When I began this blog I had hoped it would be a therapeutic outlet. I had hoped that by getting my emotions and experiences out of my head I would be able to move on and find some sense of normal again. I was wrong.
I think I was kidding myself when I wrote that I was ok, and that I was so strong and that through my pain I was going to find strength. I thought that if I said it, it would have to be true. It's not.

This is NOT therapeutic and it is NOT helping me get over my pain therefor I am not going to kid myself anymore.

But there is something I need to say. to no one in particular, just something I need to get out of my head.

Tommorow is my due date.
I should be bringing my little Benjamin home from the hospital and introducing him to the rest of his family.
The women I was pregnant "with" are all having there babies, friends and family that found out they were expecting in the last few months are having ultrasounds and planning baby showers.

My baby died.

I wish I could find the words to describe the pain that I feel, and the anger that I have. I wish I knew why this happened. I wish I had my baby.
I pray everyday that God will show me why this happened, I question God everyday. I have a stronger faith than ever and yet I question that faith daily. 

I would give anything to be bringing my little boy home from the hospital.

Are you there GOD? I would like an explanation.

I have always thought that I had a fairly easy life. I had a good upbringing, I married a wonderful man and have 3 beautiful children. I paid attention in church but never fully understood why I was being told that life is hard. I am suppose to recieve my  reward  in heaven, but whats so hard about life? I have it pretty good. maybe too good. Sure, I have had my share of heartbreaks, made some tough decisions and felt letdown a time or two, but nothing I couldnt deal with.  Maybe this is what "they" meant when "they " said that GOD won't give me more than I can handle.

The thought has crossed my mind, What if something were to happen to one of my children? What would I do if I lost one of them? I knew that I would lay down and die, I wouldnt  have a choice.  surely thats what would happen. I assumed GOD knew this and didnt hand me what I could not take.

The day I found out I that my baby would not survive was the day I realized just how strong I really was. This doesnt mean that i didnt want to lay down and die because I most certainly did. But I knew I had 3 litttle boys waiting at home for me to feed them to bathe them and to love them. My life had to go on.

I walked through months of my life in a haze. But I walked. I spent a number of days in bed and in tears but I got up and walked again. Not only have I walked, but I have fought.

I have fought to live through an unbearable heartbreak and I have fought Cancer. and I am winning.

I no longer feel that GOD is sparing me, I feel like he has given me an enormous cross to carry. I cant even begin to understand why he would do this to me, but I am told that in time he will show me why it has to be this way. I have faith so I will wait (not patiently) for his explanation. I think he owes me that.

March 2009 I was baptized along with my children in Saint Anns Catholic church.
This is the day I put my trust and faith in the lord.

The Sad Story

When we made the decision to induce pregnancy at 22 weeks, I couldnt imagine how my husband and I were going to support each other through it, But I did know the perfect person to be there with us.. My sister. She is strong enough to be our strength and our voice and carries herself in such a way that is not smothering or overbearing. My sister was there for me when I needed her the most and I dont think I could ever repay her.

My sister is an amazing writer and is able to capture the essence of the day that I am not able to put into words. Seeing the pain from her point of view is something that I would like to share. I hope she doesnt mind but I am reposting her blog she so appropriately titles "the sad story

The Sad Story.

My nephew died, and I ordered a pizza.

Benjamin transitioned from abstract to real just before 6pm, without making a sound. Three hours later he died just as quietly. He was purple, almost black, from the bruising that is always the result when a baby is born so much sooner than he should be. Someone, somewhere, had crocheted a tiny white hat that would not have fit on a tennis ball but was still too big for Benjamin. The tiny white hat that didn’t want to stay on his tiny, almost black head because beyond where his eyebrows would eventually have been, there was nothing; a flatness that I saw but couldn’t look at. A couple of chromosomes that just didn’t line up right around the 24th day of gestation, and where a brain should have been there was nothing.

Part of me wanted to look, to confront the reality of it, but it seemed so perverse as to almost be sacrilege. And I was scared. Scared because I’m smart enough to make sense of what I was looking at and scared because once I knew a thing – this horrible thing – I could never unknow it. I’m glad I didn’t look any closer than I did; I know more than I wish I did already.

In spite of the tiny white hat that contrasted so starkly with his bruised body, in spite of his impossibly small features, in spite of proportions that were more similar to a frail old man than a newborn, Benjamin looked like his brothers. His wide mouth was framed with what would have been smile lines, just like Eli and Lucas. His nose was wide but short just like Jacob. His eyes never opened, but they were set close to the nose just like his mother, and his jaw was wide and strong just like his father, Tony. Tony, whose strong jaw had quivered when he said the words to baptize his son immediately after he was born; he didn’t quite make it through the short prayer before his voice broke. His big hands shook the tiny bottle of holy water the priest had given him – the water went everywhere, but mostly into the tiny white hat.

Of all the religious rituals, observances or services I’ve witnessed, this was the only one that ever moved me. It wasn’t a big ceremony or spectacle, it was just a man doing the best and only thing he could for his son. For the second time in as many days I sent a silent prayer to a God I’m not sure I believe in, not asking so much as demanding that he pay attention to what was going on. And that he make good on whatever his part of this baptism deal was.

For an hour after Benjamin died my sister held him and rocked him, trying to use the force of her will, her love, to bring him back and make him whole. I wish she could have. Instead she and I bundled him up in a blanket that looked like a bed sheet compared to his tiny body and handed him off to the nurse to make the tiny footprints and take the measurements that would describe just how small he really was.

My sister closed her eyes in her hospital bed and told no one in particular that she was hungry. She hated that she was hungry. She hated that even though this horrible thing had happened, she still wanted to eat. She hated that she would go on from this point without her baby. I hated it too, right along with her.

Tony was helping the nurse with Benjamin so the responsibility for feeding the family fell to me. 10:30pm in a town I haven’t known for over a decade, the options are somewhat limited. I grabbed the phone book out its drawer (right next to the bible) and wandered down the hall to the nurses station. Wandered really was the best word for it; I didn’t move with purpose or confidence because I had nothing left. The nurses and doctor, who all knew my face and all knew my name because they all knew that we were there for, helped me find what I was looking for in the phone book and told me how to get it. One phone call that I don’t remember but I know I must have made, and I wandered back to our room.

Our room was different from all the other rooms on the maternity floor. First of all, there was a card on the door that had a picture of a rose on it. None of the other doors had a card like that. I never asked anyone about it. Second, and this I noticed a couple of days before when I was walking around to stretch my legs, all of the other rooms had a high tech fancy baby warmer bassinet in the corners, ours did not. All of the other rooms in our hall were empty and open, waiting with their fancy bassinets for babies. Those bassinets made me sad, more so than the rose card on our door. One night on one of my walks I heard a baby cry somewhere down one of the other halls and I had to turn around and go back the way I came. I didn’t want to cry, it felt so cliche and overly dramatic to think “my sister should have that” but I thought it anyway, and I cried anyway.

Having made my call I went back in to sit with my sister and wait. A couple of people came in to check on this or adjust that, and the nurse did her thing. I wanted to do something for Alyssa, but there wasn’t anything to do. She just laid there with her eyes closed, but the tears made it out just the same. The nurse finished up and handed back the baby. He would stay with us until Alyssa and Tony decided they wanted otherwise, there was no pressure on them to do or not do anything, which was nice I thought.

I met the delivery guy in the lobby. He was young and really small and for a second I wondered about his parents and my parents and everybody’s parents, and if his parents knew how lucky they were that they had a very small pizza delivery boy who was standing and breathing and talking and taking my money.

I actually paused at the door or our room, pizza and soda in hand. It seemed SO FUCKED UP to be walking in there with pizza and pop, something so ordinary and casual when everything felt so serious and sad. But my sister wanted to eat, and she wanted to eat cheese pizza. And the whole point of my being there was to make sure my sister got what she wanted, to the extent that I could, so I brought her her pizza. Pizza which could have tasted like cardboard and sawdust for all we knew, because I don’t think that any of us actually tasted it, we just needed the calories after a very long day. Half way through dinner the nurse walked in and Tony felt so self conscious about the situation that he tried to explain why we were having what looked like a pizza party with a dead infant lying right there. The nurse, who was the youngest in the room by far, smiled sadly and said “You still have to eat. You still have to take care of yourselves, so eat your pizza. You don’t have to explain anything.” I liked her.

Earlier in the evening, after the baby was born and there was nothing else to do, all of the nurses and doctors and staff filed out of the room. I followed them out after checking with my sister so she and Tony could have some time alone with their son. I walked walked four doors down to the small waiting room that was full of boxes of Christmas decorations. It was the extra one that nobody ever used, and it had a small “quiet room” about the size of a bathroom off to the side. I walked in and calmly took off my sweatshirt and wadded it into a ball, which I tried to stick my entire head into. Then I cried so hard my stomach hurt and my hands hurt from clenching so hard. It felt like all of the air was being squeezed out of my lungs via my eyes, like my chest was caving in and my head was going to pop. Even doubled over with my elbows on my knees, the sweatshirt just wasn’t big enough to block out the entire world like I wanted it to. I tried though. I hurt for Tony and Alyssa and everything they’d gone through, and what they still had to face. I was sad for Benjamin and how unfair his circumstances were. I was sad for me because sometimes life sucks and it hurts but you have to be strong when you don’t think you can, and keep going when you don’t want to, and order pizza when everything has gone to hell.

Later when I was at the worst pizza party ever, I though about how this was kind of, but not really, a birthday party. I wish we’d had the pizza before he died.

"It doesnt make sense, it isnt fair."

"GOD has a plan for everyone". "Everything happens for a reason". "you have to carry your cross." "be patient and trust in GOD".
I have heard them all. So do they help? I dont know. I have faith in GOD and in his plan for me but It doesnt mean I am not angry with him. I dont understand why a kind and loving GOD would take my child from me. I dont understand why I couldnt catch a break. Why the cancer?
I will continue to be patient and have faith.
I cant say that I wont continue to be angry.

My 7 year old son said it best when he asked "Why would GOD give us a baby and then take him away? It doesnt make sense. It isnt fair."

as if it wasnt bad enough...

So, along with just having lost my baby, I have also just lost my thyroid. Without my thyroid, my body can not produce or control my hormones, which happen to be going crazy as it is. To be fair, the Doctors put me on hormone replacement medications following my second surgery. One pill, three times a day. It's hard to say how well it is working seeing as I feel like a menopausal woman. Hot flashes followed by extreme chills, mood swings (sorry family) and weight loss (this, I will not complain about). Add to that the diet that I have started that does not allow iodine, it's hard to fathom just how restrictive this diet could be, but trust me. It is. No dairy, No eggs, no bread with over 20mg of sodium (i.e. no bread), no prepared food, no condiments, no meat (this doesn't hurt, I have been a vegetarian for 15 years) EVERYTHING must be homemade from scratch from a limited amount of acceptable ingredients. I understand why I have to be so restricted but it doesn't mean I like it.
On the other hand I have discovered that I am capable of making and baking from scratch, I have come up with some rather interesting meals :) but at this point, food is fuel.
I will share one amazing recipe that I found and I love. It is a simple salad (no spinach, it's restricted) with a dressing that consists of 1/3 cup olive oil, 1/4 cup balsamic vinaigrette, a couple tbs. of sugar and 1/2 cup of mashed strawberries ( I put mine in a food processor) top the salad with the dressing, some extra quartered strawberries, a handful of blueberries and top it off with some toasted slivered almonds (unsalted). Delicious!

I take it back, I DO have cancer.

It took me a bit to recover from my last post. I have so much I want to say about my birth experience but that will have to wait for another day. I guess I am not ready to completely relive those memories.



Moving on.

2 weeks after giving birth I went to meet with my surgeon. Another ultrasound was performed with the same conclusion. surgery was imminent. A biopsy was not performed because it would not affect the final decision,it would have to be removed. The plan was to remove only the right half of my thyroid, this would enable my body to continue to produce hormones from the remaining left side.

I was ensured that I had an 85% chance that this would not be cancer. The surgeon would remove the right side, send it off to the lab to be frozen and biopsied while I was still under anesthesia and if it was cancerous he would remove the left side as well.



January 12th was my surgery. I had to be there at 5:30 in the morning so I kissed my boys goodbye, sure that this was the last time I would ever see them, I was positive I wasn't going to make it through surgery.



I was prepped and given some good medications, I kissed my mom and my best friend good bye and was rolled off to the operating room. The next thing I knew I was in the recovery room surrounded by my husband, my mom and my best friend. "Do I have cancer" I asked? and I was so happy to hear them say "no". What a huge weight off of my shoulders.

I spent the night in the hospital in a pain med induced stupor. I facebooked to all of my friends that I was "cancer free.. yay me!" and was released the following day. Recovery was miserable. There really is no way to explain how it feels to have your throat cut open and have an organ removed (I'm envisioning the surgeon standing on my chest yanking with all his might) other than to say it was miserable. I did get a good nights sleep my first night home (thank you sleeping pills) and was woken in the morning by my husband who wanted me to take a phone call... It was my surgeon.

He had a pathology result in front of him that said, with further testing, My results came back as follicular thyroid cancer and they would need me back to remove the other side. I am one of the 2 patients a year that he sees this happen to . lucky me. The last thing I want to do is relive this nightmare, I felt like I had already beaten the odds just surviving the initial surgery (yes, I know I am being overly dramatic, that's who I am.) And now I had to do it again? Yes, in 2 weeks. So I did. and I survived. second verse same as the first. It was miserable.

That gets me back up to where I am now. I had an appointment with a endocrine oncologist named Dr. Carey. She met with me and gave me ALOT of information about this disease, its treatment and prognosis. Over the period of an hour and a half I was told just about everything I need to know and I was sent home. I have to begin a low-iodine diet to prepare for a treatment of radioactive iodine. This radioactive iodine will go into my body and seek out any remaining thyroid tissue and kill it. This is also how we will see if and/or where the cancer may have spread. The prognosis and treatment are great, there is a 95% cure rate, which really says nothing to me considering the odds I have beaten in the last few months. More waiting. and starving :).

Follicular thyroid cancer:
*Peak onset ages 40 through 60 (I am 30)
*Females more common than males by 3 to 1 ratio
*Prognosis directly related to tumor size [less than 1.0 cm (3/8 inch) good prognosis] *(my tumor was 3.7cm)
*Rarely associated with radiation exposure
*Spread to lymph nodes is uncommon (~10%)
*Invasion into vascular structures (veins and arteries) within the thyroid gland is common (*this hashappened with me, we are not sure yet how extensive the invasion is)
*Distant spread (to lungs or bones) is uncommon, but more common than with papillary cancer
*Overall cure rate high (near 95% for small lesions in young patients), decreases with advanced age

"If I could have, I would have stayed pregnant forever"

If I could have I would have stayed pregnant forever, simply so I would never have had to let him go. Despite my hopes that I was carrying a girl, I wanted this little boy more than anything.

That being said, I did not think that I could handle carrying my baby to term knowing that I was going to have to watch him die. It's that simple, it's that selfish. I didn't think I could handle it. I want to be able to say , it would be too hard on my boys to put them through an entire 9 months with no baby at the end, or, I have to take care of myself and this thyroid needs to be taken care of, or, It would be too hard on my body or my marriage.. I could come up with a million excuses but the truth is, I couldnt stand the thought of watching my baby die.

December 2ND 2009 I checked into the hospital to begin the induction.

I gave birth, after a long and agonizing labor, on December 4Th 2009.

Benjamin Michael, My angel was born.

His perfect body was only 10 inches long and weighed only 14 ounces . How could it be that he looked so perfect and yet he couldn't stay with us?


I was able to have and hold and love my baby for 5 hours before his heart grew quiet. Although I had thought this would be a terrible experience, watching my baby die, I feel so lucky and so blessed to have had this time with him, if there was any way that he could feel my love, I have no doubt that he felt it. I tucked him into my gown and put his heart on mine, and told him over and over again how much I loved him and how badly I wanted him to stay with me. This is a moment that will never leave my memory. I am so thankful that he lived even for that short period of time. There is no other place I would have rather had him be when he took his last breath than in his mothers arms. It was also the deepest pain I have ever felt.



the next couple of weeks were so surreal.

Planning a funeral for my baby? How could this be happening?

Trying to keep a strong face for the 3 boys I had waiting for me at home was close to impossible but I did it. for the most part.

I had no idea how to interact with my friends and family, I wanted to be strong and be able to carry on so I put on a brave face and tried to convince everyone that I was OK. Inside I was dying. I'm sure they thought I was crazy. and they were probably right.