Rainbow Angel Baby

Last week at this time I was thinking about how I would announce that we were expecting a new addition sometime in April.  I was thinking of using this picture to announce on Facebook, we decided to wait since we were only 4 weeks along.  We had told our family and closest friends because we were so excited.  Then on Wednesday I started getting ancy and took several home pregnancy tests to reassure myself- negative tests.  On Thursday I started bleeding and had my blood taken.  On Friday I was told my HCG was below 5.  Which meant I was having an early miscarriage.
I am still processing this loss.  It feels so much like when we lost Samantha.  And so different.
I'm not sure what to say about it and I'm still a little scared to be honest with myself about my feelings about it. 
I spent only 4 days knowing I was pregnant. But they were 4 joyful, hope-filled days.  They were excited days and scared days and days of planning.
I want to give him/her a name so I can talk about her, write about her, acknowledge her.  I guess I'll just give it some time.
In the meantime, it hurts tremendously to imagine Samantha hugging her baby sister in heaven.  I hope that all I've learned about grieving can help me be honest with myself and others and begin this new healing process.

The Twins Baby Shower- Ch. 6 The Third Trimester

There are many things about my pregnancy and birth of the twins, and their lives in the hospital, that I never really processed because I had babies that needed feeding and a 2 year old that needed me to keep it together.  Sometimes I wish I had seen a counselor (if I had the time or energy) to cry and be real about how I really felt deep inside.  I was a zombie.  Sleep deprivation is a big factor but so was trauma.
You know how when something is really upsetting sometimes you wait till you get home to cry.  Well, I never got home.
I held it all in for that glorious day- that heavenly and triumphant day when my two babies were with me out of the hospital sitting on the couch together.  I was going to cry and cry with joy that now I could stop being afraid and sad.  I would be whole again.
But that day never came and many compartments of that box never got opened.  Reading this book has opened another compartment.  The day of the twins' diaper shower.
It was like there was this horrible elephant in the room.  I don't know if anyone else felt it or not.  My sister and friends asked me many times if I even wanted to still have the shower, since I was supposed to still be pregnant, but the babies were at the hospital instead.
I felt that I could use a little celebration.  I mean, there was something to celebrate, right?  My babies were born!  That's a congratulations, right?  We had pictures of the babies going in a slide show, and we oogled all the adorable little twin clothes.  The only reason I wanted a shower (since it was my second pregnancy anyway) was that I was super-stressed about double diapers.  I was hoping a nice big stack of diapers would make me feel a little bit more ready  to handle them.
I was terrified of taking care of two babies since the day of the ultrasound.  Then when they were born early and I knew I was going to be pumping around the clock in addition to caring for two newborns who needed extra care, I was really terrified.
So here I was looking for some encouragement from friends and family to get me through the most difficult thing I had ever delt with.  The problem is, what do you say to someone with twins in the NICU?  "Congrats" doesnt quite feel right. "I'm so sorry" doesn't really fit the bill either.
I guess what I was hoping for is- you're doing great!  You can do this!
I don't really remember what people said, just that no one ever said, "How are you handling this?" and I didn't have the sense at the time to say I needed a cheerleader.
No one could have known how much pain I was in.  Having them there was a great show of love and support.
Mostly everyone acted like it was a regular shower.  I suppose that is what I should have expected. I got the little break from reality that I wanted.  But when everyone left, it was back to reality.
In a way I just wanted to scream- I wish I was still pregnant!  I miss my babies!  I can't believe this is happening to me.  I wish that this was my "grieving the times I was apart from my babies in the NICU" blog.  Or my "preemie recovery and support" blog.  I wish this was my "learn from my mistakes with twins" blog.
I miss Samantha.  I wish she was here.  I love her so much.

Hannah's first trip to the beach

This weekend I had the huge blessing and surprise of getting to go to South Padre Island with my family and my parents.  I have been wanting to go (I always want to go) especially since last fall when the "fog" began to lift.
It was a little strange feeling so happy and not seeing the shadow.  I didn't feel the empty space at first.  Then Saturday night we went to mass and the reading was the story of Jesus healing the hemoraging woman and the young girl.  There also happened to be twin baby boys sitting in front of us and a baptism, which didn't help.
Mark 5:21 This was the Gospel reading.  It is full of hope.  And yet for me it is hard to hear.  During the hour that I waited to hear back from the surgeons about how severe Samantha's condition was, I called upon this reading to comfort and encourage myself.  I reached and and touched Jesus' cloak.  I implored him to save my daughter as he saved the young girl in the story.  In my heart I trusted through my fear that he would protect her and take care of her.  Even though I know he did in the most important sense take care of her, I was shocked and devastated when he didn't heal her body as I had asked.
Why not my daughter?  I can't help still asking even 2 years and 3 months later.
In South Padre, the next day bright and early I was blessed with a beautiful morning on the beach.  There was some fussing and crying from Samantha's twin, Hannah, now 2 and 5 months, but after a while we played in the waves.
I sat in the sand right where the waves were kissing the beach.  She sat on my lap facing me with her sweet head on my chest and arms around me.  We just sat like that holding each other for a long time.  Her beautiful hair was sticking together in perfect brown curls and her face was covered with sand.  The morning light glowed behind her like a halo.  Her sweet little body felt so safe and warm in my arms.  I began to cry, thinking of my little angel I'll never hold like that.
The waves gently lapped in and out, then got stronger and pushed me to the side then pulled me back.  I allowed them to move me as I cradled Hannah's body.  Then came a bigger wave and knocked me over.  Then it tried to suck me out.  It's power made me think of that moment I was brought to yesterday.
That moment when my baby was seriously sick and there wasn't anything I could do but cling to her and to hope, as I did to Hannah's body as the waves hit me.  I imagined the sea pulling my sweet Samantha from my arms.  Me, helpless against it's power, yet grasping and reaching desperately.
I didn't exaclty let go, but succumbed to it.

Reading "Pregnancy after a Loss" Ch. 1

No, I am not pregnant, but there is still a possibility that maybe someday.  Plus this book has a lot of good stuff to work out just in case.
The first chapter is called the search for answers.  There are so many things that went unanswered about our premature labor and birth and about the death of our baby.
I always assume that the reason I went into labor is because I was having twins.  I was measuring full term and PTL is more common with twins.  The book talks about the postpartum visit and how that can be very healing because it can answer some of the what ifs.  Her doctor actually told her "There was absolutely nothing you did to cause your baby's death".  What I would have given to hear that from my OB or from my baby's neonatologist.
Or even that there was nothing I did to cause myself to go into preterm labor.  I guess there really isn't any way to know, but it would have been comforting to hear.  Let me tell you about my post-partum visit.  Keep in mind this was before Samantha passed away but after she had been transferred to St. David's main.  I was recovering from a C/S, going between hospitals to see my babies, pumping every 3 hours for about 30 minutes at a time and somehow trying see my husband and 2 yo daughter in between.
This is a doctor whom I chose because the practice had been recommended (I couldn't get into the practice of the doctor who she actually recommended) and I had heard that he was a really great surgeon.  After all that I went through to find a doctor in College Station, when we moved to Austin I was done "doctor shopping".  It was way too stressful and I was already 26 weeks with twins and a previous C/S so I was thinking I wouldn't have a lot of options.  Well he was an older man, not really friendly or chatty but I did find out that his daughter knew a brother of mine.
And it was always quick.  I was in and out and that was fine.  All the aches and pains I complained about he said were normal.  He measured me and said I was great.  I had no complications through my first pregnancy (except for my baby being breech) and there were no red flags here.
So after the babies were born when I was in the hospital, Im not sure if he ever came to check on me.  He didn't actually deliver the babies as he was  not on call at the time.  I don't even know the name of the doctor who actually did it.  I once passed him in the hall of the hospital as I was going as fast as I could from my PP room to the NICU to see my babies.  He said "Wow, you are getting around well."  I nearly hit him.
And when I went in for my postpartum I was in a total fog of stress, trauma and sleep depravation.  As I was waiting in the exam room, a nurse came and said, "Where are they?".  What?  She was looking for my twin babies.  I explained, holding back tears, that they were in the hospital.
Then when the doctor came in I really thought it was my chance to talk.  He thought it would be the same in and out we always had.  I knew he wasn't into "people with birth plans" and "with all their lists".  (I didn't tell him that was me.)  I tried to ask him why it happened and all I could get was that they could never know.  The more questions I asked about exercise, diet, medicine, activity, the more he blew me off, as if it was silly to even ask.
Eventually he did talk about the tests that were done on the placentas, but I couldn't understand what he was saying about them.  Follow up questions got me handed a copy of the tests.  Of course I couldn't read them but at least I could look up the words later.
Then he asked me about birth control.  I told him we use NFP so we would continue to use that.  He said they love for people to have more babies.
Maybe I don't even need to say it.  I never want to see that man again.  Their office never acknowledged my trauma of PTL or acted like they cared about all the horror I was going through.  I don't even know if they know that Samantha passed away.  I don't think any of them cared.
I was already in such a haze that I could barely function, then on top of it I felt so unimportant and stupid.  I wish there had been some comfort there.
I will never again have a doctor who I am not convinced cares about me and my baby.  I spent many months following wondering, if I had a doctor who paid more attention to me, who cared about me and my babies, would he or she have noticed something that he missed?  Would someone have paid attention to all the pain I was having and maybe actually checked to see if I was dilating?
I know it doesn't matter now, except that I will not settle next time.  I want someone I feel comfortable calling in the middle of the night if I have ANY INKLING that something is wrong.  I want someone who I know will comfort me if my babies are in trouble and that will cry with me if my baby dies.
Although this book is bringing up a lot of painful memories and it is hard to thinka bout, I think it's good to write out what happened and learn from my mistakes.  Even if I can't know why I went into PTL or why Samantha contracted NEC, at least I know next time I will have a doctor who treats me with compassion.

Open the Box

Samantha's name doesn't come up very often now a days.  It's harder to find an excuse to bring her up than ever before.  It's been nice that Alexandra still brings her up- she told a lady at the library yesterday about her.  She usually calls her Mommy's baby and not her sister, but I can understand that.
I am still going to my support group in Austin.  Boy that is a place a feel so at home.  I tried many different groups and communities and this is my home.  I may have nothing else in common with the people there other than the fact that we have children that have died.  But that connects us and the environment there does just what it promises.  Healing.  Just a shoulder to cry on, open arms, a place to "be".
The last few times I went I wasn't sure why I was going.  In the past I either couldn't wait to go because I needed it so bad or I had a list of little occurrences I wanted to share because they are the only ones who would want to hear about it.  But lately, I just go.
It's as if - in my everyday life - it never happened.  No one knew her, there are no empty spaces to remind me she is missing.  I looked at Hannah's scrapbook and it didn't hurt.  I pretty much never used to look at Hannah's scrapbook, only Samantha's.  But I wanted to look at Hannah's babyhood, which she has left behind completely.  The pangs I expected never came. 
Somehow the lack of pain was nice, but a little strange.  I didn't want to think about this thing that happened.  But it wasnt a peace- it felt like a numbness.
At My Healing Place (or as Alexandra calls it "Your healing place"), as I listened to my comrades speak about thier losses and experiences, I realized I had closed the box and put it on a high shelf.  The one with the memories of Samantha and her death.  Slowly as I put more and more things on my shelf it got shoved further to the back so that I didn't have to see it every time I opened that cabinet.  Then I kind of forgot it was there.
You might think, well if it's not hurting, don't go!  Leave that box closed!  But like I said it wasn't peace, as if I had closed it and said to myself "I don't need to look in there right now" and put it in the vault.  It was more of a gradual neglect.  I do need that box still.  I need to know that I'm not crazy.  I had another daughter!  Samantha was here!  And I miss her.  Not in the same way I did, but in a new and different way that is real.
Thank you my friends at MHP for helping me reconnect with my daughter, Samantha.

Hannah's First Recital (without Samantha)

I know this will happen less as the girls get older, but every first, is a missed first for  me.  I know it was compounded by the fact that is was Mother's Day and all I wanted was to go to the cemetery (and hating that feeling that I want to go to the cemetery because I wish I didn't need to go to the cemetery).
Hannah is so tiny and she was so adorable and beautiful.  Everyone thought she was so cute, and I certainly agreed.  However I couldn't help imagining Samantha there.  And that feeling I used to get of everything in the world being as it should be.  I can't help wondering if I will ever feel that way again.  Whenever I get close there is an "except".
I wanted so much to hear her name with her sisters'.  I wanted to much to scream that there is someone missing here.  It's such a weird feeling to need to cry but not be able to.  My eyes tear up and it feels like there is a flood behind the dam but I can't open it even once I'm finally alone.  Mother's day is so different for people who have children who are not on earth.
I read an article about woman whose son recently died in a car accident.  I couldn't help thinking that poor woman has joined this horrific club of which I am a member.  It's different in so many ways since he was 21, but in so many ways it's the same too.  It brought back many memories for me of those early days of grief.  The feelings of shock.
I have been, as always, going through my scrapbook when I get a chance.  I want to sit down and write out some of the thoughts and memories that come to me when I do, however I am just trying to jot this down quickly before the oven starts beeping.
There it is.
I think the word that sums up how I feel right now its "ow".

Still Grieving

I posted on my online grief group about what really happened at field of flowers day.  It's always nice to have their understanding.  I try to act like I am a confident griever.  I tell others there is no wrong way to grieve, there is no time line, be gentle with yourself.  But taking that advice is so different.
At my in person grief group, we watched a video of a book called Tear Soup.  It was so good.  It reminded me of so many things I experienced especially the first year.  And made me realize that it's ok if I'm still making tear soup because I will always have some occasionally.
http://losjuanhijos.blogspot.com/2012/04/field-of-flowers-day-2012.html
It was a beautiful day.  I had been looking forward to it and there was this wonderful photographer who took these lovely photos.  Then it happened.
Facebook:

 Small vent... Saturday we went to the field of flowers day at the cemetery which we have attended every year. It was a beautiful day and the girls looked so sweet. Turn around and there they were... a man and a woman with a tiny baby in a bjorn on each of their chests. It was like sledge hammer. I tried to just keep going but I broke and just started balling. I'm two years out and it's been a long time since I cried like that. I just kept thinking, I had two little babies just like that- I wish I wasn't here! I bet they were visiting a grandparent (they weren't in the baby section). I just hate it when my "safe place" gets invaded. In a way it felt good to cry like that, but it hurt so much to be reminded of what I had and lost. SUCKS!!!

It still hurts so much.  I miss her everyday but now in the day in and day out it feels a little more distant and unreal.  I feel like my heart is protecting itself by creating a reality where she never existed.  Because when I realize that this thing really happened to me, it can be paralyzing.  It is amazing to me also how interconnected my grief is with my desire for another baby.  

I know I can never replace her, but the thought of having another baby is so joyous and comforting.  I am filled with hope and happiness just thinking about it.  But for several reasons this is not the time.  And suddenly that becomes a part of my loss.  Just another reminder that this horrible thing happened to me.  Not only will I never get to hold Samantha again but I may never have another baby.  And if I do it will likely be a traumatic experience for my whole family.

I will look at my scrapbook and give Hannah double kisses today.