My physical recovery from the D&C has been alright. I feel like I’ve been in a wrestling match or a fist fight, just sore all over. The fluctuating hormones have given me bad headaches, and my lungs have only just recovered from the anesthesia. The bruises and puncture wounds from my Lovenox shots are taking forever to fade, so I really do look like I’m in a Fight Club. Not that I would ever talk about that if it were true.

My arms are the worst. As Mike mentioned, I blew out two IVs before one of the nurses finally got one to take. The first one was on the side of my left wrist, and left a small precise bruise that blends in with my freckles. The second IV was on the back of my right wrist, and holy crap. It blew out spectacularly. The build up of fluid and blood made a hematoma so massive it literally looked like a thumb was growing out of my wrist. Even the nurses were a little grossed out. That spot is dark brownish-red, and wow is it sore.

Then there’s the spot on my left forearm, where my IV finally worked after lots of…digging.

My arm was so swollen in this picture that for a minute I thought I was looking at my leg. Ouch.

I would describe my cramps as a cross between a really bad period and post-c-section gas pain. It’s alternately uncomfortable uterine pressure mixed with sharp, stabbing pains. My stomach is still poochy and bloated. Pregnancy is so rough on me, but with all three of mine as soon as I got the positive pregnancy tests a switch flipped in me, and I loved every part of my body. I had all the body confidence I’d always wanted. Now I look at that small bump in my midsection with disgust. Not because of its appearance, but because of its emptiness…its failure. Ugh, I guess that switch flipped back pretty fast.

Mostly, I’m tired. I overdid it the last couple of days, so I just have to take a step back and let myself relax. Annie is very concerned by my bruises and offers me band-aids for the “boo-boo in my belly” whenever she gets the chance.

She makes all my boo-boos feel better.

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I’ve had friends (too many friends) have miscarriages. I was just a wreck for them. So sad, so devastated. I hate thinking about them being heartbroken. I’ve cried for them and their families and their babies.

But now that it’s happened to me, I have…no emotion. No crying, no sorrow. Just emptiness.

Everyone has been so friendly, looking at me with sadness and sympathy, and I just want to shut my eyes to it all. I don’t want any more of these looks. I don’t want to be the one everyone feels sorry for…again. I was going over my medical history with a pre-op nurse, and when I told her I’d had two previous c-sections, she asked me how old my children where. I replied, “My daughter is two,” and then said nothing else. She asked about my other child, so I told her about Maddie. She looked at me with a sad clown face and said, “It’s too much.”

And I know it’s too much. I know it is. I would say the same, if I were talking about someone else. But I don’t feel it. Maybe it’s because I won’t let myself. I don’t want to go down this path again. Maybe I’m keeping it at arm’s length, the poisonous bite of pain and pity.

Or maybe it’s because I can’t. My grief for Madeline is so huge and consuming…maybe too consuming…there’s nothing left. I want there to be something. There should be something…right? I hope I’m just in shock, but I’m afraid I’m broken inside. Afraid I can’t grieve anymore. Just…afraid.

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I think part of me always knew this wasn’t going to happen.

Everything felt different than with the first two. My breasts weren’t tender, my skin was bad, my nausea wasn’t as severe. “Maybe it’s a boy!” My family said helpfully, hopefully. Maybe. But I knew something was off.

We saw Dr. Hirisk for an ultrasound at 6w2d gestation. We saw a sack and fetal pole, but no heartbeat. Dr. Hirisk didn’t want to start me on the blood thinner Lovenox (for my clotting disorder) until he saw a heartbeat. “If you were to miscarry on Lovenox, it could be very dangerous.” He had us make an appointment to come back four days later to look for a heartbeat. The feeling that something was wrong grew stronger.

But then four days later the heartbeat was there and Dr. Hirisk seemed surprised and relieved. He prescribed my blood thinners, and scheduled me to come in six weeks later for the first trimester screen.

“Shouldn’t I come in five weeks from now?” I asked, “I’m seven weeks tomorrow.”

“No…according to the ultrasound the baby is measuring six weeks. You probably ovulated late.” Dr. Hirisk replied.

Except I hadn’t ovulated late. I knew exactly when I’d ovulated: we’d used a digital ovulation kit. But Mike was excited, the doctors were happy. I told myself I was being overly cynical and cautious. I was going to enjoy this pregnancy.

I let myself get caught up in it all. We discussed names, took bets on if the baby would come before or after Thanksgiving, if it would be a boy or another girl.

Two nights before the appointment with my OB, my cousin Leah asked me if this pregnancy felt like my others. Before I could even think I said, “No.”  The sinking feeling I’d had earlier came rushing back. I couldn’t sleep, worried. And then we went to the appointment.

Part of me always knew this wasn’t going to happen…but I just wish that part of me hadn’t been right.

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Hi Everyone,

Heather had her D&C today, and, as her OB told me in the waiting room after the surgery was finished, all went well. “All went well,” of course, is a relative term in this circumstance, as she was talking about removing what Heather and I hoped was going to be our sweet little baby. It’s best not to think about that sad stuff, though. Instead, I will focus on the positive – that the surgery “went well” without doing any damage to Heather’s insides, and she was able to come home. Oh, and it is over. That is a positive too.

It was a long day at the hospital, which was especially hard when we were there to do something so depressing. When you go to the hospital to do something exciting – like deliver your baby – you are willing to wait for hours and hours because you know at the end there will be a happy ending. Today though there was no happy ending, no carrot to get you through. Just a long, depressing day.

Though things “went well” generally, there were a few hiccups… Heather had a fainting spell, blew out two IVs (likely because of her clotting disorder and being a bit dehydrated from not eating for 24 hours and not drinking for 14), and by the time they finally got one to work she was pretty darn uncomfortable. Later, when she woke up from the anesthesia, she had some trouble breathing and needed oxygen. Luckily the doctors were quick and got that under control. Heather couldn’t stop saying, “thank you for taking care of me,” to everyone that came near her. Apparently that was the last thing she said to the nurses before she was put under, too. She gets very effusive when she’s all drugged out.

Heather is under orders to take it easy for a few days, so her mother, Annie, and I have been playing nurse. She seems in okay spirits, all things considered. I’m hanging in there, too. Still, I am glad that once I hit publish I will be able to go to sleep and leave this day in the past where it belongs.

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I saw my perinatologist today. It’s not Dr. Risky – unfortunately, UCLA and Blue Shield have not worked out their differences. So I have a new peri who shall now be known as Dr. Hirisk. He is great, we really like him. He and an ultrasound tech confirmed what my OB saw yesterday. It’s called a “Missed AB,” or Missed Abortion. It’s where the baby stops developing, but your body has no idea. That explains why I have still been sick, had headaches, and started to show.

Originally the plan was to have a D&C on Monday, in order to give my medications time to leave my system (two different blood thinners). But then I started to spot in the afternoon, so the D&C was moved to tomorrow, Thursday, at 1. If my spotting turns into full-on bleeding, I am to go to the ER for an emergency D&C. Hopefully it doesn’t come to that. Dr. Hirisk and my OB don’t want me to bleed at home – the blood thinners make that dangerous – and they want to run chromosomal tests. At this point, we don’t know if this is a “typical” miscarriage or one caused by Antiphospholipid Antibody Syndrome. The tests will give us the answer.

There is more, so much more, to say, but for now I am wrapping it up so I can deal with these cramps. Annie is my nurse, covering me with a blanket, and she just offered me her Wobble. I am in good hands.

Thank you for all of your amazing comments, emails, tweets, and texts. I’ve said it before, but having all of you support us through the tough times makes things less bleak and lonely. We love you all back.

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I’ve had today circled on my calendar for a couple months. I woke up this morning so excited. I was going to see my baby, and tell everyone that we were expecting again.

But there was no heartbeat. The growth stopped a week and a half ago.

I don’t feel anything. I thought writing it out would help.

But I don’t feel anything.

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When we moved into our house, we got a new land line that I jokingly refer to as the Kathy Line, because Mike’s mom is the only person who ever calls on it. Everyone else calls us directly on our cell phones. This means that whenever our land line rings, Mike answers it, since it’s always for him.

Yesterday our phone rang nine times, and it was only Mike’s mom four times. Just kidding! She actually called twice. Seven calls, all asking for Eric. The first time, Mike told the caller that she had the wrong number. The phone rang immediately after he hung up, and when he answered it the caller “made an angry noise” and hung up.

Me: What’s an angry noise?
Mike: Like a deep sigh, like a HMMPH.

Twenty minutes later, the phone rang again. Mike answered, and another woman asked for Eric.

Mike: There’s no Eric here. What number are you trying to reach?
Caller: [our number] Why you playing, Eric? I know it’s you.
Mike: Um…I’m Mike. There’s no Eric here, sorry ma’am.
Caller: Liar!

A few calls like this later and we were both going nuts. When the phone rang for the sixth time, Mike and I looked at each other.

Mike: You get it.
Me: No way!

Annie: HELLO! HELLO PHONE! IT’S GRAMMA! ANNIE SAY HI!

He finally picked up the phone.

Mike: Hi, this is Eric.
Me: !!!!!!!!
Caller: Hey Eric, I had SUCH a good time with you this weekend! Why didn’t you call me?
Mike: OH NO! I was just kidding, I’m not Eric, we’ve just been getting a lot of calls for him and I thought it would be funny to answer as him and you know what, I’m sorry. I’m not Eric.
Caller: Um, what?

Then he hung up.

Me: I can’t believe you did that! What were you thinking?
Mike: I clearly wasn’t.

The phone rang again.

Annie: GRAMMA!
Mike: Heather! You have to answer it!
Me: Dammit Mike!

If there is one thing I really dislike, it’s talking on the phone.

Me: Hello?
Caller: WHAT THE HELL! Where is Eric?!
Me: I’m sorry, you have the wrong number.
Caller: I don’t think so! How do you know Eric?
Me: Um…I think that some guy is giving out our number to a bunch of women. But have a nice day!

After that, we unplugged our phone…which is probably why Mike’s mom only called twice.

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I had a lovely Mother’s Day.

Mike and Annie brought me presents, my family came over, we had a yummy meal, we went for a walk. I heard, “I love you, Mama” lots.

But I was sad. I was sad and I couldn’t shake it. Earlier I’d looked at Facebook and Instagram, and I’d seen dozens of pictures of gifts my friends had received from their children. Presents their kids had picked out themselves, or even better, crafted and created. And I was so jealous.

Annie is too young to do that stuff. But Maddie wouldn’t have been. She’d be four and a half, plenty old enough to string together a beaded bracelet, or to draw a picture of the two of us, or to paste something together with a glue stick and glitter.

Most days I have no problem looking at what other people have – it almost always makes me smile. But on the harder days, like Mother’s Day, it’s just salt in the wound. I should know better than to look. I shouldn’t ask. But then there’s the other part of me that can’t resist, so I can imagine what I could be experiencing, too. I can’t help myself.

I know next year Annie will start putting together special things for me. I honestly can’t wait. I can’t imagine a better present than something made just for me, by my daughter. Each crayon stroke and glitter speck will be a little window into the way her mind works.

I really did have a lovely Mother’s Day. I feel guilty for feeling so sad. My happiness with Annie is so completely separate from my sadness and longing for Madeline. One cannot touch the other. But still, I feel guilty. And I’m just…glad it’s over.

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I couldn’t let Mike’s post stand. I called up a friend and arranged a trip to Dodger Stadium. Annie hadn’t been to a game since she was a few months old, and since she is less than six years away from her big decision, I can’t ever let up. I pulled out the big guns…clothes.

Yep, I bought her branded gear she could twirl in…and she loved it.

When we arrived at the stadium I took a picture with my girl right outside my old office.

We got there with plenty of time before the game, so we watched batting practice. Annie was totally into it – she couldn’t stop staring at the players.

She had plenty of snacks, and then it was time for the game to start. We had great seats (thank you, Dave!)

Annie is so hilarious – instead of being frightened by the loud crowd, she feeds off of it. When the crowd would groan, she would too. When they cheered, she would high-five.

She was really loving the Dodgers, but I had to make sure the good will lasted…somehow this adorable “Baby Dodger Bear,” found its way into Annie’s hands.

I am not above bribery!

It clearly worked:

She also thought the beach balls that went around the stands were the coolest things ever. I am FIRMLY anti-beach ball. If you want to play with a beach ball, go to the beach! But Annie thought it was so fun, and wanted to catch it. The girls a few rows back actually caught it once and handed it to her. The look of happiness on her face, while adorable, did nothing to change my anti-beach ball position. Especially when she got very, very upset when the ball didn’t come back her way.

I might have also bought her a zip-up hoodie, shush.

Luckily, Gramma distracted her with a glasses case, and all was right in her world again.

Honestly though, the best part was when she looked over at me and said, “Mama, I luff baseball.”

Mike and I both agree that more than anything, we hope she enjoys the sport that her daddy and I love so much. As long as she likes baseball, who cares which team she chooses?

(I care. I care a lot. So much that next time, I’m gonna arrange for her to meet a player and run on the field. Sorry you didn’t used to work for the Giants, Mike.)

(I WILL WIN THIS!)

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The first night I was in Miami I jokingly said to my roommate Amber that I was going to get up early to take a picture of the sunrise. As much as I wanted to see the sun come up, I was never going to actually set my alarm to wake up at the west coast equivalent of 3:30 am, especially the night after a redeye. I slept right through that sunrise.

The following morning, however, my well-documented insomnia kept me up for most of the night. I eventually gave up trying to sleep and headed down to the beach.

I sat on the sand, and as the waves lapped the shore I finally had my April Emotional Breakdown. April is such a crappy month, but for most of it, I felt extremely numb. As much as I hate April, I didn’t want it to end.

At the beginning of February, Jackie! found out that her tumor was growing again. She was on her “worst case scenario” treatment, and it had stopped working. Her doctor gave her three to four months.

She enrolled in a phase one clinical trial that proved to be incredibly brutal, and she withdrew after two rounds. She’s now on another drug, and every night I squeeze my eyes closed and wish with all my might that it will slow the growth and give Jackie! more time.

But I am realistic. And powerless.

She’s made it to the three month mark that her doctor first presented. I’m scared and I wish I could slow down time so she can continue to enjoy this patch of relative goodness she’s been experiencing. I wish I could speed up the time of everyone around her, so she can witness everything she’s supposed to see and do everything she dreamed of doing. I wish I could go back in time and go to med school and figure out a way to fix her.

But I am still powerless.

I sat on the sand and watched the sun light up the sky and my face. Later that day I got on a plane and I followed that sun to San Francisco.

I landed after it set.

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