My boys, Charlie, Cal and Harry are never coming back. Never. No try again. No do over. No better luck next time. I was given a one in eight thousand chance of having triplets and I lost them. I stand defeated and I hate to lose. There are no do overs this time. It's done. I have buried my flesh and blood because of no fault of their own. I have begun to travel down a road that is daunting and dark. To be quite frank, it really sucks. I could write all day about how difficult this is but I'm not sure it would be serving much good. So, if there are lessons to be learned along the way I will share those instead. I can only write of my experience and here is what I have learned about death and loss - so far (although I know my journey is just beginning):
1) The loss of an infant child is real. I'm sure it is logically impossible for some people to understand how it can be so difficult to lose someone you barely knew, had few memories of, or shared so little time with. I am an educated, stable, rational being with a healthy perspective and I can tell you without equivocation that the loss of a baby will rock you to the core. It will send you to places you do not want to go. I am not here to convince you of anything, except that you will likely never understand what a parent goes through unless you have experienced it. There is no time/grief correlation. When you bury a child you lose a piece of yourself that you will never get back. You are changed forever and you would give anything to have your old life back - but that will never happen.
2) I have learned when someone dies the worse thing you can say is nothing. I was really bad at this before. I know now that the simple cards and emails and messages after a traumatic event are like oxygen. I know going to the mailbox or looking at the comments online were the highlight of Aaron and my day for the weeks following the boy's deaths. I know how good it feels when you run into someone who knows and the first thing they say is "I'm sorry for your loss" or "I was sorry to hear about your babies." Automatic comfort. I also have learned when I buy a sympathy card - I now buy two. One for right away and one for later. It gets worse before it gets better.
3) I have learned why some people seem "so strong" or why "they're doing well" at funerals. For me, I think I was out of tears at that point. Impossible to physically cry any more. Second, although I felt as though I was in the moment, it all seemed unreal - like I would surely wake up from this horrible dream. And third, it really feels good to see everyone that cares for you. It is not a facade and it is not strength. It is humanly possible to feel gratitude and happiness along side extreme pain - all at the same time.
4) I have learned the funeral is not the end of grieving. It is just the beginning. When everyone goes home, goes back to work, resumes life as normal - that's when it really starts to hurt. And it hurts bad. The world seems to be spinning around you and you're living in a fog. In the two months following the boys death I didn't get a lot done. I guess I still don't. It was a major accomplishment to shower, write a few thank you cards and maybe scrounge up some food or pay a few bills. Don't ever ask someone in the weeks following a traumatic loss "What have you been up to?" Grieving - it's a full time job. I remember apologizing to a friend that I hadn't returned her phone call because I was having a bad week. The response was, "why, what happened?" As if I was already supposed to be over it and moving on. It takes time - eventually time makes it better but not right away. The first eights weeks were brutal.
5) Public events were hard. I didn't want to run into people who didn't know (and I ran into plenty of them anyways and had to tell the story). I remember thinking I just want to go somewhere that nobody knows me. I imagined that being lost amongst the crowds of New York City might feel pretty comforting. The first two weeks I did not go anywhere, not to John's school, not to the grocery store, not to the neighbors, nowhere without Aaron.
6) I have learned traumatic experiences do not make you stronger. The experience leaves you changed certainly, but not stronger. More empathetic, more caring, more spiritual, yes. But also more cautious, more fearful and more scared that something else will happen and it will be more than you can handle.
7) I have learned the stages of grief are real. It's not just a bunch of hooey you learn in high school psychology class.
8) I have learned watching someone die peacefully is not as bad as it sounds. I always feared being expected to be at someone's death bed waiting for them to pass, afraid I would not be able to handle it. It is okay. It is worth being there for.
9) I have learned there is nothing colder than death. I remember thinking in all the Minnesota winters I have lived - I have never felt a more numbing cold than the bodies of my dead babies. I kept trying to cover them up the night we were in the hospital, hoping more blankets would warm them up. Every time I touched someone's skin in the week after their death I would always think - they're alive - they are so alive.
10) I have learned that people who voluntarily choose professions that deal with death and pain and suffering are angels. They are angles here on earth and their comfort in a time of loss is lifeblood to those left behind.
I would have been induced this week had I carried them to the end and my life would be different forever. I know I have a lot to learn as my journey through life without my sons is just beginning. It's getting better. The breakdowns are less frequent - but when they come they are so dark I wonder if I will ever pull out of it. I do. And I have to keep hoping and believe time will make these wounds scar over. I have stopped listing to Ryan Bingham's The Weary Kind (Crazy Heart) twenty times a day and feel a little more productive each week. I'm finally ready to tackle some projects around the house. After ten weeks I pray to God I have endured the worse, but I know the longer this goes on the more emotionally spent I am. I guess time will tell.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Monday, August 9, 2010
Weighty Matters
Weight has been on my mind a lot lately. Not just my weight (more on that in a second) but the boy's weights. I finally had the nerve to look at how big the boys were measuring. On average, a single baby at 23 weeks weighs 501 grams (1.1 lb). My three boys at 23 weeks weighed 575grams, 630grams, and 610 grams putting them in the 24 to 25 week weight category. I'm pretty impressed with those numbers and I worked hard to get them there. They were right where they needed to be and doing so well. There's a reason they all weighted so much...
Starting at 12 weeks I was strongly encouraged to gain 30 pounds by 20 weeks. Translation, I gained 30 pounds in 8 weeks. The theory behind this is to get the babies as big as possible as soon as possible because 1) they are born on average at 32 weeks and 2) by the time a mother with triplets is 28 weeks there isn't a lot of room left to eat. The bible on multiple pregnancy nutrition was written by Barbara Luke and is frequently referenced by the Mayo Clinic's multiples booklet. I used that as my guide and aimed for 4,000 calories a day to make this happen. How do you eat 4,000 calories a day? Well, it's not as fun as it sounds. With that many babies inside it actually hurts. I would of course eat the fun stuff like rib eye, ice cream, biscuits and gravy, etc. but would also have to supplement with high calorie/protein drinks like Ensure and fruit/veg smoothies for extra calories and nutrients. In addition to the food I would drink a minimum of a gallon of water per day.
There was not a lot I could do in the area of physical activity. My doctor encouraged me wade in the pool to prevent fluid retention, which I did, but the rest of the time I was supposed to be taking it easy. I was also instructed, via the multiples bible, to lay down at least 4 hours during the day and also after dinner until bed (which would take weight off the cervix). I would usually make it until noon or 1:00 and then nap all afternoon, wake up, eat and lay on the couch all evening and then go to bed. I really only had about 4 hours a day when I was productive, 8am to 12pm. I remember thinking at the time, how is it physically possible to be awake all day! At 20 weeks I was no longer supposed to pick up anything heavier than a gallon of milk. All of this inactivity lead to a lot of muscle loss. I estimate a minimum of ten pounds...putting my real weight gain at closer to 40 pounds. At 23 weeks with my first pregnancy I had only gained about 7 pounds.
During birth I lost about 12 pounds (three separate placentas took up a lot of space and weight). I gained back about five pounds, likely because my metabolism is shot and I have a lot of muscle to gain back. So, here I am. Twenty three pounds over weight, out of shape and no babies to nurse. Okay, I promised no pity parties but come on girls - you've got to understand the frustration. I've been eating healthy and working out. My weight has not budged one pound. I realize it takes time, but I feel like I really don't have a lot of time.
The comfort in all of this is knowing I did everything in my control. I did what the doctors told me, gained the weight and sat around. I have no regrets and can't look back and say, "well, maybe if I had gained the weight things would be different..."
It's difficult to deal with loss emotionally, but the loss of a baby adds an additional layer - the physical evidence you cannot get a break from. The physical evidence is a constant reminder of what has happened. I am very fortunate to be healthy and realize there are bigger problems in the world than being 20 pounds overweight. But for right now, whining about my struggle is justified. This weight loss has very little to do with fitting into my favorite jeans.
Starting at 12 weeks I was strongly encouraged to gain 30 pounds by 20 weeks. Translation, I gained 30 pounds in 8 weeks. The theory behind this is to get the babies as big as possible as soon as possible because 1) they are born on average at 32 weeks and 2) by the time a mother with triplets is 28 weeks there isn't a lot of room left to eat. The bible on multiple pregnancy nutrition was written by Barbara Luke and is frequently referenced by the Mayo Clinic's multiples booklet. I used that as my guide and aimed for 4,000 calories a day to make this happen. How do you eat 4,000 calories a day? Well, it's not as fun as it sounds. With that many babies inside it actually hurts. I would of course eat the fun stuff like rib eye, ice cream, biscuits and gravy, etc. but would also have to supplement with high calorie/protein drinks like Ensure and fruit/veg smoothies for extra calories and nutrients. In addition to the food I would drink a minimum of a gallon of water per day.
There was not a lot I could do in the area of physical activity. My doctor encouraged me wade in the pool to prevent fluid retention, which I did, but the rest of the time I was supposed to be taking it easy. I was also instructed, via the multiples bible, to lay down at least 4 hours during the day and also after dinner until bed (which would take weight off the cervix). I would usually make it until noon or 1:00 and then nap all afternoon, wake up, eat and lay on the couch all evening and then go to bed. I really only had about 4 hours a day when I was productive, 8am to 12pm. I remember thinking at the time, how is it physically possible to be awake all day! At 20 weeks I was no longer supposed to pick up anything heavier than a gallon of milk. All of this inactivity lead to a lot of muscle loss. I estimate a minimum of ten pounds...putting my real weight gain at closer to 40 pounds. At 23 weeks with my first pregnancy I had only gained about 7 pounds.
During birth I lost about 12 pounds (three separate placentas took up a lot of space and weight). I gained back about five pounds, likely because my metabolism is shot and I have a lot of muscle to gain back. So, here I am. Twenty three pounds over weight, out of shape and no babies to nurse. Okay, I promised no pity parties but come on girls - you've got to understand the frustration. I've been eating healthy and working out. My weight has not budged one pound. I realize it takes time, but I feel like I really don't have a lot of time.
The comfort in all of this is knowing I did everything in my control. I did what the doctors told me, gained the weight and sat around. I have no regrets and can't look back and say, "well, maybe if I had gained the weight things would be different..."
It's difficult to deal with loss emotionally, but the loss of a baby adds an additional layer - the physical evidence you cannot get a break from. The physical evidence is a constant reminder of what has happened. I am very fortunate to be healthy and realize there are bigger problems in the world than being 20 pounds overweight. But for right now, whining about my struggle is justified. This weight loss has very little to do with fitting into my favorite jeans.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Bottom Line
I've tried writing this post a few times but for some reason don't have the belly fire right now for all the details. The bottom line is we were in an ideal situation - strong cervix, three separate sacs, three separate placentas, and healthy babies. My membranes (likely the sac around Charlie, the one closest to the cervix) had a tiny leak and that leak started the process of labor.
There is no explanation as to why my membranes started to leak. Pathology on the placenta revealed nothing. We talked to our doctor for over two hours last week on the "what if this and what about that's," and there is really nothing they can do; nothing they can do to prevent it, nothing they can do to predict it and nothing they can do to stop labor once it happens.
While the appointment was calming (no blame, nothing that could have been done differently), it was also confirmation that if we get pregnant again we could be in the same situation with no options for a better outcome. We are blessed to have a fantastic doctor (that is an understatement) and will likely continue our journey in his care.
Aside from our appointment, I'm very frustrated. I was hoping time would make this easier and instead it gets harder. I think it hit me when our doctor said, "this is one of the most difficult things you will ever face in life." He has the right to say that, he has been walking in our shoes for 25 years. I'm not sure there is anything that makes this any better. Eventually time, yes, but not now. Sometimes I go outside at the hottest times of the day to see if I can bake out the hurt, sweat it out or somehow fry it up. As the weather cooled today I realized this winter will likely be a tough one.
There is no explanation as to why my membranes started to leak. Pathology on the placenta revealed nothing. We talked to our doctor for over two hours last week on the "what if this and what about that's," and there is really nothing they can do; nothing they can do to prevent it, nothing they can do to predict it and nothing they can do to stop labor once it happens.
While the appointment was calming (no blame, nothing that could have been done differently), it was also confirmation that if we get pregnant again we could be in the same situation with no options for a better outcome. We are blessed to have a fantastic doctor (that is an understatement) and will likely continue our journey in his care.
Aside from our appointment, I'm very frustrated. I was hoping time would make this easier and instead it gets harder. I think it hit me when our doctor said, "this is one of the most difficult things you will ever face in life." He has the right to say that, he has been walking in our shoes for 25 years. I'm not sure there is anything that makes this any better. Eventually time, yes, but not now. Sometimes I go outside at the hottest times of the day to see if I can bake out the hurt, sweat it out or somehow fry it up. As the weather cooled today I realized this winter will likely be a tough one.
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