Sadness

Joey died this morning.

There are things that aren't ever supposed to happen. A child dying is one of them.


I will never forget that moment on the phone, sitting in the hospital room rocking my little boy who was still out of sorts from the anesthesia, hearing that they had found a tumor. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest as my breath caught and my mind raced, imagining all the potentially horrible things to come.

Every night as I cuddle with Finn now, I'm filled with love for him, and thankfulness that he is managing to fight off this horrible disease, and that he's been able to do it so far without chemo or radiation treatments.  I am so unbelievably thankful.  I will always worry - not just the normal nebulous mommy worry that every mom has, but that specific fear of what might happen because of this tumor. The fear born out of the reality of hearing your son has cancer. And while I can't possibly begin to know what it's like to deal with the disease the way that Joey's parents have, I think I can come closer to imagining it now, having experienced that afternoon in August and the terrifying weeks that followed.

There is no way to make sense of this sort of thing.  I've said before that I used to think that "bad things happen for a reason." But what reason could there be for a little boy who loved Legos and Star Wars to die?  What reason is there for a 3 month old to be diagnosed with cancer?  What reason is there for a baby to be born still at 20 weeks?  Or for a woman to have miscarriage after miscarriage - or never be able to get pregnant at all?  There is no reason that is good enough to explain these things, or the other bad and horrible things that happen.  If only there were words that existed to make the hurt go away, to make things right when they go so horribly wrong.

Last week Joey's mom posted something on their Caring Bridge site that was beautiful and heartbreaking. I haven't been able to stop thinking of it this week, so I'm sharing it here, in memory of a beautiful little boy I only knew in passing, and in honor of his family.


Lullabies and a rocking chair have been a special part of our days together since we brought Joey home from the hospital in May of 2006.  Sitting in the glider, all sleep deprived and overwhelmed, I would cradle him in my arms and together we would fall fast into sweet sleep.  These last weeks have been deeply reminiscent of those early days as I hold him in my arms and rock, a familiar music playing in the background.  Just as he did nearly 7 years ago, Joey drifts into the land of little boy dreams while I stare and take in the face of my sweet boy. 


The days have started to meld together, each one mingling the familiar- a glimpse of his sweet smile, a short burst of energy- with the uncharted- increased pain and difficult conversations.  These are hard days.  These are treasured days.  These are days in which I cannot make sense of the pain and the heartache.  And these are days that are teaching my heart to trust in a new way.
  
Frankly, I hate where we are in this journey.  My mother’s heart longs to have Joey near for years piled upon years.  When I allow myself to imagine my days without him, I am overcome by heartbreak so strong I feel as though I am being swallowed up by darkness.  My faith in an eternal Hope is a Constant Companion and Friend but even during times of great sadness, companions and friends stand in the background and allow the grieving heart to do simply that, grieve. 

Pregnancy Thoughts at 29 Weeks

Yesterday, I went shopping for some nursery essentials (baskets and lamps), visiting IKEA, Home Goods, Target and Garden Ridge, along with a few little boutique stores in my search for the perfect items.  I kept finding myself surrounded by pregnant women, and turning my head away when I saw them, like I’ve done for years, because it makes me sad to see them.  And then I kept realizing as I did so, “Oh, wait, I’m one of them now!” 

It’s weird how unreal my life seems to me some days.  I think it’s because this has been my dream for as long as I can remember – to be pregnant, to have a child (or 4), to be a mommy.  I just can’t believe that it’s really happening to me.  And at times, I can’t believe I had the courage to start this process, to actually try to get pregnant on my own in the first place.  Maybe it wasn’t even courage, it was just what I had to do, so I did it.  I am doing it.  And it still surprises me.

In the midst of this disbelief, I’m so thankful for this little miracle I have growing in me.  I’m trying to savor every last second of being pregnant: the kicks that are so strong my body shakes with them, the little flutters I feel when I’m in a position he doesn’t like, the constant backache, the chronic constipation, the random kindness from strangers who are more than willing to help out a pregnant woman, the shortness of breath when climbing stairs and the constant surprise I feel when I look down and see my own rounded belly.

I find myself rubbing my belly without realizing I’m doing it, and resting my hands on my stomach when I’m sitting in a meeting.  And I remember how much it bothered me when pregnant women did this around me before I was pregnant myself.  I vowed I would never do this, and yet I find I can’t help myself.  Now I know they probably weren’t conscious of it, either.  But still, my joy in my pregnancy is constantly tempered a small amount of worry for Chiquitito, and by guilt and sadness for those who aren’t yet seeing their dreams fulfilled, too.  And then today I read this blog entry from Maggie May – an entry I read just because I was putting off getting dressed this morning, and clicked on a random link on another blog, just for something to do.  And I’m so glad I did.  The entire entry is beautiful, haunting, powerful and perfect, and these sentences pretty much sum it up:  You will be loved deeply because you wish to love deeply. You recognize that suffering is ongoing in this world, and accept that refusing your deepest, most profound joys to sink as far as they can into your heart is not protecting anyone, anywhere from their pain. 

Who knew I could find such a powerful message on a lazy Saturday morning?  Procrastination really is good for something, after all.

Winter Solstice

Today, December 21st, marks my due date from my first pregnancy. I’ve been dreading this date for weeks, and at the same time hoping it would hurry up and get here so I could stop with the unpleasant anticipation.

My heart aches for the little baby who wasn’t meant to be. I was sure she was a girl (I didn’t do any genetic testing to confirm this), and after my miscarriage I named her Faith. I didn’t have much faith in anything at the time, but I felt like naming her Faith was a promise to myself that my faith would return.

As I type this, Chiquitito is moving around, kicking my bladder and generally making his presence known. It’s strange, mourning my lost girl while being so totally in love with this little boy who wouldn’t exist if she had stayed. I don’t know how to reconcile the two feelings, but I guess I don’t have to. The joy and sadness aren’t mutually exclusive, but it does feel weird, feeling both so intensely at the same time.

I can’t help wondering what things would have been like if all had gone well, and I was about to become a new mom right around now; Christmas would be very different this year. I have a feeling that these sorts of wonderings will stop once Chiquitito is born, since as soon as I meet him I know I won’t be able to imagine another baby in my arms instead of him. I am so grateful that I’m facing this day while already 21 weeks pregnant, but whenever someone asks me “Is this your first child?” my instinctive response is, “No, my he’s my second.” I never actually answer that way, but I always feel a little guilty when I answer, “Yes, he’s my first.”

I used to think that God sent us losses like these for a reason. The older I’ve gotten, the more I’ve questioned that line of reasoning, and now, after my miscarriage, I just don’t believe it anymore at all. There’s no rhyme or reason to why these things happen, they just do. My Christmas wish this year is that no one ever has to lose a child again, at any stage in life.

 If only my wish really could come true.

Unfairness of It All

In the ALI community, it’s not uncommon for a blogger to lose followers when she gets pregnant, or for the blogger to decide she’s uncomfortable blogging on an IF blog while pregnant or once she has her baby, because she feels guilty, or she feels like she’s writing to a different community than she originally started with. I’ve struggled with this a little myself over the past few months. This blog started out as a blog after my miscarriage, then became a TTC blog, is now a pregnancy blog, and will hopefully become a baby and me blog in about 5 months, while around me are friends who have had recurrent failed cycles, miscarriages, heart break and disappointment. All things I’m familiar with, but I’ve still felt a little guilty at times, for having good news to share when others of you do not.  It's not fair.

I remember how I felt when I was TTC; it was hard to even want to read about women raising children, because I just couldn’t imagine myself there. Right after my miscarriage I couldn’t read the pregnancy blogs at all; I kept them on my follow list, but I didn’t read them. And then, as I healed, I discovered that I wanted to read about pregnancy again; in fact it was easier to be happy for my online friends than it was for my friends in real life, those first few months after my miscarriage. And so I came to the conclusion that this is, first and foremost, as Single Mom by Choice blog, no matter where I am in my journey. The stage I am in my journey may be difficult or painful for others who are struggling, but on the bad days I know they’ll avoid my posts just like I avoided others on my bad days.

But then Paige lost her sweet little boy yesterday. She was just a week ahead of me in her pregnancy, and my heart aches for her. I had a miscarriage at almost 9 weeks, but that loss pales in comparison to her loss – she had felt him move for several weeks, she saw his perfect body on the ultrasound and knew all was well. She was 20 weeks, all was supposed to be good – this is the time where you’re supposed to be able to worry less. My miscarriage resulted in a D&C where what came out was called “the products of conception” and was sent off to a pathology lab. Her baby was sent to a funeral home. Totally different, and I know I can’t begin to imagine the grief she feels today.

Her loss makes it feel disrespectful to want to post about my pregnancy updates, and I wonder if I’m not the only pregnant SMC out there today who feels that way. But again it comes back to my thoughts above, that this is a blog about my journey, and it’s ok to continue to post. I just wish that Paige were going to be posting about her pregnancy as I post about mine.

I’m not sure why I’m even writing this today…I guess I needed to in order to be able to not feel like an insensitive arse when I do share my pregnancy joys and woes over (hopefully) the next 21 weeks or so.

Paige, if you’re reading this now, or sometime in the future, please know that while I can’t fathom the grief you’re feeling, I do understand if you can’t read my posts for a long time to come. Why do these things have to happen? It’s just wrong.  And I'm so very sad for you and your wonderful family.

Worrying Too Much

Two Saturdays ago I went to an impromptu baby shower for my friend, M. Almost 3 years ago, M adopted at toddler from Peru, after a struggle with infertility.  Her daughter is now a happy and adorable 4 and a half year old, and M wanted to give her a brother or sister.  She tried fertility treatments, but had serious side effects from the drugs and her doctors told her not to continue.  And so she and her husband signed up to adopt, this time domestically, hoping for an infant.  A few weeks ago, they were matched with a birth mother who was set to deliver a baby boy this month, and the baby shower was put together to get them all the baby necessities for the imminent arrival. 

Her shower was such a joy – and the first shower of all the ones I’ve attended this year where I was actually pregnant, which made it even better.  The only bad part of the shower was when M confided to me that she was secretly afraid that the birth mother would back out at the last minute, and their hopes at a new baby this year would be gone. 

A few days ago I learned that something even worse had happened.  The birth mother went to her OB, right around her due date, and discovered that the baby had died. 

I can’t imagine the heartbreak both the birthmother and M and her family have felt.  Of all the worries that M had about this adoption, I’m sure that this outcome was one she’s never imagined.  But, amazingly enough, this story has a happy ending already.  I got a text from her yesterday, announcing they’d been matched with a baby boy born a week ago in Florida.  A little small because he was born at 34 weeks, but otherwise healthy! She and her husband leave Tuesday to bring their baby home.

I know that M is probably sad for the baby she never knew, but I imagine within a few weeks she’ll know that this new baby boy is the one she was meant to have as her son, and won’t be able to imagine any other child in her life.  It’s amazing how things work out sometimes.

From this I have learned something that I’m going to try to put into practice.  Worrying about all the things that might go wrong just isn’t worth it, because it doesn’t prepare you for when bad really does happen.  Instead I’m going to work on hoping for the future, because somehow, in ways you might never expect, things really do work out. 

Unfortunately, I’m failing miserably at that goal right now, because I’m worried the bad things my ultrasound might show tomorrow.  I’m trying so hard to be optimistic, but, quite honestly - I’m terrified.  I keep trying to reassure myself with all the positive pregnancy signs I have, and how good my beta numbers looked, and how, deep down, I really do feel good about things this time. I’m just having a hard time convincing myself to trust my gut feelings, I guess because I’ve seen the bad stuff, but have no personal experience with the good stuff – yet. 

Yes, I admit it, I’m a hot mess.  Thank goodness I have a wonderful friend taking me out for a decadent Southern Sunday brunch in a bit, followed by some quality time with George Clooney at the movies.  That should distract me for at least a few hours.  

What if it All Goes Right?

Sunday marked the beginning of the nausea.  I’m still able to eat whatever I want, but I have to be careful, because if I get too hungry or too full then I’m in trouble.  I haven’t actually gotten sick yet, thank goodness.  I hate throwing up!  I can handle feeling the nausea, but since I’m just past 5 weeks, I think it might get worse.  I’ve got non-drowsy Dramamine, ginger ale and Zofran at the ready, though! 

I’m still getting lots of cramps and pulling and stretching in my lower abdomen and pelvis.  I know it’s normal, but it’s weird.  No one tell you to expect that sort of thing!   It scared me at first, but now I’m reassured by it, because it means something good is growing in there.  The strangest thing is that while I know my boobs are fuller, they are only a little bit sore, and last time they were so tender by 5 weeks.  I wonder if it’s because they were all stretched out just a few months ago?

All these symptoms are convincing me that I’m really pregnant, but I’m still having a hard time really believing it.  I’ll have moments of excitement and joy, but for the most part it just seems surreal, I guess because I can’t let myself get too happy without reminding myself that something bad might happen.  I literally find myself thinking, “Don’t get too excited!  Remember what happened last time.” 

And then someone posted this (to someone else) on the SMC pregnancy discussion board today – the lines to a song she says helped her through her recent pregnancy.  The words are just perfect.  

What if that road that you’re taking’s a dead end

What if love leaves you all jaded and broken

What if that limb breaks you’re climbing out on

Yeah, what if it all goes wrong

But, what if it all goes right

What if it all works out

What if the stars line up

and good luck rains down

What if you chase your dreams

and it changes your whole life

Yeah, what if it all goes right

What if that road is a beautiful slow drive

what if that love ends up lasting a life time

what if that limb holds you, oak tree strong

what if this time nothing goes wrong

What if it all goes right

What if it all works out

What if the stars line up

and good luck rains down

What if you chase your dreams

and it changes your whole life

Yeah, what if it all goes right

What if you climb to the mountain top

and touch the sky

grab a cloud as it passes by

you might fall you might fall

but then again you might fly

What if it all goes right

What if it all works out

What if the stars line up

and good luck rains down

What if you chase your dreams

and it changes your whole life

Yeah, what if it all goes right

-Melissa Lawson 

What if it all really does go right?  What if my ultrasound (in 12 days) is great?  What if the next ultrasound shows a baby that continues to grow?  What if this Christmas I have a big belly and everyone knows my secret?  What if next May I'm holding my little miracle?  

What if it all goes right?  It really will change my whole life.

Sometimes You Can't Make It On Your Own

The comments after my last post were beyond amazing, and I’m so grateful for each and every one.  While I hate that there are other women out there who understand and have lived my feelings, it helps so much right now to know that I’m not alone.  The reassurances that it’s okay (and even normal) to feel angry and sad and bitter have allowed me to let go of a lot of the guilt I was feeling; and I think that’s going to help me be able to maybe actually be happy and supportive for LB sooner than sometime next year. *g*  Thanks to all of you for taking the time to leave such wonderful comments.

I’ve had a hard time sticking to my diet this week, and as I succumbed to the lure of a hot Krispy Kreme donut today, I swear I could hear my ovaries screaming, “No! No refined sugar!”  I told my acupuncturist about this, and she reassured me that my ovaries are happiest when I’m happiest, and if I need a Kripsy Kreme donut or two to make me happy this week, then that’s okay. 

I think I love my acupuncturist.

Jealousy

“I have really bad news,” LB said to me last night.  Since she sounded near tears, I immediately expected something awful, like the unlikely news that she and her husband were divorcing.  But what she said instead made my stomach drop: “I’m pregnant.”

Not that this is awful news for her – she’s wanted another baby since her son was born almost 5 years ago.  She went through infertility treatments with her daughter, and then her son was a happy surprise a few years later.  Unfortunately, her pregnancies weren’t uncomplicated, and she decided she was too afraid of a bad outcome to try for number 3.  But the universe had other plans, because my friend with primary infertility ended up with her second surprise pregnancy.

I wish I could be happy for her.  I wish I could give her the support she needs right now as she freaks out about various chemical exposures and changing litter boxes and missing prenatal vitamins, and as she worries about how this pregnancy will progress.  But all I can think is, “She’s pregnant, and I’m not.”

Once again, I’m reminded of how all my friends have gotten their heart’s desires – husband or boyfriend, children, a family – while I’m left alone with my cats.  (I know that things really aren’t that simple, but I can’t help it, this simplistic worldview is all I see right now.)  I wonder what horrible deeds I did in my past lives, who in the universe it was that I pissed off, that I’m 39 years old, and still single, still alone. I know, I have wonderful friends, and a great family, so in the technical sense I’m not alone, but that doesn’t change the fact that I go home by myself every night, with no one to hold me close as I cry at life’s unfairness.

And this is why LB said it was bad news.  She knew how I was going to feel, and she understands, as much as someone who’s been married for 15 years can understand.   

I hate feeling this jealousy.  I hate being so petty and childish that my friend’s good news makes me so sad.  I really hate that LB’s joy at this pregnancy is dampened by the thought of how I’m going to feel about it.  So I keep trying to imagine how great it will be, when I do get my BFP, to go through pregnancy with one of my best friends, and then to raise our children together as best friends, too.  But that pleasant line of thinking is always interrupted by the thought that if things had gone right, she would have gotten this news when I was just out of my first trimester, instead of when I’m grieving a lost pregnancy, and my feelings right now would be completely different.

I know I’ll get over this, and I’ll be able to be the friend LB needs right now.  But today…today sucks.

A Bookshop at the Beach

When I was pregnant, I always had a happy feeling in the back of my mind.  I didn’t think about being pregnant nonstop, but I was always aware of it, which made it hard to go through the day without smiling at inopportune times.  Since my miscarriage, I’ve had the exact opposite:  a constant heavy, dragging feeling in the back of my mind and in the pit of my stomach.  I notice it when I first wake up in the morning; sometimes it takes me a minute to figure out why I feel that way, but I haven’t woken up without that heavy feeling in 5 weeks.  It lasts all day, so at times I’m hardly aware of it, but random things, like a line in a book or a pregnant woman walking by, make me remember why I feel so sad. 

I know I should consider myself lucky. I can still laugh with my friends, while others who have gone through a pregnancy loss can’t smile or laugh for months, the sadness mixed with rapidly changing hormones just more than their bodies can handle.  Right now, though, facing a week back at work, I don’t feel lucky.  The thought of a day full of patients right now makes that sinking feeling in my heart so loud, I can barely hear anything else.  I think I finally understand what makes someone pick up and leave everything she’s ever known, to start all over again when something tragic happens.  It feels as though if I did leave and start a new life somewhere else that I would feel better, that all my sadness would be left behind.  I know that’s not true, of course, but I can’t help fantasizing just a little bit. 

If I could, right now, leave my job that I usually love but currently dread, and start life somewhere else, I’d want it to be somewhere like Sundog Books in Seaside, Florida.  It’s a block from the beach, in the middle of lots of cute little shops and vacation homes.  Inside are tables piled high and shelves that stretch nearly to the ceiling overflowing with books.  They’re cleverly arranged in categories that go above and beyond the usual fiction, romance and sci-fi of your average bookstore, which encourages browsing as you try to find your favorite author.  Then there are all the books that are stacked on the shelves, in front of the neatly and alphabetically shelved books.  These stacks encourage browsing, inviting you to pick up a few and read the back, and frequently the books don’t make it back to the shelf, because they look way too good to ignore.  When you pause to point out a particularly favorite book of yours to your friends, one of the staff invariably joins in on the conversation, with interesting facts about the author, or a suggestion of another book you’re sure to enjoy. 

I spent 30 minutes in Sundog Books yesterday and spent almost $100 - despite the fact that I own a Kindle and rarely buy books in print anymore - and I could have easily spent another hour or two and a couple more hundred dollars if I’d had the time.  Right now, I would love more than anything to be on the staff at Sundog Books. 

I’d live in small little cottage a few blocks away, and every morning I’d get up early and walk for an hour on the beach.  After a quick swim to cool off, I’d go home to shower and then head in to the bookstore.  I can imagine the quiet of the store before it opens, as I’d walk through the aisles, straightening the shelves and choosing new books to highlight on the tables or stack on the shelves, breathing in the wonderful scent of books as I did.  In the summer, the days would pass quickly as sunburned tourists wandered in for a break from the heat, and left with a new book or two for the next day’s read by the ocean.  In the winter I’d have time to relax in a comfortable chair, catching up on my reading and enjoying talking books with the few locals and tourists that drop by.  I’d spend the evenings on the back porch with my friends, or enjoying another walk on the beach as the sunset.  Oh, I know even this life wouldn’t be perfect, I know I’d still be sad, but for right now it sounds like my idea of heaven.  

I wonder if any of you have similar fantasies of escaping your lives every now and then - if so, where would you go?  What would you do?

A Proposal, A Ring and Brad.ley Coop.er

I received an offer of marriage yesterday.  Sort of.  Mr. L has been my patient for years, he’s a large man with a big belly and an even bigger heart, and a quirky sense of humor.  When I walked into the exam room yesterday he said, “We’ve got to talk.”  Uh-oh.  “I’ve been thinking, Pickle.” (Yes, he called me Pickle.  No idea why.)  “If anything ever happens to my wife, I want you and me to get married.  I’ve got a lot of money saved up in my 401(k) and CDs - I’m not rich but I’ve got enough.  I like to travel, you like to travel, it’s perfect.”  And then he paused.  “But don’t get the wrong idea.  I love my wife, so we get married only if something happens to her.” 

This has to be the most romantic thing anyone has said to me in the past 5 years.  But then he ruined it by singing “I like my girls a little bit trashy” as he walked out the door with his prescriptions in hand.

Yesterday, I also wore a new ring for the first time. After my miscarriage, I started thinking of buying myself a piece of jewelry to remember my baby by – it seems a little silly to have to have a physical reminder, but I do feel like I need something to show that I haven’t forgotten her, even as I move on and try to conceive again.  A ring seemed perfect, and after a lot of searching, I found the perfect one. Delicate, pretty, and sparkly.  It’s weird that something commemorating something sad can make me so happy, but it does.

I ended the day with a trip to the movies to see the A-Team.  It was wonderful, silly, escapist fun – and Bradley Cooper.  Let's pause for just a minute and think of Br.adley Coo.per in this movie.  Epic poems could be – should be - written about his abs. 

In retrospect, it’s a shame that the proposal, the ring and Br.adley Coope.r weren’t all part of the same story.  Now *that* would have been a great blog entry!

Remembering

Tomorrow, I would have been 12 weeks pregnant. It was the day I’d planned to announce my pregnancy on Facebook – to all those out there who had no idea I was even trying to conceive in the first place. And wouldn’t you know it, an ex-boyfriend of mine posted today that he was taking his wife to the hospital, because she’s being induced tomorrow. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad he’s an EX-boyfriend, and I really wouldn’t want to be having a child with him myself right now, or ever. But even then, it was not fun to read. And so I hid him, because I really don’t want to hear all about it.

My pregnancy was a short one. I never felt her move. I don’t even know if the baby was a she, but I felt like she was. I never knew her. But I still have good pregnancy memories. And I’ve been trying to focus on those today, because while I feel like they should make me sad, they’re the only thing keeping me happy right now.

I loved having people rub my belly, even though there wasn't anything to rub yet. A patient (who I told in a moment of weakness, rationalizing that her follow-up appointment was a year from now) rubbed my tummy as she walked out of the room, “Take care of our baby.” My nurse, when I was in the midst of a particularly gassy day, couldn’t help but rub my tummy a few weeks ago. I didn’t have a baby bump – a gassy and chubby bump, yes - but no baby bump. But even then I still had people rubbing my belly. For now, I’m going to focus on imagining having a true baby bump sometime in the not-so-distant future, and imagine random strangers at Target rubbing my tummy without even asking. And when that happens, I’m going to remind myself that I once longed for that day, and promise I won’t let myself be irritated by the fact that some one I don’t know just touched my stomach. Even if they do feel my stomach fat instead of my baby bump.

I told my mom I was pregnant during dinner with my sister and her family, the day after my positive pregnancy test. My mom knew I’d gotten a BFN on 12DPIUI, and I think she was already focusing on my next cycle. So when I mentioned that we might have to celebrate this Christmas at my house, since there was a good chance I’d have a new baby, she smiled, nodded, and went back to eating. Luckily, my 3 year old nephew saved the day as his eyes went big and round and he said in awe, “Shannon, do you have a baby?” (Only when you’re three is it possible to believe that someone you see on an almost weekly basis could have a baby without you knowing.)

I looked at my mom as I answered him, “Yes, I do. I have a baby in my tummy, right now.” There’s nothing like the joy of sharing your pregnancy with others; I’m so glad I took a chance and told people with this pregnancy, because I’m not sure I’ll be able to experience that same kind of pure, innocent joy with the next one.

My mom was completely caught off guard, and even with me spelling it out, it took her a minute to process what I’d just said. My nephew wasn’t done with the questions, though. He interrupted whatever my mom was saying, “Shannon! Shannon! Shannon! Does your baby have a daddy?”

Silence reigned as we all pondered the question. Luckily, it was something I had expected at some point, and I did have an answer ready, once I’d gotten over the surprise of being asked so soon. “No, my baby just has a mommy.” As I’d hoped, this simple explanation satisfied him; he nodded his head and happily went back to eating, leaving the adults to celebrate my pregnancy.

My nephew, who has a new baby brother of his own, has been very interested in my pregnancy, so now that I’ve had a miscarriage, we’ve (we meaning my sister) had to explain that to him, too. Again, things are so straightforward when you’re 3 years old. My sister explained to him that the doctor had decided that it just wasn’t the right time for me to have a baby, and so the baby went away for a while, but will be back. He seems to accept the explanation, and knows I’m sad, but he’s also already making plans for when my baby does come.

Yummy in my Tummy

I'm finding it hard to readjust my brain to the thought that I'm preparing for another cycle of trying to conceive. The stress of waiting, testing, appointments and doctor's visits is overwhelming - it takes over my entire life. There are entire weeks at a time where I can't comfortably make out of town plans for fear I might need to be here for an ultrasound or an IUI. I have to cancel meetings and my patients at the last minute because we don't know until the last minute when I'll need to be at the RE's office. I have no control over much of anything except showing up on time for my appointments - appointments which I have no control over scheduling. My second thought after my BFP in April (after, "OMG, I'm going to be a mommy!") was, "Thank goodness I'm done with the IUIs." *sigh* And this time I don't have a clue when all this is going to start again, as I have no idea when AF might show up.

In an attempt to gain some semblance control, with my first three IUIs I tried all sorts of things to improve my chances, aside from just acupuncture. I'm not sure I'm ready to start back at all those things just yet, but my diet of junk food and birthday cake over the past couple of weeks has made it obvious that it's time to start working on at least one of my efforts at improving my fertility chances - my diet.

For most of the past year, I was following The Fertility Diet to the letter and being as healthy as I could be. Then I went on vacation in November, before I started trying to conceive, and never quite got back on board, though I was avoiding fast food and most junk food. I used the stress and fertility drugs as an excuse to be lazy (and it might have even been a valid one), but I was not eating as healthily as I should have been.

There's an interesting article about the fertility diet at a Canadian website for a fertility wellness center. In the article, the author points out that we already know what to eat for fertility health - it's the same things that we're supposed to be eating to decrease the risk of diabetes and heart disease. Yep, eating healthy is what you should do to improve your chances of conceiving - eating plenty of fruits and vegetables, unsaturated fats, and complex carbs, and avoiding saturated fats, trans fats and refined sugars. Chinese medicine takes that one step further, with specific recommendations based on your own symptoms, with specific foods that you should eat and foods you should avoid based on your body's energy balance, or chi. I've tried to incorporate some of the foods my acupuncturist told me I should eat, but for my own mental health I have to draw the line somewhere. Eating healthy is fairly easy, but following a super strict diet with prescribed foods is impossible, especially in the midst of the stress of trying to conceive.

I've enjoyed a couple of weeks of eating whatever I wanted - I figure I deserve it. But after all the junk food, I'm actually craving fruits and veggies! Tomorrow I'm going back to following a healthy diet. But for today, I'm living by the words of my 3 year old nephew who said, "Chocolate! Yummy in my tummy!"

Ice Cream is Good

After yesterday, I was convinced that today was going to be better. And in some ways, it was. My headache has subsided to a dull ache, and all the other associated symptoms are gone. But it was an emotionally difficult day, thanks to a crazy day at work, and so many pregnant ladies on my schedule.

I see lots of pregnant women on a daily basis - part of my specialty is treating women with diabetes in pregnancy. Most of them are gestational diabetics, meaning they didn't get diabetes until they were pregnant. And so most of them have due dates between June and August. It makes me sad to see their happy pregnant bellies, and it's hard to have compassion when they complain about having to watch their diets, but I can deal with that.

What was hard today was the fact that today I saw three pregnant women who were all due within 3 weeks of when I was due. It's unusual for me to see one woman this early in pregnancy, much less three. One of them I followed with her last pregnancy a few years ago, and she knew I was TTC, and she knew I was pregnant. Our diabetes educator had already told her about my miscarriage, so I didn't have to tell her. But it was still hard to see her for the first time, especially since she was so sad for me. She brought me a card and a Willow Tree Hope angel, and told me she'd understand if it was too hard for me to keep on seeing her. And honestly, that offer made me cry, and suddenly made it less painful to think of following her for the next 7 months. The other two patients didn't know I had been pregnant, so they were easier, in that I didn't cry, but harder since they're dealing with issues that I was dealing with just a couple of weeks ago (morning sickness, bloating - all the fun early pregnancy symptoms), and I couldn't let myself be sad until I'd left the room.

But maybe seeing these three women now is a good thing. It's helping me face being sad, and maybe it'll help me better heal from my miscarriage, so when AF returns in 4-6 weeks, I'll be fully prepared to start to try again.

In the meantime, I'm going to go eat an entire pint of Haagen Dazs Chocolate Peanut Butter Ice Cream.

Start of a Long Weekend

I didn't sleep well Thursday night; the heaviness in my heart kept waking me up.  My older cat, Vagus, must have known I was in need, because he spent the entire night curled against my chest.  Every time I woke up feeling lost, I was reassured that Vagus was still snuggled under my arm.

Being up and active at work yesterday made me cramp and bleed all over again.  After 6 months of not taking any Aleve, I've taken at least 2 every day since Tuesday - I'd hoped that Friday would be my first drug free day.  But instead, I even broke down and took a Lortab last night before bed.  The pain wasn't really any worse than bad period cramps, but I was weak and didn't want to wake up all night with the physical pain an extra reminder of what I've lost.

I've gone back to cleaning out the litter box without gloves or a mask.  This week, I put away my "safe in pregnancy" wrinkle cream and went back to the stuff with retinol in it.  My stomach is recovering from pregnancy nausea, and I've actually eaten real food this week.  And all I want is go to back to feeling nauseated and eating only potatoes.  To go back to the hassle of gloving up for a litter box change.  To risk a few more wrinkles by putting away my good wrinkle cream in favor of the inferior safe in pregnancy stuff.

Instead, I'm taking this long weekend to cave - the kitchen is stocked with apple jacks cereal (which surprisingly isn't as good as I remembered), pop tarts (which, unfortunately, are as good as I remembered), frozen pizza, cookies, and ice cream, so I don't have to leave the house if I don't want to.  I've got lots of movies, DirecTV and a Kindle, so my entertainment is covered as well.  I'm hiding from everyone.  I'm hoping a little time on my own will help me find my balance.

I'm still teetering between tears and hope, and I guess that's still why I'm confused about how I feel and where I am right now.  I feel like I should be in the depths of despair.  And at times I am - I've lost my baby.  Of the two dreams I've had for my personal life - to be married to a great man and to be a mom - I was finally going to achieve one of them.  But just like every good (or potentially good) relationship I've ever been in, my pregnancy ended much too soon.  I've always achieved my professional goals, am I ever going to have the same success in my personal life?  Right now, a part of me thinks it will never happen.

But then I remember what my doctor told me - now I know I can get pregnant.  My borderline fertility labs made me question that, but now I know it's possible.  I think my confusion is that I'm not sure how to deal with the feelings of sadness and loss existing simultaneously with feelings of hope.  By acknowledging the hopefulness I feel deep in my heart, am I avoiding dealing with the sadness?  Am I compromising my healing if I don't feel sad and miserable all the time?  Or am I just overthinking it all?

I probably am.  I know I've written more already today than I meant to write.  I need to stopping thinking so much and just let myself feel whatever it is I'm feeling right now.

Feeling a Little Lost

I’m not sure how I feel. Or how I’m supposed to feel. I know I’m sad. I know I feel empty. And I started crying over the story of a hurt puppy on my way home from work (which is definitely the hormones talking). But I don’t feel hopeless.  Instead, I actually feel a little spark of hope in the midst of my sadness.  I’ve read other blogs about miscarriage, and they all seem to be in a different place than me, all in the depths of a deep depression, and I don’t feel like that’s where I am. Or maybe I’m in that deep, dark depression, and I don’t even realize that I am.  Or maybe I'm focusing so much on that little spark of hope, on the thought of trying again, that I'm not allowing myself to grieve.

It was my first day back at work after my D&C today. At lunch I just wanted to get away. I didn’t want to talk to anyone, and the people I was sitting next to clearly didn’t know what to say to me. Really, it’s not that hard. “I’m sorry.” That’s all you have to say when something bad happens to someone, and you don’t know what to say. Just, “I’m sorry.” Or even, “I’m sorry for your loss. And I don’t know what else to say.” It’s a lot less painful to hear that, than to see someone uncomfortable to be around you search for something, anything to talk about while you’re in the room.  

But in the meantime, I’d like someone to tell me how I’m supposed to act, and how I’m supposed to feel. Because just 8 days ago I was nervous, but excited, too. Worried about my upcoming ultrasound, but hopeful I was wrong, and that I’d be announcing my pregnancy to the world in just a few weeks. And now I’m not. And I don’t know what to do.

The Loss

Friday, Heidi was in town, and she, LB and I went to my next ultrasound appointment. As soon as the picture came up on the screen, I knew. My baby was gone. I’d had a feeling for a while - I hadn’t wanted to write in my journal, I hadn’t felt the connection to the baby anymore. I kept telling myself that I was just being overly worried, but I guess I should have trusted my intuition. It looks like a chromosomal abnormality, so nothing I could have done any differently, it just happened.

Dr. M, my usual RE wasn’t there, Dr. H was. And I’m actually glad, Dr. H’s personality suited what I needed then – just matter of fact and calm. I didn’t need soothing, I didn’t want to start crying until I was out of the office. We dropped Heidi off at work, and then LB dropped me off at home, and I went in and collapsed on the pullout couch. I cried some, but mainly I just stared into space and felt numb.

Heidi came home around noon – and while I hate that it was a horrible weekend for her, I’m so glad she was here. She knew just what I needed, without me having to tell her, and sometimes when I didn't even know what it was that I needed myself. We went to the movies with LB on Friday night, and my sister and her infant son came by on Saturday, and we did a little shopping, but otherwise we hung out at home.

I couldn’t believe that just a few weeks ago I was so happy, imagining another life inside me, and now I was walking around with the remains of my dream, dead inside me.

Monday I went to work. It was awful, and I was in a fog all day, but I’m glad I went and got the first day back over with. Tuesday was my D&C.

LB picked me up around 7, and we went to Dr. M’s office for an ultrasound. I think he really wanted to do it so I’d know the baby was really gone, but I knew already. The baby was a little smaller, and there was some bleeding evident, so a natural miscarriage wasn’t far off. But I wanted to the D&C, it’s less painful, and recovery is faster. We walked from his office to the one day surgical unit, where I was checked in. A nurse brought us back and I changed into a gown, had my vitals checked and an IV started. I met with the anesthesiologist and then was wheeled down the hall on the stretcher, to the OR. I started crying when they were pushing me down the hall – I guess the Versed kicked in and I couldn’t control my grief any longer. Which was probably a good thing.

When we got the OR, I was strapped in on the table, and Dr. M was waiting. The anesthesiologist started to give me some Fetanyl, and then said, “Does your arm always look like this?” My IV had infiltrated – which of course he blamed on me being in the healthcare field. He tried to start another in my right hand and failed, and ended up having to put a smaller one in my left hand.

The next thing I remember is waking up, crying again, as they got me settled in recovery. My first nurse was so nice. She talked to me, encouraged me to take pain medication, and brought LB back when I was feeling up to it. My heart rate was up, so I got lots of IV fluids, and then I was considered stable enough to move to the second phase of recovery. I got really nauseated while there, and ended up getting IV Zofran, and then two doses of IV Phenergan before it was under control. I think I ended up staying a little longer than usual because of that, but finally was steady enough to go home. It was such a horrible day, but it was so much better thanks to the good care that I got – the nursing staff in particular was wonderful.

At home, LB pulled out the couch for me, got all my stuff downstairs, and got me settled while she made me some mac and cheese. She had to leave a little after that, so I dozed on the couch, and cried off and on. Lisa came by later in the day, bringing me Aleve and the last of my prescriptions from the pharmacy. She kept me company for a few hours, and then I was on my own. I got lots of calls and texts all day, which made me feel very loved. But so sad.

I feel so empty now. I loved the thought that I wasn’t alone any more. I loved putting my hand over my lower belly and imagining the little baby that was growing inside. I was already imagining what Christmas would be like this year, and imagining my baby in my arms. I know this baby wasn’t meant to be, but I’m grieving the dream of this baby. She’d already taken hold of my heart, and I’ll never be the same now that she’s gone.

I think I always knew this would happen. That doesn’t make it hurt any less, though. I’m ready to start thinking about trying again in July, but right now I need to let myself be sad and recover from this loss.