This past week I felt myself turning into a total Bitter Betty--a person that I've never been before. Case in point: when I'm asked how I am in casual conversation with acquaintances I'm completely unable to offer the usual, "I'm fine/good. How are you?"
Instead I'm all, "Meh." or "I'm okay..." This is usually met with a blank stare while I try to muster up a smile or some type of half-hearted reason like, "Oh, we've just been really busy lately" instead of just blurting out, "My baby died," which is pretty much running on a loop when I run into people that I haven't seen in awhile.
Even when I'm posting on my beloved message boards, I feel like I'm this sad panda wandering around, bringing everyone else down by talking about how sad she is. And I wish I had more than that to talk about right now, but I really don't. This is my life.
Fuuuuucccckkkk... How is it possible that I'm feeling even worse right now than I was a month ago? Why does it feel like I'm living my life at the bottom of a well? I keep staying active, hanging out with friends, etc. but what I really want to do is just sit by myself and listen to some music (currently strung out on the Dixie Chicks and playing "It's so hard" over and over. I know... I'm a walking cliche.)
Today I googled around and was reading about the stages of grief, since I've been feeling so bitter lately--methinks it's my way of processing anger since I'm not a very angry person to begin with. So I've been trying to recognize my triggers, talk them out, and release them. So far it's working.
But as I was reading, this little tidbit came up:
Stage 4. "DEPRESSION", REFLECTION, LONELINESS-
Just when your friends may think you should be getting on with your life, a long period of sad reflection will likely overtake you. This is a normal stage of grief, so do not be "talked out of it" by well-meaning outsiders. Encouragement from others is not helpful to you during this stage of grieving.
During this time, you finally realize the true magnitude of your loss, and it depresses you. You may isolate yourself on purpose, reflect on things you did with your lost one, and focus on memories of the past. You may sense feelings of emptiness or despair.
OH HEY! I know that girl! That's me and my deep dark well, isn't it?
So I'm glad to see that this is normal and that my knee-jerk reaction to be by myself is a not seen as a unhealthy choice. It made me feel justified in turning down dinner at my mom's tonight because honestly I just wanted to work in my yard, just me and my iPod.
The good news is that the next steps are an upward swing and acceptance.
So maybe I'll see ya 'round the bend. In the meantime, no throwing pennies down the well... I don't want to be pelted with loose change while I'm down here.
xoxo
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Thursday, November 12, 2009
$2079.56
Just in case you were wondering, that's the total of the medical bills that I have sitting on my desk as we speak between my OB, the specialist, the hospital, the anestesiologist, and labor and delivery--$2079.56.
Say it with me: Fuuuuuuck!
Not too long after we got home, we got the bill of what insurance didn't cover, which was about $1,300. Okay, not great, but something I could deal with. I understand that even though we had a negative outcome, people need to be paid. People die all of the time and their families have to pay mountains of medical bills--I'm no exception to the rule.
But then more and more bills keep appearing, with a bulk of them arriving last week.
When DH told me on the phone what the running total was, I had a meltdown. Luckily I was stuck in some traffic so I wasn't really driving at the time, but I just started bawling. All I could think of was, "How much does it cost to have a dead baby? Over $2,000? Really? I'd rather be spending that money on a baby who gets to live."
So I told him that was all we were discussing for the evening--I was done for the night. I had to let that number sink in so that I could deal with it.
I've been walking around for a week with the stack of bills and insurance claims in my purse and today I finally took them out, coallated them together, and read through them. I called the anestesiologist's office first to ask a few questions (left a message), so maybe I can just take it a few each day--calling the doctor's office first to see what else could be covered, and then call my insurance company after that. Baby steps.
Worst case scenario is that we have to pay the full amount. Best case would be that someone, somewhere takes a little pity on me.
How do people get through these types of things without insurance? This would have been almost $16K if we didn't.
*insert big heaving sigh here*
Say it with me: Fuuuuuuck!
Not too long after we got home, we got the bill of what insurance didn't cover, which was about $1,300. Okay, not great, but something I could deal with. I understand that even though we had a negative outcome, people need to be paid. People die all of the time and their families have to pay mountains of medical bills--I'm no exception to the rule.
But then more and more bills keep appearing, with a bulk of them arriving last week.
When DH told me on the phone what the running total was, I had a meltdown. Luckily I was stuck in some traffic so I wasn't really driving at the time, but I just started bawling. All I could think of was, "How much does it cost to have a dead baby? Over $2,000? Really? I'd rather be spending that money on a baby who gets to live."
So I told him that was all we were discussing for the evening--I was done for the night. I had to let that number sink in so that I could deal with it.
I've been walking around for a week with the stack of bills and insurance claims in my purse and today I finally took them out, coallated them together, and read through them. I called the anestesiologist's office first to ask a few questions (left a message), so maybe I can just take it a few each day--calling the doctor's office first to see what else could be covered, and then call my insurance company after that. Baby steps.
Worst case scenario is that we have to pay the full amount. Best case would be that someone, somewhere takes a little pity on me.
How do people get through these types of things without insurance? This would have been almost $16K if we didn't.
*insert big heaving sigh here*
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Like looking in a mirror.
I met a girl on the loss board last week who was going through something very similiar--she went in for the big ultrasound and it was discovered that the baby probably only had one kidney and it was covered in cysts as well as not working properly because she had almost no amniotic fluid. She was given some really awful advice by the first doctor she saw, so when I saw her post on the loss board, I had to find her and talk to her before any action was taken.
It took some hunting, but I finally tracked her down through her local board and someone was kind enough to share her email address with me. We emailed back and forth the rest of the day about everything--the condition, the prognosis, delivery options, what labor and delivery was like... everything. I had never put the entire birth story into words before, but I felt the need to do whatever I could to try to keep her from having the same fear of the unknown that I did.
She's since had her peaceful little girl, we've talked a few times and I would imagine that we'll stay in contact for some time. And in this totally selfish way, I felt an immense amount of relief in being able to talk to someone about my story who truly understood what I felt while all of those fears and thoughts were still fresh in my mind. I hope that I was able to help her navigate a scary situation and make it just a *teensy* bit less frightening and maybe impart some of what I learned from it all.
It just I think this is truly one of those situations that you cannot prepare for. You can not really know how you'll react, what you'll want to do, and what you'll need from people until it's staring you in the face. The best you can do is talk it out, prepare for any result/reaction, and then go with your gut when the time comes.
Kristen, I am so unbelievably sorry for your loss and I hope that you will think of every moment you had with your precious, perfect little girl and smile--even if some tears fall as well. You did an amazing thing and you're an incredible mother. xoxo
It took some hunting, but I finally tracked her down through her local board and someone was kind enough to share her email address with me. We emailed back and forth the rest of the day about everything--the condition, the prognosis, delivery options, what labor and delivery was like... everything. I had never put the entire birth story into words before, but I felt the need to do whatever I could to try to keep her from having the same fear of the unknown that I did.
She's since had her peaceful little girl, we've talked a few times and I would imagine that we'll stay in contact for some time. And in this totally selfish way, I felt an immense amount of relief in being able to talk to someone about my story who truly understood what I felt while all of those fears and thoughts were still fresh in my mind. I hope that I was able to help her navigate a scary situation and make it just a *teensy* bit less frightening and maybe impart some of what I learned from it all.
It just I think this is truly one of those situations that you cannot prepare for. You can not really know how you'll react, what you'll want to do, and what you'll need from people until it's staring you in the face. The best you can do is talk it out, prepare for any result/reaction, and then go with your gut when the time comes.
Kristen, I am so unbelievably sorry for your loss and I hope that you will think of every moment you had with your precious, perfect little girl and smile--even if some tears fall as well. You did an amazing thing and you're an incredible mother. xoxo
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Coming out (again)
Okay, the blog is going public again. The good that comes of it outweighs how hard it can be to put my feelings in such a public forum, although I have tried to do so anonymously.
Here's my request--if you know me in real life and have been given this address by me, please do not share it with anyone else. There is too much here that I'm trusting you with and need to be able to continue to trust that it will remain private.
And if you know me in real life and have gotten this address through other means, please delete the link. I need this secret space to heal and I need to protect it so that I can continue to feel safe and honest here.
This is my life and my baby. Please respect this.
Here's my request--if you know me in real life and have been given this address by me, please do not share it with anyone else. There is too much here that I'm trusting you with and need to be able to continue to trust that it will remain private.
And if you know me in real life and have gotten this address through other means, please delete the link. I need this secret space to heal and I need to protect it so that I can continue to feel safe and honest here.
This is my life and my baby. Please respect this.
Monday, November 9, 2009
Nice quote.
I just thought I'd share one of the quotes from one of my loss books, "Still to be Born" that made me smile.
As for me,
I would rather be able to love
things I cannot have,
Than to have things
I'm not able to love.
-Merrit Malloy
As for me,
I would rather be able to love
things I cannot have,
Than to have things
I'm not able to love.
-Merrit Malloy
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Be careful what you wish for
This is a post that I wrote after getting home from Vegas, but I hadn't finished it yet and thought I'd share anyway...
I always say if you're not around for your birthday, it doesn't count. So by that strategy, I'm technically 25--three tips to Canada, one to France and one to Vegas.
I just still have so much swirling around in my head and some of that is guilt--I wanted to have a baby before I was 30 so badly. And I did, but not exactly the way I would have liked for it to turn out.
I wanted to have one more vacation with DH before we had a baby at home, but he was concerned about vacation days and finances--and now I can.
I wanted to be like everyone else in my family and have a little girl, and they "think" that I did--but they were never 100% sure because with no renal system, there's no urethra to push through and make the sex organs more prominent. So I most likely got my little girl, but she's dead. And if it was a boy, that's a whole 'nother ball of issues since I had any sort of preference to begin with.
I guess in the future I should be a lot more careful and specific about what I wish for, shouldn't I?
I know, I know. It sounds nuts. But those thoughts are up there. I have to let them out to be able to recognize how unreasonable they are. But when they're up there together--that little list of all of the things that I asked for--they make you feel like a shallow piece of shit.
I know that deep down all I wanted was a healthy baby. I know that I would have loved any child at any time. But it's just all too weird that I actually did get the things that I asked for--just with a fucked up ending.
I always say if you're not around for your birthday, it doesn't count. So by that strategy, I'm technically 25--three tips to Canada, one to France and one to Vegas.
I just still have so much swirling around in my head and some of that is guilt--I wanted to have a baby before I was 30 so badly. And I did, but not exactly the way I would have liked for it to turn out.
I wanted to have one more vacation with DH before we had a baby at home, but he was concerned about vacation days and finances--and now I can.
I wanted to be like everyone else in my family and have a little girl, and they "think" that I did--but they were never 100% sure because with no renal system, there's no urethra to push through and make the sex organs more prominent. So I most likely got my little girl, but she's dead. And if it was a boy, that's a whole 'nother ball of issues since I had any sort of preference to begin with.
I guess in the future I should be a lot more careful and specific about what I wish for, shouldn't I?
I know, I know. It sounds nuts. But those thoughts are up there. I have to let them out to be able to recognize how unreasonable they are. But when they're up there together--that little list of all of the things that I asked for--they make you feel like a shallow piece of shit.
I know that deep down all I wanted was a healthy baby. I know that I would have loved any child at any time. But it's just all too weird that I actually did get the things that I asked for--just with a fucked up ending.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Just For Today
Sometimes it's hard for me to find poems of comfort that aren't overly religious, but I read this one today on the loss board and thought I'd post it here as well. Sorry if this offends anyone, but hearing people talk about angels and god's glory does not comfort, heal or strengthen me.
But this--this made me feel a little better.
Just For Today
~by V.Tushingham, the Bereaved Parents of the USA Tampa Bay Newsletter, Sept 2001.
Just for today, I will try to live through the next 24 hours...not expecting to get over my child's death, but learning to live with it...one day at a time
Just for today, I'll remember my child's life, not his death, and bask in the comfort of the treasured days and moments we shared.
Just for today, I will forgive all the family and friends who didn't help or comfort me the way I needed them to. They truly did not know how.
Just for today, I will reach out to comfort a relative or friend of my child. For they are hurting too, and perhaps we can help each other.
Just for today, I will free myself from my self-inflicted burden of guilt. For deep in my heart, I know if there was anything in this world I could have done to save my child from death, I would have done it.
Just for today, I will honor my child's memory by doing something with another child, be it my own, or someone else's, because I know that would make my child proud.
Just for today, I will offer my hand in friendship to other bereaved parents, fo I DO know how they feel.
Just for today, I will smile...no matter how much I hurt on the inside...for maybe if I smile a little, my heart will soften and I will begin to heal.
Just for today, I will allow myself to be happy and enjoy myself, for I know I am not deserting my child by moving on.
Just for today, I will accept that I did NOT die when my child did. My life did go on and I am the ONLY one who can make that life worthwhile again.
But this--this made me feel a little better.
Just For Today
~by V.Tushingham, the Bereaved Parents of the USA Tampa Bay Newsletter, Sept 2001.
Just for today, I will try to live through the next 24 hours...not expecting to get over my child's death, but learning to live with it...one day at a time
Just for today, I'll remember my child's life, not his death, and bask in the comfort of the treasured days and moments we shared.
Just for today, I will forgive all the family and friends who didn't help or comfort me the way I needed them to. They truly did not know how.
Just for today, I will reach out to comfort a relative or friend of my child. For they are hurting too, and perhaps we can help each other.
Just for today, I will free myself from my self-inflicted burden of guilt. For deep in my heart, I know if there was anything in this world I could have done to save my child from death, I would have done it.
Just for today, I will honor my child's memory by doing something with another child, be it my own, or someone else's, because I know that would make my child proud.
Just for today, I will offer my hand in friendship to other bereaved parents, fo I DO know how they feel.
Just for today, I will smile...no matter how much I hurt on the inside...for maybe if I smile a little, my heart will soften and I will begin to heal.
Just for today, I will allow myself to be happy and enjoy myself, for I know I am not deserting my child by moving on.
Just for today, I will accept that I did NOT die when my child did. My life did go on and I am the ONLY one who can make that life worthwhile again.
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