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.

My son.....is amazing

At preschool they give the kids these boxes to collect change for children with leukemia.  Hunter started asking us for money for kids with cancer.  Then he wanted to go ask neighbors!  So we threw on our jackets (ok a ratty blanket in my case) and asked a couple neighbors for "money...or cash....or coins...." for kids with cancer.  Now he wants to know who he can ask tomorrow after sleepy time. 

My son is simply amazing.

Amy: The Bionic Woman

Plastic surgery.   Shudder....

I've always had an issue with plastic surgery.  I didn't like the idea of someone disliking their nose, breast, cheekbones, ears enough to voluntarily have themselves sliced and diced to look "better" and the way they "should" look.    I've always thought of it as a huge reflection on society and our ridiculous obsession with the current definition of beauty.  I won't go all feministy on everyone, just suffice it to say that I have never been a big cosmetic surgery fan.

But now, I have to say thank you to the throngs of people who have chosen plastic surgery over the last however many years.  Without them there would have been no one for the surgeons to practice on in order to hone their skills for my surgery  (Yes, I'm joking.  Yes, I am slightly hypocritical....oh shit is Anonymous372 going to nail me to the wall?!?!).  It is simply amazing the things plastic surgeons can do these days.  Just INSANE.

I have 6 more full days with these breasts I was born with (Ok, not born with.  That would have been an interesting labor and delivery story..... Growth hormones anyone??), the breasts God gave me, the breasts that are trying to kill me.  Fuckers.....

I met with the plastic surgeon yesterday and because I am curious and interested as all get out, I got to see all the junk that is going to be attached to me (or in me...ew) when I wake up on the 7th.  Oops, untrue statement; I didn't get to see the Alloderm, a "human tissue product."  Oh yeah (read as Kuzco from Emperor's New Groove.  For reference: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uT4ySwoh27Q&feature=endscreen&NR=1), it's made from dead people skin.  

All of this will be in or on me as I leave the hospital as the Bionic Woman!

My expanders.  They stick these hot-water-bottle-esque things under my chest muscle and fill them half way up with saline.  Every week for about 6 weeks, I will go into the doctor and get the new girls pumped up.  The weird spot on the expander, is the port.  A magnet is used to find the port under my skin and muscle.  Then a needle is shoved in there and I get inflated.  Like so:

 

Because they will be filling me up so quickly, it is supposed to be painful.  The goal is to get me pumped up before chemo starts to minimize the risk of infection.  Usually they prescribe Valium after each pectoral pump up session...... Not sure what they will do with a preggers... These things are hard; not super squishy like a boob.  But that means......no bra.....for most of 2013.  Oh yeah!

 

My lovely surgical drains.  That long straight bit will actually be IN my body to collect fluids; it is sutured into me.  I will have two on each side.  I'll pretty much look like this:

Except she has 5.  I will only have 4.  Oh 4 and a pain med goodie bag (but more on that later).  Yes these things actually dangle from my body like gross Beethoven dog drool.  But I bought some fancy (oh and so pricey) camis that have pockets inside to hold my blood juice boxes.  Sort of like this sexy number:

Yes, this woman clearly just had surgery...... I have been told that these things suck and I will hate them with the fury of 1,000 angry cancer patients.  All 4 will be stuck in me for at least a week when I hopefully will get to lose two of them.  And now onto my favorite new bodily gadget....

The pain pump. And I hear the sound of angels singing.  This bad boy goes directly into my surgical site on each side.  I can squeeze the little medicine thing and a local anesthetic goes directly to my battered chest (yes, I said LOCAL!!!!).  That means no affect on baby each time I press that thing.  I'll still be on other pain meds, but I still love that this is a local.

6 days and counting.  'Til the "icky stuff in Mommie's booby" is out of me and in the trash where it belongs.  In 6 days, I become the Bionic Woman.

The Light That Shines

Problem Solved.

I was thinking (as I was driving back from the eye doctor with fully dilated eye-balls) that I would come home to my computer and change my comment settings.  Basically making it so that no one could post anonymously anymore.  Tada!  Problem solved!

Except not.

I started this for ME.  An online journaly thing, for ME.  It was originally kept a complete secret.  Someone on Stillbirthday mentioned to me that she reads everything comment or post I wrote and sometimes felt the exact same way I was feeling.  That made me start telling people about the blog.  If one person in the world read one thing and it made her feel .01% better or understood or like less of a horrible person (because let's face it.  I don't pull punches.  If I feel something I let myself feel it and will say it here.  Even if it's jacked up), it was worth putting all my tender bits out there for the world to see.  I have always hid my squishy bits.  Held friends at an arm's length (cause it's safer!).  I am just now fully opening up to my friend, Natalie, of over 15 years!  I am just now letting people in.  So decided to let all of you in (SCARY) if I would maybe help one grieving mom feel like less of a crazy freak. (because we are a special brand of crazy...).

So no.  I will not change my comments settings.  If someone wants to post something and it's easier for them to do so anonymously then rock on my friend.  But if they are hurtful comments, I'm just going to be deleting them.  This is for ME, remember?

Anonymous361 (for some reason a numbered title is needed....), I don't have the slightest clue who you are and I don't care.  I'm done dissecting the garbage you have to say and trying to equate it to the people in my life.  People who have offered help but I didn't take (The Stickels??  No way), people who have lost babies (Eryn, Ericka, Amber, Rosie, Sarah, Leah, Bambi, Carolyne, Jenn, OMG this list is so long....), people who I have said mean comments around about those scarey, scarey children or preggos (Amber, Natalie. Leah, this list is probably long too)... ENOUGH.

I'm done.  I don't know a lot about God.  But I know He is kind.  After all I've been through (which He chose not to change), I know He would never talk to me in such a vicious manner.

Anyone still reading, please don't take this as the entire Christian populous because they are not all like this.  I know quite a few (Rachael, Natalie, Teresa, Amber, Rosie, Elsa, Angie, Michele) who are just kind, kind people.  They behave in a way their God would be proud of.

El Fin.  Off to chase my son.