Music to my ears

"The mention of my child's name may bring tears to my eyes, but it never fails to bring music to my ears. If you are really my friend, let me hear the beautiful music of his name. It soothes my broken heart and sings to my soul."

Author unknown

I think one of the hardest things about being a mother whose babies are in heaven is that people quickly avoid the topic of loss.  I know this is because people don't understand, or they are afraid they will hurt my feelings, or they simply do not know what to say.  If Conner and Benjamin were here with us, at home, we would be talking about them nonstop, wouldn't we?  We would be talking about their sleeping habits, how they interact with each other, how tired we are staying up at night with two baby boys, and posting pictures of them everywhere to the annoyance of many.  But since we never got to bring them home, people have avoided talking to me about it like its some sort of plague.  It's like people think my bad luck will rub off on them or something.  This isn't the Ebola virus, people.

All I want to do is talk about my boys.  I want to hear their names, see their pictures, talk about how much we love them and miss them.  I want to plan how my boys can continue to make a difference in the world, what we can continue to do for them, and celebrate their presence at family gatherings.  My husband and I have been talking about how people expect us to be "over it" by now and have generally moved on.  They don't want to hear about or grief, or even hear about how happy our boys make us.

I can only hope that with persistence, we can change how people view infant loss.  So many people stay quiet about it, but we cannot forget that our babies were here.  There is an Infant Loss Awareness Day in October, and that bothers me - why isn't every day Infant Loss Awareness Day?  Are we so quiet on this topic that we had to set aside one day a year to talk about this? They are still here in many ways, watching over us and listening to us.  We should be talking about our babies in heaven everyday.

This will be my last post for a little while.  We're leaving for Bermuda on Friday.  Then, we'll be home for a couple of days only to leave town again for Mother's Day and the boys' due date.  Until then, I hope you all have a great couple of weeks!

Team Conner and Ben

Today was the big MOD March for Babies in Chicago!  We were prepared for rain, wind, and cold (and this girl packed some extra ponchos, just in case).  Thankfully, we only experienced a few drops of rain. The wind and the cold sucked, though. I wore five layers today.  People bundled up with coats and blankets, which flew around in the wind. Well, except my husband who gave me his jacket (what a guy). As soon as we crossed the finish line - I kid you not - the clouds parted, the sun came out, and you would think it was the most gorgeous spring day.

 Tim and I before the walk

The back of our team shirts

My nails for the walk

We had about 50 people on our team.  We were told we were the largest family team at the Chicago walk this year!  Last night and this morning, last minute donations came pouring in.  Tim and I made one last donation ourselves while we were standing around waiting for the walk to start.  We bumped ourselves up to the third place family team in the Chicago walk, raising over $12, 425!!!  We had cash and checks turned in this morning, so I am guessing our final total is around $13,000.  We are so blessed to have so many supportive friends and family.

There is a big "but" here, though (and no, not mine. Although, possibly).  Before the walk started, a couple of guest speakers went up there and asked everyone to raise their hands if their baby spent time in the NICU. Then they started talking about how one of their babies was born early - AT 38 FUCKING WEEKS. That's one week past full term, asshole. And then, the big blow: "We are walking for the babies in the NICU. That is why we are all here - for them."  Blah, blah more talking about the miracle babies who do make it home thanks to MOD.

No, that's definitely not why I was there.  I understand that the money we were raising was to help fund research to prevent prematurity.  But I was walking for my babies who never saw the NICU.  I looked around at other team shirts and saw that many of them were also walking for their babies who passed away. I was so offended.  Had the MOD forgotten that so many of us were walking in memory of our babies?

My feelings were hurt.  I just wanted to run up there and scream, "WE ARE ALSO WALKING FOR THE BABIES WHO NEVER MADE IT HOME." We were marching for our babies who never got to take their first steps. I'm sure there were more words spoken on that stage before we started the walk, but I blocked them out.  No need to hear any of this crap anymore.

I do want to make sure I say this though - I truly had a good time with our team, who has been so supportive of us.  I support the March of Dimes mission, totally and completely.  It was a great tribute to our boys, and a wonderful way to contribute to a great cause. We spent the three miles catching up with old friends, laughing, talking, and just being together.  I had an empty place in my heart all day because my boys were not there with us, but I feel like I am slowly starting to feel like myself again. I thanked everyone for coming, and they in turn all thanked me for letting them be a part of the day.

 Team picture take 1.  We're holding up a picture of Benjamin and Conner so they could be in the picture, too!

Team picture take 2.  My trying to get my hair out of my face turned into my head being cocked to the side like an idiot, lol.

I think we may do something different for Benjamin and Conner next year.  I'm not sure what though.  I would like to do the March for Babies every other year, and fill the years in between with other activities for them.  I'll think of something to do.  There are different ways to fund raise for premature babies, and one of them was to donate to the hospital our boys were born at.

We went to the Butterflies of Hope Memorial that the hospital has every spring for the babies who have gone to heaven. It was just hours after the MOD March for Babies.  The nurse who handles the NICU donations is also the same nurse who coordinates the memorials for the babies who passed away. My mother-in-law made blankets for the micro-preemies and my sister-in-law made knitted hats for them as well.  Tim and I donated money so that they could buy more memory boxes for the families who don't get to take their babies home.  Our nurses said that they have so many donations for the full term babies, but no one needs hats or blankets for them  - obviously, parents bring their own.  But the micro preemies hardly have anything that fits them, because no one makes anything that small.  Thankfully, my in-laws are very crafty when it comes to sewing and making baby clothes, so they got right on it as soon as Conner and Benjamin were born.   We were so grateful to the people who donated the blankets and hats for our boys, and it was so touching that our family was working to give back to the hospital.

We delivered our babies at a very large and very well-funded hospital.  It is consistently ranked top 100 in the nation in various specialties.  It has a level 3 NICU, so many micro-preemies from other hospital are constantly being taken to this hospital.  And that is probably why, when we walked into the main entrance, we were ticked off when the lady at the front desk didn't know what memorial we were talking about, which auditorium it was in, and gave us attitude about asking her anything about it.  My husband just wanted to say, "listen, lady, its a memorial for dead babies, so spare me your attitude."  He didn't.  I wish he had.

We got to the auditorium after walking down long and winding hallways.  The hospital does two memorials a year.  The memorial in the fall is a walk in the forest preserve with a balloon release at the end.  Last year, about 500-600 people attended.  The coordinator told me that the spring memorial is the smaller memorial they have.  I figured maybe there would be 100-200 people there.

There were 28.

Our well-funded hospital, in their brand new auditorium with a state of the art sound system, was playing depressing music from a boom box.  Remember those?  Yeah.  Obviously, the hospital could give two shits about this memorial.  One of the nurses came up to the podium, explaining that she would call us each up there to share our experiences with our babies.

Um, excuse me?  Isn't this a memorial?  When, exactly, did this become a grief support group? And if they were going to ask us to tell a story about our babies, they could have given us a heads up.  I wasn't prepared for this. Then more sad music played.  I sat in agony while a woman sang about what she wondered her baby would be like and how she will never hold her baby again. A prayer was said.  More sad words. Nothing was positive.  It was like they didn't want to remember our babies with happiness.  They only wanted to grieve.  I understand this is what many people wanted, but it was not for us. Another emo song played (remember emo?  Yeah I'm just evoking tons of memories of the 90's/2000's, aren't I?).

I turned to my husband and told him we had to go.  He looked relieved.  I could tell he was miserable.  We left the donated blankets, hats, and our cash donation for memory boxes with a woman who looked like she was coordinating the event. We told her to give them to Renee, the nurse I had talked to.  And then we left the world's most depressing memorial ever.

My babies' legacy will not be grief.  Every second I held them was the happiest I had ever been, even knowing that soon they would be taken from me.  They brought more happiness into my life in 22.5 weeks than a lifetime with anyone else could.  When I talk about them and when others talk about them, I think we will be sad because we were robbed of precious moments with them.  But I would rather look at Conner and Ben, talk about them, and think about them with happiness and be thankful that they ever existed at all. Even though they are no longer on this earth, they are mine and I am theirs.  Nothing will change that.

You never know who is struggling with infertility

As many of you know, this is is National Infertility Awareness Week.  I have chosen not to "come out," for various reasons. But I came across this list of things to be aware of when you are friends with someone battling infertility.  I would like to share them with you.  I've only shared my struggles with infertility to a few people, and they can be quite insensitive with what they say.  I've chosen to stop telling anyone in my personal life about our journey to expand our family.  People's hearts are sometimes in the right places, but their words aren't.  Words hurt, especially when they can be avoided.

You  never know who is 1 in 8.  Please consider that:

1.  Infertility is a disease; a medical condition. No amount of ill-considered advice is going to change that.

2. Other people’s fertility hurts my feelings. I know it’s not their fault, that’s what our bodies are meant to do. But I can’t do it, and it is upsetting to me.

3.  Strangers, friends and family speaking to me as if I am ignorant because I don’t have children is hurtful. Ie: You’ll understand/you’ll change your mind/you’ll know better…when you have kids.

4.  Infertility affects every part of my life. My relationship (physical and emotional) with my spouse and others, my self-esteem, my mood (all the time, up and down), my future plans (or lack thereof, because I can’t plan past the next treatment), and we can’t forget, my bank account.

5.  If someone doesn’t have kids it is not appropriate to ask them if/when/how many children they plan on having. Even if they do already have a child/children, don’t. I don’t ask you what your salary is, or your sexual preference. Please do not ask me about the status of my uterus.

6.  The point of marriage is not (necessarily) to have children. Sure, it is generally the by-product of marriage, but not the sole purpose. And not everyone wants to get knocked up on their honeymoon. Keep that in mind, and see #5.

7.  Fortunately (for you), and unfortunately for us (suffering from IF) you cannot understand what this is like. You may have an idea from what we’ve told you, or you’ve read. You’ll know that it is horrible, and be able to sympathize with the fact that we are in pain. But there really is no way for you to fully understand. The psychological effects have been compared to having cancer. Keep that in mind.

8.  If you are someone I have let into my IF world, sometimes I will want to talk about it, and sometimes I won’t. Respect my fickleness, and please be patient with me. A secondary note to that one, don’t ask me every month if “it worked”. I will tell you when it is appropriate for you to know.

9.  I am not ashamed of being infertile, but I deal with enough trying to hold myself together while managing IF, never mind fielding questions/ignorance/pity from other people. That is why it is none of your business.

10.  I will emerge on the other side of IF, no matter what road we take to get there or if it ends up including children or not, but I will never be the person that I was before. Unfortunately, I have visited a very ugly, dark place. Pain will change a person, and I will have to break free of my broken self to emerge anew.

A big thank you to Infertile Girl in a Fertile World for letting me share this on my blog!

Too Beautiful For Earth

Another baby loss mom, Jen , has included Benjamin and Conner's names on her team shirt for the MOD March for Babies. I am so touched by the sentiment. I've been staring at their names and I just can't believe that those boys are mine.  They are so beautiful, and I had the privilege to name them and hold them.  God gave them only two hours on this earth, and He gave them to me.  I will never hold them on this earth again, but I am so happy that their names and their memory live on.  We are walking on Sunday for the March for Babies, and we have almost raised $10,000!  We are 47 walkers strong.  I am so happy that we can do this for the boys, as well as for future preemies. Most likely, if I ever have another baby, my baby will be premature.  I'm so glad that there are organizations like this that fight for our babies.  My baby boys have made an impact on people's lives, and as their mother I will make sure that they continue to do so.  May they never be forgotten and always live in our hearts.

Lucky now

Ryan Adams - Lucky Now

I don't remember, were we wild and young?

All that's faded into memory

I feel like somebody I don't know

Are we really who we used to be?

Am I really who I was?

We went out a couple nights ago for the Blackhawks game.  I forgot for a few minutes why I was so unhappy.  Maybe it was the beer that I haven't had in months.  I'm not sure.  But I felt young again.  But then I instantly felt guilty for being out and having a good time.  I don't know if I'll ever truly have a good day again. This life is a balancing act.  I cannot wait for the next life with my baby boys. 

Forever changed.  I love you, Benjamin and Conner. 

I can't even today...

We canceled our April FET because I didn't feel 100% ready.  And then I felt ready for the May cycle.  It was the only thing I was looking forward to.  THE ONLY THING.  May all of a sudden was full of possibility, or at least it was a month in which I could start to move forward.

And then MY FUCKING PROTOCOL GOT SWITCHED to Ganirelix.  And now baseline lands in the middle of our Bermuda vacation, which I had planned around my Lupron protocol.  And now I get to cancel ANOTHER FUCKING CYCLE.

Am I ever going to move forward?  Am I ever going to bring a baby home?  Because the universe sure is making it pretty impossible for me.  PCOS, anovulation, the huge loss of my twins, canceled cycle, canceled cycle.  No amount of tequila will stop me from crying all night.

Easter and a C-Section

Bet you never thought you would hear those two phrases together.

Yesterday was Easter.  I had full intentions on trying to celebrate with my family.  Tim was at the fire department, so I also planned on seeing him.  I took Miranda for a walk, like we do every day.  People were all over the neighborhood, their children strewn about their front lawns in their Sunday best.  Families were piling into their cars, probably off to church or an Easter party. These people were like an eclipse - I tried not to look directly at them.

Then someone said "Happy Easter" to me.  "You, too," I replied.  Then I burst into tears as I walked my dog the remainder of the way home.

I went to visit Tim at the fire department.  Coincidentally, yesterday was his last day there until June.  He had been able to take his vacation time/paid days off all together in preparation for Ben and Conner coming home this month.  It was nice to see him.  It was a small amount of relief during a very long day.  I decided not to go to my in-laws house, since I did not want to see a bunch of kids running around reminding me that mine couldn't be there as well.  I couldn't bear to see the swarms of children running around searching for Easter eggs.  So my sister in law came to bring me Easter dinner last night, along with an Easter basket filled with books for Conner and Benjamin.  Much to Miranda's delight, she also received a brand new pink rubber ducky and some treats.  She brought her duck to bed last night, already so in love with it.

Miranda and her new BFF

Conner and Ben's new bunny, next to their palm leaves

Today marks what probably would have been their c-section date.  Today marks 37 weeks pregnant.  I'm not super attached to this date, since there was a 90% chance I wouldn't have made it to 37 weeks and would have delivered between 34-36 instead.  But nonetheless, I find myself doubting my upcoming FET, doubting myself as a person, and worst of all doubting myself as a mother.  I feel so empty and useless.  I am home all. the. time.  I was supposed to be a SAHM.  Last night I had a dream that my husband called me pathetic, because all I do is stay at home in my grief.  Needless to say, I didn't sleep very well.

Mommy loves you, Benjamin and Conner.  I'm so sorry we are not together.

Because 1 in 8 is someone you know

Yesterday marked the beginning of National Infertility Awareness Week.   As many of you know, I haven't been open about my infertility.  I am the kind of person who gets overwhelmed easily, and I knew that being open about our experience in expanding our family would garner criticism, questions, and judgement.  I would love to say that we would have a ton of support from our friends and family.  I have no doubt that some of them would be there for us, but to be honest, I'm not sure who it would be.  I have a ton of reasons for why I haven't shared my PCOS/Anovulation, including, but not limited to:

1. Judgement. All of my friends and family are super, super fertile.  I'm talking the kind of people who get knocked up on accident, over and over and over again.  I was once told, right after I got married, that having babies right away in my husband's family was just how they did things.  It just happens.  And I believe they expected that from me.  To those who don't understand infertility, it is easy to judge people for using IVF.  They still think of these babies as "test-tube babies."  It is something out of science fiction for them.  I have already had a few people (who do know of my infertility status) ask me why I haven't tried more natural remedies to get pregnant.  Or they tell me to just relax.  Just have more sex.  Just don't think about it, and it will happen.  Does this also work for heart disease? Because I wasn't aware that you could just make a disorder/disease go away by relaxing.  
2. Religion.  I am Catholic, although I have been attending my husband's Lutheran church since my boys were born.  Decades ago, eight big-name Catholics came together to decide if ART/IVF was ethical according to the Catholic Canon.  Seven of them said yes, one of them said no.  Because there was one dissenter, the official status of the Catholic church is that IVF is a big no-no.  They say that babies have the right to be made in love.  I assure you, Catholics everywhere, that my babies were made in love regardless of the fact that no actual love-making occurred.  Every time I took a needle to my belly,  every time I missed work for a doctors appointment, every tear I shed over infertility - that was all in love.  
3. Questions.  I don't want to answer them - not about my cycle, our next steps, how everything works, how much it costs, what I am planning to do, etc.  No. I just can't.  Questions are not a form of support.  They feel like a form of attack.  
4. Gossip. Once the cat is out of the bag, people will talk about it among themselves.  That poor Krystal, they'll say.  She went through all that and lost her babies.  Now she has to go through it again. And suddenly I'm part of their dinner conversations.  I'm the reason why they become thankful that they are not infertile.  "Better her than me."  
5. Insensitive comments. Maybe you're not meant to be a mother.  Maybe it's just not your time.  Maybe you should adopt instead.  I can hear the comments coming already. 
6. Failure to see my babies for what they really are: miracles. This may be my biggest reason for not telling many people.  I do not want them looking at my little Benjamin and little Conner and thinking, "wow, science babies."  NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO.  THEY ARE JUST BABIES.  LITTLE MIRACLES.  In fact, given our struggles, bigger miracles than any other.  

But then I realized that I may actually be part of the problem.  Maybe people judge, question, gossip, etc. because they don't realize that infertility is a disorder.  We have the right to seek medical treatment just like someone who has a disease has the right to seek treatment.  There is a stigma that women who can't conceive naturally are not really women, or that this is God's way of saying that they are not meant to be mothers.  If someone has cancer, is that God's way of saying they should die? No, that is outrageous.  Maybe, if people were more open about this, myself included, it wouldn't be such a big deal to share all of this.

I definitely have some things to think about this week.  I am not committing myself to NIAW just yet, but I am thinking about stepping forward.  In the meantime, below are some links for infertility awareness:

25 Things to Say and Not Say to Someone Living with Infertility

Ten Things to Stop Doing to Support Someone with Infertility

Infertility Etiquette

A big thank you to Chickin for the resources and bringing this movement to my attention!  

On adoption

Via Flickr

I would like to begin by saying that I fully, whole-heartedly believe that adoption is a wonderful, beautiful way to expand a family.  Tim and I, before we were even married, talked about having a couple kids of our own and adopting a third.  I believe that adoption should not be a last resort - it should be something that you were open to all along.  I don't believe parents should adopt just because it is their only option left, unless they are truly going to love that child like it was their biological child - like their own.  I would hate for a child to think, "well, I was adopted because my parents couldn't have their own babies."  How awful to think that. I commend families that open their hearts and their home to children who need a forever home.  I am happy when people choose to place their babies up for adoption instead of choosing abortion or choosing to raise their baby when they know they are just not going to be good parents (for any reason - financially, emotionally, etc.).

But seriously.  It is NEVER okay ask a grieving mother if she is thinking about adoption.  It is NEVER okay to ask someone going through infertility if they think adoption is the way to go instead.  It is especially NEVER okay to ask an infertile, grieving mother if she is going to adopt. I am not pointing fingers at anyone reading this, I just feel the need to vent about this.

I understand why people ask.  But hear me out.

WHY YOU SHOULD NEVER ASK  ABOUT ADOPTION:

1. Would you ask a fertile mother with babies at home if she was thinking about adoption?  NO.  So don't ask me. 
2. Asking if I am thinking about adoption makes it sound like you don't have faith that my body can bring a baby into this world.  Thanks for the support. 
3. I'm still fighting the good fight.  You are making it sound like I should quit.  Again, thanks for the support. 
4. If we were seriously considering adoption at this time, we would tell people close to us.  Assuming you are close to us, you would then know if we were thinking about adoption and you wouldn't have to ask.  If we were thinking about adoption and chose not to tell you, its because we don't feel comfortable sharing that information with you.  And thus, we are obviously not close enough for you to ask me this question in the first place. 
5. I got pregnant. With twins. And most people don't know we went through IVF.  They have no idea that I struggle with infertility.  In fact, I must look super fertile to them.  And yet, people still ask about adoption.  They didn't ask about this before I got pregnant.  They only asked after I lost my babies.  I feel like that is insinuating that I will lose another baby. 
6. We're only a few months out from the first and last time we held our baby boys.  Stop asking me about this.  I feel like people are trying to get our minds focused on moving on.  Only I feel like I have the right to talk about expanding our family from here on out.  Everyone else can shut up about it. 
7. People assume that adoption is easy.  Um, hell no it is not.  There is a massive wait list for domestic adoptions.  It takes years for people to bring home a baby.  Years and thousands and thousands of dollars. And then if you get chosen, there is no guarantee that the birth mother won't change her mind.  And you are still out all of that money.  Choosing international adoption means that you bring a toddler home.  No babies.  And then jumping through the legalities of international adoption is frustrating and exhausting.  Adoption isn't a sign up list, people.  It's a process.  Bringing adoption up nonchalantly is actually quite bothersome.  
8. By asking about adoption, people forget that I have this overwhelming want and need to have another pregnancy and to birth another baby.  They dismiss the fact that having a biological child is so important to my husband and I.  It is important to almost every couple in the world, so why not us?  

I'm not saying we will never adopt.  Maybe one day, that is where the wind will take us.  Maybe we will have only adopted children, and maybe we will have a mix of biological and adopted children.  But I do know that I hate this question.  I wish people would realize how insensitive this question really is. 

Trust

Through my blog and through loss forums, I have been blessed to have been able to connect with people who are also going through the losses of their precious babies.  I certainly do not rejoice in hearing about the loss of a baby, but talking to these women has made me feel less like an anomaly.  I can only hope that talking to me and reading this blog also helps these girls feel like they are not alone in their grief. Yesterday, one of these girls emailed me with a daily devotional, written from God's perspective, that really hit home with me.  I really needed it today. Thank you, Erica, for sharing this with me:

"Trusting Me is a moment-by-moment choice. My people have not always understood this truth. After I performed miracles in the wilderness, My chosen children trusted Me intensely-but only temporarily. Soon the grumbling began again, testing My patience to the utmost. Isn't it often the same with you? You trust Me when things go well, when you see Me working on your behalf. This type of trust flows readily within you, requiring no exertion of your will. When things go wrong, your trust-flow slows down and solidifies. You are forced to choose between trusting Me intentionally or rebelling, resenting My ways with you. This choice constitutes a fork in the road. Stay on the path of Life with Me, enjoying My Presence. Choose to trust Me in all circumstances."

I find it incredibly hard to trust God right now.  I know I have to, because he has Benjamin Bacon and Conner Chubby-Cheeks in the palms of his hands. But I prayed to him every night to help me get these boys to a safe gestation.  I knew from the start we were at risk for preterm delivery since they were twins.  I trusted. And then God took them at 22.5 weeks.

Still, I tried to trust.  I asked God to help me decide when to try to have another baby.  We had clearance to try a frozen embryo transfer in April.  I signed up.  My body, though, had different ideas.  I was bleeding when I wasn't supposed to. We weren't even near the boys' due date yet. I was still so emotionally wrecked, and my body was telling me it was not ready.  I took this as a sign from God. I cancelled the cycle.  I signed up for May.

I feel ready now.  My body has gained its strength back.  While I am obviously distraught and sad, let's face it - I will never stop feeling horrible over the loss of my sons.  I was looking forward to this May cycle.  It was something to look forward to, this bright light of hope in the middle of complete desperation.

And then I started to have discharge.  I had no idea what it was, so I went in for testing.  My OB called today to say that I tested negative for yeast and bacteria.  That's great news, except that it leaves us with zero clue what this discharge is.  He believes that it is my body just trying to get back to normal.  Hormones can cause all kinds of crazy things.

I called my RE nurse and told her what had happened.  She said yes, it was probably by body trying to normalize itself.  Which means that maybe its a good idea to cancel the May cycle and move it to June.  But it is up to ME to decide... by Monday.

OMG.  Is this ever going to happen?  I was finally ready.  I was looking forward to this.  I had even decided if I had to stay home and skip our vacation to Bermuda to do this May cycle, I would do it.  And now we're talking about canceling again?  I AM READY TO TOUCH THE BUTT!  LET ME TOUCH THE BUTT!

I've lost my babies.  I keep missing these chances to get pregnant again.  And now I have to show God that I trust Him.  This isn't difficult.  This is damn near impossible.  But this devotional really speaks to me.  I trusted Him when times were good.  I need to trust Him when times are bad.  I just wish I knew WHAT WAS GOING ON.  I mean, c'mon, God.  Give me a hint.  The anticipation of what is to come is destroying any chance of a positive outlook from my perspective.

I hope you're right, Isaiah. 

Leaving the hospital

I remember being wheeled out of the hospital.  It was a Sunday.

The funeral home had just come to pick up Conner and Benjamin.  I tell them I love them and tell them to take care of each other.  Tim takes them to say goodbye. He goes to place them in a basket filled with blankets handpicked by the nurse. He starts to cry. I beg to see them again, one last time.  I cry over them some more after giving them kisses on their foreheads.  The nurse and the ladies from the funeral home offer to give me more time.  I know that if they do, I won't ever let them take my babies.   Shaking my head, I wave them away and tell them to take my boys and go.

There is cold hospital food on a tray.  My nurses want me to eat before we leave.  I eat some.  I am hungry, but I am in no mood to eat.  Tim and I laugh a bit over the food.  I think it was lasagna.  It looked like vomit.

The nurse comes in with discharge papers.

I sign them. They give me other paperwork.  There are duplicate copies of some, since I lost two babies.

Actually, can we just pause right here and discuss this word "lost"?  I lost two babies?  I understand the meaning behind it, but I know right where they are.  I didn't lose them.  Their ashes are right next to my side of the bed.

Tim goes to go pull his truck up to the hospital.  He motions to take the bags that has Conner and Benjamin's blankets, hats, stuffed animals, memory boxes, and Bibles.

I refuse to let him take them.  I need something to carry out of the hospital with me, since I don't have my babies to carry out.

My legs and feet are so swollen I can't get my boots on.  My pants, once loose, fit snug over my legs. Waiting for the nurse to come get me, I finally send a message to my friends and family telling them what had happened to my dear boys.  No one knew I had been in the hospital, so everyone was blind-sighted. The nurse comes with a wheelchair.  I sit in it, my boys' belongings in my lap.  I don't want to leave that room. That hospital room was my babies' only home.  I wonder who will get that room after me.  They won't even know what happened in that room before they got there.

We pass by the giant monitors in the nurses' station. The screen might as well be for a movie theater. "So that's how you saw all my vitals," I say to the nurse.  Duh. I am wheeled out into frozen air.  People turn around to stare at me.  It must have been a strange sight, a woman with baby blankets and stuffed animals but no babies.

My nurse hugs me goodbye.  I climb into Tim's truck with my hospital socks on.  I stare at the hospital as we leave.  A song comes on the radio - The Band Perry's "Don't Let Me Be Lonely."  It is a song that was in my head while we were in the hospital with the boys.  I don't let Tim change the station. I need to hear it. I don't cry on the way home. I'm still in shock.  Surely, tomorrow I will wake up pregnant.



It is three months and five days after Ben and Conner were born.  I have yet to wake up and find that this is all a dream.  Yesterday, there was a lunar eclipse.  I had a hard time sleeping last night, or even just relaxing.  I took a few Benadryl to help me sleep. I woke up at 1:21 a.m.  For some reason, I felt like it was the boys waking me up to see the eclipse.  I had already missed texts from my father-in-law about the eclipse starting.  I looked out windows. Nothing.  It seemed cloudy out.  I didn't try to put on pants and stand out in the driveway.  I went back to sleep.  Today I woke up with overwhelming guilt.  My babies wanted me to see that eclipse.  I didn't even try.  I wrote down that I need to catch the next one on October 8th.

Weekend Review (is this going to be a thing now?)

I just want the Blogger world to know- yesterday, it was near 70 degrees outside.  Today it is snowing.

My sister in law (the non-pregnant one) came over Friday so she could see the boys' hats.  She is knitting some for the hospital Conner and Ben were born at, since they rarely have donations for micro-preemies.  I was terrified she would talk about her very pregnant sister, but she didn't.  She cried over how Christmas would be horrible this year without the boys.  I know this sounds horrible, but I was so glad she wasn't forgetting them.  I thought for sure everyone would be so happy that there was another baby coming around the holidays that they would forget about the two little boys who were supposed to be celebrating their first Christmas ever.  I think that is one of my biggest fears as an mom to angels - that the world will forget about them as time goes on.

My husband and I spent the weekend at home just spending time with each other.  Tim grilled some ribs, we watched some movies, and we went house hunting for houses that we will never be able to afford, unless I win the lottery (which I won't, because I don't play). Turns out, houses that are near a million dollars are a mere 25 minutes away from our house.  Does anyone know how much a kidney sells for on the black market? I wanted to take pictures while we were out looking, but my camera died (Tim could not have been more relieved - he didn't want to be the guy with the weirdo Asian tourist).  So these are from the brochures we got:

Some things we were introduced to this weekend: microwave drawers, remote-control showers, full bathrooms in every bedroom, stained wallpaper ceilings, and doorways/doors so large that the Jolly Green Giant would fit comfortably through them.

Interesting points - we own a construction company.  We walked through these houses and we knew how much material costs.  For example, we walked through what appeared to be a very expensive bathroom. But we recognized the tile.  It was from Home Depot. Not only that, but a lot of the finished carpentry throughout the houses were hack jobs. 

Also, yesterday I bought a tape dispenser that looks like a chameleon.  It's supposed to change colors when you touch it, but  it only turns yellow-ish if you hold it for a really long time.  Stupid chameleon.

The Nursery

Benjamin and Conner's nursery

I thought I would share this place with all of you.  I spent a lot of time in their nursery.  I sit in their rocker, where I would have nursed them.  I stare at their footprints on the wall and all of the things that they never got to see or touch.  I open their closet door and cry over the onesies they never got to fit in to.  Their nursery will always be theirs.  I made that promise to them in the hospital.  I will never make it into anything else.  It is my place to sit and think about my boys, away from any and all distractions.  Just hours before I was admitted to the hospital, I was at Babies "R" Us shopping for their nursery furniture.  The cribs I wanted were discontinued, so I walked out without furniture.  It was probably for the best.  I would have never been able to return their furniture if I had ordered it.  

I took these pictures the day I went to the hospital. It goes without saying that I was NOT going to use the same comforters/ sheets for my baby BOYS.  But I loved the furniture. I tried to order the crib with the solid panel behind it (one of the options of the crib).  It was discontinued. Dangit. 

Nursery theme: puppies and sports!

Their rocker, surrounded by their stuffed animals on each side.  The two pillows were made by Tim's mom. She had picked out the patterns before they were born and later gave me the pillows so I could have something to hold.

Tim made them their ladder shelf (which, he proudly told me, is the exact width of a regulation ladder and even sits at the proper angle).

Their 22 week sign still sits in the corner.  

My boys on their wall

New windows were installed a few weeks before they were born.  On this walls sits the lyrics to "Godspeed, Sweet Dreams."  The lyrics were handed out at their memorial.

My 2013 Christmas ornament sits on their doorknob.

Their closet was a work in progress.  I was going to tear out this closet organizer to put in a brand new one. On the floor sits the twin nursing pillow on the left, and their stroller still in a box on the right. 

The Baby Jogger City Select.  I searched for the perfect double stroller for months.  No joke.  I even returned one that I thought was THE stroller so that I could get this one.  Why is it perfect? See below:

Look at all it can do! I can't bring myself to return it, so in the closet it sits. 

Sully and Mikey, best buds

Next to their rocker are their baptism certificates, framed but not yet on the wall.

Shells we got for them while we were in California. My friend got me the candle for my birthday right after we got home from the hospital- Waikiki Melon.  It was a pure coincidence that Waikiki was where we planned to take them for their first birthday.  The turtle there projects stars on the ceiling.  It would have been their night light.  The poem on the right side of the turtle and the wind chime are a gift from my sister in law's colleagues.  It is engraved with the boys' names. 

Their toy shelf full of toys already!  Most of it is firefighter toys.  I also store their bottles, pacifiers, etc. in the baskets. 

Their footprints above their toy shelf

Those boots were used for our pregnancy announcement.  Beneath the boots sits our baby shower invitation that was mailed out right before I was admitted to the hospital.

We bought those dinosaur booties the day I found out I was pregnant.  Those pacifiers would have been their first binkys. 

That room will always be theirs.  Yesterday was their three month birthday.  I can't believe it.  We haven't even made it to their due date yet.  

Baby boys, I love you so much.  

Surprise! Ready or not....

FET, here we come!

***For those of you unfamiliar with the IVF world, read the following paragraph.  For those of you familiar, skip this paragraph.***

FET stands for Frozen Embryo Transfer.  In August, we did a "fresh" IVF cycle where doctors retrieved 24 of my eggs (you read that right).  They then attempted to fertilize them with my husband's sperm.  Nineteen of them fertilized!  Fifteen of them continued to mature.  Ten of them looked great the day that the doctors were going to do the embryo transfer.  We transferred two of them (Conner and Ben) and froze the other eight.  They are our little snowbabies.  While all of this sounds very unnatural, for us dealing with infertility - this is magic.  And there is nothing, and I mean NOTHING different between a baby conceived through IVF and "naturally."  I do hate that phrase.  My babies are natural, I assure everyone.

Continue on.

I was torn on when to decide trying to have another baby.  Right after our loss, the lunatic in me wanted to get pregnant right away.  RIGHT AWAY.  I think it was more of a physical want than anything else.  My milk had come in.  I missed the kicks of little babies in my belly.  I missed carrying a little one (or little ones). When we met with our doctors, we got different answers as to when we could jump on the IVF train again. My MFM said six months (although she was very open to trying sooner).  My OB said no sooner than three months.  My RE said right now (always a man with a plan).

We went in for a consult with our RE to get a plan in place sometime in March.  He took the time to grieve with us, looking at Conner and Benjamin's pictures.  I could tell he was just shocked at what had happened to us.  He agreed with my other doctors that we should just transfer one embryo.  "God forbid something happened and you lost another two... I wouldn't be able to sleep at night," he explained.  Ok, one it is.  But when?  I explained that my OB (well, both of my OBs) said that I should have at least three cycles (periods) before I tried to conceive again.  But we all know that my ovaries do not ovulate... so I do not have periods the way most people do.  So what were we looking at?  A year from now???  "Oh honey," my RE said.  "We induce those bleeds for you.  Don't worry."  Thank God.

We drew labs and as it turned out, they were perfect to start a cycle for April.  We were ecstatic.  April was three months out, the earliest we could try to get pregnant again.  So in came the box of needles and medications.  I started Provera to hold me until baseline (my labs apparently looked better to hold me on Provera than BCP).

It didn't work.

I bled right through it.  They said that it was breakthrough bleeding, but I knew better. Sure enough, they drew labs and it was my period.  No matter.  I had canceled the cycle on my own anyway.  I wasn't emotionally ready.  I was terrified that I would get a BFN and that would send me over the edge.  I also wanted to meet with more specialists to have a plan in place before I tried to get pregnant again. I needed more time.  I was still a mess and I was already beginning to hate this pseudo baby for not being Conner or Benjamin.

So the cycle was canceled, and Tim and I booked a couple of trips for May.  We decided to go to Bermuda and to go to Galena for Mother's Day and the boys' EDD.  But then, oh change of heart... we signed up for a cycle in May.

We have eight little frozen embryos waiting for us from the fresh cycle with Conner and Ben.  I need to go back for them.  I keep thinking... what if that were Conner and Ben waiting for us?  Oh, God, I couldn't just leave them there.  I need to get them.  I will get them.  Please, little snowbabies... snuggle in.

Yes, I've been going nuts saying I am not ready for this.  But it took awhile for me to realize I never actually would be.  Next month, or one year from now, or ten years from now - I won't be emotionally ready.  But I feel physically up to this.  I can do this. I just hope this cycle gives us a positive pregnancy test and a take home baby.  I want to have a little sibling for Conner and Ben.  Someone who will celebrate their big brothers' birthday with us, who will read to them with us at night, and remember our Ben and Conner long after we are gone.  And I really, really need something positive to focus on.  I am drowning in grief right now.

Also - hoping my baselines go well on May 2nd because I literally head to the airport four hours after labs to go to Bermuda.  If I need to repeat baseline... well then, looks like I'm either skipping the May cycle or not going on vacation!

I'm going to touch the butt.  In May.  Wish me luck :)