On the eve of a new cycle

Things are getting real.

On Wednesday, we went to the fertility clinic to review the results of my many blood tests and ultrasounds I did. Good news – all looks to be fine. One tiny detail was that my uterine lining seems to be growing into the muscle of the uterus itself…a little strange. My doctor said that since the lining re-grows every month it isn’t something we can really control. BUT, if it happens to hang around (which they won’t be able to monitor once we do IVF) then there is a small chance it could prevent a pregnancy or result in a miscarriage.

Sigh.

I have a feeling we will be hearing this a lot. All sorts of percentages and problems we can’t control but have the power to potentially destroy our lives. Just wonderful.

Now, all of this aside, I still do feel very positive. The clinic will be ready to do a frozen embryo transfer just after the next time my body ovulates…which is in about 2-3 weeks (talk about TMI, eh?) Until then, I need to wait for my period to start, and then I’ll need to go for daily bloodwork to test my hormones to track my cycle.

This is serious deja vu for me. I just did this exact process a little over a year ago, in June 2015. I got pregnant but didn’t get the prize at the end. I need to figure out how to be okay with that possibility as we gear up for another 10 month roller coaster of emotions.

Anuj and I have been talking a lot about how to anticipate issues and prepare. We are pros at pregnancy, we have been through this 5 times. But with only one child who we actually get to see everyday, our outlook tends to be a little grim these days. We know we won’t feel comforted at the 12 week ultrasound, or even the 20 week ultrasound. We will get weekly ultrasounds from about 26 weeks onwards, and those won’t comfort us either. We will pass 31 weeks and 6 days, the day we found out Manav died, and I know I will not breathe easy. Will I feel better after baby is born? After the first year? Will I ever feel safe to breathe again?

It doesn’t help that the news is full of heartbreaking stories of children dying from terrorist attacks, car accidents, abductions, drownings, hot cars, or injuries. I am so scared. Will our children ever be safe? Are we safe? None of us are safe. Every single day there are a million things that will ruin us, kill us, separate us, hurt us or affect us in some way. How long will I stand on the side lines of life out of fear? What is worse than losing a child? Nothing is worse than that, and here I am, alive and breathing. I can do anything now, right?

I feel bold, and daring. I am daring to live, daring to roll the dice again and play the probability game again. Chances are in my favour, but we all know that won’t protect me. So I might as well just live life on my terms and choose to have hope despite a world full of shitty things. If something happens, then I will cross that bridge if and when I get to it. Until then, I will attend every appointment, do every test, meet every doctor who can help us keep our sanity and beg the universe to let the cards fall in my favour this time.

I matter too

Change is in the air. I feel it in my bones. I hear it whispering to me as I rush from one thing to another in my busy, summer days. Things are shifting, and I like it.

I have always been a person who wants to be loved. I want to be accepted, just like everyone does. Since losing my mother, I have not always felt the unconditional love I have craved, or felt that I had anything substantial to offer the world. Over the years, that belief has changed, but it turned into me always giving myself to others to help them grow. I wanted to help people who were struggling in life, be the nice girl who did favours, be the person who solved problems. I gave so much.

Motherhood only fuelled my determination. Avinash depended on me, and I of course, wanted to be there for him no matter what. I skipped meals, I ate his scraps of a leftover sandwich, I held him all night as he fought an illness, and I truly would not have it any other way. I can do this, I can love my children unconditionally and always be there. I will always provide, I will always be okay. Always. Always. Always.

As my stomach swelled and I prepared to welcome my second child, I was a little anxious of how I will find more time, more ideas, more energy to devote to my baby. How will I be everything to everyone? How will I fuel my goals and dreams?

When Manav died, it hit my confidence really hard. I can’t be that great of a mother if I lost my baby before he even made it earth side, right? I guess I juggled one too many balls, right? I must’ve worked too hard. I must not have rested enough, or ate the right things, or made the right decisions. It was all my fault. I was not everything to everyone at all. I was a failure.

I carried that realization with me for a long time. As the bitterly cold winter began to thaw, and I stayed away from work and the world, I took a long and hard look at what was left of me. I saw an old, tired woman with no more passion. No more dreams and no more fight. Was this it? Is this the new me? Is it enough to fill Avi’s world with happiness, and to keep me in a job and marriage that I love? How much of me is in the work and relationships that I have fostered over the years? How did I lose myself as I gave every last drop of sweat and tears to others – for their own benefit and achievement? How?

Well, it is because I naively thought that if I put out lots of love and attention to the benefit of others, it would somehow be reciprocated. I assumed that someone would take care of me the same way, but that didn’t happen. Instead, I continued to give, and the world continued to take, and I became a faint shadow…fading away.

But like I said, change is in the air. I am learning so much, and I want to share it with you.

Manav took away my martyr ways. I am no longer a “yes” woman. I simply cannot be that anymore. I can’t exchange everything I have to save the world. I just don’t have enough.

Since January, I have worked really hard on my mental health and I’m happy to report that all things considered, I’m doing pretty damn well. Somehow, I am crawling out of my dark cave and I crave life again. But this time, I am armed with the teachings I gained from Manav’s death. I will no longer put myself last. I will no longer skip breakfast to save a few bucks, or stay up stupidly late with guests if all I need is sleep. I will not ignore my needs and wait for someone else to notice I am suffering. No more.

I am realizing that punishing myself for the benefit of others will not make my loved ones happy. I don’t want my children to see that as even an option. So I take breaks. I ask for help. I try to take my vitamins and drink my water. I go to work and I apply myself. I shut the door when I need space, and I leave when it gets to be too much.

Change is in the air. I am learning and growing. I am getting stronger. I matter too. I need my own love too. Manav is making sure I am not lost in the messiness of the world, and that I invest in myself too. This eternal baby of mine is teaching me so much.

July 7th

What a day July 7th is.

Since the age of 13, this day has marked one of the single greatest losses I have ever experienced – the death of my beautiful mother. Each year I approach this date with a heavy heart filled with memories and hurt. Over the last few years, I have not been as anxious, and I would try to celebrate her life and what she believed in as a way of honouring her instead.

Last year, I remember waking up on July 7th and I felt my mother all around me in the early light of 5:30am. It was the 20th death anniversary for her. I crept out of bed, and I went to the bathroom and decided to take a pregnancy test. It was the faintest line ever, but it was there. I was pregnant. Manav was finally a reality!

July 7th was now a day that I could finally celebrate something good. Or was.

Today, I woke up and felt like I had been punched in the stomach. The grief crept into my heart like a poison and it was suffocating me. It hurts to breathe without my parent and child with me on this journey of life.

It is so isolating to face losses like this. Not many can relate to it, and often it is forgotten by even those closest to us. I don’t know how to bring it up, sometimes. I wish that I didn’t need to.

Grieving for my mother this year is a different experience. I always look back on my memories of her, and imagine who she would’ve been if she were alive today. But this year, I grieved for her love. I ached for her presence, and her comfort as I struggle to survive the loss of my son. I miss her advice, her support, her unconditional love. I feel alone in my pain and loss. I feel so alone.

I feel angry today too, which I haven’t felt in awhile. I am angry that I have to face this life of loss without answers, or closure. I have to constantly define my reality and there are no words to describe this state of love and loss that exist simultaneously. My two children bring out the strongest love and the deepest grief in my heart. My mother who birthed me brings out my anger and pain and my mother’s oldest sister who has lovingly adopted me as her child steadies me and cheers me on with every step I take towards peace. How do I love and grieve all at once?

I am hurting hard today, friends. I miss my mommy, I miss my baby. I long to be with them and hold them tight and never let go. But in this lifetime, I will just have to accept that they are holding each other for me, somewhere out there beyond the lovely sunset, and that they are cheering me on from afar.

Are we ready?

Deep breaths. My head is spinning.

Today, Avi goes to his “summer camp”…his amazing daycare provider takes all the kids to her nearby cottage for a few nights and gives parents a much-needed break to reconnect with their spouses. It is amazing! Avi went last year and he had a wonderful time. Anuj and I were alone for the first time since he was born, and I was newly pregnant with Manav.

So why does my heart feel so anxious this year? Aside from the normal worries of a mother sending her child away for a period of time, it is dawning on me that today is the first time both of my kids are far away from me. Since Manav died, Avinash has been my constant motivator. He is the only reason I would crawl out of bed and put a smile on my face. He was my reason for venturing out of the house for groceries when all I wanted to do was creep into a hole, he pushed me to take care of myself, to return to work and to seek counselling. He was my reason to live.

But today, he is leaving for a fun adventure and Anuj and I are totally alone. No more need for routine, no need for brave smiles or to be “ok” anymore. Not only is it odd to not have Avi around, but it is equally odd to have Anuj all to myself. Avi is our buffer during disagreements (lots of civil small talk at the dinner table when we are fighting!), he forces us to work as a team, and he watches us and learns from us. Without him around, what will we feel? How well are we to manage without him directing us to our next goal?

Don’t get me wrong…Anuj and I have a wonderful marriage, and it has survived the storm of losing our little baby. It would’ve been so easy to walk away from each other, but we knew that fighting to stay together was worth it and that we love each other and need each other too much to give up. Anuj and I will finally have time to get to know each other again. Since January, we have changed a lot as individuals and with the blur of work and home we haven’t had a chance to really get to know the new us. We are exhausted, we are burnt out and we still grieve everyday for Manav. We need a break.

So for the next few days, I am working hard to build in some chances for us to reconnect again. We plan to go out for dinners, hit the movies, enjoy the downtown scene. We want to do practical things like clean out the shed, but also enjoy the golden sound of silence after a tough day at work. More than anything, we will need to talk. The next 12 months will be very challenging for us with a possible new pregnancy, moving house and hopefully a baby. We need to put some energy into revitalizing our team and feeling like we understand each other again.

So deep breaths. It is going to be okay. Avi will flourish at the cottage, and enjoy swimming and playing and lounging on the beach. He needs the break from us too. We will all make it out of this time apart, and this test to have my little dictator away from me is good for me as I can prove to myself that I am more healed than I realize and that I am living for myself and my future child now too, not just for dear little Avinash.

The start of his story

Today is June 30th, and my heart is overflowing with mixed feelings. Where do I start?

I suppose starting at the start is a good place…and the start of this story was exactly one year ago today. Last year on this day, Anuj and I went to the fertility clinic and our frozen little embryo was thawed and placed inside me and little Manav was snuggling into his eternal home. Today marks the day his life inside me began, and I feel so incredibly sad that he isn’t in my arms today.

I wore my lucky socks (Ninja Turtles ones!) that Anuj had bought for me, and our appointment was at 11:30am. I remember feeling nervous that I was too calm, too happy, not stressed like I was at Avi’s embryo transfer. Life with a toddler is so busy, and I didn’t have time to panic about the procedure. I also felt really optimistic. I truly felt excited to welcome our next child into the world and taking that first step felt amazing. I remember that I was relieved it was June 30th and not July 1st as that is Canada Day and Avi would be home from daycare…how would we go to the clinic for the transfer if we couldn’t find a babysitter?

Today, I feel teary. I feel raw and vulnerable; I feel the loss of Manav all over again as I relive his life. From this day until January 22nd I will relive each step, each moment, each milestone in his life. I have dreaded this day and I welcome it too. My son’s memory is fresh in my mind and I get to remember his life more than anyone else, because we shared a body.

Today also feels odd as I was at the hospital this morning doing blood work in preparation for our next pregnancy. I was in the Labour and Delivery unit, being surrounded by big bellies and happy people, and I ached to feel happy like that. The space in my heart I keep for Manav felt like a football field. I ran my hand over my non-pregnant stomach as I walked by those women, almost as if to shield them from my jinxed womb. I lowered my eyes, and hurried to the lab so I could get this blood work done and leave.

I tried to remind myself that this part of the hospital wing isn’t all that bad; it is where we welcomed Avinash into the world. It is where he took his first breath, and where I became a mother. It also is where I came when I had one of my miscarriages too…nothing is easy, eh? Nothing is simple about creating new life.

Today, I will raise my glass to Manav’s life and as much as it destroys me to think about how short his life was, I will celebrate this milestone for him. Today, he and I became one. Today, he changed my life permanently by honouring me with the privilege of being his mother. I will hold my head high, even if my heart feels low and tears fall from my eyes.

Cheers to you, my littlest love.

Tiny new beginnings

My little garden is becoming quite the therapeutic activity for me.

It occurred to me the other day that my vegetable garden is healing me in a way I never expected it to. On so many levels too. It nourishes my mind, my soul and my heart (and in the fall, it’ll nourish my body too!)

I started my garden with a bit of a weary heart, as I wasn’t planning on doing one this year as I assumed I would have a newborn and that I would be far too busy. By deciding to do the garden, I had to admit to myself (and the world) that my plans didn’t happen at all and now that I don’t have a baby, I might as well do a garden after all. As you may recall from a past post, I worked super hard to buy all of my supplies, till the soil, plant the vegetables and have enough hope that it would not be for nothing. That was the hardest part. I’m not a very hopeful person these days.

But here we are, approaching the end of June, and I must say, the garden is thriving. I have been consistently going out to the garden each day and inspecting my plants, noticing new leaves, and pulling out weeds. I have watered them, put in support stands for them and appreciated their beauty.

These last few weeks I have noticed myself going out to the garden when my heart hurts too much, when I am stressed or very anxious. When I go outside, I feel like I am parenting again, as I am completely in charge of whether that garden lives or dies. I find myself calming down the same way I calm down when Avi enters a room and I have been crying but I need to hide it. The garden triggers my patience, my love and my true self – which happens to be a hopeful woman at heart.

It also brings out my grief too. I think about Manav when I’m out there as I’m not staring at my phone, or the TV, or a computer. I’m not cooking, cleaning, driving or talking. I am just being present. The garden forces me to slow down and it brings me back to reality. That reality is often as simple as noticing that my tomato plant has a new branch, or my zucchini has a new bloom growing. I realize that time is moving slowly, and that even if it is slow, it is still beautiful and necessary to go slow for a reason.

The garden  makes me feel proud. I am happy seeing the progress out there, and enjoying the mysterious nature of this earth. I feel glad that something is growing and changing, just like me. It reminds me of my pregnancy with my kids, and how no matter how long or short the pregnancy was, I was always so happy and excited about the changes and progress of my little dependents.

This week I saw a tiny pepper, a tiny tomato and a tiny zucchini emerge. After weeks of waiting, I am seeing evidence of my plants doing what they were supposed to do. I am seeing little baby vegetables coming out and it fills me with joy! I feel like seeing my garden take this crucial step towards success is resetting my negative soul that only believes bad things will happen to any goal I set. I am seeing proof now that sometimes, things really do just happen the way we intend them to. Sometimes, things work out. Even with me.

In other parts of the garden, new flowers are popping up everywhere. It is thanks to my lovely neighbour, who generously let me take her extra perennials last summer and transplant them into my yard. They all died and I felt bad, but they are all coming back this year and I had totally forgotten about them. You know the best part? I was pregnant with Manav when I planted those flowers. I was in my first trimester and I was so sick but I desperately wanted a flower-filled garden for Avi so I planted lots of cuttings and I am so glad I did! Seeing those flowers bloom all around me makes me feel like my child is here with me, and enjoying the peace as much as I am. I love it.

So I’m going to try and have a little more faith in the universe. I’m going to try and smell the proverbial roses and to breathe in nature and exhale the negativity inside me. I’ll keep you posted on the progress of the tomatoes. I know you’ll be dying to know!

Walking again

Today was a crazy day at work, and despite feeling exhausted and drained, I also feel good. I feel like a part of my soul came back today.

I am a social worker and I do community development work. I run a community house, where residents of the neighbourhood drop by for assistance with paperwork, access to free computers, do job searches and so much more. We run free programs for low-income families and advocate for the needs of the community. My job takes a lot of my energy and my time. I use a lot of my creativity and resourcefulness at work and it is why I am good at what I do. I truly love my job, despite how hard it can be sometimes.

Since my son died, I have been fragile at work. My brain can’t keep up with the pace of my work, I have no drive, no passion and no energy. I felt lost and nervous that I would not be able to handle the basic responsibilities of my job. Thankfully, my boss and my work friends have been absolutely incredible and supportive – they have helped me, cheered me on, given me the space and time that I need to go at my own pace, and have praised me for not giving up. These wonderful people have given me the chance to try and stand up on my wobbly legs and try to walk again in my old shoes. The pre-Manav shoes that have been sitting in the closet for so long.

Today I feel like I walked unassisted! Today was the community house’s birthday (7 years of great work!) and I was so anxious that nobody would show up, or that I would run out of food, or that I would see clients who would ask me awkward questions about my pregnancy. But none of those things happened. The event was super successful and the atmosphere was fun and relaxed. I found myself laughing and enjoying my work for the first time. I truly enjoyed celebrating the successes of the community house, reminiscing of my early days as the coordinator, and talking to my clients from the heart. I found my joy at work again, and it felt so good. I realized how much my job is personal to me; I really believe in the work that I do, and I felt so incredibly proud of myself for finally finding that puzzle piece and unlocking a big part of who I am through my profession.

I felt my clients’ love today too. Many of them told me how glad they are that I am back at work and how happy and relieved they are to see me doing well. They don’t know about the depression, or the fears, or the sadness. They don’t know about how much I cry or about how scared I am. To them, I am a community leader, I am a problem solver, I am a confidante and friend. They see a whole other side of me that I have been blinded to since January. I feel like I finally got to appreciate the social worker in me, and I got to witness how my work positively impacts my soul.

I walked in my old shoes again. It was shaky, it was a little awkward at times, but I did it.

Five months

June 20th 2016 – it is the summer solstice, a full moon, and it is five months to the day that I found out my son died inside me. A storm is brewing outside, the air is hot and humid and the wind is full of energy. I feel restless and agitated; it has been quite the day.

Today was my appointment at the Maternal Fetal Medicine Unit to discuss my stillbirth and to find out what the next steps will be in terms of a future pregnancy. The appointment was at the hospital where I gave birth to Avi…walking into that building flooded me with memories. It is also the same hospital I had to have my dilation and curettage procedure (D & C) after my second miscarriage. The labour and delivery unit is a bittersweet place to return to for me.

Anuj and I nervously sat in the waiting room, unsure of what we would be discussing with the doctor, and unsure about how we would feel. We had no idea what to expect, and there was little I could do to prepare.

We finally were called in and we spoke with the resident doctor, and I wanted to laugh because although he was very kind and professional, he did not know how to refer to Manav. He never once said the word stillbirth, loss, demise, or death. He would just do an awkward pause and I would say the word for him. I felt like I had to say it a lot to show him it is okay to put a word to my experience.

He reviewed my history with me and noticed that some blood tests weren’t completed that should have been done at the time of the birth. He also told me I need to get my glucose test done to be sure my gestational diabetes is gone now. Sure. I’ll just fit that into my schedule.

Then the attending doctor came in and she was truly wonderful. She wasn’t afraid to use words like stillbirth with me, and she started off by offering her condolences. It was refreshing to speak to a doctor who sounded more human! She agreed that extra blood work needed to be done and the glucose test, but she also noted that in Manav’s autopsy the pathologist said that his blood cells were a little different; it suggested that perhaps he had anemia. This made sense as I have always had pretty low iron and especially during pregnancy it is quite low. She cheerfully added an iron test to the requisition for me, but I felt that familiar weight of guilt creep into the pit of my stomach. Was Manav anemic? I hated taking my iron supplements, they were hard on my stomach and I forgot a lot of the time. Did that influence this outcome?

The doctor told me that I’ll be followed very closely through my next pregnancy and that I’ll have ultrasounds every two weeks for the first part of my pregnancy and then weekly ultrasounds from around 28 weeks onwards. In addition there will be extra consults with the high risk unit and frequent tests. Whoa. This sounded great, but it also made me realize that the doctors are a little scared for me too. They are being very cautious and taking this death very seriously. I don’t often experience that – usually people don’t understand the fear and stress I have of this happening again, but finally, my fears were being validated and it felt good and scary all at once.

We left the appointment deep in thought and in silence. We are trying to think of things one step at at time, but it is hard to not want to control every single variable and be hyper vigilant. I need to trust that I am doing everything I can.

For now, I am trying to mentally prepare for another pregnancy. I have a slew of tests being set up by the fertility clinic that I need to be available for and apparently the second I do conceive, this high risk unit will be all over me to be sure that I am 100% on track. It makes me nervous. This won’t be a quiet and boring pregnancy, and I still have to go to work, run a house and care for Avi. We will still have laundry and groceries; we will still have to live.

Today was a little glimpse into what life will be like when you’re a high risk pregnant lady who could lose her baby again. I’m not sure if I feel relieved or scared…

Father’s Day

It was Father’s Day yesterday.

We celebrate dads and all that they do to enrich our lives and make us laugh. But yesterday, for my little family, it was a difficult day.

Fatherhood is an area that often gets overlooked when it comes to infant or pregnancy loss; it is usually geared towards the mothers, and further perpetuates an inaccurate societal norm that fathers are immune to grief, love, emotion and pain, and that mothers are sensitive, weak, and very emotional. It was frustrating for both of us to face these stereotypes while being crushed by the biggest grief a parent can face. It was frustrating yesterday as well.

The truth is, grief surpasses everything. Even the “strongest” person is not immune – doesn’t matter if they are a man or a woman. When you lose your child, nothing else matters anymore.

Yesterday, Anuj had to face the day without Manav there to make him smile. We sat together and cried, and missed our son. It felt like the world had forgotten that Anuj would even be sad today…a further burden a grieving parent faces…when the world truly moves on and you are left alone in your cloud of pain and sadness. It was a day of privately hurting while the rest of the world celebrated but we got through it.

Anuj does not give himself enough credit for the father that he is. He is Avi’s best friend and they have a bond that I envy. They play together in a way I can never seem to do, and they are always laughing. Anuj is the kind of dad who enjoys snuggles and kisses, he tells Avi every single day how much he loves him, he cooks, he feeds him, he washes his clothes. Anuj takes him shopping, goes to the doctor, and marvels at his development. He cried at his birth, he rocked him in the middle of the night when he wouldn’t sleep, and has bathed him, carried him and loved him just as much as any mother. I am proud that he shatters the stereotypes around fatherhood and challenges those beliefs. I am excited to see my children grow up with a man like Anuj as their role model.

So Anuj, this one is for you. I know Manav isn’t here, but you are his daddy just as much as you are Avinash’s. Your love is there and he feels it everyday. Being a parent without your child with you is the worst pain to go through, but you’ll never have to do it alone. I love you and look forward to watching you and Avi grow together.