I know you've been waiting anxiously, The Band, for the day when the Blogger Body Calendar would finally be ready for purchase.
Well, The Band, I'm happy to tell you that that day? Is TODAY.
So now, I give you, *drum roll* your 2012 Blogger Body Calendar. All proceeds will benefit our homeslice Maggie's blog, Violence Unsilenced.
P.S. Got something WICKED cool in store for you next year!
xoxo,
In celebration of our one year anniversary, we're working to highlight other sites around the Internet that are Doing Good. Every Tuesday at noon* (central time, yo), we're bringing you a story of why someone else chooses to devote their time Doing Good.
You know our beginnings. Now it's time to see theirs.
You may remember that Band Back Together is now running Blogger Body Calendar. This year's proceeds will go to support Violence UnSilenced!
*We use the term "Tuesday" loosely around here. Wednesday is close to Tuesday, right? Back to regularly scheduled programming next week, I promise!
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When those 2008 survivors told their stories publicly for the first time, they told me they were able to flip the shame that had kept them silent back onto their abusers where it belonged. It seemed so basic and so powerful all at once, and I didn’t want it to end. I brought it to my blogging community, and they responded in a big way. Violence UnSilenced was formed in 2009, a true community effort. In 2011, we incorporated as a non-profit.
Violence UnSilenced features two survivor stories each week, written by the survivors and received by you. As you already know from Band Back Together, reading about someone’s painful experience validates our own. It lets us know that we are not alone, and it heightens our collective awareness. And you never know who is reading.
We at Violence UnSilenced are not professionals or trained advocates. We are not trying to save the world, and we don’t dole out advice. We are simply about breaking the silence in a safe, supported space. Perpetrators rely so heavily on secrecy and shame as weapons. Breaking that silence and shedding that shame has an impact I don’t yet know how to quantify, but it’s real. And it’s huge.
Any male or female survivor of emotional or physical domestic violence, sexual assault, or child abuse is welcome to share his or her story on Violence UnSilenced. If you are a survivor you are welcome to post, and if you are not I hope you will still read along and offer words of support, as well as take the 2011 pledge. As I’ve said, I truly believe this epidemic of abuse belongs to all of us and I think as you read along you’ll start to believe it, too.
We hope you’ll join us.
You can find Violence UnSilenced at their website, Twitter, Facebook and even YouTube!
A few days after finding out we were pregnant, again, we found ourselves back at the reproductive endocrinologist's office and facing another ultrasound.
We waited with baited breath as the picture became clear on the screen. The first words were from my husband who pointed to a little movement inside something that looked like a peanut on the screen. The doctor said, "that's your baby's heartbeat."
This was the first time we had seen a fetus on an ultrasound, let alone a heartbeat. After we explained this to the reproductive endocrinologist, he said "well than, we should consider that a pretty good sign." Afterward, we sat outside his office simply starring at the ultrasound picture.
We now had a live fetus, a heartbeat, and I was quickly approaching the end of my first trimester. Three milestones we had never reached in any of our previous pregnancies. Now, because of the chromosome disorder they had found, we were being referred to a "genetic counselor." She explained my chromosome abnormality and that the translocation had caused each previous pregnancy to be expelled from the body.
Now the risk we faced was that the viable pregnancy I was now carrying could have another variation of the abnormality. My chromosomal variation was balanced, meaning it had no real impact on me physically or mentally. The risk was that I could pass the abnormality to the baby in a different variation. Depending on how it translated to the baby, it could cause anything from mild learning disabilities later in life to being born with severe psychical and mental disabilities. The only way to know for sure was to have amniocentesis performed once I reached 17 weeks.
By this time, I was just beginning to show, so we decided it would be best to keep the news within our immediately family until after the amniocentesis. The amnio was an aggravating procedure. It's involves a very big needle is placed into your stomach to extract some amniotic fluid. The doctor uses an ultrasound so that he can see the baby in order to avoid hitting it. Though this is a standard procedure, it can be difficult to watch. They told my husband he wasn't allowed to stand. When we asked why, they said because many husbands tend to become faint while watching this procedure.
The worst part of having an amnio is that it takes two to three weeks to get the results. Those two to three weeks felt like an eternity. We wrestled with all the horrible possibilities. We hoped for the best, but prepared for the worst.
Finally one day, while at work, I got a call from our genetic counselor. She was so happy for us that she was fighting back her own tears as she told me that there everything was fine with our son. My husband and I were finally able to enjoy our pregnancy like any normal couple. My coworkers were all surprised to find out that I was not only pregnant, but I was already halfway through my pregnancy! I lifted my shirt to reveal my growing stomach to prove it to my friends and coworkers.
A few months later my 10 pound, very healthy, very handsome boy was born.
Since then we have been pregnant again twice, one ending in another miscarriage, one ending in the birth of our daughter. During those years we were suffering through the miscarriages, I saw a number of friends and acquaintances get pregnant and have children. It was very frustrating to me, that for everyone around me motherhood came so easily. I didn't understand why it was such a struggle for me.
Today, as my son approaches the third grade and my daughter approaches the first, I realize that surviving those miscarriages and treatments and tests made me a better mother. All the nights I spent crying and pleading with God to let me have a baby, made all the nights I would later spend attending to late night feedings, ear infections, nightmares, wetting the bed, much easier to bear.
Every rough moment I've spent as a mother has never once compared to all the rough moments I spent struggling to become a mother.
When asked to write about something I “survived” a handful of things come to mind, but none stand so prominently as surviving not having my children.
When my husband and I decided to start trying for a baby we were nervous, but we both felt ready. I stopped taking the pill, and we were surprised to find out I was pregnant after only one month. Part of me was reluctant to start telling people so early, but excitement won over and we began telling people right away. I took an official test at my doctor's office which confirmed that I was indeed pregnant. I even scheduled my first OB appointment.
A week or so later I suffered a miscarriage. An ultrasound showed nothing. No fetus, no sac, nothing. The doctor sadly said, "Well, we can see here that you were pregnant, but aren't now." When we asked why, she said that she believed that most women have at least one miscarriage in their life, whether they know it or not. Miscarriages are very common, she said, and we could start trying again after one menstrual cycle.
I stayed in bed for three days, then surfed the net to learn all about miscarriages. Everyone I talked to had stories of having "a miscarriage," then going on to have healthy babies. At my follow-up appointment my doctor said I'd be fine and pregnant again in no time. For some reason, I had a feeling it wouldn't be quite so easy. I put on a smile anyway, and after the one menstrual cycle, we began trying again. After a couple of months, we were pregnant again.
We kept the news of our pregnancy on a "need to know" basis. My boss, and our parents were pretty much the only ones we told. Almost ten weeks later, I miscarried again.
We decided to wait a few months before trying again. Once we began trying to conceive, we were pregnant instantly. It was very early so we decided not to tell ANYONE. My doctor scheduled me for an ultrasound at 9 weeks.
We went in with our fingers crossed. The doctor brought us in and began the ultrasound. We could see by the look on her face that it wasn't good. She showed us the sac, but there was no fetus in it. It was what the doctor called a "missed miscarriage." We were so upset that all we wanted to do was go home. The doctor explained that I was going to have to schedule a d and c to remove the sac.
In a daze, we made the appointment for a few days later. The day before the appointment I began to miscarry the sac naturally, and that was the end of pregnancy number three.
By this time I was truly suffering.
As a woman, there are certain things we know we can do. Having a baby is one of them. I couldn't figure out what I was doing wrong; why I couldn't carry a baby. It sounds strange, but I felt the essence of my womanhood was shattered.
Our doctor was still not ready to send us to a fertility specialist. So we made one more stab at it. Pregnancy number four was a repeat of the first two. I was so angry and confused. I felt like God was punishing me for something. My doctor finally gave us a referral to a reproductive endocrinologist. We decided to be positive, and look at it as a battle waiting to be won.
The reproductive endocrinologist was very kind and very honest. He reassured us that the miscarriages were not caused by anything we were doing wrong. He explained that many people that experience recurring miscarriages go on to have healthy children, never knowing the reason for the miscarriages. Some on the other hand, are never able to have children naturally, and again are never able to find a reason why.
They took blood from me to run some tests and the doctor scheduled me to come in for more blood tests as well as a special type of ultrasound for the first day of my next period.
The day I was supposed to start my period came and went. The next day I found a pregnancy test in the bathroom and took it. When I saw the little blue line appear I started laughing and then began crying. I sat on the bathroom floor holding the stick, crying hopelessly. This meant that all the testing would have to wait until after I miscarried this pregnancy. Assuming of course that this pregnancy was going to end like all the others. I didn't want to go through another miscarriage. I was just starting to feel like I was getting back some control of my body, and now everything was back in Fates hands.
Part II will air Wednesday.
Ever since I can remember I’ve had fragile health.
I get sick often, I get strange diseases (like whooping cough), I have low blood pressure and used to faint; adding insult to injury, my teeth would break when I fainted. My period hurts (before, during and after), I have asthma, chronic rhinitis, I’m allergic to animals, dust, pollen and most fruits, and I’ve had just about every bug available in the developing world.
I’m the youngest of four, so I always used to joke to my mom that for me she had just used all the left over scrap. I loved that joke because she always tried to convince me otherwise, which is hilarious.
Most of my friends consider me a wonder of nature, and a miracle that I survive my job as an aid worker. I try to exercise, eat healthy (with the exception of my sweet tooth), vitamins, yoga, reiki, homeopathy, iridiology - you name it, I’ve tried it.
As a consequence I’ve always looked down on my body. I considered myself a strong woman trapped in this weakling body which felt like it belonged, or should belong, to someone else.
Then last summer I was down with something or other and I took the opportunity to tease my mom about the junk yard scrap. For once, instead of defending herself from this ridiculous accusation, she turned to me very seriously and said: “perhaps you were not supposed to have survived."
Let me put this in context. My mother started bleeding when she was six months pregnant with me. Not “staining” but bleeding - soaking towels wet, one after the other. Her doctor informed her she had lost her child and that she needed to come into the hospital in order to remove whatever remained in her womb.
She said no.
Which in hindsight was hugely irresponsible. She had three small children (3, 4 and 6 years old). If I’d been there, I would have dragged her to the ER myself.
But she held on and a few days later the doctor confirmed that the baby was growing, and therefore still alive. The only way they could explain what had happened was to assume there had been twins and only one had survived.
I’ve always known this story.
Because it was never proven it remains one of those half-myths, but on that summer day, the way my mom presented it to me completely altered the way that I look at my body now. I used to think it was weak and faulty, but now I think of it is a survivor. It might not be the strongest, but hell, it held on, it pulled through.
And I have a lot more respect for it ever since.
