Happy Birthday Elisa

Happy Birthday Elisa. I cannot believe it has been one year since we said hello and goodbye to you. That day simultaneously feels like yesterday and decades ago all at once.

I remember holding you, your perfect 10 toes and 10 fingers, your daddy’s nose, just like it was yesterday. My heart overflow with love and joy thinking of that very short time with you. Although it was agonizing and hard, knowing you weren’t alive, I had and still have all the feelings of a proud momma holding you that day.

Thinking of what we have been through, what has happened since we lost you is what makes it feel like an eternity has gone by. Although my grief is not “Over”, it will never be Over I can look back at the last year and see the progress I have made to take on the grief, make it part of who I am, and integrate it in to my life and I owe so much of that to you. You, my dear, fought and held on much longer than any of the doctors thought you would. You held on for 10 more weeks after they told us you might leave us any day. You were a strong fighter, and I continue to fight in this life because of your fighting spirit.

But those first few months without you were agonizing. I couldn’t get out of bed for days, weeks. From the physical pain of your birth, and from the emotional pain of losing you. That time was a blur, a dark haze of the shock of grief. Other than your birth and your funeral I don’t remember much of January. A coping mechanism I guess.

As time went by I was forced to return to “normal life” Going back to work, social outings. But nothing was normal anymore. I didn’t feel comfortable in my own skin. I was walking around and living in a world where you should be alive and with me, but you weren’t. Small talk and social outings seemed useless. How could I talk about the weather when I felt like my heart had been ripped from my chest and lie broken on the floor.

Months went by, and there were many, many nights that I cried myself to sleep. Deep guttural sobs, begging that this was a nightmare, that I would wake up and you would still be there, but no

More months went by and we started more and more adventures with baby beluga photos. Our way of continuing your legacy. A way of journey and documenting our grief, and I way of making the world know you and your sister were real, are real, and will forever be our beloved children.

Now the evenings of deep despair are farther and farther apart. I still miss and think about you every. Single. Day. The thoughts now lean more toward the beautiful life you had for the 7 months you were here, and less toward the deep pit of grief. But I am still sad, and I think I will be every day. Every day I think of you and I am happy, I am sad. I am proud and I am humbled that I was chosen to be your mommy.

You help me to know I can do anything, because through you I have loved more than I ever thought possible and I have endured more pain than I ever thought possible. And I would do it all again to have one more moment with you.

On our trip to Sequim we lit a lantern in your honor

The Body Always Remembers

I remember when I was younger and learning to play the piano, I would practice small measures over and over again, to get the notes in my muscle memory.  So each hand could play independently. but together without thought.  To this day I can still sit down at the piano and play Fur Elise without even thinking.  The body always remembers. The mind can try to re-work, or even try to forget, but the body remembers.

Body memory is something that I have heard a lot about in the loss community. It happens very often after a loss. And I had it too. The weeks and months after Elisa was born still, the phantom kicks I would feel reminding me of what was, what should have been

What I wasn’t prepared for was the body memory that would come around at important dates and anniversaries. I have been preparing for a while that this week would be hard. Elisa’s “first birthday” is on Wednesday. I knew January would be hard, I knew this week would be hard and I knew the actual day would be hard. I took her birthday off of work, and Mark and I even got away this weekend for a little trip to Sequim, where “adventures with baby beluga” began

I knew this time would be hard, but I figured it would be for the typical grief ways. What I wasn’t prepared for was how it would swing me back to the ways I felt shortly after her death.

After Elisa was born I had very strong PTSD. It is common after the loss of a child. I was jumpy, skittish. I couldn’t be in places with loud noises. The noises would leave me in a panic, overwhelmed emotionally and I would break down. I stopped going to sounders games because the sound and the claustrophobia of the crowd was too much. I declined events where I knew there would be loud noises. At work when someone would come to talk to me at my desk, I would jump, my heart would start racing and it took everything to hold myself together.

Over time, and with the help of my counselor, I have come very far in my recovery from PTSD. There are still times when a loud noise scares me, but I am able to rationalize it, and it doesn’t make me come unhinged…

That was until just the last few days. I can only attribute it to the fact that we are coming up on Elisa’s birthday and like I said, the body knows, it remembers and returns to old pathways.

We were watching the Dark Night, and I had to ask Mark to turn it off. One small loud noise in the movie and I was crying in fear.

Later I was in the older room and I heard a fire alarm on the TV. I panicked. Because if I live in a world where my unborn daughter could die, then I also lived in a world where a siren must mean our house is going to burn down, and I would lose Mark too.

Mark accidentally dropped his phone on his way to bed, when I was already asleep and I shot up immediately as if I heard a gunshot.

I am using my coping mechanisms that I have learned through counseling and I know I will work through this, just as I did before, it was just an unexpected reminder from the body that I live in a different world than I did one year ago.

Last January

Yesterday I went in to get a flu shot.  It was on my list of things to do while I was off work for the holidays, and I procrastinated until the last day.

I went back to the pharmacy and put in the order, and they gave me a form to fill out.  Typical: name, date, birthday etc.  Then the question I always hate, "are you pregnant?"....why no, thank you for rubbing it in.... But then they added a follow up question "are you planning on getting pregnant in the next month?"  I circled it, because yes, we are trying, but gee if only you could plan to get pregnant and actually get pregnant, wouldn't that be nice....sigh.

I waited and they called me back in to the little room where they give the shots and the pharmacist came in.  He looked like he was about my age and started some small talk as he looked over the form.

Then he got to the question: "so you are trying, but you aren't pregnant?" "yes", "Ok well it is good to get the shot before you are pregnant, so that is good" ...pause...  "Will this be your first?".... and my mind starts rushing, do I lie to save him, or do I tell him the truth....I took a deep breath and said "It's a long story, but our daughter was stillborn in January".

He actually didn't seem panicked about my response which so many people do, but he did seem to feel bad for asking.  Then he responded "my wife is pregnant and due in March and we worry every day about something going wrong"

As much as it was hard for me to hear about his pregnant wife (It just hurts to hear about anyone who is pregnant or has a baby because it is what we want so much) but it was nice that he actually admitted his fears to me.  Most strangers I tell about our loss panic and change the subject, as if not thinking about it means it didn't happen, or won't happen to them, but he fully admitted that it can happen to anyone and it is scary. Although I don't know this man, and may never see him again, I appreciate his honestly.  That kind of genuine response, genuine feeling, is one of the things that I have found is the most helpful to me. Just having others acknowledge that it is scary, and sad, and incredibly hard is helpful beyond measure.

Another totally different realization came to me through this experience as well.  As I left after getting my shot I realized it is January 2016.  I can't just say "my daughter was stillborn in January" anymore, I have to say she was stillborn last January.  I know we are coming up on her "birthday" and I am fully aware that it will be one year since we've lost her.  But I have finally become comfortable with my response "my daughter was stillborn in January" I can say it without much hesitation, or panic.  But now I have to change what I say because we are no longer in the same year in which she died. It is now "my daughter died a year ago".

I know I will have to keep changing my response, because life changes.  As much as it will be hard to hear the question, I do hope to hear "is this your first" if I am ever lucky enough to be pregnant again, because it will mean I am lucky enough to be pregnant again.  And I will again have to re-asses my response if we are lucky enough to eventually have a kindergartner to decide how many brothers or sisters they tell the class they have.  But keep finding on this journey through loss, that just when I think I am getting comfortable, or have things somewhat figured out, that I actually don't. There isn't a handbook for "getting through" loss.  There are coping mechanisms, and healthy ways to grieve, but they are different for each person, and different on different days. And really, we just have to take it a day at a time.

Closing the book on 2015

As we now reach the last day of 2015, I am finding I have mixed emotions with closing this chapter.   I often thought, about how I was excited to say good riddance, and maybe even "F you" to 2015 but as we come closer to officially ending this year, I have some things I don't want to turn the page on.

2015 was by far the hardest year of my life.  It began with the last days of our journey on carrying Elisa despite knowing she likely would not live.  Those days were hard, trying to find joy and cherish the time we had, while also being overcome with worry and sadness of knowing our child would likely die.

And then there was her death.  Even though we knew one of our appointments would likely begin with an ultrasound with no heartbeat, nothing can ever prepare you for when it actually happens.  Then being told that you have a choice to go straight to the hospital and deliver your deceased child, or if you want to go home and gather your things and come back to the hospital.

We chose to go home, gather our things and some of Elisa's things and went back to the hospital. I labored through the night and into the early morning, and at 11:05am, 20 days in to 2015, our daughter was born still.

The hits of 2015 kept coming, when in July of this year, Mark's oldest brother Serge passed away.  Mark has lost so much in these last few years, his father, two daughters and then his brother.  Mark is my everything and to see him go through all of this loss is excruciating.  He is an amazing man, and has kept his core, loving, caring personality through all of this, but he shouldn't have to, he has seen enough sorrow for one life time.

2015 also knocked us down in our continued journey through infertility. We've been back on the road to trying again for 8 months now, and still no luck.  We know it takes time, but after each of our pregnancies taking us a while to get pregnant, and then each of those ending in loss, it is really hard not to wonder if it will ever happen for us.

Despite all of these hits in 2015, as we get closer to 2016 I am finding that there are certain things in 2015 I don't want to leave behind.

2015 was the last year that Elisa was alive, she lived for 19 days in 2015, but her heart will never beat in 2016

2015 was the first and only time I was able to hold Elisa in this world.  As much as January 20th, 2015 was the hardest day of my life, to go through labor knowing she was already gone, and to have to say goodbye forever that evening, that day was also the best day of my life, because Mark and I were able to hold, kiss and just be with Elisa.

This is the 4th New Years Eve where we have been waiting in hopes of building our family.  I am discouraged to think 2016 may be another year of sorrow, but I also can't help but hope....

Art and quote from Frachesca Cox

Christmas Split Between Heaven and Earth

This is now the 4th Christmas in a row where we have been longing for a child, but do not have one here with us.  Three Christmases ago we were naive, hoping for a baby and expecting that it would happen quickly. Two Christmases ago we had lost Luca earlier that year, heartbroken that she wasn't here with us, and beginning to worry that it was taking us long to get pregnant again.  Last Christmas was the only Christmas I have ever spent with my baby physically here, although not born yet. We did the best to make the best of our Christmas with Elisa, but we were worried about her.  We knew it was very likely that 2014 would be the only Christmas we would ever spend with her living, and we didn't know how much time we had left with her.

Putting up the tree and lights this year, also reminded me of where we were at last year.  Last year, at this time of year, I was on full bed rest, only allowed up for 15 minutes total a day. Mark so lovingly put up the tree and the decorations and my dad put up our Christmas lights.

This year I was happy to be able to help with the decorating, and to put up the tree with Mark, but it also reminded me of what I could not do last year, because I was fighting so hard to do anything to give Elisa a chance.

Despite the better sweetness of this, we did our best to continue our Christmas traditions, like we know our girls would want us to.

We decorated the mantel and put up the stockings.  In 2013 I made stocking for Luca, but I never hung it up, partially because it was too hard, and also because before losing Elisa, I didn't really open up about our miscarriage with Luca.  This year I also made a stocking for Elisa, and so I decided to hang all four up. Some might think it is weird, or odd, but to me, I wanted to include our girls in our holiday traditions.

We still have the whale themed flags from Elisa's gender reveal party on our mantel, so we decided to just add the holiday decor around it

We also decorated the tree.  In 2013 I bought a baby's first Christmas ornament for Luca, And this year I purchased a first Christmas Ornament for Elisa.

My brother and his wife bought us this beautiful Christmas gift of this beluga ornament.

It warms our hearts so much when people tell us about, or send us whale themed things.  As a mother, knowing that someone is remembering and thinking of my child.

And then a very good friend of ours also bought us special personalized ornaments for both Luca and Elisa.

We are doing our best to hold our traditions, make new ones, and honor the loved ones who are not here with us.    Mark's mom and brother came up from California to spend Christmas with us.  Mark's family typically has Christmas dinner on Christmas eve, so that is what we did today. And this year at our little Vega family Christmas we had Mark, Myself, Mark's brother Dave and Mark's mom, all physically here around the table, and Luca, Elisa, Mark's dad and Mark's oldest brother Sergio celebrating with us in spirit.   A family with as many of us in heaven, as we had around the table.

Diagnosis Day

A year ago today was perhaps the hardest day of my life.  Yes, Elisa's 'birthday' was hard, but at least on her birthday we were able to hold her and spend time with her.

Diagnosis day is a day I will never forget, it is burned into my mind, my soul forever.

A year ago, we knew going in that this day a year ago that it would be a hard day, but we had no idea how hard it would actually be.  We had back to back appointments at the high risk doctors from 9am all the way through until 3pm.  Ultrasounds, Doctors visits, meeting with the social worker, meetings with the genetic counselor.

Although I knew it was going to be a hard day, I really don't think I believed it could be as bad as it was.

I thought maybe something was wrong with Elisa, but that all it meant was perhaps a growth delay, maybe that she would be special needs, that we had our work cut out for us, but we would have her, so it would be worth it.

But that wasn't the case.

The ultrasound technician was nice enough, but she didn't talk very much.  She just took her measurements and pictures, recorded blood flow.

It was when we met with the doctor that everything came crashing down.

As soon as she came in I could tell it wasn't good. She sat down on the rolling stool between the computer and us and asked for details on our history.  We talked about losing Luca, the time it took us to get pregnant again with Elisa, and the bumpy road we had already had with our pregnancy with Elisa, the bleeding, bed rest and all.

After we were finished, she started to explain the situation.  Our baby had severe IUGR, Intra Uterine Growth Restriction.  IUGR it self is not a huge problem, it is not that rare, and is actually quite common in twin pregnancies.  But in most cases IUGR does not onset until late in the pregnancy, closer to 35 weeks so they are able to induce.  The baby has a risk due to being a preime, but they are able to be delivered, better out than in. but Elisa was diagnosed with early onset Severe IUGR.  She was nearly three weeks behind in all measurements, and it had onset at 19 weeks maybe even sooner. It was way to soon for her to be delivered.

At this point, they didn't know what was causing the IUGR, it could be genetic for which we would have blood draws later that day to find out that it was not genetic, or as we found out later, it had to do with a problem with the placenta.

The doctor explained that the only real solution to save a baby from IUGR is to deliver the baby, but because Elisa was only 19 weeks, she could not survive yet.  She needed to make it to at least the weight of a  25 weeker, which would likely be around 28 weeks for her.  The doctor explained that she would likely die before she reached the size where she could be delivered, that she had a less than 10% chance of survival, and if she did she would have a very long stay in the NICU and could very possibly pass away very shortly after birth.

It was as if a bomb was dropped on us.  Those who know me well know I don't really cry in public. In fact, Mark and my mom are really the only people who see me cry.  Don't get me wrong, I cry, and after losing Elisa I have cried A LOT, but for some reason I can't cry in public.

This was the exception.  As we were sitting there, the doctor explaining our situation, and options, tears fell like a waterfall from my eyes.  Silent, but nothing could stop them.

After the doctor finished explaining things, she moved on to what "we wanted to do"

She suggest termination, but Mark and I knew that was not what we wanted to do.

After everything was explained to us, the doctor said that if we were not going to terminate, then we didn't need to meet with the genetic counselor.  They only thing left to do was head back to the waiting room where they would call me back for my blood draws.

I know we were only sitting in the waiting room for probably about 5 minutes, but it seemed like an eternity.  As we sat there, tears flowed from my eyes in huge streams.  It wasn't the gasping, wailing cries that I do now that Elisa is gone.  But silent, hopeless tears, with the reality that there was nothing that I could do as a mother to save my baby girl.

We sat in the lobby as another women, nearly full term walked by to go in to her appointment and as she walked in, another women was being rolled out in a wheelchair as the doctor discussed with her that they would like to induce within the week. I knew logically that both women were obviously having a hard time too, or else they wouldn't be at a high risk doctor, but I wanted to do anything to be that far along with Elisa, to have the hope that she might make it home from the hospital.

After the blood draw we headed to the car to go home.  As soon as the door closed in the car, I broke down.  I couldn't believe that this was happening.  After all of our heartache of losing Luca, and of trying to get pregnant again.  All of the worry in the first trimester with Elisa.  We though everything would be ok.  But it wasn't going to be ok.  It was very likley we weren't going to get our "rainbow baby" that we were going to losing another child, and there was nothing we could do about it.

The Vancouver Beluga Whales

For my birthday this last weekend Mark planned a trip for us to Vancouver BC, specifically to see the Beluga Whales.    Getting out of town was a much needed change. With all of the upcoming anniversary dates, my birthday and the holidays I have been really down these last few weeks. It was good to get away.

I don't think I even need to say how much whales mean to me, especially beluga whales. Elisa was our "little baby beluga" and anytime I see anything whale it seems like it is a little "hello" from her up in heaven.

I knew seeing the belugas would be uplifting, but it was even more wonderful that I was expecting.

Not only did we get to see the belugas at the aquarium exhibit, but Mark was amazing and booked us the "beluga experience". We were able to explore behind the scenes of the Vancouver Aquarium and at the end, meet and feed a beluga whale!!  Mark was so wonderful to research and organize all of this.

It was amazing. These creatures are so beautiful and awe inspiring. And it felt like including my girls in my birthday. My heart was filled.

Here are some pictures from our day. Photo credit to the wonderful people at the Vancouver Aquarium

Aurora and Qila are the two belugas at the Vancouver Aquarium.  They are a mother-daughter pair, which also made this experience even more special for me.  We interacted mostly with Qila, the daughter,  shown here

This was so cool!

Mark got to shake her hand :)

They asked us how "in to it" we wanted to get, and we all agreed we wanted the full beluga experience.  That included being splashed by her big tail!

We included "beluga" in this last photo with the trainer, our guide, and the two other women who were in the Beluga Experience with us