5.V.cinco.cinq.

Posted by Randi

Last night at Landon’s T-ball game there was a stroller on the other teams side. I tried to avoid it like the plague. I mean, not even glancing in that direction. Well, that proved to be impossible; it was like a fucking magnet for my eyes. I couldn’t stop glancing over at it. Of course it would be a little girl. Of course she would be approximately 5-7 months old. Of course.

Kenley should be 5 months old today.

I heard that little girl cooing, making the typical baby noises and it cut me like a knife. I mean immediately made me feel hot, anxious and dizzy. Fucking anxiety. I eventually was able to focus on Landon’s game once the baby stopped making noise. The rest of the night I just felt down and out; completely hopeless about the future. Sometimes it hits me harder than others. I will think about the past, about what we have gone through already and where we are headed. It is all so heavy.

I shouldn’t be here; I shouldn’t be worried about anything but my two beautiful children. Instead, I’m here…in this weird place. The place that I now call home; my new life after the loss. I have no concept of time, and I don’t know that this will ever change. The past 5 months have been a blur, yet felt so slow. Every day that I wake up I realize what my new life is. I realize how truly sad I am. The medicine does a good job of taking off the edge, I won’t lie. But I miss her more than anything in the world. I never expected to feel the depths of a loss like this.

It’s dark in the “after” ; my heart and soul feel so empty, and completely…I don’t know. Alone? Sad? Hopeless? All of the above, I suppose. I recognize that there are better days now; the early days were terrible. Scary even. I have never felt that pain before, and now I carry that pain daily. The grief is a daily occurrence. The guilt is a daily occurrence. The sadness is a daily occurrence. Saying her name, without her being here, is a daily occurrence. It is a life sentence. It will never be the same; never like before.

I don’t want it to be like before. That means I would have never known her; never have loved her. If it was like before, I wouldn’t have held her, or known what her body felt like against mine. I wouldn’t know her beautiful face. I would have never traced her lips with my fingers, or ran my hands over her beautiful auburn hair. Never known how much she looked like her Big Brother.

My Sweet K. I wish I could have saved you.I would do anything to see you one more time. I would have given my life in a split second to give you life. I wanted nothing more than to be your Mommy. I wanted to love you forever, and I will…just not in the way I could have ever imagined.

Today is a hard day.

starting again.

Posted by Randi

When we first started trying for Kenley, I figured I’d get pregnant immediately. How wrong I was. Two and a half years, multiple medicated cycles and a few procedures later we were pregnant. Finally! I don’t think I’ve ever felt as happy as the moment I heard her heartbeat.

When we lost her, Shane and I were devastated. I knew in the back of my mind, behind all of the shock, that we would try again for another child. When you have a stillborn child, I think you go through about 1,000 emotions all at the same time. Very high highs, and the lowest of lows. This beautiful human being that you carried for the last X amount of time is coming into the world; not in the way you want, but still arriving.

All of the love and effort I put into making her was finally being realized. When they placed her into my arms it was the best and worst moment of my life. It will forever be that moment, I’m 100% sure of it. To finally see her beautiful hair, and to see if she matches her 3D ultrasound photos was the moment I had longed for the entirety of my pregnancy. I just wish I could have kept her.

As time is ticking on, we’ve decided to move forward with IVF. We have no insurance coverage for IVF, so we are taking on a loan to pay for this. In a dream world (ha!) this process will give us enough good quality embryos to freeze 2-3. I’m not sure what will happen, but if we get more than one, I’m pretty sure we’re going to have all of the babies. If I get 4, it looks like we’re having 4 more kids.

Losing Kenley made me realize just how much I want a big family. Sure, I’m probably not the best mom, and I’m sure I lose my cool more than I should…but I try. I make the effort- day after day. Every day I wake up, love on my child, feed him, get him ready for school, and the rest of the day goes the same way. I take care of Landon and help him learn. It’s the greatest feeling in the world; that is why I will be trying to complete our family with the embryos we are lucky enough to freeze (if any…).

Thinking about IVF is exciting. Terrifying. Amazing. The best and worst all in one. I few as if we are moving forward without Kenley. Leaving her behind; forgetting her. I know this isn’t true, as this future child will be her sibling, too. It’s just hard to think about. She should be 5 months old. Rolling around, enjoying bath time, growing up right before my eyes. But she’s not, and never will be. Shane and I know we want to give Landon (and Kenley) a sibling. Landon deserves it. Our family deserves it. I fucking deserve it.

I should be going in for my baseline ultrasound and blood work this week. I’m hoping everything looks phenomenal, and that possibly things have improved even slightly; anything to improve our chances. I’m doing everything in my power to help our chances, so here’s hoping it pays off.

I’m taking so many vitamins it’s ridiculous. 600 mg CoQ10 ubiquinol, 3,000 mg açai extract, 75 mg DHEA, 2,000 IU Vitamin D3, 500 mg Vitamin C, 400 mcg folic acid, and a prenatal. I am hoping that the full 4-5 months of these really helps our chances. If IVF fails for us, I will be crushed. I have confidence in my doctor, and his lab. But, confidence does shit for how the body actually responds to medication.

I’m hoping this week will provide us will good news, a new IVF calendar, and hope. The all consuming hope. Hope is a fucked up thing; it leads to false confidence in a way. Quite honestly, I don’t have it right now and probably won’t feel hopeful until the MFM takes my baby from me at 37 weeks to avoid letting me get to my loss milestone (for sanity reasons).

I don’t know how you’re expected to hold onto hope when you’ve lost a full term child, and you struggle with infertility.

There is no “hope” anymore.

It seems an impossible feat.

the process.

Posted by Randi

When Landon was born, he was incredibly difficult to handle. He never slept…ever. He was colicky, had a dairy allergy so he needed the most expensive formula available (of course!) and he was just all around “rough”. Being our first child, I’m sure that we handled things a lot differently than we had planned to handle them with K. I know for a fact we did.

Landon stressed me out beyond belief. It was so bad at a point around 4-6 months that Shane and I seriously considered never having more children. If all my children were going to be this hard, nope. Not going to happen. I went from working since I was 14, to being a stay at home mom. One of the most difficult things I’ve ever done, but the hands down most rewarding job I’ve ever had. I would never trade my choice to stay home for ANYTHING. Eventually things eased up as we become more stable in our life. We lived in our house longer, Shane got settled in his job, etc.

When Landon was two, we decided that we were ready to try again. I had my IUD removed, and we were both a little intimidated by the possibility of getting pregnant immediately like we had with Landon. So, we decided to just “see what happens” from February 2013-August 2013. It seemed like our timing was always perfect. What was happening? Why was I not pregnant yet? At the 6-7 month mark, I had my annual exam with a new OBGYN here in Columbus.

I met with her and told her we had been trying, and I just had a feeling that something was wrong. It had been nearly 7 months of perfect timing and nothing was happening. She told me that until it had been a year, she refused to run any testing on either of us. That didn’t sit well with me, so I went looking for someone else who would take me seriously. I found a woman who agreed to test me. She ran the normal work up, and also ran a test called “Anti-Mullerian Hormone”. When I went in to discuss the results I expected to hear everything was fine; I was wrong.

My AMH level was .58- Normal ranges for a 27 year old woman are 3.20 for the 50% percentile. I was SO far below that. I felt like someone punched me in the gut. I cried and asked what the hell it meant for my fertility. My doctor explained to me that low AMH levels are related to the amount of eggs left in your body. Some doctors say that you need to examine the other pieces of the puzzle to come up with a real conclusion. My other labs came back within normal range, so that was a plus. My doctor said we could try Clomid for a month and see how my body responded. As I had never heard of this infertility DX, or Clomid, I agreed. Ahead we went.

I became pregnant, and miscarried at 5w6d. The pregnancy was ectopic. I ended up in the ER with nurses dressed in full “radioactive” suits (for lack of better words) giving me two shots to kill all living things in my uterus/fallopian tubes. I was terrified. Shane was terrified. This was one of the most painful things I had experienced. This is the time that I found out about my TCF friends. People who had been through what I had, and were continuing to try for a child after a loss/multiple losses. I was given INCREDIBLE information in my early days after our first loss. I will forever be thankful for the women who helped me through the darkness.

We tried again and again…and again and again…Clomid failed me. Letrozole failed me. I was sent to a Reproductive Endocrinologist (RE). It was so intimidating. I was now educated on what the RE would do for us. When we had our first appointment, the RE told me he suggested that we go straight to IVF because my AMH levels were so low. Punch to the Gut. Thousands of dollars to have another child? How is this happening to us? He told us that he would be willing to try one more cycle of Clomid (6 cycles lifetime max due to increased risk of Cancer after that time frame) with an IUI (Intrauterine Insemination). I decided that we needed a mental break, and we benched ourselves until January 2015.

This was my last cycle on Clomid. My body responded too well. I went in to be monitored and I had a 26mm follicle (they want them 18-20mm). My doctor told me that it would be useless to do the IUI because the follicle was too big, and probably bad. We canceled the IUI. We were instructed to try on our own, and just see what happened. I ended up pregnant again. My pregnancy tests were very light; They never got darker. I went in for an ultrasound and blood work. A chemical pregnancy was confirmed- another miscarriage. We were heartbroken. Again? How is this happening to us AGAIN. I once again leaned on the women from my board for support and help.

In March I returned to the RE to discuss our plan. He pushed for IVF; I pushed for an injectable medicine cycle with IUI. He told me that he would do 3 for me. He warned me they were expensive (meds+$500 for a cycle). Somehow my insurance covered my Follistim @ $60 copay, instead of the full price. It was an error somewhere; my insurance does not cover fertility medication to be used in any Assisted reproductive technology procedures. My body responded very well to this protocol. I had a 23mm follicle. We triggered my body, and the IUI was set for 36 hrs after the shot. IUI’s are supposed to be “simple”. The catheter is inserted, and the sperm is deposited at the top of your uterus near the fallopian tubes. Piece of cake. Nope.

My cervix was angry, I guess. It took my doctor, and 3 nurses to get the procedure done. 5 minutes turned into 20, and a lot of pain. But finally we were done. Shew. I went home, and had to wait for 2 weeks to take a pregnancy test. The dreaded two week wait. The time where your body and mind play tricks on you and you feel completely insane dissecting every single twinge and pain hoping for a “sign” that you’re pregnant finally. I took a pregnancy test every day after my procedure to test and make sure my trigger shot left my system in a timely manner. It was gone at 7 days past IUI. 8 days past IUI was negative, or so I thought.

My test sat on the counter all day. I came home after like 8 hours and noticed there was a line. Evap line I thought (but hoped I was wrong). I threw it away, and waited for the next morning. I tested. There it was. A real line. Not a squinter, it was there. I was pregnant! That was the first day I knew about my beautiful little girl. That was April 26th, 2015. Things from there were perfect; the entire pregnancy was uneventful. We watched my hcg levels rise appropriately. We heard her heartbeat. We watched as she turned from a blob, to a shrimp, to a gummy bear, to a little human with arms and legs. At 10 weeks we had blood work to test for genetic abnormalities and gender.

When I got the call, the nurse asked “ok, I have the results, are you ready?”. I was so freakin ready. “It’s a girl. Congratulations!”

The most beautiful words I had ever heard. The most beautiful words I will ever hear.

I was having a daughter. I knew at that moment her name would be Kenley. I knew that I would love her forever. I knew I would be her best friend until the day I died. I knew I would do everything and anything for her. Even though she’s the one who died, that will never change.

1 lb.

Posted by Randi

Since Kenley died, I have lost 49 lbs. I cannot seem to get the last pound to officially fall off to make -50. The majority of it fell off in the early days after her death. I just couldn’t eat. Like, food was the least of my worries. I had days where I didn’t eat anything. People reminded me that I had to eat. How could I eat something when my daughter just died? How do you expect me to sit down and enjoy a meal when I just lost a child?

During the week we returned home from the Hospital, multiple people offered to bring us dinners/food. People from Shane’s work brought us food, friends brought us food, and the ladies from my board sent us things. In my head it was like we’re getting food because our daughter died; because these people know that there is a really good chance we won’t be able to take care of ourselves for a little while after this. They were right. They were so right.

I remember at Landon’s birthday party (about a month and a half after we lost K), someone told me I “looked good” because I lost weight. I know this person didn’t mean anything except exactly what they said, you know? But in my head I was screaming “ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? OF COURSE I LOST WEIGHT. I LOST MY DAUGHTER. I WANT TO DIE SO EATING IS THE LAST THING ON MY MIND. THANKS”. I find myself thinking things in my head like this quiet often now. The early days were so. incredibly. hard.

It has gotten better now, as time is passing, but sometimes it’s still hard. Sometimes I will look at what I’m eating and just think “yeah, I have no desire to eat that/anything”. There are day’s where I literally forget to eat; those are the bad days. Those are the day’s where I can’t get my head above water. The day’s where I literally just can’t with life. Those days are scary; those are the days I am thankful I’m on medication. The thoughts that accompany loss are not your own.

I’m a happy person. Meeting Shane changed my outlook on life a lot. I have a great life, an amazing, hard working Husband, a wonderful Son, a loving dog and crazy cat. We have financial stability, cars that we love, our home is furnished and decorated exactly how I want it to be, and we have pretty much everything we could want…except our daughter. It’s so fucked up. It’s the ONE thing I would trade everything I own for. The one thing I would sell my soul for; give MY life for…and we can’t have her. How unfair is that? It makes me sound like a toddler throwing a tantrum when I say it out loud, but seriously.

We went for a hike today- 3.75 miles. We took Wilbert, and stopped half way for a picnic. Landon’s poor little legs probably felt like mush. During the walk, I didn’t really think of much. I find that being out on trails and doing things like that keeps my mind occupied but completely empty if that makes any sense. On the way back from our picnic we walked a different trail. After a little while there was a bench to sit on. We took a seat and I read the memorial plaque. It was for Aiden Mckee. A child born on 12/8/04, who passed away on 12/10/04. I just knew that was Kenley telling me she was with us. I cried for a minute or two. If by some chance you know Aiden’s parents, tell them we sat with their boy today.

As we kept walking, we stopped at a tree sign (as we had been doing the whole hike without seeing this tree) and saw a flowering dogwood- The exact tree we planted for Kenley in our yard. Another sign? Sure. The final sign was as we were close to exiting the trail, a Cardinal flew across our path. Whenever I see a cardinal I think of her (along with my Grandpa Ron, thanks to my Grandma’s love of them). Metro parks are very wooded and usually we never see birds on the trails. Well, Kenley made sure we knew she was with us today. I would have given anything to have her wrapped up on me, carrying her the entire way.

I miss her so incredibly much.

Nothing will ever be the same.