Rebecca Besser's Blog, page 9

Micropoetry – Bullshit By Rebecca Besser

Copyright © Rebecca Besser 2023

Why February Is Hard – Living With It by Rebecca Besser

This personal story of mine appeared in Mental Wellness: Real Stories From Survivors many years ago. I’m sharing it on my blog with the hopes it will reach more people and possibly help them deal with the difficulties and heartbreaks caused by miscarriages and/or stillbirths; of losing a child or multiple children. Or even just dealing with fertility issues.

I pray it will give them hope.

Most people don’t know how to reach out and help those who have suffered such losses. And, in a way, that’s a good thing. It means they didn’t have to go through that kind of agony.

But it doesn’t help those who have. Isolation and depression are very real for those who feel no one understands them…and that’s why it’s important to share our stories, to let people know they aren’t alone and someone does understand, even if they don’t want to talk about their own loss.

I hope me sharing my story makes you feel less alone.

LIVING WITH IT

By Rebecca Besser

At the age of twenty, I was diagnosed with PCOS—the leading cause of infertility in childbearing-aged women. Understanding the syndrome is complicated, especially because it mostly affects hormones. Everyone knows women can’t think straight when their hormones are out of control, and understanding that has been very helpful to me. Because honestly, we can’t control how we act sometimes. I know men think PMS is just an excuse for us to behave badly, but it’s not the case. Try living with a woman with PCOS; it’s PMS on steroids.

The first treatments I received made me behave in ways that were not me. I went from being a smiling, friendly person to a tense, moody individual. At times, it was hard for my husband to know how to deal with me, but he did the best he could, even on the days he couldn’t even get me to smile.

More than anything, I wanted to have a baby, and after four years of trying to get pregnant, I’d finally given up. We tried a round of birth control pills for a few months—to get my menstrual cycle regulated—and then I went off of them. Shortly after, I found out I was pregnant!

I was shocked and delighted, but then came the complicated part. With PCOS, I had a fifty percent chance of a miscarriage in my first trimester. The medication my doctor had me on brought the percentage down to around nine percent. Also add in the risk of high blood pressure and gestational diabetes on top of everything else that could normally go wrong with a pregnancy and it was tough. But, thankfully, my first pregnancy flew by with barely a hitch and I had a beautiful, and completely healthy, little boy we named Cordell.

With PCOS, after you get pregnant once it’s supposed to be easier for you to get pregnant again. So, not wanting to have another child right away, I went on birth control pills again. My hormones didn’t like them at all and I started having severe migraines, so off the pill I went. We used other forms of birth control, until, about two years later when we decided to try again. This time I became pregnant almost right away, but things didn’t go well. Even being on light duty at work, I spotted a lot. After ultrasounds and exams, the doctor could do nothing about it, and said everything would either fix itself or I would have a miscarriage.

I lost the baby on February 13, 2006.

I spent half of Valentine’s Day in the hospital and took two weeks off work. While I was off, the only way I kept sane was focusing on the wonderful child I already had. This was also the time when my husband and I started to seriously talk about me staying home and being a full-time mother. For me to be a house wife and stay-at-home-mom was something we’d always planned on, but after losing our baby I was more eager than ever not to miss any time with Cordell. I put in my notice and five months later I was officially a stay-at-home mommy.

Not long after I became pregnant again and, since I was now staying home, I didn’t have the stresses of work to add to the complications. I was, however, still overly concerned with things for the first trimester, considering I’d lost my last baby at ten and a half weeks. Once I was safely into my second trimester I began to relax—everything was going great. It was actually amazing how well things were going.

Finally, we set a date for me to have a C-section because my doctor was concerned with the size of the baby and my ability to have him naturally, like I’d had Cordell. But, a little over a week before my scheduled delivery date, I started having contractions, so I went to the hospital. After a couple of hours my contractions stopped, and since I was scheduled to visit my doctor’s office in a few days, they sent me home.

The day of my appointment came and I went in to see my doctor. She couldn’t find a heartbeat, but since I’d already scheduled an ultrasound for after the appointment, she sent me straight over to the hospital. There the ultrasound technician found fluid around my baby’s heart; he was dead. At that point no one knew what had happened. We decided to induce my labor, and they drew many vials of blood (14) to check for anything that might have caused the baby’s death. But a few hours later, on February 21, 2007, when I had my baby, we knew what had happened. The umbilical cord had gotten around his neck. Otherwise he was perfect, beautiful, and would have been healthy.

It was hard, to put it lightly. I was continually assured by my doctor nothing I could have done could have prevented it. It was one of those things no one could foresee and no one could do anything about. But that didn’t change the pain and hurt the loss caused. It was harder to handle than the miscarriage—which had also been devastating for me—because we had been six days away from having the baby. Clothes were bought, the baby was named, and we were explaining to Cordell that he would be a big brother. On top of that, we now had a funeral to arrange. But, the absolute hardest thing I had to do was leave the hospital without my baby. Nothing can describe the way I felt leaving him behind, like I was abandoning him, even though I wasn’t.

Friends and family were very considerate and kind, but most didn’t know how to comfort us or what to say. My husband’s cousins had also lost a baby, and they helped us a lot. As a matter of fact, the best advice I got was from them. They said: “Don’t try to get over it, just try to live with it.” It helped me because I didn’t want to forget about my baby. He was real and I loved him—I still do.

My doctor didn’t want me to be alone for a while after I lost the baby, possibly because she’d given me a prescription for sleeping pills, which I never filled. But the alone time I had—having to take care of my son—was the best thing for me. I had to get out of bed every morning and see to his needs, and a two-year-old can be very demanding.

Honestly thoughts of hurting myself or anyone else never entered into my head. I’m not a quitter and I had a husband and son who loved me and needed me. I did however become a recluse. I didn’t want to go and do anything for a long time. I felt I made other people uncomfortable. No one knew what to say and most people were scared they would say the wrong thing and upset me. I also felt like I was depressing people so I tried not to talk about what happened. However one of my friends said she was glad I did talk about what happened. I’m a very open, honest, up front person. She said she would have worried about me more if I would have been holding everything in.

My husband was a great help to me, because we could talk about what had happened. I kept telling him I could see how something like losing a child could kill a marriage. (If one or both of you refuses to talk it will cripple your relationship, because at that point you need each other more than ever.) I don’t think either of us would have been able to make it through without each other.

Despite everything, I was still able to see babies and pregnant women and not feel bad. I kept thinking, At least they are doing well. I didn’t want others to go through the same devastation. Since I didn’t really want to interact with other people—because of the awkwardness—I started doing cross stitch to keep my hands busy and my mind occupied. I would then give the pictures, etc., I made to other people. I found that making others happy helped to pull me out of my darkest moods.

For about two years I didn’t really care if I did anything with other people and preferred to just be at home with my family. I wasn’t scared to go out and be around other people—I did go out sometimes—I just didn’t feel like being social. I had deep thoughts going through my head and a tear in my soul, and being around people who seemed to not have a care in the world got very annoying. Everything they said and did seemed trivial, but I knew it was just people going on with their lives, something I was trying to do, but was struggling with. That’s when I started taking interest in writing again.

I had taken a writing test with the Institute of Children’s Literature when I was pregnant with my son, Cordell, and they kept sending me letters in the mail, wanting me to take a writing course. Although I hadn’t written much since I was in my teens, it interested me and finally I enrolled. I took a short course, but it was just the one I needed.

Writing gave me an interest and a purpose that was mine. I guess I needed something for me to focus on that used my brain and made me feel I had some importance outside my family—although I had plenty of purpose inside my family. It gave me a goal, something to concentrate on. I was very intent on getting published, and now, about two years later, I’ve been published many times and have my first book coming out soon.

Writing gives me a way to express myself and it helps with my emotions when they flip-flop back and forth from the PCOS and from life’s stresses in general. As a matter of fact, the day after I had my stillborn son, I wrote a poem. I didn’t know it then, but I guess it was kind of a jump start into what I’d be doing in my future. Just putting the words down on paper seemed to help, and we used the poem in the handouts at the funeral.

Wyatt Cole Besser

By Rebecca Besser

Feb. 22, 2007

Though no one understands why I couldn’t stay,

And why I got called so soon to go far away.

Do not worry about me in any way,

I went to Heaven to play.

My Grandma’s there to hold me tight,

And God loves me more than anyone else might.

I will wait in Heaven for my Mommy and Daddy

Someday we will be reunited as a family.

So if you get sad for me in any way,

Just remember, I’m in Heaven happily playing today.

I also wrote a poem for a poetry contest where you were supposed to write about the most difficult experience of your life. It won an honorable mention and a signed book of poetry.

I MISS YOU

by Rebecca Besser

Six more days,

and I would have

held you in my arms.

I

hate that I lost you.

I never got to know

you, so how can I

miss

you so very much?

My special baby boy,

no one else can be

you.

I held you in the

hospital. Even though

you didn’t move in

my

arms. I kissed you

even though you

couldn’t feel my

love.

You will be part

of me forever. I’ll

always remember you,

and

will always hold you

in a special place in

my heart. Love will

always

be a part of my

memories of you.

I miss you, and always

will.

Now I’m a full-time writer and I actually want to be around people again, which is still a constant struggle because it’s hard to rebuild relationships with friends after you didn’t want to be around anyone for years. But I have my writing and have meet an entire world of people—literally a world. I’ve met people from all over the globe who have the same interests as me and who have been very supportive in their own way.

Mostly though, I wouldn’t be who I am today or have the strength I do without my faith in God. Knowing my children are safe and happy in Heaven gives me peace. When I get depressed, I think about the parents whose children have been kidnaped and they don’t know where they are or what is happening to them and I remind myself it could be way worse. My children are in the hands of God and He loves them more than I do. It gives me some comfort and a sense of peace.

My husband and son have also helped me tremendously and have supported me in my writing. I don’t know where I would be without them.

Despite the pain I still feel when I think of my babies—I’ll always love them—I’ve learned to live with it and go on, because I can’t go back and change anything and there’s so much left to live for.

Copyright © Rebecca Besser 2011

***

Obviously, one of the reasons I’m sharing this right now is because I’m dealing with random spurts of grief, even all these years later, since it’s February, which ironically is also my birth month. I’m always grateful it’s the shortest month of the year.

And, a side note since I haven’t read this in a long time, I’ve realized how far I’ve come with PCOS. I almost never have the severe mood swings anymore. (Grateful for the little things.)

So, if you know me, and I’m being a bit grumpy, please forgive me. I’m doing the best I can at “Living With It.”

Copyright © Rebecca Besser 2023

Valentine’s Day Micropoetry – Desires By Rebecca Besser

Copyright © Rebecca Besser 2023

Micropoetry – Laughter By Rebecca Besser

Copyright © Rebecca Besser 2023

Micropoetry – Wishes By Rebecca Besser

Copyright © Rebecca Besser 2023

Micropoetry – Transformed by Rebecca Besser

Copyright © Rebecca Besser 2023

Flash Fiction – Consequence of Refusal by Rebecca Besser

CONSEQUENCE OF REFUSALBy Rebecca Besser

The nurse left work at five o’clock. The route she took home would take thirty minutes and she was already late. She ran all the way to her car, cursing under her breath as she accidentally stepped into a puddle left by an early morning rainstorm.

Shaking her soggy foot as she opened the driver’s door of her car, she didn’t notice the man standing less than three feet from her. If she had, she might not have flung water on him; it didn’t seem to matter as he was already soaked to the bone.

“Ma’am,” he said, “I hate to ask, but could you perhaps give me a ride?”

The nurse looked at him, noting how wet he was, remembering she was running late.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she said, closing her car door, “I can’t. I am running late for an appointment.”

He stood staring at her profile while she started the engine. He stepped aside as she shifted into reverse.

At the last minute, right as she was moving the gear shift to drive, he stepped forward, slapping her hood. Even with her windows rolled up the nurse heard him say something, although she couldn’t make out his words. When she glanced up from where he’d touched her hood, he was gone. Not walking away, but gone!

Shaking her head, the nurse shook of an ill feeling of premonition. Maybe I should have given him a ride, she thought fleetingly, and then she remembered her appointment.

Hurriedly, she pulled out of the hospital parking lot, almost colliding with another car. She didn’t even notice. After twelve hours on her feet, she was almost too tired to think straight, but she still managed the drive home.

Rushing into the house, she threw down her purse, and stripped off pieces of clothing as she made her way to the bathroom. She turned on the shower and sighed with relief as she stepped under the steamy, hot spray. The grit and sweat of her busy work day began to wash away, swirling down the drain.

She reached for the shampoo, squeezed a bit into her palm, and used it to lather up her hair. Just as she leaned her head back to rinse, the water stopped flowing.

“What the…?”

She turned around and twisted both knobs, trying to keep soap from running into her eyes. Nothing. No water came out of the spigot, not even a trickle.

Grumbling and swearing, she climbed out of the shower, grabbed a towel, and proceeded to fall flat on her face.

She silently thanked God she hadn’t smacked her head off the toilet when she fell. She scrambled, slipping and sliding, to her feet. She clutched the edge of the sink and took a couple of deep breaths, wiping shampoo bubbles off her face.

She tried the water in the bathroom sink, with no luck—no water there either.

Stumbling, swearing, wiping, she made her way to the kitchen, to the same results—no water. She growled, mutter, and swore some more.

On the brink of giving up and breaking down into tears, she remembered she had a gallon of water in the fridge.

Opening the door, she grabbed it.

She rushed back to the kitchen sink, ripped off the cap, and dumped it over her head.

After a couple of douses, she realized the liquid was still appearing white. She spread her hair apart and discovered she’d grabbed the milk by mistake.

Growling so hard it hurt her throat, she wrang out her hair, marched to the fridge, yanked the door open, and gripped the handle of the water jug, ripping it off the shelf. As she did so, it caught on the shelf above it. Everything went flying with the force of her extraction, pulling the shelf and all its contents out of the fridge and onto the floor. She dropped the water. The cap popped off the jug and water gushed out, mixing with the mess that now puddled in front of the fridge.

She uttered the most unladylike words she knew.

She was in mid rant when the doorbell rang, singing a half-chipper ding, dong.

For a solid minute she stood there, in a towel, milk dripping from her hair, in a puddle of water and food, hoping whomever was at the door would go away.

Ding, dong, ding, dong, ding, dong.

“I’m coming!” she screamed.

Walking dejectedly toward the door, she grabbed the handle, yanking it open. She gripped the towel where it meet at her chest to make sure it was closed.

Standing outside her door was her elderly neighbor, Maria, and the man who’d asked her for a ride. He’d changed into dry clothes, but his hair was still wet.

He looked her up and down with a knowing smirk.

The image of his saying something and slapping her hood flashed through her brain.

“Goodness, June,” Maria exclaimed in shock. “What happened to you? Is that milk in your hair? Why aren’t you dressed?”

“I was, uh, taking a shower,” June said lamely.

“In milk?”

“It’s a long story.”

The man with Maria laughed and tried to hide it as a cough.

June glared at him.

“I see,” said Maria, clearing her throat. “This is my grandson Mitch, I just wanted to introduce him to you, since he’ll be here for a couple weeks.”

June gripped the door to keep from falling over or yelling no. She didn’t know which she wanted to do more. All she knew was she didn’t want this man around, he was bad luck.

“Nice to meet you, June,” Mitch said, and held out his hand.

June looked at his hand like it was a snake, then reluctantly slipped her still damp hand into his for a brief shake.

“Nice to meet you too,” June mumbled.

“I trust you made it to your appointment all right?”

June’s lips tightened as she thought about the pint of chocolate ice cream in the freezer and the movie she had waiting for her.

“No,” June said stiffly. “I haven’t made it to my appointment yet.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Mitch said, grinning.

“Well,” Maria said, looking over June’s appearance. “We won’t keep you any longer. Have a good night, hope you make it to your appointment.”

Thinking about the mess on the kitchen floor, June doubted she would get any time to relax before she had to get some sleep so she could be up for her early shift tomorrow.

“I’ll try. I’ll probably have to cancel my appointment and reschedule.”

“That’s too bad,” Mitch said. “Have a nice night.”

June nodded and closed the door. No sooner had the latch clicked than water spurted out of all the faucets.

June rushed to turn them off, clean up the mess in the kitchen, and finish her shower. By the time she fell into bed, she was so tired she only had time for one thought before falling asleep. She would never refuse to help someone out so she could enjoy her own comfort again. Karma was too much work.

Copyright © Rebecca Besser 2010

Five Things To Remember For Life by Cordell Besser

Five Things To Remember For Life

By Cordell Besser

One: Happiness

Happiness is like a spark of light we all can create. We can create it for ourselves or others and kill it for ourselves or others. We should use our powers wisely.

Two: Sadness

Sadness is experienced by everyone. It is something to be visited, but not lived in continually. Don’t be afraid to feel sadness because it means you loved.

Three: Living

Living is like a tool shed—some people are sharper than others. We must be careful not to cut others down when they’re different. Each tool has a purpose.

Four: Communication

Communication is important, so your voice is heard. Those whose hearts that feel the same can come together with like-minded purpose. No one wants to feel alone.

Five: Acceptance

Acceptance is key to feeling loved, respected, and appreciated. Everyone is uniquely them. Everyone should be appreciated for the individualism they bring to humanity. All gifts and skills are needed to create greatness.

Copyright © Cordell Besser 2021

A Christmas Drabble – Carolers by Rebecca Besser

CarolersBy Rebecca Besser

Edward was always alone for Christmas. When he moved into his new, rural house he felt more isolated than ever. But he knew there would be Christmas carolers—the real estate agent said—and he loved singing. He decorated his house and yard in festive anticipation. He was ready for them; they were a small group and no trouble. He’d drugged their hot chocolate and poured generously.

He looked over his knives carefully, selecting two of the sharpest, before he descended into the basement. He wouldn’t be alone this year, and he’d make them sing a song…just for him.

Copyright © Rebecca Besser 2022

Now Available – I Journal by Rebecca Besser

Now available for purchase on Amazon!I Journal by Rebecca Besser

I Journal encompasses faith, spirituality, and personal discovery, and even some scientific theories. Designed to be different and all inclusive, it’s a great journal for anyone taking a spiritual journey, struggling with addiction, expanding through growth, and/or looking beyond simplistic reality to what lies within the layers of their heart, mind, and soul.

Not designed to be PC, I Journal is meant to be a journal anyone could enjoy and use. This journalis designed for each person to get to know themselves better, no matter their thinking or beliefs. Which, also, makes it a great gift.

Visit title on Amazon!

Copyright © 2022 Rebecca Besser