Category Archives: Pregnancy After Loss

A Moment of Fear

It’s no secret that pregnancy after loss is challenging. The knowledge that things can go wrong and that your baby might not go home with you is ever-present. Triggers abound, and anxiety is a consistent force that must be reckoned with. Sometimes, the very thing you fear- losing this baby too- comes too close for comfort in only a small moment. 

It happened last week at our Maternal Fetal Medicine appointment and has been on my mind since. 

Just like that, it was there. It began as a slow, icy ascent up the back of my neck, prickling into needling heat as it reached my scalp. Fear. I could hear my own heart pounding, but no one could hear our unborn son’s heartbeat. Not the nurse, not the doctor. The panic rose, enveloping me; I felt the tears spill from my eyes and into my ears as I lay there for what seemed like an eternity. My husband, in a cold sweat, grabbed my hand tightly as we both imagined the very worst. “Stop.  Breathe. Think.” Suddenly all the phrases I’ve ever used to calm myself or talk the anxiety away were absolutely worthless. They couldn’t find his heartbeat. There was only static on the doppler. They tried two dopplers, and only static. What the hell was going on? I felt our baby move on the drive over, I know I did. He kicked me right in the ribs with a gusto that only indicated thriving, vibrant life. How could there be nothing suddenly? He wasn’t moving through the noise of the static or my ragged breathing… there was only… nothing. We were in the middle of our worst nightmare- again.

Our doctor and our nurse  we were meeting with know our history; instead of prolonging the agony, panic, and fear both Chris and I were feeling, they arranged for us to go over to ultrasound immediately. The two minutes between that room and the ultrasound room were unimaginably long. I was shaking. Chris did his best to maintain composure, but he was as terrified as I was. How couldn’t he be? We thought we were in the midst of a storm we hoped we’d never be in, ever again.  I still wasn’t feeling my sweet baby move… why wasn’t he moving?? PTSD had kicked in at full-force, and it was like we were back in Ann Arbor again, losing our Lucy. At that point, logic failed me. I was nearly convinced we’d already lost him. 

The ultrasound tech and another doctor we hadn’t interacted with met us in the ultrasound room after receiving a quick run-down on our history. They were empathetic and seemed to understand our panic and worry. As I sat down on the table to adjust and get ready to lay down for the ultrasound, I thought I felt baby boy move. Relief tried to pry its way in, but I wasn’t going to be satisfied until I saw that little heart beating steadily on the screen. 

Thankfully, that’s exactly what happened. Even though my own heart was still racing, I was able to breathe again. There he was, his heart beating healthfully as it always has. Our little man is okay. 

Chris and I spent the rest of the day feeling as though we were recovering. It takes my mind back to the early days of grief so soon after Lucy died. No wonder we were so exhausted… that fear, that adrenaline… it takes a toll on your mind and body. Though we need no reminders of how everything can change in an instant, those few minutes of uncertainty humbled us once again. Everything can be perfectly okay, and then it isn’t. There are no guarantees. We’re not in control of everything. I don’t think the fear will go away until our baby is alive in our arms, and even then, I know there will be many different kinds of fear to contend with.

I can’t help but think about all the parents out there who’ve found out that their sweet little ones had passed in such a way, with the words “I’m sorry, there’s no heartbeat” as the gateway to their own personal hell of infant loss. I was terrified that we were among their ranks. Though it was just a few technical glitches, the whole experience rocked us to our core for a few days.

With just a couple of weeks left until our Rainbow’s arrival, I find myself wishing there was a fast forward button, allowing us to skip ahead to the part that includes that first cry flowing through the air, where we meet our living son. We’re so close.  After we left the doctor’s office that day, a dragonfly continually hovered by the car until we left. I watched it as it watched me, and I felt her there… Lucy checked in to let me know that everything is okay. It was the final reassurance I needed. 

 

 

 

Photo by Florian van Duyn on Unsplash

Tiptoeing Through The Days

I’ve been neglecting this blog at a time I honestly thought I’d be using it most. I’m not sure why that is; I guess it’s complicated and writing simply hasn’t been my go-to lately. Right now, I feel like I’m tiptoeing through the days as summer floats away and the end of my pregnancy nears. I’m holding my breath, biding my time, just hoping everything is going to turn out as it should this time around. I’m scared.

The fear and anxiety has become very real these past two days in particular. We’re at 36 weeks now, and getting closer to the arrival of this baby boy. I keep trying to focus my thoughts on imagining hearing that first cry tear through the air and feeling his squirming weight upon my chest and in my arms. All I can do is imagine, and I can’t always see those things as tangible moments. As the days go by, it’s certainly getting harder to not let the “what ifs” run away with my imagination. I thought I had a grip on all of this, but this pregnancy after loss journey ordeal is no joke.

I’m currently flailing in a powerful current of guilt. It’s this ridiculously vicious cycle, made much more difficult to swim out of with the discomforts of late term pregnancy. It’s getting tougher each day, as my body reaches its maximum capacity and energy threshold. Most of it is common- the same stuff every other extremely pregnant woman likely feels. I want this rainbow baby out of me for the same reasons most mamas want the pregnancy to reach its end. Wanting him out of me, however, brings about this complicated guilt. This is what I wanted more than anything in the torturous months of trying to conceive, the only thing I thought that might make me see a future again as I grieved for Lucy. So I guilt myself: how dare I wish for the end of pregnancy, how dare I complain? There are many other obvious reasons for me wanting this boy to just get here though. The closer we get, the harder it is to push aside the fear that something else bad could happen to our baby.  Along with the Gestational Diabetes, I have excess amniotic fluid, known as a condition called Polyhydramnios. It impacts 1-2% of pregnancies. It seems that I’m really good at hitting that 1-2% of unlikely things in pregnancy. The same statistic sits with placental abruption, which is what caused us to lose Lucy. Speaking of that anomaly, it’s listed as one of the potential risks associated with Polyhydramnios. Huge, disconcerting red flag for me! Now, logically speaking, there typically isn’t too much cause for concern with this particular condition, but it’s impossible for me to buy into the whole ‘it’s nothing to worry about’ mindset with the unlikely experience of losing Lucy under my belt. The sooner this baby is here safely, the better we’ll all be. Chris and I have a meeting scheduled with the MFM specialist, and we’ll discuss with him whether an earlier scheduled delivery is a safer option than waiting. My docs at the OB practice are on board, but since we’re seeing the MFM specialist, he makes the final calls on everything. Perhaps we’re closer to our dream of bringing this rainbow boy home a little sooner than we thought. Fingers crossed!

My other guilt category has been the feeling of failing as a loss mama. Lucy’s birthday and Angelversary came and went and I feel as though I’ve failed her. Friday (her birthday) was primarily spent focused on her little brother. We had a diagnostic ultrasound that ended up being scheduled that day, then it was on to meet with one of the docs because I wasn’t feeling well, which is what led to the discussion about an earlier arrival, then on to phone calls trying to schedule an appointment to consult with the MFM doctor. I didn’t even get to burning Lucy’s candle. On her birthday. I did write her a letter and picked her a bouquet of fresh flowers, but that wasn’t enough. Saturday (her Angelversary), we had two events scheduled to attend, which took up the last half of the day. Being one of the few summer weekends left, everyone is scheduling things, and it was another reminder that life goes on, no matter what the date. It was a hard pill to swallow. In keeping so busy with everything else, there was little time to focus on Lucy. It hit me really hard yesterday, and the guilt has been eating away at me. I know that it doesn’t mean I love her any less, I know that it doesn’t mean I’m forgetting my baby… I know all of that, but it still hurts my heart.

One thing that helped me stay emotionally afloat yesterday was the realization of how many people took a moment to think about Lucy. I requested about a month ago that people paint rocks in honor of her and her birthday and then place them somewhere special or for someone else to find. Not only was there a heartwarming response to that, a lot of people sent messages and checked in with us to share that she was on their minds. Just when I start to worry that people are forgetting her, especially as we anticipate her brother’s arrival, I am reminded that she’s still very much alive in the hearts of many. I even had one person mention that whenever they’re at the edge of patience with their own child, they think of Lucy, and find ways to embrace the moments with their little one instead of losing their patience. Things like that help me realize that Lucy has had an impact and her life matters to more than just her parents and family. It’s a breath of fresh air, and deep down, I know she won’t be forgotten.

After writing some of this out, I feel better. I can do this. I can make it to this baby boy’s arrival, and I can maintain hope that everything is going to be okay. I have Lucy’s light to keep me positive, and the here-and-now knowledge that our little guy is just fine and is absolutely healthy, no matter how uncomfortable his anxious mama is. We’re almost there, one tiptoe at a time.

 

 

 

Photo by Jordan Whitt on Unsplash

Anxiety Management During Pregnancy After Loss

This journey is so full of contradictions and complexities. It’s getting difficult to document any of it because my brain is so full of mist and overwhelming thought; that, coupled with the chaos of teacher life in May, leaves little energy to write. Most days are good now, with small bursts  of grief and fear intermixed. I make no implications that it’s been easy, but at least it’s been manageable.

I’ve wrestled with whether or not to write about this topic, but I think I’ve decided to go ahead with it. While the decision to do what I’m about to write about may come with some criticism or skepticism, I think it’s important to share with other women in my situation so they can add my experience to their wealth of knowledge on how to cope with pregnancy after traumatic loss. A couple of months ago, the anxiety of what could go wrong with our little rainbow was becoming incredibly difficult for me to handle. On top of that, I was experiencing additional work stress. I wasn’t coping well; in fact, I was a mess. Getting through each day felt like a monumental task, and I could feel myself slipping into the familiar depression I’ve experienced so often since losing Lucy. I wasn’t snapping out of it. Chris noticed that I was returning to my “dark place”, as we call it. I couldn’t see how I was going to make it to the end of the school year, let alone to the end of this rainbow pregnancy without losing myself. My stress levels were through the roof, and I was battling with anxiety over the simplest of things, both at home and at work. So, I made the decision to speak with my doctors about anxiety medication.

From the beginning, my doctors have said that if I feel like I can’t handle the overwhelming anxiety that inevitably comes along with pregnancy after loss, I need to speak up. It isn’t something to be ashamed of, it simply goes with the territory. Something my doc told me at my first Maternal Fetal Medicine appointment stands out to me, and I think it’s worth sharing. He said that many women often feel that they need to just ‘suck it up’ and be tough through pregnancy. We want to be strong. I think this is even more true with PAL moms. We feel that the aches, pains, and difficulties of pregnancy are simply to be expected, and that we’ve no right to complain or ask for help for fear of coming across as ungrateful. I believe this is so true in my case. I’ve wished so much over the past year just to make it back to pregnancy and begin the journey again, and I’m fearful of seeming weak now that I have what I’ve wanted so desperately. But- I had to be honest with myself– in doing that, I was breaking myself down, and finding that the strength I’d wanted to embrace was dwindling because I was being so hard on myself. I wasn’t doing okay. I needed some help.

My doctors reassured me that the potential risks of letting stress and anxiety go unmanaged through a pregnancy could potentially have a negative impact on a developing baby, more so than what a low dose of anti-anxiety medication could possibly have. I was scared. I was afraid to take any unnecessary medications into my system, but I also knew that I was starting to spiral out of control emotionally. I was also reassured that the particular anti-anxiety med they were prescribing has been used for long enough to have many long-term studies done, all of which indicated what they’d already told me: that their potential for harm to a developing baby is less than what the unmanaged anxiety might do. With a lot of hesitation, fear, and apprehension, I agreed to get the script filled. I was an absolute wreck when I took the first dose. But gradually, over the course of a couple of weeks, I felt that overwhelming heaviness of the fear and anxiety slowly drop away. This isn’t to say that I don’t still feel paralyzed by fear and anxiety ever, because I still do, but I am much better at being able to rationalize and calm myself down. It has helped me manage the lows and keep myself going.

Pregnancy after loss is a difficult experience, and I don’t think most people can imagine what it’s like on any level unless they’ve lived through it themselves. While it is beautiful and filled with hope, it’s also terrifying and extremely hard at times. Irrational fears, legitimate worries, worst-case scenario imaginings… it’s all part of the daily game. Truthfully, it’s about survival. Surviving, and hoping against all odds that that our arms won’t be empty when we return home from the hospital this time. At any given moment, I truly am trying to do what’s best for this little rainbow baby, even if it’s hard to understand why I’m doing something the way I do. I’ve also been reminded by both my therapist and my doctors that doing what’s best for my baby also includes doing what’s best for me. That’s actually tough advice to take sometimes, but there’s no denying that self-care is so important, especially at a time like this.

And so, I’m okay with my decision to take anti-anxiety medication through this pregnancy. It was a tough one to make, but there is a positive difference. I’m not in a constant state of panic anymore and I’ve found more optimism to embrace along the way. I’m surviving.

To my fellow PAL moms: each of us must find our own ways to navigate pregnancy after loss. It’s an individual journey, filled with unknowns. There are countless ways to manage our anxieties, and we all need to make sure we’re choosing the best ways to do that for ourselves. There are so many options; anti-anxiety medication is just one of them. There’s no doubt that we’re all looking out for our babies’ best interests first and foremost. Don’t focus on how you may be judged for making the choices that are best for you and your baby, because this is your journey. Anyone who criticizes you or feels entitled to share their opinions about how you do this can’t possibly have a true understanding of what you’re going through. This journey is not for the weak, and it’s not all smiles and happiness either. You keep doing you, and give yourself some grace every now and then. Do what you need to do to survive and thrive through this difficult journey and make no apologies about it.

 

Missing The Innocence

A photo popped up today on my social media, taken two years ago on this day. In it, I’m fully immersed in the glory of first-time pregnancy, with an unmistakable glow lighting me up. I smiled as Chris took several photos, the sun shining in my eyes. I look at it now, longing for so many things. For the daughter we lost, for that same kind of peace of mind, for the innocence and naivety I felt during my pregnancy with Lucy. I long for the time captured in the photo when I was ignorant of what was to come less than four months after it was taken. I miss being innocent.

Losing Lucy has reshaped much of my life and who I see looking back at me in the mirror. I’ve aged, both outside and in. I’ve gained a kind of wisdom about life that I wish I could undo. I’ve become stronger, yet more vulnerable. More resilient, yet undeniably fractured. Braver, yet more fearful. I know what can be lost with no warning, no hesitation. Everything can shatter in the blink of an eye.

As I cautiously tiptoe through this pregnancy after loss, I am grateful, but I am also struggling each day to keep my terror at bay. It’s like swimming upstream against a powerful current, and sometimes, it’s tough to stay afloat in the waters of grief and fear. I’m scared that no matter how real my hope is that we’ll bring this rainbow baby home, the fear and devastation could win. The reality of our loss has changed the reality of this pregnancy. In the very same moments we held our daughter for the first time, we were simultaneously facing every parent’s worst nightmare. I’m so scared we’ll have to do it again.

When I’m not living in fear, I truly am enjoying pregnancy. I’m so thankful for another chance. I love this baby as much as I love his sister. I want so much what I cannot have: to have both of them, living and healthy, together. It’s hard to think about the idea that the four of us can never physically be together as a family; and, I don’t know if this little boy would be on the way if we’d gotten to keep our Lucy. Most of the time, I’d rather not consider that. I just know that I love both of my children immensely, and I simply wish I could have them both.

In spite of the brokenness, LOVE is the center of our little family… that love is what’s going to get us through.

April 2016, 23 weeks along with Lucy.

 

Half Empty or Half Full?

Is my glass half empty or half full right now? Truth be told, I’m not sure.

I am guilt-ridden. I’m expecting a rainbow baby, yet here I am, in a foul, negative space in my head right now.

Logic tells me, ” Jess, you have pregnancy hormones to contend with. You’re overtired. You were just really sick a few days ago. You pulled a late night last night chaperoning a Saturday dance. You’re dealing with crazy anxiety. There are many reasons why it’s okay to feel this way right now.”

My emotional side is saying, ” Jess, you’re terrible. You should be happy every day, all the time, because you are pregnant, just like you’ve been wishing for. Your negativity and anxiety is bad for this baby. Stop failing this baby. Maybe you don’t deserve this opportunity. You’re proving you don’t deserve this by being ungrateful. You aren’t remembering Lucy actively enough. You’re not writing enough. You’re not celebrating your rainbow enough. You’re doing everything wrong.”

Hence the self-inflicted guilt trip.

The emotional side of things is winning out today. I’m exhausted, grumpy, irritable. There’s a lot on my mind, but I feel too tired to process it right now. I can’t think of anything that is going to make me feel better, and I know I’m doing this to myself. I’m not good at allowing myself grace on a regular day, but especially not during this pregnancy after loss. I realize this is a time when I should be kinder to myself, but I just can’t for some reason.

Conflicted is pretty much my constant state right now. I wish I could snap out of it, but there are a lot of factors at play right now that just aren’t allowing me to do so. Take my job for instance. I have to be careful what I write even here, because teachers, no matter what their other life circumstances, are judged differently than others. (So are loss parents, but that’s for another post sometime.) I’ll just leave it at this for now: It is impossible to feel like you’re anything other than some form of failure as a teacher in the current state of public education.  The building I work in is absolutely no exception to that statement right now. Unfortunately, that, coupled with my PAL anxiety, is chipping away at my self-esteem and confidence. I’m doubting my ability to handle all of this. I can’t snap out of this funk, and I’m worried it’s a testament to my inability to be a good PAL mom.

I worry a lot. In fact, I’m downright terrified most of the time. Don’t get me wrong, when I can just think about this precious rainbow baby and the possibility and hope he brings with him, I am calmer. When I think about Lucy, I feel the warmth in my heart that she’s always brought with her too. There’s still good mixed in with the negatives, but it’s hard to hang on to that through the whole day. I’m doing my best, but lately, I just feel like my best isn’t good enough.

Here’s to hoping the weather changes soon, that our upcoming Spring Break will refresh me, and that when we return, I can take teaching a little less seriously and focus on the good a bit more.

 

Half full or half empty?

Reflections

I’m ashamed to admit how little time I’ve been able to spend in reflection lately, at a time when I ought to be doing so with great frequency. Time has been a tough commodity to come by these days, and it seems that when I do have a moment or two to sit down and share what’s on my mind, I’m either interrupted, my computer decides to malfunction or update, or I’m simply too tired to record the whirlwind of thoughts swirling through my brain.

As I revealed in Lucy’s 19 month letter, Chris and I have the honor of saying we’re expecting our rainbow at last. There simply aren’t words to express the happiness and hopefulness that this little one has already brought to us.  There have been many moments in which I stop and have to remind myself that it’s real– we’re really pregnant. Though I work through fear and anxiety each day, I’m doing all I can to celebrate this precious little boy growing within me. I truly believe that Lucy had something to do with choosing her baby brother, and I feel her presence with me more vividly. In December, I officially asked Lucy if she wanted to be a big sister (here), and suddenly, what would have just been days later, our little rainbow appeared in our lives. Maybe a coincidence, but I think not.  Some people have already said the phrase, “Looks like God decided it was time.”  Whatever… I think it was a matter of our precious Lucy deciding it was time.

I’m going to do my best to try writing and documenting this special time, because it matters so much to me. It’s been difficult to do that as of late, because my job is truly taking all of my extra energy from me. I worry constantly now about how the stress of teaching is impacting this pregnancy; it’s a legitimate concern. I keep trying to remind myself that it’s only a job, that I can only do what I can while I’m there, but it’s much more complicated than that. I often leave work feeling the heaviness of the day as if someone is standing upon my shoulders. When I arrive home, I’m emotionally and physically spent.  I’m bothered by the realization that it’s robbing me of some of the hope and joy of our situation. I’m working on strategies to manage these feelings, but it’s hard. While I am so incredibly thankful for this opportunity to potentially experience parenting in a different way, it’s true that pregnancy after loss is hard. I worry, and then I worry some more that the resulting anxiety from that worry is having a negative impact on this baby boy. I’m just trying to do be the best mom I can be to this baby, but sometimes, it feels like I’m just not living up to those expectations.

There’s so much more to say, but it’ll have to come out in small segments. We’re 15 weeks in to this rainbow pregnancy, and already I have learned many things. Joy can exist alongside grief. Hope can be stronger than fear. My Lucy is always with me, and she’ll be with me every step of the way through this PAL (pregnancy after loss) journey.