Can't make them understand

On this day, of all days, I sit here and simmer with so many things I want to say - need to say - to make them understand. And nobody gets it. How could they? Just as I could never possibly really know what it's like to lose a limb, a parent, or my sight. It's one of those things you certainly have to experience for yourself to grasp the significance. Sure, you can sympathize, and imagine how hard it must be, but until you've been there yourself, you really are just an observer.
So it is with my friends at work.
This weekend will be a baby shower for a gal I'm quite fond of. This will be the fourth baby born in the past year or so within my small department. I can't attend this shower any more easily than I could acknowledge the other births. Sure, I look at the pictures, and ask how they're doing; heck, I even held one baby for an abnormally long time.
But, I can't do a shower.
As you may recall, my own baby shower for Nicholas was the icing on my bitter cake.
I had been in the hospital overnight, on our wedding anniversary no less, due to Nick failing an NST, and ultimately an oxytocin challenge. They found a nuchal cord but the color doppler indicated good circulation, and it was not believed to be tight around his neck. The doctor released me on the day of my shower. The shower itself was quaint and cozy with few attendees but family and a few friends. I got clothes and gift cards for the baby, but felt so distracted because he just wasn't real active. That night, we went out and bought all the furniture, car seats, carrier, swing... all the big stuff, because I just knew there were issues and he would be born early. The doctor was aiming for the next week... just one more week to get him a little stronger, a little older. I'd already had the one steroid shot for his lungs. I had daily monitoring and NSTs, things looked OK. On the 4th day he was dead. Upon delivery we found knots in his cord that had not been visualized on the sonograms. If I had stayed in the hospital for continuous monitoring, rather than going to my shower, would more distress had been discovered, and maybe he'd be alive today?
I have a complete nursery fully furnished, including clothes, diapers and nursing pads, just waiting to be used by a baby. But I can't give it away. I'm holding onto it for dear life, and that is somehow pathological.

Three to the fourth power

I came to glance, to poke around, to remember. And at the bottom of my page sits a ticker that prompted me to say, "huh. how 'bout that."
Even though everything in my being is screaming in rememberence of Nick, I felt it necessary to comment on the baby girl's status.
3 years, 3 months, 3 weeks, 3 days... since another star burned out.
Ah, yes.

Thomas woz there

Perhaps I need someone to lead the way out. My very good friend Jill found the door and backed out quietly. She left the lights on, and couple of house plants over here that need watering, but took all the damn furniture. So now what?
I've been thinking for a while that there's really no use for my own blog anymore. My work life has taken over any semblance of a personal life, in actuality. What I have to offer here is basic pissing and moaning that in no way reflects the dear god please help save me from myself urgency that initiated my tome.
Am I cured? Fixed? Healed? All better now?
Fuck. NO.
I'm every bit as crazy and then some. I still cry, almost daily.
I'm not "cycling"; I can't call this an infertility blog.
A "loss" blog, yes, but people tire of hearing sad stories and I sure as hell can't make it any more entertaining.
A "life" blog? Well, maybe. But I'd have to change a few things here and there, I suppose. I feel very compartmentalized. While the whole of me encompasses all the varieties of experiences in my life, I still feel some sick need to keep things separate. This is the everyday me. This is the work me. This is the crushed by life's unfair treatment and why the fuck can't I cry if I want to me.
To be honest with myself, I haven't moved on. I added more baggage to the closet upstairs, and am shopping for some storage organizers. I'm not quite ready for the garage sale.
My name is Julie, and I'm a professional hoarder.
Soon, perhaps, I'll be ready to turn a corner, flip the page, write the conclusion. Maybe. But not yet. If I allow myself the time and the heartache, there is so much I have left to say. About everything, nothing, and all things in between. For now, denial and silence seem to be working in my favor. Go me!
Jill, my love, my pal down-under... I am so pleased that you are in the place where you need to be now. You go, girl. Rock on.

Brain Scan

Small Talk

DD has an interesting post up over at T.K.O.
It brought to mind some weirdness from work the other day.
A 40'ish lady from another department wanders near me, doing her thing.
"Hey, how ya doin'?"
Good, how about you?
Not bad, thanks. Quiet night.
Yeah, here too.
::silence::
::more work::
That's a nice top.
Thank you! I wasn't sure about the pants, but I guess they match.
Yeah. Looks good.
::silence::
My boyfriend picked it out.
[smile]
::silence::
I had a pretty interesting weekend.
[ ? ? ]
Yeah. Slept with him for the first time.
[ wha?] ::incredulous look of WTF::
::uncomfortable silence::
You, uh... you...
I mean I slept over for the first time.
How long have you been together?
About six months.
That's great.
Yeah. He's great.
So, you, uh... you slept at his house?
[trying to look terribly busy. c'mon phone...ring]
Yeah, it was a little strange. He's like all over the bed and stealing the covers and stuff. I was more worried about morning breath. ::giggle::
[oh dear god help me]
::smile::
::silence::
[seriously trying to find a distraction.]
Yeah, he's really something. He really proved himself to me when he showed up to videotape me singing at blah blah blah....
And so she went on for another 20 minutes, detailing the past several months of their courtship. I don't even know her name!
WTMFI.