be-ing

i can talk about p@ige without crying. i can talk about her story, my story; i can talk about the whole thing front to back without flinching. i tell people, strangers, that my baby, my daughter, died on her due date.

i feel the need to tell people about p@ige, but not because i want attention. i've never been an emotional attention-seeker; that was one of my biggest issues with having triplets- i hated the attention. my need to tell people about my 40-week stillbirth is that people don't think that kind of thing actually happens! people in general know that "miscarriage is common," and they "don't tell anyone about a pregnancy until after 12 weeks." but stillbirth? it's still a shock; it's still an alienating, lonely fucking shock. telling people that my daughter died at 40 weeks makes one person they saw, in the flesh, whose baby died. and maybe, one day, it will happen to someone they know, or even to them. and maybe, they will remember that girl in the supermarket/library/tattoo parlor that birthed a full-term dead baby. and maybe they won't feel so much like an asshole freak of nature. i don't want our babies to be dirty little secrets anymore.

don't get me wrong. i don't initiate the conversation about my dead baby unless we are already talking about our respective children, or if we're talking about something i'm doing that was directly inspired by my p@ige. even so, considering the nature of conversation between near or actual strangers, it comes up alot.

my only problem is wording.

i usually say my baby, or my daughter, died on her due date last september. people rarely ask questions, they just say they're sorry, which is totally fine. but really, there's this strange feeling i get when i say it (besides the obvious, telling a stranger my baby died inside me)...it's this feeling that it's not quite true.

i actually just figured this out on her birthday. it was not at all the constant tear-fest i anticipated. i went along with a couple of my plans, stopping at the hospital and getting a photo of her plaque (i also ran into both my OB AND my special nurse, which was strange because she NEVER works during the week), and making her cake. then i went to therapy. i only wanted to talk about p@ige and related topics; i made a mental list and it was all fine and good until words flew out of my mouth that, strung together, meant i felt like a fraud for telling people my baby died.

because really, she was not born alive and then died...yet i still say she was my baby. to my mind, a baby is someone you hold alive in your arms, even if only for one breath.

was she real?

she was a real baby that grew inside me, getting ready to live. but she died. was she ever really a baby?

saying all that out loud made me lose it. i cried and sobbed and all the things i hate doing in front of someone else. i'm not good at emotion. i hate it. i abhor it.

i guess my only problem is NOT wording. it's the fact that words betray me. words make me painfully aware that i grieve someone who never really was. i say all those things to myself and to people and to the universe with an emotionally dead voice. it sounds good and it makes me feel like i'm *doing* something about all the fucked up shit i feel inside. i'm good at actions.

conflicted as i am, i will never stop saying it.

the actual day

i've been thinking about what i would write today.

would i post a bunch of pictures, neatly documenting all that i have left of my pregnancy and birth of a baby that didn't live? would they, in a colorful row, evidence that i am indeed NOT crazy...that i am a mother to a dead baby?

would i bake the cake (red velvet), decorate it (whipped cream cheese frosting and strawberries and pink sugar crystals), photograph it (in my usual suck-ass picture-taking style), and then post it and tell about how i nearly lost it in the supermarket yesterday? how i thought about how one year ago yesterday i was wandering around the supermarket with husband, looking at all the babies and talking about how we were going to have her any minute, buying nursing bras and newborn diapers, with a dead baby in my belly? how i tried to hide some tears while trying to decide whether to buy one of those stupid *1* candles? how i then decided that the 1 candle would be way to creepy, even for a deadbaby-crazy mom?

the day is here, and i have no pictures to post. i have my stack of stuff: a positive pregnancy test, some photos of a pregnant me, some photos of a dead baby girl, a stained baby hat and receiving blanket, some letters of condolence, a couple of letters of donations in her name. let's not forget, and i almost did, a cardboard box of ashes in a gray plastic shopping bag. not much. who said recently that it's the ego that holds on to objects to prove that we are? i don't even know if i got that right...i just know that i believe it. i just know that i don't need those things to know her. i don't need those things to know it really happened to me. i don't need those things to keep me anchored in that time and place, because really, what she has given to me has no time or place or weight.

this thing has two lives: my suffering as a mother to a dead baby and all the raw, fleshy, memory-laden sadness and anger...and my growth and learning as a mother to a baby that will only teach me about myself and life and never piss me off with diapers exploding with shit, waking me up in the night, and fighting relentlessly with her siblings. the first mother needs to have stuff; the first mother needs to revel in the things, the evidence, the horror...she needs the memories, the details. the second mother wrote that airy shit in the last paragraph.

but today, today is the actual day...

i bought some chocolate mimosa tree seeds last week, and i want to start them today. mimosa trees have tiny, ferny leaves that close up at night (and when touched) and big, fluffy, pink perfumed flowers. the regular variety has green leaves, but the chocolate has brown. it grows 3-6 feet per year, with a 10'-30' shade umbrella. i think it is the perfect tree for sitting under...whichever mother i am that day.

i finally, after calling to follow-up about four times over the past year, got the call that p@ige's plaque is up in L&D. can you imagine it took this long? i might go over and see it today. and take a picture. (i hope it's not too hard to get a good photo of it, being brass and all...i suck.)

i want to try to write a letter to the sister of a co-worker who's carrying a baby with anencephaly. she wants to carry the baby to term. i want to tell her that her choice is beautiful- that she can appreciate what she has as the delicate thing it is, especially because i wish i knew i needed to when i was pregnant. i also want to give her a listing of blogs that i found written by moms who chose what she is choosing...because i am always surprised by the number of people who still have no idea what blogs are, and i don't know what i would have done without my deadbabymafia. (and in doing so i hope you all realize what i really mean to say is thank you, except in a much deeper way than those words can ever express...)

i want to contact the village cemetery and find out how we can create a small stillborn area where parents can scatter their baby's ashes. i imagine that some will choose to scatter their ashes there because they can't afford a plot and headstone, but others will choose it simply because they didn't realize they would need a place to visit when they were sitting in a hospital bed making decisions about their dead baby. i have no idea what that space would look like, if its creation is even possible, but i want to find out.

those are all the things i imagine i can do today...but this day, this actual day, my alive daughter told me that we need to wait for everyone to come over before we sing the happy birthday song.

"not this time," i told her, "nobody is coming over for this birthday. it's just for us."

i will try to extend her memory out of our bounds; i will try to plant and photograph and write and dedicate. i wonder if i will ever get over the fact that p@ige is only for us.

recall

i've been seeing recall info on some bassinet all over the place, and made me think of all the things that get recalled. the first thing i think about is whether i own the thing being recalled.

but recalls really mean something else: dead babies. as i sit there and read the blurb underneath the newscaster, some other family is in hell with a dead baby. when they see the recall it means THEM. every time they see a recall it will be a needle in their heart. i wonder if they will ever place another kid in a toy/crib/contraption ever again.

i wonder if i will ever get pregnant. i wonder how i'm going to live this way...i just am, i guess.

the mirror has two faces

here i am, simultaneously anticipating my dead baby's first birthday and waiting for my sister to call and tell me she's in labor.

(are you kidding me?)

i really am excited for her to become a mother. i'm really glad that she will be more able to relate to my stupid mom stuff. i'm so excited to become an aunt! i am really, really happy about our growing family, especially in light of the fact that we've pushed my mother so close to the sidelines she's almost in the parking lot. we are creating this whole new universe; we are creating this close extended family life for our kids. and my sisters and i, we're the new matriarchs. it feels good.

i am going to be with her during her labor and birth. we've talked about it- what she's learned in lamaze, and what i've read about what could be helpful. it's been making me a bit, i don't know, uneven-feeling, talking about something i've always wanted to experience but probably NEVER can. also, there's that whole thing about WHAT THE FUCK DO I KNOW ABOUT IT? i've never been in labor. on the other hand, i want to be an OB nurse, and this is going to be my first real-live birth. i sometimes wonder how i will feel helping women in labor and not being able to totally relate, but then remember how many male OBs there are. i may even be better than a bitch OB nurse who had nine vaginal deliveries. the real issue, i think, is my envy.

(don't worry- i realize that once those babies come out dead, i'll be star OB nurse of the fucking century...i wonder if i'll feel like i'm just doing the necessary until my REAL job presents itself (a dead baby)...like batman...haha)

talking to her waiting to go into labor...it's also sucking me right back into that huge pregnant body i had one year ago to the week...that whole WAITING to go into labor. the waiting. the wondering. the fucking anti-climactic WAAAAAAAITING. this morning i thought about how sometimes, when my insides start gurgling and kicking about, i'm still pregnant. i think i'll feel pregnant forever, in those moments before my brain kicks in and starts screaming, "YOU HAD A DEAD BABY YOU FUCKING IDIOT AND YOU CAN'T GET PREGNANT AGAIN SO JUST KEEP TELLING YOURSELF YOU DON'T WANT TO BE!!" i get sad for myself that she will (most probably) wait and wait and then begin labor but i will continue to wait. i get sad about it. i get sad about how my waiting ended in a silent ultrasound in the ER. i get sad about still waiting, in those moments when i'll be pregnant forever and ever.

i've been trying not to anticipate the actual birthday. i know that these weeks and days leading up to it are worse, but maybe the anticipatory grief is it's own player. i imagine the things i want to do that day. i can barely think about it without losing it. i didn't think i would feel this way, but i do. i can't believe i will think about having a one, two, ten, seventeen, twenty-three, forty-five year old daughter who is missing every year of my life on september the 9th. i can't believe my flesh will feel that torrential mourning when it feels and smells the summer warmth turn chilly. (fuck. fuck. fuck. FUCKKKKKKKKK.)

this year, i think i want to make a cake. it is a birthday. she was born that day, even though dead. i think i want to make a cake every year. i think i feel like she's not here, but i still appreciate her and everything i've become since she became a part of me. this all sounds really zen and accepting and big of me, but for real, when i think about that cake i feel like i want to die. to me, that might mean i'm on to something...

over and over and over and OVER (a letter to ngm)

I started using visualization in third grade, when I had chronic stomachaches. A very sensitive doctor taught me how to do it, and it worked. Every time. I started thinking I was powerful with my mind, and so, started to implore the universe to do other things, like clear up traffic on our way to summer camp and things like that, and it worked; if not every time, enough to support my blossoming relationship with connection. At thirteen, both my (younger) sisters got chickenpox pretty badly. I decided that there was no way I was going to have that disgusting disease, and told my mother I wouldn’t get it. I went as far as to rub them with calamine lotion and drink from their glasses. I have never had chickenpox. My mother kept me home for an extra two weeks, believing I was going to explode any minute. HA! WATCH OUT, WORLD!!

At twelve, I got my first period. They were irregular from the start…completely irregular. I was happy at first, because that meant way fewer periods than my friends. There was, however, a lingering whisper that it would maybe be hard to get pregnant. But who really cares at 12?

At 20, I got married to a horrible man about 10 yrs my senior. I told him I couldn’t get pregnant, and we didn’t use birth control. It took exactly one year to get pregnant. I was in shock! I was daring the universe, and it happened. My husband was MORTIFIED, and I quickly realized there was no way in hell I could give my child a father like that…and had an abortion 3 days later. To this day, I feel that I was a good mother to that baby. I left him soon thereafter.

The break-up was really terrible. He was a horrible narcissist (clinically, I believe). Suffice it to say that he did NOT appreciate the fact that I was leaving HIM. A few years later, still needing closure that would never happen, I remembered my power. Over the course of a weekend, using (some probably half-ass version of) self-hypnosis, I created a new ending wherein we parted with respect. The dreams (nightmares?) stopped. I was free to marry my current husband and move on.

Once happily married, we decided to try for a child. I knew I got pregnant before, but I also knew it would take some time. After the first year, we went to an RE and had the work-ups (normal), started the clomid, and had an iui. It scared the shit out of me. I wanted to be a midwife! I studied health and medical anthropology!! We don’t know SHIT about what really happens at conception! There was no way, jose, any possibility that I was going to let them suck my eggs out, inject them with sperm, and let them sit in a petri dish! HOW VIOLENT! Jesus god, there was JUST. NO. WAY.

I embarked on one year of natural fertility stimulation. I did herbs. I did acupuncture. I did BBT and cervical mucus charting. I did the fertility diet. I did OPTs. I even did the mother-fucking moon shit where you sleep completely in the dark and then with a goddamned nightlight on to simulate the phases of the moon, supposedly having some effect (on the pituitary?) to balance hormones. Whatever.

At about the four-year mark, I was spent. Marc was spent. We went back to an RE. We had IVF, with ICSI (sperm injection). To keep my spirits positive, I spent the dreaded two-week wait (for pregnancy results) interviewing independent birthing center and homebirth midwives. Then, THEN…….triplets. I spent my handicapped pregnancy grieving my homebirth- fuck, my VAGINAL birth-, grieving my chance to be pregnant once per child, grieving the fact that I would be split in three after the birth (I HAD NO IDEA). On the positive side, I never thought about the fact that they could (one or two or all) die. It wasn’t on the radar. The babies were pulled out of me at about 33 weeks after 4 days of PROM, steroid injections, magnesium sulfate…generally speaking, HELL. Two girls and one boy, 4lbs each, perfect. They were home from the NICU in twenty days.

The whole pregnancy, my only saving grace was breastfeeding. I could still breastfeed them! I spent hundreds of hours reading about how others breastfed triplets. LLL be damned, no one from there would help me! But I found, thank god for the internet, other triplet moms who had done it. I COULD DO IT TOO…until we all had thrush so badly I wanted to DIE. Pumping was slightly less suicide inducing, so I figured I would do that until the endless efforts to cure the thrust would work. It didn’t work until it was too late. I was broken. I pumped for a year and they got minimal formula. It shocks everyone that I pumped for that long, for triplets. I am proud that I hung on so long. But what was the alternative? There wasn’t one. I was a broken, tortured prisoner of reproductive circumstance.

When the three were about 18 months old, we considered having another baby. Lo and behold, my body was telling me it was time for a second child!! It didn’t know we made THREE the first time!! It would be our fourth but truly, seriously felt like a second. I never realized what people meant when they said “biological clock!!” We decided against it eventually. I mean, who wants to go back to an RE when they already have three kids?

Five months later, I was spontaneously pregnant. Our miracle conception. My dreams of homebirth (technically HBAC at that point), breastfeeding, ONE baby to care for…it would heal me. Birth is healing, right? I got me a homebirth midwife and a doula. I was worried that I couldn’t HBAC with GDM and thought I had it again (had it with the three). I tested blood sugar with my monitor. It wasn’t good. The midwife, on the other hand, convinced me I didn’t, and I believed her. I was gaining weight like CRAZY. She never asked me about my diet except, “how are you eating?” to which I would reply, “good.” It was good (ok, average) for someone without GDM. The baby was getting big, and she said as much. There was no GTT offered or even mentioned, despite history. It was a non-issue.

The whole pregnancy, I was severely depressed. How do I cope with depression? Why, with food! I felt cripplingly guilty that I was going to “heal myself” from my previous hellacious reproductive efforts. I would look at the three I had and cry about the disconnect. What the fuck was I going to do if the baby was born HBAC, one baby, who I could care for the RIGHT way…what of the tremendous GUILT of not being able to do the same for my other children?? So eating, eating, EATING over those feelings kept it, I don’t know…bearable for the instant I was stuffing myself? I was eating the good foods: fruit, veg, etc…but I was also eating the crappy.

Then she died inside me, the day before her due date.

The moment the tech put the wand on my huge belly, I knew she was dead. The thought was, exactly, I KILLED HER. I knew I killed her with the depression and the eating. I knew, somewhere in me the whole time, I DID have GD. The morning before, I had googled “high blood sugar fetal demise.” So, there it was.

She was ripped from me, DEAD, on her due date. Another c-section.

I went to therapy. I am accepting. I have learned and grown and know my baby girl gave me new life. I have seen things, raw things, things that I would have never seen had she been born alive. I am better for having had her. I know I am going back to school for my RN and will work in L&D/antepartum. I will be the hands off, woman respecting OB nurse. And Paige showed me that. And more. She is me, and I am her mother.

I know that, even if I did become pregnant again, it probably can’t be a VBAC- GDM, 2 c-secs, history of irregular periods and infertility. I’ve read that many IVF moms go past due and need induction, probably because the hormone insufficiency that caused the infertility throw off the normal signals to begin labor. Uterine scars=no induction. Infertility=possible problems starting labor. Previous c-secs+GDM+previous stillbirth at term=possible compromised placenta=very nervous providers and mother.

In other words, even if I did get pregnant again, I still probably will not get the chance to BIRTH A BABY. My dream is DEAD. And how is that going to affect my ability to be the L&D nurse I want to be? Will I grieve every time for the loss of my own dream? Will I be effective enough, never going through it myself, not being able to truly understand from that place of experience?

And, what of my connection to my alive babies? They were violently “given” to me. They pinned me down during pregnancy. Then they were violently birthed. The process that was meant to empower a mother has broken me. I DON’T WANT TO BE A PRISONER TO MY BROKEN REPRODUCTIVE SELF ANY LONGER!!!!!!!!!!!!!

what to do?

ghost baby

i'm not sure what i want to say about living with my ghost baby, but i feel like this picture, with it's hidden, secret baby, says alot of it. can you see it? i wonder if i'm just angry that everyone can't see my ghost baby either.

FUUCKKKKKKK

i am staying away. i haven't posted, have barely checked my charmedgirl email, have stayed away from bloglines (lest i drown in the sheer numbers).

i am losing weight. i am feeling more my old self. i am questioning my desire to get pregnant again. i think i've decided not to do the RE thing, but instead try the fucking OPTs for a few months. and then, i think, maybe, stop.

i am going out with friends every other friday. friday night was always good for me. it's still good, maybe even better now because on sunday i don't feel depressed about an empty life with no children. things are looking up.

husband is edgy and depressed. he is with me on the no RE thing, but he's just so sad. he doesn't want to work. he wants to be home. i don't blame him. i told him he can't escape it so don't try; i also told him i feel like i'm getting better and he's getting worse. he agreed.

p@ige...i'm forgetting. i want to forget. i want to move on. i still cry, but not like before. she ripped open my head and my heart and my flesh...made it possible to uncover so many truths. she's my savior, my personal jesus. she is dead, but i'm alive. i guess i want to forget the pain and remember her, and what's happened because of her.

my deadbaby friends, i miss you! i am trying to figure out how to live my life and still come back here. i'm not sure how it's going to work. i think about you and sometimes read your blogs...but i'm scared to comment and lose myself in deadbabyland. i'm an asshole.

c., i am so, so sorry. i'm so fucking sorry. FUCK.

if i'm going to drop off the face of the www, my return post better be good, right?

this photo was taken the morning after a night of cocktails. before getting home, we decided to walk into the heart of this cemetery. it's on a major road in one of the boroughs of NYC, yet so overgrown that there was no chance of being spotted.

i wonder what i would have thought about if i knew then what i know now...instead of, "this cemetery is cool," and, "i wonder who these people were."

on the way out, we spent two hours cleaning garbage and pushing dead leaves off ground markers. we could have gone on for ten more hours and it wouldn't have made that much of a dent.

so, yeah. standing naked in an overgrown graveyard picking up garbage and dead leaves. that's what i've been up to.

(and thanks to those who emailed. really, thank you.)

ETA: i should have clarified...this photo was taken, i don't know, in 2003? it relates to my recent activities totally metaphorically. SHIT, what i would give to have that belly back after triplets...

my mother, my midwife

i've been thinking, WHY THE FUCK did i allow my midwife to neglect my care like she did?

i'm not stupid. i know some stuff about nutrition, health...even pregnancy, labor, and delivery. i observed things about my pregnancy (important things) and let her convince me i was wrong. i let her convince me i was only following the antiquated protocol of evil obstetrics. i let myself emotionally and physically fall to shit...i mean, i had prenatal care; everything was going to be fine in the end. she was checking all the important stuff, right? my only concern was not getting another c-section.

when i look back on it now, i can't believe how many ways i was neglected by my caregiver. i understand that her belief is that no intervention is best, the body knows what it's doing, everything will be fine...(like i think coggy said,) IN A PERFECTLY HEALTHY WOMAN. the signs were there. she never ever should have taken me on as a client. in trying to prove (i guess) that no matter what, you always get a baby when you let nature take it's course, she let my baby die. to quote my ob, she also put my life in danger. and you know what??? KNOWING I WASN'T A CANDIDATE WAS NOT MY JOB. IT WAS HERS.

so, was it just blindness? was it blindness to the fact that i wasn't a candidate because i wanted a homebirth so badly? i read all the studies on uterine rupture and felt my risk was minimal. i felt confident about having a vbac, even at home (i have a master's degree in public health, for the love of god; i know how to read medical literature). but the real problems were lurking underneath all of that; the real problem was that she treated everything else about my case the same exact way she would have any other run-of-the-mill perfectly healthy pregnant woman. AND IT WASN'T MY JOB TO KNOW I WASN'T.

it also scared the shit out of me to learn (after my baby was dead) that her back-up plan SUCKS. there was absolutely NOTHING in place...she has no doctor liaisons at the hospitals, and her "medical advisor" is such in name only. once i was in the ER with a dead baby in my belly, she had nothing else to offer...no referrals, no NOTHING. i fell into the lap of the ob on call, and i was fortunate enough to get a really, really caring one. if not? fuck me, i guess.

it's not like i would have expected her to continue my care. i know, with a full-term dead baby inside me, i was out of the scope of her practice. but HOLY MOTHERFUCKING SHIT, what if i was in labor at home, and had a real, time-sensitive emergency??? i know that there are risks in homebirth, especially a vbac at home. the general rule is, no farther than 15 minutes from a hospital. no problem, i'm 10. but...and this is a huge BUT...once you get there, then what? the ultrasound tech on call lived an HOUR away. the ob on call was also sleeping in his bed. if anything went wrong during labor or delivery, we BOTH would have been dead.

i asked her about her backup plan a couple of weeks after i was no longer with child. she told me that what happens is she calls hospitals in the area to assess which is better staffed and then we transfer to the chosen hospital. is it me, or does that not seem good enough? and why in FUCK didn't i know about that while i was still pregnant?

so many questions. so many questions. the first answer, to me, is I MUST BE STUPID. i must be an ignorant, naive, daisies growing out of my head IDIOT. how could i risk so much, through blind ignorance, just because i wanted something a certain way? how could i trust my midwife, not ever having had the important conversations?

my genius of a therapist said a week ago, "doesn't the midwife remind you of your mother?"

it wasn't a pitch darkness to light brightness kind of lightbulb, but a slower, dimmer-switch kind of one that is increasing in brightness day by day. i felt comfortable being left to my own devices, felt comfortable being neglected, felt comfortable trusting someone so narcissistic, because that's what i'm accustomed to in a caregiver.

this whole thing is getting bigger and bigger, like a wet stain on a california king sized bedsheet. my baby died, and now i'm finding out i have no fucking idea who i was. my baby died, and now i'm finding out i had no idea who everyone else is either. having a dead baby is becoming the easiest part of this whole mess to figure out...she was here, she died, i love her and wish so fucking bad she was here, but she's not. but the rest? HOLY SHIT. i'm just gonna keep going, day by day, until the wet circle stops growing (maybe never).

someone said (maybe kalakly) that even her name means "messenger." still not buying anything remotely resembling *this happened for a reason* but i do know that having her is changing my life. my job, at this point, is to rise up and live it.

ummm...that was horrible

3-4 months clomid.

that's what he wants us to do. followed by insemination.




are you fucking goddamn KIDDING ME?????????




i feel the swishing of wind on my face as i fall into the rabbit hole...the infertility mind-fuck. i've been down this road, and it wasn't nice. can it work? maybe, possibly. can it work soon enough that i will not become a raging lunatic? maybe, possibly.

i just feel like it would be fucking around for, i don't know, 6 months.

on top of the actual treatment plan, the doctor (and then later the nurse practitioner) said, "well, you already have children so it's not like you should feel pressured. you're pretty busy as it is." FUCK ME.

what is this, some kind of joke?

i brought up the fact that i'm not comfortable with insemination because of the chance of multiples, the uncontrollably of it. i mean, ivf, you put in one embryo, there's only a chance of identical twins, a reasonable risk. he understood the fact that i would only want a single embryo transfer, but then kept saying the real risk of multiples was with ivf, not insemination. i kept reminding him, not with a single embryo transfer. DOES HE NOT GET MY STATISTICAL TRACK RECORD?????

what's happening now is, husband gets his product tested next week. that could turn all this aggravation to smoke, considering his morphology last time was bad enough to go straight to ICSI (for non-infertiles, that's where they inject the sperm into the egg). we shall see. we shall see how much of a *miracle* p@ige was after all, huh?

if he tests normal, i will have to call the doctor back. i just don't think it's feasible to drive 45 minutes each way, 3x in ten days, for monitoring for goddamn clomid for three months. also, my sister is the only one that knows about this whole fiasco, and it would be hard enough to get her pregnant ass to watch the kids for morning monitoring for ONE month, for the ivf.

husband suggested that i could take the kids with me for morning monitoring. wouldn't that be special? bringing three three year olds to a doctor's office before they would even be awake in the morning, to sit in a waiting room full of infertile women. WOULD I EVEN SURVIVE that many evil eye curses to my first pee-on-a-stick?

if the sperm comes back fine, i will push for trying on our own with ovulation predictors for 3-4 months...after all, he did say i was fertile. (insert psych ward quality laughter.)

the way i see it, i need to just wait for further testing. buy the fucking ovulation predictors and calm down. that was my plan anyway, wasn't it? get the consult, go through the testing, lose some more weight, and do this thing in june/july. so why are my panties all in a knot? maybe it was being called fertile just because i got pregnant on our own. maybe it was being told that 8 months is the normal time period for getting pregnant for someone my age (33). maybe it was because i had to think about months and months of other treatments and the insanity of that bullshit. maybe it was because i was told it shouldn't matter because i have other kids.


MAYBE IT'S BECAUSE I SHOULD HAVE A BABY GIRL TURNING SIX MONTHS THIS WEEKEND. MAYBE IT'S BECAUSE MY BABY, WHO I CARRIED FOR NINE GODDAMN MONTHS, IS DEAD. MAYBE IT'S BECAUSE I JUST WANT TO MOVE ON ALREADY AND I CAN'T, BECAUSE I CAN'T GET PREGNANT ON MY OWN.

thank god i WAS able to make another tattoo appointment for next tuesday. i like a sure thing these days.

here

next friday is our ivf consult.

i can't believe it. I CAN'T BELIEVE IT. luckily it's just a consult, and we're not planning on anything until at least june. but really? i'm so fucking angry. and i will REALLY be angry if we have to go through with it. i mean, why can't it just happen again? i may actually be getting angry that i ever got pregnant...that i am now stupid enough to be thinking it may happen again before summertime and save me from the clinic. how stupid can a girl get?

i think i am really, solidly, no-turning-back convinced i want to try this whole thing again. i want another chance. i need another chance. mostly, i think i really do want another child, especially as these three get older and older. i can't believe i was so close to getting that iud; it was only a fluke that i wasn't able to go in and just get it in december. funny how things turn out.

funny how things turn out...isn't that just so cute? isn't it just so lackadaisical? HO hum, didn't that all just work out for the best in the end? what the fucking shit? why do we bother deciding anything at all? goddamn this all to hell, i swear.

i think i am really coasting on the dead baby stuff. is it because i'm due for a denial phase? is it because time is dulling the edges? is it because my mind is occupied with thoughts of another possible child? i don't know. i feel guilty in a way, but in another way, i know that it is only honoring my baby girl to want another; before her, i didn't want another one at all. that is a bit comforting to me, especially because there's also a great capacity right here to feel guilty for wanting to 'replace' or 'move on' or something like that. the truth is i kinda DO want to move on...MY BABY IS DEAD. SHE'S NOT COMING BACK and i have a LIFE! i love her, i love her but i never met her. because of her, i will maybe, possibly, bring another child into our family and that's pretty amazing, no? I DON'T WANT TO FEEL SHITTY ANYMORE.

that being said, i do think there is one feeling that can possibly be resolved with another baby. the fucking fact that i still feel pregnant. six months later, i still feel a bit of shock when i bend over and feel absolutely fine. i still feel like i should have to pee in the middle of the night. i feel it all, but without the huge belly. I DON'T WANT TO FEEL PREGNANT FOREVER. in my mind, i just want to do another nine months, have a baby, and be done with it for the love of GOD. as it is, i've been pregnant for 15 months and counting...and the last two trimesters didn't physically suck that bad. i am not looking forward to being pregnant again, and i'm pretty mad that i have to be pregnant for 18 months to have a baby (if i'm fucking lucky)...i feel like a goddamn elephant.

so there it is. i actually wish to be pregnant.


*************
i've decided to stay here, and not go private. i know, how flaky, right? but that pretty much sums me up since september (well if i'm honest i'll admit it goes beyond september...).

i wish i was still stupid

my grandmother turned 83 on sunday.

she is the oldest of 14 children, all born at home on a farm in puerto rico.

sometimes, over the course of my life, she would tell me about how many children her mother had, their birth order, and their names. sometimes it would be in response to a question about who's older than who, or something like that.

i would ask, "your mother had 13 children, right?"

and she would go down the list, keeping track on fingers which would run out before she was done. sometimes she'd have to start over. sometimes more than once.

once my dumb-ass stepfather asked my great-grandmother why she had so many children, and she said, "we didn't have television back then; there was nothing else to do."

so, my grandmother would recount all her siblings; she was present for many of their births. she would always start out by saying, "well, she had 14 children but one born dead," to which i always responded, "ok, so she had 13."

and my grandmother would look at me sadly and say, "well..."
and nothing more.

new territory

i went to babiesRus yesterday.

i had a gift card from when i was pregnant and it's been haunting me since she died. i decided to go and just spend the fucker and get it over with. the kids need potties and frankly i'm sick of dealing with shitty asses...and they ARE three, so i think i need to get a move-on before i start getting those weird looks and have to smack someone and scream, "DEADBABYPASSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!" jesus.

so, there i am in a baby store. the fact that i have an RE appointment already seemed to help tremendously...but did it really? i actually looked at baby stuff instead of running past it to the back where they have the toddler gear. there were also real-live babies, which didn't seem to bother me?

this is frightening. what the fuck is going on?

i am NOT better just because we are going to try to have another baby. but i feel better? where is my shit? this isn't real and i'm scared.

do i want another baby because i'm desperate to have my dead baby? is my mind playing tricks on me?

AM I MAKING THE WRONG DECISION?

i feel better yet lost and confused. i am trying to tell myself to take each day as it comes and if i feel better, then feel better while i can...the shit will come back when it comes back.

i know there will be so much of this; if i get pregnant again i will have to master holding two boxes at once. i know i will have to carry my dead baby and my alive one at the same time. i know i will have to learn how to be happy and sad all at once. i know this is to be my life.

i know i live with a ghost, but i have to try not to be one.



(and today is five months...i miss you p@ige. more than i ever knew i could.)

how happy am i now?

i wrote this quote down when i was pregnant:

we thought we had such problems. how were we to know we were happy?

i left a comment yesterday about seeing people cry over ridiculous shit and thinking they had no idea what there was to really cry about. how i could look back at all the dumb shit i've cried about in the past. how i wonder if, in the future, i would look back and think this wasn't even the worst of it...how i can't imagine anything worse than this, but i never could have imagined this, either.

the fact is, though, that the quote not only applies to life before my baby died. this quote means NOW. this quote means that EVEN NOW, i am not appreciative of the things i DO have, the happiness that is here, now. the happiness i can have in this moment.

it is true, though, that the things i appreciate are in a totally different box from my grief; my grief and my happiness are not mutually exclusive. the dumb shit people say about appreciating the alive children i have, expecting them to make up for my dead baby girl...well that's just silly and desperate of them.

but i think there's something to it, that quote. because really, it does still apply. there are days i'd rather stab my eyes out than read something like that, but today i'm going with it.

to be honest, i feel the need to let that sentiment seep under my skin. i think it has alot to do with fear; i think if i don't learn that lesson now, something even worse will happen and i will be crying over not being happy when i could. isn't that the whole fucking point of my pain in the present? how i didn't appreciate my baby girl while i had her inside me? listen, pergnancy sucks. and so does losing a baby. but knowing that it sucks doesn't negate the fact that i wish i could have loved and appreciated what i had, when i had it.

and the only time i can put that into practice is NOW.

where i was then...where i want to be

On 8/25/07 (two weeks before she died) 4:14 PM, "futurecharmedgirl" wrote:

hi tripletsplusonemom- i'm a new reader of your blog; i've really been enjoying it. i have 2.5 y/o triplets (2 girls and a boy) and i'm about to have another baby girl any day now. i've struggled with guilt since i found out i was pregnant (a HUGE surprise after years of IF)........i had so much guilt around the circumstances of the trips birth--- c-sect, nicu, pumping instead of breastfeeding, trying to care for three at once--- basically that they were robbed of the newborn experience a singleton would have had. i've been trying to convince myself that what they are gaining in the relationship with their siblings is the gift i gave them, but i can't shake it.
how the hell do you handle it? your beautiful post about having one after three....it was great. does the guilt go away; is it healing to have one after three? i want to enjoy this as much as possible but i don't see how i'll be able to without feeling horrible for my 3 little babies i couldn't give it all to.
thanks so much-- futurecharmedgirl

"triplets plus one mom" wrote:

Hi FutureCharmedgirl - This is such a great question – once I get some more time – I’ll be writing about it. There is definitely guilt, but I didn’t know that was what the nagging feeling I had until very recently. I felt so remorseful that I couldn’t have had three separate pregnancies, three separate newborn experiences, three separate toddler experiences. I wasn’t feeling remorse just for our children – but for me, too. I feel like we were all robbed of the “bonding” experience that comes with a singleton. But then again – I wouldn’t trade my experience as a mother to triplets for the world. Our children have an amazing bond and they are so much more socially advanced than other singleton children their age. Plus, they will grow up always having one another. How awesome is that??I will say that having [plusone] has been an incredibly healing experience. I feel like THIS is the motherhood experience I have wanted for as long as I’ve wanted children. (And then, again, there is guilt for feeling that way – as if our triplets don’t count??) Like I mentioned in my post the other day, I love being able to scoop him up and run out to the store with one baby, I love carrying him everywhere I go, nursing him on demand – and sitting and rocking him – for hours, without having to feel like I am depriving two other babies.
The thing is – baby P@ige will be an amazing gift to both you AND your triplets. I’m not sure how it is that we were finally able to get pregnant after almost 10 years of NOT being successful ... But I do think that without our triplets, we never would have had [plusone] – and vice versa. They were ALL meant to be and we are beyond lucky to have them. And, they are all lucky to have one another. So, that’s how I do it - just believing that everything, as it is, is meant to be. Like I said, I’m a miracle believing kind of person!! Enjoy baby P@ige – you are in for an absolutely wonderful experience!!!
Congrats!! Tripletsplusonemom


don't get me wrong...i am, in no way, focusing on the "meant to be" or "miracles" shit in the response. i almost had to laugh at that, actually.

i thought about this exchange this morning; i totally forgot about it until now. i was thinking about the reasons i would want another baby and i remembered this...and i also remembered that i was so, so stupidly tangled up in the guilt mess that i had no appreciation for what i actually HAD at the time.

it's not easy to explain (to yourself) why you need another child when you already have three. but it feels like one. after you lost your fourth. but it feels like your second.

i just want to get what i should have right now. i don't want to be cheated even more than i was the first time. and second time. there's just so many times now.

ghost baby

the four month kick-in-the-ass has settled in.

the other night, a very good friend asked me if this was the beginning of ghost baby. at first, i was upset at that term, because, i don't know...there's something DEAD has that GHOST simply doesn't; the wow factor? but this isn't american idol for fucks sake.

i'm starting to think she was on to something, though. that physical pain, those earthy, crude, base emotions...it was a physical torment that i had at least a little success dealing with mentally. i thought i made decisions, like i didn't want another baby, like i wanted to lose weight and get back to my old self. i was angry and sad and ruined and heavy, and mentally had a path on which to put one foot in front of the other. dead baby had an energy to it.

but now...now, i feel fucked, yet not as heavily so. mentally there is no beginning or end. it is like a haunting; like a ghost. there's no energy in this at all. i just simply don't care. i am like a big, old, haunted house that just stands there for generations...you can see it can be beautiful, but no one renovates it, nor tears it down. it's just THERE.

there are still tears with ghost baby, but those are different too. they are full of confusion, full of nothingness. i have tears for my current emptiness. my dead baby is now a ghost.

puffed up

it's the kids' birthday this week. three kids, one birthday. it always makes me remember what i freak i am. this year, though, it's so much more than that. i was supposed to be normal this year.

i should also appreciate what i have, considering what others may not have. i feel like i say this like a broken record (how long before no one remembers what a broken record means? hehe), but triplets made me a known freak forever. it's like a giant INFERTILE flashing neon sign.

but i should be proud, shouldn't i? three beautiful and (hey, who knew!) ALIVE kids.

i knew yesterday was going to be fucked up; it was their party. besides the social anxiety i am struggling with at the moment, it was just the whole thing. the whole idea of celebrating a BIRTHDAY. yet, we have to, no?

i took a trip to the market in the morning, and had a nice breakdown. god above, why doesn't anyone talk about the dangers of driving while crying? i shamefully admit i've driven while intoxicated, and found it so much easier. i kept imagining a cop pulling me over, seeing my face, and just waving me on.

so my face was already a mess and the party hadn't even started yet.

i escaped mainly by not cooking until people started to show up. i find it relaxing to cook, especially when it makes such a polite excuse not to interact. and drink. alot.

i made it through the day, and was left with a very good and honest and cheeky friend. she sat with me and tried to understand what i was going through. it was the first time i had to try to talk about it to a non-deadbabymom. i mean, she really wanted to know, wanted to talk about it. she even asked, "did it go from deadbaby to ghostbaby?" when trying to figure out what the hell i meant by, "it went from really bad to better to royally fucked forever." the idea of ghostbaby is making me think, which is good, but i ultimately just changed the subject.

by the time husband and i found ourselves alone, we were both hammered. we tried to watch a tv show, but kept pausing it to talk about the day. i completely forgot it was his first time seeing soulmate baby. he's been studying for a big exam (which thank god will be over next weekend) and has admitted he's pushing out dead baby. but some came through last night.

so we cried, and cried and cried, and sobbed, and tried to talk but mostly couldn't; the proud parents of three alive, beautiful kids. at the end of the day, though, we couldn't escape the fourth.

our faces this morning tell all, even though we won't...even though i finally admitted to him that i want another baby.

on babies, fun, and being mother-fucked

ahhh, what a wealth of choices...what should come first? something tells me these thoughts are more circular than linear, so it probably doesn't matter much. let's begin with mother-fucked.

when the three were born, i chose a photo and had announcements made. on the center panel, i had a quote, "the decision to have a child is the decision to have your heart go walking outside your body." can i just say that i had absolutely positively NO FUCKING IDEA what that really meant? my god, i have never, in my adult life, gone through such feelings of inadequacy, regret, and guilt. they say it's from becoming a mother, but 'they' were also just talking about the normal, alive baby stuff. i can say that for me, i really am just beginning to understand that quote; not after the alive babies (which did come with some of it), but after the dead one.

all the attachment crap i thought i worked into a nicely-wrapped package of deserting father and spoiled, neglectful mother went to shit when i became a mother. but i've only really fallen apart after my baby died...i really thought i was a happy, confident, fun person. WHAT AM I? am i really just a person who is waking up from the fantasy of what i thought my life was, what i was? did i take the red pill, or whatever the fuck color?? was that the goddamn matrix? does this happen to everyone who becomes a mother of alive/dead kids, or just the ones who are already fucked but don't know it yet because their coping skills are just that good?

ok, now onto the fun. right before i got pregnant with p@ige, i finally thought i was getting back into the swing of things. i started losing the baby weight, started having some *fun*. it was, oh, four weeks before i found out i was pregnant? i thought i had moved on from my reproductive nightmare; we decided no more kids (i know, i've said that 33 million times already).

and what was i looking for, to try to feel normal again?? FUN! yes, fun...you know, getting dressed up, having cocktails with your friends, shaking your ass a little...it sounds so shallow, but i really do enjoy my friends and conversation and dancing. i think about it more like it's a part of human nature, to want to get to some higher plane of existence through mind-altering substances, music, and discussion...with your best party goods on. kinda like church, but for a quasi-pagan chick. you know?

ok so here i am, dead baby in tow (always), trying to have fun. what the FUCK? it's almost like i am trying to convince myself that if i can just find my fun again, i don't have to think about trying to get pregnant. because, you know, fun and pregnancy certainly don't go together. it's either one or the other, folks.

i try to have fun. i go to soulmate friend's place, we try. we really do. the dead baby mom and the post-partum depression mom. two mother-fucked girls trying to find the fun. it's just so fucking goddamn PATHETIC. what ends up happening is, i get home and feel more in a funk than ever. i don't want to read or write or be anything at all. i can't find my fun and i can't find myself.

what's left to find but another two lines? i couldn't get the iud when i tried, and now two-line-chasing is still an option. how was i so sure i wanted to get the iud and be so sure now that i don't? i don't trust a single thing that goes through my head. i want to try to get pregnant...not that i even know what that means (certainly not the infertility doc). i try to imagine lies i would tell husband in order to avoid the iud when my next period comes. i fantasize about getting pregnant and not telling anyone for like, six months (not because i'm afraid of losing the baby, just beacuse i want it all to myself).

then i think about all the reasons i was so sure i didn't want another baby. will i get my period again and be miserable because i'm not pregnant, and not want to get the iud? will i get my period and run screaming to the doctor who will put it in? will i not get my period because i'm pregnant and regret it????

i want a baby because i can't find my fun anyway and maybe, just maybe, i can work out my mother-fuckedness enough to make having another baby really be a good idea?

what the fuck.
and why does cursing always make me feel a little better???

edited to add: my sister is doing fine. just a false alarm (so far)! these days, though, i'm not as encouraging as i used to be. she's probably relieved that i'm not. sometimes it's easier to deal with fucked up shit when someone just says, "jesus. that really IS fucked up!" and then leaves it at that.

personal jesus

p@ige was going to fix everything.

she was my miracle (well, my coincidental) baby. her conception made me one of "them"; a reproductively normal girl. i peed, i got two lines, just like that. even my response was normal..."what the fuck? i wasn't planning on this! this is terrrrrrible! the universe is screwing me yet again!" we had already decided that we wouldn't have any more children, and it took a while to override my previous plans.

but once i did override my old mindset, that baby was my ticket to getting the normal pregnancy, labor and delivery, the normal breastfeeding. i was going to have the experience of attachment with a single baby.

the pregnancy was normal...it sucked ass. you are reading this, so the rest went straight to hell. but you already know all that.

i guess in retrospect, that was alot of responsibility to heave onto a little baby. i am starting to realize that she was not going to fix things. maybe the reason i never felt attachment towards the kids i have isn't because i was handicapped during the pregnancy, isn't because of the c-section, isn't because they were in the NICU for three weeks, isn't because i was hooked up to a breastpump like a cow for a year, isn't because there were three of them and it was hell.

in retrospect, maybe p@ige would have been born alive and i'd have the same attachment issues with her as i do with the others. maybe another baby isn't going to solve those problems for me, either.

but she died. and she's forcing me to think about the fact that nothing can help me but my own blood, sweat, and tears. not for a fraction of a second do i believe that my baby is dead for a reason, but she is teaching me about myself. her being dead is forcing me to confront myself; forcing me to realize that no outside force would have or could help my emotional/spiritual self.

i don't feel attachment with my children because i was brought up by a mother who was more like a spoiled rotten, bossy older sister. i learned very early not to get emotionally attached, it can only lead to pain.

maybe the only baby left to be cared for is me, and in doing that, my babies who lived.

four months and a year ago today

hey coggy, how didn't i remember that we were only one day apart?

four months ago today, at this time (7.38am), i too was standing in the shower. i wasn't screaming, and i was alone, but wanted to be. my sisters were here, my soon-to-be brother in law, my mother, my grandmother, the kids, my mother. i learned my baby was dead the night before, and everyone rushed up here...my sister's fiance left his own bachelor party.

in the shower...there was nothing, just water. tears and hot water and confusion. how could she be dead? just like that? i mean, that was it? just...over?

four months later, i can say it wasn't over. nine months of growing that baby; a lifetime of fucking confusion and agony. we women, we evolved like this...but wasn't the purpose to care for and protect LIVE babies?? this can never be over.

four months. i remember coming onto the scene in september, being two or three weeks in the shit. i remember reading blogs of those who were two, three months in and feeling that i couldn't wait to be where they were. i still want more time to just pass, but does it really matter? i can't say i'm as hopeful as i was then that time will take this away with it.


one year ago today, i peed on a stick. now, only an infertile will really know what i'm talking about here. i peed, two lines appeared in the shape of a +. that was it...no nasa-grade inspection devices, no evaporation lines, just a big fat +. after 3-4 years of infertility, ivf, and seven total years of unprotected sex, i was pregnant. just like that.

i am obsessed with pregnancy tests. are you in need of HPTs? go to saveontests.com. you can get ovulation pee sticks, pregnancy tests, and ovulation predictors for sooo cheap. and i mean like, 25 HPT or ovulation strips for ten bucks, a HUNDRED of them for $30. see? i barely even blinked before that whole thing just flew out of my fingers. i am an infertile down to my very cells.

BUT...but one year ago, i was just some normal chick who peed on a stick and found out i was pregnant.

this year, today, i'm an infertile mother to ivf multiples and a full-term dead baby.

this year, i hope i can find what else i am, buried under all that shit.

or whatever.