Things have been really busy and blogging has been on my mind a lot lately. I have so many pictures of Oliver to post, but my internet has been acting up sporatically, and it's kind of a hit or miss if I get anything up. Actually, I'm pretty sure it's the computer to blame since IT'S been acting up in other areas too...this is after we got the whole thing re-formatted and started from scratch again less than a year ago. I think we're getting a new computer here in the next few days since this one is now ancient at nearly 5 years old - and it acts it! Ugh.
In any case, other things have been on my mind, and after lengthy conversations with a few people, I thought it might be useful to some people who I know now have my blog information, to discuss some of the things our family went through after losing our first-born, Julian.
We have remained fairly tight-lipped about a lot of things with most people, and really only discussing things with other people who have also experienced a loss late into their pregnancies. I find so many similarities in our stories that I thought it might be helpful to have them written down somewhere - even though I've read several books about it, somehow what I read didn't totally apply to me.
The hardest part about losing Julian at 29 weeks was that there was really no one to blame. I didn't do anything wrong, and although I felt like I wasn't listened to by my doctors at the time (what do you know, this is the first time you've gotten this far into a pregnancy, blah blah blah) the doctors had been checking up on me, and I'd gone to every single appointment and voiced my concerns repeatedly. The "cord accident" could not have been prevented, and honestly no one knows what really happened and why. Along with the overwhelming sadness and feelings of loss that is absolutely
suffocating, there is
HUGE anger. So, if there's no one to blame, there is raging anger but no one did anything wrong, who are you mad at? Where is the outlet for that anger, and who is it directed at? A lot of couples turn on each other. Thankfully we didn't do that, but that rage went toward the one who has control over life itself, God. Still working on that one 2 1/2 years later...I'm still waiting for an apology but for now will accept the absolute hope that there is and was a really
damn good reason for our son to be taken from us! (I refuse to accept other people's notions of it "just happens" and God is there to comfort...no, according to my beliefs, God has control over these things, so if He's not an evil puppeteer and He really IS wanting us to be happy, there's got to be a reason.) The one thing that has helped us get through is our belief that we will see Julian again, and according to our faith, get the chance to raise him. As of now, my husband is at peace with it, but I feel like I have an understanding with God at this point - I pray again but the topic of Julian in my prayers is off-limits. I still don't have that blind trust in Him like I once did, but I do hope that comes back. We'll see.
Now that we have had time to sort our feelings, let them calm down, had a successful pregnancy with our perfect
perfect little man, Oliver, and have had a chance to reflect on our experiences, there are a few things that, had a good friend who experienced a stillborn also not warned us about, we would have been shocked and felt like the worst, horrible people.
When we found out Julian had passed, all I wanted was to "get him out." Mostly because it was so hard knowing the baby I had been worried about for months (I knew something was really wrong for a good 6 weeks before-hand), prayed for countless times a day - PRAYED that he wouldn't be taken from me even though I had that little feeling we wouldn't get to keep him the moment we got the + sign on our pregnancy test - and that the baby I was carrying was no longer going to be. I wanted it to be over, and all I wanted to do was hold my precious boy who I'd seen on so many ultrasounds and 3-D sonograms. I was induced a few hours later, and after 23 hours, our first-born was with us. I was terrified to look at him because I had been warned that he might be discolored, bruised, blue, and look "dead." I asked everyone around me in the delivery room, my husband, sister, mom and the doctor, if he looked "scary." Everyone said no, so I looked down, saw my baby, and he was beautiful. He was a miniature version of Nich, he was pink, he looked alive and sleeping, he looked perfect. He WAS perfect. I won't go into the special moments Nich and I had while holding him for several hours before we said goodbye, but I will say, that as much as it hurts to acknowledge it, I now know that there are small miracles that take place, even in the worst of scenarios. Everyone who touched Julian felt his spirit there still, and even the doctor was overwhelmed by how very sacred it felt. Our miracle was that we were able to be with our son, and both Nich and I felt at the same moment (kind of strange thinking back now, but not strange at the time) that he was saying goodbye after our hours of pure joy spent with him. I can't say that we were sad while holding him, we both felt like
we knew him, and he was ours.The decision to try again was immediate. We both wanted desperately to have another child, not to replace Julian, but because the desire to have our baby was so strong. We decided to wait a year to make sure we had time to go through the majority of the heavy greiving before starting another difficult pregnancy, and to make sure we REALLY were not out to replace Julian. We decided that when we knew we wouldn't be disappointed if the next baby was a girl, we were ready.
Well, Oliver was ready to come before we were! We got pregnant with him 3 months ahead of schedule, and were, of course, terrified through the pregnancy. Especially around week 29. I remember breaking down in our new doctor's office (who I am in LOVE with by the way) at 29 weeks 3 days, and he offered to put me in the hospital for no reason if that would make me feel better. It did, but I didn't go in...it was nice knowing I had the option to though!
I spent the majority of the second half of his pregnancy on bedrest, and having stress-tests done 3-7 times a week. It wasn't easy, and I worried over him the whole time. Luckily, the nurses didn't call me crazy when I'd go in at midnight for them to check for a heartbeat...they all got to know us pretty well actually, and we're still friends with some of them to this day!
When the time came to have Oliver, it was a scheduled C-section. Our doc wasn't going to let anything go unplanned, and the baby was going to get here safe and sound. We were absolutely estatic, and after worrying about my little guy, imagining holding him, unable to wait to see him, to feel him breathe, and hear him cry, they took him out - smooth, easy, and he was healthy and crying and breathing and pink and perfect!
Nich held him, took him to see me (in tears of course) and I kissed him all over his head before they whisked him away for testing. Now, the part I had been warned about came in handy now. We LOVED this baby and were beyond happy to have him. But
we didn't know him. We weren't connected to him. In case this pregnancy didn't work out too, we had kept a pretty unhealthy distance from the idea of him coming home with us. With Julian, we left the hospital with empty arms and came home to an empty crib. I think our psyches were trying to protect us from the chance of a similar outcome, but we all know that had we lost Oliver too, we'd be even worse off than we were the first time.
But here we were, unbonded to the baby we had spent years trying to have, years praying for, months worrying about and months physically incompacitated over. All I thought about was SIDS. Now that he was here, all I could think about was how he was going to be taken from me. I barely slept, and for weeks slept with my hand by his body to make sure it was still warm, and every 30 minutes would wake up to make sure he was breathing. (I still wake up twice a night to check the monitor and see if he is breathing, but I hear only twice a night is now considered normal.) I was conviced that I was going to be able to stop anything from happening to him because he was out, under my supervision, and in my control. I loved him so much, and although I knew he was mine, he didn't feel like mine. Especially when breast-feeding didn't work for us. We spent WEEKS trying and failing. Many decisions to quit and millions of tears later, I did quit, and really felt like now I REALLY wasn't a mom, I was the babysitter. I was completely stressed out over whether he would live another hour, if I could feed him right, and why I couldn't bond with him.
I am so so so thankful a friend warned me about this when I was 12 weeks pregnant with him.
She asked me how it was going 2 months in. All I could say was "hard" and break down into tears. She was in a rush to teach a Sunday school class, but hugged me and Oliver and said it would get better, she promised.
I finally felt like he was MINE at about 5 months old, and can say I finally bonded with him around 7 months old. Oliver is now 9 1/2 months old, and I can finally, in complete truth, say that I really can't imagine a day without him. He's my little buddy, and his Aunt Liz got him the perfect shirt that says so, complete with his favorite animal on it (elephant). My husband is the same way, and "they" always say it takes the dads longer to bond because they don't carry the child, but I think in this case we both took the better part of a year to "know" our baby and feel like he is really and truly ours.
She and I spoke again just recently, tears in our eyes, but this time happy tears. Things really do get better and easier. And the funny thing is, Oliver won't remember any of the craziness, and I can barely remember it at this point. She and I also had a few laughs (some angry laughs) about the things people say to you in an attempt to be "helpful" while you're going through all of this. Our conclusion was that people really don't know what to say if they haven't gone through it, and all logic can be thrown out the window when you're an emotional disaster. People want to be helpful and most really truly don't mean any harm, but unfortunately it is those who said the wrong thing, the stupid thing, or the hurtful thing that we remember most. Be mad at them, be angry, but know in their own way, they think they are doing good. I found that it helped for me to not be shy about telling them they were really not helping and were making me more angry...
I know one story of a woman who owns a jewelry store who lost her baby at 24 weeks and a few weeks afterward, went back to work. She was crying and a customer started up a conversation with her and she told the woman what had happened. The woman, probably in shock, said "Well, know that it was for the best." Enraged, the store owner said "Who in the hell are you to say what is for the best?!?" and asked her to leave the store. Several days later, the customer came back in, apologized and thanked her for the lesson she had taught her about empathy.
My best advice? We cut everyone out of our lives for a good 7 months, save family, and for us, that is what we needed. Others cling to friends. Do what you feel is best, not what other people want you to do. People want to bring you meals and you don't want them? Say no. I assigned family members to answer emails and phone calls for several weeks because I didn't want to hear the "sorries" and the tears, and feel like
I was the one who had to comfort
them. But we did appreciate flowers people sent - that helped us know people were thinking about us, but I didn't have to face them. Keeping everything that ever touched Julian, and special things we bought for him is helpful. We have his hospital wristbands, cord clamp, measuring tape, blanket with some blood still on it, going-home outfit, and got a lock of hair, his footprints, and a pendant with his handprint, and a pendant with his footprint. The jewelry I wear nearly every day, and very occasionally I will look at his things. Keeping letters I and others wrote to/about him are there, and all in a beautiful, velvet-lined box with pictures of him. It is so painful to look at these items still, but I am so glad I have them with me, and I have the option to sit with things that touched him whenever I want. I made him a baby book with all my thoughts to him and the pictures and sonograms I have of him, but although I haven't been able to order it, I have the option to one day. I also found that finding other families who have gone through this was really helpful, and it is unfortunately a LOT of people. I didn't seek that out, it just mostly happened on its own. But talking to people who have been there, and have since had successful pregnancies makes it more hopeful that it can happen to you too.
We are now looking into having another baby while we are still living in this city, and having the doctor I am in love with. This friend of mine has many children, and has said that each one gets easier and easier. I'll let you know :)
