The Bear

I have a former co-worker and friend who is older than I am. In fact, he is 14 years old than I am, but somehow we are great friends, who share a lot of laughs and even more stories. A couple of years ago he went to his 25th high school reunion. The Monday after the reunion, I asked him all about it. I had my 10 year reunion the year before and it was fun. I was pregnant with Chase, happily married to my high school sweetheart, a great job, and not a care in the world. My buddy, had a different experience. He talked about how the 10 year is really just like the infancy of adulthood. But the 25 year reunion was different, he told me people had changed, almost all of them had faced “the bear.”

My 29 year old self didn’t really know how to take that. We had several people who had passed away in our class, but most of that had happened while we were in high school or in college. The bear? What was that? He went on to talk about life, the goods and bad parts, and more than likely everyone will face the bear.

I realize this is only 2 years later, but I feel like I have faced the bear. I feel like I have learned that life is not always fun and fair. That there are lousy things that happen to people. I hope when I go to my 25th I can help other people who are just now facing the bear. The loss of a job, a parent, or a spouse. We will hopefully be over a decade away from that part in our life, but we survived. We faced it, stared it down and we’re still standing.

Friends of Facebook

I have been meaning to write about this for a while now because it has not ceased to amaze me.

As soon as I get to a point where I think, ok, it has been a couple of months, people are starting to forget, or not check in as much or that people are tapering off, it never fails, I hear from someone. There are Facebook friends that I have not spoken to in YEARS who reach out. My very first best friend from the first grade reached out to me (and we have since hung out) and we hadn’t spoken in decades. Acquaintances and friends from high school, friends from college (both those that I have kept in touch with and those I haven’t). Colleagues from my current job, CLIENTS(!!!) from my past job, co-workers from now and then, even co-workers of Brad’s. Not to mention the tried and true friends and family members. All describe the people that I have heard from. Some have stories similar to mine, thankfully most don’t, but all of them are writing to let me know that they are thinking about me.

I’m not sure if it is because I am the constant bug in their ear with my daily WordPress blog postings clogging up their Facebook feeds, or if it would have happened regardless. Either way, every time I hear from someone, it makes my day.

For all of you out there, whether you are an old friend or new, whether we have met in person or not, thank you for hearing my story, offering love and support and continuing to surprise me with your never-ending messages and check-ins. I couldn’t come out on the other side of this thing without you.

Swagger Back

Don’t call it a comeback. But despite my best efforts, I’m beginning to feel more and more like Heather.

It’s only Wednesday, but it’s been a good week. As in like every day this week has been good and that is important and unusual these days. Some things that have been in limbo at work are starting to fall into place. I have a couple of things coming up in life that are giving me something to look forward to. My diet has continued and I am still losing weight. I went on a couple of runs this weekend and they felt good. I am continuing to wake up and work out in the mornings. We’ve had a couple of good weekends in a row, we’ve made some new friends and actually done what people always say they will do and hung out with them. Chase has gone over a month without an accident. We are so close to spring that I can almost taste it. I am continuing to have more good days than bad days.

Could something happen tomorrow that sends me back down a spiral? A new medical bill arrives, another pregnancy announcement that I wasn’t expecting, a bad day at work? Sure, but three days in a row is better than it’s been. I am feeling healthy, happy and (dare I say it?) hopeful again. Maybe it’ll be short lived, but damn, I’ll take it for now. One day at a time.

Story of My Life

I love to write, duh. Sometimes I think I am a better writer than I actually am, but frankly, I don’t care that much. It helps me, I love doing it, I find joy in it so I do it.

I’ve started writing a couple actual books. I have the beginning, I know the end and I can even figure out most of the middle, but I haven’t been able to make it that far because I feel like my story isn’t compelling. I had a happy childhood, nothing to complain about in my 20s and now I’m 31. I’ve thought maybe I need more “life lessons.” More hardship, more tragedy. Think about every single good book you’ve ever read, it has a hearty dose of bad stuff happening. No one wants to read a happy book with a happy ending. Even fairy tales have some really iffy things going on. So where did that leave me?

Maybe the silver lining in all of this is that I actually have a story to tell. People would actually read it and like it. Maybe that means my happy ending is coming.

Charlotte’s Flowers

At our house there are three planters hanging from our deck. Over the summer there were herbs and vegetables that I promised I would take care of, but never did, so we pulled them up at the beginning of the fall. My mother in law planted pink and purple pansies the day we found out we were having a girl and assured me that they would last until Charlotte arrived.

These days I vacillate between praying that they last to the spring and fighting the urge to go out there and ripping every single one out of the planter and throwing them in the trash.

Empty

Some days I wake up and I forget. I hear Chase downstairs with Brad watching TV, I smell coffee and I remember how blessed I am. Then I remember the days in the hospital. The fact that I am no longer carrying a baby and that empty feeling settles into my heart, that lump moves up my throat and I’m right back here again. Empty.

Timing is Everything (to me)

I am a planner. I like to have an idea of what I plan to do and when I plan to do it. I always envisioned that we would have two or three kids with each being about three years apart. It had no logical reason, but it was what I wanted. Actually, looking back, it would have made more sense to have them closer to four years apart, so we wouldn’t have two children in college at the same time. So one could make a name for themselves in high school before the younger brother or sister intruded. There are three years and nine months in between my sister and I and it was perfect. Just enough years so I was helpful to my mom, but close enough together that we have always been friends.

Since Charlotte, I have paid attention to age differences between kids. Take a look at any family any random day and you will almost always see more than one kid, and they look to be two years apart. In addition, there is real discrimination in only children in this country. Try to find them in public, on TV and in movies. It is next to impossible. Why did civilization set the standard of having two children and having them close together. When did this start?

My grandmother had a brother who was 21 years older than her and a sister who was 13 years older. My mom had a brother four years older, a sister two years younger, another sister seven years younger and then yet another sister 8 years younger. Why such small age differences nowadays? More importantly, why does it matter so much to me?

I was annoyed that I didn’t get pregnant quicker with Charlotte, but then happy that they were only going to be about three and a half years difference. It makes me wish that we had tried earlier, but would that have made a difference? If I were working in another building in another year in another job in another state of mind, would that have made a difference? Would my body have been more adept to having another child if it were closer to the first one? Why didn’t we do things sooner in case something did go wrong and we did have to start from scratch. And how can I be sure that if we do try again that this pregnancy will stick? This self imposed timeline is driving me insane, for absolutely no reason.

Embracing and Enjoying Pregnancy (Either Time)

I started writing a blog when Chase was about a year old. I had thought about starting one about a year and a half before he was born, but never got around to it (oh the regrets of things to do when I was childless). When he was six months old, I finally got the motivation to do it. One of the first things I wrote about was how I wish I had started one earlier because I would have blogged about my pregnancy. False, wouldn’t have done it.

Both times I was pregnant, I wasn’t sure of what the end result would be. I wouldn’t have expected stillbirth, but I also didn’t know what to expect. While I never hated being pregnant or was one to complain, I wanted to be done both times for the sake of having a baby, not because I was miserable.

Both pregnancies were pretty typical. The usual symptoms set in at about six weeks. The nausea and torture of figuring out what I was going to eat that day that didn’t make me want to puke. Although neither time getting to the point of puking. The sore boobs, being tired enough to go to bed super early, peeing every fifteen minutes or so. Then in the second trimester, the heartburn, oh God, the heartburn!

The third trimester with Chase, I had sore feet and a 72 hour period of thinking I was going to die because he was literally laying on my bladder, but that was it. None of the misery. But both times I didn’t really enjoy it. I wasn’t super happy either time. While I loved feeling them punch and kick, I didn’t relish in it. I kind of forgot about pregnancy as soon as it was over with him. I don’t feel like I was glowing either time. I was happier and way less worried with Chase, but I was always kind of careful and couldn’t really relax with him. I was a lot more naive with Chase and kind of felt like I knew what to expect with Charlotte, but never relaxed with her.

Maybe I’m not meant to be a typical woman when it comes to pregnancy. Yes, everyone worries, but I still look at all of these other women who are expecting and think to myself, you make it seem so easy. How are you not scared to death? Are you not worried every second of every day? I know if we do attempt a third pregnancy, the amount of stress is going to put the first and second to shame, but maybe I can let go some and actually enjoy one of the real true miracles of life.

Pity Party

I am not an advocate of these, but sometimes I can’t help the inevitable breakdown and with good reason.

The bills have started to roll in.

Somehow I had unknowingly avoided the pain that should have begun several weeks ago. I have Brad’s insurance and unbeknownst to me, I had to sign up for my own online account in order to view my medical bills. I thought that I could view all of them under his name, but that was not the case. So when a bill arrived two weeks ago without being charged to our insurance, I wondered where the rest of them were. They were hiding in an unviewed window deep within our insurance webpage.

Of course that slunk my entire attitude into a low place that hasn’t really let up because now the bills are really flowing. I had been warned that it would take about two months and here we are, sitting right at it. The bill for the hospital stay. The high risk doctor’s ultrasound. The epidural. My blood work (all 12 vials of it). The cost of pathology to examine my placenta. And the delivery. There are at least two more out there, one for the chromosome test that we ordered and the last for the (still inconclusive) autopsy. I’m sure those will arrive just as I am getting over the first six.

I find it impossibly unfair that I have to be charged for these services. It is NOT FAIR. While I understand that these services were performed, shouldn’t there be some sort of discount or reprieve for leaving the hospital empty handed? Shouldn’t that be a rule? And I have no right to complain. I have really good insurance, what about people who don’t? Or, even if someone has decent insurance, these bills are not cheap. While bringing a live baby home wouldn’t be cheap either, what a massive punch to the gut to have these bills for absolutely, positively nothing.

And then, in the middle of all of the whining inside of my head and my pity party, I have to put it into perspective. There are people worse off than me.

Supposed I went into the hospital and had a limb removed. If something were amputated, there would be a bill for that procedure being completed. Stripped of certain freedoms for a lifetime. Something literally and figuratively taken away from me that I have to pay for. What if I had gone in and died. Relatives have to take on the expenses of someone’s life taken away. Hospitals are supposed to make you better, but sometimes they don’t. And regardless of if there is a cure or not, regardless if I leave the hospital in one piece or with a broken heart, there are services that were performed, doctors who “did their jobs” and bills to pay.

The Boss

Once upon a time, I worked at a company that I didn’t like. Was moved to the third team to a boss that had just been hired from out of town. I did the requisite Google search, saw she was from an area in Florida that we visit nearly every year and received an email from her while skiing in Utah. I figured she would be the same ‘ole, same ‘ole boss. Nothing that special, someone to tolerate and manage to keep from being micromanaged. I had seen it all before.

So when Dara started, I was incredibly surprised by how much I truly liked her. I took her on a couple of appointments with me and we actually enjoyed each others company. A couple of months after she started, we went on an overnight market trip four and a half hours away. We talked the entire way there and the entire way home. In fact, we never stopped talking. We spent close to 24 hours of waking time together and learned a ton from each other.

We haven’t stopped talking since. If we do a meal together, it needs to be several hours long. If we send texts, they resemble novellas. We have so much in common (down to the type of man we are married to) that it is sometimes scary. Despite her being my boss for a year and a half, we hang out a lot. We do lunches and dinners, we got to the beach in the summer, and see each other over the holidays. Our husbands have even become friends. We have hung out with each others’ families, and the novella texts have continued.

Dara was probably the first person to find out what had happened. She had texted me mere seconds after I had sent out the email letting friends know what had happened. She was the first to respond via both text and email. She doesn’t have children, but has sent me the kindest, most heartfelt notes of all.

I know that there are times that people are put into our lives at the right time. Dara was meant to be my boss, we were meant to be friends and we were both meant to be in each others’ lives. In the good times and the bad, no matter what has happened the past two years, we have started a friendship that will last a lifetime.

Two months today…