At that point, I was missing a spoon

Just a head's up. This is a long and somewhat sad post. But man up. It's a good read and gets better at the end. Plus it took me a long time to write and I spent a lot of time on it. It does no good just sitting here unread. 

. 

(here's my littlest son, the one that came after my miscarriages) 

Went to a continuing education conference. There was an ob-gyn speaker who had much experience with high risk pregnancies and treating women with infertility. My goal was to go and learn how he handled the women, so I can better help with the helping that I do do. It was near lunch time. 

It went wrong.  He talked a lot about miscarriage and the trauma of losing babies for these women he helps. I was not expecting this,  but what did I expect? His session was part of a whole truama informed care conference. He deals with ob gyn trauma, which is often about baby loss of all kinds. He recited women's narratives throughout his teaching. Stories and stories of loss. 

Like eighty percent of women everywhere on this planet,  I've had miscarriages, two of them. This was four years ago. Imagine my  surprise as I began to lose my shit while listening to these stories. I thought I was healed. Healed enough anyway.  I chomped aggressively on the inside of my lower lip. This held the tide for a while. 

Then came the story of a woman who had lost a baby she held her arms. Family comforted her. They said, "You can have another baby, it'll be ok." And the woman said, "I don't want another baby, I want the one I lost".

I began heaving and sobbing uncontrollably. Biting the lip no longer held it in. All of this at my professional conference. With my nice suit and fancy new laptop. All grown up nurse practitioner. I shot up then rushed to a bathroom stall. After letting the flushes and sink water gushes die down, I was alone. Grabbing the toilet paper for stability, I let some of the sobs out. It echoed loudly. This could not be helped. 

I kept thinking I have to go back and get my laptop. Once I could walk again, I did just that. My new work colleagues were at the table of this plus hotel conference room. All linen table cloth and glass ice water pitchers. I had only started this job a month ago. They didn't know what had happen to me. They weren't part of it four years ago. I hoped they thought I was having a migraine or something. 

Moving my body forward, my eyes were stuck to the floor.  This felt good. I noticed most of my stuff  was on the chair, under the table. That was a blessing as I half hid under the table, reaching up to grab my things. I liked the hiding. It was helpful.

Now that my goods were gathered,  I hightailed it to my car. Managing all five floors of the concrete parking garage on choppy legs. I flung myself into the car and started animal howling. Rocking and going out of my mind. There was a slight awareness of social protocol, of how I appeared,  but I did  not care. I let it all come because there was no choice.

It was a bitey cold and gray rainy day. I've never been so thankful for car heaters and heated leather seats. And soft music from the radio. These were gluing me back together as I wailed along. 

Somewhere in my mind,  I became aware of time and the need to go back to the conference. I knew that to get reimbursement, I'd have to return and actually attend it. Part of me didn't care. Screw the 200 dollars. I'd just be honest why I couldn't go back. I've had two miscarriages and this lecture was too much too bear. My arms and hands fond the itinerary folder to check. There was a full hour and half to decide what next. 

I decided on lunch. It was good fortune that I was in the city where Mr. Hall and I had lived together while dating. We were so young and all about each other. It was just us and I was in nursing school. It was perfect. It still is. The boho coffee house where slipped out one day and bought the ring--that was right down the street. 

I ordered the chicken tortilla soup, turkey and bacon on rye and a cafe au lait. It came with a bag of chips. The food was divine. I nom nommed and read the small town paper. The journalism was quaint and comforting. More nom nomms and my shoulders went down. The bacon was perfectly cooked which is no small feat. Perfectly flat, dry but not crumbly and just enough bite with the salty goodness. At that point, I was missing a spoon. I was too heavy to move. I didn't want to talk to anyone. At all.  I opened the chips and scooped my soup accordingly. They held the chicken tortilla deliciousness quite well. Very tasty lunch indeed. Better now.

I called Mr. Hall while ensconced in my heated leather seats and heater full blast. I told him what had happened. I told him that I won't ever be done with missing my babies we lost. He won't either. I know I'll hold them in Heaven and will call out their names, Jon and Chloe. They are safe and in an amazing place that I can't even fathom. And we comforted and loved through the mobile lines. I started to breathe and felt very much better. 

Sperm donors, foster to adopt and the spaces in between

So here we are, in the spaces in between. No bonus kids at this point. Just me, Mr. Hall and our bio three. We are ready for more and waiting.

It's a weird space.

My friend is getting sperm injections. She's single, over 35 and done with waiting for a dude. By all accounts, this method of growing one's family involves a lot of doctor visits and people touching your hoo-ha. It also seems super expensive.  She has enough capital to cover three tries. The first one didn't work.

I didn't think it was going to work. It's almost like forcing a pregnancy with these injections. The magic is sucked right out of it, it seems. I have very fond memories of regular sperm injections from a loving husband and even then it took forever.

Now she waits to start another cycle and more injections are involved. Hormone injections. She had asked if I would help her and I said no. It was hard saying no. Super dupa hard.  But for so many reasons I said no.

Reasons-

I'm not skilled with injections--I haven't been a real nurse like that in over 10 years.

I don't want to screw it up.

If things go wrong, I don't want her blaming me.

She's sensitive to needles and has had reactions (nausea, passing out) before and I don't want to be there if that happens

Hormones make women crazy, these hormones anyway. I don't want to be part of that crazy.

The rest of the crazy I'm ok with.

But maybe I'm not. I harbor judgment. It's ugly and I have no right. But I like to hear kids having two parents. She is purposefully creating a life without a Dad there. And it's ugly how I feel because I know what it is to long to be a mom. The crazy of wanting more kids is strong in me. 

I know..I know.. go ahead and judge me. I'm not that good of friend for her right now.  

I've made my peace with her leaning on me. My heart will break for her if it doesn't go as planned.  I'm here for her in many different ways. Others are all gaga over her process. I'll let them do the injections.

but.. yes.. this is  ugly...

I think it triggers my own pain. Long time readers know the miscarriages I've been through. Getting pregnant with my third child was an ordeal. I've healed quite a bit but it'll always be there, the pain. Like a river that ebbs and flows. Just like all the women that have miscarried.

My friend does have a plan b.. if the sperm injections don't work... its to foster to adopt.

Which is where we are now. Starting our journey anew as they say. We are sufficiently recovered from our past foster hood excursions. Mr. Hall wrote the social worker and gave conditions on what we would like to do next. On what we are looking for. Conditions on age and such. Conditions! So up front that man. But, you get what you ask for I guess. NO need to beat around the bush. We don't want to be baby sitters and don't want to travel super long distances. We have space for one more at this point.

So here we are, the spaces in between... 

Blinded by the big deal

There is a section of this blog that deals with my two miscarriages. Those times were motivating our foster parenthood.

I don't admit this outloud but Mr. Hall has- so there we are.

It was a good Easter weekend this weekend. Traveling, family and sometimes some cold hard truth. Mr. Hall had enough libation to let me know he's tired. Worn through. Tired of foster baby mama drama and wanting our little foster daughter to transition to help her heal. She needs to move on and heal because here she is in limbo. Mr. Hall said it outloud...we aren't the right or for real family for her. Our foster daughter has been with us for a long time. Two years.  It's been a looooooooooong two years.

Foster kids stay with foster families for 17 months on average. The bioparents have a long time to get their act together. Sometimes they can't. And for this, I try to extent mercy. I feel bad they're trapped in their addictions, mental illness and plain old selfishness. I get angry too. Two years later and we're still getting angry phone calls about not doing her baby's hair right. Because hair ya'll.

During the miscarriages, Mr. Hall and I leaned on each other. We cried and held each other. I was going nuts inside and so was he. We took a break from trying for more babies. Stop for six months he said. So six months it was. I went on birth control and we went about our life. Six months later he got me rip roaring drunk and asked what I wanted. I told him I wanted to try again. He did too. So we had our baby.

A few times a week I marvel at our now toddler. His perfect symmetry. I think about his DNA being knitted together in my womb. How it all went right and he was born so perfect. I think about the babies I lost and how the DNA didn't mesh together right and they were lost to this world. They were still alive though. They are still my babies and I'll see them in Heaven.

I think about this and my craziness with the foster kids. It is a tough gig ya'll. It is a strain. It affects all my family. These kids and their bioparents are work!

Mr. Hall wrote our social worker and gave 5 paragraphs of feelings about all of this.  Mr. Hall has reached his limit and he wants a break. But, unlike going back on birth control to stop the madness, transitioning a foster child is not so easy.

There are options and we'll take it slow. We can't hurry any of this. Hopefully her family will step up. Hopefully it'll be done in a few months. Hopefully. For her and for us. If not, we'll just keep on keeping on.

Then, we'll break.  I'll crossfit and weight watchers just like I am now. Then six months will go by. Then Mr. Hall will get me drunk and we'll discuss the next step. It won't be trying for another baby. Mr. Hall had the surgery which shall not be named when I was pregnant last.

I want no mistaking my intention though. I am not done growing this family. I have a need for more than three. I am selfish and demanding with this. I want to adopt and it's ok if it's a sibling group. I am blinded by this. I am crazy howling at the moon crazy about this.

I want to adopt so I can be done. So I can feel complete. So I can take these kids and make them our own. So I can be done with the bioparents if I want to. Adopting from the foster system is not easy. I'm sure it's not easier than caring for a child for two years and then sending them on. But it's in me this need. The call is unrelenting.

Like I said, crazy howling at the moon about this.

ARRROOOOOOHHH!!!

Psychology of the run

My head is absolutely swimming. There's not much to say so I'll talk that photo up there. That's me. Running. Running during a recent crossfit workout. Before crossfit, I never ran at all.

The work out was run 800 m, do a bunch of weights and push ups, run 800 mg, do a bunch of SERIOUSLY? more weights and push ups, and then run 800 m. This is the last 800 m. I was soaked through. The tank top came off for the first time ever.

This photo was the last 800 m. I didn't want Mr. Hall to run beside me. I didn't want his constant stream of encouragement. I didn't want this photo taken.

I'm glad Mr. Hall didn't listen. That photo is BADASS!

Running is hard. It's long and plodding. There's nothing you can do but plow through it, one step after another. Burning lungs and all.

We got an email about our foster daughter. They'll be terminating the birth mother's rights and they want to meet with us to talk about 'adoption'. And now I'm losing my mind.

It's not a big surprise, this development. The birth mother has had a lot of time to get it together and she hasn't. The foster daughter needs permanence. I want to be her permanent. Mr. Hall is not so sure. It's killing me all of this.

Mr. Hall doesn't want to stop being foster parents. He wants to take kids in, work on their issues and send them back to their mom. He has energy for these kids that we don't even know yet. If we adopt this shuts things down. The other option is helping her transfer to another adoptive family.

I want to be honest and look through my last few years. I had two miscarriages. This plays a role here, I know it does. My healing has moved forward in leaps and bounds but it'll never be fully healed. Not until I'm in heaven with John and Chloe in my arms.

But oh my God this girl we call foster daughter. I can't even breathe if we're offered the chance to be her real mommy and daddy. 

So now, I pray, on the knees and pray.....no matter what happens this race is a long one....with Mr. Hall beside me... taking pictures of my badassery.......

parallels

When Mr. Hall and I started dating, I went to 'adiamondisforeverdotcom', picked out a ring and emailed it to him. We'd been together 3 months. I was making sure, in no uncertain terms, that he knew what I wanted. I wanted him to be my husband and to start a family.

I was a pushy broad.

Now that we've had the little foster kid in our lives for 3 months, I find myself getting ancy. The birth mom ISN'T DOING WHAT SHE NEEDS TO DO. Which is fine. More kid for us. I get greedy about this kid. My love for him grows and grows.

I'm exchanging emails with his social worker too, updating her on our weekends. Telling her about this and that. I need to pull back though. I am starting to get pushy. I'm starting to hint that we want him full time, not just weekends.

She already knows this.

There are implications if he comes to us full time. It means the chances of his mom getting him back grow dimmer. So, with these emails, I've noticed I'm starting to lay groundwork, to appear perfect in case he comes up for adoption. Things are pretty dim for the birth mom right now. But, I need to stop that too. He has a family. Not just the birth mom.

I can't just want this kid and then he's ours. I need to pull back with my needs here. They'll overshadow what I'm doing, which is just being there for him. Being there to tie shoes, make pb+j sanwhiches and haul him out of target because he wants a candy bar and i said no but he wants it and has a big ol snot bubble fit about it.

Seriously, the kid screamed so loud I didn't hear right for half a day.

Accepting things as they come, with no expectations, is something new for me. Like when I had my two kids. I read volumes and volumes of how to be a mom type books. I planned out how I was going to be a mom before I was a mom. But, those guidebooks are bull. They're meant to scare you so you buy their products. Like yon helmet below.

BULLSHIT.

Then I realized something. After the target fun, I spent the entire morning scouring websites, rereading 'how to be a foster mom' books. Again with the parallels. I realized I need to stop reading and just give it up. Crap happens and it will happen again. Also, I can't shop alone with the foster kid. He listens to Mr. Hall a 1000 times better. I can let Mr. Hall take him shopping.

And I'll pretend that Mr. Hall told me BOTH TIMES not to over read, over analyze and over think being a parent/foster parent. God has a plan and I need to turn to Him. That's all I will need.

AND LAST BUT NOT LEAST IN THE PARALLEL DEPARTMENT.

I am about five days out from my due date. Denial is no longer an option. The bassinet is built, the size 'n' diapers are bought and these dang braxton hicks grow stronger every day. I'm scared. Scared like the first trimester before you reach the magical 12 weeks scared. Only this time, denial is not an option. I have to face up to the fact that THIS IS HAPPENING. I have a baby in mah belly who is coming out in less than a week.

I will post his picture on facebook. I will accept visitors and well wishers into my home. I will feel his soft little head in my hands and hold him constantly. The miracle is happening and it's about time I started acting like it.

So, i'll pray. pray and let go and let God and let the joy and love bloosom out of control.

See ya'll on the other side.

:)

On babies and being eight months pregnant

Last night we went to see our friend's new baby. 7 lbs of day old newborn. All Maggie Simpson on the nuk, sleepy and easy to hold. As I held her my pains and aches went away. Newborn babies are the elixir that cures pretty much every woe.

This photo below, is my current baby. Well, it was him 14 weeks ago. Back when I was 20 weeks pregnant. Cute pregnant. Little belly pregnant.

This is me now. I am 34 weeks, or, about 8 months. I can't eat, sleep, breathe, walk or get comfortable. My back spasms throughout the day and I have an unending need to pee. My pelvic bones are breaking apart most of the time. It's like when you crack your knuckles, only it's my pelvic bones cracking when I walk. I don't say these things to whine and complain, I say them because they are part of my current complex craziness.

Holding that baby last night, it broke open my last vestige of denial. I've talked to other Moms who have had miscarriages and we all experience denial with recurrent pregnancies. It's involuntary. We little forget we are pregnant to buffer our fear and pain. Crazy denial.

The first five months I was super sick with morning sickness, so that took care of a lot of my crazy denial. Then my belly poked out a little and it was like the castle in the fish bowel. A surprise every time for me. But a great surprise, like winning the lottery every time I looked down and noticed my belly.

I've struggled with fear. Crazy amounts of fear that wax and wane. Fear that this baby died. I get obsessed with feeling my baby move and struggle when he doesn't. I have had nightmares and obsessive thoughts of sad. It has gotten better the more I pray and go to bible study. The more I reach out to God, the more I heal and let the love flow.

Praying has made the biggest difference in the world.

And now, I am nearing the end of my pregnancy. I feel things loosen and change. He's so big inside me. I can feel his feet, his arms and his head. He's so strong that his thumping movements can be seen from the outside.

My faith has over come my fear. It's all so wonderful. I'm so thankful :)

Family love, day three and three quarters

I had a statue of an Indian woman in my house for years and year. Indian as in Hindu/Buddha type woman. It was a leftover from my love affair with Buddhism. This love affiar is now a sweet remembrance and not a present part of my life. Don't get me wrong, I love a chubby Budda as much as the next one. Asian philosophy is a kind and wonderful way to think about life. But, it's not my religion.

I fall under the category of garden variety Christian. I co-lead a women's bible study group. Within that group are women that run more fundamental than I. Fundamental meaning they don't watch R rated movies, drink alcohol or read books like Lord of the Rings. They're kind of like nuns. Only they're married with kids, just like me.

These women I study with, they've been with me through my miscarriages. There has been some movement about this in terms of healing. Mr. Hall and I have started to talk about miscarriages like it really happened. We lost real babies. Complete with names.

SO, here we go.

The first baby we lost lived six weeks in my belly. I didn't really have a name picked out, but we've named him John.

The second baby we lost may or may not have been real. I only had a pregnancy test and my left over HCG (that's the hormone that makes the pregnancy test turn positive) may have been left over from John.

The third baby was already named. I called her Chloe. She made me super sick during the 16 weeks I had her in my belly. Even when her soul went to heaven (at 11 weeks) my body was still trying to take care of hers. My placenta was still pumping out hormones and nutrients. I feel enormously happy about this. Even after she was physically taken from my womb, my body started producing milk to feed her. I am happy about this too.

And we still love them. John and Chloe. They are as real to us as Pancake and Mac. And we have our faith. I lean on this and wow is that healing! Some days the pain of all this knocks me down and consumes me. Some days I feel such joy that I had them even if it was a few weeks. On those days I really feel I'll see them again. God didn't take them from me, I'll see them in heaven. I can feel this on days I let God in to heal me.

Which brings us to now. Mr. Hall and I are without barriers to pregnancy. No more birth control. We've surrendered our will to God and are letting Him work through this, through us. And naturally I turn to my Christian sisters. Even the fundamentalist ones because they love me and support me in awesome ways.

One thing they did say was to rid my house of false idols. Which sounds silly. But, we already love the baby that will come next. And it's best to care for her every way possible.

So, I gave away my Indian woman sculpture in the name of family love :)

I washed people's feet all day, then this happened

(this post is a long one, but if you stay to the end, it will be worth it :)

I recently took part in an event sponsored by "Samaritan's Feet". This organization hands out socks and shoes for free. All you have to do is show up to the tent.

In the tent there were ~ 150 volunteers. We all had different jobs--foot washers, runners, ushers, greeters etc. I volunteered for 'foot washer'. My choice surprised me. I'm not a fan of feet. But, the more I thought about it, the more I realized-

I'VE BEEN DOING FOOT CARE ALL MY NURSING CAREER. Of course I should be a foot washer.

People sat down in front of me and I'd say, "Welcome, my name is Holly. Thank you for coming. Today we hope to provide you with a new pair of socks and shoes." Then Mr. Hall would ask what size shoe they needed and would run to get it. (He was my runner :) Then I'd say, "While we're waiting, can I wash your feet?"

Why wash the feet? Because Jesus did this.

This was my day on a Saturday. Greeting people and offer to wash their feet while we were waiting for their shoes. Some people didn't want their feet washed, some didn't want the shoes we brought, some didn't have any idea what we were doing. What we were doing- was spreading the love of God.

It's important to note, they didn't have to have their feet washed. They didn't have to do anything to get the shoes. Except show up to the tent :)

While I was washing or just waiting, I'd ask them if they went to church. I'd ask them what brought them to the Samaritan's Tent. I'd get a variety of responses. Some would be upset, some would be confrontational. Some would embrace the experience and share their journey with me. Some would tell me about their baptism. Before everyone left, I would ask if I could pray for them. And if they said yes, I'd give it my best shot, take their hands in mine and pray my heart out.

It was a day of awesomeness, this day of washing feet. It was very natural and easy going too. I like volunteering. Especially with Mr. Hall.

Then.

This happened.

The next day, in church, at the very end, I was drifting off in my thoughts. The service had gone long, something like 2 hours long. The pastor of my church can get quite worked up. :) Then, I felt something like a shift. Like an opening inside and I thought to myself, "I'm done." It was just like that: "I'm done.", painted in gentle, yet unmistakable letters in my brain.

It took me a moment. I had to figure out what I was done with.

I figured it out. I flashed to an image that's been haunting me. I see myself, laying there, on the exam table, getting the ultrasound and not seeing my baby's heart beat. Then being told her heart wasn't beating. This is how I learned of both my miscarriages, through ultrasounds.

But, I was done. And this image, it was different. It was like I was in the room with my former self. Like I was standing next to me. I could embrace myself. I could comfort myself as I spasmed and choked on my tears. And that scene, it no longer haunts me. Because I'm done. I'm done hurting about it. I'm done. I'm not the same woman laying there on the table. I am healed.

And I figured out even more.

I've been cranking my thoughts like a spinning top, cranking on it so hard. My thoughts have become torturous, thoughts of "Should we try to get pregnant again?" or "Should take the IUD out?" or "We need to stop trying/wait no. . . " These thoughts, they would scare me and drive me nuts. BUT I AM DONE. I took my hand off the crank. I am done. I am not bound up in want and fear anymore. I'm done. Just done. I am healed.

So we drive home, and I feel calm, peace and happiness. I feel 500 pounds lighter. I praise Jesus for this. It is amazing the relief I feel.

Then, I put the kids down for the nap. I curled up to Mr. Hall and told him all of this. And I said, whatever you need, how ever you need it, I am here for you. And we hugged and wept.

How I can tell I'm getting better

• I'm yawning. I first yawned a few days ago in yoga. I mean, i've been so tired, but no yawns. Yawning requires relaxing. I've not been relaxed lately. So, it's nice yawning again.
  
  
• I'm dreaming crazy dreams. I'm a crazy dreamer. I've posted about it on the 'dream exchange' before. In the last few nights, I've finally started dreaming again. It's fantastic.
  
  
• I am down 8 lbs and my double chin is started to recede. I am transitioning from size 16 to size 14. I have size four pantalones. They'll have to wait 'til winter though. This will take a while :) Yay weight watchers!
  
  
• My eyes don't feel like they're going to bleed. I feel rested this morning. Really, really rested.
  
  
• Mr. Hall and I are talking more about losing the pregnancy. We're bringing it up and sharing our emotions. I weep- but not spasming, choking sobs. Just crying and being sad.
  
  

Things I need to work on:

• Caring for Mr. Hall. He has the sads too. But not like me. He carries it differently. I need to massage and give lots of non verbal love. Scalp massages are especially important. I need to take care of me and stand tall. According to the bible, Eve was created to sustain Adam. I must remember this. I sustain him.
  
  
• Stop obsessing. Slow down. Be present here and now.
  
  
• Continue my yoga practice and start to make pleasant small talk. My yoga studio was new to me when I started back up. It seems there is a good group there. I am a newbie and people are making overtures to me. I can't hide. I need to make nice and be open. Smile. Talk. And work those poses like a red redheaded step child.
  
  
• Ask God for help with all of this. Healing is a possibly. Getting through this, to the other side, is possible. But not alone. So I pray. And pray, and pray. And through Him, anything is possible.
  
  

Last night 12 women laid hands on me (repost)

Originally posted September 2010



Last night I gathered with my women's bible study group. We are studying The Book of Acts. It had been a lovely meeting with pastries and pleasantries. I was light hearted and smiley. Then it was time for prayer requests. People ask the group to pray for them for various reasons. Prayers for employment, for guidence on things, for healing and prayers for sick aunts. I was going to cop out and say something about praying for more patience with my patients. I felt the need to keep it light.

Instead, this came out:

"Well, maybe I should talk about what's really on my mind."

Then, I could barely choke it out. In the prior six months of last night, I've had two miscarriages. We are trying again and I'm scared. All of this is running through my mind and I'm weighing out my words. I'm measuring how to say this without losing it. But then, I seriously lost it. It came on like a hurricane and I COULDN'T USE MY WORDS.

I just kept heaving and choking forcing bits of words out. "Lost baby. . . six weeks . . discovered it with the ultrasound . . . we are . . . then we lost another . . three days after we tested . . ." I was all snot bubble cry. Unable to form sentences. And someone came behind me and rubbed my back. Another fetched tissue. "Trying again . . we are trying again. I'm so scared . . . I don't know what's happening . . . ". And I heaved and sobbed. Then it went softer and I started breathing a little bit more.

Then one of the women said, "I want to do a healing ritual. Let's do a laying on of hands. Is that ok?" She looked at me. This particular women had hugged me in church the week prior. She's a hugger. I let her hug me.

I really didn't know what "laying on of hands" was, but I said yes. And that photo up there, that's kind of what happened. Only that's not me. But, that up there, that's what happened!

Then the hugger said the words I couldn't say, all wrapped up in prayer. "Please Lord, let her lay down all the hurt and pain from losing her babies, let her give all the pain to you. Let her heal Lord. Let her know your love. Let her feel your presence her now."

At that point I was kind of freaked out because well, do you see the photo up there? Then I made a conscious decision to deep breathe and let it all come.

The women went on, "Lord let her know she doesn't have to carry this, this is yours, let her lay it down, right here, let her feel your arms lifting her up. Let her feel the joy of making another child, of creating a miracle. Lift her up lord, right here. Let her feel the joy."

And did I mention one of the women started speaking in tongues? DID I??
Speaking in tongues was a freshly explained concept to me, just that night in fact. It's in the Book of Acts.

This went on for about 20 minutes. All the while these hands were laid on me. Some where gripping, some were lightly touching and some were just laying there. It was kind of crazy but I let go and let it all happen.

And I can say this. Today I feel absolutely fabulous. I am joy upon joy. Praise be indeed ;)

This is me, and this is how

This is me, after a vinyasa yoga class. I'm wrung out from the inside like I always am after hot yoga. I'm looking at a flyer for a special prenatal yoga program. I'm wearing a tied dyed tank top that I made with my daughter. I'm looking and feeling all of it.



I'm feeling what this prenatal program means to me. It means I'm at a different place, in my heart, than just a few months ago. To get here, I've prayed, gone to yoga, cried and talked about what has happened. I've embraced the sad and loss of two babies. I've even been part of a healing ceremony. And here I am, in my car, looking over this flyer, getting all excited.



But how do I tell the teacher my history? Should I tell her? I don't want to give her my sadness-this sadness I've worked so hard to work through. And I'm sitting in my car, in my sweaty yoga clothes, doing this scan from head to toe. Looking for pockets of the sadness. Pockets that can bubble up and make me all explodey when I tell the teacher I've had two miscarriages.

And I'm scanning and feeling my heart and body. Scanning, looking and feeling. Closing my eyes and breathing in this flyer and all that it means. Looking at the big preggy woman on top.

And I'm feeling such joy, such happiness. Such crazy love for all of it.



And I realize there's no pockets anymore. I'm not sad anymore. It's just crazy happy. And I'm feeling all this love and hands of providence holding me. Feeling all this divine love. It's so much power that I'm literally overloaded for a while. I can't move.

And then I put the car in drive and drove on home. And Mr. Hall and I got back to the business of letting all this hallowed love grow.

Birth control pills, fear and getting on top

After my last miscarriage, I began to take birth control pills. Which made me feel, in part, like a kid. I can say with some hemming and hawing, breaking eye contact, and clearing my throat- the first time I took birth control pills, I was fourteen years old. I rode my bike to Planned Parenthood because I was too young to drive.

In hindsight I find that unfuckingbelievable.

These circumstances, of messing around so early in life, of not connecting love with sex, these are things I have healed inside. And now I think of myself as proud. Proud that as a 14 year old girl, I decided I was worth a whole lot. I was worth enough to figure out what birth control pills were and how to get them. I did that myself, as there was no sex talk. Proud that I peddled my self 3 miles, one way, across a busy bridge, to prevent messing up my future. Because I was gonna be somebody. And I am!

That was twenty years ago. I'm a misses now, all grown up. I can say that being married messes up one's concept of birth control. It's an accessory to the hot monkey love. I used the mirena IUD between our two babies and had forgotten what the heck the pills were like. But here they are, in my life again.

The goal of this three month run of birth control pills was to give my girly system a rest. To cease the relentless ovulation and give my ovaries a chance to regroup. It also served a psychological purpose. My head got a rest too.

I was able to ignore a lot. Then I started having migraines. Then yoga and a meditation session brought up the trauma of having two miscarriages. Then I started opening up a lot of my insides to heal the unseen that was hurting me. It's been working pretty well as I work it out. I'm about done with this three month run. I am about done with birth control pills again.

As such, I find myself being fearful.



Inside, my heart is bleeding all over the place. There is so much joy and happiness with getting pregnant. Making love to make babies is like touching God. I'm scared that my hurt and my fear will overshadow this. That it will taint the process of not being careful. That it will seep in my skin, pool in my veins and sloosh through me. I don't want this to happen.

My biggest fear is another miscarriage. That I will get that flaming positive test then start spotting a few hours later. Or that I will go for my first scan only to find out the baby's heart is not beating. This is what happened the last two times I got knocked up. But the fear grows further, every day, every week I can find things that could go wrong and my pregnancy would be lost. Even through the delivery things can happen and I would lose another baby.

So let me get on top here.

I welcome all the fear and all the worries and all the scenarios. I don't have to be afraid, because being afraid is not going to change anything. All of the above could happen and even worse stuff I've never heard about happening could happen too. So let it come, let everything everywhere come through me. Bring it here and let me jump in. Let it flood through me, making my insides all wrinkly and my body besotted with salty ocean water. I welcome it all.



Ahh. That's so much better!

And now, I'm getting excited. The happy is growing. Just a few more weeks. I will focus on healing even more. Focus on letting all of this be me. Then, and oh yes then, the fun of getting naked and knocked up begins again! ;)

Touching the stuff underneath

Hands at heart center ya'll


I went to see a Buddhist monk recently. That story is here. You don't need to read it iffn you don't want to. It's all good and it's all free.

My task as of late, is to heal from my miscarriages. I am doing this because it's still there, the pain and yuck, hiding behind migraines and a sadness that ebbs and flows. And I want to heal. Because I am a happy and giddy person at baseline. Because my life is an embarassment of riches and I want to be here, lapping it all up, all the time. And because we are a month away from trying again and I don't want the lurking, crazy hurt to affect the next steps. The steps of getting nekkid and knocked up I mean.

Anyway, the first step us to show myself compassion. Give all my inside stuff a hug. This way, I can make peace.



It's kind of funny, practicing compassion for myself. I mean, I am what they call an "alpha female". Very much in charge of most everything I want for me and mine. It's kind of an illusion though. I mean, I'm not really in charge of anything. This is kind of a bummer.

The lack of mind control over this matter is apparent the more I deal and heal. I mean, after the first miscarriage I took a week off, cried with my husband and I thought I was done. Then the next one happened and I cried really hard with my husband and thought I was done. I had done what was needed to be done and I thought I was done but I was wrong. Again, bummer.

So I shh, I yoga, I pray and I feel. Different poses help things along. Like this pose, called the corpse pose. Or 'sleeping zombie pose' as I like to call it.

Savasana


It is the hardest pose for me because you just lay there. And be still. You do this at the end of class when all your energy is supposedly spent. Only my energy is hardly ever spent. I am perpetual motion people. It's taken me SOOOO LOOONGG TO JUST LAY THERE! Five years of yoga and this is still my most challenging pose.

Part of the problem is that all the yoga poses that come before this pose, they stir the pot of internal energies. So when I lay there, all the energies are bubbling and sloshing. And then I have to lay there and try to be still.

And that's exactly what I did on Monday. I let all of it swirl and be crazy. And the funniest thing happened. I felt this unbelievable joy. Joy when I thought about the two positive pregnancy tests. Joy about former suddenly swollen c-cups. Joy because I had had morning sickness. Because I was pregnant twice recently. And it was our love, the love of our family growing inside me. AND THAT FEELING WAS EFFING AWESOME!

Touching the stuff underneath can pretty cool indeed.

;)

What did the Buddhist monk say to the hot dog vendor?

Life can be incredibly messy and crazy. It can catch even the best of us unawares. This includes me.

Take for instance my recent bout of migraines. I had never had migraines before. This was no good. Then there my recent bout of feeling sad. People had been saying, "Holly, you just aren't your chipper self lately." And what they had said-- this was true.

So I went to a counselor a few weeks back. We couldn't find the origin of yon migraines or sad. So we chalked it up to work stress. Maybe the new birth control pills had something to do with it. It didn't even occur to bring up my miscarriages. She advised more yoga. And thus I went on my merry way.

So more yoga then. This resulted in me getting more emotional during yoga. THIS SUCKS AND IS AWESOME AT THE SAME TIME. Because yoga makes emotional yucky come out through sweat and the tears. They don't call it detoxifying for nothing!

Then there was this yoga visit. The one with the pregnant woman. The one were I lost it. It didn't occur to me that something darker might be lurking underneath.

An so, the lack of chipper persisted. The migraines, complete with facial numbness, disturbed vision and trouble speaking, these have faded. I still got headaches but I attributed this to stress. Really, nothing wrong here, nothing to see, move along.

Then, on Sunday I went to a five hour meditation retreat conducted by a Buddhist monk. He travels around the world and there he was, at my local yoga studio. I went to the event. I volunteered to sit in the front. Directly infront of the Buddhist Monk. Because really, in my mind, it was a matter of GO BIG OR GO HOME. And I am nothing if not a straight A student. I always sit in the front by the teacher!

Beside, I reasoned, I am healthy and balanced. No worrries! Should be fun!-thought me.

Four hours later, after much deep breathing, examining within and singing bowls, the class had reached a place of down deep. We were in the state of openness and vastness. I felt really relaxed, like I had taken a big bong hit. Well, truth be told, I have never smoked marijuana, so I can only guess. Either way, I was chillaxed beyond compare.



Then this happened.

During this state of deep chillaxing, when people were discussing painful experiences and people that were hurting them, I felt it coming. Deep in mah belly, a storm was abrewin'. Much like the recent storms during yoga, it was a pattern of scattered showers and gusty winds. Nothing I hadn't shoved down before, nothing I haven't delayed until I reached my car. Piece. of. cake.

But Holy Christ almighty I could not hold this down. It was a veritable hurricane of twisty tornadoes pulsing forward. Paroxysms of tears I tells ya. I started wiping the tears and that made it worse. Soon I was just out and out bawling. I literally had to leave the room and do a big ole snot bubble cry in the ladies room down the hall. It wasn't pretty. I was hyperventilating.

I was so embarrassed I could have JUST DIED.

Then, I collected my ass and calmed down. I stood outside the bathroom door and contemplated leaving. Except my yoga mat and car keys were still in there, on the yoga studio floor. In the same spot I had sitting. In front of the Buddhist Monk. A+ student spot. I had to go back.

So, I climbed out of the fox hole, donned my helmet and went back in.



I really struggled to stay present during the last half hour. I could not lift my eyes, nor my head to make contact with the monk. I focused on keeping my tears down and not making a fool of myself again.

Afterwards, when everyone was packing up to go home, he approached me and offered a one on one session. I eventually took him up on it.

So, last night, it was me and him and his personal physician at her house. Having a follow up discussion on my basket case moment.

What came of it was this.

During the basket case event, I kept thinking about those birth control pills and what they meant to me. What they mean is pain and failure. Every day, taking the pills that made me feel this way. Only I didn't realize it and I didn't say it outloud. I haven't verbalized any of this. I had thought I was done with the pain of my loss, the pain of my miscarriages. This is not the case.

In fact, I had been living most days with huge cement blocks strapped to my back as I trudge foward through the mud. No wonder I was having migraines and sad. That stuff is heavy!

I have a lot of healing to do. I am still affected by my miscarriages. The pain of my loss, it is mighty and strong and still affects me every day. It is now my task to lean into it, to embrace all of it, the fear, the anger, the sad, the everything--because this is how I will get better.

And when I am better, I will cast off the birth control pills and jump around all naked with my husband and seek to create another life. I will no longer be in the kung fu grip of fear. I will find peace and calm and joy.

But first, I just have to put some shoulder behind my basket case and lean into it.

Mother Mary Comfort Me

At yoga there was a pregnant woman. Really pregnant, like seven months or so. I've heard about her before. When I announced my pregnancy, the yoga teacher said, "Oh, we've got another pregnant woman in the classes." She was a month ahead in terms of due date.

I've seen her in the halls, going to the easier classes. Subconsciously I've been keeping track of her. Because she was the other pregnant woman in the class. Then she was the only one.

And there she was today, next to me in yoga class. All big and round and pregnant.

Then, at the end of class, when we were all done, she was happily chatting about her ultrasound.

I don't want to say I was unbelievably sad with her next to me. I don't want to say I couldn't talk myself out of the sad and the tears. I don't want to say I had to leave instead of joining in the joy.

Yet there it was.



This song gave me great comfort during my first pregnancy, when I was so sick. It got me through and really helped me. And now it'll help me today, when I'm non pregnant.

Take care all. :)

I got really drunk last night

I got really drunk last night.

I've always prided myself on being the type of person who doesn't start out a story that way, yet, there it is.

Last night I made myself a cosmo from this bottle after the kids went to bed. Only, we didn't have a cosmo glass.



We do have a big brandy sifter (like the one in the photo uptop) and thus I used that.

We put in a movie. I sipped. I probably should have stopped when my lips got tingly and numb. But there was still half the sifter left. Then the top of my thighs started going numb too. Then everything got really funny. I was giggly and floppy and sexy all at the same time.

It was really, really nice. And funny. I am normally a very VERY giggly girl, but get me a little sauced and I laugh 50 times more. It was really nice being drunk.

Because the day before I went to yoga, the yoga with the heated room.



Before we began class, the teacher said, "Please take a few minutes to dedicate your practice today. Think about whatever brought you to the mat and let it be your purpose for the next hour." So I closed my eyes and chose 'healing'.

It was a really hard class. It was the advanced class and I was really working hard at the poses. Plus the temp is like 100 degrees and sweat was pouring off me. Then there was this pose, the half pigeon pose.



During that pose, while my chest and head were laying on the mat, that's when the teacher spoke up. She likes to read from a book call, "Meditations from the Mat".

She said, "Yoga teaches us to accept ourselves as who we are. We are perfect just the way we are. We do not need be more than we are."

Yep..... THAT'S WHEN I STARTED SOBBING AND CRYING AND DAMMIT RIGHT THERE ON THE MAT I LOST IT .... Of course I had to hold it in and do all these silent sob vibrating chest bobs. But, all sorts of stuff was coming out.

It's the "We do not need to be more than we are." That got me.

Because I have spent the last six or seven months in this race to get pregnant, stay pregnant, recover from my miscarriage, then another try for another one, then lose that pregnancy. And now I have to wait three months, then two to try again.

I have been measuring my life in ovulation cycles and 28 day calenders. Only I don't have to. I don't have to put all this weight on myself. I can just be. I can just be me with my awesome two kids and husband is beyond the best and I can just be.

Because I don't have to be more than I am. I don't have to be pregnant or waiting until I can try again, checking off the days.

I can just be me, because I don't have to be more.

AND THAT MY FRIENDS, that revelation right there, that deserved a round of drinks indeed!! :)


drinks are on me!

Two sided crazy

There are often two sides of life, the clean, lovely surface-then the crazy underneath. Like looking at a pristine river rock, only to pick it up and find all sorts of bugs freaking out.

Such is the life of Mrs. Hall right now.

The bugs:

Underneath I am calling midwifes and figuring out what a doula is. We are not _______ yet, not that I would tell anyway. superstition and all. Our insurance is not covering a lot of things and we have to make some out of pocket decisions. Pfft. Offt. Gaah. Offt and an extra Gaah. It's just that this time, no matter what happens, we will want this to be special and we want support.

The lovely river rock:

Because two weeks ago Mr. Hall and I were sitting on a park bench. He was sitting directly in front of me, betwixt my capri's. I was working his lower, mid and upper back. Massaging his neck, then ears and finally giving him a good scalp rubbins. Several times I had to tell him to shhh 'cause he was moaning so loud.

I mean, kids were all around us. It was a public park after all. Our kids were absorbed in the sandbox. We could see them playing enthusiastically. I was going to go over and make sure everything was ok, but then Mr. Hall said, "I'm pretty sure they can figure out how to play with sand all by themselves."

Which made me laugh.

Then he moved from my front to my right side. I draped my legs over his. And we held each other, arms wrapped tight. I buried my head in the nuk of his neck while we basked in the sun. Our bodies were close and humming. There was quiet. And feeling the love that day, I melted like butter. Because that day was the day we might have made another baby.

Fire on Babylon

So. Made a phone call today.

I called a birthing center. I'm exploring my options for the next pregnancy. Which I WILL NOT TELL YOU PEOPLE ABOUT. I'm not pregnant again so just simmer down. We will see in a few weeks if it worked this month, but again, NOT TELLING YOU PEOPLE. Until I am eight months pregnant. :P

Birthing centers are holistic places. Usually staffed by midwives. Midwives are nurses, like me. Advanced practice nurses. Which means they care more. They move slower, get to know their patients and have that whole nursing caring thing about them.

It was a rough phone call. I was polite, intelligent and well spoken. I explained about my daughter's birth a little. Which I don't like telling. I mean, we all know it worked out ok. But I don't like talking about the emergency C-Section. How I had an epidural and her heart rate was dropping. How they decided to section me, put me under general anesthetic and intubated me. So I missed the first 24 hours of my daughter's life because I was really groggy and my throat hurt because of the tube. It took me a good 5 weeks to realize I had given birth, to connect with my daughter in a loving way.

Five weeks old and there we were, in the kitchen. The room was lit with early morning light.I was warming her bottle, it was about 5 am. It was just me and her. I recognized her for the first time. I held her and said, "Your name is Pancake, my name is Momma." And then I sobbed because I felt it to be true.

Try summing THAT UP in a polite 5 minute phone call!

My son's birth was fabulous. FABULOUS with almost no interventions!! Birthed him right and proper. It was fabulous! The pain was fabulous, the joy was fabulous! I can wax poetic about his birth for days on end and still not be done.

TRY SUMMING THAT UP in a polite 5 minute phone call!!

Then, THEN I started summing up the miscarriage. This was easy, i relied on a lot of technical terms. Six weeks, early ultrasound, D&C, had no complications, no spotting. That was easy until the woman on the phone said, "Oh, I'm so sorry to hear about your miscarriage."

It took all my strength to keep it together.

Because midwives care.

But, I held it together, right and proper.

The thing is, I'm scared. I want another birth like my son's. All natural and blood guts and glory. I want to be cared for. And the next pregnancy I will be needy. I will need to be partners with my caregiver, not treat them as my assistants in the process. I need someone to guide me through this.

And I am fucking done with doctors.

SO. Wish me luck on everything. And thank you all for reading this. Getting it all out here does help keep me sane. As sane as I can be anyway.

:)

Big Throbbing Heart

The blog. It stands neglected.

I have so much to say and I just don't have time for graceful posts. So, instead, I'll just spill it all out.

I was at walgreens yesterday. This maybe tmi but, it was me in the aisle of feminine only products because everything is flipping over to normal. Normal I say. That word is just succulant. For the first time since I lost the baby, I actually feel normal. Normal and capable of doing what what a woman's body does. It's like I've been frozen in a hunk of plastic, suspended and dummified. It felt unreal.

This past month is over. I am now in charge of me again. It feels so much better.

And now it's all resetting and oh my god I started to cry in walgreens. I was so overwhelmed. Part of me thought that I just wasn't capable of being a woman, in that way, anymore. Which is irrational but healing from a miscarriage is not a rational process. And then I thought about the word capable. And I realize I've been putting myself through an unspoken ugly. Silently telling myself bad things.

But this wasn't my fault. It just wasn't time. I'm not defective. And this was what I was thinking in walgreens. I'm glad I had my extra dark sunglasses on because I was crying kind of hard by then. Silently though. Ninja like.

And this month we can try again. But the next you will hear of this is a photo of me super preggies. Like 8 months along. :)

Then I kind of lost it in a very good way

It's been a crazy effin few weeks ya'll.

For those that don't know, we lost the baby a few weeks ago. Since then, I've had way too much contact with medical professionals. Because last week I had a migraine and they did blood work cause it was my first migraine ever. Which is fine.

Guess what they found? HCG. HCG makes makes the line on a pregnancy test light up. Evidence of baby on board. Only I lost the baby a few weeks ago. So this is leftover HCG. Which is oddly comforting. So, in the end, it was a false positive.

But this false positive HCG made all the MDs light up. And they kept wanting to measure it to make sure it's going down. To make sure I'm not pregnant any more. They kept wanting to draw blood work. Which was fine. I went back to the office and they drew blood. And guess what they found? The HCG is going down. Two tests to establish the obvious.

Then they called and said they just want to make sure, so can I get another blood test.

Then I said no.

Enough going to that stupid women's clinic. Enough heading to the bathroom for urine tests and me crying in the bathroom because there is where I learned I lost the baby. Enough getting my blood drawn. Enough getting examined down there. Enough having my body touched with latex gloves. Even listening to the results over the phone. Enough, ENOUGH, ENOUGH!!!

It's not cancer. It's a miscarriage. Healing from this will no longer be measured by their medical expertise, but by my emotional recovery.

So I called the nurse and told her no. And she said, well the doctor wants, and I said there is too much psychological impact to these tests and I just can't do it anymore. And she pushed a bit more and I kind of lost it. Then I cried and she got all comforting, which I.did.not.want. I just wanted to hang up. And I thanked her for her care and ended the call politely.

Then I cried a bit. Squeeze it out I say. Let the emotions flow. Hurting is part of the healing. And healing from a miscarriage is healthy.

Because it's not cancer. It's a miscarriage. The baby was not meant to be. And my recovery will no longer be measured by lab tests, but by my emotional state.

Which is actually going quite well.

My body is my own again. I'm feeling taller. Mr. Hall and I are smiling again. I am starting to feel human. Back on the weight watchers. Feeling healthy. Back in my size ten pantalones.

And I fantasize. Healthy, rich fantasies.

I envision the day I'll announce I'm five months pregnant. I'll type it in here. Or maybe we'll just wait and tell nobody until I'm ready to pop.

These fantasies are savory.

Because I'm not an empty vessel. I'm not alone here. I'm healing and doing well. Waiting until we can try again.

Which will be sooner than I think.

Until then. Back off you medical doctors and you're wanting tests. This is my body and we are doing just fine!

RAWR!!