Elena at 4 weeks old.

These photos were taken one year ago today. It’s safe to say that April 24, 2010 was the most joyous day of our life together. Sure, we were quite glee on our wedding day, but the day we found out we were finally expecting our first child – we were high as kites.

I was very impatient (no, me?) and tested 2 days before my missed period. Jim was taking a Praxis exam and he literally had minutes between coming home and heading back out to perform a show for an Earth Day Festival. He was coming to pick me up, so I text him to tell him that he had to come inside. I grabbed my camera and handed him the test.

Clearly, he was happy.

As for the rest of the 8 weeks that we knew we were pregnant, well, you know how that went. And then on a warm day in mid June, it was over.

But as type this, our little girl seems to be trying to escape from my uterus by way of my abdomen  (You’re not coming out that way young lady), and I’m filled with gratitude. I will be 36 weeks pregnant tomorrow.

The happiness and excitement of April 24th could not compare to the emotions felt when we got our next positive test on September 12th. But so, so soon, we’ll have a new “most joyous day of our life” to speak of.

Of course, I submitted mine. I plan on writing some more. I feel that it’s important to share these stories with one another. And this comment from a reader named Megan should tell you why:

Oh, how I needed to read this right now. As I type this I am still in the process of miscarrying at six weeks. Even though I already have one healthy child, I need a reminder that healthy pregnancies do happen after miscarriage. I need as many reminders as I can get, actually.

visit Unspoken Grief.

Unfortnately, on June 15th, it became a day to dread. Now it’s here, and just like the one year mark, I am surprisingly okay.

We had our 20 week appointment today and when I told my midwife that I was fine in regards to the date, she said, “bullshit.” But really, it’s true. I can’t be sad. I certainly can’t cry. I have so much to look forward to. I have my baby girl to think about.

Oh, and I have this little thing called gratitude that refuses to let me feel sorry for myself.

Giving up drinking was definitely the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. Marking 2010 as my most challenging right from the start.

It came in like a lion

After the disappointment I felt on New Years Day, I decided that was it. I was done. No more broken promises, no more “I’ll have this many, by this time” games. Done. I didn’t make any promises to anyone or grand announcements. I just stopped.

A few days into the year, Jim and I decided it was time to make a baby. We were tired of putting it off and waiting until everything was absolutely perfect financially. I had gone off the pill in October and there were no accidents. It was time to get down to business.

Planned sex, abstaining from coffee (on top of booze!), leaving behind the Paxil I’d come to love. Peeing on sticks, crying at the sight of red. 3 months of let downs. Then – a blue cross! Hooray! Share the news, buy clothes, decide on names.

Even in June, the lion continued to roar.

Bleeding, followed by: “Your uterus just doesn’t feel like it’s where it should be for 11 weeks.” Our first baby was gone.

I spent days in tears. An entire summer filled with sadness. Though in spite of all this, I don’t remember feeling the anger I felt at the start of the year. This was because in January, along with getting sober and making a baby, I made another quiet decision: I wanted to start anew.

It became clear to me that getting sober wasn’t going to happen until I rid myself of the negativity that had plagued me for years. I began rubies and love songs, and even on days when finding something cheerful to post seemed impossible, I stuck it out – missing just one week last month.

If it weren’t for this commitment to seeing the best in things, I know for sure that I never would have made it through the first few months of sobriety, let alone been able to deal with my miscarriage. I’m so grateful for that. :pats self on back:

The Lion grows tired and shuts up

My summer ended with the celebration of my mother’s 50th birthday, and another pregnancy. That same weekend, I became pregnant again, just 10 weeks after the loss of our first baby. How lucky?

The fall was spent worrying. Sure I was excited, but mostly, I worried. Then as this trying year came to a close…

The Lion was replaced with a lamb

We saw our beautiful baby girl on the screen, alive and well, and growing, just as she should be.

—–

There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think about having one, or three. I miss drinks. What I don’t miss is what comes along with them. And after the year I’ve had – the growth, the new found strength, the amazing insight – I really can’t imagine going back, or having to start again. I’m truly happy, even when I’m sad. Which is the opposite of being inherently angry, even when you’re happy.

So why isn’t the magnitude of one year sinking in? Why am I not extra emotional or overflowing with pride? Because I know there’s still work to do, there always will be. And that’s alright.

After examining me, my midwife used the word worried. Something about my uterus not being where it should be for 11 weeks pregnant, but all I remember was the word “worried.” She told me to call my designated ultrasound place. The woman at South Jersey Radiology was giving me a hard time and I began to cry. The midwife took the phone and told the asshole on the other end that she would just send me to the local hospital.

We pull up to a hospital nearly an hour away from home. I hate hospitals. I am forced to put on a gown and scolded for eating peanuts. I ate anyway. I waited for hours.

Then later, I stared at an ultrasound screen: “heartrate __.” Somewhere else on the screen I saw “7weeks 2 days.”

I’m not going to get through this without a drink. I need to get absolutely, fucking drunk.

I wailed the whole way home. As we passed the giant liquor store near our house, I told Jim what I had thought about earlier.

“If you’re going to have a drink, I need cigaretttes.”

He had quit just before I became pregnant.

“NO! That isn’t how this works! It’s not the same. I don’t want to think or feel anything! How can it be the same for cigarettes?!”

There was some arguing and then we arrived home, sans cigarettes or booze. I took out a beer that had to be 10 months old and I opened it. I let it sit on the table in front of me. I thought about the 6 months of sobriety I had behind me.

I sniffed it, I sipped it. I dumped it down the sink.

I made it through the rest of that day, two family events that weekend, and my 28th birthday the following week.

I made it through the entire summer without completely losing it.

While some might think this means I can get through anything, I will not make it through another day like that one.

i know there should be several apostrophes in my title, but my wp theme is a jerk

]]> http://www.solitaryinsanity.com/writers-workshop-a-day-i-didnt-think-id-get-through/feed/ 14 http://www.solitaryinsanity.com/is-she-alive-pt-2/ http://www.solitaryinsanity.com/is-she-alive-pt-2/#comments Fri, 27 Aug 2010 13:41:29 +0000 Brooke http://www.solitaryinsanity.com/?p=1266 This post wasn’t quite finished – but I felt any further explanation would have just rambled on. I planned on coming back to it the next day, but then it finally happened. I fell in love with my Lu. It was as if coming to the realization that my miscarriage was the reason I wasn’t connecting with my new puppy allowed it to happen. I talked it out with Jim, typed it all up, slept with the issue on my mind and woke up to finally accept this little cutie as my own.

Just because my baby died doesn’t mean everything else around me will (including Jim when he drives in the rain. I seriously kept him from going out one day because it was pouring and I had a bad feeling). Lucy is here, she’s adorable and sweet, and she’s mine. Just as JJ is my handsome little boy, she’s my pretty little girl. I love her and I know that she isn’t going to leave us for a very long time.

—–

Yesterday Jim asked me if I realized how different our lives would if I was still pregnant. Well, duh. He went on to explain that if I we hadn’t lost Lemon, he wouldn’t be starting grad school and we wouldn’t have Lucy. I asked him if he’d trade those things to have Lemon back.

“Of course I would, but these are two great things we have and one day soon, when we have our baby, we won’t be singing the same tune.”

I know that he’s right. Just hurry up, one day soon.

Reading all of the stories shared so far, and coming across the blogs of women who have experienced losses of all shapes and sizes has been wonderful.

I am so grateful to Kimberly for putting it all together.

Thanks Kimberly. You rock.

The moment I laid eyes on JJ, I cried. I was immediately attached to him. I fell in love instantly. When I met Lucy, this didn’t happen. My heart didn’t melt, the tears of joy didn’t flow. I told myself it was because of the different circumstances. I met her and her sister at her foster mother’s home. We had to decide which of them we would take home and we were sort of being interviewed. Days passed…well at this point 9 days have passed and I just don’t feel completely in love or totally connected.

She jumped off the couch last week (so brave!) and cried a little bit. Her eyes were closing and I was so, so scared. I thought she could have gotten a concussion. I put her tiny face up to the air vents and I kept her awake by talking to her. It was just before we were headed to bed, so after I put her in her crate, I went and woke her up three times over the course of the next hour. I Googled and Googled information about puppy head injuries. The thought of losing her shook me up. I thought to myself, this is love. I finally fell in love with Lucy.

Though still, nothing,

A few days ago, she jumped out of my lap and hit the floor again (I swear I’m a good puppy mom, she’s just a hell of a lot braver than JJ ever was). Once again, I freaked out. She was fine.

Nothing.

More than a few times, I’ve caught myself thinking about her dying. The groomer told me her ears were dirty and that she’s scratching at them too much. I made a vet appointment. Google “can dogs die from an ear infection.”

It just hit me.

I’m not connecting with her. I frequently have thoughts about her dying. Lemon. Duh, Lemon.

Each day things get worse, not better. Like with death they say time heals you…but with this, the longer I go without being pregnant, the worse it gets. I cry at the sight of babies, baby things, pregnant women. I know I will have a baby one day, but that doesn’t help my philosophy of getting through today. It hurts today, I don’t care about tomorrow or 10 months from now.

I’ve been crying every night since Thursday. I comforted myself by saying it was only at night, I just need to keep busy with work, dinner and reading during the day/evening. Well I started crying before and my heart was pounding so much I was afraid of a panic attack. So I laid down and fell asleep.

I’m waking up early, exercising, eating right, keeping busy with work, trying to stay positive. Nothing is helping to ease the sadness.

I’ve run out of tools in the toolbox.

—

I need to get back here.