Writer's block(head)

There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed. -Ernest Hemingway

I can never can figure out what to write. Really, I can't figure what to put down here. No, I am serious. Those who know me, know that I can talk forever about virtually nothing of relevance. Yet, I have trouble writing. Maybe it has to do with with fact that desperately want to seem more interesting than I actually am. I could tell you that I woke up unwillingly, ate a bowl of oatmeal, coerced Theta into showering and getting dressed for school, drank coffee, herded three kids into the car (2 very unwillingly), drove Theta to school, came home,drank coffee, made beds, fed people, drank coffee, did laundry, got another dressed and bathed for school, drank coffee, debated doing some real cleaning and drank some more coffee. Sounds so interesting, doesn't it? Is that what Hemingway was talking about? Tell me.

Hopelessly lost on Lost

Yet again, Henry has brought another TV show for us to watch that has been on for the last several years. So now we are entrenched in the first 4 seasons of Lost. I have to say that I really like the show, even though I really have no understanding what really is going on. If you have not seen the show it is really about this plane that crashes on this freaky island and how the survivors deal with the local hostiles and find a way to get back home. Should be simple enough of a plot, right? Well throw in miraculous healing, bizarre locals, love triangles and time travel and various weird happenings.

Ode to a pickle

This is sort of silly, so humor me. I was having a discussion with friends a week or so ago. As usual the topic turned to food. I have this unholy love for things that are pickled. Especially pickles. Sweet, sour, kosher or bread and butter; it does not matter. They are all wonderful. I base all that I know on life on a few important facts.

• The Fifth Element is one of the best movies, ever.
• The temperature should never be colder than 50 degrees. I would really like 70 degree weather year round, actually. I can't wrap my mind around those who love the torment of cold extremities.
• Reality television (and almost all other television shows, except the Simpsons and 30 Rock, is the devils spawn.
• you can never trust a person that does not like pickles. I just cannot understand the hate for something so wonderful.

I live my life by these principles and never deviate from them. There are more things that make my love/hate lists, but these are my tops. I told you that they were silly. You can laugh I won't be offended.

Two Girls Lost

I suppose you may be wondering why this blog is called two girls lost. It is named for the two girl children that I have lost through stillbirth or miscarriage. Not very original, right? Well, I never claimed to be full of creative or wonderfully inspirational ideas, did I? I suppose those two events have changed my life in more ways that I can count. I wish, ashamedly, that I was the person before the loss of my daughters. Sometimes I wish that they had never come to me. The hurts of those events has left me raw. Well, there are many things that have done that, but those are the most recent. My marriage, my illness and other family events that have left me raw and hallow inside. I go thorough the motions of life, I have become numb now.

Save Me

Amie Mann sings in her song Save Me a couple of lines that have haunted me. She sings, But can you save me-Come on and save me-If you could save me. Sometimes I feel that I am in much need of saving. But saving from what? Who would do this saving? I have no idea what Amie Mann was writing about, but I know that I feel like I need to save myself. But easier than it sounds, right? Do people feel as lost as I do sometimes? As the night comes on I feel an overwhelming sense of hopelessness sometimes. The fear and panic that strikes me is no greater than at night, when things become quiet and the world slows down. Yet my mind never does. Instead it goes into a sort of hyper speed of thoughts. I cannot seem to concentrate anymore. Yes, I can feel it coming. I am in desperate need of medication again. More specifically, lithium. I need to Save myself but returning to my greatness need and nemesis. I hate to admit it to myself. For the last couple of years I have just been taking an antidepressant, although not regularly enough. Now, I think I am needing to call out the big dogs of psychiatric medication. Then the pain and hopelessness can be abated yet again. As well as the dreams and creativity that comes with the negative. Yet unlike most bipolars I have yet to harness all those good creative thoughts. For that I am sad. So yet again I am talking myself out of saving myself. Ironic that I am my own worst enemy. Many struggle with food, drugs or alcohol. I struggle with myself.

A new start

I have neglected this blog for a long time. I guess when I started it is was place to write about some of the sadness that was in my life. It has been over three years since Eleanor has died. I feel bad saying it, but I rarely think about her anymore. Although sometimes I wonder what would she had been like if she was a normal healthy three year old little girl. Which one of my kids would she look the most like? Would she have been an easy going child or a tiny terror, like you know who?

I suppose all mothers who have lost a child think about these things.

Quinn

September 2004
It was the end of summer and I was 16, almost 17 weeks pregnant. I was finally feeling better. Morning sickness was leaving and I was finally getting used to the idea of having 2 children under two. The day Quinn died was like any other. Theta was going to preschool and I was getting into the swing of getting her ready everyday. Life was busy. Theta was busy. In addition to school, she was taking a gymnastics class. We were getting ready. I needed to use the toilet before leaving, damn pregancy body. I suppose I did a little bit more pushing than was needed, because I felt something come out. And not something that should be coming out, my gross reader. Bear in mind it shocked me. I mean I was not expecting to be my amniotic sac. But when I felt it come out I knew that it was what it was. So logically I pushed it back in. Hell, what was supposed to do? I had a 4 year old and 9 month old waiting for me outside the door and no other adult in the house. I left the bathroom and went immediatly to the phone. I phoned the doctor's and they told me to come in. Ok, now I needed someone to watch the girls. Called my mother-in-law and told her something was really wrong. I can't believe that I was so calm. I guess I did not want to freak out the girls. She came over I left and drove to the doctor's office. All the while I tried to keep my ass tilted so the bag would not fall out again. I go to the office and check in an preceed to wait for AWHILE! What! Hello, my placenta is coming out!!! My husband shows up, I guess my mother-in-law called him. Finally, I am called in. Dr.DiGiovanni examines me. And I never will forget the it when he told me that I was going to lose the baby. I guess I sort of knew it. But to hear it was something differnent. I feelt the life drain from me. This could not be happening. I was almost 17 weeks. Stuff like this happens early in preganacy. They sent me to the hospital, a nurse drove me my husband followed, I guess in case something happened on the way. At the hospital they asked me if I wanted to speed things up. I guess I still was in shock because I felt like that would be killing my baby, I wanted to hope for the best. So they put me in the Trendelemburg (not sure of the spelling) position, where your head is lowered and your feet are in the air. I waited, hoping this was just a big mistake. In the middle of the night I started to feel pain and my water broke. I really don't remember much. I was very drugged up. I made me think of how women experienced birth under twilight sleep. My memories are vague. I remember being told to push and then blacking out. When I awoke I was in a diffenent place. Apparently my placenta would not come out (really it is made to say in the body a lot longer) and I needed a D&C. When they brought me back to my room my husband and baby were waiting. I had given birth to a girl.

Did I want to see her? Would I be repulsed by my own flesh and blood? I asked the nurse, How did she look? The nurse assured me she was perfect, just small and her skin was transparent. I held her. She weighed nothing. I opened the blankets. She was perfect. Her limbs were scrawny. She had all her fingers and toes. Her eyes were closed. She looked like an angel. The only thing was that her skin was so thin she looked purplish, since her veins were visible and she was dead. I still loved her regardless. I did bother me that she was wrapped in a rough hospital towel. One that I assume was used to wipe way human waste. I asked the nurse for a proper blanket. I tenderly wrapped her in it and sung to her a song that I sang to my older girls, Baby Mine. It has been a year and a half since I lost her, yet these memories are fresh in my head. I hope to never forget.

We named her Quinn. It was the only name we had. We were just not prepared to me her yet.

Wake me up when September ends...

September
September is a month that I have very mixed feelings about. My youngest and last child was born in this month. So it offers one redeeming point. It will also be the most heartbreaking month that I will ever have. It is in September that I lost two of my girls.

The beginning

Well, I am starting a blog. I guess I don't know what I want to accomplish. Maybe, to share a bit of the maddness that is my life. To try to put into words that stuff that is/has happened to me. To remember it in the future. To remember the Eleanor and Quinn. To have them remebered by others.