My Arrow

After our miscarriage, I knew that a new tattoo was in my near future. Trying to figure out what exactly to get to symbolize everything that we were going through, how I felt about it and where we would be headed was difficult.

I was immediately drawn to feathers, thinking of our wee angel in heaven, and then to dandelion puffs but they both seemed....popular. Overdone? Just not quite right.

Then I read this

An arrow can only be shot by pulling it backward. When life is dragging you back with difficulties, it means it's going to launch you into something great. So just focus, and keep aiming. - unknown source

It was perfect. An arrow.

Oddly enough, the moon was a full moon the night that it all happened, so I wanted to get something to honour that as well.

I new that my ankle was where I wanted this arrow, with the tip pointing forward to my feet.

I think of this baby as my Arrow {and that is what I call her in my heart of hearts}.
It pulled me back
Made me take pause
Breathe
and now I am being shot forward into a great expanse of possibility, with an open heart.

This experience has changed me, and not into a bitter, angry person {though I do have those moments} but into one who has a deeper connection with her heart. An open heart.

Thank you, Arrow.

Building hope with Conceivable Dreams

Since our miscarriage in August, I have spoken openly about the emotional turmoil, grief and guilt that have come along with the physical changes. I have talked about not understanding why this happened, blaming myself for pushing my body too hard and wanting so badly to have changed the outcome. By now, we would have known the gender and would be narrowing down names on our plentiful list.

Support from the online community has been incredible, , but having been through this once, my heart breaking thinking those couples who have been through miscarriage multiple times. Infertility and miscarriage are emotionally, physically and sometimes financially draining too. Did you know that 1 in 6 people struggle with infertility? On a full capacity standard city bus, that means that 13 of the people you are riding with are struggling with infertility. Sort of puts it into perspective, doesn’t it?

I have gotten to know some very beautiful women who have reached out during our struggle, and have told me about their own battle. Many of these women have fertility experts who have recommended that in vitro fertilization is the medically necessary treatment to help them conceive.  Did you know that there is no OHIP funding  for IVF (unless both tubes are blocked), and typically it can set the couple back $8000 to $10,000 per treatment? Many families transfer multiple embryos in the belief it will increase their chances of conceiving. While multiples are adorable, they typically wind up costing the health care system a great deal more than a healthy single baby.

One of the most powerful things that we can do for our future children is to advocate for ourselves, as women. OHIP funding would mean not only saving a couple monetary stress and hardship, but also result in fewer high risk pregnancies and reduce instance of multiple births, allowing for healthier pregnancies and healthier moms.

In Canada, Quebec is currently the only province that publicly funds IVF. Many other areas of the world invest in healthy outcomes by funding IVF. In Australia there is a successful public funding model for IVF that has helped patients deliver healthy babies. In Ontario, we know that 73 % of residents surveyed  support public funding for IVF. Still infertile people struggle and many will give up on the dream of becoming family in this province. It makes me so sad to think that our options to become parents are so few.

I encourage you to find your voice. Speak out about what you have been through. Talk about your miscarriage, or fertility struggles, reach out and find support within your community, and turn your experience into something beautiful. Support other women dealing with infertility.

The story of my miscarriage has resonated with so many women, and I am thankful that they have reached out and shared their own stories with me. We all have found ways to cope, and in our own time, have and will get through a struggle that breaks our hearts. The grief is real, the guilt is real and being silent about it is not the answer.

Find your voice.

Disclaimer: I am a valued member of the Conceivable Dreams blog team. I have been paid for this post. My opinion, advocacy and story are 100 % my own.

Please follow Conceivable Dreams on Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/ohip4ivf

And because there is strength in numbers please join this patient group on Facebook as well.

https://www.facebook.com/ConceivableDreams

More on Miscarriage Guilt

This is a feeling I just can't seem to shake.

My husband and I were out at a wedding this past weekend, and after a few glasses of wine...the tears came. They came hot and streaming down my face. They came fast and hard. And so did my apologies.

For some reason, I kept apologizing over and over to my husband; saying I was sorry for not protecting our baby. Saying I was sorry I didn't do more. Saying I was sorry...over and over.

The reason for this is the grief and guilt in my heart. While parts of my are at peace and see the hope that will come from all of us, a large part of me just hurts. And admittedly, I've hidden that a little and stayed strong for everyone around me. That seems to be my role alot of the time, so it's difficult to come to grips with the fact that I'm allowed to break right now.

The next morning was met with a pounding headache, and needing my girls. We set off for Kitchener for Color Me Rad, and my bff asked if I was ok, knowing the events from the previous night. I looked at her, and just started crying. I said no, that it was all overwhelming and I was hurting. We just sat in the car and she let me cry. I needed to; my soul needed to.

One thing that I am realizing is that I'm not sure that the grief and guilt will ever go away. I know, rationally, that there's nothing that I could have done to prevent the miscarriage {And I think my bff's for reminding me this constantly} but the grief will certainly be carried on, and I hope against hope that the guilt will go away.

Painting, running and writing are helping, but there's an immense hole in my heart. For the most part, the guilt that I feel is more the sense that I've let someone very important down: my husband. He has been incredible through this, and we have talked about everything very openly, but I just cannot get over the feeling that what happened with my body has made him sad.

I know ultimately, it's nothing that I did. I know that it was out of my control. I do believe that it happened for a reason. But, I still feel guilty. It's a strange mix of emotions and, to be perfectly honest, it's an awful feeling.

Don't Forget Dad

In the blink of an eye, it's gone. Hopes...dreams...it all flashes before your eyes and is *poof* gone.

For me, it was dealing with the physical pain and emotional turmoil, but for my husband, it was watching me go through it all while saying goodbye to a baby that he was quickly growing attached to.

I talked to my husband alot about how he's feeling about everything and right after it happened he said that he was much more attached to this baby than he ever felt when I was pregnant with our son, Owen. He said that he has a totally different frame of reference for what could be now that we have a 3 year old.

He wasn't missing the baby, per say, but the toddler. He was missing what could have been, not where we were in that very moment.

We were pretty convinced {or maybe it was just hopeful thinking}that babe was a girl, and had narrowed down names. In fact, we would be finding out this month if our hunch was correct.

When it all ended in August, my husband said that he could just see her...brown curly hair like me, and big brown eyes. Running around, being crazy like her brother.

That is who he misses. And it breaks my heart.

All too often, the How Are You Doing? question is asked of the Mom only, and what is forgotten is that there is a Dad whose dream has been equally shattered. He became a dad in the moment that she told him that she was pregnant. He became a dad, whether he felt that baby kick or not.

His pain is just as real. Don't forget about him.

It's Been A Month...

A full month since our miscarriage. Writing about the experience, and getting an overwhelming amount of support from my readers, friends, family, and strangers alike has been incredible.

I wanted to take a moment to talk about how I am coping with all of this. It's such a strange feeling. I wrote last month about how weird it is to go from having a very pronounced baby bump to a {relatively} flat stomach within just a few short days, but I haven't talked too much about the anguish, mental conflict and guilt.

Yep, the guilt. On the friday evening after we had confirmed with the incredible compassionate Dr. Powers at the Fertility Clinic that everything had passed, that there was no residual tissue and everything was back to a pre-pregnancy state, I sat on the couch and it was like word vomit amongst tears.

Was going to Chicago at 6wks pregnant the right thing to do? Maybe it was the cabin pressure? Maybe I pushed myself too hard at BlogHer with an insane schedule? Maybe I didn't eat enough, or get enough water?

Was I taking on too many commitments with the Walk, my coaching, multiple art shows and proposals?

Was running hurting my baby?

I sat and cried. I spewed all of this out at my husband, who rubbed my back and assured me that nothing I did or didn't do caused any of this to happen. Now, a month later, I understand that and even in that moment, I could rationalize that miscarriage happens at any time, to anyone, for any reason.

I'm sure that there will always be a part of me that wonders why, and similarly a part of me that knows that the baby was sick or was going to make me sick, so my body knew to stop the process.

Does it make it any easier? Absolutely not.

To the women out there reading this, suffering with their pain in silence and not able to find their words, you're not alone in your anguish. You didn't do anything to cause this, you aren't to blame.

Let go of the guilt, and let your heart hold onto hope again.

Taking Comfort in the Thunder

Over the past couple of weeks, we have received an incredible amount of support from our family and friends. We are so thankful for all of the words of support (and tea), friends who've helped with Owen's schedule, and family who have dropped off flowers. It is a wonderful community that we have, and we would not be able to get through this with out you.

Since my first post last week, I received over 60 emails, messages, comments, texts, and tweets from others who have either felt the same pain of early pregnancy loss, or who just have it in their heart to reach out and give us a hug. It has been incredible, and we are very thankful for the support.

At the early prenatal appointment {August 21st}, we were given three options. Let nature take its course with high risk of infection since the baby stopped growing 3weeks ago, take medication to speed the process up, or have a D&C. Since it was a Fertility Clinic that we went to, the doctor that we saw said that he wouldn't recommend a D&C. While it has its merits, he said that he wouldn't want to risk infection or scarring, and letting things go naturally could mean a very long, painful process that may lead to infection or hemorrhage. So..we opted for misoprostal.

My husband had to travel near the end of the week for work, and once Owen was in bed, I was left to my own devices. I had medication to take, and resting to do...which meant that my brain was going into over drive.

While I am thankful that my body knew that something was wrong, and things happened within my control to bring this to a close, it is a very odd feeling to go from pregnant to all of a sudden not. To have a baby bump that looked similar to 17weeks in a first pregnancy then all of a sudden have a flat stomach within three days.

It's a very very strange feeling, and not one that I wish for any woman to have to go through. Unfortunately, it happens alot. I didn't realize how high the miscarriage rates are, but holy moly. 1 in 3 early pregnancies end in miscarriage. Heartbreaking.

Wednesday night I knew that it happened, and went to sleep with a strange mix of relief and sorrow. I still had medication to take every six hours, which meant a wakeup call at 2am then again at 8am. When I woke up at 8am, it was pouring outside.

Then I heard it...thunder. Thunderstorms have always been symbolic to me, as my Dad used to sit on the front porch and watch them roll in.

He was there. He was holding our babe in his very strong and loving hands. He was bringing an intense amount of comfort, and a great deal of peace to my heart to know that our babe would be okay with him.

Thank you, Dad.

I Will Wait...For You

I don't typically write about our little family or give a hugely personal view into our life. I like keeping thing light and airy, pretty and inspirational but something happened that my soul needs to get out.

On August 19th, I woke up and saw some spotting. Now...this usually would be normal but not when I was 10weeks pregnant with our second babe. {we were planning on announcing VERY soon as my belly looked about 17weeks along}

I called our doctor, talked to the nurse and waited for Colin to come home. Off to the hospital we went, and straight into triage. The nurses at LHSC were fantastic, and I will be eternally grateful to them for being so understanding, reassuring and calming when I was confused and scared.

After we eavesdropped on our {rather animated} ER neighbours, the doctor did an ultrasound. The words no pregnant woman wants to hear followed...

I see a sac, but nothing inside.

Pardon? You what?

We prepared for the worst, and after half a bag of IV fluids, were off to ultrasound for an internal. I went in with the loveliest ultrasound technician ever {and in my haze, I completely forget her name...whoever you are, thank you}, but laid there scared while Colin paced in the hall.

She showed me everything and explained everything, even though she shouldn't have. She said she couldn't let me leave the room with her knowing and me not...

The babe stopped growing at around 7weeks.

7weeks.

My heart sank, and I bawled.

After confirming with another technician the growth and lack of heartbeat, they brought Colin in so he could see our babe and we could just be alone in the moment.

We got wheeled back to the ER and waited.

and waited...and waited some more. We cried alot, and I just kept saying that I wanted to go home. It took about an hour before the doctor came over, and only because the nurses had already been to see us, got the sense that we already knew and that we needed to be sent home fairly immediately.

After we spoke with the doctor, we were told that we had an appointment on the 21st {post to follow} with an early prenatal specialist to go over our options.

We went home, told Colin's parents and got the biggest hugs from our Bear. He didn't understand, but we told him that the baby was sick and went to be with Grandpa in Heaven.

It's been a very long week, but I wanted to write about it. Knowing how many of my beautiful friends who have been through this, some multiple times, I just feel like women suffer in silence with this incredible amount of pain. They mourn someone that they didn't even get a chance to say hello to, feel kick from the inside, or look in the eyes. They do it alone, and I don't think that's fair.

We need a voice, and I know that I have a safe {and well supported} one here.

On our way home from the hospital, I heard this song on the radio and it really spoke to my soul.



For now, sweet babe...I will wait, I will wait for you....