tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1760610106194908222024-02-19T10:56:16.638-05:00Aidan, Baby of MineEmilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17587287197734518952noreply@blogger.comBlogger289125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-176061010619490822.post-31395461516755012212015-07-09T22:36:00.000-04:002015-07-09T22:36:18.666-04:00The Girl Who Lived Turns Four!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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As we were lying in bed this morning, Kaia asks "am I four yet?" </div>
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I thought back 4 years ago, to all the fears and anxieties we had as we awaited the outcome of our second pPROM pregnancy. Would this baby, nicknamed Acorn, survive the delivery? Would Acorn be able to breathe? How much damage does half a pregnancy with minimal to no amniotic fluid cause? Would we have to make tough life or death choices? Would this be the baby we got to bring home? Would Acorn have life-long disabilities? </div>
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The fears were overwhelming. </div>
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Those days seem so far away from the anxieties and fears we have for her today (Junior Kindergarten in the Fall! a new daycare! learning to read and write! making new friends!). So I laughed as I answered, "Yes baby, you are most definitely four", as I thought to myself..."thank all the stars in the sky". </div>
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I haven't written on here in almost a whole year, but please don't think I've forgotten about this space or the many people I have connected with through it. I think about many of you often, and hope that your lives are smoother now, the sharp points of grief spaced out between times of joy. I started my MN-NP (Master of Nursing-Nurse Practitioner program) in the Fall and it was absolutely a time-suck this year. If I wasn't working on school work, I was at work (part-time), or at placement, or spending time with Kaia and Brian and the rest of my family, or cleaning or doing chores (and let me tell you, those did not get done nearly enough this year!).</div>
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Becoming an NP is hard work. I have another year to go and while I'm looking forward to the learning process, especially my placements, I'm enjoying the summer break right now and catching up with everything I missed this last year (shows! books! movies! friends! family! You still exist!) </div>
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Aidan is also never far from my thoughts. This year, his 5th 'dirthday' was spent at school, working on perfecting my physical assessment skills and preparing for an exam. It wasn't what I imagined his 'day' to be like in the early phase of my grief. In my mind, the day he was born and died was going to be a big black hole on the calendar. A day to be blocked off as a day we took a time out as a family, to think of him, remember, and do something in his honour. But as the years pass, I realize how unrealistic that is. Most of us don't do that for LIVING people on their birthday. Sure, there might be a gathering, some cake, food, presents...but often people have to work, go to school. go to the dentist, are sick, get a parking ticket, or maybe even jump off the living room couch and break their arm and have to go to the hospital (ahh, such fond memories of my 7th birthday...), or whatever else life has in store, and sometimes that stuff happens on theirs or their loved ones birthday. Life does not stop, time to reflect is not always available, and those who are dead do not complain. </div>
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So now that I have time, I will say, I remember you my boy. While I can no longer picture what life would be like if you were here, I still wish for it.</div>
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I am filled with the love for both my babies tonight. The one that is thankfully here and the one that we can only wish for.</div>
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Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17587287197734518952noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-176061010619490822.post-7419611528739770092014-08-28T23:46:00.002-04:002014-08-28T23:46:22.496-04:00Right where I am: 4 years, 4 months and 1 week.<span style="color: #134f5c;">It's all about to change again. I start school on Tuesday. I'll be a full time student, a part time nurse, a full time mom and when I get the chance, a wife, cook and housekeeper. I'm exhausted and stressed just thinking about it. People keep asking me if I'm 'excited' to start school. I guess I could just say yes, but since I'm generally honest to fault, I have to say "I'm excited about being done!"</span><br />
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<span style="color: #134f5c;">It still burns. The desire to have just one more. The desire to have two living children, to complete our family, is intense but I'm coming to terms with the fact that it isn't going to happen. It feels as though the time has passed for us to even consider it. I'll be in school for at least 2 years. I have a child to look after. Money is an issue with me only working part time. I cannot imagine the added stress of a pregnancy on top of that. Happiness, but also the intense fear that would accompany two pink lines. We've tried (or rather not prevented) for over two years. If it was going to happen...it would have. I don't know what to blame it on. My crappy uterus? Eggs? Hormones? Brian? Who the hell knows at this point. The miraculous stories of couples who have been infertile for so long, suddenly conceiving without any intervention at all, linger at the back of my mind...but then I remember I already used up my pregnancy miracle with Kaia. One cannot have all the riches in the world. I will take mine and be grateful.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #134f5c;">The sadness over Aidan is still there of course. It will never go away, and at this point, I would miss the missing of him. I also cannot deny that I appreciate that his death cracked open something inside of me. A well of strength I didn't know I had. An acceptance of things I cannot change. An ability to abide with other's sadness. I don't know if others have noticed or appreciate this change in me, but maybe that's also part of it. I care less what other people think. I worry less over how I parent my living child. At the end of the day, if she's happy and healthy, then I've done my job, even if she didn't eat all her vegetables or had three meltdowns before lunch. I am better able to accept defeat or mistakes in myself. I cannot win them all. I will miss him forever, but sadness is a part of life and I am not so special to think myself immune. I have a sense of peace about his death, but I can also acknowledge that that peace will ebb and flow. I may feel his loss, or the jealousy or the unfairness more strongly at times than at others, but I know now I will regain my footing and be able to continue on. I have lost from his death, but also gained. It do not see this knowledge as a consolation prize, but rather my life taking a different path. I would have learned different, but no less important things, if he had lived.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #134f5c;">I miss him, but the missing is now part of the love and I can no longer separate the two.</span><br />
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<i><span style="color: #666666;">Where are you?</span></i>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17587287197734518952noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-176061010619490822.post-81031198605834763842014-08-15T20:07:00.000-04:002014-08-15T20:07:05.314-04:00Triple threes for the fourth one<span style="color: #990000;">I just realized that Aidan has been gone 4 years, 3 months, 3 weeks and 3 days. Since it's once again the anniversary of his due date, that means he was born 3 months, 3 weeks and 3 days too soon at 23 weeks and 3 days.</span><div>
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<span style="color: #990000;">I guess bad things really do come in threes.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #990000;">Still thinking of you my son on what should be your (approximate) 4th birthday. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #990000;">It would have been great.</span></div>
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Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17587287197734518952noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-176061010619490822.post-84566728637570632902014-07-09T23:30:00.000-04:002014-07-10T00:24:25.320-04:003rd<span style="color: #a64d79;">Birthday that is.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #a64d79;">Kaia is three!</span><br />
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<span style="color: #a64d79;">I get all nostalgic at this time of the year, remembering Kaia's birth and the days surrounding it. Yesterday I was talking with Brian doing the 'remember what we were doing three years ago'...</span><br />
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<span style="color: #a64d79;">We were told around 6pm on the night of the 8th that 'Acorn' wasn't moving around as much on the ultrasound scan I'd had earlier that day, and that my score was only a 4/8 on the Biophysical profile, which made my doctor decide that I'd be having an urgent C-section within the next 24 hours. Funny how that was the ultrasound I had to push for. I remember them telling me that morning that pPROM moms usually only had weekly ultrasounds, not twice weekly, but I insisted, not because I thought anything (more than usual) was wrong, but because I just wanted the piece of mind going into the weekend. At the time, I wondered if they were jumping the gun with the C-section, worried about having a 32 week preemie, but I was also relieved to get things moving, fearing every day that something worse was going to happen (bleeding! cord prolapse! infection! Oh my!) I don't know if anything bad would have happened if we'd left it to the next week, but in hindsight, I'm glad it happened the way it did.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #a64d79;">It's a little sad remembering the actual day of Kaia's birthday. Although she had a rocky start, Kaia did well quite quickly (thank all the stars in the sky!!!), but I was taken up to the cardiac critical care unit and didn't see her beyond the 2 seconds that they showed her to me over the drape and the photos Brian took on his phone. At the time I didn't care (much) that I didn't get to see her, because I knew she was in the NICU and that's where she needed to be (and hey, my kid was ALIVE, so that was a giant step up from the last time I gave birth...), but it makes me a bit sad now to think "God, I didn't spend any time with my daughter on her actual birthday'. No snuggles. No hugs. No kisses. Just love and positive thoughts from 5 floors up. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #a64d79;">We made up for it today on birthday #3. I basically let Kaia dictate the day and we spent all of it together. We had a picnic in the park. We watched her favourite cartoon (currently: Bubble Guppies). We read lots of books. We took her out for her favourite dinner (chicken and rice). We went to not one, not two, but three different playgrounds. It was the type of day a three year old likes. Minimal demands and lots of attention.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #a64d79;">Just in case you are wondering, and because I need a place to jot them down to remember, here are some Kaia facts at age three:</span><br />
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<span style="color: #a64d79;">-Food: peppers, raisins, rice, bread and peanut butter, cheese and most fruits and plain Timbits. Also, still loves her milk. Both white milk and now chocolate when she can get it.</span><br />
<span style="color: #a64d79;">-Toys: puzzles, drawing stuff (markers, chalk), her stuffed monkey Molly, and recently her doll Carley who she now likes to rock in the rocking chair (super cute!). Loves water play and will gladly stand at the bathroom sink or in the bathtub and play for thirty minutes or more at a time. It's a bit odd, but Kaia also loves to separate EVERYTHING into colours. She's taken just about anything that is 'hers' including hair ties, hats, stuffed animals, Lego, markers, the spongey floor tiles we had set up in the living room for her to play on, toy buckets, shirts, alphabet fridge magnets (ETC!!) and separated them into colour coordinated piles. It's amazing to watch. For some reason she always groups the things that are yellow and orange together, and the blacks and whites together, but then has separate piles for the blues, greens, reds and purples. Pink gets lumped in with red. Her favourite colours right now are pink and purple, so she tends to prize anything that has those colours on it.</span><br />
<span style="color: #a64d79;">-TV: Bubble Guppies. This is actually quite a cute show, and somewhat educational with lots of singing. Over the spring she was watching My Little Pony, but got kind of sick of it, which is probably a good thing since she's a bit young for it anyway.</span><br />
<span style="color: #a64d79;">-Music: My mom bought her a CD of Sharon, Lois and Bram which she loves. Favourites are Chicken in the Straw and 5 Little Monkeys. You should see her boogie when those ones come on.</span><br />
<span style="color: #a64d79;">-Books: Glad to say she likes just about everything and we have moved way beyond 'baby' books and into longer stories. Kaia always gets at least 2-3 (or more) books at bedtime, so I've tried to be more proactive in getting us to the library to look for new books as often as possible. I get bored reading the same ones over and over.</span><br />
<span style="color: #a64d79;">Other stuff: Kaia was daytime potty trained around the beginning of April, and now occasionally has dry diapers in the morning, so I'm wondering how soon to start night time potty training (any ideas?) She gets a big thrill out of using the potty and toilet at home, and at first was fine with using the toilet when we were out, but then after an couple of unfortunate incidents with self flushing toilets (HATE THOSE DAMN THINGS), she refuses to use the toilet when out. I get that she's afraid (of the noise? of being sucked down the drain?), but it's very inconvenient so I hope this doesn't last too long. </span><br />
<span style="color: #a64d79;">We switched her out of a crib at the end of March, and that was a breeze. I was worried she'd get up and wander around in the middle of the night so we have one of those child proof door knob covers on the inside of her door, but she never even gets out of bed alone. I still hear her over the baby monitor in the morning when she wakes up and I go in and she's always laying in bed. We've had a couple of 'falling out of bed' incidents but she always goes back to sleep quickly and they don't seem to bother her that much. She has given up her daytime nap over the winter, but sometimes I can still get her to go 'rest' in the afternoon in her bed for over an hour. She will talk to herself and look at books and drink her milk. It's a good break for the both of us.</span><br />
<span style="color: #a64d79;">Personality: Kaia remains a very affectionate kid. She loves giving hugs and kisses spontaneously with both Brian and I. She's still a cuddler. She smiles easily and often. She's caring, and if she hears another child crying in the vicinity, she will turn to us and say "Baby crying!!!" I hope to nurture that type of behaviour. Kaia is strong willed when it comes to things she does/doesn't want to do and generally still has at least one crying meltdown per day over something. These are frustrating, and I admit sometimes I handle them better than others. She gets excited about and interested in things easily, and is starting to want to 'help' more and more. Her babysitter says Kaia regularly goes to get the younger baby's diapers and wipes when it's time to change him, which makes me both proud and sad that she doesn't have a younger sibling to help. She is shy initially in groups, even around family members and tends to go mute at these times, reverting back to her baby grunts, whines and pointing...I swear some people probably think she can't talk yet, but as soon as she's comfortable LOOK OUT because she won't shut up! She likes to be the center of attention once she's warmed up.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #a64d79;">Overall, parenting has been more rewarding, more engaging, more demanding and sometimes more frustrating than I imagined. I don't worry that I'm doing it wrong...but sometimes I wonder if I could be doing it more 'right'. Regardless, I still am thankful every day for my little miracle baby. The one I got to keep.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #a64d79;">Happy Birthday Baby Girl.</span><br />
<br />Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17587287197734518952noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-176061010619490822.post-81179782581455690252014-06-20T20:56:00.002-04:002014-06-20T21:00:04.592-04:00Connecting Dots<span style="color: #274e13;">Last month the remembrance gathering for all the parents of babies who have died in the NICU was held at the hospital where I work. I have never attended before, usually because I don't work many weekend day shifts, but since I wasn't crazy busy and rushing back, I decided to take part of my lunch break and go down to see what it was like.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #274e13;">The first family that got up, I recognized right away. Their son died 5 years ago after it was decided that nothing more could be done to ensure he led a quality life. His parents (luckily?) got to take him home to spend time with him, which is where he died. I remembered how, as this Mom was preparing to take her dying son home, she cried about how "all my friends who are pregnant will have their babies, but I won't have N.".</span><br />
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<span style="color: #274e13;">Even as a relatively inexperienced NICU nurse this statement stuck with me, and weeks later, I remember crying in my laundry room folding clothes, thinking about how this couple's life was unfolding without N. That mother's lament, for what would never be, was the first time that I think I really understood what it would be like to go home without a baby; the never ending sense of loss. Unfortunately, it was a feeling I would become much more intimately familiar with a year later as I mourned the loss of my own tiny son.</span><br />
<span style="color: #274e13;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #274e13;">Last weekend when I saw this couple again, what immediately struck me was that they had a baby daughter with them...who was easily less than a year old. They had waited over 3 and a half years to get pregnant again. Whether this was out of choice or circumstances, I don't know, but I found myself wondering what they did in the interim. How did this Mom cope with those friends who had kids, when her son had died? Was it hard to wait so many years feeling like a 'non' parent? What made them feel 'ready' again? Was she still friends with those she was comparing herself to all those years ago? Because now I know, without a shadow of doubt, that when she sees those friend's children, she can't help thinking about N.</span><br />
<span style="color: #274e13;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #274e13;">It was with this in my head that I went back to work, and met the parents of the baby I was looking after that day. From the morning report I got on him, his mom and the circumstances of his birth, I knew that his parents had a previous loss due to pPROM at 22 weeks. Even the acronym gets my hackles up. As I chatted with them and walked Dad through changing his son's diaper, I saw it...the name and the tiny footprints tattooed on Dad's inner arm. It's the dead baby parent gang sign. We belong to the shittiest club ever, yo.</span><br />
<span style="color: #274e13;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #274e13;">I comment on the tattoo, told Dad how nice it was. Mom immediately chimed in that she had an identical one on her arm. She smiled. Appeared proud. Years ago, before Aidan I probably wouldn't have mentioned it. You know, not wanting to remind them of their dead child and all (ha!). Now, I know better. It's lovely to have your dead child, and the love you have for him or her, acknowledged and remembered. </span><br />
<span style="color: #274e13;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #274e13;">The overlap in my personal and professional life is staggering to others. I was an NICU baby, my son was a preemie and died, my daughter was a preemie and lived, I've worked there for many years. I don't believe in fate...but sometimes I have to wonder.</span><br />
<span style="color: #274e13;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #274e13;">It's an odd life...but it's mine.</span><br />
<br />
***<br />
<br />
<i><span style="color: #666666;">Do your personal and professional lives overlap? If so, is this fulfilling? Do you wish they overlapped more or less?</span></i>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17587287197734518952noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-176061010619490822.post-24235266757739893732014-04-20T01:39:00.001-04:002014-04-20T01:39:36.809-04:00And so forth...<span style="color: #073763;">No I haven't fallen off the face of the earth, but things have been moving and shaking around here. I have been accepted at my Alma mater (which I LOVE saying) for the Masters-NP Program this Fall, which means we are going to sell our house, rent for a couple of years while I'm in school, and then when I (hopefully!!!) get an awesome (well paying, life accommodating, permanent) job at the end, we will buy a new home. </span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">Although I am excited about this major life change and the opportunities it will open up for us, selling our house, moving and organizing our life in our new (probably smaller) abode has me constantly wondering "where is THAT going to go?" and "what do we really NEED in a temporary place, and what's a luxury?" and "if we live here then ________ will be possible, but if we live here then ______ is better".</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">Etc.</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">etc. </span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">And so forth.</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">It's a lot of weighing options, computer searches (rentals! childcare! local amenities!) and cleaning up and throwing out of stuff we don't use and no longer need. I'm both excited...and exhausted...</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #073763;">***</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #073763;">I am preparing to get rid of a bunch of Kaia's baby clothes. I've organized the first year's stuff, saved what I want, sold some, loaned some and donated the rest. It's freeing. We are a one child family, time to get rid of extra stuff, downsize and streamline into our new home!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #073763;">***</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">Then, this week, my provincial government announced that in 2015 it will start funding ONE round of IVF treatment where ONE egg can be implanted at a time (to cut down on multiples) for those who are judged to be infertile.</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">I look at Brian....he looks at me. </span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">Hum....so tempting...</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">Suddenly, I'm resorting my piles of baby stuff. Maybe I will need this...? Maybe I should hang on to that...? What if I get rid of this and then we need it...?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #073763;">Are we really done? </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #073763;">Maybe it is possible?!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #073763;">Sometimes hope is such a four letter word.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #073763;">***</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #073763;">Aidan's day is Monday. At the time of his birth (5:10 am) I will be looking after someone else's baby in the NICU, a place I was not sure I would ever be able to return to as I held my dead son in my arms almost 4 years ago. I had originally thought I would always try to keep HIS day separate from the rest of my life. A sort of non-religious holy day in our family. We planned to take time off work, have Kaia miss daycare or school, spend the day appreciating our family. Now it's only 4 years in and I've already gone and screwed it up by mistakenly scheduling myself on either side of the Easter weekend, not realizing my Sunday night shift would fall on HIS day. I feel bad somehow...like I'm missing my own kid's party and consequently letting him down.</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">Only of course it's not a party. It's a 'dirth'-day, not a 'birth'-day.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #073763;">Brian helpfully reminds me that Aidan won't mind. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #073763;">It's true. He won't.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #073763;">The dead are so accommodating that way. </span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">Still...I might try to schedule my break at work around 5 am. Maybe even head outside or to a window so I can look up at the sky and whisper "Happy Birthday baby boy...Mommy loves you".</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #073763;">Always.</span>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17587287197734518952noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-176061010619490822.post-49213857948116410582014-02-13T14:46:00.004-05:002014-02-13T14:52:25.110-05:00Winter Memories<span style="color: #990000;">The winter Olympics are on again. 4 years ago I watched Canada win a slew of gold, silver and bronze, cheering from my couch. I was on bed rest, pregnant with Aidan, (fairly) confident my subchorionic hemorrhage would soon be a thing of the past and our baby would arrive safe and healthy that summer. I didn't know that it was already almost over, that my water had broken, probably (in hindsight), on the morning of the Olympic opening ceremonies. </span><br />
<span style="color: #990000;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #990000;">As exciting as the Olympics are, I'm almost glad we no longer have cable and I can't sit around and reminiscence. The memories of that shiny hopeful time are almost too much to bear.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #990000;">***</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #990000;">Last June for our anniversary, Brian and I went to the cottage for a weekend away. It was cold and rained the entire time, but no matter, we could sit and read and drink tea, cozy under blankets with no toddler present to interrupt the quiet. It was a nice weekend away.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #990000;">On that weekend as I was feeding the wood burning fireplace more newspapers, I stopped to look at the obits, a morbid habit I had as a child which still draws me on occasion. A name jumped out at me. It was a beautiful Irish name that I had always considered for a girl, but which I don't know if I could actually use due to the absolute butchering it would inevitably receive here 'across the pond'. The last name jumped out at me a second later. It was the same last name of the Irish-accented doctor who initially saw me at the high risk pregnancy clinic at 13 weeks with Aidan. He told me the SCH would 'likely bleed out and be fine'. 4 weeks later, in March of 2010, when it was apparent that no amniotic fluid surrounded our baby boy, he had to tell us the outcome was now 'extremely guarded'. </span><br />
<span style="color: #990000;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #990000;">I came home from the cottage and looked it up on the internet, finding a picture on the funeral's memorial page of the two of them to prove it. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #990000;">Dr. R's daughter died last spring. She was 22.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #990000;">I think of him now. It's been 4 years since that hopeful February visit when we left his office, only to leave crushed a month later. I wonder how he's doing. Does he think of his child every day too? Does he wish he could see her again, just one more time? He had so much more time with her than we had with Aidan...does that make it easier? Harder? Does his recent loss change the way he delivers bad news? Do the sad eyes of the parents remind him of the awful feeling in his gut when they told him his daughter was dying?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #990000;">I hope Dr. R. is doing okay. Or at least, as okay as you can be 9 months after your kid dies. </span><br />
<span style="color: #990000;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #990000;">***</span><br />
<span style="color: #990000;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #990000;">Back before my recent health issues (which so far seems to have stabilized on brand spanking new meds), I was precepting a new nurse at work. As I may have explained before, it basically means she works my shifts with me and I teach her the ropes of being an NICU nurse.</span><br />
<span style="color: #990000;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #990000;">One evening on our break we were sitting over tea, and I was asking her about her family. She is in her mid twenties and has a sister 5 years younger.</span><br />
<span style="color: #990000;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #990000;">My dead baby radar started pinging, and I probed "that's quite an age difference between the two of you".</span><br />
<span style="color: #990000;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #990000;">"Oh yes", she explained, "there was another daughter in between us...she was born early and died". She went on to say "Actually I was a twin...I had a brother. He died early too. My parents don't talk about it, even though I've asked since starting work here. I mean they know what I do, that I work with sick babies. I'm sure they understand why I might be curious... I'm not sure why they don't want to discuss it".</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #990000;">I felt sad for her, as she obviously wanted to know more. I don't ever want that to be Kaia. I'm glad at 2 and a half she already knows that I wear an "Aidan" necklace and that one of the pictures up in her room is of him. I don't ever want her to feel like he's a secret, a sadness to be covered up, too painful or horrible to be spoken about. I want her to know that he was part of our lives and is never forgotten, and that I am happy to be his mom. He's not sad...it's just sad that he's not here.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #990000;">***</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #990000;">This week marks 25 years since my Fontan surgery which saved my life. It's also Congenital Cardiac Defect Awareness week. So Happy Valentine's Day everyone. Cherish your hearts. </span>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17587287197734518952noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-176061010619490822.post-23661146474324217782014-01-29T13:57:00.000-05:002014-01-29T13:59:53.421-05:00Hearts and Stars<span style="color: #b45f06;">Things have been difficult around here. Brian and I were both sick over the holidays and into January with colds, strep throat and a weird virus resulting in body aches, fatigue and a nasty dry cough. I have literally not felt myself since December 16th.</span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #b45f06;">In the midst of all of that I have developed SVT, a cardiac arrhythmia where your heart speeds up to high rates (mine goes to 170s) out of the blue. My longest run was about 15-20 minutes. I don't feel ill during them, but they are very scary. </span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #b45f06;">The results has been two calls to 911 (once while I was at work...scary and humiliating all at the same time) and multiple doctors visits over the past couple of weeks. On the one hand good news: so far the Electrophysiologist (a specialized cardiologist who deals with irregular heart rhythms) thinks that I have a 'simple' type of SVT which responds to vagal maneuvers (coughing, bearing down, gagging) and which is less likely to result in a blood clot forming in my heart. So instead of starting TWO medications, I only have to start one: "just" a beta blocker, rather than a beta blocker AND an anticoagulant. So far. My cardiologist seems like she might push for the blood thinner anyway: "just in case". The beta blocker is bad enough...I feel like I'm drunk without the fun factor, although I've been assured this feeling dissipates. Blood thinners mean a blood test every month for life. It's not the needles that bother me, its the hassle. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #b45f06;">The bad news of course is that I'm scared. Scared like I was when I was pregnant with Kaia and I had no idea what the outcome was going to be, but knowing how bad it could get. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #b45f06;">Is this a small hiccup in the life of my heart, easily controlled with meds? How much is this going to affect my life? Will the SVT episodes stop now that I'm on meds? What's next? I've lived with that question all my life. It's not "If" I'm going to start to have problems with my heart but "When", made exceptionally <a href="http://aidanbabyofmine.blogspot.ca/2013/07/down-hearted.html" target="_blank">clear to me in the summer by my new cardiologist</a>. Will I be able to work? Travel? Raise my daughter in an active way? This last month of sitting on the couch feeling sick has been difficult with a toddler (who by the way, was healthy as a horse the whole time). I feel weak, fragile and sad...and I'm not sure how much of that is my body and how much of it is mental. I'm a worrier. I worry a lot. I've worried about my heart my whole life, and have to work very hard to 'shelve' that worry and get on with it. It's easier to do when you're not confronted with the reality of it all as I have been this past month. </span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #b45f06;">Right now I'm off work pending a meeting with my cardiologist on the day before Valentine's Day. Coincidentally Valentine's Day is also Congenital Cardiac Defect Awareness Day (get it: hearts!), and also marks the week that I'll have been 25 years post Fontan (the major surgery I had at age 6 to improve my cardiac function and make it possible for me to live. Apparently only 60% of Fontan patients are alive 25 years post Fontan, so go me!). I'm hoping between now and then, with a few weeks off work, getting settled on this new med, and (hopefully) not having any SVTs, will help my mental state (if not our bank account). I just want to feel better again.</span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #b45f06;">***</span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #b45f06;">In the midst of all of this, Kaia has been our shining star. She's a toddler and as such throws daily tantrums and freak outs...but in minutes she is back to hugging and giving kisses. She's talking a lot more (and giving more commands including: "Mommy, Daddy, Kaia go play, then watch Mickey Mouse!" Okay!"). Mickey Mouse is her new favourite. She's into the Play-Doh, Lego and loves throwing and kicking balls around our house. She loves baths, although mainly the splashing part, not the hair washing. She loves "pushing buttons", where we sit at the computer with her and open a Word Document file and allow her to push all the computer keys. Kaia loves games involving numbers and letters. She knows all the letters and counts up to 13, misses 14 and 15, and then says 16. She loves puzzles and music and dancing. She can now sing parts of "Jingle Bells", "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" and "The ABC song". She still (in almost February) says "Merry Christmas" to people upon leaving and points out any Christmas lights that are still up around the city. Kaia started to potty train, which due to the above mentioned circumstances, we are being pretty lax about. She wears a pull-up when we go out and during naps and a diaper to bed, but while at home she goes diaper free and has been very good about using the potty. I think by the spring she'll be in underwear during the day even during outings. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #b45f06;">Kaia goes to gymnastics once per week and although she seems to enjoy it, her lack of flexibility and balance is noticeable. She's a very cautious kid too, so that doesn't help her push her limits. She still likes to hold my hand when jumping down from any height beyond 2 inches, whereas other kids her age are literally leaping off things a foot high or more. However, one aspect of Kaia's personality seems years beyond her age. She is incredibly sensitive to anyone's sadness or pain. In gymnastics there are 'stations' and groups of kids rotate during the hour long class. If another kid, anywhere in the room is crying, Kaia immediately stops what she's doing and wants to go over and investigate, inching her way closer to the one who is crying saying "Mommy, baby crying!" (anyone who is crying is "baby"). It's really noticeable in a room of 30 or 40 other kids who don't even flinch when they hear someone wailing. I'm pretty sure if the crying kid's parent weren't there, she'd go over and pat him or her on the back. It's a very sweet, sensitive and loveable trait and makes me very proud of her for being so caring. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #b45f06;">She would make an awesome big sister. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #b45f06;">If only things were different.</span> <br />
<br />Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17587287197734518952noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-176061010619490822.post-33589213096204634082013-12-10T23:58:00.001-05:002013-12-10T23:58:46.569-05:00Missing You<span style="color: #0c343d;">So it's December.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #0c343d;">I spent the month of November getting together all of the things I need in order to apply for my Master's program for the Fall of 2014. Writing letters of intent, asking for references, getting transcripts, updating my CV, busy, busy, busy... </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #0c343d;">Sometimes if I think really hard about it, I can get excited about the idea of moving on (up?) in my career, working towards a plan that I've had since I was in nursing school...</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #0c343d;">...but, lately I can't get the sad, unhappy, disappointing parts of my life out of my head. I think about Aidan a lot. I think about Kaia's pregnancy. I worry about my heart. I'm sad it's looking less and less likely that there will ever be another baby in our house. In my head, school looms as the end point. Time to move on. I feel I'm being dragged, kicking and screaming.</span><br />
<span style="color: #0c343d;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #0c343d;">Friends, family and colleagues have asked if we are ever going to have another baby, and I give them all the same answer of "well, after two difficult pregnancies, and one loss we aren't sure it's a good idea..." Everyone always nods knowingly and agrees it's a big decision and perhaps not in our best interest.</span><br />
<span style="color: #0c343d;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #0c343d;">I almost never tell anyone that we've tried....for over year...and failed... At this point, I find our (mine? his? our?) fertility, or lack thereof harder to talk about than my dead child. I could chat about Aidan almost any old time, and do to anyone who asks. Because that sadness, that failure, is old. His death has healed over somewhat. The (likely) loss of Third baby is a new sadness, a new disappointment. It's still happening. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #0c343d;">Every. Goddamn. Month.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #0c343d;">*** </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #0c343d;">What also screws with my emotions on the subject is that every month, along with the feelings of sadness and disappointment, is, well...</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #0c343d;">relief.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #0c343d;">Relief that this isn't the month that I have to start to worry. About every little twinge. Any speck of blood. Any more strain on my heart. Both literally and figuratively. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #0c343d;">I also feel sad about the relief. Because maybe it means I really don't want another baby THAT badly. If I feel relief about not being pregnant, maybe it's only the newness, the wonder, the excitement that a new baby provides that I crave, and not really the baby itself. There is also relief in the relief...because maybe if I'm relieved now, in 10 years when the possibility of ever having another child is long since past, maybe I won't feel so sad.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #0c343d;">Then the guilt comes. Guilt for not trying harder to fix whatever it is that's wrong. For denying Kaia the chance at a (living) sibling. For denying the grandparents the possibility of another grandchild. For failing both Brian and myself. We both want this...so why can't we just suck it up and forge ahead. Tons of people do. Make that RE appointment Emily...just do it.</span><br />
<span style="color: #0c343d;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #0c343d;">Then the niggling doubt.</span><br />
<span style="color: #0c343d;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #0c343d;">Maybe it's not happening because it's not suppose to. Maybe your heart wouldn't tolerate it this time. Maybe it wouldn't be the redemptive pregnancy you dream of. Maybe it would be a new kind of awful? Or maybe the Breus mole and pPROM (TWICE) isn't a fluke. Maybe your genetics just suck and it's time to count your blessings and move on. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #0c343d;">Maybe if it happened, you would wish it hadn't...</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #0c343d;">Then the wondering if we should consider other options. Adoption? Surrogacy? </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #0c343d;">Both of them seem so far removed from anything I could ever imagine us attempting. The time, the money, the never-ending hoops to jump through. Most importantly the wearing of our hearts on our sleeves. I learned through our experience with Aidan and Kaia that when things get emotional, Brian and I tend to curl into ourselves, praying for privacy and space. Could we ever make it through either of those processes, laying our hearts bare for strangers to see? I see it turn out well for people...but what did it take to get there? What number of sadnesses lay just beneath the surface? Plus we already have a living child, so it's difficult to imagine anyone with either a child or a womb to donate picking us over the thousands of others who admittedly, probably deserve it more.</span><br />
<span style="color: #0c343d;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #0c343d;">Both adoption and surrogacy seem like amazing experiences...that only occur for other people.</span><br />
<span style="color: #0c343d;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #0c343d;">***</span><br />
<span style="color: #0c343d;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #0c343d;">All of this is just background noise. My daily life consists of a healthy two year old who is thriving. A good home. A happy marriage. A supportive family. An engaging workplace. </span><br />
<span style="color: #0c343d;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #0c343d;">Aidan is missing, of course. He will always be missing. He was a real person who had a name and a story, no matter how short. People are generally understanding when I say I miss him. When I think about him. When I wish he was here. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #0c343d;">But now, I feel like Third baby is missing too. A person no one ever saw or imagined. Who has no name. No gender. No story. Who never was. Maybe the hardest part is that I get the sinking feeling that if he or she never materializes, I will miss Third baby in the same way I do Aidan.</span><br />
<span style="color: #0c343d;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #0c343d;">And no one will understand.</span> <br />
Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17587287197734518952noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-176061010619490822.post-51001238890879692192013-10-11T23:19:00.000-04:002013-10-11T23:34:49.972-04:00Happy Birthday?<span style="color: #351c75;">So today I turned 31. </span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #351c75;">And....</span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #351c75;">so did my eggs.</span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #351c75;">*sigh*</span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #351c75;">At least I have this perfect little egg to wish me "Happy Birday Mommy!" because everyone knows two year old kisses are the best!</span><br />
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<span style="color: #351c75;">Happy Thanksgiving to all my Canadian peeps!</span><br />
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<br />Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17587287197734518952noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-176061010619490822.post-19910605273118206342013-10-06T23:35:00.000-04:002013-10-16T22:45:34.302-04:00Kiss it Good-bye<span style="color: #38761d;">So this friend of mine (<a href="http://aidanbabyofmine.blogspot.ca/2012/03/crap-shoot.html" target="_blank">mentioned in this post</a>), has one daughter who is a year older than Kaia.</span><br />
<span style="color: #38761d;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #38761d;">We were talking the other day and her daughter is going to be sent to see (yet another) specialist at the local children's hospital. It's probably not serious, but it's another medical specialist to be seen and another issue to be dealt with. So she remarks to me (again), that <i>this</i> is now the final thing that means her and her husband won't be having another child. She jokingly said "we aren't even finished fixing this one up yet!"</span><br />
<span style="color: #38761d;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #38761d;">While part of me laughs and totally gets that it sucks to have yet another medical issue crop up after years of dealing with one thing after another, another little part of me (probably located somewhere near my congenital cardiac defect...right next to my dead baby) feels a little miffed. <i>Yes, not everyone is born perfect....sucks don't it?</i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #38761d;">Then my friend says "we are considering having [insert her husband's name here] go for a vasectomy". </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #38761d;">Huh. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #38761d;">My immediate question was whether her husband is as solid on not wanting any more kids either. Her answer was that he would have another one if she wanted one, but since she doesn't, he's fine with that.</span><br />
<span style="color: #38761d;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #38761d;">Perhaps because I play the 'what if' game with myself <b>all the time</b>, I immediately began thinking of scenarios in my head. </span><br />
<span style="color: #38761d;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #38761d;">a) What if my friends divorced? This happened to a friend of a friend of mine. He wanted another. She was done with two. Hubby went for a vasectomy and then his wife left him...for another woman (pretty sure there aren't anymore kids in this woman's future). This guy, who is still young by anyone's standards, could remarry and have more kids, but now he's sterile. Needless to say, he is beyond pissed. It also happened to my cousin. He and his wife were done at three. Then they divorced. He went on to meet another woman, got a vasectomy reversal (In Canada: free to go sterile, $5000 to undo it) and they had another child together. Then, because of their ages, he got it done again. I guess everyone has their limits when birth control becomes that big of a hassle that one no longer wants to even have to consider it anymore, but in my mind you BOTH should be REALLY REALLY sure.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #38761d;">b) What if my (female) friend died? As an example, my mom, after she had my younger brother, was told not to have anymore children due to possible risks to her health. When I was about 6 and my brother was 3, my mom got her tubes tied. She had two and was happy with that. Although it's more of an invasive procedure for the female to get sterilized, her reasoning was that out of the two of them, SHE was the one who couldn't have more kids, so why take that possibility away from my dad, if anything should happen to her? In our case, this would be my decision too, since I'm the one with the heart defect. In my opinion since my friend is the one solidly not wanting anymore kids, maybe this should be a decision (and a surgery) that she takes upon herself, and doesn't put on her husband. </span><br />
<span style="color: #38761d;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #38761d;">c) What if (and this of course hits close to home), their daughter died? Their daughter's medical conditions have, so far, never been life threatening in the extreme, but what if something else is around the corner? I worry about this all the time with Kaia, because I know the devastation of loss. The loss of an only child is not only the loss of a child, but the loss of one's parenthood. It's one of the things that weighs heavy on my mind, knowing I may end up having an only (living) child. I know my friend worries about the possible medical complications in a second child, that they could be worse than her first, but I don't know if she's ever thought about the loss of the one she has. I don't know if I should even bring it up because no parent ever wants to think about that. Plus, if they really DON'T want anymore children, does the outside chance of future loss outweigh their current desire for only one child? In my mind, death is always something to consider. In theirs, maybe it's not.</span><br />
<span style="color: #38761d;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #38761d;">It, of course, also stings that while Brian and I are trying to have another child, despite all the complications we've faced and could face in the future, friends of ours who are exactly our age, with exactly the same number of (living) kids (only one!), are preparing to kiss their fertility good-bye. </span><br />
<span style="color: #38761d;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #38761d;">I dream of the day when my family is exactly the way I want it. It will always be minus Aidan, but I wish it didn't have to be minus Third baby too. I would be so nice to no longer have that twinge when I pass a pregnant woman on the street or hold a snugly baby and wish it was mine. If only I could watch Kaia and her sibling play and interact, and have a child on either side of me when I read stories at night. It would be so nice to feel a sense of completion. I'm afraid I'm never going to have that.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #38761d;">Some day (far in the future?) we might have the sterilization conversation too...but not yet...definitely not yet.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><i>How do you know when you're done with having children? If you're there, what made you decide?</i></span>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17587287197734518952noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-176061010619490822.post-46904090084244920202013-08-14T23:49:00.001-04:002013-08-14T23:50:57.541-04:00The Clomid Experience and PVCs<span style="color: #4c1130;">So yeah, not pregnant. Not even a little bit. Crickets chirping over hear.</span><br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #4c1130;">Back in June, after two months in a row of my Clear Blue Easy Ovulation monitor reading "High" fertility for many days, but never registering an 'ovulation' day, I decided that I must be more fucked up in the reproductive department than I realized. I figured if we were truly trying to make a go of conceiving Third baby, I better get my ass to the doctor stat to figure out plan B (but not ya'know the medication of the same name, as that would be counterproductive). </span><br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #4c1130;">My doctor immediately upon hearing of my ovulation woes, decided to give me a script for three rounds of 50mg of clomid, the 'go to' medication for ovulation, stating if that didn't work she'd up it to 100mg. Instructions: Take on days 5 to 9 of your cycle, watch out for mood swings, hot flashes and sore boobs. Come back if you're pregnant. See ya, good luck!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;">Later the same week after taking the Clomid for the first time, I had <a href="http://aidanbabyofmine.blogspot.ca/2013/07/down-hearted.html" target="_blank">my cardiology appointment</a>, which completely scared the shit out of me, and made me question whether or not having another kid was such a good idea. I mean, if supposedly my heart is going to need a new valve in < 10 years, is it really smart to stress it out with yet another (possibly screwed up, but hopefully not!!!) pregnancy? Plus what if another baby compromises my health even more than a new valve could fix? I desperately wish for a sibling for Kaia, but not at the expense of her not having a mom. I figure moms are kind of important too. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;">But, I really want another baby...I really really do...</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;">So with all this muddling around in my brain, the time of ovulation arrived...and I started to have <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Premature_ventricular_contraction" target="_blank">PVCs</a>. PVCs for you laymen out there are basically when your heart skips a beat, or seems to pause for slightly longer than normal, and then seems to 'thunk' or contract harder than usual, and then continues beating as normal. Sort of like a heart 'hiccup'. They generally aren't dangerous, and happen to lots of people with normal averages hearts, but they are a bit unnerving. I've mentioned these occurrences to my cardiologists before, and these skipped beats have been picked up on my 24 hour ECGs (Holter monitor), and nary a fuss has been made about them, so I've never really concerned myself too much. But during this Clomid cycle, all of a sudden they started happening multiple times per MINUTE. I go from noticing one every once in awhile (hours often days apart) to literally being able to sit there and count them....1........2......3.....4.....</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;">It probably didn't help that I had a cold at the time, so I was ill on top of being hormonal, but HOLY SHIT it was scary as I lay there in bed feeling: </span><br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;">beat...beat...beat........THUNK....beat....beat...beat...beat.......THUNK..... I hauled out my stethoscope and had Brian take a listen. Even he thought my heart sounded weird. </span><br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;"> </span><br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;">The Google research I did supported my supposition that it was the Clomid causing the PVCs as others with normal hearts report having them, plus the PVCs stopped after the ovulation period was over, when I assume the meds quit working. The entire experience scared me enough though that I haven't taken the Clomid again.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;">So we are back to the rock and the hard place....if I'm not ovulating regularly or strongly on my own then pregnancy is unlikely to happen without further assistance, AND I can't take Clomid, which is the only fertility medication my family doctor feels qualified to prescribe me, BUT Brian isn't too keen about returning to the reproductive endocrinologist, AND I'm freaked out enough about getting pregnant again due to my own health issues, PLUS it seems stupid and foolhardy to pay $$$$ to get pregnant with possibly (but hopefully not!!!!) disastrous consequences....</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;">HOWEVER we really, really want another baby.....and I feel guilty that I'm unable to provide Third baby for my family. I worry Kaia will be the only (living) grandchild on my side of the family as my brother and his girlfriend seem in no hurry to reproduce. My parents love Kaia so much, I wish they had lots more grand kids to spoil. I worry that Kaia will never have a sibling and this will somehow damage her for life. My brother was the best present my parents ever gave me and I can't imagine my life without him. I feel badly that if Brian had married someone else, he might have that 2+ kids he would like. I'm just sad. So tired of this being an issue. So tired of feeling like my body is failing.</span><br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;"><br /></span><span style="color: #4c1130;">I feel as though our hopes for Third baby are circling the drain.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;">I'm so tired of caring about this. I wish I didn't care.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;">But I do. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;">So much. </span><br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;"><br />***</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;">It's not helping that tomorrow, August 15th, is Aidan's third anniversary due date. A day that means both nothing and everything.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;">He would/should/could have been 3.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;">I wish you love, my son, on this, your 3rd non-birthday. Today and every day.</span><br />
<br />
Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17587287197734518952noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-176061010619490822.post-87571016923977572492013-08-12T23:57:00.000-04:002013-08-12T23:57:53.387-04:00Right Where I Am: 3 years, 3 months, 3 weeks and 1 day<span style="color: #351c75;">Once, I read an article describing the experiences of people who have regained the ability to see after a lifetime of blindness. After relating to the world without sight, depending on all of their other senses to guide them, these people found it hard to assimilate the visual sensory input. For example, seeing an apple. You and I would immediately know what it is, just by looking at it. Those who were blind, would not know what the object was, until they picked it up, felt its roundness, smooth skin, smelt it's apple-y smell, or tasted it's juicy flesh. They had no idea what an apple should look like. They had no visual reference for anything. It was only over time that they were able to begin to make sense of the visual world.</span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #351c75;">Over 3 years out now from Aidan's death and I feel as though I have the opposite of this problem. I can no longer picture what my life would look like with a living Aidan in it. Immediately after he died, I had a running timeline of what I 'should' be doing and I could 'see' it all so clearly. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #351c75;">June 2010: "I should be 34 weeks pregnant, not lifting and carrying heavy boxes helping my friends move". I could imagine my big belly, almost feel his kicks.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #351c75;">August 2010: "I should have a newborn to take care of, off on maternity leave, not returning to work at a new job". It felt like a daily surprise that the room that was to be his was empty. How could he not be here? </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #351c75;">December 2010: "I should have a baby to take to this family Christmas party, instead my arms are empty". Watching my relatives coo and awe over my cousin's baby who was born in July 2010, I felt angry when the first present of the night was handed out to her, the 'youngest'. That gift, that title, should have been Aidan's. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #351c75;">April 2011: "It's a year since he was born...if he had lived I would be planning a 1st birthday party". But instead I was on bed rest again, agonizing over the fate of baby number 2...and wait a minute, he should have been born in August and would really only be 8 months old...and I likely wouldn't be pregnant again, and thus not concerned about baby number two... </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #351c75;">Then Kaia arrived, and the timeline of the way life 'should' have been was permanently altered, because likely she wouldn't be if he was...and how could I see anything else but her? The farther out I am from his death, the harder time I have imaging what life with him should look like. Over time I have slowly gone 'blind' to those should haves. I've lost reference to what my life with him would have been. Most days my life is filled with who and what is...not who or what is not.</span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #351c75;">Yet as I lay in bed at night, quiet, in the dark, I so often think before I drift off to sleep: "I miss you Aidan. I wish you were here".</span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #351c75;">He truly never goes away.</span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75;"><br /></span>
<br />Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17587287197734518952noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-176061010619490822.post-21368879288119740362013-07-09T22:36:00.002-04:002013-07-09T22:42:43.637-04:00Happy Birthday!<span style="color: #741b47;">My baby is 2 today! She's wonderful, adorable, smart, funny, engaging and gregarious. She can also be a whiny, bratty, biting, scratching, Dora-demanding, hot-mess of a toddler! </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #741b47;">I wouldn't have it any other way. </span><br />
<span style="color: #741b47;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #741b47;">Kaia, "You know, you really wear me out. But I love you anyway".</span><br />
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<span style="color: #741b47;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOsuBHhgtEEK2s88y8qRDoa7MzhW7DZAGcYput8UtroSVmHGCl9uYyj37b76s-DHclMkgFfqMTqiPKhTBBcV-bd5C7DNI_UK2LoDTQQJT56iZqGO3jO1ZzLy7NMNMPe_25DB39orIeSlE3/s1600/DSC07337.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOsuBHhgtEEK2s88y8qRDoa7MzhW7DZAGcYput8UtroSVmHGCl9uYyj37b76s-DHclMkgFfqMTqiPKhTBBcV-bd5C7DNI_UK2LoDTQQJT56iZqGO3jO1ZzLy7NMNMPe_25DB39orIeSlE3/s640/DSC07337.JPG" width="425" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="color: #741b47;">And I'm pretty sure, despite all our faults, you'd tell Daddy and Me if you could that you "love us anyway too".</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #741b47;">Happy 2nd Birthday to my extra special girl.</span><br />
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<br />
<span style="color: #741b47;">*Updated to add: Go check out last year's post about her 1st birthday party. Holy Hannah (as my mother would say!), CHECK OUT ALL THAT HAIR! From basically bald to flowing golden curly locks in one year). Sweet! </span><br />
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<br />Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17587287197734518952noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-176061010619490822.post-90524470101767080762013-07-01T00:25:00.004-04:002013-07-01T00:25:45.796-04:00Down hearted<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="background-color: white;">Sorry I haven't written in awhile. It's not for lack of wanting to...just life always seems to get in the way. Plus I spent the month of June reading the entire series of Game of Thrones (books 1-5), which was over 4000 pages, so I spent a good portion of the month reading. I'm now in withdrawal...I wish the next book was coming out soon.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="background-color: white;">On to more important things.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="background-color: white;">No we aren't pregnant.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="background-color: white;">And after my cardiologist appointment this past week, I'm wondering if it's a good idea health-wise.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="background-color: white;">My heart is currently functioning well, however I do have a 'moderate' amount of aortic regurgitation which means that a portion of the blood passing through my aortic valve from my left ventricle tends to leak backwards through the valve rather than all flowing out through my aorta. Basically my cardiologist is telling me that valve surgery is in my future. She's 'hoping' I will get 10 more years out of the valve, but at some point it will need to be replaced in order to help preserve my heart function. Currently this type of valve is replaced by open heart surgery, meaning you have to be put on by-pass while your heart is stopped and worked on through a giant incision through your chest. According to my good friend Google, it has a 1-3% mortality rate (which is probably higher with Fontan patients like me). My cardiologist is hopeful that by the time I need my valve replaced it will be done by catheter, making the procedure less risky and less invasive. I'm so hoping too.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="background-color: white;">Hearing this is upsetting, although not ENTIRELY surprising. I've done my reading, and from what I've read Fontan patients usually begin having heart problems as they grow older, and valve surgery is fairly common in heart patients. It is hard to begin applying those statistics to yourself though. It's scary. If I were to get a non-tissue valve, I'll have an increased risk of clotting and will need to be on blood thinning medication indefinitely. A big annoyance and not a pleasant prospect.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="background-color: white;">However, what was worse, was that this cardiologist started telling me about the possibility that one day I may need a heart transplant. I know my parents were told when I was a child, that I was not eligible for a heart transplant and that the Fontan operation was my only option. This cardiologist is telling me that things have changed in the last 25 years, and now would be considered for a heart transplant if I needed one (yippee!), however Fontan patients like myself have a 30% chance of DYING ON THE TABLE during the surgery (definitely not yippee). If they survive post op, the outcomes are usually good...but the risks are high. It also means living on the transplant list. You can't travel, you're tied to a pager every day, wondering "will this be the day my heart arrives"...and there is the possibility that one won't be found and you'll die waiting. Also, fun fact: women who have had children have a harder time being matched due to the antibodies they have made against the fetus. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="background-color: white;">A transplant also isn't a cure all...you'll be on anti-rejection medications forever (increasing your risk of infection and cancer) and transplanted hearts fail on average around 15 years, meaning you'll either die or need another one. Only 69% of female transplant patients are alive at 5 years.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="background-color: white;">This is VERY upsetting because damn it all, I want to be an old lady. I want grey hair and wrinkles. I want to go back to school and change my career trajectory. I want to travel with my family, or alone with Brian, and one day I might even want to retire! I want to see my grandchildren grow (should I be lucky enough to have them). I want a full life, with the normal expected life span. Hearing all this stuff about my heart is making me think about my life long term. For example, I better stay in a job that has good medical benefits, good disability benefits and life insurance, because at some point, I might (will?) need them. So scratch working in a small medical clinic, I'll have to stay at a big hospital. I should also definitely get on with my plans for school. I need to move towards a career that is less physically demanding. We should also not plan to move to a smaller city. The hospital I need is here. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="background-color: white;">Those concerns are obviously all long term, and in my own benefit. In the short term, I (we) want another baby. I want a sibling for Kaia. Especially if there is a chance I might not be around to see her as an adult, I want her to have the comfort of a (living) sibling. It's so maddening because part of what has come with living so well with my heart defect, is my own expectation that I will pretty much be able to live a normal life, including having the number of children I want (or at least TRY to have the number of children I want). If I let myself be scared off trying for another child, fearing that it may damage my heart, I feel it would be tantamount to letting my heart defect stop me from achieving my dreams.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="background-color: white;">It's put a lot of thoughts in my head this week. How to I reconcile my short and long term desires? It's led me back into looking into surrogacy. Here in Canada, surrogacy is legal, however you aren't able to directly pay for a surrogate the way you are in the States. You are however, responsible for many other costs. Including, (but not limited to, of course), the IVF fees ($10,000+), the lawyers ($1000s), DNA testing ($1500) the expenses the surrogate will incur including travel costs, maternity clothes, extra food costs, and the possibility that she will need time off work which means you'll be paying her salary. The website I went to listed $35,000 as a total conservative estimate.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="background-color: white;">*Sigh* </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="background-color: white;">This is all well and good, but first someone (out of the goodness of their own heart) has to offer up her uterus for 9 months. And maybe, maybe, if all goes well, you get a baby (or two?) out of the deal and the lovely woman who has helped you gets a few more stretch marks and the knowledge of a job well done.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="background-color: white;">Makes me wish my parents had tried a little harder to give me a sister (preferably one who loved me lots and liked being pregnant). My brother is fairly useless in this case. Thanks for nothing Mom and Dad. ;-)</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span>
<br />Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17587287197734518952noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-176061010619490822.post-58104888964641937142013-04-28T23:44:00.003-04:002013-04-28T23:47:24.659-04:00Barren<span style="color: #4c1130;"><i>Barren</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;">(as defined by Webster's Dictionary): </span><br />
<div class="sblk">
<div class="scnt">
<span style="color: #4c1130;">1<span class="ssens"><b>: not reproducing</b>: as </span><span class="ssens"> </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;"><span class="ssens">
</span><span class="ssens">
<i class="sn">b</i> <b>:</b> <b>not yet or not recently pregnant</b> </span></span><span style="color: #4c1130;"><span class="ssens">
<i class="sn">c</i> <b>:</b> <b>habitually failing to fruit</b></span></span></div>
<div class="scnt">
</div>
<div class="scnt">
<br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;"><span class="ssens"><i>Infertile</i></span></span></div>
<div class="scnt">
<span style="color: #4c1130;"><span class="ssens"><i> </i></span>(as defined by Medicine.net): </span></div>
<div class="scnt">
<span style="color: #4c1130;"> <b>Infertility means not being able to get pregnant after one year of trying.</b></span></div>
</div>
<span style="color: #4c1130;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #4c1130;">Last April when my period returned after having Kaia, I figured I wouldn't bother starting any type of birth control. Although we didn't exactly WANT a second child at that point, I felt fairly confident due to my previous experiences of needing added progesterone to get pregnant, that it likely wouldn't happen on its own. And hey, if it did, that might be welcome change and a sign from the universe that we should just go with it. </span><br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #4c1130;">Turns out, I was right. (Sometimes it sucks be right all the time).</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;">We've been 'not trying/not avoiding' for a year now and can now officially be classified as among the 'infertile'. Not surprising. I have a feeling if we had never added in the progesterone with either Aidan or Kaia we would have gotten that designation the first two times around.</span><br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #4c1130;">What pains me to admit however, is that in January we decided that we'd start actually 'trying' and started on progesterone for the second half of my cycle. It worked the first time in both of my previous pregnancies, so I felt it was bound to at least do SOMETHING. January I started with 100mg of Prometrium once a day starting after ovulation. It did NOTHING. My luteal phase was short as always and I had spotting for a number of days before my period as usual. Okay, I figured, no biggie. I got pregnant with Kaia using 200mg once a day. So, we upped it to 200mg for February...and March...and April...and the spotting continues. My luteal phase is slightly longer, but I have yet to need a pregnancy test to tell me I'm not pregnant (which I should since the progesterone should stop the uterine lining from shedding, thus cuing me to pee on a stick). I've yet to make it past day 27 of my cycle without spotting.</span><br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #4c1130;">Shit.</span><br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #4c1130;">My family doctor said she is willing to prescribe Clomid to help strengthen ovulation which will hopefully sort out my luteal issues, but if we need any further help than that, she'd refer me again to the fertility specialist we saw in the Fall of 2010. That fertility specialist had the easiest time in the world helping me get knocked up. One ultrasound for a follicle check and a prescription of Prometrium later and 'ta-da'! They said it was almost too easy. Too bad what followed was not.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;">I don't know what to do. I have a hard time admitting the level of my desire for another child to my doctor or my friends and I haven't even mentioned it to our families, because I'm so afraid that giving a voice to my wish will somehow make it harder if it never happens. I still carry so much disappointment and sadness around both my pregnancies and Aidan's loss that I'm not sure I can really stand to add another defeat to the pile.</span><br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #4c1130;">Sometimes I like to trick myself and think "Hey, maybe you don't REALLY want another baby. Let's just hold the phone and think back here for a moment. Remember how little sleep you got with a newborn? Remember the nervous breakdown you had over trying to breastfeed? And the 14 months of pumping? Remember the quasi-sleep training and the hours and hours of nightly crying that preceded it? Oh, and hey...remember your water breaking in the second trimester...TWICE? Remember the combined 27 weeks of bed rest? Remember the lack of income? Remember the stress and the worry and the fear? Remember the preemies, one living and one dead? The NICU? Remember Dr. Eeyore? Remember how they have ABSOLUTELY no idea why your placenta exploded once, let alone twice. Remember? Life is much better now that all that's behind you." It would honestly be so much easier if, like friends of ours who have just one daughter and are happy to keep it that way, we didn't want any more children. No more choices to make. No more decisions to stress over. One (living) and done would be so easy.</span><br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #4c1130;">But, I do. I do want another baby. I have Kaia, who I am more grateful for every day. She lights up our lives. And I had Aidan. He made me a Mom. Who even in his absence continues to teach me things and helps to make me a better person. How special and important they both are to me. How much I love them. OF COURSE I want another child. Both Brian and I do. And one day, I bet Kaia will want a sibling. I would love to make that happen.</span><br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #4c1130;">I honestly feel that likely, our third child is possible. Right now, he or she waits in the fabric of the universe, just waiting for our genetic material to combine, implant and begin to grow. According to the reproductive endocrinologist that we saw in 2010, the likelihood of us being able to conceive is high based on the fact that we have before, it will just take the right combination of patience, medical technology and genetic material. I know this isn't the case for EVERYONE, but since I'm still fairly 'young', the possibility is on the higher side. That the 'likelihood' ends at the two pink lines is what gets me. It makes me quake in fear that there are no guarantees beyond that.</span><br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #4c1130;">I'm just not sure I have the strength to really GO for it based on our pregnancy history. I'm not sure I want to pour time, money, energy and hope into a pregnancy that would take more than a few pills and a bottle of wine to make happen. If it happened on it's own, naturally and easily with little or no outside help...and things went badly again, it would be awful, and heart breaking and soul crushing. If it all went badly again and we had spent months (years?) going to doctor's appointments, multiple invasive tests, failed procedures and PAID for all of it to happen, well that's just like rubbing salt in the wound. Maybe our current infertility is the universe's way of telling us it's just not meant to happen, and we'd be better off not tempting it again. </span><br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #4c1130;">I just all makes me so sad. I never blamed any of my own actions for Aidan's death or for either of the early pPROMs. But I have such anger and disappointment when it comes to my body. How could it fail me so badly, not once but TWICE? How could things go so wrong? I don't even really feel that I had much to do with Kaia's positive outcome. It's like she lived <i>in spite</i> of my body's failings. The bed rest, the gallons of water, the good food, good hygiene, all the supplements, the love and hope I clung to were only my way of attempting to counteract the absolute failure of my uterus. That Kaia lived is only due to her own hardiness and because biology didn't screw up *quite* enough to cause her death. Kaia lived because she, and we, got extremely lucky. From my earliest memory my body has been deemed 'less' because of my heart defect, which my pregnancy history only seems to confirm.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;">The idea that I would dream of chancing all that again; that I would dare to even contemplate it in the face of my body's obvious unwillingness to cooperate smacks of hubris. We got lucky once, what makes me think I deserve that again? </span><br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #4c1130;">On the other hand, I feel like I am failing that third baby of mine if I don't try. If I choose comfort, safety and physical ease over the fear of loss or hardship, what kind of mother am I? I imagine third baby out there, just waiting for us to make him or her a reality, but unfortunately third baby brings no guarantees about how long he or she plans to stay, or how healthy he or she plans to be, or how mentally or physically healthy he or she will leave me. There are never any guarantees when it comes to children, but I feel somehow, like we have less of a guarantee than most. We have more of a reason than others to believe it will all go badly, more of a reason to fear the worst. Third baby, you aren't even real and I already love you, want you, wish you were here...but I don't know if I can risk it again.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;">The hardest thing for me maybe, is that I know I can live without third baby. Life will still be good. It will still have meaning. Because I have Kaia, I can go on. I didn't feel that way before or after Aidan. The desire to have a living child was so intense, so overwhelming, it was all I could think of. I could not imagine my life without at least one living child. Even while I stared at the ceiling on bed rest with Kaia, swearing that I would not put myself through this again, I knew I wouldn't quit in my desire to have a family. I was prepared to do anything, pay anything, risk anything. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;">But I'm not anymore. For me, primary infertility and secondary infertility are two very different things. As much as I love third baby, he or she does not take precedence over my current child and my current life. I have other dreams now, which I am prepared to put on hold, or delay, but not give up on, to have another baby in my life.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;">Which in the end, for me, is the saddest thing of all. I know if third baby were to make it here, alive and well (which sometimes feels as impossible as a planned mission to Mars), third baby would be as loved and as cherished and as needed as Aidan or Kaia. He or she would be cease to be abstract and would become real.</span><br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #4c1130;">And, oh how I want him or her to be real. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;">I'm just not sure I have it in me to try.</span><br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #4c1130;">I'm sorry third baby. Mommy's so sorry. </span>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17587287197734518952noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-176061010619490822.post-81071542511058394742013-04-21T19:18:00.000-04:002013-04-21T19:18:24.700-04:00Imagining Three<span style="color: #0c343d;"><i>"Aidan do you know what today is?"</i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #0c343d;"><i>"It's my birthday Mommy!"</i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #0c343d;"><i>"Yes, you're right it is my big boy! Aidan, how old are you today?"</i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #0c343d;"><i>"I'm three!"</i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #0c343d;"><i>"Yes you are! What are we going to do today for your birthday?"</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #0c343d;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="color: #0c343d;"><i>"Go to the zoo! I love the zoo!"</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #0c343d;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="color: #0c343d;"><i>"Are we going to see the lions and tigers and gorillas and turtles?"</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #0c343d;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="color: #0c343d;"><i>"Yes, and the Orange-tans too!"</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #0c343d;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="color: #0c343d;"><i>"Orange-tans? Oh right, yes, the O-RANG-U-tans, yes we can see the Orangutans too. Aidan, this is a very special day. Three years ago you were born and you were so small. See this picture here? Yes, that's you. Look at how tiny you were. Tiny tiny feet, tiny tiny hands...tiny, tiny everything".</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #0c343d;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="color: #0c343d;"><i>"I'm not tiny, tiny anymore....I'm a BIG boy, now!"</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #0c343d;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="color: #0c343d;"><i>"That's true. You are a big boy, now. You're a big brother now too. But three years ago, you were so, so small that you had to live in a warm plastic box for a long, long time until you were bigger and stronger. You had tubes and wires going every which way. Yes, see this picture? Mommy would sit beside you and hold your little hand in mine and put my hand over your head to keep you calm and feeling safe".</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #0c343d;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="color: #0c343d;"><i>"Why, Mommy?"</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #0c343d;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="color: #0c343d;"><i>"Because you were so small Mommy couldn't always hold you. We had to wait a long time for you to get big and strong so you could come home. Your doctors and your nurses and your RTs said they have never seen such a remarkable boy! You did so well and surprised just about everyone! Even me!"</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #0c343d;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="color: #0c343d;"><i>"Even YOU?"</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #0c343d;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="color: #0c343d;"><i>"Yes my baby boy. It took you awhile, but you grew so well and got so strong and healthy, I could hardly believe it. You barely even look like that tiny baby anymore. Except for your feet and your nose, those look just the same. Just like your Daddy's" </i></span><br />
<span style="color: #0c343d;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="color: #0c343d;"><i>"Some day, I'm going to be as big as Daddy and drive the car, just like him!"</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #0c343d;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="color: #0c343d;"><i>"That's right, you will. You're a big boy already who can run and jump and count to 10 and say his A, B, Cs!"</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #0c343d;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="color: #0c343d;"><i>"A, B, C, D, E, F, G..."</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #0c343d;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="color: #0c343d;"><i>"Yes Aidan, that's very good. Okay, it's time to get your shoes on...time to go to the zoo!"</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #0c343d;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="color: #0c343d;"><i>"Yeah!"</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #0c343d;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="color: #0c343d;"><i>"Wait, Mommy needs a hug and a kiss from the birthday boy!"</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #0c343d;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="color: #0c343d;"><i>"Love you Mommy."</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #0c343d;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="color: #0c343d;"><i>"Love you too, Aidan."</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #0c343d;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #0c343d;">***</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #0c343d;">Forever and Always my baby boy.</span>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17587287197734518952noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-176061010619490822.post-45884928765213890792013-04-16T23:41:00.004-04:002013-04-16T23:49:33.818-04:00Just another day at the office<span style="color: #3d85c6;">He has creamy pink skin. Rosebud lips. Ten tiny toes, ten tiny fingers. A covering of
peach-fuzz hair on his head. He is loved. His room is waiting at home for him. He is 7 and a half pounds of glorious perfection. </span><br />
<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #3d85c6;">Except for the brain damage.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #3d85c6;">She's standing at her son's beside gazing down at him. She is sore and slow and tired, with her swollen post-partum belly covered in sweats. Her husband stands stoic beside her. They don't know what went wrong. He was fine, fine, fine on ultrasound just days ago. They have just finished a conversation with the nurse practitioner covering her son's care that day. It's not good, but it's not the WORST either. He's got a chance. We'll have to see how he does once we finish the cooling protocol and do an MRI. Then the real waiting begins. It might be years before we know what he's going to be like. Able? Disable? Walking? Talking? Deaf? Blind? Who knows. We left our crystal ball at home today.</span><br />
<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #3d85c6;">She's standing at her son's beside gazing down at him. He is still. So still. He has tubes and wires coming out of every which way. The amount of technology surrounding his bedside looks like it could control a missile and is equally formidable to anyone who doesn't know it's purpose. His nurse (my colleague), offers his mom the chance to do his bath. You know, something totally normal, if she didn't have to work around the breathing tube, the umbilical lines and the urinary catheter. </span><br />
<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><br />His mom begins to cry. As tears roll down her cheeks she wrings her hands and manages to choke out, "I'm afraid I'm going to hurt him!"</span><br />
<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #3d85c6;">I'm going about my day, trying to mind my own business while charting on my patient, but standing 3 feet from her, I can't help but hear everything she says. My dead baby mother's heart responds so keenly, as I know what she is REALLY saying.</span><br />
<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><i>I'm afraid I already hurt him. I'm afraid I've killed him, or damaged him beyond repair. He's broken and it's all my fault.</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #3d85c6;">As a nurse I could tell her "it's not your fault" and really mean it. She did nothing wrong. It was an accident. Nobody meant for this to happen. Not the midwife, not the pediatrician, not the doctors, not the nurses, not her husband, not the baby and certainly not his mother. But I know, she will blame herself...we always do.</span><br />
<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #3d85c6;">A few days later he is breathing on his own. Learning to eat from a bottle. He will have challenges, but he will go home. His mom is holding him and she looks a little better. At least she smiles back at me.</span><br />
<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #3d85c6;">He is one of the lucky ones.</span><br />
<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #3d85c6;">Another day, I'm over at the fridge. Searching around for the containers holding my patient's breast milk so that I can draw it up into tiny syringes to push down the tube in his nose into his stomach where it will hopefully stay to be digested and not end up back on my shoes.</span><br />
<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #3d85c6;">I look over into the room next door. The lights are dim, even though it's the middle of the day. The staff doctor is speaking quietly to a couple sitting in matching rocking chairs by their son's bed side. They are absolutely still. I can tell just by their posture, and the blank looks on their faces that it's not good. His nurse leans over to me and whispers, "she's talking to them about withdrawing fluids..." They have already been told their son is beyond hope. Unlike other organs which can recover from a lack of oxygen, the brain cannot. His death certificate will read asphyxia. Withdrawing fluids will help to not prolong things.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #3d85c6;">Withdrawal of fluids is completely appropriate in this case. It is only offered in situations for which nothing can be done, and the family has agreed to a DNR. But as I stand there watching that couple hear a doctor speak so calmly and plainly about hastening their son's death, I remember what it's like to get that news. Nothing can be done. No hope. Beyond saving. Might as well end it now. It hurts. Hurts like a gut wound. You feel your stomach dropping out beneath you. You feel dizzy and sweaty, like if you could only just block your ears, your mind, your heart, maybe all this awfulness will just go away and leave you and your family alone. But it won't and it doesn't.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #3d85c6;">I look at the parents. They are so completely, totally ordinary. A month ago she was probably at her grocery store, or in the mall, or at church or at work, getting belly pats from well meaning old ladies chirping "oh, looks like it's any day now!" She likely smiled and then rolled her eyes as they walked away. He probably assembled the crib and attended birthing classes feeling like a fish out of water. Worried about being a good enough dad, and maybe even rubbed her feet after a long day. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #3d85c6;">A month from now she will be back at that grocery store, slowly walking down the aisles. Avoiding the one with diapers and wipes and formula, because even though she was going to cloth diaper and breast feed, it's all just too big of a reminder. He will be at work, shooting the shit with the guys...but breaking a bit inside when colleagues mention their kids. He'll quickly look away and busy himself with something else. This year won't be what they thought it would. No camping trips with an infant. No holiday parties with the 'grandparents'. Just them, alone again in an empty house. I can see it all because I've lived it, and now they will too. I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy.</span><br />
<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #3d85c6;">***</span><br />
<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #3d85c6;">How is it that so many babies traversing the,what? Maybe 10 cm total?, through the cervix and down the birth canal go from 'fine' in one spot, to 'dead, or dying' and the end? It seems completely ludicrous that the only 10 cm you absolutely HAVE to cross in your life is the most dangerous of all. Good job mother nature. You can be such a cruel bitch.</span><br />
<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #3d85c6;">***</span><br />
<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #3d85c6;">Oh look at that, it's 7 o'clock. Quitting time. Yep, just another day at the office. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #3d85c6;">Should have been a librarian.</span>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17587287197734518952noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-176061010619490822.post-87389640582005952462013-03-13T23:58:00.001-04:002013-03-14T00:24:56.714-04:00The Ides of March<span style="color: #4c1130;">Where have I been lately? Nowhere special. I'm at a low energy point, probably due to the continuing dreariness of winter. I hate winter. I'm sick of the cold. I'm bored with my winter wardrobe. I'm boycotting the outdoors until the sun shines and I can see the grass. I haven't felt like exercising and haven't felt like getting out much. Instead I've been reading...A LOT. I discovered Goodreads soon after Christmas and OHMYGOD, it's like I've found my tribe. Hello people who love books more than movies, more than social interaction, more than food! I've read 30+ books over the last couple of months and I go nowhere without my Kindle. Sometimes during the day when I'm home with Kaia, I'll follow her around, Kindle in hand, waiting until she gets distracted playing on her own for 3 minutes and in that time I'll try to read a few more pages. I know, I'm a book junkie. "What's that Kaia? Sorry baby...mommy missed that totally awesome amazing thing you just did because I was reading." Mother of the year award over here for sure.</span><br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #4c1130;">***</span><br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #4c1130;">So how is Kaia, you ask?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;">She's walking!!! (Take that Breus mole, pPROM, prematurity and hip dysplasia!!!)</span><br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #4c1130;">She finally started to walk at the beginning of February just before she was 19 months actual (17 months corrected). Just as suspected she would, she did it first at Grandma's house while Brian and I weren't there. Kaia's stubborn. VERY stubborn, especially with us. Any time we would try to encourage (or coax, trick, or bribe) her into walking, she would freeze up, flail around on the floor and cry, so I knew it was going to take someone who she's generally more agreeable with (such as the grandparents) to get her walking. That first day she took about 6 steps total unassisted and since then she's been hanging on to things less and less, and becoming more and more adventurous. She still walks like she's either a zombie, or very drunk, but she can bend down to pick something up without falling and has walked a bit outside while wearing her winter boots. Her orthopedic surgeon who we visited last week was happy with her hip development (looks good on x-ray!) and pleased to see she was walking, so if he's happy, I'm happy. It often amazes me when I'm distracted and see her out of the corner of my eye and think "who is that? Oh wait, that's Kaia WALKING!" It's awesome to see her become a bit more independent. </span><br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #4c1130;">What else?</span><br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #4c1130;">She's got a few more words, but not as many as I thought she would by now. According to her pediatrician she is suppose to have 15-20 words at 18 months which is about where she's at (unless you count animal noises as words, then she's got double that). However, she still grunts, moans and whines a lot and points to whatever it is she wants. She understands a ton, and can point to pictures in books of things I didn't know she knew, but she doesn't like to use her words as often. I'm finding this kind of baffling. I talk to her ALL THE TIME. I repeat things a million times a day. I pause when I'm speaking in order for her to answer. I'm doing all the things you're suppose to in order to get your kid to talk, and we're still stuck on whining more than I would like. I'm not concerned, per say...just a bit frustrated because I would love to know what she is thinking and you can only tell so much by "uh uh UH!!!". It's also hard not to compare your kid to others. According to my mother, I was talking full sentences by the time I was 18 months, and one of my friend's kids is practically a savant when it came to acquiring language (she was picking out letters correctly by the time she was 17 months), so the fact that Kaia's yet to (understandably) string two words together feels like we're behind.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;">In order to have a record somewhere (and where else is the best place but posted publicly on the internet?), here are the words she's (somewhat) mastered:</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;">-Up (this is far and away her clearest word, usually uttered standing at my feet with her arms stretched)</span><br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;">-Mama</span><br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;">-Dada</span><br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;">-Keys</span><br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;">-Cheese</span><br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;">-Grapes</span><br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;">-Apple</span><br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;">-Banana</span><br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;">-No (always said in a sing-song voice "no-no-no" while shaking her finger)</span><br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;">-Hi</span><br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;">-Bye</span><br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;">-Lynx (our cat, but it comes out -ynx)</span><br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;">-Please (pees!!!!)</span><br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;">-Down</span><br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;">-On</span><br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;">-Off </span><br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;">-Uh-oh (usually said when she purposely drops something off her highchair tray)</span><br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;">-Wow</span><br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;">-Shoe and Boots (both of these I would only be able to make out if she had her shoe or boots in her hands as they are very vowel sounding "ooe" and "oooots". This goes for "Snow" too...'noooowww').</span><br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;">-Tickle (always repeated "tickle-tickle-tickle" while she tries to tickle our arms or under our chin).</span><br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;">-Various animal noises including howling "oooooo" for a wolf. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;">I'm always surprised she doesn't have a word for her bottle and/or sippy-cup (there is much pointing and whining and crying if she's thirsty). Nor does she ever ASK for milk or water. Don't kids usually have a word for that</span><span style="color: #4c1130;"><span style="color: #4c1130;"> ('wawa' anyone?)</span> A friend of mine's daughter is 3 and still uses her baby word for 'milk' which was 'white'. I'm not sure how much clearer I can emphasis the words "WA-TER" and "Mmmm-ILK". We'll keep trying though.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;">She does have a couple of "Kaia-isms" which aren't exactly words but I thought I'd record them here because <i>damn</i> are they ever cute. The first is 'duba-duba-duba'. This was first uttered while she had her fingers together and we finally realized she wanted us to sing "Itsy Bitsy Spider". Then somehow this same 'word' transformed into meaning "open" when she stood at the baby gate that prevents her from falling down the stairs. No idea how she made that leap. It's weird, but we understand what she means now, so I suppose it works. For 'yes' she kind of makes an 'uh-huh' noise but basically uses her whole body to agree. She kind of nods her head and bounces her torso and looks at you expectantly. You really know she means "YES!!! ABSOLUTELY!!!". I also LOVE how she says "I don't know". She throws her arms out to the sides in a palms up gesture and says "I don't know" in the same way Scooby-doo would say it where it basically sounds like a long cascading vowel sound with a "?" at the end. It's the cutest thing ever. Must remember to get this one on tape.</span><br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #4c1130;">Kaia loves things that jingle (she's got ears like a bat for keys hidden in pockets or purses), things with
buttons (picks up anything that remotely resembles a phone and says
"Hi"). She can throw the craziest tantrums over nothing which include red face, tears and ear piercing screaming, but her mushy fishy lipped kisses totally melt your heart. She loves animals,
and screams with joy while standing at the window
watching the dogs run around in the park behind our house. Kaia eats
fairly well, and can use a fork, but often chooses not to since that
would ruin the tactile experience of eating. She has definite food likes and dislikes and will NOT be talked into eating anything she's not completely sure of (and will pull away and give you the "are you CRAZY?" look like you've just offered her booger or dirt to eat when it's a piece of potato). She also likes to share food and will gladly feed you a piece of whatever she's eating, but will throw anything on the floor she doesn't want (crusts of bread are a current 'will not eat'). She charms all the adults
in her life, including her grandparents, aunts, uncles and babysitter. She gets called "good" by them a lot, which is lovely to hear about your
kid, but I'm pretty sure it means she saves all her "not so good"
moments for Brian and I. I suppose this isn't unexpected, and in my better moments I try to take it as a compliment. We all save our inner most selves (good and bad) for the people we trust the most, and this is Kaia's way of saying "I trust you to still love me and look after me, even when I'm not on my best behaviour". Thanks kid, I love you too.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;">When I really look at it objectively, Kaia pretty much falls into the category of 'average toddler'. She's average weight (24 lbs) , average height (81 cm) with an average sized head (47cm) for her corrected age of 18 months as measured today at the pediatricians. She fits into 18-24 month clothing. She sleeps 12 hours at night with a 2-3 hour nap in the afternoon. She's hitting her milestones (roughly) on average, and was really only held back physically because of her cast. I have to remind myself at times that it's silly to get hung up over comparing the exact moment when she could sit up, crawl, walk and talk with others because less than two years ago I feared she wouldn't survive. Or if she did, that she would be plagued with handicaps resulting from her gestational and birth circumstances. The fact that she's so completely AVERAGE is a miracle in itself. </span><br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #4c1130;">You don't often hear parents brag about it but here it is: Whoo hoo! My kid is AVERAGE!!! Hurray!!!!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;">*** </span><br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #4c1130;">Two women at work who had babies within weeks of when I had Kaia (but ya know, full term and without all the drama), have recently just had their second. Full term and healthy. The one who had a boy first, had a girl and vice versa for the other. Two kids each. One boy, one girl. Ta da! Perfect family. My sister-in-law is approaching twenty weeks as we speak, and when we found out about the pregnancy last month they were humming and hawing over whether to find out the sex this time at their 20 week scan (they didn't last time). I hope it's a girl for Kaia's sake since then at least if she never gets a (living) sibling she'll have one boy and one girl cousin. On the other hand it will be another family who has what I could have had.</span><br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #4c1130;">Do other people wonder about this who've had an opposite gendered living child after the dead one? I think about it sometimes. What would it be like to have a boy? Growing up I honestly imagined myself having a girl, and I'm glad that one dream has been fulfilled...but when Aidan was born, I got attached to the idea of a little boy running around my house. I was so happy when Kaia was born alive that it didn't even occur to me to be concerned about what gender she was. But, I confess, in my dreams of having another child it's generally a little boy. I would be happy for a healthy baby and a normal pregnancy either way, but a boy would somehow restore the mom-son relationship that I lost when Aidan died.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;">*** </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;">I've missed him more lately. Some situations at work have been sad reminders, and one of the books I was reading ('love Anthony' by Lisa Genova) I had to put down for awhile because it's about a woman grieving a dead son. It was just too overwhelming. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;">Grieving his loss has become such a part of who I am that sometimes it catches me off guard at how sad I can still be, and how much some things still affect me. I wonder if that will subside in time too?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;">I miss you Aidan. I wish you were here, always.</span>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17587287197734518952noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-176061010619490822.post-31875635280660600242013-02-16T23:31:00.000-05:002013-02-16T23:31:28.000-05:00Lost In the Fire<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="background-color: #38761d;"><span style="background-color: white;">When I was 12 years old I use to check out books about pregnancy from the library, just because I found the subject fascinating. I'd hit puberty and I found it amazing to think that my body was developing into something that could grow another human. It seemed almost unreal.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #274e13;">My best subject in University was embryology. An entire course on the first 10 weeks of pregnancy. It was detailed, with intricate drawings and charts. We started off with the sperm and the egg, and by the end of the course we were into embryonic hearts, brains, intestinal tracts and thyroids. All of that is formed by the time you head for your 12 week ultrasound. I got a 96% in the course.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #274e13;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #274e13;">When I dreamed of going to medical school I wanted to go into Neonatology, and when that didn't happen I headed to nursing school with only one desire: to work in the NICU. The care those fragile newborns needed was fascinating and so high tech and complex for such small patients. I wanted my career to revolve around babies. There was nowhere else I even considered working. </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #274e13;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #274e13;">***</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="background-color: #073763;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="background-color: #073763;"><span style="background-color: white;">It seems almost farcical that someone like me who has loved the idea of pregnancy and babies since before I can even remember, now finds the whole subject kind of depressing and sad. I own my pregnancies, and I'm not ashamed of them, and it doesn't bother me to talk about them, or about Aidan...but they weren't happy times. They weren't joyful or amazing or full of excitement. I remember them as some of the most stressful, saddest and depressing times of my life. It continues to amaze me that the wonderful being that is Kaia even came from those disastrous circumstances. I look at her and marvel sometimes that she's just so normal, so herself. She has none of the taint that was her pregnancy. She is goodness and happiness and light. That Acorn, the baby I worried for and cried so much for is actually the same person who toddles around our house, exasperating us by throwing her food on the floor, whines to be picked up to look out the window, and (on a good day!) falls asleep in my arms at nap time...seems almost unreal. She's so alive...how could I ever have worried otherwise?</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="background-color: #073763;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #274e13;">B</span><span style="color: #274e13;">ut I did</span><span style="color: #274e13;"> Oh I did.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #274e13;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #274e13;">One of the hardest parts about being back at work, is the constant surroundings of co-workers who are pregnant. On my unit I work with 150+ women, most of child bearing age. At any one time a dozen or more are off, going off, or coming back from maternity leave. I can't go a day without bumping into a baby bump or hearing about so and so's ultrasound or baby shower, or other equally normal, happy pregnancy details. I have very little to share and feel very "other" when these conversations come up. Nobody else can relate to pPROM before viability. Nobody knows what never ending weeks of bed rest is like. Nobody gets what it's like to hold your dead child in your arms and live in fear for the life of the next. In truth, I have way more in common with my patient's parents than I do with my co-workers. I wish I had happy stories to share, but my happy story starts months after the second pregnancy ended, when the baby finally came home, relatively unscathed.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="background-color: #073763;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #274e13;">So maybe it's no wonder that today when we found out at my nephew's 1st birthday party that my sister-in-law is 16 weeks pregnant with her second, I had to force myself to smile. Truly, I'm glad for them, I'm happy they are happy and I'm excited to meet my future niece or nephew...but it just brings up so much sadness for me. Brian and I talked about it on the way home, and we both feel it. That kick to the gut that is the happy announcement. The healthy pregnancy. The anticipated delivery. The plans for a living, breathing child. We never had any of that. WILL never have any of it, because when your first dies and you have a shit track record in the pregnancy department, well you just don't DO happy and excited anymore. You do "cautious" and "anxious". At your happiest you might do "pleased". And at your worst? You might be left with "Not unexpected". </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #274e13;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #274e13;">"Things We Lost in the Fire" was the title of a movie released a couple years back, but I feel it could perfectly describe my feelings towards pregnancy now. Sure it can produce wonderful, fantastic results (of which Kaia is but one example)...but it will never hold the same joy for me again. Pregnancy lost all it's magic, all it's innocence and joy. It's a source of jealousy and depression and anxiety and sadness. It didn't work right for us. It wasn't easy or carefree. My son died and my daughter just barely escaped. </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="background-color: #073763;"><span style="background-color: white;">Pregnancy, while a source of wonder and excitement for others, tastes like ash in my mouth.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #274e13;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #444444;"><i>How do you experience pregnancy now, both your own or others? Does it still hold any joy or wonder? </i></span>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17587287197734518952noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-176061010619490822.post-69271239163766824062013-01-09T23:30:00.000-05:002013-01-10T00:48:42.502-05:00Toddler Girl<span style="color: #741b47;">Kaia you are 18 months old today! As of tomorrow you are closer to age 2 than you are to age 1, which feels monumental somehow.</span><br />
<span style="color: #741b47;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #741b47;">At 18 months old (16 months corrected...I still like adding that in because it makes you seem younger and still more like my baby), you are getting a pretty definite personality.</span><br />
<span style="color: #741b47;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #741b47;">Things you love:</span><br />
<span style="color: #741b47;">-books. Today you didn't want to let go of "Goodnight Moon", even during breakfast. Unfortunately you were eating another favourite: blackberries. You proceeded to get blackberry bits all over the edges of the book. So you now have a blackberry stained copy of Goodnight Moon. Whoops.</span><br />
<span style="color: #741b47;"><br /></span>
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<span style="color: #741b47;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTm4Eh570CDIacCWc-ZydqHABe8EIaGo9NUfRrXPiK5m9iLB_9iKJvp49TLFt57dDIwcHjw4mp5kO_3T7Ex00mFp3qIusV2E8dUefP_q-CVAwVZShUv0V7rTurjuqDBSPa3ilCkWaXo0TD/s1600/DSC05043.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTm4Eh570CDIacCWc-ZydqHABe8EIaGo9NUfRrXPiK5m9iLB_9iKJvp49TLFt57dDIwcHjw4mp5kO_3T7Ex00mFp3qIusV2E8dUefP_q-CVAwVZShUv0V7rTurjuqDBSPa3ilCkWaXo0TD/s400/DSC05043.JPG" width="400" /></a></span></div>
<span style="color: #741b47;"> -walking with your "push". You still can't walk on your own yet, but
can motor really well with your push toy. You steer it around the
furniture and if the edge gets caught on something you ram the handle
over and over and over until you can maneuver your push around the
obstacle and continue on your way. It makes me a little nervous for
when you get your license. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #741b47;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIrZuMilXf20jE5-3Io2Xl0cM3Uz0DOV4yBfyRXDxhdDzHmykdKvg6tWuoqzlVkxByhNMDPTOKjmWKWtsOc5riPsXLzy4fU32WXjJTS6hIkB8BlOxGZB5GAykmSF3AfzHAd0EQR8Z1qxAJ/s1600/DSC00544.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIrZuMilXf20jE5-3Io2Xl0cM3Uz0DOV4yBfyRXDxhdDzHmykdKvg6tWuoqzlVkxByhNMDPTOKjmWKWtsOc5riPsXLzy4fU32WXjJTS6hIkB8BlOxGZB5GAykmSF3AfzHAd0EQR8Z1qxAJ/s400/DSC00544.JPG" width="266" /></a></span></div>
<span style="color: #741b47;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #741b47;">- phones! You love our cell phones. Like seriously LOVE them. I think you'd marry one right now if you could. You even know that Daddy keeps his in his pants pocket and have 'Artful Dodger-ed' it on occasion. You love the lights and the noise and pushing the buttons. I know you aren't unique in this regard as it seems to be a common love among the toddler set (to the point where some parents buy their kids their own devices...no you can't have one). Still...it's cute to watch you get all excited when the phone comes out. If I have to check a message when you are around I have to do it out of your line of sight or you'll come crawling over to see what I'm looking at.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #741b47;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIvZFjhkVrVwL53NXssTY0AvPL41frP_B9L9zy1VN7W7fdKAc4P6sF6hQpSQ5Rb6PSAeMWIDbyQ5nP6aoecrHGhJLPFCZxBCMvANoGEP6EC47M5IsSvzcPLxoTZ60tFIm57wVy0rKcko4O/s1600/DSC04792.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIvZFjhkVrVwL53NXssTY0AvPL41frP_B9L9zy1VN7W7fdKAc4P6sF6hQpSQ5Rb6PSAeMWIDbyQ5nP6aoecrHGhJLPFCZxBCMvANoGEP6EC47M5IsSvzcPLxoTZ60tFIm57wVy0rKcko4O/s400/DSC04792.JPG" width="400" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #741b47;">Notice the blue glow on her face, and the fact that she is holding still enough for me to take the photo.</span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #741b47;"><br /></span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #741b47;"><br /></span></td></tr>
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<span style="color: #741b47;">- the cat. Every morning when I open your door you are standing in your bed and, after smiling at me, proceed to look out the door for our cat Lynx. You've learned from your babysitter how to 'call' animals by making 'kissy' noises while making a 'snapping' motion with your fingers. It's so cute, even if Lynx never responds.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #741b47;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrj-1cZGMwIhLB10MaHAd5tl8zJ9NG4m7gwHG7OJCYGoLuhq3QsNumv8lWh8NomFL7ghKLEz_9a3O0m4daQFaO_OkIwBrFyWOfx-BFevqhda6mu8iRMBXjIKk8UAL9e4zPdTDxPRTd9V23/s1600/DSC00443.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrj-1cZGMwIhLB10MaHAd5tl8zJ9NG4m7gwHG7OJCYGoLuhq3QsNumv8lWh8NomFL7ghKLEz_9a3O0m4daQFaO_OkIwBrFyWOfx-BFevqhda6mu8iRMBXjIKk8UAL9e4zPdTDxPRTd9V23/s400/DSC00443.JPG" width="400" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #741b47;">This is a crummy picture, but getting the two of them in the frame at the same time is nearly impossible.</span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #741b47;"><br /></span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #741b47;"><br /></span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #741b47;"><br /></span></td></tr>
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<span style="color: #741b47;"> -your stuffed animals. Kaia, so far, you aren't a doll person. You got two dolls for Christmas and have little use for either of them. You do however, LOVE your stuffed animals. You will feed them with a toy baby bottle, and like to cuddle them one second, then throw them in the air the next. You LOVE it when Daddy or I make them talk, walk, or hop. You think it's the funniest thing ever and will get your crazy laugh going.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #741b47;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0g5iOD_bwjMbqjDgw6Nx8q3xFO-zMU6ikukj5vV5iTlxPSEsYm5pkCLf6EWd6coJRhyphenhyphenSAgFgb2xVcIztorsy8JPNesDw3cX3eDFqX_uGBrE4ZvYoj-eHI8u966pGHD_Lp7ZAyRse7KWNE/s1600/DSC00479.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0g5iOD_bwjMbqjDgw6Nx8q3xFO-zMU6ikukj5vV5iTlxPSEsYm5pkCLf6EWd6coJRhyphenhyphenSAgFgb2xVcIztorsy8JPNesDw3cX3eDFqX_uGBrE4ZvYoj-eHI8u966pGHD_Lp7ZAyRse7KWNE/s400/DSC00479.JPG" width="400" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #741b47;">This is Molly, given to you on your birthday from Grami and Poppi with Aidan in mind. They felt Aidan would like his little sister to have such a cute monkey. You couldn't agree more. Hannah Hoppy, who is in the picture of you reading a book above, is another favourite.</span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #741b47;"><br /></span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #741b47;"><br /></span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #741b47;"><br /></span></td></tr>
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<span style="color: #741b47;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #741b47;">-back rubs, face rubs, ear rubs, head rubs. I have no photos of this since usually my hands are occupied doing the rubbing before bed, but you love having your head rubbed, your eyebrows and bridge of your nose massaged, your ear lobes tickled, or your back patted while you lay on your stomach in bed. I know when you're ready to let me soothe you this way at nap or at night that you are tired and ready for sleep.</span><br />
<span style="color: #741b47;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #741b47;">-baths. I also don't have photos of this (well I do, but I'm not posting naked baby photos on the internet). You love splashing in the bath, playing with your bath toys, and getting a swing in the towel on your way back to your room when bath is over. Nothing is cuter than a freshly washed baby....sorry...<i>toddler.</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #741b47;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #741b47;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiapxhK6ZE505ewj6pQn8w0nhpK6FrwI6_x0JBoDRJZ9J81WSFQ307wzFe9oe4JPrsXuBtOio25wyuawqLTPZm7Qjx3PNQsbCpQSc-gyMfb_0YHtfN2vRHKPQrWvOr8IGum3rkV7kLZEJ9R/s1600/DSC05117.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiapxhK6ZE505ewj6pQn8w0nhpK6FrwI6_x0JBoDRJZ9J81WSFQ307wzFe9oe4JPrsXuBtOio25wyuawqLTPZm7Qjx3PNQsbCpQSc-gyMfb_0YHtfN2vRHKPQrWvOr8IGum3rkV7kLZEJ9R/s400/DSC05117.JPG" width="266" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #741b47;">Freshly washed toddler hair...so wispy.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="color: #741b47;"><br /></span>
<br />
<span style="color: #741b47;">Of course, when you begin to be old to enough to love certain things, you also become old enough to HATE certain things. And you aren't afraid to let people know it.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #741b47;">Things you hate:</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #741b47;"><i> </i></span><br />
<span style="color: #741b47;"><i>-</i>When we try to 'help' you walk on your own by attempting to have you let go of our finger. When this happens you immediately bend and put your hands on the floor. You just aren't ready to take steps unassisted. You're <i>barely</i> holding on to us when walking, to the point it sometimes feels like you're carrying our finger, but you still occasionally need that balancing aid. I'm betting it's partly your weaker left hip slowing you down, but it's also mental at this point. You DO NOT like falling and will CRY something awful at even the smallest bump, so you've just decided you will walk only when you are good and balanced and ready and unlikely to fall. I know it won't be, but sometimes it feels like it could be eons at this rate.</span><br />
<span style="color: #741b47;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #741b47;">-Closed baby gates. You HATE when the baby gate is closed that stops you from falling down the stairs (sorry...I know, I should just let you play at the top of the stairs. It really is the only truly <i>fun </i>square footage in the whole house).</span><br />
<span style="color: #741b47;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #741b47;">-Having ANYTHING taken away (especially a phone!!) or being made to go when you want to sit, or sit when you want to go. I can tell this by the whining...and the crying...and the screaming. I think I jinxed it in a past post when I bragged how you were such a good baby and had never thrown a tantrum in public. HAHAHAHAHA. Rookie mistake. Toddler Kaia is a whole new ball game. Christmas shopping with you this year wasn't candy canes and gum drops, let me tell you. Even when I tried to bribe you with said delicious treats. I'm sure in retrospect I'll look back on this behaviour and fondly sigh "oh where does the time go"...wait, no I won't. EVER.</span><br />
<span style="color: #741b47;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #741b47;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAEHyexczrcwc-pgbuR4jD5z2QxZe1g7n2PHsXcrOwCjC4YIU8U8qc7n9WMBDQHXIjuD2kp2S-jOwjE1QXsDyHh7DJmIcdUXhLCJ_TRjezFVDEkpOyOSGOiwQ7g38XGZxiqNsdk7VcPQ3F/s1600/DSC00908.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAEHyexczrcwc-pgbuR4jD5z2QxZe1g7n2PHsXcrOwCjC4YIU8U8qc7n9WMBDQHXIjuD2kp2S-jOwjE1QXsDyHh7DJmIcdUXhLCJ_TRjezFVDEkpOyOSGOiwQ7g38XGZxiqNsdk7VcPQ3F/s400/DSC00908.JPG" width="266" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #741b47;">The camera has a SCREEN on it, with BUTTONS...and guess who KNOWS IT!!!!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="color: #741b47;">Kaia, despite your sometimes challenging ways, I love you so much and am SO happy to be your Mommy. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #741b47;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRJeLs_rb6xLN1Wa4x6sywOsz-1xrxY2X3AIS58uwoaI3DfBsLXH4aKjoJBcbz-jqdGdgRlydWgY-_uZKp-AuuyhqS6O-Xy4eY5_zyh7XXRrOCaVG68Qbr8QcNaai6lmn_itEtrPTJzCkr/s1600/DSC00869.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRJeLs_rb6xLN1Wa4x6sywOsz-1xrxY2X3AIS58uwoaI3DfBsLXH4aKjoJBcbz-jqdGdgRlydWgY-_uZKp-AuuyhqS6O-Xy4eY5_zyh7XXRrOCaVG68Qbr8QcNaai6lmn_itEtrPTJzCkr/s400/DSC00869.JPG" width="400" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="color: #741b47;">You were worth it <strike>baby</strike> <i>toddler </i>girl.</span><br />
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<br />Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17587287197734518952noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-176061010619490822.post-91338775968939924472012-12-23T22:40:00.000-05:002012-12-23T22:40:28.886-05:00Flip<span style="color: #990000;">Christmas is coming. I'm excited and looking forward to it. At least on the outside.</span><br />
<span style="color: #990000;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #990000;">Inside, I've been feeling more conflicted, anxious and irritable lately. We are coming to the point in our lives where we have to decide whether or not to try for another child. I want to start my Masters in September 2014 (I can't do this night shift stuff forever!!) and we'd like to be done procreating the summer of 2014 at the latest. I've known since Kaia was born that we would have to make this decision at some point, but back then it was comfortably far in the future, no need to worry about it too much... Except the time is now and the reality of it is starting to hit me. </span><br />
<span style="color: #990000;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #990000;">You know how it goes:</span><br />
<span style="color: #990000;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #990000;">1) The 'trying' (fun for the first time or two, stressful after that). And if it does work...</span><br />
<span style="color: #990000;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #990000;">2) The 'finding out' (No going back now... Should we do betas? What if they don't rise as expected? Do we do an early ultrasound? What if it doesn't show a heart-beat? Definitely want to be on progesterone...will my doc prescribe it? Cue the stressful watch for spotting EVERY TIME I go pee. Plus, if everything goes well there is still the nausea ad. nauseam to look forward to. Oh and don't forget that all day crushing tiredness. "Kaia, Mommy is not to be woken up prior to full daylight for at least the next 12 weeks. You're good with watching Backyardigans and Dora all day while I pretend to watch but really try to nap here beside you, right sweetie?!")</span><br />
<span style="color: #990000;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #990000;">3) The second trimester. (Usually other couples are doing the happy dance at this point. 12 weeks! Way to go little fetus! Smooth sailing from now on! Time to get the grainy ultrasound photo up on facebook and start planning the registry! Except in our case this is historically when the shit hits the proverbial fan. Do we tell people we're pregnant at this point? It will likely begin to be pretty obvious, but then we'll also have to say "yes, but as per our previous pregnancies it's not a sure thing yet...we'll keep you posted". Also, this is when my stress levels will sky rocket since at this point I'll be afraid every.single.twinge. is disaster beginning to strike. "Kaia darling, Mommy would like to lie here quietly until we hit at least 24 weeks and would prefer to spend all our free time in the ultrasound suite scanning for abnormalities in your little sibling's placenta. That's cool with you right?" Fun times all around.)</span><br />
<span style="color: #990000;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #990000;">4) After that? Who knows. Let's label it: the great unknown (???)</span><br />
<span style="color: #990000;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #990000;">So while all this is stewing around in my brain, it didn't help that I had a few tough shifts at work lately. The worst was looking after a little baby the night before his family had to withdraw life support due to the absence of brain activity. This is sadly not a terribly uncommon thing in our NICU, but what made this particular baby's case so personally stressful for me, was that his mom was also very sick. She was on life support, with a very guarded prognosis. She had a pre-exisiting medical condition (like me) which led to complications and then her heart stopped when she was within spitting distance of a full term pregnancy. The baby would go on to die the next day leaving mom to either get better...or not. My heart broke to see the family members come in to get the news regarding the baby's prognosis. Because, what do you say to a family in a case like that? Sorry your whole life has just imploded. Sorry you got the exact opposite of what you expected. Sorry you are living my worst nightmare. Sorry...sorry...I'm just so...sorry. I settled for "I'll take good care of your baby tonight"...which I did, but it hurt my heart to do so.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #990000;">I worry maybe even more that I ever did before about something happening to my own health, or to our possible future baby's health now that Kaia is around. Because right now, life is pretty good. Kaia is thriving. I could stand to lose a few pounds (after Christmas, I promise), but otherwise, I'm pretty good too. Our life feels good, with manageable amounts of stress. It's daunting to consider tinkering with that.</span><br />
<span style="color: #990000;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #990000;">Then of course, in my personal life, friends of ours have become another cautionary tale. They just had their 3rd child. They have two school age daughters, but Mom really wanted another baby. So they had one....at 28 weeks. Her first two were preemies as well, but were both over 32 weeks. Their third wasn't so lucky. As far as we know, he's doing well in the hospital, but he'll be there awhile, and visiting their tiny son in his isolette was not exactly how they planned to spend the holidays. The kicker is his mom had a doctor's appointment only days prior to his birth in which she was told she had 'no signs of impending labour'. Good call OBs. Guess you forgot to look in your crystal ball that day. It makes any predictions that we are 'unlikely' to have a recurrence of any of our previous problems seem like a shot in the dark.</span><br />
<span style="color: #990000;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #990000;">On the other hand, I hate to live my life ruled by fear of the 'what ifs'. Afraid by what I see at work, or with friends, or on the news. I don't want to be afraid to make my life what I want it because something might go wrong. All of that discounts the possibility that something may go very right. Might turn out wonderfully. Might be a healing and happy and normal experience. Despite the challenges we faced last time, my baby did come home. It is possible. I don't want to live with regrets. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #990000;">I'm just not sure what I would regret more. Something awful happening, but knowing 'well, at least we tried', or the never knowing what could have been. </span><br />
<span style="color: #990000;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #990000;">Maybe I'll have to flip a coin or something.</span>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17587287197734518952noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-176061010619490822.post-18633589000976901362012-12-17T22:53:00.002-05:002012-12-17T22:54:07.790-05:00All That Was Lost<span style="color: #0c343d;">The first thing I thought of was the presents.</span><br />
<span style="color: #0c343d;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #0c343d;">When I heard about what happened in Connecticut last Friday, I couldn't stop thinking of how, this Christmas, the gifts meant for those children would remain unopened. Gifts requested in letters to Santa in big exaggerated first grader print. Boxes already wrapped and hidden away in a closet or under a bed awaiting the big day and the big reveal. Moms and Dads and Grandparents secretly just as excited to give the gift as the child who was suppose to receive it. It was going to be magical, as only Christmas can be in the eyes of a child. </span><br />
<span style="color: #0c343d;"><br /></span><span style="color: #0c343d;">But not this year. Not for those families.</span><br />
<span style="color: #0c343d;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #0c343d;">I thought about those gifts left behind in their hiding spots. Wrapped and taped and sealed away. Unopened boxes and unloved toys. Too much a reminder of what should have and could have been. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #0c343d;">Just one small symbol of all that was lost. </span><br />
<br />
<br />
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Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17587287197734518952noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-176061010619490822.post-75826564880123028412012-11-11T23:30:00.000-05:002012-11-12T00:40:37.167-05:00Genealoging<span style="color: #674ea7;">I'm working on a better, longer post right now but I thought I should update because I feel I've been away too long. Nothing terribly special is happening around here to take me away from my blog, however I have gotten back into my genealogy project, which is taking up (all) of my free time. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #674ea7;">When I tell people I'm interested in genealogy, they probably think I'm a total nerd and love hanging out with the blue haired old folks in the archives section of the local library. While I have spent some time in those musty alcoves, more and more genealogical records are becoming digitized. This means that most (if not all) of my research is done online at this point and I'm able to search for records all over the globe. Another pay off is that it's made me a whiz at internet research, so I feel that kind of ups the coolness factor, if only just a smidgen.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #674ea7;">My interest in genealogy started way back in grade 7. For my history class we had to do a family tree, which I immediately thought sounded kind of interesting. We had to include as much detail as we could, and everything had to be neat and easily legible. Then my teacher showed us an example of a student's work from the year prior and my heart sank. She had SO much detail. She could go SO many generations back. There were literally like 60+ people on her chart! And it was so pretty, and neat! Oh woe is me, how could I ever compete? </span><br />
<span style="color: #674ea7;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #674ea7;">Although I didn't manage to get very far back on that first family tree attempt, I can now proudly say that my tree would blow miss Awesome Student's out of the water. I have over 8200 people connected to me. Many of these are not blood relatives (as I'm not from Utah!), but I have started tracking down family trees of people who married into the family just in order to have something to keep working on. The first question people ask when they find out I do genealogy as a hobby is "how far back can you go?". The farthest I've been able to connect back is through one line on my mom's side: 15 generations. This line initially started in England back in the late 1500s and came to the U.S. on the Winthrop Fleet in the 1630s. Even 150 years later, some of their descendants must have been pretty attached to their British roots, because they decided to high tail it to Canada when things started to heat up for the Loyalists around the time of the American Revolution. I should pause to state here that I have not done all of this research on my own. No, no, far from it. The trick in genealogy is to do as much as you can, and then connect up your relatives with someone else who has done further research. Kind of like if I work on half a puzzle and then you work on half a puzzle and then all of a sudden we realize we're working on one big picture and we can match it up along the seams where it all fits together. It's a great feeling when that happens!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #674ea7;">An interesting part of genealogy is to see how major public historical events match up with your ancestors lives. For example, today is Remembrance Day in Canada, and I've been able to track down many of the war records from various family members who have served in many different wars. One of the recent lines I have been searching for is a great-great-great Grandfather b. abt 1834 in Ballymena, N. Ireland (near Belfast) and who served with the British Army in India. He married a woman of British ancestry while he was in India and they had 7 children together. I was so pleased when I came across their children's Baptism records on Family Search. Sadly, what I also came across was 4 out of their 7 children's death records. First child died age 6 months, fourth child died at age 2 years, sixth child died age 2 years and seventh child died age 1 month. It doesn't say what they died of, but I'm guessing it was likely due to communicable diseases, probably made worse by these children's innate lack of immunity due to their parents not having Indian ancestry, as well as to their youth, which puts them at much greater risk. My 3x-great grandfather's family could serve as a poster case for public health entitled "Reasons to Vaccinate". Some might say, oh, but that's INDIA, a tropical country....who knows what kind of diseases people might run into there?</span><br />
<span style="color: #674ea7;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #674ea7;">Okay, well then I also found my 3x great-grand uncle who was living with his wife and 5 children in 1889, right here in Canada, only a short drive from where I now sit over 100 years later typing on my computer. Him and his wife were living a quiet life in a small town raising their 4 girls and one boy, ages 12, 10, 7, 5 and 2 1/2. Then diphtheria struck. Within three weeks, 4 of their children were dead. Two died on the same day.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #674ea7;">There would just be no words for the horror. Not only for the parents, but for the sole remaining seven year old daughter. The house would have gone from people filled, noise, laughter and screeching children running around, dirty clothes and hands, lots of mouths to feed, children to organize, things to get done...</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #674ea7;">....to two adults and an only child. No more brothers and sisters to play with. No more sisters to look up to. Only one remaining daughter to get up for every day. No more sons to carry on the father's name and occupation. A family reduced by over half. </span><br />
<span style="color: #674ea7;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #674ea7;">It's shocking how often this occurs when you really look on family trees. Yes there are the rare families where every single child survived to adulthood...but that gets rarer the farther back in time you go. Along time ago, men and women had to get married young (if possible) and have lots of kids (if possible), just in order to try to ensure some would make it to bury their parents.</span><br />
<span style="color: #674ea7;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #674ea7;">For this reason it kind of irks me when I hear of people complain about vaccines. I mean, I know there are lots of people who are wary of them, or feel too many are given, or are given too early, or fear they can cause potentially worse problems (autism, I'm looking at you, although according to research I don't need to). These people have the right to their own opinion and I know lots of smart, well educated people who, for whatever personal reason, decide vaccination is not for them...but, really? Does my family evidence (and probably yours, and yours and yours) not speak for itself? </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #674ea7;">I say, BRING ON THE VACCINES!!! </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><i>What do you say? (And yes, I know I might be opening a can of worms...fortunately I LOVE worms!)</i></span>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17587287197734518952noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-176061010619490822.post-84978922072318017632012-10-19T23:21:00.003-04:002012-10-19T23:23:01.988-04:00Dreams, Wishes and Unicorns<span style="color: #a64d79;">Last weekend I had a pregnancy dream where I was further along than I ever was with either of <span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">my babies</span></span></span>. <span style="color: #a64d79;">In my dream I could feel the baby giving me some good hard kicks. This was interesting, since when pregnant with both Aidan and Kaia I never really felt anything that could be described as a 'kick'. Rolls, taps, pushes and nudges for sure, but nothing that would be painful or hard enough to make me stop what I was doing (if I had been doing anything at all, as let's face it, I was on bed rest). Funny that I could experience in my dream what I've felt in real life. Even dream me was thinking "this is so cool!" </span><br />
<span style="color: #a64d79;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #a64d79;">Perhaps I ate too much at my birthday dinner the night before, no?</span><br />
<span style="color: #a64d79;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #a64d79;">***</span><br />
<span style="color: #a64d79;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #a64d79;">I'm reading a good book. It's fictional but it has some really moving passages. One of the characters says this about dreams which I thought was very appropriate given the above.</span><br />
<span style="color: #a64d79;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #a64d79;"><b>"A dream is the place where a wish and a fear meet. When the
wish and the fear are exactly the same, we call the dream a
nightmare."</b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #a64d79;"><b>*** </b></span><br />
<span style="color: #a64d79;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #a64d79;">I troll the internet every few months using the search word "Breus mole". I feel a bit like someone routinely checking up on the convicted murderer who killed their family member. <i>Just checking in on you Breus Mole. Just want to make sure some researcher somewhere is still keeping tabs. Finding out exactly what makes you tick. Don't think you can get away with it forever...</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #a64d79;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #a64d79;">It was during one of these searches that I came across an abstract for a presentation by a doctor from the hospital where I received care during both of my pregnancies. The title of his presentation was "Prenatal Diagnosis and Clinical Outcomes in Pregnancies Complicated by Breus’ Mole". The presentation was 15 minutes long and given during the annual research day on May 4th of 2012.</span><br />
<span style="color: #a64d79;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #a64d79;">Since that was just this past year, they were talking about me.</span><br />
<span style="color: #a64d79;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #a64d79;">Not <i>only</i> me, of course, but that someone out there was using my experience for research got me all fired up. My immediate reaction was "Why was I not invited to this presentation??!! I want to know exactly what's going on??!!" So I wrote an e-mail to Dr. K., the placental specialist who saw me during my pregnancies and diagnosed the Breus mole in both cases. The guy is a research nut and I knew he would be happy to share his team's findings.</span><br />
<span style="color: #a64d79;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #a64d79;">He wrote me back (in blue). My (mental) responses are in bold.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: navy; font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: navy; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">(Our hospital) has the largest experience now of Breus’ mole (16 cases) </span></span> <b> </b></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: navy; font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span style="color: navy; font-family: Arial;"><b>16 cases is the LARGEST experience of any high risk pregnancy centre???..and this is counting me TWICE!!! What a way to make a girl feel special.</b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<ol start="1" type="1">
<li class="ecxMsoNormal" style="color: navy;"><span style="color: navy; font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Only
one (you) person has a recurrence – that we are aware of. <b>Obviously it is because I am awesome and rare like a unicorn.</b> </span></span></li>
<li class="ecxMsoNormal" style="color: navy;"><span style="color: navy; font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">We
have followed 5 subsequent pregnancies (approx, I don’t have data in front
of me) and most are fine and we can decide this accurately at 20 weeks. <b>Would this include my subsequent pregnancy? Cuz if so, it totally was NOT fine at 20 weeks.</b></span></span><!--20--><span style="color: navy; font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></span></li>
<li class="ecxMsoNormal" style="color: navy;"><span style="color: navy; font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">There
is no genetic test yet for the condition, but deleting one specific gene
in mice (Wnt2) gives a picture like Breus’ mole.<b> Cool, but unhelpful unless you can check me, Brian and any of our offspring for this particular genetic mutation (and I'd totally be willing to let you).</b></span></span></li>
<li class="ecxMsoNormal" style="color: navy;"><span style="color: navy; font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Survival
of the baby is possible in about 35-45%, as in your situation.<b> Um...not exactly what one wants to hear about the survival rate of their baby. <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">B</span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">ut,</span></b></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b> I suppose it's better than the 0% chance that Dr. S. gave for Kaia's likely survival when my water broke at 17 weeks. </b></span></li>
</ol>
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<div class="ecxMsoNormal">
<span style="color: #a64d79;">After reading his e-mail 3 or 4 times, I can safely say that no where did Dr. K. promise that any subsequent pregnancy we try for now would TOTALLY end up okay and healthy and happy and full of rainbows and butterflies. I'm also sorry to say that he did not add that NO WAY could I have a 3rd Breus mole...like NO WAY. I'm self-aware enough to realize my dead baby broken heart would really like a guarantee of normal, healthy pregnancy, so I wouldn't feel so guilty, selfish and anxiety filled (Russian roulette anyone?) if we decide to try for another child. I'm also rational enough to realize I'm not going to get it, and that we will have to make our decision based only the information we have now (which is basically a *shrug* and is not helpful at all).</span></div>
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<span style="color: #a64d79;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="ecxMsoNormal">
<span style="color: #a64d79;">I am not a person who likes to gamble. I never buy lottery tickets and I would consider it a waste of time and money to go to Vegas (except for the reportedly awesome shows!!!) I am also not a person who just settles when told something *might* be out of reach, especially if it's something I really want. To do so seems sad and wasteful. You never know until you try, right?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #a64d79;">I feel like we got a pass from the universe with Kaia...might it be too much to ask for another one?</span></div>
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<span style="color: #a64d79;">***</span></div>
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<span style="color: #a64d79;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="ecxMsoNormal">
<span style="color: #a64d79;">For Halloween Kaia is going to be a unicorn. My special, adorable rare little unicorn. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #a64d79;"> </span></div>
Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17587287197734518952noreply@blogger.com5