While yesterday was the actual date set aside to remember our lost babies, I decided intentionally not to write about it. I decided to write after the day was done, not because it wasn’t on my mind all day yesterday (it was), but because I wanted to write about the day in it’s entirety. Rather then sharing my thoughts in anticipation of the day, I wanted to share my thoughts after I spent all day thinking about the significance of October 15 and what it means to my life.
Yesterday, all day my WordPress, Instagram and Twitter feeds were filled with acknowledgements from other grieving mothers about their lost children. Those of us who are part of this club, we comforted each other as we acknowledged our lost babies. So, last night I light a candle at 7pm and let it burn itself out. And, as with last year, I lite a candle from my mom in honor of all babies who are no longer with us and all mothers with empty arms.
Yet, in my real life, no-one, not a sole, recognized the significance of yesterday in my life. Those who know of our losses, said nothing. Including my parents, our friends and even Mr. MPB.
And I honestly understand why they said nothing. Most likely, they didn’t even know. Unless you are part of the infertility and baby loss club, it’s likely you have no idea that October 15th holds special meaning to mothers like me whose children never took their first breath. (In fact, Mr. MPB didn’t know until I nearly bit his head off when he went to blow out my candle). And even those who might have known the significance of October 15th (which I honestly doubt anyone in my life knows about) I suspect they probably question what to even say. How do you acknowledge that someone has lost a child in a meaningful and non-hurtful way?
Sometimes saying nothing at all, is easier for the other person. I get that.
Heck, sometimes saying nothing at all is easier for me, the grieving mother. Sometimes I prefer silence to saying the wrong thing because sometimes the wrong thing cuts deeply and it takes effort to remind myself that they probably meant well, just got tongue tied and/or were simply uneducated. And honestly, a large part of me just prefers that people say nothing rather then say the wrong thing because sometimes it’s hard to be constantly trying to correct, educate and explain. It’s hard to be protecting my feelings and check my attitude at the door as I correct, educate and explain.
I’m not upset that no-one in my real life acknowledge the significance of October 15, because honestly, I’m not one to acknowledge these types of dates anyways. I know it’s a date meant to remember and honour our children who were lost too soon, and to honour the parents who continue to live with the grief. I respect the efforts of raising awareness and I want to contribute my voice to that effort. Yet, I firmly believe that October 15 is not the only day I can do this. I believe it needs to be done day in and day out in the way that I lead my life.
And, so yesterday I realized that October 15th just isn’t a significant date in my personal story.
Because, for me, in my life, those dates are those one that are marked by life and death. On the life dates (i.e. birthdays of people in my life who are living), I get to celebrate the joy that is right in front of me. Whether it be our nephews birthdays, Mr. MPB’s birthday or our dogs birthday, I love those dates because they are a day dedicated to celebrating life. But the other dates, the death date, those dates are the ones where I have no choice but to remember what was and what could have been, my goal is simply to survive.
And sadly, I have way too many death dates in my life.
When it comes to my the date of my mom and my sister’s death I do absolutely nothing specific to acknowledge the anniversary of their deaths. Instead, I simply try to survive the day without bursting into tears and being irrationally angry.
When it comes to the dates our babies were supposed to be born, well after our first loss, I never even learned a single expected due date. I don’t know potential birth dates. After our first loss, I did this to myself intentionally and I’ve chosen to still not learn them (if I look I could figure it out based on conception dates but I know I don’t need those dates marking my calendar, they wont help me). But what I do know is the dates that each of our babies died. With the exception of our first loss, I know each and everyone one of them. They are forever etched into my mind:
Early miscarriage / chemical pregnancy October 2013.
Emergency D&C, February 16, 2013.
Termination/abortion of our much loved little one, August 14, 2013.
No FHR, March 3, 2014. Miscarriage completed March 31, 2015.
Early miscarriage / chemical pregnancy ended June 1, 2015.
So, while I didn’t expect it, yesterday I realized that October 15 just lacks significance in my heart because it’s not attached to my personal experiences. And, I really don’t feel that I need a specific date or time to remember, because I remember every.single.day. My life will forever be marked by the losses I have endured. No mother, ever expects to carry her children with the end result being that they never take their first breath. Never did I expect that I’d go through 5 pregnancies, and be here today with empty arms knowing that they each slowly died inside me. This, is something I will always carry with me.
Our 5 lost children will never take their first breaths, but they will always live on in my heart and forever impact my daily life.
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As I sat around on Thanksgiving weekend, I couldn’t help but realize that it has officially been one year since we first really began to realize that we would probably never have biological children.
After 5 losses, and countless heartache, more medical procedures then I’d like to remember, we decided to seek out the expertise of a specialist in Recurrent Pregnancy Loss.
At our appointment with the specialist, with a quick switch on an ultrasound machine, he quickly discovered that one of our biggest problems was reversed blood flow out of my uterus. I was heartbroken to learn that my body was essentially slowly killing each of our babies as they could not survive without proper nourishment. While we had to wait weeks for a final diagnosis and protocol, we began immediately discussing possible treatment options. Thanks to some advanced insight, we knew our options in our province in Canada were limited at best.
Our doctor felt very strongly that if we continued to try under his watch and protocol that we’d eventually end up with a living child. In fact, he was very optimistic.
But, for us*, we also knew that his optimism wasn’t exactly practical in our real world:
- The logistics and costs of biweekly flights across the continent for medications not covered by our health insurance and not available locally really weren’t a wise investment.
- Putting me on some medications that are considered higher risk to our future child wasn’t a desirable solution.
- Lacking proper medical oversight locally wasn’t a great strategy.
- And on a larger scale, we knew my mental health was fragile after living through so many hard losses. And we knew my physical health was less then ideal as my body had been through so much already.
- There are no guarantees that his treatment and all the accompanying costs would result in a live and healthy baby.
So that weekend, while enjoying the sights of New York City, Mr. MPB and I talked a lot. We talked about our options. We talked about what we really wanted in life. By the time we caught our flight home a few days later, we both knew that if our final diagnosis was as bad as we were expecting we were done trying. We made a point not to make any final decisions while we were in NYC and that we would only move forward once we were both 100% committed to the same action plan. As two very practical and pragmatic individuals we decided that we needed to do our homework and research surrogacy, gestational carriers, local infant open adoption vs international closed adoption, local foster adoption, international infant open adoption, childless (or childfree depending on one’s perspective), trying again with our local doctors, and trying the new out of country treatment plan. We needed to think about what we both really wanted in life, and what we thought we could handle. We needed to dig deep within ourselves both individually and as a couple. We needed to be true to our concerns, our fears and our life hopes and dreams.
Looking back, I think we both knew walking out of the clinic in NYC that our family plans were forever changed from what had naively assumed for so many years.
And yet, I think we also both knew that we would still have child(ren). We just knew we’d find a way because at the end of the day our hearts belong to our future child. So, we knew we would just have to go about it in a different way then most.
And so today, I want to acknowledge that not once in my life did I ever think I’d go through 5 pregnancies, including one termination, and have no living children. I look back at what we went through and I still have no idea how we survived and how we came through it all with individual sanity and our marriage thriving.
And even more, I sure never thought that I’d be in a position where we’d would be adopting a child. I never for a second though we’d want to invite the complexities of a birth family into our lives. I never thought I’d become so well educated in all things adoption. I never imagined we would sit in a perfect strangers home learning all about adoption and realizing that we can actually do this and it really isn’t that scary. Nor did I ever expect to be attending various social gatherings with birth parents and adoptive parents all learning how to navigate life together. And, I sure never thought that we’d be stretching to pay exorbitant international adoption bills.
If nothing else, these last few years have forced me to realize that life doesn’t always go the way we thought it would. And sometimes, life doesn’t even go in a way we could ever even have attempted to envision, even if we tried. And, sometimes that doesn’t have to be a bad thing, because for us, adoption is not at all a bad thing, it’s actually a great thing and I already believe it’s the best decision we could have made.
And, while waiting for an adoption match and placement is equivalent to the wait from hell, in other ways this wait is easier then any of my past waits because I know our family is at the end of the road. So, I’m confident that even if it takes everything we have, we’ll get through this wait and this frustration.
So, while my arms are still empty, my heart is full and my mamma bear instincts are percolating under the surface. And I know without a doubt that a percolating mamma bear is better then any other alternative.
* I respect that we all make our own decisions related to infertility and loss. We chose what was best for us, and realize that what is best for us may not be the same as others.
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