Not pregnant

I knew I probably wouldn't be, but I found out Thursday that I wasn't pregnant when I started my period. I was planning to take my temp that cycle but stopped after two days because I forgot about it. I guess that just goes to show that I wasn't ready that soon.

But, I've taken my temps the past three days and set the "M" button on my fertility monitor. I'm taking my Metformin and started a new cycle at www.fertilityfriend.com. I'm ready to go.

A new baby won't take Jenna's place. No one could do that. But, our family is not complete yet, and my arms still just feel so empty. I'm hoping a new baby will help with that.

I'm doubtful we will get pregnant this cycle since I'm not taking Clomid and have never had a pregnancy without it. But, maybe since I'm taking my Metformin it will happen.

Is this weird?

Tonight, I bought a really cute new purse. I cleaned out my old one to switch to the new one. I had been carrying around the cards everyone sent me after she died. I was going to put them in the memory book I bought, which is still empty, but I couldn't do it. I wanted to keep them with me, so I put them in the new purse.

I also had her ultrasound pictures in there along with the pictures taken after she was born. I also couldn't make myself put them in the book. They went into the new purse, too.

I had all the reminder cards from my doctor's appointments in there. I didn't throw them away, like I did other reminder cards. I put them back in the new purse.

Besides having a very full and not very neat purse now, I also have a bag full of Jenna's memories. After she died and we had her cremated, I carried her urn with me for the next week, until the day of her memorial service. I now have it on an end table along with the picture Melissa drew for us and some of the angels we received the day of the service.

Is it weird that carrying all of those things with me make me feel closer to her? Should I force myself to give them up? Will that make me move through the grief I'm feeling? Is this kind of crutch a healthy thing? I don't know, but for now, I'm keeping them with me.

Update on my letter writing campaign

Several weeks ago, I sent out letters to the people on the House's Health and Human Resources Committee and to the Senate's committee. I also wrote to Jim Tracy, our state senator, and Curt Cobb, our representative. I also sent letters to their home addresses. Jim Tracy and Curt Cobb are both up for re-election.

I heard almost immediately from Jim Tracy's assistant, who said she would present the issue to him. Several other people wrote to him, too, and she contacted all of them. Even though he is a conservative and is backed by the Right to Life Coalition, I feel like I have more of a chance with him taking this issue seriously than I do with his opponent. Even though I don't normally vote Republican, I will be voting for Jim Tracy.

As for Curt Cobb, I have heard nothing from him. Not one word. I sent an e-mail to him, along with a letter to his home address. I haven't received a phone call, an e-mail, a hi, bye, I'm considering this, nothing. His assistant didn't even write to me. I realize he is busy campaigning, but I am one of constituents. I was planning to vote for him. I have a large family, who I can influence not to vote for him because he isn't taking this seriously. So, I will not be voting for him. Even if he had just written to me and said he was busy with the campaign and would get back to me after the election was over, I would have voted for him. He still has until election day to contact me to get my vote. Otherwise I won't be casting a vote in that race.

Out of all the people on the committees I contacted, only one has gotten back to me. His name is Joe Armstrong, and he is the chairman for the House committee. If I could vote for him, I would, but he is out of my district. He said that right now he couldn't do anything for me, because they aren't in session. But, it will start back in mid-January, and if I still wanted to do something then, he would help me. I will be contacting him then, definitely.

Since I can't do anything with the representatives until January, I think I'm going to write letters to the editor to newspapers. I can't do so for the ones our company owns, but I can write one to The Times Gazette, The Tennessean and The Daily News Journal. I'm also going to ask Larry, who is doing our editorial page if I can write an editorial about the laws in Tennessee.

A rough few days

I say it was a rough weekend, but it wasn't really that bad. A few things happened, though, that kind of put me down in the dumps.

On one of the boards I visit, a woman called me pro-death after I had a problem with her saying she wouldn't be heartbroken if Barack Obama were assassinated. I said that if she was really and truly pro-life, she would be heartbroken over his death. She then went on to say that was absurd and would be like her saying since I was "pro-death," I shouldn't care if he died. Later, after I confronted her about it, she said she didn't say I was "pro-death," but she did. It doesn't matter now anyway; the thing is, she hurt me more than anyone has with regards to what I went through this summer.

I was so afraid of being judged for wanting to end the pregnancy that we didn't tell anyone beyond immediate family what we were doing. Brian didn't even tell his parents. I am not, nor have I ever been, pro-death. I was pro what was best for my child and my family, but I knew that I would be judged by people like her, so I kept it to myself. She doesn't realize the grief and the guilt I felt when making that decision. I was in tears and didn't sleep well for the rest of the night.

My best friend at work promised me that after everything was over with Jenna, we would go out for a "Girls Night Out," so on Saturday, we went out for that. Being around them and cutting up and having a good time basically made me realize all over again that I am a completely changed person from the one I was a year ago. Even in the midst of a good time, I was still thinking of my dead baby and wishing she were alive. I had Georgia Peach Martini at the restaurant and thought that if Jenna were still alive, I wouldn't be able to have that. We moved on to a bar later, and even though I was drinking Coke then (I'm not much of a drinker at all; I didn't even finish the martini), I thought that if I was pregnant, I wouldn't be in the bar at all because of the smoke.

Mostly, I just felt beyond my friends. I don't know if that makes sense or not, but it's like I know something they don't. I know the terrible pain of losing a child, of holding a baby that's never going to grow up or move or say any words. I know what it's like to have the hope of life stifled, what it's like to know that things truly do not go the right way sometimes. I think I might have known that before, but I had never really lived it until I lost Jenna.

Then today, I went to take a photograph for work, and the last time I had seen one of the ladies was a week or two before Jenna was diagnosed. I had just started showing then and was wearing maternity clothes, so she knew I was pregnant. She asked me today how the baby was. It was like a punch in the stomach. I stammered and stammered and finally just said that we lost her. She apologized, and you could tell it bothered her that she mentioned it. I told her not to worry.

I wondered how long the reminders would hurt, and I realized they probably would forever. I know with Granny I am now able to remember her without crying, and at times, without all the pain. I know it's getting easier to bear, not better, just easier. But, I think the difference is that Granny had a chance to live a full and long life, and Jenna never got that chance. At least I have solid concrete memories of Granny. All I have of Jenna is fleeting butterfly movements.

All of this isn't to say that I'm not doing well. I'm doing much better than I was two months ago, or even a month ago. I don't cry every day on my way home from work. I don't cry in the bathtub every single time I take a bath. I don't cry every night after everyone in the house is asleep. I'm getting better and pushing through this pile of grief that has landed in front of me, and I know there has to be rough patches along the way.

Percentages

I don't put much stock in percentages anymore. When our AFP test came back, we were told Jenna had a one in 10 chance of having Trisomy 18, meaning she had a 90 percent chance of not having it and a 10 percent chance of having it. Sounds like pretty good odds, right? Well, we were in the one in 10.

Since all of it happened and I've been doing research on abortion statistics, I have come to find out that 93 percent of abortions are done for social reasons, and the other seven percent are because of health of the mother, fetal anomolies and rape or incest.

I just don't trust percentages anymore. Based on the ratio, you would have thought Jenna wouldn't have had Trisomy 18. You would also think that since not many women need abortions because of health of the mother, fetal anomoly and rape or incest, the laws would be fine as they stand in this state.

All of that changes when you fall into those percentages. We should not be punished when we are already going through the hardest time in our lives. I've heard, "It's only a small percentage. Why does it matter?"

It does matter. What if you were one of the percentages? How would you feel then? Have a little compassion for someone else and walk in their shoes for a moment. Then you will see that those little percentages are big numbers for those of us who are going through it.

Our remembrance night

We were running a little late getting home Wednesday night, but we managed to have all the candles lit by 7:15. I thought I had purchased enough candles, but I was short by one. As we lit each of the little candles, we said the name of the baby we were honoring. When we reached the big candle, the baby that had been left out was my uncle Ronnie, so I said, "This candle is for all the babies all over the world who have been lost, but especially for my uncle Ronnie." I know that wherever she is, my granny was looking down and was pleased I remembered her babies. I know she's holding them, along with my Jenna.

Tessa helped me light the candles, and Brian, who had been in bed and asleep at the time, woke up and came out. We all three put our arms around each other and just stared at the candles for a while. It was truly a special moment for all of us. We will never forget about our sweet Jenna.

Here are the pictures. Please ignore Tessa's long bangs. She wants to let them grow out, but we are getting them cut tomorrow.

Remembering Our Babies -- Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day

Today, all over the world, parents are coming together to remember their sweet lost babies, some to early miscarriage, stillbirth, premature birth or SIDS.

I thought I would be very sad today, remembering all of these babies who have passed on. While I am sad, I also have to stop and take a moment to thank a higher power for allowing me to have Jenna for a little while.

I'm going to take a moment to remember her. She was stubborn, just like her sister, momma, nana and great-granny. Every time we went to the doctor (except for once), her little heart was beating solidly away. Even with just a little brain matter, she held on for a long time. Her most active time was in the morning. I would have my one caffeinated drink a day, and she would start moving around. I miss those kicks so much.

Other bloggers who have lost children are praying for the people who have lost children. Even though I don't really believe in a Christian God anymore, I do believe prayer can be a good thing, with all kinds of positive energy and thoughts floating around. Instead of doing a prayer for those who have lost babies, I want you to post a story of remembrance in the comments. Please share your name, your baby's name, what happened and a little bit of what you remember about them. If you haven't lost a child, you can tell me about a friend or loved one who has. Please feel free to post anonymously if you wish.

I'll start:

My name is Tamara, and I lost my baby girl, Jenna Grace, to Trisomy 18 at 21 weeks. She was stubborn and loved to move around in the morning. If she had lived, she would have looked just like her big sister. She is always in my heart.

Who's next?