Pregnancy Loss Awareness

When I had my first miscarriage in October of 2014, I remember so distinctly the people who sent cards & gifts, and who were willing to talk about my lost baby and my subsequent lost dreams in the weeks after.  My Uncle Steve sent a card to let me know he was thinking of me; my friend Katie sent a care package with pajamas and slippers, and my sister & friend Kari texted constantly, telling me not to lose hope.  Those messages of love & support after my loss meant the world to me.  

Thinking back on the village that surrounded me during that time has inspired me to create a new line of cards in my Etsy shop specifically for pregnancy loss & miscarriage.  It's such a taboo topic that many women go through this heartbreaking life experience not only feeling empty from the lost life that once warmed their wombs, but also from the lack of love & understanding they receive from those around them.

Let me say this, I know it's hard to know what to say.  

But let me also tell you this, 

it's not so much what you say as it is the heart behind it.  

For instance, when my friend told me "Maybe it just wasn't the right time", I felt the love behind those words and took them as comfort.  When my counselor told me, "Maybe mama just wasn't ready for another baby", I felt angry and frustrated that she didn't understand.  The difference was that my friend was trying to comfort me whereas the counselor was giving me platitudes in hopes of making me move on.  

So my advice to you? Say something. Anything.  Even a simple, "I'm thinking of you" can mean so much as a mama traverses the rocky road of miscarriage.  Reach out and feel free to talk about the pregnancy, the baby and would-have-been future.  Sharing our grief lightens our load.  Also don't be afraid to talk about the future.  I had a hard time imagining future pregnancies after my initial loss (I had two subsequent pregnancies-- one that ended in another miscarriage and one that ended with Carly!) so hearing other people talk about the future reminded me that these feelings, this sense of loss, would not last forever.  There was hope on the horizon.  (Thank you, Kari, for all those talks!)

In honor of Pregnancy & Infant Loss Awareness month, I will be sharing one miscarriage post every day this week.  These are posts I've written over time in the three years since my loss.  Every woman's journey is different and I think it's important that we know we aren't alone as we experience the loss of our babies.  

***

Baby Girl

When I found out I was pregnant (again... for the fifth time in my life, third time since having Wyatt) I believed it immediately.  However, when I found it was a girl, there was a bit of disbelief.  Wyatt struggled with believing a baby was really in there the whole time, and watching him slowly come to acceptance was beyond precious.  

 He drew this picture of "the baby in your belly" when we were about a week into school this year. 

The twins never struggled with the thought of another baby. They were ecstatic.  Like me, they wanted a girl, but like me, all they really wanted was a healthy baby.  They still ask me, probably once a week, if I think this baby is going to die.  It makes me sad that they know that's a possibility, but I was so worried about miscarrying again, that I felt it necessary to prepare them for that. 

Josh immediately accepted that it was a girl and announced it the next morning at work.  When he sent me a text message with this picture of the sign he posted in the office at school, I cried like a baby.  I just love him so much and I am so excited that he's excited. 

 It took a few weeks for me to venture into the girls section of the store.  I had convinced myself (after seven years of raising boys) that I didn't really like all that precious pink anyway.  

I lied to myself.

I love it.

Then I found this outfit... With apples? Seriously? 

I had to have it. 

I mean, her dad's a teacher!

Along with accepting that she is a girl (I'm so excited now I can hardly stand it!) I've been growing in size, and it's bringing me such joy.  After losing two pregnancies, hitting the six month mark today feels, well, surreal.  

24 weeks was a huge milestone in my twin pregnancy, so it's always stuck out in my mind as really important and celebration worthy.  This baby, at 24 weeks, has a 50/50 chance outside the womb.  I guess it's sort of "glass half full", but it makes me excited that she could potentially survive.  Every week I get past this is just another week of growth for her.  And that is awesome.

Seeing that our three boys look just like Josh makes me wonder if our little girl will look just like me.  So at my sister's urging, I searched through my mom's photo albums and found some favorites of me when I was little.

My cousin Kimmy and I were born eleven days apart (ten and a half, if you ask her) and were raised as twins, sharing birthdays, outfits and more sleepovers than you could count.  

On the table there, you can see my favorite pillow.  I still have it, although it is not nearly as plush and the material is now see-through.

As most of you know, all my boys have June birthdays, so it's strange for me to be planning a winter baby.  My due date is January 31, 2016.  I will not go that long, though, as she will come into the world via my third c-section.

Meeting my baby sister, Roxanne, for the first time

I am fully aware that I could try, again, for a VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean).  But after my failed VBAC with Wyatt, I have zero interest in going through that again.  So I will schedule my c-section at 39 weeks.  

My dad, Roxanne and me

The silver lining to having a third c-section is that I get to plan the baby's birthday.  Which means I can make sure her daddy is there to celebrate it with us.  So Josh will fly home over the weekend, and we will welcome baby girl to our family early on the 25th or 26th if all goes as planned.

Aside from people asking my due date, a lot have also asked why we won't be joining Josh in rural Alaska once the baby is born.  There are several reasons for this.  

One is that the baby will need so many check ups and shots those first few months, that going out to the middle of nowhere, and having to fly (two planes each way) to Anchorage for appointments would be totally obnoxious, not to mention expensive.  

Another reason is that we probably wouldn't fly back to Marshall until the baby was at least 6 weeks old and I had been released to travel, and by that point, we would just get there and start settling in, and it would be time (May) to turn around and come back "home" to Washington for summer.  Not to mention that flying a family of six to bush Alaska costs a small fortune.

I was only four years old. Picking her up. Yikes! Sorry mom!

For those reasons, we are going to finish out the school year here.  Josh will be home for a while when the baby is born, and will visit again (hopefully) sometime mid-spring.  And in May our family will finally be reunited for good.

It seems everyone is asking (still) if we have a name for her yet.  We don't.  Josh and I agreed that talking about names over the phone, via text or even via FaceTime is hard.  I've finally started calling her "her" and referring to her as "your little sister" to the boys.  I guess it's a step in the right direction!

Hope After Miscarriage

Today is my due date.  If my pregnancy in October had stuck, I would be having a baby today.  

I had thought that would make me sad.  That I would shed some tears today and feel down.  Instead I find myself feeling optimistic about the future and more understanding of women who have suffered loss as I have.

Before I miscarried I thought that the earlier you miscarried, the less it hurt.  I thought that a miscarriage wasn't really a big deal, that that baby didn't count, and that the person should just be happy to try again.

Now? Now I get it.  Now I understand that 11 weeks or 5 weeks, it doesn't matter.  As soon as those pink lines show up on the First Response stick, you are picturing your life nine months down the road.  You are buying car seats, soothing teething tears & taking pictures of that baby like a paparazzi in your mind.  The loss of the baby (at any age) is really the loss of the dreams you had for that baby.  When my baby's heart stopped beating (as in my first miscarriage) or when its cells stopped multiplying (as in my second miscarriage) the age of the pregnancy didn't matter.  All that I knew was that my dreams were shattered.  My hopes, scattered in the wind.

I also understand now (especially since I miscarried after having children) that that baby did count.  Oh, it so counted.  Each of those babies I lost last year was a little bit of magic our DNA created together. Another Wyatt or another Jack.  A little being with a soul and a story all its own. And I hate missing out on that story.  

And as for trying again... Oh, it is just.so.hard.  At first I went directly to "We're done".  My thinking was, "I tried. I failed. Game over." I don't think I could imagine risking the heartache again, whatever the rewards.  So I pretended to accept my family as it is.  I tried to be content. To feel grateful.

But the truth is, I want more.  I want to have another baby, to experience nursing again, to give my boys the gift of yet another sibling.  And as scary as that is, I have to say that the reward is worth the risk.  I believe now that grief is the price we pay for loving hard.  I grieved the loss of those pregnancies because I loved those little beings, and I had imagined a future with them.  I wouldn't trade that love for grief.  It was worth it.

So I am choosing, for the future, to have hope.  And while it's scary to hope when things look bleak, it's even more scary to lose hope when things look bleak.

***

Extending Grace

I've been thinking a lot about my miscarriage experience.  Last night as I lay in bed, I was thinking of it, and I was remembering the amazing nurse I had.  For the life of me, I can't remember her name, but she was tiny (maybe five feet tall) and absolutely adorable.  She was sweet as could be, and sat next to me on my bed as I sobbed, her hand on my back, assuring me that I wasn't alone.  

Even though I was so very utterly alone.

She shared with me that she had suffered two miscarriages, one at 13 weeks, and had yet to carry a baby to term.  Her brutal honesty, and the kindness she extended me regardless, took my breath away.  If I were her, I thought, I would hate me.  Here I was, crying about losing my fourth baby when I had three perfectly healthy, beautiful children at home.

The more I think about her, the more I want to emulate what she showed me.  Grace.  She didn't diminish my loss because she knew that doing so would not diminish hers either.  Instead she hugged me and loved me through my loss, because she, too, knew how that loss felt.

In so many, many ways, having children made my miscarriage easier to bear.  They are a great distraction, proof of God's plan for my life, and a reminder of the things my body did well.

But in some ways, honestly, having children made dealing with my miscarriage more challenging.  My emotions, which came at whim, often unexpectedly, constantly had to be swept under the rug.  Or, in those moments when I couldn't "keep it together", I had to explain to my children, "Mommy's just cry sometimes...  For days...  And weeks... On end..."

(I never shared with the boys that I was expecting.  I had planned on doing so after my first doctor appointment, but that appointment ended in a D&C, so we never did.  It was hard enough for me to deal with the loss and we decided it would be best if they were kept in the dark so I didn't have to deal with their emotions as well.)

Because of those beautiful boys, I wasn't allowed to curl up in bed for a few days and mourn what was lost.  There was breakfast to be made and laundry to be washed.  In short, there was life to be lived.

Having children also makes a miscarriage harder because you know exactly what you lost in that sweet ten week fetus.  That was a baby.  A sweet face with kissable cheeks and pudgy wrists with fingers that would have wrapped around your own.

That baby was a little piece of magic, like your other children, that you and your husband created.  A tiny perfect being that was to be loved and celebrated.

For some reason, though, it wasn't meant to be. And with time, you will grow to accept that.  

Until I had a miscarriage, I am sorry to say that I did not understand it.  I thought that what was lost was not a baby, but a pregnancy.  I now know that what is lost is a pregnancy and a baby and all the mama's dreams for that pregnancy and baby.

I am grateful for that amazing nurse who understood exactly what I was going through and didn't cast any judgment.  Cause I truly believe that when we're down and out, we all need a little grace extended.

***

Anchorage Trip: Round Two

 I hesitantly left December 30th for Anchorage, planning on meeting my best friend there for a five day rendezvous minus our collective six sons, and enjoying a mommy respite.  The trip was originally planned for OB appointments, as I would have been twenty weeks pregnant, having my big ultrasound and follow up.

When I lost the baby at the end of October, we kept the trip on the calendar, knowing we could both use a break after the holidays, but when the time finally came to leave my boys, I was having a hard time getting excited.

It didn't help that that morning I had taken a pregnancy test, and it was positive. 

Barely, but still.  

I could hardly wrap my mind around it, and Josh and I were both hesitant to believe it was current, considering I never had a follow up after my D&C.

 Despite delays on both ends,  Julie and I made it to Anchorage that night and we celebrated with dinner at Red Robin, both in shock that I might be expecting again.

 The following morning I took another pregnancy test, and sure enough, it was positive.

 Thankfully I had a doctor appointment planned for later that morning, so my doctor did a blood test to double check and took an HCG measurement.  She also ordered a follow up HCG (to see how the numbers were rising) for two days later.  Aside from taking care of my pregnancy questions, she looked at my ears, which have been bothering me since my last trip to Anchorage.  She said I have dysfunctional eustachian tubes and that a nasal steroid spray should take care of it within a week.

 After my doctor appointment, we went to Walmart to place my bush order. 

I filled a grocery cart with everything on our list and left it in the bush department.  They will box it up and ship it out COD (Cash on Delivery) to our post office.  We'll write a check when we pick it up, and that's it.  It's pretty much the coolest thing.

 We also went to Barnes & Noble.  I didn't buy anything, but it was lovely to wander around, looking at all the books, journals and stationary they had.

 Then we crossed a new "first" off my list.

First trip to Target in Alaska.

It was as great as I remembered Target to be, even though it's been five sad months since I set foot in one.  I found some great toys for the kids, new cups for the kitchen and a few other things that were on my list.

 Then we went and saw Unbroken.  It was really moving, and I loved it. Almost as much as I loved the movie theater popcorn {with butter!} that I got!

Wednesday night we rung in the new year with me in the emergency room, thinking I was having a reaction to the nasal steroids. Long story short, I wasn't.  I was having a panic attack.  I was embarrassed that it wasn't a reaction to medication but a reaction to my life circumstances that landed me there, but the ER doc was really understanding and sent us on our way as quickly as possible.

 Friday we headed back to the lab so I could give more blood for a second HCG count to make sure the levels were rising as they should.  Then we headed to my follow up appointment (two months late) for the D&C.  

At my OB's office I informed the nurse & doctor that I'd had a positive pregnancy test and that a blood test had confirmed it.  We proceeded through the appointment as if it were a first trimester care appointment.  They took more blood for a full prenatal panel, and the doctor walked me through the odds that it was left over HCG from my D&C two months ago.

Then we waited for the results of my quantitative HCG from my primary care doctor.  They finally called and confirmed it was a new pregnancy, but the numbers looked questionable.  From 25 to 38 over 48 hours.  Not awful, but not great.  So my OB ordered a progesterone test.  That, he promised, would tell me more.  (Namely, is it a normal pregnancy or is it an abnormal or ectopic pregnancy.)

We waited for what felt like an eternity for the results of that test, knowing that I couldn't go home to my village until it was clear this wasn't an ectopic pregnancy.  Finally he called us in.  The test was inconclusive.  My progesterone was high enough it could be a normal pregnancy, but low enough he couldn't rule out ectopic.

I would have to stay. 

Two more days.  

For further testing. 

 We headed reluctantly back to the hotel to change our flights, car rental and hotel reservations.  Instead of going home Saturday as planned, we now wouldn't leave until Monday.  The time between leaving the hospital on Friday night and going back for more blood work Sunday morning was an eternity.

I was devastated to be stuck in Anchorage two more nights, away from my children and husband.  I was devastated to find out that I was indeed pregnant again, only to discover that the pregnancy wasn't progressing as it should have been.  

Somehow we limped through those two days and made it to Sunday morning.  All night we had prayed that the results, whatever they were, would be clear.  The idea of having to stay in Anchorage indefinitely until the pregnancy proved it was either viable or not, felt like torture.  

Sunday morning I gave blood and exactly two agonizing hours later received a call from my OB.  My progesterone had dropped from 14 to 7, and my HCG, which had gotten up to 49 the afternoon I gave blood at the hospital, had dropped to 30.  With both numbers dropping my doctor felt confident that this was not an ectopic pregnancy.  Unfortunately this also showed it not to be a normal, healthy pregnancy.

He assured me it was safe to go home, and that it should pass naturally within a month.

So now, I wait...

***

 In the meantime, I had to get home.

 So yesterday morning we packed our bags,

 headed to Ted Stevens International Airport in Anchorage,

 and said our goodbyes.

The trip was certainly not what we had envisioned (before the first miscarriage and after it!) but I am so grateful she was there, by my side, as I walked through yet another heartbreak.

 I hopped on my plane and got one step closer to my boys.  The flight was quick and painless, except for all the empty time I spent thinking about how I am most likely done having babies.  

~

 When you leave Anchorage it's all snow capped mountains like you saw above.  By the time you reach Bethel, it's all flat, frozen tundra, covered with tiny ice lakes.

It was freezing when I had to climb out of the belly of the plane and onto the tarmac in Bethel.  It was five degrees and COLD!  While I was waiting, I was approached by a person named Simon (who was adorable), whose wife Kristina (Sorry if I spelled your name wrong!) had spotted and recognized me in the Anchorage airport, but didn't want to approach me.  Once she left to go check in for their following flight and he was waiting for their luggage, he asked if I was the Cunningham girl.  I laughed and said yes, and we spoke briefly about how my blog had helped them in preparing for their move from Pennsylvania to bush Alaska.  It's always so fun to randomly meet blog fans (if I can call them that!) and I love to hear that my experience and posts have been helpful to others who are relocating.  

Please, if you ever see me about, no matter what I am doing, or how flustered I may look surrounded by my three energetic children, feel free to say hello.  Tell me you read the blog.  Let me know that you're there, and we should be friends!

 After that fun encounter, I quickly gathered my luggage and booked it over to RAVN to get checked in for the afternoon flight to Marshall.

 After four hours of reading and waiting, our pilot called our flight.  We loaded the plane and I let Josh know I was on my way.

We took off with tears in my eyes.

I was finally going to see my boys.

Seeing Mt. Pilcher and that red barn building at the airport have never made me so happy.

I landed and as soon as my feet hit the ground, I was in Josh's arms. Oh, I was so happy to hug that man of mine!  Then I made my way to the truck where our beautiful boys were waiting.  I hugged Wyatt first, and by the time he peeled me off of him, I was bawling.  Then I hugged Jack and Logan and they were like, "Are you crying happy tears?"  

Yes.
This mama is home.
And she's crying happy tears.

***

Not Allowed

I threw it away.  That's how it started.

***

Everyday while Josh fed the boys breakfast I would get in the shower, listening to inspiring music, hop out, blow dry my hair and then take out my make up bag.  Except putting on my makeup was hard when the contents of that bag would make me cry...

***

I talked to Josh about it. He agreed that I needed to let it go. But knowing it would just end up at the town dump, getting burned with all the other trash was hard.  Finally I made peace with the fact that keeping the pregnancy test didn't mean I got to keep the pregnancy.  That was already gone.

So I took a deep breath one day and took out all the garbage in the house, quickly tucking the First Response Test in its depths before I could change my mind.  The next morning I was able to get ready for the day without crying.  I was glad I had let it go.

The pregnancy test wasn't the only thing that was hard to let go of. I kept my hospital bracelets on for a week after the D&C.  I also had my maternity clothes in my drawers & closet until yesterday when I had finally had enough of looking at them and feeling either empty or angry.

Those items that I could hang onto and tuck into my Pregnancy journal, I kept.  But I put the pregnancy journal up in our closet, out of sight, so I don't have to be blindsided by sadness unexpectedly when I go to pick out a pair of jeans or a sweater.

***

With the physical moving on past the pregnancy, there has also been an emotional moving on.  That has been much harder than the physical.  Putting pregnancy tops in an empty blue tote is fairly easy compared to saying goodbye to a baby you never got to meet.  Tossing out a pregnancy test (hard as it was) is pretty basic, whereas separating emotions like grief, anger, sadness & relief is far more complex.

***

The emotions are likely more challenging because of all the voices 

I have in my head telling me I'm not allowed to feel them:

--I'm not allowed to be sad cause I have three healthy kids.

Wanting a fourth was just plain greedy.

--I'm not allowed to be sad cause there are women who carry a baby for nine months and lose it.

Mine was only ten weeks old.

--I'm not allowed to be sad cause mom's lose children, real beings they have held and loved.

I never even saw my baby's face.

Thankfully I have a husband who helps me talk back to those voices.  That baby was real to you, he says, as I sob hysterically into his chest.  He holds me as I let out all that I held in while I was alone in Anchorage.  He holds me as I grieve and cry and get angry over the unfairness of it all.  

***

I've been listening to Life Ain't Always Beautiful by Gary Allan.

Makes me cry every time.  But sometimes that's just what I need.

Life ain't always beautiful. Sometimes it's just plain hard.

Life can knock you down, it can break your heart.

Life ain't always beautiful.  You think you're on your way.

And it's just a dead end road at the end of the day.

But the struggles make you stronger.  And the changes make you wise.

And happiness has its own way of taking its sweet time.

No life ain't always beautiful. Tears will fall sometimes...

Life ain't always beautiful, but it's a beautiful ride.

Life ain't always beautiful. Some days I miss your smile.

I get tired of walking all these lonely miles.

And I wish for just one minute, I could see your pretty face...

Guess I can dream, but life don't work that way.

But the struggles make me stronger. And the changes make me wise.

And happiness has its own way of taking its sweet time.

No life ain't always beautiful, but I know I'll be fine.

Hey life aint' always beautiful, but it's a beautiful ride.

***