Wrap

But first, some tidbits of our stay in Ve.gas: wannabe dad has been sick since Wednesday. It started with sore throat, then body aches, swollen glands. Poor thing. It sucks to be sick, but worse when you're away from home. He got on the phone yesterday with a very bored 24-hour nurse, who read through the questions on her computer, who was told by the computer that he had strep throat and needed to see a doctor, and she looked up some places where he could be seen. A half hour to get there, 3.5 hours later and a prescription for amoxi.cillin to treat his phar.yngitis (not strep but still sucky), and he is in recovery mode. We go home tomorrow, back to our house and cats and dog and sheets and life.

My family is together in Ve.gas for my parents' 40th wedding anniversary. My parents loved the scrapbook I put together for them, with notes and pictures from their old friends and old and new family members. We had a nice dinner at Ca.na.letto in the Vene.ti.an hotel, and my mom's friend sent leis from H.aw.aii which my mom and dad wore. They were too cute!! I'm so happy that we were together to celebrate this milestone.

As for a wrap up of 2007, holy hell has it been hell. A year of recovery for sure - navigating my grief, managing my expectations of myself, practicing patience, becoming closer to wannabe dad, isolating myself, reevaluating relationships, remembering and loving the twins. Our recovery will certainly continue in the months and years to come. I have to admit that having all of our animals have really helped channel our emotions into something positive. In the absence of our children, taking care of these abandoned, flea-infested, helpless kitties and a young, active puppy has been the highlight of our year. We've missed them like crazy during this trip, looking at their pictures daily. We are craaaaaazy about them!!

I swear I felt the baby move the other night. Just slightly, right below my ribs. Or maybe it was my intestines, boy have I been gassy lately! Goodness, I have no class especially after a meal. It's just too uncomfortable to hold it in. Despite the stereotypical outward appearance of a nice, polite, asian girl, watch out.

I haven't been the wreck that I expected to be about this pregnancy thus far. I'm so glad about that. Definitely want that to continue and I will be conscious about relaxing and being positive. My belly has popped a bit, at just 11 weeks. I've gained 7 glorious pounds in 3 weeks (this place doesn't help either!). I have an appointment on Thursday and please please please let this baby still be alive.

Wait, that doesn't sound like someone who isn't a wreck?!?!?!

I wanted to wish you all a Hopefully Happy New Year.

Copy

Inspired by Niobe, I bring you cat picture.

Who doesn't want to kiss a sleepy cat?

And an update on the post below - I sent Christmas cards, concentrating on out-of-state friends and folks who needed an update. Or at least those I wanted to have an update on us. Three simple paragraphs which I've posted about in this blog: 1) our grief this past year and our isolation and how people don't know what to say, 2) our family business, 3) our pets. Surely not a comparison to the "She is now turning over and forming sentences, and next week she'll get her license," or "He looked so cute in the Santa outfit you would just want to pinch his cheeks." Someday.

And I bring you a stream of consciousness.

Otherwise, no changes to my physical state. Could I sound more detached, please? I told my mom how freaked out I was about this pregnancy. In her infinite wisdom, she replied:

"This pregnancy can make you scared, I understand, but look at it in a positive way... that you are still able and given another chance to conceive and so be thankful for the opportunity. Everything will be allright. Your baby is with you to help along the way. If you get worried and agitated, he/she will, too. Be calm, just be yourself (my giggly wannabe mom, I know, so full of life, a joy to everyone) to give him/her the peace of mind to go on growing with comfort in your warm loving womb. With wannabe dad's support and with our prayers, enjoy your blessed condition and let God do the rest. Only He knows what is best. Please embrace that deep faith in Him."

And it's true, I am so thankful that I was able to conceive. Hmmm, three years, three pregnancies. Please, no more dead babies. As for my faith, which is questionable right now, I could slowly be working my way back to that. Could. I have problem with God doing the rest, because he did such an awesome job on the last one. Like a car repair guy, if he fucked with my car, would I ever go back? And I'm thankful for my husband, who is picking up many of my Kaleo-walking shifts and just being his loving self.

On a side note, we have made some new friends (they know about the girls but didn't know us pre-girls). We've gotten together with them on several occasions to drink and sing (in that order), and they are good peeps. When I was up at the mike (singing L.andslide of all difficult songs, and not concert-quality by any means), backed by a guitarist and drummer, I didn't feel like such a freak. When I'm around my family and in-laws, and some friends from before, I place an imaginary arrow above my head that says "my babies died and you know it and it defines me." I suppose I'll be like this for a while. I wonder why it is that with some people I actually feel normal, and not like the other shoe could drop at any minute. And I can't help that such a horrifying experience defines me. Is there a point that I should get off my grief horse? Does anyone ever get off?

In my quiet moments of falling asleep, changing lanes, choosing what ill-fitting clothes to wear for the day, telling myself to buy some new underwear, touching my bumpy scar, I think of my girls. I think of their tiny fingers. I think of their tiny toes on my fingertip and their long legs involuntarily kicking in the air due to the pain. I think of how they struggled to breathe, this loud machine near their heads helping them, the IVs in their feet, the constant beeping, the masks on their face, the blue lights, their momentary gasps for air when they were off the ventilators. I don't cry (like I'm doing right now), and I remember holding them and loving every inch of them. I still regret that I didn't see them naked or insist to the nurses that we bathe them after they passed away, but I shouldn't keep obsessing about that.

Whew. Christmas is near. I find out today that wannabe dad wanted to decorate (we don't have a drop of shiny anywhere), but blamed it on our being away for Christmas and wanting to respect my wishes. Some miscommunication happened, because I distinctly remember asking him if he wanted to decorate, and he said no because were were going to be away. Now he's wanting to buy presents for his brothers' families, when we already told them no presents. I think he wants to hold up his end of the deal of being the fun uncle, but our (my - ha) priority is the mortgage, office rent, and payroll. Such a woman.

Wait a minute, I know exactly what this is. It's that gd C.atho.lic guilt!! And he's also stressed about having to speak to his father (after a 6-month hiatus) before us all getting together on Christmas eve. This is going to be fun. I'll take pictures.

Undecided

To card or not to card?

Since we're not doing Christmas (again) this year, I'm as yet undecided whether or not to send holiday cards. If I send out cards, then I have to include a letter on "how we're doing" and "what we've been up to" and "how we've coped in the last year since our babies died and boo on you for not calling if you didn't call or for not emailing if you didn't email or for not contacting us if you haven't done so since the funeral but we're thankful if you did or even thought of doing so."

I've already received two cards from friends, with children, one with a pregnancy announcement (how do I rain on that parade?), and I remember Shit, I didn't tell them last year. These are friends whose weddings we've been to, or we knew them from way back when, but when we had to share the news of our tragedy they weren't on the list. So for those people, I suppose I could send them a little wrap up (I wouldn't send them a link to my blog they would Freak the Fuck Out) / summary /bullet points / Cli.ffs Not.es but I'm not going to pressure myself into doing it before this year is up. And then there's the "friend" who sent a baby announcement three weeks after the funeral. Yep, she wasn't on the call list either.

Besides, I have my hands full planning a little dark side scrapbook something tidbit for my parents, who will be celebrating their 40th anniversary this Dec 30th. We are going to hell, I mean, V.egas, to celebrate this anniversary with them and my brother who lives there. I had a wild thought and sent a note to all of their friends (this is where my wedding invite list comes in handy) with some colored index cards and asked them to write a note of congratulations to them. These are folks I've known since I was tiny, and I was so impressed to receive 10 cards back so far, plus pictures from back in the day when my parents were my age!! I love looking at old pictures of my mom. Sometimes I can see myself in her (but she doesn't have this potty mouth).

Her first year teaching elementary school (1967-1968 school year)

I'll clearly have my work cut out for me. So the cards? Maybe I can tackle them if I manage to make it to past 14 weeks and get right on that bedrest. And if something sinister happens after that, then I'll get to it eventually.

P.S. Thanks for helping with some answers to that last post. I was off by two weeks with the twins, so it makes sense that when you're actually pregnant, the docs count the previous two weeks since the hypothetical LMP which the average woman has two weeks prior to ovulation. I'm beating the odds, and I guess that's a good thing. But I only want to beat them when it's in my favor.

And that's enough of these italics.

Seven

Interesting how time passes around here.

I thought I was four weeks along, but turns out, the baby measured 6 weeks 6 days. Aw heck, let's make it seven.

Wha??? (insert Scooby questioning sound here)

Was I pregnant two to three weeks prior to my temperature rise on Nov 2? Was everything I learned in Ta.king C.harge of Your F.er.tility not correct? Or better yet, is my body such the anomaly that it defies all reason and years of research? Does that mean I nearly poisoned this child with (a LOT of) really good wine the night of Oct 27th? You mean we could have stopped the se.x-a-thon earlier? Lots of questions for sure, but these aren't the ones I necessarily need answers to.

My OB is very cautious. I have a prescription for progest.erone (gulp! I guess I didn't get the generic?? It's $55 for 21 doses, but of course, worth it.) just for mentioning it. I'm going to a high-risk clinic for the usual screening and c.ercl.age consultation for the 10-12 week timeframe, and she is recommending c.ercl.age placement between 14-16 weeks and bedrest.

A few things I wish were different: That we lived closer to the high-risk clinic, which is 1 hour away. And if I deliver early, it will be at the hospital where the twins were born. I don't know how I would take that emotionally, as I haven't been back since last year. But they have an awesome NICU department, one of two in the area. I just hope I never see that place again.

Oh, and it's a singleton, and we saw the heartbeat. I don't know how many beats per minute. I've been reading online that once you detect the heartbeat, the chances of miscarriage are lessened. I find that hard to believe. Is that even true?

My feelings while seeing the heartbeat: Relief, but skepticism thinking, this won't last.

If all goes well, we'll have a mid-June delivery.

Other tidbits...
Craving: Sashimi (salmon and hamachi). Ceviche. Red wine. Lots of it.
Sleeping: Getting up 2 hours before my alarm and not going back to sleep.
Tenderness: Boobs finally getting tender.
Creativity: No se.x until after the baby is born.
Mornings: No sickness, yet it's difficult to get out of bed.
Wondering: Is in.compe.tent cerv.ix a pr.e-exi.sting condition? I just switched insurance companies. New company monitors new enrollees for two years for such things. *Pins and needles* I might have to take a part time job stuffing envelopes.

We departed the office with the regulation diaper bag and pamphlets. (I already have one from last time.)

Freaked

Armed with the nerve to make my first OB appointment, I had to say it out loud when asked what type of appointment it would be:

"I'm four weeks pregnant."

And I am so freaked out. I don't know how long I'll be able to say the words "I am pregnant" without my head adding "and this is my third one. And I already had a miscarriage. And I already had twins. They died. And I don't know how long this one is going to last."

I keep counting the months to 9, a summer baby for sure, but would that be early as in June or term to July, or G-d forbid May or April (not viable)? There's no such thing as "don't think about it" as that is all I have been doing lately.

And I wish the receptionist at my OB's office had a better memory, so she wouldn't have to ask if I was already a patient, or if the doc had seen me for this pregnancy yet. "No, not for this one," I replied.

If she asks me how the twins are doing, I will have to deck her. And take pictures. And post them.

Extraordinary

For anyone else, Saturday was just that, an ordinary Saturday.

But in our house, Saturday November 24th marked one year that our sweet baby girls passed away.

And because we wanted people to remember them, we had people over. But first, we had them meet us at the cemetery. For just an hour, to pay their respects, to remind themselves how they should have called us more often to let us know they were thinking of us, to remind themselves that the babies were real and that our wild mood swings in the last year were because of something monumental.

And we shared our thoughts. We thanked them for coming, mostly relatives and very few close friends, and we explained that it meant a lot for us that they were here today. We told them that we visit the girls every single weekend. We still think about them all the time. You probably haven't seen much of us this last year, and that's because it's so difficult. We don't know how to feel, but we feel better when we're not around people who tell us to "get over it", and we missed your birthdays and other events you thought were important not because we don't care about you, but because we didn't have anything left.

Or something like that. But it was all said very nicely.

And back in February we were interviewed for a local magazine. That magazine went out of business for a spell but now it is back, and the article will be printed next year. Our dear cousin read our early copy to the crowd. It explained how we were frustrated with making other people feel comfortable with our grief. It detailed our annoyance with platitudes that start with G and end with the word "plan." It spoke of our disdain for malls and parks and anywhere outside of our home where newborns and pg women lurk. It chronicled my long days of bedrest and the babies' birth and their condition, and their death.

And the gathering sighed. They cried. They had no idea what we went through, as only a few people asked us specifically what happened. They lamented their bad behavior in the last year. They thought we wanted to be left alone.

It's true, we did.

But a simple "I'm thinking of you and I'm bringing you a funny movie" would have been nice. And inviting us to an aunt's birthday dinner and letting us know that the other cousin and new baby were coming too and letting us decide whether we would attend or not, would have been really, really over the top nice.

And mostly they understood a little bit more of where we were coming from, and thanked us for sharing our story.

And then we came back to our house for lunch.

And we went to bed happy, in a way, because we got through the first year, and we unloaded many pent up feelings to people who love us. Hopefully those who got the message will be able to be better friends and relatives to others who experience such a tragic loss.

Happy (for lack of a better word) Anniversary, Cerina and Nadia. Your Papa and I love you very much, and there are lots of people thinking of you and remembering you too. We'll never let them forget your short lives and how you changed ours.

Cerina & Nadia's 1st birthday cake

365 X 24 X 60

That's how many minutes ago our twin daughters were born. That's how many minutes I've spent thinking of them in the last year, guilty thoughts, loving thoughts, feeling resolved, feeling angry, feeling sad and broken.

23 weeks

They were born alive at 24w5d, and Cerina even let out a tiny cry. It was just so amazing to hear her voice, considering how young she was. Nadia didn't make a peep when she was delivered 3 minutes after her sister. That was to be expected.

They were rushed to the NICU via warmed elevators. Wannabe dad went with them, then joined me in the recovery room. I was there from about 2:15 a.m. then wheeled to our room at 5:30 a.m., so tired and cold. My uterus was contracting, I was told it was due to the pitocin that was used to shrink it back down.

When I woke up the next day, I couldn't believe the babies were born. My belly was only slightly smaller, and goodness I was in so much pain, and my head felt strange from the bedrest. I do remember the immense happiness peppered with trepidation. I thanked wannabe dad for being such a huge support, doing everything for me while still working on clients' projects (he designed the logo of a new pizzeria that opened in town this year) and holding us together.

He wheeled me up to the NICU at 4 p.m. I finally saw them. They were unbelievably tiny, only 12 inches, their legs the size of my fingers. They were in the same room but in separate isolettes. When I walked in I felt like I was intruding. I don't know why, they were my babies!! For a first time mom this was certainly not a good experience. I looked at them through the glass. The nurse explained the babies' surroundings and the bili-lights. Both girls had their eyes covered (I didn't see their faces until 6 days later, when they were removed from the machines, baptized, and we held them for hours) because of those lights.

Cerina

Nadia

Cerina (top) and Nadia with their Papa's loving touch

They were just beautiful. Their earlobes were unattached like their Papa's. Their nailbeds were the same shape as their Papa's. They had my nose (flat and wide :) ). They would have been good girls because we'd be strict. We wouldn't let them date until age 30 (ok, 21). They are the lights in our eyes and the fire in our hearts.

And today was the first time I didn't go the cemetery. Their birthday. What impeccable timing. I contracted a nasty, achy, congesty cold. Low grade fever of 99.3. I didn't leave the bedroom all day long. This is the first cold I've had since January and it is eating me alive!

Wannabe dad picked up balloons, potted flowers, and even a piece of cake for the girls. I'll upload a short video once I find the cable. My mom called to wish the girls a Happy Birthday, N called, and even our lovely neighbor gave us cards made by her daughters and some beautiful flowers. Now while the night hasn't yet ended, I am still expecting calls from A and M. Not too much to ask, do you think? Well, I'll cut A a lot of slack since she is hauling around two industrial-sized bowling balls from her chest (her words; isn't she hilarious?). I haven't talked to M for a few weeks so I'm not sure what's going on.

If they had called they would have heard the news directly from me: I decided to whip out the stick and pee on it this morning, because I thought it would be a lovely birthday gift.

And it was lovely, but a scary gift too.

And I realize it's waaaay too early to tell anyone, but if it doesn't work out, this wonderful community will be there to offer support.

P.S. If you know me in real life, please not a word to anyone else. Please.

Sleepless

Welcome to getting-up-in-the-middle-of-the-night no. 3!

The bewitching hour of 3 a.m.-ish, when either I get up to pee or my eyes just pop open for no reason. Awake! Awake!

I'm wondering if it has something to do with my hospital stay this time last year. A year ago right now marks the start of day 8 of my hospital bedrest. This time last year the babies were being monitored, the cold gel placed on my already sticky belly, the light from the hallway filtering through the chains on the curtain, and I was sleepless then too; not knowing how much longer I was going to be on the mag sulfate drip, or when the contractions would start up again.

It's either that or I'm pregnant (we're at 14 dpo although I couldn't confirm a high temp this morning because, well, I was up since 3 a.m.), and hormones are toying with me.

I don't dare POAS, because I don't want to jinx it. Ridiculous as that may sound to normal people, I remind myself that I am no longer normal. Either AF shows up or I'm waiting for 18 days of high temps.

And tonight (a mere 15 hours from now) there is a mass of remembrance (general loss) at the church.

And Saturday is another memorial event at another church, specifically for bereaved parents. I've heard about this one before, this time I'll be prepared with an 8x10 of the girls.

And this Sunday is the twins' birthday.

And wannabe dad has needs.

And our wine club delivery is held up with Brown because they just can't leave a box o' wine on my doorstep while I'm at work.

Could I be a little anxious?

*Edited to add:
And how could I forget this juicy tidbit!? I found a fraudulent charge on my account for ~$300, and another one for $1.26. I had to cancel the card. The very helpful rep told me about a case where a customer's account was charged for dollar & change amounts over the course of two years, the kind of amount that a busy person wouldn't question, that maybe he had purchased a stick of gum here, a condom there, a random 40-oz C.olt 45 at the 7-1-1...so keep a lookout for strangenesses going on in your accounts.

Acts

A year ago I was in the hospital, on strict bedrest, trying to keep the babies from being born. I remember it so vividly, each nurse's face, their grace (or lack of it -- one came in smelling of chocolate), their care, each of my visitors, each of the doctors and their oftentimes contradictory instructions. Yes, you can get up to pee. No, you are not to get up until the babies are born. Yes, you can have a vaginal delivery. No, I recommend a c-section. Eat. Stop eating right now.


In the end, I did everything in that damned bed for 10 days and the girls were born too early, by c-section. I have numbness 2 inches above the incision. I'm used to it, though it feels odd when I brush up against the kitchen counter or Kaleo bumps his nose against it. I still rub vitamin e oil on it after every shower, and somehow that has made me be ok with it.


I also vividly remember many of the kindnesses shown during my stay and in the aftermath. I've often complained of clueless remarks, family and friends not calling, FIL making a big deal of Father's Day and how he wasn't being properly revered by wannabe dad, yet hardly mentioned these lovely acts...

* my two girlfriends flying in from out of town to be with us on the girls' last day, plus my girlfriend and her hubby cancelling a post-Tgiving road trip, plus wannabe dad's brothers being there

*my chiropractor driving 80 minutes to adjust me, and only accepting lunch as payment (it was takeout from a mediterranean restaurant; when we pass it once in a blue moon I sigh and remember that day)

* my neighbor hitting up her friends, family, and hair clients for money to help us pay for the grave marker and other expenses

* my friend, a scrapbooking queen, helped me organize the pictures of the girls for the funeral in true scrapbooking style. I always thought scrapbooking meant giving in to the dark side, but well, there I was ear-deep in darkness.

* my college friend from another state sending money in place of her presence at the funeral

* my two former relocated co-workers who flew back to attend the funeral (from NJ and IL)

* our friends who drove 3 hours to attend the funeral

* my friend N, who was my suit of armor when I returned to the office, keeping people at a distance, monitoring my emotions, listening, crying with me

* grave marker guy who took great care in producing the marker (I won't mention cemetery lady who gave me a hard time about accommodating our wishes and wanting to add an upcharge to every non-standard item, like the babies' feet being added), although we found it odd that he showed us the stencil and the granite slab in his trunk in the parking lot of a burger joint, it turned out beautifully.

* and as if they had anything to do with it, our kitties finding us -- Moki in December, left in our attic by his crackhead mom, and Kika and Limu in July while wandering the 'burbs with their mom (Moki's sister). Thank you, pretty kitties!

* the grandparents of C, the baby boy buried next to Cerina and Nadia, who leave toys on all the babies' markers

* my friend who calls to check on us monthly, without fail, without excuses, even apologizing for calling so "often"

Lots of thanks go out to these folks, keeping us going, keeping us from going crazy, holding us in their thoughts, being present. These acts balance out the others that make us question the human race and its inability to show compassion without judgement.

There's a reason for everything. They're in a better place. God wanted them earlier. They were born because something was wrong and your health was in jeopardy.

Really? I don't believe that one fucking bit.

Beautiful

Miss L is here! I didn't pay the $5 a month to be able to get my picture messages off my phone, so the cute picture of her from her Mom will be held captive. Damn technology and my cheap ass.

She was born last Friday night, perfect as can be. I'm so glad. I'll ask if I can link to her blog once she gets a free minute to post, say, in a month.

Switch

I should be updating the books and send the necessary reports to the accountant, but...

My very dear friend of 1,000 years (ok, not that long, at least since the awkward teen years) is about to give birth any day now. Whether the little one decides to come on her own or A is induced, she is coming. As it is already 3 days past her due date, we are worried. And she is high risk.

A was also there when Cerina and Nadia were removed from the ventilators. She is a godmother to Cerina. I didn't tell her before got on the plane, nor the night before when she got into town, but after she arrived at the hospital did I finally tell her that the girls weren't going to make it. It was heartbreaking. We had looked forward to this for a long time.

Afterward, she called people to tell them, people I hadn't spoken with in a while. She called the funeral home and the cemetery. She helped me make sense of things when we got home.

Truthfully, and she knows this, I had a really hard time with her being pregnant when I first heard. Ok, up until two months ago. Who am I kidding? But right now it seems that a switch has gone off. I'm worried when she's worried. I'm happy when she's happy. She is truly an advocate for her and her baby's care, something that I wasn't but now will be. Goodness, it is difficult enough dealing with my own issues (down there) that I shouldn't add more weight to my heart. This IS a happy moment, even if it's not happening to me.

So A, I am looking forward to welcoming Miss L into the world. I love you.

Perfectly

There are fingers crossed in my house, for we had Perfectly Timed Sex.

According to the rules, we had sex the day before the temp rise. Before that, it was four days before so I'm hoping there were some slow swimmers still hangin' out.

But we've had PTS before when trying to conceive last year, 2x in 6 months. I don't have my Chart of When We Conceived the Twins with me right now (it's in the girls' scrapbook), so I don't know if we had PTS (according to the rules). But during the first u/s when I thought I was 7 weeks along, the babies measured at 9 weeks (this leads me to believe that they were born at 22 weeks instead of 24; this turns itself over in my head day after day after day).

Is it possible to ovulate without a temp rise? Do we have to resort to daily sex?

We PTS this past August, during the 60 day cycle. So here's hoping that this time it works because this whole miracle of ovulation doesn't exactly happen like clockwork my body.

We're emotionally ready, so can it please happen NOW? Somebody send a memo to the guy upstairs.
***
At long last, the Kaleo Poo Spot is open for business. Now if we could just get him to use it. He loves the cushy grass of our backyard lawn, so it will take some getting used to the little river pebbles under his paws.

If I could locate our digi-cam I would show you a picture of it. I should snap a picture of him in action. Just kidding.
***
The banana tree has sprung another baby. The other one, sadly, is still hanging in there, the little green fingers stunted in growth due to the lack of luscious humidity that a banana tree craves.

The new blossom is bigger than the last, and as we are entering the cold season poor mama tree is not going to see her babies come to life to fatten our bellies. Such is the saga in our house.
***
We are on the heels of the One Year Anniversary. One year since I was admitted to the hospital (11/8), since the girls were born (11/18), since the girls died (11/24). I am flustered as to how to commemorate the day/days. I don't know if I want people over. I'm open for suggestions. I'll make them little cupcakes for sure.
***
I've been mulling over something.

Do my thoughts resonate with you because I lost twins and you did too? Do you find my thoughts helpful because you also suffer from i/c? Do you relate to me less because you lost boy-girl twins instead of two girls? Are we on the same page because we gave birth at 24 weeks or thereabouts?

I find that I am missing out on some feelings, so to speak, because I did not have a full-term pregnancy. I cannot relate to the uncomfortableness felt at 9 months along. I am so sad at what many in our grief community have experienced with a stillbirth, and I can't relate.

I haven't been diagnosed with infertility, so I even feel bad about bitching about my irregular cycles because many couples are going through the wringer.

Yet in the end our losses, no matter how early or late or why they happened, bring us together through wires and waves and satellites, and they define us and they're bigger than us, and we're just trying to make sense of what's left. And I love that I can share anything and everything and get a virtual hug and support. At least from my regular commenters (*hint* lurkers please let me know you're out there!).
***
And I leave you with a Halloween 2007 picture, just a little bit late. We skipped it, opting to hide in the office until late in the evening. I just couldn't stand to see a cute baby in a cute costume, and there are lots of them in our neighborhood.

Unfair

Perusing the local paper while visiting the girls yesterday, we found out that the Deacon who performed their funeral last December passed away two weeks ago of heart failure.

Ohhhh it brought tears to my eyes. There was his low-res, jaggedy, pixilated image (could the paper have not taken better care of this??), he was smiling. Wannabe dad saw the picture first before reading the headline that showcased him. The Deacon moved to this area from big metro city three years ago. He leaves behind a wife, two sons, two daughters in law, three grandchildren (girls).

At the funeral his voice wavered, he looked nervous, his hands shook. I thought it was strange, then again how often does one do a funeral ceremony for two babies? He was clearly affected by our loss. He was kindly, late 50s, early 60s I guessed. He was so sad for us, and he read some poems that he brought with him. I'll never forget what he said, and it seemed horrifying for me not knowing anyone who had gone through this before: sometimes when this happens, the couple goes their separate ways. If you ever need to talk, please, please call me. You need each other now more than ever.

I couldn't even fathom being alone in my grief. Without wannabe dad. From that point I was conscious to not shut him out, and to let him know when I was feeling awful. We always check in with each others' feelings, and respect that any situation (read: when babies/pgs/conversations about them are in our midst) could potentially freak us out.

After the funeral we made a donation to the church, in a thank-you card to the Deacon for his services. This week we will send a card to the family, letting them know how he touched our lives and held us together, and how sorry we are for their loss. And because we know better, we'll leave out those words of comfort that are anything but.

Cold

Can't completely answer the question if I was coldhearted before my twins died. I guess we'll never know.

The family that benefited from a fundraiser sponsored by a local women's networking group has a child (their 4th) with a heart defect. Baby is on oxygen, was in the PICU for two months. Typically when a baby has health issues, the normal reaction is to give. So I gave. At the fundraiser, the emcee was so choked up that she couldn't talk about why all 80 women gave up a Friday night to be there for this family. Those with no connection to the family had no idea what was wrong with the baby, what the plans were for this money, or how dire the need was.

The mother attended the event, the dad and the kids stopped by for an appearance. At the end of the night I scoped out the scrapbook that the mom made (very touching), and before I left I shared with her my short story about the girls. She was kind enough to ask how they were doing, and I kindly told her (not in a mean way, goodness I'm not that awful). She shared that she thought if this happened to her first child she would be freaked out, and I'm sure she's scared shitless, more so than she let on.

I think my whole problem with the event was that it was only to the benefit of one family. They have bills to pay. Geez, I have bills to pay. Maybe if I was rolling in dough I wouldn't have had a problem. We'll never know.

The Walk was interesting. We ended up not helping out (outside of bringing overpriced cookies, the event not being near any of our favorite cheap and cheerful markets, but we were still acknowledged in the program), the coordinator who asked us to help also asked many other people to help. So we took our places on the ill-padded folding chairs, not helping, and waited while attendees placed pictures and mementoes on the makeshift stage in the middle of the (small) room. We forgot ours, so we took off our black rubber made in china bracelets (4 of them) and strung them together and placed them at the base of a small vase with flowers, and I took out my wallet sized photo of the girls and placed it there too.

Now it may have been my high expectations of a more personal, heart-tugging event, or a larger room, or a longer walk, or more comfy seats, and while I was expecting the other parents to be expecting, or toting brand newborns, I didn't think it would have affected me that much. (I knew one couple that gave birth in September but didn't bring their baby.) Some of the parents were considerate enough to walk their babies out into the courtyard, but some were just so clueless and because there were no microphones it was really hard to hear the speaker when the children used their mall voices, especially as she got emotional while recounting her experience. The lights were initially turned down for mood but turned back up because she couldn't very well read in the dark!

They read the names of the babies and apologized for mispronunciations, they handed out gerbera daisies and a tealight candle with a holder to each family. Perhaps two more speakers would have helped. Perhaps people reading their poems or letters to their babies. Definitely a larger room, so we wouldn't have felt bad about bumping into other people and their babies while trying to get cookies. I don't know. I don't know what others thought of the event, it has been going on for 10 years. I should get involved for next year and stop complaining.

I did have a lump in my throat the whole time.

10/15

In remembrance of all of our babies, gone too soon.

Beginning

And so begins my new career as one half of a team of two entrepreneurs.

No fanfare, no party, no balloons, no decadent chocolate cake, no after-work celebration. At my request, of course. I was, however, treated to lunch three times last week which was really nice, and the department baker (whom I lovingly named "Sugah, Buttah, and Flowah") sent me away with vanilla bean cakes properly molded into ladybugs and butterflies. That was 10/4 and the past week has been busy getting to know the new office, working on office procedures, filing the accumulated pile, while contributing to that bottom line. Only now, that bottom line is very visible to me. (Why is it so low?)

I did, however, manage to squeeze in a creative moment of creating a quilt square for the Walk, which is tonight. Now when I say creating, that means printing out an image with our girls' names, the important dates, and loving words on a computer store-supplied iron-on transfer, rummaging through the closet for a swatch of fabric - I found a Hawaiian print fabric, taupe with red and black flowers - and ironing said transfer with image on the swatch. Which is difficult to do with three cats at my feet and a bone-chewing dog just outside the door. But I managed, and while the square is not craft guild-worthy, it's something.

And I cut it too small, but I'll provide an extra 10"x10" square so hopefully the kind soul who will assemble the quilt from all the parents in mourning will fashion some fix for my sad contribution once it's ready to be sewn to the others.

I don't know what to expect tonight. The counselor from our support group asked us to be there a half hour early to help set up, and could we please bring some cookies. It might be helpful to be a part of the set-up crew, I don't know.

What I do know is that we are about a month away from Cerina and Nadia's 1 year birthday and 1 year death day. The week of the 18th to 24th of November I'm pretty sure will be funky for me, and even before that starting on the 8th, which was the day I was admitted to the hospital last year after seeing my OB so she could check out the tiny amount of bleeding I was experiencing. Not even an eighth of a teaspoon amount since it began three days prior, yet my cvx decided she should open and let a tiny amount of Cerina's bag bulge through.

Not now. I have a meeting in 1.2 seconds.

In the meantime, if anyone knows where I can get just one more of this decadent candy (besides France), do tell. Just one.

Advice

Two more days of driving that drive. Four more times of driving that road to my other job, which has been part time since March, which I've been since '00. So begins the next chapter of our lives as business owners and continuing the journey as wannabe parents. Many have traveled this road before us. I mentioned to wannabe dad that maybe we should hold off the wannabe part for 6 months. I thought it after we spent all weekend moving into our new office, then brought it up to him. And this is why I love him: he said that the timing is never going to be good, if it were 6 months from now we would say we should have started earlier. Hell, we started a year ago and a year before that. Which brings me to my next point.

My trusty OB. Such sage advice that woman had for me. I even brought my Chart of Temperatures. My carefully marked Chart of Menstrual Periods. My Super Duper Chart of When We Did It. I took her back to my first cycle after the babies were born and pointed out my Irregular Cycles. Even the 60-Day Cycle and the Spotting In-Between. She very easily counted back 14 days from the start of the next cycle for each month's chart that I showed her. She used Hearts on her chart, I use Happy Faces. She said she wasn't seeing enough Happy Faces. She wanted to see more Happy Faces. She wanted to see four Happy Faces in four days. Holy crap, I thought, we're Moving Out of our home office this weekend and for the next week and when are we going to squeeze in Happy Faces and I am Quitting My Job and starting a "new" one and we need to Get More Clients and we have to Walk the Dog twice a day and I have to Neuter the Kittens and Relocate a Plant in the backyard to Make a Poo Spot for Kaleo because our lawn is going to the shits and Wash the Car and Hook Up the DSL. She wants me to come back in 6 months if there is no bun in this oven.
***
The annual Walk to Remember is being held in my area on Thursday, October 11. If you live in the East Bay, CA or thereabouts and would like more information, please email me (look for it on the right side of the page). I would be happy to forward the info to you, and even meet you (as in, meet you, for the first time, in person) there. I've never been to it. I am looking forward to it. You can even bring a 7"x7" square (with 1/2" seam allowance) for a quilt that they make each year.

Encounter

I lost my locket.

Well ok, I didn't lose it, rather I think it's on loan. While my Mom was in town, I had a chance to visit my grandmother, Lola (in our language), who is in a care home. I leaned over my Lola so she could get a close look at me, with my Mom telling her who I was, who I was married to (it's so cute that my Lola remembers him more than me at times), my nickname. My locket caught her 94-year-old eyes and she immediately lifted her head even only slightly. Her eyes widened and in her language she asked, "Will you give this to me?"

At first I hesitated, because it was the cheap and cheerful locket that wannabe dad got at your favorite store and mine, the one with the big red dot inside the circle, the piece of jewelry besides my left hand rings that I wear daily except in the shower, the one that I turn around on the highway for if I happen to forget it, and it was my mother's day gift. I did remove it from my neck, open it, and because it's cheap and cheerful, caught the little silver piece that held Cerina's picture in its tiny section of the frame, then upon instruction from my Mom, held it up to Lola's eyes so she could kinda make out the images of her great-granddaughters.

I asked my Mom if Lola knew about them, because the timing of her fall and hip fracture and surgery and hospital stay was a week and a half before I went into the hospital for my own two-week stay (geez that makes it sound like a vacation). And I wasn't adamant about having her know what happened especially because of her condition. So my Mom explained the pictures, that they were my daughters, kambal (twins), that they were born early, that they died, that they were in heaven playing with Tatay (my Mom's dad, my grandfather). As my Mom was explaining this, Lola was slowly winding the chain around her stiff fingers, and when she finished, then she put her hands down and closed her eyes. Only a short time, because my Mom gently held up Lola's hands, found the locket, and said "Kiss your granddaughters" and held the locket to her lips. It wasn't an obvious kiss, yet I was relieved that she knew what happened (I think she understood) with the girls and that she finally "met" them.

Needless to say, my Mom and I were both crying, and after Lola let go of the chain and locket I hung it on the wall in her room so the girls could "be" with their great-gramma. It gives me comfort when I think of where it is.

Was

In anticipation of this day, I remember what it was like last year. Innocence intact, happiness abundant, babies developing quite nicely at 16 weeks. We had a quiet celebration planned at the mixed-oriental cuisine restaurant, then people [and food] started showing up -- two college girlfriends (one was late as usual), my cousins, then plates of sushi, calamari, pad thai, general tsao's chicken. Cooked stuff and mocktails for me, raw fish and Asa.hi for them.



Wannabe dad scoured a 20 mile radius area for my favorite, lemon cake. Alas, nothing, save for a lemon-frosted vanilla cake. He also managed to drum up a piano, and snuck it in the house while we were still at lunch.

It was a happy time, and when I look at the pictures from my birthday last year I am amazed at how my face has changed. Others may not see it, but I definitely do. Even if I am laughing like crazy the sadness is there, just below the surface.

Happy somber birthday to me. I was actually relieved to shed some tears this morning as I read through the cards from wannabe dad, the fur family, and the girls. It's been a while for these eyes.

Anxiety

I've had this sinking feeling in my belly for the past two days.

Possible contributors:
-I am leaving my job, where I've been for 6 years, 8 months, and 24 days
-I am reviewing resumes for assistants to hire for our business
-We're looking at getting an office space for our business
-I finished a marketing plan that started at 7 pages, then accidently saved a blank copy of it (stoopid! stoopid!), then managed to find an old version of it, then recreated what I lost, then it turned out to be 17 pages and a damn good 17 pages, and I only charged for 3.5 hours worth of work.
-It's C.D31 and I've been spotting for the last 6 days, what I would characterize as old blood as it's brownish red and scant, like it's pre-A.F but she hasn't arrived yet. No temperature rise. This mid-cycl.e spot.ting has happened in the last two cycles. I've talked myself into end.om.etriosis, but I don't have pa.inful perio.ds, in fact there are zero cram.ps unlike pre-pregna.ncy. If A.F doesn't show up in the next 2 days then it's off to the doc I go. And it's an anovu.latory c.ycle but my pe.riods have been luscious in similar cycles.
-Our lawn is going to the pee-er and the pooper because of Kaleo. We must find the time to create a little sandy nook in our yard exclusively for him, but the problem is location. We weren't strategic in the design of our backyard, oh 2 years ago, to accommodate a dog.
-I need breakfast, then I'm off on the 45-minute windy road for 20 miles then 10 miles in heavy traffic commute to work.

At least my mommy is coming tomorrow. (Not sarcastic; I adore her.)


P.S. If there are any unhelpful comments in your head, please keep them there. You know who you are.
P.S. A moment of silence for the 6 year anniversary.

Countdown

End of the day, finally caught her to give her the dreaded letter. She looked at me, I gave her the "I really hate to do this but this place is driving me nuts I don't know how much more I can stand so I need to do this before I actually go nuts" look, and she just asked me one question:

"When?"

In two weeks I'll be free -- to clear my mind, to focus, to find some steady clients. Wannabe dad and I have a creative/marketing agency that we're building up (he=creative; me=marketing) and in our little town and surrounding areas we're getting our name out. He is ecstatic. I am ecstatic, relieved. Now if we could just make a baby. After this anovulatory cycle, we're on it. Or he's on me, whatever.

I also need to buy that darn health insurance. We need to find a sugar daddy. Look, I'm already starting my list of to-do's.

Housekeeping

So many piles of stuff, stuff dating back to the fateful days of last November. As we begin a new month it is eerie that I was even pregnant just a year ago. I was entering my fourth month, it was so hot where I live, my car's air conditioning as iffy as my cervix (at least I got a new car). I remember exactly what I did a week before being rushed to the hospital, a few days before, the day before. Last week at work, I dumped a bunch of old magazines, emails, project papers, from that time last year. Subconsciously it's in preparation to where I am headed.

I never felt right about coming back to work, but alas those hospital bills had to get paid (and still do). Even now as I think of leaving the thought just terrifies me. I'm one of those steady paycheck kind of people. Wannabe dad has been a freelancer/consultant for 99.9% of his career, so his terror left him a long time ago. But I think of my sanity and the stress level that my body harbors even if I feel like my mind is clear, and this is what I have to do. There have been so many carrots dangled ("if you do this, we'll promote you,"), and frankly, they're starting to shrivel and smell.

As for options, I've got several, so I'm not completely up shit creek without a job and a paddle. Besides, I still need to pay for all those M.ay.an massages.

Musings

I'm looking forward to the M.aya Ma.ssage appointment tomorrow. I found the resource through Vegetarian Mom. I hope it brings me balance and even more hope.
***
Lunch with two friends yesterday was a little stressful because of the one friend. She is going through relationship issues and was absent-minded enough to tell me that I should be grateful that I don't have to do the whole dating thing. I had the presence to mind to tell her that she should be grateful that she didn't have two babies die on her. Next time, lunch is going to include wine.
***
While programming a phone, wannabe dad asked me "honey, what's the time?" So naturally, I told him it was time to get ill. "Oh shit, I walked into that one" he said.
***
I can't remember when it started, when I was pregnant with the twins that I had to eat 6 small meals a day to avoid the unbearable bloating I felt after eating. I remember seeing women who were further along in their pregnancies eating like there was no tomorrow, plates piled high. I carried Cerina (baby a) literally between my hip bones, which half explains the pants thing, and possibly explains the feeling of super-fullness even after just half a sandwich. Was she perhaps too low? I also had to use a binder clip to keep my seatbelt loose around my belly. What a sight.
***
The banana tree has little "fingers" of fruit but those kids don't look like they are maturing. Is this a theme in my house or what? Except the kittens, of course, who are getting big. Pretty soon we'll have 3 chubby kitties running around here.
***
My mom had a hys.ter.ectomy when she was 46. She had me at 38, my brother at 37. He was the miracle baby, as docs told her she wouldn't be able to have children because she had clots (I'm thinking end.ometr.iosis?) and a D.&C to clean them out. Previous to that she was in a car accident which may have jarred things up. She is also looking into the M.aya Mas.sage as is my Dad with his funky pro.state issues.
***
I hope this week isn't too crazy.

Found

Just returned from the Farmers' Market with my weekly bouquet of flowers for the girls. The flowers were wrapped in newspaper and I couldn't help but read, and share.

*Edited to add: I'm sure her parents had their reasons for not telling her. I don't think it's necessarily her right to know. Perhaps if the parents had grief counseling at the time of their loss, they would have been better equipped to deal with how to tell their youngest daughter. Not telling her also put pressure on the other siblings and didn't let them talk about or connect with the memory of their angel brother.

Contrast

Unlike what I just found out about my paternal grandmother, I always knew about the daughter that my maternal grandmother had, who died (stillbirth). I don't exactly remember when my Mom told me about her, but all my cousins know about her and my aunts and uncles bring up her name from time to time. She would be in her 60s today, no doubt as warm and as loving as the rest of the family. Years ago (ok, just 2.5) a few days before my wedding, my uncle debuted a big banner of our family tree. After he pointed out where wannabe dad's rightful place was on the banner (cue the happiness tears!), I scanned the rest of the family members and saw Aunt Gloria's name. She was and is still remembered.

My maternal grandmother has been in a care home since early November following a hip fracture and surgery. At 94 she is sometimes lucid, and others she is downright hilarious. ("Ma, do you know who I am?" "Why, don't you know who you are?") I am positive that she thinks about her lost daughter even after all these long years.

9 months since our daughters left this world. They are in our hearts, maybe even reincarnated in Kika and Limu. We always said that we were blessed with our twins because we lost a baby and Mr. Elvis died. So who the heck is Kaleo?

Revealed

I first met my paternal grandmother when I was 12. She and my grandfather moved to H.aw.aii from the Phi.lippi.nes in the '80s. I never got that close to her, I think it was because I didn't know her as a younger child, and also because she's not that kind of grandmother. I learned how to use a sewing machine watching her for hours sew squares upon squares of scraps to create pillowcases and crooked, batting-less square blankets. She was always henpecking my grandfather, watching her money closely, and grumbling about something. She bought me and my brother small gifts for the holidays, and as a spoiled Ame.ric.an teen I don't remember being very thankful.

She and my mother have never gotten along. Rumor says my grandmother wanted my dad to marry another classmate instead of my mom. I remember vividly my Mom being in tears as she recalled how she bought my grandmother a beautiful H.awai.ian ring as a gift. My grandmother slipped it on her finger and in the same motion she brought the newly ringed finger up to her mouth and proceeded to pull the ring off her finger with her teeth! Horrified, my Mom left the room and immediately told my Dad. He stormed over to my grandmother and chewed her out. That was probably over 10 years ago. After repeated attempts to get close to her, my mom has finally learned to keep her distance.

In June when my parents were in town, I had the good, rare fortune of spending hours with my Dad. It was pretty cool, although I didn't mean for him to pay for lunch b/c I really had to use the restroom. After a day of errands we were preparing dinner and I asked him if he knew anyone whose babies died. Yes, he said, your grandmother, my mother. What! I was incredulous. In the '40s after the war, she had two babies, a boy and a girl, die about two years apart, a few days after birth. My dad was about 6 (or younger?) and he remembers that she cried a lot. In the '60s another daughter passed away from an infection due to retained placenta a few days after giving birth.

My grandmother has 4 living daughters and 1 living son. She has had 3 of her children die. Only recently did I realize that all these years she has carried around this weight. It has shaped her into an ungrandmotherly, unmotherly person. I don't know what her reaction was upon hearing about the twins. She had a minor stroke about 1.5 months ago and my mom told me that she cried when she learned that I asked about her. I do wish that I could talk to her in person. I wonder if she would be open to talking about her babies. (I also want to know so that I can add this information to my next whenever it is genetic counseling appointment.) I also wonder if my babies didn't die, and if I never asked the question, if I would ever have known this about my grandmother. It makes me think of what other bits and pieces are waiting to be revealed.

Passing

After spending 3/4 of Sunday nursing a chardonnay hangover, I couldn't get the guilt out of my head for not being more productive. I could have worked on a client's presentation. I could have done research for a marketing plan. I could have pulled the ankle-high weeds in the yard or fixed the hole that Kaleo dug while he was forgotten about in the backyard while we went out for dinner or redirected the irrigation line that I hear each morning when the sprinklers turn on (it's watering the fence) or clipped the spent canna lilies or dropped a few loads of laundry. But the pounding in my head of I told you not to drink so much was too great to do any of those things with any decorum. The least I did was to go with wannabe dad to Kaleo's training class and afterward stay in the car with my eyes closed while he picked up groceries. I decided this morning that I haven't had a day like that in a long time. Although I would skip the hangover part next time, the lying around part I'd do again just because I should once in a while.


Finally, in the early evening after a shallow nap (thanks to running kitties, neighbor drama or neighbor tv, I couldn't tell) the headache subsided and we watched Th.e Br.idge, a documentary about the '04 Gold.en Ga.te Br.idge sui.cides. It was so incredibly sad. There were moments, however, where human contact made the difference. I remember our 12 25 06 walk across the bridge (foregoing holiday celebrating), and I hadn't seen the movie yet although I did hear about it. I told myself then that even in my state of being 5 weeks po.st-partum-csecti.on if I were to see someone climbing over I would make contact. It would be the least I could do in my sorry state of mourning my girls.


***


We are trying to find some alone time. Like an overnight stay somewhere. Just one night or two. Getting busy is difficult when you have three cats roaming and a dog outside the door. Getting busy is difficult when you have deadlines every day, even on the weekend.

***

I have found it irritating that people have said to me that they're surprised I'm doing "so well." If it means they're surprised I'm not suicidal, that's a shitty thing to say. If it means they're surprised I can actually laugh on some days, it's still a shitty thing to say. They're not with me every moment of the day, they're not in my head where this morning as I was trying to figure out what to wear while brushing my teeth and staring at my closet (requirements: clean, reasonably unwrinkled, top and bottom reasonably match, cool but not too cool for inside air conditioning, dressy but not too dressy, not baggy, doesn't show gramma panty lines, not tight, goes with a no-makeup face), I thought if letting Cerina and Nadia go was the right thing to do, if just maybe they would have ended up alright but with the usual preemie problems, if maybe we could have saved Nadia since she was baby b and her bag wasn't bulging, if maybe I could have carried her for another 3 months could I just be mourning one baby and raising her sister, if maybe I could be raising Cerina as a preemie and Nadia as a full-term baby, then my mom would have her granddaughters and I would actually be a mommy. These are things I think of constantly; while driving, dressing, writing, working, hell whenever I'm not sleeping.


***

Now that I have a dog, I can't watch the tv footage of the recent dog fig.hting controversy. When I finally have a child, I won't be able to leave the house or do anything that would cause her/him harm (like let him/her out of my sight).


***


Our sweet girls would be 9 months old. Instead, they are two stars in the sky, two holes in our hearts, two big teardrops on our faces, two black bands on our wrists. I can't believe all this time is continuing to pass.

Shaken

We have family in P.eru (wannabe dad's), thankfully none have been affected by the earthq.uake. Sadly, other families were deeply affected. I offer my sincere condolences and prayers to them all.

Visitors

Growing up, my house was full of visitors. They were either family or international friends of my parents whom they met through their various working and schooling years in the Phi.lippines or the University of H.awaii in the mid-60s. Thankfully we had a guest room, so I didn't have to give up my bed (or clean my room) to make way for guests. My friends thought it was weird that we had a guest room. I thought it was weird that they didn't. "Where do your guests sleep?" "What guests?" (We have a guest room in our home now, but guests are few and far between, especially the international variety.)

I remember once that we had a teenage cousin from the Phili.ppines staying with us for a few months. I guess I was about 12-ish, and I found it odd that he smoked in the bathroom. I complained about this to my mom and her issue wasn't that he was smoking but that he was doing it in the house. Years later, I figured out his fascination. The bathroom had no windows but a vent fan, which he probably thought was strong enough to suck the smoke out from his puffs. Hilarious.

There really isn't a point to this, just that we're all cut from different cloths, that our experiences shape us, and what might make perfect sense to one person makes none to another. I'll write about another incident that made me realize "So that's why she's how she is." Now back to work.

Hope

Lori wrote the most beautiful post the other day (everything she writes is beautiful). I wish that the years would speed up (like the movie C.lick, but only without the dire consequences) for me, so that I too could move through my house at the end of the day and feel the same kind of thankfulness that she feels daily. I would even write about it.

But I am not ungrateful. I have my husband, my ardent supporters in some friends and family (do you have those too?), my parents and brother, and I have hope. While I navigate this funky cycle + grieving + my in-between days "real" job & home biz job + figuring out where I belong in the parent world + being a new doggie mom (this one is the least of my worries but a change nonetheless), I have hope that someday Wannabe Dad and I will be chasing some chubby-legged being around, our eyes heavy with sleep, our clothes stiff with stains, our ears full of cries and shrieks and silly laughter.

Trouble is, I also have bitter -- still distancing myself from pg friends and newborns. How would I even act around them? Truth is I haven't tried, even the thought makes me well up. I nearly ran into new parents at work today, and if I hadn't seen the "It's a Girl" sign in the office window out of the corner of my eye and the pink stuff hanging out of a dark bag which clearly he wouldn't have in his office, I would have stopped to look. A passerby who hadn't seen me since last November almost asked if I had "seen T's baby", but she stopped herself at "Have you..." and trailed off after realizing that I wasn't the same person she could have asked such a benign question to not a year ago. Thanks for small miracles?

It started to be a sullen drive home, then I remembered the hope. It's still in there, flickering, quiet, encouraging.

Nerve

A co-worker said, "Why did you say they died? Say they are in a better place."

Sounding disgusted and offended, I replied, "They're not in a better place, the better place is with me."

She said, "Oh."

Some people just don't get it.

Statistic

My plans with girlfriend-in-town M two years ago tomorrow were made of the stuff that girls love – bookstore, pedicure, lunch, movie (Must Love D.ogs), friendship. She was there the day the babies were taken off the ventilators, and she was there when my first pregnancy miscarried.

As it was my first pregnancy, and our wedding was barely two months along, wannabe dad and I literally told the world. At first we were only going to tell our parents and siblings. Then it spread to best friends. Then the circle of friends. I’m sure it went beyond that as well.

Then 3 weeks later, I suppose I was at about 5 weeks, the bleeding started. Dark brown at first for about a week and a half. Worry worry. Shit, this can’t be happening. I called the 8oo# to get the advice nurse (this is the place that starts with a K and ends with an aiser), who told me not to worry and that it happens all the time. I got an appointment after work, and the u/s showed that all was still intact, the NP said not to worry, but if [insert telltale signs here] happens go straight to the emergency room. That was a Friday, if I remember correctly.

It was Sunday – cramping at the bookstore, throughout the pedicure, throughout lunch, throughout the movie. “We need to go to the hospital,” I told wannabe dad when we got home from the movie. I passed a sizable amount of tissue: grayish, feathery. I saved it in a cup and brought it with us to the hospital. On the slip in the ER, I wrote “possible miscarriage” on the reason line. The nurse who checked me in relayed her story about bleeding throughout her 3 successful pregnancies, she said not to worry.

I think I passed the remaining tissue in the restroom right before the young ER doc saw me. Another u/s. He very clinically explained, “What you saw on the u/s a few days ago isn’t there, so it must have passed.” I was so numb, not fully comprehending, not crying, not screaming. I didn’t need a D/C which was I know now a good thing. I don’t remember much physical pain, just cramping like a period. M held the cup in the waiting room. Nobody asked for it.

Then I cried every day for the rest of that week.

At the follow-up appointment the NP relayed statistics to me: 40%. It happens all the time. Next time we’ll monitor your levels. I became a data point.

We untold the people we told. I waited three days to tell my Mom, that was really really tough.

The following week my face played poker while I worked at a 4-day long convention at McC.ormick Pl.ace, going through the motions.

Two weeks later we were on our honeymoon in Per.u. The location was wonderful, the timing was sure bad for romance. In our pictures you couldn’t tell that my innocence was chipped away, ever so slightly. I watched the hurricane unfold on the only English-language channel in the hotel.

To my dear baby, You would be 17 months old or so; chubby, walking, talking, adored. Your Auntie M was there when you left my body, and she was there when your sisters left this world. We are lucky to be blessed with friends like her.

Air

Finally getting a breather to post. I have noticed that lately my posting has seriously dwindled from infrequent to nonexistent. Many times the need to inundate my blog with documentation of various daily injustices (along with words like these which I hardly ever say in person) I encounter as a Mom in mourning is so great, yet time escapes me.

I think generally I am doing well. Not well to the point of I have forgotten everything that happened to our family 8 months ago, or well to the extent that seeing pg women and babies don't sour me somewhat, or well to the degree that I don't think of Cerina and Nadia (this is silly, even if I was completely well I would always think of my children). I even find myself just a tiny bit more sociable at work, actually joking with the co-workers and not being as much of a cube-hermit. When I feel jolly like this, I count on my fingers the number of months that passed where I hid my face behind my hair, kept my sunglasses on until I was safe in my cube, didn't even acknowledge people approaching then passing me perpendicularly, and didn't look up in the kitchen. It was so unnatural but so necessary. People even noticed how I had changed.

And I wasn't fazed about news of a friend's pregnancy (her daughter is a mere 8 mos old), believe it or not -- what got me was that I was on the receiving end of another "I wanted to tell you myself..." speech (you SO know how those go!). Her news didn't bother me so much as the whole tiptoeing around me did. Shit! This is not how things were supposed to be! My friends were not supposed to be tempering their happy pg news with me, but share it with a huge smile and receive a huge smile and a hug in return. I gave the whole "I appreciate your sensitivity" line but inside I was so mad that I even had to say that. I was not supposed to be the Mom in mourning.

*Lump in throat* I am so in denial sometimes.

Quick

Both kittens are boys! They are on Revol.ution. Poop test indicates no wormies. Whew! Uncle Moki adores them and protects them from easily excited Kaleo. The striped kitty's name is Kika, which means tiger in Ha.waii.an. The other kitty is yet unnamed.

We went to our support group meeting on Weds. We hadn't been there since April or so. It was helpful in that we gave hope to two other couples whose lives changed without choice. Wannabe dad and I are living and breathing with our grief, and we were able to show that even though the light is dim as you move through this horrific tunnel, it is there.

Time to walk the dog. *Yawn*

Bullets

Update on the kitties.

• Captured the one in the garage. Verrrrry skinny girl, probably the runt.
• I am a Master Flea Killer: 61 fleas from each kitten killed to date.
• They are eating well.
• I need to buy more kitten milk.
• I am at PetSm.art all the time.
• They are so dam cute. Here's a picture of the garage kitten. Isn't she darling!

Update on the doggie.

• Peed 3x in the dining room, 2x in one afternoon. Thank g-d we don't eat in there.
• He is getting used to Moki.
• Moki has swatted him 3x on the nose (scabs to prove it).
• I am getting better at walking him.
• He is sleeping through the night in his crate.

Update on wannabe dad.

• He talked to his dad. Caught him off guard b/c he called the office. Words were short and terse, as if wannabe dad was the boy and his dad was his miffed girlfriend. Fine, okay, yup, yup, yup. Whatever.
• He is such an awesome husband. I'm so glad I married him and not some asshole.
• I turned him into a cat person. Heeeheeee. I love that.

Update on Moki.

• He's been watching cat tv - watching the kittens through a baby gate since they are segregated in the guest bath. Ah the baby gate, purchased last year at a garage sale, the owners used it for their dog. Oh wait, I think it's a dog gate and the owners used it for their kids.
• He's gotten so heavy. I think it was from being cooped up in one room for about 2 weeks when we first brought Kaleo home. Easy access to food and lack of exercise.
• Still skittish. You can't pick him up when you pass him in the hallway b/c he'll run the other way. But -- catch him on a nap and you can hug him and kiss him and rub his chubby belly. I love this boy.

Update on my emotional state.

• Stable. The banana tree doesn't bother me anymore. It's still growing bananas which is very exciting. I'm in the S.an Fr.ancisco Ba.y A.rea, ok -- inland, which makes for sublime banana growing weather albeit a bit dry.
• I've been thinking of the injustices in this world, and one of them is that my ex-bf from '93, the one who cheated on me, the one who cheated on his next girlfriend, the one who his next girlfriend suspected of cheating on her and who told me about it on at least three occasions and ended up marrying the f**ker anyway, has a chubby daughter a year or so old. How f**ked is that. And I stole lemon drops when I was 5. Ok ok, I came home on Easter Sunday morning from a party and ended up grounded for my jr and sr years of high school. And yet. How do I deserve to be the mother of angels?
• I followed up with a potential client after a week of agonizing over it, and she accepted our proposal. Why do I second guess myself? I've been through worse.
• Thanks Julia for your comment. I liked your suggestion about doing something about it so that when the anniversary comes we may not have to wait so long. I guess I am still coping with the fact that the fairy tale has left my life.
• Why does my bf ask how I'm doing and I reply with a long-ass diatribe and she doesn't write back? (Maybe b/c it was a long-ass diatribe about pg women and she is one? Who else can I 'tribe to?) (Is 'long-ass diatribe' redundant?)
• The magazine that interviewed me for a story re: the girls and our experience, is going out of business. The story was slated to print next February. Wannabe dad knows the publisher so perhaps there will be some other venue for it. It was about us, what happened, how people can be (you all know), what people can do about it, how our lives are forever changed. There was bitter. There was anger. All in all, there was truth.

Nurture

It’s interesting what is happening in our house. It seems that wannabe dad’s dream is coming true: the one where he dreamed we had two cats and two dogs and everything was amuck! amuck! there was hair everywhere the animals were running in and out of the house around our legs and each other. At the time we only had Moki, and I couldn’t imagine having another cat, much less a dog (I am so not a dog person).

As 7-7-07 would have it, we welcomed another kitten into our home. Yet to be named, he is a gray and white tabby who is Moki’s nephew! Moki’s sister got out of the attic with their mom and was roaming the rough and tumble streets of our ‘hood, apparently getting to know the gray cat (we think) in the neighborhood quite well.

We managed to trap the kitten’s mom and 3 out of 4 siblings* for animal services to pick up. I spent the better part of the afternoon bent over a freshly shampooed kitten with a flea comb and a container of hot water + detergent to drown the suckers. 35 fleas and counting, and there are a few more to get. He is too young for flea shampoo (5-6 weeks old). Ow, my neck!

As he lay in my lap this morning, I was reminiscent of our daughters and how they were about the length of this kitty - 12 inches, from my elbow to half of my palm. Sigh. (Everyday things remind me of the children I lost. Minivans. Shopping carts. Coffee. Sleeping. Awakening.)

Our puppy Kaleo (ka-LAY-oh, Hawaiian for “the voice”) is doing well. He has us trained to keep him in his crate, take him out for 2x daily walks, and have him sit and lay down. He does well with other doggies when he’s off leash and shows off his fetch at the dog park. He and Moki are learning to tolerate each other.


What good is this blog to me if I don’t pepper it with complaints? Despite the happy kitty events, I was really down yesterday because a support group acquaintance, whom we are meeting for dinner and dog fun in two weeks, is 3 months pregnant. I’m sure it is difficult for her since her boy/girl twins were born at 23 weeks in February. I am feeling left behind, thinking something is wrong with me because I’m nowhere near T.TC again.

We have consciously put a date in our heads when we will start, which is after the first anniversary. Add 6 months for the trying, 9 months for the baking, and we’ll have (theoretically speaking of course) a take-ho.me baby. I should be nice and 37 years old, a fine addition to the high-ris.k pregna.ncy cases. My cerv.ix is wonderfully uncooperative, my cycles magically irregular, heck I don’t even get br.east tendernes.s or cr.amps anymore. I’m bitching for the moment, I don’t plan to give up, but I sure do wish that time would speed up.


*The 4th sibling snuck in under the partially open garage door last night and is in there now. I'll give this one a bath after we catch it, but we can't keep it, I think.

Ties

I have big knots in my belly after reading Sara's post about insensitive relatives. I've been meaning to post about this since Father's Day but didn't want to spoil wannabe dad's day. Now that enough time has passed, the floodgates are open.

I am officially done with my FIL. He is selfish and insensitive and has absolutely no shame for his character. He's the one who told wannabe dad the Wednesday before the 24th that he didn't believe in what we were doing (removing the girls from the ventilators), because it was against his religion (hmm, we're the same screwed up catholics), but his wife told him he should support us so that's what he was doing.

It gets better!

FIL, his wife E and her kids didn't come to the funeral. I'm not upset about that. FIL went into the hospital the Thursday before 12/2, a pretty serious matter that concerned his heart. Having had two prior heart attacks, his was operating at something like 40% of normal. On Tuesday, a day after the girls were buried, heavy with grief [cue bawling now], leaking milk and in pain from the c-section, we paid FIL the obligatory hospital visit an hour away. My parents were still in town and came with us. FIL seemed to be in good spirits although he was still waiting to see a specialist. E was kind and in her broken English told us how sorry she was.

Fast forward 6 months to Father's Day. Wannabe dad called him with greetings while en route to the cemetery. In a nutshell, FIL called his son ungrateful, that we didn't care about him, that E's kids care about him more than his own 3 sons, that we didn't even visit him in the hospital. FIL also asked what we were doing that day, if we were able to join them for lunch, but wannabe dad responded that we were going to the "cemetario", which FIL understood as "San Mateo" even after repeating it several times. So in FIL's mind, we were going to San Mateo to have fun when we should have been worshipping him instead!

On Monday, wannabe dad spoke with his younger brother L who relayed that "Dad's really hurt and upset," and let me just say that L didn't spend the day with his dad either, having spent the day with his own family. Wannabe dad explained to L that Father's Day wasn't just about their dad; that it was very difficult for him, that nobody called him (except for my awesome Mom), and that he wasn't going to take the crap. L is awesome because understood and apologized for not realizing. At least he's willing.

Two Sundays have passed. The message wannabe dad leaves is the same: Calling to see how you're doing. We're going to the cemetery to visit the niñas and Mama. Hope you are doing well. Call me when you have a chance.

Abnormal

"C's baby is 12 pounds. She's huge. Can you imagine holding a 12 pound baby?" said L.

No, I can't. Can you imagine holding a 1 lb. 7 oz. baby? How about a dead baby? I thought.

"Wow, her arms must be huge," said L as she burped her son, a mere 5 weeks old.

As I'm thinking about this conversation I had (ok, obsessing at this point) a week ago, I remember at the time telling myself that she didn't mean to be so clueless, that she didn't have malicious intent. All the same, should I have taken the opportunity to help her put her foot in her mouth?

At the lunch today for J who is moving on to greener pastures, R across from me asks the other J, "So how old are your twins now?" J holds up five fingers while masticating rice and beans. R's question to J has nothing to do with me, yes I realize this. And yet it does. (How old are my twins? What is the sign for dead?)

To close: Ev.ite from a long lost women's networking group. Alas, a breakfast and hike in August. What a joy to read that the first three "I'll be there" responses were from women who were expecting little ones in August! Simply delightful! I responded that aw shucks, it was just too far for me.


This is my life, for the rest of my life. Nothing is normal. My identity is wrapped around the deaths of my twins, two sweet babies who were very much loved and very much wanted. I will always "listen" on eggshells and take innocuous and shove it.

Saved

We rescued a puppy for Father's Day/Wannabe Dad's birthday. I also got him (hubby, not the dog) a silver urn pendant to hold a few strands of his girls' hair, to hold close to his heart. (I would post a picture but he's self-conscious about the chest hair. I find his chest hair yummy.) As is our usual Sunday routine, we went to the cemetery. Then to lunch with my aunt and uncle. Then to the shelter with my cousin and her hubby. Not what we planned for Father's Day, but it happened to work out in the end. Except for the whole sleeping thing.

We're told he's an Australian Shepherd/Border Collie mix. If you see other breeds in there (hmmm...bat?), do let me know. I'm taking votes. He's 6 months old, very happy, and gets bored easily. We are crate training. Hubby and I watch Th.e D.og Whis.perer for inspiration.

Yesterday marked 7 months since our girls died. We have been busy with the dog, watering the banana tree, harvesting tomatoes, working the home business. I was mad at myself for remembering the monthaversary at the very end of the day right before I went to bed. But -- I thought of my girls all weekend while we were at Rel.ay fo.r Li.fe. I had never attended it before, and the opening ceremonies + Lu.minaria cracked me right open: raw, weeping, feeling.

Rambleday

The certificates printed, the thank-yous written, the envelopes sealed. Then I discover: the certificate is missing a word. A very important word. A word that completes the name of the workshop I gave on Tuesday. My eyes bulge. Expletives fly. Carefully open envelopes, remove error-filled certificates and recycle, reprint new error-free certificates, resign and restuff, locate glue stick and reseal. No big, I've been through worse.

***

Now that the banana tree is pregnant, I am giving it more care. I'm watering it daily (100 degrees the last few days), talking to it, petting it. Ok, I'm not talking to or petting it. A silly thought flashed in my head as I was watering it the other day: take care of this tree, because it is giving fruit.

***

Before my FIL moved out of wannabe dad's childhood home, we had a chance to dig up some of my MIL's roses (she passed away 21 years ago when wannabe dad was a teen). I was able to keep two plants alive for about 2 years in a pot, dutifully watering, spraying for buggies, clipping spent blooms in the right place, even moving them to our new home. Long rambling story short, they are poof! Dried up. So in my feeble attempt to right the wrong, I bought a replacement which I will plant tomorrow morning before he wakes up. It will be in his view out of the home office window. Tomorrow is his birthday.

***

I was in the card section at the local Tget. Since there have been lots of babies born in my circle, and I'm sure more that I don't yet know of, I was planning to stock up on cards.

I couldn't go through with it. I'll send greetings hopefully before they graduate from high school.

***

Speaking of graduation, our nephew graduated from high school last weekend. Something our girls will never do. So unfair.

***

I found a local support group for moms who have lost children. The other moms lost teenagers. A tragedy for sure, but I couldn't relate. Sigh.

***

"So how's the new mommy?" co-worker asks
Holy crapoly. "What?"
"You had twins, right?"
"Ummm...nobody told you?"
"No, what...?"
"They...they died. Nobody tells you anything, huh."
"No. I'm so sorry. Omigosh. I have kids. I can't imagine. I am so sorry."
"Thank you."

I held it together until I turned around to walk back to my desk. When everything was happening last year, looking back on it now, I actually felt ashamed that my babies died! Completely irrational, I know, but I didn't want to be whispered about. I asked that my email only be forwarded to people I actually knew and well, liked. Didn't matter, some of those who I like have not greeted me since my return in March. Blame it on uncomfortable, but I don't like them anymore.

***

I finished that book. It was comforting. I bought two copies, one for me, one for another person (no one in particular, though I handed it to my mom and she couldn't even open the cover for fear of crying) who I want to understand where I'm coming from. Wannabe dad is reading the section for Fathers, at least. I hope he finds some comfort too.

***

It seems a job promotion is on hold as long as I'm part time. Dangling the carrot are we? A career at this company is non-existent in both of our minds anyway. My long-term goal is to be a mommy.

***

My mom and her siblings are finally making arrangements for my 94-year-old gramma, who is in a care home after falling last October. I don't know if she knows what happened with the twins. No one wanted to upset her. They'll be waiting for her, but they might wait a while because their great-gramma is a fighter on a feeding tube! The good news is that she will be in a spot that's a stone's throw away from the girls.

***

"Do.es A.ge Ma.tter"? Who comes up with these inane shows? He hurts my eyes.