addendum

i must say, i really am good.

i also must say, i'm on cymb@lta.

i question whether my state of goodness is coming from a pill, but then i wonder why it matters. is a pill stealing my grief from me? should i be at peace with the fact that i really like being really ok? sometimes i feel like a fraud, other times i feel like i will question feeling good for the rest of my life.

i am not good at feelings. i am good at planning and executing, thinking, philosophizing. i am good at doing. i have done everything i've imagined would be good for me, everything that's arrived on my doorstep as a good character builder or wall tearer-downer. what's left are the feelings. even though i've tried to strategically place myself in situations where i would be forced to feel my grief, i'm unsure and insecure about whether i've still not acknowledged them all.

i can't just put it out there that i'm rainbows and chocolate kisses without also saying that i'm medicated.

i can't just put it out there that i'm medicated and insinuate that i think i'm failing in some way because of it. i needed help and i got a little fucking help.

i can't say i'm not a little conflicted about the whole thing.

i love being really ok. i love having the motivation to keep my house really clean. i love wanting to socialize, and i love the ability to connect with others and have kick-ass nights out again. i love (mostly) only wanting to eat when i'm hungry. i really super love not having a short fuse with my children and husband.

i don't love that i have to take a pill every night to get here, but i imagine, in light of the benefits, that sounds like a dumb thing to worry about.

the guilt, it never ends.

moving on

i received an email this morning from a pregnant deadbaby mama.

when my ivfs failed early this year, i was left with medications i would never again use. some i sent to a very dear friend who is still trying to figure out what the fuck her next move is, and the rest i sent to this mama. she's 20 weeks pregnant with a girl, and the birthday of her lost boy was earlier this month. i'm really so happy for her.

i can't believe how OK i am with leaving all that reproductive bullshit behind me. it's been a long, hard, miserable road. i am thrilled with my alive children and can appreciate paige for all that i've learned from her. i am heartbroken that she's not here, but she's changed me so much and i am so grateful to have had her. i can't change the fact that she's dead, but i can change my life.

i know that my leftover medications were just a small part of the whole process for this mama, but when i read that email, i felt so happy inside that because of paige, i helped her get pregnant. it was a little tiny bit of help, but so what?

i feel so very far out from having a dead baby, two years plus. no other babies to come, just the rest of my life. on to the next phase. the three will begin full-day kindergarten next september and i will...figure out what i'm going to do with myself as more than just a mother of alive triplets and a dead baby. it's thrilling, really.

i haven't had a bad day in such a long time. i'm thankful that i can think of paige and mostly feel heavy gratitude. i really feel that a lot of it has to do with KNOWING and ACCEPTING that i don't want to have any more children; i am done. i know how many children i will ever have, i know that three are alive and one is dead. i know i love them all.

is this it?

quite the playgroup

lighting my candle tonight at 7pm...i'm hoping this weather dies down a bit so i can put it out on the porch to light the night...

paige
callum
maddalena
jessica
LAMB
jacob
the twins
ronan
A
the boys
ferdinand
charlotte
hannah
hope
owen
serenity

in the one life that we've got

Where do we go from here
How do we carry on
I can't get beyond the questions
Clambering for the scraps
In the shatter of the collapsed
It cuts me with every could-have-been

Pain on pain on play, repeating
With the backup makeshift life in waiting

Everybody says that time heals everything
What of the wretched hollow
The endless in-between
Are we just going to wait it out

There's nothing to see here now
turning the sign around
We're closed to the Earth 'til further notice
A stumbling cliché case
Crumpled and puffy-faced
Dead in the stare of a thousand miles

All I want, only one street-level miracle
I'll be an out-and-out, born again from none more cynical

Everybody says that time heals everything
All in the end
What of the wretched hollow
The endless in-between
Are we just going to wait it out

And sit here cold
We’ll be long gone by then
And lackluster in dust we lay
Around old magazines
Fluorescent lighting sets the scene
for all we could and should be being
in the one life that we've got

In the one life that we've got

Everybody says that time heals everything
But what of the wretched hollow
The endless in-between

Are we just going to wait it out
Sit here
Just going to wait it out
Sit here cold
Just going to sweat it out
Wait it out

(holding you and yours in my heart, my friend.)

just like me

she rejected the board's recommendation for suspension. she hired a lawyer and there's going to be a trial.

she doesn't know that there will also be a civil suit filed against her this month. she better be ready to keep that attorney on for a good long while.

for a moment when the investigator told me she didn't accept the suspension, i felt nervous that she would avoid punishment against her license. then i felt, so be it, i can't do anything about the outcome of a trial.

then i felt that i was accomplishing my goal no matter what.

she is suffering.
she is forced to remember.

trash/treasure

isn't relativity funny?

most of us agree that trying to compare loss, which one is better or worse, more painful, is just utterly useless. everyone has their pain to bear and that's it. we all recognize the familiar cycles and waves of grief, we all echo the same pain of babyloss.

i think we all, at some point or another, laughed at ourselves maniacally about what we used to think pain was. we all, at some point, remembered what we used to think our life's traumas were, our worst days, moments, the worst things that ever happened to us. we can laugh, we can find it twistedly and dastardly ridiculous...now. we held our dead babies. what a point of reference.

i was working yesterday at the OB/GYN office. there was a new OB patient in seeing the nurse for her initial consult. at one point, the nurse told the doctor that the new patient would benefit from talking to him. apparently she was very upset about her first birth with another practice in another hospital.

i share an office with the practice manager, who lost her first and second sons to stillbirth. i used to wonder if she heard the heartbeats echoing through the office the same way i did. i used to wonder what it was like for her, being more than 20 years out. one day it hit me: other tragedies in her life became "The Big Ones." it's all relative. even babydeath.

"she's very upset about her first birth," the nurse said.

"they told her the baby died and would be stillborn, and then proceeded to get on top of her and really roughly delivered her; it was shoulder dystocia," the nurse said.

"the baby was born, and they called time of death and everything," the nurse said.

"and then the baby took a breath. and she's got pictures of the baby; she's SO beautiful. can you IMAGINE?" the nurse said.

my friend and i just turned and looked at each other.

"i can totally imagine the first part," i said.

i've been at the OB/GYN office for a year. i've only been slightly moved by the tiny heartbeats, the hugely pregnant, scheduling c-sections, the brand-new newborns. this incident almost made me pass out.

THIS LADY IS CRYING OVER MY FUCKING DREAM COME TRUE. this lady is talking about our collective goddamned wildest dreams come true as the most traumatic event of her life. and i get it, i really do. i used to think having triplets was traumatic. I GET IT.

what it makes me feel is, really, does anything matter?

everything is relative and we are all running around with our pain and our traumas and our bullshit...and one woman's pain is another woman's prize. even in our own lives, we dwell on one pain until another one, one which cuts even deeper than the last, seizes us. and so, does any of it really matter? is any of it as real as we feel it to be? i'm not sure.

am i questioning reality, or myself?

it's been two years since i held her. i feel like i am getting better. i also feel guilty and heartless, and, like my mother says, like a stone. i feel like having her here would be my dream come true, but i also feel her absence and accept it. her absence is a part of my life and although it's there...always there...the lack of desperation about it is startling.

what was worse than losing her?
living without her.

remembering

we used to think this was the worst day.

we used to think this day would make this the hardest week of the year.

we hoped that she wouldn't be born on this tragic day, yet we sometimes hoped she would, so we would have something happy to celebrate.

then she died.

9/9 has overshadowed 9/11 in this house...and 9/11 almost shattered our marriage.

unbelievable.

::::

following are the emails that marc wrote to friends and family about his experiences at ground zero:

9/12/2001
I want to thank all who called and or emailed their concerns about my safety during this catastrophe, i arrived on scene at ground zero at the world trade center about 1030 am right after the towers collapsed........what i witnessed in the next 17 hrs is something i must live with for the rest of my life and pray none of you ever ever have to be a part of in your lifetime. my partner and i pulled 2 people to safety from the rubble and pulled dozens more who were already dead either crushed or burned.....we managed to escape the third building collapse simply on adrenaline alone..........other firefighters and police did not. we were finally ordered to leave and were rushed to a nearby makeshift trauma center at the Chelsea piers and treated for heat exhaustion, smoke inhalation, and shock which we did not even realize we had. our blue uniforms were covered in ash and pulverized concrete turning them white. i thank you again for you concerns......it means more than you know considering how close to death we came today. please pray for my fallen brothers who will number somewhere near 300 and for our firefighting brothers who's loses will almost double that number. i will be working 12 hr shifts from 4pm to 4 am so please bear with me if responses are somewhat delayed for the next couple of days. please give blood if you are in the area and stay out of NYC at all costs.....national guards, and the marines are now stationed to aid us. On a personal note i am absolutely awestruck, speechless, heartbroken, and in denial as to this cowardly act of terrorism......im sure it will set in soon enough, and i dread every minute of it. its late and im physically and emotionally spent.....stick together my friends.

9/13/2001
your words of encouragement have lifted my spirits and and give me more reason and hope to deal with this on a daily basis. today we dug, and sifted and seemed to get nowhere....our efforts were delayed for hours due to possible collapses of three surrounding buildings.......the wait was nothing short of agonizing. for my friends who have tried to call my cell, the phone lines are down and the cell connections are few and far between with very week signals. As far as ground zero is concerned.......there is a constant smoldering of ash and fire with a thick cloud hanging over the site forever......the smell is almost indescribable; a mixture of burning debris and concrete.....and it is everywhere......there are rescue workers everywhere and as we pass each other there is an unspoken meeting of our eyes that seems to explain it all combined with the appearance of our uniforms.....there is not a lot of talking going on as we all seem to know there will be many many bodies coming out of this wreckage with little chance of survivors...how do you begin to accept the loss of what could be 20,000 people? many of us keep looking up hoping we will see those famous towers above us but they never seem to appear......our precinct has become a makeshift headquarters with cops from all over the city assigned to our area stopping in to rest and we have received food donations from very generous local churches and aide groups. a list of names of missing Police Officers has been issued and it is lengthy. we have witnessed firehouses turned into living shrines as new yorkers come to drop off flowers and offer condolences and food. i took some pictures today of the devastation but stopped because i felt wrong doing it. we were told shortly after 11pm that the Police effort in the rescue would be cut drastically and this has torn our hearts out....we must now stand by and keep the area clear and open for all emergency vehicles and try to answer the typical radio calls. our fallen are trapped and buried and we can not even help......i cant even convey how this makes us feel.....the hours are wearing us down physically and our morale is very low. I still cant believe this has happened i just want to help and not leave with the hope of finding someone alive but it gets less and less likely. those brave people on the planes who knew those poor people in the towers who never had a chance. this is a nightmare.

9/16/2001
it is now past 11pm on 9/16/01 and i am finally home after what seems much longer than 4 days. my last shift at work was 46hrs long in which time my partner and i went AWOL from our assignments to continue our digging effort to try to find survivors. we did not find any. the night of the rain storm we worked feverishly through the night with members of the LA County urban rescue team and their search dogs.....the dogs; some trained to find live scents, some trained to find death known as cadaver dogs. we climbed the rubble and followed the dogs and marked spots everywhere they stopped and barked and dug......there were many many spots, each we marked with bright orange tape and i tried to mark as many of the sites with a makeshift cross as well.....materials and size were problematic. we found an 18 wheel truck crushed and pulverized beyond description....it was right at the very edge of the destruction......its occupant no doubt tried in vain to escape the carnage around him and was literally 10 feet from the edge of the debris field......some 4 hrs later after we called in welders, tractors, and a crane we saw what was left of the truck....it had been reduced to inches in some places......the occupant was unrecognizable to the untrained eye. we continued our search and actually found several pieces of the airplanes.....one piece with a portion of the red lettering from American airlines.....the FBI was notified and they sent in a team to remove the debris. An encouraging aspect of our search revealed deep "voids" in the rubble where we hoped we would find some survivors or some bodies........we found neither. it seemed as if we were being punished and we knew we would have to dig til we dropped to find anyone among all of this...... my partner and i managed to navigate the rubble and avoid the still burning fires hidden deep beneath till we found ourselves just a few feet from the still burning remains of the WTC. an eerie twisted, tortured, corner piece....all that was left of tower 2. there was an opening and what appeared to be an extremely large void going straight down for what seemed to be 60-100ft below us was actually the street.......the rubble was that high. we yelled down but no one answered back. the rains came and we were ordered to abandon the search.......during the breaks in the storm we continued but again had to retreat. we holed up for the storm in a corner bar called the ST. Charlies bar on Albany and Carlslyle St. all the windows were blown out, there was no electricity, and the place was covered in dust. this would be our new home for the next few hours. to our amazement there was a makeshift triage center in there along with many firefighters and other cops from the city as well as construction workers. we all shared in a toast to our fallen and voiced our anger and frustration through the night. cars and trucks had been placed on top of each other across the street to make way for equipment. out of nowhere a yellow cab seemed to come alive with its light on and horn blasting......my partner having reached his limit, screamed at the empty, crushed cab and soon others joined in as well. we were all exhausted and frustrated........we knew there would be no survivors and some would never be found or identified........some of the nurses cried, some of the firemen cried.....hell we all cried at one point. morning came and we tried to resume the dig but footing was made impossible by the rain. soon after word came down that this was no longer a search and rescue operation and that all searches would be halted indefinitely.......the big equipment would be brought in to remove the larger debris....our job it seemed was done. defeated, tired, and filthy my partner and i walked back to our precinct in the rain, hoping the wetness would wash away all we had seen.....it did not. we had just 2 short hours to get ready for our next 12 hr shift. we would not be sent back into ground zero again and knew no other cops would as well. from 4pm till 9am the next morning we were posted six blocks away on Broadway......sentenced to watch all the utility trucks, loaders, tractors and endless emergency vehicles head into the zone in a vain attempt to find people. not much was said between us that night, a comfortable silence if you will, a quiet time to remember and reflect. my god there was such destruction and we were helpless to do anything about it. our efforts were in vain, there were no survivors and never will be....those who came out alive were only rescuers who were injured trying to help the others. we knew how this experience would change our lives and how it had brought us closer than ever together.......we shared in each others pain and we never left each others side. our punishment in all of this is to be a survivor and to be forced every single day into remembering what we saw. the outpouring of American pride has never been so great and we witnessed that too. walking down the west side highway to get to the site, the sidewalks were lined 5 deep with well wishers,: women and children, men and grandparents, black, white, chinese and everyone in between....these people cheered us offered us home made food and just wanted to touch us as we walked.......we walked tall, we walked proud, and gave these people reason to believe even in the shadow of the task at hand...... I thank them and i thank you for all of your words of support and encouragement. I couldnt have made it with out you. Someday we will all get together and have a good cry over this and remember those who have fallen and those who are scarred from searching for them. I am home with my wife now and plan to spend every minute i have with her before i go back to work on Tuesday.....Surround yourselves in friends and family and talk about this experience. we will move on, our lives forever changed, our security forever threatened......be proud, we will rebuild. Thank you all again.

9/25/2001
My friends and family, Its now been 14 days since all of our lives changed and we still find ourselves looking for answers and digging out of the destruction. For the first time since 9/11 i went into the portion where the plaza used to be. For those of you who remember it, it was vibrant and full of life with a giant golden globe just behind the north tower. All that remains eerily enough is that golden globe. It has a large dent in it but it still stands, as bright as ever. It is the only thing not destroyed on the entire WTC site. It sits among a sea of twisted girders and wreckage as high as some of the buildings left over. There are rescue workers still combing the site for survivors, but they know as we all do there aren't any. They look like little ants as they criss cross their way over the piles. The dog trainers ask us for our assistance every now and then by posing as "bodies" in the rubble. We will go off so the dogs cant see us, put some of the lighter debris on ourselves and wait for the dogs to find us. This is to alleviate the depression of not finding survivors for the dogs. They get so excited when they find us, its like they are recharged and all they want to do is get back in and find more live ones. The smell coming from the site grows each day. I cant not explain what the smell of death is like, and i definitely cant explain what over 6000 bodies smell like. That's the hardest part to deal with. There are still over 6000 people out there in the rubble, buried so far under our feet we cant even begin to imagine pulling them out for their families. So far the one thing that brings tears to my eyes and those around me is when they find FDNY, NYPD, or Port Authority bodies. Usually they bring a dog in on a part with a strong scent. The workers concentrate their efforts on that site until they find something. If it is a fireman, or cop all work immediately stops. Cranes are shut off and the area becomes very quiet. Men from their respected companies or precincts are called in. A small ceremony is performed right in the middle of all this chaos, and they place the body, or what's left of it on a stretcher. An American flag is handed down making sure everyone touches it and it is draped over the remains. Depending on how deep or far in the body is they'll either hoist it out with a crane or walk it out. Then the hard part comes. It is placed on small police or fire buggy, and all work outside the site comes to a halt. All our hats come off and an aisle of people is made, rescue workers, construction, PD, FD, nurses and anyone around. One of us will call attention and then everyone salutes as the body goes by, the salute is held until they have placed the body in an ambulance and is taken away. I usually begin to loose it at this point as i am in uniform and people are following my lead. I shed tears of pride and tears of sorrow for these men and women who lost their lives here. It is a moving experience, one that was repeated three times the other night as we found an FD, and two Port Authority cops. We have yet to find any NYPD officers that were lost, and it saddens me to think of their families that so desperately want the closure. Maybe soon. Maybe. The work continues round the clock and it seems that i too am working round the clock. Our shifts begin about 4pm and end usually around 7am, putting myself in bed by 830am, only to get up and do it all again. The hours are rough and exhausting but when i get down or really tired i take a walk over to where they have cards and candles set up from the children. I read them and it gives me renewed hope. My friends, please remember this is far from over. Holy War has been declared on us and as soon as we strike at those terrorist bastards, they will come looking for their cowardly payback striking any civilians they deem necessary. There are possibly thousands of them floating around just waiting, so i implore you to remain on your guard and be aware of your surroundings and those around you. If something does happen do not be afraid to fight back. Its funny how before all this, the cause of the month was racial profiling and how terrible and unconstitutional it was. Now we are being told and ordered to profile the Arabs in any instance. Always a knee jerk reaction. Anyway, stay safe my friends, and protect your family and those you love at all costs. If they hit they will come at NYC again so i will be ready as well. Remember those who have fallen in the wake of this tragedy and those who rose above to dig them out and rebuild. We forget all to easily in this country and i pray you never forget and keep the same fire burning in you throughout these trying times. Thank you for letting me express my feelings through writing. My outlets are limited and there is only so much i can place on my wife.
your friend, m.

the word is not the thing

i've been trying to come up with the words for how i'm feeling; i've been trying to figure out how i feel so i can write a proper post to commemorate the second birthday of my dead daughter. i can't. i can't so i will just write and see what happens.

so far, the anticipation has been the worst part of any kind of day-that-should-have-been, and this time, it hasn't been the worst. two weeks ago, i watched soulmate friend's baby for a week- the one that was living in her belly as she sat by my hospital bed while i waited to birth a dead one. husband cried a couple of nights, after they were all in bed, about the reminder of what he should have. "i can't see that baby and not remember what they pulled out of you," is what he said.



for a week i thought of what could have been, experienced it, kinda. kinda, because she wasn't paige. paige is gone.

::::

god, i'm at a loss.

what do i feel? i feel like i've lost it, lost that raw, bitter taste of grief. is it because i'm all better? i think probably it's more like i want to be done. i'm tired of the pain.

::::

my sister found out last week that she's pregnant again. she had a miscarriage while i was pregnant with paige, then she got pregnant and had a baby who turned one on the first of this month. i planned and catered his birthday party. i thought of what could have been, experienced it, kinda. kinda, because it wasn't a party for paige. paige is gone.

my sister called me yesterday and told me she was bleeding. more babydeath? we won't know for a few days, but if this baby dies, why not this week? i can't take anymore. i want her to be done, i want her to get pregnant and have her second child and be done so we can just move on and enjoy our families together. i want the fuck out of reproduction, directly and indirectly.

::::

we've been trying to figure out what to do today. we'll probably take the kids to dinner, just to do SOMETHING. i'll start those mimosa tree seeds today in big pots like i wanted to last year. should i bake another cake? i don't know, it just feels strange. everything feels strange.

the only thing i've been sure of is that i would come to this place and tell the truth of this day. here i am, except, after all the thinking and thinking, i still am not sure how to properly tell it. are there words at all for this?

::::

we didn't bury paige. i didn't buy her a headstone. i don't have a place to bring flowers, and it shocks me that i've yearned for a place to go.

over the last two years, i've been creating a place to remember paige. flesh therapy. three months after she was born, i started getting her headstone tattooed on my arm. i thought of her and my pain while the needle buzzed and vibrated. she's in there, intermingled with the ink and my flesh.



after a while, i thought it was cold. i wanted LIFE. i wanted to bring her flowers. it was finished last wednesday, just in time. (still peeling a little, like a sunburn would.)









when i began the process two years ago, i thought it would be a way to talk about paige all the time, when anyone asked about it or commented on it. it's actually been the opposite. very few people know what the tattoo really is- a grave. this is for ME, and i carry it, i carry her. it is death, and it is life.

::::

two years.

two years since my charmed life has been turned upside-down.

i can't exactly say that upside-down isn't better than what it was before.

paige's death has caused me the worst pain i've ever experienced. her death has changed my life. she taught me so, so many things, and for that i am grateful to her. how can her death be the worst and the best thing that's ever happened to me? her LIFE was the best thing that ever happened to me, because, you know, she actually EXISTED. her death, well, she's a part of me forever.

paige, thank you for teaching me about life.

to anonymous

Anonymous has left a new comment on your post "on having triplets":

What a BITCH. I had triplets and two of them died. I would give anything in the world to have all THREE babies. You don't know how fortunate you are. What an ungrateful piece of shit. You should be blessed beyond belief. There are so many people who have lost multiples that would give anything to be in your position. I wish every single day that I could have ALL the ups and downs having triplets would bring. No wonder your other baby died...you aren't even grateful for the ones you have. Pathetic. I'd give anything to have my triplets.


Posted by Anonymous to a charmed life? at September 5, 2009 10:25 AM


::::


i understand. there's not a day that passes that i am not stunned, that i don't look at them with wonder and disbelief that i am so lucky to have them all here. after paige died, i cried every day when they made me crazy with their fighting and crying and whining that i would not ever go insane with paige's madness. i understand, anonymous. i understand your need to lash out and i don't mind being your whipping post.

i'm so sorry, anonymous. i wish you had all your babies, too.

an apology

after i wrote out that whole post, after i wrote about the things that are bringing me peace and enjoyment, i got angry. i became angry and hostile about the nerve of all those things, those plans, written down. i became confused about how to handle being in the moment and still thinking- musing- about what could possibly, maybe, come to pass.

after i wrote it all down, after i experienced excitement and happiness about those things, i crammed my face full of shit foods. obviously i had some kind of emotional issue with some or all of what i wrote. what? i'm not really sure. maybe it's the fear of being free. maybe it's the fear of being let down after a cushy pink-cloud honeymoon period of feeling free. maybe it's the fear of the true work of being free, the work of constantly breaking the chains i impose on my own self. it's all those things and a million more, but i can pretty confidently think that the bottom line is fear.

not only do i need to accept the things that i enjoy thinking about, but i need to accept that i am scared. i don't even think i need to know what i'm scared of, that's probably irrelevant. if i accept it, i think each item of fear will reveal itself over time and space.

you know, i've never accepted that i was afraid of anything. i never thought i was scared. i never thought i was needy or lonely or rejected...but i am all those things.

a charmed life. that's what i thought i had, what everyone thought i had. it was the dead baby that shattered that charmed image for everyone else. i now know in my heart that *a charmed life* is a prison. my dead baby, my dead daughter, her existence, the pain that is in me, is chipping away at the walls and letting some air and light and fire and earth and LIFE in.

it feels funny and creepy sometimes to think this way. it sounds all new-age bullshit. it sounds ridiculous and...why am i so at odds with myself? maybe this is some of the fear seeping in. maybe the hard-ass practical no-bullshit way is all built out of the fear i never accepted. i am rebelling inside. i am scared of giving up the walls, the prison. i was forced to face all this shit when my baby died and there's no turning back now...IF...i really want to live.

i think i really want to live. i think it's a choice that i have to make every moment. i think all these thoughts and feelings are of me, but are not me. i can't control it, but i can choose not to hold on. i can choose to stay open for the moment, for each new thing.

i have an apology in my heart for myself. i accept.

attraversiamo

thirty-five.
35.
trentacinque.

it feels like a big one, to a girl who cares not about birthdays. thirty-five times two is seventy and then i guess after that...bonus years. in high school, i always thought that my forties would be the best years of my life. i thought i would reproduce in my twenties and be kinda free and settled by then, in a life and family and career. getting older never upset me.

coming up on paige's two years, i'm feeling...ok. i don't know how that can be possible, but it is. is it one of those things, though, where two years is "ok" and then you just go to utter shit yet again? that was cute at the dreaded four months mark, but at two years out, no one wants to hear about that shit anymore. but we all know that, don't we.

attraversiamo, crossing over. crossing over into 35+, into two years+. crossing over into the rest of my life, although every single day, every single minute, is the same thing, no? maybe it just feels good to have it feel like something bigger than that (WARNING to SELF! GRANDIOSITY SLIPS INTO SABOTAGE!!). well, anyway, whatever.

i read "eat, pray, love" within a few months of losing paige. i really liked it then. i just finished it again, and so much was lost into the miserable abyss during the first reading. it's a great and wonderful book, and seeing as it is a very open and emotional time for me, i've been inspired.

my life has taken a very different turn since the beginning of this year. it started with ivfs, and here, midway through 2009, i write check after check for (nothing? freedom from what-ifs?) failed ivf treatments with an IUD in place. my life is very different than it could have been this year.

crossing over. i'm crossing over to my other path, the one without another baby. that is sad for me, yet, this is my life. it is sad yet not sad, because another baby would have never been paige and really, if i'm honest, i wanted a do-over. it's not sad because it forces me to accept my dead baby without a buffer. if i can't do it over, i have to live, totally, with what is. it's all sad, but i'm learning. it's not sad, because i'm learning. it's also not sad because i have a new and mysterious path to walk.

i recently learned that i'm eligible for dual citizenship (italy). i tried a few years back, but didn't know the right answers, being estranged from my father. since reuniting with my father's side of the family (dead baby->therapy->reunion), i learned that i AM eligible. i am going to get my italian citizenship. i got rosetta stone and i'm learning italian. (this is all so incredibly SAPPY, and as we say in jersey, GAYYYY, having just re-read EPL...just so you know, it doesn't escape me...but fuck it...just a coincidence. HA!) the idea of it thrills me, and so, i will have thrills on my new path.

i made a reading list, and in my possession is 'radical acceptance: accepting your life with the heart of a buddha.' i need to accept. i need to learn ways to help me accept, and not just my dead baby. i need to accept every minute of every day, good and bad and indifferent, for what it is- nothing more or less. next september all my children leave for kindergarten and i'll be fucking damned if i spend this next year all tangled up in emotional bullshit. the idea of acceptance fills me with peace, and considering all there is to accept, i'll take peace where i can get it. i am a seeker on this new path.

since the IUD placement in march, i've kinda easily dropped 35lbs. it's amazing to me how much of that feels like an emotional release, not a physical one. letting go of the idea of another pregnancy made it almost easy. i have to be honest and say the whole thing- pregnancy? not? another baby? treatments?- made me quite depressed. when i was released from the 'trying,' i lost weight. i physically and emotionally feel so much better. i've learned alot about how i use food and the effect it has on my body and psyche. i intellectually know about health and nutrition but that means nothing when it comes to using food to cope. i've been dealing with it for decades. day by day, i'm gonna try to stay in touch and not cram food down my throat in an effort to make *it* all go away. i'm gonna try to use what i learn through my seeking (i dread to say 'spirituality') to fill the black hole in there. i don't want to suffer with diabetes (which, HELLO! two pregnancies of gestational diabetes, one of which was uncontrolled!?). i need strength and health to walk this here new path. i need to have clarity of mind and body to recognize the way when i feel it.

next year, when i am suddenly left alone (yay?), i will start nursing school. after paige was born, in the hospital bed like a huge rotten sack of potatoes, i had a brick wall smash into my brain that left an indent that read, "BE AN L&D NURSE, YOU IDIOT!" after graduate school (public health) i had triplets and so, needless to say, didn't start a career at that time. i've been wondering for years what the HELL i was going to do when the kids went to school. who the FUCK would take a degree i earned in 2003 seriously without, you know, ACTUAL WORK EXPERIENCE? no one. lying in that hospital bed, i knew what to do. why, actually, had i never considered it? all the jobs in public health i'd ever seen listed that i was interested in wanted an RN. almost two years later, i know i must be a nurse. i may not work in L&D forever, but i know i need to do it for a while. i hope to work in a hospital with an antenatal unit, but around here (the country!) there's one ward for everyone and the L&D nurses do it all. so be it. i will do all the normal work and, sometimes, when the worst happens, i will be there for that, too. not because i can "help," but maybe just not being the only woman in the world with a dead baby will help her at that moment. in that hospital bed, we were all "the only one," weren't we? i see it now, scheduling OB/GYN surgeries. i saw it yesterday, when i told a woman with a dead baby in her belly that it happened to me. i see it every time...none of them want to be alone. i want to do something with my life that helps people. i want to be effective, i want to make a difference. i hope i can do that; i hope that, by the grace of this universe, i can do that on this new path.

in EPL, in bali, she says that babies' feet never touch the earth before they are six months old. if a baby dies before then, it is given a special cremation ceremony and not placed in a human cemetery because this being was never human, it was only ever a god.

i think this may be so. who else but a god can touch someone this deeply, open someone to a new way of being?

my very own personal jesus.

now it is up to me; reach out, touch faith.


::::


edited to add:
that sounded pretty good, huh?? i published this what, ten minutes ago, and it's making me sick. who the fuck am i to plan any of it? i am not good at emotions, i am good at action. problem is, there's only so much ACTION you can take RIGHT NOW, IN THIS VERY MOMENT. i guess i'm glad that i posted again, that i wrote all that out in words...but it just feels like bullshit on a certain level. what is that? maybe it's the contradiction of seeking a life "in the moment" and then planning out all that other crap, including how to live in the fucking moment.

maybe i should just accept that i like to think about doing things and then see what i can accomplish.

maybe i should get the hell out of my head.

the thing

reece is ok, he just has rocks in his belly. he has to drink lots of water to keep his rocks wet or they will get too scratchy. his uncle brought him a THE THING comic to show him a rock-man superhero...

his urine calcium levels are very high, so he is likely to either have very small kidney stones or is developing them. apparently his grandfather also had kidney stones since he was a boy, so I AM ACTUALLY GETTING ANSWERS...and it's not that bad.

why does it feel so insanely strange for this to end up ok? i feel like this can signal a time to get past the fatalistic attitude, get back to *normal* life where everyone doesn't end up dead.

the truth is, neither are ok.

not everyone lives, not everyone dies. you can't know when or how or who. it will sometimes not make sense, so don't even bother with the analysis; sometimes knowing why and how will be worse than not knowing.

the truth is, there is no truth.

say 'truth' 15 times fast and you won't even recognize the word anymore; it sounds more like a dental procedure.

at this very moment i'm blogging about kidney stones and death and who knows what will come next today. i'll probably go outside and break up 97 fights over the swing-for-two on the swing set, but who knows.

who knows.

::::

looking through the pictures for one of reece, i noticed the drunken, elated one of marc with the girls that he dragged out of bed when the pens won lord stanley's cup (there's a 16x10 magnet on my fridge, lest i forget). am i happy or sad to then see her name on his arm?

all clear, yet not

the sonogram was clear. the urinalysis, also clear. there's a tiny little bit of skin, a tiny little flap, on the bottom of the pee-hole (so technical, huh?) that can be snipped. turbulent flow of urine can cause irritation, and also sometimes cause some bleeding.

are you kidding me??

can it really be that stupid and simple?

somehow, i seriously doubt it.

he's been peeing blood every week for about 6 weeks now. can it really be turbulent urine flow?! i'm putting that one on the back-burner (we have an appt to get the snip beginning of september). in the meantime, i'm taking him to a nephrologist (kidney specialist) next thursday. i'll bring the ultrasound films and urinalysis reports, but come on! what the fuck is he going to tell me, besides GET THIS OR THAT OTHER TEST. i mentioned a biopsy to the urologist and she looked at me like i was bat-shit crazy, so...i just don't know.

i
just
don't
know.

red smoke, updated

reece has no infection, according to the urine culture. i had to call the ER multiple times to get the result, but i suspected no abnormalities; they don't call you when tests are normal. this is NOT the result i wished for.

i've been avoiding dr. google (and the computer in general) since i saw blood, and i mean SOLID RED BLOOD, streaming from my son's...you know...weenie. i'd been suspecting it for a week or two before that; i think i thought i saw something maybe possibly in the toilet after i think reece went. then i forgot about it. then two fridays ago i saw it with my own eyes. i collected his next sample in a white mug and went to the ER. it was a good thing, as silly as i felt with a plastic-wrapped blood filled steaming mug of piss, because of COURSE, his clean-catch was yellow.

i made an appointment with the ped urologist, and we need an ultrasound. i taped up a sheet of paper and pen above the toilet so i can document every occurance of red pee, or, as reece puts it,

"MOM! my red smoke is coming out of my peen again!"

red smoke. i've asked him if it burns, hurts, tickles...i've pressed his back and belly and asked if it hurt. NOTHING. he's peeing a lot, i've noticed, but i suspect that is more out of curiosity than urgency. he wants to see the red smoke. it's fun for him; it's like a game.

IT'S NOT FUN FOR ME.

i don't want to know what else it could be, but i already kinda do. the infection would have been great. with this many obvious occurances of bloody urine, i think we are going to have to get a renal biopsy.

this could really, really turn out badly...and there's nothing i can do about it.

::::

the first appointment they gave me was july 20th. i called back yesterday and got an appointment for TOMORROW, friday. it's with a different doctor in the practice, but how much can i care about that? he's going for his ultrasound today and he'll see the urologist tomorrow. thanks for the kick in the ass.

permission

reece peed blood yesterday. i collected some and took him straight to the emergency room, cause, you know, you never know. i've never been the rush-to-the-ER kinda girl, but since knowing babydeath, that's changed. shocker, right?

on the drive over, i started to feel funny. i'd made that drive (to the hospital and past it to many other places) but it felt different. suddenly i realized it would be my first time back in the ER since i went there to check on my non-moving baby the day before her due date.

when we walked in, i didn't remember the waiting room at all. did they take me from triage straight back into a curtained room right away? i can't remember.

they called us to the back, and lo! THE SAME ROOM. THE SAME FUCKING ROOM. room 7...not so lucky the first time. i was surprised to lose it. i've been really, really pretty good...i haven't cried in a long time. i looked at the tv and remembered watching survivorman, looked at the little bed and remembered laying there, uncomfortable. i remembered the l&d nurse coming in with the heavy-duty doppler and going over and over and over and over and over my huge belly looking for something...anything. i remember trying to hold on, i wouldn't let myself believe my baby was dead for a long, long while, probably the whole time in that curtained room. the more i remembered, the more the tears came- to the point i was scared that i wouldn't be able to stop when the doc came in.

i am really grateful for that cry.

the nurse came in, and when i looked at her face, i realized it was the same nurse. THE SAME FUCKING NURSE. she looked at me kindly and said, "i remember you."

she remembered me. she was part of it, one of the few. i go along daily, knowing that it happened to ME, that people don't dwell on someone who never really lived. we all know how it goes; we should be moving on, we should get over it, it's been a year and a half, we're talking about that again?? we also know that only people who never had a dead baby can actually believe that horseshit. that nurse, she wasn't scared to remember with me. i love her for that. she hugged me and let me cry and just, simply, let me remember too.

i'm really glad that i was able to go to that place. i've been thinking (worrying, a little) that i've buried paige and turned to denial. i've been thinking that maybe, underneath all of the getting-me-back action, i've been denying paige her place. how can you EVER be ok again after having a deadbaby if you don't just completely delete it from your life?

but...paige is there. she's always there. and that doesn't mean i can't live, too. i can let go of the alive her, and keep the dead her. and that's ok.

deadbaby humor goes primetime!

through the paper towel tube

i went out on saturday night. it was a full-out get-ready-in-a-hotel, have a nice dinner, drink and shake-your-ass until 4am, gossip and listen-to-drama until 6am, sleep until check out and hope to god you can keep your sanity the rest of the day with the kids kinda night out.

it was a fun time.

(i felt stressed the second half of the night, wanting to go and sleep instead of stay out. i need to relax.)

i have lost a lot of weight. the IUD went in and the weight fell off; i've lost about 30lbs already. i'm happy about this, but there's this underlying feeling of desperation too. the time has finally come when i know...KNOW...that i will never be pregnant again, and there is no possible reason to be fat anymore. the last time i had a baby was a year and a half ago...and without even a baby to show for it, there's no fucking excuse to be fat.

the possibility of a pregnancy is gone, and with it, all my extra padding. this should make me feel good and proud or whatever, but it's really making my life feel very surreal.

as i waited in the bathroom of the bar, i looked at myself. "who the fuck are YOU?" i kept thinking. i am looking very much like i used to (FINALLY...it's only been 5 years...), but i'm not who i used to be. that juxtaposition of my image and my thoughts are just...weird.

i danced a lot. i turned down many guys wanting to "make out" (i didn't even know people said that anymore). i drank, but not too much, which is probably why i wanted to sleep. (note to self: get hammered next time, for christ sake!) i walked around, noticing getting noticed again. i wondered if it was how i looked or if it was something else: i am not as sad anymore.

i'm really not as sad anymore. the whole thing is starting to feel so far away. my surprise pregnancy, my dead baby, my infertility, my failed attempts for another baby. the QUESTIONS are gone. the possibilities, in that regard, are GONE. i know what is ahead of me, as much as one can, anyway. i know i will not have another baby. ever.

there are moments, though, when i see myself changing that i struggle with what exactly i'm feeling about it. am i really upset that i didn't get pregnant again? am i relieved that i didn't? am i happy? sad? do i finally feel in control, and if so, in a not-normal way? WHAT THE FUCK DO I FEEL?!? do i feel anything, really?

i'm not good at feelings; i'm good at taking action.

i am trying to find moments everyday that are really good. it's easy to feel frustrated and about to snap every fucking moment when you have three 4 year olds. i'm surprised at how many moments i was missing...calm, happy, content moments.

i can thank janis for this.

life is learning to let go. i'd been thinking about how 'old' i was feeling- emotionally tired. i was struggling with that concept when i read janis's post and it hit me: LIFE IS LEARNING TO LET GO. everything comes to pass. good things, people, places, things, expectations, feelings.

holding on to the past or future is not learning how to LIVE.

living is scary.

on being ok

today, it happened again.

one of those moments; a dead baby moment. a moment where i feel like a freak, not because my baby died, but because i'm the only one that can laugh about it.

(i know, right?)

we were at my sister's house, planning my nephew's 1st birthday party.

(we should have been planning for paige's 2nd at the same time, their birthdays only 8 days apart.)

elle, who was sitting on my sister's lap, threw her head back and said, "I DIED! I'M DEAD!"

(why is it always elle?)

i sat on the other side of the table and just responsively played in. "OHHHH NOOOO! MY BABY IS DEAD!"

when i realized what i said, i said, "AGAIN!"

and then started laughing hysterically.

my two sisters and brother-in-law sat there with their widest eyes. they had no idea what to say or do, which made me laugh even harder. i didn't know what to say either. all i could really think at that moment was

THIS IS MY FUCKING LIFE.

and i was ok with it.

she already is

i finally got my period again after two months. since the complete failure of the first IUD, i've been questioning the necessity of birth control. i mean, i can't get pregnant...but i did once. since the failed IVFs, i've felt released from the obligation to try, actually more like torn free from the possibility of having another baby. i tried everything, and none of it worked. i don't have to think about me, years from now, wishing i'd tried, because i would have assumed it would have worked (considering the awesome success of our first IVF) and i would have imagined the baby i would have had. i don't have to anymore.

that said, i still had thoughts of just letting it be. just living and whatever, without totally closing the door. the baby thoughts came back, the wondering, the undercurrent of will-it-or-won't-it-ever-happen anxiety...just in the space of the past two months.

i just can't do it; i can't live my life with that door cracked a hair. i imagine sending the kids off to kindergarten, going back to school, being satisfied with things again...and getting totally derailed by another *miracle.* it makes me feel like a complete control freak, like i only want another baby on my own terms...but really, fuck that. a girl can only take so much in this goddamned life, a girl can only control so much. me? i need to be finished. i am finished. i have triplets and a dead baby and nothing and no one is going to change that. i am done.

::::

to celebrate our ninth married year and the official end of our reproductive life, my period arrived just in time to get another IUD yesterday.

as far as i know, this one went in just fine and is, until further notice (ie: until i stick a finger up the ole puss) in place for pregnancy prevention. now we only need wait for this blood to stop flowing for some totally non-reproductive hanky panky!! (if you've ever experienced infertility, you know EXACTLY what i mean...)

::::

after the IUD was in place, the doctor (who is helping with the case against the m!dwife), told me there was another woman. there was another pregnant woman, at term, who presented at the same local ER that i did. she had bleeding, and the doc on call (unfortunately not my doc) performed an emergency c-section; it was placenta previa. she was under the care of the same m!dwife i was.

i know that the m!dwife does not send her clients for ultrasound unless the mom insists. did she know about the placenta previa? would that mom and baby have died at home if she went into labor BEFORE the bleeding?

i told the doc that she will soon have her license suspended as a result of the investigation i initiated. i told him that i wasn't happy with just a suspension, but hopefully the civil case will cause her malpractice insurance to drop her, causing her to either STOP TAKING ON CLIENTS or BECOME A CRIMINAL.

"she already is," he said.

she already is.

nine years

there are extremely few digital pictures; those were the days of the scanner. my cousin, who was studying biorobotics, had a digital camera. we were married by the mayor of the town, who died three months later. my youngest sister, who was to be my maid of honor, was in the psych ward for slashing her wrists three days prior. my very dear friend (the violinist), was pregnant at the time and had the baby at 32 weeks, spending weeks in the NICU. my nonna and nonno (grandparents) were visibly ill with colon cancer (BOTH, same cancer) and died a year later (5 months apart); they were diagnosed two months later. my mother-in-law, who had a tittie attack when we told her we were eloping to vegas to be married by elvis, HATED the wedding and complained about it until she friggin dropped dead (LITERALLY). we were planning a garden ceremony, it rained. i think more FUCK ITs flew out of my mouth that day than ever before (maybe not since). the objective, however, was met: we became husband and wife, for better or worse.

::::

i was 16 and he was 18 when we first dated. i had just turned 16, his last girlfriend was a stripper, and it was the summer before he went away to college. despite the obvious, we "fell in love." it lasted until thanksgiving. HA!

we had many mutual friends and ran into each other at parties occasionally; it always had that intense kind of right-person-wrong-time feel. a few times over the years we went to dinner and/or made out a bit, but ultimately i felt he was a big asshole and i swore i would cut my own throat before ending up with him.

i got married the first time when i was almost 21, and he attended the wedding. i found out years later that he was appropriately crushed...he went back to school to his senior dinner dance that night and escaped his girlfriend with a bottle of jack, not to be seen until the next morning, passed out on a different floor of the hotel.

two years later, he finished graduate school and i was separating. when we met up again, i couldn't believe how much he'd changed. no longer was he the asshole i loved to hate, or more honestly, hated to love (or whatever)...

the rest is history.

::::

when i think about who we were at that wedding, i can't help but laugh. GOD DAMN we had no idea what the FUCK we were getting ourselves into...and me, thinking i had done it before. HA! so naive, so clueless, so cocky.

our history is a treasured gift, the rock i lean on those mornings i'd like to stab his sleeping face. i choose to love him those days, i choose to love the things i don't like...i choose him and everything about him. that, to me, is love.

i can't believe everything we've endured to build this family. i can't BELIEVE we have a dead baby. together. i can't believe we have triplets. together. this is our life.

this is our fucking life and i choose to love it.

heaven

i heard in a movie, "maybe heaven is an instant."

maybe, at the moment of death, you experience the most gratifying feeling ever possible for a being to feel. maybe it's like an orgasm, except deeper and way more meaningful. maybe you die feeling that way.

maybe that instant is an eternity.

i don't believe in heaven in the sense of life after death; i don't believe in people looking down on us and praying and laughing and crying with us. i don't think i even want that...i mean, isn't that what makes life itself so goddamned stressful? death should be peaceful, no? would i love to think i could see *ahem* certain people again? of fucking course...i just can't believe in it.

maybe heaven is an instant.
i just hope they felt it, too.

(for m_o)

lame vindication

i called the investig@tor yesterday and was told that the case should be concluded by the beginning of june.

the midw!fe will be officially reprimanded, and apparently that involves suspending her license to practice.

yay?

why is the only thing that comes to my mind is, suspended means there's an end date. she will practice again.

is she gonna learn her lesson? i mean, wtf?

at the very least she'll have a public scar on her license...not that most people look that shit up, but SHE will know. SHE will remember my dead baby, whether she wants to or not...

AND...maybe...just mayyyyyybe...

she will think about the fact that she may have, possibly, maybe, screwed up
and caused a baby to DIE...

maybe she will not manage any other clients
as she did me
and paige.

mother's day?

i thought about mother's day coming for weeks before today. what would i want to do? mother's day...a day for all the women with kids. yes, i have children. i have three children that are alive, and one that's dead. as i get older and learn the reality of being a woman, and the consequences of reproduction, it's more and more difficult to celebrate all kinds of things. i wonder how i would feel if i didn't have the infertility, triplets, and dead baby.

my mother is in town, and i used my deadbaby pass to totally forgo the mother's day brunch. you know, cause i just can't think about mother's day...forget about the fact that she's completely batshit crazy and makes me want to kill her. so, yay? got out of that one. she sucked ass as a mom, i'm not gonna celebrate her.

about a week ago, i realized that all i really wanted to do was go to my grandmother's grave. she was probably the greatest woman in my family...in my life...and she was kinda stolen from me by my mother. i was 12 when my parents divorced, and when my mother remarried 6 months later (i'm telling you, batshit crazy) she wanted no ex-in-laws in the picture and orchestrated the whole thing. she told us they didn't want to see us, but she lied. she lied about so, so many things.

over the past week, every time i thought about going to the grave, i would break down. there's been a lot of tears this week, for my grandmother who i wish i could have known better, and for my fourth child. thinking about going there was like thinking about paige's birthday, or thinking about any other painful date. the anticipatory pain and anxiety is just so much worse than reality.

i went today to my nonna's grave. i wish she could have seen my children. i wish she could have known that my sisters and i would reunite with my father and her side of the family. i wish i could have known her as i got older and i wish she had a chance to try to advise me. i wonder what she would have told me about becoming a woman...

i wish i believed in life after death, and i wish that i could believe that she's with her fourth great-grand daughter. i wish i had more time; i wish i could have known...i'm telling you, i'm starting to know how people get old.

i think the only thing i'm really sure of is, most statements i thought ended with periods really end with question marks.

funny?

elle: "mom, i was going to have a sister, but she died. her name was book."


i laughed.

i told people that she said something really funny and repeated what she said.

they didn't laugh.

then i felt weird.

this is my life.

oh well, it really was funny.

on having triplets

having triplets really sucks.

does it suck more than having three different-aged children? i have no idea. i go back and forth with my grass-is-greener notions and assumptions.

does it suck more than having dead triplets? i would gander a guess at NO, or more accurately, hell fucking no, you asshole.

being a parent to already-alive children when you have a dead baby brings a whole new dimension to INGRATE and GUILT within my realm of motherhood. i'm thinking it's even worse when you already had a shitload of guilt and ungratefulness about the fact that you had a TRIO.

(one of the things i hate is having to call them unit names like the triplets, the trio, the three...but i can't deny their unit-ness...it is another thing that makes me crazy: i only had two children, my first one being three, my second being dead.)

i want to by-pass the whole disclaimer about how glad i am that they're alive; i mean come on, people. i want this post to be about my real life being home with three kids the same age. i want to say the shit i usually don't say on here because this is dead baby space...not so much because i feel bad talking about my alive kids, but just because i have enough people to bitch about alive kids to.

today is different, though. maybe it's the weather, who is a skanky cock-tease bitch. maybe it's because i've been holed up in this house for way too long. maybe i'm reveling in a pig's mud pit of denial that i ever even had a dead kid at all. probably (most definitely) all of those.

they are four years old. three years old really sucked ass; they could talk (which i couldn't WAIT for them to do) but were also out of fucking control. the first year was a logistically a living hell, and when i see pictures of them during that year, i feel really sad and nostalgic about their babyhoods...yet i don't have more than a handful of really nice, loving baby memories. the second year was i guess the best, because they could MOVE THEMSELVES (ie- i didn't have to physically move them around and wonder what position they wanted so that they would SHUT THE HELL UP ALREADY). i also stopped pumping when they turned one, so i'm sure that helped. in a NUTshell, it mostly felt like waiting for the magical time/age/stage/phase where it all comes together like i thought motherhood would be before i had kids.

(STOP LAUGHING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

i always assumed that it was the fact that there were three of them at one time, which split basically ME in three, that accounted for the lack of feeling really connected to them. i also blamed infertility, which made being pregnant to begin with really REALLY surreal. i remember saying once during a weak moment that it felt like some space aliens dropped three tiny babies into the crib and left, not that i gestated and bore them. in other words, i never felt that insane mother-love i imagined (and let's be honest, that people talk about having). i'm sure both those factors contributed to my lack of connection/whatever, but mostly, it was me...and HOLY SHIT is that another post...

as a mother, i now emotionally and intellectually know that each time/age/stage/phase has its own special positive and negative qualities. that's the fucker that's being a parent. integrating it into who YOU are as a grown adult?!? i can't come up with a good enough string of curse words to accurately describe it, times three.

TIMES THREE, PEOPLE. i think practically speaking it's really like times 7 or something.

the three, they are four. they never stop grabbing at things, climbing, fighting, falling, screaming, crying...did i say fighting? cause if you think it must be easier because they can play together like a little daycare class, all the same age level and everything, YOU'RE SORELY MISTAKEN. HAHA! i remember having those fantasies...but here we are, at four, and it is crazy-making.

i find myself remembering things women said about mothering, i remember things i've seen them do or say and totally judge them at the time, in my mind. I WAS AN ASSHOLE. i completely understand them.

i also feel a special and new-found connection to miss hannigan.

i also, at times, understand how mothers have (i can't type it) their kids and then done the same to themselves. i sometimes feel like i want to beat the ever-loving SHIT out of one or all of them. i sometimes want to scream and yell and curse them, those little fuckers. i sometimes want to threaten them with the most ridiculous and unrealistic things just to get them to comply.

i sometimes feel like a bat-shit crazy, dumb, worthless, out-of-control woman. i know if i never had childrenbecause of infertility it would have really sucked ass in hell, and i had almost 4 years of the realistic notion of just that. it is the weirdest, stupidest, dumbest, worthlessest thought in the universe to also, NOW, think, "WHAT THE FUCK WAS I THINKING TO HAVE CHILDREN!!!!!" (this is the post where i don't want to add on to that a DEAD baby [and failed ivfs to have MORE children!!] but i feel i have to right here.)

i'm looking at the title of this post. i'm thinking it should really read, 'on having kids,' or 'on motherhood,' but triplets is what i've got. triplets is what i've got, and it's maddening.

it's sometimes NOT maddening, of course. like right now (totally ironic timing), because the weather is fucking perfect today and it's a whole new world out there, people! but this post is about all the shit i'm not supposed to feel or say...it's about the shit that's negative, but my reality, nonetheless.

having triplets is HARD. staying home with triplets before they are school-age is really, really hard.

it's mentally and emotionally trying

for me

because i fear

(know)

that this whole experience is forcing me to confront my own goddamned self.

it's scary.

marriage, motherhood...

MIRRORS.

for frank...and his balls

go check out the ballsy guy who inspired this:

heathen

since the IUD was pulled out, i've been asking husband if i should get another one put in. he said, "why bother? i think it means we should forget the IUD." i shutter at the thought of believing in omens or whatever...but, whatever. i don't know what to think.

ok, fine. i'm infertile. i've been trying, REALLY trying, to get pregnant for a year and a half. nothing has happened. but i'm also not totally and completely and fool-proofingly infertile. IT IS POSSIBLE. and already, last night, while we *did it,* i found myself wondering how long ago my last period was...not that timing means anything over here, but still.

STILL.

i've been telling myself that if i'd gotten pregnant again the baby would have downs, or been stillborn, or some other family-debilitating disease or disorder oof some sort. i've been telling myself i would go mad with impatience at a new baby, with no sleep, with three however-the-same-age-olds.

i've been on a maddening, medical, high-power diet and lost 11 lbs in the past 3 weeks. my patience is wearing thin as it is, yet, without the IUD, with the weight-loss, what do i think about? maybe with the weight-loss i will get pregnant.

I
AM
SICK
OF
THIS
SHIT.

i don't know what to do. i want to get the IUD again, but what if something happens like uterine perforation...i mean, that thing was obviously doing acrobatics in there for fucks sake. i can't take any hormonal birth control, having experienced horrible and bloody side-effects in the past. i guess i could have my tubes tied, but the hospital my doc has privileges in is catholic and they don't allow that kind of newfangled anti-letting-god-take-control-of-your-life shit.

also, it's easter.

how come one mother's kid gets to die and come back?

that makes me angry.

i guess there's not much these days that doesn't.

(cue HYSTerical laughter...NOW)

after the last 4 weeks without sex, and directions to abstain only 24 hours after the IUD insertion wednesday, husband and i were gonna get back in the swing of things over the weekend.

being the ever-so-curious-about-my-innards girl that i am, i first went into the bathroom to feel out the IUD string. fishing line filament thingie: check. hard thing sticking out of the cervix: CHECK?!

an online search told me that only, like, 3-5% of chicks expel the IUD, usually ones who never carried children (you know, little cute petite innocent uteruses). clearly, that was not a factor in my case, seeing as i had three in that old bag at the same damn time and all. plus one.

this morning i promptly went in to see if the doc could push that bit back in. he was very surprised to find not the bottom of the *T*, but the ARM OF THE FUCKING *T* STICKING OUT!!

doc: "have you had any cramping?"
cg: "no, not at all, actually."
doc: "it must have taken some pretty strong cramps to turn it around."
cg: "i didn't even have cramping when you put it in."
doc: "you're probably a very stoic individual."

ummmmmm...thanks? i can't say he's wrong, really.

he pulled out my copper consolation prize, a drip of pink mucus hanging off the end.

as he was leaving the room, he said, "of course, it would happen to YOU." yes, yes i totally agree. "i've never seen that happen before," he said. no, no of course you haven't, doc!

i'm the luckiest girl in the entire universe, you know. completely and utterly charmed.

bottom line, i have to wait for my next period to get another IUD inserted. wouldn't it be the funniest fucking thing if i got pregnant in-between IUDs? wouldn't that just be the shit, getting pregnant naturally when i am finally on the road back to my life?

wouldn't that be hilarious?

we were aligned

dear [charmedgirl],
these words are from the heart. i accept that you may not want to hear from me. shortly after i wrote you last year i received a letter of c0mplaint regarding the care i provided you during your pregnancy with p@ige. weeks later i learned that you had initiated an investig@ti0n. this news so weighed me down that i have been reviewing our time together in my mind for months. i know when we last spoke you were grieving deeply. whatever you believe i did or did not do that contributed to p@ige's death, i am sorry. the investigation has forced me to go over our many pren@tal hours together, our decisions about your care and our shared philosophical questions. all i can say is that i am sorry for your heartache and your disappointment in me. i have replayed our visits and conversations numerous times in my head. we were aligned in our approach to your needs. then tragedy struck and we were no longer. you and p@ige are never far from my thoughts. my sincerest hope is that in time you will find peace.
sincerely, [midwife who caused your baby to die]

::::

i could probably tear that apart line-by-line, but two things really struck me.

she only started fretting over the care she provided a few months ago? obviously my fears were correct, and she was floating over the earth like, "babies sometimes die. so sad. lalalaaa.." and she's sorry? i bet she's fucking sorry NOW. REALLY sorry.

secondly, we were aligned in our approach? she's blaming ME? last time i checked, i wasn't an OB, midwife, doula, or anything of the sort. why was i hauling my big fat ass an hour each way to see her when i could have just chatted with her over the telephone about my thoughts about birth and had my baby die? fuck her. my prenatal care was HER responsibility, and it had nothing to do with *our* PHILOSOPHICAL FUCKING QUESTIONS.

::::

i'm sure things are really heating up for her. the investig@t0r came to my house last week and basically told me she wouldn't be seeing anymore clients...temporarily, forever, i don't know yet. the bottom line on the note she sent was, i guess, "I'M getting in a shitload of trouble and WE agreed on your care TOGETHER." poor, poor midwife community. a few really anti-medical-establishment radicals are really spoiling it for all of you. it will all be over around may.

wait until she's notified when the lawsuit gets filed.

::::

i've asked husband about nine times if he was sure he didn't want to try again. i'm pretty damn sure for myself, but it's just so fucking hard to finalize it. he said the other night how he used to want four or five kids, and i asked again if he was sure. "how much heartache do we have to take?" was his response. we're happy with what we have; my IUD appointment is today. i am going to do it, and then the question, the limbo, will disappear. i hope.

::::

i asked the lawyer if the fact that the ivfs didn't work, the fact that i can't get pregnant again, was good for my case.

she said she's sorry; it is very, very good.

nightmares

this is going to be bad. consider yourself warned.

i had a nightmare last night about my ex-husband.

we got married when i was 20, he was 29. i know now that he has very similar, if not the same, personality disorder my mother has. probably not a coincidence.

he also used to an@lly r@pe me. he would completely ignore me, sleep on the couch, refuse to have sex...but beg for an@l. i would reluctantly agree because i stupidly thought that if i gave him what he wanted, it would lead to a more normal sex life. i call it r@pe now, since after a few minutes it would end with me telling him to stop, crying, struggling, and bleeding...and him forcing.

we were married for 2 years, during which we lived in my mother's/grandmother's house! this all happened in the house i grew up. he was like a greasy snake, kissing my family's ass royally, and my mother and grandmother adored him.

towards the end of the first year, soulmate friend went into a hospital for psychiatric care. they never got along; she HATED him from the start. when she got out of the hospital, they started to get along. it turned out he was intensely seducing her, and would take her to a cheap motel and have sex with her. she attempted suicide after that. i didn't know the full details until after we divorced, but i suspected.

although we had sex about 6 times the first year of marriage, i got pregnant (I KNOW! WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK!!) and three days after the positive test, i got an abortion; there was no way in hell i would give my child a father like him. he already had a child, with his high school english teacher, who would call ME, crying, asking why his father didn't love him.

during the second year, i started to leave him. it was mental and emotional at first, and i finally kicked his ass out towards the end of it. my mother and grandmother took his side, and since i had already started to go out with friends and staying out late (i was 22 for christ sake), they basically believed every word he said, calling me a whore, and nursing his "wounds"; he was threatening suicide if i didn't go back to him. my own mother was calling me a whore and letting him come into my room while i was out and take whatever he wanted. i came home once to find my clothing on the bed and dresser gone. i had to move in with soulmate friend and her mother. while i lived with them, my mother would call me on the phone and harass me.

my youngest sister, during the two years we both lived in the house, was in high school and had some emotional problems. he started giving her bass lessons and that seemed to help a lot. after the separation, my mother continued to bring her to him for lessons. it turned out he was giving her alcohol and massages (he went into massage school after we split). he had sex with her the last time she went for a lesson. she was drunk and 16. he was 32.

about four years later, when i married my current husband, she was to be my maid of honor. she didn't make it to the wedding, because she was in a psychiatric hospital for attempted suicide three days earlier. the only reason she lived was that her friend called my mother and told her she was bleeding out and to check on her. the door had to be broken down to find her drunk and almost dead, covered in blood. she finally told me only two years ago why she couldn't stand at the wedding.

last night i had a nightmare about my ex-husband.

i was sleeping in my bed (which i was) and i felt something under the covers. i lifted it to find HIM. he told me i was going to go with him, and three or four big guys with bats came into my room. they grabbed me and took me to his house, the first floor of which was a whore house, and all the walls were glass. we got to the second floor and he told me i had to love him again (jesus- it was such a short time that i did, how was i going to get that back? BLEH BLEH BLEH). he then made me lay with him and pretend to be in love. the last thing i remember was wanting to kill myself.

::::

is this what's going to happen now? what the fuck? i didn't get pregnant. fine. is every goddamned fucking thing from my past going to come back and torture me just because my future isn't going to be what i hoped it would? i mean, i figured paige's death would come back full force, but EVERYTHING?

that poor would-have-been baby; it would have had a lot to cover up.

dates

on one of my clomid cycles last fall, i figured out when my due (i actually wrote die date by accident just now...hmmmm) date would be. i happen to be the surgical schedule for my OB and figured out i could actually schedule the c-section for 7.7.09, eerily similar to paige's birthday, 9.9.07. yesterday i booked a c-section for a patient for 7.7.09. that could have been my day.

i also looked at the schedule for my would-be c-section for this last failed transfer, it would have been 11.10.09. i thought that would have been a good birthday.

the due date for the triplets was 3.15.05, the ides of march. i always thought the ides was cool, but i knew they'd never come that day. every year i think that would have been their birthday.

numbers, dates, names, it all means shit.

purge

if we had a girl, her name would have been holly. a boy would have been marcus. when i see or hear the name holly, i cringe just as i do when i hear paige. not the same with marcus.

i almost bought a sling off c's website in november. i was sure the ivf would work and i wouldn't be sitting here wondering what to do with a $70 sling i could use because i would never get pregnant again. i felt it would have been a spit in the face of the universe, it would have been a spit in the wind.

i never really saw myself being pregnant again.

i still say the names of all my children along with the babies-that-would-never-be, just to see how they all sound together.

i tell myself that if i got pregnant again, the baby would have had downs syndrome or some other serious handicap or illness.

i'm on a pretty strict medical diet and i pretend i'm pregnant. i really wanted to prove, with another pregnancy, that i could eat perfectly and get the baby out alive. i didn't get pregnant, but i can at least be a success at losing weight.

after the first ivf failed i adopted a cat. he's 9 years old, has no teeth, had a big gash under his arm that required surgery, and has two nails missing. no one wanted him. i thought that i could hold him and snuggle him like a baby if the last ivf failed.

i had a dream about paige last night; i haven't dreamt of her since before i started trying to get pregnant again, probably january 2008. the floodgates are opening...

transitioning

at this moment, i belong nowhere.

i'm not trying for a baby, i'm not pregnant. this path was chosen for me, by my body, by the embryos, by who the fuck knows what or why. i'm not someone who was just done on her own accord. i've never known this strange suspension of time and space, this space in-between, the space right after you just give up without getting what you were trying for. (well, really, i have- the transitioning from full term pregancy to babylost- at least this space isn't as violent.)

why am i angry inside because the last post seemed like i'm *fine*? why am i upset by the fact that i may have made it sound like i now appreciate what i have, lesson learned, hallelujah?

without that pregnancy, without the trying for it, what is there left to feel? i'll tell you what. there's now nothing to distract me from the full force and gall of my dead baby. there will be no live one to soften that blow. there will be no thoughts of the possibilities of how much softer the edges can be with another, alive baby. there's just me, and the fact that i tried and failed.

i've enlisted in a very strict medical weight loss program. i need to be someone else. i need to be who i was before i ever got pregnant with the living or dead. i need to create a definitive before and after. i need to do something reliable. i need a line in the sand; i need something i can SEE. I NEED SOMETHING REAL.

i need something visible that says, "THAT WAS THEN AND THIS IS NOW."

it could have been a growing belly, but it will be a shrinking one.

i got the final call yesterday from the ivf nurse, telling me yet again that my beta was negative. now i wait for the blood to flow, and when it comes, so will a big fat IUD.

i am transitioning out of my reproductive life. the decision is mine now, and i'll be fucking damned if i get ripped back ever again.

praise god

in another life, the worst thing that ever happened to me was that i had triplets. it was so weird. it was embarrassing. it was like a circus when i went out with them; i hated the attention and the stupid questions. i hated the fact that i would always be the girl with triplets...forever, the rest of my life, like, even at 65 when someone asked me how many children i had and how old they were. it was also a neon flashing sign nailed to my head, one of those ones with a big arrow where the lights follow downward to the place where the arrow points and screams, "INFERTILE!!" i also had three kids at the same time (which is all i ever wanted to have, three children), instead of spread out. i got gypped out of two more pregnancies. i got gypped out of the normal motherhood experience. i always wanted a home birth; i'd been kinda obsessed with vaginal birth since i was 9 and saw my mother's copy of 'a child is born.' i got stuck with an automatic c-section. i had to leave my babies in the nicu for three weeks. whaa-whaa-whaaaa.

in this life, the one i have now, my new-normal life, i am punched dead in the stupid face by how differently it could have gone. i had the good fortune of having my first ivf work, and also the good fucking fortune of getting through a very high-risk pregnancy with three healthy and perfect children. i feel so lucky to have received the three children i wanted, the three children i envisioned my family to have. knowing what i know now, after a dead baby, after two failed ivfs, after over five total years of active infertility, it could have gone so differently. i was a spoiled jackass brat.

people tell me i'm blessed, they say what miracles. i don't believe in god, but i finally know what they're talking about.

3/3, 0/4

there won't be any baby-after on this blog.
there won't be any baby-after in this life.

i had the frozen embryos transferred last monday. everything looked perfect, just like it did last month. during the transfer, i thought, "uterus, you know better than i do. it's up to you." i've been waiting to learn my fate, and now i know. i guess that's all there is to it.

i think i feel sad and i feel free. i feel a release from the obligation to try.

during the summer of 2006, the three were 19 months old and we talked about whether we wanted more children. my flesh was saying i was ready for number two, not realizing it'd had three the first time. husband was home for 2 months after a car accident, and i was thinking maybe yes, i wanted another baby. soon after he returned to work, i realized it was a batshit crazy idea and decided i was done.

that fall, i went on a diet and started working out. i had three children, a husband, a home. i was getting back to my old self. christmas time came around, new years eve...jesus, i felt bloated. january 2007 i found out i was surprisingly pregnant. i was shocked, depressed. i felt betrayed and overwhelmed. i hated being pregnant. the kids were 2 and i was terrified about adding a newborn. then she died.

my immediate reaction was that i was done before, i can just go back to being done. that didn't last long, and if i were most other women, i would have a fourth who-knows-how-old baby by now. but i'm not, and i don't. my 2008 was a full year of trying to get pregnant, yet confused about why why WHY i wanted another baby. was it to try to right a wrong? to try to heal myself from the horror of my dead baby? was it to have that one baby, to know what it's like to have a baby like a normal mother, just one-on-one? i didn't know then, i don't know now. i do know that other women don't have to know, they just have to fuck. the decision and the reasons don't have to be good enough...they don't have to be made and justified time after time after time.

i was sure that if we did ivf, it would work and i would get pregnant. it was always there, that looming high-tech medical procedure, that balls-to-the-wall act of finally really trying to have a baby. it, after all, had worked so brilliantly the first and only other time i'd done it. three out of three. all i could think of was, if i didn't do it, would i regret it in the future? would i wish i would have done it, had another baby like i always wanted to have it, one at a time? just like i SHOULD HAVE IT? WOULD I REGRET NOT DOING IT? i just assumed it would work. that was the problem.

my first injection was december 26th, 2008. four perfect embryos created. two transferred at the end of january, two transferred last monday. two stark white negative pregnancy tests. total failure.

after the failure in january, i was devastated. i was shocked. it didn't work.

after the failure in january, i started to feel a release. i started to feel that my obligation to try had ended. i started to feel free. i had nothing more to fear regretting. i'd done it all; i'd done the extreme and it didn't work. i was tired. i knew we'd try the two frozen embryos, but i knew i was free after that, no matter what happened.

it didn't work. i can't get pregnant again. i tried. i tried everything.

i am sad and i am free.

you will not come here and read that i have no words left, that i'm busy with a newborn, that i'm not sure where i belong now. you will not read that i'm too busy being happy and feel guilty talking about my baby after. you will not read about how i'm still grieving yet ecstatic. you will not travel with me during a pregnancy and birth. there will be no breath-holding. there will be no exhaling.

there will, however, be an afterlife. finally.