Saturday, April 9, 2011

Pity party

19 weeks, 16 days post rupture.

You know what I'm really sick of? Pity. Depressing news. Sad events. My life not going the way I planned.

Two years ago, on April 22nd 2009, Brian and I and another couple (our two best friends) got on a plane for our dream vacation to Europe. We went to Amsterdam, Paris, Florence and Rome. We were gone for over two weeks. We saw amazing things, had a great adventure and returned home full of hope for our futures. You see both Brian and I, and this other couple were using our Europe vacation as sort of the 'last hurrah' before we both started families. Our friends, as it turns out, got pregnant on their first try. She had a healthy pregnancy, a midwife delivery and a beautiful baby girl in February 2010, almost 9 months to the day that we got home from Europe. That baby girl is 14 months old now.

It took Brian and I a little longer, and we were definitely starting to stress about it, but in early December 2009 we finally did it. We were pregnant! Our baby was due August 15th 2010. My friend's baby would be 6 months old at the time, but hey, our kids would be in the same grade and could play together as they got older. But my pregnancy wasn't a healthy one. I bled. A lot. I was on bed rest for months. Eventually it was discovered I had no fluid. The placenta was abnormal. Infection set in and I delivered our Aidan on April 21st 2010.

A year to the day that we left for Europe was the last time I held Aidan in my arms.

And things moved on. My friend's baby got older. My cousin's 2nd wife had his 4th child. Matt Damon's wife had his 3rd baby girl. The Duggar's brought home their 18th (19th? I've lost track) child, who although premature, lived.

And then I was pregnant again. New hope. New life. Fear, but also excitement that maybe, just maybe this time it would end happily. I would be healthy. I would carry this baby until he or she could carry on without me. I would make a safe home for 9 months. I wouldn't fail. There might be scares, or minor upsets, but come on, it couldn't be like last time. That was a disaster that couldn't possibly repeat itself. Like lightening hitting you twice, when now you stayed indoors at the first sign of rain.

But here we are again. On bed rest, minimal fluid. Wonky placenta. Guarded outcome.

And almost two years from the day that I jetted off to Europe, with a whole world of possibilities at my feet, I can not believe we've ended up here. How did we get here? Things weren't suppose to be this way. Good, happy things were supposed to happen. I'm not saying there weren't suppose to be challenges, or hard times...but not this, no never this.

Brian and I are tired of being the couple people feel sorry for. The couple who has it rough. The couple whose dreams are shattered and hopes dashed. It's almost unbearable to get e-mails and calls from friends and family laced with pity and sadness. Poor Emily and Brian. I just can't imagine what they're going through. They are so strong. We're praying/keeping our fingers crossed/thinking of you/hoping good things come your way etc.

How much longer can we keep hitting the opposite of the jackpot? Was the information that we got on Thursday, that the baby is getting good blood flow and has at least a little bit of fluid an indicator of hope and good things to come? Could, after two years, we finally be on the winning team? Will Acorn beat the odds, and come home a healthy, normal baby to sleep in the bed room I so desperately want to ready for him? Or will the blood and fluid just be another red herring? Something we will look back on wistfully and think "if only it could have stayed that way?"

After two years, I'm afraid to hope at all.

Addendum: I've got 5 comments on this post so far, and I just wanted to make it clear, that I'm not in anyway saying that I don't appreciate that people are sorry for our past and current situation. Or that I don't want people to call/write/e-mail with their hopeful thoughts for us. It's that I don't want to NEED pity or hopeful wishes. I just want things to go RIGHT for a change. If people don't need to think about me or my family at all because we're doing just great, that would suit me just fine. Hey even a little bit of jealousy at our good fortune never hurts! Just kidding...well, actually no, not really. And I promise, I'll really really appreciate just the miracle of normalcy.

Are you tired of the pity party surrounding your life? What would make it better? How do you continue to feel good about yourself in the wake of so much loss?


  1. I'm a "newbie" to your blog, but I'm adding you to my regularly visited blogs. I wish I had grand advice that would make this all instantly better...but all I can do offer support and prayers.

  2. Ugh, I hear you. I'm tired of being the broken one. It's like I've always been that way and it's way past old.

    It's just plain weird sometimes when all you can get from people is all the pity and awws and the looks, the awkward silences and hands-offishness but this is just your life now. You just want to be a person again not the POOR BROKEN person.


  3. It has changed, that's for sure. But early on (well for at least 12 or so months after we lost her) I couldn't stand the pity party. It was suffocating me, and the pity was coming from all angles. I mostly went to ground. Didn't go out much, didn't see many people, didn't answer the phone. I just surrounded myself with those who didn't make me feel like a giant freak. And now, at almost three years out, in some sick and twisted way, I miss the pity party. As suddenly it seems, no one really gives a crap anymore, and they think I'm strong and have moved on and that I'm happy now the rainbow has arrived. But I still miss her. I'm still so broken over what happened. And I think the only people who really understand that are the people here, in this sad little dead baby land.
    So much of this post resonated with me and I feel for you so much that you find yourself in this shitty situation. Not at all what you'd planned or hoped for. It is too cruel for words.

  4. Emily, I have been reading your blog for a few weeks now. I sent you an email and Im sorry if it came off as pity. As well as others, all I can do is offer you prayers and good thoughts! I hope you get the happiness you deserve!!

  5. It's hard, honey... It really, really is... I know. And I wish I had words that said "it gets better" or "you get over it" or... But the truth is, in my experience, you dont. It's still there. Sending hugs and lots of love...

  6. I wish there were 'right' words out there that could help take away the pain, lift the spirits and instill a sense of peace. I have yet to identify them myself, so instead I try to find comfort in small quiet places and the kind words of those who have the best of intentions in supporting me. This life is nothing that any of us had planned.. looking back just two years ago I see a completely different woman in pictures showing smiling faces. I don't know her anymore, and I hate that the woman I see in myself now is so irrevocably altered by a pain that she never should have known.

  7. Sorry.. had to create a second comment... blogger thinks I type too much!

    I know the pity can seem overwhelming at times... and I am so sorry for that. Still, I hope you find a comfort in some of the words that come to you.. even if it is in the smallest form. I am thinking of you and acorn and continuing to send you strength and light.

  8. I know just what you mean. There's just nothing anyone can say or do that's truly helpful. Both pity and indifference are hard to take. The only thing that would help is just not being here in the first place!

  9. I hope you get to the place where no one even thinks of offering you pity. Because our efforts have been mostly "secret", no one has known about my BFNs, miscarriages and failures. In some ways I was happy to be alone in my grief, but it is a lonely thing too. I'm sure you appreciate that people want to do something, but there is just nothing they can offer - and all you can do is lie there and contemplate. Hoping this all turns around for you very soon - take care.

  10. I came across your blog only today. You express very well..the reason am saying this is because I & my H have been feeling this ever since our son died last November..but I haven't been able to express it. Thanks. For showing me some way. And sadly I have no words of comfort because me too pretty fucked up right now.

  11. I always said I hated feeling pitied. At the same time, I also hate it when people ignore the subject & try to pretend everything is hunky dory, when it's not. I think what I want is just a little acknowledgement & respect for the hard journey we've been on. Is that asking too much?

  12. Still praying for you and your precious little one! Lots of love to you and your family....