Loss

One of the worst things in life to deal with is loss.  Loss of a loved one, loss of a pet, loss of a job, loss of hope, loss of happiness, loss of faith, loss of yourself.  When one happens, we tend to lose another.  Life becomes too hard to focus on the good.  The loss consumes you.  Never is this more true, than when you lose a child.  It is the struggle that trumps all struggles.  The only wound that time itself, will never heal.  Some losses are harder than others physically, but emotionally, we are all feeling the same thing.  I've known a lot of women in my life who have lost children at different stages of their lives.  Some have struggled with infertility, never making it past the first trimester, some have struggled with late term loss and still birth, and some have lost their children in early life or as a teen.  While we all have a story, our struggle is still the same.  We are mothers, who would do anything for their children, and we have failed.  We have failed ourselves as mothers, but most of all, we have failed to protect our children from harm.  For me, this was one of the hardest things I had to face in life.  When J and I started to consider a family, we never once thought it would be difficult.  I couldn't have been more wrong.  Years of struggling with infertility treatments, trying to get pregnant and never getting there.  The thought of getting pregnant consumes you.  It takes over your life.  I can tell you I had every tracker imaginable (and this was before apps or iphones).  I had created spreadsheets to help me figure out my cycle.  I was going through horribly painful tests, to see if there was an actual reason I could not get pregnant.  When I finally got pregnant, I could never stay that way.  I would go to my first doctor visit with my heart in my stomach, knowing deep inside that it wasn't meant to be this time, but too afraid to say it.  I can honestly say that every time I had a miscarriage, I knew, before the doctor told me, what he was going to say.  I lied to myself over and over and over trying to believe that I could do this, but my inner voice always telling me that I was a failure.....I wasn't meant to be a mother.  I would watch these people around me have babies, people that I felt didn't deserve them, as if I had some special quality that made me more deserving to be a mother than the next woman.  The thing that got me the most was the news.  I hated the news and all it brought into my mind.  People killing their babies, beating their babies, dumping their babies, and here I was empty handed.  Why was this so hard for me?  When I became pregnant with the twins, I had this feeling of pregnancy that I hadn't had before.  It was the hormones of both babies taking over my body, but it was definitely different.  At first, I thought, this one is going to work.  When we went to the doctor for our ultrasound, and saw two sacs, my doctor was not exactly thrilled.  I could see the worry in his face.  I knew then that it wasn't going to last.  Little did I know how easy things would be as the 12 weeks flew by.  I was amazed that this was going well.  Had I doubted myself so much that I was accustomed to it?  We knew the twins were growing at different rates, but they both seemed to be doing so well and thriving that we began to actually let ourselves believe we were finally going to be parents.  I started to allow myself to buy things here and there and for once, I was truly excited about being pregnant.  At 17 weeks, the bad news came.   I had some pains at work and my friend drove me to the doctor.  J met me there where I went right into ultrasound.  It showed that so far everything was ok, but I went straight to strict bed rest.  It wasn't long before I started to leak fluid.  The next ultrasound showed Baby A's sac had a small tear and was leaking.  She was the stronger of the two, so we were somewhat hopeful that I could make it.  I was at 19 weeks then.  Baby B was doing well, but very small compared to A.  The plan was to get me to 21 weeks, where I would then be hospitalized for the duration until they were born.  We knew they would be premature, but we weren't willing to give up.  I spent the next 2 weeks on the couch or in bed, doing what I needed to get through.  My mom moved in for the time being, to care for me.  I can remember it like it was yesterday.  We were watching a movie, when I decided I wanted to take a shower.  My back hurt so bad, but I never attributed it to labor.  While in the shower, I began to feel faint.  I opened the door and called out for someone and I vaguely remember getting to the bed.  I started to convulse and my temperature started to rise.  I began vomiting.  My mom and J got me to the car and drove me as fast as they could to the hospital, calling the doctor along the way.  I knew in the car ride that this was really bad.  They were able to get me stabilized, but after an ultrasound, told us that we had lost Baby A.  This was my strong girl.  I had seen her face so clearly on ultrasound just the week before.  I spent hours looking at it and watching my belly move with excitement.  How could it be?  I was so close.  20 weeks and 5 days.  Baby B was still alive, but I was going down hill fast.  This next decision is perhaps the biggest turning point in my whole life.  We were told that I would not be able to carry on with the pregnancy as I would lose my own life if we did, and Baby B was not far enough along to live outside of the womb.  As I write those last two sentences I know they are contradictory.  I was "told" I would not be able to carry on, but in my mind it was a "decision".  It was a horrible decision.  I was whisked away into an operating room and strapped down, I remember waking up to a blood transfusion and my family standing around.  It wasn't long before I was sent through to ICU.  I had sepsis, an infection of the blood, and my body was in shock.  I spent a long two weeks in ICU, struggling to live, but wanting to die.  I could only think of one thing.  What kind of mother am I that I am willing to choose my life over the life of my child's?  This was and still is irrational, but is still one of the hardest questions I struggle with today, even nine years later.  To say that I had lost all hope was an understatement.  To say I had lost faith, was the unbearable truth.  What had I done to deserve such a horrible punishment?  I couldn't help but see it that way.  If there was a god, why was he doing this to me?  Did I not pick the path he chose for me?  What was his plan, to hurt me until I decided I would no longer procreate?  There must be some horrible flaw inside of me that he doesn't want to let out.  He is willing to give babies to crack addicted mothers or to families that beat them, but not to me.  Dealing with that loss was so incredibly painful, that I began to shut everyone out.  No matter what was said, it was not right.  Some made worse comments than others, but overall, no one could make me feel any better about what I had done.  I wasn't talking, and no one was talking to me.  Everyone was and still is so afraid to say anything to me.  It is the only subject that I can not elaborate on with someone who hasn't lived it.  The hard part is, for those people who haven't lived it, they have no idea how it feels.  They have no idea that their words still stab you every time they speak.  They are just trying to help you.  To understand you.  This feeling of failure only grew once I had my son.  I'm sure everyone thinks that once you have a baby, you move on.  It would be like replacing your mother with someone else.  It's not the same.  Driving home from the hospital with him only reminded me of how many times I had left that hospital empty handed.  And how horrible I was for leaving my children there when they died.  I did not deserve this baby.  God was right.  How I managed to talk Him into letting me have a child was beyond me, especially since I had done nothing but curse Him for what He had made me become.  Maybe I'd made a deal with the devil in my dreams, because I had not restored my faith enough believe my son was given to me.  While B was the light of my life, he was also the ache in my heart.  I longed to hold my girls.  To have these moments with them.  Every milestone was a reminder, every touch was both loving and painful.  I have spent the last 9 years of my life, wondering what they would be doing now, how they would look.  I've also wondered how they could ever love me after what I had done.