Cycles of Nature: Miscarriage Recovery

We drove through a recent area damaged by forest fire. Looking across the landscape at skeletons of trees peppering the once beautiful landscape. Hacked down trunks lay on the forest floor, barren of much foliage. Black scorched sides of others still standing was a stark contrast to the backdrop of green healthy mountainsides set afar. How sad. I thought to myself. I wish our lands were protected from this damage. I wish people would be more careful, as so much of this ruin is senseless...due to people's irresponsibility. 

But the truth of it is...wild fire isn't always a bad thing. The density of tree growth can cause the underlying foliage to falter in growth due to lack of sunlight. The soil becomes stripped of its nutrients and new generations of seeds can't begin their life. A fire comes along and creates more fertile growing capacity because the heat of the fire strips the nutrients out of trees and plants and replenishes the soil composition. New growth begins, the soil is restored, and the cycle of nature continues.

Cycles of nature. We learn and accept from a young age that the moon sets each night, followed by the sun rising, the seasons continue their pattern, tadpoles turn to frogs, and caterpillars to butterflies. As we age we learn about other cycles....children one day become their parents caregivers, life leads to death and so on.

Today, I intimately learned about other cycles in nature. Natural selection at the core. A built in biological population control, so to speak. Results of our genetic testing came back and we met with the doctor this afternoon. Our baby, a boy, had an extra chromosome. Number 7 to be exact. As it was explained to me, when egg cells go through meiosis and split their cells, then match up with a sperm cell with the other half of those split cells, a healthy embryo is created. Sometimes, meiosis doesn't happen correctly, this particular egg didn't actually split it's number 7 chromosome. Therefore when matched up with the sperm cell it ended with three chromosome sevens. We were told that research shows that even in the healthiest most perfect eggs from the most fertile women....about 1/3 of the eggs have chromosomal abnormalities. It is so common. This baby would never have made it. Even if the pregnancy lasted and the child was born into the world, he would have died shortly after. Missing major portions of brain, or other critical body parts.

Knowing this information has done several things. It's releasing me of the guilty feelings. (click here to read my version of the stages of grief).  I didn't cause this miscarriage. It would have happened no matter what. Knowing the science behind it, and the commonality of this genetic mishap, has made me come to peace a bit. 25% of pregnancies end in miscarriage, and the doctor said it is likely higher than that because so many pregnancies go undetected. Knowing that most of those are caused by the mis-matched socks of genetics makes me feel like it was more normal than abnormal. Also, I've come to acknowledge that this was the best possible outcome for us and this baby. I would rather have an early pregnancy loss than a late, or an infant loss.

This loss was our wildfire. It is sad. Has left an ugly landscape. But under the burned debris of a destroyed forest will be a new seedling sprouting and reaching for the sunshine. It will have all the nutrients it needs and all the light possible. It will grow and thrive and it will change the desolate looking land. It will be the hope and celebration of life, and it will be much more appreciated due to the fire before. I believe wholly that the forest within me will begin to heal and recover. My soils will be rich and the sun will shine brightly.
"These have come so that your faith--of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire--may be proved genuine and may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed." 1 Peter 1:7

Stages of Grief After Miscarriage in Real Time

Last week when doing laundry, a red bandana that was intended for the "dress-up box" I've been meaning to compile, somehow found it's way into the laundry. Along with a book, a cloth diaper, and a bottle of silver glitter nail polish. Obviously Noah was helping put things away, and in my rush to get chores done, I dumped the basket and all it's contents into the wash without much ado.
As you can imagine, red bandanas and vulnerable white clothing items in the wash together results in just what you would expect. Pink tinges. Pink cloth diaper (So sorry Bear Bums Diaper Service), pink  t-shirts, onesies and socks.

As I maneuver my way through the day-to-day tasks of this new reality of mine, trying to stay engaged with my job, my husband, friends, and especially Noah...I find myself all the sudden incredibly upset, for what would appear on the outside, no reason at all. Logically I know my hormone levels are still out of whack. I know my emotional tea kettle has exceeded its pressure threshold. I know I'm really not upset because the lawn hasn't been mowed....even if that is the thing that sets off my whistler. I am fully aware that these overgrown grass induced meltdowns are external evidence of the shredded mess within. (Click here to see what happened).

Although I know being the "I'm going to research what's wrong with me" type has only led me and my trusty colleague, Web MD, to diagnose myself with rare diseases such as Neuroaxonal Dystrophies, causing more unnecessary stress due to the inaccuracies of my Google Doctorate's Degree.... I still do it. Behold, I was researching the stages of grief. My hopes were to determine where I was on the continuum and how far I had to go in order to achieve some sort of closure. How many more steps do I need to take to get this awfulness over with?

I have come to the conclusion that I'm either a bizarre case, or that stages of miscarriage grief must not be easy to outline in a "text-book" definition. Therefore I've been drafting my own stages in real time. I've come to determine that grief isn't just 'stages', or steps that you take until you become 'sober' again. Instead it's like the red bandana. It finds the vulnerable places within you, the purest, whitest places and tinges them. It permeates throughout the entirety and colors all that is good and clean with a shadow of the pain. It won't come out. It may lighten over time, and several washings, some heavy duty cleaner... But it will always be evident. At some point, these clothes will become put away, used for 'painting only' or just boxed up when they are out-grown. Then one day, they will resurface and the memories of red bandanas will rise to the top with them.

Here are the stages I have experienced....but there isn't a clear beginning and end. They intermingle and come or go as they please.

The Numbness Stage. It doesn't seem real yet. You are sad, but as I tried to describe to friends....you feel like you are watching a very sad movie. You are outside of your body and watching, like a wall flower. It's not really denial as Kubler-Ross describes. It is touching something so hot you feel the intense burn momentarily but then the pain turns to numb. You know its going to hurt again soon. When your senses get over the initial shock.

The "What if" Stage. It is ever consuming. What if I hadn't gone to New York? What if I hadn't forgot to take my vitamins for a few days? I drank a cup of caffeinated tea every once in a while, and I was told no caffeine. I lifted a 27 pound toddler several times a day, what if I hadn't carried him around? The guilt tears you up. I'm partially praying for genetic testing results to report a chromosomal abnormality so that I can have something other than myself to blame.

The Sadness Stage. The numb begins to wear off, and the white hot pain sears in such intensity. Your heart feels broken. You cry yourself to sleep, when you are alone you cry while awake, and sometimes even when you aren't alone. Someone can habitual just say, "hey how are you doing?" The sorrow pours out, and they get more than they anticipated. Hopefully that person is caring and supportive and will just hold you and pat your back and help you return from the dark cloud you just got sucked into.

The Control Stage. About a month ago the lawn mower broke. Chris tried to fix it a few times, with not much luck. With the stress of our world lately the grass grew and grew until it was a jungle all around. So much is out of your control. Your body is out of control. Your emotions. Your plans are screwed up. You grapple for the reins on something. Simple house cleaning tasks, projects. Paying bills. Getting the lawn mowed. I tried to hire someone to come out and mow, I couldn't get any lawn service to call me back, I couldn't get a teen age kid....I was so desperate to get control of the yard that I ended up borrowing a mower from a friend, pushing it across Robb drive and down our street like it was a stroller. I primed that motor, and pulled and pulled the cord....couldn't get the damn thing to start. I just lost it. A total meltdown. The frustration of not being able to control the big things was only exacerbated by not having control of the little things either.

Eff you. Eff you. And you can go eff yourself stage. This is the tea-kettle stage. The steam from all that sadness and lack of control builds up and the anger spews with a rumble and flash of lightening. Someone gets struck. Unfortunately, its usually the someone who loves you the most. Irritation, jealousy, and crazy hormones creates a nasty beast. I'm sorry honey.

Between all of these is the Pretend Stage, which fills in the gaps, pretend you are okay and move along with your life. Nobody wants to continuously be around someone who is such a hot mess....so you have to fake it sometimes.

I don't believe my rendition of the Grief Model is complete. Likely I will add a few more stages before I get to a "healed enough to function well again" place.... but I need to finish the laundry story.... as I was shaking out, folding and putting away, pink and not pink clothes, I discovered sparkly silver glitter subtly decorating each piece. It made me smile. Maybe amongst all the pink tinged grief that losing this baby has caused,  I will be able to find the silver glitter. The sparkle that life does provide.

Breaking out of Baby Jail

I had a terrible nightmare last night. I dreamed we were at our follow up appointment with Dr. Whitten. We arrived to the clinic, sat across from this nurses counter and she pulled out a half-formed skull the size of a plum. The doctor came in and proceeded to explain that we lost our baby, not due to chromosomal mishaps but because I had something wrong with my heart. I needed a pacemaker and I also had something wrong with my baby making machine and so I needed an "IVF pump" which resembled an insulin pump.

Upon waking I knew immediately that there was no such thing as an IVF pump, and possibly it represented the copious amounts of hormones Chris has been injecting me with. There is something wrong with my heart though. It's broken. I have lost my baby. We have lost my baby. Our baby. When something is a part of YOUR body it feels like it's yours, your arm, your leg, your heart. I have to remind myself that I'm not alone. It was ours. We made it together. Chris, and I....and the doctor that is.

After a successful Frozen Embryo Transfer, we were 9 weeks pregnant. Having gone through 7 years of infertility, leaving us with one beautiful and healthy child, and four frozen potential babies, I thought we had our success formula all figured out. We knew our struggle was getting that positive test, but carrying a child I was good at! No worries after we got to that point. Well. I was wrong. Miscarriage can happen to me too. Just because we struggled on the first end, didn't mean we had hit our ratio of "bad things" in the baby making department.

We are now 6 days post D&E surgery....yes that's an E. I didn't even know there was such a thing. E means evacuation. My baby was evacuated. It sounds awful. It is awful. We are 10 days past the world stopping its spin, when we found no heartbeat. I'm going through the motions of each day. "Faking it till I make it."

Each day I perseverate on something different, and those thoughts stick with me the entire day. I'm in a jail cell. The bars holding me in are guilt, and anger, and 'what ifs?' I'm learning a lot about myself through this grieving process, and yes I think I will come out of this a better person. However, right now, I'm a horrible person. The guilt is consuming.

People say to me, "It will be okay." I know they are right. I know it will turn out. I know God has his own plan and this is part of it. Somehow I have to close the gap between where I am at right now, and to that place of 'okay'ness. I'm such a planner that I want to organize out on the calendar my grief and my steps moving forward. Being faced with the reality that it doesn't work that way is forcing me to address the loss in a different way.

I plan on riding writing through the storm. My hopes are through this blog I can grieve, I can learn, I can document. I want to break out of Baby Jail.