The last several months have provided me an opportunity like no other - a chance to try alternative medicine to heal my soul at a time when it felt more broken than humanly possible to bear, and man, has it been good!
I started with acupuncture in October, two months after we lost the twins and one week after what was supposed to have been our next injectible IUI attempt was canceled due to a cyst on my right ovary. I felt so much social anxiety and stress that I didn't know what else to do and was willing to give it a try. I'd heard it could be very relaxing. I'd also heard it could help or heal many physical issues, and I didn't really believe it, but had nothing to lose. After all, I was biding my time on birth control while we waited for the cyst to resolve. My acupuncturist is wonderful. She asked to see me twice weekly for the first month, and then weekly thereafter leading up to our injectible IUI cycle, which was supposed to have been in October, and then was delayed until December after that darned cyst doubled in size and then had to be manually aspirated, along with its little buddy.
I noticed a change in my stress levels and axiety almost immediately after starting. It wouldn't necessarily last long, but for at least a full day after each appointment I'd feel pretty ok, mellower. Then I started talking more about our treatments, my diagnosis of low ovarian reserve, and headaches/backaches, etc., and my practitioner started working on those things, too. I tell you what, I'm a believer! Acupuncture has been proven to aid in blood flow to the uterus and ovaries, and to help balance the hormones and lower stress, all very helpful for doing ART. (Some clinics require acupuncture before and after embryo transfer because of it.)
Even though I was starting to feel better, I still had nagging doubts in my mind about my mental status and whether I'd get in my own way of a successful ART treatment the next time we tried. My acupuncturist, hearing my doubt, referred me to a hypnotherapist. Talk about "woowoo", but again, what did I have to lose? I've had three monthly sessions with one more to go, and I do appreciate the meditations, affirmations and techniques I've learned to help me relax, along with an awareness that yes, those very old subconscious messages really can sabotage fertility success, often by monkeying with the endocrine system. (So, did I really cause my own low ovarian reserve, or was that just coincidental?)
My hypnotherapist has done a fine job, but she was somewhat alarmed by the depth of the anger I harbored as a result of my loss and the way I was treated by some people in my life. I had also been struggling for a month or so with short term memory problems and was getting really frustrated with myself. She gently pointed out that she thought memory loss was a possible symptom of post-partum depression, and referred me to a therapist who herself had experienced infertility, loss and PPD. She thought talking to a professional who understood and could validate my very deep, complicated and sometimes ugly, hateful feelings (toward others and myself) could be helpful.
Laaaaa!!! (That's the angels singing!) Not only was I giddy and buzzing with the sense that this holy trinity of self-care practitioners was sent to me for a divine reason, I was also just excited to have the "right" counselor practically dropped in my lap. Finally, someone I could *really* talk to about everything, someone who wouldn't judge, direct or give me the silent treatment, someone who truly understood my pain and anguish. The interesting thing was that I was open to it. Months before, shortly after the miscarriage, seeking counseling crossed my mind. I was very aware of PPD and sensitive to the fact - even before the loss - that I would be susceptible due to my history of major depression in my 20s. Everthing I read after our loss said that the onset of PPD normally occurs around 10 weeks post-partum. I checked in with myself frequently, but all signs pointed to grief, not depression. That is, until the vast chasm of my anger really kicked into gear in January. A switch flipped, I think, or else enough was just enough.
After three sessions with a most wonderful, helpful and loving counselor, I now understand there's no way I couldn't have had PPD, given the stress, anxiety, grief and trauma I'd experienced, not to mention my previous depression diagnosis. She tagged me "mild- to moderate-PPD" but it hasn't been the focus of our work together. I had two counseling sessions under my belt by the time our nephew, Finn, was born on March 8th.
This holy trinity of caring women has warmed my heart and helped my soul in ways I just can't express in words. I am so grateful, and acknowledge the divine timing. I would venture to guess that my babies themselves led me down this path, both literally and spiritually. I do believe they are looking out for their mommy. Lately I've added a man to the mix, a massage therapist who specializes in Neuro-emotional Technique (NET). I look forward to him helping me identify and clear the emotional blockages I have left in my body so that this human vessel will be perfectly ready to conceive and carry a baby or babies to term.
The most profound healing took place on March 9th, the day after our nephew's birth. I hit bottom, in a way, but also then found the light. We were in Finn's presence and with the new little family some time for each of his first four days, and have been back twice a week since for hours at a time, sometimes. It's amazing, this love and protectiveness we feel for him. My own self-doubts about whether I'd be able or willing to care for a newborn are gone. I have all kinds of confidence and ease now, all driven by big, big love. And I've watched my husband blossom into not only an uncle, but the daddy I know he will be...he started off a little afraid to hold Finn, then would hold him if asked, then started to ask himself, and now walks right up and takes him. I have a bunch of pictures of my husband holding Finn in his hands or arms, always looking down at him. It's amazing, and I can't wait to see him doing that with our own kiddos.
I'm now in such a different place emotionally. I still have some anger and resentments. Some will change me forever, and that's normal. Others are fading, and perhaps my continuing counseling. acupuncture and NET massage sessions will help in that effort. I still miss my babies, but the sharpness of those first 6 months is gone. Remember that photo I misplaced? I found it today, and will work on the frame tonight so I can put it in our bedroom, where we can see our babies any time we want to.
Where I'm at now, though, is largely a place of hope and belief. I'm on day 3 of estrogen, and if all goes as planned (and provided I'm not currently pregnant, since I also now believe more in miracles), we'll start our planned IUI-to-IVF cycle the first week of April. Paul and I both are excited and looking forward to the possibilities this cycle may bring. What a blessing, to finally be at a place I didn't think was possible for me! Don't get me wrong, I still cry, sometimes for reasons I can't identify. The grieving is not over, and actually, will probably intensify again when we do conceive. Time really does help the healing, though...
Sunday, March 25, 2012
Friday, March 9, 2012
Got my back
Oh, Chase bank, you make me laugh.
Via text moments ago:
"CHASE Fraud: Did you purchase $3042.50 at a chemist on 03-09-2012? Reply 1 if yes, 2 if no. STOP to end msgs or HELP"
Reply: 1
The drugs are being shipped via speed shipping and should be safely installed in the butter compartment of our fridge within the next 7 days.
Via text moments ago:
"CHASE Fraud: Did you purchase $3042.50 at a chemist on 03-09-2012? Reply 1 if yes, 2 if no. STOP to end msgs or HELP"
Reply: 1
The drugs are being shipped via speed shipping and should be safely installed in the butter compartment of our fridge within the next 7 days.
Pride and heartbreak
Our nephew was born last night via c-section at 5:28, weighing 7 pounds 5 ounces and measuring 20 inches long. I visited my brother-in-law and sister-in-law, who was induced yesterday morning, in the hospital over my lunch break. She'd had her epidural and was dilated to 4. It was a nice visit and I was on pins and needles, waiting for the day to end so I could go home, get Paul and we could head back to the hospital. I was so excited. Sure, there were some painful twinges as I watched the nurse, doctor and anesthesiologist dote on my sister-in-law, and as I saw her endure the pressure of pitocin-induced contractions...little reminders of what I should have experienced about two months ago. I had this nudge that perhaps I will never get a chance to experience it...with infertility, there are no guarantees.
But then...oh, wait, I did experience those things (minus the pitocin), only it was seven long months ago and for all the wrong reasons.
When I got a text just after 3:00 p.m. that she was dilated to 6, it hit me, and the tears started rolling as I sat at my desk. He's coming. This is really happening. I don't know if I'm ready.
Traffic was stupid-slow on my 30 minute drive home (what *is* it with people who drive 40 in a 50 mile per hour zone when you're in a hurry?!), but when I got home Paul was almost showered. I changed, he dressed and we got ready to leave for the hospital.
Then I got a text at 5:18 p.m.: "C section" - nothing else, just that. Then Paul's phone rang...it was his mom, filling him in, his dad talking in the background, me trying to text Paul's brother back to find out whether his text meant now or already happened or ?? We hit the road and got there as fast as we could...only to find the place deserted. All the family was gone. We got our wires crossed...that text meant *NOW!* and the waiting family, having been told they couldn't see the new family for an hour or so, all left for dinner. We got to see our brother-in-law, thanks to a somewhat cranky-looking nurse, for few minutes and learned things were good, baby was in the room with mom...wow. We missed it. Our support group meeting was an hour from then, so we decided to eat first (novel concept, we never get to do that), go to our meeting (thank you, God and baby, for the great birth-on-support-group-night timing!!), and then visit afterward.
Honestly, we were both thrilled and nervous to go back into that room and face reality, to see this baby we've been waiting for and that our hearts had been in such anguish about for the last seven months. But...
Oh, my...God is SO good. This baby is perfection, and I'm not saying that out of bias. He is one of the most beautiful newborns I've ever seen, with a straight little nose, chubby cheeks, fuzzy hair, and this perfect little mouth that looks like it'll crack into a smile at any second. We both held him for a long time...and for me, those feelings of fear disappeared in a fraction of a second, and I was just in awe and love. I've never been an auntie before, and our circumstances make the position so much more blessed.
On the way home, we talked and talked...both so in love. Paul commented that he'd never had the opportunity to even think about holding a baby so new and tiny. I commented on how I'd felt that twinge of "What if never?" and how it had been replaced with "Yes, it will happen, that will be us again, too." I'd told the support group how my new counselor [oh, yeah, I'm seeing a counselor now for feelings validation and mild to moderate post-partum depression...more on that later] reminded me that this baby will have just come from where my babies had been...where they might still be, and to listen for the heart message that our nephew may bring. I fell asleep full of all these thoughts of our nephew and how our lives have changed...content.
But this morning, "Oh, hi, grief!" Crying mess. Funny how last night I could calmly muse about whether Bennett would have resembled his cousin...and this morning, that same thought hurts so bad. And this morning, smiling and crying as I looked at his picture, then looking at my babies' picture. So much love for all three. What really killed me, though, was watching the little video I shot of Paul rocking our nephew with a look of both love and heartbreak on his face...and hoping so hard that he will get a chance to rock our babies, too. So...big realization that work would mean a day of nothing but trying not to cry, and probably failing since I know at least one person will ask after the new baby. I called in sick. I'm typing now with the beginnings of a headache. (Stupid crying...why is that always a side effect for me?)
A day off to care for myself today is a good thing, but rather than hole up like I normally would, I will do what has worked in the last couple of months, and embrace that which hurts. I will go to the hospital and fill myself up with more baby time. The love can help mitigate the hurt. I know that. And, oh, you guys, the love.
But then...oh, wait, I did experience those things (minus the pitocin), only it was seven long months ago and for all the wrong reasons.
When I got a text just after 3:00 p.m. that she was dilated to 6, it hit me, and the tears started rolling as I sat at my desk. He's coming. This is really happening. I don't know if I'm ready.
Traffic was stupid-slow on my 30 minute drive home (what *is* it with people who drive 40 in a 50 mile per hour zone when you're in a hurry?!), but when I got home Paul was almost showered. I changed, he dressed and we got ready to leave for the hospital.
Then I got a text at 5:18 p.m.: "C section" - nothing else, just that. Then Paul's phone rang...it was his mom, filling him in, his dad talking in the background, me trying to text Paul's brother back to find out whether his text meant now or already happened or ?? We hit the road and got there as fast as we could...only to find the place deserted. All the family was gone. We got our wires crossed...that text meant *NOW!* and the waiting family, having been told they couldn't see the new family for an hour or so, all left for dinner. We got to see our brother-in-law, thanks to a somewhat cranky-looking nurse, for few minutes and learned things were good, baby was in the room with mom...wow. We missed it. Our support group meeting was an hour from then, so we decided to eat first (novel concept, we never get to do that), go to our meeting (thank you, God and baby, for the great birth-on-support-group-night timing!!), and then visit afterward.
Honestly, we were both thrilled and nervous to go back into that room and face reality, to see this baby we've been waiting for and that our hearts had been in such anguish about for the last seven months. But...
Oh, my...God is SO good. This baby is perfection, and I'm not saying that out of bias. He is one of the most beautiful newborns I've ever seen, with a straight little nose, chubby cheeks, fuzzy hair, and this perfect little mouth that looks like it'll crack into a smile at any second. We both held him for a long time...and for me, those feelings of fear disappeared in a fraction of a second, and I was just in awe and love. I've never been an auntie before, and our circumstances make the position so much more blessed.
On the way home, we talked and talked...both so in love. Paul commented that he'd never had the opportunity to even think about holding a baby so new and tiny. I commented on how I'd felt that twinge of "What if never?" and how it had been replaced with "Yes, it will happen, that will be us again, too." I'd told the support group how my new counselor [oh, yeah, I'm seeing a counselor now for feelings validation and mild to moderate post-partum depression...more on that later] reminded me that this baby will have just come from where my babies had been...where they might still be, and to listen for the heart message that our nephew may bring. I fell asleep full of all these thoughts of our nephew and how our lives have changed...content.
But this morning, "Oh, hi, grief!" Crying mess. Funny how last night I could calmly muse about whether Bennett would have resembled his cousin...and this morning, that same thought hurts so bad. And this morning, smiling and crying as I looked at his picture, then looking at my babies' picture. So much love for all three. What really killed me, though, was watching the little video I shot of Paul rocking our nephew with a look of both love and heartbreak on his face...and hoping so hard that he will get a chance to rock our babies, too. So...big realization that work would mean a day of nothing but trying not to cry, and probably failing since I know at least one person will ask after the new baby. I called in sick. I'm typing now with the beginnings of a headache. (Stupid crying...why is that always a side effect for me?)
A day off to care for myself today is a good thing, but rather than hole up like I normally would, I will do what has worked in the last couple of months, and embrace that which hurts. I will go to the hospital and fill myself up with more baby time. The love can help mitigate the hurt. I know that. And, oh, you guys, the love.
Finn Thomas, on Auntie Amy's lap
and holding Uncle Paul's finger.
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Same wavelength
Paul and Dr. M. are so in tune, it's starting to make me wonder. Let me back up...
Our last superovulation cycle, in December, was a nail-biter...my body responded very slowly (my favorite line from Dr. M. that cycle was, "We seem to be missing the "super" in "superovulation..."), causing me to stress about whether we'd get our back-to-back IUIs in before Dr. M. flew to Canada for a family ski vacation over the holidays. We made it with two days to spare, but the result was a BFN, leading Dr. M. to state for the umpteenth time, "I can't believe you conceived twins in May with such low estradiol!" We later discovered, via blood test, that I have low AMH, thus, low ovarian reserve. It all makes perfect sense. (Well, still not that I conceived twins, but the slow/poor response to stimulation drugs, yes.)
Dr. M. plans a much more aggressive cycle this next time, in April, starting with me taking oral estrogen pills from cycle day (CD) 21 onward. This is called estrogen priming, and is a big hit with REs who are battling advanced maternal age [raises hand] and low ovarian reserve [hand still raised]. He prepared me by telling me over the phone what/how many drugs I'd be ordering for the stimulation portion. Holy cow...30 ampules of Menopur (a full cycle's worth...with what I have left in the fridge we'll have 35 total) plus 3 900iU Gonal-F pens (also a full cycle's worth, at 150 iU per dose, which is what I did the latter half of my December cycle...this was the drug that made our IUIs possible).
Paul has said twice now that his "dream" is to have me so overstimulated in April that we have to convert to IVF like we did in February 2011, and that my egg quality, and therefore our embryo quality, will be so great that we'll have 6 (!) embryos to freeze for later. Ha ha ha...and I've said, "I'd like to just respond better." (Aim low, that's my MO.)
And guess what Dr. M. plans for April? Yep...he's going to stimulate me so aggressively (that actually sounds nice, doesn't it? too bad about the needles) that we get as many mature follicles as is possible IN HOPES that conversion to IVF is necessary. Why? Because I will turn 38 at the end of the month, moving me into the next suckiest tier for getting pregnant through ART, and IVF has a better success rate for women in that age group. Sigh. But, ding ding ding, we're still proceeding as if we're doing superovulation IUI, so that if we do convert to IVF, it'll only be $3000 extra instead of the full $8500+ (without meds) a normal long protocol IVF would cost. Bonus. (I told him about Paul's dream. He thought it was great.)
It weirded me out a little bit that Paul was right on target...because this is the second time he and Dr. M. have been in sync. What in the world? See, when we did our IUI in January (non-medicated), it happened during our state's major snow/ice/power-outages-from-Hell storm, and Dr. M. was the only person in the office. (It's like he has the same motto as the USPS...he'll show up any time except when he's out of town at a conference or on vacation...or in the middle of delivering a baby.) Paul, on the way there, surmised we should maybe go pick his assistant, Sierra, up from her house (she lives one town to the NE of us), but we didn't...and so he said, "Watch, I'll get to assist during the IUI." Well, what a smartypants...he DID get to assist...if only to hold the gigantic cotton swabs Dr. M. uses to clean the cervix (with something that burns, like an acid or vinegar solution or ?? ouch!).
[As an aside, Dr. M., being by himself, then had to step out of the room to grab Paul's prepared semen sample for the IUI...leaving Paul to gape in wonder at my cervix. Um.... ??? Yeah, I got a little uncomfortable. I mean, most men will NEVER see their wives' cervix...it's not usually visible, you know? Mine? Hello, world!! I finally told him to step aside and stop staring!]
Anywho, Paul is feeling super excited about our upcoming cycle. I'm feeling hopeful today, since I also discovered that a) that ovarian cyst on the right side went away (whee!) and b) I have 8 pre-antral follicles (OMG!) and one dominant follicle for this month, so some or all of the DHEA/Royal Jelly w/Bee Pollen/acupuncture regimen is working!!
Perhaps we will end up overstimulated after all!
I'll close with this little tidbit from Dr. M.: "You know, your birthday this year entitles you to one extra embryo during transfer." (I looked it up on my iPhone...that would be THREE embies at transfer instead of two. Holy multiples (again), Batman.)
Our last superovulation cycle, in December, was a nail-biter...my body responded very slowly (my favorite line from Dr. M. that cycle was, "We seem to be missing the "super" in "superovulation..."), causing me to stress about whether we'd get our back-to-back IUIs in before Dr. M. flew to Canada for a family ski vacation over the holidays. We made it with two days to spare, but the result was a BFN, leading Dr. M. to state for the umpteenth time, "I can't believe you conceived twins in May with such low estradiol!" We later discovered, via blood test, that I have low AMH, thus, low ovarian reserve. It all makes perfect sense. (Well, still not that I conceived twins, but the slow/poor response to stimulation drugs, yes.)
Dr. M. plans a much more aggressive cycle this next time, in April, starting with me taking oral estrogen pills from cycle day (CD) 21 onward. This is called estrogen priming, and is a big hit with REs who are battling advanced maternal age [raises hand] and low ovarian reserve [hand still raised]. He prepared me by telling me over the phone what/how many drugs I'd be ordering for the stimulation portion. Holy cow...30 ampules of Menopur (a full cycle's worth...with what I have left in the fridge we'll have 35 total) plus 3 900iU Gonal-F pens (also a full cycle's worth, at 150 iU per dose, which is what I did the latter half of my December cycle...this was the drug that made our IUIs possible).
Paul has said twice now that his "dream" is to have me so overstimulated in April that we have to convert to IVF like we did in February 2011, and that my egg quality, and therefore our embryo quality, will be so great that we'll have 6 (!) embryos to freeze for later. Ha ha ha...and I've said, "I'd like to just respond better." (Aim low, that's my MO.)
And guess what Dr. M. plans for April? Yep...he's going to stimulate me so aggressively (that actually sounds nice, doesn't it? too bad about the needles) that we get as many mature follicles as is possible IN HOPES that conversion to IVF is necessary. Why? Because I will turn 38 at the end of the month, moving me into the next suckiest tier for getting pregnant through ART, and IVF has a better success rate for women in that age group. Sigh. But, ding ding ding, we're still proceeding as if we're doing superovulation IUI, so that if we do convert to IVF, it'll only be $3000 extra instead of the full $8500+ (without meds) a normal long protocol IVF would cost. Bonus. (I told him about Paul's dream. He thought it was great.)
It weirded me out a little bit that Paul was right on target...because this is the second time he and Dr. M. have been in sync. What in the world? See, when we did our IUI in January (non-medicated), it happened during our state's major snow/ice/power-outages-from-Hell storm, and Dr. M. was the only person in the office. (It's like he has the same motto as the USPS...he'll show up any time except when he's out of town at a conference or on vacation...or in the middle of delivering a baby.) Paul, on the way there, surmised we should maybe go pick his assistant, Sierra, up from her house (she lives one town to the NE of us), but we didn't...and so he said, "Watch, I'll get to assist during the IUI." Well, what a smartypants...he DID get to assist...if only to hold the gigantic cotton swabs Dr. M. uses to clean the cervix (with something that burns, like an acid or vinegar solution or ?? ouch!).
[As an aside, Dr. M., being by himself, then had to step out of the room to grab Paul's prepared semen sample for the IUI...leaving Paul to gape in wonder at my cervix. Um.... ??? Yeah, I got a little uncomfortable. I mean, most men will NEVER see their wives' cervix...it's not usually visible, you know? Mine? Hello, world!! I finally told him to step aside and stop staring!]
Anywho, Paul is feeling super excited about our upcoming cycle. I'm feeling hopeful today, since I also discovered that a) that ovarian cyst on the right side went away (whee!) and b) I have 8 pre-antral follicles (OMG!) and one dominant follicle for this month, so some or all of the DHEA/Royal Jelly w/Bee Pollen/acupuncture regimen is working!!
Perhaps we will end up overstimulated after all!
I'll close with this little tidbit from Dr. M.: "You know, your birthday this year entitles you to one extra embryo during transfer." (I looked it up on my iPhone...that would be THREE embies at transfer instead of two. Holy multiples (again), Batman.)
Monday, March 5, 2012
Thoughts on seven months
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.
Coincidental? No.
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?
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.
Coincidental? No.
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?
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