About Me

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I am modern mom to two wonderful boys. I am married to my childhood sweetheart and love of my life. I am on a journey to wellness in my personal life and for my family as well. Why I Blog: I have found that writing in general is very freeing for me. I enjoy writing and the idea that other people are reading what I'm writing moves me. If even just ONE thing I post touches, moves, or helps another human in ways that I have been touched by bloggers, I am pleased. Blogging is my release. And once it's out there, it's free for anyone and everyone.

Friday, November 23, 2012


So here I sit, quite literally, empty. And feeling more alone than I have ever felt before. 

It's been one week since my baby was taken from my body.  Only this time I wasn't awake to give birth.  I didn't see my baby.  I chose to have a procedure called "D & E".  It stands for dilation and evacuation.  Whatever you do, DO NOT google it.  It's rather gruesome and I regret typing those words into the search bar.  The doctor that performed the procedure did talk to me about what it entailed.  And I was okay with that.  I knew that my baby would not come out whole.  I knew what would be happening, but I was NOT willing to endure the hours of labor as I had in the past only to give birth to a baby I didn't even get to take home with me.  I've done that before and it was not something I wanted to experience again. 

So last Friday I went in for the procedure.  Josh came with me and waited for me to come out.  I'm gald he was there with me.  It was much harder than I expected, emotionally.  I went in to the room with a baby in my womb, and came out empty.  I knew this would happen, obviously, but I wasn't prepared to feel such a......void.

Physically, the procedure was painless.  I mean, I was asleep and drugged up so clearly I wasn't feeling anything.  But even afterward, I had minimal pain and very little bleeding.  Nothing like the other times when I'd been induced in the hospital. 

I have been feeling pretty great, on the outside.  But inside I don't feel much of anything.  I want to feel something.  ANYTHING.  I want to be sad and mad and frustrated and quite frankly pissed the fuck off.  But I don't feel any of those things.  I feel numb.  I feel as though everyone has already moved on and forgotten.  I think about my babies all day.  I want them with me.  They are my children and will always be mine.  And I'm sad when I think of what happened.  But I still don't feel much, if any, real emotions.  I want to cry and scream and do all of those things I'm supposed to do, but I keep filling my time with other things. 

Avoiding it maybe?  Postponing the inevitable?  Maybe.  But until I start to feel again, I'll just continue to write.  And search.  And if I come up with something or find my break, you'll be the first to know.  Because (insert religious figure here) knows I won't be sharing it out loud with people close to me; people who say they care about me and want to listen, but in reality they're scared that I'll share too much.  They're afraid I will talk about it too much and mostly they think I should be over it by now.  I mean, it's been over a week since I found out, right?  That's plenty of time to greive, no?  Nevermind the fact that I wasn't even finished grieving the loss of Adley yet and it's been a year.

But I'll get over it.  Until then I'll just feel numb.


  1. It's been a while since we met on the surrogate boards, but know that I do read these posts every now and then and check up on you to see how you are doing. Everything you said is exactly how I felt when I lost a baby a few years ago. No one gets it truly until they go through that and it's hard to not feel alone or like you're bothering people by sharing how you are feeling. Just know you have a virtual friend cares and knows the pain you are going through and I wish you peace in the days, months, and years ahead.

    1. OH Ruthie! Thank you so much for your kind words. It's so nice to "hear" from you. You're absolutely right that no one really "gets it" until they've been there. And the hard part is, you want them to understand, but you're glad they don't. I am. I am glad people don't understand because if they did, it would mean they've experienced the pain. And I wouldn't wish that on anyone.