In my own experience with infertility and loss, I have been buoyed up by the compassion of those around me who knew little more than the fact that I seemed "down." However, I have heard hurtful, insensitive words come from those who were privy to more intimate details.
I read a great post here about helping vs. hurtful hands. I have a very specific idea of who should read this, unfortunately I have no control over who actually will. And even if they do, they'll likely not understand it's meant for them. And if they do know I'm referring to them, they still won't acknowledge they have reason to read it. Nevertheless, I hope, whoever you are, this will help you to understand the necessity for genuine, caring concern and sensitivity when dealing with the feelings and healing of others.
If you know someone who has experienced miscarriage or loss of any kind, you must be sensitive to their needs. Don't know how? Here are a few things I've found helpful:
Independence --Let your loved one dictate the terms of their own grief process, including the type of support they receive and the amount of details they share and its duration. Remember loss is experienced differently by all. No one person can or should decide for others how long it will take or how it should be expressed. Because your grief is best eased by surrounding yourself with family who know exactly what you've experienced, does not make it so for everyone. All loss is personal, miscarriage and pregnancy loss is especially personal and so too are the emotions which accompany such a loss.
Prayer --One of the best and most supportive ways to love your friend or family member through this trying time, is through prayer. Your loved one may be reluctant to confide the intimate and painful details, but our Heavenly Father knows each one of their needs, often better than even they can know. Who better to petition for assistance than one who has descended below all things, who suffered and understands their physical and emotional stings so perfectly? Oft times as I pray a friend or loved one enters my thoughts and I will ask that our Heavenly Father will bless them and help them with whatever needs they might have. I am confident that His omniscience is sufficient to know them just as certainly as I know He knows me.
Time --Many times all that is needed, that you can give, is time. In my own experience I've found this to be the most difficult for some. Grief is messy and uncomfortable, someone else's pain can at times seem burdensome and unbearable. No matter how long it lasts, you should try to be understanding. I was lucky enough to have a neighbor tell me when I was pregnant that having a baby minimizes but does not take the pain completely away. Some have said to me "You have a baby now, isn't it time to get over that already?" I'm not! I spent the anniversary of my most recent miscarriage laying in bed snuggling my sweet 1 month old baby and sobbing. Those emotions may have been compounded by the fact that I couldn't ignore it and let it quietly pass me by as I'd intended. Instead we received a message early that morning that our friend would be going to the hospital to have her baby. I'm grateful for my sweet husband who held me and cared for that sweet baby in moments when I was too paralyzed by my own grief. I'm getting there, and I'll make it... but on my own terms.
Be patient and love us through it.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Friday, January 14, 2011
Hand me down memories
I found these warm jammies in a box of 3-6 month hand me downs yesterday. It seems like only yesterday I snuggled a sweet Coco in my arms as he wore them. 
Then I blinked.
Last night Houston wore those same snuggly jammies to bed.
Tonight that tiny Coco will bound through Grandma's door as quickly as his 4 year old body can carry him.
Then I blinked. 
Last night Houston wore those same snuggly jammies to bed.
Tonight that tiny Coco will bound through Grandma's door as quickly as his 4 year old body can carry him.
Playing catch up with Houston
I'm attempting to make up for over 5 months worth of pictures in one post. It won't happen. But here are the first couple of weeks, and one to show the difference.
Miracle 1: Baby Houston was born May 05, 2010, Cinco de Mayo and Great-grandpa Fredrickson's birthday.
After nearly a decade and a half of being told by doctors, experts in their respective fields, telling me: "Your body won't be able to support a baby" or "You'll never have children," more than 2 years of trying (a hiccup compared to that of others' infertility experience, really) and the agonizing loss of 4 precious souls... I held proof in my arms that doctors don't know everything and miracles do happen.
Grandma Holland held him for the first time. Beautiful. Perfect. The phlebotemist pricked his tiny heel as she held him for a glucose level. It was supposed to be 40 at the lowest. Instead, 14. She rushed for the nurse, they rushed him out, I barely got to say goodbye.
Daddy followed them to the nursery and stayed with him all day. Daddy and Grandpa Holland gave him a blessing. They gave him glucose through an IV to try to get his sugar levels up. Houston kept forgetting to breathe on his own and with a decreasing temperature they contemplated incubation. At 7, when they typically kick parents out for shift change meeting, they decided to try one thing first. They brought him to my room. I held him for the second time in his short little life, skin on skin. After the fastest 30 minutes of my life, a nurse came to my room and took him back to the nursery. Miracle 2: He never stopped breathing again and his temperature went up and stayed up.
First in the left hand, then in the right, nurses were running out of places to put his IV. Friday, 3 days old: Heavenly decided (at my urging) to go to work for the day. After all, we were both well taken care of and stuck there. I'd call him if anything changed. I went to the nursery for the first morning feeding. His IV had leaked once again and they informed me they may need to put one in his precious little head. I turned to see a man in an Airmed flight suit and knew instantly my little one was in capable hands. Still, I was alone. Surrounded by hospital staff. But all alone. I glanced over my shoulder and saw the most beautiful sight, my mom. He turned him this way and that, trying to get a better angle with which to place the IV into his tiny vein. Houston wailed and cried. The flight nurse finished with the IV and secured it with tape. He picked him up, I thought to hand him to me; instead he held him to his chest, patted his back and kissed his tiny forehead, "Let Grandpa love you better," he said. I'm sure this was done more for his own benefit than for Houston's.
After 6 days in the intermediate nursery, the ankle monitor was off, we were going home. Three of us. Finally.
Home at last!! Babies are like kittens, it takes them a few weeks before their eyes really stay open.
He fit sideways in the basinette. Sideways! So tiny.
Here's the "newborn" onesie his Aunt Karen bought for him. As you can see it's a little loose. I miss those scrawny little legs. And check out that binky!!
He finally fit into it at 3 months. And just last Sunday, he wore it again. He's 8 months old now and squeazable, chubby legs have replaced those loose, elephant-skinned, scrawny ones.
This still leaves me 5 months behind. Be patient, I'll get there. Someday.
Miracle 1: Baby Houston was born May 05, 2010, Cinco de Mayo and Great-grandpa Fredrickson's birthday.
After nearly a decade and a half of being told by doctors, experts in their respective fields, telling me: "Your body won't be able to support a baby" or "You'll never have children," more than 2 years of trying (a hiccup compared to that of others' infertility experience, really) and the agonizing loss of 4 precious souls... I held proof in my arms that doctors don't know everything and miracles do happen.
Grandma Holland held him for the first time. Beautiful. Perfect. The phlebotemist pricked his tiny heel as she held him for a glucose level. It was supposed to be 40 at the lowest. Instead, 14. She rushed for the nurse, they rushed him out, I barely got to say goodbye.
Daddy followed them to the nursery and stayed with him all day. Daddy and Grandpa Holland gave him a blessing. They gave him glucose through an IV to try to get his sugar levels up. Houston kept forgetting to breathe on his own and with a decreasing temperature they contemplated incubation. At 7, when they typically kick parents out for shift change meeting, they decided to try one thing first. They brought him to my room. I held him for the second time in his short little life, skin on skin. After the fastest 30 minutes of my life, a nurse came to my room and took him back to the nursery. Miracle 2: He never stopped breathing again and his temperature went up and stayed up.
First in the left hand, then in the right, nurses were running out of places to put his IV. Friday, 3 days old: Heavenly decided (at my urging) to go to work for the day. After all, we were both well taken care of and stuck there. I'd call him if anything changed. I went to the nursery for the first morning feeding. His IV had leaked once again and they informed me they may need to put one in his precious little head. I turned to see a man in an Airmed flight suit and knew instantly my little one was in capable hands. Still, I was alone. Surrounded by hospital staff. But all alone. I glanced over my shoulder and saw the most beautiful sight, my mom. He turned him this way and that, trying to get a better angle with which to place the IV into his tiny vein. Houston wailed and cried. The flight nurse finished with the IV and secured it with tape. He picked him up, I thought to hand him to me; instead he held him to his chest, patted his back and kissed his tiny forehead, "Let Grandpa love you better," he said. I'm sure this was done more for his own benefit than for Houston's.
After 6 days in the intermediate nursery, the ankle monitor was off, we were going home. Three of us. Finally.
Home at last!! Babies are like kittens, it takes them a few weeks before their eyes really stay open.
He fit sideways in the basinette. Sideways! So tiny.
Here's the "newborn" onesie his Aunt Karen bought for him. As you can see it's a little loose. I miss those scrawny little legs. And check out that binky!!
He finally fit into it at 3 months. And just last Sunday, he wore it again. He's 8 months old now and squeazable, chubby legs have replaced those loose, elephant-skinned, scrawny ones.
This still leaves me 5 months behind. Be patient, I'll get there. Someday.
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