DECEMBER 14, 2010 - THAT TIME OF YEAR

Sometimes it’s hard to keep positive this time of year. Lots of factors lead me to feel a bit down about it. Obviously the big one is Dexter. This is his second Christmas & our second Christmas without him. When unpacking our tree & trimmings .. we found the Baby’s First Christmas stocking we bought him while I was still pregnant. We had been stocking up on clearance holiday items & ran into it there. Cute & blue with a little matching hat. We were so very excited. Now when I look at that item, I feel this empty hole in my heart. There are only 4 stockings hanging over our fireplace again.. when there should be 5. It just doesn’t feel right. 

I’ve had some joys this December though. Doing a musical production in community theater with my oldest son. We’ve had lots of fun & next weekend is the last 3 shows. I have found myself happy & smiling & feeling accomplished. Almost “normal”, or as close to it as I can get really. I can’t really say that this year is better than the last. To be honest, it seems just as bad. With the exceptions of small little periods of time where I felt okay. They are usually brief, but I try to hold onto them as much as I can. They seem to be so fleeting. 

I will try to celebrate as much as I can. Try not to worry about money or presents or cards or anything else. I just want to feel a happy feeling this year. 

NOVEMBER 22, 2010 - CONFESSIONS OF AN INSOMNIAC

Sometimes the night can be a dangerous thing. I have been an insomniac for as long as I can remember. The only that isn’t the case is if I am pregnant (I”m usually EXHAUSTED by 9pm while pregnant) or if I am sick. Other than that, it’s rare to find me in bed asleep before 3:30AM. It’s dangerous. My mind is alive & awake & full of worry. I have always been a worrier. Someone who sits here & thinks deeply, feels deeply. There are times I am worried that staying up late & contemplating my doom is what brings the doom into my life. 

I won’t say I’ve had the worst life, but there are times where it has been hard, it has been lonely & where I’ve despaired into depths that scare even me. 

Most of all, I am constantly worrying about losing things. The people I love. The place I live, my other children, etc. Then things happen that feed into these fears & am left with this:

Sitting here at 3:42am with worry in my brain, pain in my heart & constant fear.

This isn’t even just about infant loss. It’s about everything. I admit, the loss of my son brought on a lot of ideas in my head about losing everything. I was finally happy before I lost him. Happy with the love of my life & where I was & all of it. Now it seems so fragile & breakable. I’m afraid of shattering. I guess that’s my confession. I’m afraid of it completely falling apart on me & being powerless to stop it. 

Please don’t let it shatter. 

NOVEMBER 17, 2010 - FOR MY SONS

Wearing purple for preemies today, & the march of dimes bracelet my good friend gave me!

On July 24th, 1999 .. my first son, Ian, was born. I had gone into pre-term labor at 29 weeks. I came into the hospital with contractions & was already 4 cms dilated. No one thought I’d make it past the night. I lasted until I was 34 weeks. Still, my son was born prematurely. I had him naturally with no drugs & he was born with breathing problems. At 19 years old, my first born son was being whisked away from me before I had even had a chance to really touch him or look at him. I was young & it was scary. He stayed in the NICU for 5 days after he was born. I was released from the hospital the next day. I left the hospital without my son. It was probably the hardest things I had ever done in my life up to that point. I went back every single day, riding a bus & walking even though I had just given birth. I just wanted to be with my baby. It is amazing the mothering instinct that kicks in even when you don’t think it will. I was lucky that time. He went home with me 5 days after he was born. He is now 11 years old & we are doing a musical together at our local community theater. 

I had a daughter in 2006. She was not premature. She was my affirmation that my body could do it without doing it prematurely. Once we passed 29 weeks .. it felt like smooth sailing & with that pregnancy, it was. Her only issue came after birth with the discovery of a congenital heart defect that was repaired in February 2007, at 4 months of age. 

I became surprisingly pregnant in fall 2008. The first two weeks were rough. My boyfriend wasn’t “ready” & he got scared off briefly, but realized that things happen for a reason & then became the doting soon-to-be dad. This was his first child, my third. But I was just as excited to see the transformation of the man I love. Because of my daughter’s defect, that was my main concern. I also became full-blown diabetic because of this pregnancy & learning to use insulin & all that was a challenge, but worth it for our baby. I remember learning about the sex of the baby at my appointment & coming home with ultrasound pictures to my sleepy boyfriend. (I usually liked going to appointments alone..) I walked into our bedroom & held them up & said, “It’s….a….PENIS!” (Inside joke there. Haha.) We had been sure it would be a girl because he had dreams of his daughter before. But we were still excited. We decided on the name Dexter. 

I didn’t worry about 29 weeks. Everything was perfect. His heart was perfect. I felt absolutely fantastic. 

Little did I know I would have to worry about 27 weeks instead. Early in the morning, my water broke. I was awakened from a deep sleep to the gushing feeling. I rushed to the bathroom & realized I was losing water. The next 24 hours seemed like a nightmare. Sitting on the bathroom floor, desperately telling myself this is just a bad dream. It can’t be real. I spent 12 days in the hospital. I told myself I would make it to 34 weeks like I had with my first son, but since my water had broken, we became susceptible to infection & when I was 29 weeks I got a bad fever & my labor started up full force. To not lose both of us .. the labor was allowed to run it’s course.

My son was born at 7:44PM on March 9, 2009. He made one cry (that I can hear in my head all the time..) & weighed 3 pounds, 5.5 ounces.. a heavyweight for a preemie of that gestation. His lungs just didn’t develop enough. I had a steroid shot when I first came into the hospital but never had another one after that. I wish they could have given me one more just in case. He lasted 11 hours. We had a few moments with him where he was responsive to us. I looked into his eyes & looked at me. I told him to be brave & if it was too much pain that I could let him go. He slipped into a coma & we turned the machines off after he was confirmed to be brain dead. We were told he was born “incompatible with life”. My heart has been broken ever since.

Prematurity is a real threat. I have been on both sides of the coin. The success & the tragedy. Sometimes the successes are all people hear about. But there are those of us who it happens to .. who never get the success story. Who leave empty handed to go home to that empty cradle with broken dreams of what could have been. Please remember that research into premature birth is important. We can stop this from happening. 

Remember the preemies. Fight for them. Some of them make it & some don’t. Fight for them anyway. Even if they are gone .. they deserve a voice.

Ian Gregory, my success story

In Loving Memory of Dexter Beckett McGinty

NOVEMBER 16, 2010 - FOLFOH MONTHLY WRITING CHALLENGE / “THANKFUL?”

I have committed myself to doing the monthly writing challenge at Faces of Loss, Faces of Hope every month in hopes of getting in a swing of blog posting. Sometimes I find it hard to post every day, or even semi-daily. & having a topic to think about definitely helps. This blog is a personal blog, while generally focused on my life after losing my son, my life isn’t JUST that, so other topics might be addressed too. Anyway, onto the topic. 

November’s topic: It’s easy to focus on all the negative things that come from losing a baby, but have you discovered any ‘blessings in disguise’ throughout your journey? What can you find to be thankful for related to your loss?

Wow. I’ll be honest. I have been sitting here for a while trying to find “blessings in disguise” when it comes to my son’s death. While I am sure there are some .. my first instinct is to scream “No way! Nothing could be better than my son being HERE with ME!”  I think that’s a natural reaction. However, putting more serious thought in it, there are some things in my life that might not be this way if Dexter had survived & things had gone they way they had supposed to. 

1. Because of his death, I know who my real friends are & while it’s sad to know that my list of those diminished considerably, the ones that are still around seem to be true. 

2. I have learned that it’s okay to be alone & that I can survive it. I just don’t seem to make friends the same way I did. Even within the angel parent community, I just don’t seem to find that “sisterly” relationship like most of them do. But I am learning it’s okay to be alone. I won’t fall apart like I thought I would. (Not that it’s wonderfully pleasant either.)

3. I have the ability to help others. Through trying to get Dexter’s non-profit off the ground, through my work with the Compassionate Friends, etc. My pain & despair might prove to be a comfort to someone else going through the same thing. 

4. I started dabbling in newish/old hobbies I had fallen out of. Like theater. I hadn’t been in a production since I was a teenager. After Dexter, I decided I needed something that would get me out of the house that I could focus on instead of sitting here in my dark pool of sorrow. Now I am in a production that is funny with funny awesome people & I am part of something that isn’t just “child loss related”. & that does feel good. 

5. My outlook on life has changed. It’s precious nature is so much more apparent to me & even though I am sad that my son isn’t here, I realize life is too short & I try to tell those important people in my life that I love them every day. Life is unpredictable & I never know when I will lose someone else. I try to live my life that way now. No regrets & to the fullest. 

The best I could come up with was 5 things. Though perhaps there is a 6th thing. I am thankful that my son existed. (Almost) every moment was wonderful when I was pregnant with him. He was a surprise but he turned into a very much wanted & loved baby & we had so many dreams for him. I still have those dreams but I know they won’t come true. I like to think he is nearby .. letting me know that my dreams aren’t over. I know he is choosing a very special baby for us in the future, when Mommy is healthier & that we’ll be able to tell his little brother or sister all about him. I am thankful that I had my Dexter for the short time I did. 

November 1, 2010 - Infant & Pregnancy Loss knows NO boundaries!

I am sure everyone has heard about poor Lily Allen’s tragic loss. (Link here) My heart is so weary & sad for her. I know the feelings she is going through. No one should have to experience the loss of their child in any circumstance! I chose this article because it did NOT refer to the loss of this baby as a “miscarriage”. She did NOT have a miscarriage. She was 6 months pregnant! That was a loss of a baby. A miscarriage is a loss prior to 24 weeks. She was at the cusp, but she was still 6 months pregnant. In fact, a baby that dies in utero between 20-24 weeks is a “stillbirth”. NOT a miscarriage. 

I realized today that it’s easier for people to cope with the idea of a miscarriage, as opposed to a baby loss. People call it a baby when everything is fine & dandy. However, when something like this happens .. we run & hide behind cold, unemotional medical terms to shield us from the harsh reality: a baby died. 

I’ll be honest. Sometimes I look at pregnant women who just seem to sail through their pregnancies with no worry or care in the world & cringe …. don’t they know? Don’t they know that they are not necessarily safe? That something can go wrong any moment. My son was born .. ALIVE. He was breathing. Not very well, but he tried. I didn’t worry. I had the idea in my head that this stuff happens to other people, NOT ME. I am a nice person. I am a good person. I wouldn’t, couldn’t .. deserve to have my baby die.. right? It doesn’t matter. This epidemic (& it really is… ) crosses all boundaries, all class levels, celebrity or not, race, creed. This isn’t a case of .. “Oh that person had to get medical care from the state or government.. their baby died because their medical care sucked.” Hello.. this was a celebrity. I am sure she could afford the best medical care. It doesn’t matter. I sometimes look at it this way (& I adopted this from my boyfriend) … it happens & it happened to me. My number was up. I believe in the random nature of it. At least in certain instances. It’s the roll of the dice. We can’t all win & we can’t all lose. 

I guess the point is.. be careful. I don’t want to take away from anyone’s pregnancy experience. That’s why I never say anything except to other BLMs. Because they understand I am not being morbid or a “downer”, but offering concern for the hearts of my friends who are pregnant. I desperately want them to bring their babies home & not ever have to experience a heart broken like this. 

October 20, 2010 - FOLFOH Monthly Writing Challenge / “My Masks”

I going to use this blog post as a means to take part in the Faces of Loss, Faces of Hope monthly writing challenge. This month’s topic is:

“As Halloween approaches and you start thinking about costumes, are there (figurative) “masks” you sometimes put on?”

When you’ve experienced the loss of a child .. I think at any age or circumstance, you learn to display a certain face to the world. It isn’t long after you bury your child that life seems to continue on without you. It’s at that point you realize that everyone else has moved on & you are still stuck in your grief. I think it was a few weeks after my Dexter was buried that I began to realize I needed a mask to just function in my daily life. 

I had a lot of people who had remembered I was pregnant but hadn’t learned the outcome of my pregnancy. So I would run into people at stores or out in town & get the worst question in the world for me at that time: How is your baby?

How is my baby? It’s a simple question, but these four words stirred up a roller coaster of emotions. There are times my mask wouldn’t work. I’d get angry, bitter .. tell them my baby was dead & thanks for ruining my day. They didn’t deserve that but I was angry & that is a natural part of the grieving process. But more often than not .. I had my “fine face”. I’d just nod & say “Fine.” .. & hope they didn’t want anymore details other than what gender he was. It got to the point where now I have a more permanent “I’m fine” face. It’s easier than getting into the details. It’s easier than seeing the discomfort in people’s demeanor when suddenly faced with something scary & unknown: the death of a child. It’s a subject people don’t like to talk about or are afraid to talk about. It could never happen to you right? I keep my “I’m fine” face on a lot. In the year & a half after my son’s death .. I actually do feel fine sometimes. I am not over his death nor will I ever be. But I am learning it’s okay to be FINE. It doesn’t mean I love him less. 

The only people I don’t wear a mask around are my son’s father & my fellow BLM’s & BLD’s & the people at my support group. I hope that won’t offend anyone. It doesn’t mean I am being fake with you, but I do have to keep a certain degree of “together” when around even my bestest of friends. There are times & places for certain talk & most of the time .. there just isn’t a place for infant loss talk. 

I wear a mask. I hide the hole in my soul left by my son who left too soon. I wear a mask that holds me back from blowing up at someone who is insensitive but who has good intentions. I wear my mask at the grocery store or at the mall .. hiding the burn behind my eyes when I see a pregnant woman or a newborn baby or a child who is the age my son should be now. I wear a mask. But I’m still me. & I always be .. just a new version of me.