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I Had a Miscarriage This Weekend

12/12/2016

2 Comments

 
I had a miscarriage this weekend.  It seems like there is nothing to say about it, and a lot to say about it.  It seems like it’s something we’re not really supposed to talk about publicly, or put on Facebook and social media.  We share the joys of pregnancies with good outcomes, but hide the ones that don’t work out.  But it’s been my reality and feels strange to not acknowledge it in the same way that we’ve come to acknowledge most significant things in our lives these days.  

And because this is a weight not meant to be carried alone.  A weight made infinitely lighter by the people who knew and who surrounded us all with love, and who held us up.  To those people who shared similar (surprising) experiences with us, who sent texts and emails and messages from all over the country, who brought us dinner and took our baby girl away during the scary parts, we love you.  

Luckily, it was early.  But the month leading up to the loss was a rollercoaster.  We discovered that there were twins.  But maybe not.  Don’t count on it, one might go away.  Andy left for Boston for the week, and I wandered around in a stupor.  

We’d spent weeks wondering about what a life with twins would look like.  Andy was positively giddy at the prospect because he is a Tigger (which, frankly, is a much better way to go through life).  And I was desperately sad at the prospect.  It’s not a life I want for myself, or Alice, or our family.  I could not see through the struggle of newborn twins to anything good.

And then, for a brief time, there was only one.  

And then there were THREE.  Triplets.  Non-viable.  


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Let us all take a moment to just marvel at the fact that there were three.  The midwives said they’d never seen triplets conceived without the help of fertility treatments.  The chances of this happening are either one in eight thousand, or one in sixty thousand depending on your source.  Setting aside the risk factors of multiples of “advanced maternal age” and the fact that I am tall (WTF?!), this must make us some kind of fertility super heros.  

Three distinct, but empty, sacks on the ultrasound picture.  A wave of utter shock.  THREE.  A nurse with a terrible poker face about to deliver the very bad news.  A flood of utter sadness, and utter relief.  And then a series of choices, that weren’t really choices.  Wait for the miscarriage to happen naturally within the next one to two months.  An impossible time frame in which I would most assuredly lose my mind with anticipation.  A medically induced miscarriage that we could pursue immediately with a course of drugs in an attempt to avoid the surgical option, a D&C.  And a few weeks of ruined plans.

It was a strange mix of grief and relief that I’ve never experienced.  Losing a pregnancy is sad.  Losing triplets is NOT sad.  But...losing three babies is sad.  I decided to stop trying to sort out the emotions and just let them happen.  Despite being reassured that the possible pain would not be anything like labor, I was terrified. The first two doses of the medicine, taken 24 hours apart did nothing.   We were asked to wait a week before taking the third dose (a time that felt like an eternity).  Andy left for Boston for the week again.

And then something strange happened in The Waiting.  While the actual fetuses were gone, their presence was still with me.  Wynken, Blynken, and Nod.  My three tiny blueberries.  With the assured knowledge that I would never have to birth and raise triplets, I was given a week just to love them without worry and fear of the future.  And when the third dose of the medicine finally worked, and pain worse than labor brought me to my knees (because labor comes in waves and this just came), I sobbed with the physical agony and I sobbed with the grief.  And while Andy rubbed my back and I hung on for dear life waiting for the painkillers to kick in, I wished my little ones a safe journey on their way back to the stars.  Safari njema safari salama.  

Then I soak up the sweetness of a sleeping Alice, a dancing Alice, a laughing Alice, and know that whatever happens in the long term, we already have the light of the universe.

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Dear Alice

4/21/2016

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Dear Alice,
It seems like I should have something profound to say on your 1st birthday.  Looking back though, it's all just so...much.  We waited so long for you to come to us, and when you finally did our world exploded in so many (mostly amazing) ways.  Despite the physical difficulty of your birth, bringing you into the world is my most cherished experience.  After laboring all night, the sun rose on a cool, clear April morning, and on the next phase of our lives.  I had only an inkling of how much better my life would be once you were here.  And now, one year later, sitting in the same sunny spot on the couch where we rested before going to the hospital, here you are.  My delightful, chubby, Sweetness and Light.  I love you more every second of every day.
Love, Mama
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Words of Wisdom

1/27/2016

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In just 4 months, after spending 90% of my life in Cheyenne, we are picking up and moving to Boise.  Miraculously, we have convinced Gramps and Bibi to move too, mostly by literally (and shamelessly) dangling the baby in front of their faces.  Moving makes you take stock, of your place, your possessions, your people.  MY People.  When we first started breaking the news a few months ago, we jokingly referred to The I Hate Kate and Andy Club--there was only ONE person in Cheyenne who reacted positively to the news and she's so sunshiny we question if she's actually human (I'm looking at you, A.W.).  Some people are down right angry that we are leaving.  They are the leaders of the IHKA Club.

I know change is hard, which is why I try to avoid it for the most part.  I've had people move away from me (I GUESS I forgive you, J).  And even though moving is pretty much the hardest thing I can imagine right now, all these negative reactions from people are just expressions of love.  I wonder if all of My People realize that for us, the ones who are leaving, the sadness is compounded.  When your friend moves away, you lose one person.  When you move away, you lose ALL of your people in one fell swoop.  And even though it's our choice to leave, and while I know they're not exactly "lost", it is an ache so deep that I can't really even acknowledge it. 

Then yesterday happened.  I was talking about how I am MIRED in the logistics of moving.  What to pack, when to pack it (during naps? ya right!), unpacking once we get there, where to set up the new studio, WHERE TO HANG THE PIG PAINTING IN THE NEW HOUSE???--all the important stuff.  I am so stressed out about it that I can't sleep.  The physical move itself, just packing, moving, and unpacking, seems so huge on it's own without all the other emotional stuff that I can't even see my way through to the other side.  I have NO IDEA how I will get there.  How I can BE anywhere else.  But regarding the major problem of where to put my studio, Christopher said, "Kate, you are the most resourceful motherf**ker I know, you'll figure it out."  Um...thanks?....  Yes.  THANKS!  And then the best part: 
You will have a week or two of hell packing up your house.  Moving day will come, you will get in the truck and drive to your new house.  You will unload, sit down on your couch IN YOUR NEW LIFE, look out the front window, and smile.
And we will BE there.  And it will begin. 
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Plus, we're moving to a house that grows its own mushrooms.  So there's that.
2 Comments

Dear Alice

1/15/2016

1 Comment

 
Dear Alice,

Let's talk about sleep, Baby Girl.  You are the only baby I've ever had, so I can't say unequivocally that you are the worst sleeper EVER (in fact, you're probably not even close to the worst by miles), BUT you ARE the worst sleeper I've ever had.  Do you know that the only thing standing between Daddy's wish to do Cry It Out and at least three totally miserable, screamy nights for you, is ME?  That's right, this epic battle we find ourselves in is actually all one big massive effort to avoid CIO.  And you only have 8 days left to figure out that you should give in and join Team Mommy. 

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NO SLEEP TILL BROOKLYN!!!

We could be having so much fun, you and I.  We could be going places, and visiting people, and playing with ALL THE TOYS.  But instead we are spending our ENTIRE EXISTENCE just trying to get you to sleep.  In all your effort to not miss anything, you are missing everything!!  I know, it's too soon for such abstract reasoning, but I'll keep trying to explain it to you anyway. 

PLEASE, Sweetness and Light, don't make us do it!!

Love, Mommy
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It Was Bound To Happen At Some Point

1/3/2016

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Today I had the first real melt down of parenthood...  Which I guess isn't that bad considering we are 8 1/2 months in.  I don't count the post-birth hormonal weepy period.  It wasn't what I would have expected.  I think it's just because I'm so tired.  I wasn't even having a bad day--the sun was shining, Alice was fine, but I just burst into tears and couldn't stop crying.  Luckily I was at mom and dad's and they gave me bacon and took the baby.
You haven't slept in four months, your husband is out of town, the new dog still gets up in the middle of the night, but not of course when the baby is up, and your baby won't take a nap without an epic battle EVERY DAY?  Here, have some bacon. 
This was a surprisingly effective tactic. 

The last few nights Alice has been waking up screaming about half hour after I put her to bed.  I was so done tonight that I just brought her out to sleep on my lap while I watched TV (!!) and then brought her to bed with me. Pretty sure I'm creating a sleep monster and that I've managed to undo all our hard earned no-cry training in one fell swoop.  And I'm not sure I even care.  This is what January does to me.  Bad attitude all over the place.  It's like the Monday of the whole year.  Luckily it's over in only 27 more days...
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I mean, SERIOUSLY!? The Napping Box is SO horrible...
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Dear Alice

10/13/2015

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Dear Alice,

Today you are 25 weeks old.  I can't believe how fast time is speeding by since you arrived.  I totally missed taking your 5 month pictures because we've been taking them next to Tuco and he passed away 2 days before.  I couldn't bear to take them without him.  Maybe we will have a new fuzzy to take pictures with soon, but it won't be the same. 

While I was nursing you to sleep last night I realized that sometime in the past few weeks you've stopped holding on to your ears all the time.  Like this:
We called them your handles since you'd never let them go.  It was like you were constantly answering the phone.  When did you stop doing this, and how did I miss it?

And today I noticed that suddenly you can sit up without our help.  Just like that!  How did that happen so fast?!?!  I mean, just look:
Luckily, you are still easily distracted by your feet.

I love you, my little Kumquat, Mommy
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The Birth Story

5/1/2015

1 Comment

 
I can't imagine it having gone any worse.  Or any better.  Sometime on Friday I started having sporadic contractions.  We went on tons of mini walks around the block throughout the weekend to try to get labor going.   I think our whole neighborhood was on watch.  Mom and I went on a walk over by her house and we made it all the way up to 2nd Ave and back!  We had dinner at the Parfitts' one night and it felt really odd to have to get up from the table in the middle of dinner to walk through a mild contraction and everyone getting excited at her impending arrival, but at the same time acting like this was totally normal behavior.  Starting Friday night I didn't sleep for more than 20 minutes at a time between contractions.  I wasn't up for doing much of anything so Andy and I watched hours and hours of Burn Notice while I sat on the exercise ball.

On Monday morning Sarah came up and did an induction acupuncture treatment to see if we couldn't get things moving.  She spent a couple hours here and told me I'd probably be in labor within 8-12 hours.  More waiting.  We found an app that tracked contractions.  After every one we were supposed to rate the severity of the contraction.  Later in the evening when they started getting much more intense, I found I maybe needed to revise my rating system from earlier in the day.  Around 9 p.m. that night, after 60 hours of early labor (which no one ever counts and I don't understand why not) and almost exactly 12 hours after the acupuncture treatment, I finally went into active labor.  I foolishly kept trying to sleep between contractions because I was so tired, but finally figured out that wasn't going to happen.  I went through about 2 hours on my own trying to let Andy get as much sleep as possible and then woke him up when I couldn't take it by myself anymore. 

Sarah drove up around 2 in the morning when contractions were 5 minutes apart.  If it hadn't been for her, we would have gone to the hospital and it would have been miserable.  Since we live only a few minutes away from the hospital, she encouraged us to stay at home as long as possible, which was great because I could eat and rest if we were at home.  She helped me relax my shoulders down into every contraction (completely counter intuitive) and suggested lots of different laboring positions to ease the pain.  We also worked on getting The Kumquat turned in the right direction since she was twisted sideways.  I should have put the Fitbit on--I probably walked 10 miles pacing our house that night.

Around 6 in the morning things seemed to slow down.  We were discouraged, but Sarah assured us that was pretty normal.  Andy ran and picked up breakfast from R&B.  I took the opportunity of longer breaks between contractions to lie on the couch and get a nap.  This has emerged as one of the best memories of my life.  There was something so powerful and peaceful about the moment: dosing on the couch after coming through a long hard night with the sun rising, smells of cinnamon French toast and coffee, Andy and Sarah quietly chatting in the background.  Even though I knew it was far from over, it was still an amazing and very unexpected moment.  I will carry that close to my heart forever.

Things started to move more quickly after that and when contractions were about 2 minutes apart around 8:30, we decided to head to the hospital.  Laboring at the hospital was fine, but definitely not as nice as being at home.  I was so glad that we had waited as long as possible.  About 3 hours after we got there I had a couple shots of fentanyl to take the edge off the pain a little bit.  It was the first time I was able to catch my breath and relax a little.  Up until that point I hadn't really been scared about delivering, but sitting there thinking about what I'd already been through and what I was still facing, I freaked out.  And I was just so exhausted.  So I asked for an epidural.  It was amazing once I made the switch in my mind--I was SO DONE with labor.  They hooked me up to all the machines and got me in bed.  The anesthesiologist was a jerk, but whatever, it was just such a relief.  They ended up having to break my water and I was so glad I couldn't feel what was happening anymore.  I dosed for around 7 hours while Andy and Sarah watched my contractions get more and more intense on the monitor.  At 8:30 p.m. they came in and checked and much to everyone's surprise I was at 10 cm and ready to go.  The doc said, "Let's push on the next contraction," and just like that we began.  After all that waiting it was a surprise that something was actually finally happening. 

Unfortunately, after the first contraction her heart rate dropped to half of what it was supposed to be and the scariest 5 minutes of our lives began.  Our doc, Kristy VanKirk (former Miss Rodeo USA AND I went to school with her!) was extremely calm through the whole thing as she very gently asked us if she could use a vacuum to help get her out as there was a chance of cerebral palsy if we didn't get her oxygen levels and heart rate back up.  They put an oxygen mask on me and told me to take slow, deep breaths (mmm hmmm, sure).  Suddenly there were tons of people in the room and I heard them calling to prep an OR.  We went through three pushes with the next contraction with Kristy pulling on the vacuum with all her might.  The Kumquat still wasn't out.  She said she'd give us one more try and then we'd have to go to the OR.  On the next contraction we went through three pushes and then they had me just keep going.  Two more pushes and she was out.  I've never been so scared of anything in my life.  They put her on my stomach long enough for Andy to cut the cord and then whisked her over to work on getting her heart rate back up to normal.  I turned to Andy and said I didn't feel that great and immediately started yarfing.  It was probably only a few minutes, but it felt like forever before they told us everything was good and then there she was, in my arms.  Alice Safa Svilar Finley Newlin was finally here.  April 21, 2015  8:56 p.m.  8 lbs 7.5 oz  21" 

Because the birth was so fast, and she was so unexpectedly big, I suffered some damage; a 3rd degree tear, which needed about 4" of stitches, and a dislocated and severely bruised tailbone.  I found out later that one of the reasons they'd put the oxygen mask on me was in case we'd had to go to the OR--they would just flip a switch and I'd have been out within seconds, necessary since they would have had to push her back up and in before they could get her out with a C-section.  I am so grateful we didn't end up having to do that, and so grateful that we were in a hospital to begin with.  I can't imagine having gone through the whole thing without Sarah there either keeping both Andy and me calm and focused on getting Alice out.  What a relief that everything turned out well in the end.  We spent about 3 days in the hospital before they let me go, and then I spent the next two weeks in bed.  Andy had to take care of both a new infant and an invalid wife, and he did so with such grace--he may never recover... 
5 minutes old
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