My Trip to the Dentist

If I had to write a letter to a newly bereaved mom, or, I suppose to anyone who hasn't ever endured this horrible torture, I would share with them a few surprising things that will be, without a doubt, ridiculously hard.

Now, it's not surprising that things are hard because quite frankly, everything is hard.  What is surprising is the emotional turmoil we experience on a fairly regular basis, and the places that bring that pain.  But then also how surprisingly enough, that pain can be beautiful.

There are the obvious places.  The doctor's office.  Your last visit there you were pregnant and happy and hopeful.  So you know it will be a bit rough but SURPRISE!!  There is a baby scale in the room <-- seriously? You know that I'm coming in, without my baby, do you think you could have moved it?  Cue the tears.

The OB's office.  Another obviously obvious.  So obvious that I almost forgot about it.  The one ounce of tolerable pain is that some kind OBs will take you in for your 6 week check up after hours, so you don't have to see any pregnant, happy and hopeful ladies.  BUT, when three or four months have passed and you're going in to discuss your dead baby's autopsy report SURPRISE!! The receptionist is going to be calling new moms, congratulating them on their babies and booking their 6 week appointments.  Cue the tears.

Then there are the less obvious ones.

The week after Ethan was born and died, my chiropractor called, innocently enough, asking if I was able to get any sleep with the new baby at home.  Cue the tears.

A couple of weeks after Ethan was born and died, my massage therapist called, innocently enough, asking how it was going with the baby an if I needed her to come and do an "on site" massage so as to not disturb the baby.  Cue the tears.

The list goes on and on.  Especially if you are a regular at any of these places.

But then there is the dentist.  Ahh, the dentist.  So easy to forget about that twice a year trip.  Thankfully, one of my friends had already experienced the dentist... in her experience, the hygienist had said that they would be fairly quick so she could get home to her baby.  ARGH!  So I was on high alert.  I KNEW the dentist was probably going to be hard.  It wasn't going to be a surprise attack for me... but I was hopeful that I could sneak by.

I got into the office and the receptionist who "knows" me, wasn't there!  Score one for me.  Then my "normal" hygienist wasn't there either!  Whoop whoop.  So I'm all settled in the chair and the hygienist says "I saw in your chart, the last time you were here you were pregnant.  How's the baby?".  And you know what?  I knew something like this would happen so I was a bit protected and I wasn't thrown off, but it still threw me a little bit.  Cue the tears.  And the hygienist cried.  

Then I went to pay and of course, my receptionist was there, wondering why I was there during the day.  Cue the tears.  And the hygienist had to explain what happened...  

But then, something beautiful happened.  I got to talk about my beautiful, handsome son.  And share pictures.  And cry.  And have hugs from these ladies that I hardly know.  But most importantly, I got to share Ethan.

I guess I have reached the stage where I can find the positive in little things.
 
 

When Am I Going Back To Work?

I am soon going to post about my return to work, so I thought I would post this first... it has been in my drafts for a while.  I think I wrote it maybe in August or September...


Maybe it is boredom.  On good days, us BLMs have nothing to do but think happy thoughts of our babies who have died.

Maybe it is guilt.  Us BLMs have a whole whack of that stored up.

Maybe it is frustration.  Us BLMs live in a sea of what should be but isn't.

Maybe it is exhaustion.  Us BLMs are always trying to explain our feelings to others.


I do not know what it is, but when people ask me "when are you going back to work", it infuriates me!


I feel like it is people saying to me, "what? you're not over it yet? it's been 5 months".  

I feel like it's people saying "if you are at work, you can busy yourself and you won't think about the fact that your baby is dead".

I feel like it's people saying "if you go back to work, everything will be normal again".


I do feel like I should go back to work.  But that's just me.  I like working.  I'm good at my job and I enjoy most of the people I work with.  

When I'm having good days, I actually am a little bored at home.  I feel so super guilty that I am at home.  And I think I should be at work.  But when I'm having bad days, I can't even get out of bed, never mind get out of bed, shower, brush my teeth, drive over an hour to work, work in a sometimes stressful environment for 8+ hours, then drive all the way back home again.

 


  

The Long Walk Home

Today I went to the doctor to discuss my graduated return to work plan.  I felt so anxious just sitting in the doctor's office, I can't imagine how it is going to be when I return to work.  I have a return to work plan that seems like it will work. 

I made the appointment for earlier in the day and a thankfully, a friend drove me.  But since DH wasn't home yet, I walked home from the doctor.  And lucky me, it is a pretty nice day today.

But when I was walking home I felt sad.  Not my normal sad that I've felt since Ethan died, but a different kind.  And I couldn't put my finger on it.  I even walked down a different street so I wouldn't have to see the school and the moms with their strollers.  Then it donned on me.  I should be walking around the neighbourhood with MY stroller and MY Ethan!  Whoa.  Who knew a simple walk would bring such pain?

I was almost home.  I was proud of myself for identifying the problem.  Then I saw a stroller, on my street.  And I know there are no babies on my street... but the woman was far in front of me so I assumed she go into her house by the time I caught up to her.  But nope!  By the time I walked by she had placed the stroller on the driveway with the baby looking out at me.  And she smiled at me.  And I caught a quick glimpse of the baby.  And I started BAWLING!  Walking down the street, like a maniac.

No one was home at my house, so I went to the neighbour's house and asked for a hug.  And cried on her shoulder.

Now it turns out that I've never seen this baby before because although she was born in December, she just got out of the NICU.  She was a super preemie, weighing just over 1 pound.  So says the neighbour.  So I do feel for them.  But at least they eventually got to bring their baby home.  

Five Months

Five months.  That is how old Ethan should be.  And every single month that goes by reminds me of what isn't.  It is SO hard.  Even on "good" days, everything is so hard.

Right now, I'm trying to work through a couple of things:

1) My hatred of pregnant ladies and babies.  I know it is not a rational feeling.  I know it is so terrible on my part.  But I hate them.  All of them.  Well, that is a partial lie.  I LOVE my friends who are pregnant who have gone through IVF, or have had losses themselves.  But everyone else, I hate.  The ladies in Walmart, the babies at the grocery store.  I hate them.  And I'm trying so hard to work through it.  It's exhausting.  It's so hard. 

2) I was pregnant with 17 other women I knew, all due this year.  Why me? This is one that will haunt me forever.  I can't even make sense of it.  Especially when there are countless women who never wanted to get pregnant.  Or had "whoops" babies who they didn't really care for.  Mark and I have been trying for 4 years to have a family!  We always said that Ethan was 4 years in the making... he was born on April 2 and our anniversary is April 4.  So almost 4 years to the day.  And we didn't get to keep him?!?  Why?  Why us?

So right now I find myself exhausted.  I'm so tired of having to work through things.  I'm tired of having to try all the time.