Friday, November 2, 2012

"The human being is a  surprisingly resilient organism. We impel toward health, not sickness. Your spirit, as surely as your body, will try to heal...So you should not fear tragedy and suffering. Like love, they make you more a part of the human family...They are the fire that burns you pure."

~ Kent Nerburn, Simple Truths

 We lost a second angel this year.

The circumstances were eerily similar to the previous baby we lost. I found out I was pregnant by the 5th week. Had an ultrasound by the 6th week to check on the heartbeat; cardiac activity was detected, but so was a subchorionic hemorrhage. After two weeks, back to the sonologist to check on the size of the SCH and the baby's development. The size of the SCH decreased, but the baby's cardiac activity revealed only a flatline. Early embryonic demise at about 7 weeks AOG.

I was watching the monitor intently the entire time I was having the scan. Even before the sonologist turned the monitor away from me, I knew something was wrong. No, it wasn't just his facial expression that told me so. I was already familiar with the foetus' outline - how it was NOT supposed to look like, at least. And that wasn't how the baby was supposed to look like.

Over and over, the good doctor tried to look for a heartbeat. But for each flatline I saw, my spirits continued to sink. I knew what he was going to tell me. And before he could even say, "I'm sorry," I was already lost in my own personal abyss. Yet I was still able to tell him, "Yes, I know." By then, I had already successfully put on my most convincing poker face. I took it matter-of-factly.

But the truth was, my world stopped for a while and continued on in slow motion, as if I was in a drug-induced stupor. I heard him ask me if it was okay to call in my husband, and I found myself mechanically nodding my head and thinking, what else can you say that can change things? Seeing my husband walk in with a shit-oh-no-here-we-go-again look, and the pain in his eyes when the doctor showed him the baby's heart, silent and still. 

We went back to my OB Gyne to show her the results, not talking, just holding hands. There were no words. Only that grave, familiar feeling that we wished we never knew.
 
I am putting my thoughts and feelings out here not to ask for comfort, or advice, or reasons. Because there is no comfort right now. Because I don't need advice. Because there are no reasons that I can humanly fathom.
 
Only feelings. Of anger. Of sorrow. Of bitterness.
 
I feel angry at the laboratory that processed my blood tests. Yes, I know they said results will be in two to three weeks' time, but have they never heard of a life-and-death situation? I insisted twice on getting the results early, twice I was told the same thing...yet when my OB gave them hell, they were able to produce the results in 15 minutes. But it was useless. She was already holding the second ultrasound result. At some point, I wanted to blame the lab. I am angered at the life I had lost and at their incompetence and insensitivity. I could have been given the proper treatment to save my baby's life had they not wasted their time sitting on their motherfucking slacker asses. I am angry that I am so helpless.
 
I am deeply sorrowed for another beautiful life lost. A life we eagerly anticipated would bring more happiness and love into our family. I am sad because I was powerless to do anything to save him (Yes, I know in my heart that I carried a little boy). I am sad because I was not able to save his sister, either (I also felt in my heart that the previous one was a little girl).

I am bitter because I feel like I failed my husband and my son. Yes, I know it's not my fault, it's nobody's fault. But that is how I feel. I saw other mothers at the hospital that day, with their big bellies and their expressions of bliss and I think, why could I not do that again? 

The most difficult part of this ordeal was in breaking the news to my son. We told him we lost the baby, and he said, "Again?!" He leaned on my shoulders and hugged me, and it took all the energy in my body not to break down in front of him. I couldn't do that to my son. I gave him a rational answer, though rational was the last thing I felt at that time. 

Whenever I see images of siblings on books, on the internet, on TV, anywhere...I feel a knife going through my heart for what my son couldn't have. I long to give him a brother or a sister, because I know how lonely it can be without one. But I can't. And it hurts like hell.

Dear reader, don't tell me there is hope yet. Don't tell me I can try again. Don't tell me that God's plans are not our plans. I know all that. But I don't want to hear it.

I just want to feel. I am allowing myself this, for the moment. I lost another life and I have every right to grieve, and no one has the right to tell me otherwise.

I will see you someday, my little ones. Mommy owes you both some hugs and kisses.


Wednesday, October 24, 2012

Remembering



We owe you our hugs and kisses. We owe you a name. But, until we see each other someday, we will always remember you.

Tuesday, April 3, 2012

The Boss

I am dumbfounded at how I always seem to find the world's coolest and most amazing bosses around. I recently proved that yet again.

My birthday came two days after I found out the sad news. Notice I did not say "I celebrated my birthday..." (How could I, right?). But since it was still supposed to be my special day, the text messages arrived, the Facebook greetings appeared on my wall, the Twitter greetings were tweeted, calls came. I answered them all as cheerfully as I could. Most people probably thought I was having the time of my life, when in fact I spent the day hiding in my house, away from the rest of my family, entertaining myself with a DVD marathon of "Desperate Housewives", of all things.

Evening came. And so did a very heartwarming message from The Boss. He knew about my entire journey (mainly because I had the responsibility to inform him). Note that I had been away from work for almost a month by then.

He told me:
"Happy birthday, iluzionada! I know that given how things have been, it's not exactly an easy thing to do to be happy and celebratory. But birthdays are both celebrations of all things past and all things about to come. Wishing you many many blessings ahead, and may your birthday be filled with love and hope. God bless you, iluzionada :)"
A perfect, perfect message which I consider the start of my journey to healing.

I am still blessed. The Boss was and still is a wonderful person.

Monday, April 2, 2012

The Timeline

20 February 2012 was a special day. It was my best friend's birthday, and on the same day, I received the best news ever: I found out I was five weeks pregnant. I giddily looked at the two pink lines and shared the news with the people who mattered.

An answered prayer.
**********
Towards the beginning of my sixth week, I had an episode of slight spotting. Brownish, not red (sorry, TMI). I was trying not to panic and had the presence of mind to SMS my doctor. She advised immediate bed rest plus continued medication.

I immediately complied.
**********

A few days after the spotting episode, my doctor called me and told me to come in for an ultrasound. Now. I stilled my frantic heart and told myself she will take good care of us.

And she did.
**********
At the doctor's clinic, I looked at the monitor and the doctor explained that there was a subchorionic hemorrhage. Nothing to be alarmed over, but still, I needed to take it easy.

I also saw the beginnings of a tiny, tiny heartbeat. 109 beats per minute, to be exact. At that point, the shape was still unrecognisable, but the signs of life were unmistakable. I held the blurry pictures and felt my happiness spill over. I shared the moment with my husband and anybody else who cared to listen.

We were elated.
**********
I promised my little one that I will do everything to take care of him/her. I avoided too much movements and confined myself within my bed as much as I could (I even skipped dinner with an aunt who came home from the UK. Didn't want to take any chances). I took my medication religiously. I ate whatever I could (which wasn't much, considering I hated the smell of food. But I still tried my best to keep everything down.). I prayed for the little one.

And I also said, whatever happens: Your will be done.

**********
16 March 2012; two days before my 36th birthday. After weeks of staying at home, in bed, it was a full day for me. I was scheduled for laboratory tests: routine urinalysis, an oral glucose challenge test (OGCT) and a repeat ultrasound.

I took my lab results to my doctor and then went back down for the repeat ultrasound. Doc said she would wait for me so we can finish my consultation.

It was a day I wish had never come.
**********

I've discovered a few of the saddest things at the end of my 35th year.

Going into a hospital happy, optimistic, and expectant. Then going out a few hours later, empty, numb and devastated.

Looking at the first sonogram and remembering the beginnings of a tiny heartbeat. Then looking at the latest one and seeing that flatline.

Reading the words "good cardiac activity" the first time. Then hearing the words "fetal demise" and "pathologist" in one sentence and realising it was meant for you.

That sometimes the tears just won't stop. And you look at your husband's eyes and see your grief magnified a thousand times over. 

**********
We drove home in total, shocked silence. Our dreams were crushed, but we had no words to say it out loud.

I looked outside the car window and recalled the surreal experience at the hospital. The sonologist asking me what the baby's previous heartbeat was. Then telling me in a voice devoid of any emotion that there was no cardiac activity detected (he even showed me a flatline with the word "ABSENT" in all caps). I recalled how the world tipped slightly out of balance at that very moment; I thought, how could I tell my husband and my son? Was there anything I could have done differently? How can I "un-tell" everyone I shared the good news with?

WHY?

And as our car whizzed past a Jollibee store, I saw the happy red-and-yellow bee smiling at me. Mocking me for no reason at all. That's when I heard a loud cry of pain. Deep, inconsolable, primal.

And I realised it was me.

Thursday, February 23, 2012

An Answered Prayer

My Divine Writer has spoken.


Guess that US trip needs to wait for a few more months.