Jenn's Den

She's Here!

noreply@blogger.com (Jenn) — Thu, 12 Jan 2012 16:38:00 +0000

And she's healthy and alive!

My newest little girl was born Friday, January 6th at 4:36 in the afternoon. She weighed 6 lbs 4 ozs and was 18 3/4 inches long.

We are trying to settle in at home and get used to our new family dynamic. When I've got a bit more time and mental clarity (she is darling but also has her days and nights mixed up. We are tired.) I will come back and fill yall in on all the details.

Have been following along with all of you via my phone, so no commenting coming from me, but know that I am thinking of and praying for so many of you.

Can you believe it?! Healthy and alive!! I could scream it from the rooftops!

Follow Ups

noreply@blogger.com (Jenn) — Fri, 09 Dec 2011 14:38:00 +0000

Everything went beautifully during the biophysical profile yesterday. She racked up her 8 points and passed pretty quickly and then I ended up with a 4D picture of her smiling. Yall, there is an honest to goodness baby in there and I am scheduled to meet her in 4 weeks. 4 weeks!

I saw a bumper sticker the other day that said "Don't Postpone Joy" and that has been rolling around in my head ever since. Yes, I have every reason to be scared out of my mind right now but on the other hand I am alive, both my daughters are alive, my husband is alive - there is so much to be thankful for. I think I need to try harder to remember that as it can be really easy to forget when the anxiety comes round. There is joy to be found today and that doesn't change just because there's a chance joy won't be found tomorrow. Why am I letting my fears of what may or may not happen rob me of my happiness today? And also, how do I not let my fears of what may or may not happen not rob me of my happiness today?

****

Okay, it was so interesting to read all of your responses to the ornament question. I think I had just assumed that everybody felt the same way I do about that kind of thing - the more the merrier! Exhibit A - all the ornaments I made and gave away to ladies and gents during support group Monday night. (although everybody was happy to receive them and obviously I was a recipient as well, so I think it's all good)

This kind of ties into something I've been thinking about lately, though - what is the right balance in regards to dead babies? One of the ladies in my support group is super open with anybody and everybody about the daughter she lost and the grief she's gone through which is pretty different from how I handle things in regards to Micah. I do not divulge to the grocery store cashier, new people I meet or even friends of friends that I've spent time with on and off for years. Maybe some of them know, filled in by our mutual friends, I don't know. It just seems like such an awkward conversation to have and unless I'm pretty sure I'm going to be spending some significant time with somebody I tend to leave Micah out. When people ask me if this pregnancy is my first I tell them "I have a daughter at home" or something to that effect - I don't specifically say that this is my second or anything, but I also don't bring up what happened last time or that there was a last time other than L.

Terrible, bad, awful dead baby mama?

It's not that I'm ashamed of him or anything, it's more that bringing it up obviously makes other people uncomfortable which in turn makes me uncomfortable which makes them more uncomfortable and then it's just incredibly uncomfortable. I prefer to bring my son up only with people from the rather small group of folks that will talk about him and treat his memory in a respectful way, in a way that won't leave me going over the conversation in my head a million times for three weeks afterward, wondering how could they say that or how could they not say this or why did they skip right on over it like I said we had tacos for dinner last night?

I do not wear any memorial jewelry (although I have been tempted and in full disclosure have on a few occasions worn the M charm that Brianna sent me) mostly because I'm afraid it'll start conversations I really don't want to have. We do have Micah's picture up in the house and a few other reminders of him (his name in the sand and a collection of stones with mica in them and the other small trinkets some of you lovely ladies have sent my way in our family room, his baby blanket and comfort bear in the rocker in our bedroom), but anybody who comes to my home knows what we've been through so it's cool. Not sure what everybody thinks about the picture of the dead baby on the buffet in the dining room, but I decided a long time ago that I wasn't going to care. I also think it's a very tasteful picture and it's easy to not look too closely if you don't want to actually see the dead baby (also full disclosure, the frame is in a different spot in the house now and it no longer has candles all around it - just the vase with the dried flowers and the figurine we got when L was born. I dismantled both 'altars' and am glad I did, I think it got to be too much).

All of the ladies from support group have pictures up in their homes of the children they've lost (it's been a topic of discussion before because some of them have been told by extended family members that they should take the pictures down and that it's time to move on already) and the lady I specifically mentioned previously wears memorial jewelry and is loud and proud when asked about it.

I guess I'm just curious about what all of you do. Do you fill everybody in on your dead child? Do you gloss over that part of your life? Does it depend on who you're talking to? Do you have mementos and photos and whatnot up in your home?

Deep Breathing

noreply@blogger.com (Jenn) — Thu, 08 Dec 2011 14:58:00 +0000

Yesterday we had a regularly scheduled OB appointment with a non stress test. Everything looked great except there were two decelerations during the non stress test and my OB didn't like that. So I'm going in about an hour for a biophysical profile to make sure all is well.

I am kinda sorta freaking out over here.

OB was very reassuring and said that really the only reason she's having me come in for the biophysical profile is because she's being super extra special cautious and that I shouldn't worry.

Ha ha ha ha ha. Not worry?

This morning after waking up I cried when the baby finally started moving - she's still alive! is all I could think.

Hoping and praying all is well and that in a little over an hour I will feel reassured.

****

A few days ago it dawned on me that I might actually have to feel labor this time around. Not sure what I was thinking (or not thinking, really, as I have done my best to mentally avoid the subject of labor), perhaps that I would get an epidural as soon as I stepped onto labor and delivery? That the anesthesiologist would be waiting by the elevator door and have me lean over a waiting room chair to administer the pain meds before I even get a whiff of pitocin?

Seriously had not thought about about having to feel contractions and face up to the fact that I am in labor again.

So kinda sorta freaking out about this too.

****

Okay, and not freaking out about this, but it still took some deep breathing to get through - hubby suggested the other night that he is concerned our Christmas tree will turn into a Micah shrine in a few years. I had just come home from support group with a new ornament, lovingly made and given to me by one of my fellow dead baby mamas, when he expressed his worry about my Christmas decorating theme.

We have only a few Micah ornaments (and I LOVE each and every one of them) but he says he is worried that if we get a few every year then a few years down the road our tree will be consumed with dead baby memories and it makes him sad to see all those reminders of the, as he said, worst day of his life.

To me, the Micah ornaments are no different from all the L ornaments we have, but he obviously feels differently. I promised him that if it got to a point where he was feeling uncomfortable about the number of dead baby reminders on the tree that we could pick and choose our favorites to hang up and that seemed to solve the problem.

But what do you think? Does seeing your dead baby's name make you sad? I love to see Micah's name on things or to know that something was made/bought/sent/given in his honor. Plus, we have his picture up in the house and his name in the sand framed and so I was a little caught off guard with hubby's concern. But I'm trying to remember that people grieve differently and it's okay for him to be affected by things differently than I am. Right?

18 Months

noreply@blogger.com (Jenn) — Sun, 04 Dec 2011 14:48:00 +0000

My son, how can it be that you've been absent from our lives for a full 18 months? Your absence is felt each and every day. What would you be like now? Who would you look more like, me or your father? Would you and your sister have similar personalities or would you be completely unlike her? What would our lives feel like if, instead of mourning you through a second holiday season, we were preparing to celebrate Christmas again with you? How would your voice sound? What would your warm hand feel like in mine? Would we know how grateful to be for having you here with us?

Oh my boy, I miss you so very much. I miss you for who you were when you left us and I miss you for all that could have been if you had stayed. This mama's heart overflows with so many emotions for you. But it all boils down to this - I love you and miss you and I always will.

****

"While We wait"

It feels right
It feels wrong
Feels like when you have it
Then it’s gone

I want more
More and more
And if you steal the fire
Give me some

Cause the sun
Dissipates
While it waits
For a friend
To arrive
From the past
While it pulls us around and around
While we wait

The Long And Rambling Road

noreply@blogger.com (Jenn) — Tue, 29 Nov 2011 12:28:00 +0000

Let me start out by saying all is well. Physically anyway, although emotionally I would say that's not the case a lot of the time. This is hard, folks, and as thankful and grateful as I am to have gotten to this point, as much as I have struggled through to get to this point, there's no denying that it's still hard. Thinking that sometimes makes me feel crappy, as if I don't know how good I've got it, and am complaining about something that so many others would give their right arm for, but there's the fact that I've practically given my right arm to get here and also, it's okay for this whole process to be hard for me.

And although it's hard and panic inducing and anxiety producing to be marching, marching, marching along the path to another birth, another chance for the shit to hit the fan, it's also good in so many ways. In the last week or so I have been able to think about what it might be like if she were actually born alive and that is wonderful to consider. It's only taken me 32 weeks to get to a point where I can think about a positive outcome without my heart racing, palms getting all sweaty and tears coming to my eyes, but hey, better late than never, right?

The nursery area has been setup for the most part (it is not a nursery, but actually a small part of our bedroom, but the changing table is there and also the cradle and there are baby clothes in my closet and cloth diapers waiting to be washed) and I have bought The Outfit, the one that she hopefully will wear home. I am making preparations and am probably not as crazy looking as I make myself out to be here in dead baby mama land - it's just so nice to have this space where I can share all the crap that's really swirling around in my head since most people in real life are not prepared for that kind of honesty nor do they want to hear it.

Today I have my (hopefully) last level 2 ultrasound and appointment with the friendly, although rather expensive, people at the high risk clinic and as long as all is still well I will be cleared for a vaginal birth. My doctor over there has always been a bit suspicious of the cord-accident theory because he says that a true cord death absent other factors is extremely rare and since we had no testing other than the normal testing of the placenta after Micah's death he prefers to work under the impression that perhaps there was something else going on that could have contributed to his death. He does think the the fact that the cord was visibly so tight around my boys neck lends itself to the cord-accident theory, and he thinks highly of my regular OB who made that call, and he says it very well could have been just the cord, but let's also look at everything else we can to make sure nothing else is going on. For what it's worth, my OB says she's never seen a more classic cord-accident death and is 100% on it. Anyway, moving on... so we've got the high risk appointment today and as long as everything is looking good I will be cleared for a vaginal birth.

Which is good, right? That is the preferred method of delivery for me and bubs in a general sense of things, and of course I want to be told that all is well. However I've got a lot of mixed feelings about a vaginal birth this time around and considering that Micah died during labor I think I've got a pretty good reason for day dreaming about having my midsection sliced open. We actually have a c-section scheduled, 8:00 am January 9th, but that is in case I freak out the week before when we are planning to induce - a back up plan if you will, if I decide at the last minute that no thank you, never mind, I am not interested in laboring again. My OB has also assured me that upon entering the hospital for an induction I will be given a white flag which I am free to wave at any point in order to surrender to the operating room.

So that's where all that stands. My bestest friend is flying in from Texas the week before delivery to be with me, which is awesome on top of awesome, and if we do indeed go forward with an induction she is going to chill at the hospital with us and make attempts at trying to distract me from what is going on. That is the extent of my labor preparations this time around - what could I distract myself with that would help me ignore the fact that I will be in labor again. Far, far cry from my other two labors which were all hippy dippy and earth mama crunchy and what not. But I just can't go there, I can't do things the same way I did last time and truth be told I'm not emotionally stable enough to focus on labor while labor is actually happening. I might be emotionally stable enough to show up at the hospital and pretend that we're all there attending a party during which we eat ice chips and watch 30 Rock episodes on Netflix and play endless games of Skip Bo, but I really don't think I have much more in me than that.

Nope, just checked, and it appears that I was right. I don't have much more in me than that.

On Repeat

noreply@blogger.com (Jenn) — Fri, 11 Nov 2011 22:12:00 +0000

I know I've been away for awhile again. I have so much to say and yet really nothing at all to say. It's all the same. I miss him. I wish the others hadn't died so soon. I am still pregnant and while falling in love with this little one I am still nervous about how it's going to end. I am sad and happy and sad and happy.

We have been busy, and also sick (L has brought home lots of illnesses for our family to pass around now that she's in school), and also well, I don't know. Words seem so empty lately and so I stay away from this place and I don't comment at your place because everything feels hollow and empty and insincere - even though my sincerity isn't lacking.

So, in conclusion, I am still alive and still pregnant (30 weeks tomorrow) and maybe will come back at some point in the near future to bore you with all my angst over the impending birth of this child and am following along with all of you and reading all your posts even though I am a terrible commenter lately. Fin.

October

noreply@blogger.com (Jenn) — Mon, 03 Oct 2011 14:56:00 +0000

For most of this pregnancy I've successfully put off thinking about the possible end result of this pregnancy - a baby.

I've managed to think in terms of just the pregnancy, of getting past certain milestones (previous miscarriage points, high risk appointments, etc.) and just dealing with the overwhelming fact that I am pregnant for the seventh time with only one living kiddo. That is really very hard to swallow some days. The past few years have been tough with one loss after the other and it's difficult to think about how different our life is from the way we thought it would be.

This is our fifth pregnancy since L was born. She's nearing 4.5 years old and loves to play games that involve her being a big sister to lots of little siblings. Her baby dolls or stuffed animals turn into the big family that we will probably never be able to provide for her. It's heart wrenching to watch her pretend to be a big sister to lots of little ones; truthfully some days it just damn near breaks my heart. Some days it feels like I'm such a failure and I ache over all that could have been.

Then I remember that right now we're working on another chance, that we've made it this far (24 weeks!) and that statistically speaking, at least, we've got a good chance of actually bringing this baby home. Hard to trust those statistics, though, when you've been on the crap end of them so many times.

Annnnnd, now it is October. This is the mental point I've been setting through this pregnancy of when to start thinking in terms of baby and not just pregnancy. T-minus 3 months till this one should be born and that is kind of freaking me out. FREAKING ME OUT.

My OB would like me to at least start trying to make up my mind about what type of delivery I want, I need to actually consider getting somewhat in shape, there are preparations to be made and things to buy and I can no longer ignore the fact that at some point in the next few months I will be giving birth to a baby.

Giving Birth. Having Another Baby. I know that I've been pregnant for awhile now, but it seems like all this baby-is-a-coming business has crept up on me in the last two days. I can't stop crying. I am so scared. What if this baby dies just like the last four have? Just like Micah? What if I show up to the hospital and again am told that my child is dead? My daughter will be heartbroken. I can't even imagine having to give her bad news like that again. She's already so attached to this baby, to her little sister, that I am absolutely desperate to do something, ANYTHING, to assure that this child comes home alive and well. Who can I bargain with? How much do I need to pay? Which doctor should I be seeing? What procedure can be done? Lord, please tell me the right words to pray, the right things to do, please God, please help me bring this baby home alive.

This is what October is doing to me. Turning me into somebody who cries into their bento box at a restaurant, out in public, because the calendar has switched from one month to another. Because suddenly, the pressure is on. Because now I've reached that stage of pregnancy when maybe something might be done if there is a problem (don't get me wrong, I know that not all babies born early live, but at least they would attempt to do something instead of just wrapping her in a blanket, handing her to me and then sticking another picture of a leaf with a teardrop inside of it on the outside of my hospital room door) and what if there is a problem and I don't notice? What if I miss the opportunity to save this baby just like I did with Micah? I've got to be on guard and extremely vigilant 24-7 or I might miss the warning signs. The warning signs that might not have even existed with Micah, but if they did, I obviously missed them.

Oh, yall, I am so damn exhausted. These last three years of being pregnant and then losing the baby over and over again have about done me in. I'm so tired of loss. I'm so tired of being known as the poor woman to pity that can't seem to have another healthy baby. I'm so tired of having to give everybody bad news and feeling like shit because I can't provide a sibling for my daughter and knowing that I've failed my husband in so many ways. I'm just so tired. I need this baby to live. I need her to come home with us and I need to see her pink and healthy and moving and breathing. I need it so badly that it hurts and I wish there were some way I could ensure all of that.

Foregone Conclusions

noreply@blogger.com (Jenn) — Mon, 26 Sep 2011 14:06:00 +0000

As I have now been showing for awhile, so officially pregnant, as far as the world goes, for awhile, I think people have started to forget just what has come before this pregnancy. Or maybe it's not that they've forgotten, perhaps they just think that since we've made it this far that of course things will turn out okay. I don't know. But it's been a battle lately, trying to balance hopefulness, especially other people's hopefulness, and the absolute fact that we do not know how this pregnancy is going to end.

I'm not sure how folks think we should be feeling. Do they really think that after 5 losses we are able to sit back and say that we're certain this little girl will come home alive and healthy? That seems foolish to me. Straight up foolish. There is no guarantee that this will end well. Yes, at this point, we can say that there will be a delivery, a baby will be born, but that doesn't mean everything will be roses and sunshine. We've already birthed two babies but only one of them gets up with me every morning. Only one has grown, changed, smiled, laughed, cried, kept me up at night. The other was reduced to ashes and sits atop my closet shelf. How do people seriously think that we can feel comfortable assuming that this little girl will be just like her sister?

A healthy, living baby is not a foregone conclusion until there is an actual healthy, living baby. Period. How silly it would be for me to expect otherwise. Yet people are taken aback when I punctuate things about this baby with comments such as "we hope so" or "that's what we're praying for" or "if all ends well", etc.

This is not to say that I haven't had my moments of hopefulness. Although I had been so pleased that since we've kept everything of L's we wouldn't really have to buy anything for this baby (I'm cheap and also haven't been feeling very emotionally prepared to buy baby things again), it dawned on me about two weeks ago that this baby (if all goes well) will be born in the middle of winter and L was born in the middle of the sweltering Florida summer. All those boxes of clothes out in the garage? Wrong size for the wrong season. So I went through the clothes, pulling out the stuff that would work and have put it in a basket in the corner of my room next to the one purchase we had made for this baby. This is my confidence corner. A small space that says She Will Come Home. I was even so bold as to email a picture of it to my best friend, since I was feeling so defiant towards my anxiety and fear for those few minutes that morning.

Ah, yes, very bold and not afraid at all. Except if you consider that those little preparations and the sharing of it with one person left me in frightened tears and pleading to God to please not let this little one die, too, for about an hour until I had to clean myself up in order to get L from school.

People do not understand this. They want me to be excited and confident and to believe that all will be well. They want the old happy me back. And really, I would like that, too. But how can I ignore all the evidence that tells me to just wait and see what happens? I can't, even though everybody else seems to be able to.

Mish Mash Update

noreply@blogger.com (Jenn) — Fri, 23 Sep 2011 13:54:00 +0000

So much has been going on lately. I think I mentioned in a previous post that L was going to be starting pre-k this fall. The school is lovely, a sweet little Montessori school set in an old historic home and she is very happy there. She's attending only three hours a day so it's not a full day of school, but it has still been quite the transition for her and for our family. Also, the week before school started we had her four year checkup and school physical and they discovered a possible problem with her heart.

Talk about scary!

Since then we've made the rounds at the Pediatric Congenital Heart Clinic at the local research/children's hospital and thank the Lord we've been told she's just fine. But that was not necessarily the easiest thing for us to endure, especially considering we're too well versed in very bad outcomes.

Pregnancy # 7 is still humming along and everything seems to be going well so far. We've been to the high risk clinic at the same hospital a few times and have been reassured about the health of this little one. We've also been told she's a girl, so we are preparing our hearts for another daughter. Tomorrow will be 23 weeks and that is very surreal. There is still a long way to go, of course, but it's amazing to me that we've made it this far.

And of course, I still miss my boy ferociously. I wish he were here. The weather has been slowly cooling off (if just the teeniest bit, I am in Florida) and I can remember how much I enjoyed fall when L was a baby, taking walks with her snuggling in the sling, playing in the grass with the falling leaves, toting her around while tailgating. My heart breaks that I'm missing out on all of that with Micah.

If only he were here.

Flashback Comeback

noreply@blogger.com (Jenn) — Mon, 22 Aug 2011 15:01:00 +0000

I seem to be stuck in a perpetual flashback. The past few weeks have left me feeling like all the grief from this time last year is trying to make a comeback, trying to resurface and wreak havoc on the grief that I am actually presently experiencing at this time.

It's strange and rather unnerving. And I say "grief" but really it's all sorts of things - the music I listened to last year, the feeling the house has at a certain time of day when the light is just right, sights and sounds and smells and little snatches and snippets of the life we were living through this time last year. It's not fresh, it's not what my heart and head are dealing with right now, but it keeps trying to shove it's way into my consciousness all the time anyway.

Maybe it's that I don't really want to let go of it all? Maybe I'm still clinging to whatever I can, fighting to keep hold of where my life was a year ago, and since I've had to accept that it's been more than a year since my son died, I'll try holding on to whatever else I can get my hands on that I can still say legitimately happened a year ago?

I don't know and I don't feel like I'm dragging it up on purpose, it seems to catch me by surprise most of the time, but it bothers me all the same. I'm half on the side of letting the past go and half on the side of clutching it to my chest.

Letting Go

noreply@blogger.com (Jenn) — Wed, 20 Jul 2011 18:30:00 +0000

L is taking a very rare nap and I intend to capitalize on it. I really should be napping too, but lately I've felt so neglectful of this space that I came here instead.

In my last post I mentioned that since passing the one year mark I've had some peace about things and have been able to let go a bit. That whole concept seems rather difficult to me to put into words, so when I came across this in the book Still to be Born (a great little book about considering and then going through a subsequent pregnancy after the loss of a baby), I hoped I'd get a few minutes at ye olde computer to put it out here -

What is "letting go" and how does one go about it? Letting go is simply reaching the point of being able to say, "I will release my grip that I have on the past...."

Letting go does not mean I will forget my child. Letting go means only that I accept that my child really is dead and that no amount of wanting and yearning and thinking about my child will bring him back. Letting go is accepting life as it really is without pretending that I can make it otherwise. It is also deciding that I can indeed be a happy person with my new and different life. It's allowing yourself to reinvest your energy and interest into something or someone else.

You yourself will decide when, and how much, you are willing to let go of your child... you are the one to decide if you will cling to the past, or accept the present reality and remain open to what lies ahead.

I really can't sum it up better than that. And it's pretty much exactly what I've been doing - releasing my grip on the past, accepting the reality that my child is dead and that I will never get back what I've lost (at least not in this lifetime) and allowing myself to be a happy person with a new and different life.

Going through his first birthday without hardly anybody remembering also brought on a realization that all the hurt and bitterness and anger that I had been harboring since Micah's death has not brought about anything positive. It has only hurt me. And it obviously did not keep my loss, my precious son's death, in the forefront of anybody's mind. When his birthday came and went without the outpouring of support I had been hoping for, I found myself thinking "how could everybody forget? haven't they seen how changed I've been this past year? how broken? how hurt and sorrowful and never to be the same?" and it was then that the awareness washed over me - without even realizing it, I had been clinging to all that negative junk partially in the hopes that it would force people to remember what I've been through.

I say partially because, of course, hurt and bitterness and anger is an expected and normal facet of losing a baby. Of course it hurts and leaves bitterness and anger behind. Of course. But, for me, I have had to face up to the fact that some of that hurt and bitterness and anger has come from me, not from my situation. A choice I have made, you could say. And with that realization has come the idea that I have not opened myself up to healing. In fact, I've been rather closed off from even the mere possibility of healing.

I profess to be a Christian. A woman who believes in a living God who heals no matter the hurt. And yet I've spent the past year unconsciously believing that the wound I suffered was The Un-Healable Wound. That I would never feel any peace about it, never experience any healing, never really be able to accept that my son had died and would not be coming back. Yet I can honestly say that I do feel some peace about it, that my heart has healed some and that I am beginning to really accept that my son has died and is not coming back.

Here I want to be clear - I am not completely at peace, completely healed or completely accepting of my situation. I am however moving in that direction, not sure if I'll ever get to the "completely" point, exactly, but I am at least on that continuum. And it feels good. Really good.

Another Long Overdue Update

noreply@blogger.com (Jenn) — Tue, 12 Jul 2011 12:12:00 +0000

Well, my blogging has definitely gotten pretty sporadic since April (only 2 posts since mid-April is pretty bad) and it's probably not going to get any better until the fall. My daughter has dropped her nap which means I don't have computer time during the day anymore and probably won't until she starts her half day preschool in the fall. The only reason I'm even on here right now is because we were up a lot during the night last night and she is making up for it by sleeping in.

Although I've not had the opportunity to be on the computer very much lately I have been keeping up with all your posts by reading them on my phone, but it probably hasn't seemed like it since it takes about a billion years to leave a comment by way of my phone so I've just been silently lurking.

****

The time since Micah's birthday has been a nice change for me. Getting past that one year mark brought a measure of peace I've not had since his death, and it has been a very welcome change. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying suddenly I'm at complete peace about everything, but there is definitely at least a bit more peace now than there was before. I think I've been able to let go of him a bit, to really let it sink in that he is not coming back, not ever, and to really deal with that.

Because he's not coming back. My life will only continue to stretch on, with more minutes and hours and days and months and years without him. This is my fate and it's time I started to accept it. Doesn't mean I don't miss him just as much as I did on that first day without him. Doesn't mean I don't still cry over him and wish he were here and miss all the things I haven't been able to do with him. Just means I've really started to accept all of that and deal with it in a more substantial way than I had been previously doing.

****

Pregnancy #7 is still hanging in there. As of last Thursday, which coincided with the last of my previous miscarriage marks, the baby was still alive and everything looked well. My next appointment is tomorrow and I hope that we find out there is still a live baby in there.

So I've made it past all four miscarriage marks and the 12 week mark and am not quite sure how I got here. It's sometimes hard to believe that things seem to still be going well. I'm hoping and praying that I will continue to receive good news. What a wonderful change it is to get good news after only bad news, over and over again, for so long.

Updates

noreply@blogger.com (Jenn) — Mon, 06 Jun 2011 18:32:00 +0000

Thanks guys, for all your sweet words in regards to my boy's birthday. Each and every comment meant so much, especially since most folks here in my real life did not remember (or if they did, chose not to let us know) and that kind of stung. Not even all his grandparents remembered. *sob*

But. Even so, Saturday did in fact turn out to be a peaceful day and for that I am grateful. Including L in the festivities was such a good decision. She was so happy with the new photo book (her old one was haphazardly thrown together in the days following Micah's death - she was so distraught that we had photos but she did not) and I'm glad she has something a little nicer to look at when she wants to remember her brother, which she does rather frequently. Decorating the special cupcake with Micah's name on it was such an honor for her and she took it and blowing out the candle she picked very seriously.

Ah, and the garden! I should have taken pictures. It is beautiful. My husband went to great lengths to pick the perfect new plants and a lovely bird feeder and it all looks so nice. Having that space, a space that is private and gives me a place to work and to grieve at the same time has been so good for me.

All in all, not the way I would have liked to spend the day in a perfect world, but this is not a perfect world and I think we did the best we could given the circumstances.

****

I also want to mention that I'm sorry for being such a crappy bloggy friend the past two months. There have been so many posts that I feel I should have commented on, but I just needed some space from dead baby mama blogland. For my own head and my own heart I needed to step back a bit and work through some of my grief in ways that did not involve sitting at a computer screen and typing.

I've spent a lot of time in the garden lately. Going out at naptime and doing my crying there while also watering and weeding. Sweat and tears go really well together. I've also read quite a few books about grieving parents and made some connections with people that don't mind listening to me talk about Micah (and oh, has that been good for me) and gotten back into daily prayer and bible reading, which I have neglected for far too long.

There were also two out of town vacations thrown in there and my best friend's wedding and other assorted stuff that kept me busy.

Anyway, I'm sure you all understand, but I wanted to acknowledge that I've missed out on some stuff with you guys and for that I'm sorry.

****

One last announcement - I am currently pregnant for the seventh time. Still very early, still plenty of time for crap to go wrong. And considering my history (1 live birth + 1 full term stillbirth + 4 miscarriages) it seems likely something will go wrong. But right now, everything seems to be fine, and I'm trying (and frequently failing) to live in the moment, when even if I don't know the status of the baby, at least I know I'm still pregnant.

Last week we saw Dr. MFM for our first early ultrasound and it went perfectly. We met all four of his criteria for a good early ultrasound - well formed gestational sac, large yolk sac with white border, embryo measuring on target and good heartbeat. I left the appointment overcome with anxiety. Going into the appointment I just assumed we'd be getting bad news - I mean, all we've gotten for the past year is bad news, right? - but then we didn't and I didn't even know what to do with myself. It's settled in some, but we've still got a long way to go.

Next ultrasound is Friday and I'm hoping for good news again. I would be so thrilled if this turned out to be lucky pregnancy # 7.

One Year

noreply@blogger.com (Jenn) — Sat, 04 Jun 2011 13:15:00 +0000

Today marks one year since Micah was born. At this time a year ago I had just gotten my epidural and it was becoming evident that just like with L, it wasn't taking on my left side. In about fifteen minutes I would get another dose and then shortly after, right at 10:00, Micah would be born. I'd be told to stop pushing so his cord could be cut off since it was so tight around his neck. (His birth story, part 1 and part 2, should you care to read it.)

This morning, in stark contrast to last year, there are no contractions, no doctors and not even a single tear so far. We ate donuts for breakfast (a special treat around here) and will be spending a lot of time in his garden tidying up and planting new flowers. We'll also be putting in another bird feeder to help with the long wait at the current feeder (seriously, there are often four or five birds hanging out and waiting their turn to get some seed). L got a new and improved photo book with pictures of her and Micah from his birthday last year and we'll be having cupcakes later in the day; L is very excited about getting to blow out the candle on Micah's. Tonight we'll be enjoying a special dinner from a delicious Japanese restaurant up the street and probably having cupcakes for dessert.

****

As so many others who have gone through this milestone before me have said, the lead up to today has been far worse than today has actually been (so far, anyway, but I really am feeling pretty okay). Yesterday I actually had to send L to my mom's because I just could not keep it together. I was a royal mess.

I've thought about the memories from his birthday so many times that for the most part I can do it without falling apart, without crying, sometimes without even getting upset. But the day before? The evening and night before? I can't go there. We were so happy. Thinking about laboring at home, about being so peaceful and serene (I'm a really good labor-er), about walking hand in hand with hubby as we bought the last piece to his perfect little outfit, about vacuuming and preparing the house one last time before our new baby would be coming home, about that last picture, out in the black of night, as we headed to the car and then to the hospital, well, that does me in. Did me in. Yesterday was hard.

And all of this past week, and actually for awhile before that, it felt as if I were depressed. Or kind of like early grief after some of the sobbing has worn off when everything is dull and tinged by sadness and it seems like life takes so much work just to get through.

Today though, it feels lighter. Sad, of course, but definitely lighter than the days leading up to it. We're remembering Micah as a son and a baby brother, and thanking God for his life, short as it was, and honoring him in the ways that feel right to us.

****

Happy 1st Birthday my sweet boy.
We love you and miss you so much. xx

Outside The Norm

noreply@blogger.com (Jenn) — Fri, 15 Apr 2011 18:34:00 +0000

Monday was a low point. I spent part of my evening sobbing into his baby blanket while curled up in a fetal position in bed. As an indication of how low of a point it was I'd like to mention that his baby blanket has been untouched on the back of the glider in my bedroom for months now. But Monday? Off it came, straight into my arms, where it was scrunched up and sobbed on. I then slept with it for two nights in a row.

As the week has gone on things have gotten better. I returned his blanket to it's rightful spot and yesterday the only tears shed were from the realization that although our maternal fetal medicine specialist (here on out to be referred to as Dr. MFM) has given us the all clear to try again, we will most likely miss this cycle as hubby will be traveling right around ovulation time. This leaves only the slightest possibility of being pregnant by Micah's birthday.

When we found out we were pregnant the first time after Micah's death it was a scary time. But I always thought how nice it would be to find myself big and pregnant by his first birthday. Then we miscarried. When we found out we were pregnant the second time after Micah's death it was again a scary time. But I would think to myself at least I will be past our miscarriage marks by Micah's first birthday. Then we miscarried again. And now it's likely that one year will pass since my baby died and two and a half years will pass since we got pregnant the first time after L was born and we will be no closer to another living baby than we were at either of those two points. Four pregnancies since L and not another baby in sight.

It is kind of depressing. Or really depressing. Or, on a night like last night, really, really, really depressing.

****

But! I do have something positive to write about! Can you believe it? Something other than the usual doom and gloom that is the norm here at Jenn's Den?

Yes. And the positive news is that Dr. MFM is A.W.E.S.O.M.E!

We met with him at the beginning of last week and were so pleased with everything. He spent a lot of time with us and did an excellent job of gathering all the little pieces into one big picture of obstetric outcome crappiness. The big picture, says Dr. Awesome, er, I mean, Dr. MFM, is that we've got a few things working against us but we should still feel encouraged and he thinks we will get another living baby one day. What a wonderful thing to hear!

Good news, of course, but he did also diagnosis me with a new blood clotting disorder, antiphospholipid syndrome (APS), which he said increases my risk of blood clots, even when not pregnant and even more so than the two genetic thrombophilias I have. The treatment for APS while pregnant is the same treatment for the genetic thrombophilias - Lovenox and aspirin, so no change there. I'll see what the new hematologist has to say about it when I see him in about two weeks.

But, even with the new diagnosis, it was still a very positive appointment and I am glad to have him on my team. I'm happy that we have a new plan mapped out as plans (and lists. I love a good list.) always make me feel good.

So here, in list form, is The New Plan -

Start Prometrium (progesterone) now.
Get pregnant. Hubby is most excited about this step in the process.
Once pregnant immediately begin aspirin
5.5 - 6 weeks level 2 ultrasound at teaching hospital, if fetal heart activity present then start Lovenox
10 - 11 weeks very detailed genetic screening through combination of blood testing and another level 2 ultrasound (we aren't really in favor of any kind of invasive testing like CVS or amnio)
18-20 weeks have another detailed level 2 ultrasound, continue with detailed ultrasounds and non stress tests through remainder of pregnancy
Switch to heparin from Lovenox at 36 weeks
Lung maturity testing at 38 weeks, when lungs are mature schedule last dose of heparin and deliver 12 hours later
Immediately start Lovenox again

So there you have it folks. A plan as a list that makes me feel hopeful. It's the simple things in life, right?

Round And Round I Go

noreply@blogger.com (Jenn) — Mon, 11 Apr 2011 22:28:00 +0000

I don't know why but today has been especially hard. I am filled with so much longing and so many unfulfilled wishes and a seemingly unending supply of tears. Bottom line - I miss Micah and I am so disappointed to have miscarried again. Surprise, surprise, right? I think everything I write here can be boiled down to those two statements.

10 months was such a fun age with L. She walked early, skipped crawling entirely, and this was right about the time she started toddling around the house. How can I express this other than I wish with everything in me that Micah were here and following in his sister's footsteps? I'm sure I've said this before, over and over again, but oh how I wish he were here.

Such a broken record, but I can't help it. I just miss him. I'm so very sad he died. Nothing more to say, I guess.

10 Months Today

noreply@blogger.com (Jenn) — Mon, 04 Apr 2011 17:34:00 +0000

And I'm struggling. Many, many tears are falling. Thinking of all of you going through similar milestones and especially remembering George and Freddie and their mamas who have suffered through this awful grief for more than a year now. My love and prayers are with you Brianna and Merry.

Duplicity

noreply@blogger.com (Jenn) — Wed, 30 Mar 2011 19:35:00 +0000

It's hard to imagine what he would be like now, hard to think about actually having a little almost 10 month old in the house. I can't picture it anymore. I used to be able to mentally picture what it might have been like had he lived, but that is getting more and more difficult to do. In some ways it's almost as if it were never even a possibility, as if maybe I was just fooling myself, aided and abetted by everybody else, the entire time.

Some parts of this don't seem to get easier, although I know that can't be true. It must have gotten easier. I can function now. I can grocery shop without having a panic attack in the parking lot. I balance our checking account and feed L decent food and go outside and shower regularly and so things must have gotten easier. Why does it still feel like it hasn't?

How did all the signs seem to be pointing in one direction only to change abruptly at the last second? How did I spend months growing and loving and caring for a baby and then not bring him home? How did everybody else go along in this, buying me gifts and talking of this boy as if he would live? How could life have been so duplicitous? So conniving and deceitful and ending up in nothing but a giant hoax.

Sometimes it all seems so far away, as if maybe this happened to somebody else, somebody I care for, yes, and so I am pained about the situation, but for them, not me. I am still removed from it. I don't know what to do with that and it's not all the time, of course, sometimes it is so fresh it's as if I were right back there again, walking across the hospital parking lot with my head hung down in shame, the tears falling to the pavement below.

Questions With No Answers

noreply@blogger.com (Jenn) — Fri, 25 Mar 2011 19:12:00 +0000

At some point between Monday's ultrasound and yesterday's ultrasound I miscarried. It kills me, though, to not know when, specifically, as I never did notice passing the sac. During the course of all the other miscarriages I have always had a day and time nailed down as to when the actual miscarriage occurred and I am sad I do not have that for this one. This also means that I do not have anything to bury and that also makes me sad. I hate thinking about what happened, probably that it was flushed down the toilet. Just an awful thing to think about.

Of course, there wouldn't have been much to bury anyway, what with there not being a little somebody in that sac, but still, I would have liked to treat that little potential of a life with more dignity than it ended up getting.

I think I am going to pin this miscarriage down on Tuesday afternoon which is when the cramping was the worst, which is usually round about when I actually miscarry.

Should we name this one? is a question we are now trying to answer, as there was never a little beating heart as in all the others and so it seems strange on the one hand to name a gestational sac, but then again, we believe in life at conception, that there is a soul attached to the spark of life, and so it seems rather disrespectful to not name this one as we have all the others. I don't know and I haven't prayed about it, which I ought to do, as we have gotten all our other names that way.

But I can't seem to bring myself to pray right now, mostly because I end up sobbing since it is hard to relegate all of this to the back of my mind when pouring myself out to the Lord, and frankly, I am just not in the mood for sobbing. I am not in the mood for grieving another loss, not in the mood for all the fresh sadness and brand new sorrow.

****

Thank you for all the comments and helpful advice on my last post. I didn't end up having to ask for a referral at all, my OB had somebody in mind and brought it all up herself. She is referring me to a maternal fetal medicine specialist at the local teaching hospital, so we will see what he has to say. Although being told that yes, you have indeed miscarried for the fourth time, is never a pleasant thing to hear, our appointment yesterday was a good one. Hubby, OB and I talked about a lot of things and plans have been made for seeing if there is more to be done.

Like I said, there will be the appointment with the MFM and we are considering have chromosomal testing done, but have not fully decided about that yet. I do not think our insurance will cover it at all, and considering there isn't much to do about it if they find a problem (short of IVF in which embryos are tested before transfer, which isn't 100% able to make sure you're not transferring an embryo with problems, and is not in our budget, and is not something we are sure we would do even if we could afford it), we are going to let cost be the deciding factor in that decision.

I asked OB if possibly we just have spectacularly bad luck? She said it's possible, but we are probably beyond just bad luck. Oh well, it was worth a shot. We talked about the fact that unless something is discovered that we are unaware of, we are doing all we can do. The clotting problems are being treated, and aggressively as well, since I am now to take aspirin in addition to the Lovenox while pregnant. I already take progesterone while pregnant. There is nothing to be done about the misshapen uterus.

Last week, before we knew this pregnancy was going downhill, I got the results back from the boatload of blood they drew during Alex's pregnancy, and some of the tests came back with abnormal results. My hematologist does not know if this is because I was pregnant, as that can sometimes skew the results, or because there are more problems. During that appointment he decided to refer me to another hematologist at the teaching hospital for a second opinion and to make sure nothing is being missed. I will have all those tests repeated now, since I am no longer pregnant and we will know for sure that is not the reason for funky results.

So. In short, we will be seeing a MFM sometime soon and another hematologist and there will be more tests and more results and more money being spent, and will it even do anything? Will we find something that can be fixed? My feeling is no, we will do all of this and end up circling back to the same exact spot we are in right now - pregnancy is a crap shoot that usually does not end well. I do think it will be helpful to do all of this for my emotional sanity, though, as we are talking about whether or not to continue to try expanding our family in this way and if we do decide that we are done, it will be easier to walk away if I can say I did all that I could do.

With A Little Help From My Friends

noreply@blogger.com (Jenn) — Wed, 23 Mar 2011 12:40:00 +0000

Quickly, as my house is falling apart and I am needed elsewhere (I am bleeding profusely but still haven't actually miscarried, L is super sick and has been running a rather high fever since yesterday evening (I laid awake until almost 3 am just listening to her breathing. I am in a super paranoid spot right now.) and even hubby is feverish and feeling sick, but still had to go in to work today. Also, I think the dogs are mad at us, they haven't been on a walk in days), I need to ask yall some questions.

But first, thank you so much, all of you, for the kind comments and the sweet emails. Your words have brought so much comfort. To know you care and understand and are here with me means more than I can explain. Thank you. That doesn't seem to adequately express how grateful I am for each and every message, but it's all I can do, so again, to each one of you, thank you.

Now, onto the questions. Hanen suggested that I might consider seeing a specialist, somebody who deals in repeat miscarriages. Hubby and I have been talking about asking our OB about this on Thursday, but I want to know, what kind of doctor should I be asking to see? I'd ideally like to see somebody who would be knowledgeable in all my issues - the funky uterus, blood clotting issues, low progesterone and my history of losses, both stillbirth and miscarriage. So, any of you see anybody that handles these kinds of things? What kind of doctor are they? The only specialist I can think of related to reproductive stuff is an RE but don't they deal in helping people get pregnant? That doesn't seem to be our issue...

Also, can somebody please explain to me this Google Follow thing? When I click on somebody who is following this blog sometimes it gives me an option to follow them back, sometimes not. Sometimes it shows me what their blog is, sometimes not. There are some folks following here that I'd like to at least go read their blog, but I can't figure out how to figure out what their blog is? Am I missing something completely obvious here? Sometimes new technology baffles me.

Dang

noreply@blogger.com (Jenn) — Mon, 21 Mar 2011 18:21:00 +0000

Although it's not quite there yet, this pregnancy is as good as over.

Had an ultrasound earlier that showed a gestational sac measuring behind (5w4d for anybody who cares, I should be 6w1d) with a *something* in it, but not what we wanted to see, which was a healthy little fetal pole and strong heartbeat.

Couple that with the fact that I'm bleeding heavily, passing clots and having some decent cramping and what you've got is miscarriage number 4 coming soon.

I've been told to not take my aspirin until further notice and to skip my Lovenox tonight. Repeat ultrasound on Thursday.

****

I really do feel rather foolish about all this. I mean, who has four miscarriages? Who has four miscarriages and one full term stillbirth? Me. Even here in dead baby mama land I feel like I don't really fit in because it's not just the stillbirth and it's not just the repeat miscarriages. This is kind of silly, I know, each one of us has suffered loss and I'm not trying to parse that out or say this or that is worse than the other, I just feel really alone and isolated, I guess. Wishing I didn't feel like the only fool who has ever let herself feel hope six times only to be crushed five of those times. Chronically cursed, you could say.

****

This little one, this little not even quite a baby, I wanted this one so badly. So badly. I don't understand why we keep having to go through this. We are nice people! We would invite you for dinner and feed you delicious food and insist on you having seconds, and look! dessert! and then we might even send you home with leftovers. That's how friendly and kind we are. So why do our babies keep dying?

We just want to be parents again. That's all. I can't wrap my brain around why this is so hard. It's not like I want to win the lottery (although with my odds it kind of feels that way) or am wishing for world peace (although, of course, that would be wonderful), I just want another baby. One that cries after birth and needs diaper changes and would enjoy a trip to the park. That's all. Seems modest enough, doesn't it? I am not asking for too much, am I?

Inadequate

noreply@blogger.com (Jenn) — Sun, 20 Mar 2011 18:41:00 +0000

Well, things are not looking good. I have spotted every day since Monday and today there is a bit more, I guess I could call it heavy spotting or very light bleeding, I don't know, but I am feeling very discouraged by it.

My first ultrasound is not scheduled until Friday when I will be almost 7 weeks but I am going to call in the morning to ask about getting in tomorrow. We have family and friends joining us for the March for Babies this coming Saturday and I've decided that if I'm going to get bad news I'd rather get it tomorrow and have the week to adjust, instead of getting it on Friday right before I need to go be cheery and hang out with a bunch of family and friends. Especially since none of them even know we are pregnant.

In spite of everything I am handling this rather well. I mean, yes, I am finding myself crying here and there and having an occasional sob-fest in the shower, but as far as preparing myself for the worst, I'd say this time has been the easiest.

Not spreading the news has helped as there will only be 3 people to tell if this goes south and that is nice. I feel like if I just could stay here in my little bubble of a house and only go out into the side yard or back yard where I don't have to see or speak to anybody but a select few individuals I will be fine.

It's dealing with the rest of the world that presents the problem for me right now. Maybe I only have enough emotional energy to deal with me and my family and I just haven't got it in me to deal with everybody else, too. I don't know. But here at home I'm sad, yes, disappointed, yes, but relatively okay.

Friday night at my brother in law's house, faced with sister in law's giant belly that she couldn't even have the decency to cover up (it was all hanging completely out of the bottom of her shirt), watching their two children interact, wishing L had a sibling she could play with and then noticing the book on the children's shelf about having a new baby, the very same one I bought for L while pregnant with Micah and packed away after his death - that was more than I could deal with. The entire ride home I cried. Poor Best Friend called shortly after our arrival home and the words wouldn't even come, I just sobbed into the phone.

It all makes me feel so inadequate. Here I am, a healthy 29 year old woman with a stable home and a loving husband and a sweet daughter who is just desperate to be a big sister to a living sibling and I can't produce. It's so embarrassing. I feel almost ashamed of myself. Why am I so lacking in that basic ability of women - that ability to have babies?

This afternoon we will be venturing out again, away from my safety bubble, but we will be meeting another family from one of the support groups recently started in town (remind me to tell you about that) that has a son about L's age and who lost their daughter to a full term stillbirth eerily similar to Micah's about two months ago. I am feeling rather brave about all this, going out of the house when I'm pretty sure the beginning of the end of another pregnancy is happening, but it's not like staying home and resting like I've done all the other times I've spotted and bled has done me a damn bit of good. So we are going and I will continue on in my ultra-mature way of dealing with things right now - ignoring them.

Behind Me

noreply@blogger.com (Jenn) — Wed, 16 Mar 2011 19:07:00 +0000

I just want to hold him. I wish I could smell him and feel his weight again and I sometimes wish I could go back there, back to the hospital just so I could see him and touch him and why did I ever leave that place? They told me I could have him with me as long as I wanted to. Why didn't I just stay? Forever?

How could I have left him there? Lying so helpless with two women I had just met and I don't know how they were going to care for him, sure they told me they would watch over him and never let him be alone until the - oh how I hate writing this in relation to my sweet boy - funeral home came, but how do I know? They could have walked right out of that room as soon as we were in the elevator and left him by himself. How could I have turned my back on him and walked out of that hospital and left him behind?

There was something so exquisite about my grief in the early days. So all consuming and deserving, no, demanding of respect and in some ways I hate that I've lost that.

If I want to speak of him now I must bring him up. And I can only do that with a few people. Only a few, out of all the people in my life, only a small handful can I speak my own son's name to.

Where did everybody go? Where did I go? I left him behind and now everybody else has, too.

I'm so sorry Micah. I'm so sorry I failed you. I'm so sorry I didn't know there was anything wrong until it was too late. I'm sorry I didn't go to the hospital sooner. I'm sorry I couldn't save you. I'm just so sorry my boy. I'm so sorry.

Comfortable

noreply@blogger.com (Jenn) — Fri, 11 Mar 2011 02:07:00 +0000

Strange as it may seem, I am far more comfortable dealing in negative possibilities than positive ones.

I can handle thinking about pregnancy number 6 ending badly. When thoughts of negative outcomes cross my mind I take it in stride. I think about sending hubby out for a bottle of my favorite wine, some delicious crackers and a giant party size bag of M&Ms. I can see myself grieving another baby, finding a spot under the mimosa tree for another tiny body, praying for a fourth name that begins with the letter A.

I cannot handle thinking about pregnancy number 6 ending well. When thoughts of a positive outcome cross my mind I am not able to take it in stride. I find myself almost panicking; my heart begins to race, tears well up in my eyes and my palms get all sweaty. I cannot go there, no plans can be made for that event. It breaks my heart too much to think about what I will miss out on (again) should pregnancy number 6 not end well.

Perhaps this is silly. I know that distancing myself and not allowing myself to feel positively about this pregnancy will not save me from a broken heart. My head knows that and tries to encourage strength and resiliency. My heart, on the other hand, likes to duck and cover and then run away. It is kind of a coward that way.

This is seriously messed up, isn't it? Don't most pregnant women go into a panic thinking about the bad stuff?

Crying Wolf

noreply@blogger.com (Jenn) — Wed, 02 Mar 2011 00:51:00 +0000

That last post must have seemed very pessimistic. But really, it's not. I just have an abundance of caution, an inability to really think this will amount to anything and a hearty fear of getting attached and having my heart stomped on yet again.

I kind of feel like all these pregnancies, all except my daughter's I guess, have made me a bit like Peter. How many times can I cry wolf before everyone begins to ignore me? Before everyone rolls their eyes and thinks "yea right, Jenn, this is ridiculous, do you really think you're going to get a baby this time? how many times do you have to put yourself through this? what's the point?"

I've not told anybody here in my real life, except for Best Friend (and hubby, of course). I have no plans to tell anyone. I don't want to talk about it, I don't want to hear all the stupid comments, I don't need everybody else either A) trying to make this more real for me by encouraging me or saying all will be well or B) being all cautious and downplaying the importance of this pregnancy.

So I realize that if I spill the beans then everybody will disappoint me. There are no reactions that I will be happy with.

I want this to be real, I want to think positively, I want to dream and hope and wish for good things but on the other hand I want to ignore this, I want to go on with my life like nothing is happening, I want not to have to think of it until it can't be ignored anymore.

I hope it goes without saying that I am not complaining about any of your comments - I don't mind getting comments from yall as I feel you understand exactly where I'm coming from. It's all the folks outside of the computer that drive me crazy.