twentythree

Checking off one of many milestones...we have safely made it to 23w2 days.

This was the point in my twin pg that I was admitted to the hospital. An hour long and bumpy horizontal ride with the ambulance driver weaving in and out of traffic, I vomited when I got to the hospital. It was probably lunchtime but I hadn't had any, so the spewage was minimal.

The tubes that the EMT used on my IV were bigger than the ones used at the hospital, so the whole thing had to come out and be replaced by a new rig. Little did I know that this IV changing thing would happen every four days after that, and that I'd be branded with adhesive up to two weeks after I was discharged, on both my arms and on my girly bits.

I did not freak out. Not when my doc checked me and gave me the news, not when she put me in the ambulance with the clothes on my back (and flip flops, as it was a warm November), not when I arrived at the hospital and was put on antibiotics as a precaution (I was told later that I didn't have an infection), and not when the neonatologist came in to recite the interior and exterior physical description of 23-weekers and the hospital's policy of not resuscitating. Everyone but the two of us was expecting me to deliver that night. It went in one ear and out the other. (La-la-la I can't hear you! I won't hear you!)

Everything in my pg was going fine up until this point, I had no reason to believe it would go haywire in 10 days, which is when they were born, add three to that for the girls to develop severe bleeding in their brains, add three to that for the baptism and prayers to be said, tears to be shed as we held our girls for almost 5 hours for the first and last time, people to arrive from all over, add a week for the funeral.

Looking back, it was naivety, or shock. I play it over and over again and wonder if it was one or the other. One or the other, I keep asking myself, wondering which one is better, but the end result is the same and it doesn't much matter.

And 16 months later, we are all safe. Baby is safe and kicking. Cervix is shut and calm. Wannabe dad is at work instead of running crazy through the house gathering our things for an indefinite hospital stay.

There is peace in this house as we wait for 10 long days to the next milestone. After that? I've never been pg past 24w5d, so I'll keep doing what I've been doing for the last 2 months and keep everything status quo until it's time, and I mean, full-term time.

If something should go haywire with this baby, I will most definitely freak out. There would be no way not to, knowing what I know and knowing how badly things can go. I should probably pack a bag just in case.

Fairness

Not wanting to leave out our first baby, which we often do when answering that question: is this your first?, it is now near and dear to my blogging heart with the just-added ticker.

I can't believe it's been that long.

I still can't bring myself to add a ticker for Chuck. Not yet.

Association

This is the shirt that I'm wearing today.

It's a strange angle because, well, that's my belly slash cordless phone stand slash cereal bowl holder.

This shirt was misplaced for a few months.

I wore this shirt to that fateful OB appointment when she checked my cervix then promptly called the ambulance. The way that she withdrew the speculum told me everything.

I probably misplaced the shirt on purpose after we got home from the hospital, without our babies.

Every time I see this shirt I say, "That's the shirt..."

But I still wear it. After the twins died I had an aversion to empire-waisted / baby doll-style tops and dresses and all of my maternity clothes promptly went into a storage bin.

Wannabe dad was given cool-looking Halloween-grade scrubs to wear in to the operating room. After we knew our girls weren't coming home, he unpacked them from his bag and threw them away, with tears in his eyes. How nice it would have been for him to be holding his daughters' hands while they were in their Halloween costumes (Dora and Dora) years from now, while he bragged about wearing the same scrubs when they were born. Can you even imagine it?

I associate so many things with the time that our girls died.

Hospital socks with the grippy bottoms.

Hospital gowns.

The expensive bottle of shampoo wannabe dad bought from a beauty supply store down the street from the hospital. 16 months later, it's still in our bathroom, with probably 2 squeezes left. Neither of us has said anything to the other person, but I think we're saving it. Savoring it. I used it during my first real shower after 10 sticky days of hospital bedrest. The smell sometimes makes me cry.

Saltine crackers, the 2-pack. Graham crackers too.

Straws.

Babies of friends born after our girls. There are many of them. Many.

Scrapbook supplies, because I learned to scrapbook after they died. Not out of want, out of need.

November.

Winter.

High-waisted brief panties.

Vitamin e oil.

The logo of a local pizzeria, created by wannabe dad while I was in the hospital.

Damn near everything.

Koo-Koo!

Going there, and fast. Careening toward, gaining speed, building momentum, going koo-koo!!

I have been getting frustrated very easily. Frustration turns to anger, bordering on rage! And when I feel that, baby feels it too and responds with kicks and movement. Is that hunger I'm feeling or my stomach turing due to stress? I feel out of control. I'm worried about finances (just got a notice from the old insurance company that they paid "the maximum allowed by your plan" for the twins' hospital expenses and that the hospital may bill me $26K!! what the hell am I supposed to do with that?), property taxes and insurance premium are due next month, business has been slow because of the economy, and I can't exactly go out job hunting.

Deep breath, everything will be ok I tell myself. This is just a bump in the road. (Why did I quit my other job?? I ask myself that too.) Can I pimp my cats out? I have no problem selling my car for a cheaper one but unfortunately that needs the blessing of the other decision maker in this house.

My other ideas for getting some cash: sell my old jeans which I will never fit in again, sell wannabe dad's old pla.ys.tation games (serious offense if I did that, what is it with men and vidgames?), rifle through my jewelry and sell the good stuff, sell sell sell whatever I'm not using that someone, anyone would stand to buy. I wouldn't expect to make a windfall but I would at least feel like I'm doing something instead of just moaning about it. I even had the crazy idea to sell root cuttings from my canna lilies in the garden but someone would have to dig them up! And even crazier still -- get a roommate! I am at a loss.

Ugggh. I don't mean to air my dirty laundry financial woes on the internets I am just in a place I haven't been pretty much ever, and I'm not able to do anything about it (since I'm stuck in bed).

Surprisingly though, I am very productive as a bed captive. I wrote a long overdue business plan for our business, now entering its 3rd year. I have an 'office bed' set up so I can work on any projects that we get. Although it's difficult to sound peppy to clients on the phone while lying down, I somehow manage (takes lots of concentration though! Lots.). I'm always on the lookout for opportunities to work.

Sigh. I'm sure there are loads of people in this boat. I just don't know how to manage it.

And I'm anticipating the 24w5d milestone. I would even back that up to 23 weeks, which is when I went into the hospital with the twins. Shudder at the flashback. I have an appointment to check my cervical length at 24 weeks on 4/3. I don't understand why I'm not getting weekly cervical length checks, when other moms in the IC support group do. Not that I'm demanding it since my last measurement was a heavenly 4.5cm and I'm taking it really easy. Apparently the standard of care for a member of the IC/cerclage club is not standard.

The last thing I need is to go from normal to 3cm dilated with a bulging bag. Fuck.

Let's just add this post to my "documentation" folder. I hope to laugh at it one day.

Anyone know what the lottery is up to?

At least -- this tangle of kitties makes me smile (see the two ears and the black blob on the left? kitty count = 3).

Reaching

The dark days of grief don't cloud us as much anymore. They visit occasionally, and of course we never forget about our girls, and in a minute I can transport myself back to the horrific days, weeks and months following November '06.

I woke up each day remembering that they were gone, turning over all the whys and the could haves and the shit-we-shouldn't-have-done-that-or-they-would-still-be-here thoughts. We attended the support group meetings that were unfortunately 1 hour away, and they were helpful to a point (this particular group didn't/doesn't have structure, like some where you would work with the same group of people and a counselor to move through the different stages. There were unfortunately, new people at each meeting which was just agonizingly numbing for them and detrimental to the progress, so to speak, of regular goers.)

So we decided to get our therapy in another way. We did it not only for ourselves, but for other parents who have experienced a loss, in a way that would grab people by the shoulders and shake them.

We were interviewed last year around this time by a local magazine. This magazine features the residents of our city, and most of the stories have been about their personal or professional accomplishments. Upbeat. Rah rah. Not this one.

The article was printed in this month's issue, 1 year later. It tells about our experience, as step by step as possible without getting mundane or gross/TMI, our feelings of utter loss and despair, and the aftermath of other people dealing with us outside of the people who "got it" (although if you've never gone through it, you won't ever get it, like my dad who told me "at least you're still pretty" aarrrgh!!). It doesn't sugarcoat.

We've received many comments via the publisher, mainly from moms who have lost a baby (neonatal), who thanked us for the article. We've gotten calls and comments from our acquaintances in the community who know us but didn't know all the details or simply didn't know (you don't exactly say, Hi I'm so and so, my babies died.). I received a call today from a mom who stopped into the office to thank me personally (she lost her twin girls at 21 weeks), but she had to reach me at home since I'm working from my "office bed" (I'm sure she wouldn't have wanted to see my belly anyway, and I don't blame her one bit). I got a call from someone who acknowledged that it's not the same thing, but her adoption plans did not go through, and I replied that hopes and dreams were lost all the same. She was appreciative of how open I was with my feelings in the article. (I think she was more surprised, we've only ever dealt with each other professionally.)

When babies die, I think you have to beat people over the head with it just for them to acknowledge the level of loss. (This is why I never let people get away with saying the girls are in a better place or that things happen for a reason.)

And then there's the one person who acknowledged our losses, then upon confirming my pregnancy, told wannabe dad, "Well, there you go!" WTF???

I did hear from the publisher that there was a person who didn't like the article because it was sad. Sometimes there are no happy endings. And a sub pg does not a happy ending make. (Although we did not mention my sub pg in the article.)

There were so many more things I could have included in the article, but there just wasn't enough space. We really wanted to let those outside of this awful grief circle know how to treat their friends and family who might experience the death of a baby, and that what they think are words of comfort don't really comfort. All that is needed is an "I'm sorry" and a big hug, and if they really get it, offering dinner or help around the house.

Please email me if you would like a copy of the article: bigmaybe at gmail dot com.

Sexy

There is no other way to show off my sexy legs than by enhancing them with compression stockings. These are gorgeous, white, pasty, and thigh-high. They really help with those leg cramps (along with stretching), and keeps any DVT at bay. I'm glad I thought to ask my OB what impending symptoms would look like - swelling accompanied by pain in my legs.

I told her about the round ligament pain in my groin, and she asked if I wasn't sure it was the baby moving. Nope. From her questions it sounds like the pain was in the wrong place, normally it's felt when getting up from bed or getting up from sitting. Then again, I'm not normal. I haven't felt it as prolonged as I did that day and only occasionally on my left side, briefly about 3x. Good.

In other parts of the body...I'm 10 lbs. over my pre-pg weight (yay!). I need a haircut, but it would be a waste since I don't leave the house. My grays are multiplying by the day. My armpits are a nice shade of dark, and a lymph node is swollen in my left pit. I can still reach my toes to trim the nails, which are normally painted (but when the twins died I stopped caring).

And my mood is changing. Wannabe dad has been at the office a lot (but is usually home for lunch) and gone early in the morning (this week 2x). I usually prepare dinner but then feel bad for being on my feet. I've never been so inactive in my life. I barely put the laundry away after the cleaning ladies fold it (barely = anything that falls out of the hamper or whatever the cats pull out of it. Pick up the stuff with my toes.). All of my friends live an hour away. The pets are comforting but flat out refuse to carry a conversation. Am I that boring?

I need my mommy.

But cheaper, an attitude adjustment (she lives in on an island in the pacific). I know what the bigger picture is. I never forget it. Four more months is not a long time in the grand scheme of bringing home a term baby. I know all this. I know.

And now, I will shut up and go make dinner.

Documentation

It seems that with each passing week, my body experiences a new set of minor inconveniences. I stress the word minor, because we know the difference between major and minor things that can happen. I'm merely documenting and not complaining. I have nothing to complain about with regard to my body and growing a hopefully healthy, live baby.

The first month in a reclining position created daily minor headaches. Thankfully, they weren't the cover-my-eyes-curl-up-in-a-ball-holding-my-head headaches, which I might get two to three times a year. They were noticeable and I didn't take any painkillers for them. Sleep usually helped, and they only happened during the work week. Hmmm, must have been that business plan I was working on, which is finally done. Also might have something to do with the glare from my computer screen and the ceiling lights shining right in my eyes since I'm reclined, plus the pressure on my lower huge head and neck from the not so soft pillow. Note to self: get softer pillow.

Last Thursday, during nearly all of the daylight hours, what I'm hoping were round ligament pains located in my right groin area, were strobe-lighting. Pulsing. Pulsating. Noticeable. I felt my belly periodically throughout the day and it didn't feel hard to indicate a contraction. I asked my OB about it, having experienced it minimally the week before, she suggested they were round ligament pains. With the twins I experienced it on my right side but higher up, between my hip and my bellybutton (just like the book said). I haven't felt it that frequently since.

My left quadricep muscle (nearest the knee) is starting to get pissed from not being used. It's beginning to cramp on me periodically, and I stretch it often throughout the day and during wee morning hours bathroom trips without trying to bounce on it. Massaging it helps for a short time. I'm too paranoid to do any extended walking for fear of upsetting that cervix.

Yet -- I'm happy to report that Miss Cervix is 4.5cm. All is normal at the 20-week ultrasound last week. We have a huge hurdle coming up -- 24w5d, which is when the twins were born. I imagine I'll be all twisted up in my head around that time. I am carefully monitoring for signs of PTL, my OB is seeing me regularly, if I ever feel "not quite right" I will call my OB. I also share all my pains with wannabe dad, so he will remember to bring it up at my appointments if I don't. I pray that I make it to the end of the 2nd trimester, then continue sailing on through the 3rd.

Last Friday was the one year anniversary of the girls' due date. It nearly slipped my mind. I actually had to pull out an old calendar and count forward from 24w5d starting at 11/18/06. I could never put my finger on their exact due date -- for twins, 37 weeks is considered full term which would have made it around the middle of February. But the 40 week date was last week, and I didn't take too much notice. The focus of most of last week was an article finally being printed about us and the girls (we were interviewed in March '07), our anniversary, and the 20-week ultrasound. Come to think of it, I don't even know the due date of the baby that I miscarried in July '05. Just add it to the long list of things I don't know, like why the dog is whining right now.

*Edited to do the right math. You knew what I meant.

Three

Dearest Darlingest Husband of Mine:

This is going to sound cruel, but I'm glad that what happened with the ex, happened.

Otherwise, I wouldn't be celebrating 3 years of marriage to the most wonderful man ever. You light my heart, warm my core, and you are everything that a jaded middle aged hottie could ask for in a husband. And you cook and clean, which really ices my cake. You rose tint my world, my love. I don't even mind that you lose things and that your memory is like an etch a sketch. Where's the darn battery charger for the camera? Did you leave it in Vegas?!!

Who would have thought that an innocent hike (since you skipped the first one to Angel Island, so what if it was pouring rain and thundering?) would lead to a *happy life* that's full of love and closeness, agreements and disagreements, tornadoes of dog and cat hair, a missing wedding ring, a sad wine collection and housing market, too much tv and a start-up business -- despite the thousands of big fat tears, a whole lot of sadness dotting our days, and two precious girls who we can't wait to visit each weekend? I am so grateful that you have been in my life so I don't have to go through the darkness alone. The darkness makes the brightness that much brighter, the smiles that much bigger.

Your card is still at the store, so this post will have to do. I would send the cat but I don't think he would come back. I would send the dog but he doesn't have any pockets for his debit card.

I love you, my Sweetness! Happy Anniversary! Thanks for arranging for food to come so we can still have a nice dinner. I love you so much!

XOXOXO

Tagged

Having put this off long enough, and finally convincing myself to reveal all these gloriously mundane things about me, I'm responding to being tagged by the thoughtful missing_one.

The rules:
1) Link to the person who tagged you.
2) Post the rules.
3) Share six non-important things / habits / quirks about yourself.
4) Tag at least three people.
5) Be sure the people you tagged KNOW you tagged them by commenting what you did.

Here goes nuthin'.

1) I don't eat with my hands outside of my home, and even then, barely. I eat pizza, fried chicken, french fries, and greasy sandwiches with a knife and fork. I can't stand having greasy/foody hands if I can't wash my hands right away. This also explains my disdain for having to knead anything when baking.

2) I was grounded from Easter of my junior year in high school until I graduated from high school. I ended up meeting my first boyfriend at that party that I came home late from, which probably didn't please my parents but certainly gave them fuel for the grounding fire. And he was 5 years older than me. Ouch! I did wind up graduating with honors, so it wasn't all that bad.

3) I can pick up small items off the floor with my toes. Socks, clothing, hair bands, pencils. It's cultural, and I bet a bunch of my cousins can do the same thing. It beats having to bend over (especially now!) or tax my thigh muscles. I can also pinch other people's skin with my toes -- calves, the backs of thighs, the soft underside of an upper arm. Always done with an evil laugh.

4) I can read upside down, silently and aloud. I learned this by sitting across the table from my mom when she would read the newspaper each day. It would irritate her because when she was ready to turn the page, I'd say, "Wait, I'm not done yet!" Now I irritate my husband by doing this. "Would you like your own copy?" he asks.

5) I don't swim. I grew up on an island, but what does that have to do with anything? I have a high level of self-protection.

6) I gave up red meat for 7 years. That ended 10 years ago when a friend sent me home with some shredded kalua pig cooked in an imu. I tore into the zipped baggy during the 45 minute drive home, picking at it with only two fingers that I wiped off on my pants after every bite.


If you're in need of a fun posting activity, you are welcome to do this meme! Good luck!!