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September 15, 2004

Happy Birthday Babies

Today is September 15.

September 15, with the brisk air outside signalling that autumn is here, September 15, the day when Japan celebrates a day of Respect for the Aged. The day I get my laptop back. My father's birthday, whom I will call tonight and hope he takes my call. The day of the first new moon. A day I am feeling low.

And the day that my twins would've been 2 years old.

I called them Egg and Bacon, since I thought a name would be too personal and I had just read a book by John Irving, influencing me on the Egg angle. Two little woeful fetilized eggs, two eggs that had divided into 8 cells. My twins, my babies, my Egg and Bacon. I had a brutal round of IVF to try to conceive them, and I got pregnant.

Pregnant. Me. Nutty, skitsy, difficult, temperamental me. I was pregnant, and the wild thing is, once they were transplanted into me more than anything on earth I really wanted to be pregnant.

For a little over a week, I was pregnant. It was no time at all, just a blip in the calendar, a hold-over during the holidays. It was a blue line on a hospital-strength pregnancy stick. A blink of an eye on the global scheme of things, but something that changed my life.

Before Christmas I was pregnant.
By New Years' I was hemorrhaging a red tide, gushing out the thick cushy nest the hormones and I had been building for my babies, rushing out the perfectly balanced hormone levels designed to keep them growing, ripping off the strands and strings that were holding them to the wall of their new abode...and feeling my body out my babies, too.

I remember it all, and I remember it like it was yesterday, instead of nearly 3 years ago. I remember the shots, I remember the nose spray. I remember the vaginal suppositories and I remember the crying jags. I remember the srugery, the ultrasound on my swollen and engorged ovaries. I remember the blue line on the hospital's pregnancy stick and the faint lines on the 10 over-the-counter ones I bought, ripping open the packages with Halloween candy hope. I remember what it was like to be pregnant, and I remember sitting on the toilet in the hardware store, X Partner Unit looking for some paint for the hallway unaware of the lavatory drama, me crying, wailing, staring at the blood in the toilet understanding that, suddenly, I wasn't pregnant.

And I think about babies all the time. When I leave a building in London and see a whole gaggle of gorgeous little schoolgirls, holding hands in matching burgundy cardigans and identical band-aids on the knees. When I watch a tv show and a lonely woman looks out her window, cupping hot tea mug in one hand and the oh-how-I-wish-I'd-had-children look etching out the corner of her eyes. When Mr. Y talks to his children, that paternal hope and love that eases his soul and lights up the air. And when I see a baby on the street, a nestled pink dove in a sleeping duvet, I feel my heart plunge to the floor, my feet on an elevator crashing to the bottom level of a skyscraper.

I can feel happy for others. Simon has a beautiful new baby boy-I sent him a little gift, and little gifts for his other two children (I think older children should always have gifts too, if a new baby in their family get presents. I have always wanted to buy a pair of pinky sparkly fairy wings for little girls, and now I have had my wish. I buy gifts for the kids I know, so maybe my role isn't as mother but rather as a fairy godmother. Maybe I should go get a pair of pinky sparkly wings for myself.). Clancy and his lovely girlfriend are expecting. Gudy's wife is due very, very soon. I honestly am so happy for them.

At the same time, it tears a huge hole in my heart to think that I am not there myself. That I don't know if I will ever be there. That the love of my life still isn't sure how he feels about babies, we still don't know which direction we will take, but in any case, I simply don't want to hear any of that "why don't you adopt, you selfish cow?" or "dump Mr. Y and pick yourself up a 20-year-old fertile Italian boy desperate to have a dozen children." This is my man, and we need to find a way through this together.

Please...if you like me at all, please no advice today. By all means, whistle your support, let me know you care, leave a thought, but please, as my friend...no advice.

Maybe finding that way starts next week. Hopefully we get some answers and some ideas. Hopefully we can see options and discuss thoughts. Next week...when we have an appointment with an IVF specialist here in the UK.

I wrote a letter to Egg and Bacon those years ago, when I was still pumped full of hormones, soft stomach and high hopes. Since I wanted them so badly, I wrote a letter I hoped I could give them someday, some way of showing how much I wanted them. A letter, as I am so fucking pathetic that writing things down is the only way I can find to let things out.

I've attached the letter that I wrote to two tiny cells. The inanity of it kills me. I don't need the calendar to remind me that this was their due date. Somewhere deep inside of me, I will always remember today. I will always know that for a short while I was a mother, and I ache so much to be one for longer.

Happy Birthday, Egg and Bacon. I wish you were here so much.


December 20, 2001


Dear Egg and Bacon,


Can you hear me? Can you hear me when I think or when I talk out loud? Do I resonate with vibrations of sound, can you hear my music, my whispering to you? Sometimes, quite often actually, I have been rubbing my hand across my stomach, to reassure you, let you know that I am thinking of you. I am not sure where you are located inside of me, but I hope you can feel the warmth of my hand pressing down on you, the heat coming inside to reassure you. My hands a re a bit rough right now, winter hasn't been kind to them and I am forgetful with the lotion, but they will be soft if and when I can hold you someday.

If you'll want to stay, that is. And I really hope you do. I want nothing more than to be your mommy.

You are my babies, put deep inside me by cold test tubes and a daunting process. I know it would have been better to try to have you both naturally, when your father and I held each other close in bed at night, but trust me-just as much love went into conceiving you this way. Perhaps even more so-it is a lot of work and trial to go through IVF.

I won't find out for another week or so if you will stay. Please do. Both of you. I promise to love and adore you more than you can imagine. You have several sets of grandparents-all of them, actually-lined up to spoil you. Stay with me, my dear Egg and Bacon. You are my angels.

Love,
Your Mommy


-H.

Posted by Everydaystranger at September 15, 2004 06:38 AM .


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Excerpt: I try to go through and read everyone in my blogroll at least once a week. Today, as I was sobbing from reading Helen's story of her babies, I looked at her blogroll, and saw Margi Lowery. I looked at...
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Excerpt: …Yet we’ve come to the point that we expect them to happen. At best, we fail to recognize them and, at worst, we’ve just plain forgotten that a baby really and truly is a miracle. It’s wonderful how in 11 and a half short weeks I have come to love Thum...
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Tracked: September 20, 2004 11:31 PM

Comments

I'm behind in reading blogs, but always enjoy yours - so thought provoking all the time. I had to comment on this one, despite it being a week old.

A beautiful letter, and despite the pain involved, well worth always remembering.

Six months pregnant, an abusive husband, an aborted placenta, 3 weeks of carrying a no longer live fetus, induction, holding a perfectly formed baby boy that would never take a breath. I will remember all of it like it was yesterday until the day I die - even though that beautiful boy would have been 18 this past May.

Hold on to your memory Helen, as painful as it may be, because I know it also brings you joy. There is nothing in the world that can ever replace the joy of knowing there is a life growing inside of you. The awe of it, the responsibility, the protection you feel from the first moment you know you are pregnant. Those are the joyful memories Helen - don't let the sadness of it shut that out.

Posted by: Holly at September 24, 2004 08:49 PM

You are a very sweet lady, Helen.

Posted by: Almost Lucid (Brad) at September 21, 2004 03:10 PM

Oh, Helen,
I know so much how you feel, having had several miscarriages. I still have the sonogram pics of the last one - from what - 12 years ago?
I was lucky to have my one.

If ever you come to the States again, please know that you are welcome at the Donovan household here in Leavenworth.

Through my tears for you, all I can do is give you a virtual hug.

>>>>>


Beth

Posted by: Beth Donovan at September 18, 2004 08:40 PM

Helen, what a tale to tell! You have my sympathies!
My wife and I had several miscarriages along the way to finally having my daughter, and each one was very hard to endure, for both of us.

I hope your story has a happy ending!

Many hugs!!!

Posted by: Mick at September 17, 2004 12:00 AM

Hugs and love!!

Posted by: Azalea at September 16, 2004 09:28 PM

I hate to do something so cliche but please know I've only online hugged someone one other time.

((((HUG HELEN))))

Posted by: Serenity at September 16, 2004 09:01 PM

Thank you for sharing their story. You'll always be their mommy whether they are here or not. Jumping through a billion and one hoops to have a baby is so very frustrating but I know that you're strong enough to get through it. *hug* Your offer for a shoulder for me to cry on works vise versa.

Posted by: Michele at September 16, 2004 07:26 PM

Apologies-no discussions last night, actually my lack of post today due to rough day yesterday and getting trousered on the vino tinto last night, leading to hangover and rush to airport. Now entertaining very nice red-headed chick in the house, who's proving to be a good laugh.

Post from me tomorrow.

Thanks and love to those that offered me a shoulder to blog on. Baby talk is far from easy.

Posted by: Helen at September 16, 2004 05:59 PM

Your lack of an entry today leads me to think that you and Mr. Y discussed this at length and possibly not so amicably last night and that you're worn out today.

I hope all is well and that I'm just being paranoid.

Posted by: Solomon at September 16, 2004 03:31 PM

Bless you Helen. May you find a way to work through this.

Posted by: Rebecca at September 16, 2004 02:29 PM

My God there's a whole lot of hugging going on in here. If anyone's got a hug to spare, I'm free.

Posted by: Simon at September 16, 2004 10:19 AM

Been a long time since I've visited. Consider yourself hugged.

Posted by: brj at September 16, 2004 08:41 AM

Understand your sorrow. I was looking forward to be a mom but lost mine at 7 weeks.

*hugs*

Posted by: carpediem at September 16, 2004 01:40 AM

{{{{Helen}}}}

Posted by: pam at September 16, 2004 12:51 AM

You broke my heart.

Posted by: Lily at September 16, 2004 12:32 AM

It just breaks me up to contemplate all this. But I hate to see you call such a lovely letter inane. I really do. With the first stroke of your pen on the page you made a conscious decision to remember your time with them, and that I think is beautiful and honorable.

Posted by: ilyka at September 15, 2004 09:11 PM

Ohh Helen, that is totally gut wrenching, I can only imagine how you must feel. I know that you will be a wonderful mom or like me a most favored auntie, either way you have a heart full of love for people, Mr. Y is one lucky man!

Posted by: cheryl at September 15, 2004 07:57 PM

I read often... thought I would finally comment...

I enjoy your honesty.

Posted by: Jess at September 15, 2004 07:33 PM

Well if you want my advice, you should dump the Mr. Y and... Just kidding:) I wanted to try and type something funny to help pick you up, and disobeying the very thing you asked us not to do seemed the way to go. I even put a "the" in front of "Mr. Y" to help make it funnier...per your instructions a couple of weeks ago.

I hope you don't mind the attempted levity and apologize if it was a failed attempt. If it didn't work, think of something really, REALLY funny, and pretend THAT'S what I typed. God bless.

Posted by: Solomon at September 15, 2004 07:22 PM

Here's to hoping all your dreams come true.

*hugs*

Posted by: B at September 15, 2004 07:02 PM

I meant to add that you will have a success story of your own one day. You certainly deserve it.

Posted by: gym rat at September 15, 2004 06:34 PM

Oh, Helen. Here's some love for you:

{{{love}}}

Posted by: the girl at September 15, 2004 06:33 PM

My wife and I are expecting twins in late January. We are a fortunate, blessed and anxious IVF success story. Thanks for sharing.....

Posted by: gym rat at September 15, 2004 06:25 PM

No advice today...so lets talk about the NHL lockout.

Also adults like toys too.... :)

::Hug::

Posted by: drew at September 15, 2004 06:25 PM

Oh, Helen, I'm so sorry. The letter to Egg and Bacon was beautiful. {{hugs}}

Posted by: selzach at September 15, 2004 05:41 PM

WOW. (sigh)

Posted by: Kyle at September 15, 2004 05:24 PM

(((HUGS)))

You are not alone. You are not alone. You are loved and supported and we share your sadness - in empathy, in sympathy, in kindness.

You have a beautiful soul, and a nurturing heart.

I'm so so sorry for your loss. And pray for healing and future joys.

Love,
/Elizabeth (VP of the M.A.S.)

Posted by: Elizabeth at September 15, 2004 04:46 PM

Dan made it clear at the time we got together that he did NOT want babies. I said fine. I didn't want any more either. I thought I was done.

I'm still fine with that decision, because I love Dan, and he's right, we don't need to be starting a family at this point, but...oh, sometimes when we are making love or when I see the look on his face when he laughs at something sweet or when tears come to his eyes at something touching on TV, or worst of all, when I see him actually *holding* a baby, I want to have his babies so very badly I have to clench my jaw down really hard and tears come to my eyes.

I know it's not quite the same as what you feel/felt, because I didn't have your loss, but I'm commiserating with you anyway because this touched a strong chord in me.

Posted by: Amber at September 15, 2004 04:45 PM

Oh Helen, I'm not a woman so I know I cannot come close to understanding what you must feel or go thru when your thoughts turn to writing this post. But I can wish and pray that any other woman who is going or has gone thru a similar experience finds your site and reaches the opportunity of reading what you write. It would be great if your December 20, 2001 letter with it's context could find it's way onto the pages of a magazine with a circulation touching many more people.

Posted by: Roger at September 15, 2004 04:18 PM

"A letter, as I am so fucking pathetic that writing things down is the only way I can find to let things out.". Sorry, but your wrong. This particular letter is very beautiful. I´ll probably write one myself, and when my kid grows and I give it to him, I will also tell him that this was originally Helens idea. Who is Helen? Never met her, but she sounds like a great human being... Miguel.

Posted by: msd at September 15, 2004 03:43 PM

So I'm sitting here reading this gut-wrenching post, and Wild Horses comes on my radio. And out came the tears.

You will be a wonderful mom someday. You will.

Posted by: amy t. at September 15, 2004 03:41 PM

i'm sorry you're hurting helen. my heart aches for you. ((((super big hugs and a smooch)))

Posted by: kat at September 15, 2004 03:39 PM

***hugs***

Posted by: Jennifer at September 15, 2004 03:21 PM

Helen dear, I feel your pain.

I have no sage words of advice or consolation, just the fierce hope and wish that you may find happiness - and a big, fat *hug*.

Posted by: Gudy at September 15, 2004 03:20 PM

i don't even know what to say but my heart aches for all who don't have children and want them, whatever the reason...

Posted by: martha at September 15, 2004 03:12 PM

*hug*

Posted by: Easy at September 15, 2004 02:57 PM

Thank you for sharing that. Know that we're thinking of you....

Posted by: karmajenn at September 15, 2004 02:21 PM

Oh Helen, I am so sorry. I cannot even imagine your heartbreak. *hugs*

Posted by: marie at September 15, 2004 01:32 PM

No advice... just hugs. :)

Posted by: amber at September 15, 2004 01:28 PM

That was beautiful. I have always believed that somethings in life need to always be remembered and cherished, no matter how painful it might be.

As far as you and Mr. Y. I understand what you mean. You have this need for a child. But that, in no way, lessens your need for him. I've been there too. All I can do is send you hugs.

Posted by: Jadewolff at September 15, 2004 01:10 PM

*hugs*

I'm sorry, Helen.

Posted by: scorpy at September 15, 2004 01:05 PM

You are full of love and one day you will most certainly have your own child to bathe in it. I am unshakeable in this belief.

In the meantime, know simply that there are many people rooting for you and sending you lots of love!

Posted by: RP at September 15, 2004 11:15 AM

Lots of hugs n love, Helen honey.

Posted by: goldie at September 15, 2004 10:11 AM

you will be a phenomenal mother one day.

*Hugs*

Posted by: stinkerbell at September 15, 2004 09:14 AM

*hugs*

Posted by: croxie at September 15, 2004 09:04 AM

There were tears in my eyes after reading this post. Take care, wish you joy, happiness n peace in life.

Posted by: Jahnvi at September 15, 2004 08:59 AM

thanks for reminding we in japan are to celebrate 'Respect for the Aged' day ..

laptop homecoming !
dont drop it again !!! :p

Posted by: freevheel at September 15, 2004 08:45 AM

Hugs sweetie,

Hugs and love. And may you have the blessings you so desire....

Posted by: Rachel Ann at September 15, 2004 07:37 AM

you're still their mother, helen. for always.

*hugs*
jade showed me a stick with two lines on it, yesterday. took me a minute, then I realised, and I asked her if it was hers!

Posted by: melanie at September 15, 2004 07:14 AM

You're a darn fine fairy godmother and I hope that one day you'll be a mother as well. The silver lining is your life took a different turn and now you and Y are happy and together.

Posted by: Simon at September 15, 2004 06:58 AM
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