When you're dreamin' with a broken heart, the waking up is the hardest part....

I had a dream last night that we had a baby. A little boy, just a few months old. I don't know what his name was, but it was a very long dream where we spent time holding and feeding him, trying to figure out his car seat, and basically taking care of him.

The dream itself was random—either J or I was in school, and we brought the baby to class. Other parts of it made absolutely no sense. But the pervasive feeling through the whole thing was JOY. SO much joy. I can't think of the last time I felt so happy. (Yes I can, it was when I found out I was pregnant with the boys.)

And then the dream was over, and I woke up. I tried to hold onto that dreamy happiness for a minute, before I slowly woke up and settled back into the reality of life. I felt guilty, because the baby in my dream was not Asher, and he was not Evan. I feel guilty for wanting any child besides them, because I want them more than I can possibly express in words. But maybe that's part of moving toward acceptance—accepting the fact that I cannot have them here, and recognizing that it's OK to long for their little brother or sister. Just becuase I want another child does not mean that I love Asher or Evan any less, or that I miss them any less.

Vent

Ugh. Awkward Coworker Conversation #1 just happened.

Today I am wearing a very light, comfy, flowy new shirt. It is really cute, and in that flowy loose style that is very popular, but I haven't always worn a lot of.

Coworker, who is actually really super nice, complimented me on the shirt. I said thanks and we chit-chatted for a minute. And THEN came what I can only assume (giving her the benefit of the doubt) was an uncontrollable running of the mouth where you keep thinking "Stop, stop!" and yet you just KEEP. ON. TALKING.

She went on and on about the merits of this style of shirt, and how it's so forgiving, and you don't have to worry about your gut hanging out, etc. etc. And THEN she went on to say that she wears this type of shirt all the time and her husband always asks her why she's wearing her maternity clothes. I wanted to crawl into a hole.

I pretty much stopped listening at that point. One, I am twenty years younger than you, much thinner, AND currently losing weight, thankyouverymuch. TWO, the last thing I want to talk about right now is pregnancy and pregnancy clothing, especially if you are comparing my current outfit to maternity clothes. Three, talking about feeling fat and trying to cover it up is NEVER a good topic for anyone who has recently given birth. HELLO.

I realize I am overreacting here. But I was totally nice and somewhat normal in the moment, so I have to vent a bit now. Sometimes people should just think before they speak.

I hate how little things like that can just BAM! slap me in the face and make my mood do a 180. I sem to be much more volatile in that way since having the babies. At least I seem to be able to control myself in front of other people, for the most part. Ugh. OK, vent over.

Disconnected Thoughts

Sometimes when I read back over entries on this blog, I still can't believe I am the one writing it. I wonder if that feeling will ever go away?

::

J and I are trying new things to control/improve our individual battles with anxiety. Last night we bought journals to use as a sort of mental dumping ground before bed. It took my quite a while to write anything down—I am big on journalling, but always in a structured, "this is what I'm writing about," read-it-again-later kind of way. So stream of consciousness rambling about my worries did not come easily. However, I did sleep pretty well last night, so hmmm.... maybe it worked! We'll try again tonight and see how it goes.

::

I've had a ridiculous headache all day. It comes and goes, but when I'm walking/moving quickly it is excruciating, for about a second. It's on the right side of my head kind of behind my eyes. I HOPE it's just a migraine and nothing to do with my eyes, but of course I worry that it's my eyes. I hope it goes away—I can honestly say I've never had a headache last this long before.

::

SO glad tomorrow is Thursday. Maybe I'll have something more interesting to say tomorrow.

The Valley Song

by Jars of Clay

You have led me to the sadness
I have carried this pain
On a back bruised, nearly broken
I'm crying out to you

I will sing of Your mercy
That leads me through valleys of sorrow
To rivers of joy

When death like a gypsy
Comes to steal what I love
I will still look to the heavens
I will still seek your face

But I fear you aren't listening
Because there are no words
Just the stillness and the hunger
For a faith that assures

I will sing of Your mercy
That leads me through valleys of sorrow
To rivers of joy

Alleluia, alleluia
Alleluia, alleluia

While we wait for rescue
With our eyes tightly shut
Face to the ground using our hands
To cover the fatal cut

And though the pain is an ocean
Tossing us around, around, around
You have calmed greater waters
Higher mountains have come down

Alleluia, alleluia
Alleluia, alleluia

Oh, Lord sing of Your mercy,
Mercy
Your mercy

from a post by Chris, at Glow in the Woods....

That's the pit in my stomach. It is the sensation of endlessly falling into another day that is filled with the absence of what I want most.

A bit of shameless patting myself on the back

(drumroll please)

Today I am wearing my pre-pregnancy jeans for the first time!! Hurrah!

It's been 4 and a half months, and over 2 months of We.ight Watch.ers (I put the dots there because I saw someone else do it, and I think it's so that some unsuspecting person doesn't Google WW and come across my blog by accident), and many weeks of alternating between 2 pairs of jeans EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. I'm lucky that I can wear jeans to work, but WOW I am ready to wear something else! And now that I'm getting smaller I feel like I can FINALLY buy some nice new clothes! Wahoo!

I highly recommend WW, BTW. I will talk it up to anyone who will listen. I've lost 11 pounds so far (goal is 20), and J has lost about the same! I feel like I am taking better care of myself, and learning how to eat properly for the first time in my life. It is a bright spot, and some very necessary structure, in the middle of my crazy life.

It took me a couple of months after the babies were born to feel ready to work on my eating habits. The first month or so I absolutely did not care, whatsoever. I gave myself a lot of space, and purposely saved my energy to just try and survive, without worrying about what was eating. The first month or so I was all about comfort. I think it was mid-February when I finally decided I was ready to start working off the baby weight. There was a shift—from not caring, to the extra weight becoming an added source of grief. I distinctly remember feeling that shift. Another sign that I am healing, moving forward.

This journey may be one step forward, two steps back, but I will take every inch forward that I can get!

A Letter to Evan

To my little baby Evan,

Oh, sweetheart, how I miss you. You were such a tiny little thing, such a beautiful baby. You were so delicate and perfect.

You showed me your personality even before you were born! You were so active, and blessed me with so many sweet moments during pregnancy. The first kick I felt was from you. I felt you moving inside of me often. One of my favorite memories of us together is in the mornings when I first woke up. Before getting up, I would place my hands on my belly to see if you would move for me. More often than not, you did! Sometimes your brother joined in, too, but you were always my squirmy baby.

Evan, we only shared 4 minutes together outside of my womb, but I treasure every single second that we had together. I gazed at you, and held your tiny body for so long. My sweet little boy.

I imagine that you would have been my mischievous boy, my little rascal. You were smaller, but I think you would have been the tough one, and the trouble maker, between you and Asher. You would have been messy, and loud, and rambunctious as a little boy. You would have gotten in lots of trouble, but you would still be a sweetheart in the end. Evan, I imagine cuddling up with you to read you a story before bed. I imagine teaching you things about the world. You would have been smart, and you and Asher would have made up all kinds of stories and schemes together. Oh, how I miss being able to see you grow up together.

Evan, your name means "God is good." And even though I am heartbroken that you are not here, I praise God that you and Asher are safe and whole in Heaven. I am thankful that in your short life, you only knew love. I can't wait to see you again someday.

I love you, baby,
Mommy

A Letter to Asher

To my baby Asher,

My firstborn. Asher, you are so loved and so missed. I remember when I first laid eyes on you, it was love at first sight. I was filled with so much joy and pride, even in the midst of tragic circumstances. Despite the pain of the outcome, all I felt was love for you, more than I ever knew was possible for one person to feel.

Asher, you were a fighter, and I bet you would have been a typical oldest child in many ways. Maybe you would have been bossy, like I was. Maybe you would have had your daddy's strong, gentle personality. I bet you would have been creative. Maybe you would have played guitar, and followed in your dad's footsteps. I know that you would have been a great brother to Evan. I imagine that the two of you would have come up with all kinds of games and plans together.

You made quite the dramatic entrance into this world! You lived for almost an hour, and even kicked when you were born. The nurses were all surprised at your strength. One of my favorite memories of you is when I held you for the first time and you grabbed my finger. My baby, my love. You knew me, and I knew you.

Another memory we shared is when your daddy held your tiny little foot, and said that it looked like mine. You were so beautiful, with your tiny little hands and feet, and the beginnings of fine little eyebrows. You had your daddy's mouth. Asher, you were absolutely perfect.

Asher, I am so lucky to have had you. I am blessed to call you my son. I am grateful for the time we spent together. You will always be my oldest child, and I hold a special place in my heart for you alone.

I love you, I miss you,
Mommy

Signs of Healing

I attended church alone this morning for the first time in several months. J often has worship stuff on Sunday mornings, and until today I found myself unable to sit in church without him. It was just too much—the music, the babies, the people. I would spend the entire service simply trying not to cry. It wasn't even worth going, because I didn't hear a word of the sermon. I was too absorbed in my own pain.

This reaction has always seemed odd, because the church has been one of our biggest sources of support through all of this. Everyone there wants only to love us. And yet I couldn't stand being there without the buffer and protection of J by my side.

We've been able to go together several times over the last month, which seems to have helped. This morning, I got up and got to church myself, enjoyed worship, was able to listen to the sermon. No tears! I even chatted with a couple people after service, instead of making a beeline for door. It seems small, but this is a significant thing for me! I feel good knowing that I am doing better than I was a couple months ago. It is encouraging, too, since the last 3 weeks have felt very dark and difficult. Little by little, I am healing.

Encouragement

I've been having a lot of trouble lately with my emotions. I've even been questioning God, and doubting His faithfulness. If I'm being 100% honest, I feel disappointed with Him for how things turned out with Asher & Evan. That is a terrifying thing to admit. But I know that God already knows how I feel, and He will be with me through my doubts.

This morning I had a follow up appointment with my eye doctor, and I was reminded that God is there, and He is faithful to me. I have some damage to my retina because of the pre-e, and it has resulted in the loss of a little bit of my central vision. This sounds scary—OK, is scary—but I still have 20/20 vision (with contacts) and the distortion to my retina is very mild (says the doctor). I was reminded today how much worse things could have gotten. How very, very much worse. While I am complaining that I have a couple of spots in my eyes, I should be thanking God that I am not blind. Seriously. I can still read, drive, do my job, etc. Praise God for saving my sight through all of this!

Another encouragement came this morning from a blog I read, by a girl (Kerry) who recently lost her baby girl. I don't know her personally, but I have felt a connection through our similar experiences. She had a great video that lifted my spirits, and reminded me that GOD IS GOD. No matter where I am, no matter my circumstance, God is God. That will not change. I am thankful for the reminder this morning, and the encouragement to keep pressing on. I really needed it, and God knew exactly what I needed today.

Attempting to empty my brain, so I can get some work done....

There are a lot of things rattling around my brain today. I have many subjects I want to write about, but not nearly as much time or motivation. In no particular order, here are the things I'm contemplating and/or hope to write about this week:

• My weekend, and the arrival of Asher & Evan's original due date. As usual, my dread of the day far outweighed the reality. Overall, the weekend was not horrible.
• The garden we're working on for the boys. We made a decent amount of progress this weekend!
• The stages of grief, and my experience with them so far. I seem to be stuck in Anger Mode right now. My period is probably not helping the situation, but I am embarrassed by how difficult it is for me to simply be nice lately.
• Related to the anger/being nice thing, I have a very strong desire to be able to say that this whole experience has made me a better person, more loving, more compassionate, more like Jesus, etc. But for right now, I feel like the opposite is true a lot of the time. Again, I am embarrassed to say it, but it seems like I spend so much energy trying to simply function, very little is left to focus on being a better person. Right now I just feel like a wounded animal, snapping at anything that threatens me. My fuse is very short, indeed. I'd be interested to hear anyone else's experience with this, now or when I (eventually) write about it in depth.
• Memories of the boys, and what I imagine them to be like. I've been thinking a lot about this lately.
• My dreams over the past several nights.
• Anxiety/depression/other things I'm trying to pay attention to between counseling sessions.
  

As the Day Approaches....

I really didn't think this week would be so hard.

I feel like a big whiner lately, but this week has been really difficult. I have felt so angry most days, and tired, and overall just totally spent. I've missed Asher & Evan more deeply, more often than I have in a few weeks. And I feel so helpless to control the emotions that have flooded me at different times each day.

Looking ahead to our due date, I've anticipated a sense of relief, like "Well, that's over with." Not that my grief is anywhere near resolved, but somehow I thought that reaching what would have been the "official" end of the pregnancy would be a weight off my shoulders. A corner to turn, a milestone to reach. Maybe it will still feel like that somehow, but right now all I feel is sad, sad, sad. I will be glad when this week is over.

Our friends and church have been so thoughtful this week, letting us know that they remember, and are there for us. We've received a few cards and gifts in honor of the boys. Each time I am so touched, and newly overcome with emotion. I feel overwhelmed (in a good way) by the outpouring of love and support. We are truly blessed to be surrounded by such community. Who knows how much worse the week would be without it!

And since today is Thankful Thursday... I am also thankful for our counselor. We had another appointment on Wednesday, and it was really good. So far I've cried my eyes out at both appointments (no surprise there, since I cry at everything). I've learned more about J's grief/coping than I knew before. J and I are going to schedule a few individual sessions to discuss some anxiety issues, and then regroup. Also, it is possible that I'm dealing with some sort of depression or PTSD... but the jury's still out on that. I feel like I'm functioning awfully well to have PTSD, but what I do I know about it? Anyways, I am thankful for the help we're getting.

This weekend we're planning to spend a lot of time working on the boys' memorial garden. I have the opposite of a green thumb, so it should be interesting! Luckily J is much better with that stuff. I am really looking forward to that, and spending some time remembering, honoring, and loving on my boys.

"The Scientist" by Coldplay

Come up to meet you, tell you I'm sorry
You don't know how lovely you are

I had to find you
Tell you I need you
Tell you I've set you apart

Tell me your secrets
And ask me your questions
Oh, let's go back to the start

Running in circles
Coming up tails
Heads on the science apart

Nobody said it was easy
It's such a shame for us to part
Nobody said it was easy
No one ever said it would be this hard

Oh take me back to the start

I was just guessing
At numbers and figures
Pulling the puzzles apart

Questions of science
Science and progress
Do not speak as loud as my heart

Oh tell me you love me
Come back and haunt me
Oh and I rush to the start

Running in circles
Chasing our tails
Coming back as we are

Nobody said it was easy
Oh, it's such a shame for us to part
Nobody said it was easy
No one ever said it would be so hard

I’m going back to the start

Ugh.

Last night was messy. I started a fight with my hubby, which seemed totally rational the the beginning, but got less and less reasonable as it went on. And it all came down to the fact that I was disappointed with how the evening had gone. And then that word, disappointed, kept ringing in my head. I have been so disappointed with so many things over the past few months. Or maybe just one thing, really, but it is all-consuming. And as this word resounded in my head, I could NOT. stop. crying. Of course it wasn't about J at this point, it was about my boys.

It was ridiculous. Sometimes I feel like a crazy person. I can barely manage my emotions, and I'm horrible at predicting them, so I can't imagine how frustrating it must be for other people to guess what I might do next.

I guess I was due for a breakdown anyway. That's how things go for me lately: I'll be fine for a few days, even a week, and eventually it all comes crashing down again. Ugh. I want to get off this ride.

ETA: Oh yeah: Sunday will be my original due date. Based on how the week has gone so far, I think I'm in for a rough ride.

I Hate Statistics

Seriously. There are so many stats involved with my pregnancy, and future stuff. I hate it. I need to remind myself that no matter what the stats say, they certainly don't dictate what will happen. Obviously....

Mono/di twins have a 75% survival rate.

They say that after the first trimester, the risk of miscarriage drops significantly, so as each week passed I grew more confident.

With identical twins, there is a risk of Twin-to-Twin Transfusion Syndrome, something like 10%.
Only ten percent! Surely we wouldn't be one of the unlucky ones. Babies with TTTS have a very small chance of survival unless there is intervention. Then the survival rate grows to 50%. That stat always frightened me, especially once they started watching our boys more closely for this condition. I had no idea we wouldn't even get that far.

Pregnant women have a 5-8% chance of developing preeclampsia. This risk is higher for first pregnancies, and multiple pregnancies.
This is the one that makes me want to scream. It makes me so angry that I put my confidence in these numbers, assuming I would be in the majority, or on the "good" side. With this experience, my safety net of statistics is GONE. I was in that 5-8%.

Of women who develop pre-e, about 4-12% go on to develop HELLPS.
Me again, "beating" all the odds. I am now a statistic. I don't know what percentage of babies born early because of pre-e die, but I imagine that again, it is the minority. My babies are a statistic. Our story is one of those that others will hear and think, "Gosh, that could never happen to me!" They will think that I am an exception. Maybe they think that I must have done something wrong to cause all of this to happen. Well, I relied on things like taking prenatal vitamins and avoiding caffeine, and in the end it didn't make a bit of difference. And that makes me so, so angry. It also makes me wonder what the heck to do next time? Should I live it up with a cup of coffee each day, do the opposite of the things I did the first time around?

Really, I know that I will continue to try to do my best, follow all the rules, because that's who I am. But it will be so much harder because all the while I will know that in the end, it's possible that none of it will matter. One of the most frustrating things about this whole thing: in the end, I have absolutely no control over whether I will ever have a healthy child. And there isn't a single number that can assure me otherwise.

Now, I have a whole new list of statistics to contend with. Will I "beat the odds"? And if so, will it be in a good way or a bad way?

Women who had pre-e have a higher chance of getting it again than someone who never had the disease.

Women who had pre-e have a 3-4x higher risk of developing heart disease.

Couple who go through an infant loss are 40% more likely to break up.
As the article I read containing this statistic stated, "as if losing a child wasn't enough."

And on top of it all is my on personal statistics: I am 0 for 1 when it comes to pregnancies. I am 0 for 2 when it comes to healthy, living children. I hate statistics.

Pregnant? Yeah, right.

I went to talk to my boss this morning, to give him a head's up that I will be having more frequent doctor's appointments for the next few weeks. I'm sure I didn't really need to explain myself, but I felt weird not saying anything. I've had three appointments in the past two weeks, and have three more coming up in the next two weeks. Plus, we will have counseling appointments every other week for a while. It's nothing dramatic, just my ongoing eye issues, and counseling, but I have a close enough relationship with my boss that I felt comfortable telling him about those things.

When I started to explain that there would be an increase in appointments, he got this look on his face, and said, "Yes....?" in a way that I'm almost POSITIVE he thought I would say I was pregnant again.

For some reason I've been thinking about his reaction ever since that conversation. It's not really a big deal. If anyone thought I would be pregnant right now, my response would be, "Yeah, right." It's only 4 months out. For me to become pregnant right now would be very dangerous, for me and the baby.

And yet... I confess that I think about it often. Being pregnant, that is. As much as I am still grieving, and as much as I know that pregnancy would not be the best thing right now, for MANY reasons (my health, mostly, but also emotionally), it still crosses my mind every month. What if? I long for my boys, but I'm at the point in my grief where I definitely recognize that they are gone, and they are not coming back. So I long for them, but I also long for a sibling for them. I long for a baby to hold. I long to be pregnant. Even with all the fear that it will bring, even with the tragedy of my first pregnancy still fresh in my mind. I can't help but hope.

Losing the boys shattered a dream, to be sure. It shattered our dreams of having healthy twins at home right now. But it has done nothing to change my dream of having a baby. I am glad to be a mother now, but I long for the day when I can in fact be pregnant again, and (Lord willing) bring home a healthy baby. I long to put my new found role as a mother to use.

Happy Easter!

But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds we are healed. —Isaiah 53:5

It's an absolutely beautiful, sunny day outside. A wonderful day to remember and celebrate the death and resurrection of JESUS my Savior. And as our pastor pointed out this morning, it is not just Jesus who was resurrected to new life, but I am also living a new life because of Him! Because of Jesus, I don't need to fear death, because death is not the end. Death is not the end, and WAS not the end for Asher and Evan. I know my boys are rejoicing today and enjoying a party in Heaven. I miss them terribly. They should be here, in cute little Easter outfits. I selfishly want them here, even know I know they are somewhere far, far better.

How is it possible to feel happy and heartbroken all at the same moment? Such is my life.

I've wanted to post several times this week, but work has been so ridiculously busy! I haven't had much energy for anything else.

On my heart today is a girl named Kerry. She is in the hospital with Pre-e/HELLP, and is being induced tomorrow. Her baby girl will most likely not survive. My heart just breaks for her. I remember the day we had to decide to induce delivery. It was one of the worst days of my life. I would never wish this excruciating journey on anyone. Kerry and her family are heavy on my heart, and in my prayers today. It's amazing how many people out there have been affected by this horrible disease that I'd barely heard of, before it happened to me. It seems so unfair.

This past week has been pretty good overall. We had our first appointment with a grief counselor on Thursday afternoon. The counselor seemed very kind and compassionate, and I think we'll be a good fit. She told us that it seems like we are doing really well, considering. There's something comforting about having a professional say that, especially when I feel like a psycho half the time! For our next session, J and I are supposed to think of things in our relationship that have been frustrating (related to our grief), and topics for discussion. Basically, how the counselor can help us.

Last weekend we went to the Minnea.polis Insti.tute of Arts. We hadn't gone to a museum together in quite a while. It was fine, but I was in kind of a funk that day. I find it difficult to enjoy doing things as much as I used to. We were in the contemporary section when a mother and her little boy came in. The mom was asking the boy all kinds of questions about the art, and really engaging him in the visit. It was exactly what I've always imagined J and I doing with our kids. My heart broke all over again, and I totally lost in in the middle of the museum. Our boys are supposed to be here. We should be looking forward to their first museum trip. It made me feel so lonely.

Of course after that, all I could see were the little boys everywhere in the museum. I swear it was "Bring Your Adorable Son to the Museum" Day. Every time we'd turn a corner I'd think "Are you KIDDING me!?!" because there would be another cute little boy with his parents. We left soon after.

Those are the kind of things that make me feel psycho. I cannot predict when I'm going to be hit especially hard by something. Grief feels like a mental illness in that way. My reactions and emotions can be so unpredictable, and leave me feeling completely vulnerable. That may be part of the reason I don't enjoy going out and doing things quite as much—I always have to be on my guard for potential emotional minefields. I don't know what will set me off. At any moment I will step on a soft spot, and BAM! burst into tears. A lot of times I don't have the energy for it, so I'd rather stay home.

Luckily, J is not letting me stay home. And I have no intentions of becoming a hermit, really, so we keep trying. I feel bad that he has to deal with my explosions. They must feel even more unpredictable to him.

Anyways. The weather is amazing lately, which helps my mood. Tomorrow is Easter. I'm hoping to take some time to sit and meditate on the amazing gift of Jesus, and His death on the cross. I honestly haven't thought a lot about it yet this season. But it is all that I have, and all that keeps me going. I'm so glad for the hope I have in Him, even when I don't focus on it as much as I should. I hope tomorrow isn't hard... it will be the first extended family gathering since the boys were born. It should have been their first family holiday, or I should have missed it because I was about to pop. It's hard to say when they would have arrived, but I sure wish they were here now.