Monday, March 14, 2011


The Kübler-Ross model, commonly known as the five stages of grief, was first introduced by Elisabeth Kübler-Ross in her 1969 book, On Death and Dying.
It describes, in five discrete stages, a process by which people deal with grief and tragedy, especially when diagnosed with a terminal illness or catastrophic loss. In addition to this, her book brought mainstream awareness to the sensitivity required for better treatment of individuals who are dealing with a fatal disease.

That's from Wiki. Now i understand why people get so pissed off with Wiki. Discrete my ass. I'm angry! I'm hurt! I'm frustrated! And there is nothing I can do. I can't get that baby back. I can't get any of them back.

The first stage is denial. 
I start this stage while still pregnant. People talk to me about miracle pregnancies that women bleed for seven months and they're still pregnant. They still have beautiful babies. And I buy it. I buy that it could happen to me. I could have the baby. I could be one of these women with awesome outcomes. I deny that I'm loosing the baby. I can't believe it. Why, why is it happening to me? How could it happen to me AGAIN. But it does. And then. . .

I get really angry. At everyone. At no one. And anyone who gets in my way is liable to be struck. It's not their fault, it's not my fault, but they become an outlet for my rage. And in my rage I start to think. . .maybe if I do something different, it'll come back. 

I make promises to myself, to my body, to the baby I lost. I give things up, I cry and I beg, I promise that things will change as long as I get that baby back. But it never comes back. . .. and I know it can't come back. . .so I get. . .

I think about suicide. Running away. Giving up. I throw myself a big ass pity party. I eat. I hide from the world. I wonder why I'm here. What good am I as a woman if I can't do something simple as create life. . . . I read things that upset me, like the Georgia Rep. who proposed a law that would make miscarriage a punishable offence. I shit you not. 

I thought I had moved onto acceptance. But I realize that I only moved on because I bargained. I knew that my son, and his twin, were conceived on the back of a miscarriage. I said to myself that this needed to happen. It was a necessary evil. It needed to happen so I had a higher quality of egg. But it looks like I'm not pregnant. We didn't do the dance when we needed to. . ..and I'm not pregnant. And now I'm further into depression. 

I requested my chart from our old IVF clinic. The one that traumatized me and I made the mistake of reading my chart. 

One of the things that disgusted me, and a friend that was over, was the callous nature the IVF doctor talked about me in her notes. The pregnancy I lost before Hunter we had a heartbeat and it slowed and eventually stopped. She said I was in 'denial' and 'disbelief' that we lost the heartbeat. She wanted to D&C when we still had a heartbeat. She wanted me to induce with cytotec. (A drug that isn't FDA approved for that use and has been linked to uterine rupture from it's use.) I then read the lab report. 

I had to harvest that tissue. When I harvested it I found two placentas and one fetus. They were very callous when I brought the baby in. They asked me to put him in saline and bring it to them. They began pulling things apart in front of me. 

So, needless to say, today I have been in a right pissy mood. I've been having a huge pitty party all day. I went to a craft store and got some yarn, I've recently become addicted to knitting, Hubs took back two gifts we got from Hunters Aunt and we got only half of their worth in gift receipts and Hubs thought that was okay, and I flipped out. On the cashier, on him, on Auntie who wasn't even here (because she didn't give us a gift receipt. . .

So here I am in depression. 

I'm hoping I make it to acceptance soon. 

Friday, March 4, 2011


Tomorrow is my birthday. As I showered today I wondered what it was like for my biological mother. She went threw my pregnancy alone, her family didn't want her to put me up for adoption, but this was the right choice for her. I was born via section. I don't know anything more then that.

I wonder what she went threw, alone. Did she hold me. Did she love on me. Did she say anything to me.

I've been angry at her for most of my life. Because I didn't have a 'mother' the nurses at the hospital force fed me. I came home drinking over five oz at a clip as a newborn.

I wonder if she felt loss, or if she had solace in her decision. I wonder if she will think of me tomorrow like I'm thinking of her today. And while I have abandonment issues from my adoption, I feel bad for her and I'm proud of her.

I'm proud that she was brave enough to go threw my pregnancy alone. I'm proud of her for being brave. For giving my parents something they needed. Me.

My mother (my adoptive mother) suffered four still births. She made it to the late second or third trimester and she would loose the baby. She cries to this day, forty years later, about the babies she lost. She's still raw and I can't blame her. She was always told to 'get over it.' She never got to hold her babies. She never got to love on them. She had milk come in and no one to feed. No one to comfort. She had a baby born 'in pieces' as if her own body attacked them.

And she rarely talks about it to anyone other then me.

It's hard for me to keep hearing it, but I listen.

I listen to her because no one gives her a voice. No one gives women like me a voice.

Women like me that have lost. Well, I say fuck that. I'm not going to be silent. I'm not going to be embarrassed anymore. I'm not here for your comfort. I was pregnant. I loved that baby and it wasn't it's time, but it will be. And I'll be damned if I'm going to let the fear of loss prevent me from celebrating a moment.

Thursday, March 3, 2011


"Flowers begin to bloom, trees begin to leaf. Despite everything, despite the extremes of winter, the extremes of human conflict, spring arrives.
Sit quietly with the rebirth that is happening all around you. Feel that rebirth in your own heart. Each breath is in its way a rebirth. As you breathe in, breathe in the energy of life. As you breathe out, breathe out the energy of life. Life gives life to life, eternally, in endless cycle. There is no stopping life. As you breathe, feel the flow. Ice melting, water flowing, flowers growing."

Yeah, I'm sorry that isn't me. I found that on a meditation website and it made me vomit. The thought that some people have such wonderfully positive lives, that nothing goes wrong for them, that everything is sunshine and roses makes me  just want to stomp all over those tiny unicorns farting rainbows all over the place just because I can. 

*deep cleansing breath* 

Much better. 

Now, I know things are changing. I am embracing that. I know that when you embrace change you grow as a person. You become a better person. I want to be a better person. I really want to see the glass half full. I want to be able to just feel free. Probably will never happen, and not because I'm a realist. I expect the best but plan for the worst. That is my comfort zone. 

Actually, I should correct myself. My comfort zone right now consists of Talenti Ice Cream, Grey's Anatomy and a couch. I've pretty much cut off contact to most people. I know this needs to change. I can't survive alone. I need friends and family and sunshine and lots of things, but I really don't have the patience to answer the question 'why?'

Why didn't you go to the ER?
How can you not know if you're pregnant?
Why didn't you try a different doctor?

Here is my answer: If you're asking those questions, you don't know me. And while I respect everyones concern, asking me why isn't really something I'm ready to read or deal with. 

I found the Venus of Willendorf  and I really enjoyed seeing her as I can relate to her body type. She's big and beautiful and fertile and. . .I can't relate to that right now. I don't feel beautiful. I don't feel fertile. I feel . . .like rain. I feel disjointed, chaotic, and I guess that's okay. 

I just have to keep telling myself. . .'no rain, no rainbows.' 

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

Indian Giver

Indian giver is an English expression used in North America, used to describe a person who gives a gift (literal or figurative) and later wants it back, or something equivalent in return.
It is unclear exactly how this expression came to be, but the consensus is that it is based on Native Americans having a distinctly different sense of property ownership as opposed to those of European ancestry. One theory holds that early European settlers in North America misinterpreted aid and goods they received from Native Americans as "gifts," when in fact they were intended to be offered in trade, as many tribes operated economically by some form of barter system, or a gift economy where reciprocal giving was practiced.

For those of you unable to read between the lines, I’m all but certain I’ve lost Gift. I’ll not be 100% until my next cycle, as I’m not going to the ER.


Almost a week ago I started spotting, and had light bleeding for two days. This bleeding wasn’t anything major. I never even had to wear a pad. I went to the bathroom, had some small clots, and never had any pain. As suddenly as the bleeding started, it stopped. I called my GP (General Practitioner) and asked for a script for a pelvic ultrasound and beta levels (that’s a blood test.) He said with my history of miscarriage, I had to go to the ER. Anyone who knows me, knows I don’t do ER. So I called my mother’s OB. I was told to go to the ER.

I don’t do ER.

I could make a whole other post about how the ER is for emergencies, but I won’t.

I took a few hpt’s and they’ve been negative. My mother tried, she really tried. “Maybe you’re losing the twin. Maybe you’re still pregnant.” If I did, I’d have a positive hpt.

So here I am trying to come to grips with uncertainty. And I know many people would tell me to go to the ER or go to a doctor. But why? I went over this in Therapy this past week. Why would I go to an OB? What could they possibly do? They can’t prevent a miscarriage. They can’t take it back. They can’t offer me answers or solace. And I know many of you would say ‘at least I’d know if I’m pregnant or not.’ That isn’t an answer. That’s another question.

If I am still pregnant, which I doubt I am, what then? The giant SUV we have won’t fit another carseat. We would have to sell it and get a different vehicle. How will Hunter deal with a new baby? How will I? Will I get my HBAC?

If I’m not, why? They CAN NOT answer that question. I’ve been worked up. I’ve been poked and prodded and tested and here’s what we know, or we think we know:
They tried to tell me that I have PCOS but they didn’t put me on metformin. I have more hair then the man in the moon. I don’t have issues getting pregnant. I don’t have acne, lots of hair on my legs or my vajay-jay. So, the only SYMPTOM I have of PCOS is. . .I’m fat. That does not PCOS make.

I don’t have a luteal phase defect. I was on progesterone, I still lost the baby.

The only thing that makes sense is celiac disease. But I still lost this baby. So, really, what would an OB do? Nothing. Nothing except waste my time and emotions.

This past week has been depressing and hard and awesome at the same time.

Somewhere, somehow, Hunter got sick and I got it too, sore throat, cough, snot out the ass gross sickness. I’m being kicked while I’m down. I ask myself why. I ask myself what I did to be put through this. Who did I piss off? Why do people WHO SHOULDN’T have children have them? Why is it so easy for them and so hard for us? So hard for me?

And like every time I lose a baby, there are a hundred women that pop up excited and happy and I . . .I am so fucking jealous.

What if I can’t have any more children? What if the section scar prevents proper implantation? What if my body can’t do it? As my husband would say “I think you have the scariest ‘what if.’” Would I be happy with just Hunter? Of course. He’s given me a reason for living. A reason for being. I was pushed off the edge of a cliff and he brought me back. But I’d really like more. We’d love more. And every time someone says to me ‘oh have mine’ or ‘Ugh, you’re not missing anything.’ Anything like that, I get pissed off.

I get SO pissed off that they have this gift . . .and they want to give it away when I would move heaven and earth to have it.

They don’t realize, they are Indian givers too.