Faking It

A short time ago I was accused of faking my illness and my miscarriages. My accuser was someone who I've never actually met in person, who was getting their information from someone who is not up to date on my condition, and who was making those accusations for no other purpose than to hurt me. I can say that their mission was accomplished: It hurt.

I find myself still thinking about what she said. Every time I cry because of the lingering ache of losing my daughter, I think about it. Every time I wonder if I'm ever going to be a mother, I think about it. Every time I look at the ultrasound picture of my little girl, I think about it. Every time I vomit up bile, I think about it. Every time the pain hurts so bad I forget to breathe, I think about it. Every time they stick yet another needle into my bruised, scarred, sore arms and feet, I think about it. Every day I was in the hospital looking at all the tubes and machines hooked up to my exhausted, battered body, every time my family and friends left the hospital and I cried, every time the doctors and nurses would look at me and say, "I'm so sorry," I would think about it.

I find myself thinking about it a lot.

And I am now at the point where I don't want to think about it anymore.

I can't help but wonder. I wonder how someone could say something that cruel to another human being. I wonder how any circumstance could justify that in her mind. I wonder what I possibly could've done to make her feel the need to hurt me like that. I wonder if its true, if it could possibly be true. Because if I had Munchausen's, then I could get better.

But it just can't be. I can't fake the lab results, I can't fake the pain, I can't fake the fevers, I can't fake the weight loss. I can't fake a pregnancy test, or an ultrasound, and I can't fake a miscarriage. I can't fake being sick well enough to be admitted to the hospital 6 times, or to convince the doctors to do surgical procedures on me. I can't fake vomiting up bile, or internal inflammation, or bile duct stenosis, elevated LFTs, elevated amylase, inflamed pancreas, or septicemia. This is reality, its my reality.

I also wonder what I am supposed to accomplish by faking this stuff. I can't work. Maybe that sounds good, but I've had a job since I was 14. I was always the girl who knew she would be a working mom. I had my dream job, my dream career. I worked hard in school to be a Medical Assistant, and being a CMA was a huge part of my identity. My job made me happy, it was fulfilling. Being at home all day makes me miserable. Between being sick and in pain, not being able to work, and my miscarriages, I got to the point where I was suicidal and wanted to die. I even took a lot of pills to try to kill myself around Christmas time. Being sick put a huge strain on my marriage, and may have caused irreparable damage. My illness and my miscarriages have brought nothing positive into my life. I pray every day, sometimes multiple times a day, for it to stop. I would give anything, ANYTHING, to wake up in the morning completely healed.

I take comfort in the knowledge that I'm not alone. Unfortunately, I have friends who are going through similar trials, and although I wish they wouldn't have to go through this, I'm grateful to have people in my life who understand. I'm grateful for the support of my family. They are always there for me, they lift my spirits, and they fill me with love. I'm grateful for all of the people who pray for me. I know that God loves me, that He has a plan for me, and I have faith in that plan. I know my Savior has felt my pain, and suffered and died for me, and I'm grateful for His ultimate sacrifice. And, I'm grateful for the experience, because it has given me empathy and understanding. I understand people with chronic pain and illnesses so much better than I did before, and I understand the heartache of miscarriage so much better than I did before. I hope that these experiences will allow me to reach out and help ease someone else's suffering. If I can help even one person, it will all be worth it.

And, to the person who accused me of faking it, I have this to say to you:

I forgive you. I'm forgiving you because I wish to purge the poison of anger from my body. I'm washing away your words permanently. And, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for whatever I did to make you feel the need to wound another human being like that, and I'm sorry that you have so much anger and malice in your heart. I hope for your sake that you are able to let that go before it leaves a scar. I pray for you by name every night, I hurt because you are hurting. We may never meet again in this life, but when I see you again on the other side I want you to know that I will greet you with love and acceptance. Because you are my spirit sister, you are a special, unique spirit, and you deserve nothing less.

Pink Balloons; Lily's Memorial Story

The weather was perfect.

I decided to hold the memorial outdoors, in the Provo Canyon. My mom picked Nunn's Park by Bridal Veil Falls and found a picnic bench in a nice shady area by the river. The babble of the river and the twitter of birds were the acoustic background to our little gathering.

We opened with the hymn, "Nearer, My God to Thee". I chose it because it has long been a favorite hymn of mine. I downloaded the music, but my phone wasn't loud enough and the speakers we brought didn't work. So, being a musically inclined group, we listened to find the starting pitch and sang the rest of the song a Capella. People broke into parts, and it was absolutely beautiful. My Grammie described at as a "choir of angels", and I can say that there were probably heavenly voices added into our mix.

Next, a beautiful opening prayer from my aunt, Kimberly L. Her words served to shore up the wonderful, beautiful, peaceful spirit that entered during our singing and stayed with our group through the rest of the service. After she closed, my Grammie spoke. I asked her to say a few words, but I never specified what she should talk about. I knew that she would listen to the spirit and know exactly what to say. She quoted Psalm 30:5, "...weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning." She also spoke about tender mercies, and told us how the night before she had been flipping through my grandpa's journal. He passed away 5 years ago from complications of Parkinson's disease. One of the pages in the back was bookmarked, the only page thus marked, and in that journal entry she found the words, "Dawn, if you are reading this, I want you to know that I love you." She remarked how amazing it was that when she needed to hear those words, they came, seemingly by random chance.

After she spoke, my siblings sang, "A Child's Prayer". The music was beautiful, but it was not the music that I appreciated most. As the oldest child, I am like sister, mother, and friend to my younger siblings. My sisters are wont to bicker, and when I approached them with this musical number I was worried that asking them to work together would make sparks fly. Instead, they both enthusiastically agreed and worked really hard with my brother to provide a touching musical number. I appreciate them waiving a white flag on my behalf, because it tells me how much Lily and I mean to them.

My mom spoke next. She remarked on the outset that it was probably a mistake to have her speak after listening to her children sing, but she managed her talk marvelously as always. Again, I didn't feel the need to give her any topic or talking points, because I knew that she would know exactly what to say. And, she did. She shared the letter she wrote to Lily. It was poignant, thoughtful, and beautiful, and said so many things that I, for one, needed to hear.

Then, we opened up the floor for others to make their remarks. My 11 year old brother made a beautiful analogy of life and death by pointing out the geography of the trees and rocks and the river. My 13 year old sister shared how, in a moment of despair, she was inspired to know that Lily's spirit lives in heaven surrounded by those who love her and have gone before, like my grandpa and a family friend, Kat. My sister recited a beautiful poem "written" by her daughter, Ivory, to her cousin, that began, "I couldn't wait to share my bows..." Others also shared their thoughts, feelings, and words of comfort.

Following those remarks, I asked my uncle, Stephen, and my step-dad to give me a blessing. Stephen spoke, and it was obvious to everyone, I think, that he really opened his heart up and allowed the spirit to channel thoughts and words through him. It was at once powerful to the point of being overwhelming, and peaceful and comforting.


Then, it was time for the balloon launch:





 I opened up to those who attended the ceremony to write a letter to Lily. We gathered those letters together, and tied them to a bunch of pink balloons.

We stepped out from the trees and into the parking lot.

Surrounded by family and friends and filled with their love and support, I took a deep breath...


...And let the balloons go.

The balloons were picked up by a gentle draft, and floated peacefully away.

After that, we returned to the hollow and closed with the hymn, "Where Can I Turn for Peace?" Often when I am struggling through life, I find myself wondering what I can do to calm the turmoil inside of me. That hymn answers simply, "Where can I turn for peace, Where is my solace...Where when my aching grows, where when I languish...Where is the quiet hand to calm my anguish? Who, who can understand?...

...He, only One."

Again, we sang without accompaniment, and it was truly a beautiful sound. My uncle Chris closed the meeting with a beautiful, heartfelt prayer.

This little memorial ceremony was so helpful to me. After it was finished, I just felt lighter. Maybe it was sharing the burden of my heartache with a group of people. Maybe it was symbolically sending my love to my baby girl on the wings of a cluster of pink balloons. I'll probably never know, and honestly I'm not too concerned about the mechanism. All I know is holding this memorial helped heal my terribly wounded heart.

Because of my experience with miscarriage and with memorials, I've decided to work on a little project. My goal is to help other families who live through the devastation of a miscarriage hold a memorial ceremony of their own, with the hopes that it will help them find some peace and closure as it has for me. To that end, I have created this blog titled Miscarriage Memorials. I encourage you to go over and take a look, keeping in mind I'm still in the process of building it. Also, if you or someone you know has had a miscarriage and you need anything, from talking to someone who has gone through it, to discussing holding a memorial service, to wanting help planning a memorial service, please let me know.

Lily Isabella

I want to write your story down while it's still fresh. It hurts a lot right now, but in the future I will regret it if I don't.

Your daddy's favorite band is Clutch. Around the time you were conceived, we went to a concert the night they released their new album. When we first found out you were there, your daddy and I started talking about names. We both agreed that we felt very strongly that you were a girl. We've always loved the name Lily for a girl, but we struggled to find the perfect middle name to go with it. Your daddy pointed out that one of the songs on Clutch's new album was titled, "Oh, Isabella". And so, you were named Lily Isabella.

Mommy was excited, and nervous. Pregnancy hormones have a way of making all of your emotions bigger and deeper. I worried a lot about getting attached to you, because of my history of miscarriages. But family and friends were quick to point out that whatever was going to happen was going to happen, and I may as well enjoy my pregnancy. So, I fell head over heels in love with you!

Pregnancy is such an interesting thing. You're you, but you also have a little life inside of you. It's amazing. In the quiet moments, I would talk to you. I would tell you how much I loved you, and about your family. I told you about your aunts and uncles, your cousins, your grandparents. I told you how excited they all were to meet you. Your Aunt Talia and Uncle Justin were always excited to touch my tummy, even though there wasn't really anything to feel yet. Your Aunt Sylvee would always ask how Ivory's little cousin was doing. Grammie and Grandpa Johnson were so excited to meet you. I hope you always know that you have a family who loves you very much, and that you would've been spoiled rotten.

At 8 weeks, I had my first doctor's appointment. I got to see you on the ultrasound. You were wiggling and moving all around, an adorable little black and white blob. I got to hear your heartbeat. I can't describe in words what that was like. Like the most beautiful music I've ever heard. It got very real then, seeing you, hearing your heartbeat. I was the happiest, proudest momma in the world!

For being so very small, you sure made your presence known! I don't know when I've ever been so sick in my life! Heartburn, edema, and the perpetual nausea! Between the hormones and my existing medical condition, I started melting away. I couldn't eat anything! But, I was happy to suffer. I was happy to be so sick. Because it meant that you were in there, growing.

And then, overnight it was over.

I miss you. I hurt. I cycle between feeling too sad to cry, to a blubbering, bawling mess every 5 minutes. After talking to your Grammie Johnson, we decided to hold a memorial service for you. I can be distracted the next couple of days with planning that and also rehearsals for the play.

I want you to know that you are loved. As your mother, I love you more than words can say. You are my baby girl, my sweet little Lily. Right now, it's hard to imagine life without you. I know that you are in a place that is safe, you are healthy and whole and happy and surrounded by people who love you. I know that you are held in the arms of our Savior and our Heavenly Father. I know that when I'm sad and I miss you, that you are here with your mommy. I feel so lonely and empty without you. I miss you. I love you, I love you, I love you!

Goodbye for now, Lily Isabella. I can't wait to meet you on the other side. In the meantime, never ever forget that I LOVE YOU!!