I lost a child

The worst day of my life was June 23rd, 2023 (I'll explain why I'm telling this story now - two years later)

The day before, my wife grew increasingly concerned that she hadn't felt any baby kicks from our son, who she was six months pregnant with. We visited the emergency room to get an ultrasound. I sat in those uncomfortable metal seats, bracing myself for the worst possible news an expecting father can get. My wife finally appeared speechless and white as a ghost; she slumped down beside me and didn't need to say anything. Our son was dead within her.

And to make matters worse, my wife would need to deliver him soon, stillborn. They suggested she be booked into the hospital immediately, but I questioned them further. There was nothing that could be done at the hospital that day, so we decided to go home and spend a final night with the three of us in bed together. We sat outside the hospital on a bench under a tree for a cruel eternity; we held each other, we cried, we cursed God, and we asked, "Why us?"

Back at home, I jumped to pointless and hurtful speculation. Why had his little heart stopped beating? My wife refrained from using our red light devices during pregnancy (there's no good scientific reason not to use red light during pregnancy) - might this have (fueled the mitochondria in his little heart with extra ATP and) saved him? Maybe it was all the bed rest my wife had done during the pregnancy (I had seen some research indicating that excessive bed rest is not positively associated with successful pregnancy). Might my wife's lack of resolute confidence in her body and ongoing anxiety about the pregnancy have somehow manifested this?

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We broke the news in person to my Bulgarian mother-in-law, who was shocked and heartbroken. The prospect of becoming a grandmother, finally, was the only glimmer of happiness this woman had in her life.

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I poured myself a glass of Rakia. The harsh liquor burned in my chest, and I descended further into sorrow. I had a glass of wine over dinner while we discussed what would happen next. After dinner, I poured myself another glass of Rakia and stood on our balcony surveying the city lights of Sofia. I'd reached the adversarial bargaining-with-God phase; if my son could be magically re-animated somehow (like in a bunch of questionable stories I've heard), I'd be the best damn Christian I could be for the rest of my life.

In the cruel morning light of June 23rd, I imagined it was all a nightmare. But the nightmare was what we had to rise to meet.

My responsibility was to collect medical paperwork from the doctor managing the pregnancy at a different hospital than where my wife would go into delivery, delivering that which was dead. Our doctor speculated about what might have happened; sometimes in pregnancy, the umbilical cord gets knotted up, cutting off blood and oxygen flow (nobody is in there telling the baby, "Don't tangle that thing up!"), and it is lights out. I dropped off the paperwork at the other hospital and saw my wife a final time; unlike elsewhere, in Bulgaria, the father and mother are separated during delivery. For some stupid bureaucratic reason, they don't want men in the natal unit comforting their women. There was nothing for me to do there.

Back home alone, it was just time to wait. I figured I should educate myself about what my wife was about to go through, so I looked up YouTube videos about stillbirth. These totally triggered me, I broke down and cried in a way I haven't since a girl broke up with me when I was thirteen years old (I was a sort of a wimpy kid, and Tiffany was a jerk!) I called my mom and cried with her.

Friday, June 25th, was the worst day of my wife's life.

She doesn't have much pain tolerance and had to endure round after round of painful dilation checks (think: aggressive deep fingering without a drop of lube). Even after five vaginal capsules of misoprostol, her six-month-pregnant body was just not ready to deliver a baby, so they forced dilation with some kind of balloon contraption. Even anesthetized after two epidurals, it was the most physically torturous thing she ever experienced. The stillbirth itself happened relatively quickly. After several long hours of her being out of touch, she texted me...

Jon .. it's over. I gave birth to our baby boy... he's safe in heaven and has angel wings now. I asked my dad to take over and watch over his little soul.

Going into the hospital, she had been adamant that she did not want to see the lifeless form of our son after delivery. But fortunately, a thoughtful midwife there convinced her otherwise. She was able to hold his tiny body for the saddest moment of her life; she kissed his wrinkled little forehead and told him that Mommy and Daddy loved him and would miss him. They did not allow a photograph for reasons that baffle us. She decided to name him Teofil ("Teo" for short) after his grandfather, who we also lost in 2023. I'd give anything to have been there with her for this.

I went and saw her in the hospital as soon as I could; she was a broken woman. My wife then had to spend three more nights in the hospital, during which we both slept badly. I visited her daily to spend time and bring her decent food and (shockingly) toilet paper (Bulgaria's glorious socialized healthcare apparently doesn't provide this). Having not betrayed my wife digitally (by viewing porn) in over three years (update: five years, now) and knowing that men often relapse into porn use when lonely and dealing with a crisis, I refrained from drinking even a drop of alcohol the nights I spent alone. What helped those nights was doing relaxing breathwork sessions with the Othership app and distracting myself by watching war movies.

We broke the awful news to my family in America via text message and an invitation to talk sometime soon. I thought this was better than the ominous "Something happened. We need to talk..." text message. I'd rather get bad news as a gut punch than as a slow burn of anxiety, so that's how I delivered it.

I write this from a depth of sorrow that I haven't known before in my 38 years.

I mourn for the lost future moments of fatherhood I looked forward to; holding him in my arms, changing his diaper, seeing my wife lovingly mother him, teaching him to ride a bike, showing him how to open a coconut by throwing it on the ground, teaching him about Biohacking, giving him advice about girls, and so much more.

But the most helpful thing to hear on that terrible day that my wife delivered was that an umbilical cord complication indeed caused it. It would certainly add a long-lingering extra degree of mental anguish if it were a "cause of death unknown" - that would have left us ever questioning what we might have done wrong...
A tangled cord is a random thing; we probably all tangled our cords a little in utero, but then they got untangled. In the face of tragedy, I find comfort in my belief in randomness; I'm relieved of self-attacking speculating about causality. And, while this has been a tremendous challenge to my Christian faith, I believe that a good God lets bad things happen to good people because it's only in tragic misfortune that we get the opportunity to exercise our free will - that unique human capacity to rise above habit, impulse, and instinct. The more random and unfair the misfortune, the harder it is to choose not to let it define us, to hold onto hope, to keep faith, and to optimistically make plans for the future.

Why I kept this a secret for two years

My wife is Bulgarian, and this is a culture that handles death differently: this is a culture that clings to the ghosts of the dearly departed. Walk around any Bulgarian town, and on homes' entrances, you'll see posted notices of residents' deaths. Look closer and you'll note that some of the deaths occurred many years ago, yet the surviving relatives go to the trouble of posting new death notices on their buildings every season.

This loss broke my wife for a long time. She was plagued by that infernal question for at least a year: Why would God let this happen? And my wife mourned the fact that I wasn't on the same grief journey she was on; I cried on June 23rd and wrote some of this article in the preceding days, but after that, I became pragmatic to a fault.

My wife also turned to the metaphorical pen to process this tragedy, and she wrote this poem...

"I shot for the sky,
I'm stuck on the ground
So why do I try
I know I'm gonna fall down…"
Those are words from a song
That sound so much like me,
I could have written them alone
In the sand, for the sun to see

I know they wouldn't last for long,
So viciously destroyed by the time of day
"Let go, mom and just be strong"
My baby pleaded but he wouldn't stay
The only one who had the power
Did nothing but just gave me wings,
So I could fly onto the highest tower
Feeling blessed, just like a queen

I was extremely grateful and so full of trust,
Only dreaming of the little things
But my hope and faith soon turned to dust
And a mighty dragon broke my wings
He was sent from a place up above,
Known for bearing the brightest of lights
From a kingdom so beaming with love
And so renowned for defeating cold nights

It hurt so bad, I could barely breathe,
And I never meant the physical pain
I felt betrayed but I clenched my teeth
And did not let it slowly destroy my brain
You were so tiny, my precious boy
I would have flown over the world for you
You'd fill mommy's heart with so much joy
And give her life meaning, so amazing and new

She wanted to see your beautiful smile,
Just to realize she had seen it before
One she had immensely loved for a while
In good times and bad, and forevermore
She wanted to see you in your daddy's strong arms,
Cuddled up in a blanket, sleeping so still
A place where she knew you'd be safe from all harm
And where you'd first hear the word modafinil

She wanted to see if you'd have had his hair,
So much of it, and so luscious and dark
And the same soft brown eyes, to which nothing else can compare,
So magnetic and gentle, yet they don't lose their spark
Fast forward a whole decade or less,
She wanted to see him teach you riding a bike
Which you got for your birthday, I guess
And made us so proud, me and daddy alike

I'm dreading September coming, you know?
I want to sleep until it's over and gone
Because you, my little star will never be born
You're an angel now, our dearest son
I hope you'll remember that your mom and your dad
Love you so much and they'll never forget
That they both miss you really bad
And wish they could kiss you and not be so sad

In my mind the three of us are all at the beach,
Just laughing and having the time of our lives,
All tears and anguish are out of reach,
We are joking and waiting for the moon to arrive
Daddy picks you and holds you up in the air,
I've never seen his eyes glitter so much
"Hey buddy, are you curious about the clouds up there?
As a pilot you can easily soar and such…"

Your mommy's soul is overflowing with bliss
That's all she has ever dreamed about
Really nothing, nothing but this
Can make her happier without a doubt
Back in reality, she's crying again
Robbed of everything she has ever believed
Realizing that her sweet little man
Will never come back, that she's been deceived

You would've meant the world to her,
Would've been her sun, her moon, her stars and her sky
Her mind is nothing but a grey foggy blur,
She doesn't have wings and will no longer fly
She'll leave the tower before the dawn,
She's no more welcome there it seems
The old king wants her to all be gone
Along with all of her pathetic dreams

She looks as if she's been to war,
With many scars inside and out
She's lying broken there on the floor
And she only wishes she could shout
A knight will soon come over on a stud
So white and shiny, as if made of snow
He'll hold your mom and wipe the blood
He'll whisper softly "Babe, let's go home"

And so your dad will be her rock
He'll never leave your mommy's side
He'll help her anytime she has to walk
But needs a crutch, or wants to hide
They'll be reminiscing through the night
About their normal life before the pain
And will do their best to see the light,
In the days to come and live again

A conspiracy of shame and silence

What happened to us is common: one in four pregnancies is lost in the womb. And there is a conspiracy of shame and silence around this, which we contributed to. I'm not sure why, frankly. Maybe it's because people don't really know how to provide sympathy in these events. Maybe it's because we long questioned if we had done something wrong. Maybe it's because it made us feel like failures. But now, we're breaking our silence.

Lifehacking our way out of loss?

Are there Biohacks and lifehacks for dealing with this kind of grief? Yes and no. To some extent, the pain of loss is pain that becomes you. It's pain that wraps itself around every quantum fiber of your soul for the duration of this life. But the mental health crisis that ensues after losing a child, that's hackable.

I began researching trauma resolution hacks before the stillbirth even occurred. I came across EMDR therapy, of course, but EMDR therapy has some issues; you need to relive the trauma repeatedly. Fortunately, there's an upgrade to EMDR: Accelerated Resolution Therapy. I learned about ART from this Living the Loss Life podcast and discovered that there was actually a practitioner with an office about 15 minutes from us here in Sofia (What luck!)

Methylene Blue - A fascinating effect of this VERY blue Nootropic in helping the user overcome the fear, trauma, and PTSD of the past...

One of the most unique and fascinating brain benefits of methylene blue is its ability to release negative feelings associated with past situations, allowing the user to retain the positive aspects of those events and ‘move on’ from fears or trauma. In the scientific world, they call this ‘fear extinction.’ In the real world, the people who need these kinds of therapies have Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). [76]

Methylene Blue

Category: Nootropic Ingredients

Many couples split up after losing a child or pregnancy, 22% - 40% actually.

What kept us from joining this statistic? Sex and negotiation (but not at the same time!)

Good sex will get you through a lot, and in the wake of our loss, we made it a point to make time to make love and to be especially attentive to each other in the bedroom. Being a tantric man helped here: it's easier to stay attentive, attracted, and attractive when you don't ejaculate a couple of times a week! Also, I made her a Country Western music album for her birthday...

Negotiation is not so romantic, but it kept us together; as the loss brought us face to face with a fount of long-running discord that we had set aside during the pregnancy. A "relationshack" that consistently fixes my relationships is negotiating addendum agreements: I draft (not-legally-enforceable) contracts that address each party's needs, wants, and reciprocal obligations, we negotiate the finer points, sign them, and do our damndest to live by them. I find that this works about 1000% better to change behavior than going to therapy or another two-hour talk that devolves into an argument. If we get into an argument about the same thing more than a few times, I take it as a sign that we need to negotiate some new by-laws in our relationship (sounds unromantic, I know, but it works to mitigate conflict and drama!)

A sign of hope (from the past?)

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Over a decade ago, direly distracted by the "scenery" in a sunny cafe in Medellin, Colombia, I started writing this science fiction story about an infamous Biohacking cybercriminal called "Nero" who goes through an epic personal growth journey and ultimately learns (like me) that...

"The only way to capture time and defeat death is through the beauty of a woman."

(There's an epic twist coming, read on)

Literary critics debate whether it makes you a mediocre novelist if your protagonist is too much like the novelist. Well, maybe I'm mediocre because Nero is about 50% me, and Hourglass - a 10-year passion project - is a story that is about (among other things) sex. It mirrors the weird, wacky, sometimes obsessive, and sometimes excessive journey to sexual sovereignty that I've been on.

Hourglass

 

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5.0 (3)

Category: Book

Hourglass begins with this striking scene of a nervous man stuck in an elevator with a beautiful woman. An elevator with four mirrored walls, where "her reflection receded infinitely away from his." (If you can't figure out what this is a metaphor for, you need stronger smart drugs!) I first wrote this scene over ten years ago, and I don't know what inspired that particular detail; elevators with four mirrored walls are pretty rare, and I've encountered them just a few times in my life. I encountered one eight months ago; my wife and I stepped together into a mirrored elevator in a clinic where we would first hear the tiny racing heartbeat of our son, who she will deliver in a few short weeks. That's right! Soon, I'll be not a "loss-father" but a "changing-diapers-and-rocking-the-baby-to-sleep-at-4AM-father!" And how coincidentally curious is the fact that a four-wall-mirrored elevator is involved?

While I believe in randomness, I also believe that this life might be something like a novel written by an unseen author because I find it so pregnant with irony, coincidence, suspense, and redemption arcs reaching climactic conclusions. Perhaps we all have a bit of what I term "pre-cognitive aptitude" in my science fiction story. My wife and I took the mirrored elevator as a sign. A sign of hope. A sign granting us the faith we'd lost in the beauty of the future. A sign of the rebirth we both need after the worst days of our lives. A sign of the incandescence of that which is yet unwritten.

So, in the ultimate act of faith, we've given our son a name that will capture all that.

But as I am a novelist, I must hold you in suspense; I'll reveal his name 40 days after his birth.

Originally published on Vocal.Media