Goodbye, Sprout.

This is one blog post I had never imagined having to make. I knew there was always the possibility that this situation would occur, but of course, I had hoped and prayed it would be avoidable.

Alas, what do I really know?

Seeing as how the Oxycodone I took two and a half hours ago did not make me fall asleep like I was told it probably would, and I cannot turn off my mind, I decided maybe I would share what was on it, and hope to find some peace... or at least wear myself out enough to fall asleep. Heck, at this point, I'd give for falling asleep in our computer chair....

On Monday evening, I started spotting. It was light, and when I called the doctor the next morning, they said it was normal and okay. So, I tried not to think about it.

Tuesday afternoon, though, it became suddenly heavy, and I started with light cramping. I called the doctor back on the way home from work, and she was more concerned. I was told to go home, rest, put my feet up, and do as little as possible. If it got worse, go to the ER.

Well, it got gradually a little worse, but come bedtime, it was starting to get better. Jake and I had been enlisting prayers all night, and I thought that perhaps, they were working.

Right before our scheduled ultrasound appointment on Wednesday morning, the spotting started returning again. I looked out the bathroom door at Jake, and simply said, "It's back." Right then, in the pit of my stomach, I felt like I knew what it meant, but I tried to remain positive, anyway.

One of the worst moments of my life came at about 10:40 on Wednesday morning. As soon as the ultrasound images showed up on the television screen, I knew. Before the ultrasound technician said anything about it, or even "looked" at Sprout, I knew. There was no movement at all. There was no pulsating little heartbeat. Just stillness.

And Jake knew it too, I think.

After she looked around at other things, she zoomed in. After a few moments, she uttered, "I'm sorry guys." Tears flowed freely from my eyes. I was right. Sprout was gone.

She asked if we wanted a printout of the image, and I said yes. Now, I have no idea why I did. I can still, very clearly, see the most haunting image in my mind. It's burned there. I don't need or want a photo of it to commemorate that saddest moment.

We cried in the room for a while before moving to the next, where they explained that at about 7 weeks, 6 days, Sprout's heart stopped beating and he/she stopped growing. There was nothing they could have done to prevent it, and it was most likely because there was something "wrong" with the fetus, chromosomes and the like. It was nature's way of protecting us and the baby, basically.

They explained options, and sent us on our way. I bawled all the way to my chiropractic appointment, and then somehow made it through, but on the way home, I broke down again. I laid in the bed, sobbing. Our baby died. The heart stopped beating. I thought I was going to throw up all over myself.

Then, I realized I was lying there with our dead child inside of me. They told me they wanted me to try to "pass it on my own" over the next week, but if I hadn't, they'd do the D&C surgery to remove the tissues. I decided, after talking with Jake, that I didn't know if I could go a week with the constant reminder of what was going on, and then maybe still carrying around our child, no longer living or growing, inside of me. And what if I didn't pass the tissues and have to have the surgery in a week anyway?

Emotionally, I just didn't think I could handle it. So, we called, and scheduled the D&C surgery.

I spent the majority of the day on Wednesday crying uncontrollably. I kept apologizing to Jake. I KNOW it's not my fault, and I was not in any way blaming myself (though, sometimes I feel it would be easier if it were my fault and I had someone to blame), but I was apologizing because I was genuinely sorry for him that his child was no longer growing inside of me, either. Sprout was not just my baby, after all.

I did have a few moments of happiness, of course, where I was not sobbing. Undoubtedly the best part of my day was when I was sitting in the chair by the window, crying so hard, and Spencer was on my lap eating a snack. He peeked his head around to face me, smiled, and shoved a puff snack straight into my mouth, then laughed. I couldn't help but laugh. And then, he kept doing it. It was the first time he willingly shared and allowed me to keep something without taking it back to be funny. It was the sweetest moment.

By the end of the night, I was terrified for today to come. I knew that Wednesday was hard, perhaps the hardest day of my life to date, but the next day was to be the procedure that really finalized our loss.

And to make matters worse, while at first, Jake thought he could/would be there for the procedure, by the end of the night, that wasn't the case. He couldn't switch his route days, and he didn't think he could wait until the middle of the afternoon to get going. So, we settled for him being there until I went in for the procedure.

I hugged him goodnight, and cried some more, letting him know how sorry I was that he lost a child. I couldn't stop crying, I didn't know how. Thankfully, he held me in bed so I was not alone.

This morning, I had a hard time getting out of bed. I prayed it could still be night. I didn't want to wake up, because I knew that in waking up, the nightmare would still be my living reality and there was really no escaping it. To make matters worse, I knew that I would be going through the procedure alone.

Not totally alone, of course. I had God with me. And my mother-in-law, Angela, was also there, as Jake asked her to come to be my support. And while I appreciate it greatly, of course, it wasn't the same as having my husband with me.

Angela and I left for the hospital, as I fought back feelings of being abandoned and alone, and Jake took Spencer to stay with some dear friends, because post surgery, I would not be able to care for him.

The ultrasound I had this morning to confirm wasn't as hard as I thought it would be, initially. But, tonight, I can see it again in my mind. I laid there, eyes transfixed on the screen, seeing the image of Sprout, even more lifeless looking than the day before. And no one was there to hold my hand. Following, the doctors and nurses went through the procedures with me, then I went to the lab for a blood draw, and then it was off to surgery.

Around noon, they took me through the freezing cold hallways into the even colder operating room, where, after a few agonizing and terrifying minutes, they finally put me to sleep.

The worst part of my day was what happened next. I woke up, cold, in pain, and alone, in a sterile, noisy, hospital recovery room with a bunch of medical personnel I did not know. I couldnt' even ask for my husband, because he was not there. I was there. No Jake. No Spencer. No Sprout. I began crying somewhat hysterically as the situation hit me. The nurse gave me oxygen and wiped away my tears as I tried to deal with the fact that indeed, I was no longer pregnant, and Sprout had gone to meet our Maker, instead of waiting to meet us in April of next year.

I don't know that I'd ever felt so lonely. It was truly overwhelming.

When I finally calmed down, they had me recover before meeting Angela back in my personal recovery room.

Seeing her helped me regain my calm. I was able to talk, to smile, to laugh again. We talked about our loss and the heartbreak, but we talked about the good things too. She reassured me that it wasn't my fault, and that these things, as sad as they are, happen.

When I was finally released, we came home, to find the door was locked. I had forgotten my key, so we ended up having to drive to meet Jake to get his. The car ride was a challenge. I felt very sick to my stomach and was fighting back emotions that I just did not want to deal with at the time. Angela was very helpful company then, too.

It wasn't until after she left for home that it started to hit me. I had been relatively numb for the majority of the day. But, I sat down on the couch, next to Wendell, and looked at the toys across the room. Spencer wasn't here, and he wouldn't be having a little brother or sister any time in the next 7 months, after all. I cried.

To cope, I went online and chatted with our friend who he is staying with, so I could hear how he was doing. That helped subside the tears a while. It was a nice break.

At 9pm I took the Oxycodone that they said would most likely make me dizzy and drowsy, and I went to lay in bed. I called Jake. He didn't answer. I waited and called again. No answer. Eventually, he called me back, but it's his busiest night on the route, so he didn't really have time to talk.

Needless to say, I felt abandoned and lonely again. I know, of course, that wasn't his intention, but with the huge loss of the day, the terrifying procedure, and all of the emotions I have been trying to deal with, I just felt... dejected.

I sobbed even harder than I had since finding out about our loss. I tried to call my dad a few times, to no avail.

I know that sometimes, it's easier for some people to cope or to deal by removing or distancing themselves from a situation. Unfortunately, it's really hard for someone who needs the person closest to them to be with them to deal with their own emotions. It's a huge conflict, really.

I can't sleep. When I close my eyes, I see the haunting image of Sprout's lifeless body on the screen. When I open my eyes, my husband and my son are gone. It's just me. When I wake up tomorrow morning, it'll be just me.

I just hope it's not just me for long. I don't know how to handle that.

I will admit though, that the countless prayers, the condolences, the kind words and sweet messages, on Facebook, in my email, and on my phone, truly are immeasurable in worth. I cherish every single one of them, even if I haven't the words or the energy to respond right away. I have never had to deal with something like this, and I'm just living moment by moment as I go along.

I know that it's not the same as losing a child you've given birth to, held in your arms, and watched grow. But, we loved Sprout from the very moment we knew of his or her existence. We were already planning for the future, shaping hopes and dreams. Sprout was definitely a part of us, and a part of our family. And while we did not get to hold Sprout in our arms, he or she definitely took up strong residence in our hearts. In that way, we very much lost our child.

And, I can't say that it'd be easier or harder to go through a miscarriage after struggling with infertility and the invasive and ruthless battle that it takes to conceive a child. I wouldn't know. I have been trying not to think about it. But, when it does cross my mind, I do feel like it is a double heartbreak for me. The rounds of assistance where you get a negative result are harder than I can describe. But then to have that positive result taken away from you... I just don't know how to deal.

I wish it made it "so much easier" to know that I'm not alone in this, and that many of the women I know have miscarried a child also. But, it doesn't. Well, it does, but it also breaks my heart. No one should ever have to lose a child, before or after they are born. It's a heartbreak I never would wish upon anyone.

I wish I knew a way to find closure in all of this. There's no funeral for a child lost before birth, really. It feels absolutely surreal at times. Did this all really happen? Surely it did, as I have the physical evidence and hospital discharge paper to prove it.

But don't worry. I am not angry with God. I refuse to lose my faith. God's what will really pull us through this. God, and the support we find in each other and in our friends and family. And of course, this doesn't mean that I do not appreciate the miracle child that I already have. Of course I do. I may even love him more now.

I am sorry that this was so long and disjointed. But, if you've read all the way through, I thank you, sincerely, from the bottom of my broken heart.

Various Topics

As you may know (if you're a follower of my blog), I had a cystectomy on my tail bone in March. It was not a joyous experience, but it wasn't as bad as I imagined either.

Post-surgery, I thought I was very well-behaved, taking it easy for about a week, doing not much of anything (thanks to my amazing husband who was daddy, mommy, housewife, and provider all week), and then light activity for a few weeks after. I went for a few post-op visits and everything "appeared" to be fine.

So, I was disgraced and saddened when I realized that, in fact, it was not healing properly. I've been back to the surgeon a few times, and up until this past week, he didn't seem very concerned, which annoyed me and my husband. Following this last appointment, he verified that the incision site isn't really healing that well. In fact, as gruesome as this sounds, there's a hole in it. Sweet. NO wonder it's been uncomfortable and painful, among other things, ever since. So, he gave us a few instructions to helpfully help it actually heal, and I go back in a month or so.

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Lately, our little family is less financially stable than we used to be. I've been blaming myself for this a lot, especially since I make much less doing in-home daycare than I did doing center-based daycare, which was also less than teaching preschool, which was definitely less than social/community work. Ah!

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Today, I took Spencer to the park, by myself. He and I have been to the park with Jake or Jillian and the daycare kids before, but never alone. It was a wonderful experience! I had him in the baby swing, and got to talking to another mommy there, whose baby is just three days older than Spencer. So we were comparing stories and stuff. It was pretty cool. He used the swing, then one of those bouncy/rocking sit-on toys (a duck, actually) until he bonked his face on the handlebars (I was holding him, and he still did it... whoops), and then we went on the play equiptment and played with the tic-tac-toe board thing for a while, and then back to the swing, together, then the toddler swing, then the baby swing. Then we played in the grass with toys. It hit me, while playing in the grass, that I was AT THE PARK with my BABY. I'd spent years driving or walking by parks and seeing mommies and their babies and children and I would just pray that some day I would get to take my baby to a park. And I WAS AT THE PARK WITH MY BABY. I almost started sobbing pure joy. It was overwhelming. I didn't have to wish anymore, I was living that dream! Ah! Pure bliss!

Then we went for an hour long walk, and came back and sat on the step with the dog watching the cars go by. Both Spencer and the dog like cars.

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Spencer surprised me today and scooted five or so feet on his bottom and got the dog food bag. Didn't eat any, but was sure excited about his find.

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My brother, who is 19 now, but my youngest brother, is in the National Guard. Right now, he's training in MN to be deployed to Kuwait for a month, followed by Iraq for a year. The send-off celebration is this coming Friday, in Minnesota. I don't know how to prepare myself, emotionally and mentally, for the event. I try not to think about it too much. It's funny though, because I'm not really scared he will die overseas... but that the events will change him and we won't know him like we do now. He's one of the most easy-going, funny guys I know, and I don't want him to lose that part of himself. I know he'll change, but I hope he comes back and we still know him, if that makes sense. Of course, I'm also concerned for his safety, but I trust that God will be watching over him.

Another thing that gets me about the entire situation is that, with the exception of a short pass in July that I just found out he'll have, before actually being deployed, I will not see him for over a year. In a year's time, Spencer will be walking (I assume) and talking (a bit, hopefully), and be a little boy, not just a baby. He'll be nothing like Bryan knows of him now. That's crazy! And you never know, there's always a chance that Spencer would have a sibling on the way by the time he comes back. He was in training/camp this fall when Spencer was born... and it's just... hard to wrap my mind around, I guess.

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Anyway, the movie "Seven Pounds" is playing in the living room, and I should get to watching it, because it is almost to the area in which I fell asleep watching it last night (sorry about that, Jake, I had no idea I was so tired).

There goes my hero...

The Foo Fighters have this awesome song that my husband just loves. It's called "My Hero." There are various sources that say this song is a tribute to Kurt Cobain, but then others say that's made up, so who knows. It doesn't really matter for the point of my post, anyway. Moving on... It's a pretty fantastic song. I enjoy it quite a bit too. Of course, as is the case with most songs, I prefer the acoustic version. Here's a youtube video of it for those who'd like to listen.

Naturally, since Jake loves the song so much, when I hear the opening, I automatically think of him. However, over time, it's really become a song to me that is about him. Truthfully.

As I mentioned in my last blog, I had surgery last week to remove a cyst on my tail bone.

My husband has been absolutely wonderful. He not only took me in for surgery and brought me home, but has been working really hard for me to heal.

That means that he's been doing most of the chores and taking care of the baby. Yes, he's basically taken on my role while I'm home, and also his own while he's home, and even went to work yesterday to make sure we would have funds to get us by. He's been working really, really hard.

I don't know how to tell him properly that I appreciate his dedication and loyalty, his love and compassion, and his selflessness as much as I really do. I used to feel like I was quite a linguist, but then I realize that my emotions don't always line up with words as well as I'd like... meaning, words aren't as meaningful as I'd hoped. I've given gifts and planned dates or outings for us in the past to show appreciation, but that doesn't always cut it either.

Maybe I'll let him take a nice long nap. Haha.

Seriously though, he's been the biggest blessing this week.

I haven't been able to move well, sit against my back, bend, and lift things. So, while I feel I've been neglecting Spencer, Jake has really been there. He has given most every bottle, baby food meal, every bath, changed nearly every diaper, picked him up almost every time he was sad, and he has gotten up every single time in the middle of the night, except once last night, because I was up and felt like I could manage.

That's right. Wednesday night, Thursday night, Friday night, and Saturday night... every time Spencer woke, except once.

For the record, Spencer hasn't been a real peach the past few nights, either. It turns out, after Jake took him into acute care this morning, he has another ear infection. That explains the various fevers and waking up screaming multiple times in the night.

I must confess, had it been me getting up every night like that, I can't honestly, with 100% certainty say that I wouldn't have let a comment like this slipped through my lips at some point... something like... "Ugh, I'm just so tired since I've had to get up every time."

I wouldn't have even meant for it to be a slam against Jake, but thinking about it, I'm sure he would feel that way, had I said that.

I can say with 100% certainty, however, that he has not once complained about all the extra work he's been putting in around the house, for me to heal. (Or, if he has, I haven't heard it.) He also hasn't said that I have to get up every single time once I'm completely healed for the same number of nights that he's done it for me. I know I wouldn't say that to him (or mean it if I did say it jokingly, as I really might jokingly throw it out there), but I wouldn't blame him for saying it to me.

That's is FANTASTIC.

He has helped me shower. He's helped me put on pants. Helped me put on socks. Helped me put on shoes. Helped me walk, helped me stand up and sit down. And he's made most of the meals... including warming up those that were given to us and serving them.

Yesterday, he worked. I know I whined a few times to him about how hard it was to be at home with sick Spencer, alone, in pain, unable to take my meds, unable to care for him to the "perfection" I try to attain regularly... and yet, when he got home last night, the first thing he said is "You can drug yourself and sleep now."

So selfless.

This morning, he got up early to shower, and take Spencer to the doctor, and is now at church for both services. Spencer is at the church nursery. We weren't sure I should be trying to lift the car seat into the big suburban and then get in it and drive myself, since I can't lean against this tube and it feels like it's pulling and it's painful when I stretch too bad... so I'm home completely alone for the first time since the surgery. I thought it a great opportunity to write this tribute before I go lie down again (because the pain medications are still making me dizzy and woozy).

I am so impressed. I am so grateful. I am SO FORTUNATE that Jake has been here for me.

He really is my hero. He has been in the past for all the small reasons... this is just another, a bigger reason, that he remains my hero.

"There goes my hero, watch him as he goes. There goes my hero, he's ordinary. Kudos my hero, leaving all the best..."

I love you, Jacob (because I know you'll read this).

Sliced, like turkey.

Well... surgery was performed, and apparently with success, as I am sitting here typing this for anyone who wants to read.

This past Wednesday, promptly at 9:30 am, we arrived at the surgical tower for check-in. Following visits from various nurses, anasthetisoligicistslicsitlistuilss (i.e. anesthesiologists, but I let my fingers get away from me and decided against using the backspace key), and the surgeon, they hooked me up to an IV and got me all gussied up (in a hospital gown, robe, and giant, gray, no-slip socks) for the procedure.

Spencer made quite a few friends throughout the day, let me just say. Basically anyone who works at the hospital and came in the room got smiles from him, talked to him, complimented him (or us, whomever you prefer to interpret the compliments for) on his eyes and cuteness, and some even got to hold him.

Anyway. I was nervous. I sat there in my pretty attire with Jake and Spencer as we waited for me to be escorted to the procedure room. It was crazy to walk into that freezing cold room, get up on the bed, have the nurse tell me she was going to inject the anesthesia into my IV, and basically be out. I remember them covering me with some warm blankets because it was super cold.. and I think they were asking me about my dog? I am not entirely sure. This was promptly at 11:00am.

Fast forward... and I wake, every so groggily in a recovery room and see that the clock reads 12:48pm. Nice. My back hurt and my throat hurt and my eyes were totally hazy as they asked me if I knew where I was. I drifted in and out of consciousness for a few minutes before they asked me to rate my pain, and offered me some ice chips (delightful, I tell you what), a cracker, and some pain medications.

Boy, trying to choke down that cracker was a real treat. I thought for sure I might choke on it and die. My throat and mouth were SO dry I couldn't even produce saliva to wet it down, so it just coated the inside of my mouth and throat as I hacked it up waiting for more liquids. After I finally got that down... they wheeled me into yet another recovery room where I was finally able to see my husband and son. Well, sort of, as they had me facing the opposite side of the room as they had them sitting on. Nice planning, right?

After some apple juice, some toast (that I again had to try to choke down, I've never felt so dehydrated in my life, that I recall) and some successful (or adequate anyway) vital readings, the nurse taught us how to work the JP bulb thingy, had me try walking, let me get dressed, and prepared us to leave. As she was getting final paperwork, I was sitting on the bed, and thought for sure I was going to faint or pass out or lose my stomach... but I didn't.

We got home, and I don't really remember much. I know that Jake let me lie down in bed and I slept a lot. I remember later that night that he went to Bible Study and Jesse (his twin) came and babysat Spencer and I. I slept the entire time, as I had taken my pain medication (I guess).

After Bible Study, we had supper, thanks to a friend from church who prepared it for us... and then I tried to stand up and got really sick. That was fun.

I don't really remember much else.

But yeah, so they cut me open, removed a bunch of stuff, taped me up, inserted a tube/hose thing that is connected to a ball that I clip to my shirt that needs to be emptied twice a day and said "see you Monday morning." Basically. I'm on narcotics for pain and antibiotics to prevent infection. I hurt. I'm tired. I'm lightheaded and dizzy... but as Jake says, it'll get better.

And, for the record, Jake has done a fantastic job as "Mr. Mom" to Spencer, as well as taking care of me. I'm actually very nervous to be home alone with Spencer tomorrow for the first time since the surgery, unable to take pain medication, and just hoping the day goes smoothly. So, prayers for that would be great.

Thanks again to everyone for their thoughts and well-wishes, and those who have prepared meals to that Jake didn't have to worry about that too!

Here's to hoping I'm pain free and recovered swiftly, right?

Under the Knife.

I don't recall if I blogged about this subject before, especially while pregnant, so here's a quick summary of the past before I give an update:

While I was pregnant, I had a cyst on the tip of my tail bone flare up... really intensely. More than once, even. It was so painful I had a hard time sitting, standing, even wearing pants. I would end up in hysterics driving home from work it hurt so bad. They drained it once "surgically" and it drained on its own a few times.

Since I was pregnant, they couldn't do much for me, but they said at the surgical tower that if it came back again, especially after giving birth, to call them and they'd discuss options. So, when it did the day after I got home from the hospital, and again a few weeks later, and then it never really disappeared... I called them.

Today, I met with the surgeon. I thought they were going to do a quick drain today and send me on my way.. which they did.

BUT, they also scheduled me for full-on surgery next Wednesday.

I'm nervous. I have a week to sift through this nervousness and pray it be quelled, but seriously, I've never had anesthesia before. The thought scares me. Before I had Spencer, I hadn't even been hospitalized. So... needless to say, I'm not excited.

I am certain it will be fine, though. So, it's just a matter of calming down my mind, really.

They're going to knock me out, cut me open, cut it out, put in a tube, and sew me back up. I'll have a tube for a week or so, and have to take it easy until it's out and the wound heals. They say it's a tricky location since there's so much movement and stress, so I'll definitely have to limit mobility for the first few days. I'll have to have a baby sitter for at least 24 hours, and they say probably help with Spencer for first few days because I'll want to limit activity that causes stress on the area.

Should be delightful.

Right?

Adventures of my Tailbone.

Last Saturday, I woke up and had an inclination that a cyst I had thought to have been rid of last month was sneaking back into my life. My husband agreed, but neither of us thought much more about it.

Come Saturday night, lying on the couch, I knew for certain it was returning.

Three times before this past week, I have had this severely painful, swollen lump at the end of my tailbone. When I was at the doctor in July, it was present, and it actually burst while I was in the middle of my appointment. It hurt like hell, bled, required antibiotics, and a surgical consult. They said that they would want to surgically remove it under normal circumstances, but being pregnant and all, I can't lie on my stomach, so they can't. So they said to call back if it returned.

Sunday, I dealt, despite the ridiculous heat and pain (I spent a lot of the day attempting to not put any pressure on my back, and it didn't really work), I survived. I didn't sleep that night, and went to work on Monday.

By the end of the day on Monday, I didn't think I could manage it any longer. I drove the truck home in complete and total agony, yelling inside the truck to myself, crying, etc.

So, Tuesday morning, I went to the surgeon again. Since they couldn't do full surgery, he opted to inject me with a numbing substance, and open up the cyst to drain it and relieve the pressure. I tell you what though, despite he and the nurse telling me how awesome I was doing since I wasn't trembling too much and wasn't sobbing and shaking and screaming (like apparently many who have that done, do), I felt like I might pass out from pain. Luckily the shot took effect quickly.

They drained it, gave me gauze, set up a return appointment, and sent me on my way. My sister and I walked home (because I refused to drive the six blocks to the hospital due to the pain from the ride the night before, and opted to overheat instead walking in the hellish summer), and I felt great... for about an hour. Then it hurt all over again from the incision.

I dealt, I slept a little, and on Wednesday, went back to work with the pain of a sunburn on my tailbone. Not so bad. Thursday, it hurt still, not as bad again, and today, Friday, I can sit without pain (pretty much anyway). I am delighted that it worked so quickly. My body was torturing me, for pete's sake!

Speaking of riding in the truck. Yesterday, I parked the truck with the windows ALL the way down, and then there was a freakish torrential downpour that I was unprepared for. Whoops. I drove home in a soggy mess, laughing my butt off on the phone to my best friend telling her all about it, and came home to my husband... who was not as amused. I couldn't stop laughing though, regardless. It was just absolutely hilarious to me that it happened, there was nothing I could do about it, and I was drenched all over my backside, and the truck all over the inside.

Ah, good times.

So, that's a wrap, for now.