Tag Archives: Life Lessons

{Infertile Me} Grace

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Something told me to find my family before I attempted to transfer Embryo #3. I cannot explain it. Deep down my soul was telling me “find Grace, find your family, and go HOME.

In early September my Dad and I went home. Home to Crow Wing and the White Earth Reservation. There I touched the house my ancestors built and walked amongst their graves. I did what my Grandfather never did, I went home for him. My heart she wasn’t settled, she needed to find Grace. She needed to stand before the woman who never gave up on her children.

Find a grave. com is an amazing tool and it helped me immensely. Fate had a hand in this too. Someone had documented Riverside Cemetery in Seeley WI, Grace Geneviève Beaulieu Cox’s stone was amongst the photos. My Great Grandmother’s stone was staring back at me plain as day on my iPhone screen. When I looked it up I realized that I had driven right by her for years.

Hayward is Wisconsin’s vacation land and it’s a place I try to visit every year. The Main Street is lined with cute little shops and there are lots of restaurants serving down home north woods cooking. If you venture outside of Hayward you will see “canoe landing” signs dotted along the highways. The area is amazing for canoeing. Speaking of canoeing; I AJ canoed right by my Great Grandmother’s grave and didn’t know it. I have driven by Grace’s grave every fall on my way to Bayfield. She was there in Seeley, just waiting to be found. Waiting for us to stand before her and say her name.

She was lost, but now she’s found. My dad and I instantly spotted her grave when we pulled through the cemetery gates. My dad never got to meet her when she was alive. I watched as he laid the tobacco down and said “Grandma you’ve been found.” After Irene died I was allowed to go through their home and pick out items I wanted. Nestled in a corner covered in dust was a statue of an Indian woman with a baby on her back, I was drawn to this and put it in my box. It’s been sitting in my garage ever since and I had no plans to bring it inside. It came to me that the statue was meant for Grace. I held the statue steady as my dad squirted the glue and I stuck it to the concrete. My dad instructed me to push down and give it a little twist so it will stick. We gave Grace her heritage back.

After Grace’s children were taken she did what she had to do to survive. She got married and made a new life for herself all while still holding out hope that her children were alive. Grace reunited with my Grandfather, her son was lost, but now he’s found. I cannot imagine what that moment looked like, when he was taken he was around 5 years old and when he was found Clifford was a middle aged man. Grace was whole, her children were found. Seeing my Dad stand before Grace, his grandma was something I will always treasure. My Dad is now whole too. He got to touch the stones of his ancestors and lay tobacco down to acknowledge that because of their battles he exists.

And now I feel whole too. Whole because I stood before the grave of the strongest woman I never got to meet. The courage and determination she had was beyond measure. I relate to Grace; our lives are similar. Like her, I know what it’s like to have your life ripped to shreds. I know the strength it takes to build a new normal. To never give up fighting for your children. Dead or alive your children will always be yours and you need to fight for them.

Grace once was lost, but now she’s found and we are never letting go. My Dad and I decided that we are going to visit her grave often and I have faith that one day Embryo #3 will stand before her.

{Road Trip} HOME

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For as long as I can remember I was told “you are the descendants of Voyagers and Indians.” A pedigree anyone would be proud of. The stories I was told were validated in my sixth grade Minnesota History class and again in college. My family, my amazing courageous family had a hand in shaping the Minnesota that we all know and love. This, this place that I love has always been my home. My roots are forever tied to this land. I am Minnesota and she is me.

For years I have heard about the Clement H. Beaulieu house in Crow Wing State Park. The park is a little over two hours from minneapolis, practically in my backyard, but I never felt the need to venture. I am a firm believer that we are drawn to locations and when it’s our time to go, we go there. This day was 35 and 66 years in the making, it was time for us to go HOME.

As far as weather goes, today was a beautiful sunny calm Minnesota Saturday. A day meant for exploring. Only I could get lost in a state park. If the arrow is pointing left, I will turn right and then wonder why I’m doing a U turn. Only me. Anyways, with a little rerouting we found the parking area for the “Crow Wing Main Street” trail, parked and headed on down the path. My Dad is one of those types who likes to stop and read all of the signs, so I trudged ahead of him and waited. He caught up to me as I spied the roof line through the trees a huge gust of wind came up and my Dad looked at me and said “He knows we are here!”

We reached the over look and began to read the plaques. I will admit it’s kind of weird seeing your last name in print and tied to the historic building in front of you. This house is simple by today’s standards, however back in its day the home was a bustling hub of hospitality and business. Clement a “half breed” was sent from Wisconsin to develop the fur trade in Minnesota. He was a well respected man who had great success. His home over looked the river and Crow Wing village.

I circled the house many times in an effort to engrave all of its details into my brain. Faced pressed to the glass I tried imaging what the inside looked like in Clements day. The interior of today is a far cry from what it looked like in the late 1800s. This house if it could talk, would have an incredible story to tell. Stories of love and loss, business deals, parties, family, and of the community that once surrounded it. My dad and I soaked it all in. This place was our place, this this home is where our story began.

Clement lived in this home until he moved to White Earth in 1873. White Earth, a place that I know of so well, but never visited. This reservation is where my Grandfather’s tale began. My Grandfather was a product of the assimilation and relocation of the American Indian. The government calls the program a success, I call it a failure. Ripping children form their parents, their language, their culture, and their religion does more harm than good. My Grandfather was taken form the White Earth when he was five years old and he never returned. Today, my Dad and I were the first ones from our branch of the family to return HOME.

Our name is present on the Reservation. There is a Street named after us and a township too. My goal wasn’t to visit the township, but to find the graves of my ancestors. Find A Grave . Com told me that Clement was buried in Calvary Cemetery. Which is a small cemetery nestled on top of a hill surrounded by soy bean fields. It was simply beautiful. As we pulled in I noticed a plot with a large fence around it and figured that had to be our family’s plot. I went to the fenced in area and my dad wandered to the very back of the cemetery.

The gate gave me some trouble, but I was determined and eventually I won. AJ 1, Gate 0. As I walked through the gate a strong swirling wind came up and I was home, my ancestors were acknowledging me, their lost family who returned HOME. I traced my fingers across their names as I read them aloud to the wind and laid tobacco down. I can honestly say I have never seen my last name on so many stones at once. Heck I’ve only ever seen it on one stone and that is my Grandfather’s.

I looked up to see my dad waving his arm and the wind carried his shouts, so I bid them goodbye, wrestled with the gate again, and walked to the back of the cemetery. He had found more of our family. Two graves nestled along the fence line. I laid tobacco down and moved through the cemetery along side my Dad. We made our way back to the more populated area and found five more sets of graves. I started to notice a few stones for babies. When I traced my hand across their names, I no longer felt alone, for my ancestors know the heart ache of child loss too. Our babies no matter how much time has passed, will always be ours.

My Dad and I got back in the car and on our way out of the cemetery I looked up to see an Eagle soaring over the soy bean field. Our visit had been acknowledge and our ancestors were happy to have us home. From the cemetery we drove to the town of White Earth. As we drove around I said to my dad “just think your Dad could have fished in that pound or played in that field!? It’s beautiful here, he got ripped from beauty and dropped in an orphanage that lead to a farm.” My dad said “Yeah,” as he looked out the window. He had done what his Dad never did, he went home for him. We went HOME for Clifford, a child of the White Earth who was once lost, but now is found.

This trip meant the world to me. It was simple yet profound and I am grateful to have had my dad along for the ride. This trip was for him as I know he has always wondered where his Dad came from and today he found his HOME.

{Infertile Me} She was lost; and Now I’m found

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It’s been a stressful past few weeks. I found myself in a place I never thought I would be in. I’ve called more fertility clinics than I’d care to admit. All of the clinics in MN will not take our embryo. Between you and me; I feel like Dr. B put the word out that I am a terrible patient. Several of the clinics said it’s a liability after they found out who I was. After the last clinic said no I felt defeated. I was ready to throw in the towel and face a childless life head on.

Yet something in me was tugging away. Something in me told me to pick up the pieces and continue the fight. Geneva is a name that I carry. I carry my Great Grandmother’s name as my middle name. Now she was a warrior. Geneva’s children were taken from her during the relocation and assimilation period. That woman, that strong woman never gave up on finding her children. Even when authorities told her that they had died in transport, she never gave up hope. Geneva picked up the pieces of her shattered life and never stopped searching for the missing pieces. Geneva lived his life knowing that pieces of her were scattered and she rode the wind until they were found.

Geneva was reunited with my Grandfather Clifford. Life came full circle. June was found too, along with her other son. This woman, this patient woman was finally whole. I thought to myself “Geneva didn’t get you this far for you to give up. She fought like hell for her children and her battle paid off; she died whole.”

I need to honor this woman’s legacy of determination and grit. Knowing she walked this road before me and that I would not be walking this road alone I turned to Wisconsin. Wisconsin is in my blood and is my second home. My mom, she is from Wisconsin and Geneva is buried outside of Hayward in a sleepy little cemetery. My roots run deep in Wisconsin, so it’s the perfect place to bring our embryo. I called a couple clinics in Wisconsin and they will take Embryo #3! I got ghosted by one doctor in Johnson Creek, which is ok. My gut is leading us to Green Bay. With a little luck and a lot of faith Green Bay will be where Embryo #3 is transferred back to me. Our little embryo, this little fighter of ours will be made in Wisconsin and with a little luck born in Minnesota.

Call me crazy but, I deeply believe that Geneva is leading the way that somehow someway she is going to make this work for us. She’s been in this fight, she brought me this far and now it’s up to me to bring it home. Her blood, her fight runs through me and I know IVF got this.

{Infertile Me} Embryo #3

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My road at CCRM Minneapolis had not been easy and it has come to an end. In November 2017 I had asked the clinic if I could use generic medications and they said no. I pushed and they still said no. They tried scare tactics and would always fucking say “brand medications lead to successful outcomes.” If I ever hear those words again I will run down Nicollet Mall in my underwear. Those words give one false hope. False hope of “if I use brand name meds my transfer will for surely work.” So many women just give up and go along with what the clinic wants because “they have my embryos and it’s their policy.” A policy that they will not show you because it is “internal.”

I asked to see it once and in return I was told “we find it very bold and offensive that you are questioning our doctors expertise.” Yup they said that to me and I have the email to prove it. I was told “if you don’t use brand you cannot transfer your embryos.” I gave in and went ahead with the brand name meds. We paid a crazy amount for them and we were set for a December transfer. Transfer day came, I was excited, I was so full of hope and I could not wait to bring the embryos home. The transfer did not go as planned. Dr. B ignored the referring doctors notes in regards to my complicated anatomy. At one point she thought she was in, I thank God that the embryos got stuck in the tube, otherwise they most likely would have been deposited in my cervix. At that point she should have called it a day, but instead she kept on going because “I’ve never met a uterus I couldn’t get in to.” An hour went by and I was wincing in pain, everyone saw that but her. Finally she decided to give up and I was scheduled for dilation surgery and our embryos were re-frozen.

At that point I lost all trust in the process and in her as a doctor. I tried to move to a different clinic but ran into issues. Due to CCRM’s unique freezing process other clinics will not take the embryos and CCRM Minneapolis is the only clinic in the twin cities that will take insurance. I was stuck without options and they had my embryos. So we bought more brand name drugs and continued on the path to a January transfer. If the transfer worked I could walk away from that clinic and never look back. On the day I graduated from the clinic I cried in the parking lot, I felt so relieved that I’d never have to see Dr. B again. I was pregnant and I’d never have to step foot back in there again.

Two weeks later we found out that our baby’s heart stopped. Our son Emmett made it 10weeks and 3 days. At first I could not entertain transferring Embryo #3. The thought of having to go back to that clinic made me sick to my stomach. I knew it would be more of the same bullshit, brand medications and no exceptions. Essentially their way or the highway. I’d have to face arrogant Dr. B again. Knowing no other clinic would take my embryo or insurance I sucked it up and forged ahead.

I asked the clinic again if I could use generic medications as I had reactions to some of the brands. I was again told no and they would give me something for the infection or rash. I explained again to them that generics are covered at 100% under my plan and it would be less of a financial burden. Again I was told no and “brand medications lead to successful outcomes…..” which to me is bullshit because Emmett died, brand name medications did not impact the outcome.

On the support group page I asked if women were getting generics at CCRM Minneapolis and a lot of women said “yes!” I expanded my pole and found out that all of the other CCRM locations allowed generics. The brand only policy is specific to Minneapolis. This made me angry and I wasn’t making headway with the clinic or corporate office, so I did what any woman would do, I stood up for myself. I reached out to the MN Attorney General’s office for help. On 8/15/18 Dr. B approved my prescriptions and the order was sent to the mail order pharmacy. On 8/16/18 all of the scripts had been canceled by the physician. That morning I got an email and a voice mail advising me that Dr. B wanted to meet in person on Monday instead of our scheduled phone call. On 8/17/18 we met with Dr. B and in less than 10 minutes my care was terminated. Dr. B terminated my care at her clinic because I filed a complaint.

In away I am relieved because now I do not have to deal with her arrogance. She is not God and she does not listen to her patients. Dr. B is the kind of physician that automatically expects trust and respect from her patients. I’m sorry but a doctor has to earn a patients trust and respect. Just because you are a doctor doesn’t mean you will automatically be trusted by your patients, let alone respected. She never earned our trust nor did she earn my respect. A good doctor understands their patients and realizes that at the end of the day each patient is different and that they cannot be shoved into boxes. I am not your typical patient, I come with baggage, scars, and PTSD due to past medical trauma and stuffing me in a box didn’t work for her. To be honest I don’t think Dr. B was prepared to handle a patient like me and she never will be. I learned the hard way that I need to advocate for myself every step of the way and I am not going to blindly follow a doctor because she says so. She is used to women drinking her koolaide and doing as they are told so that they too can have a successful outcome.

I’ve never been a fan of koolaide and I do not regret standing up for myself. I know my complaint will not change her outlook or the way she practices medicine. She is to arrogant to realize that something has to give and that her patients should have access to the low cost generics. Lord knows they pay enough to be there.

For me right now the only thing we can do is move forward. Embryo #3 will be moved to a cryobank and our journey to parenthood is at a standstill. I have to believe that somehow someway something good will come out of this. It may not benefit me, but it will benefit someone else. I do not regret what I did. At the end of the day I did what I had to do and it brings me comfort knowing that I ruffled her fucking feathers. And one thing I do know is this “she will always remember me, the girl who questioned her every step of the way.”

{Emmett} Walk Boldly with Answers

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Over the past couple of months I have been checking the boxes in preparation for our upcoming transfer. I saw the hematologist, she was very informative and shared that Lovenox does in deed cross the placenta. That information was both a blessing and a curse. A curse because it could mean that Emmett’s demise was due to Lovenox. We will of course never know for sure why Emmett died, everything is in theory.

On Tuesday I met with a new perinatologist and the first question she asked me was “why were you on 80 units a day?” I honestly didn’t know. I did what the previous doctor told me to do. Although I did question the 80 units, again I was told because of my history 80 was the dose I needed. Turns out AJ doesn’t need 80 units…….she only needs 40. 40 fucking units is all I need. 80 units was to high for someone with my history and my weight. An 80 unit dose is for someone who has a clotting disorder or a BMI of 50.

Two weeks before Emmett’s heart stopped I increased the dose to 80 units. Emmett most likely bled to death, his little body couldn’t handle the Lovenox. Only Emmett knows how he died. I only know that he was genetically perfect and there is no reason for his leaving. In this moment I wish I had fought harder to change the dose. Then again I went along with what the doctor said to do and in the end it didn’t save Emmett nor did it help me.

Am I angry!? Of course I am angry. I am angry that no one would listen to me. That the doctor didn’t take a moment to really look into my history to see what and why my blood clot happened. I am angry that she shoved me into a box and pounded me until I fit the mold. In my gut I knew 80 units was to high. I should have just nodded my head and continued on with 40 instead of 80 units. If I did, maybe Emmett would still be here and I’d be seven months pregnant. I cannot go backwards, I cannot weigh the what if’s, I can only go forward, forward with a broken heart.

My heart she is broken. Yet she is relieved that someone with MD behind their name finally listened to her. We have a plan, a very good plan and with a little luck we will bring a baby home. The new Lovenox dose is 40 units a day with no increase along with a side of prednisone, baby aspirin, and anti-biotics. With a little luck this protocol will be our ticket to a take home baby.

Emmett taught me to continue to advocate for myself and to fight for what my gut knows. Just because a doctor is a doctor doesn’t mean they know everything. I am a walking talking example of “fuck, we messed up her care!” I of all people know what it’s like to be discounted and unheard. I know what it’s like to hear the words “um Im sorry but your pulmonary embolism and stroke didn’t need to happen.” I know what it’s like to be misdiagnosed and have forged a path in the aftermath. And I will not be silent, I will walk boldly with answers and I am not going to dwell on what might have been, I can only carry hope for what could be.

{Infertile Me} With shattered HOPE

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Some days I wish I could go back to September 2017 and tell myself not to cling to hope. To tell myself that this journey is going to suck beyond belief. That you will put all of this work in to end up with empty arms, just like you did before. You my dear girl, your heart will be broken again.

Yet I can’t. Because 2017 me was so full of hope and faith. Her heart though broken still beat with courage and strength. She believed deeply in the process and had her eyes set on the prize. For her sanity she broken it down into pieces, first eggs, then embryos, then transfer, and finally a baby. The first two parts were easy for her to digest. 15 eggs brought her 3 quality embryos. Those embryos meant the world to her and she was certain she would transfer two and she did. Those two ended with one baby. One baby whose heart beat stronger every day until there was silence. Her world just like before crashed around her with the words “there is no heart beat.” At that moment she was done trying. Her heart couldn’t take anymore. She had given three babies back to God.

Little by Little and day by day she grew stronger and her heart started to look to Embryo #3. She knew if she didn’t go for it, she would always wonder “what could have been.” With withered strength and threadbare hope, she decided to move forward.

Forward with shattered hope. In March I was certain that I could not bare going through a transfer again, yet I am stronger than I think. Yesterday I put the ball in motion. The clinic was so glad to hear from me (I’m sure they say that to everyone). Dr. B has formulated a plan, we are not messing around this time. Workup in July, dilation surgery in August, and with a little luck a transfer in September.

September, Emmet was due in September. I just pray it doesn’t end up being on the 23rd, Emmet’s due date. Then again maybe September will be our lucky month and this one I will get to keep.

{Hearts on 22} National Stroke Awareness Month

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On October 22, 2009 I almost died five days before my 27th Birthday. I found myself in the ER unable to breath with unbearable chest pain. A CT scan revealed a clot the size of a ten cent gum ball lodged in the valve that connects my left lung to my heart. My oxygen level was below 50%, my heart was in sinus tachycardia and I was fighting for my life. To make matters worse my blood pressure kept rising and suddenly I lost my words, the staff sprung into action, TPA was administered and my life was saved. I had survived a massive pulmonary embolism with infection and a stroke due to the third generation progesterone in my birth control, the Nuvaring.

At 26 Stroke wasn’t on my radar and until that day I had no clue what a pulmonary embolism was. Strokes happened to old people not young professionals. That day taught me that strokes can happen at any age and your risk is higher if you are taking hormonal contraceptives. My OBGYN never once mentioned that my birth control could possibly kill me, she just wrote the script, shoved it in my hand and went on her merry way.

I could have spent the past almost nine years in hiding. As in not telling a soul I had a stroke because well on the outside I look perfectly normal. I was lucky, I got the clot busters in time and I walked away unscathed. Many of my survivor counterparts are not so lucky, they have physical and mental impairments. Impairments that could have been prevented if they had received treatment in time. This haunts me, some days I wonder why I was the lucky one and on other days I say “why not me!?”

This life I lead is borrowed. I wish I could say it was perfect, but it’s not. I am living a perfectly imperfect life. This second chance is mine and mine alone to live. I made the choice to live my Stroke out loud. My story and willingness to fight this battle has landed me on billboards, fashion shows, tv commercials, news paper articles, magazine articles, and in DC. Oh the places your stroke will take you. Even I have to pause for a moment and think “holy shit AJ you’ve like made a difference!” A difference I have made, because what happened to me is 100% preventable.

That’s right what happened to me was 100% preventable. I had gone to the doctor a week prior with symptoms of a blood clot in my leg. The doctor told me to “drink more water and walk more.” One week later to the day I found myself in the ER fighting for my life. If only my doctor had listened to me. All the doctor had to do was order a d-dimer test. If that test had been ordered the doctor would have caught the blood clot before it found its way to my lung and brain. It’s been almost nine years and that still gets me the most, that this, pulmonary embolism and stroke of mine was 100% preventable.

{Life Lessons} Photo of Happiness

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Out of all the photos we took in Nebraska Jay loved one the most. To me it was unflattering, I was in the process of deleting it from my phone when Jay said “no that is my favorite photo, it’s so genuine.” You can imagine the look I gave him, I immediately pointed out my double chin and how this photo made my look heavy. He told me I was beautiful (he’s a smart man) and that he loved this photo because it shows pure happiness.

I let this photo sit on my phone. From time to time I’d go to it and just look at it. After awhile I stopped focusing on my chubby chin (thank you lymph node and saliva gland removal) and noticed how happy I was in this moment. Sure I was suffering from terrible period cramps (a reminder that I was no longer pregnant), but this photo doesn’t show that, it shows a woman living in the moment, smiling at who knows what. Oh smiling because she was about to burst into a full laugh because Jay was playing photographer.

These are the moments we live for. Moments of pure joy amongst the mundane. These moments chase away the darkness and bring in the light. Our smiles no matter how chubby the chin chases away the darkness and brings light into our hearts. This photo doesn’t show a woman with a broken heart struggling to bring home a child of her own. This photo doesn’t show a woman who has three babies in heaven, it is proof that Love and Joy always prevail. That I have a choice, a choice to grieve or grieve while living the best life I possibly can.

I will never get over the death of my babies, those little ones will always be a part of me. Just as I am a part of them. I live this life for Lucia, Baby E, and Emmet. My boys are the reason behind my strength, my faith, my joy, and my eternal happiness. I chose happy because I know that is what my sons want for me, a lifetime of happiness.

{Infertile Me} Emmet James

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As the blizzard poured down around me I looked out the window and remembered that the doctor said Snow Pea’s results would be in on Friday. Friday went without word, so I logged in to my online chart, “1 new message” it said. I held my breath, my heart raced, I knew what the message was. It was the answer, the answer that Jay and I had been waiting for. It took a while for the words to sink in, “normal (46 chromosomes) XY.”

In the moment I couldn’t remember if XY was a boy or girl, Dr. Google told me XY = boy. Jay and I had a perfectly normal boy. Snow Pea was a boy. There is no how behind the why, and the why has yet to be answered. It’s a blessing and a curse. My baby, our baby was a healthy little boy whose heart just stopped. The placenta was perfect and Jay & I are genetically normal, it doesn’t add up, but in the end we still had to give a healthy baby back to God.

Emmet James was called home before his feet even touched this earth. Emmet James was born sleeping on March 5, 2018. This little boy was loved beyond measure, deeply wanted, and is desperately missed. Emmet was courageous, he was the little beta that could, he proved that low betas can grow into healthy heart beats. I carried his little heart for 11 weeks 1 day. He was ours and we were his. Emmet James, my baby you will always be.

Emmet James is my second and Jay’s first son. A son that we had to give back before our hearts were ready. I have to believe that Emmet found his siblings in heaven. That Lucia was waiting for him with Baby E at his side, welcoming Emmet to the other side of the rainbow. I am a little jealous because Lucia and Baby E got to meet Emmet before we did.

Emmet James was cheated out of a lifetime. He will never get to go finishing with his Papa and he will never get to play tic tac toe with his Nana. Emmet will never get to take a plane to California to visit his Nana and Papa, Jay’s parents they got cheated too. I will never get to teach him how to ride a bike, tie his shoes, or take him on a road trip. Jay will never get to teach Emmet about World of Warcraft, computers, and Back to the Future. Yes, Emmet’s name comes from Back to the Future, Doctor Emmet Brown. Emmet deserved a life time, to feel the grass on his feet, to laugh, and to love beyond measure. His life was cut far to short and we sent him off with more love than one soul could ever handle. Our baby, he will always be. Emmet James you dear, will always be ours.

{Infertile Me} I will always choose you

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Right now this loss doesn’t make sense. Going into this I knew I could walk away with empty arms. I pushed that risk down to the bottom and filled my heart with hope. Jay and I had won the battle, with a positive test in hand we beat infertility. My prayers had been answered and God spared us a miracle that cannot be replaced. Everything I went through no longer mattered when I saw the heart flicker. Week by week I got to see our beautiful baby grow on the ultrasound screen. Little ears, a tiny nose, and hands, were all there clear as day. The baby’s heart was strong and everything looked great. I was graduated from the fertility clinic to our Perinatal And OB doctors. We were having a baby and not just any baby, but a super fancy science baby.

At 10 weeks 3 days a quick peak ultrasound at the perinatal clinic told me that my baby was no longer alive. The baby’s heart went from 182 beats per minute to utter silence. This is the part of pregnancy that I hate. We have no idea what is going on inside our bodies. We have no idea of knowing whether or not our babies are thriving or gone. I woke up that morning happily pregnant, talking to my baby, and planning the nursery furniture, only to have the rug ripped out from under me. And I am so fucking tired of having that rug ripped out from under me.

Part of me was cautious, yet once I saw the flicker I was all in. This was our baby, our turn, our rainbow and I was filled with joy. I thought since I had paid my dues by giving my first born and 2nd baby back to God, he would for sure let us keep this one. Because come on God isn’t cruel. Right now I can tell you I am angry and hurt. Three pieces of my heart rest in heaven and that isn’t fair. This life is not fair. I will never understand why some babies get to live while others are called home.

If my babies had a choice, they would choose life and I would choose them over and over again. The pain of loosing a baby never goes away, you just learn how to live with it. My third loss isn’t easy, it hurts and it’s not fair. Yet it is our loss, our journey to walk and our cross to bare. Jay and I are working through it and together we are mourning our snow pea’s leaving. Snow Pea did not have a choice in this, if she did I am confident she would have chose us, just as we chose her.