Wednesday, May 25, 2011

Broken heart thats still beating

I guess I haven't blogged in a while. I started a video blog on youtube but....I haven't been on that much lately, either.

I guess I'm just blogging again because I need to do it somehow. Sitting on the couch crying one minute, laughing the next, and the rest of the time being completely numb on autopilot not blinking and freaking my husband out isn't cutting it right now.

I had a miscarriage.

That word feels so...taboo, so wrong, and I feel almost stupid even typing it on the internet. Miscarriage.....

I miscarried a few months ago, before I even knew I was pregnant. I was cramping all day and started bleeding lightly, and it got heavier as the day went on, and by the next morning, I thought I was clotting, but it wasn't a blood clot. It was human tissue, a little mass of tissue no bigger than my thumbnail.

I was shocked, and sad all at the same time. My husband and I had been trying to have a baby for a while, and we REALLY wanted to get pregnant. So to find out that I was pregnant and didn't know it and then lost the baby sucked in a big big way, but I got pregnant very soon afterwards.

When Eric and I went to the doctor for a prenatal appointment, we got an ultrasound at 9 weeks. The baby was kicked rapidly and moving everywhere; she (we refer to it as a she; it seems inhumane to say "it".) had a visible, active heartbeat and everything.

Then we found out I had an infection. The doctor gave me medications for the infection. The first time I took the medicine, I threw it all up immediately; I had forgotten to eat and fill my stomach before I took the pills.

SO, I went back to the doctor and got a second dosage.

Yesterday, I had another prenatal appointment. I had been feeling weird, I didn't feel pregnant anymore; I wasn't showing at all, and I certainly wasn't as big as a normal 3-month-pregnant woman should be. But my husband and I decided not to worry; we felt that worrying might make something bad happen to the baby. At least, that's how I felt.

I had also been cramping, but I remember when I was pregnant with my now 4-year-old, I cramped, but was told by a doctor and numerous friends that it was just my uterus stretching to accomodate a growing baby. It's been five years since then. I didn't know if I was cramping because of that or because of gas. But I didn't get it checked.

At our appointment, the nurse felt my stomach and got a weird look on her face and muttered something under her breath about how it felt smaller than it did at the last appointment. I had also lost 4 pounds since the last appoinement.

But she put the heartbeat monitor-thingie on my stomach to see how baby's hear rate was doing. She couldn't find one. She tried and tried and tried. I could feel my heart sinking, but I also remembered that with my oldest, the doctor couldn't find a heartbeat at first, either, but it turns out that he was just hiding from her and she eventually found it.

My OB couldn't find it, so she brought in her portable ultrasound machine. She laid it on my stomach and said, "Oh, there you are! You're way up here and I was looking lower!" Which meant I was carrying high. My husband said, "Does that mean it's a girl?" (which is what we were hoping for). The doctor said no, and she said, "Healthy is what we aim for." She said it with a smile on her face, but I could tell something was wrong by the look in her eye.

After a while, she said, "I'm going to have you go into the ultrasound room. I can't see very well with the portable machine and I want to get a real good look to make sure everything is going ok."

So, they moved me into the ultrasound room, with my husband sitting beside me. I had a sinking feeling that the baby was gone; but I was hoping that at the last minute, the doctor was going to find her and say, "Oh! There she is! And she looks great!" But deep down I knew that wasn't going to happen.

She asked me if she wanted to turn the TV screen on (the screen that's hooked up to the ultrasound machine so we could see everything that was going on. I knew I should have said no, because somehow I knew what we would find, but I had to see her, at least one more time.

She looked so perfect. So tiny, she looked so peaceful, like she was curled up and taking a nap. It took my breath away for a second, until I realized there was something missing. The space in her chest where I had seen her heart beat just a few weeks ago was gone. There was nothing. No color, no evidence of a heart at all.

THe doctor looked at me and said, "Sweetie, I'm not seeing a heartbeat. I'm going to go grab Dr. Long and see if I can get a second opinion."

Dr. Long came in and asked to see the placenta on the ultrasound machine. Everything got quiet for a second, and then he said, "The placenta is completely unattached." Then he shook his head and said, "No. I'm sorry." and then walked out.

I was kind of expecting it. I remember the night before, I was laying in bed, talking to God. I said, "God, everything is in your plan, and I don't feel pregnant anymore. I think something has happened to the baby. I'm hoping not, but if it did, it's ok; it's part of your plan and you know what's best for me better than I do. I can handle it."

But when Eric and I went back into the doctor's room, I lost it. I didn't think it was going to hit me that hard. Suddenly I took everything back. In my head, I screamed, "God, this was NOT fair. I know I said it was OK, but this is NOT OK! I am NOT OK WITH THIS! We wanted this baby more than anything and this wasn't supposed to happen!"

I felt so bad, like, my little chat with God had somehow urged him to take her from me. But then the doctor said that the baby was only measuring at 11 weeks, which meant I lost it abut two weeks ago and didnt realize it.

I had to go in for a D&C this morning since I couldn't miscarry on my own. I've been numb because #1, I've had a dead baby inside me for weeks. #2, I JUST saw her heart beat a few weeks ago. She was kicking and VERY MUCH alive and healthy. I don't understand. and #3, when the operation was done, I was like, "It's over. The baby is gone."

I just don't think it's hit me yet. Not completely. I just don't understand. I ate healthy, stayed away from crap food, tried to walk a bit everyday, I don't smoke or drink, and I talked to the baby and told her we loved her and I told her how much we wanted her and we couldn't wait to meet her in November. I thought maybe if I could talk to her and urge her to get big and healthy that maybe she would, not matter what. Turns out that love can't save people.

My husband has been amazing. He'd been there when I've cried. he's been pampering me and making me stay home from work and off my feet for now; he's even promised to clean the house (which is yet to be seen). But I cant help but worry.

This is the second time we've lost a baby. I know that it isnt only affecting me. It's affecting him, too. He has told me that he tried to take care of me and that maybe he shouldn't have smoked around me, but we both know it isn't his fault. He's not the one who was carrying the baby and he's not the one the baby depended on to stay alive.

I'm worried that this is going to take a toll on him and he's going to leave me. Before we got pregnant, Dr. Long told me I had an infection and gave me antibiotics to take care of it. I didn't take them. I took two pills and then stopped taking them. I still had the infection when I got pregnant and that's what killed the baby. I killed my baby because I didnt want to take little white fucking pills that would have saved my baby's life. How did I think I could be a mother again if I didn't even want to take pills to keep myself healthy enough to carry my future child?

We've already brought up the subject of trying again for a baby. Again. We've already bought a bassinet and diapers, so why not? Because if this happens again, I'm not sure that I could handle it. I don't know that I want to try anymore. We did try and it didn't work. We already have 3 boys between the two of us, and they're perfect. Why ruin what we already have if we cant be sure that we can have what we're trying for?

But I know that we will eventually try again. For my husband's sake. He wants a little girl really bad. And my 8 year old and 4 year old want a baby sister. My 2 year old doesn't care either way but he thinks he's 6 and he can handle anything as long as his 4 year old brother is by his side, of course. I want to do this for them, and for my husband.

But just, for once, I want him to yell at me. I want him to be angry with me. I want him to tell me this is my fault. I want him to tell me to get off the couch and stop crying because I had this coming. I want someone else to be angry with me besides me.

Wednesday, September 29, 2010

I Got Roofied

Well, last weekend was interesting....

I feel stupid because I feel like I only blog about weekends and stuff...but I have no life so there is nothing that goes on in between weekends. So...

Well, anyway, last Friday I went to the bar, (of course) to hang with Kevin, because we decided we were going to give everything a try and see where it leads. So, I'm at the bar, and an old friend comes up to me and says hello.

Uhm, I haven't SEEN this friend in, like, 5 YEARS. The last time I saw him, I was dating Curtis, and he, Brayden, and I had a house and were VERY happy. This friend (I'll call him Taylon. Because that is, in fact, his name) kept asking me out and of course, I kept shooting him down. Because, I wasn't going to ruin a perfectly good relationship to go out with some guy that i met at Church. CHURCH, MIND YOU.....

Well, Taylon and I got to talking, and he bought me some drinks before Kevin got to the bar. I didn't want to drink too much that night, and I kept telling Taylon that, but NOOOOO. The drinks kept on coming. And he made SURE I was drinking them.

Well, anywho, Kevin showed up at the bar FINALLY. We talked a bit, and then we went outside together so he could smoke and we could talk with other friends who were also outside. After a while, it got pretty chilly out, so Kevin said to me,

"Melissa, seriously, it's cold out here and you're not wearing a coat. Neither am I, otherwise I'd give you mine. But really, you're shivering. You need to be inside. I'll be in there in a few minutes."

Just like Kevin-Always protective of me. (Why?)

SOOOO, I go back inside, and, mind you-I hadn't SEEN Taylon since Kevin showed up at the bar, and I assumed he left. But NOOO. He was still in the bar, not even talking to me or hanging around me. But yet he walks up to me with a drink in his hand. He held it out to me and said,

"Hey. I got you this while you were outside."

Which SHOULD have been a red flag. But Taylon was a FRIEND of mine. So I didn't even think twice about it. So I drank it.

BOOM! The next thing I remember is waking up on my couch the next morning, with my shoes on but my socks were missing. My belt was twisted up and on backwards. I wasn't wearing a bra. But yet my shirt was on. Backwards. I had a big cut on the inside of my hand, and bruises all over my hips.

I thought to myself, "How the fuck did I get home? What happened last nigth? I wasn't even drunk last night. I paced myself pretty well."

So I thought about texting Kevin to say, "What the hell happened last night?"

But just as I was about to send that text message, Adam called me.

"What happened to you last night? You left pretty early. It was, like, 12:30 when you guys left."

"I don't know. I was about to text Kevin and ask him what the hell happened last night."

Pause. " you remember anything from last night?"

"I remember everything up until Taylon handed me a drink last night at about 11. Then I remember nothing. I have no idea what happened. Why? What did I do?"

Another pause. "Uhhhhhh....I don't know how to tell you this, didn't leave with Kevin last night."

"What?" At this point, I was realy confused.

"Do you remember ANYTHING from last night?"

"No. I remember bits and pieces of a really crazy dream that I had last night. Or this morning. Whatever."

"What was the dream?"

"Um, I had a dream that I was at someone's house with Taylon. We were standing in the bedroom, and I remember being in the bathroom trying to put my belt back on, and I remember being in the car with him driving over the bridge, and that's it. But I wasn't really there. I was, like, above my body watching myself be there. But that's all I remember."

"Oh...Well, I don't think that was a dream. I think that really happened. Was he wearing a cowboy hat?"

"Last night? Yeah."

"Oh. I saw you leave the bar with him last night. You were hanging on to him pretty good. Actually, it looked like he was hanging on to YOU, like you couldn't walk. That's kind of weird, because I didn't see you drink that much last night, and then all of a sudden, you were extremely drunk."

"I had maaybe 4 beers last night, and that drink that Taylon bought me. That was it."

"You didn't have any shots?"


"Did he put something in your drink?"

"I don't know."

"Did you have sex with him?"

"I don't remember. I must have, though, because my bra is missing, and my belt is on backwards. But I still don't know where these bruises came from."

So.....yeah. We talked about it, and then laster that day, I walked to Adam's house, and kind of freaked out because I couldn't walk in a straight line. And I kept stumbling. It was like I couldn't even hold myself up. I was STILL out of it at 7:00 that night.

So, I don't actually KNOW if I got roofied, but I bet I did. Adam and I talked about it, and he said it was about that time LAST YEAR when his friend Amanda got roofied also. And I know Taylon went through my phone that night because I had his number in my phone, and when I went to call him the next day to ask him What the hell? His number wasn't in my phone anymore.

I don't even know how I feel about this whole thing. If Taylon DID put a roofie in my drink, I feel a little...ashamed....and REALLY confused.....because Taylon was a FRIEND. I met him at CHURCH FOR GOD SAKES! I don't understand why he did that.

Then he apparently left town the next day and no one has seen of heard from him since. Somebody was telling me that he doesn't even live here in town anymore and that he only comes back to town every couple months, and it seems like THAT'S when girls start getting roofied.

IDK....I guess there's nothing I can do about it because I can't PROVE that I was roofied, and even if I could, I couldn't PROVE that he was the one that did it. I feel very violated.

It's something that you always hear about, but you say to yourself, "It would never happen to me."

And it's certainly not something that you would EVER think a FRIEND would do to you.

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

Current Thoughts on PPD

Just wanted to give a big thank you to everybody who read my last blog post. (And to the two people who commented on it). It was a difficult topic to write about, but it's all been building up inside me, waiting to be written, for the last two years.

Some people asked me why I didn't see somebody about how I was feeling and the PPD. Truth is, I didn't think I had PPD. I just thought I was a straight-up bad mom. I wasn't concerned about it. And isn't it POST pardom depression? I felt that was BEFORE Connor was born.

Once I realized that maybe it wasn't my fault, I guess I kind of denied it. I didn't want to tell anybody about it, and I didn't want to seek help. I grew up in a family where depression wasn't a disease-it was a lifestyle choice that you could get out of at any moment. Even when I discuss it with my family (or try) now, they don't want to hear me make any "excuses." They still think that my bad parenting and my lack of caring was a choice that I made, and they are still expecting me to take full responsibility for it and not blame it on something like PPD. They don't believe that such a disease exists.

I thought about explaining my feelings to my doctor on the day of Connor's first post-birth checkup. But a voice inside me was telling me not to. I was a new mom again. I was supposed to be thrilled with my new addition; not scared of it. I didn't want to tell anybody for fear of judgement. What if I DIDN'T have PPD? What if me not loving Connor really was a choice I made? What if it couldn't be helped? I sometimes thought that my feelings or lackthereof for Connor would never go away. PPD was something that goes away in time. But for me to have it for a YEAR? I didn't think that was normal and I was sure that I didn't have PPD; that I just had a mental illness that made me go from wanting to be a mother to wanting to take it all back.

And then, I remember that my love for Brayden never went away. If you would've asked me which one of my kids I loved more at that time in my life, I would have answered, "Brayden." without batting an eyelash. Now, though, of course, there is NO WAY I would be able to choose between the two. So I didn't want to really take it all back-just Connor. So I thought, "There's no way I have PPD because I still love Brayden and I want him. It's only Connor that I don't want."

I don't know. I thought about getting help about it now, but two years later, it might be too late. I don't have it anymore-would it really make a difference? I can't go back in time and change anything I did/didn't do, and I can't go back in time to make me love my son or feel any sort of responsibility for him at all. That's in the past. It's done, it's over with; I turned over a new leaf, so to speak, and I just feel like it's in the past and should stay there. No amount of help or venting or medication is going to change it.

But then there's always the chance of more children in the future. In the near future, if I can help it. I want my kids to be close in age, so why not? (Other than the fact that I don't have a man LOL)

Part of me thinks that I HAD PPD, and I could totally have a child and be as giddy and excited and love it as much as I loved Brayden from the first day that I found out I was pregnant. But could I? Can PPD COME BACK???? What if I have another child and get PPD AGAIN??

I already feel a lifelone, bone-deep guilt about the mother that Connor never had that first year of his life; the mother that he deserved. While I'm ready to be that mother now, will I ever be ready again?? Poor baby didn't deserve the treatment that he got; no child should ever have to go through that neglect, especially at that early age. It breaks my heart to think that there could be a chance that I would do that to another child.

So, really, the point of all this rambling is that yes, I DO want another child. NO, I DON"T think that I'm ready, or ever will be ready. I'm too afraid to do it again. I had what some people would consider "mild" PPD. What if I get severe PPD next time? I would never be able to live with myself knowing that I could do that to another child.

I'm going to research the hell out of this and yes, I WILL seek help BEFORE I even TRY to have another child. I am just so conflicted right now.....

Friday, August 20, 2010

Happy Birthday Connor

So, tomorrow is my littlest human's 2nd birthday. This is a day that I was not looking forward to. Tomorrow is the day that will break my heart.

My little Connor Owen will be 2 years old today. This means that in a few months, he will be potty-trained, bottle-free (After both of my boys' 1st birthdays, I threw all of their bottles out) not to mention he can already feed himself and almost dress himself.

I've spent the last 4 years changing diapers, feeding babies, dressing them, and cradling them while feeding them their bottles. In a few months, this will all be over. I won't know what to do with myself.

The one thing, (other than already mentioned) that is going to completely break my heart, is the fact that to him, I am a horrible mother.

When my first son, Brayden, was born, I had 5 photo albums filled up by his 6th month, he had his professional pictures taken every six months, I had his ultrasound pictures and birth certificate framed, and I knew his every milestone by heart. Still do.

When Connor was born, and even now, I have only 1 photo album filled, very few pictures of him, only one professional photo of him, and I cannot for the life of me tell you what age he was when he started walking, talking, crawling, etc.

You see, Connor was not expected. He was not wanted. I had always wanted 5 or six children, but after Brayden was born, I decided that I loved him so much that I did not want to share all of my time and attention with anybody else. When I was pregnant with Brayden, I cherished every kick, every movement, every moment. With Connor, I don't even remember him kicking or moving. I hated every second of it.

After Connor was born, I expected my feelings to change. I expected to look upon him with hope, wonder, joy, and excitement. The first time I looked at him: nothing. I didn't want to hold him, I didn't want to cradle him and kiss him. I let Curtis do all of that, while I watched with envy the look of true and undying love on his face when he looked at Connor. I wanted so badly to feel that. But I didn't.

Connor couldn't breathe properly when he was born. We had to fly him to Billings so he could spend 10 days at the neonatal unit. Of course, we didn't know it was going to be 10 days. That's just how long we were there.

Every day I would sit in the neonatal unit and pretend to love to hold him and breastfeed him; pretending to wish he would get better. Every night, Curtis would walk over to the neonatal unit from the house that we were renting during our stay, and he would sit next to his incubator, and read him Curious George books. I didn't. I stayed at the house and slept.

When we were finally able to go home, I was excited. Not because we got to bring Connor home, but because I wanted to get out of Billings, get away from the hospital. I wanted to continue on with my life as if Connor never happened. I didn't even want to go on maternity leave. But I had to because my daycare lady wouldn't take him until he was at least 6 weeks old.

I watched Curtis hold, feed, bathe, and love Connor. I would take him to the grocery store with me, and I would get annoyed when people stopped me to look at him. If it had been Brayden, I would have stayed there to let people look at him al day.

Then it gets worse. Curtis and I split up, I moved with the boys into an apartment across town. I panicked. Curtis had always loved up on Connor; I had no idea how to. If I delved deep enough into it, I knew that Connor was the reason behind the split. I loved Curtis so much. I knew that if I didn't have Connor, Curtis and I would still be together. I couldn't even look at him.

I fed him, I changed his diapers, I even held him once in a while. Not because I wanted to-BECAUSE I HAD TO. It was all done out of necessity, not love.

I even remember telling my friend Heather that the only reason I didn't drop Connor off at a street corner and leave him there was because I was afraid I would get in trouble.

But wait, it gets even worse. Connor was born with an eye that would turn inward and make him look crosseyed. I hated that. I hated bringing him out in public with me because I was afraid it would reflect poorly on me and I didn't want people laughing at my "ugly" child. I started leaving the house only when he was sleeping, so his eyes were always closed and no one could see them. Twice, I fell asleep with Connor on my chest, and I woke up to thundering BOOMs as he rolled off my chest and hit the floor with no carpet. I didn't get scared. I felt bad, but i just picked him up, shushed him back to sleep and put him back in his crib. I didn't care.

One night, I left the house when he was sleeping WITHOUT HIM. I had gone over to Heather's, to drop Brayden off at her house so he could have a sleepover with her boys. I left Connor at home because it was cold outside and I didn't want to bundle him up to carry him over to Heather's; and even worse, I didn't want to have to continue to take care of him once we got there. He was not my child; he was a burden.

It would've worked, too, except my friend Cindi stopped at my house while I was at Heather's to ask if she could borrow some Pull-Ups. She knocked on my door and heard Connor screaming from inside his crib. She opened my door, grabbed Connor, and took him to her house, where she bathed him, changed him, fed him, and rocked him to sleep. Then she called the cops.

I got back from Heather's to my driveway filled with two cop cars, lights on and all. I stepped inside my house, and a cop looked at me and said, "Do you know where your baby is?"

"Yeah, he's sleeping in that room right there."

"Actually, he's not. Do you know where he might be?"

I panicked. I cried. "No. Oh my God did somebody TAKE HIM?"

"Yeah," the cop said. Then he smiled. "Cindi took him and brought him to her house." His eyes twinkled. I thought he was ironic.

The cops escorted me to Cindi's house, where I retrieved Connor. I wasn't so worried about Connor than I was about the neighbors seeing me being escorted by the cops, but I took Connor home, put him in his crib, and waited for Social Services.

They showed up, looked around my house, looked at Brayden, detemined he was healthy and happy, gave me a warning and then left. Which could have been the end of it. But it wasn't.

I was so freaked out by being visited by both the cops AND Social Services in one day that that night I packed everything I could fit inside my car, put both boys in their carseats, and left the state. I went back to my homestate of South Dakota, thinking maybe things would turn around once I got there and I would learn to love my child.

I didn't. Once I got there, my child-less friends started inviting me to parties, so I would hire a babysitter, party until the next morning, come home and take care of my kids. Sometimes, I would take Connor to daycare, bring Brayden with me, and call them "Mommy & Brayden" days.

My parents had found a very good eye doctor in Sioux Falls that they suggested I take Connor to. He advised us on doing eye surgey right after Connor's first birthday. But then I got sick, and had to be hospitalized.

I was really upset about this because first birthdays are a big deal to me. And yet I missed Connor's first birthday because I was in the hospital. I don't know if I really even cared about it being Connor's birthday, or if I cared because I wanted to throw a party that would make my friends with children jealous.

Two days after Connor's birthday, I was released from the hospital. The enxt day, we took Connor into have surgery done on his eyes.

I don't know what it was about that day. But when his surgery was done and we waited in the recovery room with Connor, something inside me snapped. I cried, and I held on to Connor with all that I had. I prayed to God that nothing would ever hurt my baby boy again. I couldn't stop giving him kisses. I wouldn't let anybody else touch him.

I think about it now and realize that that was the day all of my love poured in for him. I think about that day now and I am wracked with guilt and shame, and I call myself a bad mother, something that I was never able to do before.

Connor, once unwanted, is now a big piece of my heart. I look at him and my heart fills so much it feels like it's going to burst. He smiles at me and I melt. He giggles and I die. I would do anything for this child. My sweet,golden-haired, blue-eyed child without a mean bone in his body. The littlest love of my life.

Someday, I will explain everything to him. I might even let him read this blog. I will cry, sob, and beg for his forgiveness. I will tell him that no matter how I felt before, I love him more than anything now, and he is the most important thing to me and that will never change.

But first, I will be busy making up for lost time.