Jenny’s Story

Site created on May 10, 2018

Welcome to our CaringBridge website. We are using it to keep family and friends updated in one place.  This is where you can find out the latest info.

Newest Update

Journal entry by Jenny Gruslin

It's awkward to have people tell you that you're an inspiration.  I mean, maybe if I was saving orphans or rebuilding hospitals in Haiti, maybe, then.  But I don't know what to say in response to just surviving my life.  Now, if you've said this to me, don't fret.  I get the sentiment and I know what you meant. And I appreciate it. I do. At the same time, it feels inauthentic to have all of this... STUFF.  I'm being made into superhero status while my grieving took a back seat to a different kind of grieving.  I'm just trying to figure out WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN?  Everything and nothing, I think. 

First I was grieving for 5 years over not getting pregnant, which gave way to elation when the 25 pregnancy tests that I took just kept coming back pregnant and even more pregnant-er.  (Those lines get darker every day, did you know!? You should know this is not an exaggeration, there are pictures.  I dried them all on the driveway on a hot summer day and stuffed them into a Ziploc that was harder to throw away than you could ever imagine.)  Everything that I longed for was finally happening.  I almost couldn't remember the 10 cycles of heartbreak and the $15,000 long-ago spent. I couldn't wait to get round and to feel the baby move. It was all going to be so perfect and amazing and worth the wait.  But the wait was a short 6 months, and I wasn't round, it wasn't perfect. But he was amazing. I grieved the loss of my pregnancy while celebrating the birth of my son and my motherhood. Feeling grateful and cheated all at once. I shouted orders from the gurney in the OR.  "Milk the cord as much as you can! More than 5 times. As much as you can!  I want my placenta, I shouted." 

And I took control and from my recovery bed as I called the lactation consultant on a Friday night demanding to know what I could do right now, while the boots on my legs squeezed; I squeezed whatever control I could muster. The kind nurse who made it her duty to ensure my placenta was kept safe.  The tears I sobbed when I saw what they had done to it - hacked it into strips.  I wanted some connection to his birth and my birth as a mother. I wanted to see what kept him safe. I wanted them to lower the drape so I could be a part of the birth, but they wouldn't.  I wanted a clear drape, but they couldn't. I didn't see them hold him up. I didn't see him for several minutes or hear his cry. (But he did cry!) I was so angry and heartbroken.  Then I felt burdened by shame and grief for not simply being grateful and happy.
Patients and caregivers love hearing from you; add a comment to show your support.

Comments Hide comments

Help Jenny Stay Connected to Family and Friends

A $30 donation to CaringBridge powers Jenny's site for one month. Will you make a gift to help ensure that this site stays online for them and for you?

Show Your Support

See the Ways to Help page to get even more involved.

SVG_Icons_Back_To_Top
Top