Today is an anniversary. It's one that is very emotional for me from both positive and negative sides. I try to stay focused on the positive aspects, but that isn't always easy. I figured the best way to handle it was to get it out of my head and onto my blog since that really is why I started this whole thing anyway.
May 4, 2015 started out like most any other day with an alarm clock going off at 5:00 am. I rushed out of bed and scrambled to pack a lunch made up of a sandwich on home baked bread, chips, Powerade, and a cupcake. I then quickly heated a sub par breakfast of a frozen croissant sandwich and had everything sitting on the table by 5:15 am. I walked into the living room and booted up my laptop, make sure his work bags were packed and sitting by the door then returned to the bedroom to make the bed. He gave me instructions on what work I needed to get done before he arrived at work and walked out the door.
The morning was so ordinary. Like a million that had come before and what I fully feared would be a million more to follow. By 5:30 am he was on the phone with me asking constant updates on where I was with the grade book. See, I may not have had a "real job" but everything that was done outside of the confines of the classroom were my responsibility. It was my job to make him look good, competent, and exceedingly well prepared at all times. I did my job and I did it well.
Throughout the day, as always there were constant emails and check ins. God forbid I not answer my phone or respond to a text or email within about a minute. I also had housework to do, 10 kids to homeschool, and this year, I had been sneaking around and gotten a work from home job so I could make some money he didn't know about. He had found out once that I had money hidden away and told me to quit immediately. I also had to surrender the money tucked away in the work account. He was very forceful in his request. I'll leave that there and not go into detail. Anyway, I was still sneaking and still working. So, I had a deadline of my own to meet. A post that needed to be up because it was May 4th, Star Wars Day.
Flash forward to the end of a very long day. 12 hours after I got up and at a full run all day. My post is still not up. In fact, I'm still working on it and he walks in the door. Busted. This lead to yelling, screaming, crying. Him telling the kids how negligent and worthless I was before taking them outside with him. In that moment something snapped. I realized I was more afraid of him coming back into the house, of confining me in the bedroom, of what would follow than I was of dying.
I walked back into the bedroom and wrote out a detailed note. It is amazing how calm and unemotional the whole thing was for me. I talked about how much I loved the kids and how much I would miss them but mostly it was all business. Passwords, websites, and due dates for bills so that it wouldn't be too hard to keep the house running without me. I then took about 2 weeks worth of medicine in the space of 2 minutes or less. I won't go into detail on what I took but I will say that I had done my research and this was no cry for attention. All my research had shown this was a no fail method. For a few minutes I just sat there. Then, I was washed over with fear. Not about what would happen to the kids without me there so much as what would happen if one of the kids found me and they were all alone for the day. I couldn't bear the thought of that.
I walked out onto the porch in the back and told him what I had done. It was all so calm. Then I walked back into the house and climbed back into the middle of the bed to wait since I wasn't sure how long the medicine would take to work or what would happen when it did. He started calling people. The first call wasn't to 911 but to some people from church. One must appear properly concerned after all. As the children came in trying to figure out what was going on, I told them how much I loved them and said my goodbyes. I refused to leave the bed. I didn't see any reason why I should. Eventually, someone from church with medical training convinced him that because I was refusing to get off the bed and into the car, he had to call 911. In a different situation he may have well tried to force me to comply but with an audience, as always he was the picture of care and concern.
Police and EMTs finally arrived. EMTs checked my blood sugar, heart rate, etc and found me to be in no immediate medical danger and therefore had to walk out the door because I was refusing medical treatment. The police were a whole different story. With the note and no denial of what I had done, they could take me into protective custody as it were and insist on medical treatment at the local ER. I continued to refuse. At that point I was told that if I didn't get up and walk out with them, I would be cuffed or tied and physically removed from the house and forced into the police car. The thing that the officer said that got me to move is that he was sure I didn't want the kids to see me dragged out of the house in cuffs. He was right, I didn't want that to be their last memory of me.
I walked out of the house with officer on either side fully expecting never to walk in again. Once I was out of the house, I had no intention of being compliant and besides, my research had indicated that even with going to the hospital, there was little to nothing doctors could do to keep me alive once the medicine started working. During the ER time, a police officer sat with me constantly and they wouldn't let him come back. When the doctor and nurses wanted to do labs and other assessments, initially I refused. The officer made it clear that I would be restrained and the hospital staff would be allowed to do what they thought was best regardless. Some of the woman I was before the years of abuse popped up likely because at that point I felt I had nothing to lose anyway. I literally told the officer I had never worn handcuffs when it wasn't for fun and hated to break my streak now.
Shortly after, a most unexpected thing happened. I threw up in a major way. That isn't all that unexpected but the fact that all the pills I had swallowed were still completely whole all that time later was. Over the course of the entire event, I was never in any danger although they did keep me overnight and monitored my blood sugar very closely. I was moved from the ER to a regular room, still with police supervision and the next day I was transferred to a Crisis Center on a minimum of a 72 hour hold. Before the police car left, I handed my wedding rings to him and told him I was done. In that moment, I knew I couldn't survive any more of his abuse. In that moment, I was confident I meant it.
I look back now and wonder if the next couple of days had gone differently if I would have been able to stick to what I was saying and feeling right then. I was one in the past who was often too quick to judge others who were in an abusive relationship and didn't leave. Or worse, those who left one and then came back to it again and again. I didn't understand the power the abuser held, how they lived in your head even when they weren't there, until I was fighting it myself.
But, instead, God or the Force or whatever you believe in did for me and the kids what I don't know I could have done for myself or them at that time. May 4, 2015 became a day that changed my life for the better. Yes, it could and should have ended very differently than it did but it still freed me and the kids from him. I think I will wait and go into more details on that in a couple of days but for now, I am feeling less emotionally raw and more in control of myself so this seems to be a very good place to stop for now.
Friday, May 4, 2018
Wednesday, March 7, 2018
Unwanted Memories
You ever come to a date and it triggers a memory that you don't necessarily want even if it's not a a bad memory per se? That's where today is. It's not so much that the memory is unpleasant as it is unwanted.
On this day in 1997, I got married for the second time. Anyone who wants to do the math can look at how young I was and also note that I said second time. I don't regret it, but I do also acknowledge that I was very young.
The day was so full of excitement and promise. Even now, 21 years later, I remember it in every detail. But, though there was much good in that period of my life, there was also much heartache and all those promises were broken. More than broken though, obliterated. It became more than a pain, more than heartbreak. It left me scarred and a different person than the one I was before.
Don't get me wrong, I am grateful for the experiences. The things I learned have added much value to my life. At the same time, I am also wise enough to know that is the perspective of a 39 year old woman who has finally found the other half of her soul which is far different from the perspective of the girl I was at the time.
The truth is an older, wiser me would have never married him in the first place. But, older, wiser versions of ourselves often don't see the mistake ahead no matter how obvious it is to the rest of the world around us. And, it's not like I would have listened to what anyone had to say anyway.
He and I had known each other as small children. I used to kill his GI Joe men. I don't mean in a cute, let's play war way. I would literally behead them and then try to melt them with my EZ Bake Oven. Yeah, I was that sort of kid. I moved away and that appeared to be the end of that story.
Flash forward to high school. I was sick one day and that is the day lab partners were assigned. I got stuck with the partner no one wanted. Yay me. But, that lead to a relationship, my first marriage, and my reconnection with my childhood friend. See, his best friend was my old playmate. Of course, I didn't know that at the time and it was quite a while before the connection was made in part because of a childhood nickname very different from his real name.
Even without knowing that old connection, the attraction for me was instant and intense. It was the first time I even thought I might be in love. Some may wonder if that is the case, how he was my second marriage and not the first. There are so many details that probably don't need to be shared on that tangent and so many choices that were made from youthful impulsiveness.
With everything that came before the wedding day including the fact that we weren't even dating like 2 weeks before we got married, again I will state a wiser, older me would have never done it in the first place. But, the me back then thought I was in love. As is not unexpected, things just deteriorated over time. The last few days we were in a house together were brutal. And, in the days following the end, I wasn't always sure I would make it through. But, as I said in my last post, I am a survivor.
Throughout my life, big changes always come with a theme song. At the end of the marriage which lasted officially just over 4 years, my theme song was Trisha Yearwood's I Would Have Loved You Anyway. It was fitting for so many reasons and even more fitting for even more reasons looking back across the years.
About a year ago, I reached out to my ex on social media. We talked a few times, some apologies were made, and some old wounds finally closed completely. It helped heal the last traces of heartache. Do some of the memories still hurt? I suppose they do in a way but mostly they are just old scars that you feel sometimes when the weather is just right.
Today, I as I reflect on it all and as I sort through old files that have come unasked for and unwanted into my mind, I am glad for what that relationship was. It taught me a lot and helped make me who I am now. I am also glad that it ended and gave me the chance to move on, make other mistakes, and ultimately follow that long and broken road that led me to my one true love.
See, the song that my husband and I have as the theme song or "our song" as most people say it is Rascal Flats Bless The Broken Road. I know that without everything I experienced and learned in that relationship and the ones that came afterwards as well as before, I would not be the woman I am today. I wouldn't have six amazing children and a husband who I adore and who adores me just as much. I wouldn't appreciate all the little things that make our marriage what it is without knowing what a relationship without those things looks and feels like. I wouldn't have the life I have found by traveling on a smooth and easy path. Perhaps that is the real why of those unwanted memories, to remind us of just what it took to get to who and where we are now.
On this day in 1997, I got married for the second time. Anyone who wants to do the math can look at how young I was and also note that I said second time. I don't regret it, but I do also acknowledge that I was very young.
The day was so full of excitement and promise. Even now, 21 years later, I remember it in every detail. But, though there was much good in that period of my life, there was also much heartache and all those promises were broken. More than broken though, obliterated. It became more than a pain, more than heartbreak. It left me scarred and a different person than the one I was before.
Don't get me wrong, I am grateful for the experiences. The things I learned have added much value to my life. At the same time, I am also wise enough to know that is the perspective of a 39 year old woman who has finally found the other half of her soul which is far different from the perspective of the girl I was at the time.
The truth is an older, wiser me would have never married him in the first place. But, older, wiser versions of ourselves often don't see the mistake ahead no matter how obvious it is to the rest of the world around us. And, it's not like I would have listened to what anyone had to say anyway.
He and I had known each other as small children. I used to kill his GI Joe men. I don't mean in a cute, let's play war way. I would literally behead them and then try to melt them with my EZ Bake Oven. Yeah, I was that sort of kid. I moved away and that appeared to be the end of that story.
Flash forward to high school. I was sick one day and that is the day lab partners were assigned. I got stuck with the partner no one wanted. Yay me. But, that lead to a relationship, my first marriage, and my reconnection with my childhood friend. See, his best friend was my old playmate. Of course, I didn't know that at the time and it was quite a while before the connection was made in part because of a childhood nickname very different from his real name.
Even without knowing that old connection, the attraction for me was instant and intense. It was the first time I even thought I might be in love. Some may wonder if that is the case, how he was my second marriage and not the first. There are so many details that probably don't need to be shared on that tangent and so many choices that were made from youthful impulsiveness.
With everything that came before the wedding day including the fact that we weren't even dating like 2 weeks before we got married, again I will state a wiser, older me would have never done it in the first place. But, the me back then thought I was in love. As is not unexpected, things just deteriorated over time. The last few days we were in a house together were brutal. And, in the days following the end, I wasn't always sure I would make it through. But, as I said in my last post, I am a survivor.
Throughout my life, big changes always come with a theme song. At the end of the marriage which lasted officially just over 4 years, my theme song was Trisha Yearwood's I Would Have Loved You Anyway. It was fitting for so many reasons and even more fitting for even more reasons looking back across the years.
About a year ago, I reached out to my ex on social media. We talked a few times, some apologies were made, and some old wounds finally closed completely. It helped heal the last traces of heartache. Do some of the memories still hurt? I suppose they do in a way but mostly they are just old scars that you feel sometimes when the weather is just right.
Today, I as I reflect on it all and as I sort through old files that have come unasked for and unwanted into my mind, I am glad for what that relationship was. It taught me a lot and helped make me who I am now. I am also glad that it ended and gave me the chance to move on, make other mistakes, and ultimately follow that long and broken road that led me to my one true love.
See, the song that my husband and I have as the theme song or "our song" as most people say it is Rascal Flats Bless The Broken Road. I know that without everything I experienced and learned in that relationship and the ones that came afterwards as well as before, I would not be the woman I am today. I wouldn't have six amazing children and a husband who I adore and who adores me just as much. I wouldn't appreciate all the little things that make our marriage what it is without knowing what a relationship without those things looks and feels like. I wouldn't have the life I have found by traveling on a smooth and easy path. Perhaps that is the real why of those unwanted memories, to remind us of just what it took to get to who and where we are now.
Tuesday, February 27, 2018
Shining A Light
I know it has been forever since the last time I posted. So many things have changed in so many ways and I let all of that get in the way of something I am truly passionate about. But, it's more than that. So much more.
This blog was started more than 7 years ago. Yesterday, I went through editing and deleting posts. That may seem like an odd choice but it was so cleansing and so very needed. See, when this blog started I was not the person I am now. Not even close. I also wasn't me.
That may seem confusing to a lot of people, but understand it has been just as confusing to me. See, I will tell you I'm not a good liar but that's not entirely true. I hate to lie, but by the time I started this blog in August of 2010 I had become an excellent liar. I had to if I wanted to survive. I'll discuss that in more detail over the next several posts and I will shine a light into all the dark corners because those kinds of secrets and that kind of pain only thrive and survive in the darkness. And, the time has come for all of that to die.
Don't worry, the blog is not going to become all doom and gloom. But, for many of the things to come to make sense, you have to know where it started, how it progressed, and what the fallout really looks like. Without going through the backstory, all of it, you can't understand or appreciate everything that the now is and everything that the future holds.
For now, let me provide an introduction. I think this is key because if you have been following me long, you will realize that even the names have changed.
My name is Harli Q. Boughner. I am 39 years old. That part was easy. The rest, not as much. How do I decide which aspect of who I am comes first? Isn't that the question we all struggle with, the understanding of what part of us is the most important? Does the order in which we introduce ourselves say how we see ourselves? Does it denote which aspects we feel are most key? Does it tell the story of what we hold most important or is it simply a formula that we have as a society decided delivers the information most succinctly? Perhaps that is way too deep of a question at this time of the day.
I suppose the label that makes the most sense to start with for me is I am a survivor. I know it may sound a bit cliche and often over used but to be fair and honest, nothing else would follow if not for that one. Yes, we have all survived to this point. I get that but we have not all survived the same things and some of us have had to work exceedingly hard at it. I will get into the details of the what and how as we move forward but for now I think just the statement is enough.
I am a wife, a partner, and an equal. The three terms may seem like redundancy but they are nothing of the sort. I have been an equal without being a wife or partner. I have been a wife without being a partner or an equal. The fusion of the 3 is an entirely new experience and one that I do not in any way take for granted. Finding my husband, my equal, my partner, my soulmate because yes, I do believe there is such a thing, has helped me find myself again. I'm not saying that without him I would never have found my way back to who I am because I had started the journey before we found each other. I am saying that having him by my side makes even the hardest days easier. He helps me be a better mother and a better human being. He is my mirror and he is the truest mirror anyone could ever hope to find. For that I am incredibly grateful.
I am a mom of 6 here on earth and 1 most spectacular angel. The oldest is 13 and the youngest here with me is 4 although 5 is very quickly approaching. They are all amazing and quite the characters. My angel was born sleeping at 17w 3d on September 4, 2015. Her full story can be found in one of the earlier posts. As this blog progresses, you are sure to hear much about them all.
I am a writer. Not simply a hobbyist or an enthusiast. It is part of the very core of who I am. In addition to making a new commitment to my personal blog, I freelance for a number of blogs. When things get too deep on an emotional level, I am prone to turning to poetry. I have been writing poetry for as long as I can remember but during the dark years, that side of me all but disappeared. In fact, all of me all but disappeared but again, that is for another time.
I am a plus size woman. There have been times when I have not been okay with that at all. There have been times when I have fought the hard fight to try to mold myself into something different. Something society would deem to be acceptable. Something that would take away the stereotypical viewpoint of those who don't know me or my story. But, I have found a love and acceptance of who I am. I don't own a scale and have no need or desire to have one in the house. See, I have come to realize that the only thing a scale tells me is how much gravity pulls down on my mass. It gives no indication of my worth or value as a person, a wife, a mother, a human being. If there are people who want to make snap judgments about who and what I am, they are free to do so. I, however, and comfortable in my skin and with who I am. That is really all that matters.
I am a collector of teddy bears. That makes me an arctophile which is one of my favorite words. Onomatopoeia is actually my very favorite word but that is a separate tangent entirely. The oldest piece in my collection is a ratty little thing I have had since I was 6 years old. I have restarted my collection fairly recently but there are a few pieces that have managed to make it through all the chaos.
There are tons more things that I want to share but I think this "quick post" has gotten more than a little long at this point. It is my goal to share at least once a week. Some stories will be old, some new. There will be posts that help you see and better understand my journey and posts that simply entertain. Regardless of the content, each will be a glimpse into what it is like to be me. Whether it be the good, the bad, and the indifferent, each will bring a clearer picture and it will all be the truth because the time for hiding and sculpting life into a pretty and acceptable picture has come to an end. Life is messy and chaotic. It isn't always sunshine and rainbows but it is the storms that make us appreciate the beauty and the triumph.
This blog was started more than 7 years ago. Yesterday, I went through editing and deleting posts. That may seem like an odd choice but it was so cleansing and so very needed. See, when this blog started I was not the person I am now. Not even close. I also wasn't me.
That may seem confusing to a lot of people, but understand it has been just as confusing to me. See, I will tell you I'm not a good liar but that's not entirely true. I hate to lie, but by the time I started this blog in August of 2010 I had become an excellent liar. I had to if I wanted to survive. I'll discuss that in more detail over the next several posts and I will shine a light into all the dark corners because those kinds of secrets and that kind of pain only thrive and survive in the darkness. And, the time has come for all of that to die.
Don't worry, the blog is not going to become all doom and gloom. But, for many of the things to come to make sense, you have to know where it started, how it progressed, and what the fallout really looks like. Without going through the backstory, all of it, you can't understand or appreciate everything that the now is and everything that the future holds.
For now, let me provide an introduction. I think this is key because if you have been following me long, you will realize that even the names have changed.
My name is Harli Q. Boughner. I am 39 years old. That part was easy. The rest, not as much. How do I decide which aspect of who I am comes first? Isn't that the question we all struggle with, the understanding of what part of us is the most important? Does the order in which we introduce ourselves say how we see ourselves? Does it denote which aspects we feel are most key? Does it tell the story of what we hold most important or is it simply a formula that we have as a society decided delivers the information most succinctly? Perhaps that is way too deep of a question at this time of the day.
I suppose the label that makes the most sense to start with for me is I am a survivor. I know it may sound a bit cliche and often over used but to be fair and honest, nothing else would follow if not for that one. Yes, we have all survived to this point. I get that but we have not all survived the same things and some of us have had to work exceedingly hard at it. I will get into the details of the what and how as we move forward but for now I think just the statement is enough.
I am a wife, a partner, and an equal. The three terms may seem like redundancy but they are nothing of the sort. I have been an equal without being a wife or partner. I have been a wife without being a partner or an equal. The fusion of the 3 is an entirely new experience and one that I do not in any way take for granted. Finding my husband, my equal, my partner, my soulmate because yes, I do believe there is such a thing, has helped me find myself again. I'm not saying that without him I would never have found my way back to who I am because I had started the journey before we found each other. I am saying that having him by my side makes even the hardest days easier. He helps me be a better mother and a better human being. He is my mirror and he is the truest mirror anyone could ever hope to find. For that I am incredibly grateful.
I am a mom of 6 here on earth and 1 most spectacular angel. The oldest is 13 and the youngest here with me is 4 although 5 is very quickly approaching. They are all amazing and quite the characters. My angel was born sleeping at 17w 3d on September 4, 2015. Her full story can be found in one of the earlier posts. As this blog progresses, you are sure to hear much about them all.
I am a writer. Not simply a hobbyist or an enthusiast. It is part of the very core of who I am. In addition to making a new commitment to my personal blog, I freelance for a number of blogs. When things get too deep on an emotional level, I am prone to turning to poetry. I have been writing poetry for as long as I can remember but during the dark years, that side of me all but disappeared. In fact, all of me all but disappeared but again, that is for another time.
I am a plus size woman. There have been times when I have not been okay with that at all. There have been times when I have fought the hard fight to try to mold myself into something different. Something society would deem to be acceptable. Something that would take away the stereotypical viewpoint of those who don't know me or my story. But, I have found a love and acceptance of who I am. I don't own a scale and have no need or desire to have one in the house. See, I have come to realize that the only thing a scale tells me is how much gravity pulls down on my mass. It gives no indication of my worth or value as a person, a wife, a mother, a human being. If there are people who want to make snap judgments about who and what I am, they are free to do so. I, however, and comfortable in my skin and with who I am. That is really all that matters.
I am a collector of teddy bears. That makes me an arctophile which is one of my favorite words. Onomatopoeia is actually my very favorite word but that is a separate tangent entirely. The oldest piece in my collection is a ratty little thing I have had since I was 6 years old. I have restarted my collection fairly recently but there are a few pieces that have managed to make it through all the chaos.
There are tons more things that I want to share but I think this "quick post" has gotten more than a little long at this point. It is my goal to share at least once a week. Some stories will be old, some new. There will be posts that help you see and better understand my journey and posts that simply entertain. Regardless of the content, each will be a glimpse into what it is like to be me. Whether it be the good, the bad, and the indifferent, each will bring a clearer picture and it will all be the truth because the time for hiding and sculpting life into a pretty and acceptable picture has come to an end. Life is messy and chaotic. It isn't always sunshine and rainbows but it is the storms that make us appreciate the beauty and the triumph.
Thursday, June 9, 2016
Do I Get A Frequent Use Discount?
Over the past couple of weeks, I have gotten to make 2 emergency room visits. That's a lot. But, having 6 kids things can happen. However, in this case, both visits belonged to the same child. And, both incidents were more than a little strange.
Of course these things happened to Dani who seems to be able to trip over air generally speaking. But, these were more unusual accidents. The first one was a bicycle crash. She was riding too fast when her foot slipped off the pedal and slid into the front spokes while the bike was in motion. It still took a few seconds to stop turning. She managed a nasty looking cut and a bruise that is still causing her pain. Overall, not too bad all things considered.
Today, she managed to hit herself in the head with a 5 pound hand weight. She was exercising, clearly incorrectly, when she was no longer able to hold onto the handle and she dropped it onto her head. A short time later, she was complaining of blurry vision, dizziness, extreme sleepiness. So, once again off to the ER we went. She is one very blessed little girl. There is no fracture and no bleed. She has a concussion and will likely feel like mud for a few days but she should otherwise be fine.
Seriously, who is going to believe how she does these things to herself? This kid has had more breaks, accidents, leaps, slips, spills, etc than all 6 of the other kids combined. No way one child can be this accident prone. But, then I remember my childhood and I know she is my daughter.
Of course these things happened to Dani who seems to be able to trip over air generally speaking. But, these were more unusual accidents. The first one was a bicycle crash. She was riding too fast when her foot slipped off the pedal and slid into the front spokes while the bike was in motion. It still took a few seconds to stop turning. She managed a nasty looking cut and a bruise that is still causing her pain. Overall, not too bad all things considered.
Today, she managed to hit herself in the head with a 5 pound hand weight. She was exercising, clearly incorrectly, when she was no longer able to hold onto the handle and she dropped it onto her head. A short time later, she was complaining of blurry vision, dizziness, extreme sleepiness. So, once again off to the ER we went. She is one very blessed little girl. There is no fracture and no bleed. She has a concussion and will likely feel like mud for a few days but she should otherwise be fine.
Seriously, who is going to believe how she does these things to herself? This kid has had more breaks, accidents, leaps, slips, spills, etc than all 6 of the other kids combined. No way one child can be this accident prone. But, then I remember my childhood and I know she is my daughter.
Tuesday, February 2, 2016
Holding An Angel
Today is my beautiful Alexia Dawn's due date. Today should be a day for a new mom to wake up exhausted from having been up all night with a newborn who needs to be nursed every 2 hours around the clock. Today should be filled with tiny diapers and the smell of a new baby. Instead, today is filled with an indescribable ache and longing. It is filled with an exhausted mom who sat up all night crying for her little girl girl who was here and gone way, way too soon. It is filled with tears and loss.
On May 22, I found out I was pregnant with our 7th child. I'll admit, my first reaction was not pure excitement but, as the days passed, my excitement grew every day.
I saw the Dr for the first time on June 16. Everything looked great. I was 7 weeks. I am diabetic and the stress was doing a number on my blood sugars so my OB referred me to a specialist and I was to see him every other week. At 9w we had a bleeding scare. I went to the ER where they did an ultrasound. Everything looked fantastic! No idea what caused the bleeding, but no real reason for concern. I continued to see my OB and we got my blood sugar under control. I had some special testing done at 13 weeks which included a blood test that could tell me with 100% accuracy the gender of the baby without any risk. Of course, I wanted to know! I got the results back 2 weeks later. We were having our 5th little girl, Alexia Dawn.
I went in for my 16w OB appointment and shared the excitement of knowing the gender and name. Again, everything was perfect and my blood sugars were doing great. 2 weeks later, on September 1, I should have been 18w exactly. My best friend also had a dr appointment that day in the City so she was running with me. I asked her if she wanted to come back and hear Lexi's heartbeat which of course she did. We went back, did the preliminary stuff and Dr pulled out the doppler. He couldn't find anything. Not a big deal, this had happened before because we were still so small with so much room to move. He brought back the portable ultrasound. After about forever, he said he wasn't seeing everything he wanted to see and needed to call in a colleague. At this point I was scared! She came in and looked again. That's when I heard the words I had been fearing. He said my daughter had no heartbeat. I broke down. I refused to believe it so he got the Ultrasound clinic to see me immediately. Truthfully, I knew it wasn't a mistake, but I wanted it to be so bad. They confirmed that she had stopped growing at 17w3d. She had already been gone 4 days and I didn't even know it!
I had to go home and tell my kids their little sister would never come home. Their tears and pain were almost too much to bear.
September 3 at 845pm, I checked into the hospital for my induction. It was terrible. I sat for at least 30 minutes in the waiting area watching other women come in, round, pregnant, in labor, and happy. I hated them all. I finally got back to my room. My Dr was not on call. The Dr who was was awful. She asked me if I would rather have a D&E since it would be easier on me. I told her I wanted to be able to see and hold my little girl. She responded with "That's what Dr. S said, but you could end up needing a csection, and there is really no point in having major surgery for a dead baby." It was all I could do not to lose it! I assured her again, I wanted to be induced, that I knew the risks.
Labor was a slow process because as far as my body was concerned I was still pregnant. My best friend was right by my side the whole time. Finally, about 3am the contractions started getting bad. At 843am on 9/4/15 my beautiful baby was born sleeping measuring 6.34oz and 7.5 inches. Because it had been more than a week since she passed, she changed very fast but I held her as long as I could. My Dr was there by the time she was born. He tried to answer any questions and help me make the best choices about how to handle things from there forward. I chose not to have an autopsy because he couldn't promise it would give us answers. The likely cause was placental abruption based on what he saw when I delivered but even that was not certain.
I went home later that day, trying to pretend everything was fine for my kids. I have continued to try every day since. Some days are better, some are worse. I cleaned every single baby thing I could find out of the house, because there will never be a rainbow after this storm. I think that makes the loss more profound in some ways because I am grieving not just the loss of my little girl, but of that entire part of my life. Never again will I rock a newborn to sleep or watch first steps.
I try to hold on to my faith that I will see her again one day, but it is so hard and honestly I am so angry about the wait. I see women in the news every day who do horrible things to babies they never wanted. I wanted my little girl so much. I love her so much, and I miss her so much. I walk past her memorial shelf every day, several times a day in fact. I touch her urn a lot. I long to hold her just one more time. I wish I had held her longer when I had the chance. But, I did get to hold an angel, a body that belonged to a spirit too beautiful to need to endure the trials of this earth. I try to keep that in mind and let it help temper my grief.
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