Dare I Hope?

From 11/23


I have wanted another baby for 3 years now.  I know that's not that long for some people..... there are others out there who have tried to get pregnant for years and years and years.  Still the last 3 years have felt like a lifetime.

Each time we have gotten the happy baby news, it has ended in tragedy.....that child's death and a  trip to the hospital to deliver my baby.

So dare I hope?

We are beginning our adoption journey and it just now is beginning to feel real.  I know this is just the beginning of a long, long road, but I feel some hope creeping in.

I'm alive.

Yes, 'tis I.  Who has not written anything for myself since October.  For 6 months!

I don't know why I don't feel like writing.  Well no..... that's bull shit.  Sometimes, I feel whiny and I don't want to irritate people.  Sometimes it freaks me out for people to know that I AM NOT OKAY.  Because I try so hard to be okay.  To keep my feet moving.  But the reality is.  I am not always okay.

Something happened to me after my reconstruction (which was in February).  Something I can't explain.  It's like the reality of cancer finally has hit me.  Sometimes I cry for hours for no reason whatsoever.  In the middle of the day, suddenly I just ....can't....anymore.  I'm tired.   So tired.

I was expecting my surgery to me this amazing crescendo to my cancer journey.  This amazing body altering "ahhhhhh" end to the shit.  And it just wasn't.....isn't....

Surgery went fine.  Nothing bad happened. But nothing great happened either.  Don't get me wrong my body looks fucking amazing.  But, my body perception issues got worse, not better.  My mental health got worse, not better.  I feel like I need constant reassurance.  I have no idea what I really want.

I sincerely thought that this year of cancer crap was going to be a little blip on the radar of my life.  I would get through the 365 days of treatment and be done.  The cancer cannot come back, I will not be dying.  Just limp through the year and it's over.  Riiiiiiiight.   Treatment is over an now I'm being buried by the tons of baggage I've been carrying around because I've been too busy being a medical guinea pig to deal with it.

In an attempt to maintain my little disillusion, I have completely separated myself from the other patients at the cancer center.  I don't talk to anyone.  Ever.  I have been having infusions every 3 weeks for a year and didn't talk to people.  I sit with my little headphones in, watching TV on my laptop, being super friendly to the nurses, but ignoring the other patients.  Yep, I'm that bitch.

I know why.  It's because I couldn't handle it.  They might die.  Any freaking day.  And they remind me of the reality of cancer.  And they say things that I just can't hear.

 They say things like, "This is chronic. What we have is chronic."  This from a woman who has been on chemo for 9 YEARS.  When her cancer stops responding to one type of chemo, they switch to another.  She is dying. Period.

Or "That's what I said too the first time around.  This is the third time I have done chemo and my hair....blah....blah"  Honestly I can't remember what else she said.  I tuned out at "third time."

Or there is that lady they took to the ER last week.....

But my ostracized state is about to come to an end.  As you know cancer has taught me to get out there and do stuff even if it scares the shit out of me.  I recently applied to go on a First Descents trip this summer and just have to chose my dates. I am going kayaking with 13 or so other cancer patients/survivors.  I'm terrified of the kayaking (the first thing you have to do is learn to roll the thing....IN WATER.  You're legs are strapped into that shit!  I can't swim! ah!).  But a realization has come upon me.  There will roughly be a dozen or so of us.......at least one of us is going to die.  Somebody is going to lose.  I don't think I can handle getting to know someone who is going to die.  I can't lose someone.  I DO NOT want to get close to someone over this amazing week of freaked out bonding, just to have them drop dead.

It's all too much.

Day 2: Identity

I have had serious identity problems since the loss of my babies and my battle with cancer.  I don't know what I am.  I don't know who I am.  I don't know what I am doing or where I am going.  I am trying to be okay with that.  I am trying to roll with it and go where I go.

Day 1: Sunrise

Ok it's a bit past sunrise, but don't worry we are always up before the sun thanks to my miracle son who wakes us in the early, early morn.  I love the morning.  It's my favorite time of day.  It's when I feel most alive, energized and at peace.  It is quiet and still outside with only the small creatures to keep one company.  It's chilly, you need a blanket until the Colorado sun can warm you up.  The tree in this picture is my baby tree.  We plant flowers under it for my kiddos.  I leave them bouquets, pinwheels, Easter eggs.  There are wind chimes and bird houses hanging from it's branches.  It is full of life and love.

Pitied by the Pitied

Recently we attended the Walk to Remember's annual event.  During this event, the names of our angel babies are read, we release balloons to honor them, and take a stroll around a big lake

This is our third time attending this event.  I remember the first time Mitchell and I attended to honor Liam.  We went alone.  I was very, very pregnant with Riley.  It rained on us the entire time.  Very few people actually walked around the lake after the name reading because it was cold and down-right miserable.

I remember reading the names printed in the program and just about losing it over the repeats of last names.....  Hall, Hall, Hall.... Schultz, Schultz, Schultz.....  Holly, Holly, Holly...   All with different first names and dates of birth/death.  My heart ached for those parents.  Coping with the death of an infant once....ok...  But 3 times?!?  I didn't understand how those women were breathing, how they could keep trying, how they kept on living with such an enormous hole in their hearts.

And now...2 years later.   Jackson, Jackson, Jackson, Jackson.  Liam, Riley, Ben and Archer.  I am the pitied one.  The one the mom's with one loss see and think "it could be worse, look at that lady."  "Thank God we only have to do this once, not four times."  "Oh those poor parents.  How are they still breathing?"

To answer your question, Fictional-Pretend-Imaginary-Lady, I don't know.

The walk was especially hard this year for reasons that are so hard to explain.  See...People that have lost babies and now have their rainbow...drive me crazy.   They hurt my heart.  I feel bitter, sad, and oh so jealous.  I will never have a rainbow.

Yes, loss happens, but it doesn't happen to everyone.  People in the loss community will tell you that not all babies die.  It is intended to give pregnant women hope.  It's true, not all babies die, but mine do.

Parents who have lost a baby deserve to have another more so than a mom with 5 kids who has absolutely no clue whatsoever how damned lucky she is.  They deserve it more.  They deserve a happy ending.  But it hurts me more.

Today kicks off Infant Loss and Awareness Month as well as Breast Cancer Awareness Month....Ha!   I guess October is my month......

I am going to try once again to "capture my grief."  Carly Marie runs this program each October where you capture your grief in photos.  One photo each day.  Last year I started but it was just too damned hard for me.  This year I am going to attempt it again

I'm in the The Denver Post!

I'm pretty stoked to share that an article was written about me in my local newspaper.  I'm feeling famous.

Click here if you would like to read the article.

I think I will be carrying my silly little paper around with me all day.  I have an infusion later (assuming decent platelet counts) and plan to show the nurses my paper like a proud parent.

Somehow, I am slightly sad.  (Maybe it's my Nyquil haze.) I guess it is because I'd rather have my babes than an article.  I'm tired of dealing with the extraordinary.  I would like a plain, boring life thank you very much.

Maybe someone, somewhere will read this and be inspired.  Maybe someone who just lost a baby will realize that they aren't alone; that there are lots of use wading through the heartbreak every. damned. day.  Maybe someone will be able to get out of bed tomorrow and go on a walk.   Maybe that's too optimistic for one little article, but those are my hopes.

3/6/2013 Finished 5:50am

3/6/2013  5:50am

Archer,

I am holding you on my chest right now.  Right between my fake boobies (the cancer took my real ones).  I don’t know why you died.  I don’t understand why you had to die.  I love you so much.  We would have given you a good home and more love than you would have known what to do with.  You would have practically smothered in all the love we have stored up for you.  I am so very sad that I don’t get to raise you and see you grow up.  I am not the best mommie in the world, but I try to be a good mom.  I know I would have tried to do the best and be a good mommie for you.  Your big brother, Hunter was pretty excited about you.  I think he wants a baby in our house.  He would have loved you too.  Daddy is very sad.  He loves you too and is crushed not to get to watch you grow up either.

I know you are in Heaven (at least I am pretty sure...) I know you are in a beautiful place where you will NEVER hurt.  I know you are playing with Riley, Liam and your twin brother B.  What I don’t really know is how I am supposed to get there so I can see you again someday.  Daddy says I am going, but I am not very sure.

I am so happy I got to see you squiggle so many times!!  You were so good at it!!  Everytime I saw you on the ultrasound machine, you were just bopping around.   You wouldn’t hold still or lay the right way for them to see whatever it was they needed to look at.  You wouldn’t unfold your legs so they could see your boy bits either.  I love your stubbornness.

I am not sure how I am going to get through losing you.  Sweety, you were my last hope for another baby.

Your little body isn’t doing very well but I am hesitant to let you go,  I don’t want to let you go.  I want to bring you home and make you a part of our family.  But you aren’t here anymore.... you are in Bliss.

How do I memorize your smell?  I had forgotten this part.   The craziness.  They hysteria over anything you touched.  Wanting to preserve anything that may have your fluids on it.  I am considering taking this hospital gown because our fluids are on the front.  I want to cut it out and keep it.

We have decided not to let them do an autopsy.  We don’t want them cutting on you and the results won’t matter anyway because you are my last pregnancy.

added 8/9/2013

I love you little Squiggles.   Good-bye.