Petrified...

So here I am approaching the end of yet another pregnancy.  I could potentially deliver our little one in just three more weeks.  The end of this journey brings such different fears than that with Larissa.  I was petrified for delivery with Larissa as she was our first, so of course, all the unknowns of labor and delivery danced in my head.  Now, I still worry about labor and delivery, but for other reasons.  To me, the labor and delivery was the easy part and I get very irritated when I hear women complain about it.  After all, why do they have a right to bitch?  They got to take home the prize at the end of their journey.  Which is obviously where my fears and anxieties stem from at this point in our journey.  I am petrified that even if we get to the delivery unit and there is a heartbeat (awww, that wonderful sound of life inside of me), I am scared that something will happen during labor and delivery and we will lose our second born.  Because when your firstborn is stillborn it changes you as a mother.  I am now convinced that my body has failed me once, why can't it fail me again? 

I look back at my pregnancy with Larissa and how upset I was with my mother-in-law at the end whom wanted to come into the delivery unit with me.  I was also worried about letting loose with my bowels during labor and delivery.  I laugh at that now and WISH, oh how I WISH, they were my worries.  Now, when I hear other ladies' trivial concerns, I politely smile and walk away.  I cannot be bothered with such nonsensical worries....having a bowel movement during delivery is no big deal if you get to take your child home with you and share a lifetime with him or her. 

To further add salt to injuries, the stories of mom's whom have endured multiple losses keeps me grounded in reality, that no matter what any medical professional and/or friend, family member or confidant tells me...lightening can indeed strike twice.  I have listened to other parent's stories of multiple loss and although everyone thinks it will never happen to them, I now TRULY know that I am no more special than any other person and lightening can very well strike me twice also.  Larissa's death has taught me that all those cliche sayings (i.e. God doesn't give you more than you can handle: Everything happens for a reason, etc) are just coping mechanisms.  These are sayings we tell ourselves to help us cope and get us through the shittier times in our lives.  

I reflect upon November of 2010 when I gave birth to Larissa.  Although the day was extremely traumatizing, I can still feel the weight of her in my arms.  I long for that again and know that we are so very close.  This time I pray for a happier ending.  I pray that when our little one enters this world we will hear that ear piercing cry...which will be music to our ears and will, I imagine, forever stay with us.  Larissa is thought about each and every day and I wish she was here to know that she is going to be a big sister.  Potentially (if I opt for early delivery), in just three short weeks I will hopefully feel the weight of another little one in my arms.  This time I pray that our baby is filled with life, squirming, crying, fussing, what have you.  I admire the 4D ultrasounds which is like looking at a snapshot of inside my uterus.  These photos are a tease...I need to see and hold this live, healthy baby. 

Oh, we are SO very close, but I also know what a difference a day makes and I try to believe that all will be well.  However, until our little one is home with us, I cannot feel confident that we are in the clear.  I won't give up hope, but I am guarded and cautious.  See, three weeks seems like a short time, but when you think about how many breaths we take each day and how precious each of those breaths truly are, three weeks is a VERY long time. 

People Will Never Understand

Why is it that I am the one that always feels badly when people ask the dreaded question "Is this your first?"  I never deny Larissa's existence as she was very real and will forever be a part of our family, yet I always hesitate with my answer to that question.  Sometimes I leave it at "No, this is our second" and hope the conversation ends with that.  Other times I have to go into detail and deal with people's look of pity and embedding silence as they do not know how to respond.  

That's interesting to me...people just don't know what to say.  And why would they?  I am in such a minority that of course no one can even fathom what has happened to us.  I am so irritated and tired with people's ignorance and lack of knowing what to say, that I cannot stand it anymore.  I am an outspoken person to begin with and being 33 weeks pregnant is bringing out the most ugly side of my personality.  I am on edge and hypersensitive.  It's funny to me how I find myself telling others it is okay when I tell them about my past, as I feel bad because of their reactions.  Well, I am tired of it.  I am so damn tired of people saying whatever the hell they want to say to me without any regards to my feelings and I have to feel badly about letting others know about my traumatic past that haunts me each and every day! 

Let's begin with the million dollar question...."Are they going to do a C-section this time?"  WTF?!!!  People obviously do not realize how nervous that question makes me...leaves me awake at night plagued with worry that it was horrific enough that my first daughter died before labor was even induced last time and that getting to labor and delivery with a live child does not guarantee a live child at the end of delivery.  And to answer that stupid question...no, a C-section is not planned.  My daughter did not die during labor and delivery...even though I had to labor and deliver our deceased daughter.  An experience that will forever scar me.  It makes me so sad and angry and leaves me with such worry with this current pregnancy.  I want so hard to believe in this little one, but all I know is fetal demise.  Losing your first child changes you in ways one cannot put into words.  I am traumatized but it goes further than that.  I worry about everything: worry if the baby isn't moving, worry if the baby is moving too much, worry with each and every growing pain I am experiencing.  And aside from the trauma, my view on life has changed.  I wish I can say I am one of those woman who took a bad situation and made the most of it.  In some sense I did...with the creation of my informational packets to help other bereaved parents along in their journey.  But, I am no longer the person I was before Larissa.  Life is cruel and so very unfair and sure I continue on this venture of my so called life, but I am depressed, angry and bitter.  The jovial Jolon that people once knew is gone and will never return.

I am also very tired of the comments "Everything happens for a reason." or "It is all in God's plan."  Again, I am so tired of people genuinely believing that.  Let them lose any of their children and see how they feel about those stupid coping words, as I like to call them.  What reason would that be?  Again, life is cruel and the world is an unfair place.  Undeserving parents (and I use the term parent loosely) have multiple children.  Not because they want to nurture them and provide a meaningful life for them, but rather because they are the people that are blessed multiple times.  

I potentially have 4 or 6 weeks remaining to this pregnancy based on lung maturity.  Give me the strength to get through this next month or so.  I need patience...my patience has been lost on everyone's insensitive comments.  What I really need is to hide in my house for the next four to six weeks and avoid all of society.  However, I know that is not possible, so for the next four to six weeks I will grin and bear it as that is all I can do.  I will try my hardest to focus on my little one and try to believe and gain confidence that all will be well this time around.  

I Made it Through

Ahhh, the holidays are over.  I am so grateful that our house has resumed to 'normal.'  Normal in the sense that all the Christmas decorations have been tucked neatly back into their storage bins and by January 2nd, our house appeared as if we didn't even celebrate the holidays at all.  Technically we did, but then again we didn't.  Sure, I was present for each of the festivities and I put on my best so called happy face.  I struggle to force a happy face and I don't feel that I should be expected to be happy.  For what?  The sake of others?  Others assume that if I am smiling, I am happy.  However, it is quite the opposite.   I haven't been happy since early November of 2010.  My life was shattered and each and every day I get by.  But I'm pregnant again, so all assume that everything is just fine.  Those of you whom have lost a child at any point in your pregnancy journey and/or after your child's birth know that life goes on because it does and we go with it, but it is never, ever the same.  A new pregnancy brings a different kind of joy, one that is constantly overshadowed by fear and worry.  But again, I don't expect those whom have never walked in my shoes to understand that.  Ok, maybe I do, but I know that they do not and never will.  

Case in point...an acquaintance of mine whom was due the exact same day as I was with Larissa, now has a healthy one year old boy whom was born the day after Larissa silently entered this world.  We have been in touch with one another since then as she feels some connection to what I have gone through as her first pregnancy ended in a miscarriage at 8 weeks.  However, she clearly has no idea how I am feeling or what struggles I face daily as she cheerfully sent me an email the day before Christmas eve announcing another pregnancy.  She worded it a manner that was a knife in my heart...that she and her husband are expecting a sibling for their perfectly healthy live child.  That's nice...but I don't really care.  To tell you the truth, I hate any announcement of pregnancy and/or birth of a live child.  I can care less that it is so easy for everyone else and she really expects me to jump for joy that she is pregnant the same time as me again?!!!!  I cannot help but think that I am going to suffer another fetal demise and she and her husband will give birth to yet another live, healthy child.  I wish I can be somewhat happy for them, but I am not.  That's the effect of trauma...it transforms you into a person you do not recognize and makes you think and react in ways that one would never think possible.  

To add salt to open wounds....my sister announced her pregnancy to me on Christmas day.  Really...Christmas day?  This pregnancy is different...different because I am happy for my sister and brother-in-law, but am jealous.  Jealous that they already have a perfectly healthy 3.5 year old whom I love dearly but imagine Larissa every time I am near her.  Jealous that she practically just peed on the stick and feels so confident that nothing could possibly go wrong that everyone and their brother already knows she is expecting again.  How nice, expecting again...another child to join your already perfect family.  Yes, I am pregnant with another child but I don't have any expectations to bring a live child home.  I know nothing but fetal demise.  So, yes again, I should be excited for my sister, but I'm really not.  I'm mad that it is such an exciting time for her and that joy was taken from me with the death of Larissa, as was any subsequent joy in my life.   A few days after she announced her pregnancy to me, she told me how worried she was about my reaction as she didn't want to hurt my feelings.  Really?  That's why she told me on Christmas day.  A day that is so very awful for me already.   People really do not understand and never will...she was only thinking about herself because if she was remotely considering me, she would have withheld such information from me for as long as possible.  I won't even begin to mention how miserable she was either during her entire pregnancy with my niece because of the weight gain and being uncomfortable.  I'm sorry, did I not gain 38 pounds with Larissa to never get the prize at the end of our journey? 

So, needless to say I am glad the holidays have come to an end.  And I know people expect you to be positive and count your blessing, but I am not going to do that.  I will give a shout out to Bobbi Brown gel eyeliner as it did not run, smear or rub off through all the tears that were shed on Christmas eve, day and the days leading up to these days.  I am also grateful that I won't have to hear "The Most Wonderful Time of the Year." for yet another year.  The person who wrote that song clearly has never lost a child.  

Christmas is over and for that I am grateful...there's my little bit of optimism in my otherwise extremely shitty life.