Thursday, November 1, 2012

Beneath the Porch

Sorrow, however, turns out to be not a state, but a process.
 - C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed

In my early teens, I had a dog that got into rat poison. 

I remember looking underneath the porch and seeing her body. I called out to her, thinking she was just asleep. But after a minute or two, I knew she was gone. 

She'd given no indication that she was on the brink of death. I remember being confused; not understanding why she didn't come up to the trailer door and scratch on it, letting us know she was sick. She'd simply slipped away, quietly. No doubt she'd been in agony, her stomach churning as the indigestible chemicals took their toll. It was as if she knew her fate, and didn't want us to witness her life slowly cease.  Her last act of loyalty, in some slightly noble, considerate way.

**

Recently, I've learned that it's in my nature to suffer alone.

I've never been one to lack transparency. With a hurt so deep, so earth-shattering, there are several reasons why I feel I can't talk to nearly anyone about my grief. 

Like my dog, I don't want people to worry or for my pain to feel like this cloak I'm passing onto their shoulders without permission. If you ask me how I'm doing, do you really care? Or instead, are you wanting me to parrot that I'm "doing okay" so that you can breathe a sigh of relief and go about your day? If you ask me how I'm doing, do you honestly want to know? I don't trust that most people actually want to know every inch of my grief. And I haven't yet figured out how to hold back without lying entirely. It always comes out in verbal vomit or not at all. I can't reconcile the two.

Going back to trust...I don't share because, how can I honestly trust you with such sacred pain? How can I be assured that you won't discredit it by encouraging me to "Rejoice in all circumstances!" Was Jesus rejoicing in his hours in the Garden of Gethsemane? Of course not. Am I saying my pain is anything close to what Jesus experienced? I wouldn't dare. But I do believe that my Savior is empathetic to me. And I believe that even though I am to regard Him with fearful reverence...He respects my pain. He understands. He doesn't rush me to echo Sunday school answers. He wants me to use my pain. How can I trust you when there's a possibility you might say something as idiotic as "You'll have more children;" the statement said by itself and alone as if having other children will somehow replace the ache and hole that I will always have in my heart. Yes, I crave for my womb to be filled like I crave oxygen, but don't comfort me by disregarding Carlie's brief life and the loss that we experience from that.

Finally, I don't share because some people have a way of making me feel shamed for even grieving. The single-most traumatic, crushing thing that's ever happened to me (only three months ago) is somehow pushed to the side, replaced with statements of what are meant to be encouragement. However, they leave me feeling like I'm a bad Christian because I can't seem to wrap my mind around this thing called grief. I so wish I could just lean on the promises of the Bible and leave it at that. If I could only just repeat them, like a religious mantra... maybe I could be okay. These people who can move on from loss and press on toward the next step, so passionately; I envy them. I have always felt pain deeper than most people. I consider it a gift and a curse in the same breath. It allows me to be empathetic to situations I haven't even experienced. I listen to people with my whole heart. Yet it also doesn't allow me to fool myself into feeling okay. It knows me too well. That masquerade is fruitless. 

I'm a Christian, but I'm struggling with trusting God with my whole heart and life again. 
I'm a mother, but I hate my body for how it betrayed me. 
I'm at peace that Carlie is in heaven, but I hate with every breath that she isn't here.
I'm prayerful, but there are days I even struggle to pray. My desperate, tear-soaked prayers to keep Carlie on earth were overlooked, so how can I trust that they even matter?

I'm a lump of contradictions.
This is me; take it or leave it. 

Tuesday, September 25, 2012

Letters to Carlie Wren:

Please check out my Tumblr, which consists of letters, songs, etc. that I wish I could share with Carlie Wren.


Saturday, September 8, 2012

Carlie's gift to us: Sunday

I want to tell you about a Sunday I had recently.

It was a few weeks ago, actually.

Chloe, my niece, stayed with me after Carlie's memorial. Wesley and I had received a mailer from Journey Church. It resembled a mailer normally sent out by our previous church, New Walk.

For those who are new to my blog, my life has been anything but normal for several years. After spending four months in Asia with Revolutionary Life International, my husband and I relocated to Florida for a season, and found a wonderful church family there. It was like nothing I'd ever experienced before. Unfortunately, we could never get our heads above water financially. After a year of being Floridians, we moved back to Tennessee, where I returned to the job I left prior to going to Asia. I found out I was pregnant a week after we moved to Tennessee.

After everything that happened with Carlie, I understand so much more why we were supposed to come back to Tennessee. I couldn't imagine going through all of this while being 10+ hours away from family, and I can't imagine being at any other hospital than Jackson-Madison County General Hospital. Like God has done so many times before, he directed our path long before we knew what we'd face.

However, I'll admit it: I missed New Walk as soon as we arrived to our new-old home, and I've been shamelessly comparing every church we've visited to the equation that is New Walk Church. Nothing came close. I was beginning to get discouraged. We found a fit at our previous church. We were involved in the Youth Ministry, had several close adult friends, and felt included in a tight-knit family of believers. As we rode to Journey Church, I said a silent, simple prayer to God: Lord, please let this be like New Walk. I know it won't be exactly like it, but please...just let it be a little like it.

We arrived, and the feel of it was inviting. Comforting. Like a soft blanket on a rainy day. I breathed deeply, exhaling, for the first time that week. There were two worship songs that I didn't recognize. However, once the third song began playing, I recognized it immediately.

We were camp leaders for one summer while at New Walk. During those few days, there were several worship songs that gained significance in my heart. It's hard for this not to happen, especially when you see teens worshiping to a song with reckless abandon; hands held high, faces to the ceiling, singing out to God. Even though they are universal worship songs, there are some I consider "New Walk songs."

He is jealous for me. Loves like a hurricane, I am a tree. Bending beneath the weight of His wind and mercy...

 I immediately felt a welling of warm love flooding inside of me. God was letting me know He'd heard me. He was letting me know that I mattered. After a trial that felt like it consumed me, He was filling me up with a teaspoon of strength. Because, you see.. How He Loves is very much a New Walk song. More specifically, it is a De^oted Youth Camp song. I was taken back to that summer when the room was elbow to elbow with young men and women, worshiping with their whole hearts. I was home. The message followed, and the style of the pastor and his passion reminded me of our previous pastor.

...I realize just how beautiful you are and how great your affections are for me.

After this, we decided to go see The Odd Life of Timothy Green. Mind you, we didn't know much about it. The only thing we knew for sure is that the storyline told of a couple who struggled with infertility. One night they decide to dream up what they believe their child would be like, writing the characteristics on pieces of notebook paper. They put them in a box, and bury it in the garden. And out grows a child. Their son, Timothy, with all the attributes they dreamed up. I knew I'd identify with the storyline due to the subject of infertility alone. I was prepared to cry.

But the movie was so, so much more.

We've seen this movie twice and both times, our cheeks have been soaked with tears by the end of it. It's a movie of love and loss, reminding us that some children only come into our lives for a season. Carlie Wren was our free bird, and she flew away when her purpose was fulfilled. If the movie had come out a couple of months before all of this happened, the significance would be drastically different. I'd cry a little, say that it was a great movie, and move on. Instead, this movie has become yet another way we feel Carlie is speaking to us. Some words Timothy spoke to his parents... it was like hearing Carlie's voice instead.

["I didn't tell you because there's nothing you could've done."
  
"Don't ever give up."]

Also, Wesley and I both agreed that the girl in the film, Joni, reminded us of who we thought Carlie Wren might've been. She had similar features, and her style, entirely quirky and earthy, made us think of her. 


Lastly, the movie opens with an adoption worker asking the family what qualifies them for adoption; what makes them good parents? They answer "Timothy." Carlie Wren has done the same for us. Though we were never really able to parent her, she has made us better parents. Because of her short life on earth, we will never take moments for granted with our other children; the children I know in my heart we will have. We recognize, truly feel in our bones, that this life is a vapor. Here one day, gone the next. Not only do we recognize, but we have witnessed it. We have witnessed and understood, to our very cores, the fragility of life. When I hold my next child in my arms, breathing and squirming about, I will be full and lacking, all in the same moment. And I will know that their big sister, Carlie Wren, is saving us a place in heaven. A place where we can one day be together again.

 Oh, how He loves us so
Oh, how He loves us 

How He loves us so.

Sunday, August 19th, was a gift -- from My heavenly Father, and from my sweet baby girl. 

Wednesday, August 29, 2012

I'm not okay, I swear it.

 Disclaimer: The title "I'm not okay, I swear it", is to explain that unlike a lot of women that can make the step of returning to work after four to six weeks, I cannot. It does not mean I'm going to harm myself. It does not mean that I'm not going to continue to heal through all of this. Please understand that, sweet readers. I'm "okay" in Christ, but "Ashley" is struggling...and I'm making the steps to continue allowing Him to be my healer. This is a glimpse into the dark side of grieving, but I am not letting it consume me. I am not letting it win. Thank you. - Ash

When I was thirteen, I began cutting myself.

I'd use razors usually, though I'd also scratch until my arms were sore.

My acts were partly peer led, and partly self-soothing. If you aren't a former cutter, you can't understand the euphoric peace that floods across your body the minute you drag the blade against your skin. I would often run my fingers across my scabs and torn skin, loving that my pain could be manifested into a physical representation. Somehow, in a ceremonial way, I felt that I was releasing all of the negativity that weighed me down.

This wasn't true, of course. I was using avoidance through self-harm. Instead of facing the disgustingly ugly truth of my emotional pain, I preferred to distract with physical pain instead. Instead of processing through why I hated myself and dealing with my raging emotions, I stuffed them inside with cuts to my arms.

After I found God, I completely stopped cutting. He took those emotions I'd been feeling, and He channeled them to the foot of the cross. I can safely say that managing my emotions has been a beautiful work in progress since my Jesus accepted me into His family. Until I could experience that dance of healing, the change wouldn't take place. I was simply lost in my own bloodletting.

**

There is a certain culture I've witnessed in the Christian grief community. Noticeably, a Christian mourner is less likely to go off of a deep end than someone who has nothing to hope in. This is understandable. In ways, it's beautiful. Yet in other ways...it puts this insane pressure on the Christian mourner. Also, simply knowing who Our Father is, we are expected to be strong because our strength is in Him. To show any less is a disgrace to His healing power. One can't be a witness to His power if we appear powerless, can we?
For me personally, at times I've questioned the "Christianess" of me. I was watching A Duggar Loss, which showed The Duggar Family discovering their 17 week old baby's heartbeat had stopped. As soon as the ultrasound tech confirmed that she didn't see a heartbeat, Jim Bob and Michele immediately quoted "The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. Blessed be the name of the Lord." I was shocked. Honestly, it confused me. Though after this was spoken, significant tears began to fall...it still baffled me; the automatic, almost robotic response. I don't begrudge the Duggars of this. I think they are living, walking examples of unshakeable faith in God. But I could not do that immediately. Ever.

Here is where my problem lies. Though my faith is unshakeable, my flesh isn't. While so many people have responded after grief with joy as an automatic response...that's something I simply struggle to do fifty percent of the time. Though I know my Carlie Wren is in heaven, and had a better Tuesday than I'll ever have this side of heaven...I struggle back and forth between being devastated and joyous about this. I've read perspectives from Christian bloggers who speak of returning to work in four weeks. I so long to be like that. I long to get past all of this, so I can move forward and not feel like the slightest push toward taking a step sends me into an anxiety attack. Does the fact that I'm struggling more than "most" Christian women mean that there is something inherently, spiritually wrong with me? I'm too weak, where other women have been so very strong, right?

Is the picture of me, completely, a picture of God and His strength? Or can I simply not shake these things aside because I'm simply not strong enough in my faith? I don't know the answer, but I can't help but envy these women who move forward quickly; who can compartmentalize grief and daily life and somehow come out more content than they were.



So, this is what I do know. 

The following is my own raw, beautiful wreckage that Carlie Wren left behind.

My name is Ashley Calvert. I have been off of work since July 10th, when I was admitted into the hospital due to incompetent cervix. What I thought was a routine check up turned into one of the scariest moments of my life: knowing I was dilated; knowing it was too soon for her to survive. We prayed til we couldn't form words anymore, and I fought against infection and bleeding.

Fourteen days later, I laid my baby girl to rest. I couldn't leave her graveside, and a huge, bloody hole has been punched in my chest since July 21, 2012 when she was born into heaven. I am a mother, but my arms are empty.

I tried to go back to work on August 6th, but the Wednesday before, I had my first post-partum appoitment with my doctor. She strongly suggested I take more time. When I had three more break downs that day, I realized she was right.

I tried to go back to work a second time on July 27th. I lasted about two and a half hours before my husband had to come get me. Everything in the office was a trigger. From the people I'd previously talked to about my pregnancy, to seeing tiny, pen-scratched numbers on Wednesdays of each week on my desk calendar, marking how many weeks I was along. I angrily whited out the numbers, and when I came to November 28th, with DUE DATE written in huge letters and circled, I lost it.

I've developed anxiety attacks about returning to work. I had my first counseling session today.
I'm taking anti-anxiety medication to help with the bouts of anxiety. I've been on them since I was in the hospital. I've had thoughts on four occasions of overdosing on pills, though I am always able to rationalize my thoughts out of that valley. Before all of this, I was a very care-free individual. Even in my darkest days before I got saved, I'd never had suicidal thoughts.

 I haven't had a normal sleeping schedule since before I entered the hospital. Even now as I type, it's nearly 2:30 a.m. I've been on sleeping pills since the hospital, too. Some nights they work. Some nights they don't.

I worship to my very core these days. This experience has made heaven a tangible place for me, not something merely pushed to the back of my head. During times of worship, I almost feel I can reach out and grasp it with my bare hands. I long for my heavenly home as I long for breathing.Worship has become one of my favorite things to do.
I read my Bible with passionate longing.
I have floating ideas in my head of ways I want to help women who are/were in my shoes. If I don't do some of these soon, I might explode.
I dream a million, trillion times bigger than before. I lack the blind naivety I had at one time that "everything will work out." My eyes are wide open instead. I prefer it this way.
I love my husband harder.
I love my husband for who he is, not for what he does or doesn't do. It's amazing what you learn about a person in the midst of a horrible crisis.
I know the next child we have will be the luckiest child within a 200 mile radius, because we are going to be good parents. We are going to love that child like our lives depend on it. After a day of work when we're too tired, we will still get up and play outside. We will remember absence, and we will remember being full. We will be such a beautifully wonderful family.

Until then, I'm left trying to build a masterpiece out of the wreckage.

 Through my brokeness, might you rise me up again, Lord? Might I achieve the joy that surpasses all understanding once again? Can you make a beautiful story out of the mess that is me? I fear I fail you with my weakness. 

  So for the sake of Christ, I am well pleased and take pleasure in infirmities, insults, hardships, persecutions, perplexities and distresses; for when I am weak [in human strength], then am I [truly] strong (able, powerful in divine strength).

- 2 Corinthians 12:10, Amplified

Tuesday, August 21, 2012

31 Days - (Day -1 to 5)

{Day -1 (July 20th):
 I had a fitful night. I didn't feel like I was in my right mind, honestly. It had been ten days since I was admitted into the hospital. The emotional toll of everything was beginning to wear on me, and the doctors were concerned I would get an infection. We found out this morning that, where originally Carlie Wren had only her feet in my cervix, she'd moved to a squatting position. The doctor warned this made labor inevitable. He also warned that cord compression was a possibility. As with every day before, I cried until I lost the energy to create tears. Just a day before, it had appeared that Carlie had tucked her feet up higher. With the ultrasound today, it crushed the 7th wind we were riding on from the good news. Still, we remained prayerful, believing that God could create a miracle in Carlie Wren's survival. That night, I was placed on a contraction monitor per my fear that I was going into labor. No contractions were found, and at 4:00 a.m. that morning, I heard my sweet baby girl's heartbeat for the last time. It lingered in the 140's, as it had since I was admitted. I fought my sleeping pill, and for the first time, I was given both my sleeping pill and an anxiety pill so that I could sleep. It was the best sleep I had while in the hospital. Somehow, I feel like my spirit was being quickened, knowing that Carlie wouldn't live another day. Perhaps me fighting sleep was my attempt at grasping the last few moments with my baby girl. The last song Mommy played for her on the IPod, before eventually trying to sleep, was The Pretenders "I'll Stand By You."}

Day 1 (July 21st): 

I slept until 9 that morning, before meeting the doctor that was on call, Dr. Stacy Hunt-Okolo . I had never met her before, but she quickly became the angel I needed for this difficult day. 

I specifically remember that on this day, where I usually would've had Carlie's heartbeat checked on the doppler in the morning, I napped throughout the day and a nurse didn't get to me to check her heart rate until after 2:00 p.m.  At that time, the nurses spent what felt like an eternity, poking around near my pubic bone to try and get Carlie's heart rate. They reassured me that perhaps since she had dropped so low that getting a heart rate via the doppler wasn't possible. They ordered  that an ultrasound be done in my room by Dr. Hunt-Okolo. Wesley and I were anxious, but we didn't lose hope. We reasoned she was just too low to pick up a heart rate. After all, she'd had such a strong, healthy heartbeat earlier that morning. Surely, just as she had so many times before, Carlie was just keeping her Mommy and Daddy on their toes. 

They rolled the ultrasound machine into our room, coating the lower part of my swollen belly with the gel I'd grown accustomed to for the last 11 days. As the doctor began maneuvering the wand, I immediately noticed that our wiggly Wren wasn't moving around as she usually had before. I reasoned that she couldn't move a lot because of the absence of fluid in the sac. But soon, the doctor's sorrow-filled eyes turned to lock on mine. She grasped my hand as she slowly shook her head "No", her lips tightly held together as she communicated an unspoken message. She pointed out the absence of movement inside the four chambers of the heart. She explained it was difficult to see things clearly due to the lack of fluid. She asked if we'd like to have a second ultrasound after I filled my bladder, stating that the fluid might help us see things clearer to double-check. Relieved, I whole-heartedly agreed. As soon as the nurse and doctor left the room, I broke down. Wesley placed his hand on my stomach and we prayed a dozen prayers, much in the same language that Jesus used to will Lazarus to life. We weren't giving up hope. God could still revive her tiny, strong heartbeat. He could, if it was in His will. After the second ultrasound, we learned that nothing had changed. Our daughter was really gone. 

Through the guidance and encouragement of one of my nurses, Whittney, I decided to begin induction of labor that night, and the process began around 11:00 p.m. 


Day 2 - Carlie Wren's Birthday - (July 22):

Actual induction began at 3:30 a.m., and six hours later, my beautiful baby was born. My insides quaked with nervousness, as I wasn't sure what she'd look like. A 21 weeker isn't fully developed, and the longer the baby stays inside the womb, the more their body will change. However, as soon as she was placed in my arms, I fell in love. She was beautiful. She was perfect. She was ours. 



 Throughout my labor, my blood pressure plummeted at least three times. I was left dry heaving on several occasions, one of these being while Carlie was in my arms. It infuriated me that these sweet moments were interrupted by sickness. We were wheeled to post-partum, and I was so very grateful that they placed us in another room, instead of going back to the same room we'd spent the last week in. It had a beautiful view of the bright, cloud-scattered sky. I held Carlie in my arms for hours, taking ten and fifteen minute naps in intervals. I sang You Are My Sunshine to her, and scattered her firm forehead with dozens of kisses. I had my desired skin to skin contact, with her cuddled against the top of my chest. She was cold, but for a moment, it felt like she was cuddling me back. I looked at the sky to the right of me, and I sobbed; my baby was in Heaven. 


I never wanted to let her go, but eventually I had to try and get up to use the restroom. If I wasn't successful by 6 p.m. that night, I would need to have a catheter put in. After a horrible experience with my first catheter, I was scared to death of having a second. However, I wasn't successful. As soon as I sat down in the bathroom, I began to pass out. They used ammonia to bring me back, and it took me several minutes to reach complete consciousness. It was discovered that due to the large amount of blood I lost before and during delivery, I would need a blood transfusion. I eventually did have to have a catheter in, as my uterus began spasming due to the fullness of my bladder. This was by far the most physically painful thing I'd experienced in the hospital, and ever.

I couldn't bear to give Carlie's tiny, 11 ounce body to a nurse until well into the night. It killed me, and my arms ached the moment she was taken from me. 

Day 3 (July 23rd): 

I was given a blood transfusion, and received three bags of blood. After this, my color began returning to normal, and I started feeling better. There were many, many tears shed this day. Things were sinking in, and with each new realization, I was devastated. We battled with decisions no parent should have to make; burial or cremation. I asked for her body again, and a nurse brought her to me. I'm still not sure if this was the best decision, as she had deteriorated significantly. It was heartbreaking to see how fragile she was. Still, I was able to tell her the mommy things I'd wanted to say the day before, but couldn't muster the energy to utter. I sobbed as Wesley called for the nurse to come take her. Though my mind told me it was time, my heart just couldn't let go of her. I begged for more time, but in the end, it was best to let her go. I didn't want to cause her tiny body any more trauma. I went to sleep with a heavy heart, knowing that she would never be coming home with me. 

Day 4 (July 24 - Carlie's Graveside Service & Burial): 

The next morning, I was so ready to leave the hospital. This day marked two weeks since we'd arrived. I was torn, because I couldn't bear the thought of leaving my baby at the hospital without me being there. God mercifully orchestrated an opportunity for Carlie to be buried that evening. I panicked at first, pleading with Wesley, telling him I wasn't ready for any of this yet. However, my desire for her to be at rest overruled my anxiety. I finally got out of the bed, and Wesley and I cuddled on the hard loveseat in the room, positioned by the window. We watched birds fly by, and more tears were shed. I was finally discharged, with a little over three hours to spare before we were to be at the Graveside Service. I sobbed through the whole service, and leaving her side was one of the hardest thing I've ever had to do. If it'd been my choice, I would have camped out with her that night. These thoughts aren't rational. I know that my baby is in Heaven, rejoicing with the angels. But that fact doesn't automatically turn off my motherly instincts and need to protect and nurture Carlie Wren. So, I waited until the dirt tucked her in tight, and then I waited some more. I was so frustrated as I heard people talking around me. Couldn't they understand my world had stopped for a moment, and the last thing I wanted to hear was the outside world carrying on with business as usual?
Eventually, it was time to go. Wesley comforted me by describing her first night in the cemetery:

"She'll be out under the stars, out in the country. And she can listen to the birds." 

At the exact moment he said this, a chorus of birds began chirping cheerfully. I smiled internally, and it was just the strength I needed to rise from the ground, the soil of her grave rubbed into my palms, as we made our way back home. 






 Day 5 (July 25th): 

I received the first few edits of our photos, courtesy of Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep  and Brandy Kemp. They were breathtaking. We cried at how beautiful they were, and we mourned the loss of our daughter. I soon learned that aching sorrow would become a daily occurrence, not easily avoided.











Friday, August 17, 2012

What do you do when you're a modern day Job?

via Facebook

 

Though he slay me, yet will I hope in Him. - Job 13:15


 I was reading this article about a young woman who was caught in the crossfires of the Aurora, Colorado shooting. If you have a chance, I recommend you read it. It's inspiring, and definitely encourages us to not claim the martyr card when "simple" things are going wrong in our lives.

I was particularly fascinated by certain parts of the article:

  • Bonnie Kate wasn't from Aurora. She was passing through with a friend from a ten day vacation in Seattle, Washington.They were returning home to Baton Rogue, Louisiana when they decided to stop at a hotel in Aurora.

  • Bonnie Kate wasn't a fan of the Batman movies. The only reason they went to the midnight showing was because the lady at the front desk suggested the midnight showing at a nearby theater.

  •  Due to the chaos that the shooting created, she waited in the local ER for three hours before pain medication could even be administered. 

  •  Bonnie self-described that the various reconstructive surgeries she's received since the shooting have left her in more pain than the initial shooting.
** 

Bonnie Kate describes the pain she experienced. She doesn't ignore that. And yet, with everything, her response is to praise God. She forgives the shooter whose gruesome acts left her confined to a hospital bed until this past week. 

For so long, I viewed God as someone to protect me from all of the really awful things in life. Sure, I'd heard of other Christians going through hell and back, but somehow, I had this naive view that my life would always be, though wrought with problems, liveable.

The thing that hit me so hard from Bonnie Kate's experience is this:
God not only allowed her to go through pain, suffering, and fear...but he orchestrated events so that Bonnie Kate would be in that theater the night of the shooting. So many things could have gone differently. Perhaps if they'd driven just a little bit further, they would've been in a different hotel in different city. If they'd decided to go to bed early in their hotel room instead of listening to the front desk clerk, Bonnie Katie and her friend would be in Baton Rogue by now, planning other adventures.
Bonnie Kate didn't notice any signals to steer away from the theater. She didn't hear that still, small voice, firmly warning her from going. Quite the opposite. She said in the article:

"I’m not a huge Batman fan, but I thought, oh, it will be fun,” she recounted.

This may be my own opinion, but I believe that if God didn't mean for Bonnie Kate to be in that theater the night of the shooting, He would've given her some warning. We've all felt an internal security alarm go off in our spirits, haven't we? I know I have. Steering away from a person that just "doesn't feel right"; avoiding a place that makes your skin crawl. Those are all signs and signals from our heavenly Father, trying to protect us. In saying that, some would ask "Why didn't God protect Bonnie Kate then?" If you were to ask Bonnie Kate this, I'm sure she would shake her head in disagreement. He did. And He continues to, every day.

“When people say to me ‘Oh, Bonnie Kate, you’re so strong and amazing’, I say ‘I am not strong and amazing but I have a strong and amazing God whose grace I rely upon.’”
**
A painful realization I've come to recently is that God not only knew what I would face, but He allowed my cervix to dilate, my emergency cerclage surgery to fail, and my sweet Carlie Wren to die.

  In Angie's Smith's I Will Carry You, she describes a painful struggle during her pregnancy. She discovered through a routine ultrasound her daughter, Audrey Caroline, had a medical condition which would cause her to die shortly after birth. Angie went through a roller-coaster during this time.They hoped and prayed for a miracle, and right before their eyes, problems they'd encountered in a previous ultrasound were disappearing. Where a stomach and bladder weren't, they suddenly appeared.  Where three chambers around her heart had been, four were now formed. Eventually, the doctor took back that diagnosis, though was cautious about everything. Angie and her husband hoped and prayed for a miracle. They had hundreds of people in agreement with them. However, once her daughter was born... the NICU nurses discovered that Audrey wouldn't live past a few hours. After her child passed, she obtained the results from Audrey's genetic testing... and they found nothing wrong with her child.  Shortly thereafter, she had a friend who was due a few weeks after her. The friend had been diagnosed with the same medical condition as Audrey. However, her son was born screaming. Angie recalls thinking "What a beautiful day for a miracle!" No doubt the boy's family felt that everything had been a misdiagnosis, as the infant's lungs weren't even supposed to be developed, according to modern science. 

The boy died an hour after he was born. 

In all three cases, we had faith that everything would be fine. That God would allow our children to live. This didn't happen. We had families believing with us that everything would be fine. I had so many people tell me they "just knew" that Carlie would pull through. In some small way, {though hoping in the Lord renews strength}, we experienced more pain through hoping than we would have through accepting the doom and gloom the doctors were forecasting. The fact that our miracle wasn't granted felt like a cold, callous slap in the face.The world would say we were made to look like fools. "Look at your God now! Where is He? How can you believe in a god that abandons you when you believe He will give you a miracle?" 

**
 People say "God is weeping with you." Yes, He is. Just like Jesus wept over Lazarus, seeing the pain of Mary, Martha, and all of his friends. Jesus knew He was going to heal Lazarus, but He still wept. Why? Because we have a heavenly father that empathizes with our pain. However, this wasn't a surprise to Him.  He saw Carlie running to His arms long before I even knew I was pregnant. That is a difficult, bitter pill to swallow. I have the temptation day after day to ask why me? Some days, I give in. Other days, I remember how God brought me through each and every step in that painful journey, shortly before we found out Carlie died. Do I think this all happened because it's a horrifying result of our fallen world? Yes and no. Of course, if sin hadn't entered the world, I wouldn't know this pain, or any pain. 

However, God is a God of living and breathing miracles. If He'd willed it, Carlie Wren would've been another miracle to glorify God with. We begged Him for it. We wept for His presence, for Him to reverse all that happened. We claimed our Psalm 118:17 life verse over her, believing she'd pull through. We pleaded that my amniotic fluid would be restored, that Carlie's feet would tuck back up into my womb, that somehow, against all odds, we would be spared from the pain that loomed above us. And yet, like Bonnie Kate, we weren't. Carlie died, and it left a gaping, bloody hole in my heart. I had dozens of Facebook messages encouraging us during our hospital stay. Many people explained how they'd heard from another friend that their daughter/son was born at 21 weeks, and lived. We were given hope that never came. We held onto our faith, white-knuckled, and despite all of this... we weren't given our miracle. 

I'm never going to understand this side of heaven the exact reason for why my baby girl never saw the light of day. I also know that I had to come to a personal journey of acceptance to understand what I've written above. I don't think it's ever a wise decision to comfort a person in the midst of grieving that "This is God's will." Though deep down the griever may know it, that statement doesn't comfort in a time of immense, raw pain.

 Scripture promises me that HE works all things together for good. Just as Bonnie Kate has a platform to minister to thousands of people through her testimony, so will we. 


"If you're praying for a miracle, and God doesn't give you the miracle, you WILL be the miracle for someone else." -Nick Vujicic

Monday, August 6, 2012

How you've changed me...so far.

via smallbirdstudios


I've spent a lot of time lately talking about how much I miss you. 
I've told people about the ache in my heart, a space that is painfully absent without you here.
Sometimes I burst into tears, often without warning. I have to cry my hurt out, every last drop, before I can continue living in my day. Otherwise, the agony of grief will clamp down on my chest like an iron vise, not allowing me to move forward.
I sometimes don't feel like my motion is even forward. It feels more like I'm maintaining, or floating.
But not a good, riding-the-Dumbo-ride-at-Disney-World sort of floating.
This is the floating you feel when you have the flu, after you've puked your guts out.
That light-headed, nearly passing out sensation of exerting every last cell of energy.
          (I don't know why I speak about such things.
          It's not as if you have any clue of this type of misery, my sweet Carlie Wren).

***

What I haven't talked about is how much you have changed me. 
Some people might not understand my need to "pay it forward."
After all, wasn't I in misery the majority of the time?
The answer is, yes and no.
In times when nurses were fishing for blood in my veins, leaving harsh bruises on my skin and offering little sympathy, I suffered. I cried. 
Sitting with my head nearly at the ground, my legs sticking straight up in the air for ten days, wasn't the most comfortable position for sleeping.  Many nights I tossed and turned, tormented by my own thoughts and inability to find the comfort I so desperately needed.
Bathing every third day, my hair becoming an angry knot of dreaded tangles.
 Maneuvering a bed pan and avoiding getting up at all, trying to defy the gravity that was working against us.
Being confined to one room, where little sunlight drifted in, knowing that my baby girl had a zero chance of survival...those were some of the darkest moments of my existence.
Each day we clung to hope, only to be told you were further into my cervix, and that it was "just a matter of time" before you passed on to heaven.
I wept with the fury of a mother who felt her baby slipping away, yet was powerless to do anything to prevent it.

 Maternal instincts are so useless in times like these.

I'd never been a patient in a hospital, and with each new revelation of hospital life, I was scared.
Catheters, I.V.s, spinal blocks, epidurals, and blood transfusions were all introduced to me for the first time.
I shook with my fear. I felt like each time I'd finally experienced peace through recovering from one procedure, another wave of terrifying experiences followed.

You want to know the crazy thing about experiencing the worst pain of your life, trudging through the blackest days, and somehow surviving?
It makes you appreciate more.

Showers were heaven on earth.

One night, a sweet, angelic nurse named Kristy, along with my mother and Wesley, helped wash my hair. I hung my head off of the side of the bed, laughing at the absurdity of the moment. It was so full of tangles, Wesley and my mom had to work on my head of hair for a good 45 minutes before a comb could travel through the strands without catching painfully.

After sponge baths, Wesley would put lotion on my legs, perpetually itchy due to the circulation cuffs that were on them nearly 24 hours a day.
I felt like I'd had a day at the spa.

My mouth burned with thirst as I labored. As my mom placed ice chips on my tongue, I'd let out small sighs of contentment as it felt like pure heaven was dissolving inside my mouth.

As I held my blood-tinted baby girl, I marveled at how much she looked like a tiny, carbon copy of her daddy. I flooded her forehead with kisses, feeling like no kisses were ever enough. My lips still long to press against her frail skin, taking in her scent and studying her features. 

Little things became grand, breathing life into my body.

Recently, my heart has been pulled toward those other mothers on bedrest in the hospital, fighting for the lives of their babies. I wonder how many of those beautiful women have someone to pamper them as they lay in bed.
The wheels started turning.
What if I could talk to the hospital and, with their permission of course, set up a volunteer service where I came to the hospital and did something as simple as pedicures?
(I'm horrible at painting toes, but I'm willing to try harder).

Then, I started thinking about how many women lose their sweet babies, just as I have, and don't get pictures.
I can't imagine how my grieving process would've gone (and continues to go) without those pictures to look at several hundred times a day. I am so grateful to Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep  and their amazing organization, which allowed me to get professional, beautiful photos of my Carlie Wren for free through Brandy Kemp. Unfortunately, there are a lot of photographers in this area who don't/won't volunteer to do this service.
Then I thought, why don't I take a digital photography class, begin practicing and building a portfolio, so that one day I can give back the same service that I feel has memorialized my baby girl's features in my mind, forever?

You taught me to be brave.
You taught me how to be strong.
You taught me to dream bigger.
You taught me to love people harder.
You taught me to try new things.  
You taught me what it means to have raw faith. 

Most of all, you taught me to be my own kind of free bird. 
And I love you so very much for it.

Quote, Author Unknown.


 

"The amount of time on earth matters very little: a man can live in greed and pride 90 years and never find God, know Him or accomplish His Plan. A stillborn baby on the other hand, teaches people to love, brings people to the Lord, teaches us the tenuous nature of life and teaches us a faith that those who have not suffered loss can never know. A child not even breathing for an hour, can have an impact greater than a famous preacher. The purpose of a life is not ours to decide nor in our hands: it is brought about by God."

Wednesday, August 1, 2012

The New Normal.

My first painting for Carlie. She's wrapped in her quilt as her spirit soars to Heaven, my little free bird :)


I had my first post partum appointment today.

At the receptionist's desk, the woman said we'd need to speak to the patient representative before I went in to my appointment. I knew that was probably coming, and it wasn't a surprise. We sat down, waiting for my name to be called so we could talk to the lady about how our payment plan would be adjusted due to the recent events.

I tried to keep my eyes to the ground, seeing the swell of several pregnant bellies seated around me.

My name was called, and the patient representative looked right at me and asked...

"Have you already had your baby?"

I froze. I looked over at Wesley for a moment, the question knocking the wind out of me as I stood at a stand-still.

"She...she was stillborn," I whispered with a shaky voice, feeling my face burn with the sudden onset of raw anger and grief.

 I've always hated reducing Carlie Wren to that ugly word. She was very much alive inside of me. She liked Michael Jackson and was a night owl. She had a strong personality, even if we weren't blessed enough to witness the phenomenon outside of my womb.
  I wanted to sink into a hole. I wanted to do anything I could to avoid the awkwardness and fresh wound this woman had reopened. I thought to myself "Couldn't she have checked my file? Why doesn't she know?"

"Oh..." the woman paused, her face voicing the discomfort I felt. "I don't need to see you then."

We walked to the nearest chair, and I sat down, my head in my hands as I tried to force the tears away. I could feel the prying eyes of an extremely pregnant woman, seated in front of me with her hands on her swollen belly. I was mortified at the overwhelming emotion that plagued me, my chest tightening as I struggled to put my mind anywhere but there.

***

 I know I'm not ready to carry the stressful brunt of what my job entails. But, due to financial restraints, I'm not given a choice. My doctor gave me a suggestion (after first telling me that she believed I needed more time emotionally, though it was at my discretion when I wanted to return to work). She said a good idea would be to call my work ahead of time, and tell someone I trust to spread the word around; the word that when I return to work, I'm there to focus on work. I don't want anyone asking me about what's happened. I don't want anyone offering up condolences. I'm coming back to work to offer up the facade of "moving on", not to be reminded of the gaping, bloody hole that still wounds my heart. I thought this was a brilliant idea. The one thing I know I won't be able to escape, however, are the looks.

My husband and I discussed these looks. People know what you've been through, (everyone knows) but they don't verbalize sympathies. It's a double edged sword, because you actually prefer people that don't verbalize sympathies, at least the people who aren't closest to you; but the awkwardness of the looks are searing. They simply stare at you with a face that says it all; how sorry they are for you. Your tragedy is running through their heads, whether you condone this meditation or not. We loathe these looks. They feel manipulative, especially the probing looks that follow the question "Are you okay?" as if the person is expecting to share an emotional breakthrough with you as you cry on their shoulder, with you left wondering how on earth you got through your grief without them. My husband's biggest fear in going back to work is being the recipient of looks. I don't blame him.

Don't get me wrong. I love that we as humans care about other people, and that other people's pain is our pain. I appreciate that people care about us enough to hurt for us. But...when you're living with your own pain, day after day, you don't need anyone encouraging it. To feel that is a threat to the stability you're trying so desperately to create, more for everyone else than for yourself.

I'm reminded of this pain daily.

At night, it's as I cuddle against the tiny quilt made for a preemie baby. It still swallowed Carlie's tiny, 11 ounce frame when they handed her to me. Not a night has gone by that I haven't slept clutching it tightly.

It stares me in the face as I look into the mirror, seeing my belly that still screams "baby inside!" with its swell, but instead is painfully void.

It's in the strokes of my paintbrush as I try desperately to unleash onto a canvas.

It is inescapable. It is normal, my doctor says.
"Most grief takes six months, sometimes longer depending on the person," she explained with kind eyes.

I've felt this pressure to be okay for awhile now. Everyone else seems to be moving on, right? Everyone else seems to be comforted by the fact that Carlie's in heaven. Everyone else is moving on to every day life. What's wrong with me that I can't get through a day without crying?

"It's normal," my doctor said softly, several times during our conversation today as I explained that sometimes I feel such anger that I have to leave a room and regroup; as I described that I'm not sleeping at night, that I exhaust myself completely before I even attempt to crawl into the bed. I do this to avoid the fitful tossing and turning that usually accompanies my nights. With each toss and turn, I'm given another reminder of recent events; from flashbacks of the labor, to the anxious, helpless feeling I experienced each night I felt Carlie was slipping further through my cervix. Some nights I just pray and pray, hoping for the rest God promises to His children. Eventually, it comes, but the next morning I feel exhausted.

"It's normal," I'm reminded once again, my doctor's reassurance replaying in my head.

"Jesus said, 'Now My soul is troubled, and what shall I say? ‘Father, save Me from this hour? But for this purpose I came to this hour. Father, glorify Your name.”  

-John 12:27-28


Wesley's painting of our little Wren :)




Monday, July 30, 2012

"Find Your Happy Place."




I opened up one of my Dove chocolates today.

Daddy and I bought them because it used to be Mommy's favorite candy; until you came along.

-smile-

You never did like me to eat chocolate. Or drink orange juice. I miss the way you'd burn my stomach in protest.

I miss everything.

On the wrapper, it told me to "Find your happy place."

I thought about that for a second. Where is my happy place?
I can tell you where my happy place isn't.

My happy place isn't a place that sells caskets.
My happy place isn't picking out your grave stone and trying to smile about how nice it will look.
My happy place isn't in the middle of a crowd, seeing so many brown-eyed, dark-haired girls that remind me of what you might've looked like.
 My happy place isn't the aching waste of produced colostrum, taunting me...
and my happy place most certainly isn't nighttime, when I can't feel your kicks jarring my bladder.

I think of you most at night. Sleep isn't possible in quiet, dark moments, because then it reminds me that you aren't here. Our mommy-Carlie time was at night, when Daddy would play you songs on the Ipod and I'd rub my belly, hoping you could somehow feel the touch of my palm on your delicate frame.

I'm not sure I can find my happy place yet. I'm still restless in the in-between, before happiness is found. 

If my happy place were any place, and dreams weren't out of reach....

my happy place would be a lifetime with you.

Braiding your dark, curly hair. Listening to your musical laughter. Memorizing the dimples in your cheeks. Attacking you with kisses, until your tummy wiggled with beautiful giggles. Reading you stories for hours on end. Kissing each of your adorable, stubby toes. Telling you over and over again how much I LOVE you, until you roll your dark eyes and give me a gentle smirk.

One thing I have to remember is all of the mommy perfection I could give you is nothing compared to where you are now. You're in the place dreams are made of. The place that's a million trillion times better than Disney World. You are so blessed. And if I can stop my heart from aching for more than a moment, I know that. 

"When it's time to rest, Angels tuck us in.
I never get scared, Mommy.
There is no darkness here!
Jesus is the light of heaven."

- Mommy, Please Don't Cry..., Linda DeyMaz


Friday, July 27, 2012

Carlie Wren, born 7.22.12


My head is still reeling from everything.

 My heart is in agony over everything that's happened. In time, I will tell precious Carlie's story. Please see the link to the right of the blog if you would like to donate toward her Memorial Fund. I wasn't sure how to just do an "add your own" amount, but I think you can change the amount of your donation once you get to the PayPal website. Select "personal" as your donation so PayPal doesn't tax a big amount. Please don't feel obligated to give the specific amount in the drop down menu; anything will help. The proceeds will go toward our memorial for her as well as her grave stone. We are planning to have a memorial gathering for her, much like a birthday party. Since this is the only event we'll get to plan for our baby girl, we want it to be as special as possible.

Be at peace, baby girl. You are such a fighter, and momma is so proud of you.

Monday, June 25, 2012

18 week survey!

17 weeks, 5 days!


Baby's size? The size of a sweet potato, 5.6 inches, 3.5 oz (Baby was measuring at 6.4 inches on Saturday, so she's apparently taller than average :P ) 

Weight Gain? about 10 pounds

Sleep? It's been interesting. Some nights I can't sleep, because my brain is wide awake. Other nights, it takes a bit to get comfortable. I've had to migrate to the middle of the bed because it's firmer.

Foods I am loving? Cheetos and Sunny Delight!

Foods I am hating?  Nothing, really. I haven't been nauseous in a while, so that's been amazing!

Best moment this week? I've had a lot! I was taken off of pelvic rest, praise the Lord! The blood clot is apparently gone!  Finding out little bit is a girl!!!! And also, I was laying flat on my back on Friday, and I could feel little flutters inside of my belly whenever Wesley started playing his guitar and singing. She must love her daddy's music!

Symptoms? I still have bad skin :( I'm not happy about that at all. I've started to feel the "quickening" they talk about, but I feel like it'll still be awhile before I can flat out distinguish her movements. I still pass out after full days of activity. I've started having pains in my lower back, and oddly enough, the top of my butt muscles, haha! Pregnancy is so weird :p But I love it!

What I miss?  Clear skin :p

Lately:
We've been mulling over girl names. I'm still not sure we're both equally set on any one name. I've also started building a baby registry at Target, which is so much fun! 

What I'm looking forward to?
Deciding on a name and honestly, I'm ready to meet my little girl. I'm getting so impatient!

Emotions: Goodness gracious, they've been down this week. After my family left on Sunday, I've been really depressed. I miss them so much :( Also, I think the fact is sinking in that we're going to have to raise a little girl, and I'm so scared. Thoughts run through my mind; what if we aren't good enough parents? What if I don't know the first thing about raising a daughter? The fears are definitely abundant, but I'm trying to remain positive. Another vulnerable thing to admit is realizing that I won't be the baby anymore. This baby will have the world revolve around her, and that's a little scary. I go to my grandmother's to be reminded of the joy of childhood. When I visit, it's like for a moment in time, I'm a little girl again, just spending time at her grandmother's. Going home for Christmas will be a completely different experience this year. However, I know it'll be a million times better :)

Our Pumpkin is A...





Girl!!!!

I honestly wasn't expecting a girl at first. My lack of significant symptoms (morning sickness, etc) left me thinking that I had a lil boy growing inside of me. Then, two days before my ultrasound, I had a dream that I was having a baby girl. From then on, I was convinced we were having a girl :) 

We gathered our family members together for the big reveal. It was pretty comical, because the ultrasound tech kept saying "I think I know what it is, but I'm not going to call it yet." However, she accidentally let the "she" pronoun slip several times when referring to the baby, so we knew before she even called it officially! 

I have one thing to say about our little ladybug. She definitely has a personality already. For the majority of the first part of the ultrasound, she sat with her booty in the air, giving us a full view of her girl parts as if to say "Make no mistake, everyone. I am DEFINITELY a girl!" It was hilarious; the tech kept trying to get me to shift around to see if she would move, and all I'd hear out of the tech as she pulled up the picture on the screen was "Well, there's another shot of her bottom." There's probably at least 7 photos from the ultrasound of her girl parts. I think she was humoring us, saying "You all came here for a  gender reveal, so let me give you a show!" Wesley and I joked we'll have to get her a chastity belt at birth ;) 

The other part of the ultrasound, she sat on her belly, snuggled against the placenta. She literally had her face pressed against it, and she was facing toward my back. No matter what I did--shifting, exercise, verbal encouragement-- she wouldn't budge unless it was to wiggle away from the ultrasound wand. Because of this, we weren't able to get any clear 4d pictures that day. However, I get to come back to Sneak Peek 4d Ultrasound and get another glimpse of her for free! The tech said usually on the second visit, babies are more cooperative. 

Here are a couple of 4D pictures we managed to get during my ultrasound on Thursday, two days before the 4D ultrasound at Sneak Peek:

She likes to put her hands in front of her face :p 


A glimpse of her growing limbs and features!

Her cute little face! 


 
Profile pic!



5 toes!
Her little booty!
                                    

Wednesday, May 16, 2012

12 Weeks!

                                                             11 weeks, 5 days :)

Baby's size? The size of a lime, about 2 inches.

Weight Gain? No gain since last survey.

Sleep?  It comes and goes, though I usually have to wear myself out to get a full night's rest. I'm still waking up at around 5:30 every morning, and my upstairs neighbors love their bass-filled music beginning around 6:00, so I haven't been a very happy girl in the morning!

Foods I am loving? I don't really know. I've been craving Hibatchi this whole week though! I'm also obsessed with lemon water, only I literally put a whole lemon in my cup of water. So. Good.

Foods I am hating?  Granola bars, pasta, and I don't hate it, but chocolate seems to hate me.

Best moment this week?  Today! Hitting the 12 week mark is incredibly comforting. I know I technically have a week until I'm out of the first trimester, but just knowing I'm considered 12 weeks makes me feel amazing!

Symptoms? The symptoms have tapered off this week, which actually had me worried. I've heard it's normal, but I like having a reminder that everything is okay. I'm still pretty tired though.Oh, and my skin still looks like a teenager's. I don't think that's going away anytime soon.I also learned this week that I'm one of those pregnant women that truly cannot lift things that are heavy. I was told this at the doctor's office, but I thought a quick trip to the car carrying the dog's kennel would be fine. However, it caused me to start bleeding and I had to lay down for a while to get it to stop. I sort of feel useless, haha.

What I miss?  Not having to worry every day if I'll bleed again. It's not a constant worry, but every time there's a pull in my uterus, I wonder if that'll follow.

Lately:
I've bought a few maternity clothes. I tried to hold out, reading that some women don't wear them until around 15-20 weeks...but yeah, it wasn't happening. Also, it seems like my belly has grown a lot within the past couple of weeks. I tried on a maternity top, and I could clearly see my outlined bump. So cute!

What I'm looking forward to?
Vacation next weekend! Chattanooga and camping and a cabin and fun times!

Emotions: They've reduced some, but I will definitely tear up at relevant things, especially related to pregnancy and motherhood. My friend wrote a blog post about being a mother on Mother's Day, and yeah...sobbed without shame ;)

Monday, May 7, 2012

10.5 Weeks Pregnancy Survey!

I've neglected doing this, but I really need to start. I want to remember every little thing I can about this part of my life.

Baby's size?  Lil bit is the size of a kumquat!

Weight Gain? Hmmmm, if I had to guess, I'd say 3-4 pounds, which I've heard isn't bad. It's estimated that you gain a pound a week in pregnancy :p


Stretch marks? Nope :p 

Belly button in or out? Out, silly!

Sleep? This weekend was horrible for sleeping! I had a headache that lasted 24 hours, and then last night I just kept waking up for no apparent reason. Bleck.

Foods I am loving? Fruit! And cereal.

Foods I am hating? It really depends on the day. I do find that sometimes halfway through eating "real" meals, I'll start to feel disgusted, haha. I've been eating a lot of cereal lately.

Best moment this week? Seeing little bit wiggle around on the ultrasound after thinking I'd lost it. To this day, above everything else I've witnessed in my life, it is literally the most amazing thing I've ever seen.

Movement? I saw it move its little bud arms and wiggle its body on the ultrasound.

Symptoms?  Emo-tion-al. Without the tears, if that makes sense. I probably well up a million times a day, but tears only come if it's really intense. Which is strange, considering (quite frankly) I have no problem crying usually. Aside from that: morning sickness, food aversions to actual meals,  soreness in my abs like I've done crunches, and a little soreness in my lower back. Also, I'm breaking out like a teenager. I've always had pretty clear skin once I passed elementary school, so I'm wondering if this means I'm baking a baby girl? ;)

What I miss? My husband! Luckily he'll be home really soon. I don't think I've ever needed him more than right now.

What I will miss? Hmmm, I suppose the flexibility of being able to take off whenever, without consideration of a child's schedule or facilities needed for a baby.


What I'm looking forward to? My 4D ultrasound! It should be sometime in the middle of June!

Emotions: Up and down and all around. I've probably gone through the entire spectrum this week, because it's been so trying. Fear to dread to joy to relief...the gang's all here :p

Friday, May 4, 2012

Inside the Womb at 10 Weeks :)

Though he's barely the size of a kumquat — a little over an inch or so long, crown to bottom — and weighs less than a quarter of an ounce, your baby has now completed the most critical portion of his development. This is the beginning of the so-called fetal period, a time when the tissues and organs in his body rapidly grow and mature.
He's swallowing fluid and kicking up a storm. Vital organs — including his kidneys, intestines, brain, and liver (now making red blood cells in place of the disappearing yolk sac) — are in place and starting to function, though they'll continue to develop throughout your pregnancy.
If you could take a peek inside your womb, you'd spot minute details, like tiny nails forming on fingers and toes (no more webbing) and peach-fuzz hair beginning to grow on tender skin.
In other developments: Your baby's limbs can bend now. His hands are flexed at the wrist and meet over his heart, and his feet may be long enough to meet in front of his body. The outline of his spine is clearly visible through translucent skin, and spinal nerves are beginning to stretch out from his spinal cord. Your baby's forehead temporarily bulges with his developing brain and sits very high on his head, which measures half the length of his body. From crown to rump, he's about 1 1/4 inches long. In the coming weeks, your baby will again double in size — to nearly 3 inches. -BabyCenter.com


Thursday, May 3, 2012

Taking it day by day.

I've stared at my computer screen for a good ten minutes, not even sure where to begin.
*Also, if you're weak at the talk of blood or related things, I would avoid reading this post.

I don't know how to explain to you how the past 72 hours has effected me. As strange as it sounds,  I compare the aftermath to a tornado, or something equally traumatic. I feel as if I need to be debriefed concerning what happened to me on Monday night.  I need a process of healing, but how would I go about doing that when I didn't technically lose my baby?

I had passed another small clot last Thursday. I toyed with ignoring it, especially since my last one hadn't resulted in a miscarriage. But on Monday morning, I finally decided to call my ob and ask their input. They told me to go ahead and come in for an ultrasound. I did, and lil baby was right there, 170 bpm and snuggled inside of me.


 To make up for the time that I was gone from work, I went back to work and stayed late. On my ride home sometime after 5:30, I felt what can only be described as pressure in my uterus. Before I knew it, I felt a release. I looked down, realizing I was bleeding through my pants. I have never been more scared in my life. I made a u-turn, rushing home from my original destination (I was going to stop by the bank). I came inside, ripped off my pants, and suddenly...clots and blood started literally pouring out of me and down my legs. I can't describe to you how helpless I felt. Even thinking about it now makes me want to cry. At the time, I thought for sure I was miscarrying. How could I have so much blood and still have a baby? And what I hated about this was that I couldn't stop the clots from coming. I could stop anything from coming out of me. I couldn't catch my baby and put it back inside, if that's what was happening. I passed four or five of them (significantly large, at least golf ball size) while I was frantically trying to clean myself up. Blood was everywhere; it looked like a gruesome murder scene at times. I finally had sense enough to spread a towel on my bed and lay on my back. I was still bleeding, but this stopped the majority of it.

I just kept thinking to myself "I lost it. I lost my baby. I just had a beautiful ultrasound, and now it's gone."  I called the operator at my OB office in a frenzy, and she put me in touch with the on-call doctor. He basically told me if the bleeding didn't stop, I should go to the ER. But, if I could wait, they would see me first thing in the morning. He also reassured, although cautiously, that because I'd had an ultrasound just four hours before, the odds were in my favor of the baby being okay. I battled with what to do, and finally Wesley called my mother in law and she took me to the ER. There, I met a nurse that I can only describe as an angel. Literally. My name was called to be checked in, and she sat one on one with me. She asked me some questions, about the bleeding, how far along I was, and things like that. She explained she'd been through a miscarriage before. I mentioned that (as gross as it is) I'd caught what I was passing in a ziploc bag, because I'd read online that this might help the doctor figure out what's going on. Without a second thought, she asked to see it, and examined the bag. She told me, quite confidently, that she didn't see a fetus or tissue inside of it. She explained that this much bleeding wasn't good, but she didn't believe I was miscarrying. I was cautiously relieved, and she explained that the ER had at least a four hour wait. She said she would suggest me going home and propping my feet up, and coming back at midnight. Then she gave me the number to her direct line, and told me to call if I needed anything. I don't know how to explain how much I needed her, a complete stranger, at that time. Her approach was warm and endearing, and it was exactly the medicine and strength I needed to go home and sleep. I woke up at around 2am, and didn't go back to sleep until 4:30. The bleeding by then had slowed to just spotting, and I was slightly relieved.

The next morning I went in, and the doctor examined my cervix to see if it was still closed. He didn't tell me either way. He just explained he'd talk to me after the ultrasound was over with. I went into the ultrasound room, realizing it was the same tech I'd had the first time I thought I'd lost the baby. She asked me quietly if I'd like the t.v. turned on, and I said yes. My stomach did a flip as I wondered if I'd regret that answer. She placed the instrument on my stomach, and before I knew it, there was my baby. My breath caught, as I didn't immediately see the heartbeat. But soon, there it was, beating 167 bpm, measuring at 9 weeks, 6 days.


 The tech laughed, saying it was hard to get a measurement because the lil bit was curled inside of the womb. She said "if you can imagine, it's like it has its little chin tucked against its chest." I majorly reacted to that, letting out a lot of "awwww, how cutes!" and things like that. Then, towards the end of her pressing down on my stomach and trying to get the reading...I saw lil bit move for the first time. It was the sweetest, most amazing thing I've ever seen. Its little bud arms moved around, its body wiggling up and down. Again, I oohed and awwwed over this phenomenon. The tech said "It's saying "quit poking me! I'm trying to sleep!" which only made my heart burst more. Little bit is comfortable, inside of me. It's hanging on, snuggled inside, as if to say to all of us outside of me that we are just crazy to think it's going anywhere :p

The Dr. explained I am still diagnosed with a threatened miscarriage. He also explained there is some more fluid gathered outside of the gestational sac that could cause future bleeding. He basically explained bed rest doesn't really help, because if it (miscarriage) is going to happen, it's going to happen regardless of that. I'm still not sure how I feel about this advice, but I'm trusting that God has placed the right people in my path. The problem with having to go in so often is I've seen a different doctor nearly every other time. He signed a work excuse for that day and told me to go home and rest, but I could return to work the next day. I rented four Redboxes, and literally did nothing but lay in my bed all day long.

The trauma and pain of what happened didn't really hit me until last night. I called Wesley and basically had to literally process through everything. That was hands down the most traumatic thing that's ever happened to me, and I didn't realize how much it effected me until I felt myself wanting to fall apart at the end of yesterday. It instilled this fear inside of me; fear of bleeding out again, fear of losing the baby. It didn't help that the weekend before, I'd nonchalantly been watching birthing videos on Youtube and came across some stillborn videos. I watched a few of them, and I believe it's contributing to this out of control fear that transpired from my bleeding. He reminded me that I have to put my faith and trust in God, and not be fearful of what might happen. It was a tough lesson to swallow, but he was right. I will worry myself sick if I keep thinking about all the ridiculous things that could happen. I'm a Google junkie, and researching subchorionic hemorrhage doesn't completely comfort. If the fluid is a clot, then it has the potential to grow, and cause a miscarriage (even after the first trimester) if it breaks apart. A clot can literally push your baby out of the gestational sac and tear the placenta. It can also cause preeclampsia and preterm labor, as well as separation of the placenta from the uterus. Ugh. So. Many. Worries. So. Many. Fears.

“It is better to trust in the LORD than to put confidence in man.” 
-Psalm 118:8