23 weeks, 3 days.
I have started writing updates several times in the last few days, but I can’t seem to sustain a mood long enough to complete one. By the time I finish typing an entry it is no longer an accurate reflection of my mental state. I may start a relatively positive post about Simone’s continued nurse-baiting, but halfway through I am not feeling positive, rather I am bitterly contemplating the woman I heard complaining about having a C-section. I start writing about that instead, but then I am suddenly overcome with sorrow and cannot see the point of writing anything at all—in fact, how about a nap? And maybe some incoherent sobbing?
The only constant, really, is fear. That seems to be here to stay.
And so am I. At my appointment yesterday I was officially put on bedrest for the remainder of this pregnancy. Probably this is just as well, because while my contractions had slowed with stricter bedrest and increased hydration, my two appointments that morning were enough to get me contracting almost constantly, and even now I am at about five of the stronger variety an hour. The stronger variety being the sort that begin with the feeling that someone has crushed my windpipe, causing me to cough and splutter to catch my breath while Simone is forced to reenact the trash-compactor scene from Star Wars.
My first Fetal Fibronectin test is next Monday, and if it is positive I will be given the steroid shots and admitted to the hospital for a few days. If it is negative my cervix will be evaluated every which way, I may or may not be given some medicine, and I will be sent home to twiddle my thumbs (while lying down, of course) until the next Fetal Fibronectin. The reason I have not been given medication for contractions already is because my peris are not sure the contractions are responsible for my mushy cervix, seeing as how I usually have fewer than six per hour, and bedrest seems to be keeping them controlled. Of course the minute I get up, my uterus goes mad, hence the continued lying-flatness.
Bedrest isn’t particularly glamorous, or even pleasant, despite the fact that I am a fan of both “bed” and “rest” individually. If my life were the thirties-era movie I have long wished it were, I would be sitting in a round, satin-sheeted bed in marabou slippers and a fetching bedjacket, frequently summoning tea and mashed potatoes via a tasseled bell-pull hanging from the canopy. In reality, unfortunately, I am propped awkwardly on the couch in a milk-stained Cramps t-shirt my husband purchased at the age of fourteen for a date with his first girlfriend. Around me are scattered the crumby remains of the peanut butter sandwiches that constitute my only sustenance. And the ill-timed writers’ strike continues.
Despite all this, I am hoping fervently to be similarly employed for at least another two months, while Simone grows fat and healthy and thinks up new, creative ways to remain the bane of labor and delivery nurses throughout the metropolitan area. I want her born with pink, expandy lungs and nary a complication of prematurity, as close to term as possible before my uterus tries to kill her.
The other reason I hope not to give birth in the too-near future is that I can’t yet imagine what that day will be like. The second appointment I had yesterday was with the hospital grief counselor, to talk about what I want to happen when I give birth to Ames and Simone. It was brutal, and while I am supposed to be “thinking about” the issues we discussed and making decisions, instead I shoved all the paperwork in my purse and haven’t looked at it since. I tell myself I will look at it when I am ready. But how do you get ready to contemplate giving birth to a live daughter and a dead son within moments of each other? Does anyone know? Because I can not see how to begin.
71 Comments
Dear Alexa,
Thank you for posting. Can I make you some mashed potatoes?
I continue to be amazed beyond words at your bravery and stamina and general awesomeness. And I continue to hope with everything that is in me that Simone will be perfect.
And I feel so trite to even say this, because I know it is not worth even mentioning in comparison, but I continue to grieve and miss your baby boy.
We love you. PLEASE let us know if we can do anything besides hope.
I don’t know the answer to your last question, but I do feel that you will be 100% full of JOY and 100% full of SORROW, and it won’t make any real sense, but it will be true, and you will amaze yourself and everyone who knows you with your tremendous, titanic STRENGTH. Truly, what you are facing is unimaginably hard, but you will get through, with the help of those who love you. There’s a Jane Siberry song, “Calling All Angels” which might help too. And there’s Ames-as-angel, there to help his mama as well.
Every day she stays put is great. I had the steriod shots and they aren’t bad. One in each hip. They take 24 hours to take full effect if I remember correctly. You will deal with the birth when you get there. There is no need to try to prepare yourself for the most life altering event you will ever experience because nothing can prepare you for that. Focus on each day as it comes. Don’t borrow tomorrow’s troubles. If I lived closer I would bring you some real food though. No wonder Simone wants out. Feeding her only peanut butter and jelly? You need some junk food. Keep her comfortable.
I don’t know either.
We’re all rooting for you.
I am so relieved to read your post and to know you are doing ok — I know, a rediculously meanlingless word in this context but still….
I can decide if I like the image of the round bed and tasseled bell pull or the teenage band shirt and peanut butter sandwiches better.
Hang in there. We’re rooting like hell for you all.
As much as I am saddened by your post - I am glad for an update. Like previous posters stated I too am rooting like hell for you and Lil Simone. I know Scott is taking good care of you
Liquor?
Ok, FINE, I’ll lend you my personal servant for the remainder of your pregnancy. It will be tough for me to lose Jacque-Claude (he always shows up at the pull of a tassle to bring me fresh havarti or straighten an errant dust ruffle), but you seem to need him more than I.
Thinking of you, as always.
I have the number of a very nice servant/pool boy who would be more than happy to bring you mashed potatoes, peanut butter sandwiches, clean your house AND bake you chocolate chip cookies.
Anything to make this time as bearable as possible, we are all rooting for you.
Alexa,
So happy to hear from you.
Your update says that your only constant is fear, and that it is here to stay. May I add, my dear, that there’s something else in your system that’s also here to stay? Want to know what it is? It’s FIGHT - not the verb, the noun. Is it your middle name? Because it damn well should be.
I know you would probably never wish to win awards for sheer bloody guts in the face of adversity, but you’ve won them already.
I have been checking, checking, checking yr blog and hoping that things were moving quietly onwards. These are such complicated times for you, the greatest step in the future being the moment when Simone and Ames come to you. And come to you they will, twins from the start, part of one another then, now and in times to come. But I can’t answer the conundrum about how you prepare yourself to grieve and celebrate, mourn death and thank your stars for a new life - all at once, in the same crowded moment. I can’t answer that. But I can think of you.
I am the mother of two long-awaited children. I wandered the desert trails of IF before cyber-allies and distant Internet friends came to be. And now I have my two girls. To this day, nearly a decade later, I feel vulnerable knowing how they might never have been and I don’t forget that massively lonely time before they came. I know I am lucky. I hope I am therefore sensitised to the thin air we all sometimes breathe on Planet IF, to the lurches in fortune that have afflicted all of us, and to the felicitous and catastrophic twists of fate that just sometimes bloody well happen.
I have not walked in your shoes, Alexa. Perhaps I should shut my trap. But I’ll finish where I started. FIGHT. It is your middle name.
That, and FUNNY. You still have the capacity to make me (and I suspect I’m not the only one) smile, while the shit is liberally hitting the fan. Here’s to your 30s-era self.
You’re going to be a damn fine Mum to your two babes. Here’s to Simone’s continued stability. Here’s to Ames’s continued presence.
Very many good wishes.
I am so sorry you are having to go through this. My first pregnancy was a vanishing twin, and I have always wondered why the twin died. I knew it would be impossible to determine the cause since the tissue would be untestable by the time I delivered.
The simplest thing I can say is don’t look. I never saw my placenta when I delivered, and it is surprisingly easy to lie there in exhaustion and not see what is going on down there. You should talk to your doctor beforehand about this, but I am pretty sure the delivery room staff will make sure you don’t see your son unless you want to. It might be too upsetting, and the delivery is going to be stressful enough as it is.
I do know of someone who has dealt with a sort of similar situation, delivering a healthy twin and a twin destined to not make it (which they knew beforehand) at just under 30 weeks. While nothing can be the same as what you are going through, I’m wondering if getting in contact with her might be beneficial.
Rather than post her info here, if you want I’ll connect with her and direct her your way. I guess I just want you to know, you aren’t alone, not only in your grief and uncertainty, but in your experience.
You are amazingly brave and truly a light for all of us.
Alexa,
I’ve just reread my post to you - I spoke of your being a wonderful mother to Ames and Simone. I referred to the hope that Ames’s presence would remain strong. I have been somewhat clanging with my ‘metaphoricals’ (as a friend of mine once called them). What I meant and hoped to say was that I knew Ames’s presence would remain strong, despite his not having made the journey to the end. Jeez, I’m treading on hot coals, when I so wish I knew you better than I think I do, and then I could be as straightforward and awkward and bull-in-a-china-shoppish as I pleased. I’m trying to tell you what you already know - that Ames will not be forgotten by your ever-widening circle of cyber-allies. We form a pretty impressive circle. I’m proud to be a couple of gnarled hands in that formidable team.
I neither can see how to begin. But begin you will. Your continued sense of hope and humor gives me pause…rarely do I meet people as strong and human and beautiful as you. You make Ames and Simone a wonderful mother no matter what happens. I remember bed rest for 12 weeks, it was not fun BUT I did it 16 years ago and there was no internet….how said is that. My family and I continue to keep you and all of yours in our thoughts. No worries about decisions now regarding the grief counselor, I firmly believe you have plenty of time to think about that.
(((Hugs))))
I’ve thought about you so many times over the past few days. I always wonder if it makes a difference, if the good wishes of lots of people can coalesce in the ether to form something practical… I wish that I could say for sure that it does, but who knows? On the off chance, though, I am sending out good vibes like crazy for you and Simone.
Like, I suspect, many of us, I’ve been wondering what I would do when the day comes. And even though I know it would be upsetting I can’t imagine just not looking. I would want to honor those few moments. I imagine they talk to you about seeing Simone first and being secure in her safety - maybe you just wait until the time comes to see what you feel in your heart and go from there? Some things are impossible to figure out in theory.
In the meantime, stay on that couch and let me know if you need my stash of screeners…
how can we help ? is there anything we can do?
Grow Simone grow strong and Alexa - you know e are here for you.
Keep getting it off your chest
I am so relieved to see this post. Stay put please, Simone!
In answer to your question: there is no way to begin. But you will do it when you have to. I can’t believe I’m going to quote Beckett here, but it makes me think of “I can’t go on, I’ll go on.” It’s impossible, but somehow it’ll happen. Not that philosophy really does anything to make it less unthinkable…
We are all thinking of you.
Here is some assvice that you are more than welcome to ignore… If you can find someone (through the grief counselor, or a local support group, or connections here) who has gone through something similar it may be helpful to talk to them about what to do at delivery. Also if you aren’t sure about seeing Ames, you can still have hospital staff take pictures for you and do foot and hand prints… (based on what I know about my local hospital) They can put everything in an envelope so you have options for the future.
You are doing a wonderful job doing everything you can for Simone. Time will pull you forward even if you can’t fathom it now.
Oh sweetie. I wish there was more I could do. Unfortunately any mashed potatoes I might send would be urky and yucky by the time they got there.
Simone? You keep kicking those monitors off sweetheart. We are all rooting for you. Also? hug your brother for us. He will always be remembered.
Dear Alexa, I don’t know either. No one should have to contemplate what you have to.
Big hugs, and although bedrest sucks, I hope you have to go through it for a good long time before Simone gets here.
Its so lovely to hear from you again, and especially to hear that Simone continues to show the same kind of spirit as her mother!
I think in answer to your question, you should remember the saying “mother knows best”.
You are Ames’ mother, and when the time comes, whatever decision you make, it will be the right one.
And I fervently hope it will be a long time before you have to make that decision.
x
I haven’t been able to decide if this website would be helpful or depressing: http://julia.typepad.com
She began heavily contracting at 25 weeks with twins and failed her fibronectin test, went on bedrest with a terbatuline pump and delivered her twins full term. A warning, the site is now full of baby pictures. However, the point is, everyone felt she was essentially in full active labor for nearly 12 weeks. Over 8 contractions an hour, etc. etc.
Hang in there. Thinking of you and wishing you and Simone well.
So glad to hear from you. Still thinking about you and feeling pissed that I can’t do anything about any of this. I’m going to go try to figure out what the hell marabou slippers are and whether I can find you any.
Ooooh. Thooooose. Those look really uncomfortable and possibly sneeze-inducing, so I’m going to have to try to come up with something else.
I won’t pretend to know what you’re going through, but please know that you, Scott, Simone and Ames are all in my heart.
Hon, we are all here for you. Tell Scott to go buy you some of those Bob Evans heat-up mashed potatoes packets. Yum!
Also, I know that people think it’s boring, but C-SPAN does have some fascinating things on PLUS no commercials. So switch to one of those channels when you’ve had enough of American Gladiators.
Wishing I could bring tea and mashed potatoes.
Hang in there Alexa, you’re doing all that you can. When you are ready, you can deal with the next part. Thinking of you all every day.
I think of you so many times through each day and wish I could do something to make this time a little easier. If you need anything at all (food, DVDs, books, someone to feed the cats), please don’t hesitate to call.
I’m sending lots of positive thoughts your and spunky little Simone’s way.
Wish I could do something or say something to make you feel better. I’m checking every day for updates and sending positive thoughts your way.
I’ve been so worried about you and your family. Thanks for posting an update, and I hope typing horizontally has somehow gotten easier, while everything else has been getting harder.
I’m sending good wishes to you and Simone many times a day. And of course I’m thinking of Ames.
Your bravery stuns me. I’m thinking of you, in every positive way I can.
Alexa -
you know I’m here in the twin cities… Hopkins to be exact. If you need anything (i.e. groceries, hot meal, laundry done, etc) you just let me know. And forget about that whole “weird I met her on the internet” thing. My Lilly is 6 months old and would love to meet Simone when she’s fat, happy, and healthy on the outside.
I am sending hugs and good thoughts your way. You are a very strong woman and have a wonderful family. Your delivery day will be full of love, joy and sorrow. I wish it didn’t have to be that way. As always I’m holding you all in my heart.
There was a big collective relieved breathing-out all over the the internet when you posted.
I know that fear. Coupled with a hope that feels like it is cruelly taunting you.
I don’t like the sounds of that “grief counselor.” You said it yourself — you can’t prepare. I’d ignore those forms too. You have enough to worry about.
Just in case folks are wondering, there is a difference between preterm contractions (no cervical changes) and preterm labor (cervical changes). The first is no biggie, the second, well, is a biggie. But no one knows how to fix it yet. There is no “right” way to manage this.
So you just do whatever you need to do to get yourself into the next minute, and the next minute after that. Short of smoking crack, that is.
Oh, Alexa.
Thank you for updating. Another obsessive refresher here. And I second (third, fourth) what the others have said about your strength.
On the birth plan…I know so little about what you are facing. But I do know that after several years of IVFs I conceived a singleton who was born healthy and full term by a c-section I had hoped to avoid. I had a careful birth plan that did not lead to the process I had wanted, yet — far more important, and I do know this — it did produce the outcome I wanted, and yet even now (10 months later) I still look back and wonder if I could have done something differently, if, in the stress of a long and exhausting (but uneventful) labor, I made the right decisions.
In many ways that probably isn’t that relevant to you, but in reading your post I do have the following thoughts. One, even in far simpler and more pleasant situations, a birth plan only does so much. You really don’t need one; Simone will come when she is ready, and I do so very much hope full-term and healthy, whether you have one or not. And Ames will be born also. So it is, in fact, fine to shove those papers in your purse. And if someone in my mundanely simple situation couldn’t anticipate how my labor and delivery would go or how I’d made decisions while it unfolded, can someone — you, in this case — do so in a situation like yours? I’m just not sure it’s possible. Yet that said, I do know from reading other blogs dealing with pre- and peripartum loss that women can make decisions they later regret concerning how they deal with a dead infant. Not that there is a “right” or “wrong” choice in the abstract, but that they feel they made the “wrong” choice for them. And I assume the grief counselor’s intent is to help you avoid that. Though it seems to me frighteningly difficult. I do like the suggestion someone made above, about having others preserve a record of Ames so that even if you later wish you had done something different when he and his sister are born, you have something of him you can go back to (or not).
Well, I’m not sure any of that’s of any use whatsoever. But for whatever it’s worth I am thinking of you, and Simone, and Ames, and am phenomenally impressed by your strength and hope you will, indeed, have to use it to endure many more weeks of bedrest.
Stopping by to give you hugs at the instructions of Barren Mare. I have no idea what this would be like but if you have ever seen the BBC series Child of our Time one couple featured had a live born daughter and a still born twin son - they only had about 12 hours notice of the still birth though. If you are looking for it on repeats it would be the first (2000) series.
They have a grave for their son and on their daughter’s birthday they visit. She seems OK with it. They have a younger (but larger, because not a twin) daughter also.
V minus 3 days now. You’re gettin’ there, girls. Hang in!
Have you ever read “Outlander” by Diana Gabaldon? It’s a fabulous time travel adventure. I know that sounds hokey, but from someone who can’t really get past page 2 in most popular-fiction novels, this is one of my favorite books ever. If you want a story that’ll distract you, at least a little bit, give it a try. Tell Scott to run out to Barnes & Noble, or make a mention of it here and you’ll receive two dozen copies from well wishers.
Take care and know that there are about 10,000 (if not more) fingers crossed for you.
I could not see how to begin that either. I see that you are strong and amazing, though. You don’t know me but I am thinking of you. My heart aches for Ames, and my heart prays for Simone.
Thank you so much for writing. It’s good to hear how you are. Like so many, you’ve all been on my mind these last few days.
On how to contemplate labor and birth. I haven’t read all the comments. But I did read some. This may sound painful and terrible, but the advice trend in this exact situation is to give yourself and Scott some time with Ames. It may not be immediately. But it seems to be very important - not for closure - I don’t believe there is such a thing - but for acceptance, acknowledgment, grieving.
For what my recommendation is worth, I would get in touch with the folks at the Center for Loss in Multiple birth.
http://www.climb-support.org/
They have many resources - including birth plans. You can read the experiences of other mothers who have walked the (unbeleivably tough) road you’re on, and find out what they decided, what they are grateful to have done, what they wish they’d done.
Hugs. And love.
So relieved you posted and that you’re as ok as it’s possible to be at this time. I second everyone else, cut yourself lots of slack and do whatever you need to do.
Re bedrest, I think there’s something called bedrest buddies who can help entertain you or at least talk you down from a ledge while you are incapacitated. Might be worth a google?
Dearest Alexa,
It’s okay to be afraid. You have so much going on. Try and be still. Focus. Pray. You do not have to believe in God (and I can understand having some serious doubts at times like these) to pray. I agree with the post saying that you can not prepare for what is going to happen. Maybe accepting that will give you a little break in everything you are trying to do. Leave the papers in your purse.
I, like everyone else, have checked my computer numerous times a day to see if you’ve updated and hear how things are going, but please, please don’t feel pressure to write if you just aren’t up to it or can’t bear the idea of being upbeat and funny. Although even in the face of all this, your wit has not faded. We will be here, pulling for you, wheather you post or not.
As for all the tests…..well, how can I say this? Trust your instinct when it comes to tests and all that. It is so hard to know when you haven’t been down this path this far before. I do know from my own experience that there were a few things that I just didn’t think I wanted to do, but I did them anyway. If I had to do it again I would have done them differently. But isn’t that the way of life? What I am trying to say in a confusing way is, if you have a strong feeling about something, trust yourself. Mothers intuition defies all logic and you already have it.
Bed rest. I’ve been there. What I would have done differently? It’s hard to describe without sounding rediculously above my humaness, but I believe strongly in positive thoughts and energy. Either your thoughts are occupied with the negative, or they are positive. There is no room for both energies similtaneously in your mind. Perhaps you can try and push the negatives out of your mind, crowd them with positive thoughts. And I’m not talking about future tripping. Just thoughts for this moment. Perhaps write down a list of things you can repeat to your self when you can’t wrap your mind around what exactly you have to even remotely be thankful for or positive about. It may sound crazy, or stupid, but hey, I’ve been called worse before. I will start the list for you. Perhaps you, or others will add….
” I am strong. My body is strong and I have the strenth of many who love me.”
“Simone is growing and getting stronger every second of every minute of every day.”
“I will use this time to open my heart to the love and serenity that surrounds me, and in turn surround my babies. Ames’ spirit can still feel my love.”
-many prayers and love to you, Simone, Ames and Scott.
rooting for you and simone, alexa.
is there anything we can do? do you have an amazon wishlist so we can send some movies or books to ease the boredom of bedrest?
what Nina said. Alexa we would all love to overwhelm you with gifts and cards and puzzles and kittens. i think you could establish rules for your wishlist and we would all obey them! like, say, “please no religious material” if you don’t want any or “please nothing that smells” or “please no seamonkeys i can’t handle the responsibility right now.”
Please?
Oh, Alexa. I’m glad I’m not sitting in front of you right now, because my tears would do nothing to bolster you. I am so sorry and so hopeful in the same breath.
As far as bed rest goes, I was put on strict bed rest after I went into labor when I was 4 months pregnant and remained there for the next 5 months. I picked an author and read every book she ever wrote. I took up needle point. ANd may I suggest signing up with Netflix and plowing through tv series a season at a time (ie: Weeds, Big Love, Sex and the City…)
My daughter is 9 1/2, now. She is healthy and beautiful and definitely worth the 5 long, immobile months.
We’ll all be here for you in whatever way we can be. Prayers for you, sweet Alexa.
Just a rehash of assvice given in a few places above: I’m not sure “plan” is really the right word for what you need right now. You might be better off knowing the options/scenarios, and letting them know that you have every right (!) to change your mind at any given point on anything, and they’d better be ready for it. And if they don’t seem amenable to that, I might find people who are. Someone else mentioned trying to do as much as you possibly can so you don’t have regrets later — take pictures, footprints, etc. You don’t need to look at them immediately, but three months down the road you may very well might. I can’t even believe I’m in a position to give this assvice, nor can I believe I’m giving it to you. Holding your entire family in my heart.
I love the idea of you in the circular satin-sheeted bed with marabou slippers. You would look fabulous.
The organization Thalia alludes to is called Sidelines (sidelines.org) and they can match you with a bedrest buddy–either someone going through it now, or someone who has been through it before–and they try to find someone with a similar situation to yours. I didn’t use it but probably should have. Some people commenting on my blog found their bedrest buddy really helpful, but others didn’t.
I know that you are weighted down with grief and fear right now (and I know I’ve said it a million times already, but I wish we could lift that burden for you) but at the risk of seeming self-pimping, I wrote a post ages ago with some lessons learned from bedrest–and there’s some good advice in the comments too (http://citygirltales.blogspot.com/2007/06/tips-for-surviving-bedrest.html). I found that Colin Firth in Pride and Prejudicie made the days pass a little quicker.
Hang in there, dear one. Every day, every hour, is making your girl stronger.
(I can’t believe I misspelled “Prejudice.” How embarrassing.)
hi! glad to hear from you! this bedrest business sounds awful, especially coupled with the writers’ strike. I do not have any useful advice, but am hoping for you & Simone, as always.
also, the daily flash game over at http://www.onemorelevel.com/ is probably a good way to mindlessly kill some time every day. it certainly works for me, and I don’t even have a doctor-mandated reason for being motionless for hours.
Check out your library’s website. You might be able to place holds for books and DVDs online and then send the hubby to collect a whole bunch. As long as the collector has the right library card, it’s even easier than getting groceries–but that whole “right library card” thing is important.
I don’t even know what to say but I want to say something. I wish there was something to say other than I’m so sorry you’re going through this. Bedrest, especially when you’re anxious is incredibly rough but I, like everyone else who reads your blog is thinking about you and concentrating on Simone’s growth! Take it from me, don’t listen to any sad music or watch sad movies.
Alexa, just saw this. All I can come up with is a heartfelt MOTHERFCUK! and to tell you that my heart goes out to you in this horrible situation. I’m online almost constantly at work, so please feel free to email me, even if it’s just to play tictactoe online long enough to turn your brain off for a little while.
Alexa - I just read the news. I am so, SO SO very sorry about your son. Ames - what a sweet name for a sweet boy. I am thinking of you and praying that little Simone stays put, and that these contractions hold off on doing anything to your cervix.
Thinking of you and rooting for Simone. Simone, you stay put, y’hear?
Alexa - I’m not sure what on earth to write that won’t sound artificial. My heart goes out to you and Scott. I’m praying/sending good energy and thoughts out there for Simone’s safety and for Ames’ memory.
On another note, I recommend waiting until after Simone is here to read Outlander - while a great book, it’s emotionally draining.
You’ll be in my thoughts.
I know nothing about losing a baby Ames’ age but I know grief and one thing I have learnt is, it often surprises you. You should certainly try and prepare if it helps you, you can avoid everything when you can’t cope, you can sometimes picture different scenarios as a way to hopefully soften the blow but in the end it may very well be that your reaction and feelings will be something you’d never have expected and couldn’t have prepared for. You’re already under a tremendous strain but you still have Ames with you, it is maybe real but not quite yet. What you said about maybe there having been a mistake even though youn knew better makes perfect sense to me, I had hopes myself until your second post. My best friend was killed in the tsunami and his body was found 2 months later. Even after DNA testing, even after I crossed continents to attend the funeral I still entertained thoughts of it having been a mistake bcs that was the only thing that made sense. My point is, I hope you won’t feel pressured to feel or act a certain way, there’s no right or wrong and your job right now is to keep you two as healthy as you can and yourself moderately sane. Reality will come when it comes and you shouldn’t feel pressured to deal with anything you can’t deal with ahead of time. I like the idea of having someone take pictures and footprints as a backup plan just so you’ll never have to live with the “I Wish I Had x/y/z”. Grief is fluid and something which seems unthinkable now may swiflty (or not so swiftly) turn into something you need and I wouldn’t close any doors simply out of self-protection, for now and the future. It might help talking to women who’ve been through the same, not necessarily because their reactions and feelings will be yours but because they have been where you are and that may help keep some of the panic and hopelessness but only if you think it might help. At this point, I’d do what comes easiest, that which either inflicts the least pain or helps ease it the most. If something resonates, do it; if it hurts, then move away from it. You’ll likely know what you want done when the time comes, but even if you don’t people who know you will be there to help. We’ll be here as well. And I am desperatly sorry that life isn’t about fairness.
Cara!
I could not concur more with the others: you still manage to be witty and strong in the face of tragedy, which is a testament to your character and the tenacious genes you have passed on to Simone!
In terms of ever coming to terms with the bittersweet moment of the birth I agree that you just have to not look forward too much but just take each breath, hour, day as it comes - in the lead-up, during and after the moment itself. I often look back over difficult times and think: how on earth did I get here? Somehow you just will and we will help you.
And in terms of reading, I know losing Ames is senseless, but I particularly love Mitch Albom’s “The Five People You Meet in Heaven” which is incredible in the peace and calm it can bestow. If you have not read it, it takes several people’s views of their lives once they reach heaven and helps them understand and come to terms with the influence seemingly negative and senseless things in their life have had.
Two further, amateur recommendations are: my friend who is an eminent urologist also suffered contractions early in pregnancy and although I am not sure this was pre-term labour, maybe only pre-term contractions I know that her doctor recommended at least one glass of wine a day to calm things dowm - this maybe a little too European an approach for you but if you want to clutch at some straws you might actually enjoy??! Secondly Tetris is a computer game (I generally loathe them) that allows one to spend inordinate amounts of time mindlessly concentrating on colourful blocks which fall into a pattern - it is highly addictive and strangely satisfying, as well as leaving your brain with images of falling shapes LONG LONG after you have stopped playing (great for avoiding issues you don’t want to think about). Also Sudoku is similarly gripping and abstracting. YouTube is obviously another great time fritterer!
Lots of love to you all, Maribou-slippers and all.
Rooting, caring and thinking of you here in London, UK. xx
I’ve been trying to think of something wise and comforting to say for the last few days and I’ve come up with nothing. Big fat nothing.
But I do like what Sharah said, so a hearty Motherfucker! from me too. Just for shock value. :-)
Hang in there, babe. You are doing so well even though I know you don’t feel like it.
“Because I can not see how to begin.”
You’re already doing it. You’re naming the horror that is and beginning to process it.
Alexa,
I was just checking in after too much time away, and saw the horrible news about Ames. I am so horribly sorry. I cannot for the life of me understand why things like this happen.
I am keeping you, your husband, and Simone in my thoughts and prayers.
I am so sorry to hear about your incredibly sad news. I do not know you, and I have only just come accross your blog, but I am thinking of you and hoping for you.
I have no new insight and nothing profound to offer at this point, it’s all been said above. But please know that someone down in VA is thinking of you and praying for your little babies. You ask how you plan for the birth…I am in awe that you are getting through each day.
Wishing you continued strength and health!
I am so sorry. May you be on bedrest, which is not at all restful, for as long as possible.
Hi
Popping over from Flicka’s. So sorry you having such a crap time when this should be he happiest time ever.
So sad for the loss of your baby boy. I pray you are flat on the back for another 2 months at least and Simone only arrives after 35 weeks! Please God!!
Concerning seeing Ames once Simone is born, I think you should ask the nursing staff if they think you should see him. We hope she is only born in many weeks which means you only see Ames in as many. He might not look great due to the time and you might want to hold onto the picture of him in your head and heart instead. If you don’t decide to see him, they can still do a footprint and hand print for you. Rooting for you and your girlie!
Damned if I know.
One would think the hospital might leave you alone about this for a while. I know they want you to be “prepared” (whatever that can mean in these awful circumstances), but aren’t you supposed to be as not stressed as possible during these next critical weeks (again “not stressed as possible” being oxymoronic given the circumstances.)
I am so heartbroken for you (and at the same time relieved that S. continues to do well and stay put). Know that we are rooting for you.
I wish I had something smart and wise to say to help prop you up a bit but I am short of excellent advice appropriate to the situation so will just say how sorry I am you are going through this, “fear” sounds pretty sensible to me and exactly the attitude I would take, and I hope this can be balanced some by “hope” that things can at least still turn out very well for Simone.
re seeing Ames - what do you need, for closure? When my father died, I had no peace AT ALL until I saw his body in the coffin, but that’s me. You need to figure out for yourself what you need to get through to the other side.
Alexa,
The answer is in you. I needed to hold, love, and cry for both my daughters, one living and the other dead. One went to the NICU with Dad in tow, the other stayed with me….with me for the next two days. I did not want her to leave my side. Grandparents visited, held her, loved her. Pictures were taken, with swollen and tear-filled eyes and our little one wrapped in a special blanket I had ordered online. And then in the quiet of an afternoon, my husband and I said our good-byes, wrapping her lovingly in her blanket with heavy hearts. It was by far the hardest day of my life! However, the joy of our surviving daughter offers a bittersweet balance. I cry tears for you, your husband, Ames, and Simone. I wish no one had to deal with this kind of a loss. I wish for you continued strength. If it is hard to find it in yourself, then get it from those around you.
I have no idea. I can’t imagine ‘thinking about’ that situation.
I am glad Simone is sitting put and staying healthy. If you want, you can call me, and I can type your posts.
Stay put Simone, stay healthy for mommy.
All I can think to say is I can’t imagine there being a person or circumstance by whom, or under which the answer to your closing question could be given. When the time comes, you’ll survive it. Until then, we’ll all be pulling for Simone to prove herself high maintenance and tenacious.
Thinking of you!
Happy Viability Day! I think? If I am doing the math correctly? I hope Simone is still staying put and driving nurses crazy, and that bedrest has not yet driven you crazy.