I’m receiving lots of hits from search engines on the terms pregnancy loss calgary, ectopic pregnancy, and miscarriage calgary.

If you’re one of the people who ended up here from those words, I’m so very very sorry for your loss, your friend’s loss, your family member’s loss, or your coworker’s loss. It’s the worst intense badness that I’ve personally experienced. If you’re not the woman who was pregnant and now isn’t, please go check out grief support websites because, I can tell you, without help and support from you, this chaotic abyss is so much worse so lend a hand and keep checking up often on your friend, k? The worst thing you can do is avoid them – losing a pregnancy can be a very lonely experience.

I’m going to list local resources because I had a hell of a time finding support in the community when I searched online. I hope this helps you out:

bullet.gif Go to the Foothills or Rockyview hospital emergency rooms (I know for sure that both of them have the packages but I’m unsure of others so call). Ask for the Pregnancy Loss package – it’s minty green and is filled with extremely valuable information about support groups, an informational booklet, brochures about programs in the area including yearly pregnancy loss cremation ceremony, trees planted in memory by the city, and counseling options. The package is usually in the gynecological rooms in the ER and sometimes the nurse at triage or answering the phone isn’t aware of it, so ask them to check.

bullet.gif Call the Calgary Health Region Pregnancy and Infant Loss Program. They have years of experience, and it really is like you’re receiving channeled information and validation from generations of women and support people who have gone through similar issues. They ROCK – without them, I’d be even more nuts. (403) 943-0615

bullet.gif Caring Beyond Bereavement Services (403) 294-1131 “Joined Together in Grief and Healing” is a group offering peer support to parents who have suffered a pregnancy loss due to miscarriage, ectopic pregnancy, stillbirth, or early infant death. They have a borrowing library as well and meet monthly. They’re volunteer based and the phone number is voice-mail and someone will call you back. It often has upcoming announcements and events on their voice-mail.

bullet.gif I’ve read many books that really helped me. Most have sections for friends and family as well, and cover everything from health concerns to emotional considerations for men and women.

If you want more info, leave a comment – it emails me and I can respond with whatever info I have. I’m an information whore so hopefully I can, at the very least, direct you to where you can get what you need. Unless you need peace after a loss – I’m working on that one myself and haven’t found the magic pill or wand.



Lately I wonder if I’m suffering from obsessive compulsive disorder.

My super spidey-senses can sense a knocked up lady from 50 meters. Anytime I see them, I wonder how far along she is, and if I would have looked like that. I wonder if she knows how lucky she is, is she going to lose that baby before it ever takes a breath apart from her. I’m angry that I’m not her. I have horrible thoughts about women who announce their pregnancies at the sign of a positive test, feeling them arrogant and hateful, personally spiting me. I avoid the baby aisle at the grocery store because I keep imagining ghostly versions of myself or The Husband, sleep deprived and frazzled, trying to figure out what size of diapers the baby has grown into, but those imaginary us-es fade before my eyes into nothingness. I don’t call anyone on the telephone because I can’t stand the pause as I decide what to say when they ask me how I am – do they really want to know, or is this a nicety? Everyday, I desperately tune into web logs about pregnancy loss and grief. I’m looking for solace, looking for answers to questions I can’t define, looking for the magic pill to make this intense emotion go away. Bloody hell, when will I go back to NORMAL?! When will a day go by when I’m not finding myself caught, breathless from the turmoil?

Time flies when the world descends into chaos. It’s been four point five months since the two pink lines on the pregnancy test, since the ER visits, since the “must be ectopic” diagnosis, since they took away the Amazing Tectonic Baby, since I was left in a hospital bed with taped up incisions, a shell shocked husband, and no idea what to do next.

Some days I’m not a good actress. Some days I feel so depressively numb that I’m afraid I’ll never feel anything but greyness again. Some days I wonder why I can’t be back to my pre-Tectonic Baby self. Some days I don’t want to be that pre-loss person anymore, but most days I really really want my innocence back. I want to be overjoyed. I want to be hopeful. When I think about the future or adding to our family, I don’t want anxiety attacks, dread and fear. What happened to that happy-go-lucky, independent, comedic and happy woman? Should I file a missing person’s report?

Where did I go, and when will I be back? I’m not sure who or what I am today, on this magical St. Paddy’s. Maybe if I find the rainbow and follow it to the end, the pot of gold will be peace? Pffft. I’m lost, defining myself by fallopian tubes that might just be overly-pissed about too many surgeries in their neighborhood. Can you believe I’m been under for surgery eight times? Eight times? Stupid appendix, stupid Crohn’s, stupid body that can’t work right, stupid surgeons that have to go back in to do repair work because they cut things that shouldn’t have been cut. You’d think after eight surgeries, I’d be thankful for what health I do have. I can’t bring myself to be thankful at this moment in time – I’m stubbornly demanding to never again see an IV hanging above my head, insisting I be issued a body that doesn’t need monthly shots or pills to keep it functioning. I want a body that works, for f*ck’s sakes.

With my luck, in my next lifetime I’m coming back so healthy that they’ll admit me to hospital to study.

It is the nationally celebrated death-anniversary of St. Patrick, so I’m going to deny any guilt that I’m declaring it a day of rage, sadness, and introspection in the House of Gypsyhick.

And in case you find it first, send that magic “make-it-all-better” pill this way, k?

dear ass-face


Dear overbearing overcontrolling Lady Of Jerk-Assedness;

Our conversations over the past week have been very touching. I’m glad you’re pointing out that I’m not getting any younger, or that we’ve only really tried pregnancy once so we should just try again. I hadn’t even thought of those perspectives. I’m very happy to be tut-tutted because we’re not trying to get pregnant yet. We should not ensure we are prepared for a joyous or traumatic event before again introducing sperm to egg, and yes, I guess we should just “get on with it”. Your wisdom is truly helpful.

One of my favored pieces of advice you’ve come forward with is the suggestion that we register with adoption agencies now “just in case”. I mean, I did tell you I feel like I can barely get out of bed because I’m having a bad day, and you figure that going through adoption proceedings would cheer me up. You’re really good at this “cheering up”. I’m sure we’d handle the stress of adoption with grace right now, especially since you advise, with no personal experience, that the process would be easy. To top it off, insinuating that I’m being tested by god and that I should be grateful for the lessons I’m learning – I can only say that I find your faith amazing. Just… amazing.

I’m especially joyful that you’ve pointed out that my negativity will cause another pregnancy loss. To extinguish any future problems, I should be more positive and just stop with the grief process already. I’ve heard your diatribe on how negativity causes cancer (the disease itself, not the theoretical) and it’s lovely to see you still believe that bad things only happen to bad people. If I’m a good positive person, we’ll have a fantastic pregnancy. I should have thought of that!

With urge-to-kill-rising;


Yep, my bloodsaboiling today.

Maybe it’s low bloodsugar. Soaring hormones. Possibly a regular February urge to drive an ice pick into the foreheads of others. Or maybe poo-head jerkasses should just shut the hell up. Pregnancy counsellor lady confirmed that this is about the time (3 months post-loss) she sees peeps like me hit a wall and I think that’s gotta be what this is. I’m just miserable – it’s me and the teething babies, cats in heat, one-legged men in ass-kicking contests. We’ve all got the grouchy “nothing can make it better” frustrating itch. Mel’s serving up tequila over at Stirrup Queens and I’m sure I’ll be in a better place after a few of her drinkies.

Here’s some items under a running theme Craft + Geek that brought a smile to my bitter self today:

Nintendo Cross Stitch Sampler – geek squared

Techcakes – delicious renditions of favorite things

Teensy tiny chairs – get boozed up, then make a chair out of the empties

Hold your music – great belt buckle to hold your ‘lectronics


Fluffy Friday Findings:

I’m knitting with a yarn made from matter generated by llamas and worms. Together. In ONE YARN.

I like riddles. I like NotPr0n.

Inspired by Jessica Hagy’s indexed is a video by Clemens Kogler:

Non-Fluffy Thursday Findings:

I spent the evening weeping with a man who has lost his infant son.

He was across the hall, his grandfatherly presence leaning against the wall in his faded leather jacket. From small talk, he turned and looked into me. As he began to unwrap his baby’s story, the pain and love in his eyes triggered my own emotional drowning. Intensity. Suppressing the pain for years until the fear was rotting in his heart, he had needed to be led forward to learn to emerge from the dark pain, years after his loss. He moved forward and just hugged me, wordless. And I hugged him back. It’s not just a loss of a baby or a pregnancy – it’s the lost dreams for that baby, lost opportunity to parent and guide, a lost sibling to his children, loss of innocence for us.

Lost Love.

The history of his heart, the hurricane that near destroyed him as death visited his already trembling world. The strength he found, and the guidance he wished for me. It seems odd to say it, but it was a tremendously wonderful evening.

in which I return to ranting

As everyone should know, it’s all about me. Really. Just accept it.

So, when I show up to a party where you have known for weeks that I’m also going to be present, and we’re “friends”, could you tell me privately before the party that you’re pregnant rather than springing that detail on me in a public group? That’d be great, thanks.

And even more important, in case that request for decorum doesn’t really float your boat, for gawd’s sakes, it is not a better solution to announce your pregnancy to the group when you see I haven’t arrived yet. When you are that obviously pregnant, I am going to notice when I arrive, and having your awkward sad stare accompanied by a group silence actually does more damage. I do not enjoy a good shunning, thanks anyway.

If you’re aware of my pain, for the love of our friendship, have a little f’ing compassion.

Right then. Carry on.

(Stirrup Queens said something like this much better and with way more understanding.)

mondays are no good for anyone

I’m emotionally drained today. You know that feeling (I hope you don’t, but you probably do) – shaking, hot, sick, regretful. In a fit of tears last night, I swore I’d never befriend another woman. Today, I realize that I’m painting all the amazing women I am lucky to meet and befriend with a larger unfair brush meant for a petty few. Yep, I apologize for even thinking bad things about my ladies. Sorry ’bout that.

I’m very entrenched in grieving and I’m not yet close to being back to the fun, happy, joyful me of pre-Tectonic baby. Everything seems to hit me as more intense, touching, meaningful. I do regularly find myself getting choked up if anyone shows me kindness (shout out to my peeps, yo!). With this loss and the moving through grief, I’m learning the hard lesson that “get over it” is considered a supportive response by some people, and that there’s stupid truth to that cliche about “knowing who your real friends are”. The short story about Monday’s sadness is that two female “friends” (Y & SF, who I’ve talked about previously) were chatting about me over email in a really nasty way. When one of them hit send, she hadn’t noticed that my name was in the cc: field – at least I hope she didn’t notice. It was a really harsh string of hateful words from both of them over several emails, and if they wanted me to see it, that’s a bigger kick in the ass than I can consider right now. (“nasty” and “hateful” confirmed by an impartial observer to verify if I was being too sensitive as mentioned in the second sentence in this paragraph)

I sit here trying to decide if I wish I’d never seen those words, or if I’m grateful that I have.

I now go to a monthly support group for pregnancy loss, and last meeting part of the discussion came up about how acquaintances, family, friends can really shine and be supportive, or they may be uncomfortable, thoughtless, tactless, impatient, intolerant, even cruel. I had still really hermited myself and hadn’t emerged back to regular relationships, so I didn’t quite get it, how these women and men were being cast aside in their time of real need.

Today, I get it. I don’t want to get it. I don’t want to lose the Tectonic baby AND friends. I want to be held and loved and checked on and cared for. I don’t want this hateful pain directed at me. I didn’t mean for the Tectonic baby to die. I didn’t mean to pull into myself. I didn’t want to be broken in the dark. I didn’t mean to ask for help from the wrong people. I didn’t mean to communicate so terribly badly.

I am again filled with such an appreciation and love for everyone who’s sent an email, left a note, hugged me hard, checked on me, held me while I cried. On the ongoing theme of darkness into light, these are the people who are my sparkly, always freshly charged, mag-lites.

Yes, I’m ending a post comparing wonderful people to mag-lites. I’m going to grab some lunch and probably obsess more this afternoon before deciding what I should do about these two poo-heads, if anything.