Five

This was my submission to the Five Community Expressions Wall. It's part of an art exhibit on babyloss. You can read more about it here and here.

I couldn't get a very good picture of the card I made, and I was too lazy to scan it in. The smudges are hearts with wings, one for each of my dream babies, with their names written underneath.

Why I've Been so Quiet

I haven't been blogging much about what's been going on in my life lately, because it's been really hard to find the words. How do you say, on a blog about grief and loss, that life is, well, wonderful? Really, truly, I don't believe I have ever felt better in my life. Even the "bad" days I have had in the past week have been nowhere near the depths of despair and depression I was experiencing a couple of weeks ago. Things are truly fabulous! But how can I say that, without sounding annoying and insincere?

The thing is, I have been living with the weight of my childhood trauma pressing on me for as long as I can remember. A week ago, a couple days after I had an especially intense EMDR session in therapy, that weight lifted. I feel free. I can handle the stress of dealing with RPL now, because I am no longer looking at in through the eyes of a traumatized child. I am finally have a normal ability to cope with stress. It doesn't make the stress go away, but the painful filter of the past is gone, which makes facing the future much easier.

So this is where I am right now. Many things have gone right in the past week. I sold some things that have been taking up physical and emotional space in my life for several years. Ms. Bird had to cancel an appointment and I didn't even miss it. I took my ear balls out a week ago, and I haven't missed them, either. (To put that in perspective, I've been wearing ear balls almost constantly since Christmas, and if I did have them out for more than a few hours, I was a wreck.)

On Friday, I called up a friend, a woman I used to work for, to get back in touch. I really hope that we will be able to get together soon, but even if we don't, just talking to her make a big difference. I knew I would be able to tell her my story. I don't think she'd told me hers before, but there were hints that were easy enough to piece together from hindsight. Turns out we do have a lot in common in our reproductive stories. Just hearing her story and sharing mine helped so much.

If the real-life pregnancies are more difficult, the real-life support is equally potent. Even with someone like this friend, someone who is a talker, and not the type to sit down and just listen and cry with you, there was still the feeling of underlying support. It was tangible.

One thing she said really made an impression on me. It was something like, "Don't close yourself off from testing." At the time, she was referring to prenatal screening, but hearing her say that jarred me into the realization that it will be worth getting the immune tests run. The information I gain from them will be valuable. I wanted to be sure I actually wanted the information before I went in for the blood draw, because too much information can be a bad thing. Now, I feel confident that getting the tests run is the right decision. I'm ready to handle whatever information they may yield. (That's another huge shift from how I was feeling just a couple of weeks ago.)

Thanks again to everyone who has shared your stories with me about immune testing, treatment, and related decision-making! It helped me to put my own choices and decisions into perspective.

The Ugly Duckling

This blog is meant to be about my life now, focusing on my struggles with RPL, but my past shapes who I am. Who I was what I went through as a child, informs and affects how I deal with my life as an adult. I have hinted about my past to some of you in my comments on your blogs, but I've barely mentioned it here. I didn't want to get into my past $#!t. It isn't a nice story, but I think it's time to tell it. I'm not going to sugar coat it. I'm not going to go into details, either. I'm not looking for pity, and I hope I don't sound too bitter. I am dealing with my past in therapy. I probably can contemplate writing this post because I just had a major breakthrough last week. However, my story is one of being overlooked. I hope that by telling some of it--at least the pertinent details--other children may benefit.

I am a victim of childhood emotional abuse. I have symptoms of PTSD as a result of this abuse. This abuse was compounded by the fact that it was overlooked and dismissed by most of the people in my life who had the power to stop it. Over the course of my childhood, starting at the age of 4 years old and continuing throughout my teenage years, the perpetrators of this abuse humiliated, ostracized, and shunned me on an almost daily basis. This abuse occurred both in private and in the presence of responsible adults, including parents and teachers. The few adults who tried to help me weren't able to stop the abuse, only to limit it and partially mitigate it's effects. Most adults, however, were blind to the situation, and often blamed me for being too emotionally sensitive. Very few saw that there was a problem, and the ones who saw it didn't recognize that I was being abused. I believe this lack of recognition of the severity of the situation was largely due to the fact that the perpetrators were my peers.

That's right. My abusers were other children. I'm not just speaking of a class bully, although that would have been bad enough. No, this was the entire class. They closed ranks against me and permanently shut me out. I was at the bottom of the pecking order from preschool through 12th grade. Even the new kids were higher on the pecking order than I was. The abuse changed forms as time went on, and the other children became more subtle in their tactics. In elementary school, the preferred tactics were public humiliation and ostracism, by means of all sorts of verbal teasing, bating, and practical jokes, as well as wooing my few friends away from me. By high school I was simply shut out of the entire school's social life.* No one was saying anything mean to my face, but no one was inviting me to social functions, either. Unless it was a school event, I didn't hear about it until after the fact. People were friendly enough in person that the teachers didn't know I was shut out, but I knew.

I'm not going to go into more detail about what happened, because I'm not writing this to vent about my past. I'm writing it because Mel wrote recently about a bully who is only "six, so the damage she can do is fairly minimal". I don't know what kind of damage Mel was thinking about, but I will say that a 6 year old can do considerable damage to another 6 year old. For example, at 4 years old, I could (and would) say, "That hurts my feelings," when my peers teased me. By the time I was 7, they had beaten me down to the point where I no longer tried to stand up for myself. Words can cause deep, psychological wounds, that can take years to even be recognized, not to mention how long they take to heal.

I, myself, didn't even recognize the extent of the damage that had been done to me until late in 2008, when I attended a lecture by a representative of an organization called KidPower. The lecturer spoke about the damage of unkind words. She likened allowing children to wield words without supervision and training to allowing them to play near deep water, or with matches or knives. This rang so true for me. Children don't always know how to be kind. They try doing and saying all sorts of different things. If they get an interesting or exciting reaction, they don't think that it means something about the other person's feelings, they sit back and enjoy the show. They are generally not malicious, but they are also not necessarily instinctively gentle. Children need to be taught, both how to be kind and how to set boundaries when another person is unkind.

KidPower offers usable, kid-friendly, effective skills for dealing with bullying and unkind behavior. They teach empowering techniques, such as an imaginary trash can, in which to throw away unkind words, and, on the flip side, how to take kind words and compliments to heart. They also teach how to set boundaries in a non-defensive, firm, non-aggressive manner, and when and how to ask for help. Most importantly (in my opinion), they teach adults to supervise their children's interactions, teach their children to be kind and thoughtful, and be responsive when a child needs help with a social situation. This doesn't mean the adults hover over the children constantly, or never let them work things out, but it does mean that the adults are available if a child asks for help or a situation gets out of hand. I can clearly remember, as a child, asking for help in a social situation at recess and being dismissed by the supervising teacher. I wish that teacher had done more to a) validate my hurt feelings and help me soothe myself, and b) ensure that the other children learned kinder behavior for the future. I believe that, if KidPower workshops had been available to my community when I was growing up, much of the heartache I experienced could have been averted.

I also believe that trauma can be healed. I am in the process of using a powerful technique called EMDR to heal from the wounds of my childhood. With my therapist's help, I am becoming more whole. I hope to someday be completely free of the flashbacks and extreme emotional reactions that have plagued me for years. I tell my story in hope that it will help parents and teachers recognize the beginnings of childhood peer abuse, and take action to teach all the children in their care healthier social skills.

* I attended a small, private school, with only 40-60 students per grade each year. So the entire high school was at most 240 students (but actually closer to 160), and all of them knew that I was at the bottom of the social ladder.

We Have a Diagnosis!

I saw the RE everyone has been raving about yesterday, and he is as good as the reviews claim. I'll call him Dr. R. There was a bit of a wait in the office, but once he came in to see us, his full attention was on us (DH came with me). The first things he said when he walked through the door were, "So you've been through a lot, " and "There is definitely something going on here." He went over the relevant points of my labs and my history with me, and then told me what tests he wanted to do. He covered just about everything I wanted to find out about, and more besides. On top of that, he has a great bedside manner. There is no sense of the "God-complex" that so many doctors have. He talks to you in understandable language and explains things without lecturing. He also complimented me on my overall good health and took my knowledge of my own body seriously. He's even familiar with TCOYF! Such a change from the previous RE I saw.

Speaking of the previous RE, turns out he didn't really test me for FVL, so Dr. R. ordered a diagnostic test for that, along with MTHFR, prothrombin gene mutation, chromosomal kereotyping, prolactin, vitamin D, and ferritin. He said my TSH was slightly elevated. He didn't think a full thyroid panel was necessary, but just went ahead and proscribed a low dose of thyroid hormone. We also talked about my family history. Since I have a family history of fibroids on one side and type 2 diabetes, he wanted to do a dildo cam scan to look at my uterus for fibroids (he also wanted to check for a septum) and at my ovaries for cysts. My uterus looked great, but my ovaries had lots of cysts. He called it polycysitc ovaries (PCO's), rather than PCOS, I'm not sure why. He proscribed Met.formin for that, explaining that he suspected insulin resistance as the cause. He felt that testing my insulin levels wasn't necessary, because the levels vary so much that it doesn't always show up. He felt the same about testing for progesterone--that levels vary so much that testing wouldn't give us much information. He also said there are three main causes of LPD: PCO's, endometriosis, and prolactin. He saw the PCO's and ruled out endo on the scan, and he's testing me for prolactin.

He explained how the insulin resistance would cause pretty much my whole pattern of short cycles, copious CF (sorry if TMI), and miscarriages. I don't have a lot of the typical PCOS symptoms, but the way Dr. R described it explained a lot about why my body works the way it does. He is very confident about my chances of having a successful pregnancy, and his confidence is infectious. I feel so relieved to have a diagnosis to hang on to and that it is treatable! Oddly, though, I've been crying a lot since seeing the doctor. I think mostly it's relief and release. When I was driving home, I started crying just thinking about the possibility of seeing a heartbeat at an early ultrasound. I can actually begin to imagine myself pregnant.

Another interesting thing was that it didn't bother me to see pregnant and new moms in Dr. R.'s office, because I know that he's a fertility specialist, so probably a high percentage of them are pregnant after IF or loss and have been in my shoes. Of course I can't tell which ones they are, but I felt less out of place than in the other Dr.'s office, where most of the mothers are blissfully ignorant.

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On Monday, I had an interview with a second acupuncturist--I'll call her CI. I felt much more comfortable with her than with the first one I saw. She never brought up the possibility of a third miscarriage, and in fact, she has had a miscarriage herself. I believe she said something along the lines of "Two is too many," referring to my miscarriages. She had heard of Dr. R. and wanted to hear my reaction after seeing him. She also gave me a sense of confidence that my chances are good for a successful pregnancy next time. When she spoke of my age, it was to say that, since I am relatively young, two miscarriages are an obvious indication that something is wrong. I thought that she took my concerns seriously, was quite knowledgeable, and would be very supportive throughout the process of getting and staying pregnant. She also knows my midwife, and my midwife had recommended her, so that will facilitate good communication between my "health team".

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Finally, last night at my music docent training, I spoke to the training leader who is in charge of making sure docent placements are going well. I ended up telling her much of my story. It turns out that she had her own fertility journey, and she really understands how difficult it is for me to have any extra challenges in my life right now. We both had felt a connection to each other since the beginning of training, and it felt good to share my story with her.

She promised to figure out what is going on with the teacher I got assigned to and do her best to resolve the situation, so that it is comfortable for me, even if that means reassigning me. She also let me know that she is available to help me get adjusted to teaching in the classroom even after my training is over. It really helps to know that she is on my side, and will work to make sure my experience as a docent goes as smoothly as possible.

Anger at God, Questioning, and Other Things BLM's Do

Several people have been posting about this lately, so I thought I'd join the conversation. You can read the posts that inspired me here and here. I found myself making similar comments on both posts, so I thought I'd turn my thoughts into a post.

First, I'll admit that I ask "Why me!!?" a lot. Why did I grow up with the desire for lots of babies (I wanted so many that I planned to start having them as soon as I finished collage), and then not meet my Mr. Right (DH) until I was in my mid 20's? Why do some people who aren't even planning babies get pregnant and carry to term so easily, while I have two back to back miscarriages when I'm (finally) ready to conceive and prepared to raise a child? Why would I be given the kind of personality that would make me want to have a home birth like my mom, and then (maybe) end up with some condition that causes miscarriages unless I use a treatment that will risk me out of home birth? In case you haven't picked up on it yet, there are a lot of It's-Not-Fair!'s flying around with the "Why me!!?" stuff.

But when I think about all of this more rationally, sometimes I think I must have needed to learn something from the experience. I try to look for the lesson and learn it. I think experiencing two miscarriages has given me more compassion, and it's harder for me to be quite as judgmental now towards other people as I used to be. I try to accept the life I'm living right now and look for bright spots. And when I feel resentful of parents with living children, I try to remind myself that I don't know their story. I comfort myself with the thought that 1 in 4 women experience at least one miscarriage, and 1 in 8 couples experience infertility. Even though I wouldn't wish my pain on anyone else, it is still comforting to know that I am not actually all that rare, and that there are other women out there who can commiserate.

Nevertheless, I still avoid most moms with living children. My envy and resentment are too close to the surface, and I'm not a masochist. I stick to the few people who know my story and are understanding and supportive.

I also keep looking for answers to why this happened. Biological answers. Ones that involve a concrete, treatable cause of miscarriage. My life is one big question right now. I just don't know why I miscarried two babies. Mostly I am just learning to live with that question in the back of my head. "Why did it happen? Was it a clotting disorder? Immunology? Structural problems? Hormonal imbalance? Something else? Will testing reveal a cause? Will that cause be treatable? Etc. ad infinitum. I'm realizing that life is a lot more uncertain than I ever realized it was. And I'm trying to let go of controlling more than what I do in this moment. I'm trying to allow myself to act with hope for the future and still accept that the future may unfold in unexpected ways.

In terms of faith and God, I believe that there must be a plan for my life that is so big I can't see or understand it from a human perspective. That doesn't stop me from getting really angry at God sometimes. Personally, I think it's normal to be mad at God in situations like this, and that God can probably handle my anger better than if I directed it at myself or another person. So I don't beat myself up if sometimes I'm angry at God.

Do you struggle with these kind of questions/issues? And if you do, what has helped you cope with them so far? I'm really interested in how other people deal with these issues. From what I've read in other people's posts and the comments on them, although the emotions/struggles/issues are often similar, coping methods can be very different from one person to the next.

Five Months

It's been five months since my second miscarriage. I notice the monthly anniversary of my second loss much more than my first. It's not that I loved Ember more than Astin, or that I had more dreams for her. It's more that her loss signified so much more. I knew that one loss was relatively common and didn't mean much in terms of whether I'd eventually carry to term. The second loss was more significant in that respect. If I'd stayed pregnant with Ember, I wouldn't have started worrying about FVL unless I developed other symptoms. I'd be planning a home birth right now instead of looking for a specialized OB. I'd be nearly 6 months pregnant. And I probably wouldn't ache so much over missing Astin. I might never have even named him if it hadn't been for miscarrying Ember as well. I probably wouldn't be blogging here, anonymously. I'd be blogging publicly under my own name.

This hurts so much. I ache. I am empty. I have some hope, but it is hope for an entirely different future than the one I planned and expected to have. Life isn't just a matter of planning and following the program. The road curves and we get surprised. Sometimes it looks like the road goes on, and it's not until the last minute that we see the detour sign. I feel like I'm sailing in uncharted waters. I don't recognize the stars anymore. Forget about landmarks--there is no land in sight right now.

I miss my babies. I miss the woman I thought I was. I'm trying to find a way to love the person I'm becoming, the life I've been given. How can the death of my babies be a gift? God? Are you out there? What comes next? Can you please give me a sign--show me a hint that my life will have some good in it again someday? Please?

Why do I have to be so painfully aware of what should have been? Will I ever be able to simply enjoy what is? I hope that someday I will find the silver lining in this cloud. Sometimes I get glimpses of it. I am becoming a more compassionate and accepting person, less judgmental, less critical of others. I'm learning that ideals aren't reality, and reality is often messy and complicated. I didn't want it to be this way. But I'm starting to accept that these are my lemons. Now, where did I put my sugar so I can make lemonade?

Falling Into Place

That's what things finally seem to be doing. This is how I felt last fall, too. Like everything was falling into place just right. Will it all just get swept away again? I don't want to think about that possibility right now. Right now, I am in a place of hope.

This morning, after a shopping trip where I saw too many babies too many times, I went to a local park where I had seen a Tai Chi group on Labor Day. I wasn't sure of the time, so I arrived late, but I was able to join for the second half. Apparently the first half is actually Qigong. The group meets every Monday and Friday morning & best of all, it's free, and just a few minutes walk from my door to the park. The only drawback is that all the others there are senior citizens. But I guess I can live with that.

Even though I only participated in the second half, it was wonderful and by the end I could really feel the energy moving as I moved my hands. It felt very healing for my whole system. This is definitely the right type of exercise for me right now. I am focusing on engaging the energy in so many ways right now--the Munay-Ki Rites, Pranic Healing, and now Tai Chi.

I guess I haven't mentioned the Pranic Healing yet--it's something another friend is doing for me. I'm really excited about it. I'm not sure how to describe it, except that it involves healing the body on an energetic level, working with the Chakras and with specific organs. It seems to be a pretty well developed system--they even have a specific protocol for preventing miscarriage.

I have a really strong intuition that I need to engage the energy first, before I move on to more physical levels of healing. Although I think that there might be treatments out there that could keep me pregnant, I'd like to do my best to fix the underlying problem, so my body can carry a pregnancy on it's own. I'll consider other treatment options if these ones don't work, but I want to start with these options. If these energetic techniques allow me to stay pregnant, I'll feel more like I did it myself.  I want to stay as independent as possible through this whole process. If it's not to be, I'm coming to terms with that possibility. But at least I want to try.

Munay Ki

A couple of months ago, my friend Hum told me about the Munay Ki, nine rites of initiation from the shamanic traditions of Peru. She told me that they were really helpful in her life when she received them and then offered to give them to me. I considered what she said, did some research, and finally decided to give it a try.

Yesterday, Hum gifted me the first rite--the healers rite. I'm not sure what I was expecting--if anything--but I did not expect it to be so dramatic. First, Hum is two thousand miles away from me, and I wasn't so sure long-distance transmission would really work. Second, I seldom have "flashy" spiritual experiences--my experience of spiritual things is usually very quiet. But this was something different.

During the rite, my hands got really tingly and warm, and since then I have, quite simply, been feeling better and better. It's like night and day. It's been less than 48 hours, but I can hardly remember the depth of depression I was experiencing just a few days ago. I also realized that the feeling of "getting some sun" that I had a few weeks ago was just the barest hint of sun through clouds. This is full on blue sky, smile, laugh, sing-out-loud, I'm-doing-pretty-well-thank-you sunshine.

Let me tell you, it feels so good to be here right now. It feels like a real shift--a real step towards healing the emotional trauma of my miscarriages. It gives me hope that soon, I will be emotionally ready to want to try again. Yesterday, I was able to be around mothers with children with minimal discomfort, and today I have been happy all day. All I can say is, "Wow."