Harper.

Today marks two years since my daughter Harper was born too soon at just 20 weeks, due to the incompetent cervix I didn't even know I had. 

Wow, so two years. How does two years feel like forever ago but just like yesterday all at the same time? So much has happened in just two years and I feel very old. I can't help but have flash backs of that day two years ago. The painful contractions as they induced me into labor with pictocin. How I lay there completely tormented and confused, sad and angry and helpless. The infection and fever I had. Not wanting to believe my daughter had died before she was even given a chance at life, before she even took a breath of air, and how I couldn't help but feel completely and totally responsible because it was my body that had failed.

It is tradition that we let go balloons on our babies birthdays. Today, the weather matches my mood perfectly. Gray, cold, rainy... I only hope it stops raining so we can let Harper's pink balloon into the sky. I wrote a message to her, hoping somewhere out there she will read it. But I have so much to say to the little one I never met. Who should be sitting on this couch with me, a year and a half old. Who should be cuddling up next to me, who I should be singing sweet lullabies to at night. But no. Instead her soul floats along somewhere out there, with Eli and the other little one we lost this year. I can only hope that she somehow feels the love I have for her, I hope she knows how much I miss her and want her here on earth. 

Tiny steps.

On Infant & Pregnancy Loss Awareness Day, I felt something inside me shift. I wouldn't say I felt "acceptance" or anything like that, but I did something I had been avoiding for awhile because it hurt too much.

When we first lost Harper, we brought her home in a pink urn. It was not the homecoming i had in mind and I felt like my heart had been ripped out of my chest. On the ride home from the funeral home, my arms ached to feel her warm, squirming body, but instead I held a box with an urn inside it. I could barely look at it. It felt so unreal to me. My baby was inside this little box, the baby I knew was inside my belly only a week ago. I was so overcome with disbelief and sadness, that we placed her in the room we designated her nursery. It took a lot of courage to even go in that room, let alone be faced with her urn. I know this sounds strange. Why wouldn't I want to talk to her each day, be in that room with her ashes? Because it was a reminder that she was not alive. She had died. And I couldn't face it. So I shut the door for a long time. A few months later, we opened the door and I even went in the room and talked to her a few times. I listened to Florence & the Machine loudly and cried my eyes out (some of her songs absolutely rip my heart out, they're so haunting and emotional.. I must have played that album for four months straight). 

When we started trying to conceive again, and we got pregnant again, I felt it were a little easier to walk by that room with the door open and not be overwhelmed with grief. Until we got pregnant and lost Eli, again at that 20 week mark. I knew it was happening all over again. We went to the same funeral home and brought our son home in a matching blue urn. I stared down at the box in my hands and felt the most helpless I had ever felt. Almost as if it were happening to somebody else. This had already happened once. It wasn't supposed to happen again. But it did. And it was. We placed his urn next to hers and I cried and felt hopeless and like it wasn't my life. It wasn't real. The nursery became a sad, avoided room in the house. Almost my own mini graveyard which I had to walk by each day.

I couldn't handle it and made my husband turn the room into a guest room. We bought a bed and night stand. We put all the baby related items and gifts that never got used in boxes in the basement. In a fit of crazy rage, I pulled all my maternity jeans and clothes off their hangers (I had kept them up after that first loss when we had hope for a successful second try) and threw them into the hallway. I told my husband to pack them up and get them out of my sight. 

But where would the urns go? If it wasn't their room anymore, where could we put them? I was still too fragile to look at them every day, it only reminded me of what we had lost. So in a random moment, we put them on a shelf in another spare room where the computer is. I never felt happy with this, but I didn't know what else to do. I hardly went into that room so it wouldn't be too hard on me. And I didn't have to walk by it each day. But I also didn't want them to feel forgotten, if that makes sense. It was such an odd feeling. What do you do?

So they stayed up there for awhile. Until this past Tuesday. My husband and I were sitting on the couch and we were going to light candles in a few hours. I said to him, "I think we should have Harper and Eli in the room we sit in most, I want them to be with us." I had been thinking about this for a little while, but never acted on it. I still hesitated. Would it upset me? Would I feel depressed at the sight of their urns? And another thought nagged in the back of my mind, how would visitors react? Family and friends? Of course, nobody talks about it but would they be caught off gaurd by the sight of our babies urns? I guess something inside me flipped a switch. I don't know when it happened but I stopped fearing their urns and the sadness that came with it, and I now wanted them with me.  

So there they sit, on our bookshelf, and I can look over and see them at any time I want. And it's okay. At first, it made me sad...and now, I feel like they're almost here with me. Sitting in this room with us. I want them to feel loved, a part of our family, even though they aren't physically here. And I know ashes can't feel that love, and I know it's just a container for their bodies... But I am holding onto their souls in my heart. Their spirits. 

October 15th

Today is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day. I will light candles at 7:00 pm for the babies I have lost. If each time zone lights their candles at 7:00 pm, it will create a continuous wave of light for 24 hours, symbolizing our babies lives...how they will live on and shine bright, even when they are not here with us on earth.

Tonight I will be lighting candles in memory of our daughter Harper, our son Eli, and our little bean whose heart stopped beating at only 8 weeks this past May. I can't help but think about all we have been through (big surprise there) and feel complete sadness over all that we have lost, and all that we should have known. I should be pregnant now, in fact. I would have been about eight months pregnant and almost ready to deliver. I could be in such a different situation right now. But no, instead I sit here thinking about all that we have lost. All that we have been through, and I can't help but feel total disbelief. When did this become my life? This life of loss, grief, sadness, madness, trauma? When did this become my new normal? How did I even get here? I know I can't turn back and I can't go back into time and put the TAC in place that very first loss, but damnit, I would if I could. But I can't. And it is utterly frustrating. 

My therapist told me last week that I am very angry. I guess she is right, I am. I am mad at the world, at its cruel circle of life, how life and death can just happen. How life can be created and then ripped right from you, for no damn good reason. There is no reason my babies had to die. I don't care what anyone says. I've heard, "God has grander plans" or "God needed more angles." Really? God decided to give me a child and then take it away? Why didn't he just keep them in the first place and spare us all this pain? I don't know. I just don't know. 

Some people don't even know I was pregnant this past March. Most people have no clue. They don't understand what each day is like for me. Dragging myself out of bed. Going to work and "being normal" when inside I just went to die. 

I miss you all so much.

Make it better.

So, last week, I saw a physical therapist for pelvic floor dysfunction. Basically, my urologist felt around and determined that my pelvic floor muscles were in a spasm and I needed therapy to fix it. Which could be the culprit of all of my discomfort and issues the past couple of months.

What a great experience! This therapist was super sweet and gentle and understanding. I am so glad I was referred to her. I wasn't really sure what to expect. I described how I had been feeling and she listened to my entire story and history and then she had me lie on the table. She moved my legs around, tested my resistance, and felt the muscles around my hips. Then she did an internal exam and said, "oh yes, you are completely in a spasm! All of your muscles are completely tightened!" And she was finding trigger points... Basically spots of muscle that are so tight and worked up that they form little nodules. And, on top of this, I have a muscle that is constantly twitching! Like an eye twitch. And now (like right now actually) when I'm sitting I can actually feel it twitching. It is the weirdest sensation, even though it's barely there. So, she gave me some simple yoga-based exercises to do twice a day and I have to see her once a week for three months. I think we may be doing some internal massage this week, so I'm kinda wondering what that will entail but I can already feel a difference, I believe. But how crazy is that... To have your entire pelvic floor constantly flexed and not even be aware of it! But it is a result if all if the trauma I have experienced in the past few years. And stress and PTSD doesn't help it either.  

So here I am, trying to be brave again. Trying to trust a doctor (well, therapist really so maybe she doesn't count?) and hoping this fixes me. I haven't given up hope on TTC entirely but I must be able to comfortably be able to have sex again for that to even be an option, right? I see my other therapist tomorrow, too. I think talking to her has helped a lot, too. I'm trying to get me in a better place, physically and emotionally. It's been hard, and Harper's 2nd birthday is coming up on the 24th. I took the day off work because I know it will be pointless for me to try to work that day. My husband and I will get a balloon and we will write a message to her and set it into the sky. I can't believe it's only been two years... It feels like ages ago, when this journey began. 

I feel so old. 

Frustration.

I am tired. I am emotionally and physically tired. No matter how hard I try to be normal and feel "better", there always seems to be something that gets in the way. Set backs. Something that keeps me from feeling any ounce of normalcy. It is like I am in this constant battle with my body and I am fed up. I am so sick of having things happen to me. I remember when I used to be able to brag about never have been to a hospital before, about never even breaking a bone before. About how I never got very sick and how I never had anything to worry about. I want to rewind my life and go back to my early twenties. Life was perfect. I was engaged to my husband. We were living in small apartment and kind of poor because I was still in college and working only part time and he was working full time. I thought that was rough. But looking back on it now, I would go back to that place in a heart beat. Sure, we worried about paying rent and bills. We lived pay check to pay check and got creative with Ramen noodles for meals. But we were happy. My body was not this unruly, crazy beast that it is now. It did not betray me. It did what it was supposed to, when it was supposed to, and the biggest issue I had was a back injury from work. Oh, and I had my wisdom teeth removed. That was it.

I had a plan after this last miscarriage to have a carefree summer with my husband. We were going to enjoy each other, have fun, go on a vacation and go to concerts. We did all that, but I couldn't fully enjoy it like I wanted to. I would say it all started in June, or maybe July. I started noticing some odd urinary issues, similar to a UTI. Frequency, spasms, feeling like I had to go and I couldn't, burning (sometimes but not always).  I got urinalysis and culture done and there was no bacteria to be found, except a few white blood cells. Which was odd to me, but they said it could be the presence of something brewing, so they gave me macrobid and told me it should clear up. Well, I never felt completely better. And so I started seeing a urologist who suggested we do a cystoscopy. We did. I was worried something was damaged from my vaginal cerclage injury (not TAC, I wrote about this in one of my first few entries). She said my bladder functioned fine. Things looked normal. So why was I feeling this way? I told her, maybe it's PTSD. I went and finally saw a therapist, thinking maybe talking about it would help. It sort of did. But my symptoms have been persistent. With some days better than others. I had a especially bad day while we were on vacation in Florida last week. So, I called in and asked to have macrobid ordered in for me down there. While I took it, I did feel better. But I was so worried about it all the entire time, I was not myself. It was so frustrating, not being able to enjoy my favorite place with my favorite person, my husband. I looked forward to that trip for months and I felt horrible most of the time we were down there. I finished the prescription yesterday morning and what do you know, my symptoms are back and in full swing. I went in for another urinalysis and I was told I have a low amount of white blood cells but she couldn't prescribe me anything until after the results come back from the lab, which hopefully will happen tomorrow afternoon because it will be Friday.

I feel like this entry is very scatter brained but this is how I feel. I am physically and emotionally tired of being in pain, of worrying, of feeling this way. I can't enjoy anything. It is always on my mind. I felt so bad on our vacation because I was so worried about it the entire time, I literally got so upset I cried..which is what I have also been doing a lot of because I am just so frustrated. I felt bad because it was supposed to be a second honeymoon. I could barely attempt sex because it felt so uncomfortable. All I want to do is enjoy that again. I want to feel like a normal, healthy woman. It has been nonstop issues with me for almost three years now. I am so over it. Some days I don't even want to leave the house because I feel so horrible. I feel like I'm somebody else, that I will never be normal again, that my body is ruined and I'm never going to feel good.

Part of that carefree summer plan was to try again for a baby in September. Well, here we are, two weeks left in September, and I can physically barely tolerate sex. It is like a cruel joke or something. It's me against my body. And my body always wins.

Courage

Oh my, am I a complete mess lately or what? I haven't written in over a month because I have just been, well, how do I say this - driving myself crazy. I am pretty sure PTSD is manifesting its ugly ways not only mentally but physically. I am drained and weepy and I feel like I just need to talk to someone. I am paranoid about everything and anything, especially if it has to do with my body. I am convinced that everything is going to fail or that something is not right - a bit like a hypochondriac. I need to say this all to someone. Someone other than a friend, who has heard it a million times. Someone other than my husband, who is going through it all, too and it isn't fair to put it all on him. Someone other than a family member who doesn't really know what to say back because they just don't relate.

I decided to search for therapists in my area, which proved to be not an easy task. Most are crazy expensive - $100+ per session! I finally found one literally five minutes down the road from my house and called last Friday. I was told I had to fill out an intake form from their website and turn it in and IF (yes, IF!) the doctor decides to take me as a patient, they will call me. I am thinking, what?! I have to be ACCEPTED by a therapist?! Does that sound crazy to anyone else but me? So, lets see...if I am not f*ed up enough for them, then that's that? I wonder how they choose who's crazy enough to quality. Nonetheless, they were the least expensive and the closest to me and I decided to print and fill out their 16 page intake form anyway, but not without a tiny personal protest. I turned it in today after I got off work. It was weird. The receptionist reiterated that I would hear back if I was accepted. It was just strange. I guess when I decided to embark on this quest for help, I didn't think I would have to impress someone with my traumatizing life story. And honestly, for someone to get up the courage to seek out help in the first place, this could be a road block for them. It almost was for me but I sucked it up. I guess we will see if they call me back. If not, then I guess I will search on. I want to choose my therapist, not them choose me. 

In other news... People have been getting on my nerves. The things some people say! I mean, seriously. My husband and I work for the same company. I am an interior designer and he deals with sales support. I guess when we were going through our TAC journey earlier this year, he opened up to a few coworkers on a smoke break about our past and our losses. (He has since then quite smoking, thank goodness!) There is this woman who is kind of blunt, and doesn't really have a social filter. She is nice enough and means well, but its a bit much sometimes. I had never talked to her personally in my life, until one day while I was working a few months back, she asked me if we had tried yet since the TAC. I was taken aback because we had never had a conversation about it before. I asked my husband and he explained that he had been talking to a few people about it because they asked, and I said that was fine. But, it caught me off guard. She was getting way too personal. Well, today, I ran into her in the hall - mind you I never talk to her, not since that day months ago, and she says, in front of other coworkers, "Are you guys trying for a baby yet?" I was so thrown off by it, not expecting it, and I said, "no, we aren't" and walked in the other direction. I mean, seriously?! How rude. She has no idea that yes, we had tried again after TAC and I had an early miscarriage (not cervix related). It took all I had in me not to explode. She has no idea what we are going through, she doesn't know me and damnit, it is none of her business! The freaking nerve. It's like, why does she care so much? I am sorry I don't go around, letting everyone know in the office that we are or aren't TTC. It's not causal conversation you just have, especially with someone you don't even know. I felt violated.

So, that is my rant for the day. Maybe someday I will actually be able to write about something not so hostile. But until then....

Compassion

Since this recent miscarriage, I have had random bleeding episodes after jogging. Only jogging. Ad not every time. So I went to my ob on Tuesday to have her take a look. Apparently, I have inside cervical cells hanging out on the outside part of my cervix. It's common for this to happen in women who have given birth, and she wasn't too concerned over it. She told me it could be irritating it while I jog, and wants me to go through another cycle and to see if it keeps happening. 

So, after that appointment, I noticed frequent urges to urinate. A lot. I drink a lot of water, so I normally go a lot, but this was getting excessive and then I would feel like I constantly had to go and not getting relief. I, of course, freaked out because the last time my bladder felt like this, I was in extreme pain with a stitch through it after my TVC surgery. It was like resurfacing that panic all over again. I thought to myself, oh it's probably a uti. I took some over the counter stuff and a cranberry supplement but it still didn't feel better by Thursday, and I called my doctor to make an appointment for today. Now I was worried that this was some kind of issue from my bladder injury a year ago. In sets the panic and the anxiety and my mind going to a million different places.

So I go in today. The receptionist now knows me by name. I make a joke about how much I love them and I just can't stay away. I sit in the chair, jiggling my leg with the constant need to pee. They run about thirty minutes over in the waiting room. I'm finally giving a sample and allowed back into an examining room and a total of an hour and fifteen minutes later, the ob comes in. My normal doctor had nothing available so I was a little nervous. But she was so gracious and right off the bat told me she was so sorry about the wait and what were my symptoms? I always hate seeing a new doctor because she won't know my crazy history so I ask her if she wants to know. She says of course! And so I start to explain it and I barely get through the sentence, "I have lost two babies due to incompetent cervix" before I start bawling. I am speechless with myself. Here I was having a break down. A real one. I usually can explain my history to doctors without getting emotional but for some reason, this doctor had this look in her eyes, one of complete and total sympathy, of compassion, of understanding and sorrow for what I had been through. She listened to me babble on about it all... I told her that I am so paranoid about every little thing with my body and that I was afraid something was wrong with my bladder again and that I honestly think I have PTSD. She agreed with me and told me she would help me get the help I needed to deal with it. She told me that it was meant to be that we met today and that she has a special prayer jar and she writes names of patients who need peace on a slip of paper and places them in the jar. She asked if she could do that for me. Now, I am not a religious person. I grew up catholic but haven't practiced in over ten years. And I'll be honest, I have been pretty angry with god lately. But I nodded and said yes and I was just honestly just so touched by her kind words and understanding. After all was said and done, she said that all I had was a uti and all I had to do was to take some medicine for five days. I wanted to literally hug her.

On my way in I had noticed little bowls of rocks on a few of the side tables in the waiting room. I didn't pay any attention to them then but noticed them again on my way out. I stopped to look at them. The sign by the rocks said, "wishing rocks" and there was a sharpie near by. I read a few of them. One said, "to be cancer free" and another said, "pass my exam." I read them until I found one with a blank side. The other side of this rock said, "I love cats". I knew this was my rock. On the other side, I wrote, "have a full term baby" and I placed it with the rest of the wishes.

One year.

Last Thursday, June 27th, marked one  year since I lost my son, Eli. I couldn't believe it had been a year. It felt so long and continuous, like it had to have been longer. But no, just a year, and I spent the day hurting - both emotionally and physically. My body literally ached. My arms ached to hold the son I never got to meet.

My husband and I have struggled on how to not exactly celebrate but to honor our babies births/passings. It is not your typical birthday. It is also the day that your child has died. How do you celebrate the life you created yet mourn what has been taken from you so unfairly? Last year, at Harper's one year, we bought a pink balloon and wrote messages on it and released it into the sky. So, we decided to do the same for Eli this year. We bought him a blue balloon. The woman who filled the balloon at the grocery store was so nosey about why we needed a balloon. She kept saying things like, "Who's it for?" "What's the occasion?" "Do you need a special message on the balloon?" I was like, holy crap, lady, mind your own business. I told her it was for someone special. And I left it at that. I didn't feel like getting into an awkward conversation because I'll most likely over explain and then it would be weird.

I wrote on the balloon and signed it, "Love, Mommy". I watched my husband write, "Love, Dad' and it broke my heart into a million pieces. I admit, I don't often think of my husband as a father because we have no living children. But he is, he is a father, and he is a wonderful one. He loves our son and daughter with the deepest love he could possibly have. We went outside and it was a beautiful evening. We held hands and we counted to three and we let the balloon go together. I watched the balloon float up and away and it is such a simple yet symbolic gesture that I cried. My husband held me and kept saying, "I can still see it, it's way up there now." And we kept looking out towards the sky, watching, straining our eyes for the symbol of our son's life, barely visible through the clouds.

What has been hurting me a lot lately is that people often forget that I am a mother. I was pregnant and I carried my babies inside of me for twenty weeks until my weak cervix gave out and failed us. But because my babies are not living on this earth, I am considered childless and I am not a mother to most. And it's the littlest things, the smallest comments that set me off. I had to fill out a survey at work for my boss and it asked about who lived in your home and how many kids you had or didn't have. He needed different types of living situations so he asked me to fill one out. But it was the way he said it. He said, "Here, you can fill one of these out for us. You don't have any kids. So it probably won't take you too long to fill it out." And I just say, "yeah, okay.." and my mind is screaming, "Yes, yes I do have children!" But I can't say that. I can't say anything. Because nobody knows what to say to that.

I sometimes wish if I'll ever feel normal, if I'll ever get to experience the things other mothers do. When I hear a woman complain about her kids, or how she can't wait to escape her house for the day to get away from the kids, I want to shake her and tell her how lucky she is, how she shouldn't take her life for granted. She is lucky her children got to be born alive, got to live, and that she has them in her life to hold, kiss and cuddle. She is lucky that she can celebrate birthdays, can tuck them in at night, and hold them tight. I want to scream at that woman and tell her to count her lucky stars that she is getting to experience that. Her babies are alive and can drive her crazy and I would give anything up to have that. Anything.

To be happy for another.

My friend is due in about two weeks. She had an early miscarriage last year, right after I lost Eli. The baby had died in utero at around six weeks (kind of like what I just went through). So when she got pregnant again, I was very happy for her. Then I got pregnant again and we were happy for each other.  And then I lost the baby when I should have been 9 weeks. Nonetheless, we have been each others support system. She understands what I am going through and I understand her, too.

Her mom asked me to help with her baby shower. At first, I was a little uncertain. I had offered to help before I lost this last pregnancy, but now that I had just gone through it again, I didn't know if I could. I have spent the last three years avoiding baby showers. It is just too much to be around all that celebration, all of the happy people. All of the gifts, the games, the decorations. All of these things I never have gotten to experience. Well, to my surprise, she decided to have it at a local restaurant. And my friend didn't want to play any of those cheesy games. Just generic ones, like What's in your Purse, etc. I decided that since it wasn't too in-your-face-baby, I could handle it. I printed off a game and went. And it wasn't so bad. It was mostly socializing. I felt like a bad friend because I couldn't bear to buy her anything (I avoid the baby aisles at the stores), but I got her a target gift card instead. I knew she still loved it but I wished that I could have bought her some cute onesies, or pacifiers, or something... Honestly, the hardest part was the awkward conversations of women who have kids relating to one another. I had nothing to say. Nothing to chime in. No experiences like theirs to add to the conversation. No pieces of advice or funny stories to share. I can tell you all about labor, but not what it's like to bring a baby home in your arms. 

In other news, my husband and I had a conversation the other night. After a few beers, I got up the courage to bring up ttc again. I asked him how he felt about trying again after our vacation in September. He said he was for it, but I can tell he is feeling a little cautious. He told me he doesn't want to give up, especially after we went through surgery to get the TAC. But he doesn't want to lose anymore. I will never know exactly why my last pregnancy failed so early on, but I know it was not cervix related like my last. I feel like if we were to try again it would end up better. But I'm still terrified. 

I honestly don't know how I still function day to day. How I can still laugh, smile or even get out of bed. How do I go to work each day and come home and do normal things like cook a meal or do the dishes? It's like I'm on this autopilot mode. I know I have to keep doing these things or I'll just do nothing. And I'll feel more miserable than I already do. So why make it worse by wallowing in it, I guess? I really do wonder. Grief is a heavy, unpredictable thing. It has no set pattern and can come and go quickly. It's like I've just learned how to live with it, like one learns how to live with a severed limb. A part of you that was once there, is now gone. Forever. And there is nothing you can possibly do to bring it back. Something inside of you says, "okay, this is our life now. This is our new normal. We have to get through this and we will." But how? How do you do this? You just do. I get up. I shower. I brush my teeth and I work. I come home and I make dinner and I hang out with people like everything is just fine. It's like your brain glosses it all over for you. Blocks it out. Until something triggers it and then bam, you're right back in that delivery room, recovering from the loss of your child that you'll never get to watch grow up. You'll never get to know. 

Remembering who I was and accepting who I might be today.

I am sitting here on my couch, looking right at a picture of my husband and I on our honeymoon. The ocean is in the background and we are smiling, our foreheads pressed together. We are both wearing aviator sunglasses. My hair is long and blonde, my husband's is short and buzzed. There is a feeling of a brand new beginning, the starting line of a new life together, a new adventure. We had the most carefree ten days of our lives in Siesta Key Beach that September almost four years ago. It feels like a decade ago. 

Little did we know all of the heart break we were about to encounter as we took that next step almost a year later when we decided to start a family. What seems inevitable, what seems natural, what seems to be the logical next step suddenly became the most trying period of our lives. You meet, you fall in love, you marry, and you start a family. You have all these great expectations, these goals you have set for yourself since you were a little girl. It is just what people do. Women have babies every day. It is life.

And life has sucked the wind right out of my sails. It has deflated me, sunk me down into the depths of a future unknown. I don't like uncertainty. I like to be in control of things, of situations. I was always like that, but now it's worse. When you have been put in so many situations to where you literally have no control, it makes you crave it. You need it. And without it, you feel anxious, afraid, uncertain. 

We have decided to take a break from trying to conceive. I need to find myself again. It has been nonstop since we got married and I am afraid we are going to forget who we are as a married couple. We have spent our marriage in and out of doctors offices, hospital rooms, ultrasound scans, loss, surgeries, bed rest, no sex and loss. Loss. Loss and more loss. When you put all of these events in focus, other things slide out of view. Doing fun things together, going on vacations, laughing, having a good time, having sex for fun instead of just when I'm ovulating (or not having sex at all because I was on pelvic rest). Spending quality time together, exploring new places, going on adventures, just loving one another. Just being happy. Oh, to be happy. 

I am still looking at this photo of us and I think that was the last time we were actually happy. Before everything started. Before we were exposed to the harsh realities of life, to how cruel it can be, how unfair.

Meanwhile, all of our friends are either having babies or have started to have them. And here we are, stuck in this vicious cycle of ups and downs. Of being pregnant and losing the baby. It's so easy for all of them. But it is so sad when the first thing I think of when a friend announces her pregnancy, is, I hope the baby makes it. Because honestly, who thinks otherwise? It is common assumption that your positive pregnancy test means in nine months you will have a healthy, screaming, wiggling baby in your arms. Nobody dares to think that they may have to bring their child home in an urn. They just don't. It happens to other people, but never them. I used to think that, too. 

I am glad my husband is on the same boat as me. He is just as exhausted. So we have decided to go back to the same place we stayed for our honeymoon in September. We are going to fill up our summer with concerts, festivals, and weekend trips. We are going to grill out and drink beer, enjoy each others company and just be us, together. I started working out again last week (which in turn, my body aches disappeared). I am doing yoga again and jogging. I am nowhere near where I used to be stamina and strength-wise, but I know I'll get there. I want to lose 5 pounds and tone up before the beach. This is a pleasant distraction for me. I can control how much I run, how many reps I do, and I can push myself to actually do something that produces good results. And it is healthy! It will hopefully help me figure out who I am now... Because I know I am not the same woman I used to be.

Pretending.

Since last Friday, I noticed body aches. Fearing infection, I took my temperature all weekend and called my OB on Monday, which also happened to be my birthday. They wanted to see me, to rescan me and make sure nothing was left behind. She saw no signs of infection but had me do some blood work just in case. I got the results yesterday and there is no sign of anything being wrong, no infection, no imbalance of anything... Nothing. But my body hurts so badly. Like when you are getting the flu and you feel little stabby sensations all over your body. And I'm so tired. It's an effort to even type this on my ipad. I am a google addict and decided to search "grief and body aches". Apparently feeling physical body aches and pains is a sign of grief. But can also be a sign of depression. So I'm not sure if I am normal or not... I don't remember feeling this way with grief before but I guess it can differ.

I pretended Sunday was not Mother's Day and stayed home from any family get togethers. I didn't even see my mom, who I am not on good terms with anyway. I wanted to block it out. Monday was my birthday and my first day back to work. I took a half day to see my doctor. It was sort of odd because not a lot of coworkers knew about the pregnancy so everyone just thought I was gone for a week. Expect for my close pals and my manager. So I had to pretend that everything was normal. I think that in itself is exhausting. I go through my day like everything is fine but I'm really in this suffocating fog in which I cannot see the other side. I'm literally going through the motions. I get home from work and I literally feel like I have run a marathon. Everything hurts. Everything is weak. All I want to do is curl up in a ball and sleep. I did not expect grief to cover me like a thick blanket like it has. I want to get out of it but I just can't. I can't see that other side.

Distractions.

I have been off work all week. I took a week of bereavement. Most of my coworkers did not even know I was pregnant. I only told a few people, mostly women I am close with. I told a select random people here and there only if I had to, say lift something really heavy or do something I wasn't comfortable with. Either they will find out by gossip or I'll have to have that awkward conversation where they ask how far along I am or how I am feeling. Then I will have to tell them that I lost another baby. And I'll have to hear their lame appology, like it's their fault or something.

Yesterday I spent the entire day in a Percocet haze. It makes me really drowsy, so I had an excuse to just lay on the couch all day. My husband went back to work. Today, I am not feeling as crampy. I decided to redye my hair since I had crazy roots. I considered doing yoga for a moment but then decided I better wait a few days to make sure my body is done with the intense cramping and bleeding. I feel lost. Numb. Purposeless. I sat in my dark bedroom while my I waited for my hair dye to set in. An intense thunderstorm blew by.

And the world just keeps going while I lay in suspended motion.

I wonder what people are thinking about me. My sad, pathetic, tragic life. Filled with loss, disapointment and devastation. Why did she try again? Why did she think it would be diferent this time? Does she enjoy torturing herself? Is she really that naive?

My body is a death trap. I can create the life, but I can't sustain it. It's such a fucking joke. Fill me up with hope only to watch me crash down into the depths of depression and failure once again. It's like anything I touch, turns to shit.

I look at my husband and wonder why he's still here. He could leave me and marry somebody else, somebody whose body isn't defective. Someone who can give him a family. Someone who won't fill his life up with loss and sadness. Someone who could make him happy. And I tell him this, and he just tells me that he loves me and will never leave me. He doesn't want anyone else. It must be hard to keep loving me through all of this shit, but he never leaves.

Tuesday, while everything was starting to happen, I couldn't bare to walk by the room that should be our baby's nursery. It has been sitting empty with random collected baby items for three years now, since all of this started. It also held Harper and Eli's urns. Everytime I walked by, it reminded me of all we've lost. All we should have. This is a four bedroom house, it is not small, but it might as well be empty. I told him to move the guest bed in that room. To rearrange it. To pack up all of the baby things and get them out of my sight. I threw all of my maternity clothes into the hall. He packed it all up and put it somewhere, in the basement I'm guessing.

I am done for awhile. A very long time. I know he is feeling the same way. We are exhausted. We haven't even been married for four years yet and we have endured the loss of three babies. That's insane. How the hell does that even happen? It's crazy. I just need to get everything out of my sight for a long time. I can't do this anymore. There is only so much I can take.

The rain.

I am in a lot of pain right now. Both physically and emotionally. Tuesday night, I took the medication to speed up the miscarriage. The contractions I felt were extremely painful. I don't want to go into much detail but it was like labor without anything to take away the pain, and the bleeding was very heavy.. I passed tissue-like things that I have never seen before. I expected to see the baby but I never saw anything that resembled it. It led me to doubt if it really happened or not. I was in severe pain for about 12 hours. From 4pm to 4am. I even took a Percocet I had left over from my TAC surgery at one point, but after the bleeding had slowed down some I was afraid it was interfering with the process so I didn't take another one. I regretted that. It was a horrible, devastating, exhausting night.

I went back in to see my OB the next morning for an ultrasound to make sure all had passed. She said she no longer saw a gestational sac. My bleeding had slowed to a normal period like flow, and the cramping was very light and minimal. I sat there numb while she started talking about investigating my health more for the next pregnancy. She mentioned chromosome testing, some other things and this and that. I didn't really listen. I am too defeated right now to even think about trying again.

We left. Feeling numb, but restless, my husband and I went to Lowes and spent $185 on paint and paint supplies for four rooms in the house. I didn't even ask how much it was per gallon. I just pointed to the swatches and watched the guy mix them. That is so unlike me. I'm a bargain hunter and I hate spending money. But there we were, dropping almost $200 just like that.

We came home and painted my art studio. Listened to angry metal music. Talked. I almost started feeling normal. Every once in awhile, I would catch myself forgetting for one second and then I would remember that no, I'm not pregnant anymore. 

This morning, at around 2am, the cramping intensified again. The bleeding picked up. I felt like I was having contractions all over again. There was so much pain and pressure on top of my cervix, my back and even my butt...confused, I thought this was all over with? My husband had to go back to work this morning, I took another Percocet and called my OBs office. She said this is all normal but if I developed a fever or filled a pad in an hour to call back. And to alternate Percocet with 800 mg ibprofen.

I feel like the Percocet is just now kicking in and I took it almost three hours ago. Weird. I will spend today in a medicated haze....

No.

There are many times in life in where we hear or see the word "no". No smoking. No littering. No vacancy. No time. No outlet. No entry. No heartbeat.

Sunday afternoon, I went to the bathroom and when I wiped, there was the faintest amount of pink on the toilet paper. Immediately, I freaked out and called my husband. He came home from work and we drove down to the hospital. I had a sinking feeling that something wasn't right. We went to L&D and they sent us down to the ER, where we waited for almost two hours just to be put in a room. They tried three different traveling ultrasound machines. They all showed the baby, but there was no heartbeat. They told me it could be the machine and wanted me to get a higher level ultrasound done the next morning. We left after almost four hours of being there only to come back the next day to hear the same verdict. That was it. The heartbeat we saw just three weeks ago was no longer beating. And nobody can tell me why because it happened so early on. I keep being told it was something wrong with the development of the baby, but I keep feeling like I did something to cause this.

The bleeding hasn't progressed much, so I went back to my OB this morning to get a medicine that should progress things. I don't think I can mentally or physically go through a surgical procedure again and have a D&C. I am just not strong enough to handle it. I am waiting for the contractions to start and the bleeding to progress. I hope it doesn't take long. I am emotionally drained. I am a zombie.

It wasn't supposed to be this way. This was supposed to be my miracle. My rainbow. This baby was supposed to bring us happiness, to fill that dark scary space that has taken over my heart. I thought to myself, this is it. We solved the problem with my cervix. I'm out of the woods. And here I am, right back where I started. I can't help but think I jinxed it somehow. By being happy. By trying to be unafraid. I even started taking pictures of my belly. Ironically, I took one on Sunday. 

But when I think about it, I think I knew something wasn't right. I didn't feel sick. I had very little symptoms. We had those issues with the hcg early on. I kept telling myself, don't tell anyone yet. Don't announce it on Facebook. I was holding back. I think I knew. And that's what terrifies me. How can I be so fucking naive? Why did I think, that for one time in my life, things would go my way? Things would be easy? Why did I allow myself to think that I could be happy?

I am in a very dark, scary place right now. The amount of anger I feel is not even measurable. I don't think there is a god. I questioned it before with my losses but now, I just can't believe. There is no good reason for any of this to happen to me or to anyone. There is no good fucking reason. Ad if anyone tries to give me one, I will punch them in the jaw.

Feeling great, but cautiously.

So, I am 9 weeks along today. I have not had much of anything that resembles morning sickness. I have had a few moments of, okay my stomach feels a little weird, but nothing to where I am like, oh my god get me to a toilet right now. I feel fine. It's freaking me out. Is it weird to say that I almost want to feel sick just so I can be reassured that everything is fine?! Yes, it is weird. I am a total freak.

I have had a few dizzy spells, I am exhausted, and certain things just don't sound good to me. Like fish and broccoli and sometimes the smell of ketchup grosses me out. My boobs feel bigger. And my stomach is like one big mess! It's like, am I showing already or is that just bloat? I am a tiny woman at only 4'9 and normally around 108-110 lbs. My pants are way tight and I will admit, I have been wearing belly bands and maternity jeans occasionally already. I have heard you show quicker with each pregnancy, but wow. Forget about trying to hide it at work! Even though I don't work with customers anymore, I still have to wear the stupid uniform and it is not very forgiving. Vertical stripes on yellow in a spandex type material. It is not hot. I look like I've been letting myself go! Haha everyone probably thinks I'm getting fat because it doesn't quite look round yet. It's just kind of like a blob. I haven't exactly gone completely public yet with the news. I want to wait until after my next appointment on the 14th. I will be a few days past ten weeks then. Our families know and close friends, and my boss and assorted coworkers. It is getting hard to hide. But trust me, I am not complaining! When I get that big, huge round belly, I'm going to flaunt it. I will be so proud of that bump.

I think I have become addicted to ultrasounds. It's been three weeks since that last one and I am dying to get another one just for reassurance. To know everything is fine. If I could just throw up once, even... I keep telling myself that with Harper, it wasn't that bad. I only threw up a handful of times and felt sick when my stomach was empty. With Eli, I was hardly sick at all. But I felt funky sometimes. Maybe this baby is taking it easy on me? I just wish I didn't worry so much. I wish I didn't have to worry so much, really. It's putting me on edge, but I am trying my best to stay in good spirits.

Can someone just knock me out until I reach 24 weeks? That would be fabulous, thanks!

Sweet pea.

I am horrible at updating this blog!

So, Monday I had my second ultrasound. I was so nervous, I thought I was going to chew through my cheek. When I get anxious, I tighten my jaw and I get shivers. I can barely hold a conversation and my mind just races from one thought to the next. I lock up. There are just so many memories associated with getting up on that ultrasound table. From seeing my angel babies Eli and Harper kicking around, looking absolutely perfect to analyzing the low amount of amniotic fluid to trying to figure out if the surgeon had stitched through my bladder during my about-to-fail TVC. To say I may have a bit of PTSD would probably be correct. My mind races and my heart stops until I see the perfect, normal image on the screen.

And that is what we saw. A perfectly round little yolk sac with our little baby in the middle. The little flickering of the heart beat. We were even able to see a bit of the TAC in place, although the scan wasn't done transvaginally so we couldn't see too much of it. The ultrasound tech measured everything and they estimated me at 6 weeks, 2 days. The size of a sweet pea. So, I was right. I ovulated late and I found out I was pregnant at just three weeks! No wonder my OB didn't see anything on that first ultrasound, I was only four weeks along at that time. So, all of that worry and fuss was for nothing.

I hit viability on August 24. This is going to be a very long summer. I don't know how the hell I am going to stay sane. Especially around 20 weeks, when I lost Harper and Eli both. I feel like I am walking on egg shells. I want to shout it from the roof tops but at the same time, I am cautious. I told myself and my husband that I would celebrate this pregnancy and not live it in fear, but it is so very hard to do. I feel like there is all of this pressure on me now to bring home a full term baby. I went all the way to Chicago for a surgery that is supposed to "fix" my incompetent cervix. That was my problem, now it is fixed. It should be a breeze, right? Well, you can fix the body but it is very hard to fix the mind. I keep having these doubting thoughts but I try to push them out with positive ones. Totally easier said than done. I don't want to fail again. I don't want to hurt again. I don't want to hurt my husband, our family and friends...I don't think I can do it.

I keep the image of me with a huge, pregnant belly in my mind. Then I visualize our beautiful baby in my arms. I repeat to myself through out the day, "you will bring home a full term baby" whenever my negative thoughts try to invade. I am sort of a believer that negative thoughts harvest negative results. So I am trying to be positive, reaffirming and light.

I will bring home a full term baby this December. I will. :)

Waiting patiently.

I haven't had the time to update since my last post. So let's do that.

Well, I got my blood drawn for a second time about two weeks ago and my levels rose appropriately. I was a nervous wreck. I just had a follow up appointment with my OB two days ago. She had the opportunity to talk to Dr. Haney about my TAC surgery and said she took a ton of notes, and feels completely comfortable with me as her patient, so that is a relief. So, the next step is an ultrasound Monday to hopefully get a better idea of how far along I am. Right now, it's a mystery. If I had to guess, based on my ovulation day, I am 6 weeks and some days. But the ultrasound will be able to show more, because by then maybe I'll be 7. I just hate not knowing! With my last pregnancies, they just went off my last period. Confusing. I am nervous that there won't be anything to see on the ultrasound. Ugh. I haven't had any bleeding or spotting. I have weird crampy sensations every once in awhile, though, but I think I remember having this early before as well. I haven't been sick yet, but I am really exhausted. My husband keeps telling me to relax, but it's very hard. I won't relax until we are past viability.

I have a difficult situation coming up. My sister's friend, who also happens to be my friend, is having a baby girl in July. She decided on naming her Harper. Which just so happens to be the name of my daughter, my first loss. She invited me to her baby shower in two weeks. I really don't think that I can go. I never got to have a baby shower for Harper. It will just be hard seeing her name everywhere. I can't help but feel like she stole her from me. I know that sounds ridiculous but what can I say. I should've had a daughter named Harper. I should've had a baby shower for her. If my daughter had lived, would she had named her daughter the same? Or maybe not because someone she knew had already chosen the name? I am not going to go, I just don't know how to explain it to her.

I wish things were easier.

Why can't anything in my life be easy?

Good news in my life always comes with some sort of consequence. There is never ever any "true" good news. There is always something lurking in the shadows, ready to spring up on me like a lion on a gazelle.

Last Saturday, March 23rd, I decided to go ahead and pee on a stick. I had a weird feeling, but oddly enough I wasn't stressing over it like I was last month. I knew my cycles were now out of whack due to surgery and I was coming to terms with it. After three minutes of waiting, I made my husband look at the results. He said, "pregnant!" And I almost didn't believe him. I looked for myself. Yep, digitally it said, PREGNANT on the screen. It felt unreal.

We had a family event going on that day. My cousin has muscular dystrophy and every year we do the MDA Muscle Walk. I text my sister and told her the news and one of my closest friends. I also posted the news on the TAC Facebook page I am a member of. But now I had to keep it quiet and not tell my family, since I just found out. We had an after party at our house afterwards and my cousins and aunt pointed out to me that I wasn't drinking. I told them the news but quietly. I am still cautious.

So Monday, I called my OB to set up an appointment for confirmation. Originally, the only open date was April 11th. According to my lmp, she had me at 5 weeks and some days and by then I'd be 7 weeks and some days. Me, not being satisfied with waiting that long, decided to call back a few days later to see if there was any way I could get in sooner. So, I went in yesterday. After peeing in a cup, my husband and I sat in the examination room, nervous. The nurse comes in and says, "congrats! You must be super early, your line was really faint." Whoa, there lady. My line was faint? Don't tell me this. So then, I started freaking out. My OB came in and said she was wary about doing an ultrasound this early but we could if we wanted to. I said, yes, let's do it. I'm thinking its going to ease my nerves. Lo and behold, there's not anything to see on the screen, except my "thickening uterine lining", which is a good sign. She went on to say that she thinks I'm earlier than predicted. Especially if I think I ovulated late, which could put me at only 4 weeks. Then we wouldn't be able to see anything on the screen. But still, I panicked. She sent me down to the lab for blood work to get an hcg reading.

She called me back today and said my number is only 279, which seems low but would line up in theory with a later ovulation. So, I have to go down to the hospital tomorrow morning to have more blood drawn and to see if my numbers have doubled. If they doubled, I should not have any worries. If they don't double, the pregnancy might not be progressing like it should.

This is not what I wanted to hear, especially this early on in the pregnancy. I didn't expect to have to worry so soon. With both of my losses, the worrying only began later around 16 weeks. I never had my hcg levels taken and nobody ever commented on how positive my test line was or not. I think this may have been the earliest ultrasound I've ever had, though. But let me tell you what, when I didn't see anything on that screen, my heart sank. It was not what I wanted to see.

Everything is probably fine, but how many times have I heard that phrase before? And how many times did it prove untrue? It just never ends. I am starting to wonder if I was truly ready to try again. I am a nervous wreck. I told myself that I would think positively this next time around. That is becoming harder and harder each day. I am not the blissfully unaware pregnant woman who sees the positive test and 9 months later, she has a baby in her arms. No, I am the heartbroken, paranoid, bereaved mother who never got to meet her daughter or son because they were born too soon. I am forever changed. Pregnancy is a scary, life altering event in my world. And it totally turns everything upside down and shakes it up quite a bit. Everything is uncertain, every morning I wake up wondering if everything is okay. Wondering if it will be okay. I live cautiously.

I hope my levels have doubled by tomorrow. If not, I don't know what I'll do. I am not sure I can handle another loss, so soon, or ever.

my body, my enemy.

So, the hubby and I are trying for another baby. I already have major anxiety just thinking about it. And that's legit. My doctor put me on Klonopin and Celexa awhile back for my symptoms. I get periods of shortness of breath, chest pains, and just overall panicky and racing thoughts. I have stopped taking those meds though, since we are trying to conceive. So now I get to just try to deal with it all on my own. Lately,  I've been having huge bouts of breathlessness and it's driving me crazy. I wish I could just breathe.

I have been very confused by my body, lately. I have started temping for the first time, but I think I have been doing it wrong. I know that sounds kind of lame, but I didn't buy my basal thermometer in time to start temping right after my period. So, I started a few days late. And I haven't been consistent with the time I take my temperature either. My car died, meaning I have to bum rides off my husband in the morning and coworkers in the afternoon, so my waking times have been all screwed up. Not to mention, the OPK pack I bought tells me to use FMU, when everything else online says not to. I also started doing that too late, as well I think. So, I am not even sure if I caught my surge. Ugh. I can't tell if the lines are dark enough. Sometimes it shows one, the next day it's gone, then a day later I'll have another line. I just don't know what my body thinks it's doing anymore. I think I am trying to ovulate,  but it's failing. My temps are up, down, up, down, and all over the place. I had one "spike" but it seemed too early in my cycle. I'm so confused. And because of this crazy schedule this past week, hubs and I haven't had much time to actually give it a go. I'm so annoyed. And cranky. I feel like surgery has thrown everything off. Maybe I should just give myself a break. This is only my second cycle after surgery. Maybe things will be clearer next month?

On a happier, non-TTC related note, since the motor in my Hyundai Elentra died, I finally am getting the car I've always wanted! I'm getting a 2013 Mini Cooper. It's coming to the states all the way from England. Wonder if the Queen will drive it in to the dealership for me? Oh, and the hubs got a promotion a work! So, that's all good stuff. Maybe 2013 will be our year?

I'm trying to keep the good vibes going but these past two weeks have just been insanity stress-wise. Work, car issues, schedules all wacky, husband working later nights...Even if I didn't ovulate this month, at least I'll have a reason why. I am starting to feel like it's me against my uterus. I need to get her on the same page as the rest of my body! I guess this two week wait won't be too agonizing because I'm not sure we accomplished anything.

We shall see..

Talking about it.

Monday I had an appointment with my optometrist. The last time I saw him, I was pregnant. A little part of me wondered if he would remember, and if he would ask. Of course, when he walked into the room, the first thing he says to me is, "how is the little one doing?" And then it's awkward because I have to say we lost the baby and he says how sorry he is. He doesn't really ask what happened but I can tell he kind of wants to know why...and I start explaining what happened, that I have IC and that I just traveled to Chicago and back in January to get the TAC done. And it was okay. He was interested in TAC and while I explained it, he genuinely listened. He asked how I was feeling and I said pretty damn good, considering I had surgery not too long ago. Then he tells me that he just had surgery, too. He donated a kidney to his wife! It was kind of nice to have a normal conversation about IC and my losses. Granted, I do not enjoy talking about it, don't get me wrong. But it was the simple fact that I could talk about it without crying or being awkward.

I still dread that question, though. When I went to the dentist a month ago, I went to make an appointment for my husband with the receptionist afterward, and she assumed he was my son. She said, "how old is your son?" I was confused and it was an unexpected question, and I said awkwardly, "oh, we lost the baby." Then she felt all sorry and awkward too... I just hate how such a simple, normal question to most people can mean something else entirely to me.

So, today officially starts my "fertile week". I started temping in the mornings...I have never done this before but I did not realize how low my resting temp was! It has been in the 97's. so strange. And I am going to use OPKs. I want a better idea of when I am ovulating so that the two week wait is a little less uncertain. But I know it will be, it always is.

I hope I am ready for this.

And then it hits me.

How is it that I can be perfectly fine one moment, and the next I'm falling to pieces? I will just be sitting there, watching something on tv, listening to music or somebody talking, and there it is. That overwhelming, smothering grief that literally takes the breath out of my chest. Something will trigger it and then I'm a crying mess. It's frustrating and exhausting.

For example, there is absolutely nothing on tv right now. I could knit, but I am just sitting here with my iPad with the tv on in the background. Long Island Medium is on. I never have really paid much attention to this show. The woman on it seems kind of out there and I don't normally watch those kind of shows. But I decided to pay attention to it for some reason and my mind starts making associations. It's when she says she senses these people's loved ones around them. And I get to thinking... Are my babies here with me? Do they sit next to me or follow me through the house? Do they long for my hugs like I long for theirs? Do they watch me cry over them and do they cry for what could have been, too? It's just crazy to think about it. My babies existed. They were alive for only a little while, but they lived. They had souls. But is it weird of me to think about this? I sometimes feel like I am just out of reach of them, like if only I could stretch my arms out just a little farther, that I could hold them.

There is one thing I regret with my entire heart. I never held Harper or Eli after they were born. Both were born sleeping after traumatic deliveries. I was so stricken with anger, fear, complete and total crippling sadness that I could just not bare to see them passed on. I think in my mind, I thought that if I didn't see them, their deaths didn't happen. I could hold onto their memories as they were...their little kicks against my belly, my cravings that I had a with both of them, their ultrasound pictures of their perfect little bodies...I just couldn't accept that they were gone. And now I regret it. I will never know what their sweet little faces looked like. I will never know my own children. But I still have them in my heart. I hope that they knew that, if they could. That I love them with all of my heart and if I were emotionally capable, I would have held them close. I am so angry at myself for this. It's something I'll never get another chance to do.

I am a crying mess as I write this. But I think I need to do this more often. I have a tendency to be tough...to be a survivor and move forward. Which is not a bad thing, do not get me wrong. But I need to allow myself these feelings. Even if it is emotionally draining.

Now that I have my TAC in place, my husband and I are going to start trying again. I hope I am emotionally ready for this. I know that I did the right thing having the surgery done, but I will need a lot of courage and strength to get through this. I can do it. I am doing it for Harper and Eli.

new hope -- {{otherwise known as my TAC journey}}

Well, hello there. It has been a very long time since I wrote in this blog. I knew that would happen. I would start a new blog, only to forget about it. It always happens. Anyway, a LOT has happened since my last post.

I was in a very bad place when I last wrote. I was depressed, hopeless, feeling like the biggest failure on this planet. Betrayed by my body. What else was there for me? If I couldn't successfully bring a child into this world, what kind of future was I going to give myself and my husband? It was a really hard time. One where I did not even recognize myself. Literally, I would look into a mirror and stare at my reflection, confused. I would look at old photos of myself and literally wonder who I was then, who I was now. You could see it all over my face. I was lost.

One day, I became angry and vigilant. I am not sure why, but I knew in my heart that this cannot be it. This cannot be where the road stops. There has to be an option for women with incompetent cervix. My good friend did some research for me and found some blogs. I spent hours on Google. I typed in "incompetent cervix and cerclage". I read a story from the University of Chicago Medicine hospital's website. It told a story of a woman who had very similar experiences to mine. Read her story here. Except hers ended in a happy ending - with a full-term baby. She had a procedure done called a "transabdominal cerclage", also known as TAC. After reading her success story, I became obsessed with research on the topic and the success stories. I spent a good two weeks getting all of the information that I could.

Without going into too much detail, the TAC is a very strong band that is placed at the very top of the cervix, which prevents funneling and early dialation due to the weight of a growing baby. This is done through abdominal surgery with a bikini incision, similar to a c-section. The band is so strong, that it can support the full weight of a grown adult. It is permanent and does not need to be removed unless you choose to. It can be used over and over again. You must have a c-section at delivery, but this is a small price to pay for a normal, healthy, full-term pregnancy. The success rates are around 95%, compared to a traditionally placed transvaginal cerclage (TVC), which only has about a 75% success rate. Since I had a failed TVC with my last pregnancy, seeing the stat of 95% success with a TAC, I knew I had to get this surgery done. If anything, at least I knew that I had done absolutely everything I could to have a family.

I went in for a check-up appointment with my OB with questions about the TAC, hoping that she would suggest that I proceed on with the surgery. Instead, I was met with disapproval. I was speechless. Literally, I had nothing to say to her. She basically told me that she would be very wary of me every trying to get pregnant again. With my failed TVC, it had ripped through my cervix and I had very little left. Another TVC was not an option, and she did not reccomend the TAC because she had never seen one placed before. She said it was a "very aggressive" approach and was just very, very negative. She told me I should consider adoption. I left that appointment very confused. I felt like I had been punched in the stomach. I had no air left to breathe, like I was suffocating. How can one woman, in thirty minutes, basically tell me to give up on any chance of having a baby of my own?

Even though she made me feel defeated, it really just fueled the fire. I have always been a very stubborn woman. I don't like to hear the word no, and when I do, it only makes me work harder to get what I want. So, that evening, I went back to the University of Chicago Medicine's website. I looked up more information on the surgeon who preformed this surgery, Dr. Haney. I typed him into Google and found a group on Yahoo,  Abbyloopers. I joined the group and read up on Dr. Haney as much as I could. I quickly found out that he is one of the top doctors for TAC, and I knew I needed to talk to him. If I was going to get this surgery done, it was going to be by the best.

I sent him an e-mail, detailing my experiences and inquring about the surgery. He wrote back in only six hours, telling me he would love to talk to me on the phone to have a consultation. I was so impressed by his promptness. I called the office, set up the consultation, and a week later, I was talking to one of the most compassionate doctors I have ever talked to in my entire life. Here he was, listening to my story and understanding what I really went through. He just knew that he could help me. He went on to explain that many OB's are afraid of the TAC procedure because they are uneducated about it, and it is considered a "risky surgery" because it is done so close to the uterine artery. But for an experienced surgeon, it is no issue. He said it is the best "fix" for IC and that I would have a full term baby with this cerclage. He was so positive! What a breath of fresh air. For the first time in months, I did not feel abnormal. I felt understood. I felt like finally, somebody was in my corner.

After calling my insurance company to make sure everything would be covered, I made the surgery date. January 3rd, 2013. My husband's parents live in Chicago (we live in Cincinnati), so we knew we would have a place to stay. During this time, I found a new OB. She was impressed that I did the research on my own, even after my "ex-OB" recommended otherwise. Even though she had not had a TAC patient of her own, she had seen one in a patient before. I was thrilled. She had a positive attitude about my decision, but wanted me to meet with their MFMs to have a chat with them about the surgery. I told her I would, but their opinions wouldn't change my decision. I met with two. One who was super nice, understanding and proactive about my choice. The second, however, was not so convinced I was doing the right thing. She even went as far as to say my TVC was not considered a failure and would treat me with a "preventative TVC" at 12 weeks with my next pregnancy. I told her absolutely not, I would never go through that again. I was insulted that she didn't consider the loss of my baby a "failure" of the TVC (it ripped through my cervix and my water broke - excuse me, how is that not a failure?). She told me that the TAC was more morbid to me, as it was a surgery where they would be making an incision and I would never be able to deliver vaginally. I basically stopped listening to her as I had already had the surgery scheduled and knew she would not change my mind otherwise. I knew so much more about TAC than she did. I told her so and she seemed insulted. I was almost embarressed for her ignorance. Excuse me for being an advocate of my own mind, health and body.

January came a lot quicker than I thought it would. I was nervous about going under anesthesia, nervous about the healing process, and anxious about the unknown of it all. I had no idea what to expect. When we arrived at the hospital at 6:00 am, I was anxious. They called me back into a room and grilled me about my medical history and then started my IV. Dr. Haney came in and I instantly felt so much better. He put me at ease, told me I was going to be fine. I had instant trust in this man, it is so hard to explain. Especially since I had basically lost all trust and confidence in doctors after everything I had previously been through. I even told him this and he told me that it was normal to feel that way and that I would bring home a baby one day. I kissed my husband goodbye and hugged my family (my dad and sister came up to Chicago with us, and my mother-in-law was there as well) and walked back into the OR. The last thing I remember is laying on the table and talking to the nurse about how my husband and I met. Then, magically, I was waking up in recovery cranky and nauseated. I remember the recovery nurse asking me if it hurt to be tattooed (I have two roses on my shoulder/upper arm in memory of Harper and Eli) and I remember biting his head off, saying of course it hurt! I just remember being confused and sick to my stomach, thanks to the anesethia. Before I knew it, I was rolled into a room where I fought to stay awake the rest of the day.

Recovery was not that bad, I can honestly say that. I am not sugar coating it. Yes, it hurt, but it was not the pain I imagined. It was weird having my core pretty much out of commission, but with pain meds and walking, it was managed. We drove back home just a couple of days later after visiting with my husband's family. I recovered another week at home before returning to work. And now here I am. Reflecting.

I wish I would have written in here during the actual experience, as I know I am leaving details out. But I think I was taking the time to absorb everything. We are going to start trying for another baby and I am a mixture of emotions. I am crazy nervous, excited, and still greiving over Harper and Eli. I only wish I had known about my IC and TAC before we lost them. But that is the evil of IC. It is a sneaky beast. You don't realize something is wrong until it is. And even then, after that initial second trimester loss, doctors do not immediately suspect IC. It's not usually until after a second loss do they begin to investigate, and it makes me angry. If only I had known, my babies would be here. But I can't think like that. I did not know. I tried everything I could, and now I am doing everything I can to bring their future siblings into this world. I know they are with me everyday. I felt them with me during surgery. I feel them in my heart. But, the hurt just doesn't go away. It never stops. The hurt of the loss of my babies is still fresh and it still sneaks up on me when I least expect it.

But I am moving forward now. I am moving in the right direction. I cannot live in the past. I will never forget the past, but I cannot stay there. It is a cold, dark and scary place. I am pretty sure I have PTSD from all that I have been through, but I will fight through it. I will continue to fight. I will have a family. I have done the right thing and I can't wait for the adventure to come. For a normal pregnancy. For normal OB visits, where I am not in fear of what I will see on an ultrasound. Where I am not checking for blood everytime I go to the restroom. For once, I can look forward to planning a baby shower because I can feel confident that my pregnancy will continue past 20 weeks. I will not be that oddity where multiple doctors look at me and have no idea what to do. I will only go to L&D to deliver my baby at full term and I will leave with a precious bundle instead of a broken heart.

I will.

 Jen