Confessions

So every night I spend about five minutes pinching and poking at my nipples so that I can express a few tiny drops of breast milk. Why do I do this? Because it makes me feel like I’m a mother.

The painful, swollen breasts are gone, so I feel less compelled to try to dry them up. Now, I find these tiny beads of fluid to be a daily comfort, and a way to hold on to my sons, a way to prove that there were babies here--they were here, I swear, see? I can prove it.

Charlie and I both had an intense resurgence of sadness this weekend. Of course we didn’t expect it to be gone so soon, but we didn’t expect it to be nearly as bad as it was the first weekend again either. I comforted myself by eating large numbers of the 4,987,081 Dum-Dum lollipops we have left over from Halloween, and he spent the weekend on the computer arguing with other train geeks.

And of course, we both seized on the distraction of Holly like a life preserver.

One of the most comforting yet most heartbreaking things that I learned early on in recovery was that I wasn’t alone. Every dream, every fear, every thought in my head had been thought, dreamt, and frightened someone else before me. I would share my deepest, most secret thoughts to other recovering people, and they often greeted those thoughts with nods of recognition, or worse—the laughter of recognition. It was both wonderful and disconcerting. I’d thought I was so rare, so unusual, so unique.

So I’m not terribly shocked that so many of you told me when I wrote that I was afraid I’d killed my babies with my fatness that it’s completely normal for me at this stage of my grief to be trying to find a way to blame myself. I’m no longer shocked to find I’m normal, instead I’m comforted.

So, tell me: is the breast-pinching thing normal? Seriously. Cause I'm wondering if I'm being a big fat freak in that area.

I've also begun to be able to just say, "Thank you" when someone tells me how sorry they are. I no longer have to say, "Yes, I'm sorry too, it really sucked" or "No, it wasn't a miscarriage, I had preeclampsia and had to actually kill my baby cause God was too shortsighted to take care of that for me*" or "Yeah, God is an asshole, isn't he."  I'm able to just take the cookies, or the candied almonds, or the cards that my co-workers give me with one of those brittle grief-stricken smiles and quiet words of thanks. I no longer have to play the martyr and be overly dramatic about it all. I've begun to be gracious again even though it feels, in a way, like pulling out fingernails.

Hopefully, this will all die down very soon, and no one but me and my breasts will remember that I was pregnant. Funny how I don't want to share my grief any longer.

You all will probably tell me that's normal too.

 

*Just want to make clear that I am NOT disparaging the pain of miscarriage in any way. Miscarriage is an agonizing thing to suffer through, and I know you all have been through hell. I just wanted to point out that I can be a whopping pain in the ass when I'm hurting and like to try to make others feel as bad as I do. Just so ya know.

Comments

[averyjenn]

Can't comment on the boob thing - with all my m/c I never had my milk come in thank God! I'm sure it's normal. After a m/c, still with my swollen tummy, I would find myself holding it, patting it, still wishing the baby were still alive, sometimes still thinking he/she were and then remembering. I think all of what you are feeling is normal grief stuff. Grief blows but it's a necessary evil to get you through the emotions of the loss.

You did not discount miscarriage to me. I've done and said some pretty evil things after a loss - like wishing a friend of mine who I didn't feel deserved to be pg would lose her baby. I felt like a freak for having those thoughts. My husband thought I needed help - wishing someone else to feel as shitty as I felt. I didn't care what he thought - I was pissed at the world. He was right and I did eventually seek the help of a counselor who specializes in infertility and loss - she helped me put things in perspective.

Sending big hugs to you...

[Sarah]

I, of course, think you being a big freak is a perfectly normal occurance. ;-)
Hahahaha!!!

Ok, sorry. I do think it is normal though. I think I would be doing that, too. Grief really does seem to come in tidal waves...you catch your breath and think you're doing better, and then another fucking wave knocks you on your ass. I do think the waves start to get smaller, though. And you, my dear, are an excellent swimmer.

Love you,
Sarah

[Janis]

Cecily,

I've rarely spoken of this but I will share it with you to help you not feel so freakish in your grief. It's rather graphic so some may want to pass over it.

*******

My daughter, as I said, died from suicide. She went to school that morning, just like every other morning. But instead of going to her classes, she changed into a pretty dress, and went out to the football field and hung herslef from the bleachers.

I went to the chool a few days later. I don't know what I was looking for. Her spirit? Some sign that she had died there, some sign that she had lived there. Anything.

All that was there were some flowers, candles and letters others had written for her. Nothing tangible left from the day my world stopped.

As I was leaving, I looked down and found a small piece of the yellow plastic ribbon the police use at crime scenes. I picked it up and stuffed it into my purse. And there it stayed for over a year. I carried it with me always.

I can't explain why. All I know is that for some strange reason, it gave me a bit of comfort. It was a sign of my loss, my grief. I could carry it with me, something I could see and feel with my hands, not just in my heart. Some proof of that nightmare day. That it really did happen and wasn't a nightmare I was not waking from.

I know how bizzare this sounds. Believe me I do. That's why I haven't told many people about it. Not even my husband knows. He doesn't even know I have that little slip of yellow ribbon.

I don't find your breast pinching abnormal at all. Far from it. It is proof that your boys were once with you. Only normal to want to hold onto that. Honestly... Not strange at all.

In the early days after I lost Rissy, I'd sit and hold that piece of plastic and sob. As time went by, I got it out less and less often. I took it as a sign I was healing a bit. Coming to terms with my horrific loss.

In time, you'll find your squuzing slows down. Then with a startle, you'll realize you've stopped. It won't mean you are "over it" or that you are okay. It will just mean that for whatever reason, you no longer need to do this ritual.

You won't ever be over the loss of your son's. You won't ever be the okay you were before either. But you will find a new normal, a new type of being okay.

I sit here, almost 22 months later, knowing that a part of me died that day. A part I can never reclaim, never replace. In many ways, I am changed. In some ways for the better, in some for the worse. But I can say without a doubt, that I am and always will be honored to have had Marrissa in my life. To be her mother is one of the most amazing gifts I have ever been given.

Your sweet boys, Nicholas and Zachary, should be here with you. Never doubt yourself Cecily. Know that you did the best you could for them. They know you love them, they know you miss them. They know that your heart aches for them. You tried hun, you did your best for both of your little guys. And that is what being a mom is all about.

Be gentle with yourself.

Much love to you and Charlie..

[Sam]

I too have a boob thing, though my situation is different. I have a 2 1/2 year old son, and though he took a little while to conceive it wasn't too bad. I can still, though, express a little milk and he only breastfed for 5 months. I do it now more than before because I have been trying to conceive my second for 18 mos now (with a misscarraige thrown in there for an extra dose of frusteration and pain)and the longer it takes, the more I want to comfort myself with the knowledge that "it has happened before...." I guess it is my only reminder (aside from the roadmap that is my belly) of being pregnant. And now I don't know if I'll get to be pregnant again because now we know we're up against male factor infertility, and a small wallet. Anyway, just wanted to share my story so you know you're not the only "expresser" out there!

Take care...

Sam

[Kristine]

Just wanted to add also, that as a three-time loser to miscarriage that your words didn't offend me in the least. Yes- my losses were difficult, but I can't begin to imagine your pain, losing your boys the way you did.

Also a note to Janis- my heart goes out to you as well, for the loss of your precious daughter.

[grumpygirl]

cecily, i can't comment on the boob thing because i've never been pregnant. but i can say this: because it's likely i won't ever become pregnant, because i'm getting old and have yet to find someone to love and have children with (and doing it alone, or without someone i love, isn't what i'm seeking), i do often cry when i get my period. even though it's good that i won't be having a kid with anyone i've been in a "casual relationship."

here's another secret: sometimes i hold my cat and think that she's the size of a baby, and that she'll be the only baby i'll ever have. that i actually love her as much as i could any child i'd give birth to, and that once i bought her a dress.

[Marie]

Cecily,

What you are doing is NOT freakish, it is very normal. Like Janis posted above, the expressed milk is something tangible, a reminder of your boys that you can see & touch. It was not all a dream/nightmare, but your boys were here & you lactating is proof of that. When you are ready to let go of this tangible evidence of them and your memories can substain you, you will stop the expressing.

I have only posted a couple of times, but I continue to read your blog daily . . . I haven't posted since the Holly Horror, but wanted to say I am sorry you had to endure her ignorance. No one should have to be questioned on something so personal & heartbreaking.

Take care.

[Cricket]

I did breastfeed my son for 8 months. Then my breasts leaked something which looked like colostrum and a little milk for probably close to two more years. It would happen especially after the warmth of a shower. This period of time was early in my SIF sufferings, but those drippy breasts reminded me that my body was actually able to do something right. I missed them when they dried up completely.

[Sheri]

what a beautiful post and such heartfelt comments in reply to it. I think Sarah said it so gracefully....the grief being waves that become smaller and you being an excellent swimmer. You're not freak at all. Just a woman who's still hurting and learning to cope with that hurt. Continued healing vibes to you and sending you strength.

To Janis...your story of the loss of your precious daughter moved me to tears. My heart goes out to you.

[Sandy]

Hi Cec,
No I don’t think the breast squeezing thing is at all weird -- I spent some time doing that after my youngest kid was finally weaned. I had decided to stop at two and was going through some obsessive compulsive “am I making the right decision?” tics. I think you are still too normal, even in this activity, to have John Waters make your bio pic.

I think I am going to cry every time I see yellow police tape from now on. Those simple and powerful words really did me in.

Which brings me to my normal place in life -- a little off topic. I just wanted to tell you how much I am loving this blog. Not just because I adore you (and Charlie, who gets major kudos for his Holly answer), but because of the wonderful people you have attracted. As you well know, I am a person of language (I used to say word whore, but if Gov. McGreevy can be a “gay American” I can be a person of language). You and your bloggettes are just a fabulous read. I love asshat and assvice. I am fascinated with Holly. With no information and no facts, she is the consumate sure-footed and steadfast shit for brains fundamentalist christian idiot. But mostly I’m in love with the woman who questioned the wisdom of following a religion that uses as its symbol a boy on a stick. A boy on a stick!!! Talk about putting things in perspective!

Anyway, thanks to you all!
Sandy

[Mary]

So normal. You know that in your heart. At first the milk brings pain and anger, with no one to nurse from them. The anger eventually turns to comfort, a gentle reminder that you are still a mother. Your babies are gone, and that is the hardest thing a woman can endure. But you are still a mother. Sometimes the anger doesn't subside for a long time, long after the milk is gone. But your breasts are still what can provide nourishment for your children; your uterus still a safe haven. Do not blame yourself. Do not blame your body. Blame this fucking disease we still have not conquered.

I know of a woman who used a breast pump after her stillbirth. She did it because she needed to prove to herself that her body was capable of sustaining life. It helped her to stop seeing her body as something that took her baby away because it didn't work right. She didn't tell anyone (except nurses who had cared for her), not even her husband. She didn't use it very long, and it did help her change her focus from blaming herself to coming to terms with the (as you said) unique situation that made her lose her baby.

We all need something tangible, something we can see, or feel in our hands, to let us know without a doubt "This happened to me. I did not imagine it." Something to let us have ownership of our sorrow as real. Not some illusion that we cannot prove, therefore we cannot provide a reason to ourselves and others for our pain.

Let it comfort you. Let it remind you. Let it give you peace with yourself. As terribly sad as it is, you are in the company of great women.

[chris]

With two of my miscarriages, I had some small drops of milk and leaking and it was awful, knowing that my body was producing milk for a baby that would never be able to drink it. I think that was the worst thing, really, much worse than seeing newborns or women who are as pregnant as I would have been. At one point with my last miscarriage, it was so painful I considered getting out the old breastpump and relieving some of the pressure, but I figured my husband would think I'd really gone off the deep end.

I'm so sorry you're going through this. And I have to say, as a veteran of miscarriages, I do think it is so MUCH worse to go through something like you've been through. When I found out my last miscarraige was trisomy 22 (incompatible with life, but some babies make it to birth), all I could think was how thankful I was that I didn't have make the deicision, that it was made for me, and early at that.

Hang in there. We are all praying for you and Charlie and your babies up in heaven.

[Jo-Ann]

I am not sure I have any words as wise as the ones above.

Your post and Janice's story had me sobbing at work.

Cec you are amazing and very much loved.

Share your grief, don't share your grief. Do what feels best for you.

Love
Jo-Ann

[Marla]

I've had 4 miscarriages and 1 child loss. Not to do a 5th grade compare and contrast essay, but they were all the same in the fact that they were a loss. However, the child loss was very different in how I felt. The milk thing sounds normal. I think we all carry loss in different ways. I have yet to take off the weight from my last miscarriage because it's all I have left from that pregnancy (or any pregnancy I'll ever have).

[j]

Cecily, I've had miscarriages. What you suffered through -- so much worse. I don't think you need to worry about offending anyone. I can't imagine anyone who'd had a miscarriage would be offended. I think everyone in the IF world is sooo careful always to say that everyone's pain is somehow equal. That a stillbirth and a chemical pregnancy are somehow equivalent. I know that there is no point in comparing pain, but I think it is just a fact that some things are worse than others. And we shouldn't be afraid to say it. Losing a twin, then having to terminate your pregnancy so that you wouldn't die. That's worse. Than just about anything.

After my first miscarriage, which was a very early one, I kept the HPT. For a long long time. It was the only tangible thing I had to prove that I'd ever been pregnant. And even when I knew I was miscarrying, when I was already bleeding, I went out and bought another HPT, just so I could still see a faint line before it was all gone. So squeezing out a little milk. For sure I would do that if I were in your situation.

[Rebecca]

Cecily, at this point, anything that you do is normal. There is no right or wrong when it comes to these things. I think you are handling this well, much better than I ever could.

I used to express breastmilk and freeze it in the fridge for my best friends baby, her milk never came in after she had her baby, and my son couldnt breastfeed because he was severely lactose intolerant. It made me feel better to at least go through the motions, I wanted so badly to breastfeed and I couldnt.

[eightlegs]

I think we all do "freaky" things because of grief. Especially with a miscarriage, you feel like you have to prove that there really was a baby(ies). I had a blighted ovum several years ago. The week before they confirmed it (I had no clue there was a problem at the time) I had my first ultrasound. They sent me home blissfully with a picture of a little black blob. Nice fat empty sac. "The baby must be hiding.. come back next week and we'll check again" Well, next week we realized that the baby was long gone.

I kept that empty sac picture with me at all times. It was the only "proof" I had that I had ever been pregnant. At some point I put it away somewhere, I was going to "bury" it.. but I couldn't, not then, not yet..... Years went by, we moved, and I had another miscarriage. Then it occured to me... WHERE WAS THE PICTURE! I freaked, I tore the house apart hysterical trying to find it. I had lost it... I had lost the only proof of that child. I was inconsolable.

With all you've been through, a little nipple tweaking is not weird. I think we all get it.

[Adi V.]

The boob thing is NOT freakish at all.

As for the spontanious vs. surgical thing, having had one surgical and a dozen or so spontanious my self (I had so many chemical pregnancies that after awhile I just stopped counting) I'd have to agree with you about wishing that mother nature would do the dirty work for me instead of leaving me to choose between dying with my first child or living long enough to raise the others that I've had my heart set on adopting since I was ten. Not much of a choice. Not a choice at all really.

I came to your blog through the link that getupgrrl had on Chez Miscarriage and have been in awe of your strength as I read your posts each day. I have never seen such courage. My God, you're even brave enough to feed the trolls, strong enough to come out on top, and compassionate enough to block them from your blog when they've become so punch-drunk that they no longer have enough sense to go home and lick their wounds.

-Adi

[Amy V]

It is so very normal. I'd had such an incredibly hard time deciding if I wanted to breastfeed our baby. When she died, I thought I was going to go insane when my milk came in. When I finally had living children, my milk never came in. I couldn't even pump more than 3 ounces after 3 months, and even that was a struggle. I did it after my child was stillborn. It IS normal.

As a veteran miscarrier (9) you didn't upset me at all.

[Vaughn]

Adding my voice to the chorus of "not weird." After my first miscarriage the one thing I obsessed about the most was forgetting it, while at the same time it seemed unreal that I was ever pregnant. My dh couldn't figure out why I was worried, as if it would ever just slip my mind. I think part of the problem was the loss was intangible for so many people that I was worried about it being intangible for me.

[Sandy]

Once again, I'm here with tears in my eyes, marvelling at your honesty and strength. And pissed off that you... that any of us... have had need to be "strong".

That was the thing that bothered me the most after our miscarriage ... was people commenting on how strong I was, when what I really wanted to do was yell, scream, throw a fit and yes, to quote your words in today's post, "be a whopping pain in the ass and try to make others feel as bad as I do". My husband was always the voice of sanity, helping me to acknowledge my own grief while not being pissed at every single pregnant woman I saw.

I think that many of us have had little rituals or behaviours that have helped us through the dark days after a death ... so I'm with those that say you do what you have to do for as long as it feels right to do it, and frig those that don't get it.

Thanks for continuing to be so real.

[Lori Herrington]

Hi Cecily,

Delurking here... I started reading you from the troll list and i've been reading and crying ever sense. I'm a plus size woman that took 5 years to conceive and I find your strength so amazing and comforting. You are a beautiful woman.

I breastfed my daughter till she stopped herself at 2. I had planned on doing it for as long as she wanted since I probably won't have another child. My breasts ache for her and I too find sometimes I sqeeze and remember. I'm thankful for those little drops that remind me of her as a baby.

After my mom died I found I started going to Hallmark all the time. For no reason. It was her favorite store and somehow the smell as I walked in and all those things she loved just made me feel so close to her. Grief is individual and you'll be comforted by the most unusual things. I wish you and Charlie well and my thoughts are with you.

Back to Lurking now... Stay strong and know that you have so many people behind you. - many you don't even know.

[Jill]

Cecily,

Something I have learned about grief is it comes in waves. I still continue, years after my losses, to have it come back in my life as if it all just happened. The time between waves lengthens, but the intensity does not. I'm sorry about your terrible weekend, but I think you are dealing with everything in a very healthy way.

You both continue to be in my prayers.

[Christina]

I do the boob thing too. I couldn't, for a number of reasons, breastfeed my now 8 month old and for some reason I take great comfort in squeezing a little boob juice out every night. Usually right before bed, while sitting on the toilet.
I can't believe I just shared that.
Like you said, I found it comforting in meeting people "just like me" in recovery. But, I do find it upseting sometimes. I want to much to be different and unique. It's an attention wanting thing, I know.
So, thank you for letting me know I'm not the only one obsessed with what comes out of my nipples.

[kelly]

When we lost our child around the same time you lost your boys I thought i was going to die when my milk came in. I was so angry. it had taken us so so long to get pregnant and then to lose her. I hated it and I just wanted it to go away.

That is to say, it is normal. Mostly because none of us can react to grief the same way. I probably did it far more unhealthy than you did. I hated my body for being stupid and not working. I hated myself for hating my body. I just wanted to get on with life. I admire you and your strength. I think what you are doing to grieve or hang on is normal and what you just have to do to get by.