My Hair...Or Lack Thereof

My hair has been gone for quite a long time now.  I'm oober bald so you think that my body would have adjusted by now.  But I keep having these crazy phantom hair moments (sort of like my crazy phantom boob moments where my skin will itch.....but it CAN'T itch....because there is no sensation what-so-ever.)

I find myself going to squeeze out my hair after a shower.  Squeeze it out like a ponytail which is a length of hair I haven't had in years.  Last night I was all sweaty and went to spread my hair out over my pillow to get it off my neck.  Hey, Lady!!!!  You are bald!  I will do something goofy with Hunter and a pillow and have a moment of: "Ack!!  I will have to redo my crazy hair!!"  Only to remember it is set in place and looks just like it did at the beginning of our hardcore wresting match.

It's kind of nice to have no hair.  No shampooing, shaving or heat torture (as a college professor called blow dryers, flat irons, and curling irons).  I am getting sick of having to wear scarves to protect my gleaming whiteness from a lobster-like sunburn and to keep my dome warm in the constant chilly A/C.

I have seen pictures of me from before cancer was even on my radar and my hair was AWESOME!  I know I felt like it didn't lay right, that it was scraggly and yucky and ugly.  

So here is my PSA for the day.  Even if you think your hair is mousey, scraggly, damaged, flat, too gray, too whatever..   You are wrong!  And if it was all suddenly taken away, you would think your hair was stunningly gorgeous because it kind of already is.

PS.   Go feel your boobs, today.

Unexpected Supporters.

AHHH!  Something about the way I wrote that last post has spurred a lot of comments and texts my direction.  Honestly, I don't care that much that people don't come to things like the butterfly release.  I was just really sad that after Archer died, there wasn't much support from the people who have lost children..... the people who are supposed to get it.... the people who are supposed to understand my heart demolition.

Basic rule of thumb.... If you give enough of a crap to read the last post, feel bad, and send me a text/message/comment, you m'dear, are not the problem.

Where Are You?

One thing I have learned through all of this is that help comes from the most unexpected places.  When your life explodes, things are utterly jacked up, and you don't know how you are going to move on, it is often the person (or people) you last expected who come running to pick you up out of the dust.

A distant relative you don't actually know very well at all sends your kid fun little gifts in the mail.  A network of people you have NEVER EVEN MET send you boxes of love.  Friends who probably aren't in the financial situation to do so continually make you dinners and force you to take them.  Friend to take off work to take you to chemo, even if that means taking you 3 times in a week because it keeps being cancelled.

What I am so sad about this morning are those people who are supposed to help, but don't.  The people you want to support, care for, and love you, but they are....what?   too busy??

I have come to accept that some people in my life simply can't handle it.  They can't handle talking about my disease or my children.  Some of you can't handle it.  It makes me sad.  It hurts my heart.  Because I have to handle it all the time 24 hours a day 7 days a week and a simple hug, phone call, "hey how are you?" from some very specific people would be really nice right now.

I recently attended a butterfly release for child loss.  The names of all of the babies are read and we all release butterflies.  It is very beautiful and I love it.  My grief for the loss of Archer really hit me at this event and has been with me ever since.  I am part of this huge, awful baby grief community right in my own backyard.  I was already tapped into this network before Archer died.  And I am realizing that in my local grief community....of the people I actually know and have meet face to face....no one called me..... no one send me a card....  no one has asked to see pictures of my son...  no one sent me a pizza...  no one sent me flowers.

I am trying to look at the positives.  To see the people who came out of the periphery to help and support me.  I love and appreciate your caring support.  I am trying not to see the people right in my face who I feel have let me down.  Thank you, Unexpected Supporters.  I appreciate every little thing you have done and continue to do

Blankets fo Care Packages

A sweet friend of mine honors my sweet babies

http://brightlifetoys.blogspot.com/2013/04/a-walk-to-remember.html?m=1

You love me! You really love me! (Thanks Sally Field)

When I am down and depressed, I feel so alone and lonely.  The stupid, evil voices in my head tell me that no one cares about me, that I am alone, that people are sick and tired of all my crap and the shit that keeps happening to me (I mean how long can you feel bad for someone, right?)

This is such a complete load of bullshit!  Because then I will get a Facebook message from someone I only met one time who remembers me and thinks about me.  A friend will start a fundraiser (just because she is awesome) and people donate $310 in under 24 hours.  What?!?!  My eye doctor will send me a card.  My plastic surgeon's office sent me flowers!  People that I haven't been that nice to for whatever reason (founded or not) send me messages.

These (sometimes) small things make me realize that the voices in my head feed me complete and utter shit.  Shut up, stupidheads.

I love you all. 

Lovenox

I still have to do Lovenox shots and I really fucking hate it.  (yes, the word "fucking" is necessary here.)  I don't hate it because it especially hurts or because it the shots are particularly bothersome.  I hate it because the whole point of these stupid shots was to keep my baby alive.  That is the only reason I was on the medication.  A lot of freaking good that did.

I am supposed to take them now to keep me alive; to prevent a blood clot in me.  I still don't want to do the stupid, fucking shots.   It's just another reminder (like I would ever forget) that the initial reason for the shots has left me.  That my baby is gone.....again...

Round 4

It's crazy how much you forget about the days after your baby dies.  I don't remember these things until they come up again.  I find myself saying "oh yeah.  I remember when Riley died..."

The days after I leave my baby at the hospital I can smell him/her everywhere.  My hands, soaps, certain foods, my skin.  I can't eat certain things because they smell like or remind me of my baby.  Applesauce bread, red meat, salad, bacon, eggs.  Most of those aversions will stick with me forever.  I still can't eat hamburger since Riley died a year and three months ago.  I'll never buy hamburger again.

A few weeks after I have seen my baby for the last time, the smells start to fade.  I will find myself shoving my nose in his blanket, sniffing the hospital gown that I stole (because I held him on my chest in it.  He stained the whole front between my bionic breasts.  I took it knowing I'll keep that scrap of fabric forever), taking deep whiffs of the Kleenex I put between me and him to try to keep him cool so he wouldn't break down as quickly.  The smell will fade, but I will continue to search for it and for him

Riley's smell has faded from everything she touched, so I know Archer's will too.  The thought crushes me and throws me into fits of panic.

I don't want to shower and haven't since giving birth.  I did the same with Riley.  I feel like I am washing Archer off of me.  It feels like I am washing the bit of him that I have left right down the drain.  The amniotic fluid that we shared, his blood and his fluids right down the drain when I want to keep it forever.  (I am aware of how crazy this sounds.  Especially if you haven't lost a baby or had a child whose body was still in good shape because they hadn't died very long before you got to see them.  I know.  But unfortunately, some of you will understand...).

I know I am done having children.  Losing 4 is too much.  I can't do this again.  I can't give birth to and hold dead child all night again.  I can't say goodbye to and leave another baby in the hospital.  It is too much.

Knowing that I am done, hurts almost as much as Archer's death.  Never again will I be pregnant.  I will never feel a baby kick again.  I will never have another newborn.  I will never give birth again.  I won't get to feel another baby grow and move inside of me.  Although pregnancy was always rough on me, (I was sick, bitchy, and exhausted) I loved getting to feel my baby.  It was this amazing special connection with my baby.  I'll never get that again and it's crushing.

It means my son is alone.  He doesn't get the baby brother/sister that he has been told 3 times will be coming to live with us.  I didn't want him to be alone.

I would love to adopt a child.  But I find it hard to believe that anyone would give a child to a woman who is fighting an aggressive form of Stage 3 breast cancer.  "I might not be around in 3 years, but please can I have that kid you are in charge of?"  I would never chose someone who is sickly and might not be around later to take care of my baby.  Of course, I would chose the healthy couple; I would chose stability.  Not the home with a mom who is sick from chemo, radiation and multiple surgeries and unable to care for herself, much less a new kiddo.

I know this all feels very self-defeated but it feels like the truth of the moment.