It's been two months since our life path took a downward turn. On Feb. 23, 2012 we lost our first born son, Ewan - the first of triplets to come into this world for far too short a time. In some ways, this feels like an eternity ago. In others, the pain is so close that I can't believe two months have passed. And in other ways, it seems too surreal to have actually happened. I have days where they rarely cross my mind, but others where the urge to touch them is so incredibly strong that I can do nothing but mourn the distance. I'm afraid today may be one of those days.
The thing that continues to surprise me the most is how much I miss these children that I didn't ever get a chance to know. So many people who have lost loved ones will say that they expect to see them walk through a door or show up for work or to a family function. I guess I've never had that experience. The loved ones I've lost have not lived near me or have slowly faded from my life (generally due to illness) before they have actually passed. In that way, I had learned to live without them long before they were truly gone. But in this case, we never really had our loved ones. It's weird because they were obviously with me all of the time, but I never really felt them or experienced them. Because of where the placentas were, I never felt the babies kick or move until they were out of my body. This is also something I mourn. If I had felt their movement during the pregnancy, I would have been able to feel their presence for longer than the few hours we had them after their births. But that's all the time we were given. On so many occasions, I feel like we will get them back. I know it's impossible, but it's such a horrendous thing that sometimes my brain won't let me acknowledge that it actually happened and those 5 1/2 months of pregnancy were for nothing. But then I remember the pictures and sneak a peek at the ashes we still have not been able to scatter, and I realize that it did happen. That I can't change it and I will never know my three beautiful children and it breaks my heart. It's amazing how quickly life can change.
So, two months out. Where does that leave us? Despite the waves of sadness, I still believe we're handling this experience in a healthy way. We continue to talk about it when needed, distract ourselves when necessary, and try to look towards the future without ignoring the past. My body is finally starting to recover from a horribly prolonged healing process. It took a second D&C to rid my body of extra crap in my uterus so that I could stop bleeding, cramping, passing blood clots, and running 100+ degree fevers. Now that one aspect of my health has recovered, I'm focusing all of my efforts on getting my insurance to preauthorize the spine surgery that I need for a full recovery. I'm scheduled for a second (more powerful) epidural injection in about two weeks to help with the pain and have been calling Cigna almost every day to follow up on the appeal process. I also have a referral in to another spine specialist for back-up and possibly other options. I am determined to fix this last remaining physical reminder of this horrible period in our lives so that I can get back to normal day-to-day life. Right now, I will begin short-term disability and not return to work until the beginning of July. Hopefully, that will be enough time to process the appeal, get the surgery and recover. Until then, my life is pretty sedentary and uneventful. (Except for all of the angry phone calls and lots of time on hold.) Although I still can't quite fathom the idea of returning to work and being held responsible for a batch of students, the idea of going back to "normal" life is definitely appealing. Not to mention wanting to rid myself of this physical pain. I am very grateful, though, for my gracious employers, full-time work that offers short-term disability benefits, and a fabulous husband who supports whatever I need in order to heal physically, mentally, and emotionally.
So, onward and upward. My battle to slay the dragon that is Cigna and win my prize (can back surgery really be considered a prize?) continues. Hopefully my three month post will be filled with good news and healing of all sorts.
Monday, April 23, 2012
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
So Over It
In life, things seem to ebb and flow. No one expects to be "up" forever and we certainly hope we don't have to be "down" for too long, either. It's a matter of balance. It doesn't matter what your faith or religion, we all believe things generally even out in the grand scheme of things. So perhaps this year is just me paying for the good things that have happened for us lately, but honestly, I feel I've paid my share and am ready for things to turn back around. They don't need to be great or even good. I'll take neutral. Neutral would be fantastic.
This has been a bad week - maybe couple of weeks - for me. I have worked really hard to analyze myself and keep myself looking at the positive to stay off of antidepressants, even though it may not look that way from the outside. But it's getting harder and harder to stay afloat. It's like being stranded in the middle of the ocean. At the beginning, you're just fighting to keep your head above water. Then, you get in the groove. It's hard, but you realize that you can do it with slow, steady, controlled movements. But eventually, you get worn out and the waves start slapping you in the face and all you want is a little break so you can catch your breath, but it doesn't come. When I feel like this, I recap what my life has been like. It seems like that would bring me down even more - and sometimes it does - but it also brings justification for my emotions and my apparent lack of sanity.
In the past eight weeks, I went from having a healthy "normal" pregnancy with triplets, to having a shortened cervix that prompted home bed rest, to throwing my back out, to a vanished cervix that caused hospital bed rest (and horrible drugs), to losing our firstborn son, to losing our son and daughter, to having a D&C, to returning home, to making decisions about our deceased children's remains, to learning I have a large herniated disc that may cause permanent damage, to learning back surgery is the way to remedy this, to getting my first epidural shot (without the promised "happy drugs"), to learning that my insurance has denied my surgery, to a series of phone calls to fight the denial, to a second epidural shot (tomorrow). That's a lot of shit to go through in eight weeks. And this doesn't count the heartbreak, bleeding, passing of clots, and complete breakdowns that come with birthing and losing three children.
Now, as I continue to fight Cigna and gather information in case this second review is denied, I find that I'm quickly losing strength. I am drained. I am lost. I am at the end of whatever metaphorical rope I have managed to hold onto in these last two months. A friend sent me a text today asking how I was doing. My first response was "fine," but I followed it up with another text saying that I lied. The only good news I've received in eight weeks of hell is that I don't have to have a second D&C, the prospect of which was horrible news when I received it. How can anyone be fine after all of that? I'm too rational to be suicidal, but I am so over this. I'm ready to go home. I need this to start going a better direction... or... I don't know what. I just know I can't handle much more. Some people have said that God won't give me more than I can handle, but I want to punch those people. (Sorry if you're one of them. I know your heart is in the right place.) I'm telling everyone right now. I can't handle any more. I NEED things to go right and they need to start going right immediately.
I am sick of being in pain. I am sick of being sedentary. I am sick of being in too much pain to exercise. I am sick of wearing maternity clothes that only remind me of what we have lost. I am sick of having nothing to talk about but my fights with Cigna and how my medical appointments went. I am sick of making people feel awkward just by my presence. I am sick of taking pain meds. I am sick of crying at the drop of a hat. I am sick of having to explain my medical history to every freaking doctor and their however many assistants. I am sick of people responding to the loss of my pregnancy by asking, "All of them?" I am sick of making my husband sad and/or frustrated because I'm sad and frustrated. I'm sick that we haven't been able to scatter our children's ashes because of my back pain. And I'm sick at the prospect of not getting surgery and having to live in this hell forever. I am at a total loss and I am so over it.
This has been a bad week - maybe couple of weeks - for me. I have worked really hard to analyze myself and keep myself looking at the positive to stay off of antidepressants, even though it may not look that way from the outside. But it's getting harder and harder to stay afloat. It's like being stranded in the middle of the ocean. At the beginning, you're just fighting to keep your head above water. Then, you get in the groove. It's hard, but you realize that you can do it with slow, steady, controlled movements. But eventually, you get worn out and the waves start slapping you in the face and all you want is a little break so you can catch your breath, but it doesn't come. When I feel like this, I recap what my life has been like. It seems like that would bring me down even more - and sometimes it does - but it also brings justification for my emotions and my apparent lack of sanity.
In the past eight weeks, I went from having a healthy "normal" pregnancy with triplets, to having a shortened cervix that prompted home bed rest, to throwing my back out, to a vanished cervix that caused hospital bed rest (and horrible drugs), to losing our firstborn son, to losing our son and daughter, to having a D&C, to returning home, to making decisions about our deceased children's remains, to learning I have a large herniated disc that may cause permanent damage, to learning back surgery is the way to remedy this, to getting my first epidural shot (without the promised "happy drugs"), to learning that my insurance has denied my surgery, to a series of phone calls to fight the denial, to a second epidural shot (tomorrow). That's a lot of shit to go through in eight weeks. And this doesn't count the heartbreak, bleeding, passing of clots, and complete breakdowns that come with birthing and losing three children.
Now, as I continue to fight Cigna and gather information in case this second review is denied, I find that I'm quickly losing strength. I am drained. I am lost. I am at the end of whatever metaphorical rope I have managed to hold onto in these last two months. A friend sent me a text today asking how I was doing. My first response was "fine," but I followed it up with another text saying that I lied. The only good news I've received in eight weeks of hell is that I don't have to have a second D&C, the prospect of which was horrible news when I received it. How can anyone be fine after all of that? I'm too rational to be suicidal, but I am so over this. I'm ready to go home. I need this to start going a better direction... or... I don't know what. I just know I can't handle much more. Some people have said that God won't give me more than I can handle, but I want to punch those people. (Sorry if you're one of them. I know your heart is in the right place.) I'm telling everyone right now. I can't handle any more. I NEED things to go right and they need to start going right immediately.
I am sick of being in pain. I am sick of being sedentary. I am sick of being in too much pain to exercise. I am sick of wearing maternity clothes that only remind me of what we have lost. I am sick of having nothing to talk about but my fights with Cigna and how my medical appointments went. I am sick of making people feel awkward just by my presence. I am sick of taking pain meds. I am sick of crying at the drop of a hat. I am sick of having to explain my medical history to every freaking doctor and their however many assistants. I am sick of people responding to the loss of my pregnancy by asking, "All of them?" I am sick of making my husband sad and/or frustrated because I'm sad and frustrated. I'm sick that we haven't been able to scatter our children's ashes because of my back pain. And I'm sick at the prospect of not getting surgery and having to live in this hell forever. I am at a total loss and I am so over it.
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
Movie Magic
We all know that movies employ their own special type of magic - from costumes to makeup and special effects to overly wrought scripts. But I always thought that actor's reactions were the most overdone of all. No one is really that in love. No one would react in that extreme a manner to a dramatic situation. But I've come to realize that some of those reactions are not so fictional; I simply hadn't experienced the stimuli needed to evoke them.
My first real experience was this was a few years ago. I was commuting from Fresno to Visalia, 100 miles round trip through mostly farmland, and on my drive home one day noticed a strange smell. I then started to scan the road for the source of said aroma and I noticed one of those big, blue trashmobiles - the kind that usually clamber through your neighborhood at some God awful hour to toss your bins into their larger one. But this one was different - there was a cow leg sticking out of it. I soon realized that the truck was carrying what appeared to be a large heap of bovine carcasses! And as soon as that realization hit me, my hand immediately shot to my mouth as a small gasp escaped from my lips... just like one might see in a movie.
As traumatic as that was, it doesn't hold a candle to what I have experienced lately. When people say their heart is breaking, you feel it's cliched and (at least I) generally feel they are being over-dramatic. When you see characters in movies doubled over and in tears, I write that off to emotional manipulation - and sometimes just bad acting. But it is actually possible to feel that kind of sadness. I understand that now. It is possible to feel like something inside you has been ripped apart and you don't know how to be whole any more. Now, the movie situations may not accurately correlate to those emotions, but they are possible.
Today, I learned of another emotion that I previously felt was over-dramatic and unrealistic - and I wish I could say it was a happy one. This evening I received a call from the surgery scheduler about my back surgery. I had been groomed to expect good news and have been preparing for surgery early next week, but the news was not good. My insurance (Cigna) had denied my claim. I went numb as the scheduler explained the situation and gave me some tips on how to appeal it (which, luckily, I had the good sense to write down) but I knew the aftermath would not be pretty. When we finally hung up, I was in tears because my surgery had already been put off two weeks and I have been in an increasing amount of pain in the last few days. Plus, I mean, seriously!? Could I just catch a break here? Please? But then I went from sad to gut-wrenchingly sad to almost catatonic. I would just stand in the kitchen and stare at nothing or find myself rocking slightly in some random spot - just like in the movies. And then I was mad! So mad that I was punching the air because I didn't have anything else to hit. I couldn't believe it. I had never felt like that before and, with any luck, I won't have to feel that way again. But it is possible. I just think Hollywood trivializes those emotions by pairing them with more benign events, which makes people like me doubt their existence and even possibly wonder if something is wrong with me because I haven't had those reactions to those experiences. And now that I have experienced them, well, I kind of wish I hadn't.
Although they may lend to an interesting blog or musing session, most of my movie magic emotions have stemmed from shock or despair and I feel I've had enough of those things. I am ready for the happy ending that Hollywood also promises. This is the point in my story where the audience thinks, "Wow. She can't take much more of this" and then things start to look up: the fairy godmother appears, the hero gets a chance to prove himself, the hero/ine realizes an important clue that will help solve the mystery. That's what I want. I can't get my children back and I can't reverse the damage done to my body, but some magical insurance fairy can certainly work her magic to get me this surgery covered so that my healing can begin and I can set a path for "normal" life once again. So come on Hollywood. It's time for some real life magic here.
My first real experience was this was a few years ago. I was commuting from Fresno to Visalia, 100 miles round trip through mostly farmland, and on my drive home one day noticed a strange smell. I then started to scan the road for the source of said aroma and I noticed one of those big, blue trashmobiles - the kind that usually clamber through your neighborhood at some God awful hour to toss your bins into their larger one. But this one was different - there was a cow leg sticking out of it. I soon realized that the truck was carrying what appeared to be a large heap of bovine carcasses! And as soon as that realization hit me, my hand immediately shot to my mouth as a small gasp escaped from my lips... just like one might see in a movie.
As traumatic as that was, it doesn't hold a candle to what I have experienced lately. When people say their heart is breaking, you feel it's cliched and (at least I) generally feel they are being over-dramatic. When you see characters in movies doubled over and in tears, I write that off to emotional manipulation - and sometimes just bad acting. But it is actually possible to feel that kind of sadness. I understand that now. It is possible to feel like something inside you has been ripped apart and you don't know how to be whole any more. Now, the movie situations may not accurately correlate to those emotions, but they are possible.
Today, I learned of another emotion that I previously felt was over-dramatic and unrealistic - and I wish I could say it was a happy one. This evening I received a call from the surgery scheduler about my back surgery. I had been groomed to expect good news and have been preparing for surgery early next week, but the news was not good. My insurance (Cigna) had denied my claim. I went numb as the scheduler explained the situation and gave me some tips on how to appeal it (which, luckily, I had the good sense to write down) but I knew the aftermath would not be pretty. When we finally hung up, I was in tears because my surgery had already been put off two weeks and I have been in an increasing amount of pain in the last few days. Plus, I mean, seriously!? Could I just catch a break here? Please? But then I went from sad to gut-wrenchingly sad to almost catatonic. I would just stand in the kitchen and stare at nothing or find myself rocking slightly in some random spot - just like in the movies. And then I was mad! So mad that I was punching the air because I didn't have anything else to hit. I couldn't believe it. I had never felt like that before and, with any luck, I won't have to feel that way again. But it is possible. I just think Hollywood trivializes those emotions by pairing them with more benign events, which makes people like me doubt their existence and even possibly wonder if something is wrong with me because I haven't had those reactions to those experiences. And now that I have experienced them, well, I kind of wish I hadn't.
Although they may lend to an interesting blog or musing session, most of my movie magic emotions have stemmed from shock or despair and I feel I've had enough of those things. I am ready for the happy ending that Hollywood also promises. This is the point in my story where the audience thinks, "Wow. She can't take much more of this" and then things start to look up: the fairy godmother appears, the hero gets a chance to prove himself, the hero/ine realizes an important clue that will help solve the mystery. That's what I want. I can't get my children back and I can't reverse the damage done to my body, but some magical insurance fairy can certainly work her magic to get me this surgery covered so that my healing can begin and I can set a path for "normal" life once again. So come on Hollywood. It's time for some real life magic here.
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Thanks and Appreciation
As you all know, this has been a really difficult year for us, but there have been many people who have worked to make things easier and who have gone above and beyond to show their love and support for us. I want to use this post to thank some of those people.
Brian
First, I have to thank my loving husband, Brian. He has always been attentive and supportive, but he has been amazing through this entire process. He says that (almost) any husband would act this way, but I don't believe it. From my first night in the hospital (when we thought I would be there for weeks, if not months, on bed rest) I had to virtually force him to go home and not stay with me overnight. And when things did start to go downhill, every night he slept in a chair in my freezing cold room (the Mag made me incredibly hot) and hopped up any time a machine beeped (which happened ALL of the time) or whenever I needed anything. And during each delivery he was at my side, supporting me, holding our children, and telling us all that he loved us. Since we've been home, he has done so much to compensate for my ailing body, from adding to his normal load of chores to doing me endless favors. And that says nothing to the emotional support. Although we are both hurting in our own way, he is there for me whenever I need him and we are working through it all together. And now he's going to continue with this loving behavior as he supports me once again during my back surgery. (Yes, this is still gratitude, not covert manipulation. I promise.) I wish every person could say their spouse was that amazing, but I'd venture to say that mine is far better than average and I am grateful for him.
Family
Our families have definitely stepped up and shown their love and support during our pregnancy, loss, hospitalization, and recovery. My mom was with me from the very moment I was admitted into the hospital and has been there whenever I have needed her since. My dad was scheduled to fly in from Texas the following week, but moved his trip up when he learned of my hospitalization. Although we didn't know it at the time, that move allowed him to be in town as things turned south and as I returned back home. Unfortunately, my sister was on a business trip in Dubai during the week of my hospitalization, but she showed her support via email and, despite jet lag (it's a 12 hour time difference), exhaustion and illness, drove up from LA the day after she returned. And my brother-in-law Sean came to see us and show his love once we were out of Labor and Delivery. So much love and support... and those are just the people who were in town. My uncle has sent several beautiful notes, as have my cousins. My niece Paige even drew me a lovely picture with scripture that inspired her and brought us comfort. And my step-mom sent me a beautiful letter and myriad texts to check in with me along the way. I have even received messages from cousins and more distant relatives online. These things all mean so much to us and we thank you from the bottom of our hearts.
Friends
I wish I could thank all of you individually, but I know I would leave someone out, so I'm not even going to try. Just know that we appreciate everything you have done - from the friends who gathered in my recovery room at the end of our hospital stay; to those who coordinated and brought meals; to those who have come by just to spend time or invited one or both of us out to a meal; to those who sent cards, messages or flowers; to those who have simply sent prayer or well-wishes... we love and thank you all. And we are grateful for your continued support. Even this last weekend, we were surrounded by good friends on both Saturday and Sunday night. Little moments like that make a big difference.
But I do want to share one specific moment with you. On Saturday Feb. 25, the day we lost Sebastian and Amelia and I was moved up to the fifth floor, our friends surprised us and literally flooded my room. (Thank you fifth floor nurses for being so amazing and hospitable.) Among those friends were Scott and Ashley Larios who had their first born, Lucy, at 23 weeks. They were lucky enough to have her survive and grow to be a healthy little girl, but they understand more than most what we were going through. So they told Lucy that they were coming to visit us in the hospital that night. I don't know what details they provided, if any, but apparently she said, "I know exactly what they need" and promptly created the drawing you see here. It was incredibly sweet (and an amazing likeness, if I do say so myself) and it is now framed and hanging in our home. So thank you, Lucy!
Colleagues/Friends/Alumni
I had the honor of going through a Master's program with some amazing people and this last week, those people surprised us with a beautiful gift. I'm not sure who initiated or coordinated it, but we received a packet of letters and this beautiful silver branch with hearts that say Ewan, Amelia and Sebastian from this group of people whom I barely see. Many of them now live out of state and most I never hung out with outside of classrooms or literary/composition events, but they have rallied around me online (there definitely are some advantages to social networking sites) and our friendships have grown from there. I have hung up this sweet gift next to Lucy's drawing in my office (what was to become the nursery). So a huge thank you to my friends, colleagues, professor, and fellow alumni: Andrea, Elizabeth M, Sharla, Nicole, Georgia, Ginny, David, Travis, Jenn, Liz S, and Maryam.
Coworkers
Last but not least, I want to thank our coworkers at both DeVry and FCC. Not only have our bosses worked with us during this difficult time, allowing us time to grieve and take care of necessary things, but they have supported us with generous acts of sympathy. FCC sent us a beautiful azalea bush and sweet card from the department and DeVry rallied together to provide us with meals and sent a lovely bouquet from the campus. Thank you to everyone who volunteered to provide food and/or who has checked up on us over the last few weeks.
There have been so many reasons to be appreciative as we've worked our way through this process and if I have forgotten to include your contribution, I am truly sorry. We are thankful to have all of you - even those who just "lurk" (as my friend called it) on the digital sidelines - who love, support, pray, send positive thoughts, and do generous things (like drop off mystery cake on our porch). We love and appreciate you all.
Brian
First, I have to thank my loving husband, Brian. He has always been attentive and supportive, but he has been amazing through this entire process. He says that (almost) any husband would act this way, but I don't believe it. From my first night in the hospital (when we thought I would be there for weeks, if not months, on bed rest) I had to virtually force him to go home and not stay with me overnight. And when things did start to go downhill, every night he slept in a chair in my freezing cold room (the Mag made me incredibly hot) and hopped up any time a machine beeped (which happened ALL of the time) or whenever I needed anything. And during each delivery he was at my side, supporting me, holding our children, and telling us all that he loved us. Since we've been home, he has done so much to compensate for my ailing body, from adding to his normal load of chores to doing me endless favors. And that says nothing to the emotional support. Although we are both hurting in our own way, he is there for me whenever I need him and we are working through it all together. And now he's going to continue with this loving behavior as he supports me once again during my back surgery. (Yes, this is still gratitude, not covert manipulation. I promise.) I wish every person could say their spouse was that amazing, but I'd venture to say that mine is far better than average and I am grateful for him.
Family
Our families have definitely stepped up and shown their love and support during our pregnancy, loss, hospitalization, and recovery. My mom was with me from the very moment I was admitted into the hospital and has been there whenever I have needed her since. My dad was scheduled to fly in from Texas the following week, but moved his trip up when he learned of my hospitalization. Although we didn't know it at the time, that move allowed him to be in town as things turned south and as I returned back home. Unfortunately, my sister was on a business trip in Dubai during the week of my hospitalization, but she showed her support via email and, despite jet lag (it's a 12 hour time difference), exhaustion and illness, drove up from LA the day after she returned. And my brother-in-law Sean came to see us and show his love once we were out of Labor and Delivery. So much love and support... and those are just the people who were in town. My uncle has sent several beautiful notes, as have my cousins. My niece Paige even drew me a lovely picture with scripture that inspired her and brought us comfort. And my step-mom sent me a beautiful letter and myriad texts to check in with me along the way. I have even received messages from cousins and more distant relatives online. These things all mean so much to us and we thank you from the bottom of our hearts.
Friends
I wish I could thank all of you individually, but I know I would leave someone out, so I'm not even going to try. Just know that we appreciate everything you have done - from the friends who gathered in my recovery room at the end of our hospital stay; to those who coordinated and brought meals; to those who have come by just to spend time or invited one or both of us out to a meal; to those who sent cards, messages or flowers; to those who have simply sent prayer or well-wishes... we love and thank you all. And we are grateful for your continued support. Even this last weekend, we were surrounded by good friends on both Saturday and Sunday night. Little moments like that make a big difference.
Colleagues/Friends/Alumni
Coworkers
Last but not least, I want to thank our coworkers at both DeVry and FCC. Not only have our bosses worked with us during this difficult time, allowing us time to grieve and take care of necessary things, but they have supported us with generous acts of sympathy. FCC sent us a beautiful azalea bush and sweet card from the department and DeVry rallied together to provide us with meals and sent a lovely bouquet from the campus. Thank you to everyone who volunteered to provide food and/or who has checked up on us over the last few weeks.
There have been so many reasons to be appreciative as we've worked our way through this process and if I have forgotten to include your contribution, I am truly sorry. We are thankful to have all of you - even those who just "lurk" (as my friend called it) on the digital sidelines - who love, support, pray, send positive thoughts, and do generous things (like drop off mystery cake on our porch). We love and appreciate you all.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)