4 weeks

I don't like Tuesdays.
4 weeks ago today, we lost Dylan.
4 weeks ago today, I went through hell.
I can't believe it's been 4 weeks.

I have decided to try and keep busy. If I don't, I think I might go crazy. Or just spend all day in bed or on the couch doing nothing.
I might as well use my time well now that I'm at home.

X is doing his first communion in May. That is project number 1.
We're having a party at home in the garden, keeping my fingers crossed that it won't rain. Lots and lots of stuff to organize. BBQ, tent, tables and chairs, desserts, pictures, decorations and so on.
I need for that day to be good. To be fun. For X. I want him to have good memories from that day. And for us. We need some fun in our lives.

Project number 2: our kitchen.
We have an old kitchen, it was put in probably almost 20 years ago. There's nothing wrong with it as it was a custom made oak kitchen with built-in appliances. So I don't have an excuse to rip it out and get a completely new kitchen.
But it's a dark kitchen. The cabinets are dark oak, it makes the whole thing seem smaller....
So my project is to paint the cabinet doors, and walls.
Now if only I knew which colors to use so I could get started!

Project number 3: redo L's room. I painted his room a couple of years ago. But his walls are now dirty and I want to give him a big boy's room. I painted it when he was 2, he's 5 now and has outgrown the Winnie the Pooh's on his wall.

I think these projects should keep me busy for a while. Good. Keeping busy is good.


I went to see the psychologist yesterday.
I was pretty nervous when I went, but felt quite comfortable with her after only a little while. We talked about lots of stuff, my childhood, my parents.....so she could get to know me better. My next appointment is next Monday. Lets see if that goes as well as this one did.

She told me to keep busy. To read, write (got a big "good for you" when I told her I've been blogging), do some sports.....
Sport. hmmm, don't know how I feel about that. I have a good friend who has offered to go swimming and take a class at the gym with me. My head is telling me I should do that. But part of me just doesn't want to. Partly because it's going out in public where there are a lot of people, people who knew I was pregnant but don't know what happened. I need to just get over that I think, do it once and get it over with.

I still have about 10 kg pregnancy-but-no-baby-weight on me. ok, maybe only 5 or 6 kg. I had gained some weight before I got pregnant, but as I'm doing something about, I might as well get the extra weight off too.
The extra weight is really bothering me now. Last week, I only barely fit into my ski pants (luckily I could let the waist out some). I have been living in sweatpants and leggings for 4 weeks now. I'd love to be able to put on a pair of jeans.
So I have started drinking Herbalife shakes twice a day, eating healthy dinners, and I guess I'll get some exercise soon.

My goal is to fit into this pretty dress (and would love to get the shoes too) by X's communion:

I've been thinking about getting the dress already, in the size I want to be in May. Or not to get it, but get it when I've lost some of the weight, as a reward.

ok, gotta get started on project number 1. I have a little over 10 weeks to get it all organized.


ps: this is probably the most randomly written post I've done. Sorry about that, just so many random thoughts going through my head....

Alone

It's been a couple of days since I've been online. We went on ski vacation in Germany and I didn't have an internet connection. Which is probably a good thing. I needed to have a break from it all....including blogging and reading blogs.....

However, while on vacation, I did receive a message from a fellow blogger that I should read a blog, and contact the writer. She was going through what I went through 4 weeks ago. My heart goes out to Mo and the loss she is coping with right now.

So, not much happened on vacation. We spent time together on the slopes, during meals......just a good old family holiday.
Being away from home was good. It got my mind off things, not that I stopped thinking about Dylan and everything else, but I was able to clear my head. While on the slopes with T, life was ok again for a bit. It was just me, T, the snow, the mountains.....

Friday was harder. It was X's 8th birthday. I wanted to give him a wonderful day, and I think I managed pretty well, but it was hard for me. His birthday reminded me of Dylan. Of the fact that I was supposed to have a third son soon.

Tomorrow is a day I'm not looking forward to. T is going back to work. I will alone, the boys will be at school. It will be the first day alone, without T, without the boys. Tomorrow freaks me out.

I also have my first appointment with the psychologist tomorrow. It's the psychologist I saw in the hospital, so not a total stranger. But I'm afraid of what will happen when I start talking to her. I'm afraid that it'll all come back up. I've been ok the past days, even weeks. I don't cry so much any more (though I'm not sure that's such a good thing). I don't think I'll be ok when I talk to her tomorrow.
But I'm open to seeing her. I'm open to getting some help in getting through this. In getting help to work through some of my new and old fears.

I need to work on a lot of stuff. If nothing else, this whole thing has showed me that I have fears. What most people would call irrational fears. I have had these fears for a while, years actually. I can't say when it started or why, but they've been there for a while now.
I always thought it was just "being a mommy". But it's so much more than that.
I get freaked about about a lot of things. In the hospital, I noticed that it had gotten worse. Much worse.
I don't like being alone at night. I don't sleep, I hear things.
I don't fly any more.
I freak out if I can't reach T during the day or he doesn't call me back (he's on the road most of the day).
I freak out if I think about the boys taking the bus to the pool with their class and teacher every week.
I got scared last week when X told me he was doing black slopes with his ski class.
Disseases. I always think there's serious stuff wrong with me. (ok, I may do that to myself. Dr. Google is not always a good thing.)
Basically, I'm scared of something happening to T or the boys. I'm scared to the point of having panic attacks and really just freaking out big time.
I know some of these are fears which I won't be able to get rid of, but it needs to get better. I need to be able to function.
So, I will work on this, amongst everything else, with the psychologist.

This is really the first time I have openly admitted to these fears. T knows about it, my best friend knows some of it (but nowhere near all of it) and I told my mom in the hospital (during a panicky crying fit). Other than that, I don't tell people about being scared. I'm pretty good at hiding it.
Maybe admitting it is the first step.
So there, first step taken.


Last, but not least in any way, I want to say how sorry I am that IVF did not work for Sometimes and all of the other bloggers I've been following.
I hope for all of you that you will get pregnant soon and have that much desired baby to hold in your arms.

Vacation

We're leaving tomorrow morning to go skiing till next weekend.

I was not looking forward to this week, had actually wanted to cancel the vacation.
But we decided to go because the boys were looking forward to it and we need to get out of the house.

Today, I am looking forward to it. I wasn't supposed to be able to ski. But I love to ski and now I can. So I have embraced that and am determined to have a good time and enjoy it.

So, I have been doing laundry all day and am almost ready to pack our bag and leave in the morning.

I can't wait to be in the mountains.
I will do my best to have a good vacation. A family vacation. Me, T and the boys.
and the mountains and snow, good food, games after dinner.....

yes, I'm looking forward to our vacation :-)

Nails

This is going to sound stupid.
It sounds stupid in my head, I'm sure it'll sound much more stupid written down.

Here it goes:

I have nail polish on my fingernails.
I did my nails the weekend before everything happened, before I got contractions and lost Dylan.
So, I went through it all with pretty red nails. I gave birth to my stillborn son with pretty red nails. I spent almost a week in the hospital with pretty red nails. I came home 2 weeks ago tomorrow, without a baby or a pregnant belly, with pretty red nails.
Almost 2 weeks after I came home I still have pretty red nails. Kind of. The nail polish is coming off. My nails actually look pretty bad right now.

But, for some reason, I can't get myself to go upstairs, get the nail polish remover and actually remove the nail polish.
It's as if I would remove the last little part of Dylan from my body.

Ok, that did just sound as stupid as I thought it would.
So, why is it such a big hurdle for me?

My mom was at our house yesterday, she saw my nails and commented that I should take the nail polish off. T said that it was hard for me and he didn't think I was ready.
I had no idea he knew about it.....

My goal for tomorrow is: finally take the nail polish off.

It's the little things which are the hardest sometimes......

Ups and Downs

The past couple of days have been hard. And good.
I guess that is how it will be now. We will have our good days and our bad days.

We took the boys to the Belgian Ardennes on Saturday to go sledding. We went for some long walks in the snow.
It felt good to get out of the house. I hadn't planned to go anywhere, but I needed to get the kids out of the house. They were going crazy staying inside with us and T and I don't really have the patience for their fighting right now.
So we went sledding. The drive over there was hard. For some reason, when we sit in the car I start thinking. Thinking about stuff I have managed to not think about when we're at home. Stuff I really shouldn't think: like "why"and "what if...."
I had my book with me though, and decided to try reading.
I'm a reader. I can lose myself in books, can read all day and all night if I want to to. I hadn't touched a book though since this had all happened. I couldn't concentrate on reading. I wished I could though, I wanted to lose myself in a story, forget the sadness for a while....
So when I took my book out in the car and was able to read, I was happy. It was a good moment, because I could do something that I had always loved but was afraid I could no longer do because my head wouldn't let me....

The Belgian Ardennes are actually very beautiful. They are our mountains. I think that is hilarious, because after living in Switzerland for many years I don't even consider 650 meters to be a mountain..... but hey, it's about the most mountain I'm going to get, so I guess I'll have to be happy with it.
But it did remind me of the real mountains.... it was beautiful, quiet, lots of trees, lots of snow..... It gave me some peace. I was able to sit and enjoy the beauty of it all.
And we had a good day with the boys. They had fun.
I feel sorry for them, constantly having to see mom and dad being sad, with tears in our eyes..... So we tried, tried really hard for them to have some fun, to smile every once in while.

Monday was one of those days......one of those days that didn't need to be.
T woke up with a bad dream, all he wanted to do was hold me when he woke up..... After the kids went to school, we crawled up on the couch together. We watched movies all day. Didn't do anything else. It was one of those days.....

I did do something on Monday of which I am proud. (the little things seem the hardest right now, so I get to be proud of the little things!)
I went to school together with T to pick up the kids.
I had been dreading that. I know a lot of people at school. It's a small school, everybody knows each other. I didn't wanted to be confronted with everyone at school.....asking me if I was ok, what happened, or my worst nightmare: not knowing and staring at me because I am obviously not pregnant any more (baby # 3 was causing a major bump, so EVERYONE knew I was pregnant).
But a good friend emailed me Monday morning asking me if I was planning on coming to school to pick up the boys. He told me that he would be there (he's divorced, so he only has his kids every other week) in case that would make it easier for me to go to school. I thought about this all day, wrote him back that I would try but couldn't promise because it was hard.....
In the end I decided to go to school with T. The good friend, E, showed up a couple of minutes later, and I walked to school with the 2 of them.
It was easier than I thought, people said hello but let me be. T and E did a good job of "protecting" me from the crowd.
Today I went back to school. Again I stood between T and E and felt safe.
I am proud of myself for doing this. Proud of myself because I faced everyone and didn't crack.....

I'm looking forward to next week. We're going skiing.
I wasn't supposed to go skiing, I was supposed to read, enjoy some rest and relax while T and the boys skied.
But now I am allowed to go skiing. So I will.
T and I went and bought ski boots for me today. My valentine's day present. Not that we're celebrating that this year.
But I do have pretty white with silver ski boots now.
How the little things can still make me smile....

I'm amazed at how I can smile. I had never thought I would be able to smile, or feel a happy feeling again.
But I am learning that life goes on. Our lives go on. Our kids' lives go on.
And smiling, being happy is part of that.

I will never forget what happened, will never forget our little boy, our little angel, Dylan.
But I have to go on. I can not let myself fall into the hole that is very close by. I am trying to keep that hole far away. Some days it's closer than other days.
But with a little smile, with a little happiness, I can push that hole away......

Sharing.....

I am a FB addict. Have been for a while.
I check FB on my laptop, on my iPhone. I do this all day, every day.
I post almost everything on FB. Lots of pictures, of everything and anything. Status updates at all times during the day and night.
I do it all.

So, when I reached 12 weeks in this pregnancy, and we had told our family and friends, I posted an ultrasound picture on FB.

I spent many years living abroad as a child. I have reconnected with a lot of people from back then through FB. Some of them have become friends again, and even though we live in complete different parts of the world and don't see each other, we are friends.

This was the big reason for me announcing my pregnancy on FB.
And I had no reason not to. After my ectopic 2 years ago I was scared this time around. But I calmed down a lot after 12 weeks and was confident everything was ok.

Today, 11 days after Dylan was stillborn, I still haven't become active again on FB.
Earlier this week, I removed my pregnancy pictures and all status updates which had something to do with the pregnancy.
I have been debating about if and when I will say something about what happened. I'm scared that if I don't, someone will ask me something soon. Or will ask when the due date is around the corner.
I want to avoid this at all costs.
But sending this into the world of FB is also not something I really want to do.

I know I will have to do something at some point. As I was such an active FB person, I'm sure people will start wondering soon why I have become inactive.
As in completely inactive. I don't post anything, comment on anything, like anything, have a status update at all.
This is very unlike me. I'm actually surprised nobody has commented on my absence on FB.....

What to post, when to post it....these things are going through my head.
It's actually kind of pathetic how these thoughts are even in my head, thoughts about FB, when I am going through hell.

----------

Something else.
Do I share this with my friends?
I have told T he can read it if he wants. He doesn't want to, he says it's mine. It's my place to vent. Part of me wants T to read it, I want him to know what's going on in my head. Even though we talk a lot, I think I write things here in a different way......maybe he'll read it when he's ready.

But, do I share this with friends? I haven't really told people that I started a blog. No idea why. I could share with my best friend, but I'm not sure I want to.

I shared with one person I know. She's going through stuff herself and I think she gets it. She's also miles away and we haven't seen each other in many years. That doesn't make her less of a friend, but somehow easier to share this with because I don't see her.....

I don't know if everyone would understand why I write certain things down here.
I don't think they would dare to comment, but I'm not sure they'd understand it all....

Bureaucratic crap....

I have had lots of things to be angry about.
One of them should not have been the bureaucratic crap I had to deal with.

Our son was born after 22 weeks of pregnancy.
I had no idea what that meant.
I thought my doc would write me a sick note for a couple of weeks. I could not imagine going back to work any time soon, and I was sure my doc would get me the note. My mom and best friend had said that of course I wouldn't be going back to work any time soon....
A social worker informed us, a day later, that 22 weeks apparently meant that he would have been viable. This in turn meant that I would have to take my maternity leave.

Maternity leave. I have all kinds of weird and conflicting feelings about that. I don't want maternity leave. I don't have a baby to care for.
On the other hand, I want that time to grieve.

So I sent HR an email. Informing them of what happened and that I had to take my maternity leave now.
A day later I got an answer from them. An answer which pissed me off, badly.
The mail said that I did not have the right to take maternity leave because Dylan wasn't 180 days old. I had to get a sick note from my doc and send it to them.

I talked to the social worker, to my doc about this and they all said the same thing. This was legal. I have to take the maternity leave. I'm not allowed to go to work for at least 9 weeks, and I have a right to take all 14 weeks off.
I was pissed because HR hadn't bothered to look into the facts.
The laws have been changed in Belgium. I now know that when laws change, not everyone who should know about it actually does.
My best friend is an HR manager, she can't find it. A good friend is a lawyer, he also can't find it.
What kind of a country do I live in where a change in a law can't be found by people who know where to look?

We weren't sure of any of this for days. Weren't sure how long I would stay at home, how long T would be able to stay at home.
You see, if I have a right to my maternity leave, T would have a right to his "daddy leave" (10 days) and 3 days for the funeral. I had freaked out about being alone soon, about T having to go back to work.

On Friday, I was allowed to leave the hospital to go to the commune. We had to do this together because we're not married. If we wanted T to be registered as Dylan's father, we both had to go to the commune together.
So we did. It was one of those things we had to do. It was a horrible thing, no parent should ever have to go to the commune and register a stillborn child.
But we got through that too. T is registered as Dylan's father.
The commune gave us papers, the official death certificate
Then they gave me the official document for my health insurance for my maternity leave. I asked the woman if this was sure, told her we had been having discussions about this. She said yes, we had a certain death certificate from my doc and with that form I was to receive the official papers. (I also have a right to the birth premium. another one of those conflicting things)

So it was official. I sent a copy to HR and they said it was ok.

You know, I don't care if my doc gives me a sick note for 14 weeks or if I have maternity leave. But it annoyed the shit out of me that we got so many conflicting answers.
I guess it's a thing of principle for me. If my doc says Dylan would have been viable, then I want the right to stay home and mourn.
Why is it that they say 1 thing at the hospital and the commune, but people in HR can't find it? Aren't those the people you should be able to trust as an employee?

Another thing this all meant was that we had to bury Dylan. Before 22 weeks (or 500 gr or 25 cm), it's called a miscarriage. The baby isn't registered at the commune and you have no obligations concerning burial.
After 22 weeks (and Dylan was also 27.5 cm), you have a stillbirth, you are obliged to register the death at the commune, name the child and you're obliged to have a burial.
So it really was important to me that we got what we had a right to. We have the obligations, we also want the rest.

We went to see our health insurance today. To hand over the papers and have my maternity leave start (and get paid).
Again, there was confusion. They also did not know that I had a right to this.
Again, we were angry. Angry at the system.
It was a really nice lady though, she said she would take my file to headquarters in Brussels and sort it out for me.
I had the papers, so I have a right to the leave.
I was glad she was willing to help, but annoyed that this seems to be something nobody knows anything about.

I do not wish this onto anyone.
I do know though, that these things happen. I hope that no one has to go through this crap like we did. I want to inform people that this law exists. I just don't know who to tell, who to inform.
But I think I will try and find out. I will try and get this information out there, so that if this happens to someone in the future, the laws, rights and obligations are clear.

I hope that the paperwork is done now. That we don't have to have this discussion again. That people take care of this for us.

Dates

January 31st, 2012. The day our angel was born. The day we had to say goodbye to our son who didn't get a chance in this world. The day we had to tell his big brothers that their baby brother wasn't strong enough to survive.....
February 7th, 2012. The day we had a beautiful service for our little angel, Dylan. The day we put flowers on his grave, the day we said our final goodbyes.

Dates which I will never forget.
Dates which I will want to skip in the future.
Dates which will make me sad.

I got dressed this morning, I put on a pretty dress, high heels, I did my hair. I wanted to try and look good for today, for our little angel. It was important to me that I at least made an effort.
We got the boys ready, got the flowers I had ordered and left for the crematorium. The service was to start at 11 am.
I was nervous. Nervous because I wanted everything to be perfect today. I had prepared texts, made a cd with music, ordered flowers, had pictures to put in the grave...... I wanted today to be personal, to be from us.
I was nervous because I had to see people today. Our families, our closest friends. We had decided that we wanted them there with us today. But I didn't feel as if I wanted to see them. I would have, could have said goodbye without them.

It turned out that seeing everyone was good for me. Our friends were there for us, all of them. Each and every one of them took a day off work to be with us. Not much was said, not much needed to be said. They held me, held T and the boys.

The service was beautiful. Sad, oh so sad, but oh so beautiful.
There were flowers, lots of white and red roses, drawings from X and L for their little brother.
I had picked out some music. I wanted to have music from us, songs which mean something to us.
Hallelujah http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y8AWFf7EAc4&ob=av2e
No Sound But the Wind http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XXUCFk8VJFY
Home http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yHsLuwdjbkI
Stairway to Heaven http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lKg4g9zMeHI
Both T and I love music, we love these songs. These songs are the ones we wanted to dedicate to our little boy.
I assume most of these are not typical funeral/memorial service songs. But I don't care.
I'm sure some people thought today that these songs were not right for a funeral service (I'm thinking about my in-laws, pretty old-fashioned people), but you know what, I couldn't care less.

The woman at the crematorium read a beautiful text. She was very serene, I think I saw tears in her eyes. She had a very soft, nice voice, didn't rush through it.
We had prepared a text (read between No Sound But the Wind and Home) written by a very good friend. I can write here, but I couldn't write a text for the service. (partly because, living in Belgium, it had to be in Dutch and I am not very good at putting feelings down on paper in Dutch, partly because I was too emotional) The friend who wrote the text for us is T's best friend. He's a writer, editor for a magazine. The way he can write something down is amazing. So when we asked him to write something for us, he did. And it was beautiful, absolutely beautiful. He put all our feelings and more into words.
After another song, the woman had another text. Another beautiful, serene text.
Then we had to get up and say goodbye, put our hand on the urn and say a last goodbye.

Throughout the service, X sat next to me, holding my hand, comforting me when I cried, crying with me. It's not right that my 7 year old son should be comforting me. But I'm glad he was there.
L sat with T, hugging his daddy the whole way through the service.

After the service we drove to the cemetery. We had decided the bury the urn at the cemetery. I didn't want to scatter the ashes or to take the ashes home (apparently you're allowed to take the ashes home or bury them in your garden). I wanted to have a grave to visit, to be able to go to when I feel the need to spend some time with our little angel.

T and I put the urn in the ground. X and L put their drawings in with the urn. We all 4 put a white rose in. I put some pictures of me and T and T and the boys in. T put his leather bracelet in.
I didn't want to leave. I wanted to stay there with Dylan.
I was freezing, it was minus 9 degrees outside today, snow on the ground. But I didn't care. I didn't want to leave Dylan there all by himself.
T and the boys eventually got me to leave. To realize that I couldn't stand there all day.

We all went to have coffee and lunch. (I don't know what people do after funerals in other countries. In Belgium it's kind of traditional to all have coffee and lunch together afterwards.)
It felt good to sit down with my friends and family. It felt good to feel a little bit normal again, to do normal things. They even got me to smile, it felt good to be able to smile again.
They were there for us, they listened to us. Offered their help, offered to take the boys if and when we need time to ourselves. (The boys can go play and spend the night anywhere they want!)

Coming home this afternoon was weird. I couldn't believe it was over already.

Today was perfect. It all happened the way I had wanted it to. It was from me and T, it was personal, X and L were there to get us through the day.
February 7th, 2012. A day I will never forget. The day I said goodbye to Dylan, our third son, our angel.

A good friend sent us a message later tonight. She told us to go look outside, at the sky.
There is 1 star in the sky in Belgium tonight, 1 incredibly bright star.....our little star, our little angel is watching over us....

Yesterday, today, tomorrow

Yesterday was kind of a good day. We spent yesterday with the boys. Doing nothing, watching tv with them, cuddling with them. In the late afternoon we went to a theater show (for kids) because, well, we had the tickets, they weren't cheap and the boys had been looking forward to it. So we went.
It was a good thing. I held X's hand for most of the show and realized I have much to be happy about, even now. I have 2 wonderful sons, they need me and I need to be there for them.

After the show, X hugged me and said "mommy, I will always remember Dylan when I think of this show". That broke me. But I love X for it. In all his innocence and his sadness.....he meant it in a good way.

I will try my hardest to be there. But it isn't always easy. The boys argue, cry, fight.....normal things which kids do. But T and I are having problems with that. We have no patience at the moment.
I need to work on that. Realize that the kids aren't doing it to annoy us, their lives are continuing, even with all the sadness.....
So, I have decided I need to be more patient. Lets see how well I do with that....

Today is a hard day. T and I couldn't, or didn't want to, get out of bed this morning. The boys were late for school. That's not good, we can't do that.
So, the boys are at school now. And we are sitting here. Doing nothing. The tv is on, but we're not watching anything. It's on so we have some background noise. So we don't think too much.
Today is hard because we have no reason to do anything. The boys aren't here. It's not good that we're doing this, we get that. We need to function, even when the boys aren't around. I'm counting the hours till school is out so I can have them with me again.

Today is a hard day. I have to get stuff organized. Tomorrow is the funeral (I HATE THAT WORD).
I have the music ready, I have texts to be read both at the service and at the grave. We ordered flowers.
I want it to be personal, from us. But I don't know if I will be able to read a text. I so want to, but even just thinking about it brings tears to my eyes. How will I ever get up there and read it?
I can have someone read it for me/us. But I don't think I want that.

Tomorrow will be a very, very hard, horrible day. But a day we need. We need to say goodbye.
I'm scared of tomorrow. I'm scared that the people who will be there (closest friends and family) will try to pull me through the day. But I want to be left alone. I told T to stay with me, to protect me from everyone.

Tomorrow will be hard. And I'm thinking about stupid stuff: what will I wear? which shoes will I wear? should I put make-up on? what will the boys wear?
This is stuff is so not important. So why is it what I'm thinking about?

I've taken a shower every day since I got home. The hot shower feels good. But every time I get undressed, I'm angry.
I'm not pregnant any more, but my body isn't back to normal. I can ignore it as long as I have clothes on, but when I get undressed, it's all there for me to be confronted with.
My boobs aren't pregnant boobs any more, but they're not what they used to be. My tummy looks fat, ugly. I know my body will go back to what it used to be, but it needs time. And it is time I don't want. I want to fit into my clothes now, today, not in a couple of weeks.
So, besides sweatpants, I have no pants which fit. Well, except for maternity pants. That really sucks. I'm wearing maternity jeans. I put them on, get angry and then ignore it the rest of the day.
I guess I can wear dresses, but 99% of my dresses are tight-fitting. So that's not really an option as I just look fat right now.
You see, I'm a girly-girl. I like dresses, skirts with cute tops, high heels, pretty boots.....even when I wear jeans, I wear heels or boots....I wear make-up, earrings, I do my hair, have pretty red nails..... I rarely wear sneakers or sweatpants. I do not go outside in sweatpants.
My body makes me angry. I am angry because I have no clothes to wear, I have nothing that makes me look pretty. And I think I want to look pretty, I want to at least have that. Look and feel pretty. Is that too much to ask?

So, tomorrow. I'm dreading it. I don't know if I will be able to sleep tonight. I worry that it won't be the way I want it to be tomorrow. It needs to be perfect.
I am praying to survive tomorrow. That the 4 of us will survive tomorrow.
T is trying to be strong, for me, for the boys. But I'm worried about him. He needs to heal also, not just take care of us.....
I have learned though, that we have a strong relationship. And it has become stronger in this past week.  I love him and he loves me. That will get us through tomorrow and all the days to come, be it the good or the bad ones.....

For our little angel....

What ifs....

We came home yesterday. It was hard. Not as hard as I thought it would be though. I was glad to be home. To take a hot shower, sit in the couch, watch L run to his toys and start playing.....
I also realized again that we have some great friends. We went to pick L (X was at a bday party) up and my friend had done the boys' laundry. She has her own kids, so she probably just put their laundry in with hers, but still. She didn't have to do that. But she did, so I wouldn't have to.
Another friend came by with flowers. He listened. That's it. But that was enough.
Everyone listens. They don't know what else to do. I don't know what I would do....

I've been putting this off for a while, but I need to finish telling my story. I have many other thoughts I can write down (and have written down), but this needs to be done. It is something I've been dreading because it is a very difficult part for me.....
here we go....

I was technically allowed to go home on Wednesday. But I asked my doc if I could stay 1 more day.
Wednesday was a day of results.
Before Dylan was born, they asked us if we allowed all the tests to be done. They told us it was a horrible thing to ask, but it would help us in the long run to deal with all this. So we said yes.
They took my blood, a urine sample, an amniotic fluid sample.....They wanted to figure out what happened.
Dylan was also looked at (I can think it, but writing that word down is hard, so I'm not going to do it for now).
On Wednesday afternoon, our doc told us that there was nothing structurally wrong with Dylan. He was perfect, just as he had looked when we saw him.
Was this a good thing? I guess, though I'm not convinced.
Wednesday late afternoon, the doc came back saying that she had more results. There was something in my blood. My white-bloodcell count had been very high Tuesday morning, meaning I had an infection. Weird because I wasn't sick.
They were testing all kinds of things and had found a bacteria. They couldn't tell me what yet, but it was there. It was very much there, otherwise they wouldn't have seen it so fast in the lab.

This scared the shit out of me. I had enough biology in high school to know that a high white blood cell count wasn't a good thing. Among other things, I am a bit of a hypochondriac. So, this freaked me out. I got scared that I was sick. Not flu-sick, but seriously sick. I was scared that my boys would now have to deal with that..... T tried to calm me down, my mom tried to calm me down, it didn't really work.
The doc came back at night, around 9 pm, and tried to calm me down. Also not very successful, but I did realize there was nothing else for me to do but wait.

The nurses gave me a sleeping pill. That helped, I slept and didn't dream. Thank god I didn't dream.

Then Thursday came. We waited all morning for the results. Our doc kept us waiting, we found out later it was because she was chasing results for us.
She came in after lunch. With a nurse, papers and needles.
They found the bacteria. Listeria.
The name rang a bell, but I didn't know what it was. She told us.
One of the rarest kind of bacteria one can get. Usually from food.
When you're pregnant, you're not supposed to eat cheeses made from unpasteurized milk. As in brie, camembert, roquefort..... I love those cheeses, but have never eaten them when pregnant. Hard cheeses are ok, they are made from pasteurized milk and are cooked for so long that they apparently don't have much milk left in them.
So, in a nutshell. I ate something with the bacteria, made myself sick (without symptoms) and made my little little baby sick. So sick that he couldn't fight it. It all happened very fast, he had no chance, no pain....

Here come some of my most horrible thoughts - if you're reading this, please don't judge me. I need these thoughts out there, maybe I can stop thinking them after writing them. They are horrible and I'm a horrible person for thinking them, but they are there and I can't manage to get rid of them.

I was at my cousin's house in Germany last Saturday and Sunday, with the boys and my mom. I had asked her to be godmother to our baby.
We had lunch and dinner on Saturday and lunch on Sunday. Then we went home.
I got the bacteria during the weekend. Dylan died some time Monday.
I got the bacteria at my cousin's house. We have no idea where or when.
I did eat cheese though, on our spaghetti which we had for lunch Saturday.
Why did I eat cheese? Why did she make spaghetti for us? Where did I get the bacteria? Was it from the cheese or from dinner - sandwiches?
I shouldn't have gone to Germany, I shouldn't have eaten whatever it was that I ate. I should have stayed home.
If I had stayed at home, none of this would have happened.
I don't think I will ever be able to go to her house again. Will I be able to see her, look into her eyes, knowing I got it at her house?
WHY?????
Her house is clean, her food was fine. I did not eat anything I wasn't supposed to eat.
But I still got the bacteria.

I don't know how to process this. It is the worst result they could have given me.
It is my fault. I am the only one to blame.

I mentioned before that the doc came in with a nurse. The nurse was there to take my blood, 4 more vials of it. And to start a new IV.
Because it's a very nasty bacteria. I needed antibiotics. 2 full days of IV antibiotics every 6 hours, and 5 more days of pills at home.
Listeria causes pneumonia and even meningitis.
They were being careful, making sure I don't get sick.
But it also meant I had to stay at the hospital till Saturday. With an IV. I already had very painful arms after IV's and lots of blood samples being taken.

This was too much for me. I cracked again.
But I did understand they were doing this for my own good. The doc who had found the bacteria had insisted on me getting the IV antibiotics....
They checked for me wether everyone needed to get their blood checked. No, as long as the kids didn't get a fever or complain of a headache, they were fine. I still worry though.

So, there you go.
The reason that this happened.
They had said we would want a reason. That having a reason would help us get through this.
I'm not so sure about this.
I don't know that I will dare to eat anything at all if I ever get pregnant again. (I have not said or thought, "never again". I still want a baby, a brother or sister for X & L. But that's a different post I guess)
T says I have been looking at all packages this week. Every yoghurt I eat, I first check the ingredients. I eat them, but look at it first. I had no idea I was doing this. I hope I won't become freaked out about food, that I won't become obsessed with cleaning and washing my hands. That would so be something for me. (again, completely different post - my fears)

It's out there. I don't feel better yet. I still feel guilty.
Everyone has told me it is not my fault. That it wasn't supposed to be there. I didn't eat anything I wasn't allowed to eat.
But still, I feel guilty.
I'm scared that T will blame me at some point. He says it's not my fault. But the blame might come, when we are least expecting it. He might not realize it now, that he blames me. I hope we'll be able to handle that if that day comes.

Something that needs to be said

We have seen doctors, social workers, a psychologist and many many nurses the past 5 days.
I am amazed at how nice and sweet and kind everyone has been.
They have all listened to our story, our rants, our frustrations. They have taken care of our boys when we needed to do the official crap. They have fed T all week.
They have stayed with me when I was alone and crying.
I don't know how I can ever thank them.

I was hospitalized on the maternity ward. I have the last room in the hall, far away from all the happy rooms.
Being a nurse on the maternity ward must be a happy place to be a nurse. They see so much happiness.
But they handle the sadness so well. They have all been there for me, for T and for the boys.

It keeps amazing me (I know I have said this often, but it is something we both feel) how EVERYONE wants to take care of us.
The nurses on the ward. The doctors who don't know me.
My gynecologist, who is a very very busy woman, has spent so much time in my room this week. She does not have time for that. But she has come in here every day, twice or three times most days. And has sat here and talked to us. About everything, about nothing, about the stupid stuff and about the important stuff.
She delivered L. She did my surgery two years ago on the ectopic pregnancy. And has now gone through this with us. We have connected. I think she will always be there for me. She has said I can call, any time. I won't say I'm happy with that (how can I be happy about anything right now?!), but it does make me feel just a little bit better.

I have been blogging for what, a whole 2 days? And already I have met women on here who are willing to listen to me, to help me, to be there for me.
I thought I would start a blog to get my story out, to put it on paper. To help me work through it, to have a memory for later.
This is still true. But now I also know that I have a support group if and when I might need it. I am not alone. How horrible that sounds, I am not the only one who has lost a baby.
So for everyone reading this or who will read this in the future: thank you, from the bottom of my heart. I may not "talk" much for the moment, not until I get it all out, but I know you are there. I know I am not alone.

Life goes on. Does it, really??

I get to leave the hospital today, after 5 days.
Part of me is longing to go home, part of me just wants to stay here.
I have been living in this little cocoon, the hospital room. I have looked out the windows maybe twice in 5 days, I keep the curtains shut.
The outside world has gone on but my world has stopped. I have been stuck since Tuesday morning. I'm afraid that if and when I go outside, go home, it will become so much more real. LIfe goes on. But I don't want life to go on.

I have to let go of that, for my boys. They need me. They need us.
We have the most wonderful friends, they have been taking care of our boys all week. They have fed them, taken them to school, taken their minds off this horrible thing. But our boys need mommy and daddy. They need to know that we are still us, that the 4 of us are still a family.

What will I do when we get home? I'm scared of that. Will I be able to get some rest, or do any of things I used to enjoy? I love to read, I am a book junky. But I haven't touched my book that has been lying next to me all week. It is something I want to do, I want to be able to lose myself in my book. Will I be able to read again???
Will I be able to enjoy cooking and baking? I need to cook for the boys, they need to eat, and they will force us to eat. But will I enjoy it again? Will I be able to bake a cake and enjoy eating it? I can't see myself doing that again, maybe I should tell X that he needs to tell mommy to do it....

T has spent the last 5 days at the hospital with me, sleeping here, eating here. He has only left for brief periods to take the kids home or go get them.
I am terrified of being alone. What will I do when T has to go back to work and I will be alone all day every day???
I need to feel T, I need to touch him, need him to touch me. We hold hands all day, we touch each other constantly.
I am someone who has always needed my personal space. In bed, I need space. Now, I couldn't get closer to T, even when I sleep.
Will we come out of this with a stronger relationship? Or will it break us? I'm terrified that we won't make it. I don't think I could survive that. I need T, so badly.

What doesn't kill you, makes you stronger. I will believe that. I have to believe that. We will become stronger, all of us.

Another day....

After writing yesterday, I realized it helped. If only for a little while.
So I have decided to keep writing, to keep telling my story. If only I have something to read in the years to come. I'm afraid I will forget parts of this story as time passes and the pain fades (I believe that I will heal, that I will feel better).

Tuesday, the day I gave birth to Dylan, passed in a haze.
My mom and best friend showed up, even after me telling T I didn't want to see anyone. They were worried, wanted to see me, cried with me.....
T went to school to pick up the boys. Seeing them was hard but at the same time felt good, I needed to see them.
They are what will pull me through this, I know that now. I do not want them to suffer because of this, they are the most important and precious people in our lives right now.

Tuesday passed without me crying. I just laid in bed. There were no tears, only sadness.
I did not pick up my phone, I still haven't 3 days later. I answer text messages and emails, but no phone calls.
I sent an old but very dear friend an email telling her what happened. It was hard to write that email, answering messages was 1 thing, writing one and actually having to tell someone what happened was so much harder

Going to sleep was hard on Tuesday. I had a horrible night, I woke up every hour, had terrible dreams, re-lived that one horrible moment when we got the bad news again and again.

On Wednesday morning, early, at 6:15, I couldn't sleep anymore. I took my iPhone, checked my mails and went to read a blog. This is the blog my old but very dear friend has been writing. I had no idea she had a blog until a couple of weeks ago. I don't know why I went to read it. But I did.
She had mentioned me on her blog. She had told my story.
That made me break down. Reading it, seeing it black on white, that did it.
I cried. I finally found the tears that were not there the day before.
Those tears felt good. That is the weirdest thing I have thought or said, but it is the only way to describe it. Crying was a relief. The day before I was scared that I wouldn't be able to ever cry, that my heart was so broken that there were no more tears.
I am broken. I feel as if I have been broken into a million pieces, but the tears made me feel better, relieved. I'm fixable. That's what those tears made me feel.

Wednesday was a day with tears. Lots of them. I saw the relief on T's face when I finally started crying. We cried together.
I saw Dylan one last time Wednesday morning. I said goodbye with tears. I felt I needed to do that, my goodbye hadn't felt final without tears on Tuesday.

The nurses at the hospital made a little book for us with poems and hand- and footprints. They were wonderful. I also got a small quilt in which Dylan had lain. These are beautiful memories. I will look for the most beautiful box I can find and put these things aside. Dylan's things. For all of us to look at when we need to. When we need to have something to touch.

My story is not finished. Not by far.
But I need to do this in pieces. I don't think I can do it all in one go. I will finish my story though. Tomorrow, later today, next week.....I'm not sure when, but I will write again. It has made me feel good getting it all out there.

It started snowing here this afternoon. I love snow. I thought I would be sad to see snow now. But I'm not sad. I don't know why.
Snow is a beautiful thing made in heaven......heaven, where our little baby Dylan is.....

How do I do this?

I don't know where to start....how to even put these feelings into words. But I have vowed to myself that I will do this, that I will work through this and if writing it all down helps, then that is what I will do.

I'll start from the beginning....
I have 2 wonderful sons, 7 and 5 years old. When my oldest son X was born, I found my purpose in life. I was to be a mom. I loved and still love everything about being a mom, although a 7 year old is hard work at times! Two and a half years later, our second son L was born. Again, I knew there was nothing else I wanted more than to be a mommy and take care of my boys.

When L was 2 years old, we decided we wanted to have another baby. After months and months of trying (and being very frustrated that it wasn't happening), I was pregnant. 8 weeks later, on New Years day 2010, T drove me to the ER because I was screaming with stomach pain. 2 hours later I was in surgery for an ectopic pregnancy.
Luckily, they were able to save my tube. After a couple of days I was sent home to heal.
I thought that was bad.
That was nothing compared to now.


Now. I don't know how to begin my story. I don't want to begin my story, I'm afraid that if I write it all down it will be real. I want it to be a horrible dream, I don't want it to be real.

In September 2011 my period was finally late, and never came. I took 2 pregnancy tests, you never know if one positive test is just a fluke, and found out that we were pregnant.
Because of my ectopic pregnancy in 2010, I was allowed to see my doc earlier than normal and at 6 weeks we saw the embryo for the first time. 2 weeks later, at 8 weeks, we went back and saw and heard a heartbeat.
I was having a hard time, I was very nervous even though I knew that everything was going the way it was supposed to but a miscarriage was always a possibility.
Our 12 week ultrasound was perfect, I was also worrying about my age (I'm 35).....
The 16 week ultrasound also looked good and by then I had felt our baby. Every kick I felt was wonderful and reassured me that everything was still ok.
The 20 week ultrasound, our baby was perfect. We found out that we were having a third boy. We were going to have 3 musketeers!

On Tuesday morning, the 31st of January, I woke up at 4:30 because I had to pee. I was having a bad night, lots of tossing and turning and I was uncomfortable, my pelvis was hurting. I got up, peed, went back to bed. I started getting hard tummies, every so many minutes. 10 minutes later the hard tummies started hurting. Not a good thing. I waited it out for a couple of minutes, but they didn't go away. I woke T up, he got the boys out of bed and dressed, packed them in the car and we were on our way to the hospital by 5 am.
I had a horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach. But I was ignoring it, trying to explain to the boys why mommy had to go to the hospital.... I was trying to convince myself that I was just having contractions, would get medication and have to stay home.....

The ER sent us up to the maternity ward. They first checked for a heartbeat, even found one. 5 minutes later a doc showed up and said she wanted to do an ultrasound. She checked my cervix which was still fine. She then went to check our baby. I remember thinking "he's not moving!!", T was holding my hand but was still not worried.
Then the most dreaded words came out of the doc's mouth: "I have bad news. Your baby is not alive any more."
Our worlds collapsed.
T started crying. I was sure that she was wrong, she just needed to look again.
This was my biggest fear. I had not felt the baby move on Monday. I had mentioned this to T, but also said that at 22 weeks it's normal that I didn't constantly feel him.
If I had come a day earlier, would it have changed anything?

I was told I had to deliver our son. Wow. I had not realized what I would have to do. I didn't want to do that. I could not imagine doing that.
T called my mom so she could pick X and L up, they were still waiting for us. We had to tell them that the baby had died. How do you tell your 7 and 5 year olds that the baby in mommy's tummy is no longer alive????!!!! Why do I have to tell them that??? Why do they have to go through something like that???
X started crying, he was so looking forward to a brother or sister. I still feel horribly bad for him. Poor X, why did that have to be taken from him????

At 9:52 am on January 31st, I gave birth to our son Dylan. He was 470 gr and 27.5 cm.
I had only been pregnant for 22 weeks.

It was the hardest thing I have ever done. It was the most physically painful thing that I have ever done. I will not even start to say anything about the emotional pain.

We were able to hold Dylan and take pictures. It was unreal. T cried. I couldn't cry. I don't know why, there just weren't any tears.
An hour or so later I was taken to the OR because the placenta was stuck. So surgery. again. Just to make it all a little bit worse.

I spent the rest of the day trying to understand what had happened. Why it had happened. Why me? These thing happen, I know that. But not to me. Not to us. I had my round of bad luck two years ago. Wasn't that enough??!!

We were able to spend a lot of time with Dylan. I had never though that I would be able to do that.
He was beautiful.
He was a perfect baby, a perfect son, our perfect third musketeer.