One year.

I don't even know what to say today.

I just think about things like:
-the fact that everything we have for her she would have outgrown
-how unbelievably amazing our doctor and most of the nurses were (and still are)
-the outpouring of love from our friends and family
-that I desperately, savagely miss her
-that she will ALWAYS be a part of our lives
-that I hope and pray she can watch over her little brother or sister

I am so grateful of the time we had with her, and so pissed that we didn't get more.

Baby girl, I love you so much.

Friends.

I lurk on a lot of BL blogs, and there seems to be common feelings of disconnect from old friends - that many of us have friends that don't really know how to handle our grief, and then just give us some more space.

Any of you feel like you've actually cut people off?

I feel I have.  It's hard for me to return calls to a lot of people.  There's a specific group of our friends - a bunch of guys that I've been friends with for over ten years - that I really have removed myself from.  Why?  I don't exactly know.  One of them had a baby this past summer, so that doesn't help.  But I just sort of cut myself off.

We usually get together with these guys over the holidays, and I'm dreading the email.  Maybe it will never come.  That's a distinct possibility.

And then I got a Facebook message from a girl I went to grad school with - we haven't really kept in touch.  But she sent me a note saying she'd been praying for me all year and knew that this would be a tough week and that I was in her thoughts, which was really sweet.  I had just mentioned to J a few days ago that I wondered how many of our friends would remember, if any would call, or send us a note, or something.  So that made me teary and grateful all at the same time.

I am so glad this is a short week, and I am SO GLAD we are both off on Wednesday.  It's going to be hard.

Bad blogger.

I am, in fact, a terrible blogger.  This is okay.

So I'm pregnant.  13w1d to be exact.

It's been a terrifying last couple of weeks.  Every cramp, every pain, every time I had to go to the bathroom I was freaking out.  Because why should anything go right?

I think I'm finally past the waiting-for-the-other-shoe-to-drop phase, though.  At least I hope so.  My mom said it best - this is a new life, and we're just doing what we promised - having a little brother or sister for Olivia.

It's hard to be excited when I miss her so much.  It's difficult to reconcile in my brain.  I mean, having another baby doesn't take anything away from her - my brain knows this.  But my heart has to learn it over and over again.

I know things could still go wrong.  I know anything could happen.  And I'm not okay with that, but it's not something I can really avoid.  It is what it is.

Olive was Spatula Bernadine in the womb.  This little one is Tupperware Buttercup, or Tuppy Butt for short.

I'm so grateful our doctor is who he is - really down to earth, really nice, and just a good man.  I will never be able to repay for the kindness and empathy he showed and continues to show us.

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We're coming up on one year.  Next week, actually.  Just thinking that everything we had for her she would have grown out of already....wow.  And how different our lives should be, and how different they are, but not nearly in the same way we thought.  I'm just glad we're off from school that day so we can just be home and grieve in private.

I just wish she was here.

Eleven months.

I can't believe it's been that long.  I was trying to imagine her at 11 months today....what she'd look like, what she'd be doing....and it's hard to even imagine.  Yes, I know what typically babies do at that age.  But what about Olivia.

Sigh.

After two weeks of not blogging you'd think I'd have more to say.  But sometimes I just have no words.

Blissful ignorance.

I miss that a lot.

I miss looking at pregnancy with nothing but hope and excitement.  Now those thoughts are tainted with fear, terror, dread, and worry.  There's still hope and excitement, but the innocence is totally gone.

I had lots of worries last time - worries about previa, worries about fluid levels - and was pretty good about setting that stuff aside.  Me worrying and being stressed couldn't change the outcome.  But that kind of stuff will be so much harder this time - any twinge, any pain, ANYTHING is going to make me freak out.

I miss being ignorant.

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I have had sort of a sad weekend.  I don't know why; maybe it's just because when I finally have true down time all of it comes out.  When I'm busy, I can put aside how different my life should be right now.  That there should be baby proof locks everywhere, that there should be cheerios crushed into the carpet, we should be worrying about if we have enough diapers left to get through the rest of the weekend.  Instead I'm sitting here on the couch with a cup of coffee with the Packer game on in the background.

I started reading Carol Cirulli Lanham's book this weekend; I'm sure that's part of it.  It's just ripping off the proverbial bandage.

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I hate that everything has a shadow on it.  It's like an out-of-balance recipe.

Hanging on.

Super busy week - singing a gig with Seraphic Fire that's been pretty vocally taxing.  I was already woundede when I got down here so trying to do the best I can on less cylinders than I'm used to.

Sitting at a Starbucks on Miami Beach right now and there are a MILLION babies here.  It's getting easier, though.  It's easier for me to look at the babies as a mom-to-be who's trying to get pregnant and less as a mom who lost her baby.  Not all of the time - hell, if there's anything I've learned in this last year, there's exceptions to every rule - but I'm getting there.

Just found out one of my sort-of cousins (step-cousin, technically) is pregnant with triplets.  Egads.  But things have been sketchy - they're not sure one of them is going to make it.  We're not close, and me contacting her out of the blue I think would be weird.  But I'm thinking about her and those three wee ones, and hoping everything goes okay for them.

I've been really busy with teaching this fall - have lots of students and am teaching a few classes.  Getting paid crap, of course, because I'm an adjunct, but what can you do.  It's a job in my field, and I'm grateful for that.

Sigh.  Life is hard.  I used to say that and thought I knew what that meant.

For something non-baby and non-sad....

Just sayin'.

Ten months.

I hate these month posts.

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I haven't been moved to write as of late.  Life at school has been crazily busy, and that's taking a lot of my time.

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Another BFN last week.  But I'm still without AF, which is really frustrating.  I've never been irregular in my entire life, and have been since the pregnancy.  Makes it a lot more difficult to plan when I'm ovulating.

At the same time, I hate that I'm doing that.  I hate that I'm obsessing, and worrying.  We didn't have a problem getting pregnant before - only took four months!  But I'm doing it.  I'm thinking about it all the time, planning on when we should try, and that's not very fun.  I mean, really.

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Really happy for my buddy CurlsOFred for her pregnancy, though.  She's gonna be my role model. :)

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Family wedding last weekend where a 10-month-old boy was the ringbearer.  My niece, one of the flower girls, pulled him up on a big two-seater wagon.  The minute I saw it I knew Olivia would've been there and been a flower girl, and it just made me hurt.  All of these family things that she should be experiencing and that we should be experiencing with her.  This sucks so much.

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I'm already thinking about what to say to my students when I get pregnant again.  I said I was obsessing, right?  I mean, there's a whole new class of students this fall who have no idea what we went through last year.  And I feel like I need to prep them, but also prep myself so I don't get the inevitable "is this your first baby?"

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Miss you, Olive.  Every day.  We're learning to survive and thrive without you here physically, and have both grown separately and together so much in this last year.  We'd trade any of it to get you back, though.

Love you.

Square one.

I'm having one of those hard days; one of those days where I feel like I've been catapulted back eight or nine months in the grieving process.

I'm so down today.  I think part of it is that I'm PMSing, and that almost makes it worse, because then I'm not pregnant.   Just having one of those days when I feel like a complete failure.  Failure as a mom, failure as a wife, failure as a woman....everything.

Will I ever stop feeling guilty?  I don't know.  My brain knows I didn't do anything wrong, but my heart and soul agree with that very little of the time.  I just feel like I failed her.  That I failed her, failed my husband, failed our families, failed everyone.

I feel like hell, I look like hell, and I just want to crawl under the blankets and sleep for days.

Pressure, pressure, pressure.

I'm getting a little obsessed with TTC.  And I HATE that I'm doing that.  I keep looking at my body for those subtle changes I noticed in the first seven weeks, hoping to see something.

However.

I don't think this is all my fault.  The question I've gotten asked the most this fall is, "Are you guys trying again?"  It sorta seems like people think on some level that us having another baby will make our world "normal" again.

To these people, I offer up a hearty FUCK YOU.  Another baby will never replace our sweet Olivia.  Yes, it will give us a chance to have all of those experiences of having a baby that we didn't get to have with Olive, but another baby will never be Olive.  He or she will be his or her own perfectly flawed entity.

I do know, though, that I'm putting pressure on myself.  That, when and if AF comes to town next time, I'm going to be heartbroken.  And I wish I wasn't doing this - I keep trying to reason with myself, and then I catch myself thinking about it again.

Sigh.

Random ups and downs.

I haven't written at all for almost two weeks.  We've been so nuts with school - that's good, I suppose, but I do miss the down times of the summer.

J. and I are both down today.  Neither of us really know why, and early I was thinking about what things I could do to cheer him (or me!) up.  And I started thinking of all of those things I would have laughed at before but never will again.

I know they always say having a child changes you, and we were prepared for that.  But I was never prepared for this kind of grief and the ongoing stark realizations.  I will never be the same person again.  And I MISS that me, that version of me that was more carefree and more genial.

I really hope we get pregnant soon, although I know that will bring on a completely different set of challenges and worries.  But I'm hoping that the optimism and the excitement of that will help.  That's a lot of pressure to put on a child-to-be.  But he or she will be related to us, and we are TOUGH. :)

Nine months.

Wow.

Nine whole months.

I miss her every day.  We're doing pretty well today.  We each had a few moments of sadness, but we're hanging in there.

School started this week; I am exhausted already.  I will have a pretty full schedule this semester, which is good - as a lowly adjunct, more work actually means more money - but holy cow am I out of that routine.  The last time I was in this routine I had cut back quite a bit.  Not this fall.

We have a new teacher at school whose name is Olivia.  I have to admit, every time I hear someone say her name, I tighten up a bit.  I'm hoping that will get easier as time goes by.

Yeah.

It's one of those days where I just don't know what else to say.  I'm not better, I'm not worse, but I'm surviving.  I guess that's good.

When it hits.

I've been trying to figure out how to describe what it feels like when the grief hits.

A wave.

A cloud.

Sandbags.

A heavy blanket.

Gravity x infinity.

A tranquilizer.

Cold, wet clothes.

A severe beating (I imagine).

A sinus headache in my entire body.

And none of those really adequately describe it.

Have you ever read the Vonnegut story called Harrison Bergeron?  The concept is basically about weighing people down who are more intelligent or more athletic than the average person so that everyone is the same.  When this hits, it sort of feels like that - like someone, somewhere, thought I was too happy and gave me the most terrible handicap.

Thankful Tuesdays #5

I'm thankful for my dad.

Our car is old, and slowly, slowly dying.  And this past week he called us up to ask us some questions about some things that were going wrong, and he ordered a whole bunch of parts for us online and talked to a repair guy in town.  This embarrasses us somewhat, but, at the same time, he knows WAY more about cars than we do.

He was a rock when Olivia died, for all of us.  He was hurting too, and wasn't afraid to show that, and help us anyway he could.

We don't always agree - we couldn't be further apart on the political spectrum - but he's my dad, and he's awesome.

One-two punch.

I have to first thank Curls O Fred for mentioning Glow in the Woods this week - I really, really liked it, especially since there were some men blogging.  I passed it onto J, and this is really his first foray into the babyloss blogs.  There were many tears for both of us, but I also think this is good - I think he's really found some people to connect with on this in some way, at least via reading what they write.  It's been an emotionally wrenching night, though.

In his trolling for more, he discovered Grieving Dads, which, upon first reading, he really likes.  I wanted to pass it on for any other dads out there.

AF also decided to drop in today, about two weeks early.  I have NEVER been irregular and since AF started coming back it's been weird - four weeks, four weeks, six weeks, six weeks, and now four weeks.  I also really thought we could be pregnant, so that was tough.  It will happen - I know it will - but it was kind of a slap in the face.  And I had to admit that to myself when J asked me about it - that it's just different now.  It's not pressure, per se, but it's just....different.

Sigh.

Ugh.

It was one of those days where I was trolling through Facebook and kept seeing pictures of people with their newborns.  ugh.  I am jealous.  I am angry.  I am heartbroken.  I have baby fever like crazy but know that it won't bring Olive back.

School is right around the corner, and that is simultaneously good and bad.  Good because it's a distraction, good because work = money, good because on most levels I enjoy what I do.  Bad because I have to be back in the thick of it again, with clueless people and freaking children with babies; bad because it's the land of firsts again.  The first fall since I was pregnant with Olivia.

As my husband would say, I has a sad.  But I think I always will in some way.  That IS our normal.

I miss when things were easier.  When I didn't have a dead baby.  When I wasn't concerned about my marriage.  When there wasn't a sheet over the crib.  When it seemed like everything was right in the world.

But.

I'd rather have this than no Olive at all.  Because she was ours, the best parts of us.  This is horrible, no doubt, but it's horrible because we would have done anything for her.  And I am SO glad we went for that.  We may be in a lot of pain, but we are better people because of her.

God, I love and miss her so much.

Dealing with anger.

I had a moment a few days ago where I just got SO ANGRY at this whole situation.  I broke down crying - J and I were supposed to go grocery shopping, and I just lost it.  He left me at home and I just fell into bed and sobbed and punched and screamed.

That hasn't happened for awhile, and I don't know what brought it on.  But I'm doing better now.

As the school year gets closer and closer, it's things like that that worry me.  I mean, what if that happens, and I can't escape?

Sometimes I question whether or not I'm a strong enough person to deal with this.  But I'm writing this, and not crying.  And that makes me feel good.

Thankful Tuesdays #4

I am thankful for the INTERNETS.

I have found so much support this last year - during pregnancy, immediately afterward, and continuing.  It provides a way for my friends and family to keep bugging me even when I don't feel like answering the phone.  Facebook and Skype really work wonders.

This may seem trite, but, honestly, I cannot imagine going through what I've been through without it.

Start and stop.

I think I've started and deleted blog entries approximately 12 times this past week.

Nothing really major; I just didn't know what to say.  I look at this blog as therapy, but sometimes the thought of delving into it and opening up some wounds to figure out some stuff is just difficult.....easier to just avoid.

I'm dealing with a sinus infection and I got food poisoning this week....good times.  J. has been taking good care of me.  We're doing pretty well - still dealing with some of the fallout of the drama, but we're doing good.  Just have to keep talking - I have to encourage him to talk more about when he's unhappy.  And we're getting there.

The student of mine that had a baby girl same day we lost Olivia?  Well, I made the mistake of not hiding him on Facebook, and she crawled for the first time yesterday.  That sent me into a tailspin.  All of these firsts we haven't gotten to experience....all of these moments that SHE didn't get to experience.  It sucks.  It sucks SO MUCH.

We're half-heartedly trying to get pregnant - meaning, we're not stressing.  Just enjoying each other and if that's a happy by-product, excellent.

Sigh.

Eight months.

That's all I have to say about that.

Well, that's not entirely true, but my soul has already gotten its beating today.

Thankful Tuesdays #3

Today, I'm thankful for my marriage.  It's really been through the ringer this year, but I know it's going to be stronger than ever.

This blog is about surviving, right?

And we are.

There has been much crying, and talking, and discussing, and compromising.  And this is good.  I love my husband so much, and I know this isn't him, isn't us, and this relationship is so much bigger than what I know will be a blip on the radar in the long run.  Olivia, of course, will probably remain one of the biggest spikes ever.  As she should.

Stumbled upon Faces of Loss, Faces of Hope today.  I shared it with J., and there was much crying.  But this is a part of the healing.  Maybe at some point we'll submit our story - he's a much better writer than me.

We're coming up on 8 months this weekend.  We're still dealing with firsts, though - first summer since I was pregnant, remembering planning for the school year while being pregnant with Olive, hoping that she'd cooperate and decide to come out after finals in December.  Oh, my sweet Olivia.

Anyhoo.  We've hit a rough patch but I know we're stronger than it.

And...a new wrinkle.

I knew my husband wasn't handling the grieving process well, but I didn't know how much he was hiding from me.

I deleted some details here.  Basically, he's had some inappropriate contact with some women.
I don't know what to do. I'm so angry, so sad, so upset, but I also know that this isn't him. When he told me he was just quiet while I blew up, but when I asked him a few pointed questions later, he broke down and all of this stuff came out.   How he feels inadequate, some things in our marriage he's not been happy about....all of this stuff.

He has an appointment to go see a therapist Monday. There's been lots of screaming and yelling and hugging and crying, and I know we'll get through this.  I'm hurt, but I know this isn't him.  And, frankly, it could have been a lot worse.

Fuck.

Surviving.

My husband was here in Oregon this weekend...so good.  It was just good to finally get to spend a few days with him.

And we met our friends' baby this weekend.  It was sad, and I cried, but I also laughed, and smiled, and played.  She doesn't look like Olivia, she isn't Olivia, but it was still bittersweet.  I'm so grateful to K. and G. for being so amazingly open and honest and forgiving in all of this.

Tears are still on the surface quite a bit, but we've had a good bit of help this week.  One of my friends here is from Portland, and mentioned to a nurse friend of his who works with bereaved parents, and she sent him a bunch of stuff.  Lo and behold, his friend is Pat Schwiebert, the author of Tear Soup and some other things, and runs a program and website.  She sent a VERY sweet note and some books, including Tear Soup.  I cried, but it was good.

I'm here until July 12, but am already looking forward to going home....!!!

And now we're behind.

I wish I could explain all of the thoughts and feelings that rush through me when I find out a friend or student is pregnant.

I'm happy, sad, jealous, angry, wistful, and grieve all over again.  And that doesn't even begin to describe it.

One of my students is 12 weeks, and finally posted about it on Facebook.  I'm very happy for her and her husband - I know they'll be great parents - but my heart and soul just ache.

Is that ever going to stop?

I miss you, my sweet little girl.

On singing

So, after we lost Olivia, I didn't even want to think about singing.  It's so connected to who I am, to my soul, to my heart, to my center, and all of those were turned upside down when Olivia died.

But, eventually, I had to.  It's my job.  And it was hard, very hard.  I cried a lot.

But now I'm singing the best I have in years.  And you know why?  Honestly, after we lost Olivia, I stopped caring.  I stopped worrying about singing, stopped over-analyzing, stopped being concerned about what other people thought.  Because it wasn't worth it anymore, wasn't worth the stress.  I guess my priorities are permanently altered.

I also have someone else to sing for, too.  And I give that to her every time I open my mouth.

The world is trying to test me.

You know how to make a 5-hour flight longer?  Put a seven-month-old baby behind me.  Who laughs, cries, and smells like baby.  Every time she cried, I cried.  It was horrible and wonderful and awful.

I'm also back at a gig - this time singing with Oregon Bach Festival.  This is good.  And I have some very good friends here, including a couple who had their daughter a week after we lost Olivia.  And she's coming.  I have known about this, and I've been able to prepare, but how do you prepare, really?  I just emailed K. and said that I was excited and terrified, and didn't know how I would react, but I'm sure it will involve tears, and that I hoped we could do it in private for the first time.

But I did get to see my husband today, and this was good.  We'd had an ongoing fight this past week - and we NEVER fight - about something stupid, and finally resolved it last night, which was good.  Plus I just missed him.  Now eleven days and I get to see him for four whole days.  Woohoo. :)

Now must unpack and go to sleep.  I'll be seeing all sorts of people tomorrow, most of whom I haven't seen in a year, and I'm sure there will be tears.  Lots of them.  Tears of sadness, of gratitude, of love and friendship, but tears nonetheless.

And....back again.

Sorry.  It's been a nutso couple of weeks.

The brother is doing very well - actually out of the hospital today, three days after surgery.  They got all of the tumor; we're still waiting to hear what kind of tumor it is and that will determine what the next course of action will be.

I've been having some rough days.  Being in the hospital with him has been really tough.  Neither of his rooms were near L&D, but it was still so similar.  The smell.  The beeps.  The way he looked.  I've cried a lot this week, and that's really sucked.  Also had my first BFN test - actually two, after AF was two weeks late.  Sigh.

One day at a time.

Thankful Tuesdays #2

I am unbelievably thankful for my dorky,wonderful, supportive, smart, hilarious husband.  He is the reason I survive, the thing that wakes me up in the morning (literally and figuratively), and I am a better person because of him.  I know that sounds trite, but it's really true.  We love each other more than I ever thought was possible.

And how my world has changed in the last few weeks.

Let's see:

Miami and Mexico were great.  Beautiful, some great sight-seeing, lots of great singing, only some limited drama from the college kids.  Although I think the powers that be wouldn't say "limited" drama....but that's a different story.

May 24 was our six month "anniversary."  I feel like I say this every month, but it feels simultaneously like so long ago and like it was yesterday.  We've had some pretty bad down days the last week or so.  Damn you, poignant TV.

The biggest, worst news, though, is that on May 26 my brother was diagnosed with a brain tumor.

J. is a total jock - we couldn't be more different - and started noticing some problems with his left leg about a month ago.  Three doctors and three MRIs later, they discovered a 3 cm long tumor in his brain.  Pretty scary shit.  We're all pretty freaked out and, seriously, someone up there must think we can handle a whole lot of crap, because this family has really had a bad streak as of late.

He goes in for surgery on June 15th.  So now I'm heading to Miami on the 6th for a gig, then directly to Wisconsin on the 14th, then back home on the 19th and out again for three weeks on the 21st.  It's going to be crazy, but I really wanted to be home.  For him, for my parents, for me, and for her - to support the uncle she never got to know.

Expletive.

Good news!

I'm still anemic.  This is not the good news.

However, my hemoglobin levels are up over normal, so our OB/GYN gave us the thumbs up to try again.

I am so relieved.  We're not going to stress over it - no temperature taking/day counting nonsense.  It'll happen when it happens.  Hell, my mom doesn't call me fertile Myrtle for nothing. :)

Just a quick entry - have to get back to packing for two weeks.  In one suitcase.  Yikes.

I love my mom.

She sent me a card and a candle this week - where in the world does she find these cards?  Apparently Hallmark has a grieving mother's day line.  Leave it to my mama.  But the candle is beautiful - I always talk about lighting a candle to remember our Olive, and it's perfect for that.

I really love all of the moms in my life - my own mom, all of my amazing aunts, my grandmas, my friends.  Each one of them helps me every day, whether they realize it or not.  They give me strength.

I'm really dreading this weekend, but I'll be traveling most of the day Sunday, so that's probably good.  I can just put on headphones and block out the world on that five-hour flight.  Ugh.  I'm heading to Miami and then Mexico to sing with Seraphic Fire.  I'm excited, but, as always, worried about leaving my better half for two weeks.  It's training, though, because I'll be gone for a three week gig later this summer.

Thankful Tuesdays

I'm jumping on this bandwagon - I need some positive outlook time. :)

Things I'm thankful for:

1) My extended family.  My husband, my parents, my brother, my grandmothers, my aunts and uncles, my cousins, my in-laws - I am so blessed with the most amazing supportive group of people who are my biggest champions.

2) My friends.  I am blessed with the most amazingly varied group of friends - ages, ethnicities, paths of life, from all over the world, many of whom I can call 24-7 to weep, to laugh, to drunk dial (although I haven't done that last one in years, lol).

3) My daughter.  I am so sad that we didn't get to spend more time together, but I am so thankful for the 8 months we had, and I know you're bringing your great-grandpas much joy in heaven.  May Grandpa G. always find ants in your pants and Grandpa S. tell you lots of Oley and Lena jokes - although I hope he hangs onto the inappropriate ones for awhile.

Everyone but us.

I remember a friend of mine making a comment last fall about how so many of her friends were pregnant.  I was one of them.

I can't seem to turn around on Facebook now without someone having a baby or getting pregnant or finding out they're having a little girl.  I've had to start hiding people - I don't begrudge anyone's happiness, it just makes me feel shittier about my lack of it, you know? 

I've had a really rough last couple of days.  Seems like I'm always teary, or snapping at my husband and then feeling terrible about it.  It was something really stupid yesterday - I snapped at him while we were shopping - and then he got really upset, and then I felt like such a bitch.  That's not me; that's not us.  We don't bicker.  But as we're dealing with the stress of all this it creeps in once in a while, and I hate it. 

It's like there's always this anger and unhappiness bubbling inside of me, and when we're busy, I can keep it at bay.  But when I give myself time to think about things - about how unfair this is, about how much I miss her - it just breaks me.  Sometimes it just kills me to look at him - she looked SO much like her daddy, so when he's sleeping or falling asleep or yawning I just see her and I want to crack. 

I'm not worried about us - he is the reason I survive, he is the reason that I can go on and keep living despite this.  But I HATE myself when because I feel shitty I cause him pain.  It's not fair.

Ugh. 

And....cue face slap.

I've had a insanely busy last couple of days - last concert of the semester, finals/juries, studio party last night - and I've had little time to breathe, let alone process anything.  And have been fine, right?  It's not like I forget, it just becomes not in the forefront.

And then this morning I was sitting here, benignly reading an article, and thinking about how I needed to get in for a lesson again.  I haven't seen this woman for over a year, and I'm not sure how much she knows, so I was thinking about the conversation I'd have to have with her: Well, I've had a pretty traumatic last twelve months.  I got pregnant in March of last year and our daughter was stillborn at 36 weeks in November.

And then I lost it.  DH is giving a final this morning, so it's just me here.  I went in the nursery and sat on the bed (there's a full bed in there), and grabbing the little photo album we have of all of her ultrasounds (and we had a billion).  I was teary, and then got to the last picture, the ultrasound shot of her one week before we lost her, that has a perfect shot of her gorgeous little nose and chin, and I just sobbed.  Sometimes I go in there and just talk to her, and today it was about how my life should be so different now and it's not, and how much I miss her, and how she'll always be my little girl. 

And then I rang the bell - one of my students grew up in Japan, and after Olivia died she gave us a rin (this small bowl-shaped bell) and zabuton (the cushion it sits on) - it's often used in Buddhist prayer and in memory of someone.  She told us that when we're feeling down, to go and ring the bell three times, letting the sound ring, and it's a way to find peace and connection to her soul.  I'm not Buddhist, but I do find comfort in it - it's just basically a form of meditation.  And then I just sat in the room and talked to her more and about how I have to make her daddy fix the painting job he did in there.  :)

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I also finally heard back from the internist this week - she wants me to double the iron dose I'm taking and then check back in three months.  THREE MONTHS.  Ugh.  I should have gotten AF last weekend and still nothing, but once I've completed that (that will be round 2) I'm going to call my OB-GYN and ask what we should do.  If he says we should wait until the anemia thing is better, then that's what we'll do, but argh.

Deep breaths, one day at a time.  That's all I can do.

Five months.

I can't believe it's been that long.  I miss her so much.  I want to hold her, I want to listen to her, I want to smell her, I want to kiss her.

Fuck.

Last day of school.

It was our last day of classes today, thank God.  Some exams and juries over the next few days but then the semester is finally over.

Our department is having its traditional end-of-the-year party this weekend and I've decided not to go.  It's kind of lame, anyway, but our students tend to bring their wives and kids (remember, I live in Utah, where they marry and procreate very young as a general rule), and I know that the student whose daughter was born the same day as Olivia will bring his family, and I just can't handle that yet.  It would be sad for us, it would be uncomfortable for them, and I'm not dying to go, anyway.  C'est la vie.

DH had to turn in some sort of activity report - gotta love the weird academia requirements - and started looking back through his online calendar for dates of things.  And then saw all of the doctor's appointments, her due date, everything.  Really brought him down.  I can't even imagine, thinking back over the past year - it was almost a year ago exactly this weekend that we found out we were pregnant.  It also will be five months on Saturday.  It will be a quiet day, I think.  Luckily we have nothing going on.  I'm planning on spending some time in the nursery, just sitting, and remembering her.  It's going to suck.

On another crappy note, my iron levels are still crappy.  Which blows.  Back to the daily iron pills and hoping that my body will figure it out in a month before my next round of blood work.  Our OB/GYN didn't say we had to wait until my iron levels were okay before we started TTC, but it would make me feel better.  I just feel like I can't take any chances.  It's weird, I've actually been feeling better the last month since I got the iron infusion, so I was hoping it was going to be okay.  Alas.

I do feel like things are getting easier, though, at last mentally.  We still need to go see a therapist.  We're so bad.  I really feel like we're handling things pretty well, but we know we need to get on that.  Hopefully sometime this month we can get on that to get some different perspective.

Trying to heal.

It's really amazing how quickly the body heals.  Within a week of having Olivia most of the physical wounds were gone.  It's like my body forgot it had a baby.

Physically, I'm mostly fine.  I've been struggling with anemia since the seventh month of my pregnancy and then with the massive blood loss I suffered I'm still not back on track.  I've been on pills since then and got an infusion of a gram of iron at the end of March.  Did some bloodwork last week and although it's better it's still low, so something is still not right.

Emotionally....meh.  It's really up and down; I expect it will be that way for a long, long time.  Some days I'm fine, some days something I'm not expecting just knocks me down for the count.  This could mean tears, this could mean full-blown sobbing, it could mean irrational anger.  Or a combination thereof.

I'm really struggling these days with jealousy and anger towards women that have babies or are pregnant.  It's not all the time - sometimes it's totally okay - but sometimes I just get so angry, and my head and heart just fill up with all of those WHYs again.  Why us?  Why her?  But I know there is no answer to this.

I see my husband really get angry when he sees people taking it for granted - seeing a kid hanging out of a stroller, or outside without proper clothing in the cold, bitching about having to wake up for a crying child, etc.  All those things we take for granted and we don't even realize it.  If there can be the slimmest of tarnished silver linings in all of this, it really has made me look at my priorities - really appreciating those true gifts in my life and caring less about the things that don't matter.  I simply don't have the emotional capacity to do that anymore.  Besides, she's more important than any of that crap anyway.

All we can do is go one day at a time.  This Saturday it will be five months....it seems like five years and five days and five minutes, all simultaneously.

Memorial service.

The kicker with this is that we started writing these the day after we lost her - we felt SO strongly that we wanted to remember her life and not her death.


First are the readings that we picked, then what we wrote.

1st reading: Isaiah 25:6a, 7-9

A reading from the Book of the Prophet Isaiah:

On this mountain the Lord of hosts will provide for all peoples.
On this mountain he will destroy the veil that veils all peoples,
The web that is woven over all nations; he will destroy death forever.
The Lord God will wipe away the tears from all faces;
The reproach of his people he will remove from the whole earth; for the Lord has spoken.
On that day it will be said:
"Behold our God, to whom we looked to save us!
This is the Lord for whom we looked;
let us rejoice and be glad that he has saved us!"

The word of the Lord.


2nd reading: 1 John 3:1-2

A reading from the first Letter of Saint John:

Beloved:
See what love the Father has bestowed on us that we may be called the children of God.
Yet so we are. The reason the world does not know us is that it did not know him.
Beloved, we are God's children now; what we shall be has not yet been revealed.
We do know that when it is revealed we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is.

The word of the Lord.

Gospel: John 14:1-6

A reading from the holy Gospel according to John:

Jesus said to his disciples:
"Do not let your hearts be troubled. You have faith in God; have faith also in me.
In my Father's house there are many dwelling places.
If there were not, would I have told you that I am going to prepare a place for you?
And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back again and take you to myself,
so that where I am you also may be. Where I am going you know the way."
Thomas said to him, "Master, we do not know where you are going; how can we know the way?"
Jesus said to him, "I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me."

The Gospel of the Lord.

Opening

A lot of you have already heard the end of the story -- the bad parts. How this was the worst thing that was ever happened to us. We aren't going to get into that today. Instead, we wanted to talk about the good parts -- how she was the best thing that ever happened to us. It occurred to us that, while we lost a daughter, our parents lost a granddaughter, our siblings lost a niece, our nephews & nieces lost a cousin, and so on. But no one but us really got a chance to get to know our little Olive. So we wanted to tell you about her.

"Turtle"

Our first nickname for her wasn't "olive" -- it was well before we knew that she was a "she", and we called her "turtle". At our first doctor's appointment, they looked at her on the ultrasound, and there she was: at 7 weeks, we could discern her body and little arm and leg buds that made her look like a swimming turtle. We saw her little heartbeat for the first time too.

"Spatula"

When people learn that you are pregnant, the first thing they ask is when the due date is. The next thing they ask is what names you're thinking about. We did have some names in mind, but didn't want to decide until she was born. So, in keeping with the modern tradition of obscure baby names, whenever someone asked we said we were naming her "Spatula Bernadine". L'il Spatchy.

"Tiny Dancer"

Some weeks later, at another appointment, they were checking her out on the ultrasound, and she was putting on a show for the nurses -- spinning and kicking and dancing in the womb. She wouldn't be her mother's daughter if she wasn't performing. We tried to encourage her artistic side by playing her Mozart and Metallica. Later, she would be serenaded by her daddy's moving a cappella, falsetto version of "Don Gato", a song he learned in elementary school. We tried not to alarm her when we yelled at the TV when watching Packers and Bears games, and reassured her that Mommy and Daddy only rooted against each other when those two teams played each other. We told ourselves that when she was older she would learn to root for the right team.

"Modesty"

It took us several more appointments to find out that she was a she. We were receiving ultrasounds every two weeks and once we reached the point where we should be able to see twig & berries, we were intently gazing at blurry white-on-gray images on the ultrasound looking for clues. It was like a medical Rorschach test, or interpreting tea leaves. Every time the goo went down on my belly, she would be turned a certain way, fidget at just the right time so that we couldn't get a clear look at the, *ahem*, parts-region. Our daughter, it seemed, was very modest, and wasn't going to show without a fight. We kept joking that she was a Baptist.

"87.5%"

After three ultrasounds where we should have been able to spot *something*, DH, being the nerd that he is, made a calculation and found that there was a 87.5% chance that it was a girl. The ultrasound techs gave a 75% chance (but don't think that was backed up by firm statistics), and our Maternal Fetal Specialist said he was "pretty sure"... but DH had numbers. At our next appointment, we got some very clear pictures -- it was indeed a girl. Pink, here we come.

"Put up your dukes. I'm tuff."

It wasn't long after that when the kicking began. And kick she did. Probably as part of her dance routine we saw the earliest versions of on ultrasound. We imagined her in a fight for space with my internal organs. "Put up your dukes," we imagined her saying to my spleen, "I'm tuff." As Olivia grew, she focused her pugilistic tendencies -- her technique having evolved to a Billy Banks-style Tae-Bo kickboxing on my bladder. I had to step in and call time every couple hours by going to the bathroom.

"Alien baby"

DH, of course, had been feeling Olivia kick ever since she first started stirring. He was well-prepared for feeling the kicks. What he wasn't as prepared for was *seeing* the kicks. We would be sitting on the couch at home, and, when looking over at me, DH would *see* my belly being pushed up, and that was freaky. I would put her cell phone on my belly and we would watch it bounce around like it was one of those new-fangled ringtones. Like there was some Alien-style monster trying to break its way out.

"NSTs"

Her stubborn streak continued. Stubbornness combined with calisthenics. We were heading into Labor & Delivery early every Tuesday morning for an NST, or Non-Stress Test. For those who don't know -- don't be fooled by the name, it was quite stressful for us. She, I'm sure, was fine. In fact, since by the time we got in there we had already had breakfast, little Olivia was up and doing her morning jumping jacks -- making it a little tricky at first to do the NST, because she kept moving. We'd find her heartbeat, and everything would be fine for a minute, or 5 seconds, and she would shift and we'd lose it, forcing a very patient nurse to move the mic around to find it again. Our first NST, which usually only needs a good 20 minutes, took about an hour. She was probably in there challenging the nurse to put up her dukes.

"Her"

The later ultrasounds we had started to show what our little girl looked like, and we started to settle on the name "Olivia". On one of our amniotic fluid check ultrasounds we had a clear shot of her hand -- DH kept it in his office because it looked like she was waving to her Daddy (or, given its bear-claw type appearance, suggesting to him which team she would choose to root for). We could see a full head of hair floating around in that amniotic fluid, and we have a great shot of the lower part of her face -- that was our last ultrasound. It wasn't until she was born that we found that she had DH's hair -- dark and curly. She had my chin and nose but DH's little upper lip divot. She was a [my last name] and a [DH's last name] and a [DH's mom's maiden name] and a [my mom's maiden name]. She was beautiful.

Closing

Olivia, being derived from the word "olive", the branch of which is the symbol of peace, means peaceful. We know that she can't be here in person, but we will always carry her in our hearts, and know she is at peace.

We'd like to end by having our cousin Becky come up and read a passage from Shakespeare's "Twelfth Night".

Twelfth Night, Act One, Scene Five

Make me a willow cabin at your gate,
And call upon my soul within the house;
Write loyal cantons of contemned love
And sing them loud even in the dead of night;
Halloo your name to the reverberate hills
And make the babbling gossip of the air
Cry out 'Olivia!' O, You should not rest
Between the elements of the air and earth,
But you should pity me!

The worst twenty-four hours of my life.

Our beautiful daughter was stillborn 11/24/09 at 36 weeks - cord wrapped around her neck and knotted. There was absolutely nothing we could do. Please forgive me as I type out the whole story because I haven't done that yet and really feel like I need to.


We had a low amniotic fluid level scare and a previa scare earlier in my pregnancy, both of which resolved themselves, and everything was great. And then last Monday she just wasn't moving like I was used to.

We went to L&D Monday night and the nurse tried to find her heartbeat and then called our doctor. He came in, did an ultrasound, and nothing was happening in her perfect little ribcage - no heartbeat.

After our initial sobs, Dr. G said he would need to induce me then. They started me on Pitocin right away. Well, they tried to. Apparently my veins are thin - they had no problems finding a vein but they had a hard time getting an IV in. It's a week later and I still have four huge bruises on the insides of my forearms - took 5 sticks.

Called my mom, woke her up, cried for a long time. Both of our families live across the country. My husband tried to call his mom, couldn't get an answer. Turned out later she had gone on vacation and hadn't told us - luckily she had her cell phone and he got a hold of her the next morning.

Texted about five of my friends that night to get the grapevine going - I couldn't bear to talk to anyone besides my family. My husband drove home quickly to get phone chargers and some other things - we obviously hadn't been prepared to stay.

Got an epidural around 11AM - well, tried to, again. First time didn't work, the anesthesiologist said that he didn't have a needle long enough and that I'd have to go without. My main nurse gave him the look of death and said that that wasn't an option, so he tried again and got it. The anesthesiologist was really a douche bag - he makes an appearance later.

Epidural kicked in and we were able to nap for a little bit. My brother called and said my mom had gotten a flight and would land at the nearest major airport (150 miles away) that night at 10PM and would drive up.

Contractions continued - I had been dilated 1 cm at my previous appointment and it had been slowly expanding that morning but by 1PM I was 8 cm. They kept me on Pitocin and said they'd probably have me start pushing around 3:30 or 4.

Social services guy stops by and he’s…interesting. Has some good things to say but sort of a tool when it comes to information – he told us about a support group in town for parents who have lost infants but has no idea how to contact them. He does give us some things to think about, and then he leaves. We decide to cremate her – where we’re living is not home and I can’t bear to think about leaving her out here when we leave. We cry some more – I don’t know if we ever stop – but manage to catch a few minutes of sleep.

4PM rolls around and we start pushing – apparently I wasn’t doing it right at first (?) but got the hang of it pretty quickly as she was out in 45 minutes. They had to cut the cord just to get her out – it was wrapped that tightly – and then they found the knot and showed us. Horrible, but some closure and comfort in the fact that it wasn’t anything else – something genetic, a virus, whatever.

And she was beautiful, but frozen. No breath. Eyelids torn. Full head of curly dark hair, just like her daddy. They laid her on my chest and my husband and I just cried. They kept working on me – delivered the placenta, massaging my uterus, and something wasn’t right. I asked my husband if he wanted to hold her, and he took her. Then I started shaking.

I was still numb from the epidural but they kept pushing on my uterus and I was shivering and didn’t know why. I asked and they said my uterus wasn’t clamping down like it should and I kept bleeding. I remember thinking that I just wanted them to leave so I could be with my husband and daughter and just mourn by ourselves.

I was shivering because they were pumping me full of fluid because I was losing so much blood – there wasn’t time for them to warm it up. My husband told me later that Dr. G was just pulling clots out of me right and left. They kept giving me some kind of shot in my leg and told me they’d tell me about the side effects later. Apparently those side effects included vomiting, because all of a sudden I had to do that into some creepy blue bag, and all that came up was medicine and water. A couple of other nurses came in to take some blood, which in retrospect seems weird because they ended up giving me two pints of blood. My husband said they all just looked so worried because I just kept bleeding, and he was terrified.

Then they said it was getting better and I was bleeding less, but Dr. G said they wanted to take me to surgery for a D&C to be safe and if I continued to bleed he might have to do a hysterectomy. I couldn’t even comprehend that at that moment – my baby is dead and now you might have to take my uterus? They started rolling me out of the room – I couldn’t even catch my husband’s eye, just said “I love you” as I was rolled out, and he was left standing there, holding our precious, still daughter, thinking he could lose me too.

The nurses run down the hall with me to surgery and then they leave. I don’t know any of these nurses and they don’t know me – one of them asks me my name. I respond, but they can’t hear me because my voice is shot from crying for the last 12 hours. I’m still violently shaking from all of the cold fluid and they cover my upper half with a couple of heated blankets. Douche bag anesthesiologist comes back in the room and slams an oxygen mask on my head, not fitting it on my face and getting the band stuck in my hair. I said ow, or something, and he says, “Women and their hair.” I’m not joking. I end up fixing the mask on my face before they strap my arms down. I’m trying to ask questions but they don’t hear me through the mask and I feel like no one is listening. Luckily I’m still numb from the epidural so they decide not to give me more anesthesia. Dr. G comes in and introduces another doctor to me who will assist him. I’m so cold and so tired and am in and out for the next period of time – I don’t even know how long it was.

When they did the D&C they were able to fix everything so no hysterectomy was necessary, thank God. The nurses roll me into a recovery room where they’re going to set me up with some antibiotics, and leave me with two nurses whom I’ll call Tweedledee and Tweedledum. Dr. G stops by quickly, lets me know what’s going on and says he’s going to go fill in my husband and spend a little time with him and my baby – and he keeps calling her by her name, which I appreciate.

They see the bruises on my arms but are reluctant to add another port to my current IV as I’m still on Pitocin until it runs out (it was helping my uterus clamp down) so they decide they want to try to start another IV. I’m still freezing so they give me some more heated blankets. I’m thirsty and ask them for ice chips, and they each start working on an arm trying to stick me. They both fail the first time. I ask again for some ice chips (hadn’t gotten any yet), they each try again and fail. Then the Pitocin runs out so they decide to just add a port with the antibiotic. Yeah, thanks for that.

They finally roll me back down the hall to my room (which is now a different room) and there’s my husband, just sitting there, holding our daughter. He hadn’t set her down the entire time – just sang to her, rocked her, and waited for me. He sat down next to my bed and I finally got to hold her again. She was still just wrapped in a blanket, covered in vernix – the nurses had told us they wouldn’t clean her until we told them to. So we call in the nurse and she brings a CNA with her and they begin to clean her with baby oil. They ask us if we want pictures, and we decide against it. The CNA is the one who does footprints and handprints in addition to doing casts of the hands and feet so she does that and then finishes cleaning Olivia up and washes her hair. They found a little outfit and blanket so she dressed her and then brought her to us and we cried some more – I will never, ever forget that perfect little head of hair, her sweet chin, her lips with the cute little divot above the top lip that my husband has. We really did make a gorgeous kid – and so big! Over seven and a half pounds and twenty inches long at 36 weeks.

We just sat there for awhile and cried – loved her, cradled her, caressed her, and then decided it was time for us to let her go. We called the nurse and told her what funeral home we wanted and that we wanted to cremate her. The nurse said she’d call, picked up Olivia, put her in the crib, and rolled her out. And then we both sobbed like our hearts were about to break.

Why I write.

The background: I'm 32, married to my soulmate. We got pregnant in March of 2009 after only trying for a few months. It was not a difficult pregnancy, despite some concerns with placenta previa, morbid obesity and depression. But it all came crashing down the night of November 23, 2009, when we went into L&D because our precious daughter had been quiet all day and they couldn't find her heartbeat. She was stillborn the next afternoon, with the cord wrapped so tightly around her head and neck that they had to cut it to get her out, in addition to a true knot. She was gorgeous, perfect in every other way, and at 36 weeks, HUGE. 7lbs, 7oz, 20 inches long.

I miss her desperately - I wish I could find words that really, truly described it accurately. There are times that I just feel so empty. So guilty even though logically I know there was nothing I could have done better. I can't hear a baby cry without feeling like the bottom is dropping out of my world.

And worse yet, a student of mine had a perfect little daughter the same day we lost ours. I never saw him at the hospital although my husband did.  The few times I've seen his daughter have been the more horrifying, gut-wrenching, heart-squeezing moments that I've ever experienced.
I am trying so hard just to get through every day. I feel like most times I'm succeeding. I just keep telling myself I have to go on being her mom - the same crazy, smartass woman I would have been if she was here or not. She deserves no less - I owe that to her. But that's much easier to say (or write) than do some some days.
Thanks for reading.