Going Back to Work

I have been back at work now for a little more than a week, after taking 6 weeks of leave for Eleanor.

Pros:

A good source of distraction
A reminder that the world is bigger than just me and my grief
Seeing people I genuinely care about again

Cons:

People don't ask about Eleanor
The day keeps going, regardless of my mood
Much of the time, I just don't care about the work anymore

Observation:  I am surprised by how normal I am able to act.  Interacting with people in much the same way I did before.  Things are dumb and funny.  Exciting and infuriating.  Gossip swirls.  Newscasts are created. Tempers flare. And I can operate in it.  Even enjoy many moments in the day.  Spend hours at a time not crying or sinking into my own thoughts or despair.

I cry the whole way home some days.  Then I go to work the next day.  While I can't say my enthusiasm for the job has returned in any real way, my ability to do the work is back.  So that's good, right?

The Crushing Disappointment of the Sameness

The problem with losing my first born child is that everything has reverted back to much the same as it was before I got pregnant.  It was months of preparing to enter a brand new chapter of life.  Parenthood was guaranteed to be completely different from not being responsible for another initially tiny and helpless human.

But instead things are the same.  Except worse because it's all wrong.  We're not supposed to be able to pick up and go out to eat, make plans with friends or go get a drink without careful pre-planning.  We're not supposed to be able to go to bed when we want to, get up with not quite enough time to get ourselves ready for work, opting for more sleep and accepting this means looking sort of crappy at work.

So for me, every small self-centered indulgence feels like an extremely inadequate consolation prize for what I really want and can't have.

This Just In

I went back to work today.   As I predicted everyone was very nice and mostly kept their distance.  Many noted my return with a friendly welcome back comment and absolutely no one mentioned the loss of E specifically.

I think the nature of my loss naturally keeps people from asking too much about it.  It's use too much.  Any question that you could ask is way too personal and intrusive to be tempting.

The news station was comfortably and frustratingly the same as I left it.   Reporters half heartedly complained about having to cover the severe weather that was brewing for the area and made jokes at each other's expense.  Photographers arrived a little late, crazy people called the newsroom.  A good reminder that the world keeps spinning and I have to find my new place in it.

One More (Less) Thing

I went to visit Eleanor's site on Friday only to discover the potted flowers and pinwheels I had put out days before had been removed.  I went to the office where they told me I wasn't allowed to put anything out on the grounds until her permanent headstone was in place, and even then would only be allowed to place flowers inside the stone's vase.

Normally, they don't let extra arrangements stay out on the sites after one week following the services but I guess they had been making an exception for Eleanor because of our situation.  I am thankful for that kindness but it just felt like such a blow.

I had two very dear friends with me when I was handed this fresh hell.  I was embarrassed and grateful they were there as I fell apart, sobbing and screaming in the car outside the cemetery's office.

I had been regularly leaving fresh cut flowers, visiting every couple of days, making it pretty.  It meant so much to me to do this one thing "for" her.  One many painful things about losing E was never being able to care for her, do anything for her. Now it feels like this is just one more thing that has been taken from me.  One more thing I can't do.  One more way I am reminded that I was not able to take care of her.

Pinwheels and Snapdragons

"It looked really nice.  The picture made me happy-sad."

This was my mother's response when I sent her a picture of what I did out at Eleanor's site today.  And it pretty much sums up how I feel after doing anything nice to remember or honor E.  When you lose a baby you are left with so little - so few tasks.  While others spend the 6th week of motherhood sleep deprived, washing bottles, bibs and blankets - I cling to the few "duties" I can take on for my precious daughter.  So I take her fresh flowers, spend time in her room and write these entries.

And I hate it.  Because it feels like such a charade. So unfair.

Just as I am starting to feel comforted by these little rituals, happy with what I have done her for - I inevitably get smacked in the face with a child in a stroller, a children's book display or some other item that brings it all back into sharp focus.  And then I am sad again.

Sad that burns in my throat and aches in my empty arms.  Sad that crushes me under the weight of its horrifying permanence.

Tiny Pinpricks of Comfort

I visit Eleanor's site every couple of days.  Thanks to the mild temperatures, I have been able to keep fresh flowers out there.

When I went yesterday, there was a small bouquet placed near her marker.  It really meant so much to me that someone came to visit her.

Painful Reminders and Closure

Today was my post partum visit with my doctor.  For some reason I did not realize it was going to be as hard as it was.  I was okay through the blood pressure and temperature taking, talking to the nurse about the weather.  I even made a half-joke about being dressed nicely for the day noting that I was making an effort to "fake it, 'til I make it."  (As a side note: her comment about my appearance made me sure of what I already suspected - that the last time she saw me, only two weeks out from losing Eleanor, that I looked like a total zombie mess.)

But when she asked me to undress so the doctor could check the episiotomy site and make sure my cervix was closed - I lost it.  It just hit me like a bullet.

Now, let me say that my rational mind knows that I am not pregnant.  I know that I delivered and lost my sweet E.  But as I have said before, it all happened so quickly, turning from celebration to tragedy in a blink, that I remain very much in shock.  I often tell Dan it feels like we are still waiting for her to arrive.

So while I waited for the doctor, I grieved.  That this visit really meant it was over.  That I was not waiting for her to arrive but coping with the loss of her.  That in a few minutes, I would have to endure an examination that over the last few months had been associated only with good news - the progress of the pregnancy, the excitement as we neared the due date.

To be honest I think I was suffering from post traumatic stress at the thought of, this time, this examination would be further proof of the finality of what had happened.  My body had returned to non-pregnant condition and I had no baby girl to acknowledge it had ever happened.  It felt so barren and, as always, so painfully lonely.

But my doctor is wonderful and saw I was a woman on the edge.  So rather than coming in a quickly preforming an office visit that should have taken 5 minutes, she sat and talked with me.  How was I feeling? Physically? Mentally? Emotionally?  She gave me an update on their progress of trying to get answers about what happened to E.  Options for how to approach another pregnancy. Only after I was calmed down did she do what she had to.

And I got through it.  Just like with all new things I have to do as I carve out what my new normal looks like.

One Month

Eleanor would have been one month old today.  I cannot believe it has been a whole month but at the same time, my old self feels very far away.  I can hardly remember how it feels to not feel sad and when I think of happy memories, they feel so poignant.  I look back at the old versions of me and can't help but think, "That girl never saw this coming."  Irreverent is gone.  Content is gone.  But I hope one day they will be back.

I went to her site today and the flowers we left yesterday looked fresh and happy.  The weather was beautiful so I sat down for a while.  Eleanor is not at Fairview Memorial Gardens.  I know that.  But it's a really nice, peaceful place to remember and reach out to her.  I talked to her, noting the day.  I said I thought if she had stayed, we probably would have spent some time outside together today.  Told her I figured by now she would be a little bigger already, maybe out of some of her tiniest clothes and up a size in diapers.  That so many friends and relatives would have wanted to see pictures of her progress, so I would have had to put her in a really good outfit.  Today would have marked the halfway point of my maternity leave - something else I pointed out.

To the outside world I am sure I looked nuts - I was sitting there talking to myself after all.  But talking out loud felt better than just thinking the thoughts racing in my head.  It gave them a pace and rhythm, rather than the flood of jumbled mess that happens when I am silent.

I have never been someone who talked out loud to myself but I firmly intend to do it again.  Only time will tell if this is something I will do to help heal - or if this is the beginning of the mental break I have felt on the verge of since this happened.
We'll see...

Before I got up, I apologized to her.  I have done this before and I am not sure what I am sorry for.  Sorry she can't be here.  Sorry her earthly life amounted to 14 minutes of a fated fight to live. Sorry to my family and friends who'll never know her.  Sorry to Dan that this was to be his future when he married me. Sorry for myself.

I also told her she was a good girl.  Dan said this same thing to her at the funeral.  "You're a very good girl" he said over and over again.  I really liked that.  I like to think it would have been something he would have repeated to her through her life as she grew.  Maybe it would become something of a catchphrase around our house.  Maybe she would jokingly throw the words back at him when in trouble for something, pointing out to him that she was, in fact, a very good girl.

But instead we will have to settle for our eternally perfect girl who just wasn't made for this earth.

The Day Before She Arrived

The last Saturday of my old life was a really good one.  My due date was the very next day, February 5th, and I was scheduled to induce the following Wednesday.  I had little progress at my last two doctors appointments and it was beginning to look like Eleanor wasn't going to arrive on her own.

But I was too excited to wait.  I had made up my mind I was going to have her on her due date.  My parents had come to Fayetteville for the day on Saturday and tagged along as I finished up some errands including grocery shopping to get the cabinets stocked.  I had decided that morning that I had not planned adequate headwear for E so I picked up some tiny hats - this was a February baby after all, what was I thinking?!

In an effort to get things going, we ate a spicy pizza for lunch and I went on a walk that afternoon.  I text messaged Dan, who was volunteering at a high school track meet: "Went for a brisk walk. Still no baby." To which he responded "Oh jeez."

My parents headed home and I assured them Murphy's Law was on our side.  Since they had just been up that day and were now leaving - we could only assume as soon as they got home - I would go into labor and they would have to come right back.

One really great thing about being pregnant is you're totally allowed to stay home all the time and be super boring, under the guise that "I'm exhausted!, My legs/feet are so swollen!, I am concerned about being too far away from the refrigerator and television!"

So needless to say - plans for that night included feeding Dan the leftover pizza and watching TV.  We discussed watching a movie but deemed that "too much effort."

Around 10:30, I got up to use the bathroom (for the 20th time).  Then as I walked back tot the living room I though I wet my pants a little.  Or it was time!

"I think my water broke - or I peed my pants?" I said to Dan. A moment later it was very clear - It was time to go to the hospital.  We high-fived.  Because we are the dorkiest people.

As anyone who really loves me knows - I am always super prepared for everything so I threw my pre-packed bag in the car and we were off moments later.  

OR, closer to the truth - Dan and I scrambled around, changing out of jammmies, into clothes and throwing things into a bag.  I DID actually have Eleanor's things picked out and put aside and, thanks to a thoughtful gift from my sister-in-law, a bag full of any toiletries anyone could want.  I called my parents and confirmed that I was, in fact, right about Murphy's Law and come on back to Fayetteville.  They actually did have their overnight bag packed and ready to go.  First grand baby and all.

Because of the late hour, we had to check in through the emergency room.  By this time, my pants were soaked (sorry) and I was a little embarrassed.  As the lady in admitting brought the wheel chair to take me to labor and delivery, I looked at her square in the eye:

"Um, I have wet my pants completely - should I still sit down in the chair?"

"Thanks, but I think it will be OK."

We got to the birthing suite, Eleanor and I were given a once over by the nurse, everything looked good.  They sent the anesthesiologist in to give me my epidural which went off without a hitch (but the doctor who administered it was a bit of a grumpy-bear type and not particularly responsive to my nervous chatter during the process.  They stick a needle into your SPINE! As a first timer - some fear babble should be expected.

Even though by now it was near midnight I sent a text message out to some of my friends and my sisters:

"Baby time! Water broke this evening. Checked and waiting for her to arrive. :)"

My parents and youngest sister as well as my brother and his fiancee got there a short time later, we talked for a while but everyone decided it was better to get some sleep while we could.  The ruse said I was not dilating very fast and it would likely be hours before I began to push.

Everyone went to the hotel and Dan settled in on the tiny hard sofa that pulled out to a tiny hard bed.  So comfy!

I did not sleep, feeling very much like a kid on Christmas Eve.

I am Always Missing Her

I miss her all the time, everyday, every minute.  I can physically feel her absence.  Many, even most, hours of the day.  I can be up, walk around, get dressed, spend time with loved ones, and pose as a semi-normal human.  But instead of it just being natural, done without thought or planning like the un-grieving world, every moment not spent thinking of Eleanor, crying for her, wishing she was here and talking about her is 100 percent forced.

I do this for two reasons.  One: I fear that if I indulge these thoughts all the time I will actually go insane.  I can feel myself slipping away some moments, wanting to just lean into these dark thoughts.  So I make myself compartmentalize those most extreme feelings of sadness, letting them out only when I truly cannot hold them in a second longer.  And then I let them out.  And the process starts over again.

Two: The sad truth is, life goes on.  The days will keep coming.  And I will miss her want her and feel her empty place on the earth for the rest of my life.  So if I let myself drop out of the real world right now - what then?  When do I come back? How do I come back?  Could I?

So the old "fake it 'till you make it" adage comes to mind.  If I can make myself do the things that used to be real and ordinary in my former life - then maybe someday they can feel real and ordinary again.