Today is definitely Monday, and I'm feeling it in every inch of my being. I don't like Mondays. Just something about dragging myself outta bed at 5 AM to deal with people I don't like and planes I don't wanna fix. Monday just seems to come so much earlier than I like it to.
I guess most of us hate Mondays though, right?
This Monday did come with great news.
One of my photos was published as Photo of the Day for our local newspaper. Nothing big or special, but exciting, nonetheless. I'm still fairly new to this photography thing, so any kinda exposure is good in my book. :-)
This Monday also marks Day 6 of my challenge with our CMC.
One of my required qualifications with my job is my Enlisted Aviation Warfare Specialist pin. Basically, the Navy gives me 30 months to complete a series of 2 very thorough courses covering almost every aspect of the Aviation community and my specific platform, the P-3 Orion. Knowing that I'm stubborn and very hard charging, Master Chief challenged me to complete it in just under 2 months.
I'm 6 days in. 49 days left to go. 600 index cards down, 17 chapters and another 350 page course left to go. (I'm estimating about 1400 or so index cards by the end of it.)
I'm too stubborn to give up. I hope my poor fingers can make it.
Monday, May 16, 2011
Understanding.
Death is one of those unavoidable uglies in life. We can't run from it, we can't hide from it, and every time we are faced with it, it seems to hurt even more than the last time. I've buried several of my very closest friends over the past few years. The events of the past week have left some of those friends very heavy in my mind, and unfortunately, in my dreams.
I spend a good deal of my nights laying wide awake from these dreams. I reach down to the side of the bed to rub the dog's belly, and my mind runs in a million different directions at once. The last few nights though, there has been a little more calm and clarity.
Losing a loved one hurts. It hurts like hell.
I lost a cousin a few years ago. We all grew up together, our huge imaginations running wild through the fields and the woods of our family's farm. We played together, laughed together, cried together, and dreamed together. (We dreamed of one day riding our horses on the moon. And we were serious.) We were young, crazy, and invincible. The night of Felichia's 19th birthday, those dreams were shattered.
I went from denial to hysterical to physically ill to, eventually, completely numb.
I think at some point, most people go through similar emotions when they deal with a death. Our relationships with our loved ones are all different, as are our reactions when they are gone. Most of us understand how it works. We don't understand why death happens. No one understands that. We just know that it has to happen. But we do understand that it happens, how it makes us feel, how we react to it, and how we eventually bounce back from it.
Miscarriages, however, are a death that most of us don't understand. We know they happen a lot. We know most of them don't have reasons. We know someone that has experienced one. But if we weren't the one carrying the baby, we really don't understand. Not by a long shot.
There is a much more physical aspect to the loss of a baby. A pregnant body goes through a lot of changes when creating a life inside it. The puking, the stretching and growing belly, the crazy hormones. When the baby is gone, your body has to adjust again, just like it would hafta do after a birth where your baby comes home with you.
Contractions hurt like nothing else, no matter the size of what's coming out. All that blood and nasty placenta stuff that's been feeding your baby? It's all gotta come out now. It could take several days, or it could take a couple weeks. As long as your body is bleeding, you are gonna have cramping. Bad cramping. As your belly is cramping, that once big, round belly is slowing going back to normal. All those intestines are shifting back into their proper sizes and places. That surge of hormones when the baby comes out tells your body that it is ready to start breast feeding. So now your boobs double in size and weight because they are full of milk. Those swollen milk glands hurt. A lot. And they leak. There is nothing to do for it except pop a Tylenol and wait for the milk to dry up, which also takes a while.
All that pain really sucks. And it only reminds you even more that your baby is gone. And of course, this entire time you are already on an emotional roller coaster from the loss itself.
While most people won't understand what it feels like, or even how to react to it, it is important to remember that it is very real. It should never be dismissed as less of a person or less of a loss. Remember the words you throw around in ignorance because one day it just might come back to bite you on the ass. Babies die every day. The next one might be in your family.
I spend a good deal of my nights laying wide awake from these dreams. I reach down to the side of the bed to rub the dog's belly, and my mind runs in a million different directions at once. The last few nights though, there has been a little more calm and clarity.
Losing a loved one hurts. It hurts like hell.
I lost a cousin a few years ago. We all grew up together, our huge imaginations running wild through the fields and the woods of our family's farm. We played together, laughed together, cried together, and dreamed together. (We dreamed of one day riding our horses on the moon. And we were serious.) We were young, crazy, and invincible. The night of Felichia's 19th birthday, those dreams were shattered.
I went from denial to hysterical to physically ill to, eventually, completely numb.
I think at some point, most people go through similar emotions when they deal with a death. Our relationships with our loved ones are all different, as are our reactions when they are gone. Most of us understand how it works. We don't understand why death happens. No one understands that. We just know that it has to happen. But we do understand that it happens, how it makes us feel, how we react to it, and how we eventually bounce back from it.
Miscarriages, however, are a death that most of us don't understand. We know they happen a lot. We know most of them don't have reasons. We know someone that has experienced one. But if we weren't the one carrying the baby, we really don't understand. Not by a long shot.
There is a much more physical aspect to the loss of a baby. A pregnant body goes through a lot of changes when creating a life inside it. The puking, the stretching and growing belly, the crazy hormones. When the baby is gone, your body has to adjust again, just like it would hafta do after a birth where your baby comes home with you.
Contractions hurt like nothing else, no matter the size of what's coming out. All that blood and nasty placenta stuff that's been feeding your baby? It's all gotta come out now. It could take several days, or it could take a couple weeks. As long as your body is bleeding, you are gonna have cramping. Bad cramping. As your belly is cramping, that once big, round belly is slowing going back to normal. All those intestines are shifting back into their proper sizes and places. That surge of hormones when the baby comes out tells your body that it is ready to start breast feeding. So now your boobs double in size and weight because they are full of milk. Those swollen milk glands hurt. A lot. And they leak. There is nothing to do for it except pop a Tylenol and wait for the milk to dry up, which also takes a while.
All that pain really sucks. And it only reminds you even more that your baby is gone. And of course, this entire time you are already on an emotional roller coaster from the loss itself.
While most people won't understand what it feels like, or even how to react to it, it is important to remember that it is very real. It should never be dismissed as less of a person or less of a loss. Remember the words you throw around in ignorance because one day it just might come back to bite you on the ass. Babies die every day. The next one might be in your family.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
I'm in a reminiscing mood, of sorts, tonight. So I'm sharing another one from my Facebook:
I really appreciate everyone’s love and support during the past week. Bryan and I both do. It truly humbles me to have so many amazing friends and family that will drop what they are doing to do whatever they can to help, even some from 3000 miles away.
At the same time, I need yall to remember that this was MY baby. And I’m going to mourn its loss however I need to. Right now I need to mourn my baby without being criticized. Without being told what to do or not do. Without listening to the sympathetic garbage that only makes it worse. Without being told stories of your uncle’s cousin’s sister twice removed and her reproductive horrors.
Don’t tell me that it was only a miscarriage. There is NO SUCH FUCKING THING as “just” a miscarriage, especially for someone in their 5th month of pregnancy. Five months is a long time to get used to feeling someone in your belly and then suddenly lose them. 5 months. 18 weeks. 126 days. And then nothing. No more morning sickness. No more bedtime belly kisses. No more late night dance parties in my belly. Just nothing. A big empty nothing.
It does not matter if it was 18 weeks, 18 days, or even 18 years. My child is still my child. It came into this world alive in my bloody hands and it died in those same bloody hands. My child was just as real as any other child in this world, even if he was only alive for 10 minutes.
Don’t tell me that it’s what was meant to be. It’s God’s plan. Yes, it is part of God’s plan. But you know what? So is every other bad thing that happens in this world. Divorces. Deaths. Tsunamis. All that shit. They’re all “part of the plan”, so they’re all “just meant to be”, right? Tell that to one of the tsunami victims in Japan. I bet they’re real happy to hear it, aren’t they? Or the mother on the news whose innocent kid was gunned down at the park. I bet she’ll really love to hear about this plan. I don’t give a damn what plan it’s a part of. Telling me that over and over isn’t making my pain any better.
Stop telling me to just try again. I didn’t fall off a horse and scrape my knee. It’s not as simple as just “trying again.” I caught a living being as it came out of my body. I held it in my hands as it moved its arms and legs and eventually stopped moving. I literally watched my baby die in my hands. For a second time. How many of you can do that and just go on about the day because you can just try again?
Death is a part of life that we all experience in different forms, and it is something that we will never be able to avoid. We will lose friends. We will lose uncles, brothers, and parents. And no matter how many times you face it, it never gets any easier. We all deal with each loss differently. None of us like to hear that shit. Everyone says it. That same old cliché bullshit about how we’re so sorry, we know how you feel, it happens to everyone, you’ll pull through, blah blah blah. No one likes to hear that shit. No one. Not even the people that always say it. Sure, you have good intentions. But sometimes even those good intentions don’t turn out so great.
If I tell my doctor I’m having cramps that feel like contractions, and he tells me it’s just my uterus stretching and sends me home, I have every right to be angry at him. He might have a degree, but he doesn’t have a fucking uterus. Catching my baby four hours later? Hell yes, I’m going to be angry. Angry isn’t even the word for it.
When I was 18, my gynecologist told me that I would never have children. My reproductive system has scar tissue and deformities, some of which are the result of bad things that a really bad person did to me when I was younger. Doctors since then have told me having children wouldn't be a problem.
The hospital did a genetic workup on me and the baby, just in case they can find a reason for this. While I’m sitting at home waiting for test results, rubbing the hurting belly that is now empty, that horrid excuse of a person that is potentially a reason I lost my baby...he’s having one of his own. That alone is angering beyond belief. And I don’t see that anger going away anytime soon.
In just the past 2 years of my life, I have been through marriage, divorce, cervical cancer, irreversible kidney damage, loss of some of my closest friends, and the loss of 2 children. And I’ve done it all without complaining, blaming, asking for pity, or causing much unnecessary drama. All I’ve asked for is space, time, and prayers. Once again, I’m on that ledge where I need as much support as I can get. But please remember that sometimes even silent support goes a really long way. A simple “I’m thinking of you” or “I’m praying for you” works just fine. If you need to say much more than that, you really shouldn’t waste your time or your breath…….
I really appreciate everyone’s love and support during the past week. Bryan and I both do. It truly humbles me to have so many amazing friends and family that will drop what they are doing to do whatever they can to help, even some from 3000 miles away.
At the same time, I need yall to remember that this was MY baby. And I’m going to mourn its loss however I need to. Right now I need to mourn my baby without being criticized. Without being told what to do or not do. Without listening to the sympathetic garbage that only makes it worse. Without being told stories of your uncle’s cousin’s sister twice removed and her reproductive horrors.
Don’t tell me that it was only a miscarriage. There is NO SUCH FUCKING THING as “just” a miscarriage, especially for someone in their 5th month of pregnancy. Five months is a long time to get used to feeling someone in your belly and then suddenly lose them. 5 months. 18 weeks. 126 days. And then nothing. No more morning sickness. No more bedtime belly kisses. No more late night dance parties in my belly. Just nothing. A big empty nothing.
It does not matter if it was 18 weeks, 18 days, or even 18 years. My child is still my child. It came into this world alive in my bloody hands and it died in those same bloody hands. My child was just as real as any other child in this world, even if he was only alive for 10 minutes.
Don’t tell me that it’s what was meant to be. It’s God’s plan. Yes, it is part of God’s plan. But you know what? So is every other bad thing that happens in this world. Divorces. Deaths. Tsunamis. All that shit. They’re all “part of the plan”, so they’re all “just meant to be”, right? Tell that to one of the tsunami victims in Japan. I bet they’re real happy to hear it, aren’t they? Or the mother on the news whose innocent kid was gunned down at the park. I bet she’ll really love to hear about this plan. I don’t give a damn what plan it’s a part of. Telling me that over and over isn’t making my pain any better.
Stop telling me to just try again. I didn’t fall off a horse and scrape my knee. It’s not as simple as just “trying again.” I caught a living being as it came out of my body. I held it in my hands as it moved its arms and legs and eventually stopped moving. I literally watched my baby die in my hands. For a second time. How many of you can do that and just go on about the day because you can just try again?
Death is a part of life that we all experience in different forms, and it is something that we will never be able to avoid. We will lose friends. We will lose uncles, brothers, and parents. And no matter how many times you face it, it never gets any easier. We all deal with each loss differently. None of us like to hear that shit. Everyone says it. That same old cliché bullshit about how we’re so sorry, we know how you feel, it happens to everyone, you’ll pull through, blah blah blah. No one likes to hear that shit. No one. Not even the people that always say it. Sure, you have good intentions. But sometimes even those good intentions don’t turn out so great.
If I tell my doctor I’m having cramps that feel like contractions, and he tells me it’s just my uterus stretching and sends me home, I have every right to be angry at him. He might have a degree, but he doesn’t have a fucking uterus. Catching my baby four hours later? Hell yes, I’m going to be angry. Angry isn’t even the word for it.
When I was 18, my gynecologist told me that I would never have children. My reproductive system has scar tissue and deformities, some of which are the result of bad things that a really bad person did to me when I was younger. Doctors since then have told me having children wouldn't be a problem.
The hospital did a genetic workup on me and the baby, just in case they can find a reason for this. While I’m sitting at home waiting for test results, rubbing the hurting belly that is now empty, that horrid excuse of a person that is potentially a reason I lost my baby...he’s having one of his own. That alone is angering beyond belief. And I don’t see that anger going away anytime soon.
In just the past 2 years of my life, I have been through marriage, divorce, cervical cancer, irreversible kidney damage, loss of some of my closest friends, and the loss of 2 children. And I’ve done it all without complaining, blaming, asking for pity, or causing much unnecessary drama. All I’ve asked for is space, time, and prayers. Once again, I’m on that ledge where I need as much support as I can get. But please remember that sometimes even silent support goes a really long way. A simple “I’m thinking of you” or “I’m praying for you” works just fine. If you need to say much more than that, you really shouldn’t waste your time or your breath…….
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