tough as nails

Two weeks after we lost Sadie we were dealt another blow that at the time was inconceivable in the cruelty of its timing. Out of respect for my husband's privacy I won't go into detail here, but the short story involves a sudden and intense health scare that led us to believe that he had a potentially terminal illness.

I am not totally sure how I got through those weeks considering my fragile state to begin with. Actually, that's a bit of a lie. My baby was dead and some wackjob doctor had just told us my husband would be next. The truth is I was higher than a kite, 99% of the time. Between Ativan and red wine, my memories are fuzzy around the edges where they're not altogether black.

During one of our initial hospital visits I broke down in front of a specialist, hysterical with fear and anger at the overwhelming unfairness of it all. It was humiliating and painful beyond words. Soon after that episode something in me clicked, and I realized that letting him see my despair was no longer an option. I proceeded to try my ass off to calm him with some sort of physical osmosis, somehow via my hand intertwined with his, or wrapped up in a tight bear hug.

Six weeks after the nightmare began it was suddenly over. At the root of it all was a misconstrued x-ray and an American emergency room physician whom I will never forgive. We were given the go ahead to return to England, empty handed and shocked, wary shells of the people we once were.

The reason I'm telling this story is because of the intimate way the experience has permeated our lives since. It broke a little something in us both that is difficult to describe, mostly because I don't believe either of us fully understands it. My doctor has her opinion of course, at least for me. A curious infliction she likes to refer to as chronic anxiety.

On a bad day, a chest cold is lung cancer. A bump on my arm is inevitably a tumour. Everyday aches and pains must be underlying signs of something dire to come.

Now, before you conjure up images of my morning commute involving a padded helmet and gas mask, understand that I am not a certified freakshow. But I worry. A lot. About myself, my husband, my loved ones. And more often than not about the health of our future children. Provided, of course, I survive another pregnancy without suffering a stroke at the ripe old age of 32.

I have read that the incidence of depression in parents after babyloss is roughly 69%. I do not believe I'm depressed. However guilty it may make me feel on occasion, I still enjoy the pursuit of life's pleasures. I can take care of myself and get out of bed in the morning and am not at risk of hurting myself. But I'm definitely, one thousand per cent terrified of what the future may hold. What else we may have to endure. On a particularly bad day I wonder why I would even try again when the odds are I'm just going to get sick and die in the end anyway. Horrible, I know. But try as I might to think it away, it still lingers.

As life has sped up these past few months and our time is seemingly endlessly booked with work and social functions, there are days when there is nothing I want to do more than sit at home alone in our safe little house, locked away from the outside world.

I look at my husband in a new light these days as a result of everything we've been through together. The concept of losing him was unfathomable - yet so was the idea of Sadie being so sick. So what exactly we can rely on I'm really not sure. There is nothing I would not do for him. There's nothing I want to do without him. And I want to be a parent with him more than I could ever properly articulate on this page.

If I could just get past all of this damn fear.

.::.

Did you suffer from any form of anxiety after the loss of your child? If so, did it wane with the passage of time? Did it affect your decision to try again?

Comments

[Mrs. Spit]

For a terribly long time, and even still, I worried about Mr. Spit. He travels a lot in his job, and there were times that every bit of me longed to insist that he stay home, that I had a "bad feeling".

I could, intellectually, at least, recognize that I was worried because Gabe had died, when I did not expect him too, after all, no babies die at 26 weeks in 2007, and no one dies of childbirth.

I could tell myself that this was merely a byproduct of Gabe's death, and Mr. Spit was no more at risk today than he was yesterday, and life did happen.

But.

It took a long time. Even still.

[Catherine]

I guess I've been 'lucky' in that I've been able to limit my fear to the inner workings of the uterus of doom (so pregnancy is just a ball of fun). But the fear doesn't seem to have been able to escape to other parts of my life. Something to be grateful for, I suppose.

[Sally]

As always with what you write Jen, I see so much of myself in this post. I have been paralysed by fear since I lost Hope. I thought if I could lose her at 40 weeks 5 days after a blissfully easy and healthy pregnancy, anything could happen. Simon and I did not leave each other's sides in the first seven weeks when he was home with me. We showered together. I followed him around the house. We sat on the couch together. We went to bed at the same time. We got up at the same time. When he left the house, I went with him.
But when he went back to work he got a bike to ride and I was terrified he was going to fall off it and die. Or that a truck would hit him. Or he'd get cancer. Or have a stroke. Or anything else bad that you can think of. And when we didn't fall preg again after one month, two months, three months, four months - I thought I had cancer. Or that my ovaries had disintegrated. Or anything else bad you can think of. This fear was all a marvellous gift of babyloss.
But the one thing fear did not stop us from doing was trying again. Because to me, I am more afraid of a live without childen; being a childless mother forever. To me, that is way more scary than anything I could ever dream of, so we did all we could to speed up that process . Now, 11 months after her death, I'm almost 19 weeks in to a new pregnancy. The fear of course is still there, very much so, but I am one step closer to getting that future I always dreamed of. A future which features a beautiful, healthy, living child - one that I bring home from hospital and actively get to parent.

ps: I am so glad your husband is ok.

[starrlife]

You have described the definition of Trauma. It is the rupture of that magical bubble, that sense of vague, unconcious immortality that allows us to cross the street, drive our cars,swallow without fear of death/harm interfering with our pursuit of life. It is an existential dilemma brought to the foreground and will subside as you put the pieces together and try to weave meaning around yourselves again. Hugs and peace to you.

[Cynthia]

As a family, we became very separation anxious after my son died. My water broke in the middle of the night, which lead to the abrupt whisking away of my then 3 yo daughter by her grandmother, and our not seeing her again until 2 days later, after all was said and done. In the early days, she refused to let me out of her sight, and I couldn't sleep unless she was also tucked in beside us. The rare date nights we had once had became non-existent, and neither of us missed them. We could not bring ourselves to leave her.

It got better slowly over months, although the cosleeping has continued (it doesn't actually bother us, never has, so there's no real motivation to change it). We haven't broken the leaving-her-with-a-babysitter barrier, but have had very close friends watch her for a few date nights.

The anxiety did not stop us from trying again, but now, two weeks before the scheduled c-section of our third child, I find myself struggling with images of having to go back into the OR again. I know it must be done, and that somehow I'll get through it because there is no other way, but I find myself filled with dread I can't escape.

[Lani]

i have definitely had my share of anxiety attacks. i have had a handful- one actually on the elliptical with my trainer who mentioned his 8 month old. i tried so hard to hold it in, but the tears came, i could barely breathe and i ran to the bathroom.
but most of the time they happen at home and it really hasn't happened very much. i get anxiety about certain situations, like the possibility of seeing a friend's baby or a pregnant friend. i get myself all worked up. but i hold on tight to chris and it seems to go away with his help. he's good that way.
i think that time has helped me to be less anxious. i started working right away, like 2 months later and had to face kids and do all kinds of things on my own. it was scary but somehow i did it.
i do cling to chris though, he helps me get through it all. but the worry, that worry that you have, yes, its there. that i won't get pregnant again or something terrible will happen to someone else i love so much. that will never go away i think. we've all been permanently scarred by the fragility of life. it happened to us.

[Carly]

Great Post :) Thank you Jen.

Cynthia, I totally understand you. Once I arrived home from hospital it must of looked like I had super glued magnets to myself and my daughter. We went everywhere together. She slept in our bed with me and I kicked my husband out into her room. I still to this day, 2 and a 1/2 years later sleep in her room with her now younger sister. I have no regrets about it either. It is the only thing I can do to calm my anxiety. I wish you all my love for the following weeks x.

My anxiety never stopped us from trying again. Unfortunately I still do feel some anxiety after all this time. I wonder if I always will.

[Christy W]

After the babies died, I remember coming home and trying to take a bath. During the bath, I got really faint-of course I hadn't slept in days, I gave birth to twins, and had thrown up from crying hysterically-who wouldn't feel faint, right? But I thought it was me, ready to die. I was sure the infection the babies had would kill me, too.
I kept waiting for policeman to come to my door to tell me someone had died. When my husband went back to work, I made him call me when he got there. When he was leaving. If he was going to be late for any reason.
My dog would like cough or make a noise, and I was sure he was next. I called my mom to have her cholesterol checked.
Slowly, I've gotten better. But I really much prefer my husband to be right next to me-on the same level as me in the house.
I get a ton of anxiety about babies, like others have said. I'm rather have someone with me if I need to go somewhere. I'm a teacher and haven't had to go back to work yet, and I have terrible anxiety about the first day of school and what the kids might say (middle schoolers don't have much tact sometimes...although, neither do adults!).
We are not supposed to try until September, but for some reason, that's all I want, even though I know it'll be a TON of anxiety and stress...

[S.]

Yes, it affected my decision to try again. I was terrified. We waited two years after losing our first and I am just now pregnant with our second. But the anxiety didn't just affect this area of my life, it touched so many things.

Strangely, I haven't been too worried about my husband. But we rescued a dog a few months after our daughter died, and I've been absolutely obsessed with thoughts that the dog is going to die/run away/get hurt/etc. I had dream after dream of her getting hit by a car and me trying to save her. I've projected so many of my fears and emotions on this poor dog, and it's gotten a little nuts.

[S.]

I also wanted to add that for me at least, the anxiety has actually lessened since being pregnant. In my case, anticipation of the event (being pregnant) was worse than the actual event. I've surprised myself with my ability to remain semi-calm for the most part (of course I still have my moments). I got to the point where I realized that waiting for the anxiety to lessen to try again was pointless. I was going to be scared. So, I went ahead and tried, and looking back, I wished I hadn't waited this long.

[mirne]

Ha. Chronic anxiety. That's me to a tee. It's not that initial anxiety that probably all babylost parents feel -- it's that anxiety that's always there and will not go away.

I had separation anxiety at first - when we lost our first child. I couldn't go ANYWHERE without my husband. If we were shopping at the mall, and I had to use the toilet, we had to use the disabled toilet so that he could go with me. I would not let him out of my sight. But the separation anxiety got less and less. To the stage now (three years after our daughter died) that I will actually let him out of my sight.

But the continuing anxiety ... that's there all the time. I fear for him (my husband) all the time. It doesn't matter whether he's in the apartment with me or not. Even if he's in the apartment with me, I fear that he'll fall down the stairs, or slip in the bathroom, or something awful will happen to him. I fear for myself too ... but much more in the way of "what will happen to me if something happens to my husband?"

The truth is that I can't look after myself any more. And the anxiety is one of the (major) reasons why I can't look after myself any more. Everything scares me. I see awful possibilities around every corner. I think that every car is going to hit me. I think every time I get onto my pushbike that I will fall off. Every time I go near the stairs, I think I'm going to fall. Every time I'm in the shower, I think I'm going to slip. I am anxious about everthing!!

My husband had cancer 10 years ago. He received treatment and was "cured" but since my daughter died (and then my son died), that fear is there always now. If he sneezes I think cancer. If his shoulder hurts I think cancer.

I live in fear and with anxiety.

My only safe place is my apartment.

We recently went on holidays for three weeks to Italy. Instead of it being a relaxing time it produced all sorts of new situations for me to get anxious about!!!

I often think that I am a freak.

By the way, this month it's been three years since my daughter died, and well over a year since my son died. I am currently pregnant with our third attempt at a living child. Naturally, this pregnancy doesn't alleviate my constant anxiety.

[margaret]

Anxiety might be putting it mildly. After suffering three miscarriages in a row trying to conceive our first child, followed by her traumatic emergency birth due to placental abruption, I became convinced that I wasn't supposed to have a child and that she would die. I began checking her breathing at night. Eventually it got so bad I was checking her up to fifteen times a night, oftentimes I would find myself standing over her crib before my eyes were even open. I developed severe OCD that required counselling and medication to get over. The decision to try again was hard, it took eighteen months before I was ready to try again only to discover at a routine prenatal checkup that the heartbeat was gone. Back onto the antidepressants for another year. When I discovered I was pregnant with the twins and Calvin's subsequent diagnosis of a congenital heart defect I made the decision to get my tubes tied during my section and to not breastfeed so that I could go back on antidepressants immediately following their births. Too much pain, too much anxiety, too much fear about trying yet again led me to my tubal ligation. I didn't think I could live through another loss, another heartbreak. Now I'm mourning not only my son, but the loss of my fertility. This whole babyloss experience has probably fucked me up for life, and I've developed a nice little narcotic addiction to boot. I don't know when or it it will ever go away, the fear, the anxiety, the obsessive thoughts about my living children dying. I just know that I hate hate hate living this way.

[Angie]

I'm not sure if anxiety is guaranteed, but it has definitely increased in me. I feel like I'm afraid of everything now, disease, accidents, reactions to otc medicines, freak occurrences, lightning strikes...i somehow can label it what it is and allow my daughter and husband to mostly live a normal life. I do it by turning around and walking away. And on some level, I think it has held me back from trying again. I don't think it is all fear, though, but partially. I don't think my blog obsession has helped. I now know all the hundreds of ways babies are unsafe in the womb, and in the world. Sometimes reading blogs makes me realize I haven't been nervous enough...so ridiculous, but true.

thanks for this post, jen.

[Kathryn@ExpectantHearts]

Minimal anxiety. I did however suffer from depression. My husband has enough anxiety that compounded with our age,HE has decided we won't be having anymore children..

[gal]

Anxiety isn't new to me, and neither is worry. I have spent a lot of my life holding those very tightly. And yet in more recent years - say 35 on (I'm 38) - something shifted and I learned to notice the anxiety, be aware of when it came on and what it was all about, and adjust my response. So I went into my experience of learning about Tikva's condition, carrying her for 20 weeks with that knowledge, the two months of her life, and the time since calmer than I was in the years before. Connected to something bigger that helps to give me some perspective on it all. Thankfully... In the months before she was born, I did a lot of work acknowledging all the fear that the precariousness of her condition brought up - fears that had nothing to do with her, everything to do with me, and a lot to do with the triggers that were brought up about past experiences- stuff it was time to release my hold of, like fear of abandonment, being alone, the unknown, uncertainty, rejection, ill health. I am so glad I did this work then, and continue to do it now, because it has saved me from becoming the anxious worrier that I used to be all over again, or worse.

I'm curious about the line you write, Jen, about not wanting your husband to see your despair. I certainly get that, wanting to be calm for him when he was probably totally freaked out because of the doctor's terrible mistake. I guess what makes me wonder is whether some of that despair is still there, needing attention, needing to be acknowledged, seen, heard - and maybe if you give it that attention (however terrifying that might be), some of the anxiety and fear you hold might dissolve? I am in no way trying to tell you what to do, or assume that I know best what anyone needs. It just made me think, because it's something that has helped me in my most anxious times. Basically to stare it down, befriend it, see what is really going on deep down.

I still worry, don't get me wrong. I worry that I am too old to get pregnant again, to have a healthy child. I worry when Dahlia climbs to the top of the jungle gym in the playground (though I think I always did that, even before Tikva). I worry when my husband takes some over the counter cough syrup because it is filled with chemicals and what could they possibly be doing to his healthy body. I worry about all the crap in the food we eat and around us in the environment. I worry... There is always something to worry about, and there always will be. I've always loved the adage that worrying is like praying for what you don't want to have happen. It's powerful energy that we put out when we worry, and I believe it truly has the potential to create what we don't want. So I'm trying to shift my focus, look through different colored glasses as much as I can, and talk myself through those anxious moments as much as I can. Sometimes it's easier than others.

[red pen mama]

Oh, my, goodness. I suffer from constant anxiety. I am currently on vacation, freaking out about every man who comments how cute my girls are. My therapist diagnosed me with catrostrophic thinking as part -- a major part -- of my Generalized Anxiety Disorder.

DearDR, my husband, said he had never seen me more at peace than with my pregnancy with Gabriel. And happy -- so happy. Not that I am not happy now, but it is tempered with anxiety. It's terrible.

The only things that allowed us to move forward were our desire to be a mommy and a daddy, and our faith in God. That's it. Without one of those, we would have never had moved on. Well, therapy helped. a lot.

ciao,
rpm

[anon]

anxiety.
yes.
i can so relate to the comments here.
i have always been a worrier, but after losing my first child - a son - i worried insecently that my husband, brother, mother, father, etc would die.
its such a helpless feeling.
to know that people die and nothing can be done.
to know that life can change in seconds and nothing can be done.
the only thing that gets me through is faith.
"in the end things will be ok. if its not ok, then its not the end"

[Rita]

I worry now. For the first few months after our son died I would catch myself putting my hand on my husband's back while he was sleeping to make sure he was still breathing. I still get up on the mornings he does to work to hug him and let him know I love him....just in case he never comes back home. We aren't sure we want to try again for another baby, but if we do, it will probably be a time of high anxiety for both of us because we have the genetic disorder chance to deal with.

I'm pretty sure I am depressed, but I just don't feel like trying to talk to anyone right now. I just don't think anyone has any words that can make me feel better, especially not some stranger who has never walked my path. I was on meds for PPD but I had to quit taking them after we lost Eli. I was on the verge of suicide many nights while on them but it has gotten much better off of them.

[Catherine]

Oh Jen. I'm not sure how you got through those weeks either. I really can't imagine. I am so, so glad that it was all some sort of mistake and that your husband is fine. I'm so sorry that the experience has left you with this chronic anxiety.

I feel a little strange admitting this but I think that losing my daughter has actually made me less anxious. Well it was either losing G or J's long NICU stay that seems to have knocked it out of me. Prior to their birth, I was a worrier. I think that a part of me always thought that, if I worried about it hard enough, I could prevent the catastrophic event that I was worrying about from coming to pass. I worried over losing the girls, to the point of floods of tears, long before I actually did.

When G died, I realised that I was helpless. There was nothing I could do. All I could do was do what I thought was for the best for my children. And then I had so many, many scares with J that, if I been anxious over them, I could have worried myself to death.

One day I was incubator gazing and J stopped breathing. Not unusual at the time, an apnoea. The nurse looking after her that day was busy and asked me to just rub her back to start her breathing again. I did. Another nurse saw me and told me off for touching her. Like something broke inside of you, something broke inside of me at that moment. It just seems to have had the opposite effect. I felt so powerless, so hopeless that I just didn't have the energy left to worry. About anything else that particular day.

I still worry now. But less. I feel more hopeless than anxious.

[erika p]

I just lost my baby yesterday; Sierra was born silently after five weeks of knowing that the placenta was failing and the outcome would most likely not be good. We were waiting and hoping she would get big enough to have a reasonable chance if she were born, but it didn't happen. She just wasn't growing and couldn't hang on any longer. As of her death and birth yesterday, we were 27 weeks and 5 days into the pregnancy but she was only 343 grams and 10 inches long - about the size of a 20 weeker.

During the past five weeks of worrying about her, I've found that I've also become quite worried about my son, who is 2 years and 9 months. He was already co-sleeping with us, but I'm now waking up several times to be sure he is still breathing, which I haven't done since he was about 6 months old. I've also started to imagine all sorts of terrible accidents and injuries happening to him - active little kids just get lots of minor bumps and bruises, but recently they are really upsetting me.

The mother of one of my close friends has been battling breast cancer, and she said that she sets aside part of each day to worry, and then she's done with worrying for that day. This struck me as very wise and I've been trying to follow her lead, but it has been hard. And now that I don't have my baby to worry about, now that what I was dreading - her death - has come to pass, I know my anxiety for my son will probably increase, for a time anyway. And Sierra's death was my second loss in a row - the pregnancy before hers ended in miscarriage at 13 weeks - so I know my next attempt at a pregnancy will be incredibly anxiety-filled. But it's a bit soon to be thinking of that right now...

[Sally]

My thoughts are with you Erika, with the very recent loss of Sierra. So much love to you and your family right now.

[Cynthia]

I am so sorry to hear of your losses, Erika. Welcome. A friend of mine who lost her father said she had a similar tactic--that she set aside a period of time everyday to grieve; it was the only way she could continue to function. I've never been able to manage that kind of planful strategy myself, but it also struck me as a a very good way to cope, if one could manage it.

[sassy]

I'm so sorry as well, Erika. Sierra is such a beautiful name.

This post was so beautiful, serenely heartbreaking.

[tash]

Jen, I'm sorry I'm so late to this post.

Fear is my primary and primal emotion left in grief to deal with, methinks. It is all encompassing. And it comes from the lessons I learned from Maddy's death: don't assume anything will turn out fine; everything can change at the drop of a dime; medical technology is pretty awesome when people know what they're looking for. If they're just looking around for nothing in particular, it's not a very good tool to discovery of rare problems.

Ergo, when Bella tells me her stomach hurts, I automatically go into overdrive: This won't necessarily turn out well; by tomorrow she may be in a coma; the test to look for appendix problems or a blocked bowel will completely miss the protein disfunction that will send her into shock.

I hesitate to even call it fear anymore, it's such a part of my life as I live it on a daily basis. It no longer even slows me down. I'm terrified too, just maybe more used to it by now.