No Paizley, No Cry

You would be here today, little girl. That is, if you were as good to me still as you were then and you came on time. Today is being spent trying to stay positive and happy instead of sad and going through all the what-ifs. I will still think of you today, as everyday, I just cannot allow myself to wallow in the sorrow of not getting to go to the hospital today and meet my little girl. If I let myself go there, there will be no turning back. I am just going to focus on wishing you to have a little sister one day... one day soon, I hope.

Paizley are you okay? Are you okay? Are you okay, Paizley?

Next to giving birth to an angel baby, the procedure for terminating a pregnancy is pretty much the worst thing you can possibly go through. There are very few places I could have gone for this type of thing, and only one my genetic specialist said he would trust sending his daughter to, a very good friends of his. A lot of these places are “turn-em-and-burn-em” type offices that perform tons of first trimester abortion procedures. It makes me sick to my stomach to think about. Sitting in the waiting room, everyone is sizing each other up. It’s a pretty crazy thing to be sitting across from another woman who is there to erase her pregnancy in one swift swoop. Or is she? I wondered how many women in that room were in the shitty predicament we were in. How many had loved that baby as much as I did? It couldn’t be possible though that every woman in the room was there to relieve her beloved baby from the pain of death during birth like myself. That is when the cruel process of sizing up begins. I sat and wondered which one of these horrible bitches were there to end the life of their perfect fetuses. I wondered how many men they had fucked to get to where they were and if any were getting rid of evidence of infidelity. And I got angry, real angry. I wished for this little girl since I was old enough to name my dolls. Ryan and I had her name picked out before we even knew she existed. And here I am in a room, surrounded by women who are willingly giving up their opportunity to live my biggest dream. That anger, was an anger to be reckoned with. 

On top of the heartbreak, the process is a long and grueling one. It’s a full three days of office visits, pain, procedures, pill popping and goodbyes, all mixed in with a little bit of hope. This is what you go through when you want your baby. Those that do not are in and out in a matter of hours, ready to begin to forget.

I have to admit, I was blessed with a very amazing team of doctors and genetic specialists. The doctors at the clinic were so great to me. They really understood what I was going through and made it so that it was as easy for me as possible. The first day was the very painful procedure of inserting lamanaria into my cervix to dilate me. I was warned that my water might break, rare but possible. I was sent home to rest, grieve and await another day of dreaded procedures. The next morning I woke up and my water had broken. I was in panic. I got to the clinic early and was told that it was perfectly fine for that to happen, in fact, welcomed because it helps the procedure along. My main concern was the baby. How would she live without the fluid to survive? And the answer I choked on was…. She wouldn’t. She would probably not make it till the next day’s procedures. There was no telling how long it would take, but she would not make it. I had more laminaria put in and left to go rest off the pain.

I went home that day knowing it would be my last chance to talk to her. I was scared to not have her with me and prepared myself for the feeling of an empty nest. That last day with her was a day I will never forget. I spoke to her soul. I let that baby girl know how much her mommy loved her. I let her know not to be afraid, that everything would work out. And I begged her to come back to us through the next baby. And then something happened that I wasn’t prepared for; something that made all the fear and anguish wash away… my angel grew wings.

I lay on the couch trying to sleep. It had been a long, emotional couple of days and I needed some rest to recharge. My eyes were closed, but my body would not allow me to doze off. I had this lingering itch that would not go away. First my arm would itch a little, then my face, then my leg. It was preventing me from getting to sleep and I was getting a little annoyed. All of a sudden, I felt this huge, intense wave rush through my entire body. It was so intense; I thought maybe I had overdosed on my medication. I continued to close my eyes and with them closed I could see the energies of our three dogs. It was like I was seeing the room, but with my eyes closed. I could see exactly where each dog was lying based on the energy they put off. Then I noticed I wasn’t alone. There were two other energies in the room with me… people. One was standing next to me and the other was on the other side of the coffee table. All this happened so quickly that I wasn’t really paying attention to what was going on. I opened my eyes quickly because I felt the need to make sure I was really alone in the house. It was all one split second. I closed my eyes upon seeing nothing but the dogs and then... it HIT me. It hit me like a ton of bricks. I started to cry uncontrollably realizing what had just happened: She just died. She passed over and the two presences were there to bring her over. I had literally felt her spirit leave my body. It was simply amazing. At that moment, I knew she was okay. All my fear of her experiencing any pain with the procedure was gone. All my fear of if she would be okay was gone. I felt so at peace knowing that she was with people who loved her. About thirty minutes later, I got up to go to the bathroom. On the way, I glanced over at a picture of Ryan’s grandma and although I never got a chance to meet her because she passed away before Ryan and I met, I looked at that woman and I said to her, “You were just here!” I knew it was her who came to get Paizley.

From that day forward, I felt more comfortable with what was happening. I miss her like hell; don’t get me wrong. But I miss her because of my selfishness. I miss her because she was the closest I ever got to my dream coming true. She is okay. She is in a good place. She left in peace and her family greeted her. She didn’t have to suffer or feel any pain on the wretched day that followed.

I woke up the next morning and took the special pill they gave me. As promised, thirty minutes later I was in extreme labor. Poor Ryan had to listen to me screaming in pain as he raced me to the clinic in rush hour morning traffic. We got there early and had to wait for the doctors to show up to the office. It was an excruciating wait.  They finally showed up and let me into the back room.

There was a particular nurse I really liked at the clinic that I was going to. She was always so sweet and helpful. I think she really felt for me. What I was going through saddened her. She saw the pain in my eyes and how much I wanted my baby. The last day of procedures, the big day, I told her as she gave me my IV what had happened the day before. I told her about how I knew Paizley was okay and she broke down crying. She told me that for some reason, she really connected with me. She opened up to me about her life, about her current heartbreak and about her dreams as I was drifting into twilight sleep. It made me feel a little better knowing someone there was acknowledging the pain I was enduring for a little girl I loved so much.

I don’t remember much from the procedure; I guess that’s the point of putting you under. I do remember looking over at the big glass jar with hoses petruding out next to me, the one I had seen both days prior when I had wondered how many babies had made their way into it. I looked over with twilight eyes and saw the jar was not empty as before and I managed to get out of my mouth, “Is that my baby?” as I drifted away again. And then I was on my way to recovery (where I had an embarassing, though hilarious bathroom experience I would never put in writing but will tell you over a beer one day if you wanna know).

Recovery now is writing about her; sharing my experience. Recovery now is remembering her and looking forward to new beginnings. Recovery now is helping maybe just one woman who has had to go through what I have been through. Maybe one woman will read this and know she isn’t alone. Maybe one woman who is thinking about ending her baby’s life will read this and change her mind knowing that she could make her dreams come true if she would just take a step back and think about what matters. Recovery is full of maybes…

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A Paizleyless Story

To a childless mother, life is full of constant reminders of a dream stripped away. How ironic it was when, the other night, the coupon that printed up for me at the grocery store as I was buying a case of beer was a coupon for two dollars off diapers. Here I am, purchasing something I wouldn’t even turn my head at if she were still here because I would be two weeks away from the big day, and I am given a little reminder of a lost little girl. It’s always a little punch in the face. I wanted to turn around, grab the diapers in place of the beer and walk out, forgetting all that has transpired over the last four months. I wanted to close my eyes as I walked into the house, walk back into the nursery and put the diapers away in her closet among the stacks and stacks we have been collecting for the many diaper changes ahead. There is no nursery though. Her room is an office. Her closet isn’t full of adorable little girl dresses and her drawers aren’t full of warm footie pajamas. In her closet hangs our winter coats and clothes that couldn’t fit in our closet and in her drawers lies my wedding dress, computer cords and at the very bottom, the very last drawer is a bag full of clothes. The last drawer holds baby clothes, right where they belong- in the nursery. They are the only trace of baby in her room; little clothes stuffed away for one day. These little onesies are yellow and green and orange, the colors that represent the first trimester; the one where you don’t know whether to buy pink or blue, but just want to buy something. The day after I revealed the big news to my family, they drove me straight out to the outlet mall in Anthem and bought the baby every unisex outfit, blankie and bib, they could find. They now lie stuffed in a bag in a drawer. I never got to buy all the cute, little, frilly dresses with bows and lace because the day we found out she was a little girl was the day we found out she would never get to come home with us.

As we sat in the waiting room that day, I was so excited. I beamed and smiled and squeezed Ryan’s arm so hard. I kept asking and asking, “Are you excited?!?” and he would reply with, “Stop! I’m nervous. Why are you so excited?” He was getting annoyed. I couldn’t sit still. The countdown had begun weeks before and everyone was on the edge of their seat. We were all waiting to hear the news we had all been waiting for since the day I revealed I was expecting, “It’s a girl!” I asked Ryan in the waiting room how we should let everyone know. I decided we would go buy a little pink pair of booties and post a picture on Facebook and through text of us holding them up for all to see that yes, we would be welcoming a little girl! He thought I was crazy for having it all so meticulously planned out. He is a realist who fears every negative outcome. I couldn’t fathom anything going wrong so I hopped up on that examination table without a worry in the world only to receive news I wasn’t prepared for. Meanwhile, all our friends were on my Facebook page having a conversation about what they thought the verdict was, introducing themselves to each other, telling stories about how they met me and expressing their nervousness on why it was taking so long for me to post something. They thought maybe I had found out it was a boy and was upset about it. It was a big day for everyone who loved me. And of course we know how the news ended up. That day has become a benchmark in my life. It was a day I will never forget. I left that office with hope that they were all wrong, though I knew in my heart I would be saying goodbye.

As a childless mother, I am constantly reminded of my empty belly. Seems like everywhere I look, some beautiful woman is beaming with that “pregnancy glow.” I see that pregnant belly on women and though I want to look away and continue on with my day, I can’t stop staring. I imagine it on me, how I would look with a baby belly, how I would look today. Though I was five months along when she left me, I didn’t look like I was pregnant yet. I still had that “I packed on a few pounds after the holidays” belly. I never got to experience what it was like for people to notice I’m expecting without me telling them. I never got a chance to feel pregnant.

(20 weeks, sticking it out a little. ;) )

As a childless mother, I feel like I am always missing something. This emptiness has been especially hard around the holidays when mothers are hustling and bustling around with their baby carriages, towing their other little ones behind. I know no woman would think that at a time of pure chaos and craziness another woman is completely envying her, but yes, I am. I wish I could tell her to relax and cherish the time she gets to tote around her children because there are others who do not have that, but then I remind myself not to be a freak and I go about my way. Every time another friend or family member announces the big news, every time I hear someone tell another about someone who “just found out they are pregnant,” a little piece of me clenches up and screams inside. My only wish I will ever have is for that day to come for me again. For someone to tell another, “Erica just found out she’s pregnant!” It will happen one of these days.

The gift that Paizley has given me is to never take the people and things in my life that I love for granted. Losing her will make me a better mother to the children who will be and are present in my life. I have found an outlet to vent my sadness, though I really am quite a happy person. The magnitude of the pain I have had from losing her has shown me the magnitude of happiness I will have when looking into my first child’s eyes. If I can love a child I’ve lost as much as I do, the child that lives won’t know what to do with all the love they receive. And I can show that love now to Riley, who I adore. I can share my happiness with him and I can hope to share with him a little brother or sister one day.

Speaking of Paizley...

My husband and I cried together last night for the first time in awhile. He read the first two posts in this blog and cried with me. I realized he is still hurting just as bad as me, he just deals with it differently. We've been going through so much bullshit in our lives since she left us that we haven't been able to come together and miss her together. It was good to remember I'm not alone with my feelings about her, that I have my best friend going through it with me.

Also, the support I have been getting from friends and family has been amazing. I certainly don't want to be that "woe is me, everyone feel sorry for me" person and I hope that it doesn't come across as that because I genuinely want people to feel happy instead of sad for us. However, it's really great to hear that just like I haven't forgotten about her, people haven't forgotten about Ryan and I. We are strong and we will be okay, but sometimes I just wanna talk about her. I really don't want to go on with my life pretending it never happened and getting over it. She blessed our lives in a variety of ways and yes, I miss her and will think about her every day forever.

One thing I have learned from the loss of my child is that this world is an amazing place. I know that it may have been easy to go the other direction and say that this is a cruel, sad world, but I would be kidding myself. I was blessed to have that child for the short time I did. She brought Ryan and I closer. She made me realize a true, true love that exists in a bond between a mother and a child. She has made me love and appreciate Riley more. I have learned to appreciate the beauty of this world and how everything is interconnected. I had an amazing experience with her passing that I will never forget (I felt her soul leave me). And I have realized how incredibly strong I am.

Now, to work on another baby... :)




The Hand I Was Dealt

Hold close onto your children
You know not what their future holds
You may have had a loss
So dark as mine, so cold

Her hands they looked so perfect
Her toes were God's great mold
Hold close onto your children
Their future may not be so bold

Be grateful for their laugh
Cherish their every cry
You may never know what it feels
To have that child die

It's not a hand I wish you hold
I never wished it upon myself
It's a pain so deep, it rocks your soul
It's the hand that I was dealt

I never heard her laugh
I never heard her cry
It's a tough reality to grasp
That we only said Goodbye

Paizley Raindrops Everyday

I cry every day. Every. Single. Day.

I would say that 65% of every day is thinking about my baby girl and wishing she was still in my belly. She would be here in 3 weeks and 1 day from today, based on my due date. I would be a walking house right now… preparing to be ready for the hospital, her nursery would be finished, my feet would be swollen, I would be kick counting all day. Instead, I never got a chance to feel her little feet. I will always wonder if she would have her daddy’s nose or my red hair. I will always think about the day I would get to bring her home from the hospital. I will always have to create my own what ifs and memories. I will Never. Get. To. Hold. My. Baby.

I often think about the day we found out… sitting in the dark ultrasound room. After the most horrible moment of my entire life, the nurse asked me if I even wanted to take home the CD with the pictures of my baby on it. As if I didn’t want to have the pictures of my baby?!?! As if I was just going to say “Oh well, we tried” and go home and forget about it?!?! One would think that a nurse has been exposed to enough horrible situations like that one to know that just because my baby will not live does not mean I am going to forget she existed. One would think to have the common courtesy that if you didn’t give a shit that I was losing my baby, atleast you would give me the benefit of the doubt that I give a shit. What mother wouldn’t?!?! All I have is that fucking picture and her ashes. And I hold my necklace with her ashes in it and cry Every. Single. Day.

Missing my Paizley Ann

I lost my little girl in August. It was the toughest thing I had ever gone through. To be honest, reading an old friends posts about losing her baby helped me so much to understand the pain I was feeling. In the begining, I thought I would be okay because I lost my baby at 22 weeks. I didn't give birth to her, I didn't see her. I was going to be fine, right? Well, it's been several months now and I am missing her more and more every day. I am a wreck. So, today after writing a bit, I decided that maybe blogging would help. I want an outlet to show how much I loved my little girl... even if I never met her.

So here is a little ditty I wrote today...

           My mind wanders to thoughts of you every single day. My eyes well up, I get that lump in my throat where it’s hard to swallow and I feel like I suddenly caught the flu. Sometimes my eyes get so glassy that I can’t see through it. Such is a metaphor for my life without you.

            I know you are in a better place though. A place where the sun shines everyday and you can feel the warmth on your skin. A place where the grass is always green on both sides and the butterflies don’t fly away after they land on you. The music is always cheerful and the people greet you in the street like friends. I think maybe you’re a ballerina, with your legs long and lean… just like your momma. You have more rhythm than your mom; she could never really dance.

            I sometimes wonder if you miss me too. Do you remember my voice? Do you long to hear my heart beat against yours? Do you sometimes get scared out in the wide-open air without the comfort of home? You would have to know I loved you. I told you so often; I may have rendered it meaningless. It means so much to me that I loved you. It means so much that I enjoyed every day with you; that you were gentle on me. You grooved with my being like rain drops falling into the ocean, like you were all mine. You were.

            I anger myself with how meaningless life seems without you. The weeks slip by me and I can’t help but countdown the days until you would be in my arms. Would be. And I size you up, “Today, she would be a cantaloupe,” though I dare not speak it aloud. But my belly is still flat and my feet haven’t swelled and your clothes are all packed and my wedding ring barely fits. I was waiting for you to bring it all to size. I couldn’t have been more excited if someone handed me a million dollars. You were my joy. I changed my life for you. And it was taken all away in a moment, just one moment in time.

I felt so connected to you that I knew; I knew there would be ribbons and bows instead of trucks and dirt clods. Buying pink was never a gamble. I knew who you were, but I will never get a chance to know you. You slipped through me like an elephant through a pinhole. It was never easy. It was never painless.

I sat on the edge of the lake that last weekend looking out into the mirrored reflections of what could be, knowing what your future held. I captured those final moments with you, holding onto my belly as if to hold onto your soul. I took pictures, picturing myself in another place and time, one where you would really be mine. And I drove back to reality with tears in my eyes, damning the forces that brought our part.

I now pray to you like you are my God, my universe, and my soul. Sometimes I think you are the only one who understands me, the only thing that would complete me. You listen without judgment. You love without haste. You remind me what it is to truly love. And for that, I will never forget you. I will always remember the day I found out I was going to be someone’s mommy. I will forever cherish the time you graced my life with your presence. And I will forever despise they day you left my heart empty.