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An Anniversary of Loss

October 2, 2012 By

Ten years ago today, I lost my first baby during the second trimester of pregnancy. Looking back, it’s remarkable that the pregnancy got as far as it did, having been fraught with problems from the very start.

The doctor I had at the time was absolutely dreadful. When I told her that I was having problems, she said I was being paranoid. She said that first trimester bleeding was “normal” and resolutely refused to refer me for an ultrasound. I tried to point out that every hit I got on Google disagreed with her, and she proceeded to make me feel like an idiot for having researched my symptoms.

What did I know, right? She was the doctor, and she made it very clear that she was the one with the knowledge.

Her attitude only got more arrogant and patronizing after my husband and I took matters into our own hands and went to the emergency room, where an immediate ultrasound was ordered. There was the baby, with a heartbeat and everything. The growth wasn’t what it should have been, but that did not deter the doctor. Apparently I was so stupid that I did not even know when my last period had been.

Not that I’m bitter or anything. I mean, the doctor had the worst bedside manner in the history of doctors, but it’s unlikely that better treatment would have changed the outcome. I was devastated when I lost my baby, but to be honest, I wasn’t all that surprised. No part of me had expected that this pregnancy would go to term.

The doctor could have helped prepare me, though. Perhaps if she had just been honest about what was almost inevitable, if she had told me where to go for support, the aftermath would have been easier to bear.

Or maybe it wouldn’t have.

Yes, it probably wouldn’t have.

I’m still mad at her though, after all these years. No-one deserves to be treated the way she treated me.

I always feel conflicted on this anniversary.

On the one hand, there is sadness, a feeling of loss, and a “what if” kind of wondering.

But on the other hand, if that baby had lived, I wouldn’t have George. And I just cannot imagine life without George.

Sometimes I wonder if perhaps the whole chain of events happened for a reason, that all along it was leading up to the arrival of this beautiful boy who had been waiting in the wings the whole time, just waiting for his moment to be born.

My baby took a piece of me with her when she died. But she gave me so much more by paving the way for George’s arrival.

 

Filed Under: Baby, Doctor, Pregnancy Loss Tagged With: , , , ,
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There Are No Words

September 18, 2012 By

There are no words to describe the anxiety of enduring a pregnancy right after a second-trimester loss. What if it happens again? What if I lose this baby too? Will I ever experience the joy of motherhood?

Every little twitch and twinge was a cause for concern. The baby isn’t moving enough. The baby is moving too much. What does that look on the ultrasound tech’s face mean? Is it concern or detached professionalism?

There are no words to describe the gut-wrenching agony of labour, and the bone-chilling fear of seeing your soon-to-be-born child’s heart rate take a momentary nosedive. You’re so close, baby. You’ve made it so far, baby. You can do it. Find your way into this world.

There are no words to describe the welling-up of emotion as you lie spent on the delivery table, hearing your baby cry for the first time as the doctor congratulates you on your brand new son. He’s here. He’s alive. I am a mother.

There are no words to describe how it feels to hold your newborn baby in your arms for the first time. He’s beautiful. He’s fragile. I have been entrusted with the most precious gift anyone could ever have.

There are no words to describe the joy and pride of watching your baby become a toddler, and then a child, and then a taller child. Adventure. Laughter. Bittersweet. Love. Exploding-heart happiness.

Maybe there are some words. But not nearly enough.

Happy ninth birthday to George. Thank you for being here. Thank you for being you. I will love you forever, all the way past the stars and the moon and the universe.

(Photo credit. Kirsten Doyle)

Filed Under: Baby, Birth, Birthday, parenting, Pregnancy, Pregnancy Loss Tagged With: , , , ,
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The Birth Of Brotherhood

March 5, 2012 By

On the evening of Christmas Eve 2005, my husband and I lay on our bed with our son George between us. Then a little more than two years old, George was doing his usual pre-bedtime rolling around with Mommy and Daddy. It had been a nightly ritual from the day he was born. He would lie quietly with us while he drank his bedtime milk, and then he would spend ten minutes climbing onto my husband and then falling off in fits of giggles. It was a time that we treasured, but on this particular evening, I was feeling undertones of melancholy. My body was telling me that my second child would be born the following day. Which meant that this ritual was about to come to an end – or at least, dramatically change. In an odd way, I had already started feeling nostalgic for George’s only-child days.

It’s not to say that I wasn’t happy about the pending arrival. I couldn’t wait for this addition to my family. I was excited about bringing home a baby brother or sister for George, even though it would be a bit of a surprise for him to suddenly have an entire other human being in the house. Throughout my pregnancy, he hadn’t shown any signs of understanding what was going on, other than that he wasn’t allowed to jump on Mommy’s very large belly.

The baby did indeed arrive the following day, Christmas Day 2005. Having languished in his floaty home for a week past his due date, he was now very eager to get out and start living. I spent James’ first two days of life in a haze of exhaustion. When I had time to think, it was to wonder how George’s introduction to his new sibling would go.

As it happened, James started crying while we were driving him home for the first time. He wanted to be nursed, yet again. All about the boob, that one was. When we got him home, I settled down on the couch with him to nurse while my husband retrieved George from my mother-in-law. When George came bounding into the room to jump on the couch, I told my husband not to stop him. George stopped short at the sight of this tiny being attached to me, but although he was clearly surprised, he did not seem to mind the being’s presence. He didn’t say anything about it, but George was saying next to nothing at that time anyway.

For the first few weeks, George seemed a little bemused by James. I had the impression that he did not really see James as a person, but as an extra thing lying around the house. This was illustrated to me perfectly one day when James was lying on his back on the floor. We had one of those big foam alphabetic floor puzzles, and James was lying on that – in the exact spot where George wanted to play. George very matter-of-factly went up to James and took one tiny ankle in each hand. He then proceeded to drag James off the floor puzzle and onto the carpet. He was not rough or aggressive about it. He was merely moving something from Point A to Point B while I cracked up laughing. James didn’t seem to mind being displaced in this way. He just kind of looked at George with an air of resignation.

I will never forget the day I saw a shift happen in George – a shift from indifference to genuine brotherly affection. I had just changed James’ diaper and he was lying in the middle of my bed. George came in from wherever he had been and grabbed James’ leg as he was climbing onto the bed. James gurgled and waved an arm in response to being touched, and George stopped and stared at him, as if realizing for the first time that there was a person in there. His facial expression changed from one of curiosity to one of absolute tenderness. He reached forward, and with both arms, he reached out, lifted the baby and drew him close in a protective embrace.

It was the first time George spontaneously hugged James.

In that moment, I felt that my two sons truly became brothers.

Filed Under: Baby, Brothers, Children, family, Pregnancy, Siblings Tagged With: , , , , , , ,
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Remembering A Captain

January 24, 2012 By

A year ago today, a baby named David got his angel wings. After tirelessly staying by his side during his five-month-stay in hospital, his Mom – so brave, so beautiful inside and out, and with a heart bursting with love – held him in her arms as he winged his way into the next world.

During his time on earth, David – known to many of us as Captain Snuggles – changed many lives. He inspired people to appreciate what they had and to live their lives better. Through him, people started donating blood. Because David was here with us, because he fought so bravely, lives have been saved, continue to be saved because of the people who continue to donate blood in his honour.

What an amazing legacy for an eight-month-old baby.

To Captain Snuggles: rest in peace, smile on the people who live because of you, and touch your family with love.

To David’s mom Amy, who fought so hard for her son’s life: I send you vibes of love, strength, and peace. I wish I could be close enough to hug you, but through the bonds of friendship, I am with you tonight. May you and your family find strength in being together, and may all of you feel the loving presence of the brave Cap’n.

 

 

Filed Under: Baby, Baby loss, Bereavement, remembrance Tagged With: , , , , ,
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Fleeting Moments Of Babyhood

August 12, 2011 By

On my way home from work a couple of days ago, I saw a young woman nursing her baby on the subway. The baby’s father had his arm placed protectively over the mother’s shoulders, and his body was angled in a way that provided mom and baby with some privacy. Both parents were looking at their baby with absolute love and tenderness.

As I sat gazing at this perfect picture, the mom looked up and met my eye. She gave me a beatific smile, and then turned her attention back to her baby.

I went back to reading my book. I felt that I had been given the privilege of witnessing a beautiful family moment, but I did not want to outstay my welcome. I sensed that continuing to watch them would have been intrusive.

I was not able to concentrate on my book, though. Instead, I found myself daydreaming about my first few months of motherhood, almost eight years ago.

When my older son was a baby, I felt that same sense of peace and contentment that I saw in that family on the subway. There were baby blues, to be sure, and I went through the same sleep deprivation common to most new parents. But the baby blues passed, and behind the haze of exhaustion I was happy.

Thanks to Canadian maternity leave provisions, I got to enjoy a full year at home with my baby. Back then, my husband and I each had our own car, so while my husband was off at work, I would load the baby into my car and we’d go out.

Sometimes we would go to the park, and I’d spread out a blanket for us. I would nurse the baby if he was hungry, and then I would drink my coffee and talk to him about the clouds and the trees and the birds.

Other times we would go to the bookstore to browse. I would pick out a book from the bargain shelves and pay for it, and then we would go to the coffee shop. I would take the baby out of his stroller, and he would doze off in my embrace while I lazily read my book.

We went on excursions to the mall, to stores, and to mom-and-baby groups. From time to time, I would strap my son into the baby-jogger and we would go running together. We would walk to the coffee shop down the road, I would buy myself lunch and nurse the baby, and then we would take a long, circuitous route back home.

I loved those early days of parenting. They were exhausting yet idyllic. I knew absolutely nothing about being a mother, but I was happy to find my way with this beautiful boy in my arms.

When my younger son came along, everything was so different. Financial pressure had forced us to give up one of the cars, so while my husband was working, I was stuck at home with both kids. I felt a sense of entrapment that I only started to get some relief from when a friend very generously sent me a double stroller that she no longer needed. Even though it was the middle of winter, I would put the boys in the stroller and go trudging through the snow, so desperate was I to get out.

At around this time, we were starting to get the sense that there was something wrong with my older son, and I felt crushed under the worry that came with that. And to top it all off, I struggled with post-partum depression that was undiagnosed for almost a year.

When my firstborn was a baby I felt bliss. With my secondborn, I felt desperation. And to this day, I feel intense guilt over the fact that I did not do all of the babyhood things with my younger son that I had so enjoyed with my older son. I am doing my best to provide them with childhood years filled with joy, and judging by their smiles, laughter and hugs, I am doing OK in that department. But I cannot help feeling as if I missed out on a part of my younger child’s life that can never be recaptured.

Going back to the family on the subway that started off this whole train of thought, I wish them all of the joy in the world. I hope they savour that period of babyhood that is all too fleeting.

Filed Under: babies, Baby, Childhood, life, New Parents, Nursing, parenting Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
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Endings And Beginnings

August 4, 2011 By

It was bittersweet, that freezing cold day in February, 2003.

I was at a conference with a number of my co-workers, which really meant that I was subjected to a day of boring talks that I had to pretend to be utterly fascinated by. The trade-off was the free lunch, and I have to give the conference venue credit: it was outstanding grub.

After lunch, we had a bit of free time before the session reconvened. I decided to check the messages on my cell phone, so I turned it on and started fiddling with the buttons to get to the voicemail. When it vibrated in my hand, I almost jumped out of my skin. The incoming call was coming from a number I did not recognize.

Gerard, calling from a payphone. At the hospital, of all places.

He was calling to deliver bad news: his dad had been diagnosed with colon cancer. There was a possibility that it had spread to the liver. Tests were underway to find out.

I whispered a few words of explanation into the ear of one of my colleagues and ran to my car. An hour later, I was giving my father-in-law a hug at the hospital. He was looking remarkably cheerful for someone who had just received dire news. Either he was using humour as a coping mechanism, or the doctors had done a really good job of giving him hope.

Much later that night, Gerard and I left the hospital and went home. While he was Googling something-or-other, I locked myself into the bathroom and surreptitiously peed on a stick.

Three minutes later, the stick told me that while one life was fading away, another one was just beginning.

At our first ultrasound a couple of weeks later, we held hands as the technician showed us our baby on the monitor. His heart was beating solidly; and even though he was about the size of a grape, we could clearly see his little legs waving around.

Everything looks great, the technician told us. This is a good-looking baby.

Gerard and I finally allowed ourselves to feel a lick of hope for the first time since we found out we were having a baby. We had suffered a miscarriage several months previously; we had not really trusted that we would actually get to the point of seeing a healthy baby. We had several weeks to go before we would pass the point at which our previous pregnancy had failed, and we would hold our breaths until then. But seeing a strong, healthy baby was something that we had not experienced.

After the ultrasound, we drove straight to Gerard’s parents’ home to see them. Now that we had gone through the ultrasound, we felt OK about telling them. We showed my father-in-law the ultrasound picture, and said to him, “If the baby is a boy we’re going to call him George, after you.”

With his eyes flashing with humour, my father-in-law said, in his characteristic Irish brogue, “Aaaah, don’t do that to the poor child!”

Less than a month later, I stood in the cemetery with snow swirling around me as my father-in-law was laid to rest. As I said goodbye to one George, my hands protectively cradled the belly in which another was growing .

As one life ends, another begins. And the spirit of the old lovingly watches over the soul of the new.

(Photo credit to the author.)

Filed Under: Baby, Cancer, Death, life, Pregnancy, Pregnancy Loss, Ultrasound Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , ,