Bad Anniversaries

I've been struggling to find things to blog about this week, which is odd, because I've been really energized with the recent changes I've made and the topics have been easy to find. Then I finally looked at the calendar today and realized... it's that time of year again.

Tomorrow marks the three year anniversary of the day I went to the doctor's office for a routine ultrasound and instead began heading down the terror-filled path that ended with the termination of my pregnancy with Nicholas and Zachary.

Last year I was feeling pretty sad about the anniversary, even though Tori was here and healthy. The year before that, I was newly pregnant and feeling pretty happy, even as I mourned the boys. I often feel their loss more acutely around the anniversary of their expected due date, but for some reason I am finding myself full of memories of that time, and what those few days were like.

I remember my complete and utter disconnect when I saw Dr. Mama's face once he saw the combined numbers of my blood pressure (170/120 or so), my urine protein (3+++), and my weight (up 20 pounds in less than two weeks). For god's sake, I asked him if I could stop and get lunch before I went to the hospital (we already knew at that point that one twin was dead, if you remember). I had severe preeclampsia, and I wanted LUNCH.

I remember the face of the nurse at the labor and delivery unit who kept trying to find the surviving boy's heartbeat.

I remember how sick I was once they gave me the magnesium sulfate. I remember all the equipment I had strapped to me; the blood pressure cuff that checked my pressure every 15 minutes; the pressure cuffs on each of my calves trying to keep my blood circulating; the monitor on the baby; the IV in the arm that didn't have the blood pressure cuff; the urinary catheter. I couldn't move, even when I had to throw up. I remember throwing up all over the lovely nurse I'd conned into giving me graham crackers and apple juice (boy, I bet she regretted that, eh?).

I remember how much my head hurt, how utterly and completely flattened I was by the pain, and how the morphine didn't touch it.

I remember that circle of doctors around the end of the bed at 7 am telling us that we'd have to terminate the pregnancy or I would die. I remember Charlie's face when he realized that not only had we lost a son, we were going to lose another one and maybe lose me too.

I don't remember this, but it haunts me now: the doctors discussing whether or not they could give me more morphine at 3 am because they were afraid I was going to begin having seizures any minute and they were afraid to depress my cardiovascular functions. It wasn't until it was all long over that I realized how close to dying I really was.

Most of all, I remember the moment that I stopped being disconnected and detached from what had happened. It was around 3 am EST and I was alone the night after the surgery (Charlie decided to finally spend a night at home) and it all just suddenly hit me. I was so sad, and so angry, and I felt so completely alone and I didn't have any idea who to call or talk to, so I called my friend Dave in Arizona (because it was not quite as late there, I reasoned) and how nice he was to me even though I woke him up (and his poor girlfriend).

It was such a difficult time. The weeks that followed the loss of Nicholas and Zachary were the worst I've ever endured.

This year it all feels very close and near, even though I have so much joy with Tori here. I think about her brothers often; they would be two and a half now. Can you imagine? Two boys in the terrible twos? And I think I'm tired NOW.

I wish I'd gotten a chance to know them. I wish things had been different.

But it's funny: now that I've got some distance on it, I can see things that I'm grateful for from the whole experience. I'm grateful that at the time I was able to have the medical procedure I needed (an intact dilation and extraction) without my doctor having to worry about going to jail. I'm grateful that such a huge and life altering loss gave me the ability to love Tori so completely and thoroughly, without reservation and fear. I am grateful that the loss of the boys taught me so much about tolerance and acceptance of other people's views.

As much as I miss them, their loss made me a better person and a better mother. What a gift they gave me! What a lucky woman I am!

Thank you, Nicholas and Zachary. Although you were here only a short time (not even six months), you had a huge impact on me and the people around me. Thank you. I love you both, and I miss you. Sleep well, baby boys.

______________________________________________________

*Edited to add that Charlie wrote a great post about this too.

**Also wanted to add that Patty (whose hubbie died last Monday) has started a blog. Go give her support, would you?

Comments

[melissa]

So sorry for your pain and loss. I had a traumatic experience with an ectopic. Totally different situation from yours, but none the less-sad. I lost the baby, a tube and an ovary on Good Friday. I also remember laying in the hospital bed late at night and on this most holy weekend thinking...what just happened?! I too am grateful for the medical care that I had access to. It wasn't too long after that that I read a story about women who were denied surgery for an ectopic pregnancy because it was ending a life. So guess what happened? The women's lives end instead. It's a crazy world. I often think about the child I carried for such a short time, I hope he or she knew how loved it was.

[Michele]

Oh, Cec. My heart still breaks for you and the loss of Nicholas and Zachary. I remember being pregnant with Ethan when you lost the boys and the grief for I felt for you being coupled with a new terror for the life I had inside me. The infertile fear that something would go wrong with the pregnancy was compounded by the loss you suffered at a time that was supposed to be "safe"-after the first trimester. I knew how much you wanted that pregnancy- I wanted mine just as badly. I also remember feeling so guilty that I was pregnant when you no longer were and when so many of our friends were still struggling to have their chance.

I'm so glad to know Tori and to be part of an amazing group of women who have now ALL been ablt to experience the joy of motherhood after all of the suffering so many of us experienced.

I'm glad to count you as a friend, and so relieved that you are still with us.

[Yatima]

I think of your sons every spring when the daffodils bloom and every fall when the leaves turn.

Goodbye, Nicholas, goodbye, Zachary; wherever you are now, may you know how dearly you were loved.

You too, Cecily.

[Carly]

My friend at work lost her husband many years ago. She said to me once, "sometimes it feels like it was someone else's life, and sometimes it rains in October and it feels like only yesterday."

I'm so sorry you are hurting. I wish I could make it better. I hope that quote doesnt make you sadder - it's my clumsy way of telling you that you are not alone.

[Ellen]

Maybe later I'll write something more personal, about my own night in the hospital hooked up to those same machines, but right now all I can think (with tears streaming down my face) is how amazed I am by you and the grace and wisdom you've found through such profound loss.

Thank you for just being out there.

[Christine]

Bless you, Cec.

[Mel]

What an amazing post Cecily. I think you have an incredible perspective on this - that everything that has happened to us makes us who we are at this moment in time. And we learn so very much from those experiences. Good and bad.

I always wish you never had to go through that though. Lots of ((HUGS)) to you.

~Mel

[Katie J]

Thinking of you, your hubby and your children.

[car]

Oh, babe. I found your blog after that happened, but before the Tori pregnancy - I don't even remember how I found it now, but I was struck right away with how strong you were to be able to deal with all of that. This might sound weird, but I'm very glad for you that you can remember so much of it. That gives you at least something to hang on to, something to process, specifics to grieve. Give Tori big hugs and snuggles tonight.

[emmay8]

There's no pain like it.
A friend tried to tell me about how she came to terms with her miscarriage because of the gifts it brought her later. I so couldn't hear her then. when I was in the midst of a difficult miscarriage myself. Now, when I look at the daughter I would not have had were it not for our loss, I know what she means. Doesn't make the pain less, just makes it different and easier to bear.
I attended a funeral for a premature little girl, born 15 weeks early, who lived for almost 8 weeks. At her memorial service, her father spoke at length about the gifts his daughter gave him and the things she taught him in her short life. I thought "This guy is going to be alright." You're alright too, Cecily.

[Jenn]

I read somewhere (probably Chez Miscarriage way back when) that there is a philosophy that says babies lost during pregnancy are taken because their purpose was complete. My husband clings to this with our two miscarriages.

I like to think of all our kids we never really got to know playing together in heaven.

[spacemom]

Thinking of you, Charlie, Tori and the boys....

[revdrmom]

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[Sheri]

Special hugs to you Cecily and remembering your boys. Everytime I see daffodils, I think of them and you.

(((Cecily)))

[Leggy]

How heartbreaking and terrifying to read, let alone to have lived through. Thinking of you...

[Meegan]

A beautiful post that has left me in tears. Thank you for sharing your beautiful boys with us. And how amazing that you are able to learn from such a horrific experience.

Hugs.

[Eva]

That was such a moving post. The way that you can frame things in a positive light after what you went through, and despite all the sadness and grief, is an enormous gift. I am just sitting here staring at my computer screen, stunned at the size of your heart.

[Stella]

"That was such a moving post."

What she said. If you wrote a book, I bet lots of pple would buy it...

[Kat]

I remember at one point in L&D counting 14 lines or probes or cuffs of one sort or another hooked up to me, and glancing to see my pressure in the 160's range, and the concerned, frantic way the doctors and nurses scurried around me. I decided not to look again lest the stress of knowing how bad things were would make it worse. I still would rather not know how close I was to something truly horrible happening, and I wonder sometimes if that means some part of me hasn't dealt with how frightening of an experience it all was... I know how fortunate I am in my case to come through with my little guy, and I too feel that experience has made me even more devoted (and doting) as a mother.

Thank you, Cec, once again for your bravery, and for talking about issues that are not often discussed. May these stories also help highlight the need for more research into preeclampsia, the cause of which is still largely unknown and the only treatment of which is to deliver the placenta. You are in my thoughts.

[Sarah]

I remember blithely logging on to see how you were and being shocked taht Sarah was posting. Anniversary's are sneaky--I always think I'll be prepared for some of mine, and they mostly slam me. Thank you for always getting up; it helps me when I'm feeling to small to climb the infertility mountain.

[Mrs. A. (Terry)]

Isn't it amazing how, no matter how much or how little time we are given with our children, they give us so much more than we could have possibly imagined?

I am so sorry about your boys, Cecily, that goes almost without saying. What a beautiful tribute this post is to them.

As always, thanks for letting us in. I consider it a tremendous gift from you -- that you allow us to share in your life so often.

( I tried to post earlier & it never showed up, so I apologize if this shows up twice for some reason).

[amy]

Anniversaries can really suck.. Sounds like ,with time, you have gotten a handle on your grief and what the boys lives brought to you and yours.

That is when I first started reading... Can't believe it has been three years and one beautiful Tori later.

[JuliaKB]

This week brings sad anniversaries for several bereaved parents in the blogosphere. I am sorry you are one of them.
I am sorry the boys are not with you. I am sorry these days are so hard.
The human kindness makes such a huge difference, though. I am so glad your friend Dave was there for you that terrible night. And I am so so happy that you and Charlie have Tori now.
I wish you and Charlie peace during these difficult days.

[Melissa in TN]

I just cry every time I read about Nicholas and Zachary. I am so sorry and am thinking of you.

Hugs to you, Charlie and Tori.

[kathleen999]

I always wind up sobbing every time I read about your Nicholas and Zachary. I'm so sorry. I know you miss them, in spite of wonderful Miss Tori. It must be so much harder than I can imagine.

I'm so sorry. I really wish your boys were here, AND Tori.