Saturday, January 31, 2009

Our Story: Finding Joy Part 22

So, after the miscarriage we had to take about a two month "time off" from trying again. My blood levels were dropping slowly, we were given clomid again and would be allowed to try in March. I had looked at dates briefly and realized if I did get pregnant then, I would most likely not be due in 2007. I was ticked off.

At the memorial walk that past September, I was convinced I would have a baby OR be VERY pregnant at the next walk. I didn't want to go through another holiday season without a baby.

Then I recalculated. If things went *just right* I would be due the end of 2007.

Talk about pressure on myself. Having something happening "next year" seemed like it was so far away. Even just a few days into the next year. Having it happen "this year" seemed doable. I know it is all the same dating wise and what you have to wait through....but to me I wanted it as soon as possible. And this year versus next year made a difference.

So, mid March came and I started on clomid again. I did all of my trying to conceive things, charted, took my vitamins, and ovulation predictor kits. It all went perfectly.

4 days before my period was due (9 days past ovulation) I got an early positive on a pregnancy test.

It was Easter Sunday. April 8th.

Craig and I were coming off a pretty nasty fight. It was a doozy.

We just got through my side of the family's annual baseball home opener game that we always go to as a big family. Something I had dreamed about bringing Curtis to since I found out I was pregnant with him. His 1st Twins Home Opener! It was a hard night.

We were just a few short weeks away from his first birthday.

So, needless to say it was an emotional time without that positive pregnancy test. When I got the positive test, I kept the information quiet for a few hours. Do I tell Craig? Should I do something cute? Should I even tell him and get his hopes up? Maybe I wait a few weeks, get a doctor's confirmation and tell him? I don't want to hurt him again....

We were getting ready to go see my side of the family for Easter. Last Easter, my mom had given me an Easter basket for the baby. It looked like a dump truck. Filled with outlet covers, pacifiers, a baby toy, and chocolate (for mom). This year, I had put that Easter basket on Curtis' shelf.

What do I do with this info? It is SO early, but this time it made sense. I had ovulated, it was an early test, but not out of the norm that it was positive.

Craig and I were still a bit iffy with each other, not fully over our fight.

He was upstairs and I finally said "Well...there is something I have to tell you."

So much for waiting for a few weeks. I didn't even make it 3 hours.

He came down the stairs and looked at me. "Well, it is one of two things."

"What do you think it is?"

"You're pregnant."

He held up his hand for a high five.

Just like he did when we found out about Curtis.

I grinned.

I started to panic.

With the miscarriage it never made sense. This pregnancy, well, it made sense. It was starting off normal. I repeated this to myself. 100 times.

"We can't tell anyone. For, like, a really long time. I can't handle it."

"That's fine."

"And, it is so early, it could be a fluke..."


I did tell one person. My friend Annie. She was one of our first phone calls the day I lost Curtis and she has been so much of a cheerleader, even a silent one, of my life. She had emailed me, knowing I would probably test that day. I told her, cautiously, of my news. She was cautiously excited. She was also the person I turned to the day I got the positive pregnancy test for my miscarriage.

So, we went to Easter dinner that day. With a secret.

I remember that day so clearly. I remember laughing, REALLY laughing for the first time in ages. It was over black jelly beans and people arguing if they were good or not. (For the record: they are good.) I remember feeling excited. I remember having this little secret inside. And feeling so much joy. Much later, when my mom found out I was pregnant and WHEN I knew. She said "You know, that day, I sensed a difference in you. I even said to you dad I thought maybe you were pregnant again."

Deep down, I knew panic would set it. I knew it was coming. It was going to be a long 9 months. But today was the day I got 2 pink lines. Today was the day that could change my life. Again. Today was the day that it became possible for us to bring a living child home. I knew that road was going to be long (and trust me. It was really frickin' long). But just that day, in a few hours with my family, happiness was there. Excitement was there. I let myself take that day and dream.

I came home, I took another test (still positive) and figured out my due date.

December 21st, 2007.

A 2007 baby. This year. I could end the year with a baby in my arms.

Wednesday, January 28, 2009


I had no idea the drama my blog would cause!

I am always wanting to share Curtis with as many people as possible. Through this blog, through a memorial website...just mentioning him.

So, I posted a link to this blog on facebook last night. I have a lot of friends on there who know this blog already, so it was nothing new for them. But for a few select others, it was a brand new thing.

Now, the weird thing about facebook is there is a stack of people on there that don't know me that well. Maybe they knew me at one time. Maybe they are coworkers who didn't know me when I was pregnant with him or, heck, family members whom I love but we don't talk on a regular basis...They don't know the ins and outs of my life. So they take this blog, which deals with one specific topic and make wide sweeping generalizations of my life.

I was accused of hating people for "moving on" with their lives. I was accused of being lonely. I was accused of driving people away. That I should be more forgiving of others.

All from someone who hasn't spoken to me, I mean really spoke to me, in over 10 years.

I responded like you would expect anyone to respond in this situation. Not well. They take one topic of my life and but me in this "angry all the time" box.

The thing with grief....the thing I am trying to educate people on is grief is not easy. Grief doesn't wrap up in a pretty bow after one year of losing someone you love. This blog is my grief. It isn't always pretty. Often it contradicts itself.

So this blog, it is about Curtis. One aspect of my life. Do I blog about how Claudia and I went to Target today and I was pushing the cart down the aisle and saying "wheeeeee" and running behind it to make her laugh? Looking like an absolute fool, but now caring because I was laughing at her expression?


Do I blog about how Craig and I played Wii Monopoly the other night and I was laughing so hard that diet pepsi came out of my nose?


Because this blog is Born Still but Still Born. It is the place I go to talk about Curtis. Talk about my moments of anger and my days of sadness. It is the place I go when a TV show makes me cry. Or where I go to talk about his toes. He had my toes. And Craig's nose. Good lord. All the kids born on Craig's side have that nose.

This blog is one, just ONE, aspect of my life. It is a HUGE aspect, don't get me wrong. But you cannot make wide, sweeping, generalizations about me based on what you read here.

What kills me, is this person admitted to not even reading all the entries. Just the first few. So she hadn't bothered to read what it felt like the day I gave birth to him. Or the day we spread his ashes. Or the day we had his first memorial walk. To me, those entries...though sad, are filled with amazing amounts of hope.

I haven't driven anyone away. There are people I probably have lost or relationships that have forever changed in the wake of losing Curtis...but the friendships I have made BECAUSE of Curtis, or the friendships strengthened because of him...those replace the few I have lost, ten fold. I am okay with that. Because those are the true friends. Those are the friends who know I am different. There is a level of sadness that wasn't there before. But there is also a level of absolute joy that was never there before.

If anything, I think I have MORE friends now. I have friends who understand, who have been through it. I have friends who have never been through it but love hearing about Curtis. Who remember him with me AND celebrate my daughter's life.

So, if you happen to stumble upon here and maybe knew me in a former life or know me now, this is one aspect of who I am. Sometimes angry. Sometimes sad. Sometimes happy.

But always always always remembering I am richer, by far, to have held him a moment than to have never held him at all.

Tuesday, January 27, 2009

So, I was watching another show that was dealing with death and dying. I like Grey's Anatomy and Private Practice and they do a lot of baby story lines. (Watching the Grey's episode way back on stillbirth about put me in the loony bin. Wanted to watch my favorite TV show one night shortly after losing Curtis and BOOM, my story, played out on TV. Lovely.)

ANYWAY...Private Practice last week had a sick man, dying of cancer. Dying a painful death. He was dying alone. No friends. No loved ones. He had a good life, he said. But at the end of it he was alone and was saying how miserable it was to die alone. He knew the world would keep spinning. But it was hard to imagine him not in it. No one would know he was here. No one would know he existed. The world would continue on with out him...and no one would know.

The doctor helping him through this crawled into bed with him, rocked him, and kept telling him "you were here. you were here. you were here." and sobbing.

Of course, by the end I was sobbing too.

One of the hardest things about having a stillborn child is I feel like I am the only one who knew him. I am the only one who knew he was here. He grew inside of me. I felt his kicks. He heard me. He heard my heartbeat.

Everyone else just saw ME, only pregnant.

I am the only one who "held" him while he had a heartbeat. I am the only one who ever felt his movements.

When he was stillborn, family came to hold his still body. Everyone cried over his little body. We did foot prints and took a lock of hair. We dressed him in a little outfit, and wrapped him in a blanket. We took pictures.

But I am the only one who truly knew him. I am the only one who knew he was alive at one time. I am the only one he ever responded too. One night I was so upset over something, I was laying in bed, sobbing. So upset. He kicked me SO hard, I jumped out of bed. It was like he was saying "HEY! CALM DOWN!" He knew me. I knew him. But I am the only one.

So, I feel like chanting.... he was here, he was here, he was here.

When I die, all of that dies too. It is one of the things I struggle with the most. I work hard on keeping a small legacy for him. It isn't a grand thing like some people do. But it is a memorial walk once a year, it is celebrating his birthday, it is mentioning him on our Christmas cards.... to remind people HE WAS HERE.

It is hard to know his memory will most likely die with me. No one knows him. They know of him, they know how much I miss him. They all know we lost something precious.

But they never got to know him. They didn't spend 40 weeks with him.

Sometimes it is hard to be the only person who truly got to be with him. I would have liked to have someone else know what it was like when he would kick or what it felt like to be with him. Maybe then the burden of reminding people he existed wouldn't be so brutal.

Saturday, January 24, 2009

We have been sick here. Really really sick.

Two weeks ago, Claudia got a stomach bug that lasted on and off for a week. I also got it. That was loads of fun. I only work 3 days a week, so I ended up missing two. One for her being sick, one for me. Craig also had to stay home one of those days because she was so sick.

Then this week, she ended up with a really bad cold. We ended up in urgent care on Thursday and then Thursday night/Friday morning in the ER. Her breathing was horrible, she couldn't stop was just all around miserable. I ended up with the cold as well, so two more days out of work. (I am wondering when my work is going to get upset with me??)

We had really good ER staff, though. It was the same ER where I went when I called 911 that day for m miscarriage and things were 100 times better this go-around. But the ER doc? Awesome. I doubt there is anything in Claudia's file that said she had a sibling who died. I mean, he was stillborn so it wasn't like he had some family illness we need to take into consideration with her. She hasn't been seen in this ER before, and only once in the hospital right after she was born. But that was for a lactation consult.

But the doctor was asking us questions about her exposure to things and said "Are there any siblings living at home?"

We were just able to say "No." Without the whole explanation. Because if people ask if she has siblings, or if we have other kids: I do not lie. My answer may be a simple "yes". It may be a more complicated "Yes, but he passed away." To a "Yes, he would be two and a half but passed away." To a long explanation if someone asks what happened.

Maybe this doctor has learned over his time as a doctor to phrase things like this. Maybe he has offended blended families or maybe he has dealt with patients who has have lost children and just has learned how to phrase things over the years.

I don't know. Maybe it was just a fluke he phrased it like that, but after he walked out even Craig said "I loved how he asked if there were any siblings living at home. Just made everything so much easier when it came to answering."

It really did. Because in my state of mind at 4am in the ER; had he asked and had I answered I probably would have burst into tears. So, thank you doctor. That simple-easy to answer- question meant a lot to grieving parents.

She doesn't have a sibling living at home.

But she does have a sibling.

Tuesday, January 20, 2009

Today marks 2 years from the day I had my d&c with my miscarriage.

I was going back into my livejournal (another blog community where I had more of a private online journal back then)and read through my entries from that time all the way through Curtis' first birthday in May of 2007.

Wow. It is so....raw. And angry. And raw some more.

Warning: Bad language ahead. I should probably take it out since this is a public blog and I don't want that judgement... but it is how I really felt and when I am hurt and angry, I swear. These are some excerpts of my journals from Jan to May 2007.

I don't even know how other stillbirth/loss moms feel. Because everyone grieves so differently. Sometimes you do feel so isolated. Soon, it marks 9months without him. Pretty soon I will be without him longer than he was with us. All the memorial walks, websites, memorial candle lightings, ceremonies...well, honestly, they are nice but I don't want to be a part of them. I want to be part of the group that gets to bring my baby home, not have to decide to do with his little body. I want to be part of the group that talks about poop explosions and teething and being too exhausted. But, none of that is my life. My life is forever marked as "Before Curtis" and "After Curtis". My child died. My child died before I could ever hear him cry. I don't even know WHEN my child died. How sad is that? The best they could estimate was Monday night or Tuesday. What kind of person doesn't even know their child is gone?

I sat in his room Sunday and looked at those tiny newborn diapers. Diapers that should be in a landfill, screwing up the environment right now. Because, he should be 9 months. Not sitting in an urn.

Who the hell did I piss off? What did I do wrong? Graduate school? Graduate college? Work with children with special needs? Wait to find the right guy to marry? Nice to my parents? Kind to animals? Never took an illegal drug/never smoked a cigarette? Why was my child taken? What did _I_ do????? I had to have done something. Because this pain, this torture has to be for a damn reason. Why can people WHO DON'T EVEN KNOW THEY ARE PREGNANT AND GET NO PRENATAL CARE have a healthy baby? (The 420 pound woman from last week comes to mind. Who said she never felt the baby kick because she was so heavy. UM, babies kick from the INSIDE.)The injustice of it all pisses me off. So, not only do I have to be jealous of people who get knocked up by accident or really easy, I have to be
jealous of other stillbirth moms who get pregnant months after their loss. So many have a baby just a year later. Not me. It is freaking MARCH. In two months he will have been gone a year. A full year. And I am still stuck, in my house, where my baby didn't come home. No closer to adding to our family than we were a year ago. No closer to seeing my husband hold his living child. How stupid is it? To be jealous of someone who has had their child taken away from them? But I am. Jealous that their bodies WORK. Their eggs pop out like good little eggs, and implant like good little eggs and the cells divide LIKE THEY ARE SUPPOSE TO. I don't begrudge anyone their kid. I really don't. I am very happy for you. I am just really really really fucking pissed off for myself. Pissed off at my body. Pissed off that it has been so long that my son is gone and I have to keep living day to day. I have no choice. No way out. I have to keep living. Anger is a nasty emotion. But sometimes I like it better than sadness

I was at lunch today at the bagel shop, and here comes a pregnant woman, with a shirt on that said "Due in May with a boy!" So, after I bolted out of the bagel shop, I went to Target. Into the baby clothes section. I have never allowed myself in that section since Curtis died. I looked at all the 12 month clothes, I looked at all the Easter clothes, I picked out an outfit I would have liked him to wear. It was so cute, little khakis, a little teddy bear on the vest, a little plaid shirt underneath... I pretended for a moment he was at daycare and I could pick him up for a few hours. Sometimes, I just pretend he is upstairs, sleeping. (I thought I was crazy until I heard another loss mom say she does the same thing.)I then went to my car and cried and cried. I just want my baby here. I don't know why this happened. And I am so flipping sick of feeling like this

We saw Reign Over Me today. That movie hit grief head on. Remembering is too painful. Moving on is too hard. So here we are. People giving me the little "poor you" routine. "It's okay to feel bad". Really? Is it? Thanks for the insight. You go back to your happy little life and happy family and quit fucking pretend like you give two craps about me

I really don't want to hear "you are still a mother! You are such a good mommy to Curtis. He is a lucky boy to have you s his mom."I am a mother is the sense that I gave birth, but I am not an every day mom. I don't get hugs and kisses and diapers to change. I don't have a kid to pick up from daycare and get holiday pictures with. He is not lucky. He got robbed of his life. Robbed of his first steps, his first Christmas, his first kiss, graduating college, meeting the love of his life. He is NOT lucky. He got robbed. And we got robbed of seeing him grow up. I am not an everyday mom. And I want to be his everyday mom.

There is no way I can be a good mom to Curtis. He isn't here. The things I do are in his memory. It isn't mothering him. Mothering a child is completely different than looking at his pictures and uploading things to his website. This isn't "mothering" it is grieving a little baby who never got to even take a breath or cry.

I really have a hard time believing anyone gets to bring a living baby home. Mainly because I have heard 1001 sad stories this year. It is all stillbirth/infant death all the time. I am sorry if those that are pregnant are bothered by me saying that, but ... I read your journals, your feelings, I have seen a lot of you bring babies home just fine and dandy. My story isn't like that, but my story is just as real. Except I know people don't read because I am that scary reminder. That you CAN go 40 weeks and not come home with your baby. Forty fucking weeks. I can still see Craig, two days before we lost Curtis, tell my stomach to "get the show on the road" he was ready to meet his son. It is one if life's cruelest jokes. To carry your child for 9 months and only get to hold their dead body for 4 hours.

Oh, at a wedding this weekend, I counted the number of times I was told "well, after you have kids it all changes...." "it is so hard with kids to..." 36 times between Friday and Saturday. Each and every one of these people know we lost a baby. But these words roll out and each are like a little punch. After I had a child, yes everything changed. But not in the way they are talking about. Once again, further proof people think I need to be over it. Even my SIL admitted she didn't realize the magnitude of our loss until that charity banquet. She, with a 2 year old, admitted she thought we should be over it. At least she had the guts to admit it. Our loss, is gigantic. It is Bah, I know I am just down because I think what this weekend or next weekend should be. It should be Curtis' first birthday party. I don't have a living child. In the past year I have been pregnant two times and two times I lost a baby. Once at 40 weeks, once very early. It is so hard. He should be walking and talking by now. We would be entering the crazy fun stage. Why was he robbed of his life?? What had that poor baby done? What had we done?

So, I am reading over this today. And crying. Feeling all of those emotions right at the surface again. Two years after the fact. Reading over all of this makes me realize how far I have come...but yet, haven't really. I know that makes no sense. Having Claudia here _does_ help. It really does.

But there isn't a day I don't cry for Curtis. Usually in the car, on the way home from work on my way to pick her up.I dream about that 2 and a half year old running to me. I get choked up in the injustice of it all. How I know that I am not alone. It has happened to far too many women to count.

I am still so angry. Bitter... one thing that struck me when I was reading over my old journals is this "Anger is a nasty emotion. But sometimes I like it better than sadness."

So true.

I hate knowing my family will never be complete. He is always missing, and I am always missing because of it.

Saturday, January 10, 2009

Our Story: Part 21.

Losing Hope

In November of 2006, we finally wanted to try again. Actually, we had been "open" to that option the whole time but my body refused. I was not ovulating on my own. I have a condition called Poly Cystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS) which can hinder ovulation. I was able to get pregnant with Curtis on our own, but I was still having cycles. They were irregular, but we got lucky with him. Well, as lucky as one can be when losing a child at 40 weeks.

Honestly, I was pretty ticked off at my body. The least it could do was ovulate for me! Geesh.

I went to see my old OB that I had with Curtis. I was planning on being done with him once I got pregnant again, but for the mean time, he was fine. They ran a few blood tests and said "You, you aren't ovulating". And offered to put me on a low dose of clomid (a drug that aides in ovulation) to see if that would jump start my body.

I remember when I got the call from the doctor that they were going to put me on clomid. I was in between clients at work, in my car. I felt this wave of hope! Happiness! I hung up the phone, cranked up the radio and sang along.

I was SO happy.

I took the first round of clomid and had little in the way of side effects. Thanks to ovulation predictor kits (OPKs), I knew when I was ovulating and everything was timed correctly.

Two weeks later, I got a negative on a pregnancy test, and a blood test, and my period came.

I was not that bummed out. We were headed to Vegas right then, I could have some drinks, the next round could begin. It would be okay. All that mattered to me was I had the chance to get pregnant again. All that mattered to me was I ovulated. That was big since I hadn't had a cycle since getting pregnant with Curtis.

I picked up my new round of clomid and headed to Vegas.

Now, the next part of this post gets kind of technical, women who have been down the obsessive trying to conceive world will get it. For others, I will try to explain it clearly.

I was using OPKs to try to figure out when I was ovulating. Starting at 7 days in to my cycle, my OPKs were consistently getting more and more positive. That shouldn't have been the case at all. I shouldn't be ovulating that soon. Usually you ovulate around 12 or 14 days in a cycle. Clomid can kind of muck that up, so that is why I was testing early. And if I was ovulating, OPKs should only be positive for a day, maybe two. Not for days and darkening on each day. OPKs and home pregnancy tests do measure one of the same chemicals. So a positive pregnancy test CAN show as positive on an OPK.

Something was weird.

On a whim, I took a pregnancy test.

Positive. Immediately.


I knew something was wrong. Immediately. I did. I really did. But it didn't make the aftermath any less heartbreaking.

I had just finished my period. A full period about 10 days before. I had just finished my last clomid pill 3 days before. No way was I pregnant.

Little voices in my said "well, maybe...maybe something weird happened. Maybe you are pregnant. Maybe that period really wasn't a period. I mean, you hear about that stuff all the time...."

I knew that wasn't the case. I knew this wasn't right. I had taken a pregnancy test, it was negative.

I called Craig and told him. Him, not understanding the workings of OPKs and clomid and periods and things said "Well, if it is positive, you are pregnant." Yeah...but. But it wasn't right. I knew it wasn't.

I ran and had a blood test, but in the mean time I started to bleed. Nothing heavy, but something.

Yet, deep down, I still had hope.

I had a repeat blood test that showed the hormone levels were not rising. In the early parts of pregnancy, the hcg in a woman's body rises. The doctor told me to wait a few weeks to see if I would miscarry on my own.

I never did. I went in for one last ultrasound to be sure. There was nothing but some tissue. I was scheduled for a d&c the next day.

Laying on that ultrasound table just reminded me of the last ultrasound we had with Curtis. The one where his body lay still inside of me. No heart fluttering away.

We scheduled a d&c for a Saturday morning. I wouldn't have to miss work, Craig wouldn't either.

We arrived at the hospital and a chatty nurse did my pre-op stuff. She was kind and sweet. I was dressed in the gown at this point and she saw my Curtis tattoo. She started to cry when I said he was our son. Lost in May at 40 weeks.

Another nurse stayed with me while I was waiting to be taken back. "The doctor is running late! It is a baby boom up there!"

Great. Thanks lady.

She patted me on the head. (What am I? A golden retriever?) "I have had a d&c before. Don't worry, I went on to have other kids. Cheer up!"

"Well, I already lost one baby at 40 weeks and now this one. So I don't exactly feel like cheering up."

She LAUGHED and walked away.

Did she think I was joking?

At that point Craig was allowed to come back and sit with me. I didn't want him next to me. I couldn't stand it. I obviously couldn't give him a child. This pregnancy was different, it was pretty much broken from the start. Even though deep down we were hoping there was some little fighter in there, it was pretty obvious something was wrong. I honestly think Craig was much more worried about me at this point.

Later that night, I sat in our huge bath tub and cried and cried. I kept apologizing to Craig. I was so damn angry.

The following Monday, I got a phone call from a doctor (not mine) at 6pm that he was reviewing my reports from the d&c and was worried that I possibly had an ectopic pregnancy. Something the d&c would miss. He found no signs of conception in the tissue they took out of me. He said if I feel sick to my stomach, spike a fever, side hurts, back hurts, or any of these things, to go straight to the ER. If not, make an appointment with my regular doctor as soon as possible. I mean, if a doctor is calling you at 6pm at night, that isn't good, right?

I was pretty much on the ground sobbing at this point. I know what ectopic means. I know that is serious surgery. I know women die from ectopic pregnancies. I know women lose their fertility from ectopics.

I was a shaking nervous wreck.

The next morning Craig left for work and I called in sick. I had gotten an appointment for later in the day. Soon after he left, I started to shake, I broke into a cold sweat, I couldn't stand up. My stomach didn't hurt, but my shoulder and upper back ached. It felt like my skin was on fire. A quick google search said some ectopic pain can be diverted to the shoulder.

I was getting more and more scared. My eyes were going blurry. No one was around. In my panic, I called 911.

Yes, 911.

In hindsight, this was a MAJOR overreaction. But I had no idea what was going on inside of me. I was convinced my fallopian tube was exploding, I was never going to be able to have a baby and I was going to die. It seemed perfectly rational.

I was hyperventilating by the time the EMS guys came. They calmed me down and took me in to the hospital.

Where I was treated like absolute crap.

They ignored my "hey, the doctor told me to come in if I felt this way..." The nurse, boy you could tell I was annoying the crap out of her. I was scared. They ran a few tests, an xray of my neck. I know I was wasting space in the ER. I know the ER is for life threatening diseases. I know it isn't a walk in clinic.

But I was scared.

They said I had a virus. They said the burning skin was the number one sign of shingles.

SHINGLES? Are you flippin' serious?

I was discharged. My OB didn't even bother to come see me. Even though I heard he was in the ER at the same time because he needed to see another patient. Is it any wonder I dropped him?

I still didn't believe the shingles diagnosis. I was still shaking, feverish, and feeling miserable.

But they were right. I had shingles. The stress and anxiety from everything I had been dealing with caused the most painful sores to pop up all over my back and shoulder a few days later. Lovely. Just lovely.

On top of it, because I wasn't diagnosed "for sure" I had to go back to the doctor and get a prescription.

I never had an ectopic. My blood levels just dropped slowly, so I had to go for repeat blood every week until they were zero. Let me tell you, THAT was fun. They cannot explain the "no sign of conception" thing. Being that they can't explain WHEN I got pregnant. I had negative pregnancy tests before I had my cycle. AND my OPKs were not positive right away. It was just one of those "flukes" no one can explain.

The plan then was to go on birth control for a few months and shut down my body and then start a round of clomid again.

I honestly felt crushed. That day in my car, where I was first given clomid, I was SO excited. I liked having hope and now, hope felt lost.

I did too.

Wednesday, January 7, 2009

I was watching a new episode of Scrubs this week. It was on death/dying and the fear surrounding it. I was sobbing by the end of it.

I have such a fear of death since our daughter was born. I have known way to many people touched by unexpected and sudden deaths this year. I have heard too many horrible stories about people dying way too young, leaving their children behind.

I have a lot of anxiety about leaving Claudia behind. Almost to the point where there is probably something wrong with me because I have _that_ much anxiety about it. My fear about death isn't that I don't think she will be okay, but because I do not want to miss out on her growing up. I want to see the person she will turn into. I want her to have memories of her mom. My reasons are selfish, but I want to enjoy the child I worked so hard to give life to. I want those years with her and Craig. I want those years of us as a family.

One thing that on the episode was everyone admitted they were afraid of death, but one character mentioned that he just hoped his last thought was a happy one. That was an amazing statement. So simple, no big wrap up on life, but just that his last thought was a happy one.

Like I mentioned, my faith is shaky, at best....but striving to make my thoughts happy .... even while thinking about the little boy who so briefly entered my world could make all the difference in reducing some of the mind numbing anxiety I have had lately.

Monday, January 5, 2009


Today has been a horrid, no good, awful day.

Everything that could go wrong did. Work is a gigantic mess right now. It won't calm down until next month. I am talking total and utter chaos.

We had some freezing rain a few days ago. The roads are _still_ ice covered. They have't bothered to sand/salt or anything. We were bumper to bumper. It wasn't snowing or anything, just left over ice from days ago. I almost skidded off the road, granted I was only going 5 MPH, but still. This morning my normal 23 minute commute took over 70 minutes to go 18 miles! I got to work 30 minutes late. So, if you can do the math, I even left early to account for some traffic and some ice.

I have had a headache all day.

I am dieting, started a few weeks ago and not seeing ANY rewards for my work. I have lost weight before, I know the first few weeks are the "easy" weeks and you tend to lose bigger numbers right away. Not me. Despite exercising, and eating healthy.

Baby girl has been crabby. She has had a rough time at daycare which I always feel bad about, bad for her caretaker, bad for her. Bad for myself.

Days like this, you think I could brush off. You think I would say "well, don't let this stuff get to you because it isn't the worst thing that has ever happened." Icy roads happen. Work stress happens. Kids get crabby. It happens.

However...lately, for days like this, it just makes me ache that much more for Curtis. Days like this make me long for him, make me think that maybe if he was here life wouldn't seem so damn unfair. That I could manage the stupid little stuff better if I hadn't had to deal with the HUGE stuff too.

It is hard to feel like there is no justice. I had to deal with my kid dying! Why should I have to deal with icy roads? Why should I have to work so hard to lose one pound?

On bad days, it just adds to my underlying sadness. On some level, I am always sad. So, a bad day just multiplies that sadness. I sat down to journal about my bad day elsewhere and I ended it with "I miss my son."

That is what each bad, no good, awful day boils down to at it's base. Missing him.

Missing him so much that thse other tiny things finally overwhelm me until I crawl into bed and let the tears that have been threatening all day release.

Sunday, January 4, 2009

So. It is 2009.

It was really hard to say goodbye to 2008, as it was an amazing year. It was full of all of the "firsts" we had desperately longed for after we lost Curtis. I was lucky enough to be home with Claudia full time until August. And when I had to go back to work, it was still on a part time basis.

We, quite frankly, have had a blast. I know there are a lot of first to come with her. Craig says "2006 was our sad year. 2007 was our stressful year. 2008 is our happy year."

And it was. That is not to say 2009 won't be happy, but it was a year straight of just getting to focus on the 3 of us and attempting that happiness thing. I know there will be some things in 2009 that will add a lot onto our shoulders. So saying goodbye to 2008 was very bittersweet.

Thursday, January 1, 2009

Our Story Links:

Below is a list of my "our story" posts. They are scattered throughout the blog and I am continually adding to them. It chronicles from finding out about Curtis through my pregnancy with daughter (in the future). Please note, my counting got off somehow, so ignore the numbers on the individual posts until I can go back and fix. From top to bottom here is the order of each post.

Finding Out:


4 hours with our son:

After goodbye:

Coming home:

Preparing for the service:

The service:

After the service:

Another loss:

Tattoos and Funerals:

Back to the real world:

The Marathon:

Our Birthdays:

Taking him home:

Spreading his ashes

Memorial Walk

The Job


Losing Hope:

Finding Joy


First Glimpse of her:

Curtis' birthday part I:

Curtis' Birthday part II:


Our Miracle Worker: