I am fortunate. Even through this loss, I have reminded myself of this each day.

I have a husband, family, and a group of close friends who don't always "get" what I am going through, but love me regardless. I have an excellent therapist that specializes in this kind of loss, great medical care to help us through whatever this SIF is throwing at us, and we live without having to worry about our next meal, or whether or not we can pay the heating bill. These are just a few of the things I try to remind myself of in my darkest hours.

There are many mothers in this world who lose their children everyday without the comfort of a family, a roof over their head, a safe society to live in, access to medical care etc. It could be worse. There are so many in this world, even those that have never lost a child, that have it worse. Poverty, war, famine, the list goes on an on.

There is no shortage of grief in this world, and no shortage of people that could use our help, in some capacity or another.


When we were marking Peyton's first birthday, I really wanted to find something positive to do in her name. I have all these grand plans in mind about a Peyton Foundation I hope to one day set up to support NICU families. Even then, during the nightmare of worry that was Peyton's life, I realized how lucky were were to be together, in a hospital that specialized in children, and on the receiving end of many random acts of kindness. I have often thought how much harder it would have been to be there as a single parent, or to find ourselves instead in some huge city hospital where we could have gotten lost in the shuffle. I felt frustrated as Peyton's birthday approached to not yet be in a place where I could carry something like this out, but I do believe that in time, my energy will return, my emotions will be lifted, and this idea will get off the ground.

So, that left me in a bit of a pickle as Peyton's birthday approached. I was a mess. I wanted to do some good to mark her day, but also knew it needed to be something that wouldn't be affected by whether or not I was having a good or a bad day.

I sent checks out to our usual charities, but still felt like something was missing. I wanted something new. Something unique for her special day. I was reading around on the internet, trying to get ideas when I came across (Carleigh's Momma) Holly's family blog and the story of Shalini, a little girl from India that Carly sponsors through Compassion International. I knew once I saw the picture (and checked out Compassion International on Charity Navigator) that this was what I wanted to do as Peyton's Birthday gift. So today, for show and tell, I am sharing with you, our little sponsor child Lizeth. She is from Bolivia, 5 years old, and just adorable. Sponsorship covers food, education, bible studies, medical and dental expenses, job training for her parents.... and... birthday parties! How fun is that? I don't know why I loved that my sponsorship would get her a birthday party, but it brought a smile to my face and welcoming this little child into our heart at a point when we were so missing Peyton, well it just felt right. I searched many children's profiles, but I knew once I saw Lizeth, that she was the one...Anyone that matches a fancy party dress with boots and a turtle neck is my kinda kid!

We just received our first picture of her, sorry the picture quality here is so bad, I don't have a scanner so I took a picture of her picture. Last week we responded with our own picture and a letter back to her: How do you like school? What do you do for fun? Etc. Etc. I am really looking forward to learning all about her and her family.

To see what others are showing and telling, click Here. 


*************
Please also send Lisette some love today. Her little baby girl, Lauren Samantha, was born into her arms this Monday, and into Heaven shortly after.

I am fortunate. Even through this loss, I have reminded myself of this each day.

I have a husband, family, and a group of close friends who don't always "get" what I am going through, but love me regardless. I have an excellent therapist that specializes in this kind of loss, great medical care to help us through whatever this SIF is throwing at us, and we live without having to worry about our next meal, or whether or not we can pay the heating bill. These are just a few of the things I try to remind myself of in my darkest hours.

There are many mothers in this world who lose their children everyday without the comfort of a family, a roof over their head, a safe society to live in, access to medical care etc. It could be worse. There are so many in this world, even those that have never lost a child, that have it worse. Poverty, war, famine, the list goes on an on.

There is no shortage of grief in this world, and no shortage of people that could use our help, in some capacity or another.


When we were marking Peyton's first birthday, I really wanted to find something positive to do in her name. I have all these grand plans in mind about a Peyton Foundation I hope to one day set up to support NICU families. Even then, during the nightmare of worry that was Peyton's life, I realized how lucky were were to be together, in a hospital that specialized in children, and on the receiving end of many random acts of kindness. I have often thought how much harder it would have been to be there as a single parent, or to find ourselves instead in some huge city hospital where we could have gotten lost in the shuffle. I felt frustrated as Peyton's birthday approached to not yet be in a place where I could carry something like this out, but I do believe that in time, my energy will return, my emotions will be lifted, and this idea will get off the ground.

So, that left me in a bit of a pickle as Peyton's birthday approached. I was a mess. I wanted to do some good to mark her day, but also knew it needed to be something that wouldn't be affected by whether or not I was having a good or a bad day.

I sent checks out to our usual charities, but still felt like something was missing. I wanted something new. Something unique for her special day. I was reading around on the internet, trying to get ideas when I came across (Carleigh's Momma) Holly's family blog and the story of Shalini, a little girl from India that Carly sponsors through Compassion International. I knew once I saw the picture (and checked out Compassion International on Charity Navigator) that this was what I wanted to do as Peyton's Birthday gift. So today, for show and tell, I am sharing with you, our little sponsor child Lizeth. She is from Bolivia, 5 years old, and just adorable. Sponsorship covers food, education, bible studies, medical and dental expenses, job training for her parents.... and... birthday parties! How fun is that? I don't know why I loved that my sponsorship would get her a birthday party, but it brought a smile to my face and welcoming this little child into our heart at a point when we were so missing Peyton, well it just felt right. I searched many children's profiles, but I knew once I saw Lizeth, that she was the one...Anyone that matches a fancy party dress with boots and a turtle neck is my kinda kid!

We just received our first picture of her, sorry the picture quality here is so bad, I don't have a scanner so I took a picture of her picture. Last week we responded with our own picture and a letter back to her: How do you like school? What do you do for fun? Etc. Etc. I am really looking forward to learning all about her and her family.

To see what others are showing and telling, click Here. 


*************
Please also send Lisette some love today. Her little baby girl, Lauren Samantha, was born into her arms this Monday, and into Heaven shortly after.

I
need
to
get
out
of
this
funk.

I
need
to
get
out
of
this
funk.

This last week has been sort of blah physically and emotionally. I have been
feeling down about many things, missing Peyton, the SIF, and generally just not
feeling great. Today AF decided to stop by after a three month hiatus, and
that, I guess, explains some of why I am feeling how I am feeling. Her arrival
used to signal another opportunity to try. Now, knowing I am not ovulating on my
own, the blush has sort of fallen off that rose.

I find myself really missing Peyton right now. I don't know if it is the
season (which, because of its raw beauty here in the northeast has always been
my favorite) the impending arrival of my new nephew next month, or just this
overwhelming feeling that my own dreams for a family are getting further and
further out of reach, but whatever the cause, I am hurting.

I find I am
at a place now where I sort of keep my "break downs" to myself,
allowing the fears and sadness to envelop my thoughts, all while keeping a
straight face for the benefit of those around me. It’s exhausting to have to pretend, but worse always
feeling vulnerable and exposed.

The sense that I no longer have a place, among either those who have
children, or those who have never had children, is overwhelming. Even this
community, which has been such a safe haven of understanding for me, seems recently to be brimming with news of impending rainbow babies, and while my
prayers, love and heart do go out to my dear friends at this happy news, (believe me I have not lost sight of the suffering and loss they have endured to get there), my heartache at being left
out is growing. I am stuck in the sand, watching their ships sail off into the sunset,
and begging from the shoreline for someone to stay with me, to cry with me, to
hold my hand. I want my ticket off this island.

On my way to visit Peyton's grave yesterday I started talking to her in the
car. I do this sometimes, when I am really missing her, or see something that I would have showed her as mothers do. Yesterday it was the Technicolor landscape of Fall, the way the leaves, en route to her grave, reflected in our local river. I so wish she was here to share these moments with. It’s like I see
these things, and my heart starts to swell, and then the wave of grief comes
over me, and where there was color and beauty, I am left deflated among twigs and brown bare branches.

Reaching her site I found a marker in hub’s car and penned a note/poem on a
yellow napkin. I meant to leave it, but realized this morning that I had not. Today
it's raining and once I publish this post, I am going to make my way, note in hand,
back up to her. I am hoping the wetness of the day will melt the napkin, delivering
it into the earth to be with her. The note read:

Can you hear me?

The way I talk to
you on drives

sharing the beauty
all around me,

or try to teach you
about this world,

the things a mother
should teach her child?

Look, I say, Look
Peyton,

at those leaves,
how they glow with orange, red and yellow hues in the sun's light.

How different life would be if you were here, in the backseat, smiling.

Would I even know
what I had?

How precious a gift
you were, or how lucky your safe arrival in my arms made me?

I am speaking to
you Peyton,

I feel like you are
listening.

But, maybe you aren't there.

Maybe your crazy
mother is trying too hard to find a sign where there is none,

or to believe what
her heart wants.

It doesn’t matter.

I go on teaching
you just the same.

Talking just the
same.

Loving just the
same.

Sharing just the
same as if you were here with me.

Your life ended with
the fall of last year’s Autumn leaves.

My love for
you did not.

This last week has been sort of blah physically and emotionally. I have been
feeling down about many things, missing Peyton, the SIF, and generally just not
feeling great. Today AF decided to stop by after a three month hiatus, and
that, I guess, explains some of why I am feeling how I am feeling. Her arrival
used to signal another opportunity to try. Now, knowing I am not ovulating on my
own, the blush has sort of fallen off that rose.

I find myself really missing Peyton right now. I don't know if it is the
season (which, because of its raw beauty here in the northeast has always been
my favorite) the impending arrival of my new nephew next month, or just this
overwhelming feeling that my own dreams for a family are getting further and
further out of reach, but whatever the cause, I am hurting.

I find I am
at a place now where I sort of keep my "break downs" to myself,
allowing the fears and sadness to envelop my thoughts, all while keeping a
straight face for the benefit of those around me. It’s exhausting to have to pretend, but worse always
feeling vulnerable and exposed.

The sense that I no longer have a place, among either those who have
children, or those who have never had children, is overwhelming. Even this
community, which has been such a safe haven of understanding for me, seems recently to be brimming with news of impending rainbow babies, and while my
prayers, love and heart do go out to my dear friends at this happy news, (believe me I have not lost sight of the suffering and loss they have endured to get there), my heartache at being left
out is growing. I am stuck in the sand, watching their ships sail off into the sunset,
and begging from the shoreline for someone to stay with me, to cry with me, to
hold my hand. I want my ticket off this island.

On my way to visit Peyton's grave yesterday I started talking to her in the
car. I do this sometimes, when I am really missing her, or see something that I would have showed her as mothers do. Yesterday it was the Technicolor landscape of Fall, the way the leaves, en route to her grave, reflected in our local river. I so wish she was here to share these moments with. It’s like I see
these things, and my heart starts to swell, and then the wave of grief comes
over me, and where there was color and beauty, I am left deflated among twigs and brown bare branches.

Reaching her site I found a marker in hub’s car and penned a note/poem on a
yellow napkin. I meant to leave it, but realized this morning that I had not. Today
it's raining and once I publish this post, I am going to make my way, note in hand,
back up to her. I am hoping the wetness of the day will melt the napkin, delivering
it into the earth to be with her. The note read:

Can you hear me?

The way I talk to
you on drives

sharing the beauty
all around me,

or try to teach you
about this world,

the things a mother
should teach her child?

Look, I say, Look
Peyton,

at those leaves,
how they glow with orange, red and yellow hues in the sun's light.

How different life would be if you were here, in the backseat, smiling.

Would I even know
what I had?

How precious a gift
you were, or how lucky your safe arrival in my arms made me?

I am speaking to
you Peyton,

I feel like you are
listening.

But, maybe you aren't there.

Maybe your crazy
mother is trying too hard to find a sign where there is none,

or to believe what
her heart wants.

It doesn’t matter.

I go on teaching
you just the same.

Talking just the
same.

Loving just the
same.

Sharing just the
same as if you were here with me.

Your life ended with
the fall of last year’s Autumn leaves.

My love for
you did not.

babom-bom-babomCan you hear it?
babom-bom-babomIt wakes me without warning.
babom-bom-babomMy eyes are thrown open,
babom-bom-babomshades drawn to this new world.
babom-bom-babomIt's dark, not yet light out.
babom-bom-babomThe panic comes creeping.
babom-bom-babom Is it the cause, or the effect?
babom-bom-babom I never quite know.
babom-bom-babomMy chest shakes, I can't stop it.
babom-bom-babomMy body no longer keeps time,
babom-bom-babom in this new reality,
babom-bom-babomwhere nothing ever feels "right."
babom-bom-babomAn ever present reminder,
babom-bom-babomthat something is missing.
babom-bom-babomMy body is different.
babom-bom-babomI am different.
babom-bom-babomChanged organically.
babom-bom-babomBaby do you hear it?
babom-bom-babomThat beat that my heart is missing.
babom-bom-babomGone with your last breath.
babom-bom-babom My sweet child, that's you.
~Kristin Binder

babom-bom-babomCan you hear it?
babom-bom-babomIt wakes me without warning.
babom-bom-babomMy eyes are thrown open,
babom-bom-babomshades drawn to this new world.
babom-bom-babomIt's dark, not yet light out.
babom-bom-babomThe panic comes creeping.
babom-bom-babom Is it the cause, or the effect?
babom-bom-babom I never quite know.
babom-bom-babomMy chest shakes, I can't stop it.
babom-bom-babomMy body no longer keeps time,
babom-bom-babom in this new reality,
babom-bom-babomwhere nothing ever feels "right."
babom-bom-babomAn ever present reminder,
babom-bom-babomthat something is missing.
babom-bom-babomMy body is different.
babom-bom-babomI am different.
babom-bom-babomChanged organically.
babom-bom-babomBaby do you hear it?
babom-bom-babomThat beat that my heart is missing.
babom-bom-babomGone with your last breath.
babom-bom-babom My sweet child, that's you.
~Kristin Binder

I am running from these realities as they chase my every move. That
is not your life, they tell me. That is not your future. That is what you expected, what you could have had, what everyone else has... That is not for you.

I know there are so many women who face this journey with grace, strength,
Faith. I am not one of them. Not because I choose not to be. Who wouldn't rather be a pillar of strength or an inspiration to others? No, I am not one of them because I am hurting, in a way that never leaves, that never allows something beautiful to blossom from all this heartache.

I am
hurting when I smile and I tell you “I’m Okay” because I am so sick of being
that person, that burden, that disappointment who can’t get her act together. I
am hurting when I congratulate you on your pregnancy, or new child. I am
hurting when I see couples my age, and think how lucky they are to still be
kids with their whole lives ahead of them, but can no longer relate to that naive optimism.

I hate being 29 and feeling like my
book has been written. I hate seeing pictures of myself and doing double takes
because I don’t recognize myself. I hate that I cannot help but to wallow and
question and feel anger at what has happened. I am suffocating beneath memories
of the better person that I used to be, of those last happy moments before she
was born, of the memories of her life, of the choices, of what she lived
through, of all the living she never got to do, of watching her leave, of
feeling so much guilt, of wanting to return to normal, of wishing for a baby,
of being diagnosed with SIF, of all of it.

I am pathetic. I am stagnant. I am
grieving.

I am running from these realities as they chase my every move. That
is not your life, they tell me. That is not your future. That is what you expected, what you could have had, what everyone else has... That is not for you.

I know there are so many women who face this journey with grace, strength,
Faith. I am not one of them. Not because I choose not to be. Who wouldn't rather be a pillar of strength or an inspiration to others? No, I am not one of them because I am hurting, in a way that never leaves, that never allows something beautiful to blossom from all this heartache.

I am
hurting when I smile and I tell you “I’m Okay” because I am so sick of being
that person, that burden, that disappointment who can’t get her act together. I
am hurting when I congratulate you on your pregnancy, or new child. I am
hurting when I see couples my age, and think how lucky they are to still be
kids with their whole lives ahead of them, but can no longer relate to that naive optimism.

I hate being 29 and feeling like my
book has been written. I hate seeing pictures of myself and doing double takes
because I don’t recognize myself. I hate that I cannot help but to wallow and
question and feel anger at what has happened. I am suffocating beneath memories
of the better person that I used to be, of those last happy moments before she
was born, of the memories of her life, of the choices, of what she lived
through, of all the living she never got to do, of watching her leave, of
feeling so much guilt, of wanting to return to normal, of wishing for a baby,
of being diagnosed with SIF, of all of it.

I am pathetic. I am stagnant. I am
grieving.

This should be a happy post.

Today marks eight years since I met hubs. I should be writing about that. I should be writing about how much loving this man, this amazing husband and father, has changed my life, and how grateful I am to share every experience with him.

I do, of course, feel all of these things, but for some reason that is not where my mind has gone. Instead, all day, I have found myself caught up in writing little Haikus. I am using the term Haiku lightly, because to be a true Haiku there would be some reference to nature and its connection to the human spirit, and these references are not found in mine. So, if you are a Haiku traditionalist, please take this as my preemptive apology.


Anyway, these little poems, concise in their traditional 5,7,5 syllable pattern have been floating through my head all day. It's really odd the way this happens, I often find myself thinking in poetry, but even for me, thinking in Haiku is pretty out of the norm. Realistically, I probably haven't written Haiku since maybe the first or second grade. Anyway, these are some of the ones scribbled down throughout the day.

My battered soul cries.

Miscarriage. Child loss. Now this?

It's too cruel for words.

********

Cruel fate you mock me.

Once allowing such high hopes,

in their wake - truth, pain.

********

There are no true words

to convey just how broken

my dreams feel right now.

********

Where is the justice?

So many go unwanted.

Mine, so wanted. Gone.

********

In flashes, I'm there

In her ear, "Shhh, It's Okay"

"I'm here...Mommy's here"

Feel free to comment in Haiku format if you would like, about this post, about your losses, about infertility, about anything really.

This should be a happy post.

Today marks eight years since I met hubs. I should be writing about that. I should be writing about how much loving this man, this amazing husband and father, has changed my life, and how grateful I am to share every experience with him.

I do, of course, feel all of these things, but for some reason that is not where my mind has gone. Instead, all day, I have found myself caught up in writing little Haikus. I am using the term Haiku lightly, because to be a true Haiku there would be some reference to nature and its connection to the human spirit, and these references are not found in mine. So, if you are a Haiku traditionalist, please take this as my preemptive apology.


Anyway, these little poems, concise in their traditional 5,7,5 syllable pattern have been floating through my head all day. It's really odd the way this happens, I often find myself thinking in poetry, but even for me, thinking in Haiku is pretty out of the norm. Realistically, I probably haven't written Haiku since maybe the first or second grade. Anyway, these are some of the ones scribbled down throughout the day.

My battered soul cries.

Miscarriage. Child loss. Now this?

It's too cruel for words.

********

Cruel fate you mock me.

Once allowing such high hopes,

in their wake - truth, pain.

********

There are no true words

to convey just how broken

my dreams feel right now.

********

Where is the justice?

So many go unwanted.

Mine, so wanted. Gone.

********

In flashes, I'm there

In her ear, "Shhh, It's Okay"

"I'm here...Mommy's here"

Feel free to comment in Haiku format if you would like, about this post, about your losses, about infertility, about anything really.

I search for beauty among these terrible things

today I find it picturing my child in her angel wings

imagining her sweet giggle as she flies above

watching over us, spreading her love

Though my faith has been tested by her death

sometimes it helps me to catch my next breath

imagining her dancing around pain free up there

among the rainbows, the clouds, the sun, the air

I hope she knows we feel each sweet gesture

and believe they are blessings sent down by her

helping us survive even the most terrible day

by sending others to hold our hand along the way

So fitting that this image be

and one bringing such happy solace to me

for on the very day she was deceased

we Catholics mark The Guardian Angels Feast

So fly sweet little girl of mine

and down from Heaven let your spirit shine

through happy moments that help us find our smile

and the kindness of others along this grieving mile

~Kristin Binder

A huge Thank You to Lea at the Angel Wings Memorial Boutique

for surprising me with these beautiful wings

created out of love in Peyton's honor.

I search for beauty among these terrible things

today I find it picturing my child in her angel wings

imagining her sweet giggle as she flies above

watching over us, spreading her love

Though my faith has been tested by her death

sometimes it helps me to catch my next breath

imagining her dancing around pain free up there

among the rainbows, the clouds, the sun, the air

I hope she knows we feel each sweet gesture

and believe they are blessings sent down by her

helping us survive even the most terrible day

by sending others to hold our hand along the way

So fitting that this image be

and one bringing such happy solace to me

for on the very day she was deceased

we Catholics mark The Guardian Angels Feast

So fly sweet little girl of mine

and down from Heaven let your spirit shine

through happy moments that help us find our smile

and the kindness of others along this grieving mile

~Kristin Binder

A huge Thank You to Lea at the Angel Wings Memorial Boutique

for surprising me with these beautiful wings

created out of love in Peyton's honor.

How far that little candle throws his beams!

So shines a good deed in a naughty world.

~William Shakespeare, Merchant of Venice

I have received so many amazing messages of support through this community since my craptastic visit to the Doctor on Monday, and I have to say, they have really been helping. There are no words appropriate to describe how much your  kindness has meant through this latest blow.


I don't know if you all realize just how deeply your comments resonate with me, how much comfort I find in them, or how much it means to know that there are others who understand what the news of SIF after losing your only baby can do to a person. So many of you know me only through this blog, and still, you reach out to hold my hand, cry, and pray with me. These actions mean so, so much.

This morning I woke to find a beautiful note in my inbox. It read:

Dear Kristin

I know you are having a heartbreakingly awful time at the moment. I am so deeply sorry. Whilst I’ll continue to keep you in my thoughts and prayers I am also sending this as a gift of love from Rory’s Garden.
Sarah xxxxx

I felt such joy in receiving this gift, this random act of kindness. As Peyton's mother, seeing her little life honored in such a breathtaking and selfless way, knowing that someone who had never met us created this tribute with such care, it moved me to tears. Thank you so much Sarah.

I am sharing this with you all today because it is a beautiful, beautiful photograph, and it is my hope that in doing so, I can help to spread the word about the amazing Say It With Flowers project. 

Your messages of support, and this amazing gift, each act as a reminder to us all that we can, in our own special ways, shine beams of light onto the others in this community who are struggling  to find direction in the darkness.

Thank you for helping to light my path.


To see what others are showing visit here.

How far that little candle throws his beams!

So shines a good deed in a naughty world.

~William Shakespeare, Merchant of Venice

I have received so many amazing messages of support through this community since my craptastic visit to the Doctor on Monday, and I have to say, they have really been helping. There are no words appropriate to describe how much your  kindness has meant through this latest blow.


I don't know if you all realize just how deeply your comments resonate with me, how much comfort I find in them, or how much it means to know that there are others who understand what the news of SIF after losing your only baby can do to a person. So many of you know me only through this blog, and still, you reach out to hold my hand, cry, and pray with me. These actions mean so, so much.

This morning I woke to find a beautiful note in my inbox. It read:

Dear Kristin

I know you are having a heartbreakingly awful time at the moment. I am so deeply sorry. Whilst I’ll continue to keep you in my thoughts and prayers I am also sending this as a gift of love from Rory’s Garden.
Sarah xxxxx

I felt such joy in receiving this gift, this random act of kindness. As Peyton's mother, seeing her little life honored in such a breathtaking and selfless way, knowing that someone who had never met us created this tribute with such care, it moved me to tears. Thank you so much Sarah.

I am sharing this with you all today because it is a beautiful, beautiful photograph, and it is my hope that in doing so, I can help to spread the word about the amazing Say It With Flowers project. 

Your messages of support, and this amazing gift, each act as a reminder to us all that we can, in our own special ways, shine beams of light onto the others in this community who are struggling  to find direction in the darkness.

Thank you for helping to light my path.


To see what others are showing visit here.

"Do you feel emotionally ready for this?"

My doctor posed this question this morning, and all I could do was look at her, mouth agape, unable to answer.

There is no denying it. I am an emotional mess. I have been since Peyton died. I am grieving and suffering from PTSD. I anger easily, feel overwhelmed at the drop of a hat, and carry massive amounts of guilt at not only being unable to save my child, but having had to witness all that was done to her for nothing. The pain of watching your child die does not end with their last breath, it begins.

Each day the waves of this new reality hit harder and harder and I feel the possibility of having a family of our own slipping further and further away. In the two years since we started TTC, we have hit two major hurdles: The loss of our first pregnancy for reasons unknown to miscarriage, and the loss of our child, our daughter Peyton, to infant leukemia. This morning I was dealt another blow, one which was anticipated, and yet still hurt like hell to hear... we are definitely dealing with an infertility issue now.

My doctor has explained that this new road, the one she wonders if I am emotionally prepared to handle, is one full of testing, stress, disappointment, hormonal changes, injections, procedures, emotional highs and lows etc. etc., all of which compound the emotions that I have been dealing with since losing Peyton. I have cried so many tears today, my heart is aching, and my fingers feel exhausted even now as I type this. It's not that I didn't think I was infertile... I have blogged about my concerns about this here and here. I think it was just hearing my doctor explain that after five months of TTC, she feels we are no longer in a place where doing this on our own is a likely possibility. Am I emotionally ready for this? Probably not. Am I emotionally ready to never again have another child? Definitely not. Therein lies the conundrum.

Today I threw a question up to God that I have so many times before... "how the hell did this happen to my life?" I actually threw it up to Him through tears after coming out of the supermarket where I saw a magazine cover with a headline that Brangelina are expecting two more. Two MORE... really... are you F*ing kidding me? I don't know why seeing that magazine brought so many tears, maybe it was just another reminder that what comes so easily to others, may never come for us. I wish I could say that I could make peace with this new reality... I cannot.

Next month we begin new tests based on these, my doctor's theories, as to why I cannot manage a BFP.

A) By rushing out of bed 30 hours after a c-section to be at Peyton's side, and allowing no time to heal, my uterus and/or tubes may have suffered scarring or damage and that is why my cycle has disappeared. A dye test will be done to determine the extent of the damage, if any, that is keeping me from becoming pregnant. I am especially angered at this theory... at the bitter irony that in trying to be a good mother and pushing myself to be with my fatally ill child, I may have cost myself future pregnancies. There are no words for the emotions that I feel when considering this possibility.

B) I am no longer ovulating or getting AF on my own because of the stress/grief/just because/etc etc any of the million and one reasons that can lead to SIF. Should the aforementioned dye test come back negative (prayers on this please) we will begin clomid and provera next month. This too brings a lot of emotions, primarily disappointment with myself when thinking about the theory that the stress and grieving has been causing my problem. The implication I draw being that I am in some way contributing to my own infertility. I know of a lot of women in this community hurting just as badly as I am, grieving just as hard and missing their babies just as much, and they have gone on to get pregnant or have other babies. What is wrong with me? The sense of failure that this theory brings is overwhelming.

C)Hubs counts have changed... I am not really giving any thought to this option because I don't feel that its the case. I don't know why I feel so sure about this, I just do. Nothing has changed for him physically and he has been coping much better since losing Peyton than I have, so I don't believe it is a problem on his end. Some tests will be run just to rule this out.


My doctor set an appointment for next month (a few days after we meet with a genetic counselor to see if there was any possible genetic cause for Peyton's cancer) to speak with me and hubs. She explained that IF can really tax a marriage, and that she is concerned about what it could mean for a couple already having been dealt such a blow. I am so tired of this, of these boulders in the pathway of our happiness. They say "God doesn't give you more than you can handle," and you know what, that's bullshit. Child loss and SIF. That is more than anyone can handle.

"Do you feel emotionally ready for this?"

My doctor posed this question this morning, and all I could do was look at her, mouth agape, unable to answer.

There is no denying it. I am an emotional mess. I have been since Peyton died. I am grieving and suffering from PTSD. I anger easily, feel overwhelmed at the drop of a hat, and carry massive amounts of guilt at not only being unable to save my child, but having had to witness all that was done to her for nothing. The pain of watching your child die does not end with their last breath, it begins.

Each day the waves of this new reality hit harder and harder and I feel the possibility of having a family of our own slipping further and further away. In the two years since we started TTC, we have hit two major hurdles: The loss of our first pregnancy for reasons unknown to miscarriage, and the loss of our child, our daughter Peyton, to infant leukemia. This morning I was dealt another blow, one which was anticipated, and yet still hurt like hell to hear... we are definitely dealing with an infertility issue now.

My doctor has explained that this new road, the one she wonders if I am emotionally prepared to handle, is one full of testing, stress, disappointment, hormonal changes, injections, procedures, emotional highs and lows etc. etc., all of which compound the emotions that I have been dealing with since losing Peyton. I have cried so many tears today, my heart is aching, and my fingers feel exhausted even now as I type this. It's not that I didn't think I was infertile... I have blogged about my concerns about this here and here. I think it was just hearing my doctor explain that after five months of TTC, she feels we are no longer in a place where doing this on our own is a likely possibility. Am I emotionally ready for this? Probably not. Am I emotionally ready to never again have another child? Definitely not. Therein lies the conundrum.

Today I threw a question up to God that I have so many times before... "how the hell did this happen to my life?" I actually threw it up to Him through tears after coming out of the supermarket where I saw a magazine cover with a headline that Brangelina are expecting two more. Two MORE... really... are you F*ing kidding me? I don't know why seeing that magazine brought so many tears, maybe it was just another reminder that what comes so easily to others, may never come for us. I wish I could say that I could make peace with this new reality... I cannot.

Next month we begin new tests based on these, my doctor's theories, as to why I cannot manage a BFP.

A) By rushing out of bed 30 hours after a c-section to be at Peyton's side, and allowing no time to heal, my uterus and/or tubes may have suffered scarring or damage and that is why my cycle has disappeared. A dye test will be done to determine the extent of the damage, if any, that is keeping me from becoming pregnant. I am especially angered at this theory... at the bitter irony that in trying to be a good mother and pushing myself to be with my fatally ill child, I may have cost myself future pregnancies. There are no words for the emotions that I feel when considering this possibility.

B) I am no longer ovulating or getting AF on my own because of the stress/grief/just because/etc etc any of the million and one reasons that can lead to SIF. Should the aforementioned dye test come back negative (prayers on this please) we will begin clomid and provera next month. This too brings a lot of emotions, primarily disappointment with myself when thinking about the theory that the stress and grieving has been causing my problem. The implication I draw being that I am in some way contributing to my own infertility. I know of a lot of women in this community hurting just as badly as I am, grieving just as hard and missing their babies just as much, and they have gone on to get pregnant or have other babies. What is wrong with me? The sense of failure that this theory brings is overwhelming.

C)Hubs counts have changed... I am not really giving any thought to this option because I don't feel that its the case. I don't know why I feel so sure about this, I just do. Nothing has changed for him physically and he has been coping much better since losing Peyton than I have, so I don't believe it is a problem on his end. Some tests will be run just to rule this out.


My doctor set an appointment for next month (a few days after we meet with a genetic counselor to see if there was any possible genetic cause for Peyton's cancer) to speak with me and hubs. She explained that IF can really tax a marriage, and that she is concerned about what it could mean for a couple already having been dealt such a blow. I am so tired of this, of these boulders in the pathway of our happiness. They say "God doesn't give you more than you can handle," and you know what, that's bullshit. Child loss and SIF. That is more than anyone can handle.

A conversation heard in passing today...

Woman with long braid: My little dog died.

Woman in obnoxious orange sweater: Oh... I'm so sorry.

Woman with long braid: He was very, very old.

Woman in obnoxious orange sweater: I know, losing a pet. That's like losing your child.

Woman with long braid: *without skipping a beat* Oh, no... I think it's worse to lose your pet.

Woman in obnoxious orange sweater: *nods*  Yeah, *snickers* they're better than kids.

Woman with long braid: *laughs* So true..

Woman in obnoxious orange sweater. *nods and laughs*

I walk away disgusted.

A conversation heard in passing today...

Woman with long braid: My little dog died.

Woman in obnoxious orange sweater: Oh... I'm so sorry.

Woman with long braid: He was very, very old.

Woman in obnoxious orange sweater: I know, losing a pet. That's like losing your child.

Woman with long braid: *without skipping a beat* Oh, no... I think it's worse to lose your pet.

Woman in obnoxious orange sweater: *nods*  Yeah, *snickers* they're better than kids.

Woman with long braid: *laughs* So true..

Woman in obnoxious orange sweater. *nods and laughs*

I walk away disgusted.

 

Tonight we remember
our children
together.

The death of a baby is like a stone cast into the stillness of a quiet pool; the concentric ripples of despair sweep out in all directions, affecting many, many people. --De Frain, 1991 

Peyton Elizabeth Binder 9/4/08-10/2/08

Our candle burned bright tonight at Peyton's grave.

No amount of snow or cold could keep us away.

 

I went name by name, remembering and praying for each of the babies that I have grown to love through this community.  Your babies' stories have touched my heart deeply, and they will never be forgotten.

 

Thank you so much to all those who remembered Peyton tonight
and especially to Quinn's amazing Momma Marybeth 
for honoring Peyton with this beautiful candle.