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!!

Predicting Gender

I'm having a lot of fun looking at these Old Wives Tales about predicting the gender of your unborn child. Here's how I stack up:

Cravings -- It is said if you are craving salty foods, you are having a boy. If you are craving sweets and fruit, you are having a girl. I'm definitely craving sweets. GIRL!

Chinese Gender Prediction Chart -- Basically, it's a chart that takes your age and the month of conception to predict gender. According to this chart, we are having a GIRL!

History of Parent's Kids -- This one is kind of complicated, but since I am the oldest child, I will have what my mother had but starting with her second born. (So, I'll have girl, girl, boy, then girl but I won't have that many kids!) GIRL!

Moodiness -- I've been super cranky. That means GIRL!

Clumsiness -- I'm not the world's most graceful person, but I've never been a klutz. Since I've been pregnant, I routinely trip over air. That means BOY!

Side Sleeping -- I've always slept primarily on my left side, however since I've been pregnant I've been sleeping more often on my right side. That means GIRL!

Wedding Ring Test -- You tie your wedding ring to a string, then hold it over your belly. It most definitely swung back and forth the three times I tried it. GIRL!

Heart Rate -- They say if the baby's heart rate is high, it means girl and low means boy. This is another point in the GIRL! column.

Names -- We settled very quickly on the name for a girl, but we've always struggled agreeing on boys names. Therefore, we are having a BOY!    

Feet -- If your feet are colder, you are having a boy. If they are the same, then it's a girl. I haven't noticed my feet are any colder than usual, so GIRL!

Areolae -- Apparently, if they are darker, it's a boy. Another point for BOY! 

Morning Sickness -- If you are sick as a dog, you are having a girl. Yup, definitely GIRL!

Mother's (and Father's) Intuition -- Eric and I both think it's a GIRL!


So, that's 3 points for boy, 10 points for girl. I'm excited to see how it turns out!

I'm Pregnant!

I'm pregnant!

That simple little phrase is so loaded. It means so many things.

It means that for the fourth time, I have a little human growing inside me

It means that maybe, just maybe, I'll get to meet this little human.

It means that maybe, this Christmas we'll have to buy a little stocking.

It means my parents will have a second grandchild.

It means Eric's parents will be grandparents for the 6th or 7th time. (Depending on whether Mindy or I pop first, Congrats you guys!!)

It means I'm going to gain weight, and I won't be upset about it.

It means taking pills that make me queasy for a couple more weeks in the hopes that it will help me keep this one.

It means waking up in the morning and performing Olympic level acrobatics to get to the bathroom. And, I am actually happy to be nauseated for once. It's still not fun though...

It means becoming very well acquainted with my bathroom, as I am in there peeing every hour, on the hour, round the clock.

It means sharing that news and seeing people's faces light up with genuine excitement!

It means seriously talking about names.

It means breaking out some of the baby stuff I've accumulated over the past year.

It means cleaning out the spare bedroom. Gag!

It means turning that bedroom into a nursery. Hurray!

It means being anxious about seeing blood.

It means spending time reading about what little pieces are developing and how big my baby is at any given point it time.

It means every Wednesday, I get to tick another week off the list.

It means realizing how so very long it takes to get to the second trimester, with no guarantees that it will help my morning sickness, but with lots off hopes that it will!

It means that I am a lot more aware of what I eat and drink.

It means calling Eric 'daddy' from time to time just to see that cute sappy smile.

It means staying awake at night worrying that something might go wrong and trying to push aside the thoughts of 'How would I feel if it did?' and insert, 'How will I feel if everything goes perfectly?' instead.

It means a lot of crying. A lot. A really ridiculous amount of crying. At everything. Just one little sappy thing and I'm a blubbering mess of sobbing pregnant woman. And explaining to my petrified husband that I'm just really, really, really hormonal and I'm fine and not to worry about my tear stained, splotchy face. It's bad.

It means exhaustion to a depth and breadth that is unbelievable. Accompanied with this new insomnia. I'm exhausted and I just can't fall asleep!

It means a list of food aversions a mile long. I'm on the "Eat What I'm Craving or Starve Both of Us" diet. Which involves a lot of running places at crazy hours and crying because a certain restaurant isn't open at the time. Did I mention I'm crying a lot now?

It means parts of my body are swelling. This includes: Feet, ankles, hands, face, and breasts. Some people are happy about the breast thing, others are annoyed that they have to go bra shopping because is there anything worse than bra shopping? Plus some of us know that this is only the first trimester, so some of us will probably have to go bra shopping a couple more times in the next couple of months. And some of our backs/shoulders are hurting. Pretty divided feelings in this house about the swelling.

It means hopefully hearing a heartbeat for the first time. We're pretty excited about that part.

It means hopefully feeling the baby move for the first time. We're pretty excited about that part too.

It means hopefully holding our little person and looking at their precious little face for the first time. We wish we could fast forward to that part.

It means our lives will never be the same again.

It means our little family is getting a little bigger.

Who knew those two little words could mean so, so much?

The Sadness, One Year Later

It's been a couple of weeks since the one year anniversary of my first miscarriage, but the past month has found me thinking a lot about the events leading up to that day, and the events following it. The thoughts, feelings, situation, physical discomforts, the works.

April Fools Day was the day I "completed" my natural miscarriage. (You can skip this next part, it's a little graphic.) I had been bleeding pretty steadily for a long time. The couple of days before April Fools Day, it had gotten heavier and much more uncomfortable. I started passing small clots. I remember that I was told it was supposed to be like a heavy period, and kind of laughing because it wasn't anything like that. The "cramps" I felt weren't cramps, I'm convinced they were contractions. I can't really describe the difference; yes, they were more painful, but it was more than just being painful. It was like a deeper, heavier sensation, and got to the point where I couldn't walk or talk through them, because they were so intense. I was surprised at the pain, but I didn't feel like I wanted to do anything about it. Part of me felt like I deserved that suffering, and that the pain of the process was kind of cathartic. Lucius was in the room with me through most of it, and every time a contraction started he would start crying. It sounded like he was saying, "Mooom! Mooom! Mooom!" The only other time I heard him cry like that was the first night we had him at home. He would also lay on my belly and sigh, and when I cried he would lick the tears off of my face. Normally, I loathe him licking my face, but I was so sad that I welcomed it. He was warm and soft, and I could hold him close and feel him move and breathe, and I could put my head on his chest and hear his heart beating.

Then, on April Fools Day, I ended up on the toilet, hurting into my bones, sobbing, and finally I passed a huge clot, and then there was this wave of relief. It was like a blanket, such a deep relief that it almost felt heavy. I bled for a couple of days later, but it was much lighter and without the contractions. I remember that it was April Fools Day because part of me was laughing, thinking that maybe this was the universe's prank on me.

Learning about the miscarriage was hard, but going through the process was harder. I can still remember how heartbroken I was.

So, why was I so sad?

I've been reflecting a lot on this lately. Time gives us a lot of perspective, and it has certainly given me perspective on my first miscarriage and Why, exactly, I was so, so sad.

I've always wanted to have children of my own. Like most little girls, I think, I dreamed about my future life a lot. I dreamed about meeting Mr. Right, I dreamed about being proposed to, I dreamed about my wedding day, and I dreamed a lot about having my first baby. I imagined how I would feel finding out I was pregnant,  telling my parents, grandparents, friends, and family. I imagined how excited my mom would be. I imagined my stomach growing, I imagined what it would feel like to feel my baby move inside of me. I imagined my future husband feeling the baby move for the first time. I imagined him talking to my belly, telling our baby how much he loved it. I imagined hearing their heartbeat for the first time, I imagined watching my little one on the ultrasound machine. I even imagined going into labor, pushing, pushing, pushing. And, of course, the absolute best part: Laying eyes on my child for the very first time. Would they be bald, or would they have a lot of hair? Would they look like a mix of me and Eric, or would they be mommy or daddy's doppelganger? Or would they look absolutely nothing like us? Would they get my weird middle finger I inherited from my maternal grandmother? Would my mom find her nose on their face? Would they have daddy's beautiful brown eyes? I imagine that amazing new baby smell filling my nose as I cover their precious little face with kisses for the first of many times. I imagine Eric taking that bundle into his arms, and wiping tears off his face as he stares and them and just drinks in being a daddy. Then, family, friends, aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, one by one taking them into their arms for the first time, grinning from ear to ear.

I've wanted that for as long as I could remember. And, the moment I looked and saw those two little pink eyes, motherhood became a reality that hit me like a freight train. I've said many times that it's like my perspective on everything completely changed in an instant, like I had been wearing sunglasses my whole like and for the first time I put on clear frames. I can remember what everything felt like and looked like before, but even though nothing has actually changed, I'm seeing everything for the first time.

When I got that positive pregnancy test (and the subsequent tests I took over the next couple of days), I wasn't thinking about having a miscarriage, or even the possibility of having a miscarriage. I was thinking about all of those things I had spent a lifetime dreaming about shortly becoming a reality.

Is it any surprise, then, that when I found out I was losing that pregnancy that I was devastated? Yes, I was only 6 weeks pregnant. In that short period of time, here is what happened in my womb:

 


"The nose, mouth, and ears that you'll spend so much time kissing in eight months are beginning to take shape. If you could see into your uterus, you'd find an oversize head and dark spots where your baby's eyes and nostrils are starting to form. His emerging ears are marked by small depressions on the sides of the head, and his arms and legs by protruding buds. His heart is beating about 100 to 160 times a minute — almost twice as fast as yours — and blood is beginning to course through his body. His intestines are developing, and the bud of tissue that will give rise to his lungs has appeared. His pituitary gland is forming, as are the rest of his brain, muscles, and bones. Right now, your baby is a quarter of an inch long, about the size of a lentil."

(Picture and info taken from babycenter.com)

I look at this, and read this, and just think, "WOW". Heart beating, nose, mouth and ears forming, little arm and leg buds, and that adorable little tail. To think it grew from the size of the dot on this "i" to the size of a lentil in just a few weeks. To hear that amazing little creation called a "lump of cells" makes me sick! A booger is a lump of cells, a blood clot is a lump of cells. That little thing with it's little beating heart is my baby, and it died.

But, it's more than just having my baby die, small as it was, new as it was. It was having that future die as well. I never got to feel my baby move. I never got to hear it's little heart beating. I never got to hold it. I had to flush it down the toilet, and that was really, really hard! Not to mention the death of my friend, Kat, around the same time. That certainly added to my heartache.

This was my first pregnancy, and I really, sincerely thought it would end 30+weeks later in giving birth to a baby. So, now I can never be without that fear anymore. And, as time has passed, and I've had two more miscarriages, I'm starting to feel like I will never have a child. That is devastating to me. I watch people around me get pregnant, grow their cute little bellies, and have their adorable little babies. I am so happy for them. In fact, having my nieces around to hold and snuggle and kiss help me get through the hurt. But, it's hard to be left behind. It's always hard to be left behind, isn't it?

However, despite all of those reasons that that miscarriage broke my heart, I absolutely cannot dwell on that. I push, push, push myself to leave that hurt in the past. I can't wallow in it, I can't drown in it. I have to stay positive, I have to keep my head up, and I have to move forward. Today, it hurts a lot less. I don't cry about it very much any more. Some times, when I have a hard day, I'll curl up in the bottom of my shower and have a good cry. But, I get out of the tub, dry myself off, and continue with my day. I pray every day that the time will come when I will have that whole experience, complete with a healthy, happy little bundle of joy. 

I still have faith that day will come!

Six and a Half Years Later

Six and a half years later...

...And I'm still alive. Ask my family, and they will tell you that six and a half years ago, there was no knowing if I would live through a deadly, devastating disease. A disease that, though treatable, often goes unchecked or inappropriately treated.

Eating disorders.

I am a bulimic. I will be a bulimic for the rest of my life. I'm in recovery, and I have been for over 6 years. Bulimia ruled for four years of my life, and it could've very easily taken the rest of it. If it wasn't for the actions of the family that loves me, I could possibly still be struggling with it. Or dead.

This week is National Eating Disorders Awareness week. This week is important, because awareness is key in the fight against eating disorders. There are so many misunderstandings and misconceptions about eating disorders. Very few sufferers of eating disorders get any form of treatment at all, and a small percentage of those people get the appropriate treatment. I am extremely fortunate that I was able to get the treatment at Avalon Hills that I needed to put me into recovery.

With awareness, we can get more people properly diagnosed and treated. With awareness, we can save lives.

Six and a half years ago, I took the first step on my journey to being treated. I am so glad I did. With awareness, we can give others the life changing treatment I had.