8.23.14
Sometimes, people try to say the right thing, or just plain don't have a filter and sometimes you want to look at them sideways when they say things to you.
The first incidence of this was earlier in our pregnancy, maybe about week 19 or so, when one of the nurses I work with was talking to me about how I feel with this pregnancy. It was only towards the end of the conversation that one of those things just came out of her mouth.
"How far along are you again?" she asked.
"19 weeks..." I replied.
"Oh you're good then," she replied, as if nothing could ever go wrong after week 12.
"Well I'll never really be good until I get a screaming child in my arms." I responded softly.
"You know what I mean, statistically you're good," she shrugged.
Statistics. Statistics are what creep into my head late at night when I let my guard down and start thinking about how naive to this world I was a year ago. 1 in 160 pregnancies end in stillbirth, that's not a small number. I didn't say 1 in 1000, I didn't say 1 in 1500. 1 in 160. And stillbirth is just the tip of the iceberg because it doesn't even include losses before 20 weeks gestation.
Statistically, lightening shouldn't strike twice. Statistically, you're safe flying on an airplane. But statistics are just a way of rationalizing ourselves out of fear for the most part.
On Saturday, I had plans to go to Elyse's baby shower. It was so cool to get to celebrate with her, because when she was pregnant with Emma Kate she didn't have any showers because they knew that she wouldn't make it. It hurts my heart for her just to type that.
Saturday morning I packed up myself and drove down to Dallas about 20 minutes. There, I meandered through the neighborhood with the big, shady trees and houses that were mostly set up above the street so you'd have to take stairs up to the front of the house.
The shower was held at her sister-in-law's house, and it was absolutely gorgeous with skylights letting the morning sun pour in to the living room. All around the house were pink decorations, and off to the side was a cute little buffet with snack food for all the women.
Elyse and I hadn't known each other but about 6 months (seems like a lot longer!), but our other friend Lauren was also planning to come. Lauren had lost her baby boy, John Luke, last November, and Elyse and I had met her at the retreat. I was amazed at Lauren having the courage to attend a retreat a mere 2 months after her loss, and as she told the story of how John Luke had lost his heart beat during labor, I cried with her at the sudden loss and knowing how that feels. Lauren had also gotten pregnant around the same time as me and Elyse, and her boys would be Irish twins, her second baby being born a week before John Luke's first birthday.
Lauren was running a little bit late that morning, so I sat a little awkwardly around a group of women that I didn't know and waited for the present opening to begin. Eventually, one lady came and sat next to me and asked the question I should have prepped for but had completely forgotten about.
"So," she started, "How do you know Elyse?"
Crap. It's not that I was ashamed or embarrassed that we had both lost our babies, it was just more of being the "debbie downer" in the room. I hated that on this day, when we were celebrating life, that I would be the reminder of the loss that had come less than a year ago for both of us.
"Oh, um..." I started. "We met through a group called Hope Mommies."
A look of recognition on her face, and then she leaned forward and lowered her voice to say, "Oh I'm so sorry for your loss. What is your story?"
Again, I have to tell you this is one of the most awkward situations ever. I'm proud to be Kaitlyn's mom, and I know that Elyse is proud to be Emma's mom, but at the same time it is so hard to be "that person" in the room. People don't know how to react to you.
I told her the short version of Kaitlyn's birth, and at the end she was nodding with recognition because I guess Elyse had told her my story just like I have told hers.
After a minute or two, she said, "You know, your story scares me the most."
Bless her.
Our story scares me, too. To not have any warning that your child wasn't going to make it and at the very end of a pregnancy being pulled into a world of loss and grieving you never knew existed. It's still insane to me that this is my life. That this is truly what happened to our precious baby girl. Some days, it just feels like a horrible nightmare. It feels like none of that really happened.
Other days, it is so real its tangible. I can feel Kaitlyn's soft hair between my fingers as I twirled it out of the little mohawk that the nurses had styled it in. I remember the weight of her in my arms.
Yes, our story scares me. But I know, there is purpose in her story. There is always purpose in the pain.
Kaitlyn
Saturday, September 27, 2014
Thursday, September 18, 2014
Hope Mommies Dallas
8.12.14
On Tuesday after our big trip to Vegas, the local area Hope Moms were doing a dinner at a little Italian restaurant. Sweet Elyse had thought this up after the group that met at her house weekly for Bible study through Hope Mommies ended and none of the girls wanted to quit meeting. So instead, we implemented a monthly dinner for moms in the area to get plugged in.
This particular meeting was small: there were only four of us total that were able to come including me and Elyse. The other two girls were Michelle, who had lost her son Jaxon last November, and Jenny, who had recently lost her daughter in July. Jenny was just a month out from her loss, and we went around the table to share our stories before she shared her daughter with us.
When it was my turn to speak, I talked about how heavy September was already weighing on me and how much I wasn't looking forward to the month. I knew that the lead-up to the day Kaitlyn was born was going to be awful because I would probably be reliving every day as the dates matched up. Luckily, Elyse knew exactly what I was talking about because our anniversary dates with our daughters are so close together: she lost Emma Kate on Sept. 26, a week and a day after we had Kaitlyn.
There are few phrases that Hope Moms tend to use when it comes to an anniversary and a subsequent pregnancy. This is going to be a partial rant because one of the phrases really bothers me, and the other really bothers Elyse. The one that I really don't care for is that moms will post about their babies and then finish their thoughts with, "One year closer to seeing you in Heaven." Now, realistically, I get it. I know that we are, in fact, one year older and one year closer to seeing our babies again. However, I really don't like that it feels like we are counting down to our death. I don't think that honors our children, and it certainly doesn't honor God. If we were meant to have a countdown like that, I think God would have given us the knowledge of our individual death dates to actually count down to instead of keeping us in the dark about them. I also really don't like this phrase because I think it negates our purpose here, which is something I have always felt passionate about. God didn't make a mistake by leaving us and taking our babies. He left us here because He has purpose for us, and because there are tasks that need to be completed before we get to go to Heaven to be with them.
The phrase that bothers Elyse is the term "Rainbow baby." This is the name that some Hope Moms use when they are pregnant with their next child after their loss. I don't mind the phrase that much, but it certainly implies that our loss was a storm of epic proportions. Is the loss of a child beyond what most losses are? Absolutely, but at the same time it implies that there was nothing good about the time, that it was all darkness and rain. That's not how I feel about Kaitlyn at all; I'd rather picture rain clouds with streaks of sunlight coming through.
However, Elyse made a really interesting point that night at dinner when we were hashing out out our thoughts about these two phrases over dinner.
"I hate that term, 'rainbow baby', because it implies that God is making a promise to us that can't be broken, a covenant. This child," she paused and put her hand on her belly, "is not promised to me. She is a gift from God, but she is not promised. She is His first."
I agree with Elyse about our children not being our own, but at the same time, there are some powerful scriptures about faith when it comes to our kiddos:
On Tuesday after our big trip to Vegas, the local area Hope Moms were doing a dinner at a little Italian restaurant. Sweet Elyse had thought this up after the group that met at her house weekly for Bible study through Hope Mommies ended and none of the girls wanted to quit meeting. So instead, we implemented a monthly dinner for moms in the area to get plugged in.
This particular meeting was small: there were only four of us total that were able to come including me and Elyse. The other two girls were Michelle, who had lost her son Jaxon last November, and Jenny, who had recently lost her daughter in July. Jenny was just a month out from her loss, and we went around the table to share our stories before she shared her daughter with us.
When it was my turn to speak, I talked about how heavy September was already weighing on me and how much I wasn't looking forward to the month. I knew that the lead-up to the day Kaitlyn was born was going to be awful because I would probably be reliving every day as the dates matched up. Luckily, Elyse knew exactly what I was talking about because our anniversary dates with our daughters are so close together: she lost Emma Kate on Sept. 26, a week and a day after we had Kaitlyn.
There are few phrases that Hope Moms tend to use when it comes to an anniversary and a subsequent pregnancy. This is going to be a partial rant because one of the phrases really bothers me, and the other really bothers Elyse. The one that I really don't care for is that moms will post about their babies and then finish their thoughts with, "One year closer to seeing you in Heaven." Now, realistically, I get it. I know that we are, in fact, one year older and one year closer to seeing our babies again. However, I really don't like that it feels like we are counting down to our death. I don't think that honors our children, and it certainly doesn't honor God. If we were meant to have a countdown like that, I think God would have given us the knowledge of our individual death dates to actually count down to instead of keeping us in the dark about them. I also really don't like this phrase because I think it negates our purpose here, which is something I have always felt passionate about. God didn't make a mistake by leaving us and taking our babies. He left us here because He has purpose for us, and because there are tasks that need to be completed before we get to go to Heaven to be with them.
The phrase that bothers Elyse is the term "Rainbow baby." This is the name that some Hope Moms use when they are pregnant with their next child after their loss. I don't mind the phrase that much, but it certainly implies that our loss was a storm of epic proportions. Is the loss of a child beyond what most losses are? Absolutely, but at the same time it implies that there was nothing good about the time, that it was all darkness and rain. That's not how I feel about Kaitlyn at all; I'd rather picture rain clouds with streaks of sunlight coming through.
However, Elyse made a really interesting point that night at dinner when we were hashing out out our thoughts about these two phrases over dinner.
"I hate that term, 'rainbow baby', because it implies that God is making a promise to us that can't be broken, a covenant. This child," she paused and put her hand on her belly, "is not promised to me. She is a gift from God, but she is not promised. She is His first."
I agree with Elyse about our children not being our own, but at the same time, there are some powerful scriptures about faith when it comes to our kiddos:
"Take delight in the Lord, and He will give you the desires of your heart."
Psalm 37:4
"By faith even Sarah was given the ability to conceive, though she herself was barren
and past the age for having children, because she believed that the one
who made the promise was faithful."
Hebrews 11:11
Dirty Thirty
8.7.14
This year, Alex and I are both turning 30. We decided last year when we were still expecting Kaitlyn that we were going to go to Vegas with our best friends, Chad and Jenny to celebrate and leave Kaitlyn with my parents to babysit. It would probably be the first time that we had left her alone for any significant amount of time, and I had anticipated it being one of those "mom moments" where you realize that you need to be a wife first and a mom second.
I didn't know if I was going to want to go to Vegas now that Kaitlyn was gone, but it turned out to be a really great distraction from the August blues I had been experiencing. We stayed in a fancy hotel and ended up seeing a couple of shows.
Our birthday dinner ended up being at the "Top of the World" restaurant on the north end of the strip. It's one of those revolving restaurants that gives you a view of everything around Vegas, including all the houses that make you realize that people actually live in Vegas and don't just come there to visit.
This year, Alex and I are both turning 30. We decided last year when we were still expecting Kaitlyn that we were going to go to Vegas with our best friends, Chad and Jenny to celebrate and leave Kaitlyn with my parents to babysit. It would probably be the first time that we had left her alone for any significant amount of time, and I had anticipated it being one of those "mom moments" where you realize that you need to be a wife first and a mom second.
I didn't know if I was going to want to go to Vegas now that Kaitlyn was gone, but it turned out to be a really great distraction from the August blues I had been experiencing. We stayed in a fancy hotel and ended up seeing a couple of shows.
Our birthday dinner ended up being at the "Top of the World" restaurant on the north end of the strip. It's one of those revolving restaurants that gives you a view of everything around Vegas, including all the houses that make you realize that people actually live in Vegas and don't just come there to visit.
Birthday Dinner
We ended up going to see the Cirque du Soleil tribute to Michael Jackson, who is one of my favorite artists of all time. At the end, they had a hologram of Michael that the performers danced with, and it was pretty phenomenal that they could make it look like he was actually there with us.
My Uncle Kenney, Aunt Mary, Chad, Jenny, Mom, Dad, Alex, Me and Aunt Lou.
August
8.1.14
It's August. August is my birthday month. August is also right next to September, and I don't really care for September.
I started feeling September the first day of August. I started dreading the days leading up to our one year anniversary of losing Kaitlyn. I had already decided that I would take some time off work because I didn't want to risk having a mental breakdown in the middle of a case. I'd much rather do that in the privacy of my own home, thank you very much.
Its a strange feeling to have memories you didn't realize you were missing start creeping up on you again. Kate likes to call these memories "the vault" memories because we tuck them away until we need them or something triggers them. August 1st triggered a lot of memories for me. I started thinking about what I was doing last year at this time, preparing for Kaitlyn's arrival with baby showers and letters to Alex's commanding officer to try to get him home in time.
For the most part, I shoved these memories away and tried to ignore them until it was time to deal with them, but sudden sadness would come over me on random days because I started realizing how long it had been since I'd held my baby. I miss her. I remember the weight of her and how soft her hair was. I remember the quiet in the Operating Room as I held her for the first time and sobbed over her still body.
In the first few weeks after Kaitlyn, I begged God to show me the mercy in His plan for us. I begged him to open my eyes to the grace in our story, and He did. From reminding me what a miracle and blessing it was for Alex to make it home, to showing me the lack of personalization in the books that people had given to us at our shower, to reminding me how He had orchestrated all the details of Kaitlyn's birth to make it the best it could possibly be. Whenever I started to go down the road of sorrow, I tried to remind myself of the good things God had done in the midst of our loss. I tried to remember the people that surrounded us.
After 9/11, there was a quote that circulated around the internet for a while from the famous Mr. Rogers about how his mother had taught him to deal with tragedy:
"I was spared from any great disasters when I was little, but there was plenty of news of them in newspapers and on the radio, and there were graphic images of them in newsreels.
For me, as for all children, the world could have come to seem a scary place to live. But I felt secure with my parents, and they let me know that we were safely together whenever I showed concern about accounts of alarming events in the world.
There was something else my mother did that I've always remembered: "Always look for the helpers," she'd tell me. "There's always someone who is trying to help." I did, and I came to see that the world is full of doctors and nurses, police and firemen, volunteers, neighbors and friends who are ready to jump in to help when things go wrong.
It's August. August is my birthday month. August is also right next to September, and I don't really care for September.
I started feeling September the first day of August. I started dreading the days leading up to our one year anniversary of losing Kaitlyn. I had already decided that I would take some time off work because I didn't want to risk having a mental breakdown in the middle of a case. I'd much rather do that in the privacy of my own home, thank you very much.
Its a strange feeling to have memories you didn't realize you were missing start creeping up on you again. Kate likes to call these memories "the vault" memories because we tuck them away until we need them or something triggers them. August 1st triggered a lot of memories for me. I started thinking about what I was doing last year at this time, preparing for Kaitlyn's arrival with baby showers and letters to Alex's commanding officer to try to get him home in time.
For the most part, I shoved these memories away and tried to ignore them until it was time to deal with them, but sudden sadness would come over me on random days because I started realizing how long it had been since I'd held my baby. I miss her. I remember the weight of her and how soft her hair was. I remember the quiet in the Operating Room as I held her for the first time and sobbed over her still body.
In the first few weeks after Kaitlyn, I begged God to show me the mercy in His plan for us. I begged him to open my eyes to the grace in our story, and He did. From reminding me what a miracle and blessing it was for Alex to make it home, to showing me the lack of personalization in the books that people had given to us at our shower, to reminding me how He had orchestrated all the details of Kaitlyn's birth to make it the best it could possibly be. Whenever I started to go down the road of sorrow, I tried to remind myself of the good things God had done in the midst of our loss. I tried to remember the people that surrounded us.
After 9/11, there was a quote that circulated around the internet for a while from the famous Mr. Rogers about how his mother had taught him to deal with tragedy:
"I was spared from any great disasters when I was little, but there was plenty of news of them in newspapers and on the radio, and there were graphic images of them in newsreels.
For me, as for all children, the world could have come to seem a scary place to live. But I felt secure with my parents, and they let me know that we were safely together whenever I showed concern about accounts of alarming events in the world.
There was something else my mother did that I've always remembered: "Always look for the helpers," she'd tell me. "There's always someone who is trying to help." I did, and I came to see that the world is full of doctors and nurses, police and firemen, volunteers, neighbors and friends who are ready to jump in to help when things go wrong.
Wednesday, September 17, 2014
The things people won't tell you
7.30.14
After we returned back to Dallas from New Braunfels it was time to go back to work again. The next week, I was working with one of our newer docs that is pretty young, but very talented. He had gotten married while I was out on maternity leave, and I remembered distinctly a very uncomfortable conversation I was witness to pretty early on when I returned to work in November.
We had all been standing in the hallway hearing about Dr. R's wedding when the male nurse that was talking to him finally asked the question that all newly weds get, "When are you guys going to have a baby?!"
This particular doc is the newest in the group that I have worked with for the past 6 years, and bless his heart, he was probably the most awkward when I returned back to work because he just didn't know me that well. He's only been in Dallas about 2 years at this point, and I didn't really work with him that much in that time period. When I had returned back to work, one of my first cases was with him and I remember him saying, "We're glad to have you back," which was the programmed response the lab manager had suggested that everyone use when they saw me for the first time (thank you, a million times, Sherri.).
Anyways, this male nurse starts probing this doc about his family planning, and finally I couldn't take it anymore, I said, "Really?! Do we have to have this conversation right in front of me right now?"
The male nurse, looking a little bewildered, said, "I wasn't asking you? I was talking to him."
Yeah, I'm still within ear shot.
After that little episode, this doc took even longer to not treat me with kid gloves. I didn't really mean to explode emotions all over him, but at the same time I felt like it was pretty inconsiderate to have that kind of conversation right in front of someone who had just lost a child.
Back to now- I had suspected it for a little while. You see Dr. R had been talking about changing in his two-door sports car for a mid-sized SUV, and usually that is a big hint about "we're trying to get pregnant" or "we're expecting." But one thing I've learned is not to ask because if they had been trying and having a hard time, it tends to hurt when people ask if you are pregnant yet. So I always kept my thoughts to myself, but I wondered where they were in the process.
It finally came out when I was covering a case with him in one of our north accounts. He said something about taking time off coming up and that's when one of the other nurses said, "What's going on?" Then Dr. R kind of stuttered a response of, "Well, we're pregnant."
At this point, I'm pregnant with our second one and not close enough to any significant date with Kaitlyn to be emotional, so my reaction was true to how I felt: joy. I love to hear that other people are pregnant. Of course, in the back of my mind I am always a little bit nervous because I know how quickly and how often a pregnancy can go wrong, but for the moment, I celebrate any new life that I hear of. Because this moment is all that matters right now, not the "ifs" that can ruin the future by too much worry.
Dr. R had actually kept their pregnancy a secret for a really long time: his wife is two weeks ahead of me in her pregnancy and due at the end of October. Once the case was over, I went and told him again how excited I am for them and how wonderful everything is (he shared that they are having a little boy), and he responded with hesitancy.
"Thanks! We're excited, too, but you know... so much can happen..." he told me.
"Yes, but right now you are pregnant with a healthy baby boy, it's time to really celebrate that," I responded to him.
I think this was the first time that I felt like someone had intentionally withheld information because of the fear of hurting my feelings or not knowing how I would react. It was a very weird feeling to find out that we are so close in our pregnancy and I didn't have a clue.
After we returned back to Dallas from New Braunfels it was time to go back to work again. The next week, I was working with one of our newer docs that is pretty young, but very talented. He had gotten married while I was out on maternity leave, and I remembered distinctly a very uncomfortable conversation I was witness to pretty early on when I returned to work in November.
We had all been standing in the hallway hearing about Dr. R's wedding when the male nurse that was talking to him finally asked the question that all newly weds get, "When are you guys going to have a baby?!"
This particular doc is the newest in the group that I have worked with for the past 6 years, and bless his heart, he was probably the most awkward when I returned back to work because he just didn't know me that well. He's only been in Dallas about 2 years at this point, and I didn't really work with him that much in that time period. When I had returned back to work, one of my first cases was with him and I remember him saying, "We're glad to have you back," which was the programmed response the lab manager had suggested that everyone use when they saw me for the first time (thank you, a million times, Sherri.).
Anyways, this male nurse starts probing this doc about his family planning, and finally I couldn't take it anymore, I said, "Really?! Do we have to have this conversation right in front of me right now?"
The male nurse, looking a little bewildered, said, "I wasn't asking you? I was talking to him."
Yeah, I'm still within ear shot.
After that little episode, this doc took even longer to not treat me with kid gloves. I didn't really mean to explode emotions all over him, but at the same time I felt like it was pretty inconsiderate to have that kind of conversation right in front of someone who had just lost a child.
Back to now- I had suspected it for a little while. You see Dr. R had been talking about changing in his two-door sports car for a mid-sized SUV, and usually that is a big hint about "we're trying to get pregnant" or "we're expecting." But one thing I've learned is not to ask because if they had been trying and having a hard time, it tends to hurt when people ask if you are pregnant yet. So I always kept my thoughts to myself, but I wondered where they were in the process.
It finally came out when I was covering a case with him in one of our north accounts. He said something about taking time off coming up and that's when one of the other nurses said, "What's going on?" Then Dr. R kind of stuttered a response of, "Well, we're pregnant."
At this point, I'm pregnant with our second one and not close enough to any significant date with Kaitlyn to be emotional, so my reaction was true to how I felt: joy. I love to hear that other people are pregnant. Of course, in the back of my mind I am always a little bit nervous because I know how quickly and how often a pregnancy can go wrong, but for the moment, I celebrate any new life that I hear of. Because this moment is all that matters right now, not the "ifs" that can ruin the future by too much worry.
Dr. R had actually kept their pregnancy a secret for a really long time: his wife is two weeks ahead of me in her pregnancy and due at the end of October. Once the case was over, I went and told him again how excited I am for them and how wonderful everything is (he shared that they are having a little boy), and he responded with hesitancy.
"Thanks! We're excited, too, but you know... so much can happen..." he told me.
"Yes, but right now you are pregnant with a healthy baby boy, it's time to really celebrate that," I responded to him.
I think this was the first time that I felt like someone had intentionally withheld information because of the fear of hurting my feelings or not knowing how I would react. It was a very weird feeling to find out that we are so close in our pregnancy and I didn't have a clue.
#Sorrynotsorry
7.21.14
During the week that my extended family is in New Braunfels, we spend a lot of time floating down the river. Again, its one of those defining moments in my childhood that got repeated each year and brought all sorts of coming-of-age stories that I won't share here (maybe in the future, who really knows).
Ash's youngest daughter, who was just 7 months old when we lost Kaitlyn, had really blossomed into her own little personality. She was about 18 months old now, and so different from her sister who had just turned 4 in March. Presley (the older sister) is very much a showboat and absolutely LOVES to have your undivided attention. She is very silly and we have several quotes from her that still make us laugh. Right now, she is exploring her vocabulary and told my uncle that his shirt looked "suspicious."
Brenna (the younger of the two), is very serious. She looks like she is always just taking everything in and processing it, trying to figure out exactly what is going on and why it is happening so close to her. She likes to have this little crease right between her eyebrows when you talk to her, as if she's trying to figure out why in the heck you are even bothering her this moment. It's so funny to see the two of them together because their personalities are so extremely different.
That first afternoon after we got discharged from the hospital, my whole family had made it to Dallas to be with us and we all met back over at our house after Alex and I had taken a detour to pick up my meds from Walgreens.
I remember sitting in the living room when we got home and my cousin Sam, at the time 7 months pregnant with Sir William, had Brenna with her sitting by the fireplace. At the time, I wasn't able to look at Brenna for very long without crying. I missed everything she represented that I would miss out on with Kaitlyn. I missed having a baby with my cousins. I missed having those sweet baby toes to kiss on whenever I wanted.
When we were sitting in the living room, Brenna had started to cry. I couldn't handle it. I went outside on the porch and just sobbed. Over time, though, being around Brenna has brought me a lot of joy and healing. It probably started around Christmas time when I loved on her for truly the first time. I was able to hold Brenna in my lap and talk to her, that frown appearing between her eyebrows even at 10 months old.
Back to the present- Brenna in her 18 months of wisdom had figured out that her momma was the only person she really wanted to be with, so she spent the majority of the time following Ash around or constantly looking for her. One time, when Ash was getting her husband to put sunscreen on her back, Brenna decided it was time for Ash to pick her up. Brenna got about a foot in front of Ash and stuck her hands straight up in the air, the universal sign for "hold me." When Ash didn't immediately respond, Brenna's face started to turn that pink shade of red that comes right before a meltdown.
I was standing a good 3 feet away and said, "Come here, Brenna! I'll hold you!" and she came toddling over to me to let me pick her up. I held on to her and talked to her while Ash finished up, but it didn't stop sweet girl from crying loudly until Ash was ready to take her.
"Thanks Ames," Ash said as she took Brenna from my arms. "Sorry about that."
I kinda made a face at her, "Sorry about what?"
"For her being fussy," she replied.
"Um Ash, it means she's breathing and okay. It's totally fine." I responded. I thought it was so funny how Ash would think that would bother me in the slightest, but I guess people don't have the perspective that I do now. In the beginning, babies crying reminded me of what I didn't have. It reminded me of the pain I was going through and how hard it is to know that I won't hear Kaitlyn's sweet voice on this side of Heaven.
But now, babies crying reminds me of how precious and fragile life is. The sound reminds me of how blessed those moms are, even if they're in the middle of the grocery store and frazzled because their baby has been crying non-stop for the last 20 minutes. I can tell you honestly, I doubt that Baby Munoz #2's cries will bother me. And honestly, I can't wait to hear that voice crying out in the operating room, upset at being removed from my nice warm space so abruptly and rudely. I look forward to my child telling me that he/she needs me. I look forward to comforting him/her. I'm beyond ready to have that child attached to me as I already am to him/her.
During the week that my extended family is in New Braunfels, we spend a lot of time floating down the river. Again, its one of those defining moments in my childhood that got repeated each year and brought all sorts of coming-of-age stories that I won't share here (maybe in the future, who really knows).
Ash's youngest daughter, who was just 7 months old when we lost Kaitlyn, had really blossomed into her own little personality. She was about 18 months old now, and so different from her sister who had just turned 4 in March. Presley (the older sister) is very much a showboat and absolutely LOVES to have your undivided attention. She is very silly and we have several quotes from her that still make us laugh. Right now, she is exploring her vocabulary and told my uncle that his shirt looked "suspicious."
Brenna (the younger of the two), is very serious. She looks like she is always just taking everything in and processing it, trying to figure out exactly what is going on and why it is happening so close to her. She likes to have this little crease right between her eyebrows when you talk to her, as if she's trying to figure out why in the heck you are even bothering her this moment. It's so funny to see the two of them together because their personalities are so extremely different.
That first afternoon after we got discharged from the hospital, my whole family had made it to Dallas to be with us and we all met back over at our house after Alex and I had taken a detour to pick up my meds from Walgreens.
I remember sitting in the living room when we got home and my cousin Sam, at the time 7 months pregnant with Sir William, had Brenna with her sitting by the fireplace. At the time, I wasn't able to look at Brenna for very long without crying. I missed everything she represented that I would miss out on with Kaitlyn. I missed having a baby with my cousins. I missed having those sweet baby toes to kiss on whenever I wanted.
When we were sitting in the living room, Brenna had started to cry. I couldn't handle it. I went outside on the porch and just sobbed. Over time, though, being around Brenna has brought me a lot of joy and healing. It probably started around Christmas time when I loved on her for truly the first time. I was able to hold Brenna in my lap and talk to her, that frown appearing between her eyebrows even at 10 months old.
Back to the present- Brenna in her 18 months of wisdom had figured out that her momma was the only person she really wanted to be with, so she spent the majority of the time following Ash around or constantly looking for her. One time, when Ash was getting her husband to put sunscreen on her back, Brenna decided it was time for Ash to pick her up. Brenna got about a foot in front of Ash and stuck her hands straight up in the air, the universal sign for "hold me." When Ash didn't immediately respond, Brenna's face started to turn that pink shade of red that comes right before a meltdown.
I was standing a good 3 feet away and said, "Come here, Brenna! I'll hold you!" and she came toddling over to me to let me pick her up. I held on to her and talked to her while Ash finished up, but it didn't stop sweet girl from crying loudly until Ash was ready to take her.
"Thanks Ames," Ash said as she took Brenna from my arms. "Sorry about that."
I kinda made a face at her, "Sorry about what?"
"For her being fussy," she replied.
"Um Ash, it means she's breathing and okay. It's totally fine." I responded. I thought it was so funny how Ash would think that would bother me in the slightest, but I guess people don't have the perspective that I do now. In the beginning, babies crying reminded me of what I didn't have. It reminded me of the pain I was going through and how hard it is to know that I won't hear Kaitlyn's sweet voice on this side of Heaven.
But now, babies crying reminds me of how precious and fragile life is. The sound reminds me of how blessed those moms are, even if they're in the middle of the grocery store and frazzled because their baby has been crying non-stop for the last 20 minutes. I can tell you honestly, I doubt that Baby Munoz #2's cries will bother me. And honestly, I can't wait to hear that voice crying out in the operating room, upset at being removed from my nice warm space so abruptly and rudely. I look forward to my child telling me that he/she needs me. I look forward to comforting him/her. I'm beyond ready to have that child attached to me as I already am to him/her.
Telling the family
7.20.14
Every year for the past 30+ years, my extended family has met in New Braunfels, Texas for a week of vacation and relaxation. When I was little, my dad use to call it "cousin mania" because it was one of the few times each year that I got to spend a significant amount of time with my cousins, and it was really a big part of what defined my childhood with them.
As our family has grown with marriages and kids, our family finally outgrew the house that we all once could fit in. So instead, my generation would have their families stay in rooms within walking distance of the big house where the rest of the family would stay.
Now that Alex and I knew the gender of Baby Munoz #2, we decided that we would go ahead and tell my extended family because we would have them all in once place and it'd be fun. With Kaitlyn, we had done a gender reveal with technology: we had about 5 or 6 different apple products all set up around the house and we video chatted over facetime or skype. Alex was still in Afghanistan, but he was in attendance over Skype.
With baby #2, though, our gender reveal was going to be completely different. We had a really hard time deciding how to tell everyone because the last time had been so unique to Kaitlyn and our situation at the time.
Finally, we decided that we would present the family with a "gift" and let them open it. We headed off to the craft store to get the things we needed, and as we were checking out we had that inevitable question from the clerk.
"Is this your first baby?" she asked, innocently.
"Yes," Alex said at the same time that I said, "No." I'm pretty sure we confused her completely, but I didn't bother explaining it to her.
Later that day, we went down to New Braunfels to meet up with the family. We had decided to go ahead and tell everyone on the first night that we would all be there because Alex and I had already been so used to using the correct form of he/she that we knew we would let it slip if we tried to wait too long.
The family was, of course, excited to find out who was right on their guesses and who was wrong, and we even took a poll before the reveal to see who all thought the baby was a boy and who thought it was a girl. For the most part, my family voted for boy.
I won't tell you if the majority was right or wrong (I can feel all of my friends that follow this on the other side groaning because they've been asking for the last 3 months which way this is going), but I will tell you my cousin asked me a very interesting question. Holly, my sweet cousin that had driven down for Kaitlyn's birth, asked me if I was worried about this baby looking like Kaitlyn.
It was one of those questions that caught me completely off guard. I hadn't honestly thought about it. I was already having a heap of heartburn just like I did with Kaitlyn (which is why I claim she had so much dang hair because she made me earn that crop of darkness that was long enough to be styled into a Mohawk). Obviously, our kids will resemble each other because they all will come from the same two people, but am I worried about how I will react to how this baby looks in comparison to Kaitlyn? I still haven't figured out the answer to that. I think I'm just so focused on having a healthy baby come into this world screaming that I haven't allowed myself the time to process what life will be like after he/she gets here. I know that part of me will ache for Kaitlyn, but somewhere in my heart I know that I have done a good job of separating my feelings for these two kiddos: that no matter how closely they resemble each other I recognize them as two separate kids, and that my hurt in missing Kaitlyn only accentuates the joy that I will feel when this one gets here.
Every year for the past 30+ years, my extended family has met in New Braunfels, Texas for a week of vacation and relaxation. When I was little, my dad use to call it "cousin mania" because it was one of the few times each year that I got to spend a significant amount of time with my cousins, and it was really a big part of what defined my childhood with them.
As our family has grown with marriages and kids, our family finally outgrew the house that we all once could fit in. So instead, my generation would have their families stay in rooms within walking distance of the big house where the rest of the family would stay.
Now that Alex and I knew the gender of Baby Munoz #2, we decided that we would go ahead and tell my extended family because we would have them all in once place and it'd be fun. With Kaitlyn, we had done a gender reveal with technology: we had about 5 or 6 different apple products all set up around the house and we video chatted over facetime or skype. Alex was still in Afghanistan, but he was in attendance over Skype.
You have to love technology.
Alex and I blowing up our balloons. Mine had pinholes in it so it wouldn't
stay inflated, and Alex's did stay blown up.
Mine actually popped- our dog is in the background investigating.
Since Jenny knew we were having a girl, she got to buy us some really
cute girl things to open once the gender was revealed.
Dani still wasn't sure what was going on, but we were obviously
ecstatic about having our sweet Kaitlyn officially on the way.
Finally, we decided that we would present the family with a "gift" and let them open it. We headed off to the craft store to get the things we needed, and as we were checking out we had that inevitable question from the clerk.
"Is this your first baby?" she asked, innocently.
"Yes," Alex said at the same time that I said, "No." I'm pretty sure we confused her completely, but I didn't bother explaining it to her.
Later that day, we went down to New Braunfels to meet up with the family. We had decided to go ahead and tell everyone on the first night that we would all be there because Alex and I had already been so used to using the correct form of he/she that we knew we would let it slip if we tried to wait too long.
The family was, of course, excited to find out who was right on their guesses and who was wrong, and we even took a poll before the reveal to see who all thought the baby was a boy and who thought it was a girl. For the most part, my family voted for boy.
I won't tell you if the majority was right or wrong (I can feel all of my friends that follow this on the other side groaning because they've been asking for the last 3 months which way this is going), but I will tell you my cousin asked me a very interesting question. Holly, my sweet cousin that had driven down for Kaitlyn's birth, asked me if I was worried about this baby looking like Kaitlyn.
It was one of those questions that caught me completely off guard. I hadn't honestly thought about it. I was already having a heap of heartburn just like I did with Kaitlyn (which is why I claim she had so much dang hair because she made me earn that crop of darkness that was long enough to be styled into a Mohawk). Obviously, our kids will resemble each other because they all will come from the same two people, but am I worried about how I will react to how this baby looks in comparison to Kaitlyn? I still haven't figured out the answer to that. I think I'm just so focused on having a healthy baby come into this world screaming that I haven't allowed myself the time to process what life will be like after he/she gets here. I know that part of me will ache for Kaitlyn, but somewhere in my heart I know that I have done a good job of separating my feelings for these two kiddos: that no matter how closely they resemble each other I recognize them as two separate kids, and that my hurt in missing Kaitlyn only accentuates the joy that I will feel when this one gets here.
Monday, September 8, 2014
Yeah, but did you donate?
7.15.14
On Tuesday, I was able to go talk at another grief education seminar in McKinney. This time, instead of it just being the labor and delivery and postpartum nurses, it was a mixture of nurses from all the different floors. This included an ER nurse and even one of the lactation consultants.
I started the same way I had at the last session: I shared Kaitlyn's story, Hope Boxes, and then opened it up for questions.
The first question came from one of the male nurses and asked if I could talk about the differences between how Alex and I grieved Kaitlyn (on some level, I thought this was hilarious because when did I become an expert?).
I told him that men and women are so incredibly different in their grief, and one of the best pieces of advice I got at the very beginning was to never try to force Alex's grief to look like mine. Alex can't grieve Kaitlyn the way that I need to because he never carried her. But I can't grieve the way a father does because I did carry her. I told them about Alex having a "Kaitlyn box" and unless he is mentally in the "Kaitlyn box", we don't necessarily talk about his feelings about her. It's not wrong or unhealthy, it's just the way he grieves verses the way I grieve.
The second question came from one of the lactation consultants.
"Did you think about donating your milk afterwards?" she asked innocently.
I had to pause for a minute because of how irritated this question still makes me. I did have one person as me about a month after Kaitlyn had passed if I had thought about donating my milk, but by that time my milk had dried up.
"So, no, I never thought about it because it honestly never occurred to me," I started slowly. Then I finally sighed, "And honestly, I would strongly caution you against asking a mom to donate her milk. There are some moms out there that can and will do it, but I would hazard to guess that the majority of moms won't like the idea. One of my friends asked me about donating, and honestly the first thing that came to mind is that I got pissed. I thought, 'No, I'm just too selfish to care about somebody else's baby when I can't even feed my own baby.'"
I stopped talking and let that hang in the air for a minute. Then the nurse replied, "Thank you. I would have never thought of it like that."
"That's one of the reasons I'm here- I want you guys to ask me the difficult questions because I feel like it helps you guys get a different perspective without having to approach a mom fresh off of a loss to get the answers." I reassured her.
The final question came from a nurse on the back row. I had shared with the group that I was pregnant with our second, and that's where this question came from.
"Are you scared about this pregnancy?" she asked.
It was probably the first time anyone had asked me so bluntly.
"Well," I sighed, taking my time in answering. "I'm a Christian, and as such I believe in a God that's involved. I know that He has a plan for this child just like He had a plan for Kaitlyn. I put my trust in knowing that He is in control and that His plan for me is good. But it's a daily surrender in reminding myself that I'm not in control and there's nothing I would do differently with this pregnancy than I did with Kaitlyn."
I have to confess, that was probably the coolest part of getting to share Kaitlyn's story. I love that I was able to so publicly tell people why I was able to stand there and share her story. I know that someone in that room needed to hear that, and I pray that it touched someone deeply.
On Tuesday, I was able to go talk at another grief education seminar in McKinney. This time, instead of it just being the labor and delivery and postpartum nurses, it was a mixture of nurses from all the different floors. This included an ER nurse and even one of the lactation consultants.
I started the same way I had at the last session: I shared Kaitlyn's story, Hope Boxes, and then opened it up for questions.
The first question came from one of the male nurses and asked if I could talk about the differences between how Alex and I grieved Kaitlyn (on some level, I thought this was hilarious because when did I become an expert?).
I told him that men and women are so incredibly different in their grief, and one of the best pieces of advice I got at the very beginning was to never try to force Alex's grief to look like mine. Alex can't grieve Kaitlyn the way that I need to because he never carried her. But I can't grieve the way a father does because I did carry her. I told them about Alex having a "Kaitlyn box" and unless he is mentally in the "Kaitlyn box", we don't necessarily talk about his feelings about her. It's not wrong or unhealthy, it's just the way he grieves verses the way I grieve.
The second question came from one of the lactation consultants.
"Did you think about donating your milk afterwards?" she asked innocently.
I had to pause for a minute because of how irritated this question still makes me. I did have one person as me about a month after Kaitlyn had passed if I had thought about donating my milk, but by that time my milk had dried up.
"So, no, I never thought about it because it honestly never occurred to me," I started slowly. Then I finally sighed, "And honestly, I would strongly caution you against asking a mom to donate her milk. There are some moms out there that can and will do it, but I would hazard to guess that the majority of moms won't like the idea. One of my friends asked me about donating, and honestly the first thing that came to mind is that I got pissed. I thought, 'No, I'm just too selfish to care about somebody else's baby when I can't even feed my own baby.'"
I stopped talking and let that hang in the air for a minute. Then the nurse replied, "Thank you. I would have never thought of it like that."
"That's one of the reasons I'm here- I want you guys to ask me the difficult questions because I feel like it helps you guys get a different perspective without having to approach a mom fresh off of a loss to get the answers." I reassured her.
The final question came from a nurse on the back row. I had shared with the group that I was pregnant with our second, and that's where this question came from.
"Are you scared about this pregnancy?" she asked.
It was probably the first time anyone had asked me so bluntly.
"Well," I sighed, taking my time in answering. "I'm a Christian, and as such I believe in a God that's involved. I know that He has a plan for this child just like He had a plan for Kaitlyn. I put my trust in knowing that He is in control and that His plan for me is good. But it's a daily surrender in reminding myself that I'm not in control and there's nothing I would do differently with this pregnancy than I did with Kaitlyn."
I have to confess, that was probably the coolest part of getting to share Kaitlyn's story. I love that I was able to so publicly tell people why I was able to stand there and share her story. I know that someone in that room needed to hear that, and I pray that it touched someone deeply.
Saturday, September 6, 2014
The first baby shower
7.12.14
On Saturday, I had been invited over to my friend Lindsay's baby shower for her little boy that is due at the end of September. Lindsay is also a hope mom, even though I didn't know it when I first met her.
We have a mutual friend named Becca, and last year at the beginning of September all of us met for dinner at the Gaylord Texan to celebrate Becca's big 30th birthday. I was just 3 weeks away from giving birth to Kailtyn, and I felt as big as a house. We sat in this cute Mexican-themed restaurant and everyone had a great time talking about Becca and our lives in general (only a few of us had met before).
It was towards the end of the night when everyone else was headed to a concert (I was exhausted and had only committed to coming to dinner) when Lindsay snuck off to the bathroom and that's when Becca told me that her and her husband had just miscarried the week before. I can only imagine how hard it was for her to see me with my big pregnant belly just a week after losing her own baby. I can't remember now if I said anything to her at the time (I would have had no frame of reference with the exception of my cousin, Ashley, having two miscarriages herself), and even now with miscarriages I feel myself at a loss for what to say.
Fast forward to Kaitlyn. I started writing the week after we lost her. It was really just for me, because I wanted to get Kaitlyn's story out there so that people could read it and when I finally went back to work I wouldn't have to relive everything multiple times (this kind of worked, there are still people that don't know our whole story and I always direct them here). Secondly, I needed to get the images out of my head. Somehow, when you write things down, you almost take the power of the images away. In those first few days, I was constantly reliving every minute of the hours that we had with her body before having to release her back to the hospital. Those images and memories are still with me, but I found that after I wrote them in detail I felt better about having them crop back up in my head randomly.
It was after I shared the blog that I heard from Lindsay. She told me that she had read my blog and that it had helped her grieve her miscarriage better. It was such a blessing to hear someone say that my writing helped them.
Now Lindsay was passed the "scary part" of pregnancy. She had a round belly and looked absolutely radiant as we all sat and ate finger foods around the kitchen table. She has decided to name her little boy Jack, so we talked all about what Jack would do as he came into this world and most likely would make trouble, if he's anything like his daddy.
Lindsay's shower was the first one that I have attended since Kaitlyn's death. Especially for my friends that had little girls, I couldn't do it. I was worried I would just start crying and make a scene and steal the joy from my friend, so I ended up just sending gifts for all the invitations that I received.
But Lindsay was different. I don't mean this in a harsh way, but I felt as if I could celebrate with her because she had lost a child. She knows how fragile life is (as does anyone who has read our story) because she lived it. I know what an amazing mom she will be because I know how that loss affected her.
Before they started opening gifts, I went and hugged on Lindsay and told her I didn't know how long I would be able to stay. I wanted to tell her "bye" in case I needed to sneak out if the moment she started opening presents brought back all of the emotions from my own baby shower for Kaitlyn.
But then something cool happened. As Lindsay started opening all of her gifts, I started making a list of things that I still needed for this baby. Just little "nice to have" things that you would probably never think to ask for with a first baby, but since we still have all of the gender-neutral stuff from Kaitlyn we didn't really think we needed anything else.
I watched as Lindsay's eyes sparkled as the dreams for her little boy being wrapped in some adorable boy blankets swept over her as she opened present after present. It was clear that Jack would be loved by a lot of people, and that he would be spoiled rotten as soon as he got here.
I'm really glad I ended up going to Lindsay's shower for two reasons: first off, it helped me bond with this baby. As crazy as that sounds, I felt like I was finally ready to start really going through Kaitlyn's things and pulling out the onesies that were just hers (even though she never wore any of them, I had bought them knowing full well that she would and that they suited her personality). Secondly, it broke the ice for me to attend other baby showers. I have friends that have lost babies that said they could never attend another baby shower because their loss affected them so deeply, but I never wanted to be like that. As painful as baby showers could be for me (especially if someone opened a gift that we had gotten for Kaitlyn), I still believe that every life should be celebrated, and celebrated well. I didn't want to be "that girl" that people eventually stop inviting because she never shows up. I also didn't want to be the dark cloud that shows up at baby showers to remind everyone that this baby isn't here safely yet. So instead, I'll be the mom that shows up and helps celebrate. Because every life is valid, and every life needs to have a party.
On Saturday, I had been invited over to my friend Lindsay's baby shower for her little boy that is due at the end of September. Lindsay is also a hope mom, even though I didn't know it when I first met her.
We have a mutual friend named Becca, and last year at the beginning of September all of us met for dinner at the Gaylord Texan to celebrate Becca's big 30th birthday. I was just 3 weeks away from giving birth to Kailtyn, and I felt as big as a house. We sat in this cute Mexican-themed restaurant and everyone had a great time talking about Becca and our lives in general (only a few of us had met before).
It was towards the end of the night when everyone else was headed to a concert (I was exhausted and had only committed to coming to dinner) when Lindsay snuck off to the bathroom and that's when Becca told me that her and her husband had just miscarried the week before. I can only imagine how hard it was for her to see me with my big pregnant belly just a week after losing her own baby. I can't remember now if I said anything to her at the time (I would have had no frame of reference with the exception of my cousin, Ashley, having two miscarriages herself), and even now with miscarriages I feel myself at a loss for what to say.
Fast forward to Kaitlyn. I started writing the week after we lost her. It was really just for me, because I wanted to get Kaitlyn's story out there so that people could read it and when I finally went back to work I wouldn't have to relive everything multiple times (this kind of worked, there are still people that don't know our whole story and I always direct them here). Secondly, I needed to get the images out of my head. Somehow, when you write things down, you almost take the power of the images away. In those first few days, I was constantly reliving every minute of the hours that we had with her body before having to release her back to the hospital. Those images and memories are still with me, but I found that after I wrote them in detail I felt better about having them crop back up in my head randomly.
It was after I shared the blog that I heard from Lindsay. She told me that she had read my blog and that it had helped her grieve her miscarriage better. It was such a blessing to hear someone say that my writing helped them.
Now Lindsay was passed the "scary part" of pregnancy. She had a round belly and looked absolutely radiant as we all sat and ate finger foods around the kitchen table. She has decided to name her little boy Jack, so we talked all about what Jack would do as he came into this world and most likely would make trouble, if he's anything like his daddy.
Lindsay's shower was the first one that I have attended since Kaitlyn's death. Especially for my friends that had little girls, I couldn't do it. I was worried I would just start crying and make a scene and steal the joy from my friend, so I ended up just sending gifts for all the invitations that I received.
But Lindsay was different. I don't mean this in a harsh way, but I felt as if I could celebrate with her because she had lost a child. She knows how fragile life is (as does anyone who has read our story) because she lived it. I know what an amazing mom she will be because I know how that loss affected her.
Before they started opening gifts, I went and hugged on Lindsay and told her I didn't know how long I would be able to stay. I wanted to tell her "bye" in case I needed to sneak out if the moment she started opening presents brought back all of the emotions from my own baby shower for Kaitlyn.
But then something cool happened. As Lindsay started opening all of her gifts, I started making a list of things that I still needed for this baby. Just little "nice to have" things that you would probably never think to ask for with a first baby, but since we still have all of the gender-neutral stuff from Kaitlyn we didn't really think we needed anything else.
I watched as Lindsay's eyes sparkled as the dreams for her little boy being wrapped in some adorable boy blankets swept over her as she opened present after present. It was clear that Jack would be loved by a lot of people, and that he would be spoiled rotten as soon as he got here.
I'm really glad I ended up going to Lindsay's shower for two reasons: first off, it helped me bond with this baby. As crazy as that sounds, I felt like I was finally ready to start really going through Kaitlyn's things and pulling out the onesies that were just hers (even though she never wore any of them, I had bought them knowing full well that she would and that they suited her personality). Secondly, it broke the ice for me to attend other baby showers. I have friends that have lost babies that said they could never attend another baby shower because their loss affected them so deeply, but I never wanted to be like that. As painful as baby showers could be for me (especially if someone opened a gift that we had gotten for Kaitlyn), I still believe that every life should be celebrated, and celebrated well. I didn't want to be "that girl" that people eventually stop inviting because she never shows up. I also didn't want to be the dark cloud that shows up at baby showers to remind everyone that this baby isn't here safely yet. So instead, I'll be the mom that shows up and helps celebrate. Because every life is valid, and every life needs to have a party.
Wednesday, September 3, 2014
Grief Education (part I)
7.10.14
The weekend flew by since it was the Fourth of July and we were off from work. We had decided to make the hour and a half trek out to Canton First Trade Days, the mecca of all things craftsy, with Chad, Jenny, and our good friend Dana. We walked up and down the different areas and even ended up sneaking off to get the baby's name embroidered on a little sleep sack for him/her to take naps in.
The next week, I had been asked by J at Baylor McKinney to come share about Kaitlyn and the hope boxes with the nursing staff since they were doing some general grief education. I wasn't able to fully commit before the day of because of my work schedule, but somehow everything lined up exactly the way it was suppose to and I was able to come share our story.
I carried my hope box into the hospital and headed to the cafeteria area, which is in the basement of the hospital. I waited for a few minutes for J to come get me, and then she lead me towards a smaller room where their education session was happening. She told me to wait outside for a moment because they had been watching a video about stillbirths and she didn't want me to see it in case it was hard on me (I'm so grateful for her).
After the video finished, I snuck into the room and let J introduce me to the nurses. I walked up to the front and decided that I wanted to sit down to tell our story because there were only four of us in the room anyways so there wasn't such a need to be formal.
I sat and looked at each nurse in the face and told them how amazing they are, and how much they have the potential to impact a mom who has suffered a loss. I told them the story of Amy and Terri, my two nurses that took care of me on the floor. I told them about Gail and Morgan, the two nurses who had first discovered that Kaitlyn's heartbeat was very difficult to find.
I talked to them about the hard stuff. I talked to them about what not to say to a mom. I told them that (still) one of the memories that stands out in my mind is when Terri found me at 2 in the morning thumbing through facebook messages and watching a rerun of Friends on TV, and she took the time out of her busy tasks to sit and hold my hand for a minute. It is still those memories that remind me that Kaitlyn lived. Her life meant something. Her life impacted every nurse that had the chance to meet her or even just cared for us.
One of the biggest questions they asked is what they could do for the dads. Alex had given me a little feedback about what could have been improved at the hospital we delivered at, but it wasn't really the kind of thing they were asking about (I still shared it, but it just wasn't what they were looking for when they asked the question). I told them about Alex calling 20 funeral homes by himself the afternoon Kaitlyn died because I checked out. I told them that men's grief is so incredibly different from women's in this instant because they'll never know what it feels like to carry a child. But at the same time, their grief should be recognized and acknowledged by all the staff. I told them to be sure to look the dads in the eye and ask if there is anything they can do to help. Sometimes just asking can be the thing that makes the biggest impact.
There is one particular phrase that all of the hope moms I have ever come in contact with have learned to hate: fetal demise. Its the clinical, medical, sterile term for a stillbirth. Sometimes even now, J will use that term and I have to correct her. Because fetal demise sounds like it wasn't a child. Fetal demise sounds much more acceptable than "my baby died." Fetal demise removes all of the emotion from the situation.
Elyse told me the story of how she had to switch OBs between her pregnancies since the physician that delivered Emma Kate retired. She said that as she sat in the office with the new doctor, that phrase, "fetal demise" kept coming out of her mouth. Finally, Elyse stopped her and said, "My daughter's name was Emma Kate." Elyse is so brave and full of grace to have responded like that, because for me I would have just slammed the door as I left the office, never to return.
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