The Plan

When it comes right down to it, I am still angry about a lot of things having to do with losing Owen. One of these (which I am sort of embarrassed to admit) is the loss of my "plan." My plan for my life, for my family. I really liked my plan. I like plans in general. They gave me comfort, made me feel like I'm in control. Losing Owen was a horrifying way to realize how little control we really have over our own lives. It still makes me angry. As happy as I am to be hopefully having another baby (see, I can't not include that qualifier anymore), this was not my plan and I struggle with it. I was not supposed to be pregnant again this summer. My children were not supposed to be dealing with another upheaval to their lives. This was supposed to be our golden summer. Owen would be growing past infancy, starting to interact with his brother and sister. I would have lost the baby weight and be able to participate fully with the kids in all their summer activities. JD and I would be able to sit out on the patio after they were all in bed and enjoy a glass of wine in the summer night. It would have been wonderful. It really was such a nice plan...what would have been the harm in having it come true?



ETA: Julia at I Won't Fear Love has a wonderful post up that really speaks to me. Go over and check it out.

Lullaby

The first night K and I were in the hospital, around 7:30 pm or so, I heard the familiar strains of a lullaby played over the PA system. It only lasted 30 seconds or so and was played fairly quietly. At first, I thought maybe it was something they did in the pediatric ward, as a way of soothing the little ones around bedtime. That was a rough night for K and we were up a lot with doctors and nurses in and out constantly. I thought I heard it again around 3 am, but at that point I wasn't really thinking about lullabies too much. The next day, K started to show some improvement and I heard it again around 2 pm. And again about an hour and a half later. At that point, I thought maybe it was a toy belonging to a child in an nearby room. Late that evening, it played again and then it hit me like a ton of bricks. They were playing it when a baby was born. This realization hit me while the respiratory therapist was working with K and so I asked her about. She smiled and confirmed what I dreaded hearing. "Yes," she said, "They play it every time a baby is delivered. The mother gets to press the button as they leave the delivery room."

All I could think was no, not every time. No one played a lullaby for Owen. It made me so angry. It still does. Didn't my sweet boy deserve a lullaby too? Didn't he count?

Breathing a Little Easier

I went to see the perinatalogist today for an in-depth ultrasound. To cut to the chase, everything looked perfect. As he said "Today your baby is as healthy as any baby could possibly be." I know only too well that good ultrasounds are not guarantees, but it was really nice to hear (and see some for myself.)

He also spent some time going over Owen's autopsy report and talking with me about what happened. It was the first time I had discussed everything in detail with someone not associated with the hospital where Owen was born and it was very interesting. Basically, the doctors from the hospital that delivered Owen all said that there was nothing out of the ordinary other than the abnormal bleeding in his brain. The new perinatalogist did not agree. He was concerned by Owen's size (he measured the size of a 32 weeker and had died in the 26th week of gestation.) He seemed to believe this indicated that something had already gone wrong in his development. Especially since I had an ultrasounnd about 4 weeks before he died in which he was reported to be measuring on track for my dates. This perinatalogist basically said, either they did the ultrasound poorly and those measurements were way off, or Owen grew at a decidedly abnormal rate following the ultrasound (he would have grown 10 weeks growth in 4 weeks which is well outside the realm of normal.) Unfortunately, my records being what they are, we will never know for sure. I am surprisingly okay with that right now. Do I wish things were different? Absolutely. But I'm not torturing myself with what ifs anymore. I guess that's progress, right?

The Scene of the Crime

Last week, when it became obvious that K needed to be in the hospital, I was beside myself for more than the usual reasons. You see our pediatricians (who I just adore and therefore would not consider switching) admit at the same hospital where Owen was born. I had not been back. To add insult to injury, the pediatric ward is on the same floor as maternity. Just lovely. Fortunately, as we went in, I was so concerned for K that I was pretty much able to ignore my surroundings and rush by the "welcome baby" display that Owen was never a part of. Later in the day as we settled in, they came to take K for some tests. I went with her. As I rode in the wheelchair, K on my lap, I realized that they were taking us right through the maternity ward to get the other department. I held my breath as we rolled down the hallway towards the room where the doctors had told me that Owen had no heartbeat. When we got closer, I saw that they were doing construction in that area. It was all taped off with plastic tarps and yellow tape. It looked like a crime scene. It seemed fitting.

Quick Update

Sorry I disappeared. K has been the hospital all week with pneumonia. We were discharged this morning and I am exhausted. I have a lot to post about though. We were in the same hospital where Owen was born and I have some stuff I want to say about it. For now though, I want to shower, eat a real meal and sleep.

It Happened

So the thing I've been dreading and hoping for since I found out I was pregnant has happened. Last night as I lay watching TV before bed, I felt the first little bumps from this new person. Right now no one knows. Its my secret...and now yours. It makes me smile, and cry, and miss Owen. The thumps are different this time, gentler, more tentative. It's as if this one wants me to know that he or she is a different person. I appreciate that. I think I'm falling in love. It's terrifying and wonderful.

The Tie-Breaker

As most of you know, I have two living children and have had two losses. So this pregnancy, whichever way it goes, will be the tie-breaker.I spend a lot of time convincing myself that I will be okay either way. But honestly, I think the outcome of this pregnancy will be more far-reaching than I can imagine. Should this baby die, I will have had more unsuccessful pregnancies than successful ones and I think that will greatly affect the way I view my body. For a variety of reasons, I've struggled with accepting and loving my body since puberty. I spent many years wishing it was other than it was and working to change it. Then, after carrying and giving birth to J, my oldest, I was in awe of myself. I saw my body as strong and purposeful. I can truly say I was in love with my own body. That feeling only magnified after carrying and birthing K. Since then I have two losses, one very early and then Owen. I no longer view my body with awe. I struggle with feeling betrayed and let down my body. I no longer trust it to do the job I believe it is supposed to. There is a lot riding on this pregnancy- almost too much, and that is very scary.