Court, The arrival of “Piglet”, and other updates

I took the morning of Feb. 6th off because my wife and I had planned to meet our attorney and go prove up the SAPCR for my daughter. That SAPCR was iffy. There might have been a notice issue, and we might not have been able to finalize it. But my attorney is the best. She’s my mentor, and she considers herself my “attorney mom”. She taught me all I know about how to be an attorney, and when I was still practicing, it wasn’t uncommon for me to call her up and say, “Hey, I have this case…” When they called our case, my attorney started the hearing, then she stopped as I saw a lightbulb go off over her head. And she said, “Judge, I’d like you to take judicial notice that we served the other party, but he never filed an answer or made any response to this filing.” Judge looked in his computer, then nonchalantly said, “Taken,” as my heart skipped a beat. That was the little thing that might have stood in our way, and it was gone. We did the prove-up. She asked why I had sole custody, what I wanted the judge to do, etc.

The judge granted everything without a problem, which I expected once he said “taken,” and especially after he heard the reasons why (past kidnapping, abuse, etc). In the end, I am no longer sole managing conservator but my wife and I are joint conservators. She now has the right to do things like get medical care, deal with school, etc. She has rights, and that’s fantastic. Even better, my ex does NOT have rights… except to pay money. He was removed as possessory and has absolutely no visitation or access whatsoever. This is not a bad thing, not if you take into account that he hasn’t seen her or utilized his visitation in 10 years, and she doesn’t know him. It’s also not a bad thing if you take into account that we have all lived in fear that he might sometime show up, request a visitation like he did 10 years ago, and kidnap her like he did 10 years ago. That can’t happen anymore, and that means a lot. It’s 10 years of anxiety settled. Even better, with my wife as joint conservator, if something happened to me, our daughter would stay with her. She won’t be ripped away from the only other parent she knows and given to an abusive stranger. This is also 10 years of anxiety settled. For the first time that I can remember, I feel like my daughter’s actually safe. I knew she was safe with me before, but what if I wasn’t there? What if he got a wild hair up his butt and requested to visit? What if…? I know she’ll be okay.

And just for grins, I got a massive judgment against him for past-due child and medical support. I didn’t raise his child support, but we named an amount of medical going forward that he’s required to pay, and he also has to pay on the judgment, effectively raising his monthly payment by about double. And I re-hired the AG. If they can collect, get his tax return, anything… I would love the extra money.

So I went home happy that things worked out well. I dropped my wife off, changed clothes, and sat on the toilet real quick before I took off to the chiropractor and to work. Inevitably, I’m going to get some important call while paying respects to my porcelain goddess. I usually don’t even take my phone with me, but I was about to run out the door so I had it in my hand. Without thinking, “hey idiot, you’re on the toilet,” I saw it was the CPS agency and answered it. Well, at least it will be a quick call, they just have a question about V or something. Why else would they be calling me?

“We are trying to place a 2 month old caucasian boy. He was born premature at 30 weeks….. Can you take him?” Uhh, no. Initially, I said no. We don’t have a place for him. We turned our baby room into a teen room for V, and I just don’t know if we can work that out right now… And then my wife from the other room inquired so I told the agency I’d call them back, I needed to talk to my wife. I told her what they told me, and she said, “Yeah, I think we can work that out!” My brain wanted to argue and say no way… but I called them back and said yes. He was getting released from the hospital on the 7th, and we would have to go pick him up. Yikes. We didn’t even have a baby room anymore.

So we did a big switcheroo. Our roommate moved in with our daughter, our teen boy moved to the back room, and we will be setting the baby room back up. But of course, with the limited time we had, we didn’t have time to finish all that yet. So the baby didn’t have a crib or anything. I opened the “newborn and premie” box and the “blankets, diapers, and other baby essentials” box. I pulled out basic necessaries – diaper wipes, burp cloth, butt cloth, the handful of premie diapers we had, changing pad, etc. And we left to spend the rest of the day yesterday in the hospital. I dug out the cradle sheet when I got home, and he slept there. I’ve got a lot of work to do in order to get his room turned back into a baby room.

For being a premie, he’s done a lot of growing already. And he’s a piglet. He’s got chubby cheeks, a double chin… And he says “FEED ME NOWWWW! WAAAH” He weighed 7 lbs, 12 ozs yesterday. That’s how much my daughter weighed when she was born. He’s very, very white (whiter than me even), and has red hair. His Mom’s got red hair, too. She’s cute, and I bet he’s going to be cute, too.

He’s got the name I’ve always wanted to give to my son. I almost feel like it’s his now and I can’t use it anymore, but then again, it’s not like I’m making any progress on that anyway.

We don’t know how long he’ll be with us. Mom’s trying to get him back, and she made it very clear when she met us that she intends to get him back “real soon.” If she’s able to follow through, it may not be long at all.

Here’s Piglet.

And for people following our other plights:

Adoption – The adoption agency called and told us about a lady, and they were sending her our information. I’m fairly certain she’s received it and browsed our website, but she has not made contact so I guess that lead died. We’re not talking to anyone else.

TTC – I’m a complete and utter failure. I hate myself, and I hate my body. I hate my girl parts most of all. After 6 months of TTC and then another 3 months of failed fertility treatments, I give up. I can’t get myself pregnant anymore, and I’m done spending time and money trying and then just getting my hopes slashed time and time again. I can’t handle this roller coaster anymore, either. I don’t get my turn. Probably not this lifetime. I’m considering maybe talking to my doctor about birth control or something to reduce my bleeding since it doesn’t seem that I’m going to get pregnant and get to have it taken out any time soon. I may consider other fertility treatments in the future that have a better chance at actually getting me there, but it’s going to take me a hell of a long time to save up for something like that. However, at the rate I’m saving, it’s going to take me 8-10 years to save enough, and my chances of conceiving in 8-10 years even with treatment drop considerably. So I don’t know if it’ll even be worth trying then. I wish I hadn’t spent the time and money having that surgery to hold in a baby that I can’t ever carry. So here’s the universe again mocking me and saying, “hahaha, enjoy your urns because you don’t deserve anything better… and by the way, I’m taking that name you hold precious away from you, too.” Yeah, well, fuck the universe. I really don’t want to foster anymore. I don’t want anyone anymore. I want to go live in seclusion from the rest of the world on my mountain.

Building update and my grim outlook on the future.

The excavation on our new homesite is complete. When they excavated, we asked them to move some of the dirt to where the driveway is supposed to be so we can pass the driveway inspection.

We also have a well. It produces about 1 gallon a minute So we’ll either be digging again in hopes of hitting more water, or we’ll be purchasing a cistern. At least we have water. It’s still progress. 🙂 Our next step is to do the septic, but we need to wait until get the water well paid off so we can afford it.

We do have a new foster placement. Telling about him will require a separate post so I’ll just confirm that the placement WAS made, and he is now with us, at least for now.

I’m not sure how I feel about it yet. Part of me is very glad that I can offer him something. I can offer him a safe home with an open mind. I can accept him for who he is. I have a bed and a place he can call home. I’m glad that I’m able to give that to a kid who is truly in need and is unwanted by most everyone else simply because of who he is and his interests. Part of me feels like I’m doing what I’ve always wanted to do – help kids who need it. Help and encourage those kids without a voice. Those who society brushes under a rug and forgets about.

This post is about to go downhill, and my true feelings are about to be exposed. This is a good time for people to close if you’re not interested in going there.

I am glad I can offer this to him… but it’s heart wrenching at the same time because on a selfish plane, this isn’t what I want anymore. I went to law school to help these kids. I fought for forgotten and outcast children for a long time. I did my part, I made a difference, even if only in a few lives. Now I want my life. I still have desire. I want to figure out how to make that dream happen. That one I’ve wanted all my life. I want another child, and I would prefer to have two around the same age so they can entertain each other. That doesn’t mean adopt only a 16 year old – though I’m fairly certain we won’t adopt him for other reasons that I can discuss later. I already did that. Kinda. My step-daughter was 16 when I moved in (if I remember right, though I didn’t adopt her). That isn’t at ALL what my heart desires in raising a child. I still think that 4-year-old sounded perfect… a good in-betweener for my daughter and if we ever get a living baby (and possibly not have 2 infants at the same time)… but that’s not even a possibility right now. Any hope of finding a good adoptive placement through the state has gone to zilch because we’ve got a 15-year-old in the “baby” room, and we had to take down the baby room to give him a bed. How long will we have him? That’s another post, too, but at least 2 months. I don’t have the heart to turn him away, at least not yet – but he’s well aware that at some point before he turns 18, we’re moving away. Time is ticking, and we plan to move out of state next year. 16 months. Adoptions don’t happen overnight, and we’re not even “available” to look right now. So we probably won’t get to adopt that perfect in-betweener from the foster-care system.

Not long ago, I was saying, “Gosh, May 2014 is SO FAR away… that’s like 3 years off still!” Then it became 2 years… now it’s only a year and a half. No, it’s less than that.

Private adoption… Well, we’ve been trying with that too. We’ve been “waiting” for years. There’s not any possibilities right now. Nothing going on, no potential placements. Will it ever happen? I don’t know, will it? It hasn’t yet. If it doesn’t happen in the next 10 months, what’s the point? We’re not adopting after we move. We’re not going to have homestudies or prepare the house or do foster care or anything when we move. We won’t be in a state that our private agency works in after we move either. Adoptive placements generally take at least 6 months before you can even file for adoption. So I’m not sure whether that will ever materialize either, but it’s not looking very promising. So all that money is wasted down the drain in trying to adopt… and we still don’t have a baby.

All I’ve wanted for years is to have a baby, but the universe refuses to give me what I so desperately want and need. I was soo close. I had a few happy months with Skyler. I was so close to having her in my arms… then suddenly she was. She was in my arms too soon. Cold, not breathing, heart not beating. Why? Why did my one chance at happiness and getting my greatest desire have to die? Why did she have to die? It’s not fair.

I begged the universe for one more try. One more shot, one more hope… and it was granted. But then she was ripped away from me, too. Why is this such a battle? Why is it so hard? Why? Why, when I ask for a child to raise, do I get an angel? Why when I ask for alive and well, I get cold and dead? What did I do that was so bad? I don’t smoke, no drugs, my kids wouldn’t have had fetal alcohol syndrome. I didn’t even have caffeine or too much sugar. I did everything right. Why does it always turn out so WRONG? This isn’t my life, and I don’t know how I got stuck here. I want out. I really do.

I want another shot. I ask the universe again for just one more… We’ve been TTC for months. On top of that, I’ve had 2 months of failed fertility treatments. I know more now than I did with Skyler and more than I did with Tabitha. Between treating MTHFR and having this abdominal cerclage… I want to think there’s a chance. I want to think there might be hope. But now the universe hasn’t even granted me the chance to try. I guess it’s scared I might succeed. One more month of fertility, that’s all I can handle. Or afford, for that matter. Then what? God only knows.

So while I’m glad I can give this 15-year old a safe place to call home for now, I also know that May 2014 is coming quickly. And that’s our maximum. With recent issues at home, I started looking for a job and a home there to move there sooner than that. And while I’m told that we’ll all get what we want, I know that it won’t happen after we move. We will not foster there, we will not be in a state that our private adoption agency is licensed in, we won’t be getting homestudies or continuing to try to adopt there in any fashion. We won’t have our donor, and quite frankly, we won’t be trying any more. So while the universe supposedly gives “everyone gets what they want eventually,” I get… 2 urns.

I think all the hope I’ve tried to build up over the years is gone. My wife has made it abundantly clear that she does not want more kids, and I think the universe is making a list, “No more kids, move out of state… okay!” and at the same time, it’s telling me to enjoy my urns because it’s all I’ll ever have.

I guess that’s enough release for today. I have a hearing so it’s time to resume pretending that life’s hunky dory when I’d rather just jump off a cliff.

Update on, well, everything

I went to my surgeon a week and a half or so after surgery for my post-op appointment. Of course, when I got there, I was told that it would be a few minutes because he had gotten called to do a delivery. I don’t know why they told me that. I really wish they hadn’t. Then they moved me to a room to wait for him… My wife was there with me, but I’d just been bombshelled so I didn’t get to enjoy her company much.

I wondered – was the baby he was delivering alive? Was there a devastated family facing loss? Then I realized… Of course the baby’s alive idiot. I’m the only one who can’t manage to bring a baby into the world alive. That only happens to people like me, not normal people. So was there a happy new Mom in there hearing her baby’s first screams? Holding her breathing baby for the first time, not knowing how lucky she is? I couldn’t think about it anymore. I wanted to cry. I tried to distract myself, but my brain kept going back there, because I was still waiting… waiting on this baby to be born so I could get the hell out of there. They shouldn’t have told me. They really could have just said, “He’s running a few minutes late.”

When he walked in, I fought the urge to ask about the baby. I almost asked if it was a living baby, and I reminded myself again that of course it was living… And besides, I didn’t really want confirmation either way. I didn’t want the hurt feelings of knowing someone else got their baby… and I didn’t want the stab of hearing that someone else DIDN’T get their baby. He didn’t do much but look at my incisions and talk for a few minutes. 3 of my incisions healed up nicely, the 4th… well, his comment was, “That one’s going to scar.” It’s been over a month now, and that one still isn’t healed up. I’ve wondered if I should go back, but I’m really not interested. It’ll heal, scar or no scar. The more reiki I do, the better it gets.

The following week, I went back to my primary care physician (PCP) to get a clean bill of health. I really just needed a note from him saying, “All’s well!”… but I didn’t get it. I knew that he was going to run labs before signing off “she’s healthy” so I saved him the effort and myself the poke and the money. I had my preop labs faxed so he could see that I don’t have anything. No HIV, no hepatitis, no nothing. I’m healthy, see?

Why is your liver count so high? This was before your surgery? Why on earth did he do surgery with liver counts this high? Didn’t he review the labwork? It’s really dangerous to put someone out like that with counts that look like this.

On and on went the questions about what the surgeon did or didn’t do that I didn’t have answers to… and why my counts were high. Then came the allegations:

How much alcohol do you drink? How much do you consume on a daily basis? Were you a heavy drinker in the past?

On and on went the questions regarding my sobriety, which, by the way, I am sober. Very sober. I don’t necessarily WANT to be, but at the time, I’d only had one little sip of a drink the previous week because I wanted to taste something my wife made. This was about 2-3 weeks ago, and since then, I had a couple sips of Loki last weekend. I’m not a heavy drinker, even if my brain really wishes I could wash away some of my pain with the alcohol. I’m probably not even really considered a drinker. Anyway, back to the doctor…

I can’t sign this paper. You are clearly not healthy. There is something obviously very wrong with you, but I don’t know what yet. We need to do more tests to verify the accuracy of these tests and find out what’s going on.

WHAT?! You’re kidding. I’m fine. Please just sign the damn paper…. Please… I asked if he could sign the paper and just make a little note that says he’s doing further tests due to high liver counts, and he refused saying that I’m not healthy and he doesn’t want his license on the line if I die tomorrow. Gee, thanks.

So we made a game plan. We’ll redo the tests. If they confirm the previous tests, then we do a sonogram of the liver, gallbladder, and whatever else. Otherwise he will sign my paper. They said I could call within 2-3 days for my results.

The nurse came bouncing in to take my blood. She pulled out her cell phone and looked at it 3-4 times while prepping to take my blood. Then she says apologetically, “Sorry, my daughter’s in labor, and I’m waiting on her to tell me she’s going to the hospital.” I couldn’t get out fast enough. Why in the hell does everyone have to tell me about people having babies, particularly at doctor’s offices? It’s everywhere (except, well, with me)… even the book I was listening to this morning had a baby born, but he only lived 24 minutes. On the other hand, I’d rather want forever than go through that a third time.

The following day, a nurse called in a panic… “One of your counts went down slightly, the other is higher. We need to redo the test to confirm that these are accurate. He also wants to add a hepatitis test to the panel.”…. You’re kidding, right? This WAS the confirmation, can we get on with it so I can prove that I’m fine and get that damn paper signed? I asked for the sonogram, but no, they need to repeat the labs first. Again. So much for the game plan. They wanted to repeat in exactly a week. I also told them I don’t have hepatitis, and I’ve already proven that. He’s got a copy of the lab work taken less than a month prior… but I did consent to him re-running the test.

A week went by, and I went back in to get poked yet again. And again, they told me I could call within 2-3 days for the results. Again, they called me the following day….

This time, the lady was prepared. “Your count went up yet again… and no, you don’t have hepatitis (no shit, sherlock). But… that doesn’t explain why your counts are high. We need to do the sonogram.” I’m scheduled for the sonogram this Saturday morning. Apparently the Universe thinks I haven’t dealt with enough shit yet.

A good friend’s house burned a couple weeks ago. She lost a dog, but all other dogs (three others) and all people survived without physical injury. She was living with her daughter and 15-year-old granddaughter. The fire started in the granddaughter’s room, and there was speculation at first that she might have accidentally caused the fire by leaving a candle burning… but the investigator came out with the candle and said, “This is the only thing left in the entire room. Whatever started this fire was NOT this candle.” They determined it was electrical.

For just a little bit, that 15-year-old had the grief of burning her own house, killing her own dog, etc. I saw them all that night, and they were all doing okay, even the teenager. One of the dogs was sad and confused. One was whiney and clingy, and the other was completely withdrawn, sulking in a corner. Obviously not any of their natural behaviors, but even the dogs are grieving the loss of their mate, dad, and friend. T and I took them blankets, PJs, some clothes, a bag of toiletries (toothbrushes, toothpaste, deodorant, hair brush, etc), towels and wash cloths, etc. My wife made a chicken and rice casserole that I took over for them, too… and I realized halfway there that taking only a chicken and rice casserole in this situation was silly. I stopped and purchased paper plates, plastic silverware, napkins, and even a little bag of dog food. I saw my friend’s daughter as she left, and she said she was going to get dinner – I told her I brought dinner. She said she had to get other things too, like food for the dogs. I told her I brought the dogs some dinner, too. She held back tears as she started marking things off her list that I brought for her and her family… then she left to get whatever was still left on there. They were all very grateful of the stuff we brought. G (of G and J) came, and we all chatted and such for a little bit. J had gone over to the house to help salvage stuff, and we all laughed at him being covered in soot and singing, “Chim chim-in-ey, chim chim-in-ey, Chim chim cher-ee!”

There were a lot of similarities between this fire and the one that consumed my world about 5 years ago. This brought back a lot of memories, but I did what I could to help and pay back at least some of what people at the time did for me back then.

On another note…

We took a vacation last weekend and went camping. This was a camping trip that I’ve wanted to attend for years but after Skyler and then Tabi, we just didn’t. I couldn’t – I wasn’t emotionally stable. I’m not sure I’m emotionally stable now either, but I was stable enough to go camping. And it was fantastic! We got everything loaded up, drove down there, set up the tent, and unloaded. Then we jumped in the freezing cold pool with other campers. We set up our air matress, and due to past experience with the damn thing, I set myself up a pallet. By bedtime, my wife claimed the pallet and left T and I to sleep on the matress. About halfway through the night, I rolled off the sinking matress onto the ground with the rock under my hip… Eventually she got cold and climbed onto the nearly flat matress under the covers so I reclaimed the pallet. :p It was a hard night, and we woke up hurting and WET. The tent was leaking, and it was raining. It rained ALL day Saturday… and by Saturday night, we evacuated the tent and slept in the bunk house instead. Sunday, we loaded everything back up and came home. The “point” of the trip is to go hiking through the woods on Saturday which we didn’t even get to do because of the rain. I know, it sounds like a bad camping trip, but honestly, I am so glad we finally got to go. We had a blast, and that’s not an exaggeration at all. Really. :p

I did bust some stitches though. That one little incision that refused to heal? Yeah, by the time we got unloaded, I saw little stringy things sticking out. I was scared at first, then sick, then realized what I was looking at and tried to decide what to do about it. In the end, we put antibiotic ointment on it and covered it with a bandaid. Reminds me of a TV show or something I saw once where the guy covered everything in newspaper. Out of sight, out of mind! Eventually they’ll dissolve or something, right? I mean, it’s been over a month now, why are they even still there?? I thought they were long gone. On the other hand, what should I expect other than strange things falling out of me? Umbilical cords, strings… *sigh*

We have a Halloween party this weekend. My wife is going as Captain Hook. T is going to be Peter Pan, and I’m going to be… yep, Tinkerbell. No, you will not see pictures. I have an adorable little skimpy uhh dress thing, wings, and even a wand! Oh, and we got makeup, too. I don’t remember the last time I wore makeup, and the more I think about it, the more I don’t WANT to remember the last time. It probably wasn’t something worth remembering. I don’t even own makeup anymore. Except this sparkly colorful stuff that I’m going to wear to look like a fairy.

And other updates…

For anyone following our TTC journey, don’t bother. Nothing’s happening.

Adoption update – We’re not talking to any potential mothers, but right now we’re on hold anyway. I guess it’s a good thing that we won’t be the cause of a failed adoption… We are stuck and can’t get the homestudy updated until the doctor signs that damn paper. Who knows when that might happen, and then who knows when we will find another mother. I’d like to think that it’s going to all happen soon, maybe I can finally start putting my life back together soon… but then again, I kinda feel like I’m fighting the universe in even wishing for it to happen. It’s obviously still not our time. Often, I feel like we’ll never get a baby – either adopted or by birth. It’s been years, and we’re still sitting here, still waiting, still wanting.

Foster care update – We told the agency we’re ready to foster again. We went inactive for the surgery and in hopes of getting pregnant… and then we wouldn’t want a placement. But since that’s obviously not happened and the surgery is done and I’m mostly recovered… We thought that maybe there was hope with at least one of our options. But of course we’re on hold there too. We gave them information on T moving in over a month ago, but the agency didn’t get around to running the background check on her until now. She has to go get fingerprints done (next week) and wait for results, and they have to update the homestudy, etc, etc. Sooo… nothing’s happening there either.

Guess that’s about it for now.

My Co-worker’s “Dark Secret”

If you’ve lost a child, do you feel like you walk around holding this big, dark secret from the world? The grief is all yours, and if everyone knew, they might just… I don’t know… honestly they probably wouldn’t even care. Perhaps they think you’re just seeking attention. Perhaps they wouldn’t believe that babies still die in the 21st century. Perhaps others would actually care but they would ask questions… and you can’t answer them. Do you feel like when you walk through the store, that if everyone else knew, they’d run away? Do you feel like when you stand in line that if everyone else knew, you’d probably be the only one left in line or perhaps the line would suddenly close right before you got to check out? Do you feel like you wear a big X under your clothes? I have a co-worker who has her own “dark secret”, and I am so glad she shared it with me.

I work with a really sweet woman I’ll call M. It took months to warm up to talking to ANYONE here, but she seemed very open and understanding, even about my girls. I try not to go there at work, sometimes I think it’s best if not everyone knows… But she knows, and she spread pennies. She occasionally brings my girls up in conversation asks a question or two…

When I returned from surgery, I was visiting her desk for a few minutes in an attempt to escape the work craziness and coworker’s questions.  M has lots of pictures that hang on the shelf behind her. I moved around so I could show her something and noticed 2 pictures on her desk also. I looked… One was a little girl playing and talking, the other was a little girl with an adorable smile posed with her head on her hands. M asked what I was looking at, and I said simply, “the little ones” as I nodded towards the pictures.

So she proceeded to tell me about the pictures. The one of the girl playing is her 6 yr old granddaughter. She told me a little about her granddaughter. Then she pointed to the other picture, smiled to herself and seemed to be in her own world as she told me that this one… this one is her daughter when she was 4, right before she died. I listened as she told me that her daughter was killed on the train tracks which run along the road across from where we work. She died “not far from here, just up the road.” Her daughter would be 35 now.

No wonder she’s been so sensitive and my girls don’t bother her or make her uncomfortable. Wow, I had no idea.

She is one strong woman to be capable of coming to work here daily and listening to the train roll by across the street and rattle the building… and still be capable of working.

She does say that she still breaks down out of nowhere. She is fine and drives by the cemetery 1000 times, then one day it hits her, and she bawls. Or she sees the funeral home just like she does a million other times, but one day she remembers like it was yesterday, and her heart breaks.

Personally, I think it’s a load of shit that time heals a broken heart. Perhaps it heals the heart for other things like anger… but when a loved one is missing, they are missing forever. Time does not bring them back, and time is incapable of filling that hole in the heart. When a child doesn’t grow up, her mother still cries for her decades later. Time doesn’t fix it. Time hasn’t brought M’s little girl back, and it won’t bring my girls back either. And M still grieves. All time does is fill your brain with other things so you don’t think about it quite so much. I will agree that I am not as raw now as I was two years ago after losing Skyler… or one year ago after losing Tabi, but I still cry. I still grieve. I still love them, and they are still gone, no matter how much time has passed.

Flashbacks

I’ve had a tough day today. Flashbacks… A lot of them.
Mostly to the day I should have been warned that my world was about to end, but I didn’t realize just how serious it was.

I don’t remember the date. I went to my OB for my 16 week checkup. It was the day I turned 16 weeks. Everything looked good…. Well, the baby looked good. The doctor told me that my cervix was really soft. Really, really soft, and that it scared her. She was extremely concerned.

I didn’t know. I didn’t know that meant my cervix could funnel early. I didn’t know that meant my water could break. I dilated early 11 years ago, but my water didn’t break. I didn’t know the umbilical cord could fall out. I didn’t know that all this was going to happen in just over 6 weeks. I didn’t know what that meant. I didn’t know what the future could bring.

Sometimes, I hate myself for not knowing. I hate myself for not figuring it out and doing something. Anything.

I loved my Skybaby so very much. I wanted her more than anything (and I still do – I would give almost anything to have a little 2 year old Skybaby today). Why didn’t I know? Why couldn’t I have done something? Why did this have to be my fate? Why did it have to be hers?

Whose birthday was it?

I was doing okay today, but that was while I was at home and essentially the only person awake… and then in the car alone listening to my book on tape. I was well-grounded and ready for a day of work. At least, until I came in to work. Now I’m thrown all off kilter, and I can’t focus worth a flip. I’m hoping the busier I stay, the less people will try to talk to me.

Tabi’s birthday was Saturday. I burned the messages which were sent to me. Our little cauldron was full of messages for the angels. I’ll post pictures another time as I’m at work and don’t have the pictures here. We put the girls outside on the table by the cauldron, then we moved them to the dining table for the “party” later. There wasn’t really much of a “party” but we did eat cheesecake on the “Angel’s 1st Birthday” plates that I saved after Skyler’s birthday. I etched, “Tabi 1st” into the top of the cheesecake. My wife and I each had a piece. It was okay.

I had one other angel mom let me know she was thinking about me. And a good friend sent me text messages. A couple others who sent messages for their angels sent messages for me. And that was it. No one else noticed. No one else cared. Not even my Mom called to ask how I was doing. Guess she didn’t remember either.

We went out that night to a potluck. Generally, I make brownies or something for those types of events… but because it was Tabi’s birthday, I made a chocolate cake with buttercream icing. I didn’t put any writing or anything on it, just a chocolate cake and plain icing. Certainly not everyone’s business why I decided to bake a cake. Everyone loved it, though everyone always loves anything I bake. There was quite a bit of cake left over though (over half) so I wrapped it back up and took it home so I could bring it to work and make my co-workers fat… I mean… make them happy. 🙂

I came in this morning, put the cake on the “share” table, and came to my desk. A few minutes later, this girl that I work with came and knocked. She said, “I KNOW you made that! Whose birthday was it?” I stumbled. Uh, um, uh, as my brain raced, “How do I answer that? Do I want to tell her? I don’t discuss personal stuff at work… Not her business” So I answered simply, “My daughter’s.” Then I turned and promptly started working again. Or looking like it anyway. She took the hint and said, “Well, Happy birthday to your daughter!”… and ran off to get a piece of cake. After I answered, all I could think about was how do I avoid that inevitable question when a child has a birthday, “How old is she?”… thankfully, she didn’t ask it. She meant well, but she knocked me off balance. I wasn’t prepared for such a question. How did she know it was anyone’s birthday? I bring stuff all the time, and no one questions anything. They just say thank you and eat it all up. Why is today different? Did I bake “Happy Birthday” energies into the cake? Is it written on my face? WTF?

So as I was starting to get back together, another co-worker comes up a few minutes later and asks, “It was your daughter’s birthday?” Ugh, she overheard. “Yes,” I answered without turning around. This is a person that DOES know about Tabi and Skyler, but I wasn’t interested in discussing it here or now. Obviously getting the hint, she said, “Oh! Okay…” and left to get a piece of cake. I tried again to recover my brain and focus on doing my work…

So the co-worker whose desk is nearest mine comes up, “Was it M’s birthday?” (M being my 11 year old)… “No, her birthday was in June.” “I thought so. So what was the celebration?” When I didn’t repond, she answered herself a few moments later, “Just some other fun celebration I guess…?” “Yes,” I managed to croak out.

Skyler’s birthday is in a month and a half. It’s almost time to gather my collections of pennies and clean them. And the only thing I have to say about that is that I’m sick and fucking tired of celebrating birthdays, holidays, everything without my girls.

Sharing an email from Dr. Sumners

I received an email from Dr. Sumners this morning as part of a mailing group that has hundreds of mothers, many (if not most) of whom have experienced loss. I requested permission to share his email because I think it might be beneficial to other loss mothers. I will let the email speak for itself; Here is the email:

At the risk of stating the obvious, it is OK to mourn your losses. Society, spouses and family underestimate the emotional impact of the death of a baby. If a spouse died, none of us would tell the survivor: “It’s OK, you can get married again.”

In my field, I have encountered a large number of fetal, infant and child deaths. With this experience, even a guy can begin to realize the importance of respecting the emotional impact. In our program, like others, we have established a bereavement support process to physically and emotionally recognize these losses. Perhaps the most important function of the AbbyLoopers group is the incredible amount of this kind of support the group provides.

I encourage each of you to physically recognize the death of your baby in your lives and homes. Some of you will have ashes in a special place. You may have a momento you keep and bring out periodically. Most guys will not seem to understand, but give them time. It was a loss for them, too, but guys are not programmed the way girls are. You will be able to, at some point, share your feelings with your other children. As time passes, your memories will be fond memories.

My weekend, my grandfather, no ovulation yet

Friday, we had dinner together, then I swam with my daughter for a while as planned. I got lots of good excercise, and so did she.

Saturday, I got up and left – I met my Mom in a nearby town (a couple hours away). I had lunch at Dairy Queen – a juicy hamburger. When Mom got there, she asked if I had time to talk, or if I had to go – I told her I would love to sit and chat for a while. So we did. It was good to catch up with Mom and listen to her yak about her life.

I also told my daughter about G’s cancer. She was VERY upset about it. She got angry and expressed how much she hates cancer. She cried, but I think she’ll be ok. Like us, she sees G as part of our family, and that was a hard blow for her. At least G has support. 🙂

And speaking of G and cancer, I got a full update on my baby cousin who is battling cancer. They did get most of the cancer when they did the surgery a while back, but not all of it. And it was in his bones, too. They weighed quantity vs. quality and decided to go ahead with the bone marrow transplant and other treatment. The medication involved has bad side effects including loss of hearing (he does have hearing aids now). He was supposed to remain in the “bubble” for 120 days or something. After 32 days, they decided he was doing well enough to remove him from the “bubble”. They released him from the hospital, and he went “home”. That’s where I got my “he’s doing great” report I posted not long ago.

Then things got bad. His fever spiked, and he went downhill quickly. He’s been getting blood and platelets daily ever since then. They don’t know whether he’s going to pull through this or not, though of course, everyone is cheering for him.

Assuming things improve and he DOES survive this transplant, he still needs radiation and other treatment. They will again be evaluating quality vs. quantity before moving forward. I can’t imagine the pain my cousin is dealing with in having to make these decisions for her son.

Mom was wearing a white Tshirt which requested prayers for my cousin with a Thomas train on it (Thomas is his favorite!). I told her I wanted one, I would wear it. I realized a couple hours after asking for the shirt when I hugged her “bye” that there was writing on the back. A Bible verse. I won’t get into my feelings about that on this blog, but I hope that if the God they believe in DOES exist, he starts helping them soon. Before it’s too late for my baby cousin. Speaking of “baby” cousin – he’s growing up. He’ll be 4 at the beginning of July.

He was named after my grandfather. My grandfather was dearly loved by everyone. My grandfather battled cancer for 14 years before he finally succombed to flying with his sister among the angels. I wish that carrying his name didn’t require carrying his burden.

Speaking of my grandfather… My daughter told me about talking with an “old man” who told her about fighting in war a long time ago. She said he had some really interesting stories to tell her. I told her that she should talk to him and learn as much as she can. It won’t be long before everyone who fought in WWII is gone. I told her that I had realized that a long time ago, and I asked my grandfather about his experiences. He shared lots of stories, most were horrific. I know he had LOTS of nightmares and such upon coming home. He shared with me things he apparently hadn’t shared with others, but I didn’t know that until this weekend. I passed some of those stories that I could remember to my daughter. She was amazed. She developed a lot of respect for my grandfather through these stories (he died when she was young – she doesn’t remember him). She asked me, “Mom, where did he go in the war? Like Afghanistan? Iraq? Where?” I told her that I wasn’t real sure – I think he may have told me, but I’ve forgotten. It’s been a long time. I just remember the horror stories he told me.

When we were sitting with Mom at Dairy Queen, my daughter asked her, “Gammy, Mom told me about Pawpaw fighting in World War II. Do you know where he fought?” My Mom had the one answer I didn’t have…. He was on Normandy Beach on D-Day. My heart sunk. Good god. The horror stories… I had no idea that was D-Day… Normandy Beach. I was in shock. I love and respect my grandfather more now than ever before. I heard the horror stories, but I didn’t know just how bad.

So Mom looked at me and asked me about what I knew. I told her that when I was a teenager, I realized that WWII vets wouldn’t be around forever – and I was living with one. So I asked him, and he shared. He told me lots of stories. He told me about being the only survivor in his Platoon. He told me about his frostbite. He told me about the death of his best friend (which he apparently had nightmares about for many years to come). Mom said he never told her or any of his kids anything about the war. I was surprised. I know it was hard for him to remember and share, but he didn’t seem unwilling to share at all. Almost like a stillbirth is to me – I won’t tell you because I know you don’t want to hear about it, but if you ask, I would love to share everything with you even if it brings me to tears. I asked, and he shared. Mom said that my grandmother had told all of her children not to ask, and apparently none of them had. No one ever told me not to ask, so I did. And I’m glad I did. Mom said she heard him screaming his friend’s name in the middle of the night in nightmares, but she never knew what happened.

Anyway… by the time I got home, I was sick. I’ve been doing fantastic on my healthy diet, and that hamburger did NOT sit well with me. My wife wasn’t home, so I cleaned up and went to bed. A couple hours later, my wife came in… I was feeling better, and we spent a lot of time together the rest of the weekend. We cooked together, went skinny dipping, played computer games…

I went to Half Price books on Sunday and picked up a few books. I’ve been wanting to go, and I’m glad I did. I got a couple awesome books at like, normal price, and I shopped in the clearance rack and got oodles of goodies for a buck a piece. One book I got for me to read. I think maybe it’ll help with my lack of faith. I also got a book about gardening – ALL about gardening ANYTHING. It’s old, but it has so much good information in it, who wouldn’t buy it for $1 when they’re working towards self-sufficiency? I got a book for my daughter, and a neat book for my wife. I got a Spanish book and an ASL book…

I’m teaching my daughter Spanish. I realize she needs to be able to communicate in Spanish, so I figure it’s time to teach her. She has a good foundation in Japanese, but I don’t know enough of that to teach her. And in America, she needs to know Spanish, not Japanese. :p

We also agreed that we need to begin learning sign language. I learned it as a young child because I had speech problems. There have been times I’ve used it (such as at the dentist and unable to speak), but my wife hasn’t understood what I meant. I haven’t really used it a lot in many years, but on occasion I try – it’s almost always met with confusion though. I don’t remember it all, I’m certainly not qualified to be an interpreter or anything. So we agreed that with bringing a baby in to our family (or two), we want them to learn sign language early. They can sign before speaking. We also have someone who is hard of hearing who will likely be spending a lot of time on the farm. We agreed that if we all learn sign language, it will be a lot easier. For me in particular, I absolutely loathe having to repeat something because I wasn’t heard or understood. As a child, no one understood me, and I was constantly asked to repeat. I would just shake my head and walk away. I learned long ago not to waste time repeating. While I agreed to be patient and repeat as needed, we all think that using sign language will be beneficial for all of us.

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I’ve been OPK testing. Part of me is somewhat concerned about whether I will even ovulate. Then again, we took steps to make sure I would. I haven’t ovulated yet, but my estimated ovulation is either tomorrow or Wednesday. I just tested (10:45 am), and it’s negative as of now. I’ll test again in a little bit, but I’m still pretty sure it’s tomorrow or Wednesday. My donor is on stand-by and is ready. I’ve been feeling “ovulation pain” and arousal which encourages me to believe that I will in fact ovulate this month – and soon. Within a couple of days, probably.

Part of me is very scared that within a couple of days, I may be pregnant again. Part of me is very scared that I may be considered “2 weeks pregnant” right now. Part of me is very scared.

Part of me is excited.
Part of me says, “This is it, and I’m ready.”
Part of me wishes I would hurry up and ovulate already.

chiropractors, dentists, work, oh my.

Flatter me, and I may not believe you.
Criticize me, and I may not like you.
Ignore me, and I may not forgive you.
Encourage me, and I may not forget you.
-William Arthur

When I went to the chirpractor yesterday, their daily calendar had the above quote. It said a lot to me. It’s like… exactly how I feel. About everyting. I asked them how many more patients they had that day, and they looked at me funny. Then she said, “Only a couple, why?” So I told her because I wanted to steal today off her calendar, and could I please have it tomorrow? She told me the day was over enough that I could have it. I tore it off, and I now have it sitting on my desk.

Things are better at home I think. I got really bad last night, I said and did some things I shouldn’t have because I was upset. After a little while though, I realized what I was doing and I wanted to try to make it better, but it was obviously too late. At least for last night. Things are better today though. I think. I hope.

I have to work. Today is hell at work, and I don’t want to be here. I’m tired, I’ve got anxiety, I want to see my wife, and well, I just don’t want to be HERE. One more hearing today, and of course there’s multiple witnesses. And today, everyone seems to sense that I’m not up to dealing with shit so they keep yakking and yakking and trying to give me more shit to deal with. I want to become an ostridge and shove my head in the ground. I get off in an hour and a half, but that’s not much consolation.

I see the dentist one more time today. It’s nothing big, just a filling that’s starting to have problems, and he wants to just fix it before it IS a problem. Should be easy… at least, it would be for anyone but me. When it’s done though, it’s done. No more dentist for a while. I just have to get through the night. Tomorrow will bring no dental anxiety. Tomorrow will be better without that anxiety. It’ll also be another day closer… but I can’t go there because I have to work. It’s time to start a hearing.

New friend “Jo”

I made a new “friend” yesterday.

Last night, I went to a community which I used to visit often. I had a lot of friends there in different forums, and I periodically through the years go back and say hi. Generally, it’s just a matter of checking in and saying I’m thinking about them… then I’m off again.

Last night, when I logged on, I noticed something different. Instead of a handful of “rooms” to go into, there were TONS. I was shocked, I thought something must definitely be wrong. I picked one for pagans, went in, sat for a bit and chatted with the person in there, then decided it was time to make my leave. I noticed a room for depression support. I thought about going in, I felt a pull, but I said no. I wasn’t feeling depressed, and I didn’t want to go in there. So I didn’t.

I went into another chat room which also pulled me and met people near where we are building. One is a builder, too. We had some really great talks, and they gave us some great advice and insight. I was glad I had gone in there. That is, until my computer gave me the blue screen of death. A bit later when I was up and running again, I went back to the same room, but the main people I had been talking to were no longer there. I left.

I looked at the depression support room again. I was finally tired and ready to sleep, but I felt the need to go there. Why? I have no idea. I’ve had more than my share of depression, but right now, I’m actually doing pretty well. I wanted to click the X and go to bed, but I couldn’t. I clicked for it to open the room for depression support instead. The first line I read was something like, “What would your daughter have wanted you to do?” “If you had died and she had lived, what would you want HER to do? Be depressed because you died, or live her life to the fullest?” I said hello and sat quietly to watch the chat for a few minutes. It was pretty evident that someone had recently lost a daughter. It was a lady who I will call Jo on this blog.

After a few minutes of watching quietly and feeling her pain, I asked her, “How long ago was it?” “April 22”. So I thought back to a month after I had lost Skyler, and my heart broke. I told her that I lost a daughter in Sept ’10, and another in July ’11. We talked about where she is in her grief, how all grieve differently, where she will go in her grief, how to get through the days, etc. I told her about a support group that I used to go to for bereaved moms, and she was very appreciative. A bit later, it came out that she doesn’t live but a few hours from me. And her daughter passed in the city I live near. We chatted some more, but she made it clear she isn’t interested in the memories right now. I did not ask for any details beyond “how long ago”, so I don’t know how old her daughter was or what happened, just that Jo needed support and love from a mother who understands what the path looks like, even if all our paths look a bit different. Just knowing someone who has been there and being able to talk about things like the “new you” and how you can’t go back to naivete and the strong desire to wake up… and they understand.

We exchanged email addresses, and I hope I can help bring her comfort over the coming days, months, and possibly years. If you are Christian, my new friend “Jo” needs prayer. If you are Pagan, my new friend needs positive, healing energies. Whatever you are, if you send thoughts or energies, she needs them.