Staying the course…for now

My period arrived last Sunday. I emailed Dr. Y to double check our course of action.

In particular, I wanted to see whether he thought we should start using stims (like Clomid or Menopur) to stimulate regular ovulation. Since losing Jane in July, I’ve had exactly three cycles, which were 26, 35, and 46 days long. (This trend is not particularly reassuring…) We also did a progesterone test this last cycle at 7 dpo, which came back at only 5.7 ng/mL. (I’m pretty sure it’s supposed to be higher – say, 10 ng/mL or more. Previous values from when I was trying to conceive C. Samuel and Jane were 24.5 and 9.6 ng/mL.)

Dr. Y said we can try Clomid if I want, but he doesn’t think it will be any more effective than natural cycle IUI. He does however recommend supplementing with those awful progesterone suppositories. Given my ever-changing ovulation date, he said we could try waiting to schedule my next ultrasound until my advanced OPK gives a ‘high’ reading. So we’re staying the course for now.

On Monday, I spoke to students and faculty from the Biology and Chemistry departments about losing Jane Margaret (sharing what happened and what I did to cope during my leave). The talk forced me to organize my thoughts about several things, which should eventually find their way into this blog.

Tuesday was the 6-month anniversary of losing Jane.

Back in the stirrups

Nearly six months after losing Jane, life has returned to some version of normal. I started back at work teaching on Tuesday, and on Wednesday we were finally able to accomplish our first natural cycle IUI since the loss.

So here I am in another two-week wait. It’s a strangely comfortable place to be.


Jane’s headstone at Christmas

Well, fuck!

That’s what I said when I read my most recent email from Dr. Y’s nurse:


Yes, she writes her emails all in caps like that, as if I needed any more reason to feel alarmed.

My AMH is less than 0.03. I didn’t know the test measured amounts that low.

In what feels like another lifetime, I once wrote a long post about what AMH (and FSH and estradiol) mean for fertility.

Here’s a summary of my results the four times I’ve taken these tests. Prior to yesterday, 0.17 ng/mL was the lowest AMH of anyone I know in real life (including my Resolve support group).

  1/26/13 5/4/13 4/24/15 10/8/16
estradiol (E2) 24.6 pg/mL 27.2 pg/mL 23 pg/mL 20 pg/mL
follicle stimulating hormone (FSH) 13.7 mIU/mL 13.5 mIU/mL 9.7 mIU/mL 17.7 mIU/mL
anti-Mullerian hormone (AMH) 0.17 ng/mL 0.22 ng/mL 0.31 ng/mL <0.03 ng/mL


I’m feeling pretty hopeless at the moment.

At least I get to go to Rome on Sunday.

How to memorialize Jane

In the first few days after we lost Jane, we were inundated with more beautiful flowers than we knew what to do with. So when I started drafting a Facebook post about what happened, my mom wisely recommended that we select a charity for people to donate to in lieu of sending flowers. C and I talked briefly about a children’s dental charity or organization that supports parents of stillborn babies (either locally or nationally), but we couldn’t agree.

Then C had the idea of starting a fund for a permanent memorial to Jane. He investigated fundraising sites and selected (since it charges lower fees than the more popular We set up the site with a goal of $2,000 (to cover the cost of a park bench at a nearby city), and shared the sad news about Jane on Facebook. And the money, along with incredible messages of love and support, rolled in…

To date, 149 people, including family and friends and colleagues (and some complete strangers!) have given almost $12,000 in support of Jane’s memorial fund.

We were blown away by everyone’s generosity.

Which brought us to Decision 9: How should we memorialize Jane?

We felt a solemn responsibility to Jane – and to all the people who donated – to choose a meaningful and (semi-)permanent memorial. We investigated several options:

1) A memorial bench. C contacted our city’s department of Parks & Recreation and learned that they “don’t do benches anymore”. It seems the cost to maintain the benches exceeded the income from the benches. (Why not just raise the price of the benches? I guess there’s not a lot of incentive to raise money for park improvements…)

In any case, we moved on to the next city north of here. They have a memorial bench program, at a current cost of about $1600 for a bench. The catch: there are no benches (or spots for benches) currently available. They put us on the waitlist (#32 on the list), and said they’d call us when they get to our name, probably in a few years.

The next city north had benches immediately available, including one “beach site”. The price was about the same: $1650. But we weren’t exactly excited about the idea of driving 40 minutes to sit on Jane’s bench…

Major Research University, where C went for undergrad and I did my postdoc, is only 3 miles away, in the same direction we have to travel to get to the freeway. A handsome and well-dressed young man in the development office was happy to show us what they had available: 9 benches with ocean views available for naming, each at a price of $15,000, plus any required maintenance or repair costs. C and I, along with my mom and sister and our friend R visited each bench and liked several. Our favorite was this one:


Our favorite option for a memorial bench for Jane

I also investigated memorial bench options at the Small Christian University where I work. They proved to be more flexible and economical with their bench options than Major Research University. Basically, we could pick any spot on campus (including ocean views) and select the style of bench we want, for about $6,000. The downside was that the campus is 11 miles from our house in a part of town where C rarely visits.

One thing we learned is that none of the memorial benches (or indeed any of the memorials) are truly permanent. Naming rights on benches at Major Research University are guaranteed for 8-10 years, with the possibility of longer. At Small Christian University, they didn’t give a promised timeline, but pointed out that other benches have been around for 20+ years. In both cases, when the bench needed to be replaced, we would have ‘first dibs’ to repeat our donation and get a new one.

2) Our local aquarium. C. Samuel LOVES the aquarium, which is 3 miles from our house (adjacent to, and affiliated with, Major Research University) so that was the next place we investigated. They also had benches available (with the same pricing as the university ones), in addition to a number of other options ranging from a ‘permanent’ sea star plaque ($1500) to a plaque on any of the tanks (prices varied from around $1,000-15,000…per year), to naming the soon-to-be remodeled “aquarium nursery” (the tanks where they display the baby fish; I think she estimated $15,000 for this; I didn’t clarify how long the naming rights would last).


The current aquarium nursery. We have the option of dedicating the new nursery in memory of Jane.

The (large) downside to the aquarium is that friends and family members who donated to Jane’s memorial fund would not be able to see her memorial without purchasing a ticket. We moved on to other options.

3) The library. At this point, C decided we could use some help. He messaged our friend M, who works in philanthropy for the public library. She is AWESOME and replied that she would come meet with us the next day with some ideas. Naturally, she first mentioned our local library, which had a variety of naming opportunities, ranging from a reading nook (for $15,000) to the new high tech public laboratory (which includes a walk-up molecular biology lab and 3D printer; for about $100,000).

4) County Parks & Recreation. She also had printed out a 24-page booklet of naming opportunities for the county Parks & Recreation Department. These included baseball fields, playgrounds, hiking trails, sports arenas/courts, amphitheaters, skate parks, splash parks, swimming pools, and community gardens, at prices ranging from $2,000 – $200,000. Awesome and extensive as the options were, they were all 30 minutes or more from our home, in residential areas in unincorporated parts of the county, which we are unlikely to visit regularly.

5) A play structure. M also asked about our local park. We told her how C had called the city already about the bench, and found them pretty unreceptive to memorial gifts. M suggested that she might have better luck, given her position at the library, and asked if we knew what we might want. We told her that we would love to plant a tree at our local park, and/or to replace a play structure. There is a little fire truck play structure that C. Samuel especially loves, and that has seen better days… She said she would try to get through to the right person to see what our options are.


C. Samuel, in the fire truck at our local park. Notice the peeling paint and chipped wood.

A few days later, M called us. She had found the ‘right’ person – Tyler at Parks & Rec, and had discussed several options with him. He had told M that the play structures at our local park could use a good paint job, and that if we wanted we could purchase supplies and organize a team to come and sand and paint the structures. C and I were both less than enthused about that idea! Fortunately, he also offered that C. Samuel’s favorite fire truck play structure could stand to be replaced. We also could plant a tree, not in our first choice location (the playground), but in another lovely part of the park. The catch was that our city Parks & Rec does not allow memorial plaques, and would not be open to names or even initials on the new structure or tree. Tyler offered a possible compromise: we could have imprints of Jane’s hand- and footprints embedded in the new play structure.

We loved the idea!

The company that makes the play structures (Kompan) is located in Denmark and gave an initial rough estimate of about $12,000, possibly a bit more. Manufacturing will take a couple months, then they’ll ship the parts here, and Parks & Rec staff will put it together on site. Tyler estimated that it will be put in place in early 2017. To plant the tree, we just need to get approval from the city arborist, and pay the cost of the tree and labor to plant it. Since they don’t do memorial gifts, we will have to purchase the structure directly from the company, rather than making a tax-deductible donation to our city Parks & Rec. They also won’t guarantee a length of time that the play structure will remain in place, but Tyler pointed out that the current structure has been in place since 1996, and that while the current structure is painted wood, the new one will be made of a special composite plastic that should last much longer. He imagines that the structure won’t move until the entire park is remodeled, which there are no plans to do, and several obstacles in the way of (including ADA compliance issues and a very strong local resistance to change).

So, that’s the plan! Here’s the rendering we just got from Kompan showing what the fire truck should look like. We can’t wait!


When to return to work?

Returning to my list of decisions I had to make after losing Jane Margaret, one rather important decision was when/how I would return to work. (Before continuing, I should preface this with an acknowledgement of my enormous privilege. I expect this post is where I’ll lose sympathy from many fellow stillbirth moms, not undeservedly.)

Decision 8: When to return to work?

Some background:

I am a chemistry professor at a small Christian university. Privilege #1: This school happens to be in California, the best state in the US when it comes to maternity and paid family leave. Moreover, my college supplements the state-mandated leave (Privilege #2). Since we are on semesters, and my teaching load is 12 “units” per 14-week semester, my school gives us a maternity leave (including disability from the delivery plus paid family leave for the new addition) in the form of a 9-unit course release (10.5-unit for delivery by C-section). So with the birth of C. Samuel, I was fortunate enough to give birth in May, when we were on summer break. This means I got the summer off “for free”, taught only two lab sections (one day per week) in the fall (beginning when C. Samuel was 3 months old), and returned to full time in January, when C. Samuel was 7 months old. The state paid 60% or so of my salary, and my university covered the rest, up to my full salary.

In preparing for Jane’s birth, we decided I would take a small pay cut (corresponding to the 3 units that would bring me to ‘full time’), so that I could take the entire fall semester off from work. The plan was to do some traveling as a family of four; then I would return to work in January (when Jane was 5 1/2 months old). Accordingly, my department offered my usual courseload to part-time and adjunct faculty to teach in my place.

When Jane died, I was faced with an awkward decision. I still qualified for the “disability” half of my leave, but without a baby, I was no longer entitled to the “bonding” half of my paid family leave. In order to remain full-time, I would need to take back courses from the adjunct faculty currently assigned to them (who are presumably counting on that income), and cobble together 9 units of courseload from a combination of an intense half-semester course starting in late August, plus several full-semester laboratory sections. Such a schedule would preclude any travel as a family, and would require that I start back at work full-swing a mere month after Jane’s passing.

I began discussions with the HR folks at my university, exploring what options existed for me to maintain full-time status (and my accompanying generous benefits package, Privilege #3), while retaining some flexibility to grieve and spend time with my family. I learned that I had the option to take a longer leave without pay (an option that we could afford financially, Privilege #4), without forfeiting my benefits, which was good news.

Both the HR director and a representative of the disability office at Kaiser tacked on a strange qualifier in all their discussions about my leave. They said “from when your doctor releases you to return to work.” I ignored it the first couple times they mentioned it. I’d had an uncomplicated vaginal birth. My physical recovery had gone very smoothly – way better than I had expected. Obviously, Dr. R would say I should return to work 6 weeks from my delivery date – right? But the third time I heard “well, see when your obstetrician says you can return,” I decided maybe it was worth asking her.

I emailed Dr. R, filled her in on the background regarding my teaching schedule and the HR director’s statements, asking,

“…I just wanted to check with you to see what you think, so that we can figure out what to do about my leave (whether to take teaching load back from an adjunct, or accept a pay cut commensurate with the additional leave, either of which would be fine).”

Within a few minutes, Dr. R called my cell and told me she would write whatever I wanted, on whatever form I needed her to. I sent her the form and she replied,

“Hi, K! I have completed the form. I have put that your return to work date is 1/1/2017. Please respond if this is appropriate for you. If you decide to return to work prior to that time, we can always amend things. I have found that it is easier to ask for more time off up front than have to keep going back and requesting more time if needed. Please let me know where I can fax the form. 🙂 Dr R”

Later, at my follow-up appointment, Dr. R gave me the heads-up that she listed “postpartum anxiety” in my chart to justify the additional leave.

So I’m also privileged to have the nicest OB in the world (#5, in case you’re still counting).

I’ll return to full-time work in January. In the mean time, I’ve been taking care of myself (getting regular massages and mani-pedis); visiting Jane’s grave; writing (this blog, and a long-overdue manuscript); gearing up to give a couple of talks (a guest lecture at my previous institution, a video clip with my collaborators, and a talk to a local American Chemical Society section); and spending time with my family (potty-training, swim lessons, visits to Legoland and Sea World, etc.) In a few weeks, the three of us will travel to Rome on the trip we had hoped to do with Jane.



Jane’s grave on Friday. Grass is starting to fill in nicely.


I used to think caterpillars were cute little things that transformed into butterflies. Their eating habits only impacted me as the subject of Eric Carle’s charming book (one of C. Samuel’s favorites).

Image result for the very hungry caterpillar

That was before caterpillars started attacking Jane’s wildflowers.

Our friends S&Q made this beautiful planter for my husband C’s birthday, as a memorial to Jane. They planted wildflowers (seeds of which we had as a takeaway at Jane’s funeral):


Our lovely memorial planter, pre-caterpillar

This is what it looks like now:



I declared war on the caterpillars:


Concentrating hard as I pick out caterpillars with chopsticks

Prisoners of War:



I may or may not have kept the POWs in a small tupperware container until after C. Samuel’s bedtime, and then released them into a mean neighbor’s yard under cover of night…

How to help someone grieving a stillbirth, and Potty Training

To break up the stream of sad posts, I thought I’d make a list of nice things that people have done for us in the hours, days and weeks since Jane’s death. By putting it here, I plan to refer back to this if, heaven forbid, someone I care about has a similar (or even not-so-similar) loss and I am looking for ways to contribute.

Here’s a non-comprehensive list of amazing things people did for us:

Acquaintances, work colleagues, extended family, and friends:

  • Sent an email, Facebook message or text (or several, to check in from time to time)
  • Prayed for our family
  • Sent a card or flowers (to our house or to the funeral/interment)
  • Referred to Jane by name  ❤
  • Contributed to Jane’s memorial fund
  • Attended the funeral, viewing, and/or interment
  • Asked to see photos of Jane… and told us how beautiful she was
  • Took us out for a drink or meal
  • Sent a meal or treats (in a disposable container)

Close friends and relatives:

  • Came to the hospital and held Jane
  • Took (so many!) photos of Jane, and of us holding her
  • Visited us at home
  • Helped care for C. Samuel, and our dogs
  • Served as a point of contact (to notify others of what happened, funeral information, etc.)
  • Set up a meal train (on
  • Set up a fundraising page for a memorial (on Actually, C did this, but I would definitely offer to help someone with it in the future. also works well. We chose because they charge lower fees, so more of the money goes to the intended purpose.
  • Maintained a list of flowers, meals, gifts, and memorial donations as they came in; bought thank you cards and stamps; wrote and mailed thank you cards for early flowers and gifts; and addressed and stamped the rest, so all I had to do was write the message and sign
  • Went to Target and Buy Buy Baby (fighting with staff as needed) to return unused baby items
  • Offered to go with us to the funeral home and/or cemetery to make arrangements
  • Hosted out-of-town funeral guests in their guest room or whole house (friends who were out of town)
  • Helped with the funeral and reception (letting people know about it, getting a guest book, designing/printing the program, making seed packets for the guests, coordinating caterers, getting booze, set up/clean up)


We also got some lovely gifts that I would suggest to anyone looking for gift ideas:

  • Jewelry memorializing Jane

Tiffany silver initial necklace with ‘C’ and ‘J’ pendants (left), rose gold ‘J’ initial necklace with crystal pendant (top right), and handmade ruby birthstone pinky ring necklace (bottom right)

Silver locket with photo of Jane

  • A potted flowering tree (in this case, plumeria)


  • A planter box, preplanted with flowers (in this case, perennial wildflowers that were the takeaway from Jane’s funeral; forget-me-nots are another nice option)


  • Something for the older children (C. Samuel got some sweet toys!)
  • An engraved watch band for dad (from


  • A pencil drawing (mentioned in my last post)
  • A blank journal
  • A prayer shawl (crocheted while praying for/thinking about the person and their loss, but anything comforting could be nice – like a special blanket or stuffed animal)


Winston also loves our prayer shawl from Cre8tive Lane


In other news, we started potty training last weekend.

C. Samuel had been fighting more and more during diaper changes and I was fed up. On Friday, he flat-out refused to let me put a clean diaper on him after removing his overnight diaper, and then announced that he had to poop. I asked if he wanted to go on the potty and he said yes, so I sat him down and proceeded to read a couple of books to him. Sure enough, when he got up, he had pooped and peed in the potty. That sealed the deal for me. Holiday weekend it is!

We are on Day 4 of potty training according to the method prescribed in Oh Crap! Potty Training, and he is doing pretty well, I think. Plenty of accidents (as C put it, “it’s literally a shit show!”), and I have to watch him like a hawk and try to walk the fine line between ‘suggesting’ that he might want to use the potty, versus ‘nagging’ him to do so (which guarantees his refusal!) But in the first three days he only had three complete misses, a number of partial misses, and lots of complete pees and poops in the potty! Just now he came to me, unprompted, and asked for help getting his pants down to poop in the potty. Yippee! Hope he keeps it up at daycare tomorrow…

In trying to potty train C. Samuel, I realize that our dog Lilly gave us a special parting gift in the last couple of months before we had to say goodbye. Namely, she got us used to dealing with pee and poop on the floor. Thanks to Lilly, we already have good reason to get our carpets cleaned (taking the pressure off C. Samuel), and we waited to replace our 10-year-old couch. (The replacement is on backorder until late October, which while originally irritating, we now see as a giant blessing.) Lilly even got us started on our list of potty training must-haves:

  1. Appropriate gear for cleaning up inevitable accidents. In our case, this includes a Hoover FloorMate for the tile floors; a Bissell SpotClean Pro for carpet and sofa; Latex gloves, Clorox Disinfecting Wipes and Lysol Disinfectant Spray (for cleaning up poop accidents).
  2. Piddle pads to protect sofa, carseats and stroller. (Right now we’re using the disposable drugstore kind we bought for Lilly; I also plan to try the fancier Summer Infant ones…)
  3. Elastic waist pants, one size too big, to make them easy to pull up and down. (Still kind of tricky for C. Samuel to get right, but the timeline from realization to urination is too short to be fooling with buttons, even if I’m helping!) We have seven of these, and managed to use every single one yesterday (our first day wearing pants).
  4. A standalone potty chair that can travel from room to room. (See #3 regarding the timeline we are dealing with here. Also, the portable potty chair makes it possible to continue watching Cars or Daniel Tiger through the whole process (see photo below). Without that option, I’d set the odds of C. Samuel independently choosing to walk away from his show to go potty about a million to one.)
  5. A support group of friends who have been through it recently or are going through it. This is the cheering squad for times like yesterday, when kiddo (a) realized he needed to go poo, (b) walked over to the potty and (c) sat down on it before pooping! Wahoo!!! (These amazing friends continued to cheer, even when I added the minor detail that he forgot to pull his pants down first…)
  6. Wine. Lots of wine.


C. Samuel is a master multitasker. (Also notice the elastic waist pants)


No need to stop watching Cars to do his business. (That poor sofa has seen better days… And thank God for tile floors!)

Jane’s Funeral

In the last few days, I’ve felt waves of grief during quiet moments. Most times I’ve been alone, but the other night I felt it while at Sea World with a few friends. One was about 8 months pregnant, and I couldn’t help but look at her and wish I could go back to when I was pregnant and Jane was still alive…

I’m choosing to work through my grief by continuing my list of unpleasant decisions.

Decision 7: What to do for Jane’s Funeral? (Like Decision 6, ‘Decision’ 7 was actually a series of decisions.)

a-c) Where? When? And officiated by whom?

The ‘where’ was easy. When I contacted Fr. JP the Tuesday after Jane’s death, he indicated that we should have the funeral at whichever church we felt most connected to. Even though I’ve spent the last two years attending my neighborhood parish, I knew that I felt much more connected to our local Newman Center, which I’ve attended off-and-on since beginning my postdoc in 2006. C and I went through our marriage prep there with Fr. JP (even though I was living in another city at the time), and I had served on the Pastoral Council from 2012-2015.

The timing was a little trickier. Fr. JP would be leaving town in a few days and could do the funeral on Friday, July 29 (It was already Tuesday the 26th), or not until late September (it was July). :/

His colleague, Fr. D (whom I also love; I mentioned him before in my post on infertility and the Catholic church) was currently in Bosnia, but could probably do the funeral the following Saturday, August 6. There were no options in between.

We weighed having the funeral sooner (so Jane would look better if we had a viewing, and could be put to rest without delay) or later (so that family and friends could plan to attend). Several out-of-state friends had already expressed a desire to attend the funeral, and with that in mind, along with the fear of trying to plan a funeral and reception in three days, we decided to go with Fr. D the following Saturday (two weeks after Jane’s death).

d) Details of the ceremony?

This was one of those times when I was grateful to the Catholic church for having rules for every situation. C and I met with the Pastoral Associate at the Newman Center, who handed us a copy of a booklet containing step-by-step instructions for planning a Catholic funeral.

through death to life

(My friend L would be quick to point out the similarities to this gem from Beetlejuice…)

handbook for the recently deceased

We had to make decisions, but they were constrained to manageable bites:

  • Do we want a full funeral mass (including communion) or the shorter funeral service? Since C and his family are not Catholic, we went with the service.
  • Which of 3-10 prescribed options do we want for each prayer, psalm and reading? I read all and narrowed them to 2 or 3 options each, which I presented to C… “This one captures the misery we are feeling right now…; this one mentions being God’s children, which is nice; this one isn’t SO Jesus-y and won’t alienate the non-Christians as much as the others…” We went with Lamentations 3: 17-26 for the Old Testament reading; Psalm 23; 1 John 3: 1-2 for the New Testament reading; and John 12: 23-26 for the Gospel reading.
  • Which songs would we like everyone to sing? Ideally, they are supposed to be happy songs – about resurrection…We went with ‘You are mine’ and ‘I know that my redeemer lives’ (both by David Haas), and ‘Be not afraid’ (by Bob Dufford).
  • Do either of us want to say any ‘words of remembrance’? I couldn’t think of anything to say for this, and the thought of adding public speaking to my list of responsibilities for that day sounded unbearable, so I was advocating that we skip it…but C felt like that was the one part of the service that he could contribute meaningfully to, and he wanted to do that for Jane. I have so much respect for my husband for this. He did a beautiful job.
  • Whom did we want to involve in the service? We wanted to involve as many people as possible – as pallbearers, ‘placing the pall’ on the casket, or as readers. We chose to involve our parents, siblings, and a couple of friends who had gone out of their way to help out, or to be there for us throughout my pregnancy and after Jane’s death.

e) Whom to invite?

My default was just to invite close friends and family. I figured funeral attendance was for the bereaved, and why would anyone want to come to a funeral for a baby they had never met?

Thankfully, my friend S, who was helping us plan, knew better. We had already decided to share our loss on Facebook, and she encouraged us to include the funeral information in that post. She also notified C’s work colleagues, and tagged us in Facebook reminders closer to the day. My colleague shared the funeral information with my university, which resulted in a campus-wide email.

The result was that a shocking number of people came. A bunch of my colleagues – all the chemists, a biologist, a mathematician, a Spanish literature scholar, a sociologist, three academic deans, and my provost. Friends from my postdoc. My good friend’s big time PhD advisor. Friends from high school and college whom I hadn’t seen in years. My college friend, a coworker from my previous university, and my research collaborators all braved the SoCal traffic for over two hours to be there. Several of the other mamas from my infertility support group were there. C had friends who flew all the way from San Francisco and Seattle to be there. Three of his biggest business competitors came too. Our housekeepers came and brought their three kids. Between the guest book, photos from that day, and my memory, I counted 133 people.





It was surprising, and touching, and exactly what we needed to feel like Jane was loved and wouldn’t be forgotten.

f) To have a viewing or not?

We decided to have a private family viewing on Friday, five days after Jane’s stillbirth, so that my dad could meet her. We figured if she looked okay, we’d go ahead and plan to have a more formal viewing the following Friday, the day before her funeral.


Damned if her hair didn’t keep looking cuter each time we saw her!

Jane looked pretty good at the private viewing (I showed some more pics in this post), and we found it therapeutic to be with her again, so we went ahead and scheduled the formal viewing for a four-hour window on Friday. A handful of people came – about 20 in all, and we ordered pizza and wrote ‘thank you’ cards and sat with Jane and it was nice. We also had another one-hour viewing shortly before Jane’s funeral for anybody who wanted to see her but couldn’t make it on Friday.


Jane’s visitation on Friday. While we didn’t hire a monk or chant in a full Buddhist ritual, my in-laws did bring fruit and incense.



4 hours is a long time, and C. Samuel alternated between watching Octonauts on Dad’s iPhone, chasing his Auntie around the funeral home, and walking with Grandma around the cemetery.

IMG_0622 (1)

Third and final viewing just before Jane’s funeral. She looked so sweet and peaceful!

g) Reception?

Our friends S & Q, whom I’ve mentioned several times on this blog, since they are probably the most thoughtful friends I’ve ever had (perhaps the most thoughtful friends that anyone has ever had), insisted that they wanted to take care of the reception for us. Before leaving her job to be a stay-at-home-mom, S was an event planner for the Hyatt. She and her friend (who is still an event planner at the Hyatt) would take care of coordinating the flowers and catering and decorations and alcohol and guest book and memory table and coordinating with the venue… She promised to make it “The Best Shittiest Day Ever!”

We had wine and beer and sandwiches and fruit, and listened to the ‘James Taylor’ Pandora station, and talked, and let the kids run around. It really was the best shitty day.





Guests contributed their thumbprints to make a memento to Jane. (One of S’s many thoughtful ideas for The Best Shittiest Day Ever)


The rose drawing at left was a gift from my talented friend (and fellow IF blogger) wheresmywave.

h) Interment

I already wrote a bit about Jane’s interment, with pictures, here. It happened just over two weeks after the funeral. First we had to wait for Jane to be cremated. (In hindsight, we regretted not just burying her body the same day as the funeral…but at the time, we still didn’t know whether we wanted to bury, scatter, or bring home her remains, and cremation let us postpone that decision a bit longer…) By the time we made up our mind to put Jane in the cemetery, Fr. D was leaving town not to return until late September. :/

Fr. D informed me that the interment ceremony didn’t actually require a priest – anybody could do it. As with the funeral, the Church provided a handy guide.  So we decided on a small informal ceremony last Monday, officiated by me. We invited just a few people, five of whom were able to make it at 2:30 on a weekday. I led the group in some prayers, we sang our version of Sweet Baby James together, and then a man from the grounds crew put Jane in the ground, along with a few toys for Jane to play with.

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We visited Jane’s grave on Tuesday, and three more times since.


Farewell to Lilly

Yesterday, exactly one month after we lost Jane Margaret, we had to say goodbye to our sweet Swiss Mountain Dog, Lilly.

My husband has had Lilly since she was a puppy, over 9 years ago. (He’s loved her longer than he’s loved me!) She has been a loyal member of the family, companion to our pug, Winston, and to C. Samuel, and occasional guest on this blog (for example, here and here).

Yesterday afternoon, Lilly had a seizure. She’d been having seizures and losing muscle control due to a suspected brain tumor. This was the second seizure since we started antiseizure meds in early July, and the first one that she didn’t come out of on her own. C loaded her, panting and non-responsive, into the back of my car, and we drove her to the veterinary specialty hospital, where they gave her phenobarbitol to break the seizure.

We knew we had pushed Lilly past the point of a good quality of life, but after so much recent sorrow, we had a very hard time letting go. The phenobarbitol made her sedated but responsive, which gave us an opportunity to say goodbye.

She will be deeply missed. 😦


Best friends. (Lilly was wearing the cone while recovering from an eye ulcer.)


Our neighborhood 4th of July parade. Lilly couldn’t walk the route, so we pulled her in the wagon.


The brain tumor made it hard for Lilly to get up to pee, so we did nighttime diapers, held up with ‘suspenders’ made from my NST-monitor elastic bands.

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Out for a walk. This was one of Lilly’s recent ‘good days’.


Yesterday morning, C. gave Lilly a new haircut to make it easier to clean up after accidents. She was still giving us attitude even then.


C. saying goodbye.

Decision 6: What to do with Jane?

Following the death of our sweet baby Jane Margaret, many of our most painful, frustrating, and morbidly humorous moments centered around decisions about what to do with Jane’s remains. (For Decisions 1-5, see this post.)

a) Autopsy or no?

While we were still in the hospital, Dr. R informed us that we had the option to do an autopsy on Jane to see if it revealed anything about the cause of her death. Dr. R believed Jane died from an accident in utero (either a cord accident or placental abruption), in which case an autopsy wouldn’t reveal anything, and Jane’s flawless appearance seemed to agree with that assessment. Data junkie that I am, I was somewhat surprised to find that this was one piece of information I didn’t feel like I needed. C felt the same way. We said we preferred not to put Jane’s tiny body through that.

b) Funeral home vs. hospital cremation?

When we met with the hospital social worker, one question she asked us is what we wanted to do with Jane. She said that the hospital could cremate her, in which case we would not get any cremated remains (or ‘cremains’ – yes, that is an actual word). This decision proved an easy one. My mind jumped to an image of Jane being tossed into a pile of medical waste for burning, and I reflexively and emphatically answered “Funeral home!”

c) Which funeral home?

At bedtime on Sunday, I realized that I needed to start taking action about Jane’s disposition and funeral. I emailed my two favorite priests and their pastoral associate, letting them know about Jane, and asking for a funeral home recommendation and guidance about how to plan Jane’s funeral.

Overnight, Fr. JP emailed me back, saying he had worked with EC Memorial before. I was in no mood for price shopping, and called EC Memorial first thing Monday morning to arrange for them to pick up Jane at the hospital.

It took another day for the Kaiser hospital to release Jane (during which I continued to be tormented by an irrational fear that Jane might somehow end up in the hospital furnace by mistake). Eventually, Nick from EC called and let me know that Jane was on her way to EC Memorial. Phew! We set up an appointment for Wednesday with representatives from both the funeral home and the cemetery sides of things.

I was hoping for a mom-and-pop shop of a funeral home, like the one where we took my Grandma. I pictured Dan Aykroyd from My Girl coming in to meet us…

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I so wish this was our funeral home director… (Source)

What we got was decidedly more corporate. Upon arrival, C and I were shown to a small meeting room with a tray of snack chips, cookies, candy and ‘Dignity’-branded bottled water. A man in a dark brown suit introduced himself as Sergio and gestured toward the tray, “If the family would like to help yourselves to some snacks…” He explained that he was the cemetery representative, and that Francisco – the funeral home representative – was running late, and would we like to take a tour of the cemetery? We said, “Sure?,” and followed Sergio to a golf cart.

Sergio drove us to a wall of niches, a man-made waterfall with holes where you can inset cremated remains, two “Catholic” burial areas, and a burial area for infants and children. At the second Catholic area, he informed us that all the visible sites toward the front were already purchased, but that there were some available spots towards the back near a “Madonna feature”. He asked “Would the family like to go see the available spots?” We again replied, “Sure?,” then immediately regretted it, as we saw Sergio crank the wheel a hard right and drive over the sloped curb and onto the grass. Ka-chunk, ka-chunk, ka-chunk. Over headstone after headstone! Ka-chunk, ka-chunk, ka-chunk. Live baby or not, I had still given birth three days prior, and was regretting my decision to leave the inflatable donut that my sister bought me in our car. Ka-chunk, ka-chunk, ka-chunk. Sergio drove diagonally across what seemed to be as many graves as he could hit, occasionally turning the wheel to dodge flowers. Ka-chunk, ka-chunk, ka-chunk. Finally, Sergio stopped, gestured in front with his hand, and told us that this area had availability…but only for double vaults (in case we decided we wanted to plan ahead for our burials). He could check and see whether all three of us (Jane, C and I) could be placed in one double spot.


Wish I had brought my donut, purchased and lovingly decorated by my sister, for our fateful golf cart ride…

After our bizarre tour, Sergio drove us back to the little office, where Francisco met us.

d) To embalm or not?

Francisco proceeded with a series of uncomfortable questions. Did we want to embalm Jane or not? If so, the sooner we do it, the better the result would be. Wondering whether we wanted to put Jane through it, I made the mistake of asking what embalming entailed. “Well, you see, we make an incision behind the ear, and drain the blood, then replace it with a pink-colored preservative…” Ugh. Not what we needed to hear. He also made several references to “leakage”.

We decided to embalm Jane, if only so that we could have the opportunity to view her again. (We ended up being really glad we did, since it meant we got to have a private family viewing – during which we got imprints of Jane’s hands and feet – and a public viewing prior to the funeral. They also washed her hair, which was so soft and precious!)




Taking imprints of Jane’s hands and feet during a private family viewing, made possible by embalming

When we resisted making any other decisions at that meeting, Francisco proceeded with some paperwork, asking C a series of questions that I tuned out, and then turning to me:

“What is your maiden name?

Date and city of birth?

What is your nationality?

When was your last menstrual period?

When was your first OB appointment?

How many OB appointments did you have?”

C got visibly irritated and asked, “Is this your form? Because these questions seem really impertinent!” Francisco looked flustered and explained that it was the State of California’s form, required for us to get a death certificate. He showed us the form, which was specific for stillbirths. (I can only imagine the quality of data coming from grieving parents filling out that form… Also, why in the hell didn’t Francisco just hand over the form for me to fill out, instead of asking me about my menstrual cycle?!)

e) Cremation vs. burial?

f) If cremation, what to do with her ashes?

g) If burial (whole or of her ashes), where?

These were harder decisions, and ones that we ended up postponing for another week plus. Considerations included (in no particular order):

  • Our off-putting experience with Sergio and the golf cart (see part c, above)
  • Our (relatively young) age, and uncertainty about whether we will stay in this city forever
  • A desire to have Jane be part of something big (like the ocean), or close to us (like in a pot or in the earth at our home), or incorporated back into nature (like under a tree)
  • A specific place to visit – on Memorial Day, and Jane’s birthday, and whenever
  • A sense of permanence – something that says Jane was here, that will outlast our home, us, even C. Samuel
  • Catholic Church teaching (Since Vatican II, cremation is allowed, but scattering the ashes is not)
  • Our reluctance to make any decisions (this probably influenced what we ended up doing more than any other single thing)

We decided to cremate Jane after her funeral. This decision bought us some more time to decide where we ultimately wanted to put Jane.


Today, almost a month after Jane passed and two weeks after her funeral, we interred Jane’s cremated remains under a tree in the infant and child section at EC Memorial, between two other babies.