This has been an absolutely insane 24 hours, y’all. But, as the title suggests, I am a step closer to better. It’s all uphill from here.

Yesterday after lunch, I took the babies outside for a spell on the swingset before naptime. We were having a grand time– laughing, singing. I would give Noah a tiny push on the swing and take a step or two over to give Bella a push. Back and forth. Normally I wouldn’t even take my hands off of Noah while he’s on the swing, but he was doing so well on it– like a big boy. And, as tough as he is, and as low to the ground as his swing is, I wouldn’t worry terribly if he did tumble. And that’s exactly what he did. I gave Bella a push and was heading back over to Noah when he fell backwards right onto his back & head. He had this unbelievable cry. You know– the kind that takes your breath away for a few seconds while you manifest the powerful noise that releases some of that pain into the air. When he finally actually made some noise, after quite some time, I could tell it hurt terribly. The guilt rushed through my entire body like the hurt ran through his. I held him close and whispered to him that it was going to feel better soon. “Shh. Shh. Shh. It’s OK, Baby. Shh. Shh. Shh. It’s going to be OK.”

About 30 seconds into his intense crying, he collapsed in my arms suddenly into complete silence. My heart absolutely left my body. I think it’s still lying on the ground outside. I screamed to Austin to call 911. “My baby is unconscious! OMG! My baby is unconscious!” I jostled him lightly for about 20 seconds, “Come on Noah. Open your eyes. Look at Mommy.” He finally came to, vomited all of his lunch, and continued crying. The ambulance showed up after 5 minutes, by this time he was acting like nothing had happened. But we boarded on that $1000 ride to the hospital anyways because there was no way I was taking chances with Noah’s little sweet noggin’. I would have driven my car, but, of course, the Bitch won’t drive right now. I think the freakin’ EMS ought to offer limo service for that $1000 price. But they were very nice, very thoughtful, and they got my baby to the hospital.

Long, long story short– Noah took a nice, long nap at the hospital and then woke up hollering for snacks and trying to run through the halls like his normal, crazy self. His little brain is perfect, though he did have a concussion. My little, cute accident prone boy. He’s my sweet surviver.

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The stress of the day got me to cramping something fierce last night. I knew I wasn’t going to make it until Monday for that d&c. I woke this morning to some spotting and my heart sunk. I quickly called the doctors office, I didn’t want this to happen at home. I had already prepared my heart and body for the d&c and the thought of it brought me some relief.

“Lord, please let this hold off. Please let this wait until I get to the hospital.”

We got to the hospital and they immediately called the surgery staff in from their quiet Saturday routines. When every one was there, they wheeled me into the operating room, put me into a peaceful drug induced slumber, and I woke 30 minutes later to an empty womb and a smiling nurse who told me it went well. It went well.

And I thought I would cry afterwards. I cried on the way in. But afterwards I realized that this insanely heavy weight… burden… ache… had left me. I felt such relief. And I actually smiled when the nurse tried to make me laugh. Hoooly Moooly! I smiled! For the first time in 1 week and 1 day– I could breathe. I could heal now. I could move forward. I could smile!

I am soooo… completely… thankful to God for being so good at answering, and being observant and loving with my needs as a woman, and a mother. Because I know we can be difficult and emotional and special creatures. But He knows how to love us and to look out for our needs. In His own time, maybe. But He’s there. This experience has restored more of my Faith, and some closeness to Him. I know I’m far from the perfect Christian. I worship at home and not with the masses. I curse sometimes. I drink once in awhile. But I love God. And we are good people. I know He smiles down on me, and my family. I called myself a Christian Agnostic, or an Agnostic Christian, a year ago. Now I know that was foolishness. Just Call me a Christian. I don’t understand God or religion completely, but perhaps I should do the work of changing that instead of labeling myself something else I also don’t quite understand– Agnostic Christian. Christian Agnostic. That’s something I call myself because I’m insecure about my Faith. And aren’t we all just a little bit insecure, sometimes, at some point? That doesn’t change God though. That just gives me an excuse to be lazy about learning and bettering myself, and sifting through the massive amounts of information on God (and all the interpretations of Him and his Word) until I find something that feels good to me. Either I’m a Christian or I’m not. And if I am, I need to be diligent about growing in that most important role. Not just for me. But for my children too.

The pain from the d&c is minimal. In fact, I feel better physically tonight than I did this morning, despite the surgery and anesthesia. Anesthesia is so hard on the body and it stays in your system for quite some time. But, though I don’t feel quite up to par, I feel FANTASTIC compared to yesterday. It’s as if my body knows we’re going to be moving forward now. Maybe my body knows that because my heart does.

I’m scheduled for getting my IUD in 1 month. And for the first time ever, I actually feel like my family is complete. Noah was the cherry on top. I never felt that before. But I do now.

Thank you for listening. Thank your for being my friend. Have a beautiful weekend.

I’ve tried to do some Spring cleaning this past week, to keep my mind busy and to take advantage of having Austin at home for Spring break. I’ve actually just been doing motivating and pointing, because most of the things I really want done require muscle power and I just don’t have that to give right now. Poor Austin and Jeremy! I did clean the fridge though. I’ve been wanting to have a nice garden for the past few years but have either been too busy or I’ve been too unmotivated. This year we (ok, Jeremy) finally started the work of getting ready for this garden. He hacked down some scrub oaks in the corner of our yard to make room for my garden. It’ll be about 10 foot by 25 foot. I’m going to build it above ground with some river rock, which Austin and I have been getting truck loads of here and there. I’m really excited! With all that work they did, this momma hen might just have to share some of her bread (and corn, tomatoes, and zucchini).

Wednesday I had a OBGYN doctors appointment at 9 AM. I went to start my car, and low and behold, the old girl wouldn’t start. So I frantically started trying to figure out how I was going to get to this appointment with my 3 children. I finally just loaded the kids, car seats, and diaper bag onto the stroller and we hiked a mile up to the bus stop. We were quite the sight, let me tell ya. People driving by laughed at us and I suppose the stroller with 2 carseats and 2 toddlers was kind of weird and funny. The kids were cranky and mad at me for making them take public transportation, and in the freezing cold no less. But we survived the trip and I’m thinking about taking the bus more often– it’s cheaper and more responsible.

The doctor decided to schedule my d&c (Monday at 3pm). I’m not sure how I feel about that right now, but I’m just letting things take their course. No signs of passing the pregnancy on my own, so I guess a d&c might just be necessary. It’s a lot to put a body through– anesthesia and the surgery itself. But, I’m also a bit relieved that I won’t have to go through the process of a late miscarriage. It’ll get done for me all in one 30 minute surgery. I’m worried a bit about the miscarriage starting before Monday. But I’ll just deal with it if/when it happens. It never fails though that medical issues come up on the weekend when the doctor can’t do anything to help anyways.

So speaking of Spring projects, we finally decided to reupholster our dining room chairs. Eww, they needed it! We wrapped them first with thick canvas and then with the pretty upholstery fabric.

Before. Yuck!

During.

After! Gorgeous!

I washed and oiled the wood when Jeremy was done reupholstering. So now the chairs look so nice and elegant. For now. You know, until the boogers and grape juice monsters get a real hold of it. Thanks goodness for Scotchguard!

Jeremy hasn’t had a chance to work on Bella’s Princess Castle bed as much as he’d like. But it’s coming along. It’s going to be super cute when done. There’s just always so much to do on weekends, this little projects has been put on the back burner. Hopefully we’ll get back to it after the Craft Fair in April. Here’s the latest picture. It’s by NO means close to done, but a little bit of pink and purple paint made Bella happy all the same.

Hope you’re all well and enjoying your Spring (and Spring Cleaning)!

These miscarriages absolutely rock the earth beneath my feet. Some worse than others. I think the hormonal insanity that follows is probably the hardest part. It seems to take months before my body & mind feels up to par again. I think I dread that process right now.

I went for my ultrasound today. I think I was hoping that they would see a heartbeat, miraculously. It was hard watching the screen. The tech tried to darken the image so that I couldn’t see the little fella’s details. I asked her to let me see more of his little features and when she lightened the screen, I could see his bitty little hands, his round little tummy, short little feets. He was precious. When the tech left she told me that I could stay as long as I needed in her office, and handed me some tissues. My chin quivered while I waited for her to exit. “Just Go. Just leave me alone,” I thought. And that’s when it all came out again. I sobbed quietly into my pile of clothes. I stayed there for awhile just letting it flow. And it felt good.

The doctor called this afternoon to tell me that he thought I should just let this happen naturally at home. If I hadn’t started miscarrying in another week, he’d consider the d&c. My nausea is slowly dwindling and the sore bosoms are gone, so I expect that my hormones are dropping in preparation. I started cramping pretty good (bad) today. The hard part is the anticipation. I mean, I know it’s coming inevitably. But I dread it. And I need to talk about it.

My first miscarriage was pretty awful. It was at 8 weeks. I woke with cramps one morning and as soon as I stood up, blood just flowed and flowed. It was unbelievable. I have never seen anything like it. I knew something had to be very wrong, other than I was obviously losing my baby. I called my neighbor (Jeremy was working, and this was before cell phones). She came over and saw all the blood and called 911. The ambulance crew cleaned it all up, which was amazing because that was the last thing I’d want to deal with once I got home from the emergency room. The experience was just a bit scarring, and I can’t imagine going through another one like that.

The next 3 miscarriages happened before the 6th or 7th week. So they came on much like a heavy period. Nothing too terrible. The 5th loss was just like this one, at the latter end of the first trimester, but the doctor did a d&c so it was over quickly and fairly painlessly. The 6th miscarriage was in December 2007 and was, again, very early on so it wasn’t too awful. This one will be the latest miscarriage. And, thank God, the last miscarriage I will ever have to bare again. But I still have yet to bare it. That’s the hard part.

I’ve read about what to expect during a late miscarriage at home. I thought I was preparing myself, but instead I caused more dread. I read that some women have labor like pains and contractions. I read that some women will have their milk come in afterwards. These things just give me the heebie jeebies. And I wish I could have, since it were inevitable anyways, just miscarried weeks ago. A month ago even. It would have been a bit easier, I think.

I just want to fast forward two weeks. But I can’t find the fucking remote and it seems this scene is in slow motion. Ugghhh.

I curse this swollen tummy that looks 4 months pregnant. I can’t suck it in and I can’t squeeze it into anything cute or pretty. I feel frumpy and swollen. I didn’t mind that when I could wear my maternity tops last week with all my maternal cuteness. Now the maternity tops make me feel like shit, and I yet feel like shit for feeling like shit because STEPHANIE, helllooo? There are people being diagnosed with cancer right now, or losing a child, or dying too soon in a car accident and why should I be so self indulged to think my loss is even worth whining about? Get over it, Steph! And yet I can’t help it. This is mine to deal with right now. But am I dealing with it? No. I’m whining instead and wishing I could just curl into a ball under my covers and hide from it!

I curse this nausea. I curse the mood swings and the crabiness. I curse my hormonal sadness. I curse the bladder that is always full and I just curse. I Curse. Curse. Curse.

I blew up at Austin today. I’ve never been like this before. He was just being the typical sarcastic teenager, but it happened at the wrong time. I had just hung up the phone with the doctor. Austin was playing with the babies in the front yard and came in to use the bathroom. He forgot to close the gate outside and in a matter of seconds, I looked outside and saw Noah heading for the street. I was in a passionate moment from the phone call and when I saw Noah heading out into the street, I grew furious at Austin for forgetting to close the gate. I got Noah back into the yard and started fussing at Austin. He turned his back and walked away from me, slamming the bathroom door. I hollered for him to come back because I was talking to him. “It’s rude for you to just walk away from me when I’m talking to you!” He said something snide and I walked up to him and shoved him. I SHOVED MY SON out of anger– something I’ve NEVER done. I swore I would never touch my children in an angry moment.

I didn’t hurt him, but the look in his eyes is still haunting me– he was shocked and scared. And I can apologize until I’m blue in the face but I can never take it back. I can never erase that image in my head of my scared child. Thank goodness he is so forgiving. Thank goodness time will heal the hurt this day brought us all.

I wrote this post for the purpose of healing, not for comments– maybe just for it to float into cyber space and find its way to another woman feeling and experiencing any of the things I expressed here. Maybe she’ll know it’s all part of the process of healing, and that she’s not alone. There’s no “normal” way to deal with grief, we just have to work our way through it. It’s part of the ebb and flow of life.

I read about some tips today on dealing with miscarriage. I found several different sites that were helpful and made notes as I went. I can’t cite the sites because when I jotted the suggestions down, I didn’t think I’d share them. But here they are, and I hope that they might help anyone dealing with grief or loss, as I hope to allow them to help me…

* Hold hands with your spouse or a close friend…

* Hug and play with children…

* Cuddle pets…

* Have a massage, manicure, or get your hair washed and styled. Touch is healing…

* Hug. Ask for lots of hugs…

* Cry…

* Pray…

* Stay busy…

* Keep a journal (or a blog)…

* Remember that better days are coming…

“Hope is like the sun, which, as we journeyltoward it, casts thelshadow of our burdenlbehind us.”

ll~Samuel S.Smiles, Author (1812-1904)

Yesterday was such a beautiful, warm, amazing day. The sun was shining and I spent the day watching my children blow bubbles, giggle, and play. Amy came to visit with her 2 kiddos and we had a nice lunch together. Girl time is good for the soul.

Jeremy came home around naptime so that I could go to my OB appointment solo, minus the chaos of toddlers. That was for the better because they ended up doing an exam and blood work. The exam went smoothly and my uterus was already poking it’s happy little head out above my pubic bone– perfect measurement for 11 weeks along. I was utterly nauseated during the visit, a symptom the doctor was happy to hear about. We tried to hear the heartbeat externally but it wasn’t picking anything up. So they sent me to the ultrasound room for my first ultrasound– to see the little butter bean dancing around, and to watch his little heart flutter.

The baby had no heartbeat. He measured 9 weeks instead of 11.

On my way home from the hospital, I stopped at the quickstop. I just wanted some cigarettes. After 4 years of being tobacco free, I just wanted a cigarette. Instead of buying a pack, I sat in the car and cried like I haven’t cried in years. I cried outloud, with people watching, and I didn’t care. I cried to God, I cried to my momma, I cried for that little soul lost. I cried an ugly cry; you know the kind: the kind that is so deep and is coming from so far within that it takes the sound out of your voice. It’s so consuming that it swallows you. It makes you drool, makes you nauseated, makes veins pop out in places you had no idea they could. And when you are done, your eyes are so out of tears that they change shape and leave your face tired and older. And your heart and brain are numb and empty. Your spirit feels like it’s been through sensory overload and that it might never function the way it did before. This is the kind of cry that lets it all out. Years and years of needing to cry and not crying all come out in one huge. massive. soul-freeing. sob.
I got home and made the kids dinner. Life doesn’t slow down for sorrow. Kids still need to eat. They still have stinky diapers and temper tantrums. During dinner I found myself detached from their laughter and indifferent to their cries. I didn’t want anyone to hug me, or console me. I just wanted to crawl into a ball and be alone. A loss like this is something that isn’t shared. It is just the momma’s. She endures it alone. No one can share it, make it better, help it heal faster. It’s a selfish sadness.

This time was harder. The later miscarriages always are (11 weeks vs. 6 weeks– Trust me, there’s a HUGE difference). But this is only the second loss, out of seven, where I actually thought things were going wonderfully until that ultrasound told me differently. The loss is sad. But the physical part scares me.  If I don’t start passing the “products of conception” shortly, I will have to have another D&C. That, my friends, is very unpleasant. But maybe not as unpleasant as the alternative. The alternative is that I wait, at home, for this to happen “naturally”. That could take weeks. I wouldn’t leave the house for weeks out of fear that I will start this process while out somewhere in public, with my children no less. Yet I’m not excited about being put to sleep and having a complete stranger vacuum out my womb. I’m so utterly sad about the loss of my baby, but I’m terrified of the physical part of an 11 week miscarriage. There is no horror film on Earth as disturbing and haunting as this process. Some may argue that it’s natural. I argue, FUCK YOU, there’s nothing natural about this! D&C or miscarriage– this fucking sucks! “Natural” would be a healthy, sweet, chubby baby in 29 weeks. “Natural” IS NOT hemorrhaging in my bathroom or having a vacuum put to my uterus, thank you very much.

And, again, I’m sure that this all is just so much sadder and so much harder to endure spiritually, physically, and emotionally because no one is going to go it with me. I’m alone in this. It’s mine. And that’s just kind of lonely. I’ve never wished for my mom to be here more than I do when I miscarry. I know I’m tough. I know I’m strong. I know I’m going to be ok. But there’s nothing in the world like the love and comfort of your momma, when you’re a momma whose heart is just a little bit broken.

I cried enough yesterday. I’m going to embrace the love I have and be grateful. It’s as easy as that. I’ve given birth THREE magical, amazing times to THREE healthy, beautiful blessings. Five makes a family. It really, really does.

I’m going to get an IUD as soon as my sad little womb has healed. 2008 fertility (or lack of) has done a number to the old gal. But I’m finally going to just let her be done. Ten pregnancies are enough for one lifetime.

Don’t feel sorry for me. I’m a tough cookie. And I have so much to celebrate. I love my life, every aspect of it. I imagine that my losses, my mother and my 7 little “Almost Babies”, have all had a purpose. There is a plan for us that maybe I don’t understand in the moment, but God knows. And God always takes care of me, and comforts me, and blesses me. And I have Faith. That Faith got me out of bed this morning with a smile for my family,  and the strength to enjoy the sunshine with my babies, to decorate Easter eggs, to laugh and hug and be grateful. Every Day, every kiss, every little chocolate faced toddler giggle will get me closer to healed.

Monday is another ultrasound, just to see where we stand. I’ll post again when I know more about what will come. Drop a prayer for me for the passing of this pregnancy, however it ends. And thank you for being such good listeners…