I used to be a "brighter side" kind of girl. If a situation came up I'd look through all the possible outcomes. I'd start with the BEST possible outcome and work down to the worst-case-scenario. My glass was half-full and sometimes it even had a shot of vodka just to liven things up. I was pretty carefree and went with the flow. I wasn't anxious and nervous, I had faith and I trusted the people around me and, more importantly, I trusted myself.
Of course, I am using only past tense. Now I am a "the glass is bone dry" girl. I work on the premise of the worst-case-scenario happening and hope that maybe it won't be as bad as I dread. People say "that's not going to happen" and I have a violent rush through my body leading to a deep desire to punch them. Those things that "don't happen" DO happen.
I write this because - to add insult to injury - my PAP came back yesterday with abnormal cells. Precancerous abnormal freakin' cells. My first thought was not "I am going to have cancer and die". I know cervical cancer is 100% preventable and treatable. No, my first thought was "I will never be able to carry again". And that would be the second most devestating thing to ever happen to me.
My doctor called me personally and through my sobbing tears he told me our plan of attack. He told me where we are at now, where we might be in three months - when we'll test again, and what the prognosis is. Most importantly, he assured me he'd do all he can to make sure I can try to have a child again. However, there are absolutely no guarantees in life.
Except, of course, death.
I wish with all my might I could change my perception. But I can't. Just like I can't change the fact Colton is dead.
Prepare for the worst, hope for the best.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Thursday, March 24, 2011
The OB's Office
Since yesterday I had to go there I thought now would be a good time to reflect on this.
Going to the OBs office sucks donkey butt.
Even yesterday, four months post losing Colton, it was like walking into the abyss of hell. I was bitchy all morning and on edge. The drive up there I was white-knuckled. And sitting in the waiting room I wanted to punch everyone in there. Especially the perky little girls with their big old bellies, oblivious to the fragile state they are really in.
Expecting and New Parent magazines are everywhere and it's difficult to not grab and shred them one by one. Or hurl them across the room in a fit of rage.
BUT, of course I didn't. I smiled politely at the preggo lady across from me. And I started at the tv on the wall to distract myself.
Then of course the real challenge begins... Being called back into a room. And entering the hallway. The hallway that has "THAT" door at the end. The ultrasound room door. The room I saw my son on the screen without a heartbeat.
Needless to say, my blood pressure was through the roof. I have been testing it at home and it's been nice and low. Not when I'm there. After that my nurse walked me down the hallways. Past THAT room, then past the NST room, where we couldn't find his heartbeat, all the way back to a secluded room in the back.
The only saving grace of this visit was my doctor. My wonderful, compassionate doctor. I really don't remember much of the visit; I just laid in a daze as he did what he needed to do. But before he left the room he looked at me and said what I needed to hear:
"I know it's so hard to be here, Jennifer. Thank you for coming in and I hope it does get easier."
He did it. He did what so few will do. He acknowledged my pain. He recognized that though the world around me keeps turning, I am standing still. And the pain and anguish is like a fresh cut with the tiniest of scabs, and that is one place the scab is ripped off.
Most people don't say anything, though. I read once that people won't mention it for fear of reminding you. Trust me, you don't ever forget what has happened, what you have lost.
So, after being so upset about being there, after wanting to run thrashing out of there, my OB gave me a moment of grace and love and comfort.
I still couldn't get out of there fast enough, though .. .. ..
Going to the OBs office sucks donkey butt.
Even yesterday, four months post losing Colton, it was like walking into the abyss of hell. I was bitchy all morning and on edge. The drive up there I was white-knuckled. And sitting in the waiting room I wanted to punch everyone in there. Especially the perky little girls with their big old bellies, oblivious to the fragile state they are really in.
Expecting and New Parent magazines are everywhere and it's difficult to not grab and shred them one by one. Or hurl them across the room in a fit of rage.
BUT, of course I didn't. I smiled politely at the preggo lady across from me. And I started at the tv on the wall to distract myself.
Then of course the real challenge begins... Being called back into a room. And entering the hallway. The hallway that has "THAT" door at the end. The ultrasound room door. The room I saw my son on the screen without a heartbeat.
Needless to say, my blood pressure was through the roof. I have been testing it at home and it's been nice and low. Not when I'm there. After that my nurse walked me down the hallways. Past THAT room, then past the NST room, where we couldn't find his heartbeat, all the way back to a secluded room in the back.
The only saving grace of this visit was my doctor. My wonderful, compassionate doctor. I really don't remember much of the visit; I just laid in a daze as he did what he needed to do. But before he left the room he looked at me and said what I needed to hear:
"I know it's so hard to be here, Jennifer. Thank you for coming in and I hope it does get easier."
He did it. He did what so few will do. He acknowledged my pain. He recognized that though the world around me keeps turning, I am standing still. And the pain and anguish is like a fresh cut with the tiniest of scabs, and that is one place the scab is ripped off.
Most people don't say anything, though. I read once that people won't mention it for fear of reminding you. Trust me, you don't ever forget what has happened, what you have lost.
So, after being so upset about being there, after wanting to run thrashing out of there, my OB gave me a moment of grace and love and comfort.
I still couldn't get out of there fast enough, though .. .. ..
Friday, March 18, 2011
Colton
I figured before I really start into this blog, I need to introduce you to the boy behind the story.
In April of 2010 I took a pregnancy test on the basis that if I took a test, it would cause my period to start. That's how it works, right? I had already taken 10 days of Provera to try to start it and there was good reason for it to need to start.
I hardly looked at the pee stick. I knew it would be negative, my body would go 'viola', and I'd start.
So imagine my shock when it says "pregnant". No line to decipher, it was a digital, so literally I'm staring at the word "pregnant". Oy!
It took a few weeks to adjust to the idea of being pregnant. Of course that was compounded with the worries from the start. My beta (the blood work to detect pregnancy) numbers were really high, and doubling fast. Yet when we did an ultrasound we didn't see anything. So there was the worry of an ectopic pregnancy. Then we finally did see a sac ... an empty sac when we should have seen something (based on the numbers). Finally, at 7 weeks, we see a baby and a heartbeat. Phew, we can stop worrying ...
From then on things were normal, per say. In retrospect, almost too normal. I didn't have morning sickness, like I had in all my other pregnancies. I felt overall really good. He always measured a few weeks ahead. By almost two weeks, starting as early as our 13 week ultrasound. Nothing was out of the normal, though. All lab work and testing was normal. Everything was fine.
I had an appointment at 32 weeks. Baby's heart sounded good. I measured good. And we started talking about labor and delivery. And when we'd meet this little man. And switched from appointments every four weeks to every two. Everything was perfect and normal. Until it wasn't.
Now, this part is quite retrospective. It took a few months for me to realize and accept these next points. Chronologically, though, they fit here.
At 33w4d I didn't have heartburn when I went to bed. If you've ever been pregnant, you know that's pretty significant. I blew it off and thanked my lucky stars for a little relief. The next day we had Mexican food for dinner. No jumping baby and no heartburn... The next day, Saturday, we went to a movie and I had my guilty pleasure -- a frozen Pepsi. Yet no crazy active baby. And Sunday we went to soccer and still no movement...
It wasn't until Monday night that my subconscious mind communicated with my conscious mind. It wasn't until then I knew I'd lost my son.
We were sitting on the couch and I looked over at B and said "I haven't felt Colton move in awhile". He asked how long 'awhile' was and I just said "I don't know".
I think in that moment we both knew. It was agreed I'd go to the doctor in the morning.. .. ..
That next morning I drank a large glass of orange juice on my way to work. I knew that's what the doctor would recommend, to 'wake up' the baby.
Nothing.
I worked from 7:30 - 9:30 ... the doctor could get me in at 10:30. I drove the 45 minutes to my doctor. Honestly, I do not remember the drive at all now.
The nurse took me into a room to do a NST (non-stress test). After a few seconds of trying to find his heartbeat on the monitor she kinda chuckled and said "well where have you been feeling this little one??". When she looked up at me, tears streaming down my face, she knew too. She quietly whispered "You haven't?"... my tears said it all. She transferred me to an ultrasound room.
That's where I looked at the screen and saw my beautiful little boy. And his perfect four-chamber heart. And no heart rhythm.
I screamed.
For just a few seconds I screamed. And then I went numb and silent.
Two days later, on November 18, 2010, our son was born silently. He was 5lb7oz and 19" long. He was perfect in every way. But he was gone.
This is Colton's story. And the beginning of my journey back from the numb and out of the silence.
In April of 2010 I took a pregnancy test on the basis that if I took a test, it would cause my period to start. That's how it works, right? I had already taken 10 days of Provera to try to start it and there was good reason for it to need to start.
I hardly looked at the pee stick. I knew it would be negative, my body would go 'viola', and I'd start.
So imagine my shock when it says "pregnant". No line to decipher, it was a digital, so literally I'm staring at the word "pregnant". Oy!
It took a few weeks to adjust to the idea of being pregnant. Of course that was compounded with the worries from the start. My beta (the blood work to detect pregnancy) numbers were really high, and doubling fast. Yet when we did an ultrasound we didn't see anything. So there was the worry of an ectopic pregnancy. Then we finally did see a sac ... an empty sac when we should have seen something (based on the numbers). Finally, at 7 weeks, we see a baby and a heartbeat. Phew, we can stop worrying ...
From then on things were normal, per say. In retrospect, almost too normal. I didn't have morning sickness, like I had in all my other pregnancies. I felt overall really good. He always measured a few weeks ahead. By almost two weeks, starting as early as our 13 week ultrasound. Nothing was out of the normal, though. All lab work and testing was normal. Everything was fine.
I had an appointment at 32 weeks. Baby's heart sounded good. I measured good. And we started talking about labor and delivery. And when we'd meet this little man. And switched from appointments every four weeks to every two. Everything was perfect and normal. Until it wasn't.
Now, this part is quite retrospective. It took a few months for me to realize and accept these next points. Chronologically, though, they fit here.
At 33w4d I didn't have heartburn when I went to bed. If you've ever been pregnant, you know that's pretty significant. I blew it off and thanked my lucky stars for a little relief. The next day we had Mexican food for dinner. No jumping baby and no heartburn... The next day, Saturday, we went to a movie and I had my guilty pleasure -- a frozen Pepsi. Yet no crazy active baby. And Sunday we went to soccer and still no movement...
It wasn't until Monday night that my subconscious mind communicated with my conscious mind. It wasn't until then I knew I'd lost my son.
We were sitting on the couch and I looked over at B and said "I haven't felt Colton move in awhile". He asked how long 'awhile' was and I just said "I don't know".
I think in that moment we both knew. It was agreed I'd go to the doctor in the morning.. .. ..
That next morning I drank a large glass of orange juice on my way to work. I knew that's what the doctor would recommend, to 'wake up' the baby.
Nothing.
I worked from 7:30 - 9:30 ... the doctor could get me in at 10:30. I drove the 45 minutes to my doctor. Honestly, I do not remember the drive at all now.
The nurse took me into a room to do a NST (non-stress test). After a few seconds of trying to find his heartbeat on the monitor she kinda chuckled and said "well where have you been feeling this little one??". When she looked up at me, tears streaming down my face, she knew too. She quietly whispered "You haven't?"... my tears said it all. She transferred me to an ultrasound room.
That's where I looked at the screen and saw my beautiful little boy. And his perfect four-chamber heart. And no heart rhythm.
I screamed.
For just a few seconds I screamed. And then I went numb and silent.
Two days later, on November 18, 2010, our son was born silently. He was 5lb7oz and 19" long. He was perfect in every way. But he was gone.
This is Colton's story. And the beginning of my journey back from the numb and out of the silence.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Step One
Tomorrow marks four months since I lost my son. Well, technically, I guess. I suppose that starts the list of frustrations with this whole grieving process and something I'll talk about later.
So, I guess we'll just say tomorrow marks four months since my son entered this world and I said hello and goodbye all at once.
I was 34w4d when Colton was 'born'. I was probably 33w4d when Colton died. Probably. Maybe.
See the beginning of the issues here??
Regardless, my son died. Way before he should have. Before he should have even been born. When he died, so did a large part of me. And, hopefully, through writing it all out I will find life again.
Hopefully.
So, I guess we'll just say tomorrow marks four months since my son entered this world and I said hello and goodbye all at once.
I was 34w4d when Colton was 'born'. I was probably 33w4d when Colton died. Probably. Maybe.
See the beginning of the issues here??
Regardless, my son died. Way before he should have. Before he should have even been born. When he died, so did a large part of me. And, hopefully, through writing it all out I will find life again.
Hopefully.
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