There are so many things going on right now, I can't even begin to formulate coherent thoughts. Is it any wonder I've slept only a few hours the past few nights? I lie down and am consumed by so many conflicting things -- and once it is quiet and dark it is nearly impossible to shut myself down.
Things that I am going to blog about (but can't right now):
1. Moving home -- this is a definite now. Mo and I have decided we are leaving no later than June -- the question is, will we go before then? Rational discussions aren't possible in this current emotional turmoil, but suffice to say the idea of throwing caution to the wind and just LEAVING is very, very tempting.
2. Little Miss (and the MIL) are back for a very, very short visit. Tonight was the first time I've seen them since the drama that followed Mo's grandfather's passing in December, and it may very well be the last time I see Little Miss in a long while. It was both heartwrenching and wonderful to see her unwrap her Christmas presents (finally) though I can't help but add her to the list of things that are being taken from me. It sucks.
3. The RE. Our post-miscarriage consult is on Friday afternoon. We got some unexpected news from their office this week that I will share once we've had an opportunity to sit down with him and weigh our options. I do have a question for my RPL bloggy friends, though -- I am going to insist on a full RPL panel before we cycle again. I refuse to wait to have another loss before finding out if anything is wrong with me -- we are simply spending too much (both financially and emotionally) on each cycle for me to risk it. I know to ask about MTHFR -- but what else? What should he be checking for? What should we be doing differently to help reduce our chances of another miscarriage? We've already done the progesterone -- what about extra folate and/or baby aspirin? What should I be asking Dr. Optimistic? I want to appear informed, but not irrational, about our options and what we may be up against.
There's more, but frankly, I'm worn out and that's about all I can handle for now.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Friday, January 22, 2010
The Dream vs. The Reality
One of my first (and only) purchases after learning I was pregnant was a daily pregnancy journal. It outlined every single day of pregnancy, from conception to delivery, giving specific details as to what was developing when. It helped me to visualize my little guy in there, as I read about and rooted him on.
This journal also had a section that you could personalize to your experience. It asked questions about how you found out you were pregnant, whom you shared the news with and when, how you felt, etc. The idea is to create a portrait of your pregnancy that you could one day share with your child.
When I was pregnant, the one section that I left blank, that I couldn't bring myself to fill out, was "What are your hopes and dreams for this child?" (emphasis mine)
I couldn't do it then, so early into the pregnancy, when so much could go wrong. I couldn't allow myself to have hopes and dreams that could so easily be snatched away. In an effort to protect myself, I didn't write anything down.
It didn't matter. The hopes and dreams were still there, verbalized or not.
I had hopes, my child, that you would grow. I had dreams about feeling you move within me, about placing your daddy's hands on my belly and seeing the tears and wonderment in his face.
I dreamt about finally getting to hold you, about memorizing your face and your hands and every single tiny part of you.
I hoped to provide you with a loving home, full of creature comforts, lacking nothing.
I dreamt of cuddling with you and reading stories. Of sharing new experiences with you. Of watching you grow and learn.
I dreamt of seeing the world -- fresh and new and full of hope -- through your eyes.
I hoped to teach you so many things: how to ride a bike, how to bake a cake, how to tell a joke. To be kind to animals, generous to strangers, and patient with yourself.
I dreamt of a life with you, filled with possibilities and adventure and love.
Now, I am faced with the reality that these dreams will never be. Whether or not I eventually have another child, my life with YOU will never be. I will never know what you look like, what your interests might be, what kind of personality you would have had. Would you have been graced with your daddy's curls or his stubby feet? Would you have liked sports like him, or more artsy things like me? Would you have been book-smart like your momma or people-smart like Daddy? Would you have been the class clown, always the center of attention or more sensitive and quiet?
I had hopes for you, my child. I had dreams of learning all about you, about what makes you unique and special. You are one-of-a-kind, and no future child will ever be able to take your place.
You are my first baby.
I love you.
And my heart is broken because I will never get to hold you and tell you so.
This journal also had a section that you could personalize to your experience. It asked questions about how you found out you were pregnant, whom you shared the news with and when, how you felt, etc. The idea is to create a portrait of your pregnancy that you could one day share with your child.
When I was pregnant, the one section that I left blank, that I couldn't bring myself to fill out, was "What are your hopes and dreams for this child?" (emphasis mine)
I couldn't do it then, so early into the pregnancy, when so much could go wrong. I couldn't allow myself to have hopes and dreams that could so easily be snatched away. In an effort to protect myself, I didn't write anything down.
It didn't matter. The hopes and dreams were still there, verbalized or not.
I had hopes, my child, that you would grow. I had dreams about feeling you move within me, about placing your daddy's hands on my belly and seeing the tears and wonderment in his face.
I dreamt about finally getting to hold you, about memorizing your face and your hands and every single tiny part of you.
I hoped to provide you with a loving home, full of creature comforts, lacking nothing.
I dreamt of cuddling with you and reading stories. Of sharing new experiences with you. Of watching you grow and learn.
I dreamt of seeing the world -- fresh and new and full of hope -- through your eyes.
I hoped to teach you so many things: how to ride a bike, how to bake a cake, how to tell a joke. To be kind to animals, generous to strangers, and patient with yourself.
I dreamt of a life with you, filled with possibilities and adventure and love.
Now, I am faced with the reality that these dreams will never be. Whether or not I eventually have another child, my life with YOU will never be. I will never know what you look like, what your interests might be, what kind of personality you would have had. Would you have been graced with your daddy's curls or his stubby feet? Would you have liked sports like him, or more artsy things like me? Would you have been book-smart like your momma or people-smart like Daddy? Would you have been the class clown, always the center of attention or more sensitive and quiet?
I had hopes for you, my child. I had dreams of learning all about you, about what makes you unique and special. You are one-of-a-kind, and no future child will ever be able to take your place.
You are my first baby.
I love you.
And my heart is broken because I will never get to hold you and tell you so.
Monday, January 18, 2010
A Gift To Myself
I bought this today.
The inscription reads:
Grieve not, nor speak of me with tears,
but laugh and talk of me as if I were beside you.
I loved you so- 'twas heaven here with you.
-- Isla Paschal Richardson
While I'm not quite ready to quit grieving, and certainly the tears are still flowing, this is the first thing in a while that has made me really, truly happy. To know that I will have something TANGIBLE, some sort of proof (besides the emotional scars) that this was real, that I somehow didn't imagine those precious few weeks when I carried my child with me in my body as well as in my heart.
Part of moving on is honoring this child, fleeting though my time with them was. To that end, I've also made a donation (via Kym) to Parenthood for Me. (Click on the word "donation" to read about their latest fundraiser). The table sponsors will be the ALI blogging community, this group of wonderful women (I know I say that a lot, but it is so true) without whom I would never, ever, be able to make it through this.
To both my baby, and to my bloggy friends, I say "thank you." Thank you for coming into my life, be it for an hour, a week, or a lifetime.
Thank you for allowing me to dream of a future where the heartache of infertility is but a distant memory.
Thank you for holding my hand.
Thank you for giving me hope.
* * * * *
To make a donation of your own, visit Kym over at I'm A Smart One. (Though you should be visiting her anyway -- she is one funny --and amazingly kind and selfless -- bi-otch.)
Also, if you are interested, this site has a TON of cards/jewelry/gifts to commemorate miscarriage or infant loss, for you or a friend or family member who is grieving.
The inscription reads:
Grieve not, nor speak of me with tears,
but laugh and talk of me as if I were beside you.
I loved you so- 'twas heaven here with you.
-- Isla Paschal Richardson
While I'm not quite ready to quit grieving, and certainly the tears are still flowing, this is the first thing in a while that has made me really, truly happy. To know that I will have something TANGIBLE, some sort of proof (besides the emotional scars) that this was real, that I somehow didn't imagine those precious few weeks when I carried my child with me in my body as well as in my heart.
Part of moving on is honoring this child, fleeting though my time with them was. To that end, I've also made a donation (via Kym) to Parenthood for Me. (Click on the word "donation" to read about their latest fundraiser). The table sponsors will be the ALI blogging community, this group of wonderful women (I know I say that a lot, but it is so true) without whom I would never, ever, be able to make it through this.
To both my baby, and to my bloggy friends, I say "thank you." Thank you for coming into my life, be it for an hour, a week, or a lifetime.
Thank you for allowing me to dream of a future where the heartache of infertility is but a distant memory.
Thank you for holding my hand.
Thank you for giving me hope.
To make a donation of your own, visit Kym over at I'm A Smart One. (Though you should be visiting her anyway -- she is one funny --and amazingly kind and selfless -- bi-otch.)
Also, if you are interested, this site has a TON of cards/jewelry/gifts to commemorate miscarriage or infant loss, for you or a friend or family member who is grieving.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Things I Will Never Ever Say Again*
* It should be noted that I am not cruel or callous enough to actually SAY these things to any human being. I am, however, bitter and resentful enough to secretly think them. Or, I used to be.
1. At least you know you can get pregnant.
2. It was still so early.
3. This just wasn't the right time.
4. God has a plan for you.
5. You can always try again.
And, of course, the kicker:
6. I know exactly how you feel.
1. At least you know you can get pregnant.
2. It was still so early.
3. This just wasn't the right time.
4. God has a plan for you.
5. You can always try again.
And, of course, the kicker:
6. I know exactly how you feel.
Friday, January 8, 2010
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
14 Days
Two weeks ago, exactly, I woke up and gave my husband the BEST NEWS EVER. After seven years, I finally got to whisper those words I've so longed to say. "We're pregnant."
I was so full of joy and hope and wonder at that moment.
Today, fourteen days later, I had to give my husband the worst news ever. I had to tell him that the baby we have so longed for is not to be.
I would have been six weeks tomorrow.
Devastated doesn't even begin to cover it.
I was so full of joy and hope and wonder at that moment.
Today, fourteen days later, I had to give my husband the worst news ever. I had to tell him that the baby we have so longed for is not to be.
I would have been six weeks tomorrow.
Devastated doesn't even begin to cover it.
Monday, January 4, 2010
Seeing Double
I went to the RE prepared this morning for the worst.
When the nurse, who was quietly deferential, first inserted the vagicam, I saw nothing.
"It's empty, isn't it?" I asked.
"Well, no, actually.. . ." she turned the monitor toward me. "There's a sac right here." She moved the wand a little bit and, lo and behold, there it was.
Still unbelieving, I asked, "It's kind of small, isn't it?" She said she didn't do enough of these super early ultrasounds to really say, but that, no it didn't look all that small.
Holy shit.
She kept looking (for a source of bleeding, I thought) and then she said, "There's the other one."
Ummm....what?
Granted, the second one was half the size of the first one. It WAS tiny. But it was there, which means it wasn't in my tube, my biggest fear of all. Could it be the source of the bleeding? Perhaps.
Ovaries looked good, cervix nice and closed.
Breathe.
She printed me off a beautiful picture, which unfortunately I am unable to scan for you. But, after comparatively Googling, I'm confident that at least one of those little guys looks like he/she should at 5w4d.
Oh, and my beta came in at 2790. They wanted at least 2500, and so were pleased. If not for the bleeding, which has become a full-on period-like flow, things would look textbook.
So now we do what all IF'ers are famous for: we wait. Dr. Optimistic wants another blood draw and ultrasound next week. I'm hoping and praying the blood stops before then. If I need to, of course, they have assured me that I can come in earlier.
I'm not out of the woods, yet. I'm still bleeding (quite a lot) for unknown reasons, and my lower back aches like I've been moving furniture (rest assured, I haven't). These are classic signs of a miscarriage. I could still be losing one, or both.
But, for today, they are still there, right where we left them.
Amazing.
When the nurse, who was quietly deferential, first inserted the vagicam, I saw nothing.
"It's empty, isn't it?" I asked.
"Well, no, actually.. . ." she turned the monitor toward me. "There's a sac right here." She moved the wand a little bit and, lo and behold, there it was.
Still unbelieving, I asked, "It's kind of small, isn't it?" She said she didn't do enough of these super early ultrasounds to really say, but that, no it didn't look all that small.
Holy shit.
She kept looking (for a source of bleeding, I thought) and then she said, "There's the other one."
Ummm....what?
Granted, the second one was half the size of the first one. It WAS tiny. But it was there, which means it wasn't in my tube, my biggest fear of all. Could it be the source of the bleeding? Perhaps.
Ovaries looked good, cervix nice and closed.
Breathe.
She printed me off a beautiful picture, which unfortunately I am unable to scan for you. But, after comparatively Googling, I'm confident that at least one of those little guys looks like he/she should at 5w4d.
Oh, and my beta came in at 2790. They wanted at least 2500, and so were pleased. If not for the bleeding, which has become a full-on period-like flow, things would look textbook.
So now we do what all IF'ers are famous for: we wait. Dr. Optimistic wants another blood draw and ultrasound next week. I'm hoping and praying the blood stops before then. If I need to, of course, they have assured me that I can come in earlier.
I'm not out of the woods, yet. I'm still bleeding (quite a lot) for unknown reasons, and my lower back aches like I've been moving furniture (rest assured, I haven't). These are classic signs of a miscarriage. I could still be losing one, or both.
But, for today, they are still there, right where we left them.
Amazing.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
No More Spotting. . .
. . .it's now full-fledged flowing. Bright red, period-like. With cramps and lower backache. In fact, if I didn't know I was pregnant, I'd think it was AF.
I gave in and called the office and asked for the on-call nurse. Turns out my RE was the one on-call. He assured me that this could be perfectly normal, and in fact happens a lot after IVF. As long as I'm not "gushing" and there are no severe cramps, it could very well be nothing.
But, to be safe, they're gonna see me first thing in the morning.
I'm trying to remain optimistic, but I just can't. I really feel like its over. My "symptoms" have tapered off -- boobs are hardly sore at all, not hungry or thirsty, sense of smell seems back to normal. I just don't "feel" pregnant. My poor Mo is trying to hold us both up, but I admit I've lost it once or twice.
I am trying to prepare myself, but how can I? How does one prepare to lose the very thing they've hoped and prayed for for so many years, something so intangible it never even really seemed real?
How do you prepare to lose something that never was?
I gave in and called the office and asked for the on-call nurse. Turns out my RE was the one on-call. He assured me that this could be perfectly normal, and in fact happens a lot after IVF. As long as I'm not "gushing" and there are no severe cramps, it could very well be nothing.
But, to be safe, they're gonna see me first thing in the morning.
I'm trying to remain optimistic, but I just can't. I really feel like its over. My "symptoms" have tapered off -- boobs are hardly sore at all, not hungry or thirsty, sense of smell seems back to normal. I just don't "feel" pregnant. My poor Mo is trying to hold us both up, but I admit I've lost it once or twice.
I am trying to prepare myself, but how can I? How does one prepare to lose the very thing they've hoped and prayed for for so many years, something so intangible it never even really seemed real?
How do you prepare to lose something that never was?
Friday, January 1, 2010
It's Red
The spotting. It started brown, two days ago. Very, very faint.
Yesterday it turned pink.
Today, it's red.
It's still very, very light -- nothing on a liner, just when I wipe.
But, no mistaking it, this morning, it's red.
And I've been cramping, fairly consistently, since yesterday.
I know that there is nothing that can be done. Not only is it New Year's Day, and everyone is sleeping off last night, but then its the weekend. No one will be in at Dr. Optimistic's until Monday.
I could go to the ER, but it's not severe enough for that yet. And really, what are they going to do? An ultrasound now may not show a damn thing. I'm only 5w1d, and my hCG was only 460 two days ago. It's not likely hit 1,000 yet, when they can visualize a sac.
And so I wait.
And I Google.
And I have to tell you, as many stories as reassure me that some spotting/cramping is normal in early pregnancy, there are just as many that end in loss.
And, as everyone knows, brown and pink are one thing.
Red is never, ever a good sign.
Thanks a lot, 2010.
Yesterday it turned pink.
Today, it's red.
It's still very, very light -- nothing on a liner, just when I wipe.
But, no mistaking it, this morning, it's red.
And I've been cramping, fairly consistently, since yesterday.
I know that there is nothing that can be done. Not only is it New Year's Day, and everyone is sleeping off last night, but then its the weekend. No one will be in at Dr. Optimistic's until Monday.
I could go to the ER, but it's not severe enough for that yet. And really, what are they going to do? An ultrasound now may not show a damn thing. I'm only 5w1d, and my hCG was only 460 two days ago. It's not likely hit 1,000 yet, when they can visualize a sac.
And so I wait.
And I Google.
And I have to tell you, as many stories as reassure me that some spotting/cramping is normal in early pregnancy, there are just as many that end in loss.
And, as everyone knows, brown and pink are one thing.
Red is never, ever a good sign.
Thanks a lot, 2010.
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