today's uplifting event...

I find some days harder than others in the world of being a lifetime member of the fertility challenged. It’s bad enough to be denied the ability to do something so many take for granted, it’s worse given our 4 year journey.

Today at work was “one of those days”. As a really nice person (no sarcasm here) was fixing my computer which has this horrible high pitched sound she mentioned she gets migraines too and can understand the problem with the noise it’s making. We got to talking about migraines and all as I’ve had a few but not routinely. She mentioned she went to the doctor to get medicine to prevent the migraines but that she can’t take them long term as she is trying to get pregnant. Awkward pause…

Yeah, I know, all too well, trust me, the world continued to revolve even though eric and I stopped moving last year for quite some time. I’m aware, trust me, even if I weren’t as introspective as I am, I’d still be aware that things and people moved on when we didn’t. Comments were made and more than anything, the opposite, silence, let us know life moved on. I remember the comment made to explain why some people just weren’t there for us: ‘not a big deal to some probably, it’s not like they held a living breathing child in their arms’. When E and I heard that may be some of why people were silent, we both had some choice words, E, normally calm, was pretty heated up that someone could actually think that. ... yeah, I know, people who never themselves, nor anyone they knew had an iota of problems with getting pregnant or giving birth, most likely thought that. I can tell you, that the death of a child is real, whether they lived 60 years or just 32 weeks in your womb. It’s real. We also talked about how those same people would have been through the roof with anger, resentment, judgment on us had we chosen to end our pregnancy for some lame reason at 32 weeks… perspective is everything in life huh?

I had to swallow the lump in my throat. I know she knows Sophia died, but I’m sure she doesn’t know our personal ‘pain’ (aka medical) history… you know, the list/history that goes:

- 2 inpatient surgeries,
- 5 or 6 outpatient surgeries
- 5-10 of the things doctor’s call ‘office procedures’ but I refer to them torture that should have anesthesia involved… you infertile chicks know some of what I’m talking about… biopsies, injectible uterine dye tests, yeah, all without anesthesia.

The fertile people in the world have no idea the pain and extent to which infertile people go through.

- Oh yeah, nearly forgot (yeah, like I could forget), the 50-60 shots in the stomach at the rate of 3 a day for 2 rounds of IVF,
- the daily blood draws out of the only vein I have that gives blood
- near daily internal ultrasounds… I know, the concept is lost on those who have never had the ‘pleasure’.

At times, I was defined as a woman by the stage of treatment I was going through, I lost my identity for a long time.

So I cut her some slack, I swallowed that lump in my throat, I swallowed the tears. We aren’t close anyway, we’re just acquaintances. I know she would never ask about things nor could she acknowledge she just crossed into territory best left alone for ‘acquaintances’. Acquaintances meaning those we aren’t friends with but who we know by name. So I go with the flow, I mention to her helpful stuff like those with migraines often go through pregnancy migraine free, something about the hormone levels that can give you a migraine free pregnancy, like my sister-in-law Brandi. She suffers from debilitating, life changing, daily migraines. Her entire pregnancy, though half spent on bedrest, was migraine free. Then there’s people like me, an occasional migraine sufferer, normally tied to rapid changes in humidity or temperature or sun exposure, I spent every day with a migraine, so severe I had trouble working and functioning. They call it pregnancy induced migraines.

I mentioned to her that I was prescribed a medicine, safe for pregnancies, that can minimize the migraines and stop them in their tracks as they start to evolve in a normal day. She may want to switch to that now so she can see if it works and can then take it throughout normal life, whether or not she was attempting to get pregnant.

All the while during the conversation I am thinking in the back of my head… please please don’t ask me how I’m doing. I’m on the verge of tears as I give you helpful advice on your hopeful pregnancy and best wishes for good luck.

I don’t like to cry with strangers, I don’t like to share anything personal with strangers. The opposite is true with my friends, and family, I want to share, I want to be asked, ‘how are you really doing’, I want people to ask and then tell me it’s ok when I cry.

Life is interesting… sometimes the people you want to ask never do… I’ve heard the comment over and over “we didn’t want to upset you”…

But here are my thoughts from the perspective of someone who lived this hell last year ...silence is upsetting, not being asked is upsetting, seeming like people don’t care is upsetting, losing our daughter and delivering her silently into the world, that’s upsetting. How do I feel about the silence from the ones we wish weren’t silent… simple words define it… sadness, depression, exclusion, loneliness, coldness, isolation, distance, walls, wonder, confusion, etc.

Talking about it, being asked about it, how does that make me feel? Easier to describe all the words that come to mind when someone actively takes part in our grief, our current life, etc.… relief, love, kindness, inclusion, support, bonding, friendship, warmth, caring, freedom, trust, respect etc. Life is getting easier and we’ve been blessed to have some very wonderful people actively support us through our loss of Sophia and the roller coaster journey to Magpie.

One of Eric’s Aunts and I had a very long talk a few weeks back, we never shared and talked about Sophia, about how Eric and I were doing until that moment. And trust me, there is never any time like the present to share… there is no expiration date on asking, it’s not like milk in the fridge. Caring, asking, involving and listening, has no expiration date. The act of asking and really listening to what we share and showing the desire to hear it, can erase the walls that silence and time created. For those we have yet to share with and talk deeply to about it, time will never run out, you just need to let us know you want to know.

During those early weeks, we just had to concentrate on keeping alive, we could barely share anything. We could barely do anything... I don't think we even showered or ate much for days, it was that bad. But months after, nowit's a different story, we can talk now, we can share now, we’ve moved through ‘shock’ and into ‘living’ again. The risk on our end to ask for support anymore is just too great, we’ve been through too much to reach out and risk silence, we just won’t ask. That delivery room contained more than a lifetime of silence, I tell people to think of the quietest church moment, then multiply the silence by 10 or 100, and you still haven’t reached the silence of a stillbirth delivery room.

So back to E's Aunt and I, we spent an hour or so sharing, listening, crying, both of us crying. It was one of the best moments in the last few months… upsetting? No, it was a great feeling to know I could talk to her, she cared and she wanted to support both E and I. She mentioned that if she had known before the delivery she would have driven the 6-7 hours to be there, that really touched E and I. That day Sophia died they wanted us to deliver immediately, in the end we waited 12 hours or so, we were too shocked to know what to do or even what we’d need. If we could have slowed the hands of time down and thought and known who would really be there for us, we would have asked for support. It was way too much for E and I to have faced alone. We wish others were there to help, I think of my mom especially when I think of it. Looking back, I wish people didn't ask what we needed and just stepped in and went overboard, we were not capable of any decisions, any thoughts or even any rational behavior, it's a wonder we drove to and from the hospital without killing ourselves or someone else.

So to E's Aunt, I love you, thanks for the support and love, I needed it, we probably both did.

The post a while back about giving thanks is my way of letting people like her know they will always be precious to us for what they did and still do to support us. They understand the death of a child lives on forever in the life of their parents. Magpie will be surrounded by these people, we’ll try to have her spend as much time with them as they will likely be the ones to help her as she grows in a world that is different from one she would have known otherwise. And at times I’m sure a very tough world for her to be in.

So today with the computer person, just like the list of those who’ve been pretty much ‘silent’ for both E and I, I found it best today to ignore the pain/lump in my throat and try to help her out instead. She didn’t mean anything by it, probably didn’t even realize what she was saying until it was out of her mouth. If she thought anything, awkwardness probably filled her mind and I felt bad for her.

Sometimes life is about moving on, letting go of the pain, letting go in general. I hope the pain of losing Sophia dulls eventually, I’ll be glad to let go of that, but I know Sophia is with us for life, that’s a fact