Our Story, Part 28

Since I have been on a hiatus from blogging about pregnancy after loss, Claudia's story, this was the last post I made. Part 27 On the side of my blog are a list of each post about "our story" I have to go through and tag them, there are about 26 entries at this point (I got messed up somewhere along the way with the numbers.... one day I will go fix it. Not today.) I am going to finish her story and...heck, get started on Cole's. Why not? So look for these posts in the coming months!

We had agreed to meet with the doctor over 90 minutes away. I clearly remember the appointment being at 3:30pm on a Thursday. I had been emailing with the doctor and she had squeezed us in. Craig and I drove to St Cloud, MN and arrived 30 minutes early. We easily found the clinic and made our way to the waiting room.

The waiting room was packed. Full of pregnant women, babies, and the humdrum of a busy office. My stomach was in knots. I felt like I was going to throw up at any given moment. Craig was making light jokes, like he always does, and I was shooting him death glares. We must have been quite the sight.

The minutes ticked by and our appointment time came and went. My head was racing, a headache had already formed. What if? What if this doctor didn't live up to expectations? What if she was cold and clinical? What if we didn't click? How was I doing to get this baby here? What if she tried the doppler and the baby was already gone?

About 45 minutes after our appointment time came, they called me back. A nice nurse lead us back to the room. After she sat down with us, the first words she said to me were "I am so sorry about the loss of your son, Curtis."

She said his name. She mentioned my loss. She KNEW. She looked at my chart. I wasn't just a number, another random patient. She took the time, the doctor took the time, she knew. I had my charts sent from my former clinic, but I was still so impressed they took the time to mention him, and by name. I love his name. I love hearing it.

The nurse went over my history. It is typical in a first prenatal appointment. Entire family history. Medications. Blah blah blah. I relaxed some, but this work up took over 45 minutes and I wanted to meet the doctor. The nurse eventually stepped out and said Dr R would be in soon.

We waited. We sat in silence. I often wonder how Craig held it all together. I was the one with the baby growing inside of me and I am sure he felt on the outside so much. Not sure how to get me through, not sure how to get himself through....but he was there and that is what matters.

Dr R came into the room. A beautiful woman, late 30s, with a giant smile. She warmly smiled at us, shook our hands. She leaned into us as we talked, she combed through my charts. I felt an instant kinship with her. I later would joke that I would move her in with us if she would come. I loved her that much. She apologized for our loss. She asked me if it was hard being in a clinic full of pregnant woman.  She asked questions and listened to our answers. She was more than willing to have me monitor with the research doctor in my 3rd trimester. She wanted to see my very 3 weeks instead of the regular four. Eventually, the middle of the 2nd trimester she wanted to see me every two weeks. Starting at 28 weeks, every week.   She wanted me to have regular ultrasounds to monitor growth. I would have the nightly monitoring starting at 28 weeks with the cord doctor and she would review the monitor strips each night. She would give me her phone number to reach her at any time. She wanted a full blood work, something my past doctor had completely missed. She laid out a wonderful plan. She was honest. She said she wouldn't hesitate to put me in the hospital if something didn't look right. She wanted me to meet with the perinatologist for a high risk ultrasound. At anytime, she may transfer me to a peri if she felt I would be better served. The appointment was a breath of fresh air. To have a doctor not rush out of the room. To have a doctor take the time, to listen. My other doctor told me, despite losing Curtis at 40 weeks he would do nothing different. This was light years different. Right away.

I would later discover I would have to often wait for my appointments well past the scheduled time...but it was because she spent so much time with her patients. Yeah, I probably got a little bit extra because of my history. But I have met her other patients, ones non-high risk and they all feel the same way about her.

I remember walking out of the clinic with Craig by my side. We started walking across the parking lot and he took my hand.

"We made the right decision in coming here."

Yes, yes we did.

I posted a story that crosses both of my blogs. It is about the doctor I had who helped me get Claudia and Cole here. I haven't finished Claudia's pregnancy story yet...but she is the key player:

Bittersweet Goodbye

Today has been a no good rotten day. Actually, this whole week has been rotten. Not at home, but at work. I have a job I truly enjoy but as with all things you pour a lot of yourself into....it can be stressful. It can hurt. It can cause you to want to throw your hands in the air and walk away from it all.

Lately, I have been thinking about my first moments with Curtis. Not when I was pregnant with him, but right after the nurse laid him on my chest after he was born. He was so quiet. So still. His eyes were closed...and I was scared of him. I was so scared of his little, still body, a body I had felt move at one point but now....was still.

Basically, I had poured myself into this pregnancy and him and when it got hard,  I walked away from it all.

Just for a moment. Just for a moment. I swear, it was just for a moment. But the guilt of what I felt in those moments, being scared of him, eats me up more than any of my other regrets. The nurse took him away and cleaned him up. He came back all wrapped up, cozy, like any newborn baby. I held him. I shared him. I had to make the decision to eventually say goodbye to his little body and never, ever, ever hold him again.

These moments have been looping in my mind lately. I don't know why. I don't know why four and a half years later I can't forgive myself of being scared of him. Being scared of what was ahead. Sometimes it still feels like too much. And I want to throw my hands in the air, and walk away. But I can't. Because, like all things we truly enjoy and all things that are worth pouring ourselves into....there are moments where you know it is completely worth it.

Funeral Clothes.

I went through my closet recently, pulling out stuff to donate. Stuff that doesn't fit. Stuff I don't wear anymore.... I tend to hang on to things for sentimental reasons. There is the dress I wore to our rehearsal dinner. There is the pair of jeans I wore on our first date. (After 4 pregnancies, 3 kids, 4 surgeries  two of which were csections and gaining and losing weight over and over again I will NEVER fit into again). Then there is the long flowy skirt and brown sweater top I wore to Curtis' funeral. I remember, very clearly, standing in the dressing room at JC Penny's trying it on. It was 3 days after I have given birth. I was all post partum. Still looked 6 months pregnant. I had nothing that fit. The skirt had an elastic waist. The top fit. I cried in the dressing room. This was not how I had expected the third day after giving birth to go. I wanted to be dressing and changing my baby boy. Not picking out clothes for his funeral.

But, I did. And, a mere 10 days later, I had to wear those clothes again to another funeral of a life that was taken way to suddenly.

So, since those two funerals those clothes had sat in my closet. Why? I don't know. I have cleaned out my closet numerous times since. Those clothes are too big for me now. I don't even like them that much. I bought them out of necessity. But I have hung on to them. Because they are a part of a memory. They are part of my journey through losing Curtis. So, there they sat.

I stared at them. I took them off the hanger. I am not attached to them. But they are a symbol, a symbol of a part of my life that is all too important.

But they are just clothes. Just clothes I wore, on two really really hard days. Clothes I picked out to say goodbye to my son. Clothes I wore when I stood up in front of friends and family and said 'Don't feel too sorry for us. We got to meet and hold our son.'

I added those clothes to my donation pile. It is weird to do so after looking at them for the last 4 and a half years, just hanging off to the side. But it is okay. They are just clothes.

Right? Then why did it feel so weird?

The random things hit, the things that I had forgotten about and come rushing back.

I was in Target the other day, their Christmas stuff had hit 90% off and I was digging for any treasure I could find to put away for next year. I found a cute shirt for me, a wreathe hanger....and all of a sudden I flashed back to January 2006.

Craig and I went to Target and I found the clearance stuff. 90% off Christmas stuff. There was a stack of baby Christmas stuff. Christmas Pooh bear bibs, some little Christmas socks, Christmas onesies. Some made for girls, some made for boys. I told Craig I would buy some if I knew what the baby was. He laughed and told me for 90% off, I should just buy it. The most we would be out was ninety cents and who cared about that? I threw it all in the cart. Stuff we weren't even sure would fit. We couldn't predict how big our June baby would be come that December. But, for 90% off, who cared!

I had forgot about that shopping trip five years later. I even forgot about it half way through my digging through the 90% off rack this year....and then all of a sudden the memories came flooding back. I remember being SO giddy buying that stuff for him (we didn't know it was 'him' yet...we would find out that two weeks later.).

I suppose some things never change...I still get giddy buying stuff for my kids, even more so if it is a great deal.  It is interesting how a memory like that can come out of nowhere. It doesn't knock me flat out like it may have in the past, but it is still sharp enough that it hurt for a minute to take a deep breath.

A friend posted this on her FB today:

"I'm going to get out of bed every morning, breath in and out all day long, and after awhile I won't have to remind myself to get out of bed in the morning and breath in and out. And, then after awhile I won't have to think about how I had it great and perfect for awhile...." ~Sleepless In Seattle (when asked what he... was going to do after loss)

And, I am loving this quote by the wonderful Elizabeth Edwards, who lost her son Wade when he was just 16.

"If you know someone who has lost a child or lost anybody who's important to them, and you're afraid to mention them because you think you might make them sad by reminding them that they died, they didn't forget they died. You're not reminding them. What you're reminding them of is that you remember that they lived, and that's a great, great gift.'"

Just wanted to share.

Hi Everyone! I started a new blog: http://ourversionofafamily.blogspot.com/

Yes, I will still be blogging here at BSBSB, as this is Curtis' story and that never ends.  Also, in the coming months I *will* be finishing the story I started way back when. I will finish Claudia's story and hopefully Cole's as well. Pregnancy after a stillbirth deserves a lot of attention...it is was tough tough time. That will all occur at this blog.

However, I find myself wanting to blog more about some day to day stuff as my children are growning to share with family and friends, and you can find that at our other blog. Please follow if you would like! I am sure there will be some cross over...because Curtis is very much a part of our daily life as well.

We have had quite the holiday season so far. We have had a lot of fun activities and also a lot of issues. such as blizzards ruining plans and stomach flu wiping three of us out last weekend and this week!

On Wednesday Craig and I took the kids to see Santa. We had to, twice, cancel a breakfast with Santa. First time due to 20 inches that dumped on us and the second time because Claudia was throwing up. So, on Wednesday Craig and I took them. It is a different kind of Santa thing, he spends five or so minutes getting them to warm up to him. Sitting on the floor with them, chatting with them before the picture. They had great methods for getting Cole on Santa's lap without him even realizing there was a strange man with a huge beard holding him.

Honestly, it was one of the cutest things ever. Claudia loved him, Cole did fabulous. Even when he swiveled his head around and saw who was holding him, no screams. Santa made him laugh and all was right.

I am pretty used to it now. I had a fleeting thought of 'Curtis should be here' but it wasn't overwhelming. Last year was Cole's first Christmas and I was really overjoyed he was HERE, he was SAFE. I cried after we took them to see Santa and Craig said "One is missing?" and I shook my head. That honestly wasn't it. I was relieved and happy to see two children with Santa.

It is hard not to feel guilty. I had a hard day a few weeks ago, randomly bursting into tears over Curtis. Those days are far and few in between but a lot of it was the guilt I feel for moving forward. But, I know, I have no reason to. Curtis is just as loved as when we first had him. His death is just part of our lives and that is the only capacity we have had him for four and a half years. Cole and Claudia are here so of course we are going to live their lives with them.

I don't even know what I am trying to say. With each passing year, it gets better. It really does. That doesn't mean I don't miss Curtis....but having Claudia and Cole with us to brighten our days... watching them grown by leaps and bounds continues to fascinate me.

Curtis, I miss and love you. Though we parted ways too soon I know I feel joy at a much deeper level because you are in our lives. Merry Christmas, baby boy.

Today, I took the day off of work and took Claudia to the mall. They were having a special even where you could meet Dora and have a Christmas dance and sing a long. Claudia loves all things Dora so it was a special me and her time.

While standing in line, there was a grandma in front of us with her 4 grandkids (I am assuming. A few called her grandma and they all looked similar in age). 2 of the little girls were talking to my cousin and her daughter. Somehow the fact came up that my cousin's daughter has 3 older sisters. The little boy of the group, who is maybe 4, then turns to me and says " I have three sisters too." And a few seconds later, he says, "I have a brother who died."

I sat for a second, not sure of what he said.

I asked him what he said and he repeated "I have a brother who died. His name is Nathan."

I was holding Claudia and I said to him "She has a brother who died. His name is Curtis. That is hard when a brother dies."

He nodded and smiled at me.

I said to him "Thank you for telling me about him."

He beamed and went back to playing with his cousins. I saw his grandma give a sweet smile to him.

I have always wondered. I have always wondered what Claudia and Cole will say. Will they mention him with ease like this little boy? I sure hope so. Will it change as they get older? What relationship can or will they have with a baby who left way before they were ever present?

But, I am so thankful I ran into that little boy and his sweet mention of his brother, Nathan. And to Nathan and this little boy's parents: Thank you. Thank you for talking about the son you lost and making sure he is int he hearts of your other children.

I just realized my last two posts sound a lot the same...it is what happens when you post months apart and don't look back as to what you have written.

Today, Claudia is three. I remember driving up to the hospital (close to two hours away) terrified. Out of my mind. We had not told our families I was having an amnio and a possible c-section that day. They still thought it was a week away. We didn't want to get their anxiety levels up, ours were bad enough.

I had rented a doppler and even in the way, on the way to the hospital, I would listen to her heartbeat.

I remember the cold, sterile room where I had the long needle inserted into my belly and they removed fluid from the baby.

I remember our wonderful doctor having to do it TWICE because the needle didn't work. I remember her saying that had never happened before and "Of course it would happen to YOU."

I remember walking up to the room and laying on the bed and getting hooked to monitors. I remember waiting, waiting, waiting for results.

I remember Claudia going NUTS in utero. I remember her turning and turning and kicking to the point I was in tons of pain. I remember watching her heart rate climb to over 220 (NOT normal) and I remember launching into full blown panic. I remember the nurse telling me it was normal. I remember arguing with her that I had nightly monitoring for 8 weeks and the highest her heart rate got was 170 and 220 was NOT normal. I remember Craig trying to call me down.

I remember them calling my doctor and her racing in, looking at the monitors,  and telling me they would take the baby no matter the results of the amnio.

I remember calling my parents...so excited to tell them the baby was coming but being that they were taken so aback by it they were scared instead of happy. I had to tell them this was a GOOD thing, a planned thing...but I was so upset what I had expected to be a "HAPPY" call after Curtis' "SAD" call wasn't.

I remember Craig getting scrubs on. I remember being wheeled into surgery. I remember not asking questions because I was afraid of the answer.

I remember the needled inserted into my spine...I remember the doctors and nurses joking, talking about what they were going to do for Thanksgiving the next day.

I remember a tug. I remember MORE tugs. I remember Craig sitting next to me, talking softly and calmly, but his eyes showed his nervousness.

I remember Dr. R pulling her out and saying "There is a cord." (meaning a cord issue. She was wrapped up, a lot, in her cord. Again. Another baby with a cord issue. Why her heart rate had climbed).

I remember her cry. I remember saying "I want her to keep crying". I remember looking to my right and seeing her under the warming lights.

The first feeling? Not an overwhelming sense of love. Or happiness.

I felt relief. RELIEF. She was here, She was alive. And for the first time in about 17 months, a deep breath I took.

Falling in absolute love came about an hour later when I got to hold her before she spent the rest of the day in the NICU being monitored. I was okay with her NICU time. I was thrilled someone else was caring for her, watching her. It had been exhausting being the only one to care for her 24 hours a day. And not being able to physically see her.

 I fall more in love with her everyday.

I am lucky.

I am the lucky one.

I am the one I would have searched for after losing a baby at 40 weeks.

In the days, and weeks, after I lost Curtis I was desperate to find someone like myself. Someone who lost their FIRST baby at 40 weeks and went on to have living children. I couldn't relate to someone who lost their 2nd or 3rd or 4th baby. I wanted to find someone like me.

Someone who walked in to the doctor's office and no heartbeat to be found. I wanted to know they picked themselves up, dusted themselves off, and tried again. And succeeded.

I am my own "best case scenario" after losing my son at 40 weeks.

I picked myself up, dusted myself and everyone around me off, and tried again.

And took home a beautiful daughter and a beautiful son.

Our family is as complete as it is going to get without Curtis. I truly love my life as it is right now. I can't bring back Curtis (trust me, I have tried. I still play the what if game on a regular basis). Claudia and Cole fill my days with laughter, joy, stress, exhaustion, and love. (Yes, I said stress and exhaustion. Because that is what kids do. Even as a loss mama, I still get annoyed and frustrated. But, I gotta say it is a heck of a lot less thanks to a truck load of perspective.)

I am blessed to have a job I enjoy and can work part time at. I am blessed to be able to take a few classes with Claudia.

I think about Curtis all the time. I miss him all the time. I tear up when I see how  much Cole loves to watch the little boy who is close to Curtis' age at daycare. Or watch my sweet nephew who is only a year or so older then Curtis, want to sit close to Cole and entertain him. This year Curtis would be 4 and a half at Christmas. I can picture him running down the stairs with Claudia in tow, jumping up an down at the excitement of Christmas morning. But, it isn't my reality and never will be.

Ya know, as I write this, it still doesn't even seem real. I miss being pregnant with him when I had no clue what my future held. I miss the short time I got to hold him...my mind was so fuzzy I didn't do all the things I know in hindsight I should have. I hate the fact I didn't have the funeral for him that I should have.

It is emotions I have blogged about before. But they are always still there.

But, I am still the best case scenario. I know far too many women who have had miscarriages, stillbirth, and more miscarriages. And no living children. I don't know why this isn't me. None of these women deserve that nightmare. I do count myself as the lucky one.

Claudia is turning 3 on Sunday. Three. I haven't even gotten close to completing her pregnancy story and birth story. But I promise I will. It is all so fresh still.

Three years ago, I took a deep breath for the first time in about 16 months. I know I am lucky.

One year ago today, I entered the hospital. Pregnant with my second son and terrified out of my mind. I wouldn't leave for 3 weeks...but when I left, I had a teeny tiny baby boy to show for my, my husbands, my doctors, and my family's efforts. It was truly a team event. I know this...but his pregnancy was the loneliest I have ever felt. I remember pacing the hospital room in the middle of many nights in a full blown anxiety attack. Waiting to hold him in my arms. Wanting to hear his cry.

Here we are...almost a year later. Our Cole is almost one year old. I walk through the baby aisles at Target the teeny tiny baby aisles. With the newborn shoes and the newborn onesies. Cole isn't that anymore. (Heck, at 30 lbs..yes 30 lbs...he hasn't been that for awhile!). Cole is approaching the "toddler" age. Thankfully, he isn't toddling anywhere yet and I am okay with that.

But it is amazing. Amazing on how fast a year can go. We have an almost 3 year old and an almost one year old. They make us laugh, make us smile, and make us regularly lose sleep.

Given what happened to us...losing Curtis like we did... things couldn't have turned out better for us after his loss. Having two children in our arms. Having a solid, fun, happy marriage. We have been lucky. The road to get here was hard. Their pregnancies were horrid. Cole was a hard newborn with colic and reflux. But... things are good. Really good. I will miss having a teeny tiny baby to shop for teeny tiny things for...but it is okay. I want my children to grow up. I have given my children life so they can LIVE it. I couldn't do that for Curtis, I couldn't give him the life I thought I was. So, instead of clinging too tightly and not letting my children find their wings, I resolve to make sure my children get to experience life. I plan to enjoy each and every moment. They are already such neat and interesting people...I am so excited to know them as adults.

But not too soon, okay? I am not ready to shop in the big kids' section, much less the tween.... living in the moment is a good thing. And Curtis? As I am watching Claudia and Cole...I will carry your heart....

One of the hardest things about being a parent to a child who has died is ....well, you are still their parent. You still want to talk about them. You want to DO things for them. You want to brag about them. I know there are some people who prefer not to mention the children they have lost... but not me. Curtis is an everyday part of my life.

Anytime I have the chance to do something in his memory, I jump at it. The walk is the one time a year I ask/beg/plead with other people to remember Curtis with me. Our families are great, they willingly participate in the annual walk/run with us. I hate fundraising, I really do....but for Curtis, I do. I have spent the last month making my facebook status updates and asking people to donate in memory of Curtis. I ordered personalized tshirts for everyone walking with us (they turned out GREAT!). It is the one time of year I push...I push people to remember our baby boy.

Last week, the founder of the Missing GRACE Foundation asked me to come and record some radio spots promoting the walk. They have looped on a local radio station. I cannot tell you how excited I was to be able to do this...talk about Curtis? Get to record something talking about Curtis that lots of people will hear? You bet!! Anything to talk about my boy.

Here are the clips:
http://hopeandheartsrun.org/minnesota/RadioChantal.mp3
http://hopeandheartsrun.org/minnesota/RadioChantalJulie.mp3

It has been a hard month. My little boy should have started preschool this week. The what ifs ALWAYS haunt. But events like this...well, they ease the pain a bit. We get to take Cole to his first Hope and Hearts walk (well, last year he was there....just in utero!) and take Claudia to her THIRD. We will have a team of friends and family with us.

In grief, there are blessings.

I am here :) I wanted to post a link to my fundraising page for Curtis.... Team Curtis 2010 is such an important time in my life. The walk is something I look forward to all year. Last hear I was in my final month of being pregnant with Cole and I just couldn't fully enjoy the walk. This year I am so looking forward to bringing Curtis' siblings to the walk and remembering my baby boy. If you can please donate...even the smallest amount makes a world if difference. The money goes to prevention of stillbirth and pregnancy and loss support. Missing GRACE does amazing things. It was started in memory of lovely baby named Grace, who was born still at 32 weeks. Her parents have taken her name and created her legacy.
See more about Curtis, my family, Missing GRACE and The Pregnancy Institute:

http://www.firstgiving.com/ateamforcurtis

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I have had a few questions/comments in my comments/emails lately about recent posts and I wanted to address them here:

I had a question about my co-workers friend's baby who had decreased movement:

The baby was born without complication as far as I know. When she went in for decreased movement there were heart decels and they did an immediate c/s and the baby was born fine. Early, but fine. The cord issue was severe but it doesn't look like there has been any lasting damage.

I had lots of comments about my coworker who I told about kick counts, his wife is pregnant right now and we discussed, at length, kick counts.

He recently came to me and said "Just wanted to let you know, since our conversation my wife has been really vigilant with her kick counts. I hear her every night. She has an application on her phone (YAY technology) and it is going well. She knows his pattern and says it was cool figuring that out each night."

Needless to say I was THRILLED to hear that. Kick counts aren't just to make sure the baby is moving, it is about tracking PATTERNS.

Just wanted to throw those little updates out there!

I have a lot of friends and family due in the next few weeks. 3 of them recently had their babies and about 3 more I am waiting for.... I get nervous for those people. I do. I remember being at that finish line. I much prefer once their babies are here safely. I hate the worry I feel for them...and even more I hate the jealousy I feel when I see their smiling pictures after the baby is born. I am THRILLED for them, but I am always sad for myself. Yes, I have had 2 babies since losing Curtis and have gotten to experience the happy birth experience. But my birth experience is different. I knew the flip side and because of that my world is colored different. I do not want them to experience that at all.

But I always wonder what it feels like to be them. To not have had sadness surrounding a birth. To just know everyone's pure joy and excitement... to just know the baby will come home with you. It is weird to me that I have brought home two children, and yet, other people's births make me jealous.

I just recievied this email from a co-worker:

I "hang out" on an american pregnancy discussion board with other moms due in August. A couple days ago a woman at 35 weeks asked about reduction in movement and everyone on the board was like, it's normal, not enough room, etc, etc. So I jumped in and shared your story about Curtis and said that you were a strong advocate of doing kick counts and any change in pattern could be a sign. Well the woman took my advice, didn't feel baby a lot yesterday, followed her instinct and went to the hospital, had decelerations so they did a c-section - cord was twice around the neck, once around the body, and once around the arm. I just feel like you sharing your story with me, and me being able to pass it on really helped save that baby. Maybe Curtis was watching out for her. The baby's name does start with a C!

Kick counts. They work. This email...it means a lot. It means a lot that there are some people who listen, it means a lot that in my grief I have been able to 'help' others.