My Head and My Heart

There's something about being alone in the car. During that time I talk to God. I talk to Hudson. If I am heading to meet someone that I have seen since ...before... I practice conversations so that I can appear strong and not like an emotional train wreck. I sing along to the songs on the radio that speak to me. Almost every time I am in the car alone, I cry. All the way to work, all the way home. I just do. It is the time spent alone that the conversations between my head and my heart take place.

My heart:

Aches.

Reactive.
My source of impulse until my head takes over.  

Yearns for what we don't have, it wants what it wants, yet is so scared of more pain.

My head:

Pragmatic, logical.

Quiets the heart's impulsive nature to take a step back and look at the big picture.

Still in a fog sometimes.

At the end of August, I had a positive pregnancy test. 

We were not-not trying, but we were not calculating when I was ovulating in hopes of getting pregnant again. We were just seeing what may happen. My cycle was still regulating and getting back to normal so when I was 4 days late, my heart felt like maybe I should think something of it, but my head said probably not. We were leaving the next day for our healing trip in Vancouver and I planned to eat sushi and enjoy alcoholic beverages so I wanted to make sure, just in case. I took a test the night before we left - no second line, hard negative. My head prepared my heart that I am not pregnant and would probably start while on our vacation.

When we got back, I was now 9 days late and started to think that was off. I took a pregnancy test as soon as we got back home and while it wasn't the same as the first positive test from last November, there was definitely a faint second line there. I took a picture and sent it to my doctor's nurse, she told me to come in first thing in the morning for blood work.

Heart:

Yes! I want, I want. I NEED this.
One step closer to having a baby in my arms.

Pregnant again! Thank you Lord, thank you for this promise of a new life!

Oh Hudson... Hudson.
Sadness floods in.
Is it okay to be happy about this if it wouldn't have occurred without Hudson's death?
How can I be okay with this? No, this isn't right.

Head:

If it happens, it happens.
It will soften your heart again, quiet the anger and anguish you've been fighting.
It will be hopeful. It is what you need to feel normal again.
It will help as you enter the Fall and you are faced with seeing all of your donors and vendors again, those of which you haven't seen since ...before...
Heart, it will help when they ignore what happened altogether, bring it up and potentially say the wrong thing, searching for something kind to say.
And for the holidays. Oh the holidays.
Last year at Thanksgiving you were still concealing your pregnancy from family
but already envisioned how different the following year would be with a baby in attendance, adding to the family fun.
Then there is Christmas.
You used that holiday to tell most family and friends before going public right after the new year. You bought an extra stocking to hang and decorated the house last year, already envisioning what Christmas would be like with a 5 month old.
How are you supposed to get through those holidays if you are not at least pregnant again?
Sure it will still be plenty hard but maybe that promise of new life will be helpful to you, heart, let the head win this one.
Yes, this may be helpful to you mentally and emotionally.

  

I went in for blood work the next day. They rushed it and said I should hear by end of day. At 4:00 I got a call from my nurse. She said, "well, it isn't negative, but it isn't exactly a true positive. Your levels are in the "grey area" and right between a definitive positive and negative. We see this with very early pregnancies so come back in a few days and we will do more blood work to be sure." I had hope and a gut feeling that I just knew I was pregnant again. 

Heart:

I just know it, I know I am.
I can feel it.

I'm going to be prayerful and choose faith over fear.

Head:

Let's not get our hopes up. We can't take another loss. Leave it in His hands.
It's okay if it doesn't happen right now.

Three days later, I went back, first thing in the morning. I could hardly sleep the night before. I was assured I would know the results before the end of the day, but then, that afternoon, I got the dreaded biological indicator that you are not pregnant. I called to let my nurse know. It was a different cycle than I had ever had, very painful cramping, heavy and lasting for nearly nine days. I texted with my nurse about it. She told me that it was a chemical pregnancy, otherwise known as an early miscarriage.

I was devastated. Both head and heart allowed me to be. The anger that I thought I was lifting out of came back two-fold and I spent the end of August and most of September withdrawn and pissed off at the world. Before I knew it, it was October.

This past weekend I held a baby for the first time since Hudson.

We had an annual charity event to go to. Friends came in from out of town and I was looking forward to seeing one in particular, one of my fellow loss mamas. This would be the first time to see her since our loss and since the birth of her Rainbow Baby at the end of August. The only babies/pregnant people that don't trigger a negative emotional reaction are those that I am bonded together with through the loss of a child. Seeing as they make it through to the other side gives me hope. I couldn't wait to see Melyn and though I was so nervous about the kind of reaction I may have to being in the same vicinity as a baby, I wanted to hold baby Rowan so bad.

That Sunday morning we all gathered at a house for brunch. Melyn and I were able to have our heart to heart the night before. She asked if it was okay that I be around Rowan the next day at the brunch and I told her absolutely. I asked if I could have time with him. I needed to hold a baby, a baby boy, and I needed it to be a Rainbow Baby. I saw that precious little guy and my heart nearly leapt out of my chest, just screaming to hold him. I signaled to her that it was time and we went into a quiet room where she situated him into my arms. Alone in the room, I sobbed. Feeling the weight of a life in my arms and wishing so much it was Hudson. Wondering what he would look like right now and what his little facial expressions would be.

Heart:
I miss Hudson so much.

I'm going to explode with love over the thought of the life that I don't have anymore,

and the one that will exist someday.
Please let it be soon.

Head:

I need this. I so need this.

Heart:
Can we both agree that we are ready again?

Head:
Yes.

I don't know what the future holds. This entire experience has only amplified the fact that I am not in control of anything. My mom always said that the only baby she ever planned on was the one she lost. We continue to live our lives, to navigate our grief and mourn our loss, but I know at some point new life will occur. Until then, my head and my heart will go on with their conversations. I know they'll both be ready when that day comes.