Silent suffering..

The last 3 weeks or so, has give me a lesson in the reality of suffering loss and grief in silence vs suffering loss and grief in the public eye. The stark contrast between the two has made it's impression so much on me that I had to write. I feel as though loss has become a theme of our current life and I have been given nearly every perspective as to how we have experienced it, publicly and privately.

Simply stated, on May 20th, 2015, 10 months after our beautiful Malachi James went to heaven, we found out we were expecting. Our redemption baby, one to bring healing to our hearts from the pain and heartbreak we've endured over the past year. Contrary to what we have done with our prior pregnancies, we didn't publicly announce this one right away. We told relatively few people. It wasn't intentional, we just didn't.

To backtrack, we've always announced when we were pregnant pretty much right away. We could never contain our excitement in knowing that we were expecting. Our second pregnancy we announced at midnight of the new year of 2013, ended in a miscarriage 8 weeks later (I was roughly 12 weeks pregnant when they discovered there was no longer a heartbeat). Since we had announced our pregnancy publicly, we also announced our loss. Immediately we were surrounded in a cocoon of support and love. It wasn't long, 6 months later, that we discovered we were expecting again. This time our precious Malachi. We never hesitated to announce our pregnancy with him and continued to remain open and candid that way through all of his struggles and his victories. Again, when heartbreak filled our lives, we were surrounded by the best support anyone could ask for. Family, friends, people who didn't know us, faceless friends who only knew us through the internet, all came together in the largest display of support I think I have ever witnessed in my life.

Now we come to this. May 20, 2015, we learn that we are expecting again! We made the phone calls to our parents, brothers, sisters, and a few close friends. It was a limited circle that knew. We immediately let our doctors know and had an appointment at 5 weeks with our MFM (Maternal Fetal Medicine - fancy name for High Risk pregnancy doctor) and began daily lovenox injections. Each day we prayed and thanked God for this miracle growing inside me. I felt GREAT. A little bit of excess tiredness, but no sickness, no nausea (and all the preggo moms say HALLELUJAH!). Around when we found out, I saw a couple of my friends on FB announce that they were expecting. One friend was even due 2 days before me! How fun it was going to be to share this pregnancy together! We began texting daily about how we were feeling, sharing our excitement, etc. I don't know why we hesitated to post on social media, however I knew I wanted a special announcement, something that would include our Malachi in it and show how excited we were! On Tuesday, June 16th, we got together with one of my best friends and took this picture:

She emailed the copy to us that night, we fell in love with it, and decided we would post it the next day to Facebook! The next day was significant for two reasons: one was that I had been asked to contribute to a pregnancy after loss blog and be a bump day blogger. I would blog weekly on how this pregnancy after our loss was going and be real with what I was going through. I was excited for our story to bring more hope to others, and this next day was the day my first post was going to be shared! The other reason, was that we had out 8 week appointment that next day! EEEEK! We were excited to announce our pregnancy then see this beautiful baby at our appointment! 

The next day was busy. I didn't get around to posting the photo in the morning, and my new blog had been posted, I was officially a "bump day blogger" for www.pregnancyafterlosssupport.com ! We couldn't contain our excitement going into our appointment. I saw my doctor in the hallway while getting weighed (boo!) and my BP checked. We high-fived each other, she was giddy with excitement for us, and expressed how excited she was for this appointment, after all she had been witness to our pain and heartbreak with Malachi.

We get into the office and wait on the doctor. LaRon and I joked with each other about the possibility of twins (oh Lord!) and talked about how people had come to us with dreams that we were pregnant, we felt this as calm confirmation and had great expectation that this was going to be nothing but a perfect appointment. I am prepped for our ultrasound. LaRon gets the phone ready to video record, I wanted a recording of the heartbeat <3. The ultrasound begins. No sound. She prodded more. Her silent expression and the blank ultrasound screen was enough to confirm our worst and unexpected fear. There was no baby. There was a gestational sac, but nothing inside. The technical term being a "blighted ovum." Tears began to flow. Heart wrenching, soul crushing tears. I think my doctor even might have been silently crying with us. She held my hands in hers and said we would get a level 2 ultrasound ASAP, that possibly I wasn't as far along as we thought I was, best case scenario. I knew though, I knew exactly when this baby was conceived, I knew my dates were not off. We were sent home, to await our level 2 ultrasound the next day. I texted those close to us who knew, the news. That at this point a bonafide miracle would need to happen, for this pregnancy to continue. I was angry. I was heartbroken. I was silent. I didn't want to talk to anyone about it. I had things to do, we were prepping for our Run 4 Hope in honor of Malachi that was to happen the following Saturday. I couldn't deal with all of this at the same time. The next morning came and we went to our appointment. As we know, ultrasound techs couldn't say much, all she would say was that there was a pregnancy, which I followed with "ya but no baby, right" silence from her confirmed our fear. We were sent home without anything conclusive. My doctor called soon after and confirmed our fear. There was not going to be a baby from this pregnancy, and my body was continuing as if I were pregnant, she recommended I have a surgical procedure the following Monday to remove the "remnants of pregnancy" from my body. I proceeded in angry silence. I coordinated and directed our Run 4 Hope on June 20th with silent tears. Hardly anyone at the event knew. The ones that did gave me extra big hugs, the ones that didn't never knew anything else was wrong. I held it together to honor Malachi, and when I went home I fell apart. That Sunday (Father's Day) I sat through church, listening to my Father In Law preach about the goodness of God, with a cold heart. How could this good God let this happen, what was supposed to be our redemption, has yet turned into more pain. On some levels, it felt like this hurt in a way worse than Malachi's passing did. At least he was sick. Heaven meant healing and health for him. This baby wasn't even given the chance. I had failed. My body failed again to protect, grow and nurture my baby. Worship was excruciating, I stood with crossed arms, afraid of the torrent of anger and tears that might come if I were to surrender in that moment. Monday came, a haunting silence filled the space between LaRon and I. Devastation and heartbreak wearing us thin. Both wondering the how's and why's, me angry and feeling like a failure, him confused and trying to be the best support for me possible. The days have followed and my body has healed. I ended up being selected to sit on a jury, which would be a great excuse to tell my co-workers, only two of them had known, and how else do you explain what has ended up to be an over 2 week absence from my job. 

Which now brings me to the title of my post "silent suffering" Even though a baby never technically formed, any woman who has been pregnant can tell you that once you are pregnant, there is a baby. No matter what. The thoughts, ideas, plans you have are all there. I have felt a sort of silent suffering. That we had never "made it public" that we were expecting, so there's an element of support that was missing. It gave me a different perspective on loss. When only a select few know, only a select few can be there to support you. Our select few are incredible people, that have walked us through our darkest days and have been there for us through this as well, but I am not sure everyone has that. Even I have found myself having to reach out a bit more, saying "hey here's how I'm feeling, I'm really struggling..." It's been an entire different experience that has left me wondering why we tell women to "wait until the safe zone to announce it" why wait? for fear of loss? And what if you do lose a pregnancy early? Are you better that no one really knows, or are you better if everyone does and everyone can support you? I wonder about the women who suffer in silence. Who's heart breaks and no one hears them. I hear you. I guess I am writing this to encourage anyone going through loss to be open and vulnerable, it's hard, hard to reach out when you need help, but it is so much better than suffering in silence alone. 

It's still hard. I have questions for God. I am struggling in maintaining hope that we will have more children that fill our arms. I am confused as to why this would happen, on a different level than "normal loss", it just feels incredibly unfair.  Especially after all we've been through. 

So please keep us in prayer. And to those "afraid" to announce to early. I say go for it. And if the unthinkable happens, you will be surrounded by more love and support than if you were to suffer in silence alone.

and so, I run...

Running, it’s been a therapy of mine for a long time. I went through a pretty traumatic experience about 10 years ago and running became my therapy. My way to escape, a way to channel the hurt and brokenness into something positive, as long as I ran I knew one foot was going in front of the other, I was still moving, I was still alive.

When I had my eldest son, I ran a ½ marathon right under a year after he was born. Again it was a bit of escapism for me, running to have “me” time, running to re-energize and spend time outdoors. When I got pregnant with Malachi, running took a bit of a backseat. I had some symptoms from the beginning of my pregnancy with him that were not right, and wreaked havoc on my previously fit self. When Malachi was born, and I almost lost my life, running was pulled off even the backburner and put into the pantry. Every ounce of strength, fight and will in me, was focused on him. His health, his survival, his life, fight and journey. I neglected myself for so long. I ate and drank barely enough to survive and pump for him, my body shuts down when I am stressed, and as you could try to imagine, we were in the most stressful situation of life. I lost a lot of weight, the unhealthy way. I became a shell of my former self. Sunken, dark eyes, ribs showing, dark circles, lifeless skin…where life once thrived, I remember looking in the mirror and feeling it had all been drained out of me. Then, that day, that awful, horrible, heart shattering, life-changing day when Malachi went to be with Jesus. The depths of my sorrow knew no limits. Not only did physically I resemble a shell, now I felt as if the whole world had been pulled out from under me, just as I was learning to stand on my two feet in the halls of the NICU. Everything we had hoped for, prayed for, dreamed for; for Malachi, was gone. In an instant he was gone from us and taken into eternity. A perfect and whole eternity for him, shattered and broken hearts left behind. I often wonder how eternity looks for him, if he looks down on me and thinks “just wait mommy, it’s so wonderful here, if only you knew…you wouldn’t be sad...” What I’d give for a glimpse of eternity in heaven. Dealing with all the decisions and plans that follow a death is distracting, I love to plan. Now I was planning the most beautiful party I never wanted to attend. After the service we were swept away to a mountain retreat with the closest of friends {Family}, and beautiful distraction followed. Time for us to be away, just the 3 of us. Upon our return we were graciously gifted with a getaway for LaRon and I, again, beautiful distraction in a tropical place. How can you not love laying on sundrenched beaches listening to the waves without a ‘care’ in the world. Except my care lingered, I could always feel the grief, just below the surface, it would explode at a moment’s notice.  A smell that would send me back to the darkness, the sound of a baby crying, the swollen bellies of expectant mothers without a care in the world…those and more triggers that would unleash a torrent of unstoppable tears and sobs from the deepest parts of me. When we got back, friends and family made sure we were taken care of, meals, phone calls, visits, we weren’t alone. In all truth I couldn’t be alone. I feared for what would come if I was left alone in my sorrow. Schedule and routine of friends spending time with me became my lifeline, especially when my Love returned to work and I was still at home. The sounds of the emptiness of the house were far too much to bear alone. Where newborn cries should’ve filled the air, instead was silence and the murmur of the ceiling fan. I am so grateful to my mat carriers who carried me through that time.

Then it happened one day.. I had the urge to run. But how to be alone? I didn’t know. What I did know was that I needed to learn to be alone with my grief. To really process it. To really learn from it. And to learn how to honor Malachi’s life with it. So I ran. I ran until I felt like I couldn’t that day and I broke. Tears flooded my eyes through my run as I was finally alone with my grief. I knew then, that running would again be my escape, my safe place. To be alone with my thoughts, which now wasn’t so scary, to pray, to talk to God, to talk to Malachi… the only place really free of distraction, was what I needed. It has been so healing and therapeutic for me to run again. If I am having an overwhelming grief day, I run. If I am feeling overtly good that day, I run. I run to celebrate my life and his. I run for him since he never was able to. I run for so many reasons. In early winter I registered to run a ½ marathon with a non-profit group that helps support local NICUs in Sacramento, our hometown. That ½ marathon is this coming Sunday, Mother’s Day. I am running in honor of Malachi. I am running for myself because I know that one foot in front of the other is sometimes the only way to get through a day. How precious is it that this run falls on Mother’s Day. My first Mother’s Day without Malachi, but running a tribute run in his honor. I can think of no better way to spend the day. Soon my passion for running will be fused into another way to honor and celebrate Malachi’s incredible life and legacy and I am so excited to share that with you soon! 

But this weekend, for 13.1 miles, among the 16,000 registered participants It will be me and him on that course. His spirit with me every step of the way. Guiding me out of darkness into a future of hope and life.

New Year, New Hope

New Year, New Hope.

This blog has been stirring in my mind for a while now. Well over a month. But I kept thinking that a blog titled new year, new hope is just too cliché..yet I have conceded with myself that when I feel the need to share something and it doesn’t go away, then I need to share it. What for, it’s likely I’ll never know. But listening to my inner (upper) voice is better than having it nag at me ALL.THE.TIME. So here we go.

I think there’s one question that a lot of people want to ask us, but they hesitate. It’s understandable that they hesitate, this is a touchy subject. This is one that can either bring an onslaught of tears and even more broken pieces of a heart or it could bring the twinkle to the eye of a new hope. When someone asked this at the reception after Malachi’s service (well they talked about it, didn’t necessarily state this question) I was horrified and dismissed them. A few months ago I would’ve hated when someone asked this question, it just would have been too hard to think about. This is the question:

Do you think you’ll have more children? Or any variation of that statement… although personally I hate the phrase “will you try again” as if I failed with Malachi, as if he never was here. He was here. He LIVED. He fought. I held him. I breathed his baby scent. I fed him. I changed his diapers. I had 127 days with him. And he died. I much prefer, “will you have another/more children”. I’ve actually been more careful now myself when talking with friends I know who’ve had miscarriages and have tailored my questions to “another/more” type statements, as opposed to “trying again”. But I digress… 

Earlier in our process this wasn’t something I could handle even thinking about, let alone talking about. My amazing husband would bring it up gently and even that felt like too much. I didn’t know if I would ever get to the point where even talking about this was OK. So I prayed. I prayed for God to renew that desire in me, if that is what He wanted. I prayed for Him to soften my heart, to prepare me for this. My husband and I had multiple conversations and in his wisdom he spoke something to me in probably the first conversation we had about this after Malachi passed and he said this: “I do not believe that our circumstances changes the dreams/desires that God has put in our hearts”. WHAT. Not what I wanted to hear. But so wise, and in time I have learned so very true. We always have wanted a lot of kids. 4. Some call that crazy. I call that seeing a home full of the sounds of love and laughter that I yearn for. Even if Malachi had lived longer and come home with us, we had still planned on having more kids. Because of consistent prayer and conversation with God and my husband, my heart softened to this idea. Not that an additional child would be Malachi’s replacement, but that he or she would be and addition to our family and one who was always wanted and always going to be there. So now where are we? The answer to the obvious question is No we are not pregnant right now (sorry for those that thought this might be a build up to that announcement!). But we have taken steps in that direction. We have been so open with our journey that I wanted to be open about this next step as well. So here is where we are:

In December we had a high risk pre-conception appointment. We met with the head of perinatology (high risk OBGYN) for Kaiser and had a great meeting. Our doctor had gone over my complete chart from our hospital stay when we had Malachi, my previous miscarriage at 15 weeks in early 2013 and our pregnancy and delivery with Deuce. There were some consistent abnormalities in all of them. In the least technical way to explain it, blood vessels to the placentas were clotted off. The placentas were never given the right amount of blood supply, therefore couldn’t nourish our babies correctly. With Deuce, our doctor told us, we got lucky. As tears rolled down my face I realized how much of a miracle he is. They believe this is why the miscarriage happened. They know this is why Malachi was so small (I know he was only 25 weeks, but he was small for 25 weeks, the size of a 23 weeker). This doesn’t explain the HELLP syndrome (www.whatthehellp.com). There are no known causes of HELLP, but clotting disorders are thought to be a risk factor. But it does allow us to do some preventative measures the next time we get pregnant to make sure that the placenta gets the correct amount of blood supply it needs, Lovenox (blood thinner) injections daily as soon as I test positive, weekly visits beginning at 16 weeks, weekly bloodwork to look for HELLP markers, weekly NSTs to monitor baby’s growth, etc. He also stated I have closer to a 50% risk of developing HELLP syndrome again, because of how early onset and how severe mine was with Malachi. And then he encouraged us. Showed us photographs of families who have been through what we’ve been through and have welcomed more children into their family, and he said this “I would not discourage you from having more children”…before we left he grabbed my hands and looked me in the eyes and said “I will be with you every step of the way, we can do this together if this is what you want.” Tears streaming down my face as we left, because let me tell you that is a lot if information to digest, a peace filled us. This doctor gave us hope. We know the journey will be different, in ways it will be more difficult, more complicated, more everything. But I know at the end I would be able to say it was all worth it, like I did with Malachi’s journey. Every moment worth it.

So that is where we are. We had our appointment; we have been given clearance and a “plan”, though we know more than anyone that not all things happen according to your plan, we have been given hope. A new hope. For a new year. And a new baby. So please pray for us. This journey seems daunting. I can’t imagine not being entirely stressed out the whole time or even being able to enjoy a pregnancy, but as I talked with one of my closest friends about this and I said “there’s no way I can have a stress free, completely enjoyable carefree pregnancy again” she wisely looked at me with love in her eyes and said “but you can.” Because we are rooted in truth, because my life and the lives of my children are in the hands of the One who holds us all, because we know that God is good regardless of our circumstance. I’m surrounded by such wise people.

So pray with us, for us, and for new life.

Perhaps this is real Christian living, this is whole hearted living. Where the greatest pain and trauma you have known, become the birthplace for the greatest miracle you could ever experience. (my version of a statement made by Christa Black www.Christablack.com)

Our Rainbow...

What do you do when the rainbow is gone?

A baby that is conceived after a loss is called a rainbow baby. No matter the loss…miscarriage, stillbirth, neotnatal, infant…they are our rainbows. They are the rainbows that come after the storm, the promise fulfilled.

Many might not know this, but Malachi James was our rainbow baby. He is baby Gordon #3. Baby Gordon #2 was due in September of 2013, but at a routine appointment at 15 weeks, no heartbeat could be found. I was alone at that appointment. Sobs overtook my body. My baby was gone, the loss was heavy, it was deep, it was real. I called LaRon and could barely get through the tears to tell him our longed for baby was no longer with us on earth. Nothing in me prepared me for this, my pregnancy with Deuce had been flawless, I try to be as healthy and active as possible, how could this have happened? 3 more days passed and I was admitted to have a D&C as my body had not recognized the loss and was continuing to hold on to the baby. I remember waking up from the procedure and looking at my loving husband and feeling like the ultimate failure to him. His heart longs to daddy children, it is the delight of his life. And I had not been able to carry ours. I know he never saw me as a failure, but as I looked at him with tears in my eyes and said “there’s no baby in there anymore” we wept. In the days following I felt emptiness, a longing for something to “be” that was no longer. As the weeks passed, the fog lifted, joy returned, we never took ‘precautions’, and trusted that in the Lords timing we would conceive again. And we did. And OH what joy filled our souls. After months of negative pregnancy tests along with the sadness that came with the let-down, not pregnant, praying my monthly friend would never show up, the month Malachi was conceived was entirely too unlikely. In a season that was incredibly busy for us, it left me able to remember the exact encounter that our precious Malachi was conceived in. Early fall came and seeing the little pink line, I almost didn't believe it. Our rainbow baby was on his way. This time had to be different.

This time was different. 

Drastically so.

Malachi James was our rainbow baby. He was the rainbow after the storm we faced in our previous loss. We had no clue that the storm we faced with Malachi would dwarf what we had been through previously. We had no clue the depth of loss a human heart can withstand. We had no clue of the beauty we would be able to find in him, in the situation, in Jesus.

If you’re reading this, you know the journey of Malachi and what we faced.

What we face now is that our rainbow baby is gone from our arms but forever in our hearts. The baby that was supposed to bring the brightest joy out of tragedy (and oh did he ever!) also brought the greatest pain we have faced in our loss of him. He brought us so much hope every time he would achieve something the doctors said he likely wouldn’t, peace came in a measure in his passing because we know we did every measure humanly possible to save him.  So how do I reconcile that our rainbow is gone? It’s a choice. It’s a choice every day to find the positive in our situation and to choose joy in the darkness of loss. To choose hope for our future rather than fear. I feel a little cheated sometimes…that we have had to endure so much loss when it comes to our children, but I refuse to be a victim. I know that out of everything, out of every situation, when the dust settles, when life has been lost, I know that hope remains. We are hopeful for our future and for more children, if it’s Gods will for us (we believe it is), but I think that even though he is gone, my Malachi James will always be our Rainbow baby. Our baby that brings us so much joy, even in his memory. No rainbow will every shine as bright as him.