Grief and Pregnancy Loss

I Couldn’t Care Less. Really.

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People use the phrase “I couldn’t care less” pretty liberally. Once something horrible happens to you, though, you really do start to care less. About friends. Family. Work. Everything. And yes, I’m aware this is a symptom of depression, but those aren’t the things I will be talking about here. I’ve been publishing a lot of super depressing blogs, and everyone loves a light-hearted listicle, so here is a list of things about which, as Cody Rigsby from Peloton would say, are “not that serious.” Care less.

I could not care less about:

  • Hard clothes – Let’s be honest, clothes with zips, buttons, and no stretch were left in 2019 pre-Covid. But now for sure. Why would I wear something that isn’t comfortable? Like what is the point; who am I trying to impress? Zoom doesn’t show my boobs, why would I wear anything besides a sports bra? No one sees me from the waist down, so hard pants are a hard pass. Related:
  • Makeup – Makeup is problematic because it is far too close to your eyes. It is sometimes literally ON your eyes. When your eyes double as unpredictable waterfalls, it really makes no sense to put anything on them. What a waste of time and waste of sleeves when they are ruined as you wipe your eyes with them. Also, who am I trying to fool? Makeup is usually used to cover imperfections, but it isn’t covering anything in my case. You can read my face like a book and no amount of CC cream is going to cover it.
  • The size/shape of my body – Almost all women, nay, ALL women think about the size and shape of their bodies at some point in their lives. Some think about it at all points in their lives. I must admit, I did too. But I have also done some serious work the past 10 years trying to unlearn those thoughts and behaviors. And I’ll say something here: if there’s one thing that being on the verge of death teaches you, it’s that the container size of your body does not matter at all. Like not one single bit. If your organs work, you are Gucci, as the kids would say. I have a LOT to say about body size/body image/body changes in pregnancy, but for now I will just keep it at this – it doesn’t matter and I couldn’t care less.
  • Leaving the air conditioning on – Climate Warriors come at me. I used to care about this. I was so conditioned (pun intended) to turn off the AC when I left the house to save electricity. First of all, it saves money. Second of all, it saves the planet. But realistically, it’s only 3 months of the year that you need it. That’s not too much money. And I’d rather be comfortable. Not much nowadays brings me a modicum of comfort, and this is one of the things that does. There are so few things in this world that are predictable but one thing is for sure: I hate the heat and I am far more irritable when overheated. Summer is the worst season. I said what I said. If I can do something so minor like leaving the AC on when I go to the gym so it’s still cool when I come home, it’s worth it. I also used to turn the AC off in the room I wasn’t in. Nowadays, I move around a lot. Namely, I move from curled up in a ball crying on the couch, to curled up in a ball crying in my bed. I need options! All rooms must be cool and ready just in case.
  • Cancelling plans – Sorry not sorry. If I don’t feel like it, I’m not going. I’d rather be miserable at home than miserable out and wanting to go home.
  • Making the bed – In 2022 I had a goal to make my bed every day. Everyone loves to climb into a freshly made bed. But when you’re in and out of bed so often, it loses its luster. Let’s be honest, I’m climbing in there whether or not the sheets are pulled up. Also, how many times in one day can you make a bed? Waste of time.

There are many more things I don’t care about, but these are my top 6. Are there any things you all don’t care about? Life-altering trauma or not, I think these 6 should rank high on everyone’s list.

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Grief and Pregnancy Loss

Memories (or lack thereof)

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TW: Pregnancy Loss (some studies suggest trigger warnings aren’t helpful, but I personally find them helpful so I’ll be trying to remember to use them)

Next week I am starting EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing). If you haven’t heard of it, EMDR is a psychotherapy that enables people to heal from the symptoms and emotional distress resulting from trauma. Some studies show that 84%-90% of single-trauma victims no longer have PTSD after only three 90-minute sessions. Those are pretty amazing numbers. And since I’ve already hit my out-of-pocket maximum on my insurance like 20 times over, I figured I’d try anything for free. In my mind, it’s a little like hypnosis and a bit too woowoo for me, but most articles say it’s very different than hypnosis and plus, the research shows it works.

But there’s a catch. EMDR depends on a patient’s memories. The way you reprocess is by evoking vivid visual images related to the memory, and then you think about your negative beliefs about yourself and the related body sensations and emotions, then start to reprogram those beliefs and sensations that are related to the memories. This obviously poses a problem if you have no memories.

In preparation for EMDR, I’ve been trying to remember everything that happened in the months leading up to my hospitalization and loss of our baby, but I have a lot of gaps. First of all, it’s hard for me to pinpoint anything happy. It’s as if my brain remembers how horrific the week in the hospital was, and it has deleted and reconfigured any happy emotions I had at all the entire pregnancy. I’ve been meaningfully trying to remember being happy and excited, but now it’s all tinged with fear and extreme depths of depression.

When we told my parents about the baby, we had created a whole fake story so that we could get their reaction on video. It’s really hard to watch that video now. My mom cried. There were so many happy tears. But I watched that video trying to remember how happy I was and now as I watch, it feels fake. Was I really that happy? It seems like I’m watching someone else have those emotions. On a deep level, did that girl know what would happen? They say hindsight is 20/20, well now it feels like hindsight is just SAD.

Since I haven’t actually started EMDR, I am not sure if we will focus on the whole pregnancy, or only on the hospitalization and loss trauma. But if we focus on the hospitalization, I’m in even worse trouble because I have even fewer memories.

A couple of weeks after I came home from the hospital, I started writing a never-to-be-published blog about my experience and I realized I couldn’t remember a lot. I went through all of my hospital records trying to remember. I had 118 unopened test results in the app. I had pages and pages of doctor notes. From the moment that my OB told me to come into the hospital, my fight-or-flight reaction was triggered. I won’t get into all of the science, but basically when there is trauma, your memories can be affected. Add that to the fact that I was on a magnesium infusion for a week, which causes confusion, and also add the fact that I wasn’t allowed to eat food, and I have major memory gaps. Not to mention the later epidurals and the Ativan. Between the psychological issues and medical interventions, my brain feels like Swiss cheese.

Last week, Chris and I were trying to go through the timeline of what happened at the hospital. There were certain things that I thought happened on Wednesday but he said they happened on Friday. Some of the conversations that happened throughout the first night when we had a revolving door of neonatologists, maternal fetal medicine specialists, residents, doctors, nurses, etc., I don’t remember at all. Even in that moment, I recognized that my memory wasn’t great and I had my sister taking notes on her phone to report to Chris, who was on a last-minute flight back to NYC.

Two weeks ago, I started going through my text messages and phone logs to try and reconstruct what happened. Most of the calls made from my phone in the hospital were made by my sister. I was in no shape to make phone calls, I was mostly sobbing the entire time out of fear and sadness and confusion. My sister called some coworkers to let them know I would be missing meetings and that I wouldn’t be at the strategic planning meeting the next week in Texas. She called Chris and my mom many times, but those calls were mostly made from her own phone.

Then in my call log I saw one call from my best friend that came in at 7:18 pm on my first full day at the hospital. I hadn’t slept the night before because doctors and specialists were in and out of the room every 5 minutes, so I was awake approximately 36 hours by that point. According to my call log, that call lasted 17 minutes and 59 seconds. I have 0 memory of it. None. Not a single memory. I don’t remember it happening. When I saw it, I didn’t even believe it. Even though it was in black and white right there in my palm, I still thought maybe it didn’t happen. I took a screen shot of my call log and I texted my friend. I said, “Can I ask you a really weird question – did I talk to you when I was in the hospital? I’m trying to like put my memories back together and I saw this in my call log and I have literally 0 recollection of this.” She wrote back immediately, “Yes we did talk!”

17 minutes and 59 seconds gone. And the worst part is that I saw that date and I realized it was the last full day that my daughter was alive. And I don’t remember it. Not only are the memories of my pregnancy now completely overshadowed and tinged with sadness, but my final few hours pregnant with our first child are missing from my brain. I’ve been working on giving myself more grace, but it feels unforgivable that I just don’t remember those last few days. What kind of mom forgets the last few hours of their kid’s life? These are thoughts for my therapist. I realize this isn’t necessarily my fault, and that a body’s trauma response is not rational. I realize that this wasn’t a choice. And if I’m completely and totally honest with myself, I’m not even sure I want to remember those days. They were terrible. Every single minute of those days was horrific and if I forgot 17 minutes and 59 seconds of one of them, that could be viewed as a blessing. Some days it seems that way, and some days it feels like a curse, adding insult to injury.

We have so few things to remember our girl by, and the fact that I don’t even have reliable memories feels extra cruel.

p.s. I originally thought I’d talk about physical mementos in this post, but that’s for another blog, if I get to it. I am also trying to give myself grace on these posts. I’m figuring out what I want to share, and what I want to keep for ourselves. There are so few things. And while I think our daughter deserves her own space in the world, I also selfishly want to keep her for ourselves. There isn’t much to go around.

p.p.s. Some of these blog posts won’t have tie-in-a-bow endings. My story isn’t tied in a bow. Not only is it ongoing, but it’s messy. If it feels like a post ends abruptly, it’s probably because I left my computer to crawl into a ball on the couch and cry. This is just real life now.

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Grief and Pregnancy Loss

Very Superstitious, Writing’s On the Wall

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TW: Pregnancy Loss (some studies suggest trigger warnings aren’t helpful, but I personally find them helpful so I’ll be trying to remember to use them)

Last week, I opened a new Listerine. I put some in my mouth then tried to fit the bottle into my drawer in my bathroom. It wasn’t fitting. As I was gargling the super minty concoction, I started fiddling around with everything in the drawer to fit it in and that’s when I saw them: two pregnancy tests in the back of the drawer staring at me in the face. I nearly swallowed the Listerine. I almost took the tests out and put them directly in the trash but something stopped me dead in my tracks. I looked at the expiration dates: 12/23. Would throwing them out mean I for sure wouldn’t be pregnant again before the end of the year? Do I even want to be pregnant by the end of the year? Will throwing them out somehow tell the universe I don’t ever want to be pregnant again? Are my thoughts that powerful? I fit the Listerine snugly into the drawer and closed it without doing anything with the tests. As I write this, those tests are still in the back of that drawer. But closing that drawer hasn’t made me stop thinking about those tests. Every time I wash my hands, I know they’re in that drawer, waiting to be used, or waiting to not be used as time continues to march on and that expiration date comes and goes.

Meanwhile, I can’t stop thinking about superstitions and ultimately that’s what drew me back to the blog. Everyone has superstitions, or at least I used to think people did. I never considered myself a very superstitious person, but as I take stock of my life, I’m realizing maybe I have been. The stakes were so much lower before, so I never took my thoughts too seriously. Growing up, I remember jumping over cracks in the sidewalk to avoid “breaking my mother’s back.” But that was just a childhood game, right? Maybe. In college and in the years after, I had this orange and blue underwear set I had to wear when the Gators played a football game. I didn’t necessarily think that I CAUSED them to win if I wore them, but I figured, “it’s worked before, it can’t hurt!” Just last year, the Miami Heat lost in a playoff game to the Celtics on my birthday. I remember exactly what outfit I was wearing. Again, this year they faced off against the Celtics in the playoffs on my birthday and I made sure not to wear that same jersey. But I didn’t think it would necessarily be my FAULT if they lost, they were coming off 3 losses and I was convinced it was their fault if they lost again. They deserved it! But if I could do this one small thing to help them by wearing something else, why not? And guess what, they won.

According to Merriam-Webster, a superstition is a belief or practice resulting from fear of the unknown, trust in magic or chance, or a false conception of causation. I was recently talking about my superstitions with my husband, and he said he just called these things “quirks.” My therapist, on the other hand, called them “physical manifestations of my anxiety.” Maybe all of those things are right. I told my therapist that rationally, I understand I’m not causing anything to happen, but it’s nice to feel I have some sense of control in a world that is so completely out of my control. I think she was proud of me for this insight, but I don’t think she would be proud of me if I told her I for sure would not be throwing those pregnancy tests out any time soon (or ever) JUST IN CASE. Why anger the universe when I can just keep them safely tucked into the back of my bathroom drawer, collecting dust until they expire?

Those pregnancy tests require a bit of a back story. When I got pregnant, I was thrilled and surprised. Could it be this easy? My best friend was pregnant and we were going to have babies so close together! It was a dream. With the advent of social media and people being open about fertility struggles, I was well aware that conception was not as easy as the movies make it out to be. Having sex does not equal pregnancy. I knew too many people who struggled to get pregnant. But maybe I was a lucky one and it was easy for me! Three weeks after that thought, I was shoved back down to reality when my best friend lost her pregnancy. From that moment on, I became more realistic about the possible outcomes.

At that time, I called myself “realistic,” but what I realize now is it was extreme anxiety. I was convinced something would happen to my pregnancy, too. It’s one of the reasons I never wrote about it on my blog! At my first doctor’s appointment, I made my husband come with me and I remember looking at my Fitbit and seeing my heart rate was 120 bpm. Literally double my resting heart rate. And that anxiety never fully quieted. I made my husband come to every single appointment.

Most people announce their pregnancies around 12 weeks because they are “out of the miscarriage window.” I never felt comfortable announcing. I was sure something would happen. I remember we finally decided to tell my parents at Thanksgiving, and we wanted to give them something cute as part of the reveal. But my 12-week ultrasound wasn’t until 5 days before we were going to see them. I wanted to buy something unique from Etsy, but I was way too superstitious to buy anything in advance of that appointment. What if, by buying those things in advance, I would cause something to happen and then I’d have those items in my house with no baby to announce? I waited until the appointment went well, then I ordered something kitschy and dumb on Amazon Prime to arrive the day before we left. But even after we announced to my parents, my superstition was high. We took photos together, and my mom wanted to post them on Facebook. I told her absolutely not. What if something went wrong? We couldn’t tempt fate. We couldn’t taunt the universe. What if we had to UN-announce? I couldn’t bear to think about it.

I was with Chris’s entire family for Christmas on December 21 when my phone started blowing up. My mom had posted about us being pregnant on Facebook. By that point I was 16 weeks pregnant and we should have been in the clear! But I was angry at her and nervous. Now everyone knew and what if we weren’t in the clear. I walked outside to call her. It was a frigid 9 degrees in Atlanta, but I needed to step away from Chris’s family. My mom explained that she had forgotten that I told her not to post about it and was just excited. She said she hadn’t tagged me, so it would be ok. She offered to take the post down. But it already had so many likes, so many eyes on it, everyone had seen. And more importantly, the UNIVERSE KNEW. We were too excited. Unrightfully so. I told my mom it was too late. I couldn’t figure out how to explain why I was so nervous. Most people would have been so happy! I wouldn’t let myself get too excited. In my rational mind, of course I know the Facebook announcement didn’t cause any of the events to come, but in that moment my superstitions took over.

I had made contingency plans for myself. The weekend before I found out I was pregnant I had two friends over to watch the new Hocus Pocus. Being the basic b*tch I am, I am obsessed with everything pumpkin so I had gone all out. I bought 5 different kinds of alcoholic pumpkin cider, I had ten different kinds of pumpkin flavored sweets. A few days later when I found out I was pregnant, I posted all of the leftover pumpkin cider on Buy Nothing to give away. At the last minute, I decided to keep two cans of my favorite cider. I figured since it was a seasonal cider, if I lost my pregnancy I’d want some sort of consolation prize and by then the cider wouldn’t be in stores anymore because it would be winter. How hilarious that I thought 2 cans of my favorite cider would be enough to make me feel better if I lost my baby LOLOLOLOL.

For months and months of doctor appointments, those ciders stayed in my fridge. The outside of the door of the fridge started filling up with ultrasound photos. The entire door was plastered with our baby at 6 weeks. 8 weeks. 12 weeks. 16 weeks. 18 weeks. 20 weeks. 24 weeks. And still, inside that same fridge door, those ciders sat on the bottom shelf  “just in case.” Around 20 weeks, I started to convince myself I wouldn’t be drinking them until they were expired and I had a living baby in my arms. But despite the expiration date, I couldn’t bring myself to throw them out. What would that mean? Would I be tempting fate? What if I still needed them?

When I was in the hospital, I had so much support from family. My sister was with me the whole time and my mom drove in from Philly. All of Chris’s siblings flew up to NYC to be with me. It was the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for me. When I found out I’d maybe be discharged, Chris’s family mobilized and went back to our apartment to cook for us so we’d have fresh, home-cooked food. Not only did we not have groceries, but I hadn’t been allowed to eat in nearly a week. I remember the full-body sense of relief coming home. I remember sinking into the couch and being so thankful it wasn’t a hospital bed. And then I slightly remember seeing Chris’s little sister drinking one of my two contingency pumpkin ciders at the table. I had been on a lot of drugs for a very long time, so it didn’t totally register at the time. A few days later when I opened my fridge and saw only one cider there it hit me.

I told Chris about my secret superstitious ciders and he asked me if I was upset that one was gone. I wasn’t. Who was I kidding that a cider would make me feel better? Nothing could make me feel better! My whole world had fallen apart and the last thing I wanted to do was drink something alcoholic to remind myself of everything I didn’t have. Alcohol was a reminder of everything I had given up for six months just for it to be taken away.

Four and a half months later, that one single pumpkin cider is still in my fridge. What would happen if I drank it? What would happen if I threw it out? Would the world be mad at me? Would I never get pregnant again? What if I need to do IVF? Would it affect my egg count? Will we get denied for adoption? Surrogacy?

Do I actually think my drinking habits have anything to do with any of those things? No. I don’t. When I’m in my most rational state of mind, I realize nothing has anything to do with anything. The world is random. I was unlucky. Every doctor says what happened was “so rare and unlikely.” They say there is no explanation. There was no known cause. Did saving those two ciders have anything to do with it? Absolutely not. Will drinking that single cider that’s still in the fridge affect any future events? Also no.

Recently, I think my superstitions/anxiety relating to other people and pregnancy has become worse. Last weekend, Chris’s friend had a baby shower. There were many reasons I didn’t feel I could go, but one (maybe abnormal) reason was fear. I was nervous that my presence alone would somehow trigger the universe’s wrath and make something bad happen to his friend. Two weekends ago, my best friend, who is pregnant again, was in town and I had the exact same feeling. I wanted to go see her, but I had to call in advance to warn her. I said, “if you think that my presence will in any way jinx you, please tell me and I promise I won’t be offended and I won’t come.” None of that makes sense. I am aware in my rational thoughts that my mere existence in a certain space will not set bad events into motion. But just in case, I wanted her blessing before I visited.

My favorite podcast recently did an episode about “manifestation.” Manifestation is the opposite side of the superstition coin. This has become such a huge buzzword recently. People believe we can just will things into being. But if I’ve learned anything, it’s that we cannot. It doesn’t matter how much you want something, sometimes the world is just unfair. Do people with food insecurity just not want food enough? I’m thinking no. Do people who are downsized and laid off from their companies just not want to be employed enough? No. Do people with fertility issues not want a baby enough? Definitely not.

After writing this whole post, I wish I could tell you I went directly to my fridge to throw out that cider but I didn’t. It’s still there. And guess what, it’s almost pumpkin season again but I probably won’t buy that cider again. It’s too loaded with sadness and guilt. And drinking it would feel like literally consuming and causing more of that sadness and guilt. I guess that’s superstition too.

I wish I could tell you that my superstitions will completely stop, but I know that isn’t true either. As I said to my therapist, whether or not they are healthy habits, having a miniscule sense of control over a world that is so out of my control can feel helpful. And if that means having expired pregnancy tests in the back of my bathroom drawer forever, then I’m ok with that.

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Grief and Pregnancy Loss

Welcome Back to Me, My Brain Is a Mess

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TW: Pregnancy Loss (some studies suggest trigger warnings aren’t helpful, but I personally find them helpful, so I’ll be trying to remember to use them)

Hi everyone! It’s been 8 months and 2 days. I used to apologize for “long” absences without posts, but I never could have predicted an absence as long as this.

I’m still here, but a lot has changed. Or nothing has. Most importantly, three things:

  1. I was 25 weeks pregnant.
  2. I am not pregnant anymore.
  3. I do not have a living baby.

I haven’t posted on this blog because back in November, December, January, and February, being pregnant was the biggest thing in my life, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to post about it. Then in March, we lost our daughter, and I certainly wasn’t sure if I wanted to post about that. I am still not sure. And I will not be sharing the story here now. So if you’re here because you want to rubberneck a disaster, I invite you to text me because I am, in fact, a hot mess. But if you’re here now on the blog because you want to read about my hospitalization and the downfall of my hopes and dreams, you won’t find it here.

That’s another reason I haven’t posted. Because if I’m completely honest, my life is not fun right now. I started this blog to document my life though, and this is my life. That is just honest. So, I decided two things:

  1. This blog is about me, and I can write whatever the heck I want.
  2. If you don’t want to see it, you don’t have to read it.

You may be wondering, if I’m not telling the story of the loss, what will I even say? Well, I have a lot of thoughts. I should warn you in advance, these thoughts are not well-planned or logical in their order. That’s because my brain is currently not well-planned or logical in any order. I feel like one of the “secondary losses” that people don’t talk about much is the loss of orderly thoughts. I used to be a big planner. Type A. Set schedule. I had a weekly reminder in my calendar to send out my blog newsletter. As a great example, I STILL have a weekly reminder to send out my blog newsletter. It went off yesterday. It goes off every week and every week I ignore it. But I haven’t deleted it! Everything in my brain now is in shambles and I just wake up every day like an adventure. Who knows what will happen or when or why or how? I certainly didn’t expect or plan for THIS to happen, so why expect or plan for anything? If you were wondering if this makes work and my professional life complicated, it does. Keeping track of tasks is a lot more complicated than it used to be and I need lots of technological aids.

Anyway, as you can see from that previous paragraph, expect some rambling. It’s a struggle. If you’re surprised that I decided to come back to the blog even though I can’t form cohesive thoughts, I’m surprised, too. But last night I had this strong urge to write about something and I couldn’t quiet it. I started the blog because I loved to write, and that is still true. I’ve been writing this whole time in a never-to-be-published blog and in a journal. But there’s something different about putting thoughts into the world for people to see. The possibility of having someone else read my craziest thoughts and relating to it gives me hope and purpose.

Personally, throughout the past few months, I have so appreciated the podcasts and Instagram accounts and Facebook groups of people dealing the same struggles as me. It’s terrifying to see how common it is, but it’s also extremely heartwarming to know I’m not alone. Sometimes I don’t want to see them and I put things on mute, but sometimes they are the only things that make this feel bearable. If a community holds a loss together, they collectively can carry more. Those are two more of the reasons I decided to come back to the blog: to find community and to bring people into my new (and often depressing) reality.

More coming soon.

♥ ,

Emily

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