Don't Have Time for Grief

How do you process grief when you don’t have time? And how do you heal when that wound is constantly reopened by the every day life events around you?

I continue to search for these answers three weeks after getting the news that our last and much hoped for baby boy embryo did not result in a pregnancy.  Because three weeks later, the wound still feels raw and is far from being healed.

And although I am the first person to give the advice “Don’t stuff those feelings down,” as the mother of a two year old and a full schedule, I don’t really know what else to do in order to successfully get through the day.  Just since sitting down typing out the beginning of this post, I have had to stop to let the dogs out (twice), to turn on a new Sesame Street episode, to change a pair of peed in pajamas (the toddler’s, not mine), and to put that same toddler in a two minute timeout.  Time to ruminant and process is in short supply around here.

When dinner needs to be cooked and groceries need to be ordered and the big dog needs to go to the groomer and the little dog needs new diet dog food and the husband needs a listening ear after another 14 hour work day and the car needs an oil change and floors have week old paw prints that need to be mopped off and the toddler gets a timeout every hour for yelling “NO” at you and the upstairs tub has a stain you can’t scrub out and you realize you have one pair of clean underwear left, where do you fit the grief in?

And when, in the midst of the chaos, you are constantly reminded about your loss, how do you manage that? Because I have discovered that avoiding babies (particularly cuddly little boy ones) is pretty much impossible, particularly when so many of your dear friends happen to have one they bring along whenever you get together.  The grocery store and Target aisles and park benches are swarming with babies.  Facebook seems to be 95% photos of new babies or pregnancy announcements with 2020 due dates.  The Dragon likes to add a cherry on top by regularly stating, “I want a baby in my house!”  And then that grief that I have been stuffing down tries to bubble up and drown me in the King Soopers checkout lane, because that isn’t something that I can give to her.

Then I quickly stuff that grief back down, because I just don’t have time.

But it’s always there and it is always aching.  If I look inward and pay attention for a minute and examine my heart, I realize that grief hasn’t been stuffed down, but is just a thin layer over the busyness of the day. I realize that the cracks in my heart are deep and painful.

I am thankful for a God that is omnipresent and near me in each minute. For the friends and family who have sent cards, texts, emails, made phone calls, given me hugs, to let me know that in the midst of this battle I am not alone.  My community has been a gracious gift God has given me in this season.

So next time you see me, I will probably be my usual cheerful self. I will snuggle your sweet baby, who I truly love, and I will laugh at all the right places. But just know, my heart isn’t healed yet. I am not sure if it ever will be completely.

Because someone won’t be handing me another baby.

Heartache After Heartbreak

I thought for sure I was pregnant.  It was eight days after our embryo transfer and I had all the signs I had had with my last two pregnancies, every one.  I was nauseated and everything smelled really good or really bad or somehow, weirdly enough, both good and bad at the same time. My breasts were tender and so was my lower abdomen, which felt tight and full.  I knew that the medications that I was on to help make this pregnancy viable could have similar side effects, but since I had been on these medications previously and could compare the symptoms to when I had been pregnant, my heart firmly believed that there was a little boy starting to grow inside my womb.

So when the Sir and I decided to do an at home pregnancy test the night before our blood work, I thought for sure we’d be heading for celebratory ice cream and a trip to the Target baby section.

But then no second line showed up.

I leaned my head into the bathroom mirror and kept staring down at the empty test screen, willing even a faint shadow of a line to appear, but nothing did.

I was upset, the Sir was confused, and we both kept a secret hope that the next day’s blood work would show that we somehow had a faulty test that had given us a false negative.

So the next morning, the Dragon and I headed to the doc to get my blood drawn. The Dragon was excited at her post doc visit lollipop and I spent the drive just praying that when I got the phone call that afternoon, there would be celebrating instead of sorrow. Dragon and I went to her gymnastics class and picked up groceries, we walked the dogs and had lunch with the Sir at work, and then we headed to my sweet friend’s home for Dragon’s nap and for support as I waited to hear back from the doctor’s office.

My phone rang a few hours later and I took a deep breath as I answered the call.  It was my favorite nurse, and I knew by the tone of her voice what she was about to tell me.

My pregnancy test had come back negative.  The embryo had not stuck.

I wept into my friend’s shoulder. I called the Sir and told him the news. I felt a heaviness in my heart and body that I have not felt since our pregnancy loss.

And although I had never been pregnant with this little boy, that all of the symptoms were medication related and not him sending out a signal that he was tucked away in there, it did feel like a loss. It still does.

I have dreamed about this boy for years, but especially the last three, knowing we had this one embryo left after the Dragon, one last chance to expand our family to four.  I dreamed he’d be my one kiddo with curly hair, that his brown eyes would be the same caramel color like his dad’s.  I dreamed of his Star Wars nursery and the pictures of he and his sister I would put in the frames around our house.  I dreamed of another baby being snuggled by the hound and wondered what the polar bear would think of the new puppy. I had dreamed of holding him in my arms on those sleepless newborn nights and just staring into his tiny face, singing him the same lullabies and hymns I had sung to the Dragon.  I had dreamed he would be kind and stubborn and have a laugh that would bring joy into our house.  Even though he was never actually here, this boy had a name and was very very real to me.

So now the Sir and I are just trying to wade through this unique grief…grief of a life that we had hoped would be.  Grief of plans we had already made for the year in how we would prepare for this new child.  I grieve for a pregnancy that will never be, for a body I won’t be able to watch change and grow as I impatiently wait to meet my son.  I grieve for my husband, that he won’t be able to teach this boy how to hit a home run in the backyard.  I grieve for my daughter, because I don’t want her to grow up and not have the blessing of someone that understands just how crazy her parents are, someone who grew up in the room down the hall from hers. 

I don’t know what the Sir and I will do next…my heart is hurting too much to make any significant life decisions. This was our 8^th failed infertility treatment out of the 9 we’ve done over the last six years and I don’t think I would be able to handle another round. 

I don’t know if someone will ever hand us another baby, and I grieve for that, too.