babylust

starting over

An essay I wrote on babyloss and starting over appears in the January issue of Richmond Magazine. I am honored that the editors asked me to share my story, and I hope that someone out there is helped by reading about our journey. If you're local, go snag a copy - you can read my story, as well as six other inspiring essays about starting over.

{And thanks to Beth Furguson, who shot the photo that appears in the magazine. She was so much fun to work with!}

If you're looking for other current posts, you can find them here.

remembrance

my  jizo statue

Karen Maezen Miller, author of the fabulous, honest, and necessary book Momma Zen, as well as the loveliest of lovely blogs, Cheerio Road, writes today about "the hardest gone" - the loss of our children, born and unborn.

Next week, she'll be sharing words, traditions, and practices that offer guidance on embracing and coping with these most heavy of losses. She'll also be conducting services each day to honor and remember lost children. If you'd like her to include a child in her remembrance, visit her site, leaving the name in the comments section of her post.

Go. Share. Remember.

remembering

Exactly one year ago today, we found out that we had lost Lucas. 

This anniversary has been weighing heavily on my heart for the past few weeks; I miss Lucas so very much.

Instead of wallowing in my sadness, I'm trying to focus on all of the wonderful ways my life has changed since losing him. I truly believe that these were his gifts to me - a deeper connection with my husband, the courage to dream - to really look deeply into my heart and discover my passions - and to begin to create a life based on those dreams.

To celebrate his memory, I cut some fresh flowers for the house - one bouquet for the bedroom and one for the table:

This morning, John and I met with our wonderful RE to figure out a plan. I find this more than a little ironic. He wants us to come in for a post-coital test once I get a positive ovulation kit, which should hopefully happen in the next few days. If we don't get lucky this cycle, he recommends that we start with injectables.

I think I'm a little bit in denial that we may be moving toward this step. I had no idea that a year after losing Lucas, we still wouldn't be pregnant again, especially after getting pregnant four times with not much effort at all. I'm not sure that I'm ready to go there yet. The good thing is that no decisions have to be made right now.

So, for today, I'll remember Lucas, and I won't think too much about what lies ahead. And I'll keep lovin' my sweet little pup:

A Mother's Intuition

Since so many people have asked, I'm posting my essay below as it was originally published in Richmond Health Magazine (Spring/Summer 2007 edition). My friend Sarah, the editor of this magazine, did an amazing job helping me with this piece, and I am grateful to her for that. Also to be thanked are my darling husband John, and my dear friend Joriel, who both offered their editing skills.

 

A Mother's Intuition: Help with finding peace after a loss

We all carry hidden sorrows within us, I once heard a rabbi say.

The sorrow I carry with me, tucked away in my heart, is the grief of four miscarriages.

Grieving a miscarriage is often a lonely experience. Unlike the death of a person born into this world, there are generally no funerals, no established rituals to help one gain a sense of closure, no traditions to guide one through the grieving process.

Therefore, embarking on my healing journey required me to forge my own path: exploring various cultural and spiritual traditions — both mainstream and alternative — and piecing together ways of coping.

I attended a support group, joined an online message board and began writing about my experiences in a blog. I sought out medical providers who could help me find answers and restore my confidence in my body. I continued working with an acupuncturist who helped balance the hormonal changes in my body, and I received massages from a practitioner who was also trained in reiki, a type of energy work that can be used to alleviate suffering. With the encouragement of a skilled grief counselor, I pieced together a small, private ceremony to honor my pregnancies and miscarriages and to help me find closure.

By the fall of 2006, I was still searching for ways to find peace. I realized how much my sense of womanhood had been defined by the anticipation and expectation that I would give birth and become a mother. I became unsure of how to define myself once these dreams were clouded with doubt.

In November, I had the opportunity to meet with an intuitive, an individual who senses information about a person, such as underlying illnesses or imbalances or parts of one’s history that may be affecting his or her current physical or emotional state. I told her little about my current circumstances before initiating the meeting.

As she massaged the various parts of my feet, she explained how each region corresponded with a particular aspect of physical or emotional being, and how the shape and structure of my feet in these areas, along with the energy she picked up from me, was able to provide her with information.

With an eerie accuracy, she described my patterns in relationships, my fears, and my preferences. When she asked if I had ever been diagnosed with a hormonal imbalance, and I shared with her my history of miscarriage. Her fingers moved to the part of my feet associated with fertility and reproduction, and a few moments later she told me that she could sense the sex of our last baby. Then she shared, accurately, that our last baby was a boy. Immediately, tears welled up in my eyes. She said she could sense that his was a very bright spirit, and that he had chosen me to be his mother. She could not feel any energy from my previous pregnancies, perhaps because these losses were so early, all occurring before six weeks. The rest of the session is hazy for me, as I was overwhelmed by my surging emotions. I do recall her assurances that I would someday give birth, and that my body was healthy, capable, and whole.

In processing this experience, my intellectual self kept saying that with 50-50 odds, the intuitive had a pretty good chance of getting it right. However, I deeply believe in the power of my own intuition and the strength of the bond I had with my baby, despite the fact that he never took his first breath of air. While I kept it to myself, I knew early on that our baby was a boy. My instinct was later confirmed through testing conducted after the miscarriage, indicating that our baby was in fact a boy with trisomy 21, the marker for Down syndrome.

I would like to say that I walked away from this experience with my confidence in my body’s health and its capacity to bear a child repaired. I wish it were that easy. I know that the healing of those wounds must come from within me, that the assurances of a gifted intuitive, while comforting, cannot completely restore my faith, and they certainly cannot guarantee the future. However, I am deeply grateful for the gift she gave me in affirming my connection to my son. I feel deep comfort knowing that some essence of his spirit still lingers, that his energy was so clear and present. This solace gives me strength to dig deep into my soul for the strength and inner reserves needed to continue the rest of my healing work — work that only I can do.

deep breath

For some time, I've been pretty comfortable talking about my experience with miscarriage. At first, I was so lost in my grief and overwhelmed with my personal tragedy that I needed to talk about it all the time.  Having this weblog has been an important outlet for me, and it has been quite therapeutic, really allowing me to sift through the layers of my emotions, helping me to make sense of the highs and lows and in-betweens of this journey. For the most part, I think my life has pretty much been an open book.

Yesterday, the spine on book of my life was stretched a little further when I received a copy of our city's magazine - Richmond Magazine - in the mail. The supplemental issue - Richmond Health - that came out with this month's magazine contains an article that I wrote on finding peace and healing after my losses.

It's there for the whole city to read.

I hope that by reading my essay, even one person will feel less alone. I hope my words can bring comfort and understanding to someone, and maybe even just a little hope.

release

A while ago, I realized that I'm no longer feeling as bitter about my so far unsuccessful attempts to sustain a pregnancy. It surprised me, and I wish that I could recall just when this transition began to take place. I'm certain that I didn't just wake up one morning in this new frame of mind, and, for my own purposes, I'd like to be able to document it as a part of this journey. I just simply can't remember the last time I saw a pregnant woman or a tiny baby and my heart uncomfortably swelled with jealousy. My best guess is that it began when more light started to filter into my world at the end of last year, as I made plans to leave my job. But no matter when it started, I'm grateful to be in this particular space.

I didn't even feel bitter when a woman on the pregnancy loss message board that I have been a part of since fall 2005 announced this week that she was pregnant. I was truly happy for her, filled with hope that she may soon have her much-wanted second child. There are only two of us left now still trying to conceive. I counted, and since I became a part of the board, twenty-one women have become pregnant and moved on. Many of them have already given birth. I decided to step back from that place - there's hardly any activity there anymore, and the one remaining TTC'er and I have decided to stay in touch off the board. Right now, it just seems empty, and that's not how I want to feel.

I think this mental and emotional transition is a also result of me consciously trying to approach my life in a different way. I'm much more focused on living in the present, on being thankful for the blessings in my life. I realized how much of my energy was spent focusing on the future, hoping that one day - one day - I would have my baby and then my life would be complete. Except that it wouldn't be.

I feel like I've always been waiting for something to happen that would allow me to truly experience happiness and fulfillment - that job, a life partner, a house, a better relationship with my father. But what I'm learning is that I was really searching for me - for my true, authentic self - for the me that I've always wanted to become. Right now, my life feels so full - full of lightness and love and possibility. I can't recall ever feeling this way. For the first time in my life, I feel like I'm really coming into myself. I am getting to know hidden parts of myself that have stayed tucked away for far too long.

Each morning, I consciously open my arms wide, welcoming the day, inviting the energy of the Universe to feed my spirit. I'm trying my best to be awake to this very moment, to love with my whole heart, to look fear in the face and take a step forward.

Right now, I am thankful for this day, for this life and for all of the possibilities in this very moment.

i heart martha beck

I stumbled on one of Martha Beck's books, Finding Your Own North Star, by accident in a mad rampage through the library at the end of December, just before walking away from my full-time job. Many of Beck's ideas in FYONS really resonated with me, and I was eager to share them with my life coach. During our discussion, my coach suggested Beck's book, Expecting Adam, which is about her pregnancy with her son Adam, who has Down syndrome.

At first, I was a bit hesitant to even open the book. I know that I am still in the depths of working through my grief over losing Lucas; I can barely talk about losing him without tears spilling down my cheeks. Yet, despite my fears, my inner voice kept urging me toward Beck's story. From what my coach had told me, the book was not only about Beck's difficult pregnancy and her finding peace in carrying a child with Down syndrome, it was also about a magical time - full of syncronicity and miracles and things that have no easy or rational explanation. It sounded like exactly the kind of book I needed.

Thankfully, I know myself well enough to not start reading without a box of tissues within reach. The first few chapters were difficult to get through. Sometimes, I could barely get through two or three paragraphs without having to stop, breaking down into sobs. Yet, I kept reading, through the tears, a pile of tissues accumulating in the wastebasket beside me. Soon, I couldn't put the book down.

Beck's memior touched me deeply and on many levels. Her words expressed so many of the fears I have had about having a child with Down syndrome or another disability. As Beck wrote about the shock, disapproval, and resistance she encountered when sharing her intentions to give birth to her son - to not terminate her pregnancy - I was reminded of some of the most hurtful words I heard after losing Lucas. I remember how angry I felt when people told me that it was probably a blessing that I had miscarried - that our lives would have been too difficult, too complicated. I know that if Lucas had been born, things would have been hard at times - really, really hard. I know that, without a doubt, I would have questioned my strength and my abilities to be the kind of mother that Lucas would have needed.  Yet, I remember feeling surprised and reassured when, after finding out that Lucas had Down syndrome, my love for him didn't diminish, my desire to have him growing in my womb was stronger than ever, the ache to hold him in my arms was just as deep. I had a new confidence in my capacity to love any child that I might blessed to mother, no matter what challenges that child brought into my life. Martha Beck's story  reaffirmed these truths for me, and to her I am deeply grateful.

I should say that I am well aware that by not having to face some of the real challenges that accompany a child with special needs, I may be romanticizing things. I certainly cannot truly realize  what this experience would be like; I cannot fully imagine the difficulties I might face, the lengths to which my limits might be stretched. But I would like to think that I have the resources to face whatever circumstances I might face. I want to remember my son not for the challenges or hardship that may have occurred as a result of his birth, but for the gifts he would have undoubtedly offered me. I am grateful to him for the light that his spirit brings to my life and for the courage he has given me.

I am reminded a few lines from a poem by ee cummings:

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

It brings me comfort to know that Lucas is with me, his spirit living on in mine. Always.

beginnings and endings

I'm not even sure where to begin. It's hard to believe that my last post was written on November 20, 2006. I feel as if my life has changed so much since then; at times I don't even feel like the same person. I've composed the beginnings of at least a dozen posts in my head, but I haven't been able to make myself sit down to actually type the words. As of late, it has been difficult for me to publicly express myself in a way that I feel conveys what was has been transpiring in my heart and mind.

The past few months have been filled with change and loss. My 24-year-old stepbrother, Garrett, died unexpectedly on December 10, 2006. As you can imagine, his death was a complete and utter shock to our family. At times, it doesn't even seem real that he is gone. My mother called early on Sunday morning, and immediately, I knew that something was wrong. My first thought was that something had happened with my stepfather's mother, or even with my stepfather. "Garrett died last night," she said. The words my mother spoke didn't make sense to me; I couldn't comprehend them. I had to ask her to repeat herself. Healthy 24-year-old men don't just die like that, without warning. Oh, but they do.

Garrett and I were never terribly close. My mother and his father married when I was in college, so we didn't have childhood and adolescent years together to establish a strong bond. We saw each other on holidays and special occasions. Garrett and his girlfriend got pregnant not too long after high school. By the time he died, just over a month before his 25th birthday, Garrett and Mary had gotten married and had two children--a five-year-old daughter and a two-year-old son. My heart breaks for my stepfather and Garrett's wife. It is so difficult to see those that you love ache so deeply with sadness. It is painful not being able to do anything except to just be there and to offer love and open arms.

Although Garrett and I were not close, his death has affected me profoundly. Over the past few years, particularly since the miscarriages, I have been doing a lot of reflecting, searching, and trying to make sense of the Universe. Garrett's death has shaken it all up for me again; I can't seem to make sense of it. I have a feeling that I won't be able to for a long while yet.

I left my full-time job at the end of December, and have blindly stepped into the unknown. It is very uncomfortable for me to not have a plan for what comes next. My intention in making this change was to free myself to discover my calling, to become more grounded, and to learn how to take care of myself. My to-do list for now is to simply be still and listen, and to open myself to possibilities.

I've been spending a good deal of time reading, journaling, meditating, nurturing my friendships, and making jewelry. My jewelry - this small act of creation - has become a moving meditation for me. I'm learning to let myself play, to enjoy the simple pleasure of exercising my creative inclinations, and to enjoy the process instead of focusing on the end result. I'm not sure where I'm going, but I have been having  some amazing experiences - far too many to share in this post.

Lucas's due date, January 9, passed with no shortage of tears. I didn't let myself really open up to my grief again until the day was nearly over. I retrieved my pregnancy journal and ultrasound pictures from their home in my memory box, thankful to have these tangible elements to remind my of my boy. I read all of the cards we received from friends and family during that difficult time, and I was overwhelmed with gratitude for the love and abundance in my life.

John and I are still trying to get pregnant. We found out this week that our second cycle using clomid was not successful. It has been a difficult week. Now, I'm just waiting for my body to flush the extra progesterone to allow the start of a new cycle. And then we will try again.

The past few months have been difficult, but I have also experienced a lightness that I can't remember feeling for a very long time. A deep sense of peace has come over me. I am focusing on putting one foot in front of the other, day by day, hour by hour. I'm holding on to faith that things will work out just the way they should.

at long last

Yes, I'm alive. And I'm doing okay. Thanks to everyone who has checked in on me--your concern means so very much to me.

In my last post, I wrote about the extreme anxiety that I was experiencing. This continued for several weeks, but it did slowly diminish thanks to acupuncture, herbs, rescue remedy drops, and better self-care. I also began using the emotional freedom technique, which did wonders (enormous thanks to Watson for recommending it). I'm convinced that my crazy hormones were partly to blame, and it seems that they are finally calming down a bit in my third cycle after the D&C. It's about time.

I've been away partly because of the anxiety, but also because I've been insanely busy with work. I coordinate a grant program, and this is my busiest time. I've been working longer hours and have just about zero opportunities to write during the day. I'm hopeful that things will slow down a bit after October 3rd, when I pass the grants along to our review team. I'm sorry to say that I am quite out of the blogland loop, and it will take me a while to catch up on how all of you are doing.

John and I are currently taking an intentional break from pregnancy attempts, and it has been such a good decision for me. Respite was much needed. I've been working with a life coach, and it feels so refreshing to just be focusing on myself right now without all of the stress and anxiety of trying to conceive and stay pregnant. So, in addition to the business of work, I've been consciously creating time in my evenings and weekends to focus on my work of self-discovery. I already feel like my spirit is stronger. I feel more hopeful, confident and courageous than I have felt in a long time. I hope I continue to feel this way.

contemplation

John and I had a good talk on Friday night. We discussed taking an intentional break from trying to conceive. I've been working with a life coach, and I feel like I'm really getting close to figuring out some things for myself. I'm afraid that if I do get pregnant again that I will either become consumed with the anxiety of early pregnancy (and then hopefully staying pregnant and then becoming a mother and all of the adjustments that come with those two things) or that I will be facing the devastation of another loss. Either way, I'm afraid that I will be forced by circumstance to put my self-exploration on hold. Part of me thinks it would be very healing to feel like I'm taking back control of my fertility instead of it controlling every decision I make. But I also want to be a mother so very badly, and I'm afraid to stop trying right now.

I'm still struggling with anxiety, and I appreciate all of the suggestions that were offered. Yesterday, I discovered that a good cure for anxiety-induced mania is to thoroughly wear yourself out until you can barely move. John and I spent about 4 hours working in our garden yesterday, and I followed that up with a vigorous session of cardio and weight training. By 8 pm, I could barely keep my eyes open. Oh, if only that pesky "work" thing didn't require my attention on most days...