Nervous Nellie

One of the many things that has changed about me since Owen died is my ability to cope with stress. I used to be a relatively laid-back person and I liked that about myself. I had a general belief that although life has it ups and downs everything would come out all right in the end. I'm finding that I no longer feel that way. I have this constant anxiety, like I'm waiting for the other shoe to fall. I've become somewhat neurotic and superstitious and I don't like it at all. J is on a field trip with his preschool this afternoon, just a walk to a local market- maybe a block or so from the school, and I am terrified that something bad is going to happen to him. I think he's going to get hit by a car. I'm sitting here planning out what I will do when they call me and tell me; what things I'll need to pack to bring to the hospital, who I'll have to call, etc. There is a part of me that realizes how completely ridiculous this is but, then there's that little voice whispering "but what if?" Losing Owen taught me that we're never really safe and its a lesson I'd rather not have learned. I don't want to be afraid forever.

A Not Quite Funny Story

As a sort of background, you need to know that we moved to the town we currently live in from a different state in late spring of this year. As a result, J started a new preschool in September and, for reasons I'll go into in another post, most of the parents do not know about Owen. So, I was at a mother's event the other day and a group of mothers began trading "war stories" of pregnancy and birth; who had an easy time, who had complications, etc. There is one particular mother who is one of those people who no matter what you talk about she has done it and better (or worse as the case may be.) I like her though and generally find it a funny aspect of her personality. Anyhow, of course, she was going on and on about how difficult her pregnancies were and all I could think is I could end this conversation right now. All I'd have to do is say some pithy like, "Oh yes, poor you, that does sound awful. My last pregnancy was relatively easy, that is, of course, until the baby died." As it was, I didn't say anything.

Something like Hope?

So, we are pretty sure that we are not finished building our family yet. We don't have any plans in mind about doing anything about that yet, but one of things I felt the need to do as part of this whole process was find a new midwifery practice. We were unhappy with the last one for a lot of different reasons. The biggest one being they made me feel like a leper after Owen died. It was so uncomfortable both speaking on the phone and going to the office. Like maybe they thought stillbirth was contagious and I might contaminate their other patients? Or maybe I was just too big of a bummer, who knows? Anyhow, so yesterday JD and I went to have a consultation with a different practice. It went really well. The midwives there just seemed to get it in a way that we have not encountered in "outsiders" yet. I had mentioned Owen's name once in passing in the phone when setting up the appointment and everyone there remembered it and used as comfortably as if he were one of our living children. It's amazing how much that means to me. They basically said that how our next pregnancy (should there be one) is handled is mostly up to us. They will provide whatever support we need. If we need to be seen weekly and talk to them every day, then that's we will do. They will offer and support any and all testing we want, but we don't have to do what we don't want to. They even said while they don't generally support early inductions without a medical reason, they would certainly make an exception for us if we got to 37 weeks and just couldn't handle it any more. It felt good to be with people who just seemed to get it. One midwife commented that we may end up feeling like we just need to survive a subsequent pregnancy and not revel in it. Who knows what will happen but I left the office feeling lighter, like maybe we could do this. There was a tiny glimmer of something like hope there.

Bite Me

This is dedicated to all the people who have said and done insensitive and just plain stupid things to us since Owen died. I have decided to get it all off my chest here and then try and let it go. Wish me luck.

Bite me to our midwife who, while I was laboring to give birth to my dead son, advised me not to wait too long to try again because one, it would make me forget "this", and two, I'm not getting younger. Nice, huh?

Bite me to my mother-in-law who, when we called her that Sunday to ask to her to help take care of J&K while we were in the hospital, told JD that she couldn't come until after 10 am on Monday because she had an appointment to get the oil changed in her car.

Bite me to the first chaplain they sent me in the hospital who immediately told me that I shouldn't be angry with God. My baby is dead, I'll feel however I damn well please and if God has a problem with that then its just too bad. He also told me not to grieve or miss the baby because he was never mine to begin with. You were preaching to the wrong audience, Father T. All you did was make me thank my lucky stars I wasn't raised Catholic.

Bite me to everyone has told me that they "know just how I feel because they have lost their grandmother/grandfather/dog." Yes, someone did, in fact, compare our loss to the death of their dog.

Bite me to people who, when making those kind of comparisons, justify it by saying "loss is loss." Anyone capable of saying that has never lost a child.

Bite me to the Medical Center for billing us incorrectly so that I get to spend hours on the phone telling clueless and unfeeling people our story. Bite me again to one particular woman for implying I might be making it up to avoid paying them.

Bite me to the nurse at our former practice for saying "Congratulations" when I arrived for my six week post-partum - You saw me in the hospital, you knew he died! Bite me again for then hiding from me when I was leaving.

Bite me again to my mother-in-law for asking JD if I was "better yet" 5 days after Owen was born.

Bite me to the security guard at Maternity Discharge who made fun of me as I tearfully thanked the nurse who cared for me after my delivery. I know you didn't know my story but was that really necessary? You could see I was leaving without a baby.

Yet another bite me to my in-laws for not coming to Owen's burial service. Yes, I get that you are uncomfortable with our religious choices and death in general, but couldn't you get over yourselves for one minute and be there for JD, your son???

Bite me to every woman who has easy uncomplicated deliveries and takes it for granted. I am so jealous of your innocence I could scream.


One final giant bite me to my very own body. Why couldn't you keep him safe?


This actually feels kind of good- care to add any of your own?

D- day

So today is the day. Owen was due today. While he may not have actually been born today, I have reason to believe that, had everything gone perfectly, he would be here by now. (K was born over 4 weeks early and J arrived exactly on his due date.) Up until now most of my thoughts have been along the lines of I should still be pregnant and I have found myself, for the most part, acting accordingly. I have had a difficult time doing anything that I normally wouldn't do while pregnant- drinking alcohol, lifting heavy objects, strenuous exercise, etc.- even though I know that there is no reason for me to avoid these things. Now, though, all I can think is we should have a baby now. The 'aching arms' feeling so many of you have talked about has become so real for me in the past few days. As I think about the upcoming holidays, all I can think about is how different things will be than we had planned. I always host Thanksgiving for our families and JD and I had spent many hours discussing whether or not we would be able to. "After all, we would have a newborn!" I said. Whether or not we would be able to spend Christmas eve at my dad's place. "All of us in the same room with a newborn??" JD said. We went over and over these things- what a waste.
Today is just Monday- nothing special, nothing exciting might happen today. It's just Monday. Owen has been gone for 13 weeks.

Confession

Sometimes I want to hold Owen again so badly that I fantasize about sneaking into the cemetery and digging him up and taking him home with me. I know there's probably not much left of him but I want what is there.

And yes, I am aware how crazy that sounds, but I'm okay with that.

A Stranger

One of the things I am struggling with quite a bit now is the loss of who I was before Owen died. I look at pictures of myself taken in the days and weeks before we lost Owen and I don't even recognize that person. There's one in particular that haunts me. A picture taken in June, about a month before Owen died. We were on vacation and in the picture I am on the beach, laughing. J & K are in the background playing in the sand. I am looking somewhere just beyond the camera lens. I look at this picture over and over. The woman I see there is content. I see her, smiling and confident, and feel an odd sense of detachment. I stare into my own eyes looking for clues- clues to what I'm not really sure; maybe some foreshadowing of the nightmare that will shortly begin, maybe some answer to how I will continue to survive. I envy her, but also pity her- she has no idea what's coming. I may as well be looking at pictures of a stranger- in some ways I guess I am.