Grief's Denial and Acceptance

Analytical Frenzy

This week in my microbiology class we delved into the intricacies of antibodies, vaccines, and latent viral infections.  My brain went crazy with the flood of new knowledge related to CMV. . . Since there were only three of us in class on this snowy day, I got the chance to ask many of the questions that have been circling my brain . . .

Why isn't there a vaccine for CMV but we have one for chicken pox (which is related)?
Could I have directly given Evie my serum (and CMV antibodies) to help her fight the infection?
Why do certain viruses like chicken pox and CMV stay latent in you forever?
What are the chances they'll start replicating again and causing symptoms?
Why do some viruses cross the placenta while others don't?
Why do some viruses cross the blood-brain barrier while others don't?
Do antibodies cross the placenta?  If yes, do all of them or just some of them? Why?
How do fetus immune cells "learn" what is self and what is invader?  How can we help educate those cells?
Besides vaccines and immunoglobin, how can doctors support antiviral immune function in neonates?

There were even more questions than that. . . it was a firestorm of questions.  My poor professor gave me a lot of "I don't know." She also gave me a lot of, "That is a very active field of research right now."  I was left stressed and worried, wishing I had known enough to ask some of those questions when Evie was alive.  I was also left with traumatic flashbacks of conversations with doctors.  In fact, this analytical firestorm brought back many of the terrible heartbreaking moments of our time in the NICU- I was always trying to understand exactly what was happening inside her body.  But understanding and being able to DO something were very far separated from each other.

Intellectual Rebellion

I came home and thought about my need to understand the very complicated ins and outs of Evie's infection.  Why?  Why can't I leave it alone and accept that what happened just happened? It was out of my control! 

I have read all about the "stages of grief" and found them to be an annoying bunch of lies that minimize the true experience of grief.  But today I thought- aha!  My "denial stage" is manifesting as intellectual rebellion.  I am trying to find scientific reasons why the terrible thing that happened is impossible.  And on the other hand, if I can learn to explain precisely how it happened, then maybe I can accept that it did happen.  Taking microbiology (and interrogating my professor) are my ways of coming to accept Evie's death.

Rainbows

A Rainbow Baby is a baby you have after experiencing the loss of a baby.  Rainbows come after storms carrying happiness and light. . .  At the same time, they don't negate the storm.  They remind you of the dark that came before.

We have a rainbow coming in April.  We were taking precautions (or so we thought!) but I ended up missing my period at the end of July.  I knew instantly I was pregnant, even after 3 negative pregnancy tests.  Sure enough, a blood test came back positive in mid-August.  It was very much a surprise, because we had decided to wait a while for emotional and physical reasons: My OB said it's good to wait about a year before trying so that the C-section can completely heal.  I was also feeling very raw still about Evie, finding it difficult to imagine how to love another baby after everything we've been through. 

Truthfully, it was a shock- and very scary- at first.  Of course we were planning to try for another baby at some point, but this was way too soon.  Kabir was distressed and worried about my health and the new baby's health.  Meanwhile, I felt very deep guilt about somehow "replacing" Evie.  I still worry that we are being too hasty.  I worry that we are not honoring Evie's life and her spirit by adding another family member so soon.  I have felt ashamed and kept the news pretty quiet.  Normally I'd probably blurt this kindof thing out the second I knew about it, but guilt, shame, and fear have kept me from sharing about our little rainbow until now.

A few months have gone by since we got the news, and we are slowly adjusting to the idea that this is really happening.  I know my close family and friends are happy for us, and we are mostly happy now too.  But being pregnant is not the healing gift it might seem.  I struggle daily with all kinds mixed emotions about everything our family is going through.  I think often about Evie and her short, hard life and wish she could be here and be healthy.

Physically, I am feeling very well, although my OB has been following things very closely.  Fortunately, CMV is like chicken pox- once you have had it, your body has built up defenses and it is not going to kick back up and affect future pregnancies.  I am still of course on edge from time to time about any possible complication.  I felt our new baby move for the first time about a week ago, and I felt a GIGANTIC sense of relief. 

I have already put on quite a bit of weight and my belly is pretty big already.  New friends at school have started asking me whether we have a little one coming.  I can't really hide it anymore- so here we go- the news is out!  If you see me out and about, you won't have to wonder.  Yes.  We have a tiny rainbow on the way...

Valerie June: A Silly Willy

Valerie is about to turn three.  She is a little munchkin with a sneaky twinkle in her eye! I get to stay home with her three days a week.  We do all kinds of fun things together, like walk to the park, go swimming, dig in the sandbox, etc.  Recently, she started dance lessons at the rec.  It is really fun and new!

Valerie speaks her mind no matter what.  ("Mommy, that is a big no no.  And you might need to go to time out if you do that!" -referring to me trying to put on her pajamas.)  Valerie loves attention, and she is very active!  Her favorite game right now is to tie a shoe lace to her scooter and pretend it is her dog.  She takes the scooter-dog for walks every day and feeds him too.  She also likes playing with her little toy school bus and taking her toy people around the house in there.  Enjoy these photos of my little sidekick:

Hours upon hours in the new sandbox Kabir built.

Baking cookies on a rainy day.

"Dad, I am focusing on this right now, so don't distract me ok?" (This is seriously what she said.)

Spoon lick.

Shy?

Proud!

Happy!

3 Months Now

I am back at school full swing, which is fun and challenging!  My favorite class is microbiology, since we get to learn about all manner of infectious diseases and we get to use microscopes every day (read: nerdtastic!)  We each have to present one disease to the class, and I requested to present CMV.  I explained to the professor that my baby died of that disease, but then I regretted telling her so much personal information.  It's a strange thing to tell people "my baby died." . . It is an overwhelming aspect of my identity, but it is also extremely personal and sometimes makes other people feel awkward.  I think it is something I will try to keep to myself a little better from now on.

Kabir, Valerie, and I are adapting to the new challenges of such a busy schedule.  Sundays are our essential "family day" when we all get to be together for an extended period of time.  We go to the pool or play at the park, or simply hang out lazily around the house.  Sometimes we get sucked into house projects like painting or landscaping, but usually our Sundays are pretty relaxed.  Valerie turns 3 next weekend, and she is getting really excited about having a birthday party!

It's hard to believe that it has been 3 months since Evie died.  She would be 6 months old on September 18th.  Sometimes I think about what we might be doing together right now- snuggling, nursing, laughing, playing.  Evie might be sitting up and giggling and gurgling by now.  Maybe tasting her first carrots.  I miss her and often I dream about her- that we are together like nothing ever happened and she had been born just fine.

One thing I am grateful for that Evie taught me all about is the ability to reach new depths of emotion that I hadn't before.  For example, I now cry almost every time I listen to the news. . . World events are incredibly appalling.  I feel such deep empathy for those who experience loss.  On the surface, it might be annoying to break down and feel so saddened for an hour or two after hearing the news.  But when I sit and let myself feel pain, I realize that this depth of emotion and depth of empathy are really beautiful human things.  Basically, I feel more human than I did before losing Evie, and I think that is good.

Two sleepy-Sunday-monkeys

Faux mustache

Very nerdie selfie of me in my new scrubs for CNA class.

Nursing

Every time I sit down to type these days, I invariably end up writing about my sadness and pain. . . but today I am determined to share something other than depression!  In truth, there are some things going on that bring me full joy in spite of all the heartache.  The biggest joy is the prospect of becoming a nurse! I have now enrolled in prerequisites at Front Range for the fall; plus I will take a nurse aide course.  In the spring, I'll get a job as a CNA while I apply to Regis and CU.

Some friends and family have expressed concern about this dramatic move so soon after losing Evie.  I am grateful for those who challenge me to think deeply about it.  Here are some questions posed to me and some thoughts I have in response:

Aren't your emotions too raw to make such a life-changing decision as switching careers?
Yes and no.  I realize that this goal of nursing might be a way of filling the void in my heart.  I also realize that I am lost and unsure of my identity.  I am sometimes unstable, prone to tears at random times, and distracted.  These emotions are the exact reason I set this goal for myself!  One thing I know about me is that I thrive on intellectual challenge and I love learning something new.  I don't do well sitting at home and contemplating myself and my emotions. . . I want to get out and do something.  I want to reinvent myself.

You absolutely love teaching right?  Why leave that behind?
What I love most about teaching is serving disadvantaged kids- boosting them toward success and valuing them as individuals.  I view nursing in a similar light.  I still have much to learn about the career options out there once I graduate, but I know I will find something that fulfills me to the core.  I will have a chance to value & help disadvantaged individuals.  Perhaps I can even go into public health- something like planned parenthood or another clinic that serves people who might otherwise not have access to healthcare.  After spending so much time with the doctors and nurses in the NICU, I am enthralled by the human body, and I can't wait to learn more.  I love the idea of providing physical and emotional care.

What about having another baby?
It hasn't been long since Evie died, but I would be lying if I said I didn't desperately want a baby again.  It is a tangled bundle of desires: Do I want a baby or do I want my Evie?  Are we ready for all the apprehension of being pregnant again?  Is my "biological clock" ticking?  What if the pregnancy goes badly again?  What if we don't even get pregnant?  . . . If I had to pick between having a baby and going back to school, I would pick having a baby.  Definitely.  But the anxiety surrounding getting pregnant threatens to overtake me!  So I am going to do this nursing thing, and maybe we'll get pregnant too.  If that happens, we'll reassess.

As I type all this out, I am sitting here feeling flooded with love for Kabir, who stands beside me through my crazy impulsiveness and loves me and holds me up no matter what.  This man is a gem.

Dichotomy

Yesterday I was sitting in a cafe watching a mommy cradle her tiny baby.  She was smiling and holding him close, rocking him gently.  I felt my usual sadness and longing.  I could not look away.

Then I heard a loud sound, a guttural cry.  I looked to the very next table and saw two parents with their older child.  She had a helmet on, and she was nonverbal- crying out and banging her hand on the table. She rocked from side to side and her mommy was rubbing her back.  It's hard to explain the way I felt after noticing this other child.  Was it relief that I am not faced with that challenge? Yikes.  Then it was guilt.  As I sat and reflected, I became interested that I was faced with those two pictures of life back to back.  My grief moved and shifted inside me a little bit.

Then Valerie broke my meditation.  "I'm all done with my chocolate milk!"
"Ok pumpkin," I said, returning to the life at hand.  We stood up and left the cafe.

Tricky Things

Seedlings
It was so heart-wrenching to watch my garden sprout and grow while my baby didn't have that chance.  Why do they get to start small and make wonderful progress day by day?  How is that fair?  I pour my love into those veggies, but it hurts.

Pregnant Women and My Empty Body
I cannot look away from all the glowing and beautiful pregnant women I spot out and about. . .  My longing is so very deep. Meanwhile at home I look at my tiny, empty breasts and my still-poochy abdomen in the mirror and feel disgusted by the failure that is my body.

Certain Places
The mall, the library, and the park are places with a very high concentration of newborns.  I notice them and mostly look away.  Sometimes I feel like I don't belong in those places and shouldn't even go.  I wonder where I might belong now?  I tried going to visit the NICU, since that was practically my home for so long.  People were very happy to see me and hugged me, but I felt physically sick.  I could barely even look at them. I wanted to go to Evie's room so badly, just to make sure she was really gone, but there was another baby in there, and I decided it would be weird to ask.

Sometimes I just cannot escape feeling really dark and awful.  It helps to close my eyes and fantasize about the woods or a meadow or a rocky shore.  If I am feeling really, really bad, I imagine the wind howling and pushing on me, my hair whipping and my arms spread wide.  Or I imagine salty waves crashing on me and knocking me under the sea, where I tumble on the sandy bottom.