Welcome Home

Well, hello there.  It feels strange to be here.  I haven’t forgotten about this place, not at all in fact, but I feel somewhat a stranger coming back here.  Although these are my words.

My life.

My story.

I feel almost unwelcome here.  That these words are from a place I don’t want to visit…a part of my life, if you will, I want documented but don’t wish to truly remember.

But we never forget, do we?

And it’s important to remember.

No matter our desires, our heads and hearts hold onto those memories…clinging to the feelings, like the talons of a bird cling to its prey, because letting go of them means something dies all over again.

If we don’t cling to the memories, we can no longer re-live the experience searching for clues as to why?  As if we’d missed the answer, hidden in the shadows, from the thousands of preceding mental viewings.

Everywhere I’ve looked today has been today’s date…3/24.  Megyn’s birthday.  Tomorrow is Whitney’s birthday and yesterday was the 2 year anniversary of the day we were told our twins had died inside my body.

This year, it’s a difficult 3 days.  I can’t say I’m incredibly sad this year, I’m not joyful, I’m just, melancholy?  Is that the best word?  I found myself worried late last night about their birthday party.  I believe in Heaven and I found myself praying to a God, that I’m still angry with, that someone give them a party.  That they had balloons, cake, candles, that someone sang to them, told them Happy Birthday, that they had a day filled with laughter and celebration.  That someone hugged my girls and told them they were loved.  Wanted.  Some of you may think that sounds absolutely insane, but grief plays itself out so very differently in people.  This was my way of dealing with the grief of losing my two girls this year.  I don’t wish to go on like this…each year has brought dread and sorrow, and truly, I don’t expect that to be the case as time goes on.  As with most other things, time is the great healer.

When I think back to 2 years ago, I don’t really remember it.  I seem to recall a life free from such tragic grief, free from the reality and fears that come with our experience, but I don’t have a clear picture of that life.  I almost don’t recognize myself these days…2 years out.  I CERTAINLY don’t recognize who I am today compared to the person I thought I would be.  I’ve lost weight, I dress differently, I’m a different wife and mother than I’d ever imagined myself to be, my emotions process differently and I carry the weight of the reality that I lost 2 daughters.  None of these things are particularly bad…who wouldn’t want to lose weight?  I feel like I’ve found my own fashion style and it suits me.  I feel better about myself now than I’ve ever felt before.  The way I process emotions may be different, but I have to believe they are more real than ever before.  The weight of reality I carry with me requires me to view life differently.  Life is so much more precious now than ever before, which can be both awesome and so scary at the same time.  My relationship with my husband is both easy and amazing and difficult and mind-boggling.  There are parts that are better than ever and parts that make me feel like we are at square 1.  My personal journey is confusing also.  While I believe I’m meant to serve my family…my children and my husband, I feel there is more I should be doing.  I volunteer, but there’s more.  I don’t know what it is…I’m not even sure when I’d fit more into my schedule, but there’s a piece of me missing.

I was right, a long time ago, when I started writing here.  My story was just beginning.  It’s a journey, that is still very much in the beginning phases.  I’m no closer to knowing how the story ends today than I was 2 years ago and at the same time, I feel like I’ve solved a good chuck of the puzzle just by walking the walk.  Just by getting out of bed each day…especially in the early days.  Just by being willing to say losing the twins was only the beginning, and not the end.

I’d like to come back here more.  I’d like to share more, to catch up and tell you what has happened over the past year, and share with you what my heart desires in the months and years to come.  My avoidance here has been mostly due to time constraints…this year has been busy.  It’s hard enough to find the time to write, even harder to have the peace of mind needed to process my thoughts and emotions and put something here that’s worth reading now and worth remembering years from now.

There’s a part of my that yearns for time here, though.  I’m pulled here, a place to write, to be emotional, to document this life of mine.  A place to chronicle this journey I’m on and a place for people to come that may find some small bit of help here.  Even if only to learn they are not alone in this crazy thing called life.

So I think you’ll see more of me, very soon.

Due Date-versary

Today is August 20th.  The due date for the twins was one year ago today.  Had they survived, they’d be just over a year old since the chance of them going full term was near 0.  But they didn’t, and I’m left with another date during the year that leaves me wondering exactly how I’m supposed to feel.  I suspect as the years go on, this date will hold less and less meaning for me.  Although, I can’t be sure.  Today hasn’t been terribly difficult.  I felt more emotional than usual this morning and slightly weepy, but as the day went on, and my responsibilities unfolded in front of me, I didn’t really find too much time to sit in sorrow or contemplate my feelings.

I wish I could sit here today and tell you about how I’m all better.  How I’ve healed up and am continuing on with life barely thinking about the tragic events that took place last year.  But that’s not the case.  In fact, I told the Hubs just this morning that I feel like I’ve stalled out…like I’m stuck somewhere on this road of healing and I’m not moving.  I’m not in a terrible place, or even a bad place, but I can’t say I’m feeling significantly better than I did yesterday, last week or even a few months ago.  It’s frustrating even though I knew better than to expect a quick turn-around.  You don’t just bounce back from something like this.

It’s been a while, in fact, a very long while, since anyone has asked how I’m doing.  I’m not sure how I would respond.  I mean, I’m fine, but I still have moments of sadness, moments of anger.  I still wonder what it would have been like.  More than anything else though, when I find myself thinking about the whole ordeal, it seems like an out-of-body experience.  I know it happened to me, but when I replay the events in my mind it’s like I’m watching it happen to someone else.  In a way, I guess I am.

I wanted so badly to take pictures of A and C today.  To capture what my life looked like on this day…but it just didn’t work out.  That’s ok…maybe tomorrow.  I did take time to really look at both my girls today.  To be thankful for them.  A spent a long weekend with her grandparents and I was thrilled to have her back home.  To hug her, to see her pretty face and even to put up with her 3-year-old antics.  And sweet baby C…sometimes looking at her is so bittersweet.  I love her completely, but there’s no hiding the fact she came after the twins.  She’ll always hold a special place in my heart as the baby that wouldn’t have been here if events hadn’t unfolded the way they did.  She’s only 5 months old and I just CANNOT imagine our life without her.

I’ve been taking tons of pictures.  I can still remember the day I decided it was time to quit playing around and learn how to use my camera.  I’ve come so far since then and I still have much to learn.  I will say this for my healing though…I’ve noticed a difference in myself in photographs.  I look happy.  For the first time in a very long time, I look happy in pictures.  It’s progress, tangible evidence that I’m moving forward on this journey, and that makes my heart smile.

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My “Weight”

I’ve been a little tense lately.  I haven’t felt much like myself.  I’ve been feeling, heavy, in a way.  Like I’m carrying around a lot of stress, a lot of emotional weight.  At first I figured part of the problem was a lack of sleep and the general frustrations that come with having 2 young children.  I started thinking, “Things will get better when A goes back to school in September.”  But the truth is, I’m dealing with a lot more than having my kid home during the summer.

I feel there is a lot being asked of me right now.  In addition to a pregnancy/new baby…the whole thing was highly charged, emotionally, since it was right on the heels of losing the twins.  I still haven’t had a chance to come down from the emotional high I was on for the duration of my pregnancy.  Less than 2 weeks after C was born, there was a shitstorm with Hubs’ job and so began the process of him quitting and starting his own company.  It wasn’t as simple as turning in a resignation.  There were many things to manage, many things to consider…one of the biggest issues being my medical needs relating to my skin cancer diagnosis.  I find myself stuck at home a lot yet I still feel my house is a disaster.  I can’t seem to get anything cleaned during the day.  I don’t manage to get out of the house much…it’s not easy.  Plus, I’ve cut my spending dramatically in order to preserve our savings as long as possible.  I rarely get “me” time.  The Hubs and I haven’t had a date in I don’t know how long…hell, most nights we don’t even really talk.  Strangely enough, even though he’s not traveling and is working from home, we seem to have much less time together than before.  He works all the time and after the girls are asleep (a whole ‘nother problem) I just want some alone/quiet time to surf the web, catch up on my blogs/message boards and spend some time without someone needing or wanting something from me.  Or touching me.  Bedtime in this house is a disaster.  If A doesn’t nap…she’s a bear.  If she does nap, she won’t go to sleep at night.  C goes down pretty easily, but is awake within 30 minutes needing to be rocked back to sleep.  She’s still up at least twice a night to eat and about 50% of the time, she won’t settle down and go back to sleep.  For example…she was up at 4:45 this morning.  Bedtime just adds to my frustration that has mounded up during the day and by about 8pm, I’m ready to run out of the house screaming.  It’s like the straw that breaks the camels back every.single.day.

But I signed up for all of this and I own it.

Nothing on my list of complaints is surprising to me and I’ve taken it all on voluntarily.  I can’t even fix the sleep issues because I’m too big of a wuss to let C cry and I flat-out don’t have the time or desire to read one of the several sleep books available.  But my list of “issues” isn’t even what really bothers me.  My problem is the guilt I feel for being frustrated about any of it.  The guilt that comes from knowing I should be thankful everyday, for every moment I get with my husband and my kids but finding myself, at the end of each day, wondering if I’m actually looking forward to getting up the next morning and doing it all over again.  I wanted my kids.  I pined for them.  I prayed for them.  And they are both more precious to me than anything else I’ve ever known and I would do just about anything to see them happy.  I’ve known the heartbreak of loss and I know what it’s like to wonder what my life would look like if I hadn’t lost the twins.  I know what it’s like to long for a moment with them, no matter the circumstances, to be able to touch them, to hold them, to tell them I love them…to know them…if only for a moment.  I know what it’s like to beg for a glimpse into what life could have been like if things had gone differently.

I feel awful…so damn guilty for complaining about any part of my current life.  And I feel like a horrible mother and a horrible person for not being able to be joyful in every moment in every day…especially where C is concerned since I was so fearful of her not getting her at all.  I sometimes find myself fearful that something else tragic is going to happen…wondering if I didn’t learn my lesson wholly the first time around.  I desperately need something to lighten my mood…something to relieve some of the tension I constantly feel.  Someone or something to take some of this weight off my shoulders.  I took A and C to the mall yesterday to play on the indoor playground.  On the way out, I passed a double stroller with 2 matching carseats (black and white damask with hot pink trim) each holding a teeny-tiny, sleeping baby girl.  It was as close to tears that I’ve come in quite some time and my heart still hurts thinking about it.  I’ve managed to avoid seeing a brand-new set of twin girls for over a year and my first encounter just came at the wrong time.

Mother’s Day, It’s Bittersweet

As Sunday approaches, I find myself dealing with some uncomfortable feelings.  It took me a few days to establish exactly what I was feeling.  I’ve been continually surprised at the fall-out from losing the twins.  So many things have affected me in ways that have caught me off guard; or surprised me.  My feelings regarding Mother’s Day are no different.  Last years’ Mother’s Day was rough.  Pretty easy for anyone to understand why.  While A was here and healthy, I was less than 2 months out from having lost and delivered the twins and I wasn’t yet pregnant with Baby C.  I don’t remember it.  I don’t know what we did or if I received a gift of any kind.  I’m sure I spent a good chunk of the day in an alcohol-induced daze.  I do remember spending time with the twins, looking at their pictures and holding their ashes telling them I loved them and missed them.  It was important for me to spend time with ALL my children that day.

As this Mother’s Day get closer I’m surprised to find myself feeling a slight sense of dread.  Feeling that I wish we could simply gloss over the day.  Feeling that I want to wake up and it’s magically Monday morning instead of Sunday.  Feeling that it would just be best if everyone around me simply forgot it was Mother’s Day and we could go through the day like it was a normal Sunday.  I’d even be ok celebrating my own mother but avoiding the fact that I’m a mother.  I feel bad, on one hand, because I never want it to seem like A and Baby C aren’t enough for me, but Mother’s Day is just a vividly staunch reminder that I am a mother to 2 little girls I will never know in this life.  If I can’t celebrate being a mother to ALL my children, I’m not sure I want to celebrate it at all.  I dunno, I still haven’t reconciled my feelings.  I just know I’m not looking forward to Sunday.  Not looking forward to being reminded of what I don’t have and not looking forward to having to force a happy face because my 2 living children are too young to understand why Mommy’s upset.  I feel pulled in 2 different directions on Mother’s Day.  On one hand I want to celebrate being a mom to the 2 happy, healthy children I do have.  On the other hand, I want to weep for the 2 babies I don’t have.  On a day I should be celebrating getting to be a mom (a gift I know many people aren’t so lucky to have), I’m broken-hearted by the sense of loss I still feel.  It’s difficult for those around me, too, I’m sure.  The Hubs tends to follow my lead.  He’d throw me a party if that’s what I wanted.  Instead, I told him I wanted to take pictures with A and Baby C and I wanted to take a nap.  My mother-in-law brought me flowers, which was sweet, but I often feel she and my father-in-law have completely forgotten the twins ever existed.  My mom, on the other hand, will most likely call me with a cautionary tone in her voice to make sure I’m doing ok, but expecting I’m not.  None of it is ok.  It’s not ok that I don’t want to celebrate, or be celebrated.  It’s not ok I’ll spend the day feeling highly emotional and weepy; with the sadness outweighing the joy.  It’s not ok that my in-laws never mention the twins.  And it’s not ok that my mom calls expecting drama.  But it is what it is.  It’s another example of how we’re continually learning to live in a new normal.

The Twins – Part IV

There is no end to this story.  There is no conclusion.  You can’t take all the pieces, put them in a box, close it, put a bow on it and call it finished.  No, their story will follow us the rest of our lives, and continue to unfold.  Possibly into further generations, we have no way of knowing.  As I sit here just days away from giving birth to our 4th daughter, and almost a year after their birth, I feel I need to offer some sort of end to their online story.  There are things that happened I haven’t yet written about.  The days immediately following their death and the intense emotional experience we went through just a mere month after the twins died.  This is the final part of their story.

The twins were born on a Thursday and Friday, respectively, and I was released from the hospital on Friday afternoon.  I don’t remember much about the ride home.  It was sunny and warm, I remember that much.  I also remember wanting desperately to see A, to see her smile, to see LIFE.  I slept a lot those first few days home.  Lots of flowers were delivered to our house, which I still find odd.  The last thing I wanted around my house were the living, beautiful floral arrangements to remind me of my dead babies. I know people were just trying to be kind, but I found it repulsive.  We put a sign up outside asking delivery men not to ring the doorbell.  My mom told me later about a conversation the Hubs had with one.  Hubs was asked if we’d just had a baby as he was accepting a flower delivery.  “No,”  he responded, “We just lost 2.”  How does one respond to that question?  It would only be one of many, many awkward conversations we would have.

We had a lot of time in the hospital to discuss what we would do with the twins’ remains.  We knew we would hold them, talk to them, keep them with us for some time, and we chose to have their bodies cremated and then we would take possession of the cremains.  Because the twins died before 20 weeks gestation, our loss was still medically classified as a late miscarriage.  Had they died past 20 weeks, we would have been forced, legally, to either cremate or bury their bodies.  This was my first experience with death.  I’ve lost grandparents, but I was never that close to them so conversations such as these were never had.  I’ve always avoided the casket at wakes and at funerals, but holding the bodies of my dead twins never felt gross or strange to me.  It didn’t matter if they were alive or dead, they were my babies and they had souls and I was going to miss them no matter what.   It was a no-brainer that we would want them home with us in whatever form we could have them.  There is a local funeral home that doesn’t charge a fee to cremate the bodies of stillborn babies.  They picked up their bodies from the hospital morgue on Friday.  We checked, and checked and double-checked with the hospital and funeral home about our 1 request.  We requested the twins’ bodies be kept together.  Cremated together, ashes placed in the same bag and then that single bag was to be placed inside the urn.  As impossible as it was to lose 2 babies, there was some sense of peace they at least had each other.  Because the twins were never alive, they didn’t receive birth or death certificates.  The only paperwork we have that bears their full names printed on it are the consent forms we had to sign for the funeral home to take possession of their bodies.  Those pieces of paper are very important to me.  I’ve read recently about certificates of stillbirth; it’s something I’m going to look in to.  We were anxious to get the twins home.  I left the hospital with a huge lump in my chest that wouldn’t go away.  It’s like I couldn’t breathe.  We’d been given a bunch of literature at the hospital and most of the books referenced this feeling and called it a broken heart.  The lump wouldn’t go away until we were able to collect their remains.

I don’t remember the exact day we got the call we could pick up the twins.  I think it was the following Thursday, a week after Megyn’s birth.  I know A was in school.  I pass by this funeral home a lot these days…it’s right down the street from the hospital.  I remember where we parked and I remember feeling so very sad, lonely and empty as we walked inside.  We agreed to pay $50 to have their remains placed inside an urn instead of a plastic box.  It’s very small, I remember both the Hubs and I being surprised at how small it is.  It’s ivory and gold colored, shaped like a heart and fits in the palm of my hand.  We confirmed again their remains were together inside the plastic bag inside the urn.  I held them close to my chest as we walked out of the funeral home and got back into the truck.  On the way out of the house, I grabbed a blanket given to us at the hospital.  I’m forever grateful to the organization Threads of Love for providing a handmade, crocheted blanket for our girls.  We had nothing for them, and I’ve felt guilty about it ever since.  It never occurred to me to purchase them something, anything.  A blanket, a stuffed animal…something that we could have taken with us that was intended for them.  The nurses took pictures of the girls on this blanket and it’s the only thing we have they actually touched.  As soon as I got into the truck, I wrapped their tiny urn up in this blanket.  “All babies go home wrapped in a blanket,” I explained to my husband.  I remember sitting in the truck, their remains wrapped in a blanket in my lap and taking a deep breath.  For the first time, I could breathe.  The lump was gone.  It finally felt like the longest day of my life had ended and we could attempt to move forward.  The twins’ cremains are in our bedroom.  In those first several weeks and months I would touch them daily, talk to them.  On Mother’s Day last year I held them near my heart and looked at their pictures.  It was important to me to spend time with them on that day.  I haven’t looked at their pictures since then.  I still touch them a lot and tell them I miss them.  Not a day goes by that I don’t think about them in one way or another.  While it may seem odd to some, having them home with us was the right choice.  We talked about burying them, but neither of us feels rooted here and I would have a really hard time moving away and not being physically close to their gravesite.  We may still bury them at some point, but not yet.  In the meantime, they’ll stay with us.  Their urn is small and in our bedroom.  It doesn’t exactly spark a lot of conversation from people visiting our home and the fact we have their remains here at our home is not information we openly share.  The weeks after that are a blur.  There was a lot of crying.  There was a lot of conversation. There were intense conversations about how odd it felt to be straddling life here on Earth and life in Heaven. I’ve never felt like dying, or taking my life, but it’s a strange feeling to suddenly feel like you’re in more of a hurry to get to Heaven. I believe my girls are there and I will meet them one day.  There was almost an immediate shift in life goals and priorities and there were relationship changes with our friends and family.  Family became really important…still is.  Some friends became more important, some friends fell away, and that’s ok.  I appreciated text messages and emails from friends, but I didn’t want anyone around me except my family.  I felt that way for a very long time and I still prefer family almost a year later, though I’m working on being a little more social.  I have a few close girlfriends that I’m constantly in touch with.  I took a year long leave of absence from the volunteer organization I’m a member of, stopped posting on facebook and didn’t return phone calls for months.  I needed some time to re-evaluate my life.  What was important to me and frankly, figure out exactly what I was going to do with this new life I was facing.  Things changed, I changed, my husband changed.  We were visited by a family friend who has had her own life’s battles after we returned from Sea World last April.  Since we’ve been dating, both Hubs and I have looked up to this couple as people we’d like to model our life after.  They don’t have children, they couldn’t because of a cancer diagnosis she got at a young age.  She talked to me about that stage of her life…how it changed her.  How it made her into the person she is today, the one I so respect and admire.  How it did things for her marriage no other experience could do.  She wakes up everyday and if she faces adversity, well, at least she doesn’t have cancer she says.  She wouldn’t trade her experience and I appreciated her visit very much.  It gave validation to what I was feeling, validating the feelings of change I had been experiencing. It also gave validation to the fact the Hubs and I had been discussing the changes in our marriage, how it seemed through tragedy, we actually grew closer, deepening our relationship, and it gave me confidence that losing some friendships was ok…that there would be people that would fall out of our lives because they couldn’t deal with the changes that were happening to us.  We still see those changes and almost a year later, I find it almost overwhelming to reflect upon all the changes in our life. This tragedy of losing the twins will foster positive growth, and something big and great will come out of it. I know it beyond the shadow of a doubt.

As husband and wife, we were doing the things that husbands and wives do about a month after losing the twins. It was that night I discovered a tiny lump, almost like a grain of rice on the Hubs, in a place you don’t ever really want to find a lump. I brought it to his attention, asking him if he’d felt it before. He said no. He was actually scheduled to head out of town that Monday and I was freaked out. I left it up to him, but thankfully, he squeezed in a doctor’s appointment that morning to see our family practitioner.  He was given an exam, and then a prescription for an ultrasound at the hospital as soon as he returned from his business trip. Not the diagnosis I was hoping for. I’m sure he was also hoping to hear it was no big deal, a cyst or maybe some connective tissue. I’ve never felt so panicked and fearful in my whole life. I called my mom in a state of absolute panic who in turn sent my dad to sit with me until she could get here. I was terrified of the Hubs leaving, of me being by myself. It was the first time he’d left town since losing the twins, and he was leaving with the knowledge that we might be facing a diagnosis of testicular cancer upon his return. It was heart-wrenching to think about. Not for one second did I think there was no way he’d be taken away from me. Not for one second did I believe God wouldn’t do that to me, to us. If he’d allowed the twins to die, what’s to stop me from thinking he’d take my husband too? I remember sitting in my den, on my knees, sobbing and begging a God I didn’t really trust anymore not to take my husband away from me, not to take my best friend. It’s a moment that has been seared into my mind. I was helpless, hopeless and broken. I had absolutely no where to turn and I was left to put my trust in a God that, in my mind, had hugely failed me only a month before. I can’t explain the kind of fear and panic I felt. I’ve never experienced it before, and haven’t experienced it since. Between the doctor’s visit and the ultrasound appointment I did as much research I could online. One of the hardest things to read about were the fertility discussions. We had been talking about when to have another baby after losing the twins and when dealing with testicular cancer, based on the diagnosis, future fertility becomes a question. Things like sperm banking and such are real discussions your doctor will have with you. We were both a nervous wreck on the day of the ultrasound. We actually had to check-in at the hospital and hurry up and wait…as is the case with most hospitals. The Hubs chose to have me go with him, for such an awkward appointment, I again, left that decision up to him. I promised him the tech would either be some gnarly dude or a 60+ year old Gerta. I was wrong. The tech that came to get us with 30ish, cute, spunky and had long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. Looking back now, I feel bad for the guy. At the time, I didn’t care. I’d spent the last month with a doctor’s hand halfway up my vagina…who was I to judge? Even though she isn’t supposed to give results, she identified the mass pretty quickly. After she was done she let us know she was fairly certain the mass was simply a fluid filled cyst. There was good circulation and she didn’t think it was anything to be concerned about. We had to wait until the next day to hear back from the radiologist, but he confirmed the mass was a cyst and only needed further attention if it grew in size. We were relieved, to say the least, but I certainly haven’t forgotten about the whole experience. It left its mark on me; reminded me how precious ALL life is, how important my relationship and friendship is with my husband. How very grateful I am to have him in my life.

Part of me wishes there was a way to wrap all this up and call it finished. But I know that’s not realistic and I think, as I approach the end of my life, I’ll look back and be thankful I was never given a conclusion. It’s an ongoing story/experience for a reason. I’m still struggling with the fear. The fear of something happening to A. To Hubs. To Baby C while she’s still inside me and of course, once she’s born. I don’t believe you have one gut-punch in life and you’ve then somehow paid your dues. I believe there are people who go through life unscathed, and people who go through life experiencing tragedy upon tragedy. Then there are those who fall in the middle of the spectrum somewhere. So, I struggle with the fear. I’ve known loss and I’m terribly afraid of it happening again. I’m also struggling with my relationship with God. I’m finding it difficult to trust Him, find it difficult to pray – to ask for things. However, I do believe what happened to me was intentional…was crafted by God and I believe it was intended to be a blessing in my life – I just haven’t been able to see it yet. I do not believe what happened was a random occurrence, an unintentional chain of events. These are the things I’m currently working on and I’m sure as time goes on I will find other things I’m struggling with and working on. Again, I think it’s a life-long experience. On a Saturday, a few months after the twins had died, I was sitting in a nail salon waiting to get a pedicure. I was at a place I don’t normally go, and I was facing an hour long wait. I decided to stay, A was sleeping, I had no where else to be and found myself sitting next to an elderly lady who had walked in to make a later appointment and was simply waiting for her husband to pick her up. I don’t even know how we got on the subject, but I learned she lost her youngest child, at about 7 months, to SIDS. For the first time, I was able to gather the courage and have the emotional stability to tell her that I lost identical twin girls at 19 weeks. I know it’s not the same as losing a 7 month old, but it’s still losing children. It seemed like such an out-of-body experience as she placed her hand on mine and told me how very sorry she was. She was gone shortly after that. I have no idea who she was. I believe that as I go through life, I will have opportunities, both big and small, to share my story. I’m very open about what happened, about the processes I’ve been through both physically and emotionally and I’m not afraid to tell people what I regret. I’m glad to have started blogging, to have a spot to share my story in hopes that it brings comfort or understanding to someone who is going through something similar. So, that’s where I’m at. I have my ups, I have my downs. I’m not sure I’ve handled this whole experience as well as one can, but I’m doing my best. I’m longing to share my story with others, to let them know the despair they feel will eventually subside, but to also let them know it never truly goes away. To let them know it’s ok to feel how you feel, no matter what. It’s ok to embrace your fear, your anger, your guilt and work through it. Don’t bottle it up or repress it. It’s ok to lose friends and relationships and to tell them you WILL change and that it’s ok. I want to encourage parents to not turn towards bitterness about their experience…to embrace the anger, pain and hurt for a time, but then to try to move forward. To start seeking out a purpose, a reason for the loss. To say I had it all figured out, I’d be a liar. I don’t. But I’m trying and hoping that some answers are coming our way soon.

I’ve seen changes in myself that I never expected. I’m much more conservative (not in a political sense) than I’ve ever been. I’m taking a deeper look into how I spend my time. Taking a closer look at what exactly I’m doing with my time, with my life. Focusing on fostering the relationships that are important to me and letting go of the ones that aren’t benefitting me. I think the Hubs and I are putting in a small garden this year, we’d like to start paying much closer attention to what goes into our bodies – trying to make the move to more organic foods, and trying to eliminate processed food. We’re also tossing around schooling options for A and one thing that has come up is a part-time homeschooling option. These are all things that were incredibly foreign to whoever I was before losing the twins. I hope this, in some way, wraps up our story for you. It’s taken me almost a year to write 4 installments and I feel their story deserved that much time. We will continue to recognize them on special Holidays and will recognize their birthdays on 3/24 and 3/25. We will forever consider Megyn and Whitney a part of our family, and will pay tribute the small but HUGE impact they’ve made in our lives. Although their time with us was short, the changes, decisions and goals we’ve made are substantial and never would have happened without them in our lives. We love you Megs and Whits and we WILL see you again; and until we can tell you in person, thank you for being in our lives, thank you for the changes you have brought about and thank you for making the ultimate sacrifice so that we can go on to fulfill our life purpose and destiny.

Here’s a conversation I never thought I’d have…

First, a pregnancy update.  I had my 36 week check-up yesterday (even though I won’t technically be 36 weeks until tomorrow) and I’m very thankful that my doc was able to confirm Baby C is finally head down.  It looks as though I’m able to table my concerns about a scheduled c-section due to a breech baby.  Weekly internal exams started yesterday and I’ve made basically no progress and Baby C is still riding high…which I kind of knew based on the butt and occasional foot in my ribcage.  I go back again next Friday, which is the same appointment with A I learned I was already 3 cm dilated.  We’ll see what happens over the next 10 days.  While I’d like for Baby C to bake as long as she needs to, I’ll be thrilled with some amount of progress at my next appointment.

The Hubs’ travel schedule has been INSANE.  Even he says so.  He was home Monday and Tuesday though and he came home from work Monday night with flowers for me and A.  He got A a potted Hyacinth plant that smells wonderful.  It’s in her room now, but we’ll put it in the ground eventually and I’ll do my best to keep it alive.  For me, he layed a dozen dark pink/light pink roses in my lap.  I was lounging in bed when he got home…no big surprise there.  After a few minutes he said, “My only request is that you take 2 of the roses and…” then he gestured to the top of our chest of drawers where the urn containing the twins’ ashes sits amongst our wedding photos.  I was speechless for a few minutes.  And I was surprised…which is almost impossible to do.  The fact that he even had to think about getting flowers for the twins is heartbreaking, yet, at the same time, why wouldn’t he think to get ALL his girls flowers on Valentine’s Day?  The whole conversation caught me off guard and made me equally sad and proud at the same time.  On one hand, there’s the realization there is no ending to the twins’ story.  There will always be Christmas, Valentine’s Day, their birthday…days that are special and meaningful to us where we want to honor their memory and the part they’ve played (and will continue to play) in our lives.  And I was immensely proud to be married to a man who is so very thoughtful and unafraid to show his love and devotion to ALL his children, even those that didn’t join our family in the way we had intended.  It made my heart swell; one of those “I think I just fell in love with you all over again” moments.  And if that wasn’t enough emotion for one evening, A pipes up and says, “I sure wish Baby C had a flower.”  Oh, the logic and the love of a 3-year-old.  And so, of my 12 roses, 2 are in a vase in our bedroom for Megyn and Whitney, 1 is in a vase for Baby C in her room and the remaining 9 are in a vase on the kitchen table.  And I’m okay with that.

twins' flowers

Megyn and Whitney's roses

c's flower

Baby C's rose, waiting for her in her room.

a's flowers

A's flowers

Oy.

This day.  Oh, this day.  Ugh.  It has just been a rotten day.  First of all, it’s been cloudy/rainy here for the better part of a week.  I’ve seen the sun once in the past several days.  It’s starting to take its toll on me.  My morning started out with A calling for me on the monitor.  When I wake up in the mornings, I try to judge the time based on the light outside.  I turn the light on my clock off (it tends to give me a headache if I sleep with the light on…high-maintenence, I know) so unless I groggily reach for my phone, the light coming in from the windows is my best gauge.  This morning, it was still fairly dark so I though A just needed to be tucked in and told it wasn’t time to get up yet.  So I pulled my butt out of bed and stumbled into her room only to discover it was past 7.  Clouds.  Rain.  You see where this is going.  “I’m hungry” a whiny voice says to me.  “Ok, fine” I sigh.  “Get up and we’ll go get some breakfast.”  My day started out 90 to nothing.  She was hungry, but wouldn’t eat.  Sigh.  Life with a toddler.  She wanted to play, we had somewhere to be.  She kept asking me to play with her and not only did I not want to, but I had to get ready.  Dance classes are on Wednesday mornings and we leave at 9:30.  This week was “Watch Me Week” which means they set up chairs and invite all the parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, distant cousins, family black sheep and all the random strangers they can find to sit on the perimeter of the room and watch class.  Sigh.  This has never gone well.  I warned my husband and mother-in-law that while they were more than welcome to attend, she would most likely spend the entire class in my lap.  Both of them disagreed with me, I still don’t know why.  It’s not like I haven’t done this before.  To complicate things further, I had to take Hubs to pick up his rental car this morning which threw my whole schedule off.  By the time we left the house for dance class I was frazzled, and my back hurt.  I HATE to be that way in front of my husband.  I don’t like for him to think I can’t handle it when he’s out of town.

Dance class went exactly as I expected it would, she curled up in my lap and whined the whole time.  I was close to tears by the end, ok middle…seriously close to losing it right then and there.  I was so frustrated with my mother-in-law trying to convince her to participate (like I hadn’t already said these things to her and I won’t answer the same question over and over again.  It just gives her the attention she wants so I just wanted my mother-in-law to STOP TALKING TO HER), I was frustrated that once again, I’ve got the only kid in class that won’t participate, I was frustrated that my husband was being overly nice to A when I wanted to pound her, I was frustrated that she wouldn’t sit still and wouldn’t be quiet and kept disrupting the class (“I’m hungry!” “I want to go home!”  “I want my blankie and bottle!”  over and over and over again) and I was beyond embarrassed because once again, I’m convinced everyone is looking at me thinking, “Geez, she can’t control the one she’s got, how does she think she’s going to manage an infant too?”  Sidebar: I’ve learned not to judge other parents too harshly, you just never know what’s ACTUALLY going on in their life.  A kept asking to go home, and I said no.  At one point I took her out of the class to have a talk with her about sitting still and not talking during class.  Told her that all her friends were performing for their family and if she didn’t want to participate, she had to sit still and be quiet.  It didn’t do much good, but I don’t believe in discipline without explanation…even with a 2 year old.  Anyways, I felt it was important for her to sit through the class, that by leaving she would have got what she wanted, so we stayed.  I’ve decided I’m not going next time…it’s just not worth it.  We’ll skip that week.  And the 100+ bucks we’re going to have to spend for her Spring recital?  I might as well wipe my ass with it and flush it down the toilet.  So Hubs was headed out of town right after her class, but we thought we’d stop at Starbucks for a quick cup of coffee before he left.  That went terrible too.  She whined and squirmed the whole time.  She kept complaining she was hungry so I offered her some of my croissant, but she kept demanding green apples.  I still don’t know where that came from, we don’t eat green apples around here.  Red ones, yes, tons of them, but no green.  Whatever, I grabbed my latte that I never even had time to taste and headed home.

I get home, cut her up an apple and make her a cheese quesadilla (she’s starving, remember?) that she proceeds to eat a tiny bit of and declares she’s done.  Fine, kid, whatever.  You’ve got 30 minutes with the tv then we’re both taking a nap.  Only, 30 good minutes was too much to ask for.  Because my doctor’s office called to tell me I failed my 1 hour glucose test yesterday and I needed to come in for the 3 hour test ASAP.  Oh, and I’m also low on iron, so I’ll need to start taking a supplement.  Now, neither of these things surprised me (based on my pregnancy with A), but it was just too much before noon.  I called my husband bawling.  I just felt like a parenting failure all the way around.  From my morning with A right down to not being able to stay healthy while I’m pregnant.  Also, I’m peeved at the nurse that called…I know most of the nurses at my doctor’s office but I don’t know this one that called.  She was so insistent I come in right away I finally had to be kind of rude and tell her flat out that I have a young child, a husband that travels and frankly, carving 4-5 hours out of my day to come to your office to do a 3-hour glucose test is not something I can do without some planning.  So calm the eff down, lady, I’ll take a look at my schedule and get back to you.  Geez.  Also, did you look at my file?  AT ALL?  I’ve done this before you know…

So my nap was pretty good.  But my afternoon hasn’t been much better.  My child is just in a mood today and while I think consistency is the best way to shape behavior, I frankly just don’t always have it in me.  You didn’t say please?  Fine, whatever, I’ll just get you what you want.  No, we’re not reading a book right now but since you’ve asked me for the zillionth time, fine, I’ll give in.  I know it’s bad.  But I’m just so beat-down today.  To top it all off, I get a text while I’m giving A a bath tonight from an old friend.  She had a really random question, which was no big deal, but proceeded to ask me how I was and if I’d had to twins yet.  I thought most people in my life (past and present) had gotten this memo.  I was left to explain, via text, that we lost them in March, stillborn at 19 weeks, blah, blah, blah.  She felt terrible, of course, but that got me thinking more in-depth about the girls than I really wanted to today and now I can’t shake it.  This day has just been too much.

A is still awake in her bed.  She’s been calling for me, I keep ignoring her.  Also, the dogs are going a bit stir-crazy thanks to the rain which means I’m about to blow-off my to-do list and lock myself in my bedroom.  For the record, non-pregnant B would have a glorious dirty gin martini right now.  Then probably another one with an Advil chaser.  So if there’s anyone out there that would like to have one on my behalf, please, enjoy 1 (or 2) for me.

The Twins – Part III

Baby B
Whitney Quinn
3/25/2011 1:19 AM
2.96 ounces (84 grams) 16.5 cm long

Here’s the thing about twin deliveries.  You pretty much know what to expect with Baby A, but Baby B typically has a mind of its own.  There’s a reason twins are always delivered in the OR, even vaginal deliveries. Even if both babies are head down, there’s a strong likelihood of Baby B flipping around after Baby A is born requiring an immediate C-Section.  We never made it to that point, obviously, but I just wanted you to have that information.

After I delivered Megyn, I was stuck somewhere between euphoria and immense sadness.  I felt like I had all the time in the world to marvel at this little being, yet I had never been given the opportunity to know her.  I was slightly on edge at how quickly she was delivered and so every little “feeling” I had going on down below had me ringing the bell for the nurse.  No one expected to wait as long as we did for Whitney to be born, but there really is no textbook process to follow either.  You see, during live births, the baby’s own movements help guide her down the birth canal.  Since my babies were already dead, they had no way of helping themselves.  We had a lot more lucid time with Megyn than we did with Whitney.  I was able to talk to her more, to look at her more, to inspect her tiny body more.  I kept having feelings of my water breaking.  You see, we’d been told that the girls were in separate amniotic sacs, so it would make sense to feel my water break twice.  However, once we called the nurse she informed me what I was feeling was blood.  Lots and lots of blood.  They had those puppy-pad things underneath me and she changed it.  Then we called her in the second time I thought my water broke.  Again, blood.  Lots and lots of blood.  The third time I thought my water broke, she took the third puppy-pad, weighed it (to determine exactly how much blood I had lost) and called my doctor.  This is where things got interesting.  My doc comes in, looking exhausted and for some unknown reason, I apologized for waking her up.  Looking back, I could tell my medical staff was concerned, but at the time, they did a great job staying calm and performing their duties.  Whitney had to come out, and she had to come out now.  She obviously wasn’t coming on her own no matter how many contractions they could make me have.  I’m not even sure how to phrase this next part, the best way I can think to describe what happened is that I was calved.  You see, Whitney was tangled in her umbilical cord.  There was no way she was coming out.  I remember laying flat on my back, watching my reflection in the light box above the bed.  I remember thinking, “Gosh, I really do like my glasses.  It’s nice how the blue frames match the blue hospital gown.  I look kind of pretty laying here.”  I could see, in the reflection, the doctor with her arm halfway inside my uterus fishing around for my little girl.  Her hand kept bumping against my belly…reminiscient of what baby kicks would have looked and felt like had I made it that far.  I can’t recall how long it took her, but I do remember my blood up to her elbow when Whitney was finally born.  I remember a faint sigh from the nurse, Sam, standing by my head.  I didn’t know why at the time, her response was so different from when Megyn was born.  After her umbilical cord was cut I was asked if I wanted to hold her, or if I wanted them to clean her up.  This is my point of most regret.  I was under the impression everything would be as it had been with Megyn, so I told the nurse to go ahead and clean her up.  Hubs went with her.  I wish I would have taken my little girl in my arms right away.  The doctor was still feeling around inside my uterus, I suppose she was trying to figure out where the bleeding was coming from.  It didn’t take her long to tell me my placenta had only partially come away from the uterine wall.   That she felt the safest thing at this point, was for her to perform a D&C to remove the remaining placenta.  I cannot tell you how quickly and urgently they prepped me for surgery.  They were worried I was going to bleed to death.  I got to hold Whitney for a few moments before surgery, but it wasn’t long before the anesthesiologist was there injecting me with sleeping medicine so I was fuzzy.  Whitney was a beautiful sight.  She had long legs, just like her sister, and she had one eye open.  They are normally still fused together at this point, but she had one eye open.  You see, it was very obvious that Whitney was the one that was starved of nutrients and blood when my placenta failed to equally distribute their needs to them.  She was basically white.  She almost appeared to have skin, like you or I , but at that stage, babies don’t have skin.  Her little limbs were laying in funny directions, almost like a rag doll.  She looked as though she had starved and my heart broke for any pain or hurt she had to endure.  Yet, somehow, she still had perfect feet, perfect hands, 10 fingers and 10 toes.  The girls were identical, so we know based on the stronger features of Megyn what she would have looked like.  The one eye that was open had a blue hue.  I know you can’t tell eye color at that stage, but I believe my girls would have had blue eyes.  I told her that I loved her, that I was so sorry and that her sister was waiting for her.  I told her how glad I was they were finally together again and that they would have each other.  I cried, I smiled and I touched her little hands and feet.  I couldn’t stop looking at her, this tiny little miracle of a person…I don’t think, if I could gaze at them forever, it would be long enough.

My room had flooded with hospital staff.  Maybe it was because it was 1am.  Or perhaps they recognized the gravity of the situation.  I handed off Whitney’s tiny body, still warmly and securely wrapped in a blanket and was quickly wheeled to the OR.  I don’t remember much of what happened next.  Just that everyone was very kind, and I was very sleepy.  I was thankful for the strong drugs, thankful for the respite from the nightmare I was living.  Looking back, I could not be more thankful for the procedure my doctor performed at 1am to bring Whitney into the world.  It wasn’t pretty, it’s not a fun tale to re-live, in fact, it’s downright gruesome to some.  But, had she not hand-delivered Whitney, Whitney would have been extracted, most likely in many pieces, during the D&C.  My doctor recognized the emotional importance of delivering Whitney, whole, from my body while I was awake.  Again, my medical care was beyond outstanding.  She easily could have come into my room, taken account of my blood loss and insisted I needed a D&C immediately despite what would happen to Whitney’s body.  But she didn’t.  And for that I am eternally grateful.  In the days that followed, I learned what happened while I was in surgery.  The surgery itself didn’t take long, but it was an eternity for Hubs.  As soon as I was wheeled out, the nurses came for the girls.  They asked to take them to another room to clean them up, gather foot prints, hand prints and take pictures.  They would be returned to my room as soon as they were done.  Hubs agreed and suddenly, he was alone.  He’d just lost 2 daughters, witnessed their very traumatic stillbirth, given permission for their tiny, frail bodies to be taken to another room and watched in fear as his wife was taken away for emergency surgery.  He told me afterwards that he couldn’t stop staring at the floor, at a lone drop of my blood that had rolled off the table at some point.  In the midst of all of this, there was a Code Blue announcement that came over the speakers.  He panicked.  He said the Code Blue was for Oncology, but at the time he either truly didn’t know what Oncology was, or couldn’t remember.  He said he was frantically searching his phone to find the definition for Oncology.  He thought the Code Blue was for me.  My broken heart broke even further listening to my husband tell this tale; his voice cracking and breaking.  How alone he felt.  How scared and frightened he must have been.  How sad I was for him.  For me.  For all of us.  And just how much more were we expected to take?

I woke up back in my room, and immediately asked for my girls.  They had been returned to our room, swaddled together in a little blanket, and were laying in a bassinet just like any other baby.  Hubs handed them to me and we proceeded to talk to them some more.  Over and over again we talked to them.  Told them we loved them.  Told them we missed them.  Told them we were so glad they had each other, but that we missed them terribly.  The tears would come, the tears would go and we would take turns holding them.  I would un-wrap them to get one more look at their amazing little bodies only to swaddle them back up for fear of them being cold or uncomfortable.  The nurses had taken great care to make sure the girls were touching each other; their arms were intertwined, their hands resting on the others chest.  I had just come out of surgery so I would fall asleep quickly and wake up wanting to hold them again.  I had Hubs roll their bassinet beside my bed so they would be close while I was sleeping.  Even though we never really talked about it, both of us knew we didn’t want to avoid the unavoidable.  There was a point coming where we would have to say goodbye and both of us knew it was quickly approaching.  They looked so peaceful wrapped up together in their blanket and I loved how they felt in the crook of my arm.  I loved watching Hubs hold them in the palms of his hands…listening to the heart-wrenching words of a daddy telling his little girls how sorry he was that he couldn’t protect them…that he couldn’t take care of them.  The nurses had been fantastic about telling us what would happen to them.  We’d already made the decision to have an autopsy performed on them and to have their bodies cremated.  We knew the girls would spend the night together in the hospital morgue and would be picked up by the funeral home the next day.  I was given hospital bracelets for them and had the option of seeing them again whenever I wanted before I was discharged.  Once we said goodbye though, that was it.  They would be gone.  There would be no seeing them again.  The only thing we had left at that point, the only thing we could do for them was to ensure they would be together.  Really together.  The staff was happy to comply.  When we called the nurse to come get the girls, I told them again that I loved them, that I would miss them forever and that I was again, so grateful they had each other.  I gently kissed each of them where I could and watched as the nurse gently placed them back in their bassinet and covered them with a towel to keep them hidden from wandering eyes in the hallway.  She returned shortly with a beautiful, heart-shaped box.  She wanted me to see how they would go to the morgue.  She also told me they were together, tucked inside the box and she, herself, would be taking them to the morgue right then.  It was all I could do to nod my agreement.  I was moved to the post-partum unit, all my wires and tubes removed.  I crawled into bed, Hubs in the chair beside me and passed out.  I woke up a few hours later, it was still dark.  I couldn’t hold back the tears and wanted my husband.  He was sleeping so hard my voice alone wasn’t enough to wake him.  I struggled to sit up in the bed and then struggled out of bed towards him.  Once I woke him he just sat there and held me as I cried.  There would be a lot of that in the coming days, weeks and months.  I woke up later that morning to my doctor, my actual doctor seated by my bed.  I was so far beyond able to control the tears at this point and even though I didn’t want to cry in front of her, I couldn’t help it.  She told me I would be ok.  That I was strong.  And she also told me that as much as she would like for everyone to arrive at her office or hospital and go home with healthy babies that’s not how it works.  That at the end of the day she’s there for the shit.  Her exact words.  She got me discharged with instructions to see her in a few weeks.  She also had strict instructions for Hubs that included calling her if I couldn’t sleep or couldn’t eat.  He was to keep a close eye on me.  My transport out of the hospital arrived shortly and my first encounter with the real world was close at hand.  You see, Hubs had gone to get the car so this young man and I were alone.  He was a very nice, polite young man.  I guess whatever unit I was in is also the unit where moms with complications go for monitoring.  He asked me as the doors opened and the morning light flooded my dry, stinging eyes when I was due.  It was the first of many painful conversations I would have.  I had to tell him that I had just lost twins.  He was horrified, embarrassed and ashamed.  I didn’t fault him though, how was he to have known?  These kind of things don’t happen.  I don’t remember my drive home.  I remember being ready to hug my little girl though.  To hear her sweet voice, to hear her laugh, to see LIFE.

Names are important to me.  As is their meaning.  It was an episode of House Hunters International that I heard the name Whitney and was like, “Hey, that’s a really great name.  I need to run that one by Hubs.”  When it came time to name the twins, I struggled with Whitney’s name.  I liked it, a lot, but the meaning of Whitney is “white island.”  It didn’t seem to fit to me.  She’s no island I kept telling Hubs, she’s an identical twin!  I really liked the name but refused to commit to it 100% because of the meaning.  Their names were only quasi-established when we learned they had died, but they were cemented right then and there.  There was NO WAY we could have known what we would see in the delivery room.  Megyn was red when she was born.  She got all the blood; too much actually, it caused her heart to fail.  Whitney was white.  She’d been starved of her nutrients and blood supply.  And while she was right there in my womb next to her twin sister, I’m sure she felt like an island, left all alone fighting a losing battle to stay alive.  No one knew of her struggle until it was too late.  The meaning of her name still gives me chills when I think about it.  In some small way I feel like God was there all along and this is my clue to that fact.  That even though their lives ended too soon, it was His plan.  It was in His plan all along and the little story of her name is His was of letting me know He was, and is, in control of the whole thing.

My Top 5 Fave Ornaments

I have lots of trees in my house.  The one that sits in our den is considered the “family” tree that houses all the meaningful ornaments that have been either purchased, gifted, handed-down or, more recently (given the fact I have a 2 year old in preschool) made.  I love putting this tree up each year and re-visiting all the memories each ornament holds.  One of my favorite parts of the year is getting the ornaments I have purchased that year out of the linen closet where I store them until I can put them up with the others.  I love adding to the tree each year.  To be fair though, I also have what I like to think of as my “redemption” tree in the living room.  It’s the pretty tree…and I adore it.

Here are my Top 5 (in no particular order) Favorite ornaments from 2011:

I have since acquired many of these beautiful blue boxes…more than any one girl should have (Dear Hubs, Please don’t think this means I don’t want anymore blue boxes.  I do.  Lots.  Mmmm K? Thx.  Love, B) but this was my first and holds a special place in my heart.  It always adorns this spot of honor at the very top of the tree…right under the Santa hat that our “family” tree wears.

tiffany's

Long ago I started collecting Christmas ornaments anytime we traveled somewhere. I love this one from Crested Butte, CO in 2003. I thought it was an adorable ornament at the time and I still think so. Also, that was a fun trip to Crested Butte, one of several we’ve taken and we plan to return in a few years.
snowballs

Again, keeping with the traveling theme. Hubs and I have visited NYC twice. I adore NYC. ADORE it. I love just about everything it has to offer, right down to the rats in the subway…I find them kind of fascinating. I would love to go back soon, but I don’t think it’s on the agenda for a while. Purchased this one in 2006. I apologize for the blur…I’m still very much a newbie, though I’ve learned enough to know I want to shoot in manual instead of getting that gawd-awful pic from using the on-board flash.
nyc

These little guys were purchased my senior year in college. The pink one for me, the gray one for Hubs. Now, we have a whole tree dedicated to A&M ornaments, but these guys are special. You see, A&M seniors are referred to as elephants. I won’t bore you with the details of why, but these little guys have hung on our tree, together, since our senior year. They’re very special to me. My mom has no idea what they mean, she just thinks I love elephants.
elephants

These were purchased this year. The most special of all the ornaments, I’m sure. Hubs and I talked about how public we wanted to be about memorializing our twins. We decided to keep it fairly quiet, but we of course wanted to do something the 2 of us would always know about. These were difficult to purchase, but I’m glad we have them and will have them, hopefully, forever. It’s a small token, a small reminder. I have them hung towards the back of the tree, at eye-level, so I can see them clearly whenever I sit on the couch. This year they bring me a level of sadness, in years to come I hope they bring me joy by remembering the small time we had with them and by watching how their story has positively affected our lives.
twins

And finally, an ode to being pregnant with our 4th daughter, who has decided to make her presence known quite early. May I present swollen, pregnancy feet resting after a long day of decorating.
swollen feet

Social Un-Networking

I curse the day I joined facebook. Really. I do. For the longest time, I had absolutely no desire to have a fb account. In fact, I remember telling people that I flat-out didn’t have the time to be on fb. And I truly didn’t. I had a full-time job that occupied my mind and conversations even when I wasn’t there. I had a social calendar, volunteer work, a husband and honestly, I didn’t care to reconnect with a bunch of people I knew in high school. I didn’t like them then, why would I like them now? Turns out, people change and one shouldn’t base life-long opinions on the actions of a bunch of 16 year olds. But I digress…

Once I had A and started my life as a stay at home mom the idea of fb became rather appealing. And so I joined right up and haven’t looked back. It was a great way to keep up with my former colleagues without having to actually maintain a relationship with them, a great way to stalk the kids I hated in high school and a great way for distant relatives to keep up with the life and times of A. I was a responsible fb user. I didn’t over-do the posting. I tried very hard not to post things that would stir controversy, committed to never, ever, EVER, discussing potty training on fb and would occasionally treat my fb friends to some of my witty comments. I find myself hilarious, by the way. I also tried to keep the bragging to a minimum. Nothing drives me batty like the narcissistic facebook-er. I was a responsible fb user. It never occurred to me NOT to announce my pregnancy with the twins on fb. I mean, I was just one of a TON of my fb friends announcing their pregnancies. There was clearly something in the water. I’m not one to start talking about it at 6 weeks or anything, I mean, geez, I’m smarter than that. You should at least wait until you’re out of the 1st trimester…when things are much, much safer. So after our 3rd sono at 14.5 weeks, I posted the fb status that we were expecting twins. Very exciting stuff. Lots of comments, only a few that required the side-eye. Posting about losing them was MUCH harder than the original announcement. You can imagine this time around my feelings about announcing my pregnancy on fb. There’s about a 99% chance it won’t happen. At all.

After losing the twins I tried to maintain my fb life, but it just didn’t hold the same appeal. I recently (well, actually, not so recently) took the app off my phone and haven’t really missed it. I still access fb several times a day but I rarely post. I’m sure my fb friends are wondering what’s happened to me. Actually, I know for a fact they haven’t noticed. The whole point of fb is to talk about yourself, not care what’s going on in anyone else’s life. I have a Twitter account that I spend more time on these days. I have MUCH less traffic and it just feels safer. I feel like I can say whatever I want. My parents don’t follow me. Relatives don’t follow me. People that know my in-laws don’t follow me on Twitter. It’s just safer.

Part of the reason that fb lost its appeal after losing the twins was this: Things that had never bothered me before all of a sudden PISSED ME OFF. Part of it was hormones. Part of it was grief. Most of it was due to the fact that I had just been sucker-punched into realizing life is too damn short and way too valuable to be dealing with most of the crap on fb. And that most people are incredibly shallow. I mentioned that I was just one of a multitude of girls that were pg and most of them, like I was, are due this month. The same month the twins were due. It’s tough to see them progressing nicely through their pregnancies, getting to glide through without the fear that I now have to feel. There is one in particular that is so care-free I wonder if she even realizes there is any danger at all?! My current favorite (and by favorite I mean the one that makes me want to spit nails) is the one that is on baby #1, has NO IDEA what to expect, and feels the need to regularly update people on how excited she is to give birth naturally, at home. (And she of course feels this is the only and the right way to give birth.) She can’t wait to watch her body respond to the changes (she’s talking about labor) and to watch the relationship between herself and her husband deepen (again, during labor). 😮 I’m of the mindset that until you’ve experienced it PERSONALLY, you can’t talk about it. I don’t care how many videos you’ve watched, how many classes you’ve taken or how well you can breathe deeply. She has NO CLUE what to expect. As one that’s been there twice now, I hate to inform her there is no way you can focus on your body responding to the changes or think deeply about the relationship with your husband. You’re thinking about pain. And getting the pain to stop. And last time I checked labor wasn’t the time to be all lovey-dovey with your mate. That’s what got you into this situation.

Coming in a close second is the one that every week posts her progress from one of the pregnancy calendar websites. I can’t help but feel stabby every time I see it. For some reason I feel like a massive failure each time she posts it. I feel like she specifically thought of me and said, “Hey, let me post this so B can see just how great things are going for me and just how much she screwed up.” Now, realistically I know I don’t enter her thought process at all, but that’s all part of coping with a loss. There’s still a ton of guilt for losing the babies. No matter how many times people tell you it wasn’t your fault, I still feel embarrassed. I feel like I should hang my head. I feel kind of like Hester in The Scarlett Letter; like I’m now labeled somehow as a mother that couldn’t keep her babies alive. It just sucks to be reminded, daily, that there are women out there that will never understand the fear that comes with subsequent pregnancies. It sucks to feel that I am some how “lesser” than a woman who has never lost a child. It just plain sucks to feel kind of like an outcast. Like that’s the only thing that people can see when they look at you. It’s a big part of why I’m refusing to tell a lot of people about this new baby. My close friend knows, Hubs’ boss knows, some of our good friends in another city know (and only because they experienced a loss right after ours and are also currently expecting again) and our parents and sisters know. That’s it. And I plan to keep it that way for a very long time. I just can’t stomach the thought of publicly going through another loss. I can’t imagine the embarrassment I would feel if God-forbid something happens to this baby. I realize it seems a foolish thing to be worried about, but I’m just being honest. I still view losing the twins as partly my fault. My body failed me and it failed my babies. I can’t go through that again in front of a few hundred of my closest (ha!) friends.

I did a lot of reading when I was pregnant with the twins. A lot of reading about how people handled being parents of multiples and several times I came across a statement like, “God chooses only the most special people to parent multiples.” When I was pregnant, I was like, “Yeah, I can get behind that statement. That makes me feel better. If God thinks I can handle it, well, then, by golly I guess I can.” But if that’s true, what does that make those of us that have lost babies? Whether it be 1, 2, 3 or multiple babies? Where do we fall in the spectrum of specialness? Or have we been completely kicked out of the specialness spectrum into some abandoned “screw-you” wasteland?