Losing Things and Finding Things

Y'all. Sometimes life is hard. Sometimes things don't make sense.

If you've been a reader of this blog at some point in the last two years you are well aware of the fact that miscarriage has been a common theme. And that's because I had miscarriages in July of 2014 and November of 2014. 

And now we can add February 17, 2017 to that list. 

February 17th has been a strangely significant date in my lifetime. In that last few years, it was the due date of our very first, lost, baby. Then it became the conception date for Junior, our wonderful baby boy here with us earthside. And now it has become the date of our third miscarriage. The day our fourth baby left us forever.

I have taken a lot of time to process with friends and family already, and I feel like I have come out the other side intact. It's different than the first time because I didn't have to go through the same physical difficulties. It's different than the second time because I'm not wondering if we'll ever have a child someday. This time I have a sweet (albeit teething) boy to snuggle, and plenty of experience to fall back on.

Ok, so this might sound weird to some of you, sad to others, and understandable to a few. I find myself wondering why people keep asking if I'm doing all right. I felt like I was able to process and go through the steps of handling this loss quickly this time, and it's because this is the third time I've had to go through it.

Am I the only one who feels this way when going through this kind of loss/trial so often?

Every now and then something pops up in me to remind me that I am not 100% OK. That my natural optimism, hopefulness, and positivity has been damaged.

-When a couple I know says they're ready to have another child and are already talking about their next pregnancy with the expectation that it will result in a live birth. And my reaction? I want to tell them to be cautious. Don't use that terrible word, "when." Use the safe word: "if."

-When I avoid all the newborn clothing sections in stores because it just doesn't make sense to coo over a precious set of footie pajamas.

-When precious people in my life have children so close together in age, and when people around me talk about how, yes, it was really hard, but now they're so grateful their kids are only a year apart, and I find myself already regretting the fact that Junior won't be that close in age to a future sibling. That I'll never be a "two under two" mom like I always wanted.

-When, now, over a month after the event, my body is attempting to start a new menstrual cycle and my hormones are wildly out of control. We're talking white-hot-rage out of control. Why, oh why, does my body create this deadly chemical cocktail of fury and impatience in me? Me, who never before struggled with an anger problem. Me, who always prided myself on my ability to maintain a level head in the face of absurdity or futility. It's been over a year since I have felt anger on this level, and the last occasion was the final swan song (is that redundant?) of my PPD.

-When the weight just WON'T. STOP. PILING. ON. Seriously. Won't stop. 10 pounds in one month, y'all. TEN. And I know that even when I say I'm fine, and even when I believe I'm fine, somehow, I must not be. Grief. Depression. Bitterness. Sneaking. Hiding. Sin. I wear it all around my middle. It clings to me and I can't seem to shake it, no matter how hard I run or how many reps I lift or how much I can wrap my arms around my legs in a forward fold.

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Whew. I know I always say to "keep it real, y'all," and apparently, that's what I just did. 'Cause that just got really real, really fast.

As I'm writing this, and attempting to come down from the "rage mountaintop" a nap-fighting, screaming 16-month old gave me this afternoon, I'm sitting on the couch next to some empty candy wrappers, the TV remotes, a baby monitor, and a water jug I should have refilled hours ago. The television is paused on the ultimate trashy guilty pleasure. The dishes from last night are still sitting in the sink. My teeth have about an inch of grime on them because I've yet to brush them today. My phone is sitting at 1% battery life because (like the water jug) I just don't want to get up and walk the 20 feet to plug it in.

But I wrote this post. It had been sitting, unfinished for about a month now. And something this afternoon prompted me to open it up and just start writing. I don't even know if where I started this afternoon meshes with what was previously written. I'm not going to check. I just needed to write. Things were crouching inside me that I didn't even know were there. Dark things. Secret things. Hiding in the corners of my mind and slowly poisoning me.

This helped. Finding those things helped. They're not gone, but at least they're no longer hidden. I can see the monsters now, and (just like any scary movie you ever see) that somehow makes them less scary. Now it's time to assess them, rally my weapons around me (friends, prayer, Jesus, Truth, Love), and take them down, one by one.

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Here's to keeping it real, y'all.

The first snow....one year later.

*So this is technically the second snowfall, but it's the first REAL one and the first one that required us to shovel our driveway. I'm saying the other one didn't count. 

Last year I wrote a blog post called The First Snow. It was a hard post. It was a hard time. I had just miscarried our second child. We were stuck in a cold house in a cold town in a cold state hundreds and hundreds of miles away from family. The driveway needed to be shoveled. The days were short and sunshine seemed to have disappeared forever.

It was probably our lowest point last year. Personally, it was MY lowest point. It left me with questions and doubts that took a long time to put into words.

Flash forward: one year later.

In Remembrance.

Rather than continue with the endless onslaught of updates about this season of my life, it's time to slow down and remember the many losses that far too many people have endured.

Today, October 15, is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day.

More could be written, and there are many who are writing thoughtful and emotional articles today. I encourage you to seek them out. At this moment I've written all that I feel I can. You can find it in the tab labeled "Miscarriage."

All that aside, know that my heart is with you today if you've been through this loss. Know that you are not alone, and there are those of us who intimately know your hurt.

miscarriageCARE: When She's Pregnant Again

When a woman has a miscarriage, it permanently affects her thoughts and feelings about pregnancy, especially her own. It's important to understand that a pregnancy after a miscarriage is different for her, and the standard reactions and questions one would ask a newly pregnant woman may not be helpful, caring, or appropriate for her. This post details some of the things to keep in mind when a woman you know who has had a miscarriage is now pregnant.

According to the American Pregnancy Association, there are a few things to be aware of when it comes to pregnancy after miscarriage.

1. There's no such thing as "too fast." A woman's periods can return as early as 3 weeks after a miscarriage, meaning that her ovulation took place well before that. Depending on her health, both physical and emotional, her relationship situation, and her health care provider's recommendation, she could be pregnant again within a month. As mentioned before, some women never even have a period between miscarriage and a subsequent pregnancy. 
2. A woman's chance of having another miscarriage does increase after having had one miscarriage. It is not an alarming increase, but it is an increase nonetheless, and she is very likely aware of (and constantly thinking about) that fact. 
3. Depending on a number of factors, subsequent pregnancies in a woman who has miscarried may be monitored more closely by her health care provider--but they also may not. 

And now for the things to keep in mind when a woman is pregnant after a miscarriage.

miscarriageCARE: Offering Practical Support

Last week we went over the DOs and DON'Ts of talking with a woman who has had a miscarriage. A lot of those guidelines apply to any conversation, and will offer great comfort to a woman in grief. 

What if you aren't great with words, though? What if it's not appropriate in your work or social setting to have deep and intimate conversations with her? 

Here are some practical, and mostly easy, way to offer her support. While some are explicit, some can be done completely without her knowledge. 

miscarriageCARE: Finding Out, the DOs and DON'Ts

Learning that a woman you know has had a miscarriage can be hard to address, especially in your first conversation together. She might have texted you at 4:00 a.m. to let you know that it just happened. She might be your cousin and you heard it from Aunt Susan at Sunday dinner. She could be a co-worker and your boss discretely let you know that's why she'll be gone for the week. For the large majority of women who miscarry, personally telling everyone about her miscarriage just isn't possible or desirable. It's likely that she told some key people and asked them to inform the rest of her circles. If you are in one of her circles, your next interaction with her can be awkward and uncomfortable.

There are ways to lessen this awkwardness while also demonstrating your care and sympathy. Here are some DOs and DON'Ts when it comes to those initial interactions after learning a woman has experienced miscarriage.

miscarriageCARE: 15 Emotions Those Who Miscarry May Feel

What does a woman feel when she miscarries? 

For an event of this magnitude and complexity, there is no right way to feel. Just as a woman's emotions are fragile and turbulent when her hormones shift and change during pregnancy, they are just as fragile and turbulent when her hormones shift again after a pregnancy loss. This can take time, and as her brain chemistry undergoes changes it's important to understand she sometimes truly "can't help" the way she feels. A woman (or couple, but this post will use the singular pronoun "she" for consistency) who experiences miscarriage cannot expect to feel any one way. She will feel things she never thought she could feel. 

Those who wish to support women who have had miscarriages should be aware of and understand the whole spectrum of emotions a woman experiences so as to provide the best care possible. Understanding the five stages of grief can be helpful when walking through a loss with someone, but often a person doesn't land somewhere on a pre-determined scale. Sometimes her emotions are all over the place, and it is important to affirm that they are valid. She doesn't need medication to "get right" again, and she doesn't need to toughen up. These emotions are all natural and acceptable for a woman to feel about her miscarriage.*

miscarriageCARE: 10 Miscarriage Facts

As stated in the previous miscarriageCARE post, misconceptions about miscarriage abound. A recent study found this to be true, and a thoughtful article from NPR unpacked these findings. Some of these misconceptions include:

1. Miscarriage is rare, occurring in less than 5% of pregnancies. 
2. Stress or physical exertion can cause miscarriage. 
3. Lifestyle choices are the main reason miscarriages occur. 

When interacting with someone who has experienced miscarriage it is important to let go of these misconceptions and understand the facts. This post will explore 10 important facts about miscarriage, its causes, symptoms, treatment, and aftermath. 

miscarriageCARE: Why Write This Series?

I've thought about writing this series for a long time, and I feel like it's time to start. It may seem a strange thing to begin as my own pregnancy progresses, but my story wouldn't be complete without my first and my second miscarriages. I'm also not ready to shift the focus of this blog entirely to pregnancy. A lot of people are still drawn here because of miscarriage, and there's so much left to be said.

With that in mind, I start this new series. I don't know how long it will be, but I know that it will be for women who have had miscarriages, the friends and family who support women who have had miscarriages, and anyone who wants to know what the process of miscarriage looks like.

In which I ponder the difficulties of easy answers

Warning. Contains frank talk about stuff married people do.

So, I'm thirty years old now. It happened last month, and I didn't make a big deal about it--not because I'm not excited, but because I really don't care for birthday parties. I know, how lame, right? I do promise that I am super stoked to be in my thirties and headed further into adulthood. And while I fondly remember my college days and friends, my twenties are not something I will miss.

One thing about all that, though, is that it's more obvious to others that I am now an adult. Except for some sweet old ladies at the grocery store (bless their hearts), people assume I'm no longer a college student. They see the wedding ring on my finger and they know that I am a young, married woman. So, of course, when getting to know me better, what are the first things they ask? Where are you from? What do you do? How long have you been married? Do you have any kids? 

Do you have any kids . . .

In which I finally process a second miscarriage.

It's already past midnight, but I'm still sitting up and very much awake. My eyes are starting to pull downward, but I just don't feel like trying to sleep. A sweet man is sound asleep next to me, and a snuggly cat is curled up against my side. I, however, am restless, and I find myself searching for anything to keep me awake and distracted.

I've been doing this a lot lately. If you didn't know already, it's because we recently had our second miscarriage. I promised that I'd process it out, and I've decided to try tonight.

In which I discuss my many options.

I had my appointment with my midwife this morning, and while it was good, it was also non-helpful in a lot of ways.

The first snow.

I'm sorry I've been gone. The last two weeks have been pretty up and down. A lot of down.

I know I said that I'd be open and transparent about our journey when it comes to us trying to get pregnant again. And a lot has happened in the last two weeks, and I just sort of . . . didn't share. 

I miscarried again.

My First Miscarriage

This is a hard post--both to write and to read. If you are not ready to get very real, or if you do not wish to read unflinching descriptions of what a woman's body goes through during a miscarriage, then please read this short synopsis below.

I found out I was pregnant a few days after we closed on our house. It was a complicated pregnancy from the beginning, and we had one miscarriage scare right away. Despite all of this, our ultrasounds showed a healthy baby with a strong heartbeat. At about 11 weeks the cramping began at 2:00 a.m. By 6:00 a.m., and after a visit to the ER, we had lost our baby. I miscarried at home, and it was the most emotionally and physically painful experience of my life. I will always be left with questions and grief, but I will always believe that the Lord is good and that He has a family planned for us, though it already looks different than we wanted for ourselves. 

This is the short version. The back of the book. What will follow is a very long post, but I personally think it reads rather quickly. I wrote this account the same weekend that I miscarried. None of this is dramatized or invented. It was my own personal version of therapy. It's already turned into one, large, painful blur, and having this account is so helpful. I didn't write it to remind myself of all of pain, but rather to remind myself of what I came through. That woman go through this experience every day (more woman than we ever know), and that remembering what happened to me can help me better share with those who went through it last month, last week, or last night.

Again, what follows is what some would consider graphic. It is not written for shock value; rather, it is written to provide reality, both the physical reality of a miscarriage, and what was, for me, an emotional reality. A reality that is, unfortunately, too rarely laid bare for others to see.