Some bereaved individuals find journaling a silent outlet for expressing emotions or feelings about the loss of a loved one, pregnancy or pet easier than face to face. Journaling can prove therapeutic because  inner most thoughts are manifested on paper and kept secret.

Another way to journal if you have difficulty using words, is recording a sky journal. A camera, journal and adhesive is all you need to start.

Many grieving families are drawn to nature in the healing process, which also includes the beautiful skyscapes.

Photographs of the sky can be taken on yearly angelversaries, a loved ones death date, birth date, holidays or just on the day a spiritual connection is felt.

The beautiful pictures can be adhered into a special memorial keepsake journal and updated when the time is right.

If one of your hobbies is scrapbooking, try creating pages within your scrapbooks for your sky photography. In this way, your loved one is always included while updating your family pages.

Another option is to frame your sky photography.

With early miscarriages bereaved families are left with little to no tangible memorial keepsakes. Think about starting a sky journal in your healing process. Journaling is a wonderful activity and when combined with photography, may help in healing a broken heart.

If you have pictures from your sky journals and are comfortable sharing, please send to diana(@)justacloudaway.com and I will gladly post them.

Peace Love and Hugs

Diana

Just a Cloud Away, Inc.™ Journal

In the last 8 weeks there has been a lot of stuff happening. We decided to just start trying at the end of November. Amazingly, this worked – first time – much to my husband’s faked chagrin.  well, I think it was fake! We took a pregnancy test and it came out positive. Having learnt how you calculate your number of weeks’ pregnant, we did some quick maths and realised I was technically 4 weeks pregnant.  Great, a whole month done without any effort!

I went to the GP’s but it was too early to tell from his tests – a bit depressing but, despite being asked specifically not to do it – I went straight home and did another test which was still positive.  So all’s well then, yes?

Sadly, I had a miscarriage last week. I had been pregnant for 5 weeks and 1 day. I’m due to have a scan on 29th December to make sure it’s all gone. Not the “first scan” I had imagined. You’re not supposed to be pregnant and then go back to “normal” a few weeks later. Awful feeling.

To start, when I arrived at the appointment, PB was there waiting for me. Work let everyone off early today, so he was able to meet me as a surprise. Thank goodness he was there.

It seems I was more on track with this morning’s post than I really thought. The midwife was unable to find a heartbeat. So was the OB she called in after the ultrasound showed our baby failing to move, absent of any flutter in it’s chest. At 3:15 this afternoon, I had to have a D & C. I’m at a loss to explain how I’m feeling at the moment. At moments I am quite numb and it all feels so surreal. And then I find myself sobbing, in unbearable pain. My heart is literally broken. I never knew anything could hurt this much.

Enough 2009.

Enough tears.

Enough hurt.

Enough infertility.

Enough everything.

Enough, already.

Sometimes, I just feel like I’m awake every day for long enough to get cage matched by a professional wrestler.  Then I go to bed, sleep for a few hours, and wake up and do it all over again.  I’m so weary of it all.  Carrying around the weight of grief is really, really exhausting.

Joey and I were talking the other day.  We were talking about The Question that people ask us a lot; the one we really hate.

“So…rough year…what do you think God is trying to teach you?”

We never know what to say.  We don’t know the answer and we’re not sure we want to yet.  But a couple of days ago, Joey said he thought maybe he knew what it was.

God’s trying to teach us that He is enough.

UGH.  What a lesson.  I don’t want to learn that.  I don’t want Him to be enough, I want babies.

See?  I haven’t learned it yet.  That puts the fear of God in me, too, because I’m like, better hurry up and learn your lesson, Jenna, before He does something else nasty to you.

That’s called having an incorrect view of God.  I know in my head that he’s not up there being the professional wrestler in the cage match I feel like I’m losing daily, but I can’t convince my heart.  I’m not sure how you fix that, either.

Somehow, I have to learn to be satisfied with God.

He is enough.

We just got the phone call that my sister is in labor.  Every other person in my family is glittering with excitement, and Joey and I feel like we just got sucker punched.

I don’t understand why she and I had to have the same due date in the first place.  I don’t understand why we couldn’t both get to have our babies.  I don’t understand.  I don’t understand.

But I don’t feel like He is enough right now.  I just don’t.

I wanted to have my baby.

This is cross-posted from my Talk Birth blog. I have different readers on each and I wanted to share this in both places.

At the very end of August, I went to see Birth, the play in St. Louis. I was about 5 weeks pregnant at the time. Following the play and “talkback” event, there was a BOLD Red Tent (birth stories sharing circle). Right before the birth stories portion of the Red Tent, we did a birth art project. The Birthing from Within Mentor who was facilitating the Red Tent asked each of us to draw a symbol on a card that communicated what we would want to share with other women about birth—not in words, but a visual representation of the message we’d like to share. We then painted our symbols onto prayer flags to be strung together as a whole “language of birth” in symbols. We left the flags with her to be taken to births to share the symbols with other birthing mamas. I drew a spiral and explained that the message I was sharing was, “You can do it. You’re okay. Let it happen.”

A few days following my miscarriage in November, I received a Facebook message from the BfW mentor (and friend) who had facilitated the Red Tent session. She attached a photo of the flag I had painted during the Birth Art session and asked me to “allow the gift to come and sit with you” (as well as gifting me with “no response necessary”).

It was amazing to have my own birth symbol come back to “speak” to me in this way during such a painful (and also transformative) time.

“You can do it. You’re okay. Let it happen.”

At the very end of August, I went to see Birth, the play in St. Louis. I was about 5 weeks pregnant at the time. Following the play and “talkback” event, there was a BOLD Red Tent (birth stories sharing circle). Right before the birth stories portion of the Red Tent, we did a birth art project. The Birthing from Within Mentor who was facilitating the Red Tent asked each of us to draw a symbol on a card that communicated what we would want to share with other women about birth—not in words, but a visual representation of the message we’d like to share. We then painted our symbols onto prayer flags to be strung together as a whole “language of birth” in symbols. We left the flags with her to be taken to births to share the symbols with other birthing mamas. I drew a spiral and explained that the message I was sharing was, “You can do it. You’re okay. Let it happen.” I also added a little birth goddess with wild hair that to me represents the intuitive birth wisdom women carry with them (when I was pregnant with my first baby I was worried about being too “in my head” to give birth powerfully–I created a series of needled felted sculptures of birth goddesses with wild hair and worried that the hair showed that I was too in my head. After he was born, I realized that my sculptures were telling me about the wild, natural, birth wisdom I had in my head, not the “book learning” that was also there and was what I had worried about interfering with the flow of birth).

A few days following my miscarriage in November, I received a Facebook message from the BfW mentor (and friend) who had facilitated the Red Tent session. She attached a photo of the flag I had painted during the Birth Art session and asked me to “allow the gift to come and sit with you” (as well as gifting me with “no response necessary”).

It was amazing to have my own birth symbol come back to “speak” to me in this way during such a painful (and also transformative) time.

“You can do it. You’re okay. Let it happen.”

To my ongoing collection (previously posted to my Facebook fan page, but sharing here as well. There are some grief/miscarriage quotes mixed in as well):

“Birth is valuable. It gives rise to our entire future. There is power in our ability to give birth to the future of our planet. We need to reclaim that power.” –Ginger Garner

“Birth is the epicenter of women’s power.” – Ani DiFranco

“To parent well, you have to have the gentleness and courage of a warrior.” –Carol (in the book Joyful Birth)

“There is no foot so small that it cannot leave an imprint on this world”

“You’re braver than you believe. Stronger than you seem. And smarter than you think.”– Christopher Robin

“Rivers know this: there is no hurry. We shall get there some day.” Pooh’s Little Instruction Book (added by a Facebook fan in response to the above)

“Nature, time, and patience are the three great physicians.” –Greek Proverb

“Life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass. It’s about learning to dance in the rain.” –author unknown

“One does not give birth in a void, but rather in a cultural and political context. Laws, professional codes, religious sanctions, and ethnic traditions all affect women’s choices concerning childbirth.” –Adrienne Rich

Discussion following on the Facebook page: Me: Do couples truly have a free choice of where to give birth? Ultimately speaking, I guess yes, but according to my clients insurance companies dictate their birth location…

Another poster:

The choice is taken from people far too often! Money talks, doctors can scare, insurance companies manipulate, etc., etc.
Sometimes the choice is pretty much taken away.

AND the cultural, political, etc. The quote is so true… our choices don’t occur in a void, all those things affect choices in childbirth. Its just that sometimes, many of those choices are dictated by the above, and so, can severely limit what we do get to choose.

Me again: When we do the “pain pie” exercise in my classes, I always talk about how sometimes choices are actively stripped away from women and we need to keep that in mind when we hear “bad” birth stories–not, “she ‘failed’ or made the ‘wrong’ choices” but that her pieces of the pie were taken away from her (sometimes forcibly!).

Prompted by the above:

“The most common way people give up their power is by thinking they don’t have any.” –Alice Walker

“Life becomes precious and more special to us when we look for the little everyday miracles and get excited about the privileges of simply being human.” -Tim Hansel

“The beauty of my body is not measured by the size of the clothes it can fit into, but by the stories that it tells. I have a belly and hips that say, ‘We grew a child in here,’ and breasts that say, ‘We nourished life.’ My hands, with bitten nails and a writer’s callus, say, ‘We create amazing things.’” -Sarah (I Am Beautiful)

When we first found out we lost the heartbeat, my doctor told me I should experience “some cramping and bleeding.”  And to only worry if the bleeding was severe enough to require more than a pad and hour.  Considering how common it is to miscarry, I was expecting just another female right of passage. I learned my lessons well from Margaret. I know to belt on that sanitary napkin and even if I don’t believe in God, I knew that us girls are all in it together. Or I did. Until I found out you biatches didn’t tell me that a miscarriage is more like living through Eraserhead then a Judy Blum novel!  

Here is how it played out. I was all set for a D&C on Christmas eve. Then, the Saturday before, I started bleeding and passing black blobs. My cramps were worse than normal, but bearable. At 2:00 a.m. Monday morning I woke up with even worse cramps. And they were steadily getting worse. I took two ibuprofen and waited for them to kick in. They never did. I took a bath in lieu of a heating pad. It looked like I was swimming with Jaws and wasn’t helping anyway. I couldn’t get comfortable sitting or laying down, so I just started pacing. I took another ibuprofen and wished I could down the whole bottle. Still the cramps were getting worse. I took my vibrator and for once actually used it as a personal massager. ¹ Nothing helped.   I got up again and kept pacing.  This went on for hours.  Until I finally had the urge to push, went into the bathroom, and at 5:00 a.m. I heard a weird plop fall into the toilet. Instantly I felt better. I couldn’t resist poking it. I was huge-bigger than a mouse–and kinda felt like one too. You could see something that sort of looked like bones but mostly it was just a wierd dark red blob. Why the hell was it so big!??! There was no heartbeat at 9 weeks, it passed at 12, shouldn’t it have been the size of my fingernail? And how will this compare to labor pains? I’ve since googled “labor pains and miscarriage” and those folks are much more forthright about how much this fricking hurts. I hope you don’t have to go through this, but you should know that if you do 1) you aren’t alone; 2) sooner or later something will come out; and 3) when it does you’ll feel like a million bucks. So now, only three months after getting pregnant, my uterus is finally empty and my nails are back to broken stubs. Just as soon as my boobs shrink back to normal, I hope to feel less like a cow and more like a trophy again.  I bet Botox is a bad idea right before we start trying again, hu?  

1. From my husband’s perspective: He woke from his slumber to find himself next to Linda Blair in the Exorcist.  Apparently I was curled in a fetal position, jamming the vibrator into my abdomen, moaning and writhing in pain.  Thankfully for him there was no pea soup involved to soil the sheets.

“You are better off, there was probably something wrong with the baby” or “Heaven needed another angel” are supposed to comfort bereaved parents of pregnancy and infant loss. Would those words comfort you after the death of your baby or pregnancy?

 Words and Actions Not Recommended to Comfort Bereaved Families

Even though your words come straight from your heart, they may not offer the comfort you intended. Here are some phrases and words not recommended for bereaved families of pregnancy and infant loss.

• Your baby is in a better place
• It was God’s will
• God needed another angel
• You are still young, you can have more
• You never have to worry about your baby
• There was probably something wrong with the baby
• Everything happens for a reason
• It wasn’t the right time

Things you may want to consider:

• Do not ignore what has happened
• Do not avoid saying their baby’s name, unless they have stated to do so
• Do not take down the nursery, unless they have stated to do so
• Do not expect bereaved families to attend festive events for some time
• Do not ignore the baby’s angelversary (birthday or death date)
• Do not compare your grief experiences with theirs
• Do not expect them to “move on” quickly because they never held the baby alive
• Do not tell them how to grieve

 Every bereaved family is different and grieving is hard work. You may help them on their healing journey by avoiding some of these actions and statements that are well known in this community as being hurtful. Please see articles on recommended words and actions that may offer comfort located at Haven of Hope and Healing  and Heartstrings.

If you are a bereaved parent or family member, feel free to mention other words that did not bring you comfort. We can learn from each other what did not bring the support needed while noting what words or phrases may console.

Peace Love and Hugs

Diana

Just a Cloud Away, Inc.™ Journal

I’m thrilled that Ms. Trunk has the courage to take on one-hot-button issue after another on her blog.

Just today she linked to an old article she wrote about Christmas. A holiday I’ve come to loathe. I much prefer Thanksgiving. There is no pressure to engage in mass spending. I meet up with my extended family and we stuff ourselves with great food and catch up on the family gossip news we might have missed in the last year. Maybe a nap and some football on TV. Now, because of my family, I actually get off pretty easy around Christmas time. There is the slight anxiousness I feel about buying gifts, but mostly Christmas has become a second Thanksgiving each year. Another big meal with family, and very little of the religious aspects of Christmas.

I realize my stance on Christmas places me squarely in the minority on this issue.

Ms. Trunk uses Christmas to outline a severe lack of tolerance of diversity in American workplaces. She lists five reasons, but the heart of her message is here:

4. “You can also take a day off for Hanukkah.”
First of all, Hanukkah is eight days. Second of all, the holiday isn’t a big deal to us, except that it’s a way for Jewish kids to not feel outgunned in the gift category. Jacob Sullum wrote in Reason magazine last year, “It is inappropriate…to make such a fuss over Chanukah, a minor Jewish holiday whose importance has been inflated in the popular imagination by its accidental proximity to Christmas.”

So look, we don’t want a day off for Hanukkah. Or any other Jewish holiday. We want floating holidays that everyone uses, for whatever they want. It doesn’t have to be religious, or it can be. But we don’t need our work telling us when to take time off. It’s insulting and totally impractical.

Just because a majority of people in this country belong to a specific religious group, that shouldn’t mean that everyone who is not a part of that religious group should be mandated to live life around its holiday. The floating holiday is a Radically American idea. It outlines a specific tension in our quest for tolerance. And no our country is not a Christian nation:

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances.

We need to stress more open dialog in this country. The kind of dialog Ms. Trunk is putting forth.

The reason some people are shocked and disgusted by the things she writes is people still feel compelled to keep parts of the human experience hidden from the rest of the world. As if the rest of the world couldn’t handle it. Maybe, just maybe, if we allow ourselves to talk openly about things, we’ll actually learn something from one another. Reading her blog has increased my knowledge of both Asperger’s Syndrome and miscarriages, among other things. I fully expect  that some day a person in my life will miscarry a child. Be it a co-worker, family member, or significant other. With the help of Ms. Trunk, I’ll have a fighting chance to actually help them deal with it.

To be more tolerant in this country, we need to expose taboos for what they are: integral parts of what it means to be human. Intolerance is rooted in ignorance and fear. The antidote for intolerance is open discussion.

As I noted a little while ago, I no longer have the feeling that I “should” be pregnant. It feels “normal” to not be pregnant now, whereas a couple of weeks ago I felt the loss of the physical experience keenly—that embodied connection—and I still “felt pregnant” for about three weeks or so following my miscarriage. I would have to keep reminding myself, “I’m NOT pregnant.” Now, I feel “normally” not-pregnant and I actually feel really good in my body and pretty good in my life. There has been a shift from “I SHOULD be x number of weeks pregnant” to “I WOULD have been x number of weeks pregnant.” Today, I would have been 21 weeks pregnant and it has been a hard day for me. Our family has a tradition of having a winter solstice party each year. We host at our house (my mom then hosts Christmas) and it is a nice time. We use the occasion to reflect on the past year and the things we’ve accomplished and then set goals for the year to come—things we’d like to “bring into the light” as it were. We also give our immediate family gifts to each other on this day. Anyway, I just really missed the baby today and also missed the pregnant-self. I felt really strongly how I would have been really looking pregnant by now and the baby would have been making himself well-known to others around me with kicks and rolls and so forth. I can’t describe it in words, I just really FELT it today. The non. The closed door. The two boys instead of three. It started when I opened up my set of Growing Uterus charts and The Birth Atlas from Childbirth Connection. I’ve always wanted them and I ordered them a couple of months ago when they had a wonderful deal. When they arrived, I had Mark put them away for Christmas. I didn’t think it would bother me to open them. I am still interested in birth, birthwork, and childbirth education. I’ve been reading other birth books and not having any “issues” with them, but opening the charts and seeing the point at which my own pregnancy and baby and hopes and dreams and plans arrested, was really difficult. The “cut off”/stopped/ended road point was right there in black and white and I had a strong and unexpected reaction to that. Later in the afternoon we went outside to go for a walk and also to place Noah’s memorial plaque. Standing there looking at it, I just MISSED him. And, I missed the experience of “would’ve” been 21 weeks pregnant–with my hand on my full belly, feeling my baby from within and outside, and having that communion and connection with him. I felt at the edge of tears for most of the rest of the day and just “down” and distressed feeling. I thought it would help me to write about it, but I’m not finding the words easily. I can’t explain or describe what it was I felt today.

As I mentioned, we use today as a time to reflect on our plans for the coming year. In past years, we’ve also each shared a wish for the coming year while lighting candles (the whole “even in the darkness, new light comes again” type of metaphor). In the past, I feel like people have tired of having to take turns saying too many things (we do the goal sharing and reflecting on whether we accomplished last year’s goal and some other things), so this year I just shared a little prayer—feeling like it summed up nicely what we each would wish for in the coming year:

Make me strong in spirit,
Courageous in action,
Gentle of heart,

Let me act in wisdom,
Conquer my fear and doubt,
Discover my own hidden gifts,

Meet others with compassion,
Be a source of healing energies,
And face each day with hope and joy.

(Abby Willowroot)

The color white feels so right when designing a garden for a baby angel. Whether your baby passed early in pregnancy or as an infant, a garden of beauty can be created to honor little angels gone too soon.

 When I see white flowers I think pure, sweet, angelic, innocent and uncomplicated. The color white is prevalent in life changing events and bridges the past to the future.  People who have endured near death experiences claim to be surrounded by warm, white lights.

We wear white to weddings, to christen our babies and white shirts are worn to funerals by many. White has a true respect and dignity by various cultures.  White flowers not only have meaningful properties, they are the only color that is highly visible at dusk and in the moonlight.  The moonlit or white garden has a classic beauty that transcends time. If your baby passed before their gender was determined, white would be suitable for both. Maybe the early evening hours are significant and reminiscent of your angel. It could have been the time you told your family you were pregnant, when your baby was the most active, or the time you said nighty night to your sweet child.  Whether or not the time of day has relevance, a moonlit garden is more likely to be enjoyed because of work schedules. If you have an existing garden for your angel, I highly recommend adding some white blooms within. 

White flowers display incredible contrast with the dark, lustrous green foliage of certain plants.  This contrast automatically attracts your eyes while brightening a dark space.  Here are some plants that offer this contrast in a shady location; gardenia, otto luyken laurel, hills of snow hydrangea, immortality iris, and winters cupid camellia. Some suggestions for full sun areas are; annual periwinkle, swamp hibiscus, daisy and Diana rose of sharon.

Not all flower blooms are the same in shape and you may want to explore the different forms that could be significant to you and your baby. The white bleeding heart perennial has heart-shaped blooms that line the stem and the white balloon flower looks as if it could fly into the clouds. There are several white blooms shaped like snowballs; yoshino cherry tree, album rhododendron, hills of snow hydrangea, and snowball viburnum. There are several flower blooms that are bell-shaped which will add a very unique element to the garden. Some of the plant varieties are; pieris, lily of the valley, enkianthus, rabbiteye blueberry, and japanese snowbell tree. A few flowers are shaped like small bottle brushes including; otto luyken laurel, itea and monroe’s white liriope. Other plants have a fringe-type flower with strap-like petals like the fringe tree, white chinese loropetalum and cleome.

White flowers not only add beauty but also sweet fragrance. This could be one of your favorite scents to breathe in while reflecting upon your child. Some highly intoxicating flowers for sunny areas are; daffodils, crinium, garden phlox, dianthus, oriental lily, hyacinth, peony, sweetbay magnolia, sweet alyssum, petunia, gingerlily and snowball viburnum. Some shade-loving plants are; himalayan sweet box, itea, winter daphne, hollyleaf osmanthus, camellias, and fortune osmanthus.

You can also include the sense of audio in your baby’s garden. Blown by a gentle breeze, the sound of grass can be very soothing. Ornamental grasses add a fine and delicate texture to the garden and wonderful contrast beside course textured plants. The white, feathery plumes usually stand a bit higher than the strap-like foliage and can be seen from a distance. Grasses are usually drought tolerant, grow in full sun and very easy to maintain. Some good choices are; pampas grass, quaking grass, switch grass and maiden grass.

If you have a structure like a fence, vine pole or pergola, you may want to select a vine- like plant to cascade or climb along it. There are several plants to choose from, including; climbing iceberg or sally holmes rose, climbing hydrangea, silver lace vine, armand clematis, alba plena lady bank’s rose, moonflower, hybrid henryi clematis, sweet autumn clematis, perennial sweet pea vine (pictured above), star jasmine and  white japanese wisteria.

No matter if your loved one was your baby or your grandmother, white is soothing and comforting. Adding white blooms will contribute to the overall beauty of your memory garden for you and your loved ones.

Peace Love and Hugs

Diana

Just a Cloud Away, Inc.™ Journal

I know it’s Tuesday.

I read last week that Mondays seem to be a risk factor for heart attacks.

It seems odd, and yet, I get it.

Mondays hit me the hardest. Yesterday should have been 6 weeks. Should have been.

It’s self torture, but I can’t stop it.

I walk around the shops, I see the women with their bellies, I stare at them, ravenously, filled with an envy I’ve never known before.

I crane my neck to stare into prams, watch the little children toddling along beside their parents.

I can’t stop it.

Mr G said to me last night, as I was having a teary walking around the shopping centre, that I need to stop thinking about it, I need to move on.

I know it’s different for him. I get that he didn’t get to have my exact experience.

But he doesn’t understand, reminders are *everywhere*.

And I can’t stop it.

After we lost Joy, I was so overwhelmed with the physical and emotional pain and stress that I was sure I wouldn’t want to even think about ttc for at least six months. I have been amazed at how this grief process has differed from when we lost Daniel. You’d think that since I am the same person who lost her first baby seven months ago (!!), I’d go through a similar grief process when losing our second baby. But then, I’m not the same person. Losing Daniel took a piece of my heart. And losing Joy took another piece. I know I shouldn’t let that define the person I am, but it does and always will. No matter how many children we end up having, I am a mother who has lost two babies. That will never change.

For every pregnancy here on out, I will be terrified until that baby is in my arms (I imagine I will be terrified that something else will happen to them once they’re born, but that’s another story). I look at pregnant women and wonder if they know how lucky they are. Of course, I’m sure some or many of them have been through losses themselves. I read a story the other day about a woman who had been through several losses and who was finally nearing term on a pregnancy. She saw a woman in a St.ar.buc.ks who noticeably turned away when she saw the pregnant belly. I’ve thought about this same thing as I see pregnant women – perhaps they’ve been through losses themselves. But then, perhaps they have not, and are blissfully unaware of the nightmare that is pregnancy loss/infertility.

Christmas is four days away. I should be six days away from delivering sweet Daniel. In fact, he could already have been here by now. That blows my mind. I can feel my heart aching.

And yet, I’ve surprised myself with the realization that I’m really wanting to try again. I’m eager for our RE appointment in January. I’m reading “Ad.opti.ng Af.ter In.fer.til.ity” right now and it has made me acknowledge that I’m not prepared to give up on having a healthy pregnancy. Sure, I’m scared out of my mind and never wanting to experience another loss again…but I’m not ready to give up.

I remember seeing the Stirrup Queens blog a loooong time ago, but didn’t feel the need to read it as I didn’t consider myself infertile. I started reading again not too long after we lost Joy. This post helped me feel like I belong somewhere, in some category. Now I do consider myself infertile in some way. And yes, there are probably people who resent that – the women who are years-deep in the pain of getting BFN after BFN. But you know what, losing two children in six months isn’t any easier. It’s a different kind of pain; there are different emotions involved. But then, some are the same.

I recently ordered Navigating the Land of If by the Stirrup Queen herself, and I am anxiously awaiting its arrival.  Silent Sorority is on my wish list.

After I have no use for any of these books anymore, and the others I’ve gathered on m/c and infertility, I plan on donating them to the library. I usually take my books to Hal.f Pr.ice Bo.oks, but I don’t think they need to profit from these particular items. They rip me off when I bring them items for store value, then turn around and sell them for 3x as much as they paid me. These are books that I have been disappointed to find that our library doesn’t carry, and I think other women could benefit from them. So I will donate them when I’m done.

All I can think about lately is how my body betrayed us.  HELLO UTERUS, didn’t you get the memo you were supposed to IMPLANT the EMBRYOS because we spent LOTS OF MONEY on this?!

I look at my still-bruised and sore stomach and think what a waste of money those $1,000 shots were.  I still have an unopened box of Menopur sitting behind my dresser, complete with needles and syringes and everything.  I’m not sure what we’ll do with it.

Sometimes I just look up at the sky and think, God?  Are you up there?  It’s me, Jenna, the one you gave the gift of infertility to; remember me?  Because lately it feels like you forgot.  Anyway, remember that IVF thing we thought we were supposed to do?  THE ONE THAT COST US GOOD MONEY!?  Why, why, why did you let it fail?  What is up with that?

Joey and I have had the goal of getting out of seminary debt free.  And we were doing really, really good until about two months ago.  Granted, we don’t have to bear the full cost of IVF, but we’ll have to do at least 10%.  And they’re running tests on some of our embryos and heaven knows how much that will cost.

I hate being a monetary raincloud, but if we wanted to not get pregnant, we could have done that for free just like every other month.  I could have skipped the shots, could have skipped the ultrasounds, could have skipped the nearly daily bloodwork and the fun of having a left arm so bruised I couldn’t even fully extend it.

Julie Powell (of Julie & Julia fame) put a Paypal button on her blog for people to donate to her cooking experiment.  Maybe I should put one up to pay for our failed IVF.

Just kidding.  I’m really not trying to beg for money.

I’m just mad at my body.

I’m mad that we’ll have to spend some of our rainy-day savings to pay for something that didn’t even work.

That’s when I look back up at the clear blue sky and say, GOD!!  We’re getting ready to go into the MINISTRY FOR PETE’S SAKE!  To serve YOU!!!  And you take our savings and leave us barren yet again around Christmas and the due date of the baby we lost.  Can you cut us a break?!

Maybe you read this blog and you’re not a Christian.  Hi.  You’re totally welcome here.  See, up until about two years ago, I thought being a Christian was all nicey-nice with flowers and puppies and nativity scenes and crosses hanging behind the choir loft.  So warm and fuzzy!

But it’s not.

It has taken this emotional roller coaster to make me realize that the nativity scene and the cross represent something many Christians (and people who aren’t Christians) overlook about following Jesus: suffering.

And once I throw that word out there on the Internet I immediately feel hypocritical.  I’m not suffering in the sense that I’m hated and beaten and people are trying to crucify me, but I’m definitely hurting in my heart.  And this kind of hurt, if you’ve never felt it, is deep and intense and I’d say it’s pretty close to suffering.

So what do I do now?

Right now, I’m just a little ticked off at God.  He has hurt my feelings, and I’m OK with admitting that because it’s true.  I am not the kind of Christian who is willing to sit here and tell you that being a follower of Jesus is always my favorite thing.  Sometimes (like right now) I’m not really sure why I do it.  Except that I know it’s true.

And for those of you who aren’t Christians, I’m sure you think I’m nuts.

But the alternative of either believing in nothing, or believing only in myself (which, let’s face it, I suck), sounds more hopeless than trusting a God who has hurt my feelings deeply.

Those of you Christians who have prayed for us over the last few months, thanks.  I don’t understand why the answer was “no”, but it was and it will take us awhile to figure it out.  But I have never felt more supported by fellow Christians, and I’ve never really understood how amazing the church is until now.

And those of you who aren’t Christians and you still prayed?  Thank you; I know that was probably weird for you.  You are amazing and all I can say is that the God to whom you prayed did hear you, and he did answer…but the answer wasn’t what we all wanted.

I wish God was a genie in a bottle and I could have three wishes.

But that kind of god wouldn’t be as powerful as my God is, even though sometimes I don’t like his plan.

And that’s where I am three days later.  I’m about 3/4 angry, and 1/4 numb.  I don’t really want to talk about it, or think about it, or remember that it happened.

Maybe this is called denial.

But here I am.

For now.

The holidays are upon us and the baby and I skipped town a few days early to have a few extra days to visit with family (sig-o joining us early next week). It’s one thing to be hundreds of miles away from family and not have to tell them what’s going on… but it’s another story when they’re right there with you. So what do they need to know?

Probably nothing. And this isn’t exactly the easiest thing to share. Three years ago when I had my miscarriage, we were very open about it. Some were uneasy about this, questioning whether or not we should be so open. Even now, though, I have no regrets — we needed help and support then and no one could have given it to us if they hadn’t known what was going on. So isn’t this the same kind of situation? I clearly need support now. But how do you tell family that you have postpartum depression without them immediately jumping to the conclusion that you’re a danger to your baby?

But how much does family ever really need to know about our lives? A little is reasonable, but full disclosure is rarely the route to go. The disclosure isn’t actually the hard part here…it’s the follow-up questions. I recently told my step-mother and the barrage of questions was overwhelming. Granted, she’s known for mind-numbing probing, but it was particularly painful this time. So I have to give credit to my sig-o — he literally stepped in and told her that if she had questions she could direct them to him because he didn’t want to cause me more stress by having to talk more about it. Wow. I must say it felt soooooooo good to have him swat her away like that.

So I think the question isn’t, “What do they need to know?” Instead it’s, “How do you tell them?” The answer — don’t do it alone.

Just got done watching “Away We Go” with John Krasinski and Maya Rudolph. It was so good. It made me cry, laugh, cringe, and long. It was just about a perfect movie. I also really identified with one of the characters by the name of Munch. In her 30’s, married to a great guy, adopted a bunch of multi-cultural kids, but cannot carry a baby. She was on her fifth miscarriage. I felt for her so deeply. She loved her adopted kids like they were her own blood, but couldn’t carry one in her body.

I had a dream once upon a time in my life. On my list of things to do I always put a Teacher, a Writer, and a Mommy. I wanted to feel the thrill of a life inside of me, experience every awe and mystery of gestation. I wanted to go through the pain of childbirth, and hold that new, wrinkly, alien-looking infant in my arms with my husband looking on. I wanted the sleep deprivation from 3am feedings, and to feel the suckling of a baby’s lips on my breast. To me, nothing seemed sweeter.

I started grieving the dream when I was 24. They had just found a 48lb ovarian cyst in my abdomen, and it had to be removed, along with my right fallopian tube and ovary. I was told I could still conceive and carry to term with no problems. I’ve had numerous visits to the gyn/ob, and he’s told me over and over that there is nothing wrong with my uterus, remaining ovary, and cervix. I should be able to conceive and carry a baby with no problem. This is even while I was morbidly obese and pre-gastric bypass.

I had the bypass for many reasons, one of them that I wanted to be able to carry a child at some point. Being a Mommy was still in my Top Three for “Things To Accomplish In Life.” However, the years kept rolling by, and there were so many complications emotionally and physically that have made it difficult for me to take care of myself, much less anyone else. I kept holding to the dream though, looking forward to a time when I wouldn’t be in pain, my anxiety would lessen, and I would have money.

I’m not sure how I thought all of those things were going to happen, but I held strong to them.

In December of 2008, I became pregnant with my ex’s baby. I know exactly the night that it happened, as we didn’t have sex very often. They say you can’t possibly know that you’re pregnant right away, but I knew within three weeks. I was terrified to take a pregnancy test, because D and I had already broken up. It’s weird… I knew I was pregnant, but I didn’t want to take the test. I was throwing up more than usual, more moody than usual, and even though I am on the pill I started having very weird periods. The December one was unusually light. Then, in January, I started bleeding heavily.

I think I was about 5-6 weeks along when I miscarried. I told no one, because a part of me thought I was already crazy for even thinking I was pregnant. But I was. I was both elated that I actually conceived, and mortified that I would be tied to D for the rest of my life. I was ready though. Or I thought I was. When I miscarried I began a deep depression. I attributed it to all the stress of the previous months; all of the over time at work, the break-up with D, getting M out of the house and my life, and my landlord/roommate moving out. I was alone in the house after having been surrounded by people for a very long time. Of course I would be depressed.

The miscarriage itself wasn’t all that painful; I just wasn’t far enough along for it to hurt that badly. I even remember seeing the big clot in the toilet and knowing that was my baby. I thought about fishing it out and taking it to the ob/gyn, but decided to just… I don’t know, a burial at sea? I didn’t want to think about it anymore than I already had. I didn’t tell anyone. I joked with Kathy about it, and I think I even told Elyse that I thought I might be pregnant, but I blew it off. It wasn’t possible, it was the wrong time, and breaking up with D just made it worse.

The depression lasted quite a while, and then my body went into decline. I don’t know if it was a reaction to the miscarriage, or if I was already in a decline and that’s why I miscarried. All I know is that the next few months were incredibly painful, and it seemed like my immune system crashed. I went to my ob/gyn to see if I had any new cysts on my left ovary. My ovary was fine, but it turns out that I have HPV. I’d had a one-night stand in February, and we used protection, but I hadn’t used protection with D. I’m a dumbass for simply trusting him.

There are so many reasons I miscarried, and I must admit that while I am still grieving over it, I’m glad that it happened. I’ve been seriously discussing getting the Essure implant in my left ovary to prevent further pregnancy. My body has suffered tremendously throughout my life. I have chronic anxiety disorders that can send me into a spiraling depression and irritability that is horrible to be around. I want no child to have to endure any of my anger about anything. I have fibromyalgia, and possibly chronic fatigue syndrome. My hips are barely hanging on for dear life, and I teeter on the edge of diabetes. There’s a good chance that both the fetus and myself would be greatly endangered during a pregnancy.

I am a high risk.

And yet… I still grieve. Despite the fact that I have a difficult time being around other people’s children, I still long to give birth to one of my own. I say that I don’t feel the need anymore to procreate simply to see how my children will look like; I have seen my brothers and sister’s children, and I have proof of what my bloodline looks like. They are beautiful. I say that I don’t want to pass on any of the hereditary and genetic disorders that any child of mine would likely be born with. All of these things are true.

I still grieve. I still long. I still want to feel that flutter of life inside of me.

I grieve for the child I lost. It was all wrong, and I highly doubt I would have carried to term anyways.

When I started to try to do the study of yoga back in February and March, my yogini did a chakra/pendulum reading on me. There was movement in every chakra except for my Sacral chakra. It was around that time that I found out about the HPV, but I knew it was something else. Something had died there. And even though that fetus has passed through my body, I have been holding on to it in my heart.

I am just now letting go. I am just now letting myself remember the secret joy of knowing that I had a life growing inside of me. I am just now truly letting myself grieve over losing my most sacred dream.

Okay…okay…I realize I just showed my age (along with revealing the fact that I once listened to Winger). “Her daddy says she too young, but she’s old enough for me.” (That was for those of you who know the song)…LOL!

But on a more serious note…

I have to tell you about this student of mine…she’s seventeen, a senior.  BOTH of her parents died when she was at an early age, and she now lives with her older brother and his girlfriend.  From what I have gathered…the brother is not extremely stable himself because my student has no personal doctor, medical insurance (no Medicade yet), or personal transportation.

She came in to first period this morning, limping…acting as though it really pained her to walk. After everyone got settled, I asked her if she felt okay. She said she did, but another student said, “No Ms. Friendly! She just left the hospital this morning at 4 a.m. and she should go home!”

The “sick” student protested and said she felt fine. I told her, after looking over her release papers, that I wanted to speak to her in the hallway. I was alarmed because it seemed as though she had a miscarriage. I saw the words “pregnancy terminated by vacuum” written in her diagnosis. My heart immediately went out to her.  She said that she didn’t even know that she was pregnant. She also said that the fetus died while inside of her…she was THREE months pregnant.

She went on to explain to me that she has only had sex twice in her life, and doesn’t see how all those other girls run around doing it without getting “caught.”  She said she had questions when the nurse was talking to her, but her brother was in the room and she didn’t feel she could ask…She was concerned about internal infection, seeing as how the fetus was deceased when born.  I urged her to find a gynecologist.  She said that she would as soon as her brother applied for her Medicaid.

I tried to answer her questions to the best of my ability as well as give her a comforting hug. I felt so sad for her. These kids deal with so much! I just wish that I could save all of them!

Life is just so delicate…

What has surprised me most about this past week has been the outpouring of friends who have become my sisters and brothers in loss.  The idea that so many have also lost (sometimes several times) in this way, and are willing to reopen those old wounds to help me heal has made such an impression on me.  In the name of privacy, I obviously won’t disclose these friends identities, but I also didn’t think that a broad thank you was enough, so  here goes:

Sweet: Thank you so much for calling me as soon as you knew.  You knew exactly what to say as you’ve been through this before.  You also helped me by checking in on me several times and even spoke to another person that you thought would help me.  You shared my frustration with my Dr.’s office and understood how I felt better than anyone I spoke to.  I hope that your wounds were not refreshed by my loss, and I hope you understand how thankful I am for you.

Stranger:  You called me in my time of need, and I’ve never even met you!  I was shocked that someone who I’ve never met would be so generous as to share their own loss with a complete stranger.  I cannot wait to meet you, and am so thankful for your generosity.

Fair One: You were the first one to call on me.  We shared one thing in common.  We were (you still) pregnant for almost the same amount of time.  It’s so important to me that you did not shy away from me or seem cautious to contact me.  You had friends who’ve gone through this and you helped me to work through some things, whether you realize it or not.  We are newly friends, and I cannot wait to celebrate with you when you have your precious baby.  I hope we become better friends in the coming months as it seems that fate has put so many things in our lives that we have in common.

Blog Friend:  We have followed each other’s blogs for the past 1 1/2 years.  You emailed me and shared with me your personal experiences.  I know you well enough from reading your blog that you tend to keep stuff like that pretty private, so I am so grateful for you because you revealed that of yourself and dealt even more with your family’s hurt to help me.

Best Friend:  You’ve never been through this and I hope you never have to go through it.  You are the first person I call when anything goes amiss.  Just like always, you helped me through this.  Love you.

Caring One: You called me last night and opened your heart to tell me you’ve experienced this.  Again, I was so blessed to receive love from a friend who I don’t know very well.  Thank you.  You helped me feel better and I hope that you did not have to go through pain to talk with me.

There are even more people that have helped me through this, and many of them have experienced this same loss too.  There are not words that I can express to show you how grateful I am for you all.  Like tears are the body’s way of expressing feelings that one cannot express in words, my smiles at hearing your names and voices are my body’s way of expressing my sincere appreciation for each and every one of you.

I love you all.  Here is a little diddy to help show my appreciation.

"With A Little Help From My Friends"
The Beatles > Joe Cocker
What would you think if I sang out of tune
Would you stand up and walk out on me
Lend me your ears and I’ll sing you a song
And I’ll try not to sing out of key
Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends
Mm, I get high with a little help from my friends
Mm, gonna try with a little help from my friends
What do I do when my love is away
(Does it worry you to be alone?)
How do I feel by the end of the day
(Are you sad because you’re on your own?)
No, I get by with a little help from my friends
Mm, I get high with a little help from my friends
Mm, gonna try with a little help from my friends
Do you need anybody
I need somebody to love
Could it be anybody
I want somebody to love
Would you believe in a love at first sight
Yes, I’m certain that it happens all the time
What do you see when you turn out the light
I can’t tell you but I know it’s mine
Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends
Mm, I get high with a little help from my friends
Mm, gonna try with a little help from my friends
Do you need anybody
I just need someone to love
Could it be anybody
I want somebody to love
Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends
With a little help from my friends