New Goal: Beer

Non-alcoholic beer is not the same, but it tasted pretty damn good the other night. I got the Guinness kind, so I could go around saying “Guinness is good for you” in an Irish accent (and because I figured it would taste at least somewhat decent). I had it ice cold, which is pretty much the point of beer in my mind, and I felt great sipping from a beer bottle again, like any normal summer evening by the grill. Last summer, probably a week before Wyatt died, I bought a six-pack of non-alcoholic beer. I had one before he was born; the rest I only recently cleaned out of the fridge and dumped down the drain with a sad face. I thusly decided it would be courageous and important for me to buy a six-pack and get through it this time. A triumph over beer, if you will. Tomorrow, when it’s 100 degrees, I’m going to sit at my patio furniture in the shade and enjoy another cold beer. For the sake of my goal, of course. 

The Team Effort Continues

We hosted the most recent support group get together in our puny apartment. Besides not being able to all fit at our table and therefore having to eat dinner off our knees by the television, it was a great visit. It just feels nice to see people healing—actually notice it—and see my own healing reflecting in them too. That first support group meeting in the hospital seems so long ago, yet at the same time if I really think about it I can picture every little detail. Everyone’s nervous, sad face, me (and others) bursting out crying when introducing myself, the kind nurses sharing their own stories and looking so beat that they have to continue running the meetings time after time…I wonder if these will always be with me?

Anyway, we stayed up way too late just chatting, eating (a lot), and eventually attempting to play some dirty game we had previously discussed. It wasn’t nearly as dirty or exciting as I imagined, unfortunately, but we did learn a thing or two about each other that may have otherwise never come out. It’s great to follow their stories (back to non-perverse ones), learn how they are coping and moving through the pain and memories, hear what their options are to bring home a baby. It ranges from adoption to a special diet to not being sure if trying again is the right thing to do. Each one is so devastating and interesting, awful and magical at the same time. How nice it would be to think that babies just happen?! One couple is moving to Chicago, and the burly, bearded, gambling-loving father started to cry when he said the hardest thing about going would be leaving the place where they had and said goodbye to their precious second son. SOB. But we’re in it together, and I always loved a team. 

A plug for support groups

Here’s what I recommend, given certain circumstances: support groups. Now I know it’s easy to be skeptical of their supposed voodoo magic and stereotypical AA-meeting feel, but I’ve been convinced and so can you. If you’re like my dad, you think psychology is part BS and part interesting people-science. You might think psychology is neat because it brings you preliminary cancer research and things like teamwork, but maybe you’re not really into the whole people-need-each-other, especially-in-bad-times idea. But I promise you, support groups are a positive thing and I thank psychology for them.

Our support group was recommended by the hospital where I delivered Wyatt. We were lucky in that they have a solace program and some nurses who could come talk to us, explain stuff, and give us a few things too like information, a camera, and a teddy bear for the baby we had no idea was coming. Hubby and I weren’t immediately 100% convinced of joining a support group with a start date less than a month after our baby died, and over 45 minutes’ drive away no less. However, I remember feeling relief, understanding, compassion, and a breath of fresh air when we left the first meeting. The giant weight had started to lessen. Meeting people just like us was a huge turning point, even if we still had plenty to do and miles to go. Hearing their stories was difficult, but being there with open ears and arms gave us purpose again. Sharing our own story was near impossible, but it let us get it out, share our baby with people who wanted to know about him, and feel like parents. It was huge. Entering the room that first day was one of the tougher parts of this whole “ordeal,” but I am so very glad we were brave enough to try it.

Now, we see our support group buddies about every six weeks for dinner and games. There’s starting to be more laughter, more friendship, more happy times. We still share our sad moments and dashed hopes, but we also share stories of new pregnancies, adoption plans, the nursery which was planned and ready to go, and cute things older brothers say about their angel siblings. I get emails asking how the latest appointment went; I share book titles. We’re more “normal” now, and I have to say it’s because we came together. If you have any need to attend any kind of support group and you’re not sure if you should go, I would physically drive you there and push you in the door if I could. It’s that good. Believe me, I wouldn’t be raving about social interaction with random people if it wasn’t beyond well worth your first-day jitters. 

Home Doppling

I’m not sure Doppling is a verb, but I think it sounds good anyway. It reminds me of German class. (Note: I’m not sure if that’s good or bad, it’s just an observation). So, home Doppling, as one could infer, is the act of using a Doppler at home. I suppose this could be for weather predicting, or some kind of research involving sound travel, but for me it relates specifically to the observation, and hopefully hearing the heartbeat, of Nugget. Hubby got me this incredibly cool Doppler contraption for Christmas; as many gifts tend to be, this one was bought equally for the use of the buyer as the receiver, but that’s okay, really. He needs my cooperation to use it anyway. The directions were definitely made for doctor-types, which makes me wonder how we got a hold of it (and really if we should be using it), but we figured them out enough to see that the heartbeat may be audible around the 10 week mark. Of course we had to try it this weekend, since Nugget hit 10 weeks on some previous weekday. I wasn’t sure I wanted to get my hopes up, considering the giant may looming in the directions, but we slapped some gel on the ol’ wand and gave it a whirl. I know my heartbeat ain’t in the 130s, and I don’t think there should be any other living creatures in my body, so it totally worked!

Now that it works, my problem is that I can’t become obsessed with it. I mean, working part-time leaves a lot of time to mess around with gadgets and Google stuff. Translation: find things to worry about. The key will be not to play with the Doppler every day and not use it in lieu of actual medical attention. Once this baby starts moving I know I can find some other signs of life and goodness, and hopefully not need to check the heart rate as much, but what if this one doesn’t move that much, like Wyatt? I had absolutely no idea he was dead because he never that much told me he was alive; if it’s like that again I’ll be going through tubes—no, tubs—of gel like some whorehouse. But I suppose anything that can ease my mind is worth it, right? Unless of course I find something on Google that tells me too much Doppling is bad news bears…oh dear.

New Doctor

Hubby is on the prowl. No, we didn’t split up (like he could do better, please). He is trawling for health care. I know I have bored you with details about my health insurance before, but I have one more thing to share: it is possible to pre-negotiate how much you will pay to get a baby into the world. Hopefully a live one, but that’s another freak-out-for-the-future. Since Colorado’s crappy individual insurance will not deign to cover maternity, this is an important step for broke student-types like Hubby and me. We can get an idea ahead of time about what kind of ridiculous payments we will have to make “next time.” Again, this may be jumping the gun, as laws change in January and if Baby #2 waits until then we can get coverage and happily pay cheap copayments and go on our merry way. But, again, I am not waiting until January to at least give it a shot. (Technically Hubby gives it a shot, he he. Eww, sorry).

Thus, we find Dr. B’s prices, find them to be good, and therefore meet with Dr. B. He is the sole doc in his practice which means there is a 95% chance he will deliver the baby and a 100% chance he will be at every prenatal visit. For someone who plans to freak out over everything “next time,” this is good news. Plus ten. (I already know the secret that nurses are the key during delivery anyway—it’s the office I’m worried about). We head in there with our list of questions and our pile of records and the first thing he did was start talking about my lacrosse t-shirt. Plus three. He tells us Wyatt dying “sucks.” Plus another ten. He looks at the records and finds a gene mutation in my blood chart, immediately giving me three things to do to help. Plus ten. This is especially plus ten because I had to ask the last doctor what this gene mutation meant, and then I had to ask another doctor what to do about it because the first one said it wasn’t a big deal. Dr. B is also awesome because he went through the details, offering a couple potential reasons for Wyatt’s death, writing me prescriptions, and assuring me I can go skiing at altitude when/if I get pregnant. I have read morning sickness gets worse up there, but one worry at a time here. Plus twenty for the three. Dr. B gets a good score and a new patient. Here’s hoping!!

Now what?

We went back East for a quick visit based around a memorial service, the one for my friend’s mom. It was amazing; I only hope my friend agrees. The service was beautiful, happy, and promising. There were approximately one million people there. It was a gorgeous day. They hosted a busy, smiley, cozy party at their house afterward and a beautiful candle-lit walk that the mama used to do with her dog every night. We had a sleepover with a bunch of friends and a great hike capped off by lunch all together. I just really can’t explain how nice it was. My only problem, and my friend expressed this a little bit too, is: now what?

After people leave, after a little bit of time has passed, after you spend so much time trying to memorialize someone, find the perfect urn, write the perfect note, etc., now what? Life goes on all around you. Except the one life you just want so much, you miss so much. It feels like a different world almost, like something is constantly missing. And you have your good moments, where you can tell a happy story and laugh about your loved one, look at the photo album and smile, but mostly it feels foreign. Like you just can’t put your finger on what’s missing in your daily life. Obviously you know what it is, and other people do too, and it doesn’t hurt as much as time goes on, but it’s just a void. So, if you have any advice, let me know: now what?

Double whammy

One of my bestest friend’s mum died yesterday. She had a long, brave battle with the evil Brain Cancer. She was a warrior, and I’m talking Xena Warrior Princess, Brad Pitt in Troy kind of warrior. It’s just so sad. Why do we have to lose good people? Babies who didn’t even get to meet anyone, moms who are amazing? It’s a lesson in a lot of things, and a lesson nobody should have to learn. Why don’t they just try to teach us this crap in school and forget the “real-life” aspect of it? I mean, I know half the kids wouldn’t do their homework, but that seems worth it to me. So they don’t get an A in that class, big deal.

I’m feeling sad for my friend, for her family, for her mom…and yesterday on top of that I couldn’t stop thinking about Baby Wyatt too. It was like another round of smacks in the face. I was shedding tears for more than one person, and that is not a fair or fun situation. I never thought much about Heaven before, Dog Heaven maybe, but now I can’t stop thinking about how I hope there is a Heaven, and I hope the people there get to do whatever they want and be their best, happiest, shiniest selves. And I hope all the people I know in Heaven get to meet each other and see why they mean so much to me and how awesome they truly are. When I’m really sad I try to think of that and make myself believe that they’re having a good time, even if they miss us too.

sharing sad stories

So, I already mentioned hubby and I joined a support group. On the drive up to the first one my heart was beating out of my chest because I was so nervous; not sure why, but that’s me. This is also when I am most talkative (aka talkative at all) and I ruined the NPR story for Hubby, but that’s another tale. Now, after getting that first drive out of my system, and we only have one meeting left, I am super sad it is almost over. I want to keep going! I want to keep sharing stories with these kind strangers. I want them to be my friends. I want to follow their lives and see them when they have happy times come to them. I want them to try to have more babies and have successful pregnancies and then see those fat, screaming babies alive and kicking in their stupid hospital photos! I want to talk to them about something other than miscarriage, stillbirth, and little baby deaths. Instead, we have one more meeting.

At least with email we can keep in touch and I can, at the risk of being skeevy, pry into their lives once in a while. And at least we are having a potluck dinner.

doctor, doctor

Finally, a visit with the doctor. It was amazing to me how they don’t really care when they see you as long as you aren’t over 3 months “along.” And that’s only because they need to find out really when you conceived in case it was eight weeks before you thought (because you’re stupid) and you might suddenly have a baby two months early if you weren’t paying attention.

That’s really my style though I guess: take care of yourself as long as you can and then I guess we can get you in for an appointment. Luckily I’m not having annoyance-flashes this week as I was last, because my doctor and her office would have sent me on a rampage. I don’t think you want people on a rampage in the hospital…After waiting for 50 minutes, and filling out four pages of forms I had already completed during the bloodwork from hell visit, I got a ticket for one free hour of parking and to meet my doctor (after peeing on something first, naturally). She is a very nice lady, laid back too, which, again is my style. But we had to spend an hour going over my medical history and plugging it into the computer. Being a nerdy, somewhat nervous doctor who clearly didn’t do much typing, that hour turned into more like an hour and a half because of all the deleting and retyping that had to happen. Next time I’m getting a secretary in there. Just shorthand that stuff: healthy, check. If I wasn’t desperately waiting to hear the baby’s heartbeat I would have probably said a polite thank you and left early. Of course we couldn’t hear the heartbear anyway, after all that.

Blood testing

I finally got through to my doctor and her people that we’ve had blastoff! Of course, again, the office seemed a little discombobulated; I called to schedule a first appointment with a doctor, including an ultrasound, and the lady on the phone said “What do you need an ultrasound for?” Well, um, Doc told me to call and get one so…I have no idea, help me out lady. I finally called back later in the day and got a different receptionist who hooked me up.

The first step is donating about a gallon of blood for testing. The tech stuck in that needle and then had to wiggle it around to hit the vein. Oy! I would rather have her pull it out and try again five times than pull it half-way out and just jam it around at different angles for a few minutes. Man, it hurt. Normally I don’t mind but it was bad. I do like watching the little tubes fill up though—fascinating! Next, some more pee. I definitely feel sorry for the lab techs who have to deal with the cups of pee. I get why they have to put labels on them, but it doesn’t make it any less obvious that it’s hard for women to aim…

Paging Doctor Unhelpful

I had an annual ob-gyn exam scheduled, so I called up and asked if I could also have a “preconception visit.” This is only because every book I have read told me I should do this, and since I didn’t actually do it the first time around but got a second chance, I figured I would give it a whirl. Well, let’s just say the doctor’s office didn’t give a hoot. Also, the receptionist who spoke with me had no idea what I was talking about. So, basically, I came in for my usual “feet-up-slide-down-you’ll-feel-a-pinch” routine, told the doctor I wanted to start a family, she smiled and said “great, call me if you think you’re pregnant” and was out the door. So, good thing I worried about it.

Not.