Lost

Wow, I have been the worst blogger, EVER, lately! I apologize. I am STILL waiting for Trevor's birthday pictures. I guess I have to realize that people are busy, and just because it's the most important thing to ME, it's not to them. So I'm waiting; rather impatiently, might I add. I haven't been in the best place mentally, lately, and this post will probably be very incoherent and full of rambling, so bear with me.

I don't know when this will end! I CANNOT spend the rest of my life going through bouts of sadness, despair, and utter terror at everyday life. For a few months now I had been doing well; Trevor's party was AMAZING! I felt strong; like healing had finally begun and maybe this overwhelming, unbearable grief was finally withering away. HA! What was I thinking? And it has been over 5 years now...5 YEARS! What the hell is wrong with me? My best friend told me today that she thinks I am bi-polar, or have manic depression. Maybe she's right. I have had your basic normal-grade depression even since I was 15 or so, so maybe losing my son really sent me over the edge. I'll admit I haven't been taking my medication, Zoloft, but I have had mostly good weeks and months since I've stopped taking it. So I don't know what to think! I think maybe what I actually have is PTSD. A lot of women who have lost children, it is my understanding, suffer from PTSD. And if it's been 5 years, there has to be an underlying mental defect here, right? I mean, I'm MISERABLE. No one wants to be around me, even my own family. I feel like a burden to EVERYONE. My best friend keeps telling me, and I suppose she's right, that no one can ever love someone like this. And it's true, I guess.

On a similar note, I have given up, officially, on relying on ever getting married. And I still want babies. So to me, it seems logical, since I'm about to come into some money, to have a baby on my own. No, I don't mean go out, sleep with men until I get pregnant and ask for a child support check. I was thinking, about a year from now I will start looking into getting a sperm donation and trying artificial insemination. And every single person in my life who I've mentioned this to, basically told me I wouldn't be a good mother, and that having a baby like that is the dumbest idea they've ever heard. I suppose SOME of them used nicer words, but that's what they all ultimately meant by their answers. This is not something I have barely thought about or taken lightly. This is something I am dead serious about. Maybe I AM crazy, but why? I look at it this way: maybe no one WILL ever love me. Maybe I won't ever get married! And I am CERTAINLY NOT going to give up on ever having children, just because I am supposed to wait for a man to decide that I'm worthy of being a wife and mother. That's not fair; and technology allows me to have other options. So why can't I use those options? Please, correct me if I'm wrong. I just want to hear from someone who knows the pain of losing a child; who has these mothering instincts and no place to use them. Everyone's argument has been, "you're only 24, you have time." Maybe. But I was pregnant at 18, and delivered a child at 19, remember? So my brain has been in mothering mode SINCE then. So, I may be 24, but to me I've been ready for a child for 5 years. I have been yearning to hold a healthy baby in my arms for 5 YEARS. I have been ready to nurse, change diapers, instill values, and all the million other things a mother does...for 5 YEARS. So to me, waiting until I'm 25, trying for probably a year or so, and then waiting 9 months for the baby is NOT that crazy of an idea. And as far as me being mentally disturbed goes...well, I'd be far LESS mentally disturbed if I had a living, breathing child to take home, to nurture, to MOTHER. There will ALWAYS be a hole in my heart for Trevor; I know this. But why does that mean I can't have another child? I will be financially stable, and I've been ready, like I said, for 5 YEARS! Also, did I mention, the people who keep telling me it's a terrible idea are people who were married young, had children young or don't want kids, and know NOTHING about having to wait for a baby! And ABSOLUTELY NOTHING about losing your only child. It's just hard for me to trust the opinion of someone who was given everything in life, and still has the audacity to complain about it, or tell me I'M crazy, for wanting what they accidentally got and didn't want.

Regardless of all else in this post, I am making two appointments this week: one with a mental health professional, and another with an OB-GYN to discuss my childbearing options. I won't make any rash decisions; I suppose. But I am serious about this and I would like to know if anyone has a VALID reason why I should consider otherwise?

Fight For Preemies!

Today is Bloggers Unite's event to FIGHT FOR PREEMIES! In honor of this, participating bloggers are asked to blog about a preemie in their lives. Whether past or present, here or with the Angels, your own child or a child you know; join me and many others and blog about a preemie that has touched your life!

"Every year, 20 million babies are born too soon, too small and very sick ― half a million of them in the United States. November 17 is when we fight.

Do you know a baby that was born too soon, too small, unable to suck, unable to breathe on his own? Premature birth is a health crisis that jeopardizes the lives and health of nearly half-million babies each year. It is the #1 killer of newborns and can lead to lifelong disabilities. Worse: the number has increased 31 percent since 1981. It can happen without warning and for no known reason. Until we have more answers, anyone’s baby, could be born too soon.

Medical advances give even the tiniest babies a chance of survival, yet for many babies premature birth is still a life or death condition. It’s the #1 cause of death during the first month of life. And babies who survive face serious health challenges and risk lifelong disabilities.

The rate of premature birth has never been higher. In half the cases, we simply don’t understand what went wrong. We need to fight for answers. And, ultimately, preventions.

November 17 is dedicated to raising awareness of the crisis of premature birth. The March of Dimes invites bloggers like you to get involved.

• Learn about premature birth at marchofdimes.com/fightforpreemies
• Put a badge on your blog during November, Prematurity Awareness Month®
• On November 17, blog for a baby you love and to help others

We need to fight ― because babies shouldn’t have to."

So...I bet you all can guess who I'm going to blog about, right? TREVOR, of course! This event could not have come at a more perfect time for my son and I. His birthday is this weekend, so I feel extra honored to blog about him! Let me give you a brief description of his short but precious life. On November 22, 2004, at 22 weeks gestation, my son decided he was ready to greet the world; but it was much, much too early. Despite efforts to stop my labor, Trevor was delivered to me at 11:22 PM, alive but struggling. He was just 1lb. 6oz. and just under 13 inches long. His lungs were not fully developed, even for his gestational age, and this caused him to be unable to breathe on his own. His lungs were also too small for the machine available to expand them. After 22 precious minutes, at 11:44 PM, Trevor Michael went to be with the Angels. If you would like to know the full story of my son's life, visit my post titled How My Angel Earned His Wings (photo included).

As of this coming Sunday, my son would be 5 years old. He would be running wild and getting ready for his Transformer's birthday party! He'd be breathing the same air as all of us. Most of all, he'd be here with his Mama, every day. Although medical advances have made great strides already for premature babies; there's still a lot to uncover. Had there been more advanced medical technology available, and his father and I had been more informed about the risks of prematurity, my son, as well as millions of other babies, could be here with us today.

Please donate to March of Dimes in honor of Trevor Michael, by visiting his Memory Band. The March of Dimes funds research and raises awareness for preemies and their families. Help babies like my son get the care they need to survive; and parents like me to be more educated on the risks and signs of premature birth.

Another Loss

So...in order to tell you what happened yesterday, first I'll have to tell you all what I've failed to tell you for the past few weeks.  I did the stupid, sinful, embarrasing thing in Tulsa and had unprotected sex with Austin (see my last post, "I HEART TULSA").  Five days later, I missed my period.  A week after that, I was nauseous and vomited for 5 days straight.  I felt the implantation pulling, "bungee cord" feeling.   Most of all my period NEVER came.  A few days ago, I started seeing brownish-pink spotting.  This is usually what is called "implantation bleeding".  It's also an early sign of miscarriage.  Yesterday would have been 4 weeks 4 days pregnant.

To be honest, I am so swallowed with the loss of my son that I was EXCITED to be pregnant!  I WANTED this baby.  Even if Austin wanted nothing to do with me, in my mind this was the best mistake I'd ever made.  Needless to say, yesterday morning I was certainly not pregnant anymore.  This may be graphic, but I've been getting blood clots the size of quarters, and I feel as if someone is trying to rip my insides out of me.  I was DEVASTATED.  I spent the day with my best friend, Kaleigh, balling my eyes out and screaming at the sky.  I was so lost.  Did I really just lose ANOTHER child?  Now, clearly a 4 week 4 day embryo the size of a pin head is nothing in comparison to losing my 1lb 6oz, living son.  But I was pregnant two days ago, nonetheless, and I'm not pregnant anymore.  And there isn't a baby, either.  So twice, I was pregnant, and now, TWICE I've lost a baby.

In spite of this, I am trying to remain strong.  If ever I've realized that God is in control, it's now.  I know that He will not harm me; only teach me lessons.  I have faith that one day I will have beautiful, healthy babies and a husband who loves me with all of his heart.  I've learned that I need to at least TRY to be patient with His plan; and until I see it, do my best to serve our Lord in my every day life.  If never before, I am praying every chance that I get.  I know that God will not give me a child until I love myself enough to be a good mother.  I know that all the things that have happened to me in my life, have all been part of His plan, in one way or another.  I know that I have learned something from my losses; and from the losses of others, too.  I know that now Trevor has a sibling to play with in his mansion in Heaven!  I don't know how something like a miscarriage has brought me CLOSER to God...but it has.  Maybe He's trying to show me that even though this has happened, He is never far from me.  If I can have faith now, I will never lose my faith again.

Might I add, I have never in my life been more grateful for my best friend.  I've been a terrible friend to her lately.  A jealous, spiteful BITCH, in plain English.  Yet, she hasn't left me for a moment.  She has been there through EVERYTHING I've been going through.  I only hope that someday I can be for her what she has been for me.  Kay, if you read this I love you, I'm sorry, and thank you.

In response to your help...

Thank you all for your help and concerns.

I don't know anything about them sending his placenta away.  I know Nicholas didn't even give them my real name.  They had no history on me, nothing.  In a way then, it is my fault, too.  But at the time I was 19, stupid, and not realizing how later on in life I would regret these things so much.  As much as I want to know the truth, I almost don't (does that make sense?)

Gestational diabetes is something I didn't even know could cause weight gain in a baby.  Three of my cousins went through that with almost all of their children, so it's possible.  This is the thing, I hate being uneducated on the topic, but I don't even know where to begin the research.  And I only recently started letting my son's memory into my mind, unfortunately...so even if he was born four years ago, it's all new to me.

The thing that made me so mad was seeing all these stories and videos of 22-weekers (and even one 21-weeker!), who survived.  The thing is, even if it was procedure not to save a baby at 22 weeks, wouldn't his bigger size warrant them at least a try?  1lb. 6oz. is a big boy for 22 weeks!  He might've been 9+lbs. at full term!

I don't know, but over all I am under the impression that no one even tried to save my son; and that, infuriates me.

What REALLY happened?

I feel the need to write tonight.  I don't know where to start or really what the exact topic is, but I have to get something out.  I've been thinking a lot about the night my son was born/died, and a lot doesn't make sense.  I'm starting to think that Trevor's father had ulterior motives, and maybe things could have been different.  I really was out of it on all kinds of medications that night; a lot of things are fuzzy.  Most of it, actually.  My ex was the one who told me a lot of what happened; and I'm beginning to wonder if he was totally truthful.  First of all, I know I did a lot of things to probably harm my son while I was pregnant:  I drank wine the night I found out, I drank a lot of coffee, I didn't go to doctor's appointments, for fear my Mom would find out, etc. He was a preemie, that's for sure; and that couldn't be Nicholas' doing.  But the only thing I'm sure the doctors told me was his weight, 1lb. 6oz.  Which, I'm coming to realize is almost too big to be a 22-weeker.

It was Nicholas who told me I was 22 weeks along.  Trevor could have been more developed than that; he could have lied.  Which means, my son may have been plenty big enough to put on breathing machines!  I've heard stories of 13oz. preemies who were put on breathing machines!  If that's the case, I almost wonder if Nicholas told them not to save our son?  I wonder if he thought it would be better for everyone?  I'm not saying he did it for malicious reasons (though he may have); he may have thought he was saving little man from suffering.  But in that case, even if I'm drugged, does the hospital have the right to do that without my permission?  My problem is, I wasn't coherent and before we got there we made the decision that we didn't want anyone to find out if Trev didn't make it.  So maybe Nicholas thought he was doing the right thing?  Or maybe, most likely...he didn't tell them not to save Trevor?

But judging from other stories I've heard, it makes NO SENSE for: a) a 1lb.6oz. baby to be only 22 weeks along, b) for a baby that size to have lungs not big enough to expand, or c) for the hospital not to take footprints/pictures, and give me no memory box?  It seems everyone else has those things!  I vaguely remember Nicholas saying "We don't want any evidence."  EVIDENCE?  That's what you call our son's footprints and belongings?  EVIDENCE!?!?!?!  Little things like that make me realize that maybe he didn't want our son at all.  What if he made the decision not to save my little Angel?  What if my son could have survived, even for a while longer?  What if Trevor could be here with me today?  

I know this all sounds crazy, but I don't know enough or remember enough to perceive what really went on that night.  I feel like a terrible mother for not knowing enough about my own son's premature condition to know what actually happened to him.  All I know is, I've recently lost trust that Nicholas is a good guy; and a lot of things about my son's death don't add up.  If you, readers, know anything like this about preemies and age/size/breathing machines, please let me know.  I would rather be hurt by the truth than not know what really happened to my son...

How My Angel Earned His Wings

This is my first post, so I guess I'll tell you my story:

I was eighteen years old, and in what I thought was love.   We'll call him "Nicholas". We had met almost two years earlier and it was infatuation at first sight.  His eyes were so green it took my breath away every time I looked at him.  He was starting his second year of college, and we had talked about how we wanted to wait until after graduation to get married or even consider having children.

It was late August, 2004, and I knew something was going on.  I guess I knew what that something was, but for a while I didn't want to admit it.  I finally braved it one night and made two of my girlfriends take a pregnancy test with me, so I would feel less frightened.  When I got a positive, I panicked.  I buried it in the trash can, said I had "missed" and took the extra one and ran it under the sink.  "Negative".  The whole point of them being there was that I knew they'd be there for me; but when it was real, I was so ashamed of myself that even my two best friends felt untrustworthy.

Being 18-years-intelligent, I then proceeded to drink the jug of wine my friend had gotten for that night's get-together.  Not because I wanted to harm the baby, even for a second; but because I was young, afraid, and didn't know what else to do.  (I still think it may have caused my precious son some damage.)  Then, Nicholas heads down to the party and when he gets there, I can't even speak to him.  He knows something is wrong, but I won't tell him what.  We end up fighting, and I take a nice barefoot, drunk walk up to the main road.  I was ridiculous.  To this day, I don't know what came over me.  It was pathetic; I mean, really.  Again, I just didn't know what else to do.

On the way home, we're not even speaking.  I turn to Nicholas and say, "You're going to be a Dad.  I don't care if you walk away, but I'm keeping our baby; with or without you."  He said nothing.  That nothing, has defined the rest of my life.  We get to my house, and as I'm getting out of the car, he yells "Baby, wait!"  He RUNS to me and grabs me tighter than ever before.  "It's gonna be okay.  I love you."  I suppose that's the best a 19-year-old boy can do.

Flash-forward a month.  I'm turning 19, and I'm 4 months pregnant.  At this point, I'm ecstatic; but terrified.  We have yet to muster the strength to tell anyone other than his sister; one of my best friends.  I am by no means a thin girl with a flat stomach, so it's easy to hide.  I went to only one doctor's appointment, for fear that my mother would somehow find out; but we know it's a boy, and last we knew, a healthy one.  We've decided to name him Trevor.  Nicholas is being really great about it all.  He's saving money and we're looking for apartments, figuring at least one of us would be kicked out of our parents' house.  But overall, we're doing great.  We love each other.

Then there was that day.  The weather was weird, I felt weird, Nicholas felt weird.  We didn't know why.  Something about that day was just so off.   November 22, 2004.  We decided to try and get out; so Nicholas, his sister "Elizabeth", and I went to dinner.  We're at Chili's, and I start feeling weird.  A little crampy, but nothing drastic.  But I feel really, really dizzy.  I thought I was going to pass out.  I got very nauseous, and went to the bathroom.  Then I knew.  There was blood; and a lot of it.  I won't go into details, but it was horrifying.  Here I am, in a Chili's bathroom, 19, pregnant, possibly losing my baby, and I can't even call my Mama.  Elizabeth came in to check on me after a few minutes.  I said, "I'm bleeding," and she flipped out.  She made a bigger scene than I would have liked, but she was just trying to help.

We drive to a hospital 45 minutes away, because we were stupid enough to let people we knew finding out be our biggest concern.  In and out of consciousness, I remember two things: praying (and I was NOT a religious person), and telling my son I was sorry.  We get to the hospital, and they pumped me with more drugs than I ever care to take in a lifetime.  I remember them telling me "You're gonna have to deliver now, sweetheart."  But I was not going for it.  I knew my son was too little; it was too early.  I don't remember much after that.

Trevor Michael was born at 11:22 (on 11/22), and it was determined I had been 22 weeks pregnant.  I had just delivered a 1lb. 60z. baby boy, and for now, he was alive.  They took him from me.  Whisked him away and didn't tell me anything.  Nicholas was crying.  I've never seen him so frightened.  They bring my son back to me and tell me there's nothing they can do.  His lungs aren't big enough to expand with breathing machines.  They thought they'd let me hold him through it all.  He couldn't quite cry; more like a whimper.  He was fighting so hard to breathe, but it just wasn't working.  I couldn't do anything to save my son.  Here he was, the little boy I had dreamed about for so long; and I couldn't help him.  I screamed so loud the whole hospital must have heard it.  "I WANT YOU TO HELP MY SON.  PLEASE HELP MY SON, HE CAN'T BREATHE."  But they couldn't.  So they took him from me, again.  He didn't even die peacefully in his mother's arms.

Time of death: 11:44PM (he was here on earth for 22 minutes).  They wrapped him up in a little blanket with a little blue knit cap and brought our son back to us.  Nicholas held him and told him we were sorry.  That we loved him and we'd never forget him.  Then I held my son's lifeless body in my arms and lost my mind.  I've never been the same.

Elizabeth arranged for Trevor to be buried in the next state over from us.  She, Nicholas and I were the only ones there.  I never publicly acknowledged my son's existence, and it kills me every day.  I didn't know what I was doing.  Please understand, I was still, after all, just a kid.  Elizabeth took one picture of Trevor, in his casket (seen above).  It may sound strange to you, but it's all I have.

I never told my parents.  He never told his.  We erased it.  We erased our son.  Nicholas and I broke up in January 2007.  We've never spoken since.  For various reasons (some pertaining to not talking about our son, some not), I can never forgive him.  I wish sometimes he was here to talk to about our son; but I know it's for the best.

Recently, I started opening up.  I told my best friend about Trevor.  I say his name out loud.  I celebrate his life.  What happened is, I repressed my emotions, and now, four years later I feel like I lost my son yesterday.  I've met some other parents who have lost children.  It's comforting to know I'm not alone, but it's still intolerable.  Thank God for my best friend.  She has helped me through this in ways I can never describe.  I think honestly, I might not be here if it wasn't for her.  Every day is a battle, but I guess that's life.  I started this blog, so that's a step in the right direction.

That's my story, I hope it can help someone.