Brynn's last day

How do I feel this week?  The progressive anniversaries of Brynn's life, death, and birth, all out of order.  Mostly I feel love.  I'm grateful for that.  She is a legend to me.  A feminine spirit so wild and free that no body could hold her.  Not mine, not her own.  Still she had so much purpose here.  Touched many lives.  Softened my heart forever.  I'm grateful for that too.  It could have gone the other way.  We saw her doing a front walkover at her 20 week ultrasound.  She kicked me so hard that last week of her life, you could see her foot extending my belly. 

I feel like there are things I should do, and others who want to, to commemorate her anniversary.  I feel like buying myself flowers, makeup and jewelry, and something ridiculously pink.

She was the most efficient self-nourisher.  By that I mean I really only "craved" the healthiest foods during her pregnancy.  With Noah, my little Buddha, I ate refined carbs and red meat, and sweets.  With Brynn I ate dark, raw leafy greans, grapefruit, limes, eggs, nuts and beans.  No meat.

When I think of her I think of being unapologetically who I am.  And cosmically connected.

Noah is born ALIVE

wow.  i can't believe it's been so long since my last entry.  i thought about writing often, as i processed the last phase of pregnancy... In brief, it was hard.  the final say, 7 weeks of pregnancy are the hardest for me.  especially this time, although this child, Noah made even that part easier on me.  He is so easy, i don't recognize him as a newborn,  i stare at him and whisper, "who are you?"  Gently demanding to know how this patient a being got into a newborn body.  his face resembles a mature man's.  he doesn't even look like any of us.  he is adorable, and makes sweet little baby grunts and mmmmm's while drinking mama's milk.

i should back up a bit.  On December 7th i was playing with shane upstairs, and i heard my phone ring downstairs, but didnt take stair trips unless i had to, so i let it go and went on playing scooby doo.  i have to be daphne when shane is freddie, and velma when he is shaggy.  we can do any normal thing as long as we're in character, and being that pregnant, i usually steered it toward lying in bed.

we were downstairs making lunch at about 2 oclock, both of us still in pajamas, when my phone rang again.  Jimmy said did you get the message?  no.  I fell at work. i'm at the hospital.  i thought he was joking.  We hadn't been getting along, for awhile now.  Just that morning I made some sort of ultimatum, more to myself, more just letting him know very seriously that things needed to change. 

We got dressed and packed a bag for him quickly.  A 15 foot extension ladder gave way while he was working on it, by some miracle he landed on his left elbow rather than his head, back, either leg, or right arm for that matter.  (at times I'd rather be the kind of person, I allowed myself to be the person that instead of looking for the positive here can just plain admit to herself that although it could be worse, and we count our blessings, this in fact really sucks in and of itself.  It actually felt validating when a neighbor commented that perhaps our family was cursed.  I was like "I Know!")   His arm was broken so badly that he would be transferred to Tufts in Boston, where the surgeon would call me in the wee hours of the morning to chat about how surgery went, that they couldn't in fact save the bone, it was so badly shattered and took her 45 minutes just to flush the pieces out, blah blah blah (she was way too chipper), we instead stretched the muscle so he probably won't have full range of motion, but maybe for some reason be in less pain over his lifetime than if they'd left the bone in? 

In our follow up visit, when asked about a timeline for returning to work, she suggested Jimmy go back to school, ha ha.  No, seriously, maybe 6 months, maybe never.  And we're reminded again and again, good thing it happened at work so we can receive workman's comp, good thing it wasn't his head, back, legs or other arm, lucky to be alive, yes, all these good things but the two things that stood out most to me were:  #1; We are not safe.  any of us.  anywhere.  This is not a safe place.  He could be dead.  What if he had been?   #2; How are Jimmy and I supposed to live in the same house ALL THE TIME for 6 months?  Let alone his pain, his loss of function, let alone I was 36 weeks pregnant, scheduled to induce at 37 because our last baby died at 37?  How was I supposed to bare all that stress at once?

It was a tough time.  As I was helping Jimmy bathe for the first time at home after his accident, it occurred to me that maybe this induction at 37 weeks could wait.  I didn't like it, but we needed to consider it.  I spoke with all the experts caring for me and we made the decision to wait 1 week.  That put us at Christmas Eve, and they don't schedule inductions on Holidays, which put us at Monday, December 27th.

In that in between time, we tried to give eachother space, fought a lot, probably not fully realizing that we were both extremely anxious about the baby, both of us every day wishing we hadn't put off the induction but afraid to bring it up.  I took Shane to some place fun every day.  I read a long book (thanks again to the gal who lent it to me), I tried to distract myself. 

Finally, on the Friday before, I sat down to my last Non-stress test.  I was notified that when they submitted for an induction appointment for the 27th, the hospital was booked for that day.  And the next day, and the next day.  I started to cry.  I said I was very uncomfortable with that, I, yes, I played the dead baby card.  My midwife didn't know what to say, she didn't have the authority to bump anyone.  I didn't want anyone to be bumped, but I wanted to have my baby and I couldn't be rational about it anymore.  As in the last minute of any good drama, the nurse jumped into the room, someone's in labor!  There's a spot open for Monday!  My midwife scrambled to get me down for that spot.

On Monday morning I waited for the call to come in.  3 hours after the time they said they'd call, I was really panicking, I guess I will never have this baby, I guess this had all been a dream, kick for me baby please.  Finally.  Finally.  the call came.  Pitocin was started at 1pm and my labor progressed ideally.  Within a few hours I was 5 centimeters dilated and like 70% effaced, they broke my water and took me off of pitocin, and I considered getting drugs but at that point, it was easily manageable so I let it continue naturally.  The pain soon became so intense that I wished for death myself, as is my usual thought.  I hated it, hated it, forgot all about the baby, kept trying to tell them I was done, but no one did anything but encourage me.  I said some ugly things to my dear midwife, who I hope did not take it personally.  I told her to shut up when she asked me if I wanted to feel the head.  I shouted at her when she moved her hand off of my knee, which I felt was the only thing I could focus on.  Then, a surge came over me, I heard this primordial sound come from my mouth, I could not make it again if I tried, and I pushed my son out so fast my midwife barely had time to put her gloves on.

And he was crying, and on me, in all his warm and slimy white glory.

The Year of Magical Thinking

I'm reading this book called The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion.  In my humble opinion, I dare say it may trump A Grief Observed by C.S. Lewis for honesty in detailing the process and effects of life after loss.  My favorite part about this book, for its many validations, is its title.  To me, it's validating just to have in the title that I get a whole year. 

The magical thinking comes from our feeling responsible for the event, that we had some control over it, albeit rationally we realize that we didn't.  Outsiders verbally relinquishing us of said responsibility is just infuriating.  I know I didn't allow her to die.  But, outsiders cannot reach my magical mind.  The thoughts there are untouched by rationale.  Other magical thoughts are sensations that we were left behind by our loved ones.  Grief, she writes, is something you don't recognize until you are there.

Didion talks about how after 8 or 9 months, she begins to feel fragile.  How at this point, we see our continued cognitive deficits, anxieties, whatever creeps in at this point, our sadness, as self-pity.  As "failure to manage the situation."  I have felt extremely pressured (by myself, by my assumptions of what others are thinking) to appear as though I'm "managing."  For some things I am.  Other things are worse than even those first weeks.  Other things are the same.  At times I even enjoy the intimacy and liberties of being part of the Damaged Goods Club.

9 months ago today, I was driving to my final midwife appointment, the one from which in many ways I've never returned.  On the drive, I played I'm Yours by Jason Mraz repeatedly, singing along for Brynn, who I assumed was still alive, and thought of another song, by Roger Whitaker, I'd like to sing to her.  I would sing it to her when I held her for the first time.  It would be my song for her:  "Hey.  Did you happen to see the most beautiful girl in the world?  She walked out on me.  Tell her I love her.  Tell her I need my baby now.... tell her I'm sorry."

The walking out on me part has indeed made this our song.

Today I took Shane to the doctor.  She noticed my belly and asked him if he was going to be a big brother.  I absolutely love how he answered these questions.

Nodded head yes and said, "This is another boy."  What are you going to name him?  "We ALREADY did name him Noah.  And Brynn died because she came too early."  (he has countless theories for why Brynn died, each as magical and possible as anyone else's guess.)

He doesn't hesitate to tell his story, our story.  He doesn't stop to consider how she will react, how the energy in the room will shift, what will be said next and by whom.  These thoughts, in so many daily situations, fill my head with pressure and anxiety.  I don't befriend any of the other moms waiting outside of Shane's story group, for fear of the dreaded question that I still can't answer honestly:  Is this your 2nd?

Brynnisms

She would be 8 1/2 months now.  Maybe starting to crawl.  Eating solid foods.  We would know her preferences well.  She would smile and have chubby baby legs.

I will share what I do know about her for sure, from my pregnancy.  She did not like meat of any kind.  I could eat the most bitter vegetables all day long with her.  I'd have an over-easy egg on a bed of dark greens with balsamic vinagrette for breakfast, lunch and dinner.  I drank gallons of lime-ade mixed with coconut milk.  Some mornings I'd have a lime-coconut popsicle before breakfast.  I had never done that before in my life.  And grapefruits every day.  And greek yogurt.  She was an efficient and healthy eater.

She would always move when I sang Shane to sleep.  I was singing to Shane the last time I felt her move, actually.

She was super active.  My nickname for her was "Kicky."  Early on in her movements she seemed to be searching for the exit.  "Buscando la Salida," I used to say.  I knew all along that I was in for a huge challenge with her.  I told a friend recently that she will ever be my most challenging child.  I had a sense that she was very strong-willed and independent.  Not the type to put up with fences.

Over the summer I got this impression of her, like a teenager exasperated with me, "Mom, when are you going to stop being mad at me for dying?  Get over yourself, mom, I didn't mean to!"  She's a no-nonsense, in-your-face kind of spirit.  Then again, I sense an impish side.  After all, she's part of this family, and we are an irreverent bunch.

So, that's my baby.  I wish there was more, but I'm grateful for what there is.  In a way that I wouldn't understand otherwise, she is alive to me, in her way.

Remembrance

This is the eve of the international Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day.  It is suggested that we light a candle at 7pm in all time zones to create a world-wide wave of light.  Apparently I missed The Walk to Remember in my area, which was on October 2nd.  I figured I would have been alerted by one of the people or groups ...  There's always next year.

I meant to write sooner.  It's not for lack of things to talk about.  It's more that Life has become very confusing and I like to be at my highest and best here, in order to honor Brynn.  My subjects for discussion as of late are a little too real, even for a blog about a dead baby. 

Noah's 28 weeks in utero, doing well.  We're all fine, sort-of. 

I had a dream awhile back that I was living alone in a hotel, some kind of transient life, and a stranger, or someone I had met once at some sort of women's group placed a marker on my lawn that signified that I was the mother of a child who had passed.  It meant a lot to me.  I asked her if I could hug her, and I started sobbing, but even in my dream I would not allow myself to say the words that were burning in my throat.  Simply, "I miss her so much."

Nobody wants to hear that.  Nobody wants to be burdened with my ongoing longing that they can't fix.  But keeping those words in is unhealthy.  And so today I say to you, I MISS HER SO MUCH.

I guess after any traumatic event, when you get back to your busy life, the trauma has a way of sneaking its way back in from time to time.  Say, in a tick, or an act of violent rage that really seemed to come out of nowhere.  Our family has gotten out of sync, each member attempting to withstand the normal pressures of life whilst under the pressures of grief for our daughter and anxiety for our new son's well-being.  Not to mention dealing with a house full of other crazy people under the same intense pressures.  We're starting to crack, as a unit.

So, I am finally engaging in the luxury that is mental health counseling, with a counselor who has personally been down this road.  This to me is a great blessing, and for me there is already a high level of trust and understanding for eachother.  It always urks me when people say things like this, but I will allow myself to urk some of you because: Unless you've been through as devastating a loss, you can't really guide a person through the process.  I've had grief counselors and well-meaning friends in the counseling profession attempt to encourage me by essentially telling me what chapter in the book I'm on.  I was told, "You're meaning-making, that's great."  Thank you, that's helpful.  Reduce my efforts to honor my daughter to a multiple-choice answer on your mid-term.

So far, my girl Emily has given me super simple advice that has really helped.  Read this book.  Take Unisom when you can't sleep (It's approved for pregnancy, and WHY didn't anyone tell me this sooner, like 2 years ago??).  Add structure to your day, schedule breaks for yourself.  Duh.  But I wasn't doing it until she told me to.

So, slowly, we begin to rebuild our fragile selves, and from there our fragile relationships, with less than three months before adding a newborn into this mix.  We can most certainly use your prayer.  And we are feeling more hopeful.

In Dreams

It's been raining for three days straight.  I do miss the sun, but the rain is my weather now.  It reminds me that we wait and hope for our rainbow baby after the storm.

I've been dreaming about Brynn for two nights.  I remember only having one dream about her before, an untouchable sleeping newborn swaddled tightly on a hill of blanket.  These past two dreams have been wierd.  In both, Brynn's body was ours to keep, not decaying, just lifeless like a doll.  In the first, it was bed time and her lifeless doll body was sqwaking until Jimmy jostled her slightly and then she was silent and I asked him to put her away.  Apparently we had a box to keep her in.  In last night's dream, I had memories of carrying her around when she was alive, but in the dream "now" she was again lifeless, and she had this full head of hair cut into this really bad mullet haircut, and she had big flakes of baby dandruff, which I attempted to clear away, wondering what on earth posessed me to have her hair cut like that.  That was it.

During these same nights, Shane has dreamed of Noah.  We sleep in the same room, and he talks in his sleep.  The first night, in his sleep, he asked me why my new baby had fins when he first came out of my belly.  Last night, in his sleep, he asked to touch my belly, and when I put his hand on it Noah moved around wildly, as if he was in on it.

Last night I also dreamed that there was a disturbance outside our bedroom window.  I thought it sounded like a moose, but Jimmy bent down to look out and said it was a democrator, which was some kind of large, wild cat.  About an hour or two after waking from this dream, I heard yelling outside my window.  I got scared and woke Jimmy who bent down to see a man and a woman fighting loudly in the street.  Watching that image from the bed jarred me, I had seen the exact same thing in my dream hours earlier.

I don't know what any of this means, but all the same it seems significant.

Before bed last night, Shane and I were talking about Heaven.  It's a huge and heavy concept for a little boy, and I remember how anything religious seemed to make no sense at his age.  But, nonetheless, his sister lives there, and he's curious.  He asked if we were going to die someday.  I said yes.  He said he was scared, and I said it seems scary because we've never seen what heaven is like, but for the people who have died, they find out that it's pretty awesome, and better than here.  I told him how there is no sadness, no tears, and no pain.  And no crusty blood (his words).  And no hormones (mine).

He asked if God was dead there.  I said no, and he said, understandably, "Oh, I thought that everyone in Heaven was dead."  Hmmm.  I told him the people in Heaven were more alive than we are, and that God is alive here, we just can't see or touch him like we could in Heaven.

It occurred to me that in reality, if you believe in the heaven of the Bible, that that is actually the real place and this is the dream world.  It's been around far longer than Earth, and we will live for eternity there, when we're only here for a short time.

So take heart.

BOY!

Guess what this is ;)

What an interesting, serendipitous day.

I'll start out with a little foreshadowing to show how serendipitous my prenatal care has been this time.  In that first week after I peed on that most serendipitous of pee sticks, I sat in front of the computer and said aloud, "Guide me."

I didn't know where to go for care.  It was clear to me that my previous midwife didn't have the technological or the mental/emotional resources to deal with my post-stillbirth pregnancy.  I wanted someone strong, someone who could walk this delicate line with me between natural midwiferous care and high-risk options.  Glory be for google once again, I googled high risk midwife south shore.  One practice came up over and over, with glowing recommendations.  I called and the receptionist even said Sorry for your loss which may seem run-of-the-mill to some, but in my experience with healthcare professionals, it is unusually nice.  I got a call right back, from a midwife, who low and behold grew up a missionary kid in Africa and graduated from my small, private, Christian college in Wheaton Illinois!

So today was my 18 week ultrasound, sandwiched in between a genetic counseling appointment and a consult with a Maternal Fetal Medicine Doctor (aka high-risk OB).  BOTH of these professionals had late losses.  I KNOW!!  In my strange new world this is good news.  And Dr. Achilles Athanassiou is obviously Greek, which means that there's a 99.9% chance that he's Orthodox Christian, which means even more to me in terms of being in the same club.

They are taking such good care of me and my baby Noah Matthew, and he made sure to point out that not only is that a penis, but that it's fully erect.

PS - Please don't ask me if I'm sad or mixed that it's not a girl, or that this child's life is precipitated by Brynn's death.  I will hate to answer it, it will bring me down.  Baby gender is the small stuff that bereaved parents just can not sweat.  It is what it is and it does absolutely no good to dwell on what could or would have been.  Nobody knows, and it doesn't matter.  My feelings for Brynn and my feelings for Noah are not intertwined in my head.  I think of them as my Irish twins.

PPS - Jimmy already promised that if we have a boy this time we get to try again for a girl, which is the only way in this life I could get 3 living kids out of him, so don't you be sad either.

Milestones

If I have attended your party or other such gathering in the last 6 months, please understand how important you are to me.  As I've stated recently, social situations are still hard.  Small talk with casual acquaintances is anxiety-producing, and there's almost always a baby there who reminds me of the little girl I didn't bring.  If I've had a bad week, I usually cancel.

Thanks be to God, via Amy, and Jen, and Erin, and Melissa, and so many others for all the support around the Mary Madeline project, (You bring honor to God, to my daughter, to all things good) this was a good week, and I am very proud to say that yesterday I attended my first baby shower since the one my neighbors and close friends threw for me just days before Brynn died.

I ended up having to bring Shane, which I was at first sorry about and ended up being glad for, as he was the only other person I knew there other than the guest of honor.  I channeled my inner socialite that has been buried for some time, and both of us had a great time.  I won too many of the games, and was also rewarded with little kicks from within.  Shane was well-behaved and brave enough to go to a playground with the dad-to-be for most of the party.

It felt so good to be so normal that I spent time at our neighbors' cookout that evening, and I even held a baby boy named Lucas while I casually talked about my three pregnancies and how different they all are.

I've discovered that when I'm talking to an acquaintance I know who knows, it helps to just bring Brynn up.  Just to say something about her, nonchalantly allowing the subject to enter the conversation.

Tomorrow is my 18 week ultrasound, and I need to talk about another milestone before I find out if I'm carrying a boy or a girl.  In the beginning, I so boldly announced that this is a girl and shall be named Zoe.  As the weeks progressed, I slowly realized that just because I lost a girl, and this child is a miracle, and I really want my girl back, that I am not owed or guaranteed a girl.  And, if I'm honestly comparing pregnancies, signs point to a boy.

I have become more than fine with that.  I just can't wait to know!  I have beautiful and meaningful names for either.  Zoe's middle name will be Noel, which means on the day of birth, so appropriately her names together mean Life on the Day of Birth.  Never to be taken for granted again. 

My boy names are equally powerful.  In my little community of pregnant-after-stillbirth moms, our new, live babies are called our rainbow babies.  This term represents the gift of beauty after the long and tragic storm, God's promises of mercy.  It's funny, but we had already picked the name Noah before I knew any of this.  The name also means comfort, so appropriate for who this child is to me.  His middle name will be Matthew, after Jimmy's grandfather who is the salt of the Earth.

Reading Angie Smith's book, I Will Carry You has inspired another recent milestone for me.  She so boldly just kept on loving her child full force, even when she knew she couldn't keep her, that it really convicted me.  I had been trying to balance appreciating this baby in the now, knowing this is all I may get, while maintaining a protective emotional detachment, you know, just in case.

Guess what I realized?  This is so important.  Detaching emotionally does not decrease pain.  In fact, an emotionally detached life may be more painful to live.  So, I have decided to lean into it.  This week I put up the mobile above the changing table, I'm making a special frame for my 12 week ultrasound picture, I'm creatively and actively loving this child as dearly as I possibly can.  This feels like bold relief.  I feel closer to this baby than I did to Brynn in my womb, through the lessons I learned from her.  My daughter has many lessons to teach me, and I'm so grateful that death does not stop her. 

I want to leave you with a passage from Psalm 139 that I've always loved, but holds much more meaning for me now:

For you formed my inward parts;
You knit me together in my mother's womb. 
I will praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. 
Marvelous are your works O Lord, and that my soul knows very well. 
My frame was not hidden from you, when I was made in secret, and
       skillfully wrought in the lowest parts of the earth. 
Your eyes saw my substance, being yet unformed. 
And in your book they all were written,
The days fashioned for me,
When as yet there were none of them.