Lost Versus Lost

A heartfelt thank you to all who commented, gave me suggestions and offered to help us deal with this mess.

By way of clarification, I wanted to note that the Doodles aren't definitively lost, via administrative snafu or otherwise (as far as we know). Rather, they are simply subject to the same horrific standard operating procedures as everyone else's babies. This isn't a terrible mistake that happened to us or them - as far as we know, nothing is "out of the ordinary" with respect to their burial. It's just that "ordinary" is, for lack of a more eloquent description, royally fucked up.

So, it's not just our Doodles that are in dead baby limbo right now - it's the babies of anyone who made the grave mistake of choosing option C at a time when they weren't in their right minds to be making any decisions, and went with the "hospital burial" scenario. I spoke again to our contact at the hospital and she said it used to be that she could call someone at the medical examiner and they would check the records and tell her that Baby X had or had not been buried at the cemetery (in the mass grave, there aren't individual graves) as of X date. However, due to understaffing and backlog at the examiner's office, they are no longer able to provide such confirmation with respect to these babies - I'm sure it would be different if the Doodles had names, a mortician, a funeral date. But they don't. And they have their parents to thank for that.

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Busted is the contributing editor for Loss. She writes daily at Busted Babymaker where she tells her infertility story as well as the story of the Doodles, her boy/girl twins (Noah and Talia) who were born at 23 weeks due to placental abruption.

Life is a Battlefield

Minefield, actually. This is how I have come to view the little triggers that can take me from zero to hysterical in 2 seconds. They are landmines, hidden dangers that I don't realize are there until they've triggered some memory of my pregnancy or the Doodles, and I realize I am crying. The worst part is that they are inescapable because they are everywhere. I was pregnant for so long that there are very few places I didn't go when pregnant, very few things I didn't do when pregnant, and so going those places now or doing those things now simply bring up thoughts of "last time I did this/was here I was pregnant." The things I didn't do while pregnant simply remind me that "I haven't done this in 7 months because I was pregnant."

Take this weekend. We had tickets to see Sweeney Todd (the stage production, not the recent movie) which I'd bought back in February. Thinking of the show reminded me that I'd purchased matinee seats intentionally because I thought I'd be 28 weeks pregnant and wouldn't have the energy for an evening performance. I didn't want to go to the show because I was reminded that last time we'd gone to the theatre (to see Jersey Boys) was the first time I'd clearly felt both Doodles move, and I had been so elated afterwards. After the show I was craving a steakhouse cheeseburger so we went to eat at the restaurant in the lobby of my office (since we'd parked at my office). As soon as we were seated my mind filled with memories of eating lunch with DH at that same restaurant right after we'd received our first positive beta, how excited we were to finally be pregnant. I also looked at the bar and remembered sitting there with clients just 5 or so weeks ago, how proud I felt to not be able to drink because I was pregnant, how happy it made me for people to notice and comment on my belly.

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Busted is the contributing editor for Loss. She writes daily at Busted Babymaker where she tells her infertility story as well as the story of the Doodles, her boy/girl twins (Noah and Talia) who were born at 23 weeks due to placental abruption.

Passed Over

I had no idea it was Passover this weekend until my mom asked if we were going to do anything to observe. Needless to say, my answer was an emphatic "no". All of my expectations for every holiday in my future included us with the Doodles. If I can't celebrate them that way, I don't want to at all. I thought we'd have a wonderful Christmas (yes, we celebrate Christmas too) with two 6 month old babies, that they'd be playing with their cousins, opening their first presents. It would be too painful to try and have a holiday without that - it would just be a reminder of how different our life is from how it was supposed to be. I don't think I'll be able to normally celebrate another holiday until I am pregnant and/or have a baby. Not that another baby would replace the Doodles and make everything better, but it will give me something to focus on, to celebrate for, besides myself.

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Busted is the contributing editor for Loss. She writes daily at Busted Babymaker where she tells her infertility story as well as the story of the Doodles, her boy/girl twins (Noah and Talia) who were born at 23 weeks due to placental abruption.

Everything Counts in Larger Amounts

An original post for Bridges:

"They" tell you a lot after your babies die. They are the ones with experience, albeit rarely firsthand, on the matter. They are the counselors, the doctors, the "neonatal loss coordinators" (seriously), the authors of entire books on the subject. These are the dead baby experts.

They tell you that there are stages of grief and that you will likely go through them all, not necessarily in order (which begs the question why they even created the order). They tell you that it is not recommended to get pregnant again too soon. They describe the chances of a subsequent loss. They forecast how you may expect to feel, how your grief will change, lessen, over time. How babies, pregnancies, other reminders, may be painful (as if you needed a book to know this).

What they don't tell, however, is how much the things completely unrelated to loss, pregnancy and babies will hurt. They don't tell you how the most minor day to day disappointments will become magnified exponentially. They don't tell you that you are going to become a freak. They don't tell you that you can spend an entire day being normal, engaging in banter, functioning undetected in society, when a closed drive-thru will send you hurtling into an abyss of grief.

I have cried over traffic, I have bawled because my cat wouldn't snuggle with me, and I have refused to speak to DH for hours because he drove recklessly. I didn't used to be a mercurial person. One would think that suffering a tragedy such as the loss of a child (or two) would put life into perspective, perhaps lessen the impact of the smaller slights. It doesn't.

The other night, after a 12 hour workday, the one thing I was looking forward to was Taco Bell (don't judge - sometimes a little toxic cheese product just sounds too good). We got there and the drive thru was closed, so we went elsewhere. Thanks to delays and traffic it was another 20 minutes before we were home. DH sensed my disproportionate disappointment over the lack of chalupas, and told me that it wasn't that big of a deal. The next thing I knew I was prone on the bed, heaving sobs which I literally couldn't stop, no matter how hard I tried. Everything was just too much.It wasn't just the Taco Bell, although I'm sure in years to come DH will derive great pleasure telling people about the time I had a nervous breakdown because the drive-thru was closed.

It was (is) just everything, every extra hour I worked and didn't want to, every minute spent in traffic, every call that hadn't been returned. It's as if rather than putting things in perspective, losing our Doodles has thrown my gauges all out of whack - anything bad is very bad. A part of me is just screaming that it isn't fair, that I have already gone through losing my babies, I shouldn't have to deal with all this other crap on top of that, and so each minor inconvenience, disappointment, annoyance becomes another straw on the already severely injured camel's back.

So here I am, trying to nurse the camel back to health, and hoping someday it will be able to carry the load to which it had grown accustomed. I don't know how I'll do this, but I'm willing to give it a shot.

Busted is the contributing editor for Loss. She writes daily at Busted Babymaker where she tells her infertility story as well as the story of the Doodles, her boy/girl twins (Noah and Talia) who were born at 23 weeks due to placental abruption.

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Busted's Story

Busted is the contributing editor for Loss. She writes daily at Busted Babymaker where she tells her infertility story as well as the story of the Doodles, her boy/girl twins (Noah and Talia) who were born at 23 weeks due to placental abruption.

I used to have a blog - it was called "Turgid Prose." Some of my most memorable posts covered such diverse and important topics as how I thought Reba Mcintyre resembled a fraggle and why the Extra gum character in their commercials had a Scottish accent. I also had a sister site called "Primp My Ride" which covered beauty and fashion and my strong opinions with respect thereto. No one but my close friends and my husband read either one.

Eight months later without a period and several long weeks going back and forth from an RE's office, and I was feeling slightly less ironic, slightly less fashionista, slightly more in need of something real, something therapeutic, and so Busted Babymaker was born. I thought I was still being clever in my choice of a title, thought I was cute for dubbing myself "Busted". I wrote about IVF calendars, acupuncture appointments and being afraid of needles, but there was an edge of hope to the posts. All of a sudden strangers were reading, were cheering me on, and blogging became more than just entertainment.

When IVF#1 bestowed us with the jackpot of infertility, boy/girl twins, Phase III of my blogging career brought the cliched pregnancy blog. Baby names, nursery decor posts, showers - we had it all. There were some down moments, the abnormal genetic screening, the early threats of selective reduction (which happened naturally), but overall, despite all the requisite infertile woman's protests that this couldn't really be happening, we thought we were getting what we had always wanted.

March 25, 2008 inaugurated the current regime - pain central. On this day our sweet Doodles, Noah and Talia, were born too early at 23 weeks 3 days, and we lost them both. I now vacillate between (1) factual updates on my current medical situation (retained products, D&C, FET post-loss) when I can't think of anything to say other than "I miss my Doodles", and (2) long-winded laments, generally ending with "it's not fair." And suddenly so many readers have came out of the woodwork offering support and compassion, whether or not they can identify with our losses. So the idea of bringing awareness and emotional understanding through blogging is nothing new to me - but to create an entire space devoted to just that is definitely something new, and I'm honored to have been invited to be a part of it.

Oh yes, and I promise to do my best to reatin at least a sliver of that original irony and humor that used to be my bread and butter. If we can't laugh through the tears, what can we do?"