Three months later and they still don't get it...

Am I really still having to dredge this up and try to explain this to these people?  I don't care if this is customary...I WON'T pay it.  You can't just have two options and lump everything into those two categories if it doesn't fit!  It is so ridiculous how much those of us who have lost our babies have to fight to prove they were real, to grieve alone because our babies were lost to us but hard to envision for others, and we have to feel isolated in it all because others' think that life goes on and do not understand the constant daily struggle, not only with the emotions and the loss, but with all the medical and physical issues, as well as the decisions regarding future pregnancies.  It never ends.  I hope that someone else in my position will read this letter and stand up and fight for their ridiculous charges as well.  Just because it is commonplace does not make it acceptable!  It is fraud, there just aren't enough of us with the strength to fight it when we are so beat down by it all!  Funny how the consumer is always right, until it involves something serious, and then we are just crazy!  


Baylor Healthcare - Garland
Account #4768022

Amanda Cannon
601 Meadowcreek Ln.
Garland, TX. 75043
972-279-4609


Baylor Hospital of Garland

To Whom It May Concern;

In response to the letter I received from *********, I wanted to address my issue in writing
so that maybe it will be understood more clearly.  I can only gather that obviously the issue is not translating well over the phone and through the billing specialists to the Grievance Committee; otherwise, I do not see how there could still be an issue.  There is no question on my part that I am being charged for services that do not apply to my somewhat unique circumstances.  I have worked in doctor's offices and understand how there are specific fees and charges, codes for procedures for the purpose of billing, and sometimes nothing fits so it just goes with the next closest thing.  My charges are not appropriate in the fact that I am being charged for a procedure that is either related to a "stillbirth" or "term birth," as those are the only two options with which were available to choose from (as was explained to me over the phone).  It's funny how everyone I have spoken to is so quick to tell me how it is in the room and what goes on and that the universal charge still applies...yet, I was there.  I know what went on and what did not.  The definition of what went on, does not even come close.  I don't care what the bill says.  I WAS THERE!

My case is not the norm, as far as stillbirth is concerned.  My son's heart stopped beating at 14 weeks.  In most cases, a D&C is done.  I was induced to have less complications than a D&C would risk because of his size.  In medical literature, an "aborted" fetus before 20 weeks is called a miscarriage, even though I was induced and "delivered," making it a thin line between miscarriage and stillbirth. Nevertheless, that line does exist.  You cannot classify the procedure I had in either category any more than you could charge someone that had a toe amputation the same as someone who lost an entire limb.  The difference between what occured and what I was charged for are as different as night and day.  I cannot imagine that my fees equal to someone who has had a long, drawn out and difficult labor, resulting in close monitoring of both mother and child, and resulting in a live birth.  It is not a matter of opinion, it is what happened.  I, having been there, can explain to you much better than what was written on a paper as a billing or diagnosis code.

The problem I have with being charged for a typical "Vaginal Delivery" is that there was no delivery, aside from what my body did on it's own.  I have three full-term children.  I completely understand this charge for a full-term birth scenario,or maybe even more so for a loss that was further along and did require assistance during labor and delivery; however, I did not have a physician checking on me intermittently, nor did I have monitors hooked up to me to monitor mine and the baby's vitals, hoping for no signs of distress, heart rates, etc.  I did not have an IV, nor did I take any medication, other than the pills that were used for induction.  I did not have to be checked on throughout labor and afterwards to make sure I was healing properly, nor did I need assistance with the baby afterwards.  I had a nurse (and she was amazing!) who checked on us a few times to make sure we were comfortable and to bring in my pills and a cup of ice.  My doctor came in once in the morning to set up my care plan.  She came in once a few hours before my son was born to see if the pills were working and I was dilating after I felt my water break, and again an hour after he was born to "deliver" the placenta.

Dr. Vu told me that this wasn't like a normal birth or delivery and explained that "it" would just come out.  I wouldn't be pushing or anything.  So, I just sat, waiting, for my son to basically slide out, which is what happened.  My son was born to a quiet room, with just my husband and I.  There was no team of doctors, nurses, neonatal staff, etc.  No monitors chirping or IV lines to tangle.  It was my husband and I.  When I felt my son, we called the nurse.  She came in, picked him up and situated him in a little pocket, made sure we were okay, and left the room.  That was my "Vaginal Delivery."  There was no pushing, no epidural, no IVs or comfort measures taken, no close monitoring.  It was basically a rented room for a miscarriage.

In my case, there is no black or white.  It is not technically a stillbirth, nor is it a full term delivery, as I have tried to explain to the billing specialists.  In this case, there needs to be a gray area.  I'm sorry if there is no billing code for what occured, and it is either one or the other, but that is not acceptable. They tried to say that I had to have a physician's assistant or doctor there at all times for my care...but there was not.  There was no hustle and bustle or team of people for me and my son.  There was no chaos and ongoing work for anyone involved, other than myself.  It was my husband and I.  I understand there is the room...that was broken down into it's own fee, as were the other charges for which I have no issue with.

I have an itemized statement listing the charges.  I understand the labs, the medications, the room and board, the supplies used....all should be applied. However, there was not much else done outside of the room board, the supplies and medications used, and the labs.  I would agree to paying for the hour my doctor was there and the nurse who cared for me.  What I do not agree with is the charge for a "Vaginal Delivery / Delivery Room."  If that is the case, then maybe it should be I who is paid since I did the work myself?  There was nothing that should even come close to a $2,673.82 charge for the "Vaginal Delivery" alone.  Besides the fact, the doctor never even touched my son, but in fact asked if I wanted to set him aside and then flinched and went to put on gloves when I tried to hand him to her.  How is that a delivery?  What did she deliver?  She never even acknowledged that my son was a human being and it took a month of the funeral home arguing with her to finally get her to sign the Death Certificate.  So...I was charged for a Vaginal Delivery of what?  Tissue?  I see on my statement that I am also billed this for the second time I came in, but it is listed as "Delivery Room."  That was for a D&C, but identical charge.  How do the two have the same charge when they were two totally different circumstances?  For the D&C, I was indeed taken to a different room and a lot more care and involvement occurred...I HAD a procedure, was put to sleep, and then had a lot of trouble afterwards.  How do the two equal the same when one was an hour-long surgery and one was me, alone?  How does my Room and Board and Delivery Room fee both occur on the same bill for my initial stay, when I was only IN one room the entire time....in one bed, no procedure.  Nothing changed.

I do want to thank the nurses who we came in contact with during both of my stays.  They were fantastic, as was the chaplain.  If it weren't for the issue of the hospital bill and having such a hard time talking to someone who knows something other than billing codes and what they see on paper, or even just someone who would address the issue seriously, instead of just writing me off as someone trying to get out of paying my bill, I would have loved to experience a future childbirth at Baylor.  The care was adequate on the nurses part, the hospital, however, is another story altogether.  I am tired of having to repeat this story and get through to people with automaton responses who only know one thing to say and loosely, if at all, listen to what I am telling them.  It is painful to relive over and over again, but I will not agree to this charge.  This bill is wrong.

Sincerely,

Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month - October

We don't have to remember our babies,

We will never forget. 

One thing positive that has come from my losses is the wonderful support I have gotten, not only from friends and family (even those who I rarely spoke with beforehand), but from an awesome group of ladies that I have come to know and hold dear to my heart.  We've never met outside of the Internet, but they are my family now, as we share a bond that not many can understand....we are mommies to sweet angel babies.  It's not a group anyone would chose to belong to, but it sure is helpful and inspiring to know these women and they have become my greatest support.  We can talk about anything and everything for weeks, months, even years, and we understand each other's pain.  We know that months down the road, we are still healing, physically and emotionally.  We all know the pain is still there no matter how long ago the experience.  We all know that there are days that seem better... and days where you somehow relate a car insurance commercial to the loss of your little one and fall to pieces.  I could not be happier that I found the wonderful group of women that I have to go through the journey with, but at the same time, it is really sad that broken women, women who are hurting and struggling to make sense of things, women who are grieving, women who are trying to get their bodies medically back on track....are the ones who have to band together to support each other; to give themselves when they need giving.  This subject needs to become much more talked about and out in the open.  The loss of a baby is just as hard, if not more difficult, than the loss of a parent or friend, in that we have to go through the physical healing.  We have to go from being with, growing, and loving our children 200%, counting down the days until our face-to-face meeting, dreaming of our lives to come, which have changed forever with this little blessing - to being empty, hollow, heartbroken, overwhelmed, grief-stricken, and struggling to find a way to accept that which we cannot change.  The constant reminders, the worry, the fact that there usually are no answers, the fact that OUR bodies did this somehow...it's a long road.  We need the support that anyone else is afforded from the death of a loved one.  We want to talk about our babies and know our babies were cared for and loved by not just us, but by everyone.  They were real, precious angels.  

Hysteroscopy

I had the hysteroscopy this morning.  I was worried about seeing my womb/uterus empty, but after the initial pain of the insertion of the camera, I was drawn to the screen.  It was really engaging to see a part of my body that, granted, lost four of my babies, but also bore me three of the most amazing children a mother could ask for.  To see the two holes that are the entrances of my fallopian tubes into the uterus, it hit me that this was where my three children's lives had began.  19 years ago an egg actually came out of one or the other, and I became a mother.  It's surreal.

The good news is that everything was beautiful.  There were no issues that should cause a miscarriage.  The bad news is...still no answers why I've lost my babies.  The more we talk, the more it seems like a chromosomal issue had something to do with losing Andrew, since his heart rate was high up until he died on the 4th of July at 14 weeks.  Maybe due to distress, but we'll never know.  I also found out that there were only 8 out of 23 chromosome tests done because of an issue with the machine not reading the rest of the slides or something.  Of course, my old doctor never had the decency to tell me this herself, even though I was calling every two weeks to inquire about the results.  When they finally had them, she didn't even call me, I called her.  Her response was that "everything was normal."  Her time will come.  I'm still waiting on my reimbursement and then I will start fighting.  Anyway, my previous loss, Lily, was tested for all of them and all were negative, so it was the bleed that caused her loss, which is unrelated.  They all seem to be just luck of the draw-type issues, so hopefully this will be the end of it and I will have a decent shot next time.  The doctor sees no reason why I shouldn't because we can't find anything wrong to begin with.

I did get to come home with copies of my insides.  I threw the doctor off a bit by asking if I got copies, but she was thrilled that I was as interested and amazed as she was by it all. No one had ever asked for pictures before.  Leave it to me.  It was also nice that for the first time in a long time she called me "normal."  We both agreed that is rarely a word used to describe the uniqueness and complexity that IS me.  It felt good. :^)

Roller Coaster of Emotions...

I've been doing better...on the outside, anyway.  I'm keeping it together more, holding back the tears, not feeling such a sucker punch when I see pregnant women or babies...I'm getting there.  Don't get me wrong, I still have days where all I do is cry every time I have a moment alone, but the pain is lessening to an extent.  Today, however, has already been a tough one, and it's only 10 a.m.  I hurt my arm yesterday and can't move it, so the stress and strain of that makes my emotions that much worse, I think.  I had an appointment this morning with Dr. Thomas.  I was in the exam room, alone, staring at the ultrasound screens and I couldn't breathe.  I had numerous ultrasounds done of both Lily and Andrew, expecting them to be okay, watching them grow and flourish....I'm going to be sick.  I still remember through the bleeding episodes with Andrew, everything seemed to be fine and we couldn't find the source of the bleed.  I remember the day that we hugged and teared up because I was graduating from her office to my regular OB at 10 weeks.  Now, I am back to that room...back to the beginning.  Trying to find answers.  Trying to understand.  Dreading what is about to be shown to me on the screen now.  An empty womb.  The baby is gone.  It is like an echo of my heart right now...empty, black, hollow...staring back at me from the screen.

The good news is, the last of the tissue was gone.  I had 24 follies already, so looks like things are starting to get back on track.  I am going back in Friday for an OH, where they guide a camera up into my cervix and uterus to look for anything structural that could be an issue, or any scar tissue...especially since I had the damn pointless D&C from the incompetent OB.  I also had a bunch of labs drawn, so I'm praying for answers, but at the same time, I'm praying that nothing is wrong.  Do I want answers or do I want nothing to be wrong?  How is that for a decision?  If the house is burning down, do you save your dog or your cat?  How can you possibly choose between those and not be conflicted and stressed?  I swear I feel like God's test dummy.  I see him up there poking needles here and there and just looking down at me quizzically, wondering how much one person can take.  Let's give her money problems here, bill collectors that are screwing her over right there, let's rev up the pain levels a few notches and jack up her arm, make her an emotional mess, throw in some fatigue and more stress, make sure all these extra bills come up so she can't afford a massage to help with the pain, oh yeah and make sure her daughter needs a few shots for school and a checkup with her outrageous insurance co-pays that way she has to figure out how to make that happen...and....GO!  I literally feel like my life is a joke to whatever powers that be have control over it, and no one can change my mind about it.  Unless you have been through this mess that just keeps piling up, then it won't do you any good to try to convince me I'm wrong, no matter how well-intentioned the attempt.

So, I just wait for labs to come in.  Wait for the test on Friday and hope for the best and hope it doesn't hurt too bad since I can't tolerate medications.  Wait for the game plan, then wait....just wait.

One of those days...

Hmmm....I'm hoping it's hormones and my body is finally going to welcome Aunt Flo back and get me back on track, but whatever it is, I don't like it.  Maybe it's the rain.  Today has been tough, to say the least.  I have had some good days over the last few weeks.  My old life seems to be breaking through to the surface and I can hold it together for the most part...most days.  Today was different.  It started with walking the kids to school this morning.  On the way home, I saw a journal on the sidewalk, turned it over, and sure enough...it was Hayley's.  She had dropped it on the way to school and luckily it was I who found it on my way home.  I looked through it, thinking it was school-related, only to be shocked that it was a journal, of sorts.  She talked about me being 9 weeks pregnant and how she was so excited.  She spoke of how she hoped that this baby would make it and wouldn't be a "miscarridge" or a "still born."  The next page jumped straight to the loss.  There was a picture of her, happy, holding a baby and what was her "futurized" ideal of what it would be like to have the baby here.  Next, a picture of her crying, the baby next to her, and said:  "The day his heart stopped...mine broke."  O..M..G..

I sat on the couch and tried to gather my thoughts and stop the tears, but for some reason a picture of Hayley when she was 5 popped in my head like someone was showing it to me. In the picture, I had photoshopped a picture of a baby Trevor sleeping, into the palms of her hands.  It stung like a bee because I realized that that was exactly how I had held Andrew three months ago, cupped in my hands just like that.  The only difference was she was so beautiful and giddy holding him....such a happy picture.

I just still can't wrap my head around my loss.  It seems more and more surreal and like it never happened, but then I stare at the last sonogram and remember how big and perfect he was, how active he was, how....he was.  Period.  Then I look at his picture, so tiny, yet so real, looking like Trevor.  I try to imagine that I shouldn't be seeing him at all, but he should be in my belly kicking me, causing me backaches and pains.  I should be wondering who he would look like.  What color would his hair be - blonde like Hayley or brown like Trevor?  Instead, he is REALLY in this stuffed animal that I hold, and kiss, and hug, and sleep with when I need him close.  It's one thing for me to feel this way, but for Hayley, an 11-year-old sweetheart....it really pisses me off.  She is truly such a great kid.  I could not have asked for a better daughter.  Why does she have to suffer?  She is so strong, and like me, she hides her feelings well to protect others.  I didn't realize how this all affected her.  I didn't think she really noticed how sucky her summer was, again.  Or maybe I had just hoped that she hadn't.  Finishing off her journal it said she had a sucky summer and she hated it.  So much for that.  I am going to have a talk with her soon when we are alone.  I need to see just how badly she is still affected by this.  She knows she can talk to me about anything, but she is playing the adult role...well, and taking after me by suffering silently so she doesn't affect anyone else.  It breaks my heart.

I don't know what to think anymore.  I think I have adapted a more "take it as it comes" attitude, but it is still hard.  I wish I was still pregnant and all these last three months were just a dream, but it's not.  It's still hard to imagine that I am supposed to be pregnant...because I'm not.  I'm trying to let go.  I'm trying to focus on the future and adapt a more positive attitude.  I'm trying.  When life throws you curveballs....they each hit you in the shin....is that how that goes?  It seems that way.  I'm alive though.  I've got a great family, great kids.  I am starting to take better care of myself and see that there is happiness in my life, even through the sorrow.  I know that I can make it through this, and even though it still hurts, it won't keep me down. Maybe in a month or so my body will be worked out and back on track...it will be easier to forget that I am still recovering when I'm not constantly waiting for my body to catch up.  I've been walking and exercising, so I am already feeling physically better.  Now, if I can just get my emotions on track....

On a brighter note, and not to seem like I'm sounding so redundant (it seems like all my posts end up being me rambling about the same thing, trying to figure out how I feel or make sense of everything), the kids are doing great in school.  Hayley's teachers had nothing to say but what a pleasure she was, sweet kid, SHY and QUIET (WHAT!?!), and that she didn't seem to be having attention problems!  Everyone at the school seemed so nice....almost Stepford Wives, Twilight Zone nice.  That's a good thing, though. :)  Hayley still loves school.  Trevor says his teacher is mean, but he has somehow managed to get a sticker on his chart every day of school so far, and that is saying a lot considering his teacher is known as the meanest in the school.  He hasn't given me problems about going or anything, which was a big fear of mine.  He gets out of the car in the morning, yells, "Love you, Mom," in his husky voice, and trots off into the school.  I love him so much.  He puts a smile on my face every morning.

Time keeps on slipping....

Hayley writing Andrew a letter 

I'm starting to breathe again.  I mean, really breathe.  Breathe in life.  Breathe in hope.  I know I will move on.  I have found my smile again.  True laughter.  Though a part of my heart has healed, there is a part that will never mend, but I've accepted it.  I don't like it...but I've accepted it.  There is no lesson to learn from it, other than that life is unfair, no matter how people may say otherwise.  I've realized those people are most likely the ones who have never been through a loss or held or delivered their dead baby, and don't realize that by saying there is a "reason for everything," or that "God never gives us more than we can handle," probably do not realize that even though they are trying to help, that makes it feel like I deserved this in some way or that MY baby wasn't good enough to be born...or maybe that I shouldn't grieve as much as I do because sometimes it definitely feels like more than I can handle, but what choice to I have?  It is there.  I realize, though, that even though it felt like my entire heart was damaged for life and ripped to pieces, it was just one piece (well one piece times four would be more accurate, I suppose), and there is much more left that is full of love and life..and hope.  Much more left for my earth angels who will keep me going.

Each day is a little easier.  Even though I never forget and there are so many times a day when I want to fall to my knees and cry my eyes out, I get through it.  It will be okay.  I can't change what happened or what WILL happen, but I can take it for what it is and move forward.  My babies will always be a part of my life, just not the way I want them to be.  It will always sting to see a pregnant woman or a small baby, but I will get through it.  I may cry or have to walk away, but I will survive.  I even got to hold my cousin's little boy last night and he was so stinkin' cute it's ridiculous.  Her's didn't even bother me as much as the other people in the room with babies...maybe because I know she has been in my shoes and I know that she is a great person that deserves him.  That really does help make it more tolerable.  It may not seem right, or even a selfish conclusion, but it's just how it works.  Granted, I don't know these other women's stories, but I can't help but wonder if they know just how blessed they are or wonder if they are deserving, and what makes them more so than I?  Logically, it may not make sense, but if you have had a loss of your own, than most likely you know exactly where I'm coming from.  It's not just me, it's the way it works for most of us, as I've learned through the wonderful virtual family I have come to know through an online group.  We have a bond that we share...losing our babies, and it makes for a very special and tight bond.  A group that you really do have to be inducted into, no matter how much you wish you weren't.

I have a little more hope now that maybe I'm not doomed or cursed to constantly have the crazy, unbelievable, horrible luck that seems to cling to me no matter where I go or what I do.  The lady who hit my car finally came forward and contacted her insurance.  The day after I got the letter saying they denied my claim...she called, they reopened my case, and now they are accepting liability!  I will be getting my car fixed soon!  On top of everything, I won't have to go outside and feel sick to my stomach every time I see my NEW car with a dent and scratches down the side.  I don't have to worry about coming up with the $500 just to fix my car that another person damaged!  Such a huge weight has lifted.  I am still fighting the hospital on the L&D charges, but they have closed my case and denied that the charges are wrong.  I simply told them I wouldn't pay it and they could either have someone contact me that I could talk to, other than the billing ladies that don't have much sense, or they can take me to court.  I will send every bill they send me right back to them with a big 'VOID' written across it.  Maybe they will finally have someone call me that can fix it or someone that can at least discuss it.  Otherwise, they can take me to court.  I don't really care.  I am hard headed and don't take too well to being screwed over.  Sure, no one does, but I don't give up if I feel I'm being wronged.  I'm not going to stress over it any more.  I won't pay a penny of it.  That's that.

Sweet girls fixing the flowers on other graves

We went to the cemetery yesterday for Granny's birthday.  All mom's sisters were there, and Mel, Hannah, Hayley, and I.  Of course, Hayley brought Andrew along, too. : )  Hayley picked out some little figurines to put on the graves, and we brought two balloons that we attached our letters to.  Everyone else signed one of the balloons with their own messages to Heaven and we let them go.  We weren't sure if they were going to make it above the trees, but they took off at the last minute.  Everyone was cheering them on and coaxing them OVER the trees.  : )  I realized that one positive thing Hayley has learned from our losses has been that she has an empathetic and caring understanding of death.  She has always wanted to put flowers on the graves, but there is just something more mature and understanding now.  Death is not as mysterious.  It's not something you just read about or that happens to other people.  The headstones are not just stones with writing...they symbolize real people that were once living and breathing, with families and loved ones who miss them.  Even babies.  She and Hannah walked around picking up fallen flowers and trinkets from people's headstones and replacing them.  She asked if we could go back with flowers for everyone and put them on all the graves that don't have anything...realizing these were most likely long forgotten and obviously unvisited.  I am so proud to be her mother.  She has such a kind and loving heart.  She is one of  a kind, and she is a big reason that MY heart can go on...even with the small pieces missing...

Sending our letters and balloons to Heaven

Giving Andrew a ride. : )

My mom and aunts

After the cemetery, Julie and I went to Cantina Laredo, a Mexican restaurant, for a friend of ours' 40th birthday.  It was weird being "out" on a weekend night, away from home, AND without my kids or Doug!  I kinda enjoyed it. LOL  I saw some old friends, ate good food, and just enjoyed being away for a while.  Our friend's party went great and she was toasted and honored, as was much deserved.  She is a very caring and giving person, so it was nice to see her getting a little bit of that back, and seeing that everyone loves her just as much as we do.  All in all, it was nice to get out and just be "normal" again.  It also touched me that an old friend made an observation that made me feel, well, validated.  He said that I was doing better than all of them (meaning all our old "gang" from 20 years ago) and that I had my "shit together."  Back then, no one would've thought that I would be the one to pull ahead and get my head on straight, but I did.  He even went so far as to say that I had a lot of people working against me and trying to drag me down back then...people doing me wrong that didn't care about me....yet, somehow I made it and am living the life that we all should be.  I've fought a lot of things in silence and on my own, basically because I've been misunderstood and went through things that people just don't know, and finally, it was nice to hear that someone GOT it and was acknowledging it.  Thank you.  <3

Two months...

Two months ago today I went to bed cautiously excited that I made it past the date of my latest lost, only to wake up and find the heartbeat was missing.  My little Andrew had died in MY sleep.  I should be very obviously pregnant with a big bulbous belly.  I should be feeling his kicks and ooohhhing and aaaahhhing with the kids and Doug as we watch my belly move.  Instead, I hold my little lamb (I moved his ashes to a lamb stuffed animal), hug him, kiss him, and tell him how much I wish he were here.  I close my eyes and try to imagine that it IS him and he is in my arms, as he should one day be...but it never will be.  A baggie full of ashes are all I will ever know of him...other than those few hours in the hospital that we spent with him.  Thank God I have the pictures of him.

I finally stopped bleeding two days ago.  I think the rest of the "product" has passed, finally.  Now, I can finally begin to heal after not having the constant, gruesome reminder of blood every time I go to the bathroom.  Now, I don't have to constantly worry that I will have to have another D&C.  I'm pretty sure I saw the tissue, so I'm optimistic that at my next scan in a few weeks, things will be cleared out and we can do a few more tests.  We will probably try again in a few months, but I'm just still so torn about it.  I don't know that I can bear another loss, but I don't know that I can end my childbearing years on three unexplained, seemingly luck-of-the draw losses.  I don't think I can feel like my life can move on if I don't have one more baby.  Yes, I am grateful that I have three of the most awesome children a mother could ask for...but there is still a void.  A void that is left even bigger now that three losses have slowly chipped away at it and made it bigger and bigger every July, with each subsequent loss.  The doctor has no answers and does not see why I can't have a healthy baby.  She sees no reason why I shouldn't try again, aside from the taxing toll and emotions that it causes me.  Of course, there's also the stress it would cause, seeing that I will never get to enjoy a moment of pregnancy again and it will be nine months of torture until a healthy baby is in my arms...God willing.  Each of my losses have been so different that there doesn't seem to be a connection, but now that I've had the induction, the D&C, and the two months of bleeding thanks to the retained tissue...now I wonder if there is a new reason that might cause a future loss due to scarring or something.  It's such a mind game.

I am starting to feel normal again, though.  As in, I am back to my normal routine for the most part.  I am still trying to wrap my head around the fact that I am not expecting anymore and my belly is just fat, not baby.  That baby is gone.  BUT, the hurt is a little less and not as overpowering.  I still cry, pretty much everyday.  I still hate it.  BUT, I am enjoying my kids, back to working, exercising, LIVING.  The kids are doing great in school, and it has actually been nice to have some time to myself for a change.  I've been trying to take better care of myself and focus more on me and getting me happy and healthy.  I had a great massage last week that really helped get rid of some of my pain.  Since the loss, the change in hormones has really jacked up my fibromyalgia to the point where I can literally see why it is one of the leading causes of suicide.  I would NEVER consider it myself, but it is such a hopeless, painful thing to deal with sometimes...I can understand why some people lose hope and end it, just to get away from it.  Again, death is the last thing I want for myself, so no worries.  I am used to suffering and will continue to do so.  That's what my life seems to be about anyway.

Hopefully now I can get back on track and quit worrying about when I WOULD get back on track.  That is a huge stress lifted.  I am still waiting on my refund from the doctor.  That money would really help right now, as we are still trying to catch up from the month of July and how bad it threw us off track, what with being off of work, the extra money spent on us being at home, the money for bills, etc.  It's just one thing after another.  My turn is coming though. I feel deep down that one person can only take so much and then they HAVE to have some kind of luck come their way.  I am sick of hearing that "God never gives us more than we can handle," because honestly, I don't have a choice.  I can't handle any more.  I can't handle what I've been through, I just have no choice.  It happened.  It is.  I can either deal with it or lay down and die.  I don't see that as "handling" it.  I see that as simply being.

Anyway, here's to the new chapter.  The better, healthier me.  The me that is going to find answers for all my questions.  The one who is going to find what I believe in.  Here's to enjoying life more, even through the pain.  Enjoying my children more, my family, my friends.  It's time to start living again.

First week of school - CHECK!

Our routine seems to be falling into place now.  Hayley likes her school.  Trevor wasn't sure if he liked it or not, but hasn't given me any problems with going.  He was mad that they never got to play with the toys in the classroom, but once he found out they would get a toy if they were good, he was set on that darn toy!  He made it through the week and was so happy yesterday (Friday) when he came out and showed me his Monster truck and three pieces of candy he got for being good all week.  He is dead-set on being good all the time, now. HAHA.  He is a good kid anyway and doesn't like to get in trouble, so I wasn't too worries, but then again, he got the one teacher Hayley hoped he didn't get...cause she's mean.  My main fear is that the first time he hears a tone in the teacher's voice directed at him he is going to lose it.  Time will tell.  She wrote "Good kid!!!" on his weekly progress report, so I'm hoping everything just keeps sailing along.  I miss the little toot during the day, but it's been nice to be alone, too.  I'm still functioning on low steam these days, so being alone has given me a little time to try and work my own things out.  I'm still working, too, so it's been rough getting up at 4:30, working until 7, getting the kids up and out the door by 7:45, and then coming home to clean a little or go for a walk before my 10-12 shift.  I'm getting back in the swing of things though.  I get a few hours to myself after work to eat lunch and veg out a bit, which I really need right now.  Then, it's off to get the kids again at 2:40 and 3:40.  The parking issue at the schools was hectic and frustrating the first few days, but we have it down now.  It does suck that I pick Trevor up an hour before Hayley, so we come home for about 20 minutes before we go right back up there to get her.  Yuck.  But, they are happy and liking school, so that's the most I could ask for.  Now to hope it stays that way the rest of the school year. :)

The good, the bad, the BS

Hmmmm....where to even begin?  The good?  I was finally able to see my RE doctor, Dr. Thomas, whom I love to pieces.  It was nice to talk to her...to a doctor who genuinely cares, and boy did I talk.  As soon as I walked in her office and she asked how I was doing, I lost it.  She said she could tell that, although I looked good, she could see in my face and demeanor that this was hitting me a lot harder.  She has always admired my strength and the ability to "laugh it off," so to speak.  I wasn't that humorous and entertaining on this visit.  A few days after my previous loss of Lily, she was looking on ultrasound for my ovary and I said, "God, did it fall out too?"  She thought that was hilarious and couldn't stop talking about the fact that I was able to find humor through what I was going through.  Guess it's just my way of coping.  It's either that or fall apart and go into a devastating, catatonic depression...I choose laughter.  Well, actually, I choose my babies and to never have been in this position in the first place, but since I am far from having that power, I will go with laughter whenever possible...but don't be fooled.  I am still dying on the inside.

Anyway, this is the good news part, so let's see.  Um.  There is nothing wrong with me that we can figure out. We have ran the gamut of tests available and there is nothing.  My babies have tested normal.  It is a mystery. My losses are also so different that there is no pattern.  Had it been a clotting disorder, then my last pregnancy wouldn't have ended due to a hemorrhage, which is the opposite of clotting, obviously.  The good news is, and this is my doctor's words, not mine:  "Don't take this the wrong way, but it just boils down to...well, REALLY SHITTY luck."  Is that good news?  I  mean, all my tests are normal...most of them look great, actually.  Doug's tests look great.  So we are great, right?  Having nothing wrong should be good news...shouldn't it?  But then, with no answers, there is nothing to treat.  There is no explanation for WHY my babies are gone.  All the questions I had for her - should I have eaten more, should I have exercised and gotten out of bed more, etc. - were all answered.  She assured me, and made me look at her when she said it, that it is NOT my fault or anything I did or didn't do.  She knows that I will still beat myself up that somehow I could or should have done something different, even though I was overly cautious.  I didn't eat sandwich meat or hot dogs, no baths, took my vitamins, switched to organic cleaners....I mean, I did it all.  She let me know how mad she was that this has happened to me again, and I believe her.  She told me that she believes that we aren't given more than we can handle and that is proof that I am "one tough cookie, Girl.  You are stronger than the rest of us...really.  I don't know how you have made it through and handled all this the way you have."  Thanks.  I guess the fact that I get sicker and my pain gets worse with stress helps turn me off of wallowing too much.  If I cry, I get sick to my stomach for days and ensure that I will have a migraine and my pain levels go through the roof as my muscles turn to stone.  Thank you fibromyalgia for teaching me to turn off my emotions and feelings...for helping me learn to go numb and remove myself from my life. In a way, I feel like an outsider looking in.  My pain is just a way of life.  I've just learned to expect it.  Some people may say that I just think negatively and bring it on myself, but actually, I have tried my best to think positively and give the benefit of the doubt, but it doesn't matter.  It keeps happening anyway.  I've just learned to aim low.  That way, I'm not as devastated and disappointed in the end, and so far, it seems to be the right way to handle it because life hasn't raised the "low" bar yet.  If I don't expect much, it won't hurt as bad when I don't get it. When the monsoon of bad luck never ends, well, if I don't dream of being dry and feeling the sun, then it doesn't bother me as much when I stay wet and cold.

OKAY, the good news...the good news.  Having my doctor back really is good news.  I had such a weight lifted just knowing she is back in my life and it felt great talking to her.  I shared some pictures with her and we cried together.  She was really affected by seeing the picture of Hayley and Trevor with the monkey that holds Andrew's ashes.  She has never seen my kids before and between that and the monkey idea, she was overwhelmed.  She has never seen or heard of the stuffed animal urns, and by her reaction, I'm sure many more women are GOING to hear about them, and that's great.  I think they could help a lot more women and families cope.  Being able to hug and hold something soft and lovable, instead of rubbing a cold, hard statue or wooden box...well.  She is so genuine and really cares.  It's like being with a really good friend, who is also a doctor...what could be better than that?  Especially when you are me, with all my weird afflictions and medical maladies! :)

Aside from that, I had a little occurrence (for lack of a better word) yesterday morning. I had a mini-breakdown after dropping the kids off at school.  I was looking at Andrew's pictures, crying, and talking to him.  I don't know if I specifically said it at that time, but I always ask for a sign.  I always ask for a white feather or a butterfly...a sign from above that life goes on and the angels really are there.  A sign that my babies are okay.  I even wrote it in my letter to Andrew that we attached to our balloons to Heaven before we released them.  I went for a walk to clear my head.  It was humid and I was feeling uncomfortable, so was ready to get back home and relax.  I was on my last leg of the walk, coming up to the last corner I would have to turn and I saw something floating down from the sky...a few feet over my head.  The sky about it was bright blue and cloudless, nothing in sight.  It floated straight down as I continued to walk, and I realized as it came to rest on the sidewalk right in front of me that it was a small, quarter-sized, downy white feather.  There were no trees around within several houses.  There was a man standing there, so I just kept walking, never slowing my pace, but the realization hit me.  A smile crept across my face.  The more I thought about it, the more I realized it was a small WHITE FEATHER!  I picked up the pace and decided to go back around the block again.  I hoped it would still be there in 15 minutes when I made my way back around, but knew it wouldn't be.  It wasn't.  Still, it makes me smile and I have to wonder.  I'm not totally convinced, but then again...if we always explain away every sign we are given, we may miss a lot of signs.  Sure, anything can be coincidence, but what if it's not?  Damn...why didn't I just stop and pick it up.  Now that will always bug me.

Okay, now on to the bad news...or at least, the consistently bad news.  When I told Dr. Thomas that I was still bleeding, she took me back for an exam and ultrasound.  She was in awe that no testing had been done thus far to make sure everything was healing properly.  My ovaries looked great, 18 follicles on one ovary!  Too bad I can't take advantage of that.  Instead, there is a thickening in the lining of my uterus, connected to a big feeder vessel...meaning it has a good blood supply.  Obviously, this is why I have been bleeding for 7 weeks now.  It's not a good sign.  More than likely there is something left from the pregnancy.  Funny, didn't Dr. Vu tell me that she was positive there was nothing in there.  She was positive that there wasn't even any reason to do the D&C, which was proven afterwards that there had been nothing left (she was sure to tell us this several times how she was RIGHT).  Now, I may end up having to have ANOTHER D&C.  I am waiting on lab results, which should come in this afternoon, and then we will see where we go from here.  Probably, I will first have to have a small camera inserted into my uterus to look and see what exactly this is.  Then, I may have to take medicine to try and help expel the contents (which sounds easy, but this is me.  I don't do medicine well.  I denied any medication during my delivery even though being induced and being in labor was excruciating, but I prefer the pain over the side effects of the medication....even when I feel I am literally being torn to shreds from head to toe...that's how bad I had medicine).  We may wait until I have a cycle and hope that whatever this is is expelled, but honestly, I'd rather do what we can now to get it over with.  I am so tired of it all...I mean, physically and mentally EXHAUSTED.  I am tired of the constant reminder of what I went through and what I SHOULD be going through.  I am tired of the constant worry and wonder, it's just one thing after another.  I don't want to wait and risk infection or scarring.  It's nice to have a doctor who agrees with me.  All she could do was shake her head at my "shitty luck."  She just couldn't believe how these things just keep happening to me.  It's nice to have that validation.  I hate to say anything about my shitty luck because I don't want people thinking I'm a drama queen or just hyping things up, kind of like how I keep my pain levels a secret.  To have the doctor make the observations without ME saying it...that goes in the GOOD NEWS section.  Funny, the things that put a smile on my face these days.  Some ladies like shoes or purses...I just like validation.

How do I say goodbye ... when I didn't get to say hello?
I want so bad to keep you ... how do I let you go?
I have so many dreams, so much love I want to share
There's nothing I can do ...why is life unfair?

You're my perfect angel...I dreamed you long ago
I never got to hold you but it breaks my heart to let you go
The pain and confusion I feel inside
I can not explain...I can not describe

God will rock you in your cradle and watch you as you sleep
I will love you in my heart ... it's all I get to keep
you are blessed my child ... you're in heaven up above
You'll never be alone...you have Mommy & Daddy's love

Hush my little baby...you need not ever cry
You were always wanted! I wish you didn't die
You'll be my sunshine in the daylight and the brightest star at night
Reach for God's hand and go to the light

I would rather endure the pain of losing you right now
Then the thought of you suffering through life...we'll get through somehow
I was blessed to have you briefly...even though I have to let you go.

Getting back on schedule.

I definitely have mixed emotions about the kids going to school Monday, but I am ready to get a schedule going. I think the time alone will be good for me in the long run, it's just going to be a major adjustment.  I mean, I can count on two hands the number of days I've been "alone," in the past 11 or 12 years.  It's going to be weird.  I do need some me time though to figure things out and get my health in order.  I am hoping to get back on a workout regimen and hopefully start walking again.  It will be nice, yet weird, to walk alone, without pushing Trevor's trailer in front of me.  I just hope my pain allows me to get into a good workout.  My pain levels have been through the roof since the loss.  I just threw my neck out this morning by just sitting here...didn't even turn my head or anything.  It's been a while since that happened, but I guess all the stress has really knotted up my muscles again and now I've pulled something out of place just because.  Oh well, I'm used to it...but it still sucks. :)

I've been working again for the past two weeks, and although it is hard to get up at 4:30, it's nice to be making money again and feeling productive.  I feel my life getting back on track, slowly.  I never forget how my life should be at any given time, but I'm starting to accept that this is my reality.  I've got to spend time with the kiddos the last few weeks.  We've been to the movies, shopping, the mall, McDonald's, Nickel Arcade, and we are getting ready to brave the 105 degree heat and go to Surf N' Swim for the last weekend before school.  Wish me luck.

08/17/2011

Finally, we have a little bit of money so I can get the kid's school shopping done before school in FIVE days!  Sheesh.  Everyone who knows me knows that I hate doing anything last minute...I mean, I usually have Christmas done in May!  With me being off work the last two months and all the extra bills that have accrued surrounding my loss, it has been a struggle.  I even had to put off my electric bill for two weeks...the first time I haven't paid a bill on time in over 10 years, and it stresses me out!  Anyway, we are caught up now, so hopefully there will be a little left after shopping today.  We'll see.  :)  Right now, I am just trying to focus on the weeks ahead and the fact that my youngest is starting kindergarten and I will be alone for the first time since 2000.  Hayley was in school three months before I had Trevor...that was my only "off" time.  This time I was due on New Year's.  I was going to have a few months "off" again, and then I would start all over with Andrew.  Now I will just be alone.  It's a hard pill to swallow.

I think my monthly cycle finally kicked in last night.  I was cramping and bleeding pretty bad, but it's hard to tell since I have been bleeding since my loss.  Sorry if it's TMI, but I know there are people reading this who are here because they are in a similar situation and need to know what to expect or to know the reality.  It is really hard to move on when you have that constant reminder and constant worry, wondering if this is normal or if there is something wrong...or if you will bleed to death...no joke.  People who haven't went through this just don't understand the constant toll it takes, emotionally, physically, and mentally.  It doesn't go away in a few weeks.  I am starting to move on and I don't cry all day every day anymore, but I have my little Andrew monkey to hold and talk to when I need to...not that it compares.  Aside from that, I have put his pictures on the dresser, away from my constant line of sight.  It was hard and I felt guilty at first, but I knew I would never start the healing process if I was constantly staring at his picture.  I still look at them several times a day, and I won't forget, of course, but I am trying to figure out where life goes from here and how to try to move on.

It's so hard to think that I should be halfway through my pregnancy right now.  I should be feeling him moving around and kicking, rubbing my bulbous belly, but instead I'm trying to feel better so I can begin to exercise and lose weight.  It's just so weird...so wrong.  I prayed my whole pregnancy for God to keep him safe, to let this happen, for Andrew to make it...but he didn't.  Things looked just fine, but something happened.  I prayed to make it to the 4D ultrasound that Hayley was so excited for...all she wanted for her birthday.  I prayed that I would finally be blessed with my final baby and would be able to move on with the rest of my life instead of focusing wholly on that very thing, as I have for the last three years.  Move on from the stress, depression, worry, anxiety, etc.  I would finally be able to figure out the rest of my life and close this chapter....but the chapter ended before it was finished.  Now I have to re-write the book and start all over.

I prayed.  Friends and family prayed.  I have lost 4 babies now.  Sure, I will continue to pray, just as a prophylaxis.  Just in case there is something to it.  Do I believe there is anyone hearing the prayers?  Well...after my losses, the suffering that has come with them, not only for me, but (mainly) for my daughter who has spent her last 3 birthdays learning about death and loss, suffering, and grieving....would you?  If you could see the replay of the movie in my mind and not just read the words and try to picture a few minutes of it...if you could see the incessant torture and "bad luck" that have plagued me the last three years, through all my prayers...if you could see your tiny daughter's eyes reflecting back at you from a toilet of blood, or see your little boy sprawled out before you, limp, and know that both were perfectly healthy and should have made it...if you could go through all that and still have faith, then I applaud and admire you.  I wish I could believe, but right now, I just don't.   I may not be the best person in the world, but just once, in three years, at least for my children, could He not have stepped in with his all-loving, miracle-performing grace, and granted me just ONE of my lost children?  I mean, it's not even a miracle, really...just to let my pregnancy continue since my babies were healthy, as most other pregnancies do...to smokers, drug addicts, hookers?   OR, at the very least, give me some answers!!?!?  Could he have stepped in and helped with my surgery and made sure that I would wake up and get a break, be able to rest, instead of fighting for my life and sanity thanks to the reaction to the anesthesia?  How about a break from my chronic pain and fatigue, or allow my body to tolerate some kind of pain or relaxation medication, so that I could have some momentary relief?  If He truly is the all-loving God...then he will understand my doubt and my questions.  I was born without an ounce of naivete in my body.  I need to see it to believe it.  He made me what I am, right?  He can take it.

I have too many questions and no answers when it comes to religion, as with everything else.  Out of the 10,000+ religions out there...there are a bunch of believers that obviously are wrong.  I mean, every religion can't be right that THEIR religion is THE religion, or THEIR God is THE God, yet, the people in each religion believe wholeheartedly that they are right.  Some people kill for their God, others don't eat meat, some fast altogether or live their life in silence.  So, which is it?  Is it the church whose pastor takes people's hard-earned, limited money and buys himself and his wife the fanciest house and car?  Is it the preacher whom you've listened to for 20 years, only to find out he was molesting children the entire time you took his every word as The Word?  Sure, not everyone is bad, but I just can't believe everything and anyone just because that's what I'm "supposed" to believe.  I need something more substantial than a stranger's Word.

You may be appalled to read that someone questions God or that I would say so out loud, but it is what it is.  I mean that truthfully.  I can't help it...it's how I feel.  It's seldom accepted when people question God, yet if something good happens God is the first to get credit, while when something bad happens he's somehow off the hook and had no hand in it.  How does it feel when you lose a baby and the torment cannot even begin to be described in words, and you hear, "God has a plan," or "Everything happens for a reason."  Those are opinions...and these are mine, so it should be interpreted that way.  I don't blast you for saying there is a good reason and plan while my children are taken away or that something good will come from the terror, gore, and despair I lived through, so I expect the same courtesy.

I'm not trying to sound mean or hateful about it, I just really need answers because I cannot make myself believe things that proof and science dictate otherwise.  Life would be easier if I could.  If I could flip that switch and magically believe, I would.  If anyone has answers, other than quoting the Bible, then I would love to hear.  I would love to believe and to have faith that there is an Almighty God looking after me.  I do believe there is something, a Higher Power, planes of existence, levels of consciousness.  I have found a meditation center that I am going to start going to as soon as my body heals and I have time for myself.  I think it will be the best thing for me and fits more with my beliefs.  The man who runs it has went to college and studied all religions.  He has went to Tibet and spent weeks with Buddhist monks and takes time furthering his Spirituality.  I'm not trying to piss anyone off or start a debate, or to think I am evil, but I really need answers before I can jump in and believe that "everything happens for a reason," or "there is a Higher Purpose."  I hope there is.  

Please Be Gentle ~ Jill B. Englar

Please Be Gentle
By Jill B. Englar

Please be gentle with me for I am grieving.
The sea I swim in is a lonely one
and the shore seems miles away.
Waves of despair numb my soul
as I struggle through each day.
My heart is heavy with sorrow.
I want to shout and scream
and repeatedly ask 'why?'
At times, my grief overwhelms me
and I weep bitterly,
so great is my loss.
Please don’t turn away
or tell me to move on with my life.
I must embrace my pain
before I can begin to heal.
Companion me through tears
and sit with me in loving silence.
Honor where I am in my journey,
not where you think I should be.
Listen patiently to my story,
I may need to tell it over and over again.
It’s how I begin to grasp the enormity of my loss.
Nurture me through the weeks and months ahead.
Forgive me when I seem distant and inconsolable.
A small flame still burns within my heart,
and shared memories may trigger
both laughter and tears.
I need your support and understanding.
There is no right or wrong way to grieve.
I must find my own path.
Please, will you walk beside me?

The results....

Well, the doctor finally called...or should I say, returned MY call.  Looks like all the tests on Andrew came back normal.  He was a perfect and healthy little boy.  Obviously, it is MY body that is killing my babies.  Why?  I don't know, but it comes down to the blood-clotting issues...it has to.  My test was slightly abnormal on one of the clotting tests the fertility doctor did on me a year ago, but a hematologist said it wasn't concerning and was "normal."  My doctor gave me the option to take an aspirin a day, but it was up to me and she didn't think it was really necessary...now I have to kick myself for not taking every possible precaution I could.  If I had just taken the damn thing, Andrew may still be here.  Instead, I have to look at his picture knowing that he was doing his part, growing perfectly, and was healthy...but something happened to end it.  I happened.  It's the only answer that makes sense.  I have to look at his picture knowing there is no reason I should be seeing him like that...he could have survived.  As harsh and as horrid as it sounds, my body killed him. The placenta did show the possible problem (perivillous fibrin disposition), which could point to a clotting disorder, or could be from the fact that he had died almost three days before I delivered.  I think it will be the former.  I hate this.

Now, the question is, do I try again?  Do I risk it again?  Can I live with myself if I lose another?  Obviously, the babies are growing fine and healthy, it's just a matter of giving them the right environment.  If I take medication, will my body do it's part and not fail another precious child?  If they don't find a cause on further or repeat testing, do I risk it anyway without medication?  It can't just be luck of the draw three times in a row, and two 14-week miscarriages...can it?  I really was feeling better about this pregnancy and thought that the first two in a row were luck.  I mean, the early one I had is VERY common, it happens.  The second one was because I jumped and moved wrong, causing the hemorrhage, which then caused the placenta to tear away a week later, expelling Lily and ending that one. But, now there's this one.  Everything was fine.  His heartbeat was fine just hours before he died.  His ultrasound testing a week and a half before showed him to be perfect, as did the blood tests.  So maybe it's not as random as I was thinking...and my fertility doctor was wrong, too.  She had no answers or explanations.  I wonder what she will say now when I go back next week?

If I do get pregnant again, will I get lucky enough to have another healthy child?  I have three already, and now two of the four miscarriages (the only ones that were tested) were genetically normal, so will I be blessed with another healthy baby AND be able to carry to term.  Can I bear to suffer through a pregnancy, physically, mentally, emotionally, knowing the toll it takes on me...AND deal with the constant fear and anxiety that at any moment something could go wrong AGAIN?  Can I live with the fact that I will never have another child, otherwise?  I just don't know.  I just still cannot believe that I am in this position.  My first two pregnancies were hard on my physically, but were so easy to conceive and there were no complications.  I had the 14-week loss where the baby had died at 12 weeks...and at that time I had never even heard of such a thing.  I thought you bled, you lost the baby, and it all happened early on.  I didn't know you could carry around a baby who had died AND go on  with the pregnancy like nothing happened.  That shook my world!  Then, I was blessed with Trevor, so it seemed that the loss was just one of those things after all.  Surely that 1% chance was just a "fluke."  Surely, with having one rare and isolated loss, such as I did, I was good to go. That was the one bad experience I was going to have.  No one can fall into the 1% category over and over again, right?

I've always wanted two children close in age, but the way things keep working out, it's just never going to happen.  Taylor is 18.  Hayley is 11.  Trevor will be 6 in December...and I've been trying for almost 3 years, with no luck.  Ages aside, I just need another baby.  I am at a different place in my life right now and I am getting older.  I just need one more.  If I could have five more, I would, but I will settle for just one more. Please God, that's all I'm asking, and then, I can go on with the rest of my life.  Some may say I have three healthy children already, so I should be thankful, and I am.  BUT, that just doesn't fill this need and desire for another.  It's so frustrating to be this person.  One of the unfortunate women who has trouble with pregnancy and carrying a baby to term.  It hurts.  My angels and losses are never out of my mind and I don't know that I will ever move forward without my rainbow baby (a baby conceived after loss(es).  The beauty at the end of the storm).

I moved Andrew's ashes into Hayley's Scentsy monkey.  It's nice to have something to hold, to squeeze, to lay with...Hayley likes it, too.  Even Trevor has come up to hug it.  It works perfectly, and the vanilla scent really helps relax me.  The only bad thing is that it makes me feel bad to walk out of the room and leave him on my desk when I could carry him with me.  I know it sounds crazy, but he is and always will be my baby.  It's strange to sit with him in my lap, knowing he should be just a few inches away thriving in my womb.  Instead, he is a pile of ashes tucked away inside a stuffed animal.  Once the anxiety and hurt heals a bit, I will probably move him back to his beautiful urn, but for now, I just need him close.  Maybe after I buy mine and Hayley's urn necklaces, it will be easier to make that transition since he will always be right by our hearts.  I hope he can feel the love we have for him.  I just wish we could feel his love in return.

I never thought I’d join the “baby loss mom” club.  I sure never thought I’d join the “recurrent baby loss mom” club.  What a cruel joke.  I have had three people in the past week tell me they are expecting.  I try to bite my tongue.  I was expecting too.  So many of us were.  You don’t always get what you expect.  Sometimes, instead of a baby, you get a pile of ashes.  Instead of a birth certificate, a death certificate.  And instead of joy and happiness, heart break and devastation.~ Nikki

Andrew is home!

My Andrew is home, one month and one day to the date he was born.  Finally.  Such a big weight has lifted, but it still sucks.  What I wouldn't give to have my baby instead of a pile of ashes.  It is what it is.  I can't change anything, no matter how hard I try or want to, so I am happy that he is at least home where he is loved and we can keep him "safe."  He isn't lying around the morgue or funeral home anymore, no more strangers or being alone.  He is home.

It was strange to see the funeral director bring in a big paper gift bag, knowing that he was carrying the cremains of my son.  The temporary plastic urn they had him in was actually quite nice and I was happy to see that he wasn't just in a cardboard box.  It looked like the hands that prepared him really cared and took the time to make everything look nice and show that he was important.  When his ashes were removed there was a gold medal tied around the bag with his ID number.  It took my breath at first to see a bag of what looked like sand, knowing that this was the little boy who was created and grew in my belly, but it wasn't really as morbid as I had thought.  Even the bag looked like it had been handled with care.  I had asked to see the ashes, frankly because I was so worried that he was so small that there wouldn't be anything left.  I think a big part of my fear this last month was that they would call and say they were sorry but there was nothing left for me.  I was shocked at the amount of ashes there were.  I emailed Restland, where he was cremated, to ask if they did cremate him with a piece of wood after all.  I was truly expecting just a pinch of ashes.  As it is, the ashes barely fit in the memorial urn we bought!  I will be able to use some of the ashes in a couple of necklaces for Hayley and I to wear close to our hearts, as well as have him in the urn.  I like that.  If I can't hold and soothe him to sleep on my chest, with him being lulled by the rhythmic drumming of my heart, then I will carry him in a necklace close to my heart where he lives forever.  Again, not what I wish it was, but it's all I can do...all that I have.

We did find out that the doctor was refusing to sign the death certificate.  I'm not surprised, seeing that she never once acted as if I were losing a baby.  She was not a caring doctor at all, in fact.  I still see her flinching when I tried to hand Andrew to her when my contractions got so strong that I couldn't hold him any more.  While she retreated and went across the room for gloves, the nurse stepped in to take him from me, telling him how precious he was, and offered to leave him in the room where I could spend more time with him later.  The doctor was indifferent, never acknowledging him or acting as if I were anything but another labor or surgery.  Never an "aww...he was beautiful."  No "I'm sorry."  Nothing.  If I could choke her and get away with it...I would.  Instead, I will wait and handle it as I should and hit her where it hurts.  I will not stand back and let her treat another woman or baby the way she treated me and mine.  I had bad feelings about her from the start.  Too bad I didn't follow my instincts.  I have a long list of wrongs she inflicted on me and I will be compiling them in a letter to send to the hospital, the State, the insurance, and wherever else I can find to send it.  I want it on her record at the very least.  She is in the wrong field to be so uncaring, methodical, and cold.  If I were pregnant, why would I want a doctor that doesn't like babies or at least empathize with mothers?  She may be a great doctor on paper, or for a textbook pregnancy, but she didn't know much of anything about mine, and said more than once that she would have to "look it up" and "study" things for me, from a low FSH in the beginning, to the vitamins that my previous doctor had okayed, and then there was the antibiotics for my UTI that she was unsure of.  She never studied or gave me answers for any of the above.  In fact, she always treated me like I was blowing things out of proportion and exaggerating...one thing that I have dealt with my entire life and cannot STAND!  It took my entire life to be diagnosed with hypersensitiveness, anxiety, and fibromyalgia.  To have my pain acknowledged as real, right down to the deterioration and arthritis in my hip, which is very rare at such a young age, I am used to doctors blowing me off.  It took YEARS of fighting and tests before I found doctors who started finding out that not only was I truly suffering with REAL issues, but my issues were very bad by the time they finally had a name.  In a way, I was lucky because I learned to cope with them (what choice did I have), but I do NOT exaggerate my symptoms.  In fact, it is quite the opposite.  I have a high pain tolerance because of my issues AND I second-guess that anything is wrong, usually until it is too late, because it is ingrained in me that I don't REALLY feel the way I feel.  When I say I'm in pain...it's BAD pain.  SO, when a doctor acts as though I am a hypochondriac or doesn't listen when I'm giving them the clues they need, it pisses me off to no end.  What's funny is I always get proved right in the end, and then the doctor's have that "Oh.  You were right," or "You really DO have..." such and such.  YES!  THAT'S WHAT I SAID IN THE FIRST PLACE!  FREAKIN LISTEN!  I KNOW MY DAMN BODY!

Anyway, the funeral director was just as sickened by the way doctors treat babies as I was.  Apparently, he had had a similar experience 40 years ago, so he was empathetic and caring.  He understood the need for closure.  The need to protect our children, even when they are beyond protecting.  He understood that above all else...they are OUR CHILDREN.  He pulled the cards with Andrew's footprints on them and said, "Awww...so tiny.  The doctor should be made to look at these and then say..."

The lady at the funeral home fought for several weeks to get the doctor to sign the death certificate and apparently got pretty "in your face" about it.  I am so thankful that they fought for us and for Andrew.  It's such BS.  Why do we have to fight to prove that our babies were real...they were a LIFE, not just a clump of tissue?  You can see the heart beating on ultrasound as early as FIVE weeks!!!!  You can see little arms and legs, hands and feet...How is that not a life?  They kick and wiggle and suck their thumbs...but if the doctors had their way, they would just use them for lab testing and then dispose of them.  It sickens me.  It would be great if all the people who put their energy into abortion rights would start fighting for these babies' rights.  The whole system is disgusting and people need to stand up and fight for OUR rights and fight for OUR babies.

I'll step down from my soapbox now.  The main thing is, my son is finally home where we can all get a little bit of peace and comfort.  We can begin moving on and learning to live our lives again, without him.  We will search for our new normal.  I will try to find ways to keep his memory alive and make his loss mean something by helping other women in similar situations.  I want to find ways to start bringing awareness and making hospitals, doctors, and states, in general, change their rules and laws.  Andrew's memory will live on in our hearts...never will we forget our precious boy.  He was already such a big part of our lives, and still is.  He is home.

9:30  Well, I love the angel urn, but now I'm realizing the point of the soft, teddy bear urn.  As soon as I can afford it I will buy one of those.  I didn't realize how much I would want to hold Andrew and hug him.  I can't leave this one alone and it's just not good for carrying around or lying with.  

http://www.perfectmemorials.com/extra-large-teddy-bear-cremation-urn-brown-personalize-p-9136.html

One month and it's not getting easier...

We love you, Andrew.  We miss you so much.  You were only with us a short while, but you mean the world to us...always.

One month ago today I was induced and gave birth to my special little boy.  It was so strange and difficult to sit in the hospital room feeling "normal," waiting for my body to kick into labor mode since even though my son was dead, my body wasn't accepting it...so the pregnancy continued.  After being there almost 12 hours, the pills finally worked and my Andrew was born.  There was no cry.  No hustle and bustle of nurses tending to him, weighing him, and cleaning him up.  Just Doug and I.  We waited for the nurse to come in before I moved because we didn't know what to do and were both scared to look.  He was too small to hold without the help of a little knitted pocket that was lovingly made by a nurse at the hospital for other unfortunate people in my situation.  The nurse, Cheryl, that took care of Doug and I helped put him in it because we were too scared to touch him...to hurt him.  He was so little and so hard to look at at first, but at the same time, I couldn't take my eyes off of him.  He looked so much like his big brother, Trevor.  There is one picture where the resemblance is obvious, and I have it on my desk next to his urn, which is empty, as we are still waiting on all the legalities to have his ashes home.  It's amazing how hard and long we have to fight just to prove he is "ours."

He was already going to be a big boy, 7 inches at 14 weeks, with big feet.  He was going to fit right in.  He looked so perfect, just small and lifeless.  I couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by imagining what he would have become in just a few more months. What I wouldn't give for him to be able to thrive with his brothers and sister.  To laugh about their big feet and crazy toes, as I'm sure he would have had the "monkey pincer" toes, too.  What I wouldn't give to watch him grow up and compare him to his siblings and to how much he looked like his brother, how much he acted like his sister, or how he had selective hearing, like his father AND his siblings.  I know Trevor would have loved to hear how much Andrew looked like him or did certain things like him.  What I wouldn't give to have Andrew smile at me and love ME the way that Trevor does, with that look that let's me know he thinks that I'M the bee's knees.  Have him laugh at how crazy and goofy his sister is and the lengths she will go to to get that very laugh.  To see him start crawling, sitting up, walking, taking his first bite, his butterfly kisses.  The hurt is still so strong.  I still have no answers as to why and I'm still not any closer to accepting it.  My grief and my pain is so intense, the stress from it all is still weighing heavily on my mind and my body.  I can't think anymore.  I feel run down.  When does it get better?

We did go to the lake today - Hayley, Trevor, Doug, and I - and sent some balloons off.  We had each written our letters to Andrew, Lily, and our other nameless angels, and tied them to the balloons.  It was amazing how quickly they took off and disappeared into the Heavens and up to our angels.  I know it helped Hayley feel better and she asked if the balloons would really make it all the way to Heaven.  I assured her that even if the balloons couldn't go that high, the angels would fly down and grab them and take them back to the clouds for our babies.  She accepted that.  I hope it's true.

Now, if I can just get some answers.  My appointment is in 2 weeks to go back to my RE doctor, whom I love to pieces, so maybe she can help answer some of my questions.  At the same time, I dread going because that is where I watched my babies grow, weekly, from 5 weeks on up to 11 weeks, on the ultrasound.  It was hard after losing, Lily.  Now, it is going to be even harder since I had graduated from her office to my regular OB/GYN.  I wasn't supposed to go back to her until the baby was here...to show him off.  Instead, I'll be going back to view an empty womb.  It makes me cry just typing it.  It's so sad to see that empty void knowing your baby should be thriving in there.  I am glad that at least at her office, most women are trying to get pregnant, although I wish fertility issues / struggles on no one.  I won't have to sit in a room full of pregnant women and new mothers, like I did a few days after my loss when I had to go back to my doctor...where everyone was expecting, but me.

I was reading the blog of a friend and fellow angel mommy and wanted to share an excerpt from her blog that really hits home and explains it (thank you, Nikki) - "I never thought I’d join the “baby loss mom” club.  I sure never thought I’d join the “recurrent baby loss mom” club.  What a cruel joke.  I have had three people in the past week tell me they are expecting.  I try to bite my tongue.  I was expecting too.  So many of us were.  You don’t always get what you expect.  Sometimes, instead of a baby, you get a pile of ashes.  Instead of a birth certificate, a death certificate.  And instead of joy and happiness, heart break and devastation."  

So tired...

It's been a few days since I last posted.  I have been busy.  Tired.  Confused.  Stressed.

I started back to work after a month off (actually longer because I had been having computer issues, so it's been a LONG break).  I've been dealing with the insurance for all the doctor and hospital bills, as well as dealing with the car insurance for the wreck I was in.  Andrew was cremated Monday, but there was another paper that wasn't signed, so Doug had to go to the funeral home to sign it, and we are still waiting to get Andrew home. On top of that, Hayley had drill camp this week from 8:45 to 12, so after my first shift was over, I was off to drop her at the camp, go home and work my second shift, and then quitting early so I could go back for her.  By noon, I already had a busy 7-hour day!  Usually, I would love it, but I am so exhausted.  I just can't kick the exhaustion, the fatigue, the no energy, and I cannot think for anything.  I know there are obvious reasons why, but with my fibromyalgia, everything is just intensified.  No sleep is enough to feel rested.  I literally need a jackhammer to work through my spasms.  Aside from the pain, which I can handle because I'm used to it, the fatigue and fibro "brain fog" is ridiculous.  I knew that a symptom of my fibromyalgia is sensitivity to stress, but boy am I a case example right now.  I should submit myself as a guinea pig...   Seriously.

I am trying to juggle all these things I need to be dealing with, but it's hard to keep my head straight.  Of course, if I weren't having to fight against the outrageous bills, and having to fight because the lady who flat out HIT my car is denying it and lying (even though the insurance totally believes me... but without her admission, I will have to pay my $500 deductible since there were no witnesses and we live in a "no-fault" state.  It will not go against me since it is ruled as not being my fault, BUT I still have to pay money that I should never be having to pay in the first place!).  I already have proof that she hit me, just in the marks on my car and the fact that her story doesn't even make sense, which the insurance lady blatantly told me.  I just need someone to let me point out to them all the inconsistencies and the marks, and I can easily prove, without a doubt, without witnesses, what happened....and I WILL.  Let me play the part of the lawyer for just a moment, because I'm really good at proving my point when I'm being called a liar or getting screwed.  I will find whomever I need to to listen to me and will make sure this B#*$@ pays for my car.  The fact that there are TIRE marks, ALONE, proves that I was going straight and her tire was turned towards ME...because she was coming into MY lane as I was going straight!  There wasn't any body contact from her car, so how does the tire hit me and not her car....ESPECIALLY if I am driving into her?  Just the tire and side mirror?  Nope...doesn't work. I was ticked that she hit my new car, but I'm even MORE ticked now that she is flat out lying about it and blaming ME!!!  Liars are one of my biggest peeves, and in this case, it is a very close second to how mad I am about the damage to my car.  I would love to go MMA on her a$$ right now and relieve my stress all over her sorry self.  That would be such good medicine to me right now.  Give her back all the crap and stress she has added to my life, the weight she has thrown on MY shoulders, when I didn't have an option either way.  I was just driving down the road trying to spend the day with my kids...

THEN there's the hospital. The hospital denied my first dispute, saying that a baby is either stillborn or a live birth, and that is how they charge.  There are set fees, and it is either one or the other...but it's not.  It took forever and letting me "speak to whomever is on the next level" to finally explain to them that my situation is rare and to get them to UNDERSTAND, though I'm still not positive they understand what exactly DIDN'T happen.  Typically, I had a miscarriage and you are not induced for it.  You either have it at home or go through surgery.  They could not understand that there was no doctor, no physician's assistant, no nothing.  I was basically in a room for observation and assistance in case there was a snag.  My baby had died, but my body was not aware of it, so my body was made to go into labor...I was induced.  That, and the fact I was so far along that a D&C was riskier. We had a nurse who checked in every few hours and who came in after Andrew was born to help get him situated.  That was it.  No $4,000+ delivery, no pushing that was coached by a doctor, no anesthesiologist to help keep me comfortable, no physician's assistant, no monitoring me, because I didn't take any pain medication, no team of people to look after the baby, no aftercare for me...nothing but Doug and I.  I hope they got it this time, because if not, I will dispute it again.  I will NOT pay for a more complicated delivery, when mine was nowhere near any of it.  I don't care if they don't usually break down the charges...they will this time because that is just ridiculous.  Would you pay the same price for having a shed built if they were supposed to build you a house?  Of course not.  I'm not saying Andrew wasn't worth the money, he was worth everything, but I'm not paying Big Business for care that didn't happen.

On top of it, I lost my baby.  My little Andrew.  Trevor's spitting image.  My heart is still broken.  I still have to look at babies and see pregnant women everywhere I go, and no one knows the heartache inside.  No one knows that even though I look normal, my brain is split into two, one seemingly normal-functioning half to keep me looking normal and going about business as usual, and the other half that is torn into a million pieces, constantly thinking about my baby and everything that goes with it...the part we learn to bury deep inside. No stranger will look at me and know the horror and pain I have lived in the last month (the last years really) and it is really hard to act like it didn't, but that's what we angel mommies do.  We have to pick up and be shoved out into the world where there is no real understanding.  We have to go to our doctor's appointments and sit in the waiting room with other pregnant women, or women with newborns, while we are trying to recover from the loss of ours.  We get to pick up the pregnancy and parenting magazines to read to try and divert our attention.  We have to go to the store and pass the baby items and baby clothes, knowing that we should be shopping this department, but now we just have to wonder if we ever will again.  We have to pass the dates weekly that coincide with how far along we should be, how big the baby should be, or how much longer until we could meet and hold them, and instead of the joy of getting that much closer and celebrating milestones, we are counting the weeks since our loss, the weeks since we held them, the weeks since we found out our pregnancy was over and there was nothing we could do to change it.  Now we have to dread the upcoming empty due dates, the anniversary of our losses, and all the other dates that should be of no significance, but now are overwhelmingly significant.  It's so frustrating and overwhelming.  Life could and should be so different right now.