XO, Isabel

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Archives for September 2013

Inspired by Haiku

September 27, 20133 Comments

I sift through this process of grieving and balancing living the new normal. There are plenty of topics to cover about the subject of infertility, miscarriage and baby loss. I have organized my thoughts and created calendars and made notes of what I’ll write next.

Today, I decided to simply take a mental break from the brainstorming of my daily work routine. I took to writing haikus. Actually, I was inspired by my mother-in-law. She just began to share some of her poetry, the first two being haikus. I’m no poet, certainly not, but I liked the idea of creating a haiku. I adhered to only the simple rules of syllables, as one would with a haiku. The rules of 5, 7, 5. Five syllables. Seven syllables. Five again to end. I embraced this challenge. Although I could be free to write what I chose, there is a set of rules, boundaries. They’re short. There was no excuse.

Today, I wrote three.

XO, Isabel - Haiku - Loud Expecations

XO, Isabel - Haiku - F. Demise

XO, Isabel - Haiku - Hope

 

These, of course, are about my experiences. The last, about hope.

Because, as Emily Dickinson says, “‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers” and oh how right she is.

xo-isabel-hope-is-the-thing-with-feathers

XO, Isabel

P.S. All images, photography and writings in this post & blog are of my own creation (unless noted). Please do not modify in any way. Thank you! 🙂

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Filed Under: Daily, My Work, Quotes & Images Tagged: haiku, poetry

RESOLVE Walk of Hope 2013, Northern California

September 22, 2013Leave a Comment

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On Saturday, September 21, 2013 a group of our friends and family joined us on Team XO for RESOLVE.org’s inaugural Walk of Hope. There were a few across the country, and we attended the one in Sacramento, CA (Northern California).

Together, our team ranked #4 raising just over $1,300. One of our team members was ranked #2 overall in the Top Participants category. GO Team XO!

Team XO

Each person that walked on Team XO has experienced or is directly connected to someone that has experienced infertility. It was nice to have this support while we all joined together. The walk’s message was simple: No one with infertility should walk alone.

And, it seems simple. Yet, it can be a very agonizing battle between being able to open up and share or simply hiding away in privacy. I mean, everyone talks about pregnancy, childbirth and babies. We don’t talk about HOW babies are made. Well, except for those awkward conversations you might remember with your own parents, or dread having to have with your own children. Or, from that permission slip you had to send home to your parents so that you could go to school later that week to learn about puberty AND how babies are made.  But, in our adult worlds and conversations, we don’t often talk about how babies are made. Frankly, not many of our friends need to know about our intimate moments. How, then, do you bring up the topic of infertility? When all your intimate moments lead to negative pregnancy tests? When all that baby dancing leads to tears when your period shows up? No, we don’t talk about that. When someone achieves pregnancy, one of our first questions isn’t “how long did that take you!?” No. We just assume that the baby was made the old-fashioned way. After only trying once. Just like how we’d like to imagine our parents with regards to our own conceptions.

That’s just not the case for the 1 in 8 couples that are dealing with infertility. It’s simply not the case. More and more men and women are sharing their stories. It’s easier now with the help of blogs, Twitter feeds, Facebook and now even Pinterest. Oh, and you can share and still maintain anonymity. How much easier is that? As more and more are opening up about their family-building journeys their openness is allowing us to learn a lot about the emotional and physical toll that infertility takes for those affected men and women and the friends and family that love and support them. Yet, there are still so many that suffer alone. That cry alone. That swing between a myriad of emotions about their own fertility. Some have to weigh their pain over others that they know. Some negotiate with their emotions, that they should be satisfied with already having a child or two and for feeling as though they are selfish for wanting more children. There are so many different scenarios and ways to cope and just “deal” and I think you get the point. No one with infertility should walk alone.

If you’re someone that feels like you’re walking alone; you’re not. If you’re not ready to share your story with the world, try sharing it with someone you trust. To unburden yourself with your secret, you will lift a mountain off of your shoulders. Chances are that the person you share with knows someone that has experienced infertility. Chances are it’s her (or him). I mean, it’s 1 in 8. That’s almost a game of Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon (okay, okay, fine, Six Degrees of Separation).

How you choose to unburden yourself is up to you. Try it, though. You’ll be surprised at the support that is available to you. Maybe it’s your best friend. Or, maybe it’s more official, like a therapist or a coach or a member of the clergy. The point is, infertility hurts. Staying silent can hurt you, too. Feeling alone can make you feel worse about your situation and you shouldn’t feel alone.

Here are just some ideas to break the silence or to begin to unburden yourself about infertility:

– Talk to your partner, perhaps both of you need something from each other
– Start a personal diary or journal, art journals are great, too
– Write a blog. Don’t feel like telling the world who you are? Do it anonymously
– Talk to a friend or family member that you trust
– Reach out to a stranger! No, really! Have you read a blog about someone that is sharing a story similar to yours? Reach out to him or her
– Look for a counselor or life coach
– Look for support groups, there are many available in your local areas and tons of them online
– Create an anonymous Twitter account and tweet your heart out
– Create a private board on Pinterest and share all the images that mean something to you
– Join some private groups on Facebook or create your own and invite a few close friends to support you through this
– Create art (I prefer photography and mixed media)

Have any other ideas? Share them.

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Filed Under: Advocate, Infertility, Resources Tagged: hope, infertility awareness, resources, talk about infertility

Making peace with the answers

September 20, 20134 Comments

We were waiting on one final piece to close out testing for Leo, and that’s the pathology on the placenta.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t much they could tell us, as when there is a fetal demise (your baby has died), nature begins to take course. That means that my placenta had already begun to disintegrate and there wasn’t much they could do with it. They didn’t note anything significant in the pathology and therefore it means we won’t know with 100% certainty what caused Leo’s death. We knew that all along, and in most cases, you don’t always have 100% certainty to explain a miscarriage. There are other things that we suspect happened, for now, they’re all just theoretical.

I’m okay with that. I’m at peace with that.

I had been preparing myself for a while as to what my response would be, given the many outcomes that the test results would provide. They ranged from relief, anger, guilt and back to relief.

I feel relieved. For whatever reason, I feel that Leo is at rest. He was loved for every moment of his life. He never knew anything more than the comfort of that.

I feel relief because, although we only know a small part of the puzzle, it was enough to know that things turned out for the best. I feel some sense of guilt even saying that, but I feel that way in my heart. He had a rough little start, the odds were never in his favor. Part of that is my fault, and most of it is not. I say that it’s my fault, only because I know I could have been in better health at the time of conception. I have to stop playing the game of What-If’s and that’s what I plan to do. I’ve stopped blaming myself for feeling like I failed him and failed myself. I did my best. I did more than my best. I forgive myself for feeling like I was partly to blame. I forgive myself.

I know better now and my life, instead of being filled with despair, is filled with hope. This is what I’m choosing to do and it brings me great happiness to choose hope over despair. My having Leo and losing Leo has left an imprint on my heart and I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Leo lived. Leo died. Leo is my baby and as long as I’m living, my baby he’ll be.

XO, Isabel

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Filed Under: Leo, Miscarriage, Procedures Tagged: closure, hope, leo, pathology, results, tests

YY Syndrome (47,XYY)

September 19, 20133 Comments

A couple of things happened today. I received my new license from the DMV. I received Leo’s genetic testing results. Two more items to mark off my CLOSURE LIST.

I received the call from the Genetic Counselor letting us know that they had received the results from Leo’s chromosome microarray testing. This test was done to determine whether or not Leo had Down Syndrome (I had screened positive in the second trimester) or any other type of chromosomal abnormality that could have caused his death. Since he was no longer alive and neither was his tissue, Amniocentesis would not have worked.

The results indicated that Leo had 47,XYY Syndrome or Jacob’s Syndrome.

XYY

What does this mean? The normal karyotype of a human contains 46 chromosomes in each cell. Then, each person inherits chromosomes that determine his or her sex. 46,XX is normal female and 46,XY is normal male. The X chromosome is passed on by the mother (ovum or egg) and the Y chromosome is passed on by the father (sperm).

In Leo’s case, he had an extra Y sex chromosome and therefore had a karyotype 47,XYY. This was a fluke and the risk of it happening again is the same as it would be with any pregnancy. It is said that 1 in 1,000 (0.1%) male births are 47,XYY.

Our Genetic Counselor explained that this type of test result does not usually end in miscarriage, unlike many other types of chromosomal abnormalities. Most men with YY Syndrome only have some minor physical differences, mainly being taller than average and typically thin. They can also have other types of differences, such as weaker muscles and bones. Some men may experience fertility issues, but otherwise have normal sexual development.

She also explained that it could also cause learning disabilities or speech problems.

Yet, from all the research I’ve done, it still doesn’t explain why Leo died.

Since my Inhibin-A level was elevated during the second trimester screening, it is more than likely that the culprit is a placental one. I’ll be following up regarding the placenta pathology test results tomorrow.

Isn’t it funny that Leo ended up with something called YY Syndrome?  This loss will always have me asking WHY?

Either way, even this little bit of the puzzle has brought me some peace. I am hoping to continue to find answers so that I can continue to build onto the hope that I hold on to so dearly.

Hope.

XO, Isabel

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Filed Under: Leo, Procedures Tagged: 47XYY, genetic testing, genetics, hope, jacob's syndrome, microarray dna, YY syndrome

My first day back to work

September 16, 20131 Comment

My routine had been disrupted. Well, life had been disrupted.

Today I resumed the routine of getting up early, ready and out the door for work. It was my first day back to the office after being out for about a month on leave. I wasn’t sure how the day would go, I was nervous in anticipating awkwardness and having to say the words–“we lost the baby.”

On the train ride, I was finding myself typically observant, but my eyes filled with tears most of the ride there. Again, anticipating.

I got a couple of hugs saying that they were glad to have me back. I quickly absorbed myself with the mundane. Checking email. Responding to email. Sharing laughs with my cubicle mate. Nobody asked me what happened. Nobody said they were sorry. They just were glad to see that I was back. I was thankful for that.

So, in the end, it was like ripping off a band-aid. The hard part is over.

I am most thankful to my boss. He helped spread the word prior to my return, as I asked him to do. They were very respectful of my privacy, so nobody really knew why I was out. To him, I’m incredibly thankful. It made today a little less awkward.

I end the day with great relief. A nice long day. A good day.

XO, Isabel

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Filed Under: Daily Tagged: work

Little Lion, it’s been one month

September 14, 20135 Comments

Leo, it’s been one month since you left my body, the only home you ever knew. I don’t have the words to tell you what the past month has been like or what the past several months have been like, since I found out I was pregnant with you in early May. You are one of the best things that has happened to me and losing you, one of the worst. For however brief a moment in time, I’m glad I was your mom.

I have a picture story, instead.

This is the positive pregnancy test. I'm amazed the photo is in focus, since my hands were shaking so much.

This is the positive pregnancy test. I’m amazed the photo is in focus, since my hands were shaking so much.

 

The day after finding out I was pregnant, I had to visit the Emergency Room for some tests and to ensure everything was okay. It was scary, but, It was worth it so that we both would be okay.

The day after finding out I was pregnant, I had to visit the Emergency Room for some tests and to ensure everything was okay. It was scary, but, It was worth it so that we both would be okay.

 

My medical team took great care of me. They wanted to take every precaution to ensure I was as healthy as I could be. They wanted to check my beating heart for 24-hours. I would do anything for you.

My medical team took great care of me. They wanted to take every precaution to ensure I was as healthy as I could be. They wanted to check my beating heart for 24-hours. I would do anything for you.


Your dad snuck a video of the first time we saw the flicker of your beating heart.

And then we got to watch you grow! Here, we called you a little alien, because you looked like one.

And then we got to watch you grow! Here, we called you a little alien, because you looked like one.

 

And here you grew even more! Now we could see your bones and we started calling you, lovingly, Skeletor. You even waved hello!

And here you grew even more! Now we could see your bones and we started calling you, lovingly, Skeletor. You even waved hello!

xo-isabel_blog--11 xo-isabel_blog--13 xo-isabel_blog--14 xo-isabel_blog--12

And then my belly began to grow! I even felt your flutters, like butterfly kisses from within.

xo-isabel_blog--7 xo-isabel_blog--6 xo-isabel_blog--8And then, because your mama is not very patient, we went in to go get an elective ultrasound to find out if you were a boy or girl … and you showed us, oh boy! We just didn’t know that it would be the last time we’d see you alive and moving. We just didn’t know, baby boy. Or we would have looked at you longer. We were so excited to be having a son. A girl would have been just as great, and a first on your dad’s side, but I couldn’t be happier to be having a little son. I was finally allowing myself to dream a little. We window-shopped for baby boy clothes. And started thinking about baby shower ideas with your Tia.

xo-isabel_blog--9

This was my last “bump” photo with you. It was my birthday. I was 18 weeks pregnant. I was happy to see my belly grow. Little did I know you were already gone. At dinner that night, the waitress brought me a creme brûlée dessert with a lit candle. I made a wish that you would be safe and healthy. That we would get through this and that I would do anything for you. Sadly, Leo, my wish didn’t come true. I worked so hard to keep you, Leo. I did, I promise.

xo-isabel_blog--15 xo-isabel_blog--17 xo-isabel_blog--20 xo-isabel_blog--21 xo-isabel_blog--22

And then, on that dreadful Monday, we saw your body lying still. We heard no heartbeat, but only the movement from happiness to sorrow at the knowing of having lost you. Maybe one day we’ll have more children, but I’ll always miss you, Leo. I’ll miss the little future that I had hoped for you, for us. And you see, that’s what I mourn. I don’t mourn that I won’t be able to have children, because I know I have options. I mourn losing YOU. You are my son and you died. I can’t change that, I can’t turn back time and bring you back. But, I can tell you how much you meant to us. To me. You were wanted. You are loved. You are missed, and your spark will live with me forever. You will always be my Little Lion.

rainbow-lion_lucy-ann-moore_illustration

I love you.

XO,  Mom

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Filed Under: Leo, Miscarriage Tagged: August 14 2013, grief, leo, little lion, loss, Photos

Guest post: My Friend, Isabel

September 14, 20134 Comments

A few years ago, I met my friend Stephanie. We became fast friends and I am thankful to have her friendship and love. When Leo died and I began to write about this experience, I had asked her if she would consider writing a post for my blog. She is a writer, so it seemed like a natural idea. She had already started writing it.

She sent it to me about a week after Leo died, but it hadn’t felt like the right time to post it. I thought today would be the perfect day, since it has been one month since my son left my body. I’ve decided that today will be the anniversary of his “birth” and also the anniversary of his death. August 14, 2013. The day we found out he died, August 12, 2013 now belongs to someone else. Adopting August 14th feels better.

I wanted to share her perspective as my friend, one of many that has been by my side every single day and has had to experience her own emotions during this time.

XO,  Isabel

Isabel & Stephanie

Isabel & Stephanie

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

My Friend, Isabel

I’m sitting with my son and we are watching the original Dumbo. In the opening scene, animals at the zoo receive gifts from storks in the night. My son says “Moon.” When he sees the storks, he says, “Bird-teet, teet.”  As all the animals receive their babies, he says “Baby…Mama.” Then the elephant looks into the sky for her baby. It never arrives. My son says “Where’d it go?”

I burst into tears.

A week ago today, my best friend lost her baby boy. She was just shy of five months pregnant. His name was Leo, and he existed. He was loved.

“Straight from heaven, up above, here is a baby boy for you to love,” says the stork. I can barely keep it together. My son is squealing and I try to smile but I cry because he will never know Leo, and my friend and I had just started to make plans for these boys. We hadn’t done that for 16 weeks. We were cautious. We thought she was past the point of miscarriage. We were wrong.

Isabel and I met in 2008 at work. I had been a temp there for a few months when she was hired. We were put into the same orientation class together and coincidentally sat next to each other. Within the first few words, I was drawn to her on a spiritual level. I don’t know why, but there was energy there.

During our lunch break, Isabel left and I went back to my desk. Everyone wanted to know about the “new girl.”  I happily announced to my co-workers “Her name is Isabel and I love her. We are going to be best friends. You’ll all love her too.”

And there it was.

Isabel joined our team and we became fast friends and everyone loved her. For the next three years, we shared lunch and lots of talks. Our life stories, secrets, love for Coldplay, new realizations, religious beliefs and disbeliefs. I went to her wedding; she came to my family BBQ and my house for New Years Eve.  We had so much in common, including infertility.

Her struggle is a deep, long battle between her body and science. She suffered miscarriages and had undergone several rounds of various treatments before meeting me, all were unsuccessful. I myself had struggled with secondary infertility after having one child and trying for ten years for another. When I met Isabel, I was at the end of my hope.

We both have family members who seemed to get pregnant with apparent ease and with each pregnancy, we would console one another. Not because we weren’t happy for our family member, but because the sting of not being pregnant, the thought of attending another baby shower, the pain of watching others’ create families and grow children—that pain that we may never, ever feel that, is too hard to describe. Infertility is a constant reminder that our bodies didn’t work.

My struggle was emotionally tough, but not nearly as tough as hers. I always felt guilty because hey, “at least I had one,” but that wasn’t enough for me. I never really had anyone talk about or addresses secondary infertility. But Isabel did. One particular dark day for me, I explained my guiltiness to her. She said I had nothing to feel guilty about and that she totally understood the frustration that comes from “wanting our bodies to do the one natural thing they were made to do.” We felt broken. Even though I had a daughter, there was void and Isabel helped me realize that it was ok to be sad.

In 2011, I got pregnant. I couldn’t believe it. I drove to her house and told her face-to-face. She deserved that. And she was happy for me. I know she was. I was sad, guilt-ridden, happy and vulnerable. I love my friend and as much as I wanted this pregnancy – I wanted it for her first. Early on, we had difficult conversations about my feelings that our friendship would change. The fact that we discussed these thoughts together created a boundary that helped us get through the following nine months, and maintain a close friendship to this day.

I had my baby, and she was there for me. She took his photos as a newborn and again at six months. We talked candidly about my guilt. She reassured me, but didn’t minimize her sadness. This is one of the things I love about my friend. She will not minimize her suffering. It is real. She will simply converse and explain that today isn’t a good day, etc. and I completely, totally respect that.

A few months ago, she texted me a photo. It took a while to download on my phone and I remember being frustrated with my phone … and then there it was. A positive pregnancy stick. I lost my shit. She was pregnant!!  BUT, I knew better than to celebrate my friend, for her track record isn’t the most positive. So I called her and tried to hide my excitement. I couldn’t.  As soon as I heard her voice, almost immediately, I felt something different. The past year, she had done SO much work to get healthier, be more active, and evolve mentally and emotionally. In my heart, I felt that this was it—this was her time. She was more cautious than I, but I know part of her felt the same.

For the next few weeks, our conversations were timid. At times, our words walked on eggshells. With each week that passed, we just wanted to get to week EIGHT – Then TWLEVE—then THIRTEEN—and then FIFTEEN. Yes, we were encouraged that the rates of miscarriage significantly decrease after these monumental weeks. I cried happy tears when she heard the heartbeat. I saved the ultrasound picture. I bragged to mutual acquaintances. I cried when I saw her announcement on Facebook. Then, she found out the gender, a boy. And the tears poured again. My friend would be a mother!  Our boys would be buddies.

“So how’d you guys meet?”
–“Our moms are best friends, we grew up knowing each other our whole lives.”

Isabel is family to me. My family loves her. And her husband is my husband’s buddy. And our boys would be lifetime friends. Cautiously, we let ourselves dream a little. I was SO HAPPY for my friend and her hubby, at times I couldn’t resist the urge to text her my dreams….she was 16 weeks—way past 13, things were moving along just right.

One night last week, she posted a photo of her belly. She doesn’t do that often and I took it to my husband. He said “WOW, she’s showing! I’m so happy for them.” And we were. But the next day, I received the news. Leo had gone still. Sometime in the past few days, his little heart stopped beating.

When I found out, I was in my car.  I burst into inconsolable tears, and sat on the side of the road for a few minutes.

What do I say?  What do I do? Why her? I cursed God. I wanted to hug my friend. I wanted to hack into her Facebook account and just delete it. Her most recent photo was of her growing baby and the one before, the gender announcement.  I wanted to drive to her home….I wanted to make this go away for her.

NOT HER. NO.

I wanted to protect her. I wanted to comfort her. All of these things came to mind within 30 seconds. But I could do nothing.

I eventually got back on the road and I ugly cried all the way home and for the next three days, I cried.

What do you do when your someone you adore experiences this type of loss? What do you say?

I Googled what to say and found a great list of things to avoid:

http://moms.popsugar.com/10-Things-Say-Say-After-Miscarriage-27333906

It helped.

So I simply said “I don’t know what to say. But I love you.”

For the next three days, my friend had to carry her deceased baby in her tummy. My spirit was with her. I was consistently trying to put myself in her shoes. I would have shared the burden if I could. But I couldn’t do much. It gave me comfort knowing that her husband was by her side, but my heart broke for him as well. He’s such a softy.

For three days, I just checked in with her. I never once asked ”How are you doing?” Not in the beginning and not during that first week because if you even try to imagine her loss – you would know, she was NOT ok.

As much as I wasn’t prepared for her loss, I was oblivious to the horrific details of what a mother goes through in those 72 hours. Induction or D&E? Cremation or discard as medical waste? Instead of picking out a going-home outfit, my sweet friend and her husband picked out a crimson heart urn.

I tried to stay strong, but I couldn’t. When your close friend is in so much pain, and there is nothing you can do, you feel so helpless.

“What can I do?” I asked her. I know it’s on the no-no list of things to ask. But we live pretty far apart and she didn’t want me to come see her yet. She said just knowing I was here was enough. But it’s not to me.

I spent countless time reading people’s condolences on her Facebook account. Most were genuine and thoughtful, but some, “it’s God’s will” – “God is preparing you for something great” — these messages drove me INSANE.

I have advice for people who don’t know what to say—JUST FUCKING SAY THAT— “Isabel & Randy, I don’t know what to say. But I am thinking of you. I care.” THAT is enough. When you take the GOD’S WILL route, you exasperate the unanswered WHYs—questions that will never, ever be answered and it’s not enough to say it was up to GOD. Because if GOD knew my friend the way I do, she would be a mom to her own child. So, don’t.even.go.there.

A week has passed since my friend suffered this unimaginable loss and trauma to her body that no one talks about. Unsurprisingly, she has already started a blog and joined a group to bring awareness to miscarriages, stillbirth, loss, and grieving parents. This process of losing a child in utero is one that no one talks about enough. Women aren’t encouraged to grieve. They don’t know their choices in the hospital. They don’t know the questions to ask. This is going to change. Isabel will help change that, the world, you watch. Isabel is going to be heard. Leo was a lion, and even if he isn’t coming back, you’re going to hear him roar through his mama and I’m going to be there for her forever.

I still cry for my friend. I do pray. But most importantly, I am just letting her know that I am here. I am available. I check in with her daily. I will listen when she wants to talk. I don’t have advice per se, but I will do my best to honor my friend through this process and into the future. And through our most intimate conversations, I do not judge her decisions or feelings, I will not ask her how she’s doing, and I will never tell her what to do. I will never know what she’s gone through and I won’t pretend to. I am a friend, and my friend is in pain. I just need her to know that I don’t know what to say. But I am here and I always will be.  That’s what friends do.

XO,  Stephanie

———–
About Stephanie:

Stephanie Garcia is a Comedienne best known for her quick wit, sarcastic sense of humor, and impersonations of “Drunk Girls.” From a young age, she was fascinated with sketch comedy. At the age of five, she would impersonate any SNL character and entertained friends and family for hours. Steph moved around often, attended several elementary schools and three different high schools and learned quickly how to make friends – by making people laugh. In high school, Steph wrote parodies about current friends, bad habits, teachers, and embarrassing situations. Eventually she turned these parodies into live entertainment by acting out the stories behind the songs. People started telling Stephanie that she should do comedy. So, with the encouragement of close friends and family, in 2004, she entered an open‐mic contest and placed second. Now, in her 9th year of performing on stage, Stephanie draws upon experiences from her drunken nights as a single gal to getting married to a U.S. Marine, to becoming a Mother. Professionally, Stephanie is a copywriter and is working on her first book.  She regularly appears on Good Day Sacramento and was a finalist for America’s Funniest Housewife contest on The View last year.

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Filed Under: Daily, Guest Post, Infertility, Miscarriage, Recurrent Pregnancy Loss Tagged: Anniversary, friendship, Guest Post, leo, Stephanie Garcia

Walk of Hope

September 13, 20136 Comments

xo-isabel-infertility-awareness

On Saturday, September 21, 2013 we will be participating in RESOLVE‘s Walk of Hope 2013 in Northern California.

We are so honored that some of our friends & family have decided to join us on this walk. We are walking to support Infertility and Recurrent Pregnancy Loss Awareness.

About the Walk

The mission is simple—to find a voice for the 1 in 8 couples battling infertility and bring this disease out of the shadows.

The Walk of Hope is a day to recognize the many ways in which families are built. People of all ages can participate as a walker or donor and raise awareness of how the disease of infertility impacts families nationwide. Funds raised from the Walk support local programming which includes support groups and educational events, public awareness initiatives, and advocacy efforts to ensure all family building options are available to all.

With your help, RESOLVE will continue to:

  • – offer hope to the 7.3 million Americans suffering with infertility
  • – provide RESOLVE events and support programs to the 1 in 8 couples diagnosed with infertility
  • – ensure that all family building options are available to all.
  • – break the silence of infertility. 

Other facts:

  • – More than 776,000 people in California are impacted by infertility.
  • – There are only 19 support groups in northern California.
  • – California has an insurance mandate that covers infertility treatment.
    (Personal Note: But employers aren’t obligated to choose a health plan that covers treatment and it does not include coverage for IVF, in my case, I have zero coverage for infertility treatments, not even to continue to diagnose my Recurrent Pregnancy Loss).

(Source: RESOLVE.org, Walk of Hope)

My Story

My husband and I have dealt with Infertility for many years. In addition to this, we have also dealt with Recurrent Pregnancy Loss. One without the other is incredibly difficult. Together, it’s almost unbearable at times.

Our son Leo was a spontaneous pregnancy; a miracle really. Combined, I’ve dealt with Infertility and Recurrent Pregnancy Loss for over 15 years. Over the course of that time, I’ve undergone fertility, or Assisted Reproductive Technology (ART) treatments that ranged from ovulation induction medication, intrauterine inseminations (IUI), InVitro Fertilization (IVF) with Intra-cytoplasmic sperm injection (ICSI), Frozen Embryo Transfer (FET) and countless poking, prodding, injections, blood work, ultrasounds, and visits to doctors. Oh, and acupuncture, lucky socks, fertility charms, baby dust (glitter!), birthday candle wishes, wishes on shooting stars and countless other things to keep hope alive.

I was lucky to have found a very good support system all those many years ago. Many of the women that I’ve met along my journey are still my friends. I’ve watched countless go through heartache after heartache as their own journeys to parenthood evolved. I’ve also seen so many children be born or find a way into the lives of these women and their families.

For many, the sting of Infertility will live with them for a lifetime. Even having a child come into your life cannot erase the journey that got you there, but it can make your outcome so much sweeter. So much more appreciated.

It’s organizations like RESOLVE that are out there to fight for our reproductive health choices and family building options.

If you are local to the Sacramento, CA area, walk with us. Join Team XO on September 21, 2013.

If you aren’t local, consider a donation, however small, to help this organization keep doing the good work that they do. They’re speaking for so many whose voice is not heard.

DonationButton

P.S. The top image is part of a T-Shirt I’m designing for Team XO!

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Filed Under: Advocate, Infertility, Recurrent Pregnancy Loss Tagged: Donate, RESOLVE, walk of hope

A little boy named Benjamin

September 12, 201313 Comments

One month ago on August 12, we began a journey that we hadn’t anticipated.

One month ago, we discovered that Leo’s heart stopped beating.

One month ago, we received news that our youngest nephew, Benjamin, took his first breath of life.

Our first meeting. The first smile I witnessed.

One month ago, a pendulum of grief and joy swung wildly.

I want to talk about Benjamin. A little boy, that up until close to being born, had no name. And even shortly after his birth was Benjamin No-Name, since his middle name couldn’t be decided. He’s the youngest of 4 boys, and that’s a lot of names to think up! Even still, I think he’s a Benjamin through-and-through. Even though we were hoping for names like Bruno, Barnaby or even Batman. Who wouldn’t want to be Batman!?

It was sort of a surreal day. We had received the devastating news on that Monday morning. We sent out an email to our family and closest friends about Leo’s death. It would be rough for us physically in the next few days. My sister-in-law was really supportive. She was nearing the end of her pregnancy and we feared that she would go into pre-term labor, since she had been dealing with this already. She stayed in contact most of the day. Then some time passed and I hadn’t heard from her. I thought it was strange but didn’t think too much of it. Later that night, we received a text message that she was going to be having a c-section in 45 minutes. It was already late at night. I will admit, I had hoped that Benjamin would be born the next day. And not on this Monday. I wanted him to have a cool birthday. 8/13/13. But, it wasn’t to be. He was born that night, about a half-hour before midnight.

We received late night texts with pictures of his little face and immediately exchanged the WHO-HE-LOOKS like messages. It was bittersweet, it was.

In some ways, I felt guilt for his parents having share this day with us. Because, I know they were sad for us and they were experiencing their own feelings for the birth of their son. A birth is something to be celebrated! Pictures! And all the mushy stuff that goes along with babies. Somehow it was deeply recognized that their joy also had a flip-side; our grief.

Benjamin’s birth was the first of his nephews’ that my husband had missed. He had sworn that he would always be there for the birth of any niece or nephew born into this family. I think he felt a little helpless at not being able to be there for Benjamin’s birth. He knew it would be impossible. Not only would distance keep us from attending the birth with how quickly it all transpired, but also because we had to tend to my medical and emotional needs. Everyone would understand. And they did.

Since we’re Jewish, we knew that if Benjamin was healthy enough (he was born about 5 weeks premature, but was a healthy little thing), his Brit Milah would be on the 8th day after his birth. I will admit, this frightened me. I wasn’t sure if I could be there for this event. I wasn’t sure if I was ready to face everyone. Everything was so very fresh. I had so many different feelings, but ultimately knew that out of respect and love, we would be with our family on this joyous occasion. But most of all, I never ever want Benjamin to have to ever suffer because of what happened to us. If we had stayed home, he’d be none-the-wiser, but we would know.

Unfortunately, since Benjamin was a little premature, he developed jaundice. He had to be admitted to the hospital for some light therapy and therefore his Brit would have to be delayed by a few days. I’ll admit I was a little relieved. It took all our strength to prepare ourselves to go so soon, and the extra days of processing our ordeal proved to be extraordinarily helpful.

We were excited to meet Benjamin and I did feel a little bit of guilt for not meeting him sooner. I mean, I actually photographed the birth of his older brother. I was there the moment he had taken his first breath. I had hoped to be able to do the same for Benjamin.

Prior to us going, I was in communication with my sister-in-law about how we would go about meeting Benjamin for the first time. I admitted that I thought it would be emotional and that I would cry. A lot. I pictured myself holding him and falling to pieces wondering why this had to happen to us and how I’ll never hold my own son. She was kind and offered to give us a meeting space in the privacy of their bedroom. Just my husband and his brother and the two of us, and of course, Benjamin. The offer was kind and thoughtful and I wanted that very much. I didn’t want an audience for my emotions and if I was going to cry, I wanted it to be more intimate.

We made the two-hour trip back home to be with our family and to meet Benjamin. We were invited up to the bedroom almost upon arriving, but not before receiving hugs from the family and my other three nephews. They each have their own unique understanding of our circumstance. The oldest is 16 and he well-understood what we lost. He was kind and loving and embraced us and asked us if we were okay. Our 7 year-old nephew embraced us, too. And though he didn’t say anything, I know he understood that I wasn’t pregnant anymore. The last time I saw him he kissed my belly. He almost let himself slip and did it, but he stopped himself and instead just hugged me again. Our 4 year-old nephew is blissful in innocence, as it should be. And for that, I was thankful. He gave us hugs and kisses just because we are his aunt and uncle and he was happy to see us.

We finally made it upstairs to meet Benjamin. And how sweet and tiny he was! I took him in my arms and I was in love. I thought I was going to get emotional, but I didn’t. Instead, it felt warm and peaceful. I was happy. I was happy to be there and I was happy to be his aunt. I was even happy that I got to be Leo’s mom, no matter how brief, and it was because of that brevity that I was able to appreciate this experience all the more. I didn’t want to let go of him. I would brush my finger near the side of his lips and on his cheek to see if I could coax a smile out of him, and I did. He also continued the tradition of his brothers and peed on me a few times. Those boys sure are super soakers! I took several pictures and later my sister-in-law would point out how he had on different outfits in all the photos since he had soaked through his clothes so many times.

When it was time for the ritual to begin, the Mohel asked if they’d like to do the Baby Naming Ceremony as well. They said yes and they provided his Hebrew name of Binyamin. He then asked if they had a middle name. It would seem that he was also going to be Binyamin No-Name, in Hebrew. They said they hadn’t thought of one. I spoke up, I said “You can use the middle name we had chosen for Leo’s Hebrew name — Nissim, it means Miracles. Leo was going to be Ari Nissim, in Hebrew.” Ari meaning Lion of God and Nissim meaning miracles (or wonders), for he was our Little Lion and our Miracle.

They accepted. They said yes and the ceremony went underway. I’ll spare all the details of being a witness to this ritual, but, I was there during every moment. I didn’t want to leave, so I stayed with him the entire time.

It was now time for the conclusion of the ceremony and for the Naming. Up until this point, I had maintained my composure. I had kept my emotions and tears in check. And then there was a blessing. And then they spoke Benjamin’s Hebrew name – Binyamin Nissim and then I cried. I felt deeply. We yelled MAZEL TOV! Because that’s what you do, because it’s a joyous time and LOTS OF MAZELS! And I feel a little guilty because we were crying and my sister-in-law was getting emotional. My husband was crying next to me and I wanted the room to shout their MAZELs louder. But it was a clear moment that our family was still swinging between grief and joy.

It was hearing the name being said aloud. How we had started to picture our own ceremony with our own son. How our family would witness our family being blessed. And how it was now never to be with Leo.

And now, I believe, a little part of Leo will forever live with Benjamin, if only with his name.

And Ben? I think we’re going to be good buddies.

Happy One-Month of Life, Benjamin. You are a wonderful blessing and a little Miracle. You always will be.

BN_08-2013_2

XO, Aunt Isabel

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Filed Under: Family, Judaism, Leo Tagged: Benjamin, Celebration, Family, Life

Why I don’t like the DMV

September 11, 20135 Comments

It was August 8, 2013. It was two days before my birthday and before my drivers license would expire. Yes, I procrastinated. But, I felt proud that I was going to at least get it done BEFORE it actually expired. Yay me!

I didn’t have an appointment and the line was out the door. Once I got a peek inside, I realized the line wasn’t so bad. I had gotten up earlier that day and actually used a blowdryer on my hair. I put on extra makeup, including eyeliner. I never do. I was so excited to actually take a new picture for my license because I was pregnant. I was excited to be able to show Leo my license one day and say “you were in the picture, too!” My current picture was taken just after our honeymoon and I had a nice smile and glowing, tanned skin. Both memories I was looking forward to sharing with our kid.

Back to the line. I eventually made it to the point where you’d be assigned a number. G93, I think it was. The wait wasn’t very long. I had all my paperwork ready. I was sitting down and fiddling with my phone. I was observing everyone and posted to Facebook asking if there was a site like the People of Walmart, but for the DMV. A few moments later my phone was ringing. It was a number I somewhat recognized and figured it would be important to answer. It was our Genetic Counselor. He called with some new and some “scary numbers”, as he called them. My number was called right at this very moment. I tried to see if I could put him on hold while I dealt with the clerk. I was a little bit distraught. I told the Genetic Counselor to please call me back in 10 minutes.

I completed the initial part of my paperwork and was supposed to go back and sit down and wait to be called to have my picture taken. Tears were already filling my eyes. How could I take a picture now? Instead, I left and sat in my car to wait out those minutes. He called back in 17 minutes. I remember, because I looked.  About 9 minutes of crying and anxiety. He called to tell me that our second trimester screening had come back as positive for Down Syndrome. And the rest of the story has already been told.

I’m sitting in the car, I didn’t know if I should go back in and handle the rest of the DMV transaction. I mean, how could I? I now had tear stains on my cheeks and the whatever was left of my mascara and eyeliner was hanging on by a thread. I called my husband instead. I asked him to come home and then I began sobbing. That we had received bad news. He tried his best to comfort me, and I tried my best to convince him that it was all going to be okay.  It wasn’t.

And, my license is now expired. I have to go and get that taken care of. And it’s taking every bit of my strength to make myself go. Every day I delay it. I understand why, now.

I don’t want a license photo that is just of me. It was supposed to be the both of us.

XO, Isabel

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Filed Under: Leo, Loss, Miscarriage Tagged: DMV, grief, leo, loss, photo

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Hello. my name is Isabel and this blog is all about my experiences dealing with infertility, recurrent pregnancy loss, and our new adventure as intended parents in our surrogacy journey. Also, a little bit of everything else in my life. Welcome! read more...

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