Prednisone: Tapering problems

I was able to taper my dosage of prednisone from 12.5mg to 10mg so easily that I became foolish.   When given the ok by my doctor about 6 weeks ago to taper from 10mg to 7.5mg, I used the same schedule as I did with the previous taper:  a few cycles of every 4^th day taking 7.5, then every 3^rd day, then every other day, 7.5 and 10, for about five days, then every 3^rd day taking 10 for a few cycles, then every 4^th take 10 for a few cycles, then declare myself at 7.5mg.

 

Unfortunately, in the midst of this tapering schedule, we had yet another family crisis which increased my stress level considerably; stress can really mess with the body’s need for cortisol, and therefore a slower taper was warranted.  But I didn’t want to slow things down – DUMB ME!  I very foolishly ignored the return of arteritis symptoms, initially very mild, on the 4^th day of my straight 7.5mg dosage.  By the 8^th day of straight 7.5mg dosage (last night), my scalp pain was at a 5-6 on a 10 point scale, and I had little sleep.  I will now have to go back to 10mg for several days until symptoms (hopefully) subside.  Then I will have to start the taper all over again. 

I will only be able to get off this evil medication if I pay attention to my body’s signals, and I have only made things worse by ignoring them.   A lesson learned, and not easily.  

Mice in the Kiva

In the not quite three years that we have lived in paradise, we have experienced a number of "critter invasions."  After all, we moved into their neighborhood, so what do we expect?  We've had rattlesnakes in my husband's shop, a barn owl in the old dog house, chipmunks in the garage, coyotes within 20 feet of the house, bulls at the front door, lizards in the bedrooms, etc.  And then there are the mice.  They can get into almost anything, but so far they haven't been in the house itself – although they have made it into the garage and were nesting behind a big planter in the sunroom.  They also crawled into the bathroom and dryer vents, despite the flipper covers.  Very easy for them to lift up those plastic flaps, and get into the area above the fans, and into the dryer vent.  After we discovered that problem two years ago, my husband put wire mesh cages around all the vents, so that problem went away.  Of course, the contractor said "I never had that happen before" when we showed him the desiccated, mummified remains of a mouse who hadn't made it out of a vent until after we put the cage up (it is still there as a reminder).  And I haven't mentioned the motorhome, I won't in this post.  We keep sealing the cracks that they use to get into the garage and sun room, and they keep finding more cracks.  It's a never ending battle.  Amazing how small a space they can squeeze through. 

Anyway, last week, after we got back from a quick trip to the north rim of the grand canyon (beautiful!), our younger dog kept looking at the "kiva" style fireplace in the corner of our living room, like there was something in it.  It was very windy, and we thought that maybe the wind was making strange noises in the vent (wrong!!).  The kiva is a propane direct vent fireplace – the heat gets in, and is fanned in, but the burners are sealed to the house and all of  the CO emissions are vented out.  The external part of the vent isn't on the roof, it takes a 90 degree angle and comes out on the east side of our back porch.  A few days earlier, while out on the porch after sundown,  I had chased a mouse off the vent.  But when we looked at the vent, it appeared that it had wire mesh on it so mice shouldn't be able to get into it.  Boy were we wrong yet again.  The exit portion is meshed, but the intake portion wasn't meshed at all.  Presumable there is only a very small open area in that vent –  not big enough for mice (hahaha).  Early the next morning (after our dog was so interested in the kiva) I was awakened at ~4am by a banging from the living room.  I found two mice  happily chewing at the fake logs behind the glass barrier in the fireplace – one of the smaller fake logs had been chewed from its base and was banging against the glass.  They didn't even care that I was shining a flashlight on them!  Oh the urge to just turn on the pilot light, and fire it up – but since they had chewed and damaged the logs, what if they had chewed something vital to the working of the fireplace, and I would blow our house up??  Plus there would be the smell of burning hair and little bodies….  When my husband awoke I told him the bad news.  As soon as it was "business hours" he was on the phone to the person who had installed the fireplace - he was appalled – he had "never heard of that happening before" (were we surprised?  NO!!).   He said he would come out to our house that evening.  During the day we had several "sightings" – as the mice would come into the glassed portion, and then run back into the vent – never more than two at a time, so thought there were only two (wrong yet again).  The installer came out that evening, disassembled the unit, and showed us how to open and close the glass.  He suggested a vacuum to get the mice out – well that got the chewed up debris and droppings, but it didn't get the mice.  So then we knew we would have to place traps.  He went outside, and put mesh around all entrance points in the vent so the mice that were inside wouldn't be able to escape, and (more importantly) more wouldn't be able to get in.  We then set traps.  We caught (killed) two that evening, and three the next day.  None since then, so we think they are gone.  The installer was going out of town for this holiday 4^th weekend, so he won't be back until next week to reassemble the unit and check out the burners, etc., to make sure they aren't damaged.  Meanwhile, we are leaving one trap set in it, just in case.

Just another day in paradise!

Prednisone - Seven Month Update

It's been a few days over seven months since I had to start taking prednisone for temporal arteritis.  The usual length of treatment is one to two years, so I'm either on the downswing or not even close to the midpoint.  I'm keeping a positive attitude (not easy on prednisone) and hope that I only have about five months of treatment remaining. 

How am I doing?  Not too bad, all things considered.  My immune markers (sed rate and C reactive protein) are normal.  I've been able to diet control my prednisone induced glucose intolerance so that my A1C is also normal.  I've lost about 30 pounds, because I've cut out sugars and almost all non-vegetable-based carbs from my diet.  My afib is being mostly controlled, albeit  not well controlled, by the increased doses of flecainide and metroprolol – the episodes, which occur every week to month, last from a few seconds to only a few minutes (except for the one on Mother's Day).  My cheeks are still puffy, but since I've lost so much weight only I can tell how puffy they actually are.  My waist still has the prednisone belly, but again, with the weight loss it isn't too obvious to others, especially in my loose clothing.  I am having episodes of gastric reflux, a few of which lead to aspiration, e.g., I am coughing the gastric contents from my bronchia.  I have to sleep inclined to decrease those episodes, but they occur about once a month.  The aciphex is "working" because I'm not having the awful heartburn, and throat burning that can accompany reflux, but my valve (lower esophageal sphincter) doesn't seem to be working very well due to the prednisone.  My face has some fuzzy hair growth, especially on my chin, above my lips (mustache), and by my ears (sideburns), but thank heavens it isn't dark growth (except for a few on the chin and above my lips).  While that hair is growing thicker, the hair on my head is thinning – and I don't have very much head hair to begin with!  I don't have any problem with blemishes on my face; I have actually seen improvement in my mild rosacea.  My arthritis and allergies remain much improved. 

My moods are still rocky.  I have hair-trigger emotional responses, but much of the time I can "catch" them before they erupt because I know they are prednisone-induced.  My memory is spotty, especially for individual words, with no warning when it will happen.  I just can't remember the word – I can describe the word and even google it to find it, but it is missing until I do.  It is similar to a "senior moment" but enhanced, and it really bothers me. 

I've made it to 12.5mg/day.  It took forever to get there, but I had gone through several months of high-level stress while I was trying to taper.  Stress increases the need for cortisol.  I'm a bit more stable now.   My doctor just gave me the go-ahead to start tapering to 10mg.  When I get there my immune markers will be tested again, then I will start for 7.5mg, and so on.  If everything goes well I might be off by late Fall (e.g., one year of treatment). 

I have yet to actually feel as good as I did before I started on prednisone.  However, I have  redefined what "feeling good" means to me, so there are many days now when I say I feel "good" (by my new definition).  I wonder if I'll ever be able to go back to the old definition and really feel good again….

Mother's Day

I haven’t felt like writing for such a long time – since my “low” of the 3 month anniversary of my grandson’s death.  But two days ago it was Mother’s Day, so I must write.

Mother’s Day – a modern contrivance  to sell cards and gifts and a boon for restaurants - but dating back to pagan celebrations of honoring  the importance of women and mothers.  It’s an important day for those of us born after the contrivance, but a sad day for those of us who have lost our mothers, or our children, or our children’s children.  It is more a day of remembrance than a day of celebration for so many.

I was fortunate enough to be up in the city for my last annual professional meeting (another emotional loss) late last week, so I stayed on for several extra days to be in town with my son and daughter in law for Mother’s Day.  Last Friday was also  my son’s graduation from college with his Master’s Degree in applied mathematics, so it ended up being an all-purpose trip, albeit it a fairly long one away from home and my husband. 

I was with “the kids” on Tuesday evening for dinner (the day I drove up), Friday afternoon and evening (graduation), a good portion of Saturday, and a good portion of Sunday.  They were such good visits, I needed them so very much, but they couldn’t take away the  underlying sadness that it should have been different, someone was missing.  He wasn’t totally missing – Liam was in our thoughts and our hearts the whole time - but he wasn’t there to hold and hug.  Early Sunday morning I awoke at ~2am from an adrenalin-producing dream and immediately went into afib.  Unlike most of my recent episodes, I wasn’t able to shock myself out of the episode with a cool shower, so it lasted about 4 ½ hours.  Not dangerous, but irritating, and I also had a good cry.  I was still able to get some sleep so I was ready for Mother’s day at 7am.  First I went shopping for a few items that are hard to find or fairly expensive in my small town, then I waited until 11am to go be with the kids.  My sad emotions were still on the surface, but I was determined to be “happy” and put on a good face for the kids.  It almost worked.  When I got to their apartment my we exchanged cards and gifts.  I had made a custom card for my daughter in law, and bought her a pendant carved from rose quartz (from Navajo merchants at an overlook on our way back from Marble Canyon).   Rose quartz is a heart-healing gemstone that can be used for treating any issue that needs emotional healing. It carries a very gentle and soothing energy and gives comfort to anyone whose heart has been wounded (from a crystal health properties web site).

They gave me a beautiful card, and then best of all a small knitted stuffed turtle, made by my daughter in law.  It could not have been a more perfect gift.   I have so much wanted something to cuddle, something to hold onto, when I am sad and/or crying.  Turtles are my major totem (snakes are my minor totem) and I have many porcelain, metal, carved, etc., turtles in my collection.  I now have this beautiful, handmade cuddly stuffed turtle to soothe my pain and keep me company in my sadness and my joy.  I named him Pebbles.  I held onto him last night, until I lost him sometime during my sleep (he was between the bed and the nightstand this morning).  Now he is on my pillow.  So cute, so appreciated, so needed.

After a nice brunch on Mother’s Day we were somewhat bored, so we hit a few stores.  Unfortunately, we teased my son too much about one of his recent splurges (undoubtedly fueled by his grief), and he got testy, then he snapped at me, then I got sad and upset.  When we got back to their apartment I burst into tears and I had a long, good cry, with us holding onto each other.  I really needed it.  Then we watched some youtube UFO stuff (most weird), had a wonderful dinner  of leftover stew, then went to see a silly but fun semi-scifi movie at the dollar theaters.  The movie was called Paul – and we all had some good laughs.  It ended up being a good day, although a sad day.  I drove home early yesterday morning to my wonderful paradise and my loving husband. 

Another milestone has been passed – our first mother’s day after our recent loss.  We survived.  There will be more milestones, and we will survive those also.  

Three Months

Yesterday it was three months since my grandson, Liam, was born – and three months and one day since he died.  It hardly seems possible that it has been that long, yet it hardly seems possible that it has been that short a time.  The early days were such a blur of shock and grief and mourning and ill health.  Then the days stretched into more days and weeks into more weeks, and now three months. 

Where have they gone?  The shock is still there, but somewhat dulled by time.  The grief is a constant, but not as intense, more a background trill that can still appear in the foreground of my consciousness in sudden, often unexpected, spurts, leaving me drained of fresh tears.  My mourning, according to definition the outward expression of bereavement, is not very obvious to anyone anymore – most times it is hidden inside me now.  I can answer “great” to the meaningless queries from strangers “how are you today” instead of ignoring or answering “trying to hang in there.” 

And my ill health?  I’m balancing, somewhat, finally, on the increased heart medications, and the slowly decreasing prednisone.  I had a very short episode of afib at 6am this morning – right when my blood level of flecainide would be lowest – but quickly ended after only a minute by stepping into a cool shower.  It wasn’t a surprise – I kept thinking about Liam yesterday and the day before, knowing I needed a release. 

I finally had a cry yesterday, while I was sitting outside on my porch reading.  I’m reading Jean Auel’s final book in the Earth’s Children series.  Just released, very long in coming, poorly reviewed by many, but I’m enjoying it.  While on my porch I read the following quote from Ayla, the lead female character, while speaking to the Zelandonia in the far south while on her long painted cave tour with the First:

“When a child is born dead, or leaves this world and walks in the next soon after birth, it is because the only way a person who is not born right can be fixed is to return to the Mother, so She takes them back.  Although it is much easier to say than to do, one should not grieve for such children; the Mother has taken them back so they can be made right.”

I’m starting to tear up again upon typing that paragraph. I don’t believe it is healthy to not grieve, so I disagree with Ayla's advice.  But I wonder - is Liam made “right” now?  And will his sweet baby spirit, or the part of it that was Liam, stay there (wherever it is) and wait for me, and for the rest of his family who loves him, to greet him someday and tell him how much we missed getting to know him?  I hope so, I have to believe so...  

Camping and Condors and Spring Desert Flowers

A few days ago we went camping for two nights at Lee’s Ferry campground in Marble Canyon, AZ.  It is a spectacular location along the Colorado River, several miles below the Glen Canyon Dam (~15??), and several miles from the start of the Grand Canyon (~30??).  It is a very popular launching place for rafting the Colorado, and for fishing.  It is one of my favorite places to camp in the Spring and Fall – it is too hot there, for me, in the Summer because the elevation is ~3200 feet (2000 feet below our home).  This week many of the cactus were in full bloom, and there were many varieties of wild flowers blooming, some so small you could hardly see them.  A few of them are below:

However, one of the most exciting parts of going there, for me, is to see the California Condors that are perching or flying around the Navajo Bridges at Marble Canyon.  One or two can usually be seen in the mornings, perched on the lower cross-members of one of the two bridges (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Navajo_Bridge).  The “old” historic bridge is now a walkway between the cliffs with the river below, and an ideal location to get photos of the condors that perch on the new bridge.  Later in the day the condors catch thermals and may be seen circling in groups (up to 10 or more) near the Navajo bridges or Lee’s Ferry, or, at the Vermillion Cliffs’ condor viewing area (http://www.wildlifeviewingareas.com/wv-app/ParkDetail.aspx?ParkID=197) which is ~30 miles west of Marble Canyon.   They are amazing birds, but environmentally very sensitive, and the story of their recovery from only a few mating pairs in captivity, to their release into the wild with successful breeding in both California and Arizona (http://www.azgfd.gov/w_c/california_condor.shtml) is even more amazing.  Our latest photos, and the size-comparison sign (to golden eagles and red-tailed hawks) at the viewing area are below.

The same shot of two condors on the lower cross-member of the new bridge, while a truck is driving across to show perspective, zoomed/clipped and original size:

One of the condors on the bridge posing for the camera:

 The size-comparison sign at the Vermillion Cliffs condor viewing area:

Sun Worship

Do you remember the episode of the “original” Star Trek series, where they are visiting a planet with a developing, pre-modern, civilization that worships the sun?  At the end, the key cast members are discussing how the civilization seems too “advanced” to be sun worshipers, and Uhura says something like “I think they are worshiping the son not the sun….”   That’s an aside and my post has nothing to do with religion.  I’ll be talking about the sun here, that shiny, hot, yellow (sometimes red, pink, or orange) fire ball that holds the earth in place. 

In the past few months I have felt like I have some symptoms of seasonal affective disorder, acronym SAD.  Every cloudy, rainy, or snowy day, when the sun rarely or never shows, I feel down, or SAD.  Most sunny days I feel better.  I’m wondering if this is due to the prednisone or to the grief, or whether it is a combination of both, or more (like not keeping busy enough, and not being able to take my walks).  I can’t remember those SAD feelings being as defined or weather-determined in past years.  Today is at least starting out sunny, even though quite cold, and it is wondrous and beautiful.  I feel “up” and ready to go. 

It seems strange that I would be a sun worshiper because I have sun intolerant skin.  I hated my blue white skin (yuck - veins showing through) when I was a teenager (now I have age spots, so it doesn’t seem as blue).  My friends would lay out in the sun at the NJ shore, rubbing themselves with baby oil, and have a nice tan by the end of the day.  I would lay out in the sun, slathered in that same baby oil, that they promised would help me tan better than Coppertone (which only helped me burn because it was well before the advent of sun screen).  I would end up sick as a dog later in the day, with blisters the size of my fist on the back of my thighs (yes, I’m a great candidate for skin cancer).  In a week or so huge sheets of skin would peel – how fun.  My mother had the same sensitive skin.  When I was a tiny child, and my family went to the shore, she would always be under the big umbrella, with long sleeves.  She covered us with pancake makeup to protect our skin - so I could play in the sun and go into the water.  I was the only kid happily playing while slathered in orange waterproof goo, with sand stuck all over me.  Now I’m one of the only people at Lake Powell, out on the lake on a beautiful sunny day, with white light-weight long sleeves and light-weight long pants tucked into socks, with every square inch of exposed skin (including my fabric covered arms and legs) covered in frequently applied sun screen.  BTW, I don’t use a “high protection number” sun screen – I find that applying 15 protection every hour, or more, works much better for me. 

I’m one of those “burn and peel” people who should probably live in Seattle or another cloudy and rainy city.  I know I’d hate it there.  Here I am in my own personal paradise where the sun shines a lot (hence our solar panels), with sun-useless skin, and I’m an "emotional" sun worshiper, dreading those few days when I’m SAD because I can’t see the sun.  Thank heavens for sun screen!

Hurt Feelings

It’s so easy to have your feelings hurt or to hurt others, so often without even realizing it.  It is worse when you are stressed or already upset about something else.  And I have so many reasons to be stressed and/or upset.   The prednisone has made me half crazy.  Even though I’m finally on a mid- to low-dose, I still feel like I have hair-trigger reactions to stressors.  I can often catch myself, knowing it is “the medication” and rationalize myself out of my quick negative reactions, but sometimes I just can’t seem to stop it.  And grieving for Liam has magnified those reactions – I can be fine one minute, and sobbing the next.  

But I am hurt more, and upset more, when I know I have hurt others, no matter how unintentionally.  Teasing can be fun and my son and I do a lot of it.  But there is a fine line between teasing or trying to be funny, and coming too close to the sensitive reality of a situation.  I crossed the line – twice.  The first time I didn’t even realize it.  My son will graduate with his master’s degree in a month, and is job hunting.  I’m trying to be the voice of reason, with a teasing overtone, that it isn’t going to be easy in this economy to find the right position.  But I crossed the line, and pissed him off.  That was several days ago.  Then last night I made a comment, again teasing but crossing the line, about “that’s what a good husband would do” and that was the final straw.  My son is a good husband, probably one of the best.  He is already very stressed about the job hunt, very stressed about keeping “things” together (being a man) after the death of his son, very stressed about providing loving support to his grieving wife, and I hit him, twice, in a sensitive spot.  I’m the one who is hoping to help make things better (for lack of a better word) for my wonderful son and daughter-in-law, and I inadvertently aimed for and hit the jugular.  I apologized and told them that it wouldn’t happen again (at least those particular targets), and hung up and started crying, and crying, and crying.  Then my husband made a comment about “why do you always move things” (which I do in my OCD way), and I started crying again, and crying and crying.  I guess I needed the release.  Instead of crying several times each day, I’ve only been crying once or twice a week.  It probably isn’t enough, and I’m letting grief build up so that it has to explode out of me.  So of course last night my heart acted up into afib for a few minutes, until a cool shower bounced me back into normal sinus rhythm.  That’s a good indicator that I’m letting the stress build instead of releasing it.

But meanwhile, “helper Mom,” “supportive Mom” turned into nasty Mom and hurt his feelings - hit him while he was already down.  My husband said, “he will get over it,” but I know it will be remembered for a while.   I’m sorry son – please remember I love you.

Chasing Bulls

We allow grazing on our 20 acres of land to keep the property taxes low.  The local rancher with whom we have a grazing agreement brings several bulls to the area in late November or early December, and then takes them up to higher ground (and to be with his cows) during the first week of May.  This year we have four bulls.  They don’t just graze our 20 acres, but wander around several square miles.  However, the rancher drops off their supplemental hay on the 20 acre parcel directly north of our property, and their main catch basin for water is about 300 feet directly south of our front door (across the dirt road), so they are fairly close to us most of the time.  Several times each day, if they are in our immediate area, they walk up the rancher access track to the water basin, which brings them within a hundred feet, or closer, of our house.  If our smaller dog sees them walking towards us, or what she thinks is towards us, she barks like crazy.  The bulls just ignore her, unless she goes outside when they are near – if that happens she chases them until she is tired.  Since she was raised as a “city dog” and not a ranch/country dog, we worry that she might get hurt, so we don’t purposefully let her chase the bulls.

Anyway, it is now April, and only a month until the bulls will be with the cows.  And you better believe they know what is coming.  As of a few weeks ago they started to vocalize more, they are getting into fights, butting their heads (their horns are clipped), more often, and they frequently have their full erections dragging the ground as they are grazing (they may not be called erections, since they hang down, but you know what I mean).  They are much feistier than they were during the winter.  Add that to the fresh green grassy weeds that are growing in clumps all around close to our house, thanks to the copious moisture we have received, and we have some horny, feisty, irritable bulls grazing within a foot of our house.  This evening one of the black bulls was grazing within a few feet of our front door, and kept coming back again and again after being chased away.  I would chase him across the driveway by our house into the “teardrop” between our circular driveway to our road – but he would just stand there and stare at me until I went inside, and then in a few minutes our dog would go nuts again because he was back at our front door, breaking the rocks on our walkway.  I even got in my car and drove straight at him, across the sage and brush, while he was in the teardrop, and he just stared at me.  I even bumped him with my car, and he just stared at me.  That tender green growth must have been worth the harassment, and he must have known that my little Ford Escape posed him no risk.  I finally called my husband at his neighborhood Saturday night nickel poker game and said “I need help with the bulls.”  He quickly drove over, and chased that stubborn bull away – the bulls respond to a male chasing them with a deep, loud voice, and a big stick, better than they respond to me.  They must sense the challenge of the testosterone!  My husband is going to put weed killed on the green weeds sometime soon so we won’t tempt the bulls to the house. 

Only a few more weeks and they will be gone until next winter, and then we start all over again.  But no matter what the hassle, it is worth the decrease in our property taxes.  

A Twilight Zone Morning

Yesterday morning my husband came home from an errand and said it looked like there was a fire at our house as he was driving towards our home on our dirt road.  He said that it started to the south, then it looked like it moved right to our house, but it was moving very fast.  I poo-poo’d his comments and said that it was probably a dust devil (we can have some pretty big, pretty powerful ones where we live).  He said it was moving too fast, and that it didn’t look like there was rotation in the moving smoky clouds.  I still thought he had seen dust devils….until he looked out the windows to the northeast, and I saw was he was talking about.  There was a haze of what looked like white smoke above the trees and in the gorge to our east – then we would see a plume of smoke going straight north, but too fast to be a car driving - but, on what road?  And the ground was still moist enough from weekend rain/snow that the roads weren’t producing that much dust.  Then we saw it further to the northeast, then to the southeast, then by our neighbor’s barn.  He called our neighbors, and they said “just a dust devil.”  It kept happening, it kept moving.  We started humming the theme to “Twilight Zone” and got out the cameras to film this mystery from our back porch.  We didn’t smell any smoke.   It seemed to calm down a little, at which point we went inside and forgot about it for ~15 minutes - until I looked out my office window and saw it happening again.  Plumes here and there, with a haze across the trees and the gorge.  I said, we have to drive over there and see what is happening.  We took our cameras, hurried into my husband’s car and drove east on our road, into the middle of the haze.  And then it happened, and then happened again, and again.  A juniper tree literally exploded pollen, all at once, right as we drove by, then another, and another.  It was an awesome sight, and an event that we had never heard about before, nor seen before.  It was an amazing 45 minute show!

When we returned home I immediately googled exploding juniper pollen and found many pictures and videos – most call it cedar explosions, some refer to “cedar fever” - since around here the junipers have been called cedar trees (or mountain cedars) since the pioneers first occupied the region.  Apparently the trees have little capsules of pollen that all release at the same time on each tree, and many trees in the same location can release within a few minutes of each other.  It can be stimulated to release by shaking or hitting with a stick, or by winds (it was a bit windy yesterday morning, but not really very bad for around here).  Here is a link to some videos of this event, that happens in January in Texas:  http://republicofaustin.com/4-of-the-most-horrifying-cedar-fever-videos-youll-ever-see/.

Just another day in paradise, with a bit of twilight zone thrown in for excitement.

Long time, no write

I just haven’t been in the mood to write anything for such a long time.  Maybe I’m a little overwhelmed, maybe a little depressed, maybe a little bored with myself.  I’m not sure which, maybe all of the above to some extent.

Anything I can write about my personal struggles, with my health, with my grief, sounds so self-centered, egotistical and whining, so insignificant compared to the events happening in the world.  How can I be upset about not sleeping well?  I have an intact home with a warm bed and a warm man to share it with – when millions of people have been suddenly, painfully, wrenched from their homes, never to return because they are muddy rubble or infused with radiation, knowing their loved ones will never return, or not knowing where they are (lost in the rubble, washed out to sea??).  How can I complain about the medications I’m on and their side effects – at least I have access to my medications and adequate health care.  There could be millions going without their needed medications, and more importantly going without food and water.  How can I still be distraught about losing Liam two months ago when entire extended families may only have one person remaining to remember them – or all are gone?  The whole world is grieving, or should be.

And that’s only one part of the world.  The middle east is a mess again.  What started as a “peoples’ revolt” to achieve freedom has ended up as a civil war in another country – with the US and its allies exploding missiles on their land to support the “rebels.”  And, of course, it is so possible that in a decade or two, we will be trying to rid that very country of those very rebels because they have become brutal dictatorships.  Have we not learned anything?

So here I am, sitting at my dining room table with my laptop, looking out on a windy, dusty red rock paradise as a front blows through.  A “frozen mix” is expected later today as March blows out like a lion.  I should count my blessings.  But somehow I can’t.

A Sad Day

Yesterday was a sad day.  Initially I was sad because it was the first day of yet another month in which my beautiful grandson would not be alive.  So the day started off with sad tears.  Will each new month be like this, or will those feelings diminish as April, May, June, etc., arrive? 

A short while later I drove up the canyon to visit the bald eagle(s).  I have a new camera with higher optical zoom so I had fun taking his/her picture (I only saw one of the pair).  Then I drove further up the canyon and took a few scenery shots.  By the time I got back home an hour later I was feeling somewhat better, but still out of sorts.

In the early afternoon I drove to a hard surface road so I could take a walk.  Our road is too muddy, and probably will be for a while.  I’ve been listening to audio books when I walk, when I sleep, when I drive, to help turn my brain away from perseverating about things over which I have no control.  The walk was good, but right at the end, when I was almost to my car, there was a phrase in my audio book that referred to the joy experienced when a mother looks at her newborn child, and I was back to being sad, almost crying.

When I got home I was sitting in my recliner, reading my book, almost falling asleep, when my dog made a strange sound, which stimulated an adrenaline release, which threw me into afib.  Not surprising that my heart acted up given what an emotional day it had been to that point.  A cool shower, and 15 minutes later I was back in normal sinus rhythm – thankful for such a short episode. 

Then the kicker for the day – our neighbors called at 5pm to tell us that they had to have their horse euthanized.  He had been sick with colic for almost four days, but appeared to be feeling better yesterday morning.  Then he very quickly deteriorated (probably twisted his gut – a generally fatal event for horses) and was in extreme agony.  They asked if my husband could help bury him.  I went over to be with the wife, while the two men took care of that sad task.  She was distraught – it was her favorite horse (they have two others) and they had him every day of his 26 years – they had brought him into the world since he was born to one of their mares.  It is also the horse that my husband learned to ride on last summer and fall, so he was definitely feeling the loss.  She and I had a very nice, sad two hours, talking about her horses, my grandson, our mothers, etc., etc., and had some good cries together.  When we got home I finished off the evening with another sobbing, sad cry in my husband’s arms. 

Today I feel better, it is one of those “not so bad” days, so I must have needed the sad, tear-filled day.  I’m sure there will be more….

Friends

One of my best friends came to visit us for a few hours yesterday.  She hasn’t been down here to see our home before, so it was a very pleasant event.  I have quite a few “acquaintances” but I don’t have many close girl friends (I can count them on one hand).  I’ve known the friend who came to visit yesterday for over 40 years.  We joke that we have to stay friends because we know too much embarrassing stuff about each other (haha).  We have also helped each other, been there for each other, through so many tough times we have lost count.  Yet we don’t see or talk to each other very often.  There were times over the past 40 years when we would only get together for a good visit once a year – and we worked in the same facility and lived only ~2 miles apart.  Life can get in the way when you are married with children (or child).  But when we would get together, we would catch up quickly, and it was as if we were never apart.  That’s the wonderful thing about good friends.

And then there have been friends who passed through my life but didn’t stay.  When I think back to why they didn’t stay in my life, it seems that those friends were there for a particular “point in time” or event, but we didn’t really have that much in common or have the same basic interests or values.  We would “click” for a while and then clash in some basic way.  Or there was a betrayal that we couldn’t or wouldn’t get past.  Or we really didn’t like each other’s spouse or significant other, which can make friendship difficult.  I can think fondly of them, for their contribution to that time of my life, but I don’t have any interest in trying to rekindle the friendship. 

Unfortunately, I don’t have any close girl friends down here - they are all more than 300 miles away, but only an email or phone call away.  There are women I like down here, and with whom I have some shared interests – but they are part of “couple” friends or acquaintances.  Given a chance and some nurturing one of them could be a close friend, but it seems that neither of us has the time right now.  Maybe we will, maybe we won’t.  

Rain, Snow, and Two Cars in the Mud

Yesterday morning we awoke to a pouring, pounding rain.  The storm arrived at ~3 am – I know that because it woke me up when it started, rain being blown so hard it sounded like rocks being thrown at the house. 

But we had a lost cell phone to pick up 70 miles away at the Walmart customer service desk.  The weather forecast said it wouldn’t start snowing until early evening, so my husband and I decided to make the drive and left about 9am.  On the way over we passed in and out of heavy rain and very light snow, but the drive was essentially fine.  We were only there for a half hour, or less, then headed back home.  What a difference an hour can make!  Within 20 miles we were in whiteout conditions, with 3 plus inches of heavy snow/slush on the road, and a heavy base coat of ice.  It was white knuckle time.  Luckily the traffic was light, with few cars on the road, but there were several times we started to slide, once or twice when cars were in the other lane.  My husband kept slowing down as the conditions worsened.  For the last 20 or so miles we rarely got up to 30mph.  We made it home, safe, but exhausted.  It kept snowing through the day and intermittently through the night and this morning, for a total accumulation of 6-8” of heavy wet snow.  Because of the heavy rains which preceded the snow, our famous clay mud was everywhere, including our dirt road, driveway, our neighbor’s easement road, etc.

This morning our neighbors were coming over at 10am for brunch and bridge.  We try to do that every week - to keep the old brains active, and to have a good time.  A little before 10 this morning they called to tell us they were stuck on their easement road.  The very same road that was washed out in one of our 3” rainstorms last summer, and which they had spent big money having fixed last Fall.  But it hadn’t been compacted enough to deal with this storm, so their wheels sank into the softened road base and couldn’t move.  My husband took his 4WD Explorer to rescue them.  10 minutes later I got a call from him (luckily we had picked up his cell phone) that he had slid off a soft shoulder into a ditch while attempting to turn his car around.  So I headed out in my little 4WD Escape, trying not to laugh too hard, and picked them all up at the intersection between our “main” dirt road and their easement road.  We had brunch and played bridge for a few hours, and then were ready to tackle the task of getting the cars unstuck.  We called another neighbor with a “vintage” 4WD Bronco, that has huge tires.  He also has a towing strap.  He was able to pull both cars out, but not without a little excitement as he almost got stuck on one section of the easement road. 

So that was our interesting day.  The only other excitement was my husband having to climb onto our roof to scrape the snow off our solar panels.  Next summer we hope to relocate them to ground level so we won’t have to ever do that again.

Looking for an Urn

I had a good phone conversation with my grieving children yesterday evening.  They both opened up somewhat about their feelings of loss, mostly likely related to receiving Liam’s ashes the day before.  The ashes make the nightmare of the past four weeks real – a reality shock that we wish we could erase. 

In the split second each time I awake during the night, between the haze of sleep and the reality of wakening, the last month hasn’t happened.  Then my brain clears, and it all comes back.  I endure this several times each night (I don’t sleep well) and every morning.  I wish I could hold onto the haze, hold onto what should have been.  But that never works – reality intrudes, sadness follows.  I remember a vivid dream during the first week after Liam died; in the dream we were a happy family with a healthy baby grandson, and then the dream tears started, and I was crying out over and over again, “this is the way it’s supposed to be, this is the way it’s supposed to be.”  I’m glad that dream was a one time event.

When I spoke with my children I asked if Liam’s ashes had come in an urn.  But they didn’t.  I asked if they were going to look for an urn, and on the previous night’s conversation it sounded like they would.  Last night it sounded like looking for an urn would be too overwhelming when added to the harsh reality of actually having his ashes.  I offered to look for the urn, they both seemed relieved to have someone else, someone they trust, take care of that task. 

I have now looked at what seems like 1000 different styles of infant/children cremation urns on line.  There were a few that I really liked, but I want to find the RIGHT one for my dear grandson, for my beautiful children.  We also called the local mortuary in our small town, but they would have to order one (luckily they don’t have much demand for small urns in this small town).  We asked them about local artisans, and they recommended a woodworker who has a shop about 20 miles north of here.  My husband worked on their computer about a year ago, so he knows the wife.  Next week we will take a trip up there to see if we can have a small wooden urn designed and made.  If that doesn’t pan out, there is a custom casket maker another 30 miles north who might be able to make an urn.  And then there is always the internet.

Up and Down, Tears and Smiles, and a lost phone

It started this morning with a “help wanted” ad in our local weekly newspaper – for a part time job with BLM.  I made a negative comment, then my husband made an incorrect comment about our finances, which I was quick to “correct.”  It went downhill from there.  He closes off when he is upset, so there he was, sitting at our dining room table, closed off.  I get upset when he closes off, so I went into my office and cried for a while.  Why can’t we grow up?  I calmed down, he kind of calmed down.

Anyway, we had decided yesterday, after a not so bad, but antsy day, that we would take a drive today to the closest Walmart – which is 70 miles away.  We woke up to heavy, threatening clouds this morning, so I thought the trip would probably be postponed.  But after the way the morning started, we decided to go.  We left about 10am and got back a little after 2pm.  The weather wasn’t too bad.  We passed through a few small squalls on the way, but none on our return.  

The bad news on our return is that my husband’s cell phone was missing.  Cell phones are all we have in our off-grid home.  It apparently fell off of his belt at some time during our trip.  When we were looking for his phone I tried calling his number.  Within a minute his phone called me back – it was the customer service rep at the Walmart, 70 miles away.   Guess what we get to do tomorrow, or some day soon?  Take another drive to pick up his phone.  Thank heavens for the honest person who turned in his phone.

Meanwhile, I am feeling a little down again now.  We were both in pretty good moods when we got home, but the nuisance of a lost phone pulled me down again.  That, and ashes….

My grieving children got Liam’s ashes yesterday, and that made me sad (and them sad).  They will find an urn this weekend.  That makes it all very real.  They still don’t have the autopsy report, which we all need for more closure.  Was there a cause or wasn’t there?  Darned health care systems and their stupid rules (and yes, I used to work for one).   They need it before my daughter in law’s doctor’s appointment in two weeks, so they can ask the right questions, and get good information.  Enough for now.

Cloudy, windy, and teary day

A storm front is coming through soon, so it is very windy, with big clouds racing across the sky.  It’s very uncomfortable to be outside – even though the temperature isn’t too cold, the wind makes it too chilly to want to walk. 

The weather matches my emotional state.  I’ve cried several times already today – once while driving up a canyon to see “my” bald eagles, and the other a long, desperate session a half hour after I got home from the drive.  I apparently needed the release, the cleansing action of tears today, and more than just a sad gentle cry. 

I keep being haunted by what should be happening at this time of this month in this year.  Liam’s due date was last Thursday.  I was planning to stay up in the city from just before his birth until 10 - 14 days after.  But instead, here I am, at home, no grandson, no joy, and lots of grief.   I’m trying to keep busy, but that isn’t working very well.  Thanks to the prednisone and its associated side effects, there is only so much I can do.  So I’m reading, listening to audio books, taking walks weather permitting, writing in my blog, but not much else.  Thanks to my heart being irritable I am hesitant to take long trips in my car (even though I drove ~700 miles last weekend).  My brain is still a bit fuzzy, so my Spanish lessons via rosetta stone aren’t working very well, and I’ve mostly stopped those for now.  I jammed the knuckle of my right hand index finger a week ago, and reinjured it yesterday, so playing my flute is out until it feels better.  Whine, whine, whine!!!!

I’m just feeling down today.  I do better on sunny days.  It’s going to be storming on and off for about a week, so I’d better get used to this.   

I will get better, feel better, it will just take some more time.  Time….

Out of the future and into the past

As I wrote on my previous email, I was in the city with my grieving children over the weekend, at which time we held a memorial service for Liam.  Yesterday while taking my daily walk on our dirt road, I realized that I had trouble seeing Liam in the present or future.  I could only see him in the past.  No more imagining walking along our road with his tiny hand in mine, pointing out the plants and animals and birds.  No more imagining holding him in my arms in our house as he falls asleep.  No more imagining putting him up on our neighbor’s horse for the first time.  He is now in my past – seeing him do gymnastics in my daughter in law’s abdomen, seeing my husband’s face of wonder the only time he has felt in utero movement, holding and rocking his dear empty body in the hospital after he was born, the joy of thinking of his future since June, but no longer able to keep him there, because that is not where he is.  He is in my heart, in my past.  I won’t forget you Liam, but I can no longer dream of things to be.  But I promise I won’t forget.

Liam's Memorial Service

Last Thursday I drove up to the city to be with my grieving children on the day that would have been Liam’s due date.  I stayed until early Sunday morning.  We had very “nice” visits, and “nice” talks on Thursday evening at dinner and later at their apartment, and the same Friday night.  On Saturday I spent most of the day with them, shopping, watching a downloaded movie, having burgers for lunch and sushi for dinner.  We talked a lot about Liam, but we never broached the nitty gritty grief mode.  Although my daughter in law and I had a good “talk and listen” about losing a child on Thursday night, it was as if the three of us were skirting around anything that would bring tears, that would break through the protective walls we had built around our grief.  They had to turn off the raw intense pain so they could function, so they wouldn’t fall apart.  I turned off mine so I would be able to get up there and function.  But I wasn’t too concerned about skirting the issue, because this was all building up to the memorial service, which I suggested/initiated, that we had on Saturday after dinner.  I knew that would break through the walls, release the built up pressure, and let the grief flow.  And it certainly did.

In the week prior to traveling up there, I searched online for songs and poems that would be appropriate for a memorial service for our beautiful child.  The only song that I felt was appropriate (and boy is it ever appropriate) was Still by Gerrit Hofsink.  The lyrics are amazing, the music and singer are perfect.  It pulls the tears right out of your heart.  And then I found a poem by Cynthia Kelly ("My grief is like a river") that was also perfect, if I would be able to read it through my tears.  I brought my ancient copy of The Prophet by Gibhran, planning to read a few passages.  I also brought the healing pouch I had made for them, some crystals and rocks, candles, a few potholders that had Navajo rug designs, and a sage smudge stick to cleanse us.  I knew my son would also add some crystals and rocks to the mix.

To set the scene, we cleaned off their coffee table and set it up with the rocks, crystals, candles, etc., lit the candles, turned off the lights, turned on the song (Still).  Within the first few lines of the song my daughter in law began to cry, keeping me company in my sobs.  When the song was over, I read the poem, and read from The Prophet, my voice breaking frequently, almost not able to make it through.  Then I said a few words, I don’t even remember what they were, and my son did the same.  Meanwhile my beautiful daughter in law was still sobbing, and sobbing, and sobbing.  She obviously needed a release and the beauty of the music, candles, crystals, rocks, and verses brought it out.  We ended up standing, hugging her to me, rocking her as a mother rocks a hurting child, (or as a mother in law hugs a grief stricken daughter) as her tears soaked through my shirt.  I tried to send every bit of strength I had through to her – my son hugged both of us for a while, then got out his guitar and played some of his beautiful music, as I continued to hold and rock his crying wife.  That lasted for a long time.  Then we sat on the couch for a while, as my son held her and we both held her hand as tight as we could, as we both rocked and comforted her and each other, not saying a word.  Then we used the smudge stick and smudged each other with the healing sage smoke.  After that we sat on the couch again, holding each other; she was then able to say a few loving words to Liam.  We just sat and looked at the candles, crystals, etc., on the coffee table until we were able to function, blow out the candles, turn on the lights, and join the world again.  It was beautiful, and a fitting honor to a beautiful child who wasn’t able to join us in this world.

I’m sitting here at my computer sobbing yet again, but that is ok, it will help me reach resolution of my profound grief, some day....

Every bit of my love goes out to you my dear children and I hope that the memorial for Liam was able to help release some of the pain and ease you through your grieving process just a tiny bit. 

And maybe this blog entry will be able to help someone else who is experiencing the same pain.

Prednisone plus grieving equals afib

If you have read my previous prednisone posts, you are aware that I’ve had many problems with prednisone, including extreme weakness and vertigo when on high doses, high blood pressure, high blood sugar, and an “irritable” heart resulting in an increase in breakthrough atrial fibrillation episodes.  Most were dealt with and/or resolved with lower dosages of prednisone.  However, add grieving for my dead grandson and a “broken” emotional heart, and the afib became a real problem.

After we got back from our emergency trip to the city to be with my son and daughter-in-law for the stillbirth of their son Liam, I starting having afib episodes almost daily.  They would last anywhere from 1 to 9 hours, at which point I would (thankfully) spontaneously convert to normal sinus rhythm.  I had already been having problems with an irritable heart and increased afib, just from the prednisone.  We had increased my flecainide dose and changed the timing from every 12 to every 8 hours, which seemed to be working fairly well for the month that I was on it.  I was also slowly tapering my prednisone dose, aiming for 10mg a day (although I’m still not there and probably won’t be for a while). 

But the higher amount and closer doses couldn’t compete with the broken heart.  My doctor even said that, stating “we can’t fix your broken heart until your broken heart starts to heal…”  But, we increased the dosage yet again, to a bit more than the standard recommended level, and put that increase in the middle of the day – since most of my afib episodes were happening at the “trough” (lowest) level at the end of the day (10pm) where the cumulative stress of the day must have been hardest on my broken heart.  We’re hoping that the trough level at 10pm will be a bit higher and will be able to keep the afib at bay. 

The first 3 days of the new dosage were a bust.  I panicked and tried to get into see my doc to talk about a different anti-afib medication.  Luckily I couldn’t see him for a week, which gave me a chance to calm down, and for the medication to start to work (it can take 3-5 days to adjust itself).  I cancelled that appointment today.  I’ve had two episodes since last Monday, one lasted about a minute, the other only a few seconds.  Very fast conversion to normal sinus rhythm usually indicates that the medication is working pretty well, although not perfectly.  Perfection isn’t even an option right now – “pretty well” seems awfully good to me. 

This week I travel to the city to visit with my grieving kids for a few days.  That will undoubtedly put additional stressors on my broken heart, but I will get through it.

Stillbirth – NO blaming, NO guilt, NO failure

One of the first things my beautiful daughter-in-law said to my son (and to my friend, and to me) when she found out her baby had died, was “I feel like a failure.”  This beautiful young woman who did everything right, both before and during her pregnancy, to ensure a good outcome – and she feels like a failure…  What can be said to her to let her know she isn’t a failure?  There wasn’t anything she could have done to save Liam, and there wasn’t anything she did that led to his death.  It just happened.  She is such a success – she has now endured one of the most painful emotional injuries possible – the loss of a child.  And she will survive.  It will take a long time, it won’t be the slightest bit easy, it will be rocky, there will be ups and downs, but she will survive.  

Fortunately we don’t see any blaming or placing of guilt in their relationship, by each other or by other family members.  Family and friends and be supportive, and they can be so cruel and stupid.  We are lucky.  Her only potential threat (for placing blame or guilt) is her mother – who has been instructed to not have any contact at all (and she better listen!!).  

So next time you are offering your “words of wisdom” to a woman who has miscarried or had a stillbirth, pay attention to what you say.  Don’t try to find causes that could place blame, don’t try to make her feel guilty (even inadvertently), and don’t let her feel like a failure.  And don’t ask her when she will try to have another child.  You can’t replace the dead child with another child – and it is disrespectful to ignorantly suggest that.  Just say “I’m so sorry; I’m told there is no greater loss than losing a child.  Let me know if there is anything I can do to help.”  Then shut up

The Dream Before

Here’s the dream:

One of my best friends is giving birth.  Pretty strange, I think in my dream, because my best friend has had a hysterectomy, and it should have been my daughter-in-law giving birth since she is almost 37 weeks pregnant. 

Jump without transition to the next scene, as dreams do.  I am holding the baby walking in the hallway of the hospital.  He is now definitely my grandson, not my friend’s baby.  He isn’t wrapped in a baby blanket, his chest is naked, which is unusual, and although he is small he seems to be much more mature than a newborn, holding his head upright.  He is making baby noises, but I hear them in my head as English.  I even say to those around me (who are nebulous dream people, not recognized) “can you hear it?  He is making baby noises but it is coming through as English?”  I wish I remember what he was saying… Quickly the baby becomes very restless, and tries to pull from my arms – upward towards the ceiling, towards the sky.  I’m afraid I will drop him and try to hold on, but can’t.  Then I remember what he is saying “I have to go, I have to go, I can’t stay.”  Then he pulls away/disappears – sudden and unclear, as is typical in dreams.

I wake up gasping but not upset, thinking what a strange, strange dream.  It was about 3am when I awoke.  I got back to sleep, but the dream stayed with me, not the usual fade away of strange dreams.

It was late that afternoon of the dream that my daughter-in-law called to say she had felt no movement all day, that there was no heartbeat when they got to the hospital, that our beloved infant had died. 

I strongly believe that he died around 3am, that he came to tell me he had to go.  I wish he could have told me why he had to go, but I guess that is asking for too much.

During the pregnancy, I also strongly believe that he “visited” me several times – really freaking me out the first two times.  The first was when he was at the “tadpole” stage.  It was almost morning, and I felt half asleep, half awake.  Suddenly there was a vision, for lack of a better word, of a somewhat round, strange looking thing, almost like a balloon, with a small tadpole-like thing floating inside close to one edge.  I had the feeling of “I’m here.”  Then I awoke with a start.  I thought about it, and then googled what a fetus would look like at my daughter-in-law’s gestation stage.  Exactly what I saw.

Four weeks later it happened again, but this time I was taking an afternoon nap on my recliner in the living room.  Again, a vision, this time an “alien” looking creature with a big head, small body, arms and legs.  Again, a feeling of “I’m here, I’m ok.”  Again, startled awake, and googling what it (didn’t know gender then) would look like at the gestational stage.  Again, exactly what I saw.

This happened one or two more times, but then I was put on prednisone and my brain was cut off from everything, including myself.  No more visions, until the last.

Do I believe I had communication with my grandchild while he was gestating?  Yes.  Does it make what happened, e.g., his death, any easier?  No, but perhaps a bit of comfort, particularly from the final contact.   I really think he came to say goodbye.  I wish I had realized it at the time and been able to pay more attention.

Many who read this will think I’m crazy, but there is so much we don’t know about our minds and our world.  Is this so very different from believing in a supreme being?  I guess I’ll never know….

Stillbirth - Nature's Cruelest Act

It’s been two weeks since the birth of my first grandchild, my grandson Liam, to my only child and his wife.  But instead of the joyous occasion we had anticipated for the past 8 months, it was a family and personal tragedy for all.  Liam died, in utero, at slightly less than 37 weeks gestation.   After a perfectly normal pregnancy he died.  After being active and healthy, up until the day before the activity inexplicably stopped.  He died.  HE DIED.  WHY??

What a cruel joke.  Not only is your child (or grandchild), who you have loved and nurtured with your body, who you have felt do fetal gymnastics, who you have laughed at as he hiccoughed inside you, who you have built decades of dreams onto (fairly or unfairly) dead, he now has to be expelled by the act of giving birth – not a miracle anymore.  What should have been a miracle is a painful, chemically driven, act.  You don’t get to see the first breath, hear the first cry, feel the first sucking on your swollen, ready breasts.  You do get to see the lifeless beauty that was your child/grandchild.  You get to hold him – and reflexively you rock him to comfort him.  But that is comfort for us not for him. You whisper to him how beautiful he is, and how you wish you could have met him.  Waiting, wishing, for his eyes to open, for him to say “it’s all a bad dream, I’m really alive, I’m really here.”  But that doesn’t happen, and you cry and you grieve and your heart breaks, as you look upon this beautiful, but dead, child’s angelic face.   

We took pictures, and professional pictures were taken, and hand and feet molds were taken, and his ashes will be given to my son and daughter-in-law in a week or so -  this beautiful child will not be forgotten.  Just because we never saw him breathe, or cry, or run, or hug, doesn’t mean he wasn’t very alive to us. 

I still became a grandmother – but my grandchild died.  I didn’t know I could cry this much.  I’m going through the stages of grief not just for myself, but for my grieving children.  As a mother I want to “fix it” for them – so in some ways it is double grieving.  There is nothing that can fix this, not even time.  Time will make the pain more tolerable.  Time will take this event from the center of our world to the periphery, so we can function and go on.  But time doesn’t make it go away – there is no bandaid for this.  Another child, sometime in the future, will help to push that pain to the periphery, but another child won’t, can’t, replace Liam.  Another child will bring the joy, and pain, of childrearing.  Joy and pain we won’t ever get to have with Liam. 

This raw pain will ease, I know it will, it has to.  But meanwhile I cry, and grieve, and finally was able to write in my blog, sobbing the whole time.  I sincerely hope that no one out there who reads this ever has to personally experience this pain.

My grandson just died; my heart is broken

This early evening (I guess it is yesterday now) I got a call from my darling daughter-in-law, who is almost 37 weeks pregnant.  They were on their way home from work, and she said that Liam, my still in-utero grandson had greatly decreased activity yesterday and she “hardly felt him at all” today.  She also had a little bit a spotting, but that had stopped.   I told them to get to the labor and delivery intake room ASAP to be checked out, while my heart sank – knowing that decreased or no activity was a very bad sign.  An hour later my son called to say “there was no heartbeat.”  They are now inducing her, to give birth to her stillborn son, my stillborn grandson.  My husband and I will head up there (300 miles) in the motor home early tomorrow morning.  My ex-husband is with them, as is one of my best, very caring and spiritual friends, who works at a children’s hospital (my surrogate until I can get there).  

My poor sweet children.  What an incredible loss.  That child was a real as any already born child.  The hopes and dreams that will never be realized....  You never get over the loss of a child, but learn to live with it, somehow.  My devastation must be put on the back burner until I can help them through the next few days, just by being there, letting them know they are loved and supported.

They need to pull together through this disaster.  No blaming – there is no blame for something like this.  By the time the movement stopped he was already dead.  She took good care of herself, her health, always careful of what she was exposed to, what she ate, etc.  There is NO BLAME for this tragedy. 

I’m not religious, I don’t believe in any traditional god, but I am spiritual.  Eventually I’ll write about the dream I had last night – I completely believe that Liam came to me and said goodbye.  I completely believe that Liam is with his great grandmother and she is taking care of him and comforting him, and telling him stories about his father when he was young and she loved and took care of him (until her death when my son was 8).   

I am devastated, we are devastated.  Your kind thoughts will be appreciated.