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

...the heavy stuff.

So, remember when I would get to the heavy stuff later? I guess this is later. This is going to be quite the long and emotional entry, so please be prepared.

Many people recognize October as National Breast Cancer awareness month. What most people do not know is that it is also National Pregnancy and Infant Loss awareness month. October 15th is the offical day of rememberance, which is today. Everywhere in the country, in their respective time zones, those who have lost their babies will light a candle at 7:00 pm. I will be lighting two.

My husband and I found out we were pregnant only about a year and a half after we got married. We had been together for six years before marriage though, so starting a family only seemed like the next step. Although we weren't really trying, we weren't really preventing it from happening either. When we found out, we were so happy.

Not too long after we had the positive test, I started noticing some bleeding. Nothing too major, but still something to be concerned about. We had an early ultrasound at only seven weeks and everything was looking fine. I was afraid I was miscarrying, but according to the doctors, some bleeding is considered okay as long as it isn't like a period. Which it wasn't. The pregnancy progressed on. I had a little morning sickness but nothing too major. I was constantly worried about the bleeding, which continued off and on. We had our 12 week ultrasound and NT scan and things came back normal. Everything was great until week 16. That's when things started to go downhill. At work, I felt wetness in my underwear. Thinking it was just urine leakage, I didn't think too much of it. I mentioned it at my check-up after work that day and the doctor did a fluid test to make sure I didn't lose any. It was negative. I was glad for that, but at my next ultrasound, my fluid levels were looking very low. Nobody could understand it. Had my water broken? Did I have a leak? If so, why were the tests coming back negative? Was the baby not producing any? It was a giant mystery. At this point, the doctors were very negative. They told me without fluid, the baby had a very low chance at thriving. We were both at risk of infection. Because of this, at week 18, I was put on bed rest where I stayed until week 20. The first day of the 20 week mark, I started having severe pain in my abdomen and a fever. I was really scared, so I called my doctor who instructed that I go to L&D. I went, was checked for contractions, and was sent home. I think about this today still and I am so mad. They sent me home and no less than four hours later, I was back in. I was in so much pain I could hardly stand. I was vomitting and the pain came in waves. I was contracting. My water soon broke. I was in labor throughout the night and delivered my precious baby girl, Harper, the next day on October 24th, 2011. I had trouble delivering the placenta, and I ended up having an infection. I stayed in the hospital for a few days, where I stayed in a haze. Today, I still can't remember what happened afterwards. I think my memory has blocked it out.

I do however, remember just crying. Crying and just not understanding. How did this happen? What happened to me? Why? How come the doctors didn't know why? Weren't they the ones who were supposed to protect my baby? Weren't they supposed to know?

At my follow up appointment, my doctor did not have a clear answer for me. She said she checked the placenta, which showed signs of infection, but it was mostly because of the low fluid. We opted out of the autopsy, but she just kept saying, "I don't think we'll do anything different next time. I really think there was something wrong with the baby, and that is just nature's way of handling it. There's nothing you or I could've done." I didn't feel completely comfortable with her answer, but nonetheless, my husband and I decided only three months later, to try again. I wanted a baby so bad. I was nowhere near the point of being emotionally ready to try again, but the urge was just so strong. I couldn't fight it. I felt like I needed to prove to myself that I could do it, that it wasn't my fault that Harper didn't make it.

It only took one month of trying and we were pregnant again. I can't even describe the mix of emotions I felt. I was happy, yet I was terrified. We had been given another chance. I couldn't quite believe it. I almost didn't want to. I didn't want to get too excited in case something went wrong again. We told our families and close friends first, who were very supportive. After a few more weeks went by, I started to tell more people. Coworkers, my boss, random people in the store who would be in the same baby clothing aisle as me. I wanted to start buying things, but I couldn't bring myself to do it just yet. I didn't want to jinx anything. I was too afraid to go through it all again.

We had our 12 week ultrasound and NT scan. The baby was doing great, but the doctor there read my history and explained to me that she would like to have a cervical length scan done on me around week 15. She wasn't my usual doctor, and said she would forward that recomendation on to mine. Results came back normal for the NT scan test, like the last time. I celebrated a little bit, but still stayed cautious. I felt so completely normal. I felt physically perfect. I wasn't very sick. I was having cravings. I was starting to feel movement.

Then, at week 18, I had an accident at work. I do interior design work in a retail enviroment, and I work early in the morning at the same time as the replenishment crew. As I was going through a door, a power pallet jack came bursting through the other side. I kind of caught the  doors as they flew open with my arms out and my knee, but it shocked the hell out of me. I wasn't sure where it hit me, so I opted to go get checked out just in case. I was beyond upset. Here I was, having the perfect pregnancy, no bleeding, hardly any sickness, and then this happens? I went home to meet up with my husband, who had the day off, and we went up together. My doctor checked for the heartbeat and it sounded completely normal. She didn't sound too concerned. I wanted an ultrasound but she didn't think it was necessary. Just as I was about to demand one, she looked at my chart and said, "Oh, it says here that the doctor who did your NT scan recommended a cervical length done on you at week 15. I guess we missed that. We can go ahead and do that today if you'd like. I don't think it's necessary, but it wouldn't hurt either." I had completely forgotten about the CL recommendation. I was angry. Shouldn't my doctor had followed up on that with me?

We did the cervical length measurement in the ultrasound and the technician discovered that my cervix was looking a bit strange. She explained that it was changing lengths, opening and closing and moving. This was not normal. In pregnancy, your cervix is supposed to stay long and closed. Mine was not measuring very long at all and it was even opening up. I was in shock. When they called me into my doctor's office to discuss these new findings, she was baffled. It looked like I had what they call a "dynamic cervix". It just does whatever it pleases. And it could possibly be the reason why I lost Harper. Gee, thank you doctor, the one who didn't think I needed the test done in the first place. She put me on immediate bedrest and instructed that I meet with a perinatologist to discuss cerclages and progesterone shots. I felt like I had just been punched in the gut. One day, I'm having a breeze of a pregnancy, and the next, I find out that I am centimeters away from losing another baby.

My husband and I met with the perinatologist, who was a very nice man. He suggested that I get a transvaginal cerclage placed in my cervix to try to help keep it closed and prevent preterm labor. He said there could be complications, but it was the best option we had. He also wanted to put me on progesterone shots to help as well. He wanted to do the surgery but he would be out of town and suggested I get it done right away. I decided to go ahead and schedule with another doctor.

The surgery wasn't bad. I was awake for it with a spinal to numb me up. I remember a lot of tugging and pulling and just wanting it to be over with. It was fairly quick, and it when it was over, I was instructed that as long as I could pee before the end of the day, I could go home. As the numbness started to wear off, I noticed that I had the sensation to pee. I had the nurse come in and help me and I sat down and waited. I felt like I was pushing to go but nothing was happening. I sat for awhile, and looked in the pan they give you to pee in over the toilet to measure how much you've gone. All I saw was blood. The nurse assured me this was normal after that type of surgery. So I waited and went just a tiny bit. I still couldn't get full relief. It felt like a UTI. I kept telling the nurse this and she said that feeling was normal as the numbness wears off. Then I noticed a lack of control. I was dribbling and it was just kind of coming out in little puddles, but I made the pee amount quota and was sent home. I still didn't feel right. I thought that I should be able to pee normal by now. It had been hours since the surgery and I could walk just fine.

Overnight, I noticed more pain and more inability to control the urine leaking out. I couldn't figure it out. It was getting unbearable. It felt like the world's worst urinary tract infection. My husband insisted something wasn't right. I called my doctor's office and explained what was happening, and they insisted I come in right away. When we got there, I had lost all control. I had to keep changing pads because they were soaking wet. I was in so much pain that I couldn't stop pacing. The doctor who saw me, who isn't my regular doctor, was almost positive my water had broken and that it wasn't urine leaking out of me, but fluid instead. I got an untrasound and what do you know, my water was perfectly normal. But the tech noticed a weird anamoly on my bladder. She said to me, "I think they stitched your bladder." I  almost wanted to say, "I told you so." We rushed back to the hospital, where we should've gone first, where I had to endure more ultrasounds. With confirmation that my bladder was indeed stitched along with my cerclage, and I was scheduled for emergency surgery. That cerclage came out, a new one was placed, and I now had to wear a foley catheter for a week while my bladder healed from the trauma.

What a freaking nightmare all of that was. I stayed on bedrest where I lay with a catheter strapped to my leg for an entire week. My husband is a saint. I can't explain this enough. He was there by my side for it all and was the best he could be. I loved him even more that week, which I thought was impossible because I already loved him so much. Everyone in my life stayed positive, hopeful and told me I was doing what it took to save my baby. Everyone thought that this cerclage would do the trick, that it would "fix" my defective cervix. I thought so too.

My catheter came out on a Friday, week 20,  and it was the best feeling to finally be able to pee on my own again. I went to a follow-up with my doctor on Monday, where everything looked "just fine" but there was still a risk of water breaking and infection because of the cerclage and all of the complications I had had. The next morning, as I lay sleeping in bed, my water broke. I thought it was urine. I thought my bladder was somehow broken and I had convinced myself this as we drove to the hospital. Unfortunately, the doctors confirmed it was indeed my water. I was a failure, once again. They gave me some small hope, saying some women deliver full term after their water breaks even at 18 weeks, but being there before I knew this wasn't very common. I knew my story. I had lived through this before. After a full day in the hospital and being monitored, I came down with a fever. The doctors told me that they were going to have to induce labor and deliver the baby. I was coming down with an infection and there was nothing they could do. I delivered my precious baby boy, Eli, on June 27th, 2012. Because there was so much infection, my placenta would not deliver and I had to have an emergency D&C. I lost so much blood that I had to have a transfusion. I stayed in the hospital until Friday.

I think traumatized is the best way to describe how I feel. A few weeks after Eli's birth, at my follow-up appointment with my doctor, she basically told me I had no chance at ever carrying a baby full-term. She said that I had an incompetent cervix, that the idea of me trying to have another baby made her very nervous and that she didn't recommend that I try again. Imagine how that feels. To be told that you can't carry a baby to full term. To not have any children. To crush my dreams of having a family of our own.

I am still trying to heal from everything. From the loss of my two percious angels. Haper and Eli. I love you always.

pinot noir and thoughts. so dramatic.

I took a walk through the neighborhood a few nights ago. The sky was a cloudless blue and the sun was only a few hours away from setting. The air was crisp and somebody, somewhere was burning something. I was listening to Social Distortion in my earbuds and I was just taking my time. My husband was hanging out with a friend at his place and it was just me and suburbia and Social D, singing to me about machine gun blues. Mmm, I love it.

It's been awhile since I walked it out. That's what I call it. "Walking it out". When I've got a lot on my mind and I'm sure everyone is sick of hearing about it so I just put on my Converse, put on some good music, and do just that. Not only am I clearing my head this way, but I'm getting some excercise. Bonus. Pretty soon it will be too cold to do this, so I should probably get it out of my system now.

It's been a long, exhausting, depressing two years. I'm not going into details now. I'll save the real heavy stuff for later. But it gets to me. A lot. And there's only so many times I can sit in front of my husband and cry to him and watch him look incredibly helpless. He's sad too, but he doesn't express it as openly as I do. I don't want to dump it all on him, or my friends either. 

So I got to thinking about things while I was walking it out. I was being very observant and I was looking at everything around me. The perfect two story homes with two car garages, made of brick and shingles. The perfectly trimmed and manicured lawns, the different kinds of mailboxes each house has. How some yards have fences and some don't. How some driveways had three cars parked in them, while some had none. But it was the alluring shaded areas of grass underneath the maple trees that caught my eye.

When I was a young girl, I would spend hours sitting outside, underneath a tree in the shade. I would sprawl out on a duvet I dragged off of my bed and read magazines. I remember reading mystery magazines, ones with murderous endings and scandoulous scenes. I'm not sure these magazines even exist anymore, I haven't seen one in ages. I would pick at the blades of grass. I would allow lady bugs to crawl all over me. I would lay on my back and stare up at the leaves and ponder my existence as a twelve year old girl with so much to look forward in her life. Oh, to be a teenager. To be wanted and desired. To be pretty, tall, and awesome. (Of those last three, I was lucky to be two of those. Tall was not one of them.)

As I was walking it out and thinking about this random memory, I thought to myself, when did I stop doing that? When did I quit laying in the grass, reading silly mystery magazines? Did I just stop doing it one day, quit cold turkey, and decided to grow up? When was the turning point? And then, I felt sad for my younger self, the one who misses those moments. Those little slices of solitude, of quietness, of contentment. It was so peaceful under those trees. Just me and my duvet and my shady spot. Until the day I decided to give it up.

And now I am the ripe old age of 27. And I feel a hell of a lot older than that, I will be honest. I have gone through a lot and I'm not just saying that to get attention. This blog has officially been created to be my personal outlet and therepy. I do not seek attention or anything of the like. And just knowing that maybe, somewhere someone is reading this and may be able to relate, helps me.

Sigh...my glass pinot noir is almost empty. What a sad ending to my first blogging endeavor. Oh well, stay thirsty my friends. (I know, that has nothing to do with red wine but I digress..it sounded appropriate.)

Ciao.