicks in? When I'm at home, alone, with no baby to look forward to - again. How much will the pain eat at me this time? Despite my very strong pro choice stance, I had a hard time not seeing this little thing, that had lodged itself in my tube, as a baby...my baby, my fourth baby and the second baby that I would never get to meet.
But, there was not time to worry about that right now, I had to hurry up and wait. Because they were still doing the ultra sound and it would be a few hours after that before we would find out if I could go home or not.
Steve arrived shortly before 11am and we took turns playing spider solitaire on my laptop. When the time finally arrived for me to go for my ultra sound a porter came to get me. Steve walked behind me as the porter pushed me in a wheel chair. Apparently I wasn't allowed to walk on my own. The porter parked my wheel chair in the hallway outside of the place where they do the ultra sounds. I was amazed at how different this stay was than the stay that we had when I delivered Alexandra...even though I was in the same hospital, the experiences were worlds apart.
The ultra sound showed much of the same things that the others had shown. Nothing in my uterus, something in my right tube. Based on this fact, and my increased bleeding and lowering HCG levels, what was going on was very clear.
It was explained to me that this is called a tubal miscarriage. In my googling research I learned that they actually call it a tubal termination, though they don't like to say that to a mother about her very wanted pregnancy. No matter what you call it, it is another sad experience for my family. Another attempt to grow our small family, to no avail. Another emotional smack in the face.
After several more hours and close to dinner time, I was finally allowed to go home to Dayne. Feeling tired, sore and sad, I cuddled with my only living child until he fell asleep and then I cuddled with Steve until I fell asleep.
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