Baby Type Things

I did it today. We went to Wal-mart on our way back from some other errands to get a clock, and I bought some baby things. I walked right into the baby section amongst the cribs, strollers, diapers and onesies and bought things I wanted for myself.

For myself, and for the mizuko.

Things I had already thought about buying long before these weeks of sadness. Things I had intended to buy as a preliminary step to what I would need later down the line. I started with a teething toy I had seen at work earlier in the week, and at Wal-mart, I picked up another toy. A blanket. A pair of white shoes. A package of hats, one of which has ears on it. These are the things I would have purchased for my child, if only it had lived.

If only it had grown.

I bought a statue of the mizuko jizo online, at Home Depot of all places. At first, I thought that I didn't really want something like that in my house, some constant reminder of what I had lost. But it became something I had to do, like how I had to bury the remains of my pregnancy. It is a smiling, gentle face that reassures me this whole process has not been a waste, but a transformation. I am not the same. The mizuko will not be the same. It will not be my child, but a leaf on a tree, a flower on a plant, a strong blade of grass. The reminder that nothing can truly be destroyed is comforting, if difficult.

So it is the tradition to adorn the jizo statue with gifts to the mizuko - toys, food and clothing. It is the feeling of some that this placates the spirit of the child so it will not try to harm the family (this especially applies in the case of abortion). But I don't believe in spirits, so I know better. The jizo statue is a proxy, a way for the mother to care for a child that she is deeply grieving and missing. A miscarriage may not have any recognizable earthly remains, or the dedication of a jizo may take place many years later, so this is a way to connect to the child which has become something else.

I am still trying to find a place for my jizo to sit, out of sight to the casual observer who might wander into my house, but near enough that I will look upon it every day. And then, when the weird tearless sadness of actually buying those things subsides, I will give those few possessions to the mizuko as I had originally planned to, many months from now. I will tend to the statue as it requires, washing it and dusting it and hoping that the remembrance will allow me to not feel guilty on days when I forget the sadness. Those days seem to increase in number as the weeks go by and it's important to me not to forget the life that could have been.

In truth, perhaps, I might decide to do something differently. It's hard to say if this will bring me comfort the way I hope it might. I am learning about this grief as I go. Making it tangible and real means I am one step closer to saying goodbye. At least, it is a hope.

Inspiration

I kept hearing the first words of my previous post in my mind as I went about my morning. While they are completely appropriate to my mood today, I knew they had to come from somewhere. Somewhere there's a place in my brain where depression is replaced with anger and strength and comes together with music to make the energy I need to push through the fear.

Ah, yes. Thank you, Mr. Reznor.

The Only Way

The only way out is through.

Not above, not beneath, but through.

No sides can be found, but only a wall, so liquid and yet unyielding.

The only way out is through.

Being at Fault

So the waiting is nearly over. The threat of what may come looms before me, and I cower in its shadow.

What if it happens again? What if I do something wrong? Did I do something wrong before?

The answer to the last one is emphatically no, even though I keep wondering if I could have done something differently. Like in that one day that the egg decided to implant, if I ate something or did something that caused it to stop growing. But when was that? Well, it was on Christmas. Which means I wasn't drinking alcohol, or caffeine, and I was eating plenty of food. I indulged in some sugar-free chocolates, but I was assured by my doctor that unless I was smoking crack (those were her exact words) it was unlikely I had been able to do anything to hurt the embryo.

I took some Dramamine on the way home, because the motion sickness I had on the plane was the worst thing I have ever experienced. The medicine hardly made a dent in it, probably because the problem wasn't based in my ears, but actually in my stomach. I had a Diet Coke in the airport, along with some carb-loaded Chinese food (it's all I wanted to eat and oddly enough, it settled my stomach). After I got home, I began taking magnesium citrate again, because I was under the impression that magnesium in a powdered state was easier to absorb and an essential vitamin I had been lacking. It can actually be dangerous to a pregnancy, but not in the way of stopping development. It has more to do with causing abdominal cramps which can in turn cause uterine contractions. Red raspberry leaf tea, which I was occasionally drinking, can also cause uterine contractions, but again, not something that would have affected my particular problem. So unless the mixture of Dramamine, Diet Coke and whatever was in the chinese food was a toxic timebomb, there really was nothing I could have done differently to affect the outcome of that pregnancy.

It's hard to say if that makes me feel better or worse. I like to know that, in some respects, I am in control. I had been taking prenatal vitamins since mid November, along with the required fish oil and extra calcium. I gave up caffeine starting earlier in the month, but continued with caffeine free diet sodas until I got the positive test at the end of December. So other than the artificial sweeteners, which I can do without if I must, there really isn't anything that I need to change about my routine. That bothers me too, because part of me wants to say, well, if it didn't work last time, who's to say it will work this time? Should I keep taking the vitamins? I know that doesn't make any sense, but it's the same tortured pattern finding logic that people use to make all kinds of wrong observations about the world. It's a misuse of an instinctive skill that once served our species when we lived in less complicated times.

So I look at the vitamins with the baby on the label and I cringe. I look at the pregnancy tea in the cupboard that seemed to work so well last time, and my heart is sad. Why do I even want to do this to myself? It feels like a setup for more misery. It's that pattern finding again. I just assume that next time will end in a similar way, because I have no other basis for comparison. There's about a week left before I have the possibility of ovulating and I'm just not sure that being courageous enough to try is going to be in the cards for me this time. I really am terrified that something else is going to go wrong.

There is really no guarantee that it will ever work, no matter how many assurances people make. On the other hand, the longer I wait, the less chances I will have. The older I am, the greater the chances will be that the egg that does develop may have something wrong with it, so much so that I might rethink my desire to have that child at all. The logic and the math says that I should begin immediately, but my heart doesn't feel like it's ready to be broken again. But can anyone ever be ready for something like that? Is it worth it?

I know in my own life, trusting someone enough to let myself fall in love with him was worth it. It was difficult to reconcile, and took a lot of soul searching, but it was worth it. Anyone who has children says that the trials are worth it, but I'm not looking at the end result anymore, since there is no guarantee. I'm looking at the trial itself, not just the physical symptoms that I know I will have, the discomfort and emotional changes, but the apparent need for courage and strength that I am being required to show if I enter such trials again. Everything is so much more complicated now. It's not baby booties and strollers and savings accounts and college funds, it's blood hormone levels and ultrasounds and watching for every little possible spot of discharge. The magic is gone - it's not joyous, it's filled with terror and anxiety. And even if the child comes to term, there is still no concrete evidence that it will survive for any length of time. There are stillbirths every day. Young children die of diseases and accidents every day.

Perhaps the problem then is that no matter how hard one tries, no matter what is done right or what god or gods are thought to be on one's side, life truly has no guarantees except that it begins and it ends. That is the most terrifying lesson that I am taking away from this experience. Everything that people do is completely reliant on taking a chance, on gambling to see if that chance will work out. And the life of a child, or even the potential for that life, seems like something too cruel to gamble with. Is it better to alleviate that suffering by never allowing it happen at all, or is it better to take the chance, knowing that life is not without risk?

Today, in this moment, I can clearly say that I don't know.

Things to Remember

I keep remembering I had a dream when I was pregnant. I'll forget for a while, and then it'll come back to me at weird moments.

I dreamed I was having a miscarriage. No pain, only a splotch of blood. No panic, no fear, just the knowledge that I knew I wasn't going to have a baby this time.

It might have happened more than once, but I clearly recall one particular instance. The dream flickered on and off in my consciousness for a couple of days, and then I finally spoke the words out loud. Jeremy and I were in bed, and I looked at him and said, "I dreamed I had a miscarriage."

He said immediately, "Well, you shouldn't dream that." He may have put a hand protectively on my stomach at that point, a habit that was beginning to annoy me.

The dream didn't bother me at that point. I shrugged. "I haven't had any caffeine, so I should be fine." And we left it at that.

Somehow, I don't find the thought of that dream prophetic, at least in a way that states somehow, someway, some other being or consciousness was telling me about what was going to happen. I think my body already knew what was happening, and in a way, maybe, so did I.

I had not yet fully accepted the possibility. I didn't have feelings about what my baby would look like, or a desire to start buying cute little clothes. It was like I was reserving judgement until I had enough data to confirm that I was indeed really having a baby. It was still so surreal. That is possibly the only reason I've really been able to function in any respect. There are still sad moments for me, and my emotions are still very raw, but as each day passes, that moment of grief becomes more and more distant.

And I find ways to express it that are tangible, that memorialize the event. I bought a necklace, a little heart locket with clear panels in it. It came with 12 tiny simulated stones, a birthstone for every month, that could be placed loose inside the heart. The peridot for August represents my due date. Since my husband is also born in August, I used Zodiac stones for us instead - a yellow tourmaline for Leo and a garnet for Aries. When I wear it, what it really says to me is 'here's our family, our whole family'. Whenever and if ever there is another addition, I will simply add that stone as well. Our family will be complete, if only inside the walls of that necklace.

Happenings at Work

Yesterday, I had two things happen at work that both really surprised me. I was having one of my usual 'leave me alone go away' sort of days, and it didn't help that nature and my body's clockwork decided it was time to get things rolling the day before. But one of my usual customers, one I don't normally speak to at any great length, was buying a bouquet of yellow carnations. Throughout the transaction, he had one in his hand, and when it was finished, he handed it to me. "Everybody needs a flower once in a while," is what he said. Had he really noticed over the past few weeks how miserable I've looked? I know a lot of people, customers and co-workers alike, had noticed. They have been asking me what's wrong, if I'm ok, and sometimes I just say I'm having a bad couple of weeks, or just don't feel good, if I don't want to into the whole story yet again. The flower really made me smile. It was such a random work of the universe, such a simple gift that I really appreciated. You can't engineer something like that. It just happens. I know I really smiled at him and told him thank you. I stuck it behind my register so I could enjoy it for the first half of my shift. My day was looking up at that point. Which it desperately needed, especially because of a woman who had come through my line earlier.

She was buying diapers, and using a couple of coupons. I forget exactly what the exchange was between us, but she told me at some point that she was going to be a grandmother. I remember saying something, 'oh wow, so, pretty soon?' and she told me that the mother in question had eight months to go.

It took everything I had not to shake my head and tell her to put the damn diapers back. She had to have found out maybe a day or two before, and I pitied her. That was the emotion I got. Not anger, not sadness, but pity. I guess this is what it means to lose your innocence about pregnancy. There isn't a huge burst of excitement or congratulations, it's just me thinking that something will go wrong. That's yet another one of the problems I have interacting with pregnant women right now. I just look at them and wonder if their babies will live. I truly hope so, but hope is really all any of us have. There is no control over things like this in life.

So I finished the transaction and she went on her way, still brimming with happiness about her impending grandchild. I wondered if it was always going to be this way for me from now on, if I was going to be the person who, amongst all the well wishers, told the expectant parents to be careful and cautious about their announcements and purchases. This warning was given to me, and at the time, I felt very negatively about it. But I realize that once someone has had this happen to them, or been a close friend or family member to someone who has, it's a survival mechanism. It's all that goes through their minds, as much as they'd like to be happy for someone.

Two Weeks, or Today

Tomorrow is the one month anniversary of the miscarriage. I hate saying 'one month anniversary', because it sounds like some teenage junior high dating catastrophe, but I don't know what else to call it. Some people call the day of their miscarriage an angelversary, but I find that a little too campy for my liking. It is what it is, and that's probably why I'm feeling so blah today. Milestones are difficult in grief, but which each one that passes it gets easier to accept the new reality, at least in my experience. There really isn't any other choice. The wound closes over and the feelings that come are less jarring. I'm hoping that the day after tomorrow will feel better than today.

On a separate train of thought, something I didn't know before all this happened is that after a miscarriage as early as mine occurs, a women's monthly visitor can take 4 to 6 weeks to return. Prior to now, everything gender related in my body was like clockwork. I knew what to expect within a day or two. And now we're sitting in week 4 and I'm wondering just when I'm going to get this lovely surprise. It matters because the sooner I start taking my ibuprofen, the easier it will be to deal with the discomfort. This one is supposed to be a little more uncomfortable than my usual cycle, so I'm a little bit worried about getting surprised at work. I wish it would just hurry and get it over with.

And once it's over with, another milestone presents itself. If I so choose, that will be the time to consider conceiving again. You might think that because I've been going on and on about how upset I am that I'm not pregnant anymore that I would want to jump right back in. But as I was working on my posts yesterday (I had to break them up because they all were trying to run together), I realized that every time I've discussed it with someone, it's been uncomfortable to nod my head and say 'yes, we're trying again right away.' Logically I realize that is the best course of action, because the longer I wait, the more likely something else will go wrong even if the pregnancy succeeds. But more than logic is at work here.

People talk about a biological clock - mine has been ticking hard for three years. After all this drama, now it's gonging in my skull and very difficult to ignore. But right alongside it is this huge mass of emotions that are trying desperately to drown it out. 'Look at us,' they're saying. 'Don't forget what you've lost. Don't allow its memory to be so easily pushed aside. Don't you realize this can happen again?'

In my marriage, I'm usually the one who makes decisions quickly. I know exactly what I want, and I know exactly when I want it. If I can't decide on something, it's because I may not really want to do it, or I may not really be capable of doing it, so I sort of go with a 'wait and see what happens' mentality. I choose not to chose and let random life events steer me one way or the other. If money or time is an issue, and the opportunity suddenly shifts in favor of the event, then I'll usually take it. The universe has provided, who am I to say no? Life is short.

But now I'm faced with some really, really hard decisions, and their solutions are not simple. For me, it's possible to want two separate things right now, and want them both the same amount. I want to have children. I don't want have another miscarriage. I want to honor the child I've lost. I want another child that I can actually raise. I'm not used to things being this difficult. I know that if I flat out decided that having kids now was out of the question, I would regret not trying again. But I can't help being afraid that trying again will be no better. I suppose I can just leave things to chance, but I don't want my next pregnancy to be filled with anxiety. I don't want to resent the new baby for coming because I'm still thinking about the other one. My doctor said when I'm ready, then I'll know. I guess I just have to wait until I know.

I hate waiting.