Life After the Rainbow

We had seven losses before our beautiful rainbow was born.  She lights up our lives in ways we didn't know we needed.  We have two beautiful daughters, and they are both such incredible miracles.

However, it isn't all sunshine.  In some ways having our miracle baby makes the pain of losses easier and in other ways having her here makes it all so much harder.  The pain isn't gone.  Having a baby after loss doesn't mean the pain didn't happen.  You can be happy and joyous, yet sad at the same time, and that is completely okay!!

Milestones she reaches are bittersweet.  I love how fast she learns things and how smart she is, but seeing her reminds me I didn't get that with our other children.  It doesn't make the joy at seeing her learn any less, but sometimes it means that it takes time for me to truly feel the joy that used to be so easy when our oldest daughter did these same things.

One thing I have learned through all of this was I needed to forgive myself and let myself have the space and time needed to feel the grief and joy that sometimes feels never ending.  It doesn't mean that I take her for granted, it doesn't mean that I am not so very happy she is alive and thriving, it just means that I am being the best mother I can be, to all my children.

You need to allow yourself to feel all you need.  Pregnancy after so many losses was exhausting.  I was constantly terrified I would wake up one morning and it would all be over, just like the others.  I couldn't let my guard down.  I was terrified to love the baby growing inside me.  I struggled with depression and anxiety, and amplified by hormones I was a mess.

Preparing for a freebirth made me work through the fears I had, which was one of the hardest things I've ever done.  The actual birth was the most powerful I have ever felt, but that simple act wasn't enough to take away all the fear.

As it nears my rainbow's first birthday, I think of all we went through to get her here, and all that I still struggle with.  The upcoming holiday season also makes it all the more apparent.

I'm slowly relaxing and some anxiety is lifting, but I still have a hard time leaving her or her sister with anyone I'm not very very close to.  I still have flashes in my mind of something happening her.

Once you lose a baby, the innocence you had before is gone.  And if you struggled with it before losing a child, it becomes amplified.

During this holiday season and always, please know there are so many places to find support.  Websites such as Unspoken Grief and Stillbirthday, twitter, facebook, in person support groups.  Such a wide variety of support and understanding, so please reach out.  And I am always available, so please send an email (connectedmom.kayce@gmail.com) if you would like information on anything, or even just to talk. 

Just because you've received your miracle doesn't mean your grief stops.  Feel what you need to feel, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise!

What To Do When Someone You Know Has A Late Term Pregnancy Loss

Over the past few months I have been asked this question personally, as well as seen the topic a number of times on online chat groups.  Since my loss at four months just this past December, I have a new perspective on this and thought I'd share, since it seems to be a bewildering topic that is best answered by someone who has been through it.  I'm fully aware that my situation could've been far worse and my loss could've taken place even later, but this was my 6th miscarriage, and getting four months into the pregnancy only to have it very unexpectedly end was, and still is, indescribably painful.

The easiest, most general advice I can give to anyone who may know somebody who has had the great misfortune to lose their baby late in the pregnancy is to treat that loss like you would any death in the family.  Miscarriages are still so taboo in our society, and people just don't respond the same way.  People don't generally flood your doorstep with food and flowers, the way they may do so if you lost a child they had a chance to know.  While I will admit that there is most certainly a difference, as I cannot even fathom the devastation I would experience if something happened to my 2 year old daughter now, and I realize it would be far greater than anything I recently experienced, I still believe that right out of the gate, I think the feelings are pretty comparable.  I felt equally incapacitated with grief and unable to function. 

Furthermore, women who lose a child that far along (or at any stage, really) are not just dealing with mourning a loss, they must confront the physical aftermath as well.  I had gone in for a routine appointment, expecting to be in and out with no suspicion that anything at all was wrong, and minutes later my entire world was turned upside down when there was no heartbeat.  I was presented with the option to either induce labor within the next day or two and birth my baby, being warned that I'd be on a maternity ward and that it may take days, or I could schedule a D&E.  I did not think I had it in me emotionally to handle the labor, so I went with option B.  Unfortunately, since I was so far along nobody would touch me, including my OB GYN.  I had to juggle phone calls between my doctor, my insurance company and several specialists, trying to get in for the procedure as soon as possible.  In the end, I had to walk around with my dead baby rattling around inside of me for an entire week.

One week to cling to the already large belly that I had.  One week to try to explain to my two year old that there was no longer a reason to kiss and hug my belly and tell it she loved it everyday.  One week to hang on to the last physical evidence I'd ever have that this child existed.  One week to begin the grieving process, and then have to start all over again once the baby and my belly were finally gone.  I felt movement very early, and could still feel it for that week, except unlike before, it was only when I made sudden movements to make it move.  I spent that week going back and forth from thinking maybe everyone was mistaken and it was still alive since I could feel it, to running to the bathroom because I felt like I was starting to bleed. 

Throughout it all, I still had a child to feed and a home to manage, but people just don't reach out in the same way as they do when other family members pass.  It was the few that did that made me realize how important it was, and prompted me to write this post.  Several sent beautiful flowers and gifts, and women I've never personally met from an online forum I belong to even got together and made a magnificent gesture of sending angel wings ornaments (this was Christmas time) and cards.  One kind friend took our daughter off our hands for the afternoon, just so my husband and I could be together and mourn.  And my mother brought us groceries, which was just huge.  Grocery trips are rather difficult (they still can be months later), because the stores are often filled with babies and newborns.  There is no way I would've gotten through a grocery trip that first week, and my husband was too busy back at work so he could afford to take off when I physically needed him after the D&E, plus he was taking care of my daughter and trying to keep up with all of the things I was too devastated to do - all while dealing with his own grief.  Then of course the D&E led to some issues afterwards, and it was quite some time before I could physically put everything behind me. 

So that is why my advice is to treat it like any death in the family.  Cook for them, clean for them, whatever they are comfortable with allowing you to do, but whatever can be done to make their lives easier, especially if they already have other children, is in my opinion, the best way to help.  I know the devastation would be far more insurmountable if my child had made it to this world and I got to know it first, but that didn't make it any easier at first.  I find myself never saying the word "miscarriage."  Since my other 5 losses were very early, before we even heard the heartbeat, to me they will always be miscarriages.  What I find myself saying instead is "when my baby died."  Because that's what happened - I had a baby and it died.  If I had a 10 year old child die there would be no euphemism to say in its place, I'd simply refer to that time as when my son/daughter died.  I don't do it consciously, but realized it recently.  So if you ever have the great sadness of knowing someone who has experienced this, treat it like their BABY died.  Not just an unspoken "miscarriage."  There was a baby, and they never got to know it.  I will forever wonder what my child would've looked like.  Whether or not they would've looked just like my daughter, very different, or somewhere in between.  I will never be able to know that child, but I will never forget. 

This brings me to my final piece of advice, which is to check in on that person.  Months down the road when everyone else's lives have moved on and everyone has forgotten...they will not have forgotten, and for them the pain is still very real.

Giving Thanks and Never Giving Up

I wrote the following post just over 2 weeks ago, the night before finding out my baby was dead at 16 weeks.  In an ironic twist of fate, I had been up all night passionately writing, all about our infertility journey and how excited we were about our pregnancy.  We never dreamed we’d be able to have our first daughter, much less a second child, and I wanted to inspire hope for those who thought even one child may be unattainable.  I wasn’t going to publish what I’d written, because of the obvious devastation.  But a friend pointed out that perhaps I was writing this for my future self.  Maybe I need to heed the very advice I set out to convey to others about perseverance and never giving up on your dreams.  When I wrote it, I hadn’t the slightest idea that 3 hours later I’d wake up, go to a routine OBGYN appointment and receive the news that there was no heartbeat at 16 weeks.  No clue that I’d lay on that table while they double checked with an ultrasound, weeping and wailing once it was confirmed.  That everything we’d planned for was gone, and our whole world would be turned upside down in an instant.  So I decided to post what I’d written – for you and for me…

My second child is due this May.  It will be nearly 4 years to the day since I heard the doctor utter the one word I never thought I’d hear at 33 years old….hysterectomy.  I went into that appointment with such high hopes, thinking I’d finally found a specialist who would help me fix everything.  Needless to say, I was completely blind-sided by the recommendation.  Friends and family encouraged me, and even my husband felt that my quality of life was more important, and perhaps it was time to give up on having a baby.  I considered it…and came pretty close to going through with it.

My story is not a short and sweet one, nor is it an easy read.  But my hope is that for those of you who are going through it, I can provide a little bit of hope and exemplify just how important it is to keep yourself educated, have the courage to persevere even when everything seems stacked against you, and most importantly - never simply trust the word of a doctor because they say so.  For those of you who have not gone through it, or may know someone going through it, I sincerely hope you will take the time to read my story, so that you may have a better understanding of something that is so painful, and such a taboo topic of discussion.  It’s easy to just rattle off a list of treatments and surgeries, but there is so much more to it than that.  So much more physical and emotional pain with every cycle - so much heartbreak.  Infertility has to be one of the most isolating difficulties a couple can face.  It is such a unique sadness that at times it can feel like even friends and family just never seem to know how to comfort you unless they’ve been through it themselves.  And when it comes to acquaintances, somehow people can muster far more sympathy and even empathy for illness, but mention the word “ovary,” and most get flustered and seem confused as to why you would even say such a thing. 

Above and beyond the feelings of isolation, the daily physical pain and complications that came with my afflictions and nearly every treatment I sought, the greatest challenge by far was finding knowledgeable doctors, and continually educating myself.  I have had two different doctors tell me at two different post-op appointments that they had “no idea what that was” growing inside of me.  Unfortunately, these statements were regarding two completely different things.  To this day, I’m appalled by the fact that I had to contact a friend at the U Penn library to access medical journals so I could research these things myself.  I just couldn’t believe that a doctor would simply show up after looking inside my body during a surgery and basically say, “Yeah, um…there’s something growing in there…I got nothin’ – no clue what that is…have a nice day.”  One removed what he found (a web of scar tissue filling the inside of my entire uterus) in what turned out to be the worst method possible, and the other simply left what he found, because as of my final surgery, these other mystery growths are completely covering all of my organs in my entire pelvic region, and couldn’t be removed without scraping and damaging everything.  

It can be a little unsettling to hear that foreign things are growing all over your organs, with only a pathology report to guide your way to interpret the findings.  I tracked down a man who wrote the one article I found on the subject, just to make sure this was not something that had the possibility of becoming malignant.  Why was that my responsibility as the patient?  I would think a doctor would be inclined to take on the challenge of figuring it out in the 14 days time to the post-op appointment, and would feel like a fool to simply admit incompetence.  Yet, time and time again they did.  And every time they stopped asking questions, I’d move on to another doctor.

In three years time, I went through six doctors.  I had 3 surgeries in the last year and a half of that time, all performed by different doctors.  The first two surgeries each unveiled a completely new problem, which explained why all previous fertility treatments were utterly futile.  The doctor who diagnosed my PCOS (polycystic ovarian syndrome) decided to simply send me home with prescriptions for 3 months worth of Clomid to make me ovulate, and Metformin for the PCOS, and told me to come back in 3 months if I wasn’t pregnant.  It was only through meeting other women on the Medhelp.org infertility forum that I discovered the standard protocols of treatment that my doctor was completely neglecting.  He refused to do ultrasound monitoring for residual ovarian cysts, even though it is quite common when stimulating polycystic ovaries for extra cysts to linger (hence the name - polycystic).  As a result, I was in the ER 3 times in my 7 months on Clomid for cyst ruptures.  Other things he overlooked were testing my husband’s sperm before putting me on all these drugs, checking that my tubes were open with an HSG (hysterosalpingogram), and most importantly, taking my progesterone levels each cycle to make sure the drugs were working and making me ovulate.  I had to kick and scream and force them to do all of these things, months into treatment.  Turns out the pills didn’t work several times, and by the end, I was on the maximum dose.  Needless to say, having to battle them to get the proper care, and ultimately not receiving it when it came to monitoring for cysts, only compounded the emotional stress and drain that came with each failed cycle. 

Despite my increasing cyclical pain, prescribing me 40 oxycodone for my monthly cramps, and once even hospitalizing me overnight when painkillers were not enough to control my cramps, this doctor refused to entertain the notion that endometriosis was a possibility.  I even had a family history of it.  The next doctor confirmed this diagnosis with my first surgery, and found the endometrial implants were pulling on my fallopian tubes.  When I asked if that could’ve been inhibiting the egg from successfully getting to my uterus to be fertilized during all those months on Clomid, she said, “Absolutely!”  She also discovered that the greater source of my pain was probably adenomyosis – a condition where the endometrial tissue grows within the muscular walls of the uterus.  And just as with endometriosis, where the implants scattered throughout the pelvis act as they would if they were inside the uterus – swelling with blood and then shedding it once a month in a foreign place, the same happens with the implants within the muscular wall in adenomyosis.  Because of this, it had really gotten to the point where there was very little time in my cycle when I was even remotely comfortable or pain free.  Every day I would wake up not knowing if I was going to be incapacitated in pain that day, or just have random stabbing pains where I could manage to function.  Unfortunately, unlike endometriosis, the implants cannot simply be removed, since they are in the muscular walls.  The only way to cure it is to remove the muscle all together – the uterus.

With this news came great frustration, but also comfort in knowing what I was facing, and the assumption that now that the endometriosis had been removed, I may at least have a shot at conceiving.  I simultaneously began seeing a reproductive endocrinologist that we had to pay out of pocket for.  So began the daily hormone injections in the belly, the IUI (intrauterine insemination) and IVF (invitro fertilization) cycles, and failure after failure.  Early miscarriages, complications like ovarian hyperstimulation syndrome, and after my egg retrieval for my first IVF, I was not exactly optimistic because I showed up for the embryo transfer doubled over in pain with a terrible fever and awful pelvic infection.  For those of you who may not be familiar with the egg retrieval process in IVF, a vaginal probe is inserted with a large needle on the end of it.  The needle goes through the vagina and all the way up into the tender, swollen ovaries that have been stimulated to produce sometimes dozens of follicles with eggs, and each follicle is stabbed with the needle to extract the egg.  Each time I had it done I had 18 eggs removed, many women can have more.  You then have 3 or 5 days to hurry up and heal, before growing embryos are implanted back into the uterus.

After two failed IUI’s and a failed IVF, 10 months had passed since the first surgery and the daily pain was intolerable again.  Since the first had provided some relief, I scheduled a second surgery with a new doctor, who I’d recently switched to after many other incidents of incompetence by my last one.  This time, he decided to take a look INSIDE my uterus, where he found a dense web of intrauterine adhesions (scar tissue filling my uterus).  Aside from hearing the final doctor recommend the hysterectomy a few months after this, the post-op appointment for this surgery was perhaps the other rock bottom moment of my infertility journey.  I was informed that he found this tissue and that he had never, ever seen anything like it before (but removed it anyway).  He repeatedly emphasized while shaking his head and almost grimacing that I had “Just a boggy, BOGGY uterus!” – a term used to describe the severity of adenomyosis and how flaccid the muscular tissue is because it’s composed of blood filled implants.  He also handed me my pathology report, which described the samples of tissue taken from my uterine wall as “necrosis,” or dead.  Then he wanted to do another ultrasound to check on things, but I had to wait while he went next door first.  I sat there, trying to hold it together with the knowledge that all those recent fertility treatments were again futile given my uterus had been filled with scar tissue the whole time, that I was now up against some other unknown factor that this dipshit hadn’t bothered to research, that I’d now be forced to move onto another doctor again, and that word – “necrosis” just lingered in my head and made me feel like my womb was dead inside and I had no chance of ever conceiving.  In the meantime, he went next door to give an ultrasound to a VERY pregnant woman I had seen in the waiting room.  Through paper thin walls, I got to hear them talking about the positioning, what that meant for the impending delivery, their excitement, their laughter…  It took everything I had to wait until I got to the curb where I waited for my husband to pick me up before I began sobbing uncontrollably.

The news of what I would later learn was called Asherman’s Syndrome led me to find someone who was actually listed on the websites for this extremely rare affliction as a specialist, and astoundingly, he happened to work in the same office as my reproductive endocrinologist.  Unfortunately, even though he was only an OB/GYN, since he was affiliated with a fertility clinic my insurance wouldn’t pay.  In the meantime, I rather foolishly attempted another IUI and another IVF, thinking since he had taken the scar tissue out, all systems were a go!  More early miscarriages…more failure. 

I did a little more research and heard of something called ovarian drilling as a treatment for PCOS.  I was bound and determined that all the other doctors were incapable of cleaning me up properly inside, and I would go see this specialist, ask him to do the job, and at the same time perform the ovarian drilling.  It’s a procedure that has less than a 50% chance of inducing ovulation, and even less getting pregnant, but at this point, I decided I was done with the fertility treatments.  I couldn’t take ANYMORE hormones or procedures that caused my ovaries to swell with pain.  The drilling had at least a small chance of getting me pregnant naturally.  However, we had no means of paying for it all.  So after three years of me being in and out of employment and on and off bed rest, all the while paying in part for fertility treatments, we ended up putting our first home, a house we poured our hearts and souls into fixing up, on the market.

I marched into this specialist’s office with such enthusiasm that I’d found my savior.  I told him my story, and again, by this time another 8 months had passed since my second surgery, and the intolerable daily pain was back.  I told him I wanted the ovarian drilling, and if he could clean up any remaining scar tissue in my uterus (properly) as well as any endometrial implants I thought I had a shot.  He stopped me dead in my tracks.  He refused to do the drilling on the grounds that he was concerned about creating more scar tissue on my ovaries and causing more pain.  He told me it was time to consider giving up, and in his best judgment I should probably just get a hysterectomy. 

Like I said, I considered it, and quite seriously.  I was enduring a lot of pain at the time.  But after attending NYU, Drexel University, SUNY Cortland and Cornell for three different majors, the only thing I was ever sure of in my life was that I wanted to be a mom.  And not just be a mom, but HAVE a baby – hopefully several.  It was the only thing I’ve ever felt in my heart that I knew I wanted to do and be.  I couldn’t give up.  I also knew deep down that if I gave up then, that I would hold such deep resentment for the rest of my life for those incompetent idiots that had failed in my care all of those years.  And not just the ones for the 3 years prior, but all those doctors who never recognized the signs of my PCOS and endometriosis all along, and never treated me until my PCOS had progressed to the point where I gained 60 pounds in two years regardless of changing my diet and exercising, and my endometriosis was getting me hospitalized for menstrual cramps.  I had to at least try one last time with someone who I felt confident in, so that if it didn’t work after that I could be more at peace.

I went back into his office teary-eyed, and literally begged and pleaded.  I told him that “no” was not an option.  He very reluctantly agreed, and the surgery was scheduled just 2 weeks before we closed on our house and moved.  We paid for the surgery with what we made off of the sale of our home, and moved into my mother in law’s house.  Leaving our first home to move into someplace where another’s belongings occupied every nook and cranny was not easy. 

The surgery was a phenomenal success.  The first month immediately after, I ovulated completely naturally but did not get pregnant.  The second month, I got pregnant with our first daughter!  Of course, even that had a roller coaster start.  Initially some things were spotted on the ultrasound that were perceived as loose blood, and no heartbeat was detected by 7 weeks.  I was told to go home and wait to miscarry.  I remember very unsuccessfully attempting to work at the coffee shop where I was employed at the time, but being set into an emotional frenzy by every little cramp waiting for the bleeding to start.  They were convinced since my HCG levels were so high, there had to have been a heartbeat.  After a week of no bleeding, I returned to the doctor where there was not only a heartbeat, but the source of my astronomical HCG levels, as well as what was originally thought to be loose blood – 2 other gestational sacs!  We went from one to none to potentially THREE!  Fortunately the other two never got to the heartbeat stage, so there was no sense of loss.  Because of my PCOS I had not only ovulated, but done so 3 times all on my own.  So everything is always possible. 

Since having my daughter, my cycles have never been more regular, and more pain free.  In my entire life I never experienced anything like it – even as a 14 year old.  I continued to nurse because I felt that had to be contributing to the hormonal balance.  I got pregnant about 15 months after giving birth, but lost it in the first few weeks.  But we continued to try – month after month peeing on sticks, let down after let down.  I would cry when I would see friends post pictures of their adorable families, with my heart aching because I knew my daughter would make such an amazing big sister.  I felt the clock ticking away as I knew I couldn’t nurse my daughter forever, in what I perceive to be the driving factor in my hormone balance right now.  Finally, 26 months after giving birth I got pregnant again, 100% percent naturally.  After going through all of this, not only was it looking like we’d never have any children, but we never, ever dreamed we’d be able to have another.  

There are no words to describe the gratitude my husband and I feel in our hearts that we were successful in the end, and will now have the family we’ve always wanted.  Lucky?  Absolutely.  Some may say miraculous, and many say god had a hand in it all.  That’s your choice to believe, but since I don’t believe in god, miracles, etc... I can only affirm that had I not continued to search for answers, simply rolled over and refused to take control of my own treatment, not demanded to be properly cared for and refused to take “no” for an answer…I would be childless today.  We are ecstatic about our upcoming arrival in May.  Four years ago I never would’ve imagined we’d be where we are today – awaiting our second child.  It CAN happen.  There is always a chance that it will!

Thank you for taking the time to read my story.

Understanding and Support

For a lot of women that have been trying to get pregnant for more than two to three years, those that are barely trying or have been trying for a little more than a year look to them for guidance and support.  This is definitely a double edged sword.

We all remember what those first few months and that first year was like.  It was hard.  You are full of hope, you don't have the "infertile" or "subfertile" label, and most of the women trying will get pregnant before the year has passed.  Those that don't, enter an entirely different group, which is not one that needs more company, but has great support for the new families that join.

I've had some amazing ladies ask for my help during their journey, and I'm not going to lie, it hurts when they complain to me after they have been trying for six months to a year.  Yet they deserve support just as much as someone that has been trying for years and years with no baby at home.

One thing I have learned is that during this journey, if I feel uncomfortable with anything or I feel I am not the person to help them because our paths are so different, I owe it to myself to let them know.  What good does it do if I help, but each time they ask, a little bit more of me dies inside?

Going through this, watching woman after woman get pregnant and have their babies takes its toll on a person.  Many social media breaks are called for to stay away from the pregnancy and birth announcements, lots of support from someone that is going through something similar to you, and many tears are just a few ways that I have found to help.

Just because you are going through this doesn't mean you have to be happy about it.  You don't have to be happy when someone you helped or someone you know gets pregnant.  You don't have to be happy that someone has their baby.  You don't have to go to baby showers, or call them to see how they are doing.  There is no requirement for making you feel anything for anyone.  If you want to feel jealous, go ahead!  Same goes for sadness, anger, lots, and so much more.

This journey is hard enough without doing things you aren't comfortable doing.  So speak up!  You don't have to support everyone that asks for it, you don't have to listen to their tales of sadness and trying, and you don't have to keep trying if that isn't what you want to do.

This time is one where you will find out so much about what you are capable of doing, and even though I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy, I have found out more about myself than if I hadn't gone through loss and infertility.  We are still waiting for our rainbow baby (living baby born after loss), and I'm am okay with being sad or angry or jealous of others.  My feelings have no bearing on how I feel for them as friends, and they should understand that sometimes I won't be the happy and crazy person they know.

You need the support that you need, not what is thrust upon you.

Infertility by tiff_det

As the time gets near

you prayed it would disappear

please, just one time

a healthy baby that is mine

can't you give

a big fat positive

Make it a girl or boy

either one would bring me joy

could it be that I may

live without another cliche'

"it will happen when it does"

"why make such a big fuss"

Only the ones with infertility

understand what it's like to be me

is it my husband or me

the thought causes me to cry

with the one question...Why?

To see little fingers and toes

and a cute button nose

So many tears have been shed

lying at night in bed

wondering how it would be

to have a baby inside of me

Someone pregnant will walk by

I try so hard not to cry

Why her, Why not me?

I think of every possibility

For my Infertility

I try to keep hope

that's the only way I can cope

my heart continues to break

every negative causes it to ache

Maybe one day i will see

A precious baby staring back at me

Love it with all my heart 

and promise to never part

God i hope you guide me through this

For that is my only wish

I deserve the chance to be a mom

to sing my baby a song

Take a look at me

For I am the face of INFERTILITY!!

Project Halo USA

Those that have experienced loss in pregnancy, no matter how far along they were, can say that having something to remember their baby, or something beautiful to remember their baby wearing, helped, even if just a little bit.

I have lost six babies, and only one of them was big enough to bury and make items for.  He was almost 14 weeks, but my local hospital didn't have anything for babies born that little, and he was put on a gauze pad in the container they come in.  He looked so medical and impersonal.  I made him a blanket with his name which we kept, a blanket and angel sack to be buried in, just with those simple things, he felt more like a baby instead of an accident that just happened.

My other losses were before 6 weeks, so we had nothing to remember them by.  I got myself a necklace with all of their birth stones, and that really helped make them more real.

I started making items to donate to my local hospital for those precious babies that were born too soon but had nothing to wear or give their families.  I hadn't heard about organizations that do this, or anything other than a few of my friends doing it once or twice.  This was something I needed to do, even if just to feel like other women wouldn't have to see their precious babies in a gauze container.

A couple weeks ago, I found a page on facebook, even though the organization is based in Australia, that did what I was doing all the time.  Project Halo, an organization that receives items from amazing women to donate to babies that are born much too soon or don't make it through the pregnancy.  Their photo albums have beautiful items they have been given, and quite a few have the patterns so you can make them yourself to donate, give to this organization to donate, or to make if you go through a loss I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy.

I was organizing my own donation to my hospital (that I am still doing for October 15th International Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day), but I feel so blessed to be able to be a part of a new chapter for this organization.  Project Halo USA.  For right now, we can accept donations of items, whether you make them or send the yarn or fabric and we can make them, and then we organize the items into individual sets with at least a flannel/muslim wrap, one tiny blanket, and one beanie.

All of the administrators on each page are through volunteer only, so we don't charge and we don't get paid.  I know for me, being able to take donations and send them to hospitals that need items for these precious angels is payment enough.  No one should have to have nothing to remember their angel, even if they are born too soon to be buried like my early losses.

If you can help at all, please consider donating to this amazing cause.  No matter how much you can give, every little bit counts.  We are also looking for administrators and people that can collect and organize donations in every state in the US, and if you can help with that, please see the page for contact information.  We do have a few states already covered, whether you are interested in donating or administrating, and all of that information is in the discussion tab on the page.

No baby should be born without a little something special, and these precious angels are no different.

You're Still A Mom - EMAB Review and Giveaway!!

Mother's Day is fast approaching, and we at Connected Mom are making this year about those that don't appear to be mothers.  Those that have lost babies, whether by miscarriage, stillbirth, or anytime after birth.  There are so many types of loss that fall into this, and this is for all of you.  I hope this brings you a little comfort, and a little bit of love, knowing you aren't alone.

(If you haven't, please go read You're Still A Mom, it opens this post better than I could today).

Earth Mama Angel Baby has been so generous and has donated two items for us to review and of which to do a giveaway.

Having just suffered our fifth loss, this product could not have come at a better time.  Earth Mama Angel Baby is a certified organic company, meeting the needs of women through pregnancy, loss, family, and beyond.  Their products are 100% toxin free, cruelty free, and completely vegan.  Even their name just fits with this years emphasis on mothers of loss.

I was given both the Healing Heart Mist and the Harmony Tea.  Both smell like heaven, and regardless of whether you need a good cry or just a few minutes to feel like yourself, they are amazing.

 The Healing Heart Mist smells just wonderful.  Whenever I feel a little down, spraying some of this perks me right up.  I feel okay, even for just a few minutes.  The spray gives me enough time to clear my head, breathe, and relax.  When you have lost a child, life goes in second and minute increments.  It takes all your energy to go from one minute to the next.  Spraying the Healing Heart Mist when things are looking particularly gloomy helps me make it through.  It helps me remember that I need just a few seconds to focus on me, to make sure I'm okay.  It helps me remember that sometimes I do need to just think about myself, and that's okay.

The Healing Heart Mist is made with water, organic olive oil, organic lime essential oil, ginger essential oil, tangerine essential oil, organic orange essential oil, and ylang ylang flower oil.  It is the perfect blend to clam, relax, and help you feel okay, even for a few seconds.

The other product is the Organic Harmony Tea.  In this box, you get 16 tea bags, ready to go.  They just need hot water and about 5-10 minutes to steep.  Even if you aren't a tea person, this blend is specifically made to help you relax and feel better.  Spray a little of the Healing Heart mist, sit with a cup of this tea, and forget the world.  Breathe, cry, feel what you need to.  The Harmony Tea made me feel more relaxed than than I had been in a long time.  There truly is nothing like sitting with a hot cup of tea, and being allowed the time alone you need.

The Harmony Tea is made with organic cinnamon bark, organic lady's mantle leaf, organic red raspberry leaf, organic nettle leaf, organic lemon balm leaf, organic ginger root, and organic alfalfa.  Everything in this tea is made to help your mine and body heal after a loss.  The cinnamon and lemon add a very wonderful taste, and the other ingredients come together to make this tea not only unique, but one of the most perfect blends for healing the body.

After suffering a loss, one of the most important things to do is remember to take care of yourself.  After mine, I have a really hard time sleeping, a really hard time eating, and I just don't want to do anything.  These two products have helped me come back to myself, even just a little, which I desperately needed.

And always always remember, regardless of your loss and whether you have other children, you are still a mother to that baby.  Nothing can ever take that away from you.  And again, always remember that you are allowed to be selfish, to take care of yourself.  No one could ever understand the loss, the emptiness, even others that have been there.  Each loss is unique, something only you understand.  Take care of yourself, and know that even if others don't understand, we are all here to help.

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Earth Mama Angel Baby has also been generous enough to offer both the above products to a mother of loss in a giveaway.  This giveaway is specifically for mothers of loss, but if you know one and are willing to enter and give the item to them as a gift if they don't want to enter, that is okay.

To Enter:

     1. MANDATORY ENTRY: Please head over to Earth Mama Angel Baby's site, specifically THIS PAGE which is their baby loss items, and leave a comment letting us know which product you like, what you like about the site, or just something that hadn't known before.

     2.  There are FOUR extra entries that you can use to up your chances of winning:

• *Like* The Connected Mom on Facebook (If you are already a liker, you can still count this as an entry)
• *Like* Earth Mama Angel Baby on Facebook (If you are already a liker, you can still count this as an entry)
• Follow @theconnectedmom and @EarthMamaHQ on twitter and tweet (once a day!) "I entered to win Healing Heart Mist and Harmony tea from @theconnectedmom and @EarthMamaHQ! http://bit.ly/m8kOEv"
• Subscribe to The Connected Mom using Google Friend Connect (If you already follow, you can still use this as an entry)

     3.  The giveaway ends on May 10th at 11:59 pm.  The winner will be drawn at random and announced May 11th.  The winner will be posted here and contacted via email, so remember, please include your email address in the comment form.  If we do not hear back from the winner within 48 hours, a new winner will be chosen by another random draw.

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If any of you mothers need anything, please do not hesitate to email me at connectedmom.kayce@gmail.com.  You are not alone, even though most days it feels like it.

Earth Mama Angel Baby sent me a free sample to review, I received no other compensation for this post, and the views expressed are my own.

You're Still A Mom

As Mother's Day approaches, I have been thinking more and more about the babies I have that most people don't recognize.  I get flowers for my living daughter, but no one knows that in truth I have six babies.

When people recognize Mother's Day, they see what they want to see.  If a woman is pregnant and it is visible to all, she is a mother.  If a woman has children with her, she is a mother.

But, to me and many other women, the obvious mothers aren't the only ones that should be celebrated.

There are many mothers that need more love during this time than those with living children.  The mothers that have lost children, that appear childless, are still in fact mothers.  They deserve to be celebrated also.

Those of you that have lost children, whether through miscarriage, stillbirth, or neonatal loss, you are still in fact a mother.  No one can ever take that away from you.

Since my first loss three years ago, I have changed a lot as a person and changed what I believe about pregnancy.  I believe that regardless of gestation, a baby is a baby.  If you know you are pregnant but never really get that clear positive test, or you start bleeding within seconds of getting that test, you are a mother to that precious miracle.  If you carry that child to 8 weeks or 20 weeks or 44 weeks, you are still their mother.  If they tell you that your baby was "chemical" because you lost them before 5 weeks, you are still their mother.  If you hold your precious child in your arms or just see a few drops of blood, you are still a mother.

It hurts to be looked at with pity because you aren't getting flowers or presents, especially when people don't know or choose not to understand why your arms are empty.

You are a mother.

Just because your baby couldn't stay with you doesn't mean that you shouldn't be included.  Mother's Day was made to include and celebrate motherhood.  When we lived in smaller communities and had the support of a village, no woman was left out, even if her children weren't living.

You are a mother.  No one can take that away from you, and this Mother's Day, remember the precious baby you were given, and how you were chosen specifically for them.

Nothing can replace a mother's love, and this year, we honor you.

The Cord

We are connected,

My child and I, by

An invisible cord

Not seen by the eye.

It's not like the cord

That connects us 'til birth

This cord can't been seen

By any on Earth.

This cord does it's work

Right from the start.

It binds us together

Attached to my heart.

I know that it's there

Though no one can see

The invisible cord

From my child to me.

The strength of this cord

Is hard to describe.

It can't be destroyed

It can't be denied.

It's stronger than any cord

Man could create

It withstands the test

Can hold any weight.

And though you are gone,

Though you're not here with me,

The cord is still there

But no one can see.

It pulls at my heart

I am bruised...I am sore,

But this cord is my lifeline

As never before.

I am thankful that God

Connects us this way

A mother and child

Death can't take it away!

Author Unknown

*Check back tomorrow for a giveaway for you mothers of angels and precious blessings that left this Earth too soon*

Guest Post: What Makes A Mother?

 The Connected Mom is always eager to open our space up for readers to share their own personal stories and experiences. Today we have a guest post by Meegs who was kind enough to share a piece she wrote while pregnant with her daughter, Gwen, on her thoughts and feelings regarding a previous pregnancy loss. 
 
Please read this guest post, comment to show your support and share it with friends and family. Pregnancy loss is a tragic experience that effects many families yet the subject is not often discussed and families so often suffer their grief in relative silence. Thank you so much for sharing this with us, Meegs. 

If you or someone you know is looking for further support, please visit Unspoken Grief a supportive community for those dealing with miscarriage, stillbirth and neonatal loss.

 

Today was my original due date.
It is also just over six months since we found out we lost our little one.

A girl I know from online was due just after me... and she has her baby.
I stare at this beautiful baby girl and think to myself what a miracle it is -- how a human is made from two cells in nine months. So many things have to go right. So many things can go wrong. Biology is amazing. And for some reason, biology pulled through for them but not for us. True fact -- it is what it is.

Its weird with this pregnancy now... when people ask if its our first. Our first real live outside-the-womb baby? Yes, it will be. Our first pregnancy with a baby that we fell in love with already? No. But of course, we don't say that... though it feels like a betrayal to not mention the baby that was, that might have been.

We wouldn't have our little Gummy Baby without our angel baby. And that is the sweetest gift we could ever receive, at the most painful price we could have ever imagined. If that baby had never been, then chances are the timing wouldn't have worked for this baby to be. And if that baby had not left us, then I wouldn't have this one swimming inside me right now. Its hard to grasp.

I couldn't be more grateful for our little Gummy Baby... but that doesn't mean I don't mourn for the one that might have been on this day. This most unfulfilled of days.

"What Makes a Mother"

By Jennifer Wasik

I thought of you and closed my eyes, And prayed to God today.
I asked what makes a Mother, And I know I heard him say:

A mother has a baby, This we know is true.
But, God, can you be a mother, When your baby's not with you?

Yes, you can He replied, With confidence in His voice.
I give many women babies, When they leave is not their choice.

Some I send for a lifetime, And others for a day.
And some I send to feel your womb, But there's no need to stay.

I just don't understand this God, I want my baby here.
He took a breath and cleared his throat, And then I saw a tear.

I wish that I could show you, What your child is doing today,
If you could see your child smile, With other children who say:

We go to earth and learn our lessons, Of love and life and fear.
My mommy loved me oh so much, I got to come straight here.

I feel so lucky to have a mom, Who had so much love for me.
I learned my lessons very quickly, My mommy set me free.

I miss my mommy oh so much, But I visit her each day.
When she goes to sleep, On her pillow's where I lay.

I stroke her hair and kiss her cheek, And whisper in her ear.
"Mommy don't be sad today, I'm your baby and I'm here."

So you see my dear sweet one, Your children are Ok.
Your babies are here in My home, They'll be at heavens gate for you.

So now you see what makes a mother. It's the feeling in your heart.
It's the love you had so much of, Right from the very start.

Though some on earth may not realize you are a mother, until their time is done.
They'll be up here with me one day, And you'll know that you're the best one!

Meegs is a breastfeeding, baby wearing, sometimes bed sharing mama... and a hippie at heart. She loves spending her free time with her husband Travis, their one year old, Gwen, and their crazy puppy, Daisy. An easy-going girl that loves tattoos, food (especially sushi) and the outdoors, Meegs calls A New Day her online home.

Keeping Faith

Remembering those not with us on Oct. 15

Faith [feyth]
–noun
belief that is not based on proof






On Friday I lit a candle for the babies I never held in this life.  I think about them less these days, I am ashamed to admit, and whether that is the result of time passing or actually healing I'm not sure.  It felt nice to stop and remind myself what an impact they've had on my life.  Not all the things that came with those losses are sad.  I've made friends through loss, I've connected with women around the world, and I've been taught the fine art of compassion, and while those are all good things, these benefits are tinged with grief.  And while in so many ways I've moved forward, the scars of my miscarriages linger and ache in unexpected ways.


And now I sit writing this with a beautiful, healthy little girl on my lap and I feel very blessed.  Not because I deserved her.  Not because finally the timing was right.  Mostly just because she's here and that's all that matters, and a little bit because after multiple losses over a 14 month period, I still tried.


I won't lie to you.  There are many areas of my life where I've given up and walked away.  Bits of novels, craft projects, half-decorated rooms, graduate school.  I'm not proud of this, but I won't ignore the obvious.  I might not be a quitter, but I sometimes fall short in the faith department.  I lose faith that my novel is anything worth reading or that I'll ever get into better shape or that I can do laundry and still feel inspired.  I've never considered myself a Doubting Thomas, but I guess  we all are to a point.  So much of are lives are filled with what-if's instead of remember when's.


I'd given up the month we conceived our daughter, but only in the psychotic control freak way that is my form of trying to conceive.  No thermometers, no charts, no planned intercourse.  I had not given up faith though.  I still believed we would have another child even though there was no proof.  In fact, there was only proof against us having another.  I just believed and whether that was out of genuine optimism or a need to confront this nameless death in our life, I'm not sure.




In the end, I think faith is about more than proof or belief or hope - it's about having something worth fighting for.  We can't expect to keep faith in all our pursuits, we all have things that are worth all we have, and this child, nursing at my breast, was worth all the fight.