Yeah, guess it's time to update with some "current" information and stop relaying the past. As Wayne would say..."Live in the NOW!" :o)
So our first cycle TTC was a bust. I was really bummed about it, especially because I had felt pretty good about that cycle. Our timing was awesome, my chart looked SWEET! I began testing at 10dpo...something I swore I would never ever ever ever do. I did. BFNs from 10dpo to 13dpo...and then AF showed her ugly, good-for-nothing face. Stats from my first cycle: 30 days, O'd on day 18, 12 day LP.
Now I'm on CD 10, I'm still charting but I forget to temp sometimes (last month I was neurotic about it). I haven't bought any OPKs, and I'm not sure if I plan to or not. I guess I'm just really "whatever" about this one. I don't know why, really. I want a baby, that hasn't changed. But I'm getting close to what would've been my due date, I'm arguing with Jonathan a lot lately, and with my Aunt Patti dying and now my dad having a biopsy this week for possible prostate cancer...I guess it's just not at the top of my priority list. Guess I should get on that.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Always Blessings Never Losses
Here is the poem I wrote for Brady.
Two hearts and souls created one,
Little Brady, precious son.
Each hope and dream we rested on
The chance to see each breath or yawn.
Then came the day we’d waited for,
To see our darling baby once more.
But nothing prepares a mother for news
That her heart will bear an eternal bruise.
“The baby is sick,” the tech confides
And instantly a part of me dies;
The part that longed to snuggle close,
Counting fingers, kissing toes.
“He has no chance for life as others.”
Leaving the hardest choice for a mother.
“Let him live!” my heart appeals,
“He can fight with a will of steel!”
“Let him go,” my head then scolds.
But how can a mother be so cold?
“It’s not cold,” his Daddy explains,
“To save him from all the hurt and pain.”
So brave a man to surrender his joy
To do what is right for his little boy.
And so that sunny August day,
The angels came to take him away
As one of their own who will guard and protect
Those he left behind who will never forget.
But will remember him always the rest of their years
Knowing his wings beat, drying their tears.
We must always remember the happiness
Of the little angel who too quickly left.
And think as we look at flowers and crosses,
Always blessings, never losses
Two hearts and souls created one,
Little Brady, precious son.
Each hope and dream we rested on
The chance to see each breath or yawn.
Then came the day we’d waited for,
To see our darling baby once more.
But nothing prepares a mother for news
That her heart will bear an eternal bruise.
“The baby is sick,” the tech confides
And instantly a part of me dies;
The part that longed to snuggle close,
Counting fingers, kissing toes.
“He has no chance for life as others.”
Leaving the hardest choice for a mother.
“Let him live!” my heart appeals,
“He can fight with a will of steel!”
“Let him go,” my head then scolds.
But how can a mother be so cold?
“It’s not cold,” his Daddy explains,
“To save him from all the hurt and pain.”
So brave a man to surrender his joy
To do what is right for his little boy.
And so that sunny August day,
The angels came to take him away
As one of their own who will guard and protect
Those he left behind who will never forget.
But will remember him always the rest of their years
Knowing his wings beat, drying their tears.
We must always remember the happiness
Of the little angel who too quickly left.
And think as we look at flowers and crosses,
Always blessings, never losses
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
After Delivery
(top)Brady's Tree we planted. (bottom) Brady's frog sitting in front of his poem I wrote and behind his urn.
I'll continue where I left off. We had delivered Brady at exactly 8:00 on August 14. He was 13oz, and 9 inches long. Despite the fact that he was not quite fully formed and was incredibly discolored, I could tell immediately that he looked just the way his big brother looked when he was born.
Before handing him over to the nurse and saying our final goodbye, a chaplain came in to dedicate Brady. Now although we are not super religious people, I consider myself a very spiritual person and it felt like something I needed to do for both me and for Brady.
He was taken away, and I was given 4 hours to deliver the placenta naturally. If I had not delivered it by 12 they were going to take me to surgery and do it then. I prayed like hell that it would pass, this horrific journey would be over, and I could just go home. But no such luck. At 12:15 I was prepped for a quick surgery and by 12:30 they were wheeling me into the OR. They told Jonathan not to worry, that the entire procedure would take less than 30 minutes, they wouldn't even tube me, and I'd be back in my room within an hour.
I awoke in recovery very groggy and with the most horribly empty feeling I believe I ever felt. Every little piece of my baby that I shared with him was no gone. And nothing I could do would bring it back. I was in recovery for 20 minutes, then it was back to the 7th floor where Jonathan was waiting anxiously. He had a look of pure terror on his face and said "I'm so glad you're back!" I was confused. It was a 30 minute procedure, surely he could pass that short amount of time without me right? I thought he was being a little overprotective, even given the circumstances. As they moved me from the stretcher to my every-so-uncomfortable bed, I happened to glance at the clock. 3:30! What happened to being back withint the hour?
That's when the nurse told me that they had encountered some problems during surgery--to this day I don't know what--and that they had to intubate me as it was taking much longer than expected. It seemed to be the theme of the entire hospital stay, after all. However, she assured me that whatever problems they faced in the operating room would not hinder my chances at having further children. I found this incredibly reassuring, because I knew right away that as soon as I had the okay from the doctor, I was going to be trying to get pregnant again.
They released me from the hospital that afternoon to go home and rest. Recovery from the surgery would take a few days, and the emotional healing would take longer. We knew we were going to have a service for Brady. We had already made arrangements for him to be cremated. As Jonathan said, he wanted him home one way or another.
The week after the hosital and leading up to the service is quite a blur. I was so heavily medicated between painkillers and medicines for anxiety--it was like living in a bubble and watching my life as if it were a dream. Parts were very clear, others I couldn't remember at all no matter how hard I tried, and none of it made sense. I don't even remember what order everything happened in. Thank god for Jonathan.
I do remember booking the funeral home for the service, picking out the urn (silver and blue with white doves--the symbol of going home), buying the tree that we planted in the backyard, and selecting the black marble stone that would lay beneath it. Besides that, my memory is mostly blank, and I believe I would like to keep it that way.
We held the service on Saturday, August 23 from 2-4pm. Guests began arriving at 2, and I greeted them as graciously as I could. Though I have to say, my mother-in-law slipping me Valium throughout the day probably assisted in my ability to do it so well. Jonathan spent much of the time outside--being inside was too difficult. At 3 the chaplain began to speak. It was very touching, and he made sure to include AJ, who would have played a huge role in Brady's life. After the chaplain's speech, he asked if anyone would like to say anything. My mom thanked everyone on coming on mine and Jonathan's behalf. Then, to everyone's amazement, my shy little AJ stood up in front of all those people and said something that brought even the strongest men in that room to tears. He said:
"My baby brother was very sick, and he had a bad heart. Now he lives in heaven. But we can talk to him whenever we want, because he always sees us and hears us."
To conclude the service, they played a song that I had selected when I first learned Brady was sick: Baby Mine. I'll include the lyrics:
Baby mine, don't you cry
Baby mine, dry your eyes
Rest your head close to my heart
Never to part
Baby of mine
Little one, when you play
Pay no heed, what they say
Let your eyes sparkle and shine
Never to tear
Baby of mine
If they knew all about you
They'd end up loving you too
All those same people who scold you
What they'd give just for the right to hold you
From your head, down to your toes
You're not much, goodness knows
But you're so precious to me
Sweet as can be
Baby of mine
Before handing him over to the nurse and saying our final goodbye, a chaplain came in to dedicate Brady. Now although we are not super religious people, I consider myself a very spiritual person and it felt like something I needed to do for both me and for Brady.
He was taken away, and I was given 4 hours to deliver the placenta naturally. If I had not delivered it by 12 they were going to take me to surgery and do it then. I prayed like hell that it would pass, this horrific journey would be over, and I could just go home. But no such luck. At 12:15 I was prepped for a quick surgery and by 12:30 they were wheeling me into the OR. They told Jonathan not to worry, that the entire procedure would take less than 30 minutes, they wouldn't even tube me, and I'd be back in my room within an hour.
I awoke in recovery very groggy and with the most horribly empty feeling I believe I ever felt. Every little piece of my baby that I shared with him was no gone. And nothing I could do would bring it back. I was in recovery for 20 minutes, then it was back to the 7th floor where Jonathan was waiting anxiously. He had a look of pure terror on his face and said "I'm so glad you're back!" I was confused. It was a 30 minute procedure, surely he could pass that short amount of time without me right? I thought he was being a little overprotective, even given the circumstances. As they moved me from the stretcher to my every-so-uncomfortable bed, I happened to glance at the clock. 3:30! What happened to being back withint the hour?
That's when the nurse told me that they had encountered some problems during surgery--to this day I don't know what--and that they had to intubate me as it was taking much longer than expected. It seemed to be the theme of the entire hospital stay, after all. However, she assured me that whatever problems they faced in the operating room would not hinder my chances at having further children. I found this incredibly reassuring, because I knew right away that as soon as I had the okay from the doctor, I was going to be trying to get pregnant again.
They released me from the hospital that afternoon to go home and rest. Recovery from the surgery would take a few days, and the emotional healing would take longer. We knew we were going to have a service for Brady. We had already made arrangements for him to be cremated. As Jonathan said, he wanted him home one way or another.
The week after the hosital and leading up to the service is quite a blur. I was so heavily medicated between painkillers and medicines for anxiety--it was like living in a bubble and watching my life as if it were a dream. Parts were very clear, others I couldn't remember at all no matter how hard I tried, and none of it made sense. I don't even remember what order everything happened in. Thank god for Jonathan.
I do remember booking the funeral home for the service, picking out the urn (silver and blue with white doves--the symbol of going home), buying the tree that we planted in the backyard, and selecting the black marble stone that would lay beneath it. Besides that, my memory is mostly blank, and I believe I would like to keep it that way.
We held the service on Saturday, August 23 from 2-4pm. Guests began arriving at 2, and I greeted them as graciously as I could. Though I have to say, my mother-in-law slipping me Valium throughout the day probably assisted in my ability to do it so well. Jonathan spent much of the time outside--being inside was too difficult. At 3 the chaplain began to speak. It was very touching, and he made sure to include AJ, who would have played a huge role in Brady's life. After the chaplain's speech, he asked if anyone would like to say anything. My mom thanked everyone on coming on mine and Jonathan's behalf. Then, to everyone's amazement, my shy little AJ stood up in front of all those people and said something that brought even the strongest men in that room to tears. He said:
"My baby brother was very sick, and he had a bad heart. Now he lives in heaven. But we can talk to him whenever we want, because he always sees us and hears us."
To conclude the service, they played a song that I had selected when I first learned Brady was sick: Baby Mine. I'll include the lyrics:
Baby mine, don't you cry
Baby mine, dry your eyes
Rest your head close to my heart
Never to part
Baby of mine
Little one, when you play
Pay no heed, what they say
Let your eyes sparkle and shine
Never to tear
Baby of mine
If they knew all about you
They'd end up loving you too
All those same people who scold you
What they'd give just for the right to hold you
From your head, down to your toes
You're not much, goodness knows
But you're so precious to me
Sweet as can be
Baby of mine
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