Friday, July 30, 2010


One of my big hobbies is genealogy. That's right folks, in case you hadn't figured it out already, I'm a total nerd. I have been researching my own genealogy for about 8 years now. I've collected records from hundreds of family members and have built up my family tree so that I can now trace back one side of my family to the 1500s. I have linked myself to well over 7000 people either by blood or marriage. And, yes, it took a lot of work.

Anywho, this post is not about how fabulous a researcher I am. Actually, it's about what it all circles back to of course, the dead baby.

We all know that dead babies were more common 'in the olden days'. Babies and young children died from many things that are generally less of a concern these days. Baby deaths that can now be avoided by C-sections, blood thinners, blood pressure medications, insulin, and probably most importantly antibiotics. Penicillin, one of the greatest inventions EVER people. Just out of curiosity I decided to do a search through my provinces death records for exactly 100 years ago. I typed in July 30th 1910 into ancestry's search engine for Ontario death records in the part of the province that I am currently located.

On one page alone, containing records of 30 people, there were 6 stillbirths and 4 deaths under the age of 3 years old. One of the 'under three' was a baby listed as dying of 'congenital debility' at age 4 days. Only one of the babies who was still born was named (Thomas F.), the rest were listed as only "Last name, Baby" with their gender "M" or "F" beside it. The baby with the 'congenital debility' was named "Lucy Mary". Now, this page may contain a proportionally high number of baby deaths, but probably not by much. I'm fairly certain that if I was just to keep scrolling through this county's death records you'd often see "stillbirth", "premature", and "congenital debility" listed as the cause of death for infants. If they were smart enough, or the infection was obvious, you'd probably also see words like "toxemia" (a blood infection) or "pneumonia" listed as the cause of death for others. The next page even lists a little guy named "Charles" who was 23 days old and his cause of death was listed as "puny at birth". Nice.

What this illustrates to me is a few things. Number one, is how as a culture did we get so ingrained with the idea that BABIES DON'T DIE??!! When did it start to be the norm that we assumed from conception (or at least after the 12 week 'safe point') that it was now pretty much a sure bet that our child would outlive us? Were people always delusional? In days of yore, did they just ignore the babies and children all around them who were dropping like flies? Is this a relatively new belief after the invention of so-called 'modern' medicine? Is the media to blame, with its happy, healthy, images of smiling babies with not a sick or dead one ever noted? When did we hit the percentage point of baby death that everyone started to feel comfortable thinking it wouldn't happen to them?

The other thing it brings up for me is that, no wonder we all feel the need to connect via the Internet. Women probably connected with others in their community who had experienced a baby death. It was a pretty good bet that their mother, sister, friend, cousin, aunt, or grandmother had experienced a baby death, some probably more than once. Since baby death has become somewhat less common, we are now having to go farther afield in search of others for whom we feel a connection to.

I wonder what baby death looked like all those years ago? Did the mothers and fathers hold their dead or dying baby? Did they save things like locks of hair or the blanket their child was wrapped in? There would have been no photos, possibly no foot prints (did they have ink?), no stuffed toys bought at the local Toys R' Us. Did the five still born babies listed on that page really go to their graves without a name? Was little Thomas an anomaly because his mommy and daddy chose to name him?

Someone with a social studies or history degree should really get on this. Do some research. How did families in the past cope with baby death? Were there any traditions associated with it? Did women connect with one another afterwards? When, as a culture, did we start assuming that all babies arrived healthy and alive?

Would this interest you?

Thursday, July 29, 2010

Tales from the land of the babylost

My mom is a person that other people confide in. She is sort of a 'soft' person that way. She is someone others just feel comfortable around. So it was of no surprise to me that a woman she works with shared with my mom the fact that she recently lost twins at 14 weeks. My mom doesn't know this woman all that well, and I'm not sure how it came up (I'm not sure if Aidan was brought up first or this woman's loss), but anyway they got to discussing lost babies at the water cooler.

These twins were not this woman's first children. She has a young daughter as well. She told my mom that since the loss of the twins she has been spending much more 'quality' time with her daughter. No need to rush home from work, make dinner, do chores, put the kid to bed...etc. She says now she tries to take her daughter to the park and play with her more. She was so sad for me she said because Aidan was my first child. She said she would be lost without her daughter these days.

Which brings up an interesting point. Is my loss greater because Aidan was my first child? Do other babylost parents agree with this? I hate to categorize one loss as greater than another but maybe losing your first (and therefore only) child is worse?

Ways in which it is worse include:
1. Your 'parenthood' is suddenly ripped away. As I've explained in a previous post, I certainly believe I'm a mother, but I don't really believe I'm a parent. Parenting is an active term and cannot be done with a dead child. So it's this land of parenthood that I was suddenly and firmly excluded from. If Aidan was not my first child, I would still have another child to parent. I would still belong and have something to contribute in conversations where strollers, daycare, play dates and baby food were being discussed. It would not be in relation to my 'newest' (dead) baby, but I would still feel like I belonged. Right now, I feel like I want so badly to walk through that 'parenting' door. I so badly want to have a little person to take care of...and I would if Aidan were not my first.

2. You will never experience pregnancy the same way. I think after you have birthed a dead, or close to being dead, child you will never implicitly trust your body the same way. Now, I personally never had this experience. Due to my heart and my job, I never had a complete faith that my body would just 'do it right'. But, I'll admit...I had hope. Now, however, my entire experience of pregnancy and birth will be clouded by my disastrous first pregnancy. Just like how as a criminal you can never 'erase' your record, mine will be with me for always. If I had even just one 'successful' pregnancy and birth under my belt, one time where I got to take the baby home in a car seat instead of in a box, it would be proof that my body was not a total screw up. That, I can have a healthy was really and truly 'just a fluke' this time. But I don't. I have no idea if my body can do it...or if it just kills my offspring on principle alone.

3. It brings up fears of NEVER having a living child. This is kind of a combo of 1 & 2, but it's horrible enough that it deserves it's own special mention. Because the life of a parent is very, very, different than the life of a non-parent. And if you wanted option A) then it's very hard to imagine having to cope with being option B). It brings up fears of infertility, loss of identity, a life style that you never wanted, but that might be thrust upon you. Parents with at least one living child may lose out on the big(ger) family they dreamed of, but they do not lose out on the 'parent' lifestyle entirely.

But then I can imagine some of the difficulties when living children are already in the picture and you suddenly find yourself in dead baby land.

Ways in which having a living child would be harder:
1. If your child is old enough you have to watch them suffer and feel confused, and miss the dead baby too. I can only imagine how hard this would be. In my son's short life I did not want him to suffer or hurt at all. I would have thrown myself in front of a bullet for him. I can only imagine how hard it is to have to cope with sadness not only for your own loss, but for your child's loss too. It was hard watching my husband feel so helpless and lost and sad and empty after Aidan died, and it would have been much much worse to watch any living child of mine feel sad that way.

2. You have to 'carry on' a lot quicker if you have living children already. Especially if your child is young, and still requires your immediate presence for everything, you cannot just sit and mope and feel sad after the death of your have to hold it together. From things I have read, this can include everything from having to continue driving your kids to soccer practice to having to cry only in the shower so your kids don't see you and get upset. I was lucky? grateful? that I could (can) wail in front of the computer, at dinner, in the car, on the living room floor, if I feel like it. I was glad? appreciative? that my husband and I could (can) just sit and watch TV for hours to get our minds off the horror we have experienced.

Now, I feel the need to end this post with the requisite 'of course one child can never replace another' speech. But you all get what I'm saying. This post wasn't really even about the 'child' so much, neither the living or the dead one, it was about the experience of being babylost. The woman that my mom works with, her experience of being babylost is different than mine because she already has a living child. Her experience is probably easier in some ways, harder in others...but certainly different than mine.

But I think I know which of our shoes I would rather be in.

What do you think?

Monday, July 26, 2010


The other night I was lying in bed and I had a funny thought. I don't laugh as much these days so it's memorable when I do.

Here it is:

So if Miranda Kerr and Orlando Bloom are now married does that make her last name "Kerr-Bloom" (say it fast). HAHAHAHAHAHAHA

I could not stop giggling and had to shut myself up because my husband was sleeping beside me. I don't even know why it was so funny.

Still, I'll take what I can get.

Sunday, July 25, 2010

A Book Review

Thanks for all the suggested reading material. Some of the books you've mentioned I've read and others are now on my list to get when I go back to the library.

One of the suggestions on my previous post was the book about babyloss entitled "An Exact Replica of A Figment of My Imagination" by Elizabeth McCracken. I actually just picked this book up a week or so ago and finished it within hours (it's short, so don't be all impressed or anything). Anyway, when I got to the end of the book, to my surprise, there was a "Questions and Topics for Discussion" section. These are often in novels to help guide readers who are using the book in the context of a school project or book club.

However, I found the "Questions and Topics for Discussions" section in this particular book to be somewhat, um, how shall I put this....


Don't get me wrong. I'm a total book nerd. I usually enjoy reading the "Topics for Discussion" section after a good novel. I am totally into analyzing a good protagonist or plot twist. Why not pick it apart a character's motivations behind any given action? How did the author's use of language affect my personal view of that character? What is my speculation as to what happened to characters John and Jane after the end of the novel?

But in this book, where the author describes her pregnancy journey, her son's death, and the aftermath, it just felt so weird having a discussion section in the back. At first I couldn't figure out what was bothering me so much about it...but then I realized...

It was like reading the topics for a literary discussion ON MY LIFE!!!!

In case I'm not explaining myself clearly, one of these so called "Topics" was this:

4. McCracken struggles with labels and defining herself after losing her first child. For example, when she's pregnant with her second child, she's unsure how to answer when people ask her if she's a first-time mother. Do you think McCracken has found a way to resolve this uncertainty by the end of the memoir? Does she continue to define herself as a woman whose first child was stillborn?

My answer is: what the fuck? Who tries to write this insightful bullshit? This is SOMEONE'S LIFE we are talking about here. She is not a character in a book. Go and ASK HER if you are so interested. Here, I can probably pull up her e-mail address in short Google search if you want to know so bad.

I guess what I'm objecting to is the 'outsider looking in' that this "Discussion" section adds to this book. No one reading this book was there. We did not experience what Ms. McCracken and her husband did (although some of us come pretty damn close, but I digress...) We have not earned the right to 'judge' whether we think Ms. McCracken is 'resolved' or not. (and really, who cares if she's 'resolved'?) Ms. McCracken is not a character in a book. It feels wrong to me to comment on what she is or is not feeling, because any guess of mine would be only that. A guess. It feels wrong to judge or comment on her experience, because she cannot defend herself or clarify any points that I may have taken the wrong way. This is not a 'close' ended book. The answers are out there and they belong not to me, but to Elizabeth and her family.

Ms. McCracken's writing of her experience is as true and as complete to the extent that she wants to share it with us, and no more. Just as I read all of your blogs as a true and complete account as to what you want to share with me. Do I assume that all your blogs are a true and complete account of your life at all times? I don't know. Maybe. Maybe not. Is there lots of stuff that happens in your daily life that you do not share with me via your blog and never would? Probably? Likely? Absolutely?

I found the discussion questions tacked on to the end of this book to be as weird as if I asked all of you in my 'question' section "So, guys, do you think I'm resolved to Aidan's death yet? Do you think my black humour is preventing my healing? Do you think my husband and I are ready to try for another baby?" I would never ask any of you those questions because A) how the hell should you know? and B) This is my life we're talking about here. If anyone should be able to answer these questions it's me. Why would I bother asking other people to speculate on my life?

The reason that "Questions and Topics for Discussion" work so well in novels is that there is no 'right' answer. The book is done and complete. You can rip it to shreds all you want with insightful little queries...but in the end no one 'knows' if they are right. I guess I found that the questions in the end of "An Exact Figment..." were questions that Elizabeth McCracken would have answered if she felt that was necessary or relevant, or if she felt that she wanted to share that with us.

I suppose I'm feeling a little protective of another babylost mother. Why should the rest of the world be invited to comment on her very personal story?

So let us take a poll? Does she feel resolved? Who knows the answer to this question?

Elizabeth does, and no one else. Let's all just leave it at that.

Does having a "Discussion" section in a non-fictional book strike you as odd as well? Have you read this book and did it contain this section? Did you try to puzzle out any of the questions as they relate to your own situation? And I'm sorry, and I ask this totally sarcastically...but do any of you 'feel resolved' yet?

What I would like to say

A few weeks ago I had lunch with a nurse who is the 'bereavement coordinator' for the NICU. (Yes, she deals with baby death. All. The. Time. and yes, she's very good at it, if one can actually be good at something like that). She was a woman who I had thought of contacting in the last couple of weeks of my pregnancy when we knew things were likely 'not going to be okay'. I knew she would be supportive. That she would understand. As it happened, I never actually got in touch with her until after Aidan died. She asked after I e-mailed her to tell her what happened, "why didn't you contact me prior to losing Aidan?" She didn't ask it in a critical way, just wondering. My response was that "You deal with death, and I wasn't ready to give up hope on him yet. I was his mommy. I had to have hope for him". She understood.

In the weeks since, she has been very nice. Very supportive. She was even a reference for me for my new job. We had lunch together a few weeks ago, and I was detailing what happened during my pregnancy and what happened during my delivery and what we thought happened to Aidan. As I was describing it to her, she said that as a nurse, and as a cardiac patient, I would have a very interesting take on the medical care that I received during that time. That if I ever wanted to write out 'my story', she would help me look for a nursing journal to publish it, if I wanted to go that route.

I have considered it since. I think one day I will do it. I have even started. Maybe some day I'll finish it. I don't know if anyone has noticed, but I have never actually gotten around to writing on here, my blog, the last part of the 'how it all went down'. I'm not sure I can yet. But I will. One day.

I would also like to write a post or postings on here about what it was like to grow up with a heart defect. I've written that I indeed do have a fairly rare heart malformation. I haven't mentioned what kind I have, because really, it's just medical lingo and unless you have an interest in cardiology it would mean nothing to you. But, no matter what my condition is called, it has affected my whole life. It colours my personality, my inner thoughts and my outlook on life. I would like to organize my thoughts around my heart someday.

But those are future posts.

Today I was in the shower and I was thinking about books I like. I like books. Wait scratch that. I love books. Books are my friends. You know that taunt when you're little "if you like them so much, why don't you marry them?" I'm the kind of person who just might. I have often considered what it would be like to live in a bookstore or a library. All I would need is a cot. I could just curl up in a corner somewhere. Living off the written word around me.

I was thinking about a book that I once read, probably two years or so ago. I wanted to put it down here as suggested reading. It's not particularly about being babylost, but it is about motherhood, reproduction and reproductive issues. It's a collection of short true stories. The book is, CHOICE: True Stories of Birth, Contraception, Infertility, Adoption, Single Parenthood, and Abortion. Edited by Karen E. Bender and Nina de Gramont.

Read it if you want to. Or don't. But I might just have to find it again at the library or at the bookstore.

Sorry for the rambling post. I'm kind of sad tonight so you'll have to excuse me. So, my question is do you like to read? Do you have any book recommendations for me? I'll pretty much read whatever, as long as it's in English. And I'll try very hard if it's not.

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

Three months

It's July 21st. It's been exactly three months since Aidan was born and died. Exactly 13 weeks. Exactly one quarter of a year.

I should be 36 weeks and 3 days pregnant right now. But I'm not.

Actually, in all reality there is a good possibility that I might have had Aidan already even if my pregnancy had proceeded perfectly. With my heart condition, my OB told me that I could expect to deliver between 35 to 37 weeks just due to my body's response to the pregnancy. My uterus and heart would have hashed it out and eventually would have made the joint decision: "Okay! Let's get this sucker out of here ASAP!". I was actually hoping for a birth date of July 17th which would be not only my favourite month of the year, but my favourite number AND it was my grandfather's birthday and he died 6 years ago. I thought that would have been neat. Aidan was due August 15th which was my grandmother's birthday (she died 3 years ago). It would have been a cute tie to both sides of the family...

But, c'est la vie. Can't cry over spilt milk. Put the past behind you. And so on and so forth...

I've also come to another realization, probably it has to do with starting my new job in just under three weeks...but I'm having a really hard time contemplating the future. I use to be such a planner and a dreamer about 'things to come'. See above where I'm 'planning' out the best date for my slightly premature baby to be born (sheesh! I know, I'm crazy). But honestly, I used to LOVE to plan. My husband and I got engaged almost two years before we got married...and I had been planning the wedding for over a year BEFORE that. I planned our Europe trip for MONTHS ahead of time. I was the type to pour over course books in University as soon as the following year's schedule was released. I loved looking forward to the future. At 12 years old I loved baby books and read them endlessly...I loved trying to come up with the 'perfect' name for my future child.

Now, I hate thinking about the future. I can do okay thinking about today. I can do okay thinking about tomorrow...but anything beyond that makes me a little sad and kind of panic-y. I think my major flip out at the cottage had something to do with this fear of the future. I just couldn't imagine thinking about 'in the future' deciding when to plan another pregnancy.

I've come to realize it's because "today", I can deal with Aidan not being here. He's not here, which is incredibly sad and disappointing, but it's 'bearable'. However, it kills me to imagine my future without him. To imagine next week, next month, next birthday, next Christmas, next baby, next job, next ANYTHING without him. I know in my head of course that he won't be here for any of those things...but imagining how they are going to work out with out him is hard. How I'm going to cope?

It also scares me to imagine the future because 'this' is not the future I planned for. My first baby dying was not part of the why bother planning anything? If I get too attached to anything that I plan, especially 'the next baby' (pleaseohpleaseohplease), and it doesn't happen, then how will I continue to function? I've been finding it hard these days to deal with even the minor-est of disappointments or things 'not going' the way I planned. Like when I planned to go and see a movie with a friend a few weeks ago, and I ended up having to go with my husband the following night because plans fell through I WAS IN TEARS! It wasn't a huge deal...and there were extenuating things happening around that time that also made me sad...but I felt awful. It would have been something that would have been sad in 'my previous' life, but not enough to garner an all out cry-fest. And you'd think having the most horrible and disappointing thing EVER (my baby dying) happen only a few months earlier would some how protect me from any further disappointment, you know like "well, missing a movie one night...gee doesn't even register". But nope, I'm even easier to disappoint than before.

So best not to plan anything.

Oh, and I've had a few requests to write about what my new job is. So here it is:

My new job is at the hospital where I'm currently employed. It's a children's hospital so it consists of (duh) all children up to the age of 18. I will be working on a unit that deals generally with day procedures. Children will come in for things like certain tests or minor surgery and we will prepare them and recover them afterwards. Children may come up from the ER for monitoring before being sent home. Kids may need certain injections or other minor procedures that are too complex for a doctor's office, but the kid doesn't need to be in over night. My hours (after orientation it seems) will be from 2pm until 10pm. It will be 4 days a week, Monday to Thursday. Children's ages will range from infant to age 18. Most of them will be in the 'well' category and will be sent home the same day. If they need overnight observation then they will have to be admitted to the 'real' part of the hospital because our unit closes at 10pm.

Things I think I will like about this job are: the hours (I HATE early mornings), the fact that patients are generally well (not likely to have to deal with much death or life threatening things on a daily basis), the autonomy (myself and another nurse will be the only two working after 8pm until 10 when we close up shop. we will be large and in charge!!), the fact that it's still in the same hospital I have become quite fond of over my life (it's where I've had my own heart surgeries and where I've been working since I finished nursing school) etc etc.

Not so great things: That my husband will likely be in bed when I get home Monday to Thursday nights, so I might not see him a whole bunch. This is somewhat counteracted by the fact that in my old job I worked part of or all of 1 or 2 out of every third weekend. There was whole weekends where I would barely see him and would miss out on the 'weekend' fun that inevitably the rest of the world enjoys. Also, we will likely have to get a second car as my husband isn't fond of me coming home on the subway by myself at 10pm at night. And the orientation hours seem to kind of suck so far as well.

So yeah. That is where I am at these days.

Question du jour: Do you find there are parts of your personality that have gone by the wayside since your baby died? What do you think of when you contemplate the future...or do you just avoid thinking about it like I do?

Just the usual

I have stuff to write about, namely that I went to a Black Eyed Peas concert on Sunday night which was fun and all, but honestly I don't have the energy. Maybe tomorrow I will regale you all with tales of Fergie's gratuitous ass shots on stage or's freestyle rapping using messages he had received via Blackberry. Or maybe not. Whatever.

I got the news today that I'm starting at my new job on August 9th 2010. My first week will consist of Monday 12 hour shift, Tuesday 12 hour shift, Wednesday 8 hour shift starting 11 hours after the Tuesday shift ends. Seriously?! Did I forget to mention during the interview that one of the main reasons for wanting this job was that it is EIGHT hour shifts, not 12? Ugh. Hopefully this will only be short term, until I'm 'orientated' to the floor. It seems a little inhumane to start a new person with that type of schedule...or maybe it's just the fact that I'm currently use to working zero hours a week...not 32. Hum...

So, fun times. I'm already dreading my first week.

On the dead baby front, I was blackberry messaging my best friend's husband today. I haven't talked to this guy in awhile. He's been working so freaking much and every time we go to make plans with them, either we are out of town or he is working (he works much much more than 32 hours a week...) Anyway, a few years ago he 'shattered' (surgeon's wording, not making it up) his ankle and now walks with a pronounced limp. I try to be sensitive about this and ask him how it's doing every once in awhile, just to let him know I'm still worried about him and hoping it's okay. His answer was that his ankle is "Not awful, just the usual 24/7 pain". My response was "Hey, that's a good one! That's how I should answer people when they ask me how I'm doing these days."

So yeah. Just the usual 24/7 pain.

I have no questions today. Just leave a message after the beep.

Saturday, July 17, 2010

Two Truths

We went to visit J. and his wife J. last night and their new baby. We have not seen these friends since well before Aidan died. Actually the last time we saw them was when I was 12 weeks pregnant and we thought things "might" work out. They did not know Aidan's birth story or exactly what he died from. I was initially nervous going over there. I knew it would be a little awkward, and it was...but not unbearably so. I realize that it's hard for them to relate to us because, well, their baby is healthy and happy and sleeping in the next room. But I think they realized it's hard for us to relate to them because, well, our baby is dead and his ashes are sitting on the shelf in our living room.

We both had babies...but that's where the similarity ends.

For example, girl J. described to us what it was like being in labour for 20+ hours and then having an unplanned C-section. I was interested to hear her story, in fact I asked her about it, but I just couldn't relate AT all to what she was saying. The differences of course go beyond the fact that I had a vaginal delivery and she had a C-section. Beyond that I had no epidural and she did. Blow past the fact that I had a ridiculously short labour and hers dragged for hours.

Her delivery ended happily and mine did not.

She was happy and excited going into her C-section. I was terrified both for my baby and myself at my delivery, knowing my baby was not going to live and fearing I might not either.

I realized something last night too. Babies do not bother me. I have nothing against them. I don't mind being around other people's babies. Their baby is not my baby. I miss Aidan...and their baby is not Aidan.


Watching other parents interact with their baby does bother me. A LOT. Watching other parents fuss over their baby and coo at him or her makes my insides shrivel up. The inflection in parents voices when they talk about their babies. The way they interrupt everything they are doing, including conversations, or eating, or peeing, to tend to the baby. The way nothing can command their attention more than the barest squeak from their offspring. The way that gravity no longer seems to bond them to the earth, but to their baby.

I want to be a parent. I wanted to be that for Aidan more than I wanted anything else, ever.

So watching them, I realized that although I am a 'mother' and Brian is a 'father', we are not parents. Mother and Father are biological definitions. We had a child, therefore we fit into that category.

Parenting, however, requires a live child. Parents make decisions for their child. Feed their child. Ensure their child's safety. Read stories to their child. Teach their child. Cuddle their child. Aidan does not need any of these things.

One cannot parent a dead child.

I am not a parent.


Truth # 1: I love babies.

Truth # 2: Can't stand parents.

For those of you who have no living children, can you relate to this at all? For those of you that do, what do you make of this? Do you feel like 'less' of a parent since the death of one of your children?

Friday, July 16, 2010

Attempting to feel grateful

So....I got the job....I start August 9th....6 days before "Baby B. due!" is marked on my calender.

I'm attempting to dredge up some excitement here. I really am.

I really hope I can fake it until I make it.

Keep repeating phrase: be grateful you don't have to go back to the grateful you have a job to go back grateful you had this time off to grieve for Aidan and for yourself...must move forward...move forward....move...

So in honour of my attempts to 'feel grateful' I decided to write down what I am grateful for about our time with Aidan. Please be warned...some of these are things that you my fellow readers, did not get to experience. By making a list of the things that I am grateful for, I don't in anyway mean to hurt you or put you down, or make it seem like my experience was 'better'. But today, I just feel I have to catalogue the few remaining scraps that I can call my own.

1. I am grateful he was born alive. I cling to the 54 minutes between the time he left my body, to the time the nurse said she could no longer hear his heartbeat. While he was alive, he made only the barest attempt to gasp according to the nurses who assessed him. We never saw this. My poor son's lungs were like dried up raisins...unable to expand to pull in any air. (Amniotic fluid's important for more than just 'the black' on those cute ultrasound's essential for lung development!). Although he was alive, I never saw him move. He never opened his eyes (one was still fused according to his autopsy). He might as well have been born dead...but I love that he wasn't. That he was alive for even just a few minutes is important to me because of the WEEKS of my pregnancy that I spent so worried I was killing him slowly with every move I made. Every bit of blood I passed. Every tiny twinge of my uterus. I kept wondering "is this what finally cuts off your blood flow?" I was so worried since the time we were told my placenta did not look 'right' at 17 weeks that it would slowly starve him to death. I checked every two days for a heartbeat with my doppler, lying on my couch at home. I did this away from my husband so that if I didn't find one he wouldn't have to 'not hear it' too. I was so glad when Dr. K. told us at 21 weeks and 5 days that the blood flow to Aidan was uncompromised and that he was growing appropriately. I remember clearly Dr. K. saying "well he won't die in your body". It provides me so much relief that just ONE thing went right. I had a son. He was born. He lived. He died.

I cannot remember what I said when he was placed on my chest during those few minutes after birth. I was in pain. My blood pressure was low. I hope it was "I love you".

2. I delivered him without assistance or pain meds and my heart didn't give out. This is one very personal to me. Most women worry during pregnancy about the pain of labour. Some even come out of it saying "Oh I was in so much pain...I thought I might die!!" And while I appreciate that...I actually thought I might die. I had been told I would *need* an epidural, I was not to push, things should be very controlled and supervised. Ha. I remember being rushed down the hall to the delivery room from triage and someone yelling at someone else "go and get an RT (respiratory therapist)". My thought "is that for my baby? Or are they worried I'm going to code and need to be resuscitated?" I am SO grateful that my heart didn't give out on me or Aidan. Thanks heart.

3. I am grateful Aidan looked like my husband. This is not because my husband is so good looking I'm glad our child resembled him (although he is)...I'm just glad it was SO obvious that Aidan belonged to US. Some of the babies I have looked after in the NICU don't really resemble their parents all that much (at least not that I can tell), and I must say I have (white) lied on occasion when I fully agreed with a patient's parents, "Yes...your son looks JUST like you! You can totally tell!" Now maybe a stranger looking at Aidan wouldn't be able to tell, and would lie to me and say they could see the resemblance...but I can, and that's all that matters.

4. I am grateful for the one completely beautiful picture we have of Aidan before he started to look dead. It is the one posted above. He looks perfect. You can't even completely tell that he is dead in that photo or really even how small he was. I love looking at that photo. I love that he looks peaceful and content. I worried during my pregnancy that the lack of fluid was deforming him so awfully he wouldn't look normal or even recognizably human. He did have club feet in the end...but even that was kind of darling and barely noticeable. If he hadn't looked 'normal' I would have loved him anyway...but it gives me such pleasure that he was cute!

5. Aidan proved we are fertile. I had fears last year when all the couples we knew got pregnant on the first or second try that "oh my there something wrong with us?" We even had a few medical tests done which pointed in that direction. I was preparing to go to my doctor's to demand a further work up and was counting down the months until we could be referred to a Reproductive Endocrinologist. (You're supposed to wait for a year of trying). It never came to that. Maybe if it had, they would have seen what was wrong with my uterus and could have prevented my first pregnancy ending up the way it did...but maybe not. I know of course we could have 'secondary infertility'. I know it's something we all worry about...but I'm trying just to let go of that. I can't change it or prevent it. If it comes to that, we'll deal with it. So, thanks Aidan for showing mommy and daddy that our reproductive organs aren't a complete let down.

6. I suppose I am perversely glad I had a really rocky pregnancy with him. This one is the most bittersweet for me and the most complicated. I am glad because in the next pregnancy (as always...assuming there is one), if it starts out with better HcG levels and no bleeding by week 5 I will already feel somewhat more hopeful about it. The pregnancies I hear about that are perfect and end in a still birth at 37 + weeks always just make me so sad for that family's next pregnancy...because you know they are going to spend 9 months fearing history will repeat itself. If I could avoid rushing to the ER with dried blood streaks down my leg in my first trimester then hey...that's already an improvement from pregnancy #1. Of course, we all think the SAME bad thing is going to happen to us. The woman who miscarries all previous pregnancies prior to week 8, breathes a sigh of relief when she reaches week 9. The woman whose baby is delivered prior to 24 weeks, celebrates when she passes the viability mark. The family whose full term baby is born still, cries with joy when they hear a wail emerge out of the next. The family whose baby dies of SIDS holds their breathe until the first year is over...praying their child wakes up every morning. I know that something totally new and equally awful could happen to us and our (theoretical) baby # 2...but it gives me some measure of comfort to know that things were abnormal for me very early on in Aidan's pregnancy. So if things initially look okay the (hopefully) next time, there is no reason to think they won't continue that way.

Aidan's pregnancy...well it sucked. It was scary from beginning to end. There was only maybe a few weeks in that whole time where I felt that we might actually get a baby out of it. A part of me grieves this too. As an NICU nurse I knew what could go wrong during a pregnancy. I was not unaware that babies died...but I had hope that maybe, once I was pregnant and things were fine, I might relax...go with the flow. It never happened. And now it never will. I will never be a carefree pregnant woman. I will never reside in the land of "when". I will forever be stuck in "if". But I am grateful that now even that doesn't seem so bad. Yes, I have never and will never be the happy naive pregnant lady, but that's okay. I got Aidan instead.

Can you think of anything, even one teeny tiny thing you are grateful for about your pregnancy or birth or what happened afterward? I know, I know, the baby being dead totally overshadows all the rest...but work with me here people. We're being *positive!* today.

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

Pain points

It's been a rough couple of days my peeps.

I shall sum up:

1) Went for job interview as can no longer bear to return to old job as it is full of premature infants who look ever so much like my son...except they are breathing. Difficulty level out of 10: 7. Scores points for making me have to appear *chipper!* and *enthusiastic!* about a job I would not be applying for except for my dead baby. Loses points for stirring just a *teeny tiny* flicker of interest in my cold dark soul.

2) Went to family doctor's appointment where said doctor performed the dreaded 'internal'. Also punch in the gut having to rehash how awful (wonderful?) it was that Aidan was completely normal. Difficulty level out of 10: 6.5. Points awarded for walking into my first conversation with someone who did not know said pregnancy did not end happily. Have not yet figured out correct response to "Congratulations!" Points lost when receptionist melted my heart when she cried about my dead baby.

1) Follow up appointment with Congenital Cardiac Clinic, where I received annual ECHO, ECG, blood work, multiple requests to participate in research projects and meetings with doctors and fellows. Place I dread going...even without having to drag my (figurative) dead baby along with me.
Verdict: Heart functioning as per pre-pregnancy levels. Always abnormal, but not any more abnormal than normal.
Number of medical personnel that I had to discuss Aidan and failed pregnancy with and receive awkward condolences from: 5.
Difficulty level: 9. Points awarded for talking about the two biggest tragedies of my life in the same instance (my heart and my son) and for having to hear the cardiac patient down the hall who has a 1 1/2 year old daughter talk about how wonderful her pregnancy was and how great her daughter turned out. Bonus points awarded for having to listen with a straight face to elderly female cardiologist tell me that she thinks I should 'look towards the future' and 'remain optimistic'. Right. Thanks. See: Sunshine post. Points lost for nice researcher who took down my entire family tree for study, including my son and asked "what was his name?".

I'm tired of doctors. I'm tired of trying not to cry in front of these people. I'm just tired. My heart hurts...and not in a way that can be measured in a blood test or on a scan.

Going to see Eclipse again tomorrow night. Also going to Black Eyed Peas concert on Sunday. Putting these two days behind me.

What is the greatest tragedy of your life (other than the obvious)?

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

Don't blow sunshine up patient's ass = my new favourite line


I didn't get to write much while I was I'm making it up to you folks these last few days. Cuz' I know you'll all just die without my little bon mots to keep you afloat.

So today was a big day in the land of me. I went for a job interview. It's at the same hospital where I'm currently (technically, although I haven't actually worked more than a month this year) employed. I think it went well. I managed to avoid having to bring up my dead baby, which was a plus as this was something I was worried about before the interview. I wondered if they were going to say something like "I've looked you up on the hospital registry and it says that you are currently on leave?" Then I would have had to say "oh, yes...well...erm...I'm on maternity leave (true...not a lie...)", which then of course someone would immediately ask "oh, how old is your baby..." etc. Which is when the awkwardness and possibly tears would start and so on and so forth. Not exactly the picture of the competent, ready-for-anything nurse that I was hoping to project.

The only question that came close was the inevitable "so what interest's you in this job?" Fortunately I managed to come up with a better reply then "the patients don't resemble my dead son" that wants to roll off my tongue. I think I even managed to convey enthusiasm. So much, in fact, that I might even get the job. Of course, no matter how good any job is right now, it's not the job entitled "MOM" that I really wanted. This is how I now see life. I will, of course, get the job because I can only dredge up a moderate amount of enthusiasm for it. The NICU job I wanted more than any other back in nursing school has now been kind of tainted because it reminds me WAY too much of my real life. And the job I dreamed about since I could dream "being a MOM"...died.

After that I headed to the bookstore. I picked up Elizabeth McCracken's book "An Exact Replica of a Figment of My Imagination". It's good. I like that it's not infused with too much "God" questioning or other such spiritualism. I cannot relate to that. I do however relate to her dark humour. I'm finding my own gets me through the day.

Upon discussing her second pregnancy which she conceived 3 months after the first was stillborn, she said she felt like correcting the nurse teaching the prenatal classes each time she said "when" and reminding her that the correct terminology is "if". Exactly.

It also contains the line that I know I've read on Glow in the Woods, and I connected to it then. I'm not sure what posting it was from or if the author of that post ripped it from Ms. McCracken, or vise-versa or if it's just a common phrase that I had never heard before, but really, it doesn't matter. It could apply to anyone of us at this point. And it sure as hell applies to me. Has since 2 days after I was born and the doctors diagnosed me with a rare heart defect. It should be written on all our charts. I could use it as my letterhead.

"Do Not Blow Sunshine Up Patient's Ass".

Cuz' really...when the worst has all ready happened to you, you know it could happen again. Doesn't really make you feel better to hear that "Things will be better next time" or "God will only give you what you can handle". If that's true then apparently God didn't think me, an NICU nurse, was competent enough to handle a perfectly healthy normal baby boy. So's my new favourite line. Maybe I'll get a tattoo of it...and I bet you can guess where it should go!

I mention this because I was at my family doctor's today after my interview. I was there for my 6 week check up...12 weeks later. I suppose when I made the appointment I happened to mention that it would be my postpartum visit. So I shouldn't have been surprised when the nurse took me into the exam room and started pulling out the 'tools of the trade' so to speak for the doctor to use when she examined me. The speculum, the gel, the latex gloves, etc. She then says to me "So you had a baby". Yep. "Was it a boy or a girl?" A boy. "Congratulations". Thanks. She didn't ask where he was so I heaved a sigh of relief as she left. Does she not realize that I would likely have shown up, with a baby, if there was one to show up with? Ahhh...even people in the medical world don't realize that pregnant does not necessarily equal baby.

Then the doctor came in. I saw her about a month ago, so we'd already done the sobbing and retelling of the story so this time I got to tell her about our appointment with Dr. K. Just for my own piece of mind and my husbands I asked her "So when he says I should wait 6 that like under the heading 'what to tell women about subsequent pregnancy'?" Her answer was "yes, basically we tell people to wait three cycles and for most that can take up to six months". She says from her standpoint the only thing that she wants me to have checked out is my heart. Since I already have that appointment booked (tomorrow in fact), and I've already had 2 periods, she's happy just to let us decide from now on. I think that will make my husband feel better and will help me feel better (less ashamed? less worried?) if I happen to show up sooner rather than later with a positive pregnancy test. In telling her about my appointment with Dr. K. I also told her what his parting words were to us upon leaving his office: "Six months isn't that long...if you wait six months...that might be before the end of the year! I have a good feeling about you guys...and I can generally tell about these things." In short...he blew sunshine and rainbows and sing-song birds at us. Cuz' really, what was he basing his 'good feeling on'? My 'better than a miscarriage' this time around? My 0/1 pregnancy count? Definately not my stellar medical history.

And I love that when I told this to my family doctor she laughed in a dark humour kind of way and said "well...he probably just didn't know what to say". Exactly. People just don't know what to say. Even medical people.

Upon leaving the office, I asked my family doctor if she would like a copy of Aidan's autopsy report for my records. She said "yes please, have the ladies at the front desk make a copy for your chart". So I passed over the letter, all five pages of it, clearly labelled "Autopsy Report" and had that perky desk clerk make a copy. She came back a few minutes later with her eyes all red. She said "the nurse was there when I was making a photocopy and she saw what it was and said that she feels bad for asking you about the baby. She wanted me to tell you she's sorry". Then she said "I'm so sorry too" and hugged me. I was nice, it was good. It was honest. I thanked her with tears in my eyes and left.

Cautionary tale for all my medical colleagues. Take note. Check your sunshine at the door.

Have you had sunshine blown where the sun don't shine by medical personnel? Religious figures? People who just don't know what to say? How has it made you feel? How do you respond?

Monday, July 12, 2010


While we were on vacation we missed a phone call from a friend of ours who lives in Singapore. He moved to Asia years ago for a job. He ended up meeting a woman who was also from our area of Canada and they got married in October of last year when they were living in Hong Kong.

Anyway...he calls every so often just to shoot the shit and tell us about what going on in his life. He's a nice guy and it's too bad him and his wife don't live closer. We keep hoping they will move back.

However, when my husband told me that M. had left a message on his cell phone AND on our home phone while we were on vacation my immediate thought was oh that's his wife is pregnant. Then two seconds later my husband said out loud "bet his wife is pregnant". Amazing how our thoughts just go to that these days. This friend has never expressed an interest in having kids...and I don't know his wife well enough to say if she is dying to reproduce...but I'm still about 80% sure that when we talk to this friend that is what he's going to tell us.

Which then of course brings up the question of what do we say? He knows about what happened with Aidan...but he probably doesn't get how hard it is for us hear about other people's pregnancies at this point. I wish we could know in advance before actually talking to him if that is what he is calling us to announce. Because at this point it takes practice to have the proper amount of awe and enthusiasm in our voice.
I need to practice saying: "wow, M. that's great...when is she due?"
Instead of: "DAMN IT...seriously? Oh man...this just gets better and better doesn't it?"
I need to work up to: "Are you guys going to have the baby in Singapore?"
Instead of: "Are you guys going to come back here to torture us with your healthy pregnancy and adorable newborn?"
I need to work on the proper pitch for my: "Congratulations!"
Instead of what naturally comes out: *crying*...*sob*...."Wish our son was here to play with your new baby".

There is one way we might be able to find out in advance if this friend and his wife are indeed calling us to announce a pregnancy. M. and my husband were both good friends with a third guy J. We could just call J. and ask if he's heard from M. This would be the easiest thing to do, except that it would mean confessing what we are afraid we are going to hear. Not so hard right? Easier to hear it from the non-pregnant person. Easier to confess to him that it's hard to hear about others' babies at this point...except of course that J. is the proud new daddy to baby Casey.

The conversation would have to go something like this:
Us: So have you heard from M. recently? We were just wondering why he was calling us while we were away on vacation? We are afraid to call him back because it's like a knife in our guts when we hear about other people's pregnancies and babies...oh and congrats on your new little bundle of joy...we'll be over to visit her any day now.

Super. I feel like I'm living in a war zone. Minefields galore. Duck and cover people...

Have you had to deal with other people's pregnancies or babies since you became babylost? How did it go? Were you able to keep your mask intact and your voice modulated...or did the cracks show through?

Sunday, July 11, 2010

Home to wait and see

Yes readers, I am home. After 10 days at the cottage we are back to our real life again.

It sucks.

I wish we were always on vacation. Of course if that were the case it wouldn't be called would just be considered 'what we do'. Anyways...

We had a good time and the weather really cooperated. Always important when you are at a place with no cable and minimal shopping opportunities. Everyone here at home in our fair city probably thought the weather was "way too hot"...but it's great when you are living close to nature, doing nothing but planning out your next meal, and can go swimming in the lake any damn time you feel like it. I personally like the hot weather so I wasn't complaining.

We had some good times too. I took lots of new "Aidan's name" photos...see sidebar. I also went to see Eclipse (YEAH!!!), listened to music, swam almost daily, had a fire and roasted marshmallows, watched many movies (some good, some not so good), read a bunch, did crosswords, went for a walk, watched 10 sunsets, ate WAY too much junk food and perfected the amount of rum I had to pour in a certain glass that mixed with exactly one can of diet coke would ensure that if I drank it in a short amount of time I would end up pleasantly tipsy for at least a good half hour.

All in all a successful vacation.

My husband and I did however have a *teensy tiny* fight...that lasted almost two days.

What was it about? What would we let mar our otherwise awesome cottage vacation?

It was of course about getting pregnant...again.

I'll explain my husband's side first. He is of the opinion that we should wait the six months that Dr. K "recommended" before getting pregnant again. He feels that if we don't wait then we are risking our future child's health. To him this would mean actively trying NOT to conceive. ie: using condoms. There is no way I'm taking any kind of birth control with my history of prior hormonal issues. I will interject at this point that Dr. K. never actually said why it was important to wait...or what he thought waiting a six month time period would actually do. He never examined me nor asked if we had any concerns about waiting. I have no idea if the 'six months' applies to our situation directly or is just a thing put under the heading "how to answer the question of handling a subsequent pregnancy after loss" in medical textbooks. And unless I can get a hold of his e-mail address it's another 2 hour wait in his waiting room surrounded by pregnant women to ask. So I think not.

But when my husband said he wanted to follow the doctors advice and wait six months, it was like the band aid that I have so carefully applied to my dead baby wound was all of sudden ripped off. It was like hope died. I can't explain it any better. I was so SAD for the two days that we fought about it. I felt despair. It's not even that I have a lot invested in getting pregnant in the next 3 months. I know it may and probably will take longer than that (and I'll include it here but I'm loathe to admit it out loud...but it might not happen again, ever). Really I have a lot of stuff that I should get done in the next three months that might be difficult to do if I was know like finding a job I can tolerate going to after my first baby died. No one likes a new employee more who has to run to the bathroom to puke every half hour. Or I could focus on eating healthier. Possibly losing the (fairly) small amount of weight I gained during pregnancy number one. Maybe even take some time to do some of the art projects that I've been putting off. Or plan a trip. Etc.

I get his reasoning, but I just can't get with my husband's program. It would physically hurt me to even consider it.

My side is this: I completely agree with his logic...but I just can't go back to actively trying NOT to get pregnant. I just can't. There are many reasons behind this. All of which are very complex but in trying to pull them apart for you maybe I'll be able to understand them myself.

Reason 1) If I agreed to actively 'try not to get pregnant' then there would come a time when we were 'starting to try' again. And I would want it to happen IMMEDIATELY, just like I did the last time. And if it didn't happen quickly, then I would start to get nervous and get sucked into that black hole of 'what if it never happens again'. And I'm so tired of worrying. I worried all last year about my on-going spotting, then when I got pregnant I spent almost the whole time worrying about bleeding, fluid issues, and eventually how it was all going to end. I have lived over a year of my life in fear and I just can't face 'looking forward' to sometime after October 2010 to start worrying about it all again. I just want to forget about it and just let nature take over. And if we happen to have an 'oops' baby, that's fine. In fact I would love to just have an 'oops' baby. It would be so liberating at this point. I would love to walk into my doctor's office feeling 'ashamed' that I'm pregnant again so damn soon. Seriously, it seems so stupid now that I worried for almost ten years about having an unplanned pregnancy and now I would give my left eye for one. A healthy one, of course.

Reason 2) which kind of connects to reason one above. If I did happen to get pregnant before the aforementioned six month waiting period and it ended in a miscarriage (or worse) I feel like maybe I wouldn't be so attached. Like I could blow it off with a "well we weren't suppose to get pregnant this quickly anyhow..." I know of course that this likely isn't true...but maybe it would be? I guess I feel that if Dr. K and his six month wait could promise me any baby I conceived AFTER October 21 2010 would end in a perfectly healthy baby, and that any pregnancy BEFORE that would definitely, 100% not work out, then I would most certainly wait. But, no one can promise me that. Because how could I face it if I get pregnant in November 2010 and it ends in a miscarriage (or worse)? I know I would be thinking "what if I had gotten pregnant in August 2010...before we were supposed to, maybe that one would have worked out".

I think about this all the time. What if we hadn't waited until our "Europe vacation" of last spring to try to conceive. Would I have a sleeping baby upstairs right now (or a screaming crying one in my arms who I was begging desperately to go to sleep because damn it it's 11pm!!!)? What if we hadn't waited until the timing was 'perfect'. Would things have gone differently? I just can't be in control anymore. I can't wait until the time is 'perfect' and 'medically sanctioned'. AIDAN was perfect and medically approved...but it didn't do him any good.

Reason 3) I'm tired of waiting for a (living) baby. I feel I gave up a lot in my life already. I don't want to wait anymore. In my early 20s, I wanted to go to medical school. I wanted it BADLY. I was going to be a doctor and no one was standing in my way. But then I found university was hard and I chose courses that looked good on a transcript (my first year consisted of Biology, Chemistry, Physics, Calculus and Psychology, I know I'm a glutton for punishment)...but my grades posted beside them weren't always so lovely, especially in my first year or two. I would likely have to go to graduate school in order to get my grades up to the point where I could reliably apply to a Canadian medical school and hope to get in. So I started thinking about going to the States, or Europe. Some people I know actually did this. They are now finishing medical school. But by that point, I had met Brian. His life was here. My life was here. How could I go away and leave him and it?

Also at this point I started to understand my heart defect more. I started to realize that maybe my future health wasn't as certain as I had fact...maybe my expiry date was closer than any 20-something year old anticipates. Maybe a lot closer. And what if I waited until I was in my 30s, finally a doctor and ready to start my family....but my heart wasn't up the challenge? What if I put it off too long and my heart started to fail? It just seemed like too big of a risk to take.

At the age of 3 I remember going into our kitchen and announcing to my mom who was doing some mom-like chore that I was going to be "a doctor, a ballerina or a mommy". Her response was "you can be all three if you want to". Ha, ha (thanks for believing in me though mom!) But two decades later I realized a) no way in hell am I skinny enough or talented enough to be a ballerina and b) as much as I wanted to be a doctor AND a mommy, if I had to choose only one...I would choose being a mommy. It was a narrow margin at the time when I had to make the decision not to persue med school...but it was there. I never imagined my life without kids...but I could imagine a life without being a doctor. There, decision made, problem solved.

Until now...when I feel like the one dream I counted on fulfilling might not come true either...or at least not in the way I planned. Aidan will always be dead. Part of my family will always be missing. If I cannot have him back then I feel I deserve NEED his brother or sister. It is all I want. I do not want to wait anymore. I've waited and planned and done the 'responsible thing'. I'm tired of waiting for the future for my dreams to come true. So waiting even just 3 1/2 more months until this magical 6 month point just feels intolerable. I just can't do it.

So those are my reasons. And I'm sticking to them. And I think after two days of watching me live without hope, spirits stuck to my boots sandals, my husband just threw up his hands and relented. This is saying a lot. He is very stubborn.

He is scared. I get it. I completely understand it. I'm scared too. I don't want to watch another child die. But no one can guarantee us that waiting 3 1/2 more months will give us a different outcome. And no one can guarantee that it won't. I'm content to just wait and see. I just don't think I can handle having to wait...and then wait and see.

I'll have to make this question a two-parter because I don't want to pry in your business if you don't feel like sharing, and I LOVE getting comments, so I want everyone to be able to participate.

So questions for all: How do you solve problems in your relationship with your partner? Does one of you usually give in?

Question for those who feel like answering: How have you decided to handle "trying again" after your loss? Are you going with 'what the doctor said'? Or do you have other, completely emotional reasons for or against that are more powerful than anything written in a medical text?

Monday, July 5, 2010

At the cottage

Hello fellow bloggers and random readers,

I just wanted to let all of you know that I'm up at our family cottage, so I won't be as good at keeping up with my blog for the next week or so. Keep commenting though if you feel so inclined. I will read them all upon my return.

In case you are wondering, yes we are having a good time. I hesitate to say "great time" cuz ya know having a dead baby tends to suck a little bit of the fun out of even the best of times, but we are enjoying ourselves. I realized yesterday that I should be 34 weeks pregnant. Then I also thought "We wouldn't be at the cottage right now if I was 34 weeks pregnant because A) I'd be WAY too nervous to be 2 hours away from the hospital where I'm supposed to deliver and B) Brian would be saving his remaining vacation for when the baby comes." *Sigh* No need for either of those things now.

Another nice thing is that I've been sleeping great up here which is always a plus. Although last night I had a dream about work where one of the other nurses plopped a tiny baby into my arms and I burst into tears wailing "this should be MY baby!!!". What really sucks is that will be reality in just under two months unless I can find another job. I had to figure out how to access our telephone messages remotely from up here in order to be able to reply in case someone contacts me for an interview.

So, I best stop using up the bandwidth on my husband's blackberry...and I think I need another swim. It's 30 + degrees up here today and humid (that's 90 + for all you Americans).


Oh, and greetings to my 4 new followers! I'm up to 26 now! WOW...just know that I hoard you all like a miser. I will reciprocate and read your blogs upon my return.

So, for today's question:

Do you dream about your lost baby? Does this happen often? Are these dreams sad? Happy?