Today marked seven months since we lost our babies. I was floating on a week or two of feeling pretty ok, fully aware that this anniversary was fast approaching, and thinking little of it. I thought I'd be fine. Saturday I was a little blue, but managed to go out to a movie with a friend, a date we'd been trying to set for months (since before I was pregnant, if I recall correctly). We saw "Wanderlust", a silly (and somewhat raunchy) comedy, just what I needed.
Sunday, Paul and I had big plans for getting stuff done. He was going to work outside, getting rid of more concrete, while I had designs on house cleaning and taxes and a bunch of piddly things.
Instead, neither of us managed to get out of our pjs until after 1:00. No motivation. Paul actually disappeared for a while after 10:00 a.m....I found him back in bed between our fleece sheets, "Getting warm," he claimed. He slept for at least another hour. We finally decided that we'd get dressed and see "The Lorax". Not the smartest choice ever...a theater filled with little kids of all ages, a toddler, scared, crying in her mommy's lap a couple of seats away, tugging on my heartstrings as I considered I won't get to experience comforting Aliya that way. There's a scene in the movie where the forest creatures honor a tree that's been cut down by solemnly placing stones around its base...the tears started rolling, and I wiped them away, annoyed, hoping no one (including Paul) saw me. I didn't fully cry, but I guess I should have...I felt crappy from then on, holding back tears as I looked at the boats from the window of Tugboat Annie's while we waited for our early dinner.
At home, I sat and checked up on blogs I follow from my new iPhone while Paul flipped channels. He landed on "Heartland," a horse-lover's show...where a horse was dying from some bug picked up at a rodeo. Great. Animals dying in a movie or TV show will get me every time. I tried to block it out...and then I read the last update on Hannah Belle, a goat from one of the farm blogs I've followed for years...she died suddenly after being sick for a few weeks...she required an emergency c-section but all three of her triplet doelings died. And then, despite the section going well and her seeming to be ok, she went downhill fast on the farm and died in her farmer's arms. The tears really started...I excused myself to the kitchen, out of view from Paul, and cried my eyes out. I could have cried all night.
This morning I awoke in a funk, with a headache (thank you, emotions), but decided to go to work anyway, to try and make it through this anniversary. I told my manager that today was a trigger day, but that I was going to do my best to power through it, and I did. I made it through the day, and it was ok, although I am sort of melancholy tonight. Paul's feeling it, too. I caught him holding our Molly Bears tonight as I came in the room, the first time I've seen him do that (not that he doesn't, just not around me...and, well, likewise). Seven months is a long time. It doesn't hold the same significance to me as six months did, but it's still a long time.
We found out today that our nephew's arrival has officially been scheduled. (Yes, today...because that's how this has worked for us. Paul's the one who noticed this time, not me.) Finn's mama will be induced beginning Wednesday night, with pitocin starting (if things go as planned) on Thursday morning. We have support group Thursday night across town from where he'll be delivered and at this point we feel like we'll have to play getting there by ear. I have a feeling we'll need it, though. Dealing with this pregnancy has been tremendously stressful for both of us. It's almost hard to imagine what life will be like once this is behind us since it's been such a huge part of our grieving. We just want him here, safe and sound, no more risk of complications that lurk around every damned corner as full term approaches. Paul actually said the other night, "I just want him out." Not only have we lost all innocence for our own (future) pregnancies, we've lost it for everyone we care about, too. We know too much now, being on the other side. It really sucks.
Our own path continues. Tomorrow morning I go in for a follicular ultrasound to see what, if anything, is going on with the cyst on my right ovary. I think my doctor has hoped it would go away on its own, but if the weird pains I had yesterday, CD2, are any indication, I'll be surprised if that's the case. We want to get it (and any fellows) aspirated this month so that we can move into April's injections as planned. The bonus of this scan is that I'll get to take a peek and see if perhaps the DHEA and Royal Jelly w/Bee Pollen are having any affect yet on my antral follicle count. I'm definitely keeping my fingers crossed there. I'll also be picking up my prescriptions for estrogen, which I'll start taking on CD21 of this cycle, plus the 30 amps of Menopur and 3 Gonal-F pens we have to order from Europe in the next week or so to make sure they arrive on time. If this cycle goes anything like the last two, we'll be starting our injections right around the eight month anniversary. Coincidence?