Archives for January 2014

Searching for Wholeness

January 17, 2014 by Heidi Faith Leave a Comment

Told by: Nicole

On September 9th, 2012 my life as I knew it changed forever. It was the day I lost a piece of me. The day I lost my beloved baby boy at 18 weeks gestation in what I had never heard if before, but was told was a “missed miscarriage.”

We went to our doctor for our regular 18 weeks checkup. We were so excited to hear that heartbeat we had heard before. We brought our 11 month old son with us this time so we could share this with him too. The doctor was having a hard time. Harder than the last time we were there.

We were sent for an ultrasound right away. I saw my baby on that screen. My baby’s heart was not beating. I had lost our baby… They tell me it happened about 2 weeks ago. How did I not know? The baby I talked to and loved every day from the moment I knew if their existence was no longer living and I had no idea? What kind of mother was I? How could I lose our baby? They tell me because I’m not 20 weeks gestation, I can’t deliver him. They tell me I have to have surgery to have him delivered and afterwards I’m not allowed to hold him. They tell me when this operation is over I can begin to heal. How can they tell me I can’t hold my baby, but had this happened 2 weeks later I would have had that option? What kind of monsters don’t let a mother hold her baby?

I have the D&C. My baby is gone. I am no longer carrying my baby. I am an empty shell. Days later something is wrong. They tell me the D&C they did wasn’t successful and I need to undergo another it have more of my baby’s former home removed. I am never going to get to move on from this.

I walk through the hospital where my lost baby’s body is being poked at somewhere over and over because get couldn’t do it right the first time as I wait to have to do it all over again. It is now 1 year and a bit later. My baby boy would be almost turning 1 (had it not gone wrong). We have since had our rainbow baby. She was born in August. My children are my life. My children are my being.

I just can’t seem to understand how I get over this? How do I explain I am a mother of 3, 1 that is no longer with me? How do I get myself to the point where I’m not so angry at myself? How do I make myself feel whole again? How do I make myself feel like I did before this? I don’t want to feel so empty. I will never forget my baby. I think of him every minute of the day. I just need to know how to become at peace with all of this.

Filed Under: 17 weeks, 18 weeks, 19 weeks, Holding Umbrellas

One Day at a Time

January 17, 2014 by Heidi Faith Leave a Comment

Told by: Andrea

I found out I was pregnant in the 3rd week of October, 2013. We were so excited!!

It didn’t take us any time at all to get pregnant. My numbers were rising steadily and I felt pregnant- my boobs hurt, was nauseous, extremely exhausted, etc. All of those “reassuring” sick feelings.

I went in at 7.5 weeks from my LMP and had the internal ultrasound. At that point, all we saw was the yolk sac. This had happened in my first pregnancy (of which we have a healthy, thriving 3 year old girl) so I was not worried. I also ovulate late, so I figured my dating would be off. I came in 1 week later and was so nervous! I was SHOCKED to see two little yolk sacs with their little bodies forming. Only one had a heartbeat at the time, the other was measuring a few days behind. But all looked good. My Midwife called me later that day and told me that the heart rate was a little low, but it could also be normal- it was too early to tell. She continued to monitor my HCG which at that point was VERY high due to twin pregnancy, and we were instructed to come back in 10 days to see how things were going.

My husband took the day off, and our daughter came with us. Immediately- I felt ill at ease. I can’t tell you why- I don’t know.

The tech didn’t say much but I could tell the babies had not grown, and at that point I should have been able to see their little nubs wiggling, as well as the heart fluttering like I had seen the week before. Again, she said nothing but “I need to go speak to our radiologist. I will be right back.” I was immediately angry.

I knew something was wrong. I was sent upstairs where they confirmed that neither baby was living and went over my options for a D&C, natural miscarriage, etc. I wanted to do this in the privacy of my home because I didn’t know what kind of emotions I would be experiencing at that time. I kept it together in the doctor’s office but cried the whole way home.

I had just ordered our Christmas cards which were our pregnancy announcement. Now I had to throw them away. Then began the wait for my body to recognize that I was no longer pregnant. I can’t really describe that feeling- anger, sadness, pain…and around those three again for a while. I began to take evening primrose oil to help soften my cervix (in case I ended up needing a D&C, I knew it would help open things up as it had in my previous pregnancy.) I waited, and thankfully my husband was home. I began having intense contractions. I was not prepared for that, as it ended up being more like true labor than a heavy period.

I had contractions for about an hour- very painful, couldn’t breathe contractions. I sneezed and felt my water break. Things quieted down and I kept my eye on the tissue coming out. I was in the “zone” so to speak and didn’t feel a whole lot of emotion at the time. I continued to pass quite a bit of tissue and then felt stronger contractions coming on at which time I passed what I think was probably the amniotic sac and babies. I started to feel nauseous and dizzy and to my great grief- I was not able to see them. I would have loved to have held them-just once, as tiny as they were.

It didn’t really hit me emotionally until the next day. I was so sore. So exhausted. So sad. I could barely hold my daughter. I was not prepared for the sense of loss I would feel- and still feel today. As the symptoms began to leave one by one. And I would find that the littlest thing would bring tears to my eyes- how much I would still love to be pregnant today. My motto is one day at a time. I am allowing myself the grace to feel everything that comes, as that is the only way we gain meaning from such a dreadful experience.

Filed Under: 11 weeks, 12 weeks, All Multiples

We Miss Her, Too

January 17, 2014 by Heidi Faith Leave a Comment

Told by: Anne

My sister in law and I were pregnant at the same time. She lost her precious baby girl somewhere between 20-24 weeks. Even though we’re not close, it hit me hard. My husband and I sat and cried and cried when we got that call. Our hearts just ached for them.

We didn’t know our baby’s sex until birth, but we had a girl too. She’s 14 months old. My sister in law and brother in law have come to visit my mother in law several times (she lives only a few minutes from my husband and I), and we disagree on whether we should just go over like we used to when they would visit.

My brother in law has seen our baby once when we brought our son to play with their son, but my sister in law had stayed home that time. So she has still never seen our baby, and I don’t blame her… I feel like we should stay away unless they ask to see us.

My husband’s heart still breaks for his brother. And I know, looking at our little girl, he thinks about the cousin she would have. I think about her too. And her poor parents who will always mourn her.

Photo Source (unconfirmed): Melody Godfred

Filed Under: Dads, Friends & Family

Miscarriage: Blessing in Disguise?

January 17, 2014 by Heidi Faith Leave a Comment

Told by: Amanda

Since the birth of my son, I have yet to have a successful pregnancy. I felt it appropriate to share some of my thoughts on my three early-term miscarriages. I want to put this experience out there for anyone who might be going through the same thing.

In October, 2008, I conceived the most perfect and amazing little boy possible. His name is Allen. I loved and continue to love him with all of my heart. My husband and I wanted him and were actively trying to have a child. That was my first pregnancy and it was textbook perfect. We knew within days of conception that I was pregnant and saw his beautiful beating heart at only four and a half weeks. We never returned to any form of contraceptive because we knew that we wanted to continue growing our family to include at least one, but maybe two more children.

In August, 2010, I conceived for the second time. We were elated! I carried this fetus for nine and a half weeks. Unfortunately, the baby stopped growing at around four. Because my pregnancy with Allen was so perfect and easy, miscarriage did not occur to me. Then the bleeding began… When I went to the doctor, they told me that miscarriage was imminent and that the child was no longer growing and had no heartbeat. I was sad, but what upset me the most was how quickly they offered to “fix” it by doing a D&C or giving me induction medicine. My thoughts were this- even if this child is passing away, it is my job to mother it by letting it die gently and not having them scrape it out. It was a horrible thought to me! The baby was made in love and I was determined to let my body naturally do what it was made to do. The response that I got from hospital staff was annoyance and repeated questioning as of whether I understood what was happening or not. I maintained my answer- yes I understand and obviously my body understands how to handle it! The entire “labor” included real contractions and took around five hard hours. The rest was a week of normal menstruation. An artistic rendition of this child can be seen on my portfolios:

photo source

The following year I had two other pregnancies which resulted in miscarriage at four weeks. The hardest one of the three occurred right before my husband’s deployment. We spent a lot of time together in the month prior in preparation for his departure. We were elated to learn the day of the deployment that I had conceived. Within two weeks the child was lost. The hardest part was the realization that my husband was in a war-zone and that he could die and I would never again carry a child of his. I was devastated and fell into a crying mess. I can say that I was depressed for a while over this one. That was the last time I have conceived to date, and was over two years ago. At that time I was tested in every way possible and found that I am perfectly normal and that the fetus, along with the other two, likely was simply not viable.

Shortly after this miscarriage I completely stopped menstruating. When my husband came home, I finally cried to him and as un-feminist as this is I broke down to him about how I felt I was not able to bear his children the way I wanted to. I told him that I felt like this was the biological function of a wife and I was sorry for letting him down. He told me that Allen was a handful and he could be perfectly happy if we never had another child. He assured me that Allen is enough and I am enough. I realized he was right. Saying that we have “only Allen” would be understating the incredible joy that we get from his smile each day. There is no saying that we only have Allen, but that we are lucky to have him. As we talked about it we decided that he can be and is more than enough. We are lucky to somehow deserve such a perfectly healthy little guy. My husband does not wish to adopt nor have any type of fertility treatment. I obviously respect his wishes.

Walking away from the experience I realize that I am blessed to be able to devote my time and attention to one incredible little boy. Seeing friends and colleagues who have never birthed a child makes me realize that I am blessed to have the one that I do. Knowing some of my family history makes me realize that I am blessed to have one healthy child rather than a herd of children with disabilities. Obviously I would love any child of mine with all of their accompanying needs, but I have a husband with PTSD who needs the quieter home with which we have been blessed. His PTSD comes with special needs and demands which make our smaller family a blessing so that I can manage all of the needs of my husband and my son.

I have also had the privilege of knowing strong, amazing women who have had to put their child up for adoption, raise a child who resulted from rape or to endure the incredible pain of a stillbirth. Having been through three miscarriages I can say that nothing that I went through has been that painful. I am blessed. I am blessed with the most incredible little boy I could have ever dreamed of. I am blessed with devout appreciation of him and never taking him for granted. I am blessed to not be diagnosed with PCOS, cancer or infertility. I am blessed to have hope that one day we could conceive again. I am blessed to have what my family needs at the moment, rather than what we want down the road. I am blessed with my upcoming graduate degree and bright career path at a younger age. I am blessed to live in a country where I could one day adopt a daughter if none is born to me. I am blessed to have never had to bury a child. I am blessed to never have labored a child who was not alive. I can say in so many ways that miscarriage is a blessing. There might be a plan from a higher power, and people say what is meant to be is meant to be. For me, in this life, miscarriage has happened and it would seem that it was meant to happen for the better of my family.

Blessed be all. I am sorry again to write on such a darker topic, but not enough people share these kinds of stories so I wanted to be sure to share mine with anyone who might need to read it. Shared with permission.

Filed Under: 04 weeks, 05 weeks, 09 weeks, Ending Fertility in Loss & TTC Challenges

The Rainbow of Grief

January 15, 2014 by Heidi Faith Leave a Comment

Grief is not always ash gray or even midnight blue.

In the bereavement community, there is often talk about “rainbow babies” – babies born subsequently to loss. And so much hoping and pining away for that future baby can become so pervasive and consuming that when the baby is born, there can be a moments dawning of

“I have been hoping for a person. This person. Not a feeling that this person would give me.”

And the weeks of sleep deprivation and dangerous levels of exhaustion are sprinkled with the comments from others reflecting the mother’s now too-far distant wishes of “at least you have your rainbow baby now.”

I want to propose something entirely radical to you today.

You are already a rainbow.

The vibrancy and beauty of the rainbow happens because each of the colors are experienced in their fullness and richness, without unnecessary intrusion from the other colors. Their stark differences somehow seem to come together to bring a collective harmony, an orchestration of different octaves and hues that rings pleasing.

If you are new to your grief journey, the platitudes from others can seem an attempt to dump orange onto your blue, and you desperately push these attempts away with a cry “I don’t even want this blue at all, but your orange smeared into it is only making things messier, and uglier.”

Somehow, something deep in the rainbow of your very soul knows that somehow, for a time, blue is where you are needed to be. For your own best healing and even dare I say, your own future happiness.

Then later, when you find yourself on a warm day, when the sun kisses your cheeks and the sweet wind chime of laughter is heard moving from your heart, somehow, you find you’ve moved into some kind of a beautifully light yellow of joy.

And the lies lurk as shadows. “Maybe I am too happy. Do I deserve to smile again?” And we try to dump the darkest of gray onto our softest yellow day.

And so, day by day, our lives look like a soggy empty place malformed by smooshy mud and weakened snow, a place that we cannot get a grip on because the smudging and smearing have gone on so far and so wide that we fear taking a step anymore for falling flat upon our faces in an ugly, distorted mess. Again.

I want to encourage you today, to celebrate your rainbow of grief – your rainbow of healing. Whatever color your day, your moment may be, it is yours. It is valuable intrinsically; it doesn’t need to be dumped on or added to or stuffed into something else.

It is intrinsically valuable. As are you.

This is one of my most favorite photos from our workshops, as we find courage and celebration in our colors and in our selves. I so hope you consider being a part of Love Wildly, our upcoming retreat in December 2014. It is going to be a gorgeous time of sharing, loving and healing, for all of us.

Filed Under: Love Letters to My Body, Mothering Our Mourning, Still Parenting

Bondage of Bereavement

January 10, 2014 by Heidi Faith 3 Comments

Before we begin, may I preface that this is in the category of Heidi’s pieces, a place where I am free to share my personal views because I am a person with views.

We are quickly nearing “Sanctity of Human Life Sunday” – SOHLS day. And because I am Christian, and because I have a special love for president Ronald Reagan, I thought I’d share with you the origin of this day. It comes from Proclamation 5147, filed with the Office of the Federal Register on January 16, 1984. It reads:

The values and freedoms we cherish as Americans rest on our fundamental commitment to the sanctity of human life. The first of the “unalienable rights” affirmed by our Declaration of Independence is the right to life itself, a right the Declaration states has been endowed by our Creator on all human beings — whether young or old, weak or strong, healthy or handicapped. Since 1973, however, more than 15 million unborn children have died in legalized abortions — a tragedy of stunning dimensions that stands in sad contrast to our belief that each life is sacred. These children, over tenfold the number of Americans lost in all our Nation’s wars, will never laugh, never sing, never experience the joy of human love; nor will they strive to heal the sick, or feed the poor, or make peace among nations. Abortion has denied them the first and most basic of human rights, and we are infinitely poorer for their loss.

We are poorer not simply for lives not led and for contributions not made, but also for the erosion of our sense of the worth and dignity of every individual. To diminish the value of one category of human life is to diminish us all.

Slavery, which treated Blacks as something less than human, to be bought and sold if convenient, cheapened human life and mocked our dedication to the freedom and equality of all men and women. Can we say that abortion — which treats the unborn as something less than human, to be destroyed if convenient — will be less corrosive to the values we hold dear? We have been given the precious gift of human life, made more precious still by our births in or pilgrimages to a land of freedom. It is fitting, then, on the anniversary of the Supreme Court decision in Roe v. Wade that struck down State anti-abortion laws, that we reflect anew on these blessings, and on our corresponding responsibility to guard with care the lives and freedoms of even the weakest of our fellow human beings.

Now, Therefore, I, Ronald Reagan, President of the United States of America, do hereby proclaim Sunday, January 22, 1984, as National Sanctity of Human Life Day. I call upon the citizens of this blessed land to gather on that day in homes and places of worship to give thanks for the gift of life, and to reaffirm our commitment to the dignity of every human being and the sanctity of each human life.

In Witness Whereof, I have hereunto set my hand this 13th day of January, in the year of our Lord nineteen hundred and eighty-four, and of the Independence of the United States of America the two hundred and eighth.

Ronald Reagan

Today’s SOHLs day is celebrated with non-violent picketing and rallying. With praying to end elective abortion and for seeking ways to end elective abortion. The tragedy of elective abortion is included in the original cause, but we need to back up a little (or, a lot).

To diminish the value of one category of human life is to diminish us all…

Some things have changed since Reagan’s understanding of elective abortion. We know now that it’s not something that only happens in back-alley clinics, but happens in state-of-the-art hospitals. It is called induction in cases where the baby’s diagnosis means slim survival past birth at any gestational age. It is explained in a way that seems emotionally and financially practical. It is spoken of as a way to end suffering – of both the mother and baby. And with such a rigid, dogmatic, legalistic view of pro-life as actually nothing more than anti-abortion, mothers who felt alone, now on the bereavement side of elective abortion, are outcasted, abandoned, shamed. Mothers who say their loss is miscarriage rather than elective abortion so that they can receive the hypocritical and conditional acceptance of their church family or even the rest of the bereaved community.

It is fitting, then, on the anniversary of the Supreme Court decision in Roe v. Wade that struck down State anti-abortion laws, that we reflect anew on these blessings [the precious gift of human life, made more precious still by our births in or pilgrimages to a land of freedom], and on our corresponding responsibility to guard with care the lives and freedoms of even the weakest of our fellow human beings.

The blessing of human life, made more precious by our births in a land of freedom. Elective abortion is birth. The element that ends life is an element that is added to the birth, but as a baby emerges from the womb of his or her mother, this emerging is birth. Mothers who have endured elective abortion have also given birth. Might they discover how their own child, even after death, can be a blessing, one that leads them into eternal life? Or are we really being called by God to exchange the physical life of her baby for the eternal life of the mother? Can God not have both? Are we really being called to limit His blessings? Can we not find a way to stretch beyond anti-elective abortion and into the many previously untouched areas of pain that truly need healing?

I call upon the citizens of this blessed land to gather on that day in homes and places of worship to give thanks for the gift of life, and to reaffirm our commitment to the dignity of every human being and the sanctity of each human life.

While anti-abortion campaigns are rising to picket on SOHLs day, I recognize the reality of condemnation, and the catastrophic impact it has on bereaved mothers who did not give birth via elective abortion for convenience, but who feel strapped in bondage only made worse by reminders that their fellow citizens do not forgive them.

As a bereaved mother myself, and even as a pro-life Christian myself,

I bear witness that these annual protesting events scattered through our calendar often serve as a spiritual Asherman’s Syndrome, ripping the scab of the mothers soul,

causing a barren spirit to struggle with conceiving the Truth of redemption and ability to truly be born again.

I will gather on SOHLs day to give thanks for the gift of life, that every mother has a right to claim her motherhood honestly and unconditionally, and to reaffirm my commitment to the dignity of every human being including all bereaved mothers, including those strapped in the bondage of lying, fear, shame and shunning, and to reaffirm my commitment to the sanctity of each human life, including those babies who have already been born and who died via elective abortion, that their mothers will receive the gift of forgiveness, the gift of mercy, the gift of growth, and to reaffirm my commitment to the sanctity of each human life, including those babies whose mothers will be escorted into corner doctor’s offices, on cold chairs, told the impossible and asked to comply with the impossible, that hope enters the room, sits down next to the mother, whispers courage to seek a second opinion, and that those mothers who leave hospitals, clinics or homes with widowed wombs, that mercy walks with them, that they may courageously choose life for themselves, finding redemption, rather than suffocating from the mask forced upon her by a community of citizens still trapped in the social conform of legalism.

I will give thanks that so many in my Christian pro-life community are graduating from the elementary stay-in-the-lines coloring of anti-abortion and deepening their understanding of what it means to truly let their lights shine in places their own fears darkened their understanding of reaching. I will praise the increasing numbers of the pro-life community who spread the message of saving lives while doing so with care and love for the mothers who have been torn by elective abortion.

I will remind mothers cut by elective abortion that such demonstrations do not undo your worth, your right to heal and your ability to grow, to love, to live, both here and eternally.

I will honor all mothers, all babies, unconditionally. By the power of the Holy Spirit it truly is possible.

I invite you, on SOHLs day and every day, to help break the bondage of bereavement, by stretching beyond anti-abortion into pro-healing, which is to say, much more than pro-life, but pro-eternal life.