Halloween

Halloween has long been my favorite holiday for decorating the house and getting dressed up (in costumes of course). I love zombies and witches and bats and lots of candles, carving pumpkins, and handing out candy to the trick-or-treaters.
This year I really out did myself (though still nothing crazy huge). I think it was mostly to keep myself focused on something I enjoy about this time of year instead of the nagging heaviness in my heart that is Korbin's absence.
I picked out our costumes, for our whole little family, when Ry and I were only just trying to get pregnant. It was only too perfect that we were having a boy, Korbin, as I wanted us to be Morticia, Gomez and Pubert Addams from the Addams' Family Values movie. As October started, I was reminded of how this was not going to happen, reminding me of just how broken my heart still is.
So what do I for now then? What's the point? As I told Ry when he expressed that it doesn't matter to him, the decorations and pumpkin carving and whatnot, I told him I have to have some sort of purpose right now. And doing all these artsy crafty things for the time of year is the only purpose I'm finding right now. I used to do it to start traditions for my new family.
Despite all my attempts, it's all empty. There are no children to do it for. And that's how all of the holidays will be this year. Empty, no matter how hard I try to keep busy. And tonight is no exception as I sit here alone watching scary movies while Ry is away for work and Korbin's gone forever, and only two trick-or-treaters total.
I don't know how to survive the holidays without Korbin, with the aching emptiness that's filled me now. He would have been the cutest stinkin' Pubert Addams, with the little mustache and mini tux. So freakin' adorable. But I have to keep doing and going, because I got a lotta love to give.

What do you do with those emails?

I'm in the business of making babies. It seems kind of sick and twisted in that I'm really not hopeful at all about pregnancy right now, yet that is what I have to give our patients. Hope.
With the emails, we check up on all of our patients to see how the pregnancy went and what the outcome was. We have to report all of this basic data, but the patients love to send newborn photos. I'd say there's maybe ten a week...and I delete them all. They all have the same title so I know which emails to not even open. It's just part of that bitterness that I'm not past yet.
And on that note, I am doing transfers now. Probably the most important part of the whole IVF process. And part of that is talking to the patients about being pregnant, and how next year this time they'll have their baby. I hate that part. Again, I don't feel the hope I am supposed to exude to them. I wish I could just tell them, 'here's the pic, they look great, okay let's do this and I'll leave' because that is how I feel on the inside.
We also talk with patients about what happens in the lab. I do enjoy discussing the science behind IVF with the patients, but I dread the day that a patient asks about my kids. While part of me feels more of a connection with the patients because many of them have dealt with a loss, even multiple losses, before. Yet many feel like we don't understand how they feel (which is true for the rest of my coworkers, save one of the docs). But really I do understand, and I don't want that to come about in a confrontational way. Trying to make a family is an emotional business. Boy do I know that part of it now.
As I did my first transfer (who got pregnant, yay for her), I was able to spit out things like 'be pregnant' and 'I'll be checking for that positive test in 10 days' and it hurt less inside than I thought it would. Dealing with the pain gets easier, even though the pain itself never lessens.
So I guess here's to hoping that there will be hope eventually, because I got a lotta love to give.

Noah Michele

Since losing Korbin I haven't held or even let myself get too close to my adorable nephew, Noah. This made me feel like an awful aunt at first, but my family quickly assured me he's too young to know or understand any of that. He is just a baby still, not even a year old.
Tonight I pushed myself just a titch and asked to hold him. It was quick, he's quite the mama's boy. But I was surprised at how much my heart didn't hurt. This whole time I've been guarding my heart, thinking holding other babies will make me wish I were holding Korbin, make me ache for him. But I always wish I were holding Korbin. That's always there, no matter if there's another baby present or I'm alone and on Pinterest. I just miss him.
What also surprised me was how much it warmed my heart to have some contact with Noah. Now, I'm not saying holding him and playing with him made me miss Korbin less, or even eased the pain I feel 24/7. But rather, there is a part of me that is still separate from Korbin. Maybe the part of my heart that's reserved for future kids? Family and friends? Although I am all consumed by the pain I feel from Korbin's loss, I still have Ryan, family, friends, that I love and enjoy. Maybe this is the next step, coming down from the bitter anger and jealousy and being able to open up other parts of my heart to love others like I did before.
The hole will always be there, but I still have the rest of my heart full of love, and I got a lotta love to give.

Aren't you excited?!?

Nope, at least, not any more.
Before losing Korbin I was so freaking excited about life I could hardly stand it. Now that's gone.
I used to be the one who would get excited over the tiniest of things: getting mail (even bills!), having dinner with friends, seeing Ry after work, then getting pregnant, and then dreaming of life with Korbin. Life had always been so full of things to be excited about.
Then Korbin came too soon and was gone before we even had time to realize what had happened. All of that mounting excitement ripped from us, stolen by fate.
I can remember asking Ryan at the end of June if he was excited about something with work. He said 'no' kind of like 'um, duh I'm not excited.' Of course, as soon as the words had left my mouth I knew it was a dumb question. I'm not excited about anything any more, why should Ryan be?
Now it feels like there's nothing to be excited about in life. It all feels like 'ya, whatever, whoopty do.'
Except I think I felt a twinge of excitement last Tuesday as I thought about my upcoming trip to CO to see my mom and Joe. We had so much to look forward to, but there was that fleeting moment of a flutter in my stomachs of excitement.
But besides that, all I seem to have is just things to look forward to. I'm trying to remember I still have Ry, family, friends. Plans and good things happening career-wise. And yet it's all just kind of there. I feel mostly lost still, and I'd be completely lost if it weren't for Ry and his pushing me to keep going.
I guess that's all I can expect still, to simply keep going right now, because I got a lotta love to give.

More dreams

Last night I dreamed of Korbin, the second dream I've had of him now since we lost him.
It was peaceful, just a day in the life with my baby boy. He was walking now, and nothing else mattered in the world. I had left the car unlocked and the doors were open, but Korbin was safe with me and I was happy. We were a family.
I try to imagine him all the time. What would we be doing now? I know what he looks like, but how would he grow? Would he be a full sized baby now? Or still small and struggling for life like so many premies do for the first year of life.
As I travel down that road of questions, I realize what a scary thought process it is. It's like I didn't have him, because there aren't any memories or knowledge of how he would have grown or looked now. How his development would be. There is so much I didn't get with him. That I'll never get.
It scares me to wonder because I did have him. He did happen, just not how I had hoped and dreamed. He should still be here, taking up every minute of my day so I'm exhausted each night. And yet I have to realize, however painful it is, that he's not here. He'll never be here. But, because of him, I got a lotta love to give.

TV Shows

I swear, someone is pregnant in all of our favorite TV shows. Pregnancy is everywhere!! Even commercials with the I-want-a-baby-now-I-get-one-because-the-test-is-positive crap. Ya, I'm still bitter. But I'm bitter because I've tasted reality now. Not every positive equals a baby. And it makes me sad that I think that way too. Losing Korbin has essentially stolen my hope. Maybe it will someday return, just not right now.
On that note, and here is a spoiler alert if you are watching Walking Dead but haven't seen the third season opener yet, I had forgotten Lori was pregnant and there she appeared with her big belly. One, it looked too fake to be passable as a baby belly. And two, when she said she thought she lost the baby and asked whether it could be a zombie now since they are all infected...I chuckled. Part of me was like, good, someone else losing a baby. This totally plays into how isolated I feel amongst friends, family, even coworkers, now that I have lost a baby. Only those in my support group know in a way how I feel every day. Understand that this is my new normal. While some friends don't get and don't seem to want to get it either.
I have friends who announce they are trying, then show the positive test to the world. And it makes me bitter, even to a point of wishing awful things for them just so that they know the reality that I know. Why does it have to be so easy for some, and so incredibly scary and difficult for others?
I hope the bitterness goes away soon, because deep down I got a lotta love to give.

October 15th

Tonight we lit a candle in Korbin's memory, and one for all those who know the loss of a baby, full term or not. In 1988, president Reagan declared October Pregnancy and infant loss awareness month.
This is silly but, finding this out, I felt kind of bad as I had been thinking to myself that all the celebrities and famous and rich getting pregnant are so lucky. They have loads of money and don't have to work every day so they can sit on their butts and do nothing until their baby is born, full term and healthy. And here, someone well known was actually bringing attention to this life-changing event that many live through, sometimes completely unbeknownst to everyone around them.
Still, I feel jealous of celebrities because the rest of us work too hard, and sometimes that contributes to early labor. I often wonder if that's why I went into labor. A bit self-defeating, but I can't help it.
I guess that's something I need to work on, because I got a lotta love to give.

Holding babies

My arms ache to hold my baby. To cradle him and rock him, feel his weight in my arms. Sometimes I still become completely overwhelmed by my grief, finding myself suddenly in a state of disbelief that he's gone. That he's still gone. There are moments when I really think it didn't happen and I have this amazing, happy vision of the three of us. And it breaks my heart to wake up from the momentary day dream to reality.
My dearest friend sent me a link with info on joining the group Cuddle Babies at Swedish. Volunteers hold babies and interact with children who are waiting for their parents or have extended hospital stays. She saw a couple who had a loss at 18weeks and that's what the father did in memory of his son.
While I see it as a beautiful thing to do, I'm not sure my poor broken heart can take it right now. I don't think I'm strong enough to hold someone else's baby and be okay still. I haven't even held my friend's new baby, even though I want to. Right now it feels like a punch to my gut, because I held Korbin, and I will myself back to that moment all the time. And it feels like I would be cheating on him in a way.
Maybe in time I can do something like this. I just don't have the strength or the courage right now. But I do so appreciate my friend giving me the opportunity to even just consider this, as it's an amazing gift a person can give to a child being hospitalized.
As she put it, Korbin would want me to give back, and share my energy, hope and touch with other babies. Because I got a lotta love to give.

Time heals all wounds

What a load of crap.
Seriously, at least that's where I am right now. Feeling Korbin's absence even more the past couple of weeks. So really, I hate hearing that from people right now.
Honestly, I've disliked that from the very beginning. I'm the one who has to go to bed each night, wishing and hoping and thinking and praying I'll finally wake up from this nightmare, only to wake up and face yet another day without Korbin. It breaks my heart that time keeps passing, that it's already been over four months. That I just have to keep living each day now with this hole in my life.
Today we went to Crabfest, our annual trip to Port Angeles. A beautiful drive that ends in me eating too much rich, buttery, fresh caught crab, and Ry and me spending the rest of our time there wandering around the port. As we were leaving, I saw a flash of an image of us with Korbin. He was in the stroller, and we looked so happy, having such a great time as a family. Complete with a bright red stuffed crab souvenir for the nursery. In an instant the image was gone, just as quickly as it had come to me. And I about crumbled on the spot. It tears at my heart, and churns my stomach. The pain is still so fresh as we still have to go through all the things we wanted to do and share with Korbin alone, just the two of us now. The last time we were there, I was 18wks pregnant, and that day I felt Korbin's fluttering movements for the first. We returned today empty.
I read the holidays are hard, I just didn't expect it to be so hard already. I miss my baby so much. My son whom I want with me more than anything now.
I got a lotta love to give.

Hard talks

The person I need to talk to most is the one who I fear wants to hear it least. In my eyes, he seems fine each day, moving through life much easier than I feel I can.
Ryan and I fight often now. Not the major blow outs where he ends up on a drive to cool down and I panic from my abandonment issues. But we just don't get along. And he pointed that out today after I had been crying in the car after another disagreement. To that I replied that we need to talk more, but I feel like he doesn't want to hear it. It was painful to get out, but I expressed how much I am still grieving, which has changed me and how I react to him on a daily basis. I'm negative. And I laid out everything I'm angry about right now; friends, feeling jealous, the exhaustion, work, and effing babies everywhere I look.
The last thing we want to focus on is the pain, but I can't get away from it still. I said that he should be who I turn to, not a once-a-month support group. And he confessed he is still grieving too. It's just so different between the two of us that it's hard to come together to move forward.
We look at things differently; like what it means to have another child, even the timing of when to think about trying again. And we're pushing each other, even though it's completely maddening to do so. But we have to keep doing that, pushing and talking. And yet we have to have patience.
Because despite the pain, we got a lotta love to give.

Boys and Girls Club

I haven't been back yet. All the kids were so excited for me to have my baby. It's like I failed them. That's kind of a twisted part of my grieving, the feeling that I failed in the eyes of everyone around me.
Today Ryan and I went for a jog at the track by our house and, sure enough, all the kids were there with Miss Cheryl. I stopped to say hello, and immediately they all asked where my baby was. One boy, Justin, hugged me and patted my stomach, asking if my baby was still in there. Miss Cheryl tried to just quiet them but I asked if it was okay to tell them. She said of course, and so I told all these amazing kids that he didn't make it, he just came too soon and his lungs weren't ready yet. The kids were all so shocked, but then Miss Cheryl said he's in a better place. Another girl said with a smile, 'Heaven!' Then, and I absolutely LOVED this, another girl asked, 'what did you name him?' I could do nothing but smile. When so many around us assume you don't name a child you've lost, a young girl didn't think twice that we hadn't named Korbin. This seriously warmed my heart and I can't even express how much I appreciated this from these kids, most younger than 10years old. I showed them all my tattoo of Korbin's footprints and they were so amazed by them.
Earlier today I showed the tattoo to a coworker, and she reached out and touched one of the footprints gently with just the tip of her finger. That moment was incredible. I put my hand over them all the time as it's the only way I can feel I'm holding my baby. For Julie to reach out the way she did, it just meant so much that she felt the need to connect with Korbin too. No one else has done that, and it never occurred to me that I would actually appreciate the gesture so much.
As for the kids, I'm still unsure about going back. There's a stronger pull today after seeing them and getting past the fear of how they will react to me. But a piece of me died when Korbin died, leaving me a bit lost, and so I'm still struggling with finding what keeps me going each day.
Whether I go back to volunteering or not, I got a lotta love to give.

Kill the baby!!!

Ya, that's an awkward statement. And one a coworker repeated to me multiple times while telling me a story about a baby spider.
I know that the story was about a spider, with no connections whatsoever to actual babies. But I am so incredibly ultra-sensitive still that all I could feel was heartache upon hearing this statement said over and over again.
It feels ridiculous to react emotionally to things that are in no way connected to losing a child. But I connect everything with losing Korbin. It's what makes every day of my life now a challenge to live through without an emotional breakdown.
There's still so much grieving to get through because I have, and always will have, so much love for Korbin.
I got a lotta love to give.

When will you try again?

I get asked this all the time. It doesn't exactly bother me, but it makes me wonder how open we'll be next time around. I mean, we didn't tell people we were trying before. And we didn't really tell people I was pregnant until I was at least 12weeks along. Ry has even asked if I will post up ultrasound pictures on Facebook next time. And in group, all of the moms pretty much agree it's bad karma to post them up. We're all very bitter.
But will I really want to hide it? And with all of the new issues we'll be facing next time around, will I be able to not blog about it here? I actually am leaning toward wanting to be completely open and honest about all of it when it happens. It's what I strive to do with this blog in the first place. Trying again will be joyful, but scary at the same time. And I think I want to record it all. I will want the joy and excitement of our next baby just as much as I wanted it with Korbin. And sharing it, while not doing so may be a way of protecting ourselves from possible pain again, will help me deal with my new anxieties that I know I'll have next time around.
This topic of timing is still a sore subject between Ryan and me. He says it is unfair to push him too much too soon when he's really not ready. On the flip side, it's equally unfair of him to ask me to just sit around and wait. And wait and wait and wait. I feel like we're putting life on hold, our family on hold. While he sees that we're still doing and accomplishing a lot right now. It's the reason I'm sure that we didn't speak to each other much this past week, except when we were fighting. (We've made up now, but we know the road is still a bumpy one.)
Only time will tell how things unfold. In the meantime, I got a lotta love to give.

I know exactly how you feel...

I have heard this countless times from people I know. And it frustrates me to no end. Especially when they are comparing a miscarriage to having a baby who then dies shortly after birth. Now, I don't want to discredit the loss a person feels when they have a miscarriage, but it is certainly not how I feel having lost Korbin.
I can't stop dwelling on this after what was discussed in my support group last night. Another mom brought it up. And I joined in as it really does bother me, and I felt I still needed to vent apparently. I was saying that I want to tell these people who know exactly how I feel that no, they don't. They didn't hold a baby and then have a nurse ask if they were ready to let go for forever.
At this point the facilitator stepped in to say that we should all recognize that a loss is a loss, miscarriage or not. They are different but we need to remember that the new people in the group haven't spoken so we don't know their stories yet. The first mom and I agreed that ya, definitely we are not trying to say that someone who has experienced a miscarriage hasn't experienced a loss.
Well, guess what the two new couples in the room were there for: miscarriages. Of course. Now my words of venting frustration were just incredibly harsh, and very unfeeling. I felt awful. The first mom and I of course tried to over talk afterwards, but we were so perplexed to learn that these couples' miscarriages were at 18 and 17 weeks. That is so far along! I can't imagine what they are feeling. And especially after what the first mom and I vented about.
I spoke with the facilitator after group was over and she was so great, saying I shouldn't feel bad for what I said. She felt the same way. It's what group is for. I just hope the first mom and I didn't scare away these new couples. I also felt for them when the facilitator asked for everyone to share baby pictures if they have them. I don't think they got to have that opportunity with how a loss before 20weeks is handled.
I guess I need to be careful how I vent in group, making sure I hear everyone out before possibly targeting a group who is still very much included. I want to think I can go there to get out what no one else will understand. But last night I definitely did not sound caring toward those around me, so I need to be better at showing that I got a lotta love to give.