Life Bites
I am a little shocked at how quickly my body is healing itself. A week after birthing Devin and it looks and feels so much like it used to. The stinging from my tear down below is already fading (though it honestly was never that bad to begin with). My breasts are finally feeling less sore. And my belly has already shrunk so much. Still flabby, for sure – but I never actually had a tight stomach. I look at myself in the mirror and don’t hate what I see. And, yet again, Den tells me that I look great. How he finds the presence of mind to actually compliment my body, I don’t really know. But I love him for it.
Yesterday we went for a walk with the dogs, as it is finally warming up outside and we both want to get back in shape. I was out of breath very quickly. Good idea to start small.
I weighed myself this morning…. 149.4lbs. I was 140-ish when I got pregnant, and 162 before giving birth. I hope it keeps coming off.
I just wish my stomach wasn’t so upset.
::
Most of the day yesterday I felt pretty numb…. calmly numb. In the late evening I kind of fell apart a little, crying and feeling so lost. This morning I am feeling angry. Den and I are not religious, so we have no one to blame for this, but I am just angry at the world at large. Things like this aren’t supposed to happen. You hear about it happening to people you don’t know, but it’s not supposed to happen to you. We are good people, we did everything right, we loved this baby more than anyone ever could. I loved being pregnant so very, very much. We will be such wonderful parents. And in a flash it’s all taken away from you. Why? There’s no reason for it at all. Some some random fucking accident. My entire life has been changed, all our plans and hopes and dreams ripped from us, because of an accident?
A friend sent me the book Empty Cradle, Broken Heart, and it is fantastic. One of the most striking parts, to me, is a section entitled A Violation of Expectations.
… When a baby dies, the parents’ expectations are cruelly violated, their emotional commitment dashed. Unfortunately, even when they “do all the right things,” bad things can happen.
And that struck me. My worst fear was that something would be wrong – an infection, slow growth… whatever it may be. But even in my worst-case scenarios I always pictured it being something that the doctors could fix. That’s why we go to the doctor all the time, that’s why they run all these tests, that’s why you get ultrasounds: to catch problems and prepare to fix them. At no time did I ever imagine that I could go in and he would be already gone. Never, not once. I never thought there would be a situation where there was nothing they could do to fix it. They couldn’t heal my Devin. They didn’t catch a problem in time.
Surprizingly, I am not angry at the doctors or the hospital. They did everything they were supposed to do. I showed up for every appointment, I had all the tests run, and they were following my preferences in monitoring me in a relaxed, natural manner instead of treating everything like an emergency. I cannot fault them for that – I would have been upset if they had done otherwise.
But I am angry at something. Fate? The universe? I don’t exactly have anything to pin the anger on.
Waking up is still crap. I have to wake up and realize all over again that Devin is gone. It’s getting easier – some days it’s easier, some days it’s harder – but it hurts like hell either way.
I also feel so frustrated that I can’t even read a lot of my friends’ journals right now. I had made so many close connections with people having babies, we were all going to have children the same age. There was a special kinship there. And now I just can’t read… I can’t read about waiting for labor, finishing the nursery, bringing home a newborn. It hurts too much. It underscores how different things are. But the part that makes me frustrated is that I feel like I’m losing that connection with these friends. And I don’t want to… I want to participate in their lives again, I want to support them, I want to find some kind of joy in their children. I know that’s a lofty goal right now… I know I can’t expect to be able to jump right back in. But damnit. It’s just another thing to underscore my loss… I’ve lost so much more than my pregnancy, so much more than our son. Everything is different now.
Even things like Den’s college classes. He’s taking only two classes this semester, trying to finish the degree he never completed. They’re electives to complete the diversity portion of his degree, and one class that fulfilled that requirement was a class on Childhood Education. Not at all related to his major (biology/chemistry), but it worked with his schedule. The instructor knows he’s not an educator like the rest of the students so he has Den doing all his projects from the angle of a parent-to-be. And so now he has to finish this goddamn class, and our baby is dead. How fucking fair is that? I wish I could make it all go away for him.
Someone – I forget who or where – commented about the situation by saying there’s now a “before” and “after” that you never thought would be there. And that’s how it feels like. My life is forever split into “before Devin” and “after Devin.” I am struggling to accept that. Yes, there are times that I wish it would all just go away, go back to how it was before. Even during infertility and how hard that was… at least I wouldn’t have this huge weight, this huge pain, to carry around the rest of my life. I think about holidays and how every event will make me think about Devin, make me imagine how old he’d be, make me picture what it should have been like. Den says I can’t spend my time worrying about how I will feel in the future, but I can’t stop my mind from going there.
It’s not fair, it’s not fair, it’s not fair. That’s all I keep thinking. It’s not fair that people get healthy, live babies… and we get nothing. I always knew that life wasn’t fair, but this… this just underscores it in a most horrific way. I really could have skipped this lesson.
I wish I could make it all go away and right the wrongs of the universe for you both. You’re absolutely right–it’s NOT fair. Not REMOTELY fair. And that sucks.
Again, I am so very sorry. If there’s anything more a complete stranger from the Internet can do for you both, please do not hesitate to contact me.
No good words; no good advice; not even the ability to hand you something so you can throw and break.
I just wanted you to know that I’m thinking about you.
It isn’t fair. And there is no reason. I am sorry.
I am sorry, too, about your friends. I have a close RL friend who was due 4 weeks after us. She assumed we wouldn’t want to see her, but the friendship was too important for me to let go. There were tough moments. Walking into their hospital room after they had the baby? That was tough. Some other things have been tough. but somehow we get through them. For you there is an additional issue of the journals. Of course these days a lot of the talk on their blogs will be about their preparations and impending arrival. In person that wasn’t the topic for me and my friend. I am not sure what there is to do for you to soften those thousand little blows at all. But maybe it’s ok to take the break now, and to come back later. There will be baby talk in the journals, I am sure, but maybe there will be more other life stuff too…
You should be angry. It’s f’n terrible, and no one should go through it. I was a bit meh on EC, BH — but like you, there were a few sentences that really resonated that I still carry around. So I’m glad you’re finding something there. I don’t know that I feel so confident in science that they could *fix* problems, but by god, with the severity and extent of my daughter’s, I did expect them to *DISCOVER* them prenatally, in one test or another. So after an amnio and 12-13 ultrasounds to be delivered this news also made me furious. Not at them, but at the limitations. We think u/s pictures are so real (look! The baby’s nose!) and they tell us absolutely nothing — they can’t tell you that your baby is blind, or her neurological system is liquid mush.
It is painful. I still don’t speak to my neighbor who had a daughter weeks after Maddy. It just a daily reminder that hers is here, and mine? Is not. Her son has a baby sister, my living child does not. I often wonder if someday I can go crawling to her door with drink in hand and we can cry and make up and get over it, but a year later and I’m still not strong enough.
Someone in my old support group said the worst time of day for her was waking up, and realizing it wasn’t a dream. Putting your feet on the floor, while thinking, my baby died. My baby died. Hang in there, thinking of you.
I saw a link to you through another blogger (actually four bloggers posted links to you) and came by to offer my condolences. I am truly sorry about the unfairness of it all. (and I am so tired of life not being fair)
I am thinking of you and wanted to know that you are not alone.
Take care.
Oh poor Den!
I swear, life can be so cruel. :( You guys are the best parents.
As for friends, the beauty of friends is that even if you need to back off they’ll still welcome you back as if you never left. I’m sure you would do the same if something happened. IF anyone doesn’t understand or be patient or whatever, then they aren’t worth being friends with. :P Not necessarily as people, but just for your personal chemistry. ;) And that is ok.
The connection you made with me will always be there and though you never have to read my journals (because I would not be able to either at least for awhile) I will be here reading yours and encouraging you and praying for the two of you. Regardless of religion or any other beliefs, what happened to you does not compute with any belief I can think of… There are those stages of grief – I can understand why you are so angry!… I’m glad you have that book, too… That’s a very good one… Just thinking of you.
Many hugs
It’s not fair. Not fair at all. And I am so, so sorry.
Absolutely, miserably unfair. Thinking of you today.
It’s okay to be angry. Perfectly okay.
*hugs* I’m sorry. I can’t say anything else. Be angry! It’s alright.
It helps so much that you are willing to share, Nat– helps us to know what you need in support. I have to admit I have been hesitant to post in your journal, not wanting you to have to look at my avatar or signature, but also wanting to support you and for you to know that you’re in my thoughts. Like Jess said above, “IF anyone doesn’t understand or be patient or whatever, then they aren’t worth being friends with.” I just wish there were some way to make things easier.
I clicked devins name on mothering.com and told you that he was gorgeous, I clicked on devin again when i read your response on a post and as the page was loading I though to myself, is that the cute girl with that sweet little baby boy that I commented earlier? And sure enough it was. I had some time and I started reading through your posts and I am addicted! I can relate to you in soo many ways. I lost my baby girl june 18 08 due to a placental problem (at least that’s what I think happened, the doc never took much time to really look) and she was 22 weeks along. I too, got the book empty cradle broken heart and am reading it and you hit the nail on the head with the points you made about it. I read some of your posts last night and I ached for you. I desperately cannot wait to hear that you are pregnant again. I hope you get all you want out of life! :)