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.
  
  

DOWNWARD DOG BIATCHES

Went back to yoga tonight.

The last time I saw my yoga teacher,

I'd just turned positive on the pregnancy test.

So, she knew when I walked in.

She did the tilted head,

hand on the heart

OH, i'm so sorry thing.

Which again, is ok.

And I felt a little bit ok on the mat.

But it was tough because

JEBUS I AM CHUBBY

The poses don't go so well when you are

'bigger'.

my friggin yoga stretchy pants

were vedy vedy tight.

eeek.

THAT BEING SAID.

I KICKED OPEN THE MAT.

GOT BACK TO MY PRACTICE OF SOME 9 YEARS.

I DID IT.

I BREATHED.

I LAUNCHED

SIX LBS OF SWEAT CAME OUT OF ME.

I FELT SLIPPERY

I BENDED

STRETCHED

and i felt my sore spots.

It was like my back and belly were made of hammered down soil.

i've forgotten how to move them.

i 'm relearning though

BUT I DID IT.

I got back to my mat.

to my beloved hot yoga.

because i am

because i can

because i know this heals me.

It calms the hyper in my head.

It heals the sad in my heart.

I feel the hands of God on my mat.

And for this, i am so thankful.

And it may not feel that way now

but in a few more classes

it'll feel awesome.

To the doctor that frequents strip clubs

I've never been one to sit still and let life happen. I have unending ambition.

So what am I to do now, now that I'm done trying for more babies?

The first part is getting comfortable with saying it all out loud. I have lost the baby. This affects people. Most people at work know now. Lots of women come up to me, tilt their head, put their hand on their heart and reach out to touch my shoulder. They say, "I'm so sorry for your loss." or "I heard you lost your baby, I'm so sorry."

Then there are the women that say, "Now your baby is in heaven." Which really, that's a sucker punch to me.

When they say that, I have visions of my babies in heaven. Like some alternative plane of reality or something. Then I start to think I can reach out and hold my lost babies, if I just cross over to that plane. Then I stop. Because my babies are dead. As in not living. For me to reach them I would have to be dead too. THAT'S when I stop thinking like this. It catches me completely off guard.

I don't fault anyone though. I can't imagine how tough it is to be near me, knowing and then having to say something. Part of my hurt smudged off on them. I want to say things that ease their pain. So I say I'm getting better. I try to model the 'healing with dignity' stance. And really, I don't take offense to any of it.

Some have been pushy with asking what happened. I don't want to tell them so I don't. They can shove off.

But, I told the whole story to the doctor who frequents strips clubs. This man is sometimes special to me. I've written about him here. Basically, he's my mentor. However, he's not that appropriate of a man to keep company with. I still like him though.

He didn't tilt his head or try to touch my shoulder. He just said, "Hey, how are you?" Then he listened. He didn't flinch or look sad while I talked. The entire story came a tumbling out.

Then, I said, "If I'm not adding babies to the family, what the hell am I suppose to be doing?"

Which is what I am facing these days. It's a whole new layer of suckage. There are no goals right now. So, I am still. Pain is seeping in all over my body. I have this cantaloupe in my chest, just in there. It's pain and loss and it's making me cry.

I could come up with ambitions, like running a marathon or climbing some mountain. I mean, I have physical goals. Back on the weight watchers. Lost 7 lbs so far. Down to size 14 pants.

I don't want to have these kind of goals. These goals can suck it. The more I tend to my health, the more I admit I had a miscarriage. It's taking care of my pain. It's hard and it sucks and I no want.

So I'm telling this to the doctor who frequents strip clubs. And I say, "My ambition level hasn't changed but I'm not sure what to do with it. What am I to do now?"

"Holly," he said with at twinkle in his eye, "You can do anything."

And with that, I knew I had told the right person. And OH!, I felt so much better. :)

Magical hanging fruit

This will, I suppose, be a hard day. thoughts are repeating and my heart is breaking. But I'm still needed as a mom and wife. I'm still have the next three days off and I want to function as such. It's a fight of the baby loss sad. I don't want to embrace the sad today. Today I want to be happy. Enjoying my crazy kids and all the magical hanging fruit around us.

So that's the question, can I direct what rises within me?

Here's hoping.

Losing it (a book review)

I am a big fan of memoirs and autobiographies. I like listening to people's stories. No surprise there, consider I work in mental health. I listen to people's stories all day.

That being said, I am also cheap and am resigned to read whatever I can find at goodwill. This is how I came upon "Losing it" , as noted above.

Overall, it is an easy book. Ms. Bertinelli is not overwhelmingly smart or all that deep. She seems a good gal who likes to share her thoughts. The first part of the book is devoted to how distorted her self concept was. At 100 lbs she thought she was fat. Blah blah. Most women have no idea how beautiful they are. This goes on for a few chapters.

I mostly skimmed through that.

I did thoroughly read the Eddie Van Halen parts. As suspected, Mr. Van Halen was a prodigy. There is no way someone can play like that without special gifts. He thrived in his inner world fueled by alcohol and that thing that can drive geniuses from reality. It's an interesting phenomenon among prodigies called 'the creative rage'. There is so much fuel to create that it drives them constantly.

His drinking and cocaine addictions are documented. It's typical of addict stuff. It's different with rock stars though. Most addicts eventually run into consequences of their addiction. The law, running out of money, overdose and/or near death. The destruction of family relationships. None of this really happened to Mr. Van Halen. Rock stars have endless money and people who enable to no end. His wife was one of them. This goes on for 20 years of their marriage and a good 100 pages of the book.

It kind of fascinates me, how Ms. Bertinelli just stood there. Standing by her alcoholic husband while she did movies of the week, absorbed herself into motherhood. It's like she was sleepwalking.

Which is how she gained some hefty poundage and then Jenny Craig called. The last 10 pages document her journey with that. Like the rest of the book, it's breezy.

SO the reason I picked this book up was that I am now back on the weight watchers. Down 5 pounds so far. I am 176 at this point. Like everything else, it's bizarre.

But, I've been through this before, the weight watchers. Only this time it's going to be easier. I don't have so much to fight in my head. I welcome the weight watchers, it's me taking care of me.

It's a process of reclaiming my body. All the chub is a blanket. One that I need to slowly dissolve to start to reveal myself. Then, in a few months, I'll start to be hot again. I'll be standing taller and wearing stuff that shows me off versus 'hides the trouble spots'.

I'll get there. And document the whole shebang here too.

but first, i give you one of favorite songs and one that I feel fully demonstrates the genius of Eddie

Hot for Teacher

:)

I'm shutting the door for a reason

So.

Much as I feared. Went back to work and . . .


NOONE READ THE FLIPPIN EMAIL.

The email that announced my miscarriage. So I spent the day traumatizing people with the news as they looked horror stricken and then tried to lean in for hugs or something.

Spent the day hiding. With my office door shut. I'd open it for patients of course. But I didn't want coworkers to stop by. Some ignored the shut door and knocked anyway. I gave minimal eye contact and said cliche things.

Then, Mr. Hall and I talked when I got home. confirming our plans to not get pregnant again. Then we talked about adopting. Foster to adopt. He wants to wait. Which I understand. I'm not anywhere near ready to start researching yet.

Except I have. I've been reading books on the subject for years. Even back when I was fully fertile and exploding with babies. He said we have to wait six months. It's true. I'm nowhere near the healing.

Then he said, "ya know" "we'll eventually have to stop somehow." Meaning we just can't be adding children forever. Which really sucker punched me.

What the hell else am I suppose to be doing if I'm not adding children to The Tribe Called Hall?

Develop more flavors?

Alright, off to dinner with some women from my church.

ttfn

Remainders

Fun was had by all yesterday. There was drinking and card throwing and pool swimming and fun. I think I was drunk for like 5 hours straight. That was awesome.

Today, I did more cleaning. I am finding the weirdest remnants. This great purge of baby stuff is endless. Each time I turn around I find a new pile. The kids have permeated our lives. I'm probably be finding baby stuff for years.

Kids have permeated my brain too. I still find myself analyzing names I hear. Trying to figure out if it's a good fit for the baby. Then I remember. gah. Stupid remainders in my brain.

Found a tape in a mess of old cd's in the garage. It was Fugazi. Made for me by an ex boyfriend. I can say cassette tapes do NOT hold up well. The quality was absolute crap. It was all warpy and wonderful.

Memories of being stupid and young and naked and so passionate come bubbling up when I listen to this. I was ~20 at the time. I can say that I've had great life so far. It's still a great life. I just have to wait out this sadness.

And now I give you the waiting room . . .

Liar, Liar Pants on Fire

I have given away about a dozen bags of maternity, baby and kids clothes (check). Breast pump is up on craigslist. (check)

Tomorrow, I'll be giving my brother the crib, high chair and baby sling. I'm not sure where the stroller is, but he'll get that too. (check and check)

There are things I'm not giving away. Like the last two pairs of maternity pants that arose from the dryer today. One pair is from Monday, when I found out the baby died. The other is from Tuesday, when I had the D & C, and my pregnancy was officially terminated. There is no way I'm giving that kind of mojo to goodwill.

Right now, they're in the kitchen. In the garbage bin. But, I don't think that's far enough away from me. I want to go get them and put them in the trash bin out in the garage. Yet, not far enough. I want to put them in my car, drive 4 hours away. Then, I'll put them in some dumpster outside a hotel or something. Yet, not far enough. So, I'll drive even further, out on some beach somewhere. Then, I'll set the entire car on fire, so the pants can just burn to ashes.

Yeah, it's not a healthy place in my head right now.

I realize it's not the pants. It's the pain that those pants represent. And even if I drive to mars and blow the planet, the car and the pants to smitherens, I'll still be here. Sitting with my pain. Which crushes me so hard sometimes I can't breathe. I just sob these retched sobs. This tight ballon of jello just lays there, in my chest. Coagulating.

So what do I do with this? I keep going.

Talked to a good friend tonight. Confirmed the plans for a get together tomorrow. I had to tell her the news. I don't know how to tell people who love me, who loved that I was pregnant, who love my kids . . I don't know how to tell people about the miscarriage without traumatizing them.

And I lie.

I say I am getting better. I say today is a better day then Monday. I say I have good days and bad days but today is a good day. And while that may be true, it's not true yet. It seems I have no choice but to fight for every laugh, every smile, and every joy I feel when my kids are near.

And fight I will. I believe this unbelievable pain will be here for quite some time. But that's not going to stop me. I will continue to have love and happiness seeping in my every pore.

Pants be damned, I will rise again.

to do list, something funny

When I describe my blog, I say, "It's like an online diary or journal". And right now, this would apply:

ok, brought three bags of maternity clothes to goodwill. (check)

tomorrow, i assume i will pack up at least a dozen bags with baby clothes. (check)

Why so many clothes? Cause I shop the thrift stores and garage sales. I get the steals and deals.

Wrote my work colleagues (check) and said this:

"Hey Gang-

You may not have heard yet, but I lost the pregnancy this week. All told, I was pregnant 17 weeks.

Needless to say it's been a rough week. Things are getting better with rest and I am very blessed to have a supportive family. We are doing a lot of praying which is helping immensely.

Well, take care everyone and see you next week."

Hopefully people will read this. People at my work DON'T read their email often. I know I'm going to walk in there and someone will call out 'mamacita' and ask about the pregnancy and I'll have to drop the bomb on them. Which will be their fault really. They should have read the email.

But they didn't. So we'll sort of look at each other and they won't know what to say. Then, I'll have to ease the tension. Which I can do. But I hope with the email people won't say much to me. They'll just avoid me because it's awkward. Which is great really, win win.

I am not sure things are getting better. But I'm appearing in public better. Grieving like a ninja. Coming to grips with regular conversations again. Even made a joke at the park with another mommie today.

SO next on the list is to find a way to calm my crap at night. Otherwise there will be a lot more posts like this. At two am- cause I can't sleep.

Ok, let's turn our attention to something funny. Like this..

Field of Dreams 2: NFL Lockout with Taylor Lautner from Taylor Lautner

Alright, I'm going back to bed. It's 2.22, Wish me luck.

yesterday

my favorite dress:

I know that to get through this, my third miscarriage, I need to turn towards it, not away. This is why I write this. Right here.

The more I write, the more I explore, the better this will get. If I stuff it down it decays. Then it rises up all Zombie like. Which is gross and not helpful.

Yesterday, I went to the hospital and things went better. The images are cleaner and don't haunt me as much. I knew what to expect with this d & c. The nurses were chipper and helpful. There were some tears but nothing like the howl fest of Monday. I am breathing again. I even dropped my daughter off at vacation bible school.

I told her yesterday. I told her that I went to the doctor and found out the baby didn't make it. We cried together. Then she said, "I'm never gonna get a bunk bed!"She was going to get a bunk bed to share with her brother so the baby could have a room all to him/herself. When she said this, she made me laugh. Kids are very self focused. :) She'll be fine. :)

Anyway, today, I am incredibly sore and crampy today. It's a good sore though. Makes sense kind of sore. Which is awesome. Things making sense is awesome.

I restarted weight watchers. I will restart vinyasa (hot) yoga next week. I am making an effort today to reach out to friends. Making plans for a bbq/pool get together. A small one anyway.

Life moves on. I am going to give away all my maternity, baby and toddler clothes soon. We have like 6 storage totes full of the stuff. I will pack them up and give them to goodwill. Mr. Hall says I need to wait though. At least a week. I'll just have to trust him on that.

I like having projects though. Lists of stuff to do to keep my busy. Down time is a killer. Thoughts well up, images flash in my mind. gah. I understand the delay though. I know I'm not thinking right right now. I can't trust everything I think or feel.

I am doing a lot of praying. Which is a struggle. I live in a lot of denial so I have to remember to reach above because I don't always feel the pain underneath. When I reach above the pain lessens and I feel better. It's amazing.

I can say this. When I woke up in recovery, from the surgery, I felt kind of righteous. I thought, we're not done yet, we're not done growing our family. When things are better, when more mourning has commenced, when I feel some semblance of getting to the other side, that is when we start looking at our other options.

Because we're not done yet. Mr. Hall agrees:

"Our family is awesome and there's not enough of us!"

The Last Great Elephant

When I started this blog I noticed a trend of turning things around midpost. I would start out troubled then work my way up. Surfacing on the better side.

I started blogging about my fifth pregnancy and labeled it "elephants are pregnant for over a year". Sadly, that pregnancy, at 17 weeks, is now lost.

So how can I turn this post into a positive? Well, let me give it my best shot.

Went into the ob today. She tried listening to the heart beat with a doppler. She couldn't find it. She checked me, all good. Then she said, let's try an ultrasound to check things out.

This was a routine appt that Mr. Hall didn't come to. So I waited in the waiting room for about an hour then they called me back. I read People magazine and texted stuff to him. He texted back his love. I texted as I was going in, "It's my turn now". He wrote back "luzzu".

In the ultrasound room I lowered my maternity pants and she smeared the jelly. I saw my baby up there, being very still. She scanned this way and that way. I stared very hard, but there was no heart beating. Finally, without me asking, she said, "I don't see a heart beat." And I lost my shit.

Spasmodic, raking waves of sobbing came over me. My entire body just shook and sputtered as tear poured from my eyes. She said she was so sorry. I couldn't talk back. Then she calmly asked me to hold still, "Just ten more seconds". I was mashing a tissue into my eyes. I couldn't look.

She called the doctor in and said some things. Like the baby is measuring 13 weeks. "It should be 17 weeks", the doctor volleyed back. So the baby stopped growing a month ago. Right after my first check up.

They were done scanning me. I collected myself enough to begin to wipe the jelly and sit up. I asked my options. I asked why I had still been so sick. I mean, my morning sickness just ended a week ago. "Your placenta is still functioning", she said.

I then followed the doctor into the next room, trying not to cry in the hallway. She said, "I'll have my nurse schedule the d and c and give you a moment to make a phone call." I sat down and she shut the door. I started to howl and twist.

I held my phone, not calling anyone. Then I called Mr. Hall.

whew.

I've had a few hours to process all of this. I can say the pain is still so raw and it seizes me. Tomorrow I go and have everything taking care of. Tomorrow is the last day of my pregnancy.

I can everyone is being so nice. The doctors and nurses all want to hug me and rub my back. My family is calling and texting in drooves. I don't really answer anyone right now. I can't quite talk yet.

I can say this is my third miscarriage. I can say that I've been through this enough to know my shit will not be straight for quite some time. I can say this is the last time at bat for us. We won't be trying again. This pregnancy was the last great elephant. That's not to say we won't be growing our family, just not through pregnancy anymore.

Which leads me to this.

This is Mac and Pancake, ring bearer and flower girl at my brother's wedding. Our son and daughter.

They are more than I could have ever dreamed of.

They are where I begin to turn this around.

True Blood Smells like Dinner

Eric Northman in a light blue, Norwegian oceanic sweater:

I've not always enjoyed the Eric Northman. I found him to be a douchebag at first. Then he started growing more. More venerable, more Godrick backstory and less long hair. He got a hold of Sookie all sneaky like. He is not a dumbass like Bill.

Nowadays, I enjoy the Eric on several different levels. It's a subtle power this character has. (see above).

I also enjoy his protege, Pam. Girlfriend is one of my favorites.

That being said, WHAT THE HELL with Sunday's episode? The writers blew up it all up. Everything that I know and love about the Eric Northman, it's gone. He is now walking around half naked and not remembering what a badass he is. This is no good!!!

I think what upsets me the most is the power imbalance. I mean, how can the immortal vampires, that go zoomy zoomy and fly, how can they be brought down by a bunch of Wiccans chanting nonsense??

I've been near and dear and tried my hand at Wiccanism. It's a harmless religion for the most part. All Goddess earth worshipping. Build an alter and say a spell. Chubby midwestern women in Renaissance fair clothing. We had meetings. Some guy was there a few times. Wore all black and had a cane. Well, it was a cane until you pulled on the handle and out came a shiny sword.

I just didn't feel anything though. I never caught the Wiccan fever. And that's the difference with me. I mean, I can sit around and sing kumbya and feel good. And that's great. Rub the Buddha belly, yay! But on Sunday, when we gathered outside at church, we had a guest preacher.

He's a missionary. Originally from Ohio but a missionary now. Which takes a special kind of crazy to pack up your life, wife and kids and all, move to the mountains of Loas and risk getting arrested and put to death. But he's compelled. He said, "When I was 20, I was an alcoholic and hopeless. I wanted to just die. But that's when God found me, he delivered me and I let him. And now I am out there, sharing his love."

He was so wrapped up in the spirit that he was shouting, deep down preaching. And I was crying, all caught with him. Because I feel the spirit. I have God with me every day. Jesus has changed my life in so many ways, I am so unbelievably blessed. After I was baptized, I was truly reborn, I am free. . . I can't even begin to explain it all. I love my church and what happens there. It's just oh . . . I can't explain it all. .. sniff sniff . . . .

ANYWAY BACK TO TRUE BLOOD

So, in the show, the Wiccan circle chanting is useless until Layfette joins in. He is the key to it all. He is the conduit. Which is creepy. I loves me some Layfette. I don't want him to be weird and then have to be put down. Not a fan of his boyfriend's hair cut either. Hmm we shall see.



So I guess it's ok. I mean, these characters are strong and can become parody of themselves. And it's important to just completely wipe the slate clean once in a while. Mix things up.

That being said. I'm also not a fan of what is happening with Jason Stackhouse.

BAD WEREPANTHERS!! GET OFF HIM!! SHO-SHO!!



OK, DISCUSS!!

fire

When it gets cold around here, it gets effin cold. So cold that we layer in sweaters and heavy coats. Prewarm our cars and try not to breathe when we get in them. If it's cold, winter cold, our breath coats the inside of windshield.

But none of that matters now. It's summer now. When I blink my eyelids are sticking together because it's so dang hot.


I love being on fire. I love summer. My morning sickness has broke loose and fell off about a week ago. Everything is blooming and bursting with summer life.

:)