Stewart

About 3 weeks ago, our dog Stewart St. George, of potty training fame, all of the sudden looked like he was pregnant. And his backbone started to be really prominent. And our chunky, muscular dog turned in to skin and bones over a weekend. We took him to the vet who said his abdomen was full of fluid but he didn't know why. And he sent us to a vet two and a half hours away. That vet told us that poor Stew had an extraordinarily aggressive form of cancer that metastasizes almost instantly because it is located inside the heart. We were told he had, at most, two weeks. We wanted his end to come naturally if he wasn't in too much pain, but after a week of watching him try to breath through all of that fluid, we knew we weren't being kind to him.
We had to put Stew to sleep, which was hard for a lot of reasons. It was hard because we didn't know what to tell the kids. It was hard because we felt like we need to tell the kids the truth and give them a chance to say goodbye, but we didn't want them to feel like we had let someone hurt part of our family. It was hard because we love Stew. We had him long before we had kids. It was hard because his life was his own, and I felt like it was a little wrong to take it from him when he was struggling so hard to live it. 
I was really worried about how the kids would handle things. Hana is terrified of death and has experienced more of it than any small child should. Meron really loves her puppies. I will never forget the terror and pain on her face when Stewie ran past her out the front door and down the street (you know, because he had to say hello and I love you to everyone within a five mile radius). She screamed, "My Tewie! He's gonna get hurt! Help him mama!" I couldn't imagine what it would be like when we had to tell her that he was hurt and we couldn't help him.  And Kai, well, Kai's got lots of big feelings. And he isn't great at handling them.
We talked to the kids about our dilemma, that Stewie was very sick and that we couldn't help him to get better, even though we had tried. We said that he was hurting a lot and that he would start to hurt more and more but that there was a way the vet could help him to die without it hurting. Instead of the tears and pleas for an alternative that I was expecting, Hana and Meron immediately said that euthanasia was the right thing to do, because we didn't want Stewie to be hurting as he was dying. I couldn't believe how quickly that mature decision was made by our 5 and 6 year old after Nathan and I had agonized over it for a week.

The kids wrote him a letter to take with him after they said goodbye. They said they loved him and that they would miss him wiggling and kissing them and that he was a really good dog. We thanked him for loving us so much. And we all hugged him goodbye.
Not gonna lie... things are hard right now. The two losses we've had in such a small amount of time have Nathan and I reeling and scraping the bottom of the barrel to try to give the kids the extra that they need and sometimes there just isn't enough. All I keep thinking about is that the horrible conversation that we had to have with our vet about how our beloved Stew was sick and there was no way to help him? Some people have to have that conversation with their doctor. Or, much worse, their child's doctor. And then, my foggy vision clears a little, and things really don't look so bad. We are are all healthy and our needs are met. We love each other and we are a family. We are terribly lucky. But still pretty darn sad.

Swirling

I haven't blogged for a while... anybody still here to notice?  I have started about 50 posts, all of them cheerful and talking about Christmas.  We had fun... 

But I am having a hard time coming up with a cheerful post because, well, it feels like not being honest.  My thoughts are all swirling around one thing... an elephant that is only in my room. You can't see it, but it is huge. So, since I can't write without talking about it, I decided to talk about it.

Remember when I wrote this post about how content I am with my three Ethiopian kids?  Well, it was true. But what I didn't know was that when I wrote that blog post I was three weeks pregnant. Yup. So... that was pretty cool. I took a test at the urging of my husband (he didn't like how I was nauseous for a week and a half and crying all of the time). I told him it would be negative. I was wrong. 

I have been pregnant before. I loved it. It didn't end well. The first time I had what is called a missed miscarriage. The second time it was ectopic and my Fallopian tube ruptured, necessitating emergency surgery. So I was cautious. I didn't really tell anyone if I could help it. My mom knew, because I needed someone to be soothing. My office mate, Dixie, knew because I all of the sudden stopped eating anything except for crackers and I was falling asleep while typing. She kind of guessed. I didn't really tell anyone else, because I know from experience that 'untelling' people really sucks. There are all the sad, pitying looks when they think you aren't looking. And people who want to know all of the details even though you can't talk about them without crying. And the people who don't say anything and pretend everything is fine, which may be worse. I can't blame people... who knows what to say when shitty things happen? I sure don't. But it is awkward and painful. I didn't want the pity because it tasted so very bitter. 

I knew I was pregnant for a week. Long enough to call the doctor and beg for the earliest possible appointment. Long enough to get a blood test done, which showed great hormones for being about 6 weeks pregnant. And then I got excited. Nathan and I started cautiously talking about names and how we would tell the kids. Who'd have a hard time and how we would help them out. And then, on a cold Sunday morning in the middle of December, I woke up with pain. Not just a little, a lot. Nathan was at the gym working out and I told him he needed to come home because I was scared it was happening again. I was right. I passed out in the bathroom trying to get dressed. We woke up the kids and drove to the hospital 40 miles away. I passed out twice on the way.  I made it as far as the emergency room check in before I couldn't really function anymore. I got an ultra sound that, let me tell you, is extraordinarily painful when one is hemorrhaging   A ssympathetic, middle aged lady told me that my uterus was empty and that I had a massive amount of blood in my abdomen. The took me to the OR and I woke up to see blood slowly dripping into my hand through my IV. No baby, no more Fallopian tubes. 

At first I was too close to being in shock to be sad. Just in a lot of pain.  Then I had the disconcerting experience of all of the pregnancy hormones vacating the premises at once, leaving me a weeping, shaking pile of craziness sitting on the couch.  And now here I am.  Thoughts swirling so fast that I can barely see through them for long enough to concentrate on anything else. Another loss. A baby... with a heartbeat and developing beautifully, I am told, but in the wrong place.  Another little person missing from our lives. 

I am okay now... although I really, really wasn't for a while.   I am tired of feeling feeble, but I still have super low hemoglobin and I am out of breath after walking up a flight of stairs or from my office to my mailbox.  I need a nap after about 5 hours of being awake or I can't function. But I am getting better all the time. I had good medical care and survived. I have three beautiful children.  I have a family that loves me. That doesn't diminish the feeling of loss, but it does make it much more bearable. I do desperately want another baby, but we live in a world of many options. My doctor is recommending that I do IVF. I am undecided, but thinking about it. I recognize that the fact that I know (after a few years of saving up money) that I have that option, is a tremendous thing. I am very blessed.  And very sad. And that, my friends, is an elephant.