XO, Isabel

Hope and Courage: Our Surrogacy Journey

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Acts of Kindness – #KindnessProject

January 11, 20142 Comments

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With Leo’s due date being today, January 11, 2014, I had been wanting to do something to honor his memory. I decided that I would carry out Random Acts of Kindness during the week leading up to his due date.

Doing this and asking others about Acts of Kindness has inspired me to find a way to be conscious of this at all times. But, what has become apparent, is that I am not so sure that we’re often able to recognize and then recall Acts of Kindness bestowed upon us. I’m meditating on this and how to find a practical way to both recognize and acknowledge these moments of kindness. More to come on this topic.

That being said, losing my son has been quite the learning experience for me. I am thankful for the journey or the willingness to learn and grow from the tragedy of losing my son. I am finding that my being kind to others (and myself!) that I am able to feel more connected to his spirit. The idea that he only knew love and my own heart, it seems fitting that his calling card should be Kindness.

Please consider making a Random Acts of Kindness list for 2014. See how many of them you can complete. Or, consider getting a group of friends together and make your own lists and then exchange them. Try and complete some of each other’s acts. Or, make a list with your children and/or family. I guarantee you will be astounded by the way it makes you feel to do kind things for others. The world needs more of this – if only to allow for us to recognize and appreciate kindness all around us.

We live in a self-centered world. Let’s change that.

Here are some inspiring quotes & ideas to get you started:

“My religion is very simple. My religion is kindness.” – The Dalai Lama

RAK: Plant a Tree

RAK: Write a note to someone that has made an impact in your life, even for a moment. Recognize it and let them know.

“The purpose of life is a life of purpose.” – Robert Byrne

RAK: Open up a phone book or choose someone in your neighborhood and send them a greeting card.

RAK: Appreciate YOURSELF as an act of kindness. Treat yourself to something you have held back on.

“What you deny to others will be denied to you, for the plain reason that you are always legislating for yourself; all your words and actions define the world you want to live in.” – Thaddeus Golas

RAK: Give another driver your parking spot.

RAK: Pick up litter.

“Kindness is more important than wisdom, and the recognition of this is the beginning of wisdom.” – Theodore Isaac Rubin

Here’s the small list of things that I did this week (only to inspire you and MYSELF to continue this practice).

– Bought a young foster child her very first bike through OneSimpleWish.org
– Paid for Someone’s lunch (co-worker)
– Donated books for children that need them through FirstBook.org
– Paid for Someone’s dinner (stranger)
– Donated diapers & wipes to HomelessPrenatal.org
– Paid for someone’s birthday cake! (I spoke to the baker at Safeway and we found a cake on order for a Baby’s 1st Birthday. I left a card for when they picked up the cake today)
– Couple’s massages scheduled for US. (It’s difficult to be kind to yourself when you are grieving, it’s a MUST, however)
– I’m hoping to do a few more today when we’re out and about, including being extra generous to our massage therapists and perhaps paying for someone’s movie ticket!

January 11, 2014 is sort of my own New Year’s Day. May this year be better than the last.

XO, Isabel

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Filed Under: Kindness Project Tagged: #KindnessProject, #LeoRAK, baby loss, Babyloss, leo, miscarriage, stillbirth, stillborn

A Long December

January 10, 20143 Comments

Source: http://www.pinterest.com/mynameisnotandy/

I’ve been rather quiet. I never quite knew how difficult the month of December would be. Leo’s official due date is January 11, 2014. So by now, I’d be about 40 weeks pregnant.

I always knew that he would be born earlier, as with my complicated pregnancy, they planned to induce no later than 38 weeks. Plus, I was only half-joking with my doctor that I wanted a tax-break baby. Ha!

So, the month of December was almost as equally painful as the month of August when I first lost Leo. It was different as I found myself (and currently find myself) steeped in this wide range of emotions and with the great addition of Grief Anger.

It was difficult because it was the month where it felt like I was all alone with my thoughts and the ideas of the plans that were supposed to be. I had gotten through the month of October (or Oughtober, the month of ought-to-be’s) and November only hosted one holiday that I needed to get through. I did. It may have been with the help of several glasses of red wine. And all while trying to maintain composure in front of a lot of people.

December – by then, I felt more isolated and in pain. Feeling that I should be nesting or in the hospital getting ready to deliver. The deliveries and emails increased. Similac being the greatest and most forceful of the advertisers. I didn’t want to be around anyone for the holidays and New Year’s didn’t feel like the resetting of the clock. January 11, 2014 would be the reset instead.

The month of December was filled with a constant fight with the knot in my throat and the tears that I couldn’t stop. No matter where I was, I could be flooded with emotion at any given moment. Mostly in public spaces, like the train or sitting at my desk in the office.

So, I’m starting to come out of this fog, especially since Leo’s due date is tomorrow. Although this date wouldn’t have been the day he’d have been born, it was still a date that we tracked against. Until now, it still just feels like I’m waiting to exhale.

XO, Isabel

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Filed Under: Daily, Leo, Loss, Miscarriage, Stillbirth Tagged: leo

Happy baby shower day

October 26, 20134 Comments

no-baby-shower

Well, it was supposed to be. Today. My baby shower. The first. Or what was supposed to be. October 26, 2013. 2 PM. A lot of you were on the invitation list. Lots of you. Some very near. Some very far. A lot of you wanted to be there to witness this joy. To cheer me on. To shower me and our baby with love. A lot of you wanted this for me, more than anything else. In some case, more than anyone else. None of you wanted this more than I did. None of you feel as deeply as I do today, my No-Baby Shower day.

My sister had already put a deposit in with the venue, because, you see, so many of you wanted to be there. And I wanted so many of you to be there that we didn’t have enough room at her house. So, we picked a little venue that would give us all plenty of room to enjoy this day. We had picked a theme, even. It was going to feature books. Lots and lots of books! We were going to start Leo’s love for reading from the get-go. Actually, from within the womb. I was starting to read to him and sing to him. I’d feel him kick. But, yes, I was going to start his library. And I was going to read to that little boy. Read and read and read until he could yell at me to “stop reading so much, mom!”

But, my sister had to ask for her deposit back. The party was canceled. “My sister’s baby died”, she told the kind woman on the other end of the telephone. And with her deepest apologies, the woman returned to my sister her very hopeful deposit. We canceled all the plans. I deleted the list I had made of all invitees. I deleted the too-hopeful baby registry entry that I had yet to even publish. I deleted all the books from my Amazon Wish List and from my Amazon shopping cart. I deleted the Pinterest board of all the ideas I had collected for Leo, including all the baby boy outfits and baby nursery ideas.

I still sit in the very office that was going to be his nursery. We were going to share a space. This very room was going to be Leo’s nursery and my office. I was going to have one tiny little corner of the room with a small desk and my computer. The rest was going to be Leo’s space until he was old enough to do damage to my workspace. I was going to pick colors that would please us both. It was going to be our sacred space. Now, it still sits the way it was when I moved in, there are still boxes that need unpacking. There is still my old black desk with a magazine clipping that says “poetry is dead” decoupaged, by accident, on the top. I still have his folder of ultrasound images and my medical records and hospital discharge instructions to my left. The walls are still painted blue, as the previous resident had left them. We moved in knowing we were pregnant. But we didn’t know whether it was a boy or a girl yet, so we left the walls blue, you know, just-in-case. And then it was a boy, so I thought, maybe I liked the walls blue. And so I left them. And now these very blue walls close in on me at times with the little spirit of a boy that was never in my arms. That only sprinkled into my life for a short moment, yet will drown me in memories forever.

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Filed Under: Leo, Miscarriage Tagged: baby shower, grief, leo

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

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.

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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

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

What I did today

August 27, 2013Leave a Comment

A while back, after we thought we were in the clear for miscarriage risks, we started looking around and doing our research on baby products. Amazon is a favorite, and so we started working on a private Baby Registry. We never got very far. But today, I deleted it.

Screenshot_8_27_13_11_29_AM

I noticed that there were 7 items in my shopping cart. I checked the items, and it was filled with children’s books, bilingual (Spanish or Hebrew) ones that I had planned on buying for Leo. I was motivated by an article I had recently read on how the brain works with regards to language. How being bilingual or multilingual makes our brains more flexible and that even babies in utero could distinguish language differences. So, I had planned to read books to our son in English and Spanish, because my son would have a flexible brain!

I deleted my cart items, too.

Screenshot_8_27_13_11_32_AM

XO, Isabel

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Filed Under: Leo, Miscarriage, Recurrent Pregnancy Loss Tagged: bilingual, books, hebrew, leo, reading, spanish, wish list, wishes

Poem: Little Leo

August 24, 20136 Comments

While I’ve been working hard on expressing my innermost feelings through writing this blog, my husband has been diligently sitting quietly with his ears filled with music writing. I thought he was simply keeping a journal, instead, he was writing a poem for our son.

He wanted me to share it with you.

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

Little Leo

We prayed for strength and courage at the Kotel and Mount Zion,
Leaving notes as maps of hope leading to our little lion.

Monumental was the day we were blessed with this surprise,
Unmistakable the joy and love emblazoned in our eyes.

Along this journey we would stumble but never fall,
Your healthy heartbeat a beacon of hope to all.

I watched your little hand wave hello or maybe it was goodbye,
Eagerly embraced by happiness I would always cry.

Your Mother’s beauty radiates like rays of sunshine,
Playfully peaking around leaves to see this treasure of mine.

Her colossal courage and sacrifices you will never know,
The greatest Mother I could ever want for our Little Leo.

You grew from enduring love and hope to flesh and bone,
My thoughts now tormented by myriads of memories never known.

Perpetually I have cried an ominous river of tears,
Unbridled my anger flows along with my fears.

I feel hopelessly lost in a labyrinth of despair,
Guided only by the pain of knowing that this isn’t fair.

As parents we have so much love to give,
The King in our jungle of memories you will forever live.

Little Leo we will never feel your tranquil touch,
You are eternally etched in our hearts, we love you so much.

XO, Dad

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Filed Under: Judaism, Leo, Loss, Miscarriage, Recurrent Pregnancy Loss Tagged: dad, grief, leo, little lion, love, poem

A day out

August 23, 20134 Comments

Today was the first time in exactly two weeks that I’ve left the house alone. Today marked exactly two weeks that our nightmare began.

I needed to stop by work today to pick up some personal items of mine. I also went out to lunch with two wonderful women that I recently learned about that co-founded a project that I wish to stand behind. They are mothers that have experienced the types of losses that I have. Their stories are different, but the same. They had kind words to share, supportive hugs and lots of hope. I didn’t really shed a tear while I told them what happened to me. To Leo. To us. It was as if I was wearing a full-body brace to keep me upright and stable.

Part of my journey to meet them was by my usual means of transportation to the City; the train. It was bittersweet. The last time I rode the train, I was still pregnant. I had a bump and I had started to struggle a little bit with back pain and I always hoped I’d be able to get an empty seat. Today, the train was empty as I wasn’t riding during the usual rush-hour traffic.

All day I payed more attention to things. To people. I saw one man sleeping on the hard ground wrapped in blankets and surrounded by the warm comfort of his dog, his companion. I saw lots and lots of pregnant women. I saw lots of baby strollers and young children.

I also saw a woman in a moment of deep sorrow. She sat right in front of me. She was a pretty woman. She was wearing a white eyelet dress. She had a lime green cover on the iPad she was reading from that she pulled from her red backpack. Not too long after she arrived, a tall & handsome man showed up and he bent over to embrace her while she sat still. He kissed her on the lips and on her cheeks. He put his hands on her body, her thighs. Surely it was her husband, or lover, I thought. And then just like that, she began to sob. I could only tell after he separated himself just the tiniest bit from her body. Her entire body shuddered with pain, the tears just fell from her eyes and rolled off the tip of her nose. He held her closer. He took out a few tissues from his pocket and wiped her tears away. She looked so comforted by his presence. It looked like she was wearing her full body brace, but with the appearance of her friend, a loved one, she was able to shed the brace and let go.

I felt as if I was watching the scenario that plays out in our bed almost every night. For, it’s every night that my brace starts to give out and my resolve to be strong is no longer there. It’s when my mind loses its guard and I’m no longer able to stop the images and thoughts and the deep longing for our son from flooding my entire being.

Today, that moment came much earlier. My strength started to weaken on the train ride home. There was a family with a cute little girl and a stroller. And it made me remember that before I made cremation plans for Leo, just a few weeks ago we were giddy with excitement at the Baby store testing out strollers. Then, everything just made me want to cry. Everything. I haven’t been able to shake it since then.

And then tonight at 11:11 pm, I said what I usually say … “Make a wish! It’s 11:11” — and then I remember that on my birthday, just two days before we learned of Leo’s fate, I had wished the hardest I had ever wished on the candle of my dessert; please protect Leo. Please let him be healthy. Please let him be born. Please let him be OK. Please let the tests be wrong. Please, just get us through this, just let it all be OK.

And I blew out my candle.

And my wish didn’t come true.

XO, Isabel

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Filed Under: Leo, Loss, Miscarriage, Recurrent Pregnancy Loss Tagged: grief, leo, loss, miscarriage, second trimester loss, wishes

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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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