On a More Serious Note
Today I want to talk about loss. A particular type of loss, but I may morph into others...well, I don’t know. We’ll see where it takes us. I’m typing this on my iPad instead of the desktop because it’s nearly 4 a.m. on a Saturday and I don’t want to wake kids. I mention that, because I’m slooooooow on this thing and I still have an attention span of a 6 year old. I just don’t know where this is going to take me.
So loss. My loss. My family’s loss. My sweet husband’s loss. People talk about the loss of a loved one, a life either full or cut short, someone they knew, someone they admired. It’s healing. People don’t talk a lot about this. They do more now then ever before, but it still seems like an untouched, embarrassing subject. No one knows how to deal with it, so it’s hushed. I want to talk about my experiences as I see them.
2001: John and I moved to Seattle. John is on a ship, in the engine room, probably rolling around in the Bering sea during crab season. We had been married more than a year and had started testing at the University of Washington to get a little help trying to grow our family. I was working at a nursing store, where I learned a lot about people and babies and nursing...yes, *that* nursing. One day I began bleeding while at work...a LOT...enough to make me feel faint and dizzy. The two midwives I worked for quietly helped me and sent me home where I was alone in our cold, 3rd floor, practically empty apartment. I cried for being alone and for not having any way to contact John. I’m not sure I count this as a loss. I didn’t know I was pregnant, if I was, but if I wasn’t, that was a LOT of unexplained blood, etc. I would say that I was more sad that I was alone than anything.
2003: morning temperatures taking before moving out of bed, many tests, clomid, progesterone suppositories, many more tests, no answers, more clomid. 2 years, a new place in Oregon. Finally pregnant! We were hopeful. 5 week ultrasound looked great! 2.5 weeks later, I find a tiny, pea sized sac with the tiniest human inside. Toes and fingers, eyes, large head. Lots of crying. I call the on-call doctor. It’s the one I have never met, not my doctor. I describe what is in my hand. She tells me I would not see that. She lost me then. I despised her. I hung up. I dealt with it. John had duty the next day. He was low man on the totem pole and was afraid to try to get someone to take his place so he could be with me. A friend came by with her family to see if I wanted a distraction and go to the beach with them. It was a 20 minute drive. I packed some necessities and went. I had no idea that I would bleed so much in so little time, or that I would have pain. It never occurred to me that my body would go through a sort of labor to flush everything out or that it would take my body more than a day to realize the baby was no longer in there. We never made it to the beach. I apologized to them so much, for something I couldn’t control and for going in the first place. I curled up on my couch, cried and prayed, felt the pains, and spent the night alone. I don’t remember much more. The car ride is what I remember most and how very sweet my friends were and how embarrassed and inconvenient I felt no matter what they said to comfort me.
2 months later I found myself pregnant again. We got to keep that one. Miss F has been a blessing to our family from the beginning.
2005: Another loss before we realized the pregnancy, early loss and we were just moving into our house in AZ. I don’t remember a lot about it other than LOTS of snuggles with my little girl and John working a lot. Somewhere in there I began to realize that he did not understand it and did not no how to deal with my grief, or maybe his own, and it was easier for him to dive deeper into work.
2006: Early ultrasounds look good. We have a heartbeat! A heartbeat means a strong pregnancy, we are told. I start spotting at 12 weeks. I go to the ER, where I have been directed to go. They send me to ultrasound. I already know this game. I know how to read them. I know silence. They quietly send me to a room to discuss the results. I am by myself, I think. I don’t remember anyone else. The person that came in, a man...not sure if he was a doctor or a nurse. I keep thinking nurse. Either way, he was unsympathetic. Said something to the effect that there had been no growth for 4 weeks and I had been walking around for that amount of time with a dead baby. I fumed. I left as quickly as I could and cried. I hated him. He could have had even a tiny heart towards me. I never saw him again and I don’t remember him at all except the impact of his words. I mourned my loss, our loss, cuddled my little girl some more and made my follow up appointment with my OB doctor and geared myself up for lots of pain and blood. Follow-up the next day and the Doctor suggests a D&C since my body is STILL holding on to this lost pregnancy. I agree. I don’t remember a whole lot more, but I do remember John picking me up afterward and me feeling like I could breathe again. I didn’t have the pain and there was so little blood. I could move on. I would end up needing one more D&C that year.
At some point, you begin to think this is NUTS. Why am I putting myself and my family through ALL of this? Hope is always there, but the losses are too. So much hurt and such a roller coaster. Miss Fabulous was a great prize. If nothing else, we had her. She was and is such a joy to us...even now in her sarcastic teen years. I still look back and wonder why we didn’t just stop trying.
We moved to Hawaii. I started this blog. Life was lonely for us. John would leave at 4:30 a.m. to get to work, he’d get there at 5, and sleep on the couch there for a couple of hours. If he left at 5, he’d have to sit in traffic for more than an hour and a half. He’d get home around 6, having worked until 4. Fae and I didn’t know many people. I tried to get us involved in things. We eventually moved closer to John’s work and he’d take the 15 minute commute and we learned to love that island together. We met people, friends. We continued our pursuit to have another child...just one more...for Miss F. For us. I started back on clomid. I got the talking to about losing weight...again. I rolled my eyes...again. I had another D&C. In 2008, the fertility Doctor suggested taking a “baby aspirin” every day through the first trimester the next time I got pregnant. I lost weight...maybe only 10 lbs. I got pregnant, one step and one month from IUI and looking into IVF. I took the baby aspirin. We have Star. We are good. We are done. No more hoops, no more losses. Problem fixed. The girls have each other and we are good.
We move to Massachusetts. Surprise! Dash shows up, took the baby aspirin as soon as we had a positive pregnancy test. So happy (and maybe a little crazy) to have 3!!!
Still didn’t think about birth control, we had had such a hard time. All of those first pregnancies were with clomid. I didn’t find out until later that that is supposed to be temporary. Not long term. Not a total of 4 years.
We had Rose 2 years after Dash and love having her. No clomid. Yes aspirin. We looked into birth control. I chose the paraguard. Seemed simple. We moved to Oregon again. I began bleeding for weeks on end. I went to have it removed. It had broken. Inside me. Thankfully, my body flushed the broken part out before we set surgery. My body has been amazing through everything. I could take a lot better care of it, I should. I will. I began pills. I hated me on pills. I was a monster. My family was scared of me. I was scared of me. John was attached to a ship and was gone for two weeks out of each month. We nixed the pills and decided on come-what-may while talking about making him an appointment, but not seriously.
We moved to Alaska. We have been here for nearly 2 years. Rose is 5 and heading to kindergarten in the fall when we move back to Seattle. We bought a house. I’m looking into schools, classes, improvement to me.
Several weeks ago I found out I was pregnant. By calculations, I was about 6 or 7 weeks when I took the test. I started taking the aspirin. I tried to decide if it was better to see a doctor here and transfer when we move or just wait. I called to make an appointment with my regular doctor. He was booked for the next 6 weeks. I asked for a referral to be pushed through. They did, but that still took 10 days, mostly on the side of my insurance. I called the Women’s center. They squeezed me in another 10 days down the line. I feel like a ticking time bomb. I request an ultrasound, given my history. They fit me in the next day. Thursday morning. This last Thursday morning. I planned to do that and then the prenatal labs they set up for me. I can read ultrasounds. I can read that the growth stopped at 8 weeks like the others. I know silence. I know the Tech can’t discuss the results, but I can read the techs too. This one was sweet. She seemed a bit unsure about what my reactions would be because she could tell I knew. I tried to remain composed, no crying allowed in public. I sat in a small, private, dark waiting room...no light switches. John on the other end of text at home with Rose. I spent the morning at the hospital talking to the doctor about options, the pre-op nurse about the next morning, labs the doctor requested. I had to tell the lab tech that I wouldn’t be needing the prenatal labs in my file, just the recent ones by this doctor. I left to weep in the car I had parked in the expecting mother spot. I picked up meds at the pharmacy for that night and grabbed two pints of Ben and Jerry...one for John because one should never get chip-faced alone. Picked up donuts for Star because “not me” ate hers and fruit from the salad bar because buying a pineapple and a watermelon and cutting it up just seemed like too much work at the time.
I went home to a quiet, empty house to eat, watch sappy movies, and spread the word to the few people I had let the news out to. John had taken Rose fishing and I had the whole day. I was happy to have it. I cried for lost plans, for adopting back old plans, for a pregnancy...a baby...we hadn’t planned on, but had started to count on. I cried for the announcement I had made the day before that will never be seen. I cried for the sappy movie and for my old, sappy self.
The kids started coming home from school. First the teenager, I talked to her then. We hadn’t told the children about the baby because of the risk and because they like to spread the word. I went to pick up Star and Dash. We went home. Business as usual. John and Rosie came home from fishing empty-handed. The kids had a school play that evening and we were expected at a farewell dinner afterward. I kept myself together. Mostly. The kids did a great job in their play! Dinner was a nice distraction and a chance to say goodbye to people we may never see again outside of a Facebook.
We called a family meeting when we got home. We briefly discussed what was happening and answered questions. We sent them to bed. Emotional wall teenager, super tender and worried Star, confused and concerned boy, and just-want-to-know-if-it’s-a-girl-or-boy Rose.
John was expected to have duty the next day, yesterday. Someone filled in for him at the expense of not being home with his own young family. John drove me to the hospital at 6:30 a.m. and went back home to get kids ready and off to school. They called me back to pre op at 8. Urinalysis and IV, warm socks and lots of blankets because I’m always cold. Funny anesthesiologist, Randy. Nurse comes bouncing back in to give me news that I’m pregnant. I looked at her for a moment before explaining why I was there. I didn’t see her for a while. I felt bad for her. Another quick check by Lorraine, the IV nurse, and then the doctor and then Randy with his cocktails. Wheel me to the OR. More stuff by Randy because I need a truck to knock me out. The BEST dream of a peaceful, comfortable, calm, and clean hallway. Upset to leave the dream and face the reality of no hallway and no baby and the whole situation...again. John and Rose came soon after, but we stayed a while because of dizziness and being weak. We left around noon and stopped for food on the way home. I sat on the couch watching sappy movies and zoning out. John took care of everything, he has sure grown in our years together. I love him more all the time. Just getting better with age.
So loss...this is really long and a LOT more about facts or perceived facts than feelings of loss. This loss was hard. Harder on my aging body, for sure. Hard on my mind, although not as hard as those early ones. I feel more blessed and grateful to have the 4 amazing, insane children I was able to keep. I know Heavenly Father is mindful of me and my family. I know Jesus has felt my pain and cries with me. I know I was created to be able to deal with this and have hope and be able to help lift others through their own losses and heartbreaks.
I’m going to leave this right here for now. It’s long enough. I’ll go through and edit later because typing on this thing is harder than I thought. Until next time, friends. ❤️, Kate
So loss. My loss. My family’s loss. My sweet husband’s loss. People talk about the loss of a loved one, a life either full or cut short, someone they knew, someone they admired. It’s healing. People don’t talk a lot about this. They do more now then ever before, but it still seems like an untouched, embarrassing subject. No one knows how to deal with it, so it’s hushed. I want to talk about my experiences as I see them.
2001: John and I moved to Seattle. John is on a ship, in the engine room, probably rolling around in the Bering sea during crab season. We had been married more than a year and had started testing at the University of Washington to get a little help trying to grow our family. I was working at a nursing store, where I learned a lot about people and babies and nursing...yes, *that* nursing. One day I began bleeding while at work...a LOT...enough to make me feel faint and dizzy. The two midwives I worked for quietly helped me and sent me home where I was alone in our cold, 3rd floor, practically empty apartment. I cried for being alone and for not having any way to contact John. I’m not sure I count this as a loss. I didn’t know I was pregnant, if I was, but if I wasn’t, that was a LOT of unexplained blood, etc. I would say that I was more sad that I was alone than anything.
2003: morning temperatures taking before moving out of bed, many tests, clomid, progesterone suppositories, many more tests, no answers, more clomid. 2 years, a new place in Oregon. Finally pregnant! We were hopeful. 5 week ultrasound looked great! 2.5 weeks later, I find a tiny, pea sized sac with the tiniest human inside. Toes and fingers, eyes, large head. Lots of crying. I call the on-call doctor. It’s the one I have never met, not my doctor. I describe what is in my hand. She tells me I would not see that. She lost me then. I despised her. I hung up. I dealt with it. John had duty the next day. He was low man on the totem pole and was afraid to try to get someone to take his place so he could be with me. A friend came by with her family to see if I wanted a distraction and go to the beach with them. It was a 20 minute drive. I packed some necessities and went. I had no idea that I would bleed so much in so little time, or that I would have pain. It never occurred to me that my body would go through a sort of labor to flush everything out or that it would take my body more than a day to realize the baby was no longer in there. We never made it to the beach. I apologized to them so much, for something I couldn’t control and for going in the first place. I curled up on my couch, cried and prayed, felt the pains, and spent the night alone. I don’t remember much more. The car ride is what I remember most and how very sweet my friends were and how embarrassed and inconvenient I felt no matter what they said to comfort me.
2 months later I found myself pregnant again. We got to keep that one. Miss F has been a blessing to our family from the beginning.
2005: Another loss before we realized the pregnancy, early loss and we were just moving into our house in AZ. I don’t remember a lot about it other than LOTS of snuggles with my little girl and John working a lot. Somewhere in there I began to realize that he did not understand it and did not no how to deal with my grief, or maybe his own, and it was easier for him to dive deeper into work.
2006: Early ultrasounds look good. We have a heartbeat! A heartbeat means a strong pregnancy, we are told. I start spotting at 12 weeks. I go to the ER, where I have been directed to go. They send me to ultrasound. I already know this game. I know how to read them. I know silence. They quietly send me to a room to discuss the results. I am by myself, I think. I don’t remember anyone else. The person that came in, a man...not sure if he was a doctor or a nurse. I keep thinking nurse. Either way, he was unsympathetic. Said something to the effect that there had been no growth for 4 weeks and I had been walking around for that amount of time with a dead baby. I fumed. I left as quickly as I could and cried. I hated him. He could have had even a tiny heart towards me. I never saw him again and I don’t remember him at all except the impact of his words. I mourned my loss, our loss, cuddled my little girl some more and made my follow up appointment with my OB doctor and geared myself up for lots of pain and blood. Follow-up the next day and the Doctor suggests a D&C since my body is STILL holding on to this lost pregnancy. I agree. I don’t remember a whole lot more, but I do remember John picking me up afterward and me feeling like I could breathe again. I didn’t have the pain and there was so little blood. I could move on. I would end up needing one more D&C that year.
At some point, you begin to think this is NUTS. Why am I putting myself and my family through ALL of this? Hope is always there, but the losses are too. So much hurt and such a roller coaster. Miss Fabulous was a great prize. If nothing else, we had her. She was and is such a joy to us...even now in her sarcastic teen years. I still look back and wonder why we didn’t just stop trying.
We moved to Hawaii. I started this blog. Life was lonely for us. John would leave at 4:30 a.m. to get to work, he’d get there at 5, and sleep on the couch there for a couple of hours. If he left at 5, he’d have to sit in traffic for more than an hour and a half. He’d get home around 6, having worked until 4. Fae and I didn’t know many people. I tried to get us involved in things. We eventually moved closer to John’s work and he’d take the 15 minute commute and we learned to love that island together. We met people, friends. We continued our pursuit to have another child...just one more...for Miss F. For us. I started back on clomid. I got the talking to about losing weight...again. I rolled my eyes...again. I had another D&C. In 2008, the fertility Doctor suggested taking a “baby aspirin” every day through the first trimester the next time I got pregnant. I lost weight...maybe only 10 lbs. I got pregnant, one step and one month from IUI and looking into IVF. I took the baby aspirin. We have Star. We are good. We are done. No more hoops, no more losses. Problem fixed. The girls have each other and we are good.
We move to Massachusetts. Surprise! Dash shows up, took the baby aspirin as soon as we had a positive pregnancy test. So happy (and maybe a little crazy) to have 3!!!
Still didn’t think about birth control, we had had such a hard time. All of those first pregnancies were with clomid. I didn’t find out until later that that is supposed to be temporary. Not long term. Not a total of 4 years.
We had Rose 2 years after Dash and love having her. No clomid. Yes aspirin. We looked into birth control. I chose the paraguard. Seemed simple. We moved to Oregon again. I began bleeding for weeks on end. I went to have it removed. It had broken. Inside me. Thankfully, my body flushed the broken part out before we set surgery. My body has been amazing through everything. I could take a lot better care of it, I should. I will. I began pills. I hated me on pills. I was a monster. My family was scared of me. I was scared of me. John was attached to a ship and was gone for two weeks out of each month. We nixed the pills and decided on come-what-may while talking about making him an appointment, but not seriously.
We moved to Alaska. We have been here for nearly 2 years. Rose is 5 and heading to kindergarten in the fall when we move back to Seattle. We bought a house. I’m looking into schools, classes, improvement to me.
Several weeks ago I found out I was pregnant. By calculations, I was about 6 or 7 weeks when I took the test. I started taking the aspirin. I tried to decide if it was better to see a doctor here and transfer when we move or just wait. I called to make an appointment with my regular doctor. He was booked for the next 6 weeks. I asked for a referral to be pushed through. They did, but that still took 10 days, mostly on the side of my insurance. I called the Women’s center. They squeezed me in another 10 days down the line. I feel like a ticking time bomb. I request an ultrasound, given my history. They fit me in the next day. Thursday morning. This last Thursday morning. I planned to do that and then the prenatal labs they set up for me. I can read ultrasounds. I can read that the growth stopped at 8 weeks like the others. I know silence. I know the Tech can’t discuss the results, but I can read the techs too. This one was sweet. She seemed a bit unsure about what my reactions would be because she could tell I knew. I tried to remain composed, no crying allowed in public. I sat in a small, private, dark waiting room...no light switches. John on the other end of text at home with Rose. I spent the morning at the hospital talking to the doctor about options, the pre-op nurse about the next morning, labs the doctor requested. I had to tell the lab tech that I wouldn’t be needing the prenatal labs in my file, just the recent ones by this doctor. I left to weep in the car I had parked in the expecting mother spot. I picked up meds at the pharmacy for that night and grabbed two pints of Ben and Jerry...one for John because one should never get chip-faced alone. Picked up donuts for Star because “not me” ate hers and fruit from the salad bar because buying a pineapple and a watermelon and cutting it up just seemed like too much work at the time.
I went home to a quiet, empty house to eat, watch sappy movies, and spread the word to the few people I had let the news out to. John had taken Rose fishing and I had the whole day. I was happy to have it. I cried for lost plans, for adopting back old plans, for a pregnancy...a baby...we hadn’t planned on, but had started to count on. I cried for the announcement I had made the day before that will never be seen. I cried for the sappy movie and for my old, sappy self.
The kids started coming home from school. First the teenager, I talked to her then. We hadn’t told the children about the baby because of the risk and because they like to spread the word. I went to pick up Star and Dash. We went home. Business as usual. John and Rosie came home from fishing empty-handed. The kids had a school play that evening and we were expected at a farewell dinner afterward. I kept myself together. Mostly. The kids did a great job in their play! Dinner was a nice distraction and a chance to say goodbye to people we may never see again outside of a Facebook.
We called a family meeting when we got home. We briefly discussed what was happening and answered questions. We sent them to bed. Emotional wall teenager, super tender and worried Star, confused and concerned boy, and just-want-to-know-if-it’s-a-girl-or-boy Rose.
John was expected to have duty the next day, yesterday. Someone filled in for him at the expense of not being home with his own young family. John drove me to the hospital at 6:30 a.m. and went back home to get kids ready and off to school. They called me back to pre op at 8. Urinalysis and IV, warm socks and lots of blankets because I’m always cold. Funny anesthesiologist, Randy. Nurse comes bouncing back in to give me news that I’m pregnant. I looked at her for a moment before explaining why I was there. I didn’t see her for a while. I felt bad for her. Another quick check by Lorraine, the IV nurse, and then the doctor and then Randy with his cocktails. Wheel me to the OR. More stuff by Randy because I need a truck to knock me out. The BEST dream of a peaceful, comfortable, calm, and clean hallway. Upset to leave the dream and face the reality of no hallway and no baby and the whole situation...again. John and Rose came soon after, but we stayed a while because of dizziness and being weak. We left around noon and stopped for food on the way home. I sat on the couch watching sappy movies and zoning out. John took care of everything, he has sure grown in our years together. I love him more all the time. Just getting better with age.
So loss...this is really long and a LOT more about facts or perceived facts than feelings of loss. This loss was hard. Harder on my aging body, for sure. Hard on my mind, although not as hard as those early ones. I feel more blessed and grateful to have the 4 amazing, insane children I was able to keep. I know Heavenly Father is mindful of me and my family. I know Jesus has felt my pain and cries with me. I know I was created to be able to deal with this and have hope and be able to help lift others through their own losses and heartbreaks.
I’m going to leave this right here for now. It’s long enough. I’ll go through and edit later because typing on this thing is harder than I thought. Until next time, friends. ❤️, Kate
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