Two months before the two year anniversary of the death of the boys, I’m constantly being smacked in the face with reminders. Yesterday, a friend posted her ultrasound on Facebook. Twins. I didn’t see HER twins though. I saw my boys and heard the doctor saying, “I’m sorry, I’m not seeing a heartbeat.” People don’t understand what an ultrasound means to me now. It’s a trigger for me. It triggers memories and flashbacks that will take me days to get over. It is post-traumatic stress disorder at its finest.

Today, the anesthesiologist who took care of me while I delivered the boys came into the office. It’s a case of good intentions gone awry. He is the husband of another attorney who worked in my office. She left before I lost the boys but when everyone in my office found out I was in the hospital - that the boys had died - they called her to see if her husband could get any information for them. He immediately added me to his service and took excellent care of me but now, whenever I see him, I’m reminded that he was there on the worst day of my life. Luckily, I don’t see him very often and in fact, they are moving to the beach in a month or so. He knows I feel this way too. He can see it in my eyes and the fact that I struggle to make eye contact with him. I know he remembers how I quietly sobbed as he put in the epidural that I didn’t want but agreed to because Hubby was so worried about me being in pain. He reminded me to be very still and after, hugged me hard, with tears in his eyes and told me he would be here until it was over. He was there when they couldn’t get my uterus to firm up and gave me a shot of morphine for the pain when they continued to massage and massage and massage. We share that, he and I. He is forever part of our story. It was an act of loving kindness that right now, hurts so bad, I think my chest might implode.

Because of these triggers, these reminders, I cut myself off from people who are pregnant or have newborns. Once they get a little less pink, a little less like what Baby B looked like in his blanket, I’m okay. Sadly, because of this, I miss things. I missed that a friend’s newborn is back at the hospital at the tender age of 3 days because he stopped breathing at home. I missed that another friend is in the hospital with pre-term labor at 26 weeks. I missed that another friend is being induced several weeks early because if she goes into labor, the loss of blood and fluids will kill her little boy. I find these things out days after the fact when I’ve checked in with them because I’m having a good enough day that I can deal with them and their pregnant bellies and hopeful smiles and unblemished optimism. It’s so incredibly selfish of me. I’ve asked these women to be there for me so many times but I can’t be there for them.

I’m going to try and do better this year. Make it less about me. It’s time. For two years, it’s been about me and my loss and my struggles and my pain.

I’m going to try for normal again. Whatever that means.

You have done what is best for you to get through this awful experience, and I understand every bit of horror at ultrasounds and dopplers. Your anesthesiologist sounds amazing...and yet I understand that weakness, hurt and vulnerability that comes over me in the biggest acts of kindness by others. Sometimes, it feels better when people AREN'T so sensitive and amazingly understanding...because then I can at least focus my pain on anger or feeling misunderstood. But when you look at someone's face and see your hurt reflected back to you so honestly, it's almost unbearable.

Your friends will understand your difficulties, I'm sure, and that is why there are other people in place to support them at these specific times in their lives. And even if they don't understand, they haven't walked your path.

I don't think there's anything wrong with the challenge to go where you haven't been able to go...but it's in the challenge that shows strength, not the result. You may try to vist the L&D unit and find it's just not time yet. Forgive yourself, then, because you are only human with a tender, broken heart. Time does not make such hurt vanish.

Many hugs.

Two things.

First, one step at a time. You can only take one step at a time. So make the resolution or set your goal and think about how you can manage it one piece at a time. It will get easier as you go along.

Second, what are you doing when you have the news? I expect that you are reaching out to your friends and being there for them, and that is the most important thing of all. How you handle it when you do know.

I'm sorry about such a vivid, hurtful reminder right there, even amidst the knowledge of the kindness. You've been strong.