Conversations

Me:
"You know what worries me... if we do conceive again, and carry to term... I think your families optimism may kill me. They don't know how hard it's been, or about D's baby, Amariah. All we ever have is the hope of a baby."

A:
"Yeah. But you don't have the clotting disorder your sister has."

Me:
"No, but something could still happen. There isn't a guarantee. You're forgetting about umbilical cord accidents, HELPP, PROM, incompetent cervix... I could go on."

A:
"Oh."

Me:
"Yeah."

My sister lost Amariah at around 41 weeks. She was in Georgia, far away from her family, on an army base with her husband.

They aren't sure what happened. An autopsy showed a blood clot in the umbilical cord, and my sister tested positive for Antiphospholipid Syndrome. As far as the medical records are concerned, this was the cause of Amariah's death. We have no doubt that this played a role, but we also believe that the military hospital was negligent. My sister had went to them the day before Amariah's heart stopped... they didn't even check her out that day. They just sent her home.

Amariah was my first neice.
She was my mother's first grandchild.
She is my sister's first child, and only girl.

I still feel caught off gaurd sometimes when I think about her. She should be here. She should be ten. There are no gaurantees. I used to think that there was. As a child I'd never heard of a pregnancy not resulting in a baby. Until I was fourteen and we lost Amariah. My sister lost her child, my mother lost her grandbaby, and my brother's and I lost our neice.

Even so, when I had gotten pregnant, I had hoped that there was a gaurantee. But there isn't, there wasn't, and I lost both pregnancies.

I wish there was a gaurantee. I wish I knew how it would end if I got pregnant again.

I wish I could be as optimistic as A's family. They haven't seen the things I've seen though, or felt the things I have. My family isn't the most supportive of all this. D is the most supportive. She even sent me a card after my second loss. My grandmother, were she alive, would have supported me. She had a still born baby girl too, just like my sister. My mother can't seem to understand, but she's mentally ill... and I learn to live with it. But A's family, they're from a different world altogether. Babies never die there. Preganancy is a gaurantee. I wish I could live in this world that they do, but I can't.

I guess it's just as well. I may never even be able to get pregnant again, let alone carry to term. If we move on to adoption, it will be a whole other minefield I'm sure.

But I was just thinking about this again last night.

I don't talk about Amariah much. I never have. But she's always been somewhere in my heart. I was so excited to meet her, and I never got the chance. All that I've ever had is a photograph of her. She was beautiful.

I really wish there were gaurantees.

ovary woes

My ovaries are stubborn bitches.

Or as Dr. BlowsSunshine said today, they're "resistant."
I think that's an understatement, but whatever.

Lining went from 7 to 11. Okay...

The elusive left has a 7 and an 8.
My always faithful right has a 9 and a 10.

Yeah, nothing mature.
Because that would be too easy.

Estrogen went up from 34 to 86.

I've been stimming for 13 days now... I'm on cycle day 16.
This is getting fucking annoying.

I go back in on Thursday for another ultrasound and another ultra fun needle stick. I'm supposed to stay on the same dose. When I asked the nurse if I should open a new 900iu pen, or the 300iu pen... she told me to open the 900iu since we'll be stimming for awhile yet. Can you feel the disdain in my voice? It's there, I assure you. Why the hell am I coming in Thursday for another ultrasound, and not upping my dose... why the hell am I going to have to stim for awhile yet? This cycle feels like a bust in the making.

Dr. BlowsSunshine said he thinks he can get me to ovulate this cycle, but we'll have to go slow and steady. Because I'm young. Ummm- throw 'young' out the fucking window. Yeah I'm 24, but my ovaries are stubborn ass bitches that don't listen- 13 days of stimming, with minimal results, should tell you something... you think?

On top of all this, I seem to have developed a nasty cavity, or something. A call to A-s insurance revealed that, drum roll please, A-s work didn't put me on his dental plan. Bastards.

So, I guess I'll just wait for my student loan money to come in and then get it taken care of. Which means I could be in for a rough week. My whole jaw hurts, and it's also causing ear pain. My primary care physician called in an antibiotic for me, and they were supposed to call me in a pain medication... but they fucked that up. Damn it.

And then I mentioned to my primary care physician about how I almost passed out the other day. I was drinking soda, I swallowed weird, and I had chest pain. The next thing I know, I have tunnel vision and I'm starting to pass out... this alone wouldn't be so bad, but in high school I had passing out episodes... and my slacker doctor back then just wrote it off. So, I get to go have my heart checked out.

Bloody hell.

Horror Stories

When I picked up Go.od Gri.ef, by Loll.y Win.ston, I thought it would be nice to escape my own reality for a bit and see someone elses. I thought it would be a sad chik lit novel, something easy to read, but I wasn't prepared for what it really was.

A horror story so far. I was fighting tears as I turned the pages.

It wasn't just that the main character was an English major, or that her husband was a Software Developer (Like Myself and A-) Or that they were married for as long as us, and had tried to have a baby for as long too... and that they too were infetile.

I think what finally set me off was his death, and how many times I'd imagined myself in the main characters shoes. I honestly don't know what I would do without A-, and reading this book feels like it was taking me down the rabbit whole of "what if" because, how many times had I imagined just this? How many times I have worried and fretted when he left the house, every little ailment he won't see a doctor about. Because I can't lose him. It's not just, "I don't want to lose him," it's really, "I can't lose him."

I'm not even done with the book, but reading it, I let lose all those suppressed tears last night. I let myself actually feel what it would be like. I didn't just cursory think of the "what if"; I actually experienced it with the main character. There's a lot of grief when you go through infertility, a lot of scars. And then, the character has the scars from the loss of her spouse... it hurts even more. It's a scary place, and I hope I never have to go there.

I'm not even half way through. It was just so hard, reading it. It was interesting, a truly good book, but it really hit home. I guess I should go finish it now.

Have you ever been broadsided while you were reading something, or watching a movie? I mean, totally unexpected like that? I know a lot of people didn't expect it in the new movie, Up, and I saw a lot of comments on the internet about that. But this, this really really hit home. And as much as it hurts, it also feels good to let those emotions out; to feel the sadness, and ackowledge it.

Anyways. I am going to go pick the book back up, it took a lot of effort to put it down last night.

My Morning

First, I went and got the ultrasound.
Bummer. Still a bunch of small follicles, nothing really big yet.

After that, I went on over to get my blood drawn.

Let me start by saying that I don't like the lab they use. Today further validated my feelings. The woman drawing my blood whips out, what I swear, has to be the biggest needle they have. I have small veins... large needles and small veins do not mix. I didn't say anything though, and just tried to tough it out.

She missed the freakin vein, nicked it, or went right through it... I'm not sure, but this happens a lot when some jerk comes along and thinks they can use that big ass needle on my arm. So, I feel and hear the familiar "Pft, pft, pft, pft" pulsing noise, that tells me it's squirting, rather than shooting, into the tube. She's digging the damn needle around, in and out, and making me "straighten" my arm out more. Because she just can't get it to fill the tube up. And it. fucking. hurt.

Then she starts making comments about how people aren't getting enough water before they get their blood drawn that day, how I needed to get plenty of water the day before I came in there... Yeah, she did. She totally blamed me for her incompetence. I wanted to look that bitch in the face and tell her exactly why she was a dumbass, and smack her. I get plenty of water thank you, and umm... drinking more water won't make her dumb ass smarter. I mean, seriously!

I am very bitchy about the whole morning, can you tell?
I came home and went back to sleep... I thought maybe getting a few more Zz's would help with my mood... but no such luck. I'm still pissy.

I'm waiting to hear back from Dr. BlowsSunshine. After they get my blood work results on my estrogen, they'll tell me what to do about my dosing. It is very likely that I will have to up it.

Update: Estrogen was only 34... so I was told to up my dose to 150, and I go back on Monday for another ultrasound and more blood work.

Wishing for impossible things

I want to imagine this cycle working, I really do. There is hope here, somewhere; I know it is. But I still can't imagine it, I can't see it. I muster it up, but it doesn't feel like a possibility, it's more like an unattainable dream.

People may call me a pessimist, but I prefer "realist." I mean, if you look at the facts, my history... I don't think I'm being a pessimist. I'm just trying to soften the next blow, should it come. You know the saying, "Hope for the best; but prepare for the worst." I've slowly had to kick that up a notch, with each blow, year by year, until it's became simply, "Prepare for the worst."

I am having an especially off day today, I guess.

I was thinking about my house, and how sad it is. A four bedroom house for two people.

Four bedrooms, with three of them finding other uses. One has become my Art Room, one has become the Cat Room, and the last one is just the room that accumulates junk (although it used to be A-s Computer Room). Our dining room isn't used either, it's just the room with the dining table and plants.

We don't even use our yard except to take the dogs out, and I plant things in it, garden, but we have a patio set we have never even used. We don't stay out there longer than we have to. Which is a shame, because in our neighborhood we have about the largest backyard, and it's even got a privacy fence. I keep meaning to buy a cheap grill, and maybe cook out there every now and then... but we never do.

That's so depressing. I mean, maybe there are people out there envious of all this free space... but I can't stand it. It's so empty. My Art Room was originally going to be a nursery. The Cat Room was going to be a child's bedroom, or a guest room at the very least. The Junk Room was either going to be a spare room, an exercise room, or a library... something other than a room to collect junk.

I turned the would-be Nursery into the Art Room sometime shortly after the diagnosis. The empty room used to give me hope, but after the diagnosis it felt like it was mocking me. It hurt to walk by that empty room, reminding me of my empty arms. And so I slathered paint on it's walls, and turned it into my Art Room.

But, even putting it to use... it still hurts to know what could have been, and what simply wasn't.

And then, I live with my house "pet proofed"... but far from "child proofed". I turned into the person with electric cords everywhere, breakables on lower shelves, household cleaners wherever I feel like putting them, and a house just not fit for kids. We don't even have children over anyway, so there's never been an incentive to change that. My brother stays with us on weekends, but he's thirteen. Almost fourteen now. I don't have to worry about child proofing anything for him.

And while it might seem nice to be able to do whatever I want to with the space, to have all that extra room for my own amusement, to have all this stuff anywhere I want it... it's not. Some days it seems so mocking, and I hate it.

I know that even if this cycle doesn't work out, or the next, I know we'll adopt. I will be a mother. But right now, looking at all these rooms, it hurts... because I'm not a mother yet. And every time I look around my house, for over two years now, I've seen all that I've been missing. And it fucking hurts.

(Sorry for the downer post. I was just reflecting today, and wanted to get it out. If you got the Cure reference in the title of this post, kudos. I'm in a Cure kind of mood today, can you tell?)

Take that Ovaries!

Follicle scan today... drum roll please. After three days of injects, I have multiple little follicles growing :) There looked like more than 5 trying to grow on my right ovary. Most are real tiny, but there seems to be a 9 already. I go back in on Wednesday for another ultrasound. No estrogen blood work today, because my beginning of the cycle visitor is still here... so it wouldn't help much anyway. They want me to stay on 75iu of Go.nal-f for now.

I'm still convinced that there is something up with my left ovary. I could just be blowing this out of proportion... since I was only monitored one cycle other than this one... so, what do I know? It was obscure on the screen, and it's follicles were super small and hardly noticeable at all. And I have a lot of tenderness/discomfort on my left during treatments... so I'm kinda wondering if there's something going on there.

My mother had Endometriosis... it didn't affect her fertility, but it caused her a lot of pain. She had three kids, and was tired of the pain. So she was advised to get a total hysterectomy. But the joke was on her, because I'm like a ninja. She was actually scheduled for it, and instead of taking her lady parts out, the doctor told her she was pregnant with me. I snuck right in there, and thwarted her plans. She was 25 at the time. She did end up getting it done a few years later, but I was her postponement.

You know, the doctor offered to do an abortion and go ahead with the hysterectomy. But my mother decided to keep me. So, although I am an accident (quite thoroughly) I was also a choice. She chose to have me. I have such an interesting conception/birth story, I swear. Not as interesting as others, but I get a kick out of mine. And then, after sneaking in like a ninja, I brewed until full term... and then went overdue. And then had to be induced... and after they told her they would have to do a c-section if I didn't come within the next few hours, out I came. I'm such a pest, ha ha ha.

Compare that to my brother, who 13 months before I was born came out so quickly they didn't have time to get her epidural, or even get the doctor for that matter. Man, am I stubborn.

I'm still sneaky like a ninja, and annoying like that ;) In case you were wondering.

But... I digress! I am still happy with today's results. I'm ecstatic to be on something that is working for once, and not wasting my time. I was just stunned. I mean, I knew it was going to work in theory, but I'm so used to nothing working that I half expected the same type of thing to happen this time too.

And because Were you looking for me? asked... I am going to share my winning poem. It isn't very good... but here you go. I wrote it about my first miscarriage, in reflection months later. We were driving home one night, and the trees really struck me. When we lost Sebastian, they were so full of life. Green leaves, little blossoming flowers, they were so beautiful. One burst of wind sent a single flower falling into my car window, and it landed in my hand when I wasn't looking. Months later Autumn took them, and the image of the trees, leafless and bare, became haunting. The way the wind made them sway, it struck me. Like waving out hands in mourning. The judges made a comment that they thought I over romanticized the landscape... but whatever.

This is the condensed version that I entered into the contest, it isn't my favorite version... but general disclaimers aside, here it is:

"Falling Leaves"

They watched us as we walked home that night,
sending light petals cascading,
so that one singular flower tumbled
into my empty hands.

We were not consoled even then
by their soft reassuring beauty.

Those same Trees watched us tonight,
in their agony echoing ours.
They were great mourners,
bending and sighing for the wind.

They contorted themselves,
doubled in two;
reaching around their starlit world,
trying to hold on to something,
anything, so great was their emptiness.

The Darkness folded around them,
trying to console the leafless Trees of Autumn,
but instead it drove them deeper
into their depression.

Every now and then,
unknowingly,
some break in the throes
of grief.

Unfounded fears

When I worried about infertility, because I was an anovulatory twenty-one year old, it was not an unfounded thought. When I worry about pregnancy loss, it's never been unfounded. I will admit, I do worry a lot... but usually it's for a good reason.

But the fear of my subcutaneous injection, that was indeed unfounded.
Thank goodness!

I don't know if it's because the Go.nal-f Pen's needles are so small, or because I iced the area up beforehand... but it was easy, and "like slicing butter with a hot knife" (as someone told me) Whew. Don't know what I was all worked up about! I did have issues with the site bleeding a bit afterward, but it was just a couple drops of blood. Not like it was gushing. A Fairy Bandage fixed it right up :)

Day one of injectables down. Ultrasound and blood work coming up on Friday. Hopefully we're on the right track.

Sorry, I just can't get over how easy that was. I was freaking out about it, and for what? I literally didn't feel it.

Maybe this time was a fluke though...
I guess I'll find out tomorrow!