The Club

Weird Holiday

2011-12-16T08:35:00.000-08:00

This is a strange topic to write about, because I am just feeling through it myself, so bear with me as I try to sort it all out at once.

This has been a weird Christmas season. There. I said it.

Christmas cards have been fewer and further between, and the fabulous Interlochen Christmas lights display was dimmed this year because too much traffic last year caused too many fights in the neighborhood. Even the little house on the corner of Lamar and Fielder that always decorates its yucca plants with Christmas balls didn't get into the holiday spirit this year. Only the large house on Park Row has kept the faith, with its towering poinsettia tree. I was so grateful to see that tree--I can't even tell you.

Besides the waning holiday spirit, there's been a lot of bad stuff happening in Arlington. A few days ago, a drunk driver wrecked into a line of cars and then took off, wrecking into another. He killed one driver and then shot a Good Samaritan who was coming up to offer help. And you know what else? Not only was it 1 o'clock in the afternoon, and not only was this guy on a murderous rampage while completely drunk off his ass, he had his twin toddlers strapped into the back seat when he made the choice to take others' lives. If that won't kill the holiday spirit, nothing will.

A lot of my friends have spoken about this holiday being particularly hard, and I am right there with them. I still think there should be a period of mourning after a death in the family. Not being expected to travel and see everyone or join in the holiday spirit would be such an amazing blessing right now. I thought I was doing OK until we went to Zach's office party last weekend, and someone innocently asked "Is Olivia your only child? Are you planning on having more?" So, what are you saying? That Olivia somehow isn't enough? And why is my family planning any of your business? It's a question that gets asked of couples with one child all the time, and it's intrusive and downright rude. It's as bad as being married without children (which we were for ten years, so we got a decade of this bullshit) and having people ask when you will get pregnant. Or they assume that every cold and flu or every weird craving is a sign of your impending pregnancy.

To all of you who are struggling to stay merry during this holiday season, I say stop. Whether you are struggling with the loss of loved ones, or serious illness, or impending divorce, or any of combination thereof, be gentle and kind with yourself and stop trying to feel happy. There's nothing more ghastly than forced gaiety. I remember one of my favorite books when I was a girl was Rilla of Ingleside by LM Montgomery. The heroine recounts the loss of her favorite brother in WWI and the Christmas following his death:

"I am thankful Christmas is over," Rilla wrote in her diary during the last week of a stormy December. "We had dreaded it so—the first Christmas since Courcelette. But we had all the Merediths down for dinner and nobody tried to be gay or cheerful. We were all just quiet and friendly, and that helped. Then, too, I was so thankful that Jims had got better—so thankful that I almost felt glad—almost but not quite. I wonder if I shall ever feel really glad over anything again. It seems as if gladness were killed in me—shot down by the same bullet that pierced Walter's heart. Perhaps some day a new kind of gladness will be born in my soul—but the old kind will never live again."

Don't try to be gay or cheerful this season. And be patient. As Rilla said, some day a new sort of gladness will be born in your soul, but don't try to force it.

Mamavation Monday: The Eternal Same-Ness of Being

2011-12-12T06:00:00.000-08:00

I was tweeting back and forth with Shelley Oz, a good friend of mine and the person who introduced me to Mamavation, and I mentioned that I had regained the weight I lost in North Carolina. When we were living there for 2 years, I committed to losing as much weight as I could--and I did. I went down five dress sizes over the course of that two year period and tried so many new things. Like Pilates, for instance. I was so worried that Pilates was going to be for super skinny model types in matchy-patch hoodies and sweatpants. Imagine my surprise when I went to my first class, and I was the youngest one there. By four decades. I had been scared for nothing.

As I spoke with Shelley, a crushing realization hit me like a car smacking into a squirrel. The eternal same-ness of being. The moment we moved back to Texas, the new-ness wore off of life. We went back to our old routines. Stopped trying new things. Gained back weight. All of it. All that hard work--gone. The familiarity of being back home among our friends and relatives is comforting but also lulled me back into a feeling of same-ness.

It's frustrating to no end to begin this process over again. But it has also been a real wake up call. I don't want to be eternally the same, gaining and losing the same weight, fighting the same battles every year, year in and out. The miscarrriage and my subsequent firing made me realize I never want to be vulnerable again, at least not where my work is concerned. I'm ready--ready to move on in the same spirit that dominated our way of life when we lived in North Carolina.

So....I am going back to school. In addition to committing to a healthy lifestyle for life, I am changing careers. Although I will still be a writer, I am going back to school so I can be a paralegal too. I want a steady job, one that will help me be a little less vulnerable to the a--holes in the world. I am so ready. I've never been this ready for a change in my life.

Mamavation Monday: Why Does Fitness Have to Cost So Much?

2011-11-28T07:05:00.000-08:00

For those of you who don't know, I am joining a sorority. Am I a little old and a little poor for a sorority? Well, yes--if you are talking about the college kind. But what I've joined is Mamavation, a health and fitness sorority for moms. My friend Shelley, who blogs over at Slightly Off-Kilter, has been a member for some time and she's recommended it to me. And since I know Shelley would never join anything snobby or exclusive, I decided to give it a go. And my first task is to join the ranks of the other sisters in blogging about fitness, or more specifically, what should be done about the fitness industry to make it more inclusive to everyone.

I've been pondering this question for some time now, and I think I have an answer. Every time I have foregone fitness, it's been for one reason: money. Health and fitness is a billion dollar industry and we are coached to believe that it's not something we can achieve--or even begin--without laying out a bunch of money. We need gym memberships, fitness DVDs, classes, expensive gear, shoes that cost the earth, clothing that breathes just so, and on and on. It has gotten to the point that we feel we cannot run--the simplest of human activity, the very thing that, you know, has kept civilization going for lo these thousands of years, for after all we needed to run fast to avoid being dinner for another creature--without the latest New Balance or Nike shoes, or those weird shoes that have toes.

Not so long ago, a few generations back, in fact, fitness was not even really the kind of industry it is today. I'm guessing here, but I would say that the modern fitness craze probably started back in the 1950s with men like Jack LaLanne and bodybuilding. In the decades before that, not as many people required any kind of special attention to fitness because they worked really hard. Physical labor, like working on farms, or walking around town, and so forth. During the Depression, if you had come up with a fitness regime, it's likely that people would have scoffed and told you to work harder.

So if the concept of fitness as an industry is relatively new, it begs the question--do we really need to spend a lot of money to get fit?

Most of us nowadays have desk jobs, not farm jobs, so we are far more sedentary than our great-grandparents. So we do have to make that extra effort to stay in shape. I know that as a writer I have to be very careful about including pilates as a part of my day, or else it will never happen. But I would also argue that we don't need to spend a lot of money to stay in shape. Secondhand stores are crammed with DVDs, VHS tapes, and all kinds of equipment for physical fitness. Add a decent pair of shoes and you should be fine. So far I have been using a Callanetics DVD from the early 1990s and a pilates DVD on Netflix to get in shape and help ease my back pain.

And maybe we could find ways to stay fit in a more passive manner--walking more than driving, for example, or taking care of physical labor around our homes rather than hiring others to do the jobs for us. What do you think? Do we need to spend a bundle to stay in shape?

Accen-CHU-ate the Positive

2011-11-23T13:32:00.000-08:00

Growing up, my favorite song was Johnny Mercer and the Pied Pipers' "Accentuate the Positive." It was the theme song of my favorite TV show, Homefront (did anyone else besides me watch that show? What an amazing show--better than Mad Men, that's for sure). I loved it so much that I listened to KQUE radio station in Houston--the local elderly radio source for big band music and retirement savings advice--in hopes of hearing it. I even called it in as a request to Cary Richards' Big Band Show and taped it on my boombox. I still have that tape. That's how much I love that song.

But it's been hard to accentuate the positive lately, and that's not like me. Though I never have been one to keep a gratitude journal, I am usually the first to see the good or at least the lesson learned in a situation. This time of year brings that home very sharply. After all, everyone has been posting their thankfulness on Facebook all month long. But the words "gratitude" and "miscarriage" don't exactly go well together, do they?

When I first had my miscarriage a lot of people--my doctor and my sonogram tech among them--pointed out that it was merely a "bad" pregnancy and there was this underlying message that I should be grateful that I didn't carry the baby to term if it was damaged. Now, I get the science underlying this argument, and I'm not trying to be rude, but there are thousands of women out there who have carried less-than-perfect pregnancies to term. Would anyone say to them, "Gee, it's too bad your body didn't know enough not to miscarry that pregnancy"? In fact, I know several mothers of special needs children, and my sister teaches special needs kids in Mississippi--if you were to say this to any of them, you'd be in for a royal beat down. In fact, my sister would likely kick your ass. (Her Monopoly board flipping skills are also truly astonishing.)

So let's retire that dubious but well-meant platitude with all the others that people say when they are faced with a bad situation and want to say something helpful. All mothers love their babies, "perfect" or not.

But I will admit that my life has changed a lot since having the miscarriage, and I am grateful for most of the changes it has wrought. I'll just make a list of the top five:

1. I'm not as scared of everything as I used to be. I would always worry about the worst case scenario in every situation and then act in a way to prevent the worst from happening. Now, I don't care. I've seen the worst, and it is bad. But you can and will survive, so go on.

2. I've cleaned out a lot of stuff I was hanging on to. Baby clothes, maternity clothes, and junk we packed up while we were in NC. We've given away about half of what we own and it felt FANTASTIC. When I dropped off those clothes at Goodwill, I felt 80 pounds lighter.

3. I finished my book. I kept telling myself that I would write the book while working at Eye-Vee but it never happened. I was too exhausted and stretched too thin. So even though I was on a deadline, I still put the office job first. As soon as I got fired, I started writing 8 hours a day every day. And I still finished on deadline, even with everything that happened.

4. I spend more time with my family. When I was working outside the home, I saw Olivia for about an hour every day. Sure, it was a temporary change but one that was secretly wreaking havoc on my family. Olivia began having nightmares. Zach and I were sleep deprived. The house was in chaos. Life is slower, simpler, and better when I write from home rather than try to have an outside job.

5. We've started doing projects on the house that we delayed for years. For example, I painted my kitchen. We had this ugly-ass 1980s splatter paint wallpaper in mauve and sea green that just made me sick to look at. My friend Sidney said of it, "Oh, it looks like a 1980s doctors' office in Miami." Oh. Yeah. Mind you, we have owned this house for 5 years. The other day I just started painting over the wallpaper. Before I would have been all concerned with doing it Correctly and By the Book but with every slap of that roller, I felt happier. And the kitchen isn't perfect, but it's a damn sight better than it was.

We've also learned as a family to make do with less--and yet we feel richer. It's an empowering feeling.

So while I could never say I was grateful for the miscarriage, I will accentuate the positives that have come about lately in our lives. Happy Thanksgiving.

Suck It Up, Bitch

2011-11-13T18:40:00.000-08:00

I took a hiatus from writing this blog, because I finally had a D&C about 2 weeks ago. My miscarriage was not ending, and I had developed an infection, and my OB/GYN said "Enough already!" So even though it was somewhat anticlimactic to go in for a D&C after already enduring the pain of the miscarriage, I did so. And after I finished, I didn't want to think about the miscarriage, or write about it, for a while. For 6 weeks, my entire life had revolved around the miscarriage and I just wanted to take a break from it. But now I am back, and I have something I need to tell you.

This is true whether you've had a miscarriage already, or are going though one now.

There are a lot of people out there who aren't going to care that you lost your child.

Now, I realize that in saying this, I run the risk of sounding bitter or cruel or mean. But it is going to happen, and it's better that you hear it from me. I'm not pointing any fingers, or trying to call people out. I'm just saying, some people really could care less. This is not like Joan at Eye-Vee, who used my miscarriage as an excuse to get me fired. This is more like my co-workers at Eye-Vee, the nice ones I lunched with and thought I was work-friendly with, who sat around their cubicles one evening telling all the pregnancy jokes they could think of. While I was sitting there actually going through the process of my miscarriage. Dragging myself to work and sitting there on a super absorbent maxipad and trying to put one foot in front of the other.

You see? Some people are just completely and utterly self-absorbed, to the point of being absentmindedly cruel.

It's kind of like that story Janet Gaynor told about one of her co-stars--I think it was Henry Fonda. As they watched the rushes of one of their films together, she asked him for his opinion on how well she performed in a scene. "Honestly, Janet, I can't tell you," he replied. "I was too busy watching myself."

So many people are so busy watching themselves that they don't care. The cameras never shut off, the crew never goes home, they continue role playing even after the rest of us have gone home and put ourselves to bed.

So if the pregnancy jokes seemed in bad taste to me, I must admit to myself that my coworkers weren't bad people, just completely forgetful of the fact that they were joking about the very thing I was losing at that moment. Motherhood. Pregnancy. It was literally draining away from me as they cracked joke after joke.

There are people out there who feel you should get over it already. Period.

This was recently brought home to me by someone I was working with on a side project. It's my project, and I brought her in because she is highly knowledgable and energetic. The day of my D&C, she sent me emails trying to urge me to get back to work. I asked her to give me the weekend. When the weekend was over, I got more emails about getting back to work. And while I appreciated her hustle, I was also drained of all energy and badly in need of more than a weekend to recover.

A week later, we had a disagreement about the project and she blew up at me. Threatened to go home and take her toys with her. Told me I was sending red flags her way. All the while, I was telling myself that this was my project and I could take as long as I damn well pleased to finish it, especially a week after a D&C, and as the creator of the project, I also had the right to disagree with her professionally, without having a shouting match.

It took several emails and she finally cooled down. But you know what? Throughout our "discussion," I had to be the calm one. I had to be the voice of reason. If ever I had an oppotunity--nay, the divine right--to throw a temper tantrum, I think it was at that moment. And yet, I had to be the grown up. And why? Because some people are so wrapped up in their own worlds that they cannot halt the drama long enough to extend a helpful or loving hand.

So I am telling you this from cold, hard experience. It's not pretty and it's not right, but it is true. Some people don't care what you've just been through. It might not even register on their radars. So how you deal with this is up to you. In the interest of fairness, I have to say that many people--in fact most--have been kind and thoughtful and helpful. Which makes the few who aren't really stand out.

I'm BAAAAACK

2011-10-21T13:25:00.000-07:00

I haven't posted in a week or two and there's a very good reason for that. Despite the fact that I did have the miscarriage, I ended up having a D&C yesterday. Put simply, the miscarriage process never ended and I developed an infection. So, as anticlimactic as it seems, going through the D&C yesterday was actually a good thing.

For one thing, I feel better physically. The infection could have been worse, but there is no way an infection will make you feel better. Between the fever, the chills, and the body aches, I had no energy for writing. Instead, I began watching every episode of '30 Rock' Netflix could supply. This is not like me. Usually a goal-oriented person, I would set a goal of watching 3 episodes in a row. Yep, that's me when I am sick.

For another, it's good to know that there's nothing more to do. The question is now moot. I am no longer pregnant. I am no longer in the process of losing my pregnancy. For the first time in almost 6 weeks, I am no longer bleeding. It's an amazingly liberating feeling, as though I can finally begin the process of getting over the loss.

I'll write more about what you can expect during a D&C next week, when I am not as groggy from painkillers and just the process of getting over the surgery. You should know that it's much less painful than miscarriage itself. And you get free drugs. And cable TV in your day surgery room.

Until next week...

Beta Levels and Celebrity Dreams

2011-10-06T13:51:00.000-07:00

This week I had my blood drawn again to see if my beta levels had gone down enough. Anything above 4000 and I was a candidate for a D&C--even though technically I have already had the miscarriage. Well, for once, my body did something right. My beta levels were down to 600. No D&C. I have to say, I am thankful for that. I really wasn't looking forward to going to the hospital again. I have to go back in 2 weeks for another blood test, and my arms are so bruised and sore. Does anyone know a good cure for bruising? Just thought I would ask.

This week I had a very vivid celebrity dream. I have celebrity dreams a few times a month. Here's what you need to know about them: the celebrity is always someone who's passed, and usually someone from the 1920s-1940s. Given my work, that's not surprising. I have hung out with Paul Muni, Janet Gaynor, Charles Farrell, and Zelda Fitzgerald, to name a few. Billie Holiday came to sing to me once when I was sick. She touched my forehead, and I felt the imprint of her finger for a week.

This week's celebrity dream was weird because I hung out with Michael Jackson. Not someone from the Jazz Age. I remember he offered me a veil and I told him no thanks. Then we went to Kroger because he wanted a certain type of pasta salad. It was exhausting being part of his entourage. People crowded around us wherever we went.

In Kroger, a feral cat had gotten loose, and some snot-nosed teenager was dragging him out by the tail. Furious, I went up to the kid and yelled, "If I ever see you treat a cat like that again, I will kick your ass. Do you hear me?"

"No, say it again," he smirked.

"OK, let me put it this way. If I see you treat any animal in that way again, I will put my foot up your ass. And then I will turn it from side to side so my foot is actually f***ing your ass. Do you hear me now?"

And then I woke up. But I remember MJ was appalled at my language.

What does this dream mean? I don't know, but it felt empowering. Maybe Brandi Boyd can tell me. She began dream interpretation when we were in school together. Brandi, if you are reading this and you have a thought or two, leave it in the comments. :)

5 Websites That Will Help You Stay On Track

2011-10-04T07:39:00.000-07:00

After miscarriage, your body still goes through the same hormonal changes that you would had you delivered a child to term. And this transformation is made more difficult by the fact that you have just lost a child. So it's not at all uncommon for women to suffer from post-partum depression after having a miscarriage.

I had a terrible time with post-partum depression after Olivia's birth. When I was unable to successfully breastfeed, after several consultations with every expert known to womankind, I became suicidal. My OB/GYN, Dr. Kimberly Udell, was an absolute brick for me during that time. When I went in for one of my post-partum checkups, she insisted on me stopping all attempts to breastfeed at once. When I refused, she wrote her order down on a prescription notepad and forced it into my hand. Then, she wrote out another prescription--for lexapro, an anti-depressant. And finally, she got right into my face--I mean, like 2 inches away from me, and yelled "a mommy feeding formula is way better than no mommy at all! Olivia needs a mommy!" Meaning--don't kill yourself because you have to use formula. She literally saved my life that day.

When I knew I was going to miscarry, Dr. Udell and I agreed that I needed a prescription for lexapro without delay. It has helped ease the hormonal surges. I still feel pain and numbness but not in an overwhelming and hopeless way. If you are experiencing depression, I urge you to talk to a physician you trust. They can help you in ways that you cannot help yourself.

This blog is not meant to be a blog about medical advice. If you are suffering from depression--post-partum or otherwise--you need to seek professional help. But if you have trouble staying on track through depression, or need help pulling yourself out of the darkness, there are several websites out there that can help. And these websites can help no matter what you are going through. When I get depressed, there are three key areas of my life that suffer neglect: my home, my finances, and my personal appearance. These websites are great resources if you need help staying on track in these areas. And they are free, too!

Personal Appearance

Sparkpeople--This is a great free resource for losing weight or maintaining your current weight. It offers all the advantages of Weight Watchers and you don't have to pay a dime. You can customize your diet plan, track your calories and exercise, and get online exercise videos for free. There are also several support teams you can join if you need motivation. I joined Sparkpeople and lost about 30 pounds a few years ago.

You Look Fab--Geared toward women's fashion, this blog is a great resource for dressing well for your body type and for your age. Angie is a fashion stylist and has been helping clients for years. If you have a question, she will jump into the forums and offer personalized advice for free. She gave me great advice on what to wear to a book signing one year. And the forums are really positive and supportive too.

Finances

The Simple Dollar--Trent offers solid financial advice for people of all socioeconomic levels. He also lives what he preaches, which is refreshing. If you need help understanding the difference between a Roth IRA and a traditional IRA, this is the place to go.

Dave Ramsey--My husband and I completed Dave's Financial Peace University a year ago and it really changed our lives. FPU isn't free, but a lot of resources are available for free on Dave's website. You can also read his books for free by checking them out at your local library. If you have trouble keeping track of your bills, or have no idea how to draft a budget, Dave will walk you through it step by step.

Housekeeping

Flylady--I've been following the Flylady system of housekeeping since 2001. It really helped me because I am from a German background. If it were up to me, I would never STOP cleaning. Pre-Flylady, I would tear the house apart and really fret over cleaning the baseboards or something equally ridiculous, but wouldn't keep up with the weekly dusting. Her 15-minute principle and daily guides are really helpful for keeping me on track. I also like that she encourages people to start with one simple task--keeping your sink clean--before moving on to other housekeeping routines.

Basically, these sites provide you with a road map of what to do. If you are having trouble getting out of bed, or putting one foot in front of the other, these sites can really help you out. After my miscarriage was officially over, I told my husband, "I just need someone to tell me what to do." These sites can help you manage the basics until you feel well enough to really tackle the minutiae of life again.

It Happened to Me

2011-09-29T06:57:00.000-07:00

My guest blogger today is Brittany Lee. Brittany and I have been friends for about five years, and she was the first person I told about my miscarriage. She went through a miscarriage about 2 years ago, and agreed to share her story. You can read more about Brittany and her family at http://337leeclan.blogspot.com/.

The hubby and I had only been trying for our second child for a few months (like 3 I think) when I ended up pregnant. We were thrilled, even more so because the baby’s due date would be April 23, our wedding anniversary. But from the start of the pregnancy, things were radically different from my previous one. For one thing, I had NO morning sickness. I mean NONE. With my daughter, I was so sick for 12 weeks that I could barely function. And here I was at 7 weeks pregnant and feeling great, eating great, and only a little tired. I should have known something was wrong, because pregnancy and me do not mix when it comes to my stomach (with my subsequent pregnancy I was sick for 20 weeks!). I started to spot at the start of my 7^th week and have mild cramping. The OB nurse assured me it was normal and to call back if the bleeding got worse. It didn’t get worse the next day, but I was still spotting so I called back and asked for an ultrasound. See, I hadn’t been seen by my OB yet, because they don’t usually see patients until the 8/9^th week of pregnancy. So, there I went the next day (by myself) for the ultrasound. The baby was there with a strong heartbeat. But the tech told me the baby was measuring a little off. I didn’t care, because there was a heartbeat! Hooray! I even got a little picture to bring home.

Fast forward a couple of days… still spotting and then suddenly it changed; bright red blood and lots of it. I will spare you the details, but for the next couple of days I thought I was in labor. And really I was. I lost the baby, and it was definitely one of the worst moments of my life. I was miserable…physically, emotionally, mentally…so many thoughts going through my mind. I felt like such a failure, which I am sure so many of us women do when we lose a baby to miscarriage. Obviously, I knew the scientific reasons for the loss, but deep down I still wondered if there was something I did wrong. Why did my body reject this baby?

Thankfully, I was surrounded by some wonderful family and friends who were very supportive. Almost everyone just let me grieve and cry and be angry without judgment or negative comments. That is what is most important to someone who has lost a baby. They just need time to grieve. It is a death, a close personal (physically painful in some cases) death. And I wish that people would be more sensitive. It is not something that you can just get over. You will never forget it! And almost three and half years later, I can attest to that. I have not forgotten that little embryo with the strong heartbeat at 7 weeks. I keep the sonogram picture in my jewelry box and get it out every now and then and just take a look. Maybe that is silly, but it is my way of grieving. And it is my way of remembering that little life inside of me.

If you're reading this blog, you are probably either going through a miscarriage or just went through one. For that I am truly sorry. Give yourself some time. Eventually the hurt will go away, but you will never forget. I didn’t and I won’t.

(One final piece of advice: When you go in for your follow up appointment, please bring someone with you. I went by myself to the OB/GYN office and it was horrible. I had to sit there and look at all those pregnant women in the waiting room and try not to have a breakdown. Trust me--bring a loved one with you. You will need the support!)

The Mantra for Today

2011-09-27T07:54:00.000-07:00

The mantra for today is simple: I can't change what's happened, so I can only move forward.

Today I am wondering what to do with my maternity clothes. I bought a new winter wardrobe from a lady off Craigslist, because my maternity wardrobe for Olivia was all spring-summer. I had her on August 31, which meant carrying her through that last trimester through a hot, dusty Texas summer. I had one pair of flip-flops that still fit by the end of it. After I had her, I threw them away. It took years to get me into a new pair of flip-flops.

So I have these winter maternity clothes, barely worn, and I cannot stand to look at them. Even if I do get pregnant again, I am so superstitious that I am certain I would not wear them. On the other hand, I am so frugal that I can only think "Brand new clothes!" For the moment, they are sitting in a trash bag in the room that was going to be the nursery.

One of the first things I did was go through my closet and remove all of the maternity clothes. Then I threw away my pregnancy tea and prenatal vitamins. Then I went to a thrift store and bought bigger, non-maternity jeans so I would not have to wear maternity clothes any longer. I just didn't feel entitled to them.

I also have bags upon bags of baby clothes that I have saved for 5 years post-Olivia. They have just been sitting there collecting dust. Why did I save all this stuff? After all, Liv didn't even wear most of it. The onesies that got the most use were turned into dustrags years ago.

There's a clothes donation dumpster at the nearby gas station that benefits the local battered women's shelter. I've half a mind to load everything up in the trunk and take it there today. Make a fresh start. Move forward. Quit clinging to the past. After all, these clothes really don't bring me any joy.

What do you think? Should I donate, sell, or hang on to everything a bit longer?

How to Tell Everyone You've Had a Miscarriage

2011-09-25T18:44:00.000-07:00

With both of my pregnancies, I did everything wrong. You're not supposed to tell a living soul you are pregnant until after the third month, that "danger zone" during which most miscarriages happen. That's to save you the embarrassment of having to tell the world should you miscarry. And of course, I didn't follow that rule. Why? I don't know.

For one thing, it's hard for me to disguise my pregnancies. Within the first month, I look pregnant. Even if my weight doesn't change, it magically redistributes itself. I begin to look like one of those African fertility sculptures--butt, gut, boobs, and thighs. I can only squeeze myself into non-maternity jeans for so long before someone says, "Are you pregnant?" And then, the best thing to do is admit it, because it's just easier than lying.

For another, I carried my first daughter to term and then some, so I figured my second pregnancy would be fine too. True, I had preeclampsia and cholestasis with Olivia, but hey. I made it through and so did she and we were both perfectly fine. So I figured I was good to go. How very, very wrong I was.

We told everyone--and I mean everyone. All of our families gathered together for Olivia's 5th birthday and we made the announcement 3 weeks into my pregnancy. Everyone knew. Distant friends whom I only contact through Facebook, Olivia's kindergarten teacher, the kickboxing instructor who offered me three free lessons. And once I knew I was going to miscarry, I was faced with having to tell everyone that I lost the baby.

How can you take on such a daunting, embarrassing, and emotional task? Here's how we did it:

1. Appoint someone to help you. In my case, I sent an email to my mom and dad and asked them to handle telling the rest of the family. Why email? Because I am a writer. I communicate emotional things better in writing. Others may choose to make The Call, but I couldn't do it. My husband chose to call his father and asked him to break the news to the family.

And here's where I would issue a word of warning. Be sure the person you appoint understands his or her job. Zach meant for his father to tell everyone, but apparently his dad only told his wife. That meant that Zach's mom, brother, sister and a host of other relations were completely in the dark about it for a week. Until I posted something about pre-op bloodwork on Facebook, and all hell broke loose. So make sure the person knows exactly whom to tell. Otherwise, you might as well announce it yourself.

2. Don't make a Facebook, Twitter, or other social media announcement until the majority of other people know. You will miss a few people--that's a given. And Facebook has kind of become our 24 hour newsfeed, replacing that terrible 2am phone call when it comes to breaking bad news. But I still think it's too shocking to open my Facebook feed and find out that someone has died or has suffered a tragedy. So I tried to mitigate that as much as possible. In fact, I have barely posted anything on Facebook since the miscarriage took place.

3. Have friends spread the word. I told one of my close friends, Brittany Lee, because she had been through a miscarriage a few years before. She had been through this and I knew she would be understanding. Not only did Brittany spread the word, she also organized a series of "sunshine meals"--home-cooked dinners that my friends brought over every other night for two weeks. It was an immense help during a difficult time, but I really appreciated that Brittany told my friends so I wouldn't have to handle those emotional announcements too.

4. Realize that, as with anything pertaining to grief, there are going to be mess-ups. There is no perfect way to make the announcement and no perfect way to inform the world of your own personal tragedy. Do what feels most comfortable to you at that given time. And realize that people are going to give you advice. When I went to have my bangs trimmed this past weekend, the hairdresser told me, "So I guess you learned your lesson this time, huh? Never tell anyone until after the third month." Well, yes. Lesson learned, though I'd rather not have learned it the hard way.

How about you? Were you able to keep your miscarriage a secret, or did you have to make an announcement?

The Top Five Things You Should Never Say

2011-09-25T12:34:00.000-07:00

I was at the Medical Center of Arlington, getting my pre-op bloodwork done for my D&C. It had been a rough few days and I hadn't eaten a thing before going in for my blood test. A student nurse poked at the vein in the crook of my left arm. "Lookit it, standing up," she told the nurse beside her. "I should hit it here, right?" The older nurse looked over and rubbed my arm with her thumb. "Naw, go a bit higher. But looks like she had blood taken there earlier this week, so expect some clots."

The world began to feel fuzzy, and I began to sweat buckets. "You OK, sweetie?" one nurse said.

"Yes. I'm sorry."

"You gonna faint?"

"No. I've never fainted in my life." Which was true.

They continued to chatter, in an attempt to keep me from passing out, I suppose. One nurse asked, "So, how old is your daughter?"

"She's five."

"Gonna have more?"

"I don't know yet. That's kind of what I'm here for." And with that, I began to free-fall through my consciousness. A million thoughts rushed through my mind: I'm going to throw up; I'm going to die; I don't want to go to work tonight; my God, I am so tired and I want to lay down.

It took 16 ounces of orange juice, a wet washcloth, and about 20 minutes to bring me back to full awareness.

Which brings me to this blog's topic: What Never to Say to a Woman Having a Miscarriage.

I am sure you've heard these too. In fact, I would wager you have some real show-stoppers of insensitivity, rudeness, or complete and utter obliviousness. Here are my top five:

1. It is for the best.

You know, I get it. I understand that the pregnancy wasn't meant to be. From a scientific standpoint or from a spiritual one, I get that this was not a good pregnancy. But unless you are my OB/GYN explaining it to me, or my minister explaining the mysterious workings of God's will, I just don't want to hear it from you. I'm sorry.

2. Are you planning on trying again?

Hmmm. I suppose this is someone's way of checking in, making sure that we aren't so badly cowed by the experience that it's turned us off having kids forever. But it's really no one's business. And while I am in the midst of losing my current baby--let me finish this first, before I decide. Some women can bounce right back and try again. Others may never get over it. But you'll have to give me more than a few days to decide.

3. Did you have to push?

Do you really have the right to know the intimate details of my miscarriage? Does anyone really want to know the answer to this?

4. Nothing.

I have family members who have never acknowledged that we lost the baby. I suppose they are worried about saying the wrong thing. But nothing is worse than hearing nothing. Even the wrong thing, kindly said, means more than silence.

5. Nothing--with a smile.

The only thing that's worse than nothing is hearing nothing...with a smile. At Eye-vee, the place I worked as a proofreader, one of my coworkers was affronted that I missed two days due to my miscarriage. She was sure I was being given preferential treatment. When I returned, she was chewing me out after I refused to do a job I wasn't trained for. When she demanded to know why I didn't go to her for training, I tried to explain how little rapport I felt I had with her, because she was angry about my miscarriage. Joan grinned and then told me this wasn't an "appropriate" response at an "appropriate" time.

I will never forget the grin on her face, a real shit-eating smile that made me realize she really didn't care that I had a miscarriage. In fact, she saw it as a weakness she could use to manipulate me. And the next day I received a call from my temp agency that I was fired. Now I realize there are really people out there who don't give a damn if you lose a baby. And they will actually get the temp with the miscarriage fired because it suits their needs at the moment.

As I move through grief I find myself having to be gracious and understanding and kind to others no matter what they say--when you would expect it to be the other way around. I mean, if I want to have a breakdown at this point in the grocery store, I should--right? And yet I find myself being the strong one as people make gaffes and get me fired.

So tell me, what's the worst thing anyone said to you after your miscarriage?

My Story

2011-09-25T10:41:00.000-07:00

Welcome to my blog. If you are reading this, you probably found my blog because you too have had a miscarriage. And if that's the case, I am truly sorry. If my experience has taught me anything, it's that kindness and empathy about miscarriages is in short supply; people will say and do the most astonishing things as you move through this time. As with any stressful situation, it brings out the best--and the worst--in everyone.

My story began a little over a week ago. I was at my eight-week checkup and had to have a vaginal ultrasound because my OB/GYN could not pick up the baby's heartbeat over my abdomen. Whereas two weeks before, the ultrasound had shown a little beating heart--black and white lines pulsating on a TV screen--there was nothing this time but a black hole. My OB/GYN prepared me for the worst and called me back in the next day for an ultrasound with a trained technician.

This time, I brought my husband. After a white night during which neither of us slept well, my husband and I saw exactly the same thing again--a black hole. The ultrasound tech explained the situation very kindly, taking great care to explain that it wasn't my fault. I was scheduled for a D&C within a week, but the night before my surgery, the miscarriage began naturally. What my OB/GYN assured me would feel like a "bad period" actually felt like labor. It lasted for hours, and a week later, I am still bleeding.

I lost the baby last Monday. And the following Friday--two days ago--I lost my job. I was working as a temp, proofreading for a marketing company in Flower Mound (The company is pronounced Eye-Vee, and the name is syonymous with a vine that climbs up walls. There, that should be obscure enough). According to my temp agency, my miscarriage was too much of a "distraction" for the department, and so I was let go. A courier brought me my sweater, earbuds, and lunch box within an hour.

As I write this, I feel like a consummate failure. Unable to carry a baby to term, unable to hold a temp job for three months. What had seemed such a clear path just a month ago (work for three months, then have the last six months of pregnancy off, then stay home with the baby) is all topsy-turvy. This blog is my attempt to make sense of being a member of the world's most common, but most secret, club. The Miscarriage Club.

Since I have told women about my misfortune, I have found I am not alone. Almost everyone I know has either suffered a miscarriage or knows someone who has. I want to, in my own way, remove the stigma associated with miscarriage. I want to make sense of it so I no longer feel like a failure--and neither will you. Welcome to the Club.