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Streams of Conscioustess
The grass is always greener ... but sometimes it's artificial turf.
Tuesday, May 5, 2015
Wednesday, April 8, 2015
more MOMents
*First allergy season post-baby:
when you realize, I now pee whenever I sneeze
and consider buying diapers for two.
*You endured hours of labor and childbirth without any drugs,
yet you cannot make it to noon
without three cups of coffee
(that you've had to reheat repeatedly).
*When you finally get a chance to grocery shop alone,
but keep pumping your foot along the shopping cart
looking for the stroller brake.
*How is it that I have an Ivy League degree,
but can't figure out the snaps on a onesie
without aggravating some kind of early onset arthritis??
*Wardrobe=Uniform:
Yoga pants
Sweatpants
Dirty sweatpants
*If I could give anyone advice about how to prepare to be a parent…
I would say stay awake for days on end, cease showering,
tie one of your arms behind your back
and try to carry out every daily chore and activity that way.
*STEP 1: Eat chocolate while hanging out with your kid in the baby-gated play area.
STEP 2: Notice baby has a mysterious brown streak on her thigh.
STEP 3: Swipe streak with your finger, sniff it and then lick it off,
hoping it is,in fact, just more chocolate.
MOMents
*When you used to check your lipstick in the mirror in your car.
And now you check for grey hair.
*When the only think you want is for her to stop screaming in the car seat.
And then, when she's finally quiet, you're convinced
she's choked on something back there.
*When you consider putting on makeup and doing your hair while the baby naps,
but decide to eat a frozen burrito instead.
*When both your babies are napping, but you & your sister are texting
about the Sofia the First episode you're still watching.
*When the baby stops crying and you think hubby's succeeded at putting her to sleep,
when really you peek to check in on them
and see your 210 lb. husband has climbed into the crib with your 21 lb. baby.
*When you pull into the driveway and realize she's fallen asleep in her car seat,
so you just decide to curl up and nap in yours.
*When you hear a scream in the dark and realize that your husband,
who is putting the baby to bed,
has just been bitten on the nose by your little one's first tooth.
And suddenly, he was able to empathize
with breastfeeding women everywhere.
Saturday, March 21, 2015
Tuesday, March 10, 2015
A Pregnant Pause
Every year, I post
this photo on our “Elope-aversary.”
Andrew and I eloped at Pt. Dume/Zuma Beach in Malibu on Feb. 28,
2011. It was just the two of us, our
dogs barking from his truck parked nearby, his camera locked off on sticks with
an intervalometer and a notary/minister/officiant I had used on a recent
production I had just wrapped. Many
couples choose to elope in private before their big ceremony/reception as we
did, it’s true it’s very common; but we had other important reasons. I had to marry Andrew and get on his union insurance
as soon as possible. Only a few close
friends and family know the truth behind this photo: I was pregnant that day on
the beach four years ago. And then, I
wasn’t. All these years later, with a
happy and healthy 8+ month old Elyse crawling, drooling and climbing all over
me, I’m finally ready to write about what happened … how Andrew and I had a
marriage and miscarriage within weeks of each other in 2011. My D&C as a result of the miscarriage was four years ago today.
“A Pregnant Pause”
I left during my lunch break. It was an OBGYN/doctor’s appointment at 10 weeks. Unfortunately, my husband was out of town, shooting a
show on-location outside Chicago. My
“work husband” Jeff watched me rush out of the office and asked “should I drive
you? You sure you don’t want me to go
with you?” I reassured him, “no,” that
it was just routine blood work and an ultrasound to hear the heartbeat. Why I insisted on going alone I still can’t
quite answer to this day, years later.
There was Jeff, and any number of other friends, that offered to and
gladly would have accompanied me that day.
But for whatever reason, I chose to go by myself.
I was driving mid-day west down Sunset, enjoying the
California sunshine and yapping on the phone to my friend Diana in New York. We were chatting about the unexpected pregnancy and how a bright future, indeed, was awaiting
all of us. Diana and I were both getting
married on the same weekend in May and as such, we could not attend each
other’s weddings on opposite coasts. I
had just shared the news with her that after three long years of waiting for
The Ring, it took less than three months for the surprise baby news! I opened the sunroof and let it warm my face,
my skin, felt my smile spread wider across my face as I waited in the typical
LA traffic and discussed how accelerated the wedding planning would certainly
be now. I would have to notify all the
vendors and produce the wedding in half the time to make sure I wasn’t waddling
down the aisle and “showing” in my dress on our wedding day. It’s what we did for a living after all:
producing is glorified event-planning. I
remember that talk with Diana as one of the first times I was truly excited
about the pregnancy and the major life events ahead, and that the self-doubt
and fear of it being unplanned and overwhelmingly impossible all at once
began to fade.
The doctor’s office was atop one of the hi-rise office
buildings on The Strip. The waiting room
was filled with pregnant women – most with their hands on their swollen
bellies, some holding hands with their husbands/boyfriends or mothers seated
next to them. I, however, had no
noticeable “bump” as of yet and passed the time flipping through parenting
magazines with curiosity and texting people on my phone.
Had we told people “too soon?” Prior to the 12-week/3-month mark, we didn’t
wait until we were out of “The Danger Zone” before notifying several close
family and friends of our news. I think
the wedding had a lot to do with it. We
felt more people than usual needed to know why we were moving the wedding date
up so soon and so suddenly. Besides, I
was already at 10 weeks, and although quick to “round up” and exaggerate all my life, we were
confident that this year would bring "marriage and the baby carriage" almost
simultaneously and we felt OK sharing “our secret.”
It was all so new and foreign. I could not believe somebody was growing
inside of me already; and so, in the exam room, I felt like I was in school,
trying to soak up lessons like a sponge and listening to everything every nurse
and the doctor had to say to be as prepared as possible. I was handed
folders of paperwork and a pile of pamphlets about banking/donating cord blood,
about stem cells and prenatal testing, about childbirth, infant preparation and
CPR classes, about Cedars-Sinai hospital tours, about breastfeeding vs. formula;
the information was endless.
I studied diagrams of the reproductive system and charts and
images of the developing fetus over the coming months. The OBGYN was referred to me by a friend I had known since
we were teenagers. The doctor was around
our age and had delivered my friend’s first-born – her son – a few years
prior. Now, my friend was pregnant with
her second! I thought it would be fun to
be “in the family way” and “on our way” together; so I jumped at the chance to
share an OBGYN she loved and trusted so much.
Dr. L was kind, knowledgeable and totally
approachable. She asked where my
husband/fiancé/father of the baby was, assessed my vital signs, discussed
general family history and overall health questions. And then she said, “10 weeks along. Let’s check the heartbeat and get some images
for you to take home and show your husband/fiancĂ© what he missed! I bet he’d love some pictures. When you come back for your next checkup in a
few weeks, he’ll listen to the heartbeat then…”
I agreed and was told to wait until the ultrasound
technician in the room next door was ready for me. I watched woman after woman waddle into and
out of the ultrasound room. I heard the
chatter of their excited voices with their loved ones inside the room. I heard the “pregnant pause” – pun intended –
as they awaited information and instruction from the technician. Then, I heard the loud drum of a healthy
heartbeat echoing everyone’s excitement through the halls and out to the
waiting room. I imagine it’s the one
instance when people were glad to see
something spread from one patient to the other in a waiting room at a doctor’s
office – the smiles were indeed contagious, the positive energy infectious as
we all watched one after the other exit holding their film strip of
images.
It was like they had emerged from an old-school photo booth,
like kissing teenagers , treasuring their souvenir. Pointing at and proud of the pictures. Blissful and blessed.
I could not wait to walk out with my images to show
Andrew. I could not wait to see our baby
again – our first baby. We had went in
together at 8 weeks, when we first confirmed the pregnancy, and were able to
see the flicker of the heartbeat on the screen.
Andrew cried.
I could not wait to hear
the heartbeat and felt so bad that Andrew was missing all this! Hearing the heartbeats of all those other
mom-to-be’s in utero babies … that’s a sound I will never ever forget. It was like the loud swoosh of the ocean and then the strong
determined beat of the rhythm of life swimming in its ebb and flow.
When it was my turn at last, I gathered all my folders and
pamphlets and brochures and paperwork and followed the ultrasound technician
into the examination room. After some
pleasantries regarding the pregnancy and collection of basic info., the
technician put the jelly on my belly, maneuvered the instrument around and
stared at the screen on the ultrasound machine.
I felt butterflies in my stomach and giggled at the thought
of the baby playing with butterflies in there.
I waited nervously during that “pregnant pause” and distracted myself by
fidgeting with the crunchy exam table tissue paper with my fingers.
The technician kept moving the wand in several directions, a
variety of motions and just when I felt like I had been holding my breath forever,
I heard her release hers. She let out a
slightly imperceptible but still audible sigh.
And I desperately searched her face for any answers until I
saw her expression darken. I was too
afraid to look but it was as if my neck slowly craned on its own and willed my
eyes to peek at the screen myself. And
there the baby still was! Sweet relief –
I almost laughed! My little Baby Bean
still in the same space as when we had confirmed we were expecting only a couple
of short weeks ago.
So, maybe the technician had lowered the volume on the
machine? Since surely she had it on so
high, so loud for all those other expectant mothers before me -- proud of their
babies’ loud heartbeats. I kept
replaying the sound in my head - the swoosh of the ocean, the rhythm of life - and strained to listen for my own baby’s heart.
But there was nothing.
I expected the same echo of excitement but instead, the deafening
silence of the ultrasound resonated deep inside of me – and there it echoed,
the silence bouncing sadly off the emptiness within.
I did not even have to ask her what was wrong, or what had
happened. Her words came. But mine did not. She put the wand down slowly and gently
placed her hand over mine on my bare and exposed stomach.
The gel was starting to give me a chill but no matter, my
skin had already broken out into goosebumps.
And little did I know, just how deep and vast the chill would
spread. How I would very much be so so
cold and frozen for so very long after this day.
“Honey, let me get the doctor.” And she went to leave me there alone, on the hard table in silence, gripping that crunchy paper until it tore beneath
crumpled, crumbling me. Before she
stepped out, she saw me turn my head again, slowly and pitifully towards the
monitor, as if willing the image of the little bean back to life.
In two quick steps, she rushed forward and shut the machine
off. “I’m sorry, honey. I’ll be right back.”
And there I lay, staring only at my morose reflection in the
darkness of the blank screen. My eyes
were blank as well, still staring and searching.
When the doctor quickly entered, it was hard to believe just
minutes before she had been congratulatory and bubbly bombarding me with
brochures full of information. And just
like that, the information instead became:
D&C vs. medication
Passing it “naturally.”
“It.”
“Products of conception.”
First pregnancy.
Very common.
Not a viable fetus.
Wouldn’t have carried to term anyway.
Has not grown since last scan.
No longer a heartbeat.
No heartbeat.
Gone. Gone.
Are you here alone?
Is there someone I can call?
Yes. I am here alone.
I thought I came in
with someone.
But I am leaving
alone.
I had come in so full.
And am leaving so
empty.
Ultimately, I decided to schedule a D&C. I did not think I could physically or emotionally handle miscarrying at home or at work, not knowing when or how; I
didn’t want to experience anymore. I
didn’t want to feel anymore. I wanted to
be knocked unconscious, I wanted it to be over with, I wanted to forget.
What happened, however, was so much worse. Both the doctor and the hospital could not
perform my D&C for TWO WEEKS due to scheduling issues. And so I lived like that for that long. I lived with my baby dead inside of me. And that pain seemed just as excruciatingly
paralyzing to me as losing massive amounts of blood. Instead of shedding and letting go, I was
literally and figuratively keeping it all in.
I can’t describe how much this fucked with my head. My soul suffocated. And my heart turned black.
I know this as one of the ultimate truths in my life: in
that doctor’s office, two heartbeats stopped that day. And our lives were never the same.
Brushing aside all the condolences and sympathetic looks and
“are you OK?s” and “can someone come get you?”s
of the doctor and her staff, I awkwardly threw out all the pregnancy
pamphlets and baby brochures in the reception trashcan. Instead, I took home paperwork about pre-op
instructions for the hospital.
Somehow, I got in my car and was able to drive away. Numb and going through the motions. I called my husband. I don’t remember what I said. I then called my “work husband” Jeff on the
way home and told him what happened also.
Jeff: “Tess, pull over.
Stop the car and pull over. I’m
coming to get you.”
“No,” I insisted again.
“I have to keep going.”
When asked, “What can I do?”
I told Jeff to please call anyone else that knew to tell them the
news. I could not fathom saying it over
and over again. I lost the baby. I lost the baby. My body failed. I am a failure. I failed us.
I failed my husband. All he ever
wanted to be was a father and I have failed him. It felt unforgivable. My failure to deliver.
And so Jeff did that for me.
He contacted every single person I had so foolishly told already. I suppose I had spread the news so
pre-emptively because of the wedding plans over the next few months and because
so many of my close friends, co-workers and relatives were also expecting at
the same time, most of them with their first babies.
It was these wonderful, compassionate, kind-hearted friends
that received our news with the most gentle care, treating us gently while I’m
sure still rattled a bit in fear for their own pending families-to-be. After all, it could have happened to any of us.
It was
the hardest thing to see them all grow as their pregnancies progressed and then
ultimately, I attended their baby showers, and met the babies after they were
born -- all the time thinking that our first baby would have had the same birthday,
been the same age, etc. After the
miscarriage, many other friends sent/brought heartfelt notes and cards,
flowers and plants and food – everything to simply nourish ourselves after this
devastating loss.
What amazed me most was the fortitude of the incredible
women that surrounded me. I knew my
female friends were strong, but I had no idea that so many of them had shared
the sadness of miscarriage; some had even suffered multiple miscarriages. And it became shockingly clear to me just how
many of these women hide these painful experiences, like a shameful secret,
burying it deep as if it were their deceased child-to-be. These women gave me unwavering support but
also cold, hard facts and “tough love” as to the days, months and years ahead
when dealing with a miscarriage as a woman, as a wife, as someone who so
desperately still wanted to be a mother, despite the fear. It was like being initiated into a tribe of
tragedy and our warpaint was scars of loss.
In fact, the most valuable advice after my miscarriage came
from my friend Ethan. At the time, all
those years ago, as a single gay man, a production executive and lawyer, Ethan
gave no inkling to most of us that he wanted to adopt and become a Dad. Now, he is the proud and fantastic father to
an amazing boy who is almost two years old! Four years ago when I miscarried, Ethan gave me some advice I will never forget:
“You
will only understand why this happened once you hold the baby you will, in
fact, have one day. And you will look into that baby's eyes and know why
he/she was meant to be and why other circumstances in life, are not. And
only then will you gain a little bit of peace and understanding about how and
why you suffered and overcame that loss, for the firstborn baby you are yet to have."
That all
sounded so Oprah to me back then, and I was resistant to hearing anything from
anybody about moving on or getting past anything. But it is four years later and now, we do
have a child. After a healthy pregnancy
and an easy natural childbirth without any drugs or even an IV, our daughter Elyse
is almost 9 months old. Now that we are
finally parents, I think about Ethan’s advice all the time. The irony is not lost on me that I had the D&C at Cedars-Sinai Hospital in Beverly Hills, on the very same floor where I gave birth to Elyse, our first-born, a little over three years later.
When Elyse
was born, I think we finally came to peace with losing what would have been her older sibling and
how that made us stronger as a couple, as a family unit, even though it was one
of the weakest and darkest times of our lives. There are issues caused by the miscarriage that we still deal with to this day in our relationship; and in a sense, we will always have to cope with the effects of that loss we suffered.
I do have to be honest that every time I see my friend’s
children that were to be born at that same time in 2011, I think how crazy it
is that I could now have an almost 4 year old!
These ladies and
their families have even had their second kid already! Whenever I see birthdays and announcements
and updated pics of their first child -- my cousin/like a sister to me
Allison’s Nadia, Anna’s Mae Mae,
Teri’s Hunter, Jenn/”Boeuf’s” Sawyer, Jaclyn’s Sydney and Rebecca’s Harbor/
“Bo,” who shared the same due date (!!) I see these kids grow strong and
beautiful, thriving and flourishing and I still have the pangs of pain that
make me wonder why ours did not, could not … then I look at Elyse. And into her eyes. All 8+ months of her crawling, drooling,
babbling, climbing, standing, sassypants glory and I know … this is how it was
meant to be. I will never forget the
baby that could have been, but I feel so blessed to have the baby that became
our “first.”
Tagging the following family and friends who are family that
helped Andrew and I survive that very difficult year and who continue to always
unconditionally be there for us.
THANXO.
TAGS:
Andrew Meyers
Erika Gieschen Bertling
Erika Gieschen Bertling
Jennifer Margolis Bollacker
Ethan Cohan
Samantha Davis
Maribel Gamboa
Keith Garcia
Keith Garcia
Missy Mareau Garcia
Danielle Ghilardi
Jessica Gillon
Allison Hays
Doug Henning
Allison Hays
Doug Henning
Rebecca Taylor Henning
Jeff Keirns
Danny Kon
Stacy Lauren Kon
Brian Matthew Lee
Kara Kurcz Lee
Stacy Lauren Kon
Brian Matthew Lee
Kara Kurcz Lee
Seth Levy
Amanda MacFadden
Carrie MacFadden
Tom Magill
Worldof La/Larissa AK Matsson
Patricia Miocic
Anna Moulaison Moore
Diana Morelli
Patricia Miocic
Anna Moulaison Moore
Diana Morelli
Esther Reyes
Jaclyn Levy Rosenberg
Teri Weideman
Temple Williams
Emily Yeung
Saturday, February 28, 2015
Wednesday, February 25, 2015
Take a Haiku
I went on a long walk intending to "write" one haiku in my mind…I wrote ten.
WRITING PROMPT:
Try to illustrate aliveness through a short poem, story or reflection about yourself. Describe yourself in the third person in your most optimal creative flow and deep connection with the whole of life. Include sensory details (sight, smell, taste, touch, hearing)
WRITING PROMPT:
Try to illustrate aliveness through a short poem, story or reflection about yourself. Describe yourself in the third person in your most optimal creative flow and deep connection with the whole of life. Include sensory details (sight, smell, taste, touch, hearing)
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