my own counsel

i had my last counseling session tonight, and in a way it was bittersweet.  before our recent loss, going to a counselor had never been on my radar.  after hearing from my sister that counseling had helped her deal with a difficult time in her life, and through much encouragement from my husband, i decided to give it a try.  i found that by talking things out and sorting through my feelings with someone not directly involved, i was able to learn and understand more about myself which ultimately helped me work through my grief.

 

obviously, it's not over yet, but i do know that it was one of the best things i could have done at the time.  i gave myself an outlet, regularly, and with sharing my experience it allowed me to start the healing process.

 

while wrapping up the session, my counselor asked if i had felt like i was progressing, and in thinking about it i knew that i was.  she confirmed it by saying that she'd seen me allow myself to grieve the loss of our twins and re-engage in my life and move forward.  if i had asked myself 4 months ago if i could ever foresee where i am now, i wouldn't have believed that i'd be able to get through a day without lily and lucas being the predominant and recurring theme or the emptiness inside threatening to overwhelm me.

 

i thanked my counselor for how she helped me, and she in turn said that she really needed to thank me for allowing her to walk this journey with me.

 

i am hopeful again.  and i feel alittle more like myself.  i may not be exactly the same, but who ever is, really?  and that's okay.  i can live with that -- not only because i have to, but because i wouldn't change any of it.  this is the course my life has taken now, and no amount of preparing would have made a difference.

 

the realization that i'm ready to keep moving forward is comforting.  on my way home, the song i was listening to seemed very fitting (with a couple of edits):

 

I thank my sister[s] for keeping my head above the water

When the truth was like swallowing sand

Now every morning, there is no more mourning

Oh, I can finally see myself again...

 

By the grace of God (there was no other way)

I picked myself back up (I knew I had to stay)

I put one foot in front of the other

And I looked in the mirror and decided to stay

Wasn’t gonna let [life] take me out that way

 

--Katy Perry, By the Grace of God

 

so as we gear up to say goodbye to 2013, i'm looking forward to a new year.  after all, i'm still here.

open letter

“Open Letter”

Thanksgiving 2013

 

Dearest Lily and Lucas,

Thank you.  Thank you for changing my life.

The last person I thanked for that very same thing was your father.

Let me tell you something about your father.  He wished for you – he wished for you long before I knew what to wish for.  I wanted to feel settled and secure.  To be ready.  To not only be ready for you, but ready for my life to take another turn.

I didn’t know then how much of a turn it would be, how long and windy that road would become, how rough and staggering the bumps that would surface.  Years of meeting with specialists, infertility testing, hormone treatments, endless blood work and ultrasounds, three procedures, and an IVF cycle – our last resort – built us a tough exterior.  Because the thing about not knowing is that there’s always another route to take, another step in the process.  And as frustrating as that was, we weren’t giving up until we had exhausted every avenue – tried, trusted, fought, sacrificed.  We told ourselves it would be worth it in the end.  Every tear, all the heartache, the stress and pressure, the gripping fear, the ultimate test of our patience.  It would all pay off.

And it did.  It so did, because we found out about you.  Two heartbeats, an extraordinary blessing.  I’ll admit it was a little intimidating, knowing we’d have you both at once.  But I considered it an actual miracle, in every sense of the word.

Every morning, I woke up thanking God for giving me you.  Every night, I sat quietly rubbing my belly to let you know I was there, grateful to have you inside me.  I kept track of your progress, how much you were growing, what you resembled.  A lentil seed… a grape… an orange… a bell pepper… a banana.  Each week, I’d send your daddy updates comprised of little pictures I’d create based on the size I believed you were.  From month one and on, we’d take a picture displaying the appropriate month’s number on my belly.  Oh, the joy… the joy was evident.  We’d often talk to you both, and daddy would kiss my growing belly to show you how much you were already so loved.

Whenever I heard the sound of your heartbeats, strong and sure, I was relieved.  I wanted to do everything I could to keep you healthy and nourished, to give you life.  I wanted to find a way to thank you for being the answer to our prayers.

Lily, to mommy’s surprise, you were the first to make an appearance.  Although I knew your chances were slim, I felt like my heart stopped when you were born and unmoving.  But then you shocked me again – by taking a breath – and there it was, a bubble of hope.  And here’s the thing about hope – it clutches hard and clings on.  I didn’t want to believe it were possible that you wouldn’t survive, didn’t truly hear those words until you were in my arms, so small and beautiful and still that my heart really broke in two.

Lucas, our strong boy.  You held on for three more days, against the odds, despite my body’s protests.  I was fighting for you, and you let me know you were putting up a fight too.  But then it was your turn to meet us, and you took your time.  Hearing you cry, watching you breathe, listening to your heart gradually drift away… It was overwhelming.  Overwhelming because you were ours, the likeness indisputable, your tenacity in your features.  You hung on for over an hour and then you were gone.  Gone from our world, but never in our hearts.

There isn’t a day that goes by where I don’t think of you, and there will never be a day that will go by that you aren’t a part of.  We hoped and dreamed for you, and had even bigger hopes and dreams for you.  If I had a regret, it would be that we didn’t have the chance to give you what you deserved.

But through it all, you did give us something.  A purposeful life.  Perspective.  Different hopes and dreams.

You showed us that the bonds of family and friendship can survive anything.  That we can come together.  That no one is left behind.  That my mom could finagle herself into my cloud of desperation and sorrow and pull me right out of it, in her own way, coming to my rescue even when I didn’t want to be saved.  That my dad could give you each beautiful and meaningful Chinese names, finding a way to express his grief.  That my in-laws could stay to play card games to help us avoid another night of feeling utterly and totally alone.  That my sisters could bear food and movies and comfort to get me through physically and mentally.  That my sister-in-law could bring trees to plant in your memory.  That my brother-in-law could cry with us.  That Nan could lead the family in a prayer, honoring you.  That my best friend could sit with me quietly, passing the time.  That your daddy and I would be showered with cards and flowers and gift baskets from various aunts, uncles, cousins, and friends far and wide – offering support, or a shoulder, or simply a listening ear.  That people, these people, love and care for us – just as we love and care for you.

So this Thanksgiving, I thank you.  I thank you for making me a mother.  I thank you for showing me what an incredible father your daddy is, and reinforcing that he is the only man that can make me whole.  I thank you for giving me strength.  I thank you for watching over us, for giving me hope again for a future that will always include you.  And most of all, I thank you for finding a way to love us back through those around us, even after you’re gone.

With love always,

Mommy

 

 

The last image of our twins, facing one another...

only a few hours prior to Lily's unexpected birth.

supported

i'll be the first to admit that i'm not very fond of calling IT/IS support.  often i feel that rather than going through the hassle of being on hold, waiting for a ticket to be generated, getting stuck with a bored/annoyed/way-too-busy analyst, then basically sticking by the phone expecting a call back is not my idea of fun.  actually, waiting in general is not particularly fun.

 

but once in awhile i realize that i have to suck it up, because let's face it, i don't know everything.  and sometimes i really need a specialist to help me troubleshoot and fix my issue, especially when it's related to allowing me to work.

 

which brings me to tonight.  i had had issues remoting into my work computer this morning, figuring that once i went into work and rebooted, that it would solve my problem.  not so.  after restarting several times, i decided to call it in, considering i'm on-call for the holiday and need to be able to access my applications.

 

as it's thanksgiving eve, i figured that IS would be swamped.  i even went as far as assuming the person i'd get on the other end of the line might be rushed, or bothered, or maybe not exactly in the mood to speak to anyone.

 

i was wrong, so wrong, on all accounts.

 

the person that picked up assured me that he'd get me in, even though i was clearly skeptical.  he was patient while waiting for my laptop to reboot, filling in the silence with talk of college and sports.  he asked whether i'd noticed recent updates, explained that windows had recently pushed IE11 which had been causing problems for people remoting in.  he walked me through the steps to change my settings, giving vivid descriptions ("do you see the little blue alien with 2 dots over his head?"), all the while answering my questions about what these details meant in terms that i would understand.  afterwards, he made sure i was in before asking if there was anything else i needed, and ended the call by wishing me a happy turkey day.

 

overall, the call was maybe 15 minutes but it left me smiling and satisfied.

 

in customer service terms, this is expected.  in IS support terms, at least in my experience, this was exceptional.  he didn't pawn off my problem as insignificant.  he didn't make me feel silly or stupid asking questions.  and because of what he showed me, i was able to troubleshoot on my own when i received errors signing in to blog just now.  he'd passed that knowledge on to me, and had done it cheerfully.  it was clear to me that this person likes what he does.

 

over the weekend, my dentist taught me a saying in chinese about the importance of truly enjoying your work, because liking what you do is more important than any amount of money that you could make.  the saying went something like this:

 

"bu pa zwen da sau; dwo pa zo da zau."

 

it's roughly translated to mean, "don't be afraid of earning less; be more afraid of leaving early" (or in other words, dying early).

 

i couldn't argue with that logic.  i took my first job after college knowing i'd be grossly underpaid but deciding that the knowledge was what i'd gain.  and that would serve me in the end.  looking back, it had.  it's invigorating to think about.  and i hope that it shows, too.

a bone to pick

i've been determined recently to batch cook on sundays to cover our meals (lunch and dinner) for the whole week.  last sunday, amongst other things, i baked up 8 salmon fillets that were really quite delicious, if i do say so myself.

 

that is, until i unwillingly swallowed a fish bone during lunch today and it got stuck in my throat.

 

i can't remember the last time that had happened, but definitely remember how irritating it feels.

 

after attempting to clear my throat, cough it up, swallow repeatedly, and even stick my finger down as far as i could get it without gagging (okay, maybe some gagging), i did what i normally do in any interesting predicament.

 

i googled it.

 

the search for fish bone stuck in throat yielded a bunch of insightful home remedies.  here are some of my favorites (from www.home-remedies-for-you.com):

 

• Fill your mouth with as many marshmallows as you can, but make sure that you can chew them easily. Marshmallows normally have a thick and spongy texture and they become sticky, when you chew on them. Chew the marshmallows just a bit, so that they are sticky and can be swallowed without choking. Swallowing the big, sticky lump of marshmallows should take the fish bone down. Once the marshmallow clears your esophagus, check if the bone is still stuck in your throat. If necessary, you can repeat this exercise with another mouthful of marshmallows. Drink big gulps of water between each time you swallow.
• Apply a thick layer of peanut butter to a large piece of bread and chew on it. Swallow the bread while it is still a bit sticky. Instead of peanut butter on bread, you can also chew on a mouthful of nuts like peanuts, almonds, walnuts and pecans before swallowing them. Even after being well-chewed, these nuts remain coarse in texture and their roughness may loosen the fishbone. Wash all the nuts down your throat with big sips of water before trying again. 
• Boil a few olives in a glass of cool water and drink the juice slowly, while it is still hot. This remedy usually softens the bone and causes it to slide down the throat within a couple of minutes. Alternately, try to drink a few sips of warm olive oil, as it will have a soothing effect on the minor cuts in your throat, caused by the fish bone. 
• Bite off a large piece of banana and just hold it in your mouth for a minute or two, so that it gets moistened. Swallow the entire chunk, without chewing it at all. You may need to have a large drink of water to swallow the banana more easily.

 

as i didn't have any marshmallows, bread, peanut butter, or a banana on hand, i settled for the olive oil trick.  and since i didn't really have any of that either, i thought the closest thing was some of the hummus i had packed.  i mean, hummus is made with olive oil, right?  and so i subjected myself to swallowing some of the glop slowly.  to no avail.  should i add an "of course," here?

 

then i proceeded to gulp down a ton of water, which also had no effect.  that darn thing was really stuck in there.

 

so i looked up a couple more DIY remedies, resigned to try some at home, ridiculous as they sounded.  and you know what?  getting a good laugh in was probably the best remedy of all.  at least it kept my mind off the prickly feeling for awhile, until i realized i couldn't feel it anymore.

 

cured.

starting over

just heard this quote from an episode of criminal minds that really resonated with me:

“Sometimes the hardest part isn't letting go but rather learning to start over.”
― Nicole Sobon

an anniversary haiku

i wrote a haiku recently for a cousin (in-law)'s wedding, so this inspired me to write one for my wedding anniversary, which happens to be today.

 

anniversary

the sixth since our wedding day

still in love for life

 

ilu beb!  to many more celebrations and inspired poetry.

hoppy halloween

since i returned to work a few weeks ago, i noticed a couple of changes.  a new fax machine, a new copier.  a different shuttle bus.  and an elaborate spider web that spanned from a yellow parking pole to the key card machine which opened the gate to the parking lot.

okay, interesting.  interesting that it was still there the next day, and the next week, and had somehow survived the weather and all the employees who swiped into the lot everyday.  after awhile, it stopped bothering me as much, considering i didn’t see the creater of that piece of art, and i was super careful to skirt around the thing when i had to access the lot.  plus it was autumn, aka creepy spider season, so it had every right to be there.  right.

probably about a week ago, i noticed that most of the web had been destroyed.  it was kind of a shame, as i had sort of become accustomed to seeing it, and after all, it had been sort of festive.  october and all.  you know, halloween right around the corner...

so this morning, being one of those glum, rainy, yucky days, i rolled down the window reluctantly, not wanting to be splashed.  in the time it took me to get my ID badge and move towards the window, something appeared in my peripheral vision.  something big.  something suspended there.

forcing myself to look, it was a spider, and i would bet my bottom dollar that it was the spider, the one that had been MIA for weeks.  the thing was beige, and something about that au naturel shade makes my insides squirm.  within seconds my fingers groped for the window button, but to my horror, as my window went up and up, the thing was coming down, down, down, legs squirming, INSIDE my car.

“ohmygodohmygodOHMYGOD!” i yelped, as it closed in on me and i managed to park the car, unbuckle myself, and jump out of my seat onto the console.  i tried to blow it away from me, but that only made it drop towards my seat, which still partially held the bottom half of my body.  too close.  way too close.

i looked around for something, anything, that i could use to get this thing out of my car.  my eyes caught on a balled up tissue in the side pocket of my door.  summoning up some courage, i used the tissue to disconnect the spider from the web i couldn’t see, throwing the tissue over it, which landed on the floor between the door and my seat.

taking a breath, i let myself into the lot, trying not to look down as i found a spot and parked.  quickly.  my skin was crawling and i was pretty sure i could feel the thing creeping up my pant leg.  ick!

i picked up the tissue and studied it.  no mr. spidey.  grrrreat, so he was in the car somewhere.  i stuffed it back into the side pocket, grabbed my purse and lunch tote, and made a speedy exit.

in my car window, i scrutinized my reflection, making sure i didn’t have some beige blob on my person.  in the clear, i looked down at the floor of my car.  a starburst wrapper.  another tissue.  geez, when did i get so messy?  and you know what?  it didn’t help that the floor of my car was beige.

i almost walked away.  almost.  thought it would just die in my car and that would be the end of it.  out of sight, out of mind.  even closed the door and was about to lock it, then told myself that i’d have to drive home tonight, and what if it were still alive then?  under my seat?  and it would be dark then too, so i wouldn’t be able to see it crawl towards me...

a shiver went through me.

with a groan, i opened the door and stuffed my belongings on the front seat.  studied the ground.  where was it?  picked up the tissue again, and ack!, it was there.  okay, it wasn’t that big, maybe the size of a nickel.  or a dime.  but good, at least i found it.  i thought for a moment, seriously considered leaving the tissue next to my car, decided i really couldn’t litter, and tried to figure out a way to make it crawl onto the ground.  strapped for time (i couldn't be out here coaxing a damn spider all day, darnit), i rubbed it gently onto the ground.  it stood there, unharmed.  bright against the wet blacktop.  it dared not to move.  ha!  who was boss now?  i had boots on, and it wouldn’t take much for me to smash it to bits.

instead, i just picked up a leaf and covered it.  then grabbed my stuff, took a giant leap away from it, and locked my car.  phew.

hoppy, er, happy halloween.

twin plots

this morning we laid our little ones to rest.

 

rest in peace, lily and lucas.  mommy and daddy will love and remember you always.

next steps

it's been nearly a month since we lost our little ones, and i've been hearing a lot about "next time."  what we should do in the next round of IVF.  how i should rest my body the next time around.  advice on what to prepare for next.

 

all this talk of next, next, next, reminds me that i have to move forward.  move on.  make a move.  and the thought of doing that makes me want to SCREAM that i'm not ready.  how can i move on without having to let go?

 

i also get a lot of the usual stuff about staying positive, keeping our spirits up, not giving up.  i know our family and friends mean well, but i never intended to give up.  if i gave up, we wouldn't have gone through all the crap we did to get here.  we wouldn't be here.  we wouldn't be doing this.  but we are, and the only healing element that seems to make sense is time.

 

that's the thing -- we need the time to heal, which seems at odds with how quickly life moves.  it's impossible to explain this to anyone who isn't going through it, let alone to ourselves.  i don't know what to do to make the pain go away, except to pray for time to do its thing.  and that won't happen overnight.

 

as with most things, it's so hard to convey this to someone who hasn't experienced what you have.  an understanding.  and that's what seems to be missing in all of this.  we don't know anyone in our lives who have gone through IVF.  we also don't know other couples who have ever experienced a late miscarriage or who have lost twins.  it's no wonder we feel very alone in this, despite our incredible support system.  the fact is, my husband and i are the ones who have to determine our next move.

 

so what's next?  only time will tell.

who knew?

we finally received our babies' cremains yesterday (and yes, cremains is a word i recently learned, who knew?), and it's given me a sense of closure.  it had been really difficult for me because our children weren't with us and we weren't able to lay them to rest.

 

we hadn't been receiving much communication from the funeral home, and since we'd never been in this type of situation before, weren't sure what to expect either.  how long did it normally take to receive remains?  what needed to be done?  what needed to be processed?

 

then we were asked if we wanted the remains as they came out or more fine.  not knowing the difference, we were told that when they came out as is, they would look more skeletal.  yikes.  we decided to go with fine, so we wouldn't be able to see pieces, but seriously, who knew??

 

when the funeral director dropped by to hand over the cremains, i was surprised by how light the box was.  he explained that the ashes wouldn't be white, although i wasn't expecting them to be.  i'm not sure what i was expecting.

 

now it's time to shop for urns, and i never realized how many kinds there are: pewter urns, bronze urns, ceramic urns, marble urns, glass urns, wood urns, biodegradable urns... not to mention the sizes: adult, child, pet, companion, keepsake?  really?  who knew?

 

and don't even get me started on how to settle on a headstone.  or two.

 

just another set of firsts we never thought we'd be encountering.

another first though, was last night.  it was the first night (probably not the last) that i went to bed with dry eyes.  i think having the kiddos with us gave me some peace.

mother hens

my dentist is a family friend; she has known my mother for ages and i've been seeing her all my life.  whenever it's time for my six-month check-up/cleaning, we chat for awhile about my life, my plans, and my mom, since her office is in the next town over to my parents', and i usually stop over to see them afterwards.

 

i enjoy these little visits.  even after i moved a good distance away, i continued going to her for my care because i couldn't imagine going to anyone else.  my sisters must feel the same way, because they've stuck with her also.

 

she has a daughter who's a bit older than me, and when i was planning my wedding, she gave me her daughter's gift box which i've in turn passed on to my cousin, my sister, and my friends.  once, during a holiday dinner and shortly after i'd had my wisdom teeth out, i felt my stitches had been bothering me so she held my mouth open with a spoon to check on them.  needless to say, she regularly goes above and beyond the call of duty because she's watched me grow up, and i've felt she's like another auntie, or a mother hen (in a good way).

 

recently, i felt some sensitivity in my back molar, and since it's one with a filling i thought it would be a good idea to check out.  it turns out that my filling had cracked and there was some decay under it.  luckily, it was caught in time before the decay had reached my nerve, so the decay was removed and a new filling was put in.

 

after my appointment, my dentist asked if i wanted to stay and eat the food my mom had dropped off earlier, since her office is in a converted house (where her and her family used to live), and there's a working kitchen and living room in the back.  at first i said no, but she insisted, even heating me up a plate and giving me hot water to drink (what is it with chinese people and warm beverages?), so i stayed.  she asked me how i was doing and didn't pry, although i was pretty sure she was up to date on my current state.  after i finished my meal, she said i was welcome to sit for awhile and watch TV, but i was ready to go.

 

originally i thought the gesture was due in part to my mom, but when i called my mom and she didn't seem to be behind it, i was really touched by my dentist's generosity and caring.  it was incredibly cute and sweet.

 

on the ride home, i thought of the mother hens in my life, and realized they weren't just in my personal life.  yesterday, my OB called just to see how i was doing and to let me know she was thinking of me.  and my boss called this afternoon to do the same.

 

look around and be thankful for all your non-mother mother hens.

avoiding the void

the other day, i was staring out of the window at the trees swaying in the breeze.  it was a sunny day.  beautiful, fall-like.  i stood there for several minutes, unable to move, as if i were paralyzed.  perhaps i was listening -- for the sound of the wind whistling through the trees, the birds chattering, insects buzzing.  but there was nothing.

 

silence.

 

each day, i crave for the quiet, wish for solitude.  not the can't-get-out-of-bed kind, or wanting-to-curl-up-and-cry-all-day kind, but more like the going-through-the-motions, wishing-i-could-stop-my brain kind.

 

it's like standing at that window -- the world goes on, but i'm stuck in this place, watching life happen around me.

 

i've felt this void ever since i left the hospital, a hollowness that grows as my body heals itself.  sometimes i would catch myself absentmindedly rubbing my belly, almost like a soothing gesture.  other times i would mind my belly when i was bending over, or buckling myself in, then remembering that my belly was no longer there.  every day i would lose another pound, and as i gradually ease towards my pre-pregnancy weight i feel an overwhelming sadness.  a finality.  because once i stopped getting up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, once i was able to roll over  comfortably on my side, once i didn't need to eat every two hours because of my protesting stomach, i knew it was really over.

 

i want to move forward, but am not quite sure how.  so i get up every day and get through it.  facing people seems like an impossible feat, but our families and close friends have been persistent in visiting, which have been welcome distractions.  although i've told my mom not to, she's been coming twice a week to spend the days with me.  we talk a lot and go for long walks, and it was only recently that i realized she needs our time together as much as i do.  that she and my dad and our families are going through this too -- that our loss is their loss.  our children.  their grandchildren, our sisters' first niece and nephew.

 

the days pass slowly, filled with books and bad TV and a to-do list i created to keep myself occupied.  and then there are the nights.  i'll go to bed and spend several hours taming my wild thoughts, but the sting of tears still come, hot and rushed and heavy.

 

that's how i know avoidance doesn't work.

 

and so i have to let it all in -- in order to let it all out.

the after

nine days.  it only took nine days for the course of our lives to change.

i think back to the utter joy we felt when we realized that our first IVF cycle had been successful, never once believing that just five months later we would be grieving the loss of our twins.

sadness seems to be the ongoing theme these days.  pure, unadulterated sadness.  hubbie and i vacillate between crying spells to feeling okay and back again, trying to take each day at a time.  the days have never felt so long.

 

and the nights are the hardest.

 

every night when i go to bed, i realize that one more day has passed without our babies.  like we're pulling further away from their memory.

 

whenever i close my eyes, i can see their faces, and then it just hurts all over again.

 

we feel stuck between wanting to move on, but not willing to forget.

 

i asked hubbie if we could survive this, and every day he assures me that we can.  that we will.

after we said goodbye to our son, we were discharged the following (saturday) morning.  although i was relieved to go home, being in our little bubble in the hospital had been a comfort.  the world seemed big, and scary, and reality just wasn't something that was easy to grasp.

 

reality can be cruel sometimes.

 

i don't have the words to describe what it's like to leave our children behind.

 

we came home to the netflix movie on our coffee table, what to expect when you're expecting.  to maternity clothes i had just ordered the week before on our doorstep.  to the remnants of our daughter's unexpected birth in our upstairs bathroom -- blankets, a stethoscope, the aspirator.

to instructions to finish out my prenatal vitamins, which seemed so pointless in the aftermath.

 

on monday, my breast milk came in, a painful physical reminder of what we had lost.  on tuesday, an automated appointment reminder for the fetal heart echoes, made two months in advance.

everything else seemed inconsequential.  unsubstantial.  i felt like a different person, unable to go back to the way things were, because it simply wasn't possible.  or plausible.  it's then i concluded that i'd never be the same.

 

and then came the guilt.  hadn't i done everything as instructed?  eaten all the right things?  been super cautious, knowing this was probably our one chance, after years of infertility, after three surgeries and countless tests, after taking a chance on IVF, always knowing that every week we made it through was almost too good to be true?  because that is how i'd felt -- lucky beyond all reason, blessed.  blessed that we were finally able to conceive, and we were given not just one, but two, because of all that time trying to so patiently wait was paying off.  because all of our prayers had been answered for good.

 

i can ask myself why, why, why? countless times, but have realized that the reasons are far beyond my comprehension.

 

the grieving process is such a personal, respective thing.  it's difficult to share it with others, but we recognize the outpouring of love surrounding us.  we are lucky.  and blessed.  perspective is a wonderful thing.

 

so another day... another day closer.  closer to what, i am unsure, but hopefully one day i will know.

 

"Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things." 

--1 Corinthians 13:7

names explained

*i've always kept names out of this blog... until now.  in memory of our babies, i wanted to share the names we gave them.*

"i think they deserve names," hubbie said.

 

and he was right.  as much as we'd struggled giving our babies the names we had reserved for them, we agreed that it would help to have a way to refer to them.  they had been born, had taken breaths, and so they had lived.

 

yes, they deserved names.

 

with that understanding, we talked through a couple of names that i'd brought up in the past.

 

"what about lily?" he asked.

 

"i've always liked lily."

 

i looked up the name meaning and discovered that the lily flower signifies innocence, purity, and beauty.  it fit our baby girl.

 

then i thought, since they were twins, it would be nice for their names to start with the same letter.  i liked the name logan for our son, but the name lucas spoke to me more.  lucas, a variation of luke, means light.  and it immediately made sense.

 

lily and lucas.  loved.

dual fates

after the eventful birth and death of our daughter on tuesday, i stayed in the labor & delivery unit on watch by the high-risk specialty physicians and nurses.  we were informed that the first 48 hours were the most important to get through for delayed-interval births.  normally, after being in labor with one twin, naturally the other follows shortly thereafter.  in my case, my cervix appeared closed, i was still not showing any signs of infection, so we would wait for nature to take its course.

 

around 3 a.m. on thursday morning, i woke up having contractions.  there was no mistaking the tightening feeling this time, and they were coming on strong.  i tried to figure out how quickly they were coming, and after experiencing three in less than fifteen minutes, i called the nurse to be hooked up to the toco machine.  they were coming every four minutes.  my IV was hooked up to start receiving fluids.  after a bag and a half of fluids, the intervals between the contractions started lengthening and the intensity of them gradually tapered off.  by around 9 a.m., they had pretty much stopped.

the arm that my IV was in was bothering me, and after a quick glance i realized that the upper part of my arm had blown up.  it wasn't painful, but apparently my IV had slipped due to its location, and the fluids had entered my tissue.  yikes.  the IV was removed and i was given a warm compress for the swelling.  just another battle wound.

 

our nurses did the routine fetal heartbeat check, and i felt comforted to hear that sound, like all the times before.  we could pick up an extra beat alongside his which our nurse explained were hiccups.  hiccups!  our little guy was hanging in there.

 

later that morning during rounds, the physician that had been seeing me congratulated me for making it through our first 48 hours.  at this point, we had some options.  one of the preventive measures introduced to us upon admission had been a cervical stitch, or cerclage.  my cervix would be sutured closed in the hope that it would help me gain time.  before that could be done, an amniocentesis would be performed to test for a bacterial infection around the baby.  although there was a 1/200 risk of rupturing membranes during the amnio, it was still a big concern for us.  our baby boy seemed to be doing fine, so why try to mess with that?

 

we discussed our options throughout the day and talked to my OB.  i was alittle wary to do anything after my round of contractions that morning, and wanted to let my body settle down.  hubbie and i decided not to have the amnio that day.

 

around 7 p.m., to my dismay, my contractions started up again.  they appeared to be seven minutes apart but longer than the ones i'd had that morning.  the toco machine confirmed this, and i was put back on fluids immediately, although i'd been staying hydrated throughout the day.  my bleeding had also increased some, which was a bit concerning.

 

a couple of hours later, we met with the evening shift physician to chat about our concerns with having the amnio and stitch.  we asked some follow-up questions and after our conversation decided it was reasonable to wait it out.  he stated that i had been listening to and doing everything the team had asked, and there wasn't anything more they could expect of me.

 

by 3 a.m., my contractions were still coming like clockwork, every 5 minutes now, and the pain had not decreased.  i could also feel our little man moving around, small popping movements accompanying the contractions.  i was exhausted and unable to sleep.  the nurse gave me something for the pain, which only dulled it some, so then gave me a sleeping pill so i would be able to rest.

 

i slept for about two hours until my bladder woke me up.  i was in and out of sleep for the next few hours, as i started having more cramping and pressure.  the day shift physician requested an ultrasound to look at my cervix.  once the tech stopped the image to grab the physician, i knew something was wrong.  he confirmed that my cervix was completely open and that our son had positioned himself face down in preparation for labor.  this meant that it was inevitable i would miscarry, and that they had done everything they could.  my OB was called, and preparations would be made for delivery.

 

hubbie and i grabbed a few private minutes in the bathroom to hold each other and cry.  we would be losing our boy.

my OB came to see me and express her regrets.  i asked if i could have something for the pain, as i was feeling the cramping lower.  he would be here soon.

 

right before 10 a.m., my water broke.  i was cleaned up and my OB and nurse started arranging for the birth.  less than half an hour later, i felt pressure and knew he was coming.  alone in our room at the time (and without any meds, mind you), i held onto my husband's hand and pushed.  i felt our son's head come out.  my husband called for the nurse, but i couldn't wait, and pushed out the rest of his body.  he arrived at 10:29 a.m. 

 

my OB and our nurse arrived and took over quickly.  our son cried out twice, and i felt him wiggling between my legs.  hubbie cut the cord, i was cleaned up several times, and we waited for the placentas from both twins to be passed.  in the meantime, our little one was cleaned, wrapped up, and brought to us.

only then was i given something for the pain, but my body no longer felt anything.

 

hubbie said our baby boy had a wider face, like mine, his features more serious.  as with our daughter, he had my nose, and according to hubbie had my mouth as well.  his limbs though, as well as his fingers and toes, were long, and we could tell he was much bigger than our tiny angel.  he was built like my husband.

 

as we held our little guy, we could see his chest rising and falling, his heart still beating.  he moved several times.  it was painful to watch him slip away, his heart rate slowing until he was gone, again too early, in my arms.  he had hung on for over an hour.  he was a fighter like me.

he weighed 14.9 ounces and measured 10 3/4 inches.

 

our families started arriving then, each taking turns to hold him, awed about him having the same "chicken legs" my husband had had when he was born.  how he looked like my dad while sleeping.  how beautiful and perfect he was, because he really was.

 

hubbie and i took turns holding him throughout the day until we were ready for the nurses to take him down to the morgue.  saying goodbye felt harder this time somehow, probably since i'd experienced the delivery, his movements, his last breath.

(i do have to say we are so grateful to all the providers involved in our care, especially the amazing nurses who took care of us around the clock).

 

i know now what it's like to feel such indescribable, instantaneous, incredible love -- and how much it hurts for it to be taken away.  there are no words really, to describe the heartbreak that comes with losing a child.  of having to bury both of our children.

thinking back to all the instances in my life that i've been sad, they seem so trivial and fleeting.  this is anguish.  this is sorrow.  this is our lives forever altered.

 

physically, i know i will heal in a matter of weeks... it's the ache in our hearts that will take much, much longer.

our angel

i don't normally preface my posts, but this will probably be one of the hardest things i've ever written.  since i want to be honest and true in my portrayal of the events, i know there will probably be some graphic details that are hard to swallow... but this is the story of our daughter's brief but meaningful life.

 

after 5 days on bed rest due to my preterm premature rupture of membranes, i was eager for our follow-up appointment on tuesday morning with maternal fetal medicine.  i was the first patient to be seen in their new office, so the upbeat mood was infectious.  the ultrasound check showed that there was still not a lot of fluid around twin A, but i appeared to be stable and would go for some bloodwork to check for any signs of infection.  my husband and i left the office feeling hopeful, and even ran into one of the physicians that had taken care of me in the hospital to relay the news.

 

on our way home, i told my husband that i felt slightly constipated.  i had what felt like gas in my lower abdomen and figured i could resolve it when i got home.  once home, i used the bathroom and felt better.  my mom then took me to have my bloodwork done while my husband went to work.

 

the symptoms returned and seemed to become more frequent, so once home again i decided to take a nap.  i wasn't feeling well overall and chalked it up to all the activity from the morning since i hadn't been out of the house in several days.

 

when the pangs didn't subside, i decided to get up and try to use the bathroom again.  my stomach, i noticed, felt bloated and rigid to the touch.  i sat on the toilet and waited so i wouldn't strain, and managed to relieve myself some.  i had an odd feeling on the "other" side, though, and before i knew it, had passed something much bigger.  instantly i knew it was the baby.

 

trying not to panic, my first instinct was to sit up but the umbilical cord was between my legs and i didn't want the baby dangling around.  i sat back down and screamed for my mom.  after several tries, i realized she couldn't hear me so i stomped on the floor as hard as i could.  that got her attention.

 

one look at my face and she knew.  i didn't even have to say, "i think i just miscarried the baby."  after a few shocked seconds between us about who to call, she took charge and dialed 911.  the dispatcher instructed us to scoop the baby up from the toilet onto a towel.  as i couldn't reach down and get the baby myself, i begged my mom to and she did just that.  the dispatcher told me to get on my knees in the hopes that i wouldn't continue labor with the second baby.  the dispatcher asked if the baby was fully formed.  to my shock, it appeared to be, the tiny head and body more detailed than i would have thought.  the dispatcher guided us through CPR by starting with chest compressions.  my mom started on those while i repositioned myself on the bathroom floor so i could sit with my legs apart to see the baby.  were there any signs of breathing? the dispatcher asked.  no.  would we be able to open the baby's mouth?  it didn't appear that we could, since it was so tiny. we heard the EMTs arriving then, so i took over the compressions, never imagining that after becoming CPR certified that i'd be using those skills on my own baby.  right before the EMTs entered the house, i saw the baby's mouth open -- and a bubble of hope raced through me.  the baby was still alive!  and gasping for air!  the dispatcher instructed me to give two breaths, but i couldn't quite figure out how as i didn't want to move it, and mercifully, the EMTs came barreling up the stairs so i could hang up the phone. 

 

the first guy used a child's oxygen mask to give the baby oxygen while taking over compressions.  he tried to use a nasal aspirator to give breaths but couldn't fit it into the baby's mouth.  the others started assessing the situation and throwing questions at me.  one of them, while surveying the scene, even got alittle choked up as he promised me they would do everything they could for me and the baby.  the plan was for them to get me to the closest hospital due to the circumstances, but the hospital diverted them to my network which has the children's ER and more specialized care to be able to accommodate us.  then they had to get the okay to clamp my cord and cut it to separate me from the baby as they would be taking the baby first and i would follow.  once separated, the last thing i saw was the baby being hooked up to an AED machine, the pads too large for its chest.  the EMTs helped me up so i could walk to a chair and be covered in a sheet (thankfully), since i was literally naked from the waist down, and in front of 4-5 men, no less.  they strapped me in to take me down the stairs, then moved me to the stretcher to get me into the ambulance, a quite bumpy ride considering our driveway is gravel.

 

once in the ambulance, i was set up for an IV and fluids, and the EMT in the back with me remarked about how calm i was being.  i'm pretty sure he was waiting for me to go into shock or hysterics, but my mind was so engulfed with wondering if our baby had a fighting chance that i wasn't thinking of myself.  the twenty-mile ride was agonizing.

 

we were met at the children's ER since my baby arrived first.  i had never seen so many people awaiting us, ready to get to work.  i was placed in a room, asked a bunch of questions, set up on machines, dressed into a gown.  it wasn't until a nurse asked me if i wanted to hold my baby that i realized it hadn't made it.  i said yes.

 

my OB arrived and a scan was done to determine the state of the other twin, which was still intact with a strong heartbeat. 

 

a nurse brought the baby in wrapped in a purple blanket, and once the tiny form was in my arms, i broke down.  i don't think i've ever, ever in my life felt heartbreak quite like that, seeing features so much like my own, so still and peaceful.  my husband arrived then and all we could do was hold on to each other for a good cry.  the staff members left the room to give us some privacy.

 

as the sex hadn't been able to be determined from our previous ultrasounds, we peeked and realized our baby was a girl.  a daughter.  and now an angel.

 

we held her for a long time, hubbie marveling how she had my nose and chin, and we even discovered that she had what appeared to be a mole below her left eyebrow, identical to mine.  there were fingernails and toenails on her tiny hands and feet, eyelids and earlobes on her beautiful face.  she had just come too early.

 

i wondered aloud what would have happened if i had realized i was having contractions and been in the hospital at the time of delivery, but hubbie reassured me that i couldn't have known, that at 21 weeks her lungs hadn't developed and she simply was not viable.

 

i was moved to the prenatal unit and the chaplain received us in my room.  she said a prayer with my family that had arrived.  i was quickly moved again for a more detailed scan with the high-risk specialist and my OB.  they determined that twin B appeared to be doing well, unaffected by what had happened with his sibling, and that now we were faced with two options: terminate, due to the risks involved (infection, preterm labor and delivery, complications with the baby), or to continue with the pregnancy despite the risks.  we decided to play the wait and see game yet again.  my umbilical cord, still dangling between my legs, was tied off and snipped to reduce the chances of infection.

 

once back in the room, we were given paperwork to fill out her birth certificate, and after long deliberation decided that we couldn't name her.  it was just too hard.  the nurses dressed our daughter in a little pink outfit, cap, and blanket, then took pictures of us with her.  they prepared a book which included the pictures and her tiny handprints and footprints.  she weighed 12 ounces and measured 10 inches.

 

today we finalize arrangements for her and can only hope and trust that her brother does not follow with a similar fate.  we pray for strength -- for us and our baby, as i'll likely be in the hospital until delivery.  we pray for time -- the more we can gain, the better his chances.  and we pray for peace -- to comfort our healing hearts.