I've been carrying the below around on a sticky note for years, since three months after I was diagnosed with PPD and PTSD, in fact, and rereading it, I realized it still rings true...although the glue is no longer as fresh.
*****
6/26/12
I am a China cup, once all pretty patterned, smooth outside, delicate handle. Then, dropped to the ground, shattered, scattered in jagged pieces. Now, glued slowly back together, still patterned, still a cup, but now imperfect, rumpled, no longer smooth. I still hold the same inside, mostly, but it's moved by the lumpiness of the glued together fragments.
The same, but not at all.
Showing posts with label loss. Show all posts
Showing posts with label loss. Show all posts
Tuesday, October 27, 2015
Saturday, August 2, 2014
Right where I am: 2 years, 11 months and 29 days
I've been so painfully silent on this space for so long - almost a year - that it's hard to know where to even start. There's so much to say, but it jumbles all together in my head and my heart: the joy, the pain, the struggles, the happiness, the growth, the setbacks. I'll pick it up somehow and bring you all forward with me. I credit Angie from Still Life With Circles for reminding me to write my grief as it is today. It feels like a good place to start.
In two days, we will be at the 3-year anniversary of Aliya's water breaking. 4:50p.m. PDT. In three days, the anniversary of my induction and their deaths and deliveries...the start of our real Hell. For much of the last year, Aliya and Bennett have felt very distant, almost like losing them was a lifetime ago, something that happened before I was me. Mothering a living child after losing our worlds has been very, very difficult and not at all what I imagined. I had no mental space to grieve. I wondered whether I had really just successfully moved forward without them, somehow. The only thing I've really felt for sure, based on how Asher's first year went for me, mentally and emotionally, was that I have serious, serious doubts that I could have actually mothered Aliya and Bennett if they had survived.
As Asher's first birthday approached, my grief resurfaced, and I found myself in tears and struggling to manage my anxiety (despite continued counseling and Pa.xil). I can't say I honestly felt what I'd been missing out on with the twins, because it wasn't that. Perhaps it was that he was finally reaching such a huge milestone, one that also brought the risk of losing him to SIDS down to negligible. He had been sleeping through the night for five months, he was growing and thriving, showing his personality, and was about to be celebrated by all of our family - both sides - for the first time since his birth. I was full of so many emotions...and also a lot of regret that his first year hadn't been "better"...that I hadn't been better. I guess that's it. Regret breeds regret, which leads to guilt and sorrow...and those roads lead to Aliya and Bennett.
Now, right on the cusp of our 3-year anniversary (how is that even possible?), even though just a few days ago I remarked to another BLM I know in the flesh (who lost her daughter 11 years ago, so is a veteran) how ok I was at the time...now, for the last two days, the tears have been freely flowing, right under the surface. Last week the dates meant nothing to me (I had to really think about them and their significance to our loss story), but BOOM, yesterday, August 1st, it all came flooding back. It's a cluster, timing-wise...I decided to wean myself off the Pa.xil last weekend (yeah, don't know what I was thinking), I'm PMSing (and spotting, incidentally, the exact same color and consistency as I was this time 3 years ago, although this time it only harkens my cycle, not impending tragedy), and it's anniversary week. Paul's left to go fishing last night, so I had the house and Asher to myself. The anxiety gave me a run, causing me to shut and lock any windows that could possibly allow an intruder to slip in overnight, even thought it was so damned hot in the house and I knew shutting those windows would prevent a good cooling off (I was right). Then, getting ready for bed, I needed Asher. He was sound asleep, but I crept in and put my hands on him to feel him breathe (like Paul and I both do every.single.night, just to be sure). I sat in his rocking chair, quiet as a mouse, listening to him breathe. He stirred, and I then felt like an idiot because if he awoke, it would be my fault! (He didn't, and I was able to slip back out, undetected.) Today, while he napped, I watched Notting Hill...and even the sweet places in the movie that bring me to happy tears then brought me to sobbing for myself, my babies, my fears. God help me.
Sometimes it pulls at my heart to see 2-year olds playing together, but not always. I always notice twins still, but, thankfully, rarely see girl/boy twins of that age. But as Asher works on standing and walking, and is becoming increasingly in need of reassurance and hugs (mama, really), that's where it grabs me. I am missing those hugs around the neck. I am missing those silly grins and the belly laughs...the sharing of blueberries and pacifiers, the "MumMum" and "Mama". And that hurts so much.
In two days, we will be at the 3-year anniversary of Aliya's water breaking. 4:50p.m. PDT. In three days, the anniversary of my induction and their deaths and deliveries...the start of our real Hell. For much of the last year, Aliya and Bennett have felt very distant, almost like losing them was a lifetime ago, something that happened before I was me. Mothering a living child after losing our worlds has been very, very difficult and not at all what I imagined. I had no mental space to grieve. I wondered whether I had really just successfully moved forward without them, somehow. The only thing I've really felt for sure, based on how Asher's first year went for me, mentally and emotionally, was that I have serious, serious doubts that I could have actually mothered Aliya and Bennett if they had survived.
As Asher's first birthday approached, my grief resurfaced, and I found myself in tears and struggling to manage my anxiety (despite continued counseling and Pa.xil). I can't say I honestly felt what I'd been missing out on with the twins, because it wasn't that. Perhaps it was that he was finally reaching such a huge milestone, one that also brought the risk of losing him to SIDS down to negligible. He had been sleeping through the night for five months, he was growing and thriving, showing his personality, and was about to be celebrated by all of our family - both sides - for the first time since his birth. I was full of so many emotions...and also a lot of regret that his first year hadn't been "better"...that I hadn't been better. I guess that's it. Regret breeds regret, which leads to guilt and sorrow...and those roads lead to Aliya and Bennett.
Now, right on the cusp of our 3-year anniversary (how is that even possible?), even though just a few days ago I remarked to another BLM I know in the flesh (who lost her daughter 11 years ago, so is a veteran) how ok I was at the time...now, for the last two days, the tears have been freely flowing, right under the surface. Last week the dates meant nothing to me (I had to really think about them and their significance to our loss story), but BOOM, yesterday, August 1st, it all came flooding back. It's a cluster, timing-wise...I decided to wean myself off the Pa.xil last weekend (yeah, don't know what I was thinking), I'm PMSing (and spotting, incidentally, the exact same color and consistency as I was this time 3 years ago, although this time it only harkens my cycle, not impending tragedy), and it's anniversary week. Paul's left to go fishing last night, so I had the house and Asher to myself. The anxiety gave me a run, causing me to shut and lock any windows that could possibly allow an intruder to slip in overnight, even thought it was so damned hot in the house and I knew shutting those windows would prevent a good cooling off (I was right). Then, getting ready for bed, I needed Asher. He was sound asleep, but I crept in and put my hands on him to feel him breathe (like Paul and I both do every.single.night, just to be sure). I sat in his rocking chair, quiet as a mouse, listening to him breathe. He stirred, and I then felt like an idiot because if he awoke, it would be my fault! (He didn't, and I was able to slip back out, undetected.) Today, while he napped, I watched Notting Hill...and even the sweet places in the movie that bring me to happy tears then brought me to sobbing for myself, my babies, my fears. God help me.
Sometimes it pulls at my heart to see 2-year olds playing together, but not always. I always notice twins still, but, thankfully, rarely see girl/boy twins of that age. But as Asher works on standing and walking, and is becoming increasingly in need of reassurance and hugs (mama, really), that's where it grabs me. I am missing those hugs around the neck. I am missing those silly grins and the belly laughs...the sharing of blueberries and pacifiers, the "MumMum" and "Mama". And that hurts so much.
Wednesday, May 1, 2013
31 weeks 1 day
How Far Along: 31 weeks 1 day today. E2 should weigh approximately 3 pounds (the weight of 4 navel oranges), but we all know he weighed more than that, um, three weeks ago. He should be about 17 inches long, crown to heel. OMG!
Total Weight Gain/Loss: I'm pretty sure I must have gained about 28 pounds from pre-pregnancy weight. That's a bummer, as I was hoping to somehow not gain more than 25-30 this whole pregnancy. There is no.way.period. I will not gain more than 2 pounds between now and delivery, given little man is close to putting on half a pound a week. Sigh. At least I'm still hearing that I don't look pregnant at all from the front. :)
Maternity Clothes: Yep.
Movement: He's had more big movements this past week. I was finally able to get some on video (on my phone), but I had to wait for it. Paul also finally saw E2's hiccups through my belly last night at dinner! Today it feels like he's been either rolling around or stretching his arms and legs, and it feels very Braxton-Hicks-y, which I don't love (makes me nervous). I felt a knee or elbow very clearly while my hand was resting on my belly this afternoon. Cool!
Sleep: Not bad.
Gender: A baby brother for Aliya and Bennett.
Symptoms: Same as previous, with the addition of two episodes of really sharp pains above and to the right of my belly button. They felt like they were uterus-related, not from deep within. One of them hit last night during bathroom trip number 320 (ok, not really, but probably number 4) as I made my way back to bed. That one nearly doubled me over...but that was it. Just once, and then gone. Baby's weird movements, perhaps? Oh, and I caught Paul staring at my belly again tonight...this time, it was due to the (now very evident, angry, red) stretch marks. Sigh again.
Cravings: None...so much so that it makes deciding what to have for dinner a real pain in the ass.
Belly Button In or Out: Still mostly in, turning inside out a little bit more at the top.
Freak-out of the Week: Wowsa. I wouldn't call them freak outs, but man have I shed a lot of tears this past week. There's just a lot...a lot of stress, a lot of grief, a lot of decisions that feel overwhelming, anxiety over the impending arrival of our little guy, fears that something may still go wrong, etc. One big thing is I realized the other day that May was right around the corner, which starts anew the anniversary period of conceiving the twins (May 11th), finding out we were pregnant (May 24th at home and 25th via blood test), through Aliya's first placental abruption in mid-June, through all the appointments and vaginal discharge changes and bleeding in June and July, and then her water breaking and loss of our babies in August. E2's due date is just three days before the 23 month anniversary of losing Aliya and Bennett...and the 2-year anniversary will be just a month later. It's so hard to believe...and I am missing them so, so much. We met a couple with a beautiful little almost two-year old on Sunday and she's been pulling at my heartstrings ever since. Don't get me wrong, I am so, so grateful to be expecting our little miracle boy, love him so very much already and can't wait to share our lives with him...but part of me worries I may never get to parent a living little girl, and that breaks my heart into millions and jillions of pieces and hurts me to my core. It's something I can't even say aloud to Paul because I will sob, and I just don't allow myself to fall apart like that in front of him anymore because he doesn't know what to do with me. Thank God for continued counseling.
Looking Forward To: Our next milestone, 32 weeks (and my baby shower on May 11th!), and our birthing preparation workshop with the doula the weekend of May 18th!
Next Appointment: Monday, May 6th for another cervical length ultrasound.
Miscellaneous: I actually made progress this week on finding daycare and a pediatrician! Nothing like realizing the stress burden was making my life unmanageable. :) I researched both over the weekend. Daycare is still difficult, but I did get on the wait list for one and toured it today. It made me a little sad to see the infants and all the cribs in one room...I don't know what I expected, but it didn't warm my heart, that's for sure. I found a pediatrician (based on the clinic and then the ped's bio) that I was interested in, and was able to set up a free "meet and greet" appointment with him for next week. I hope I like him, so I can cross that one off the list. Our remodel has made no progress in the last week, other than me now being about 80% sure that I want to keep the walls neutral and the bedding bright, rather than vice versa. (Hey, that's progress, don't knock it!) We still need to look at carpet (haven't even started that), and I do need to pick paint colors, but I do think I'm closer there, too. Oh, and choose and buy fabric for crib bedding and curtains. Again, I'm a lot closer...and thrilled that quilting and crafting are such huge hobbies for people because there are some great online fabric stores to choose from!
Total Weight Gain/Loss: I'm pretty sure I must have gained about 28 pounds from pre-pregnancy weight. That's a bummer, as I was hoping to somehow not gain more than 25-30 this whole pregnancy. There is no.way.period. I will not gain more than 2 pounds between now and delivery, given little man is close to putting on half a pound a week. Sigh. At least I'm still hearing that I don't look pregnant at all from the front. :)
Maternity Clothes: Yep.
Movement: He's had more big movements this past week. I was finally able to get some on video (on my phone), but I had to wait for it. Paul also finally saw E2's hiccups through my belly last night at dinner! Today it feels like he's been either rolling around or stretching his arms and legs, and it feels very Braxton-Hicks-y, which I don't love (makes me nervous). I felt a knee or elbow very clearly while my hand was resting on my belly this afternoon. Cool!
Sleep: Not bad.
Gender: A baby brother for Aliya and Bennett.
Symptoms: Same as previous, with the addition of two episodes of really sharp pains above and to the right of my belly button. They felt like they were uterus-related, not from deep within. One of them hit last night during bathroom trip number 320 (ok, not really, but probably number 4) as I made my way back to bed. That one nearly doubled me over...but that was it. Just once, and then gone. Baby's weird movements, perhaps? Oh, and I caught Paul staring at my belly again tonight...this time, it was due to the (now very evident, angry, red) stretch marks. Sigh again.
Cravings: None...so much so that it makes deciding what to have for dinner a real pain in the ass.
Belly Button In or Out: Still mostly in, turning inside out a little bit more at the top.
Freak-out of the Week: Wowsa. I wouldn't call them freak outs, but man have I shed a lot of tears this past week. There's just a lot...a lot of stress, a lot of grief, a lot of decisions that feel overwhelming, anxiety over the impending arrival of our little guy, fears that something may still go wrong, etc. One big thing is I realized the other day that May was right around the corner, which starts anew the anniversary period of conceiving the twins (May 11th), finding out we were pregnant (May 24th at home and 25th via blood test), through Aliya's first placental abruption in mid-June, through all the appointments and vaginal discharge changes and bleeding in June and July, and then her water breaking and loss of our babies in August. E2's due date is just three days before the 23 month anniversary of losing Aliya and Bennett...and the 2-year anniversary will be just a month later. It's so hard to believe...and I am missing them so, so much. We met a couple with a beautiful little almost two-year old on Sunday and she's been pulling at my heartstrings ever since. Don't get me wrong, I am so, so grateful to be expecting our little miracle boy, love him so very much already and can't wait to share our lives with him...but part of me worries I may never get to parent a living little girl, and that breaks my heart into millions and jillions of pieces and hurts me to my core. It's something I can't even say aloud to Paul because I will sob, and I just don't allow myself to fall apart like that in front of him anymore because he doesn't know what to do with me. Thank God for continued counseling.
Looking Forward To: Our next milestone, 32 weeks (and my baby shower on May 11th!), and our birthing preparation workshop with the doula the weekend of May 18th!
Next Appointment: Monday, May 6th for another cervical length ultrasound.
Miscellaneous: I actually made progress this week on finding daycare and a pediatrician! Nothing like realizing the stress burden was making my life unmanageable. :) I researched both over the weekend. Daycare is still difficult, but I did get on the wait list for one and toured it today. It made me a little sad to see the infants and all the cribs in one room...I don't know what I expected, but it didn't warm my heart, that's for sure. I found a pediatrician (based on the clinic and then the ped's bio) that I was interested in, and was able to set up a free "meet and greet" appointment with him for next week. I hope I like him, so I can cross that one off the list. Our remodel has made no progress in the last week, other than me now being about 80% sure that I want to keep the walls neutral and the bedding bright, rather than vice versa. (Hey, that's progress, don't knock it!) We still need to look at carpet (haven't even started that), and I do need to pick paint colors, but I do think I'm closer there, too. Oh, and choose and buy fabric for crib bedding and curtains. Again, I'm a lot closer...and thrilled that quilting and crafting are such huge hobbies for people because there are some great online fabric stores to choose from!
 |
| The belly at 31 weeks (yesterday). |
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
16 weeks
How Far Along: 16 weeks today. E2 is the size of a large avocado.
Total Weight Gain/Loss: As of yesterday (15w6d), I was up 5 lbs total. I gained a pound!
Maternity Clothes: Officially in tops and bottoms.
As of yesterday, even at work. Yes, I came out as a pregnant woman to my co-workers. I was SO nervous; last time, I told at 12w6d and we lost the twins a week and a half later. This time, I made it to 15w6d before formally announcing, but some people told me they'd already suspected but didn't want to say anything.
Also, speaking of maternity garb, I need to start thinking about a bra to sleep in (I've never, ever slept in a bra!); the girls are getting a little, um, uncomfortable. I've been polling my mommy friends about what they used/wore. If you have experience, please comment! (I started as a 38DD and have been warned by a couple of friends who were the same cup size that they grew to an H cup, so I'm a bit unsure of when to buy...but if I need one now, I guess, so be it.)
Movement: Daily. I noticed the other day that while for the past couple of weeks I'd only been feeling little movements in one certain area on the left side, suddently I felt it on both sides simultaneously. Today it was almost entirely in the middle (a little high and a little lower at the same time). Baby is moving around in there!
Sleep: Still so so.
Gender: From my fingers to your eyes on February 14th.
Symptoms: Voracious appetite; stuffy nose; nausea seems to be starting to fade (knock on wood), but I keep the Zofran close (and had to take two on Sunday). Less frequent ligament pains this week. Very spotty short term memory. Getting a bit clumsy. Sore boobs. Horrid skin. A bit of lower back pain. And a new symptom I'll share below (see Freak-out of the Week).
Cravings: None really this week. Little sounds good, but everything tastes good. I just need people to put food in front of me and I'd be set.
Belly Button In or Out: In, and still shallow. So weird!
Freak-out of the Week: Holy Hell. I will preface this by saying that neither Paul nor I got emotional about this...but we also barely slept last night. The thought "Please, not again" did pass my lips.
I had some uterine pressure and a definite painless contraction last night after dinner. Before dinner, I thought E2 had maybe moved and was back (and back of head) toward my front. It felt weird, like something was pushing out, something kind of hard...nothing I could grab, so it was a totally internal sensation. As I walked to the kitchen to get my dinner, I almost felt like there was pressure or something on the left side. All through dinner, I felt pressure in my uterus, mostly on the left, sometimes in the middle, but it was fairly constant. After dinner, I laid down on the couch with my feet in Paul's lap and my fingers pressed into my uterus. And there it was: out of nowhere, my entire uterus got hard. OMG. (For those of you new to this blog, I had painless contractions the night before Aliya's water broke. I thought it was early Braxton Hicks. It wasn't; it was preterm labor, and I missed it.)
We had a dilemma. We knew if I paged Dr. M., he'd likely (if anything) send me to the ER, where a) they do nothing, b) they treat women in the second trimester like shit and c) we'd sit and rot for hours. Paul was supposed to get up at 3:15 a.m. this morning and was already exhausted...and it was already after bedtime. We were supposed to start my 17P shots today, at 16 weeks 0 days, but decided to do the first one last night, just in case it would help. (No big deal, by the way, although the pharmacist gave me 22 gauge needles and that's too thin, so it took forever for Paul to draw up and inject.)
I called Dr. M.'s office first thing this morning and told them what happened. They gave me an 11:30 appointment. A few minutes later, they called back and said, "Can you make it here by 9:00?" When I got there, J, who is in charge of the insurance (and is our neighbor), told me that she and Sierra talked when she gave me that first appointment, and decided since I am "their Amy" and they didn't want me to be upset, they wanted to get me in as soon as possible. (So, so glad we stayed with Dr. M.'s!!) Dr. M. gave me another cervical length ultrasound, and said everything is good there...my cervix averaged 4.8 cm, long and closed with no funneling. He also looked at E2 briefly to check for movement (yep!) and the heart rate (160 bpm). All good.
Diagnosis: early Braxton Hicks contractions. Lucky me. (NOT!!) He said I should continue to err on the side of caution and come in any time I feel the need, even if it's every day, and he'll check the baby and my cervix. I won't likely come in every day, but it's nice to see him sincerely communicate that he is happy to help and that I won't be a pain in his butt. Harder for me: trusting my body, not second guessing...and waiting this shit out until (hopefully) we have a live, healthy baby in our arms.
I did ask him, because we hadn't talked about it, what would/could be done if I do develop early preterm labor again (before 20 weeks). He said, "Well, there are several trainwreck scenarios, but we're not there yet. We'll keep measuring your cervix, and if we see a change, we'll put a stitch in and go from there." Sigh...I would have liked more information or more of a plan...maybe there isn't one and there just can't be. It sucks, though.
Looking Forward To: Peace of mind, some day.
Next Appointment: Monday, January 21st for another my next transvaginal cervical length ultrasound (unless he skips it in lieu of today's) and prenatal blood work, PAP, breast exam, etc. Sierra had me pee in a cup and checked my weight and BP today since I am 16 weeks, the point at which they normally start all that stuff.
Miscellaneous: None this week.
Total Weight Gain/Loss: As of yesterday (15w6d), I was up 5 lbs total. I gained a pound!
Maternity Clothes: Officially in tops and bottoms.
As of yesterday, even at work. Yes, I came out as a pregnant woman to my co-workers. I was SO nervous; last time, I told at 12w6d and we lost the twins a week and a half later. This time, I made it to 15w6d before formally announcing, but some people told me they'd already suspected but didn't want to say anything.
Also, speaking of maternity garb, I need to start thinking about a bra to sleep in (I've never, ever slept in a bra!); the girls are getting a little, um, uncomfortable. I've been polling my mommy friends about what they used/wore. If you have experience, please comment! (I started as a 38DD and have been warned by a couple of friends who were the same cup size that they grew to an H cup, so I'm a bit unsure of when to buy...but if I need one now, I guess, so be it.)
Movement: Daily. I noticed the other day that while for the past couple of weeks I'd only been feeling little movements in one certain area on the left side, suddently I felt it on both sides simultaneously. Today it was almost entirely in the middle (a little high and a little lower at the same time). Baby is moving around in there!
Sleep: Still so so.
Gender: From my fingers to your eyes on February 14th.
Symptoms: Voracious appetite; stuffy nose; nausea seems to be starting to fade (knock on wood), but I keep the Zofran close (and had to take two on Sunday). Less frequent ligament pains this week. Very spotty short term memory. Getting a bit clumsy. Sore boobs. Horrid skin. A bit of lower back pain. And a new symptom I'll share below (see Freak-out of the Week).
Cravings: None really this week. Little sounds good, but everything tastes good. I just need people to put food in front of me and I'd be set.
Belly Button In or Out: In, and still shallow. So weird!
Freak-out of the Week: Holy Hell. I will preface this by saying that neither Paul nor I got emotional about this...but we also barely slept last night. The thought "Please, not again" did pass my lips.
I had some uterine pressure and a definite painless contraction last night after dinner. Before dinner, I thought E2 had maybe moved and was back (and back of head) toward my front. It felt weird, like something was pushing out, something kind of hard...nothing I could grab, so it was a totally internal sensation. As I walked to the kitchen to get my dinner, I almost felt like there was pressure or something on the left side. All through dinner, I felt pressure in my uterus, mostly on the left, sometimes in the middle, but it was fairly constant. After dinner, I laid down on the couch with my feet in Paul's lap and my fingers pressed into my uterus. And there it was: out of nowhere, my entire uterus got hard. OMG. (For those of you new to this blog, I had painless contractions the night before Aliya's water broke. I thought it was early Braxton Hicks. It wasn't; it was preterm labor, and I missed it.)
We had a dilemma. We knew if I paged Dr. M., he'd likely (if anything) send me to the ER, where a) they do nothing, b) they treat women in the second trimester like shit and c) we'd sit and rot for hours. Paul was supposed to get up at 3:15 a.m. this morning and was already exhausted...and it was already after bedtime. We were supposed to start my 17P shots today, at 16 weeks 0 days, but decided to do the first one last night, just in case it would help. (No big deal, by the way, although the pharmacist gave me 22 gauge needles and that's too thin, so it took forever for Paul to draw up and inject.)
I called Dr. M.'s office first thing this morning and told them what happened. They gave me an 11:30 appointment. A few minutes later, they called back and said, "Can you make it here by 9:00?" When I got there, J, who is in charge of the insurance (and is our neighbor), told me that she and Sierra talked when she gave me that first appointment, and decided since I am "their Amy" and they didn't want me to be upset, they wanted to get me in as soon as possible. (So, so glad we stayed with Dr. M.'s!!) Dr. M. gave me another cervical length ultrasound, and said everything is good there...my cervix averaged 4.8 cm, long and closed with no funneling. He also looked at E2 briefly to check for movement (yep!) and the heart rate (160 bpm). All good.
Diagnosis: early Braxton Hicks contractions. Lucky me. (NOT!!) He said I should continue to err on the side of caution and come in any time I feel the need, even if it's every day, and he'll check the baby and my cervix. I won't likely come in every day, but it's nice to see him sincerely communicate that he is happy to help and that I won't be a pain in his butt. Harder for me: trusting my body, not second guessing...and waiting this shit out until (hopefully) we have a live, healthy baby in our arms.
I did ask him, because we hadn't talked about it, what would/could be done if I do develop early preterm labor again (before 20 weeks). He said, "Well, there are several trainwreck scenarios, but we're not there yet. We'll keep measuring your cervix, and if we see a change, we'll put a stitch in and go from there." Sigh...I would have liked more information or more of a plan...maybe there isn't one and there just can't be. It sucks, though.
Looking Forward To: Peace of mind, some day.
Next Appointment: Monday, January 21st for another my next transvaginal cervical length ultrasound (unless he skips it in lieu of today's) and prenatal blood work, PAP, breast exam, etc. Sierra had me pee in a cup and checked my weight and BP today since I am 16 weeks, the point at which they normally start all that stuff.
Miscellaneous: None this week.
 |
| Belly at 16w. It doesn't look much different to me (save for the underwear line above my belly button!). |
Thursday, December 6, 2012
10 weeks 2 days
The timing of this week's post has been weighing on my mind. It hit me this week that this baby is due the same week - two days before - the 23-week anniversary of my water breaking and losing Aliya and Bennett. These weekly updates will only happen in an anniversary week six more times before baby comes...but if this first is any indication, they'll all be difficult.
***
How Far Along: 10 weeks 2 days. E2 is the size of a fig.
Total Weight Gain/Loss: I'm up almost six pounds. I suppose I should slow down, huh? I feel like I'm making up for all the weight I didn't gain during my pregnancy with the twins. I'm currently back at my pre-twin-pregnancy weight...which is the same as I weighed when I delivered. That doesn't feel very good. :(
Maternity Clothes: I still have the same maternity clothes struggle, made worse this week when the slacks I had been wearing now kill across the middle, even unzipped and unbuttoned (and held up solely by my Bella Band). After talking with my counselor (who I continue to see weekly), we realized that my current belly is at just about the same size as it was at this point with the twins. That's insane...and I didn't expect it. It also turns out to be a PTSD trigger. (Why do I feel like I'm walking in a minefield?) But, as both Laura Jane and K (Addi'smom) commented in my last weekly update, I really do need to embrace the maternity wear. It's my reality, and I do need to be comfortable. Today I wore my black maternity pants to work (it took four sheets of lint roller to get all the post-laundry lint off, no joke!), coupled with a button down shirt I have that was just barely long enough to cover the panel all the way around. Needless to say, there was several wardrobe adjustments throughout my day. This is a situation I need to remedy, and soon.
Movement: E2 is now moving (and swallowing amniotic fluid!) in my belly, but is too small for me to feel anything yet.
Sleep: Still pretty good, still interrupted by many, many bathroom breaks. Last night I didn't take my Unisom with my Vitamin B-6, so found myself wide awake after a 12:30 a.m. bathroom trip. I folded and took half a Unisom and was out like a light. I slept pretty poorly with the twins, so I am relishing this sleep (plus I somehow feel so much more tired this time).
Gender: That's for us to know and you to find out (later)! :)
Symptoms: I'm struggling the last week with more breakthrough nausea than in previous weeks. I'm not sure why that is; I should be at the point now where my hCG has plateaued. My boobs also have been periodically really painful (like, they hurt when I sit still kind of thing, achy/sharp pains), but I know that's normal. I'm having more frequent rosacea breakouts/flare-ups lately, too, which I remember later in the first trimester last time. I look forward to gorgeous, glowing skin in the second trimester (that's what I got last time...a girl can hope!).
Cravings: The Portland steak dinner craving was satisfied last Saturday, and it was everything I dreamed of! I haven't had any real craving since, but I'm definitely eating well. (See: Total Weight gain/loss, above.)
Belly Button In or Out: Still in. It feels a bit like it's going in further. (See: Total Weight gain/loss, above.)
Freak-out of the Week: Actually...this week has been a little harder than previous weeks. Not only was the twins' anniversary looming, but I've just been more emotional in general. I go from anxious about next week's ultrasound (i.e. E2 will have died, you all know what I'm talking about, that fear) to feeling warm and fuzzy about the life within my belly. What I am a little disconcerted by is the push-pull of my varied medical team.
Case in point: My IVF REs at UW wanted me to stop the daily 8% Crinone gel (progesterone up the vag) at 10 weeks...which was Tuesday. I did as instructed. Also on Tuesday, I went in per Dr. M.'s request and had a progesterone/estradiol/Vitamin D (he's freaked that I'm on 5000 iU Vit. D daily per my naturopath). Normally, I hear back from him no later than overnight the evening of the blood draw. We went to bed at 8:00 last night and I hadn't heard anything, so I took 1/2 an Estrace (1 mg) per his earlier order (he's trying to wean me off of it) given I hadn't heard otherwise. I checked my phone this morning when I got up - still no message from Dr. M. I took my Estrace again. By mid-afternoon today, when I still hadn't heard anything, I excused myself from a meeting and called Sierra to find out my results. "All normal," she said. UM! Stay on the Estrace? What about the Crinone? She said stay on everything...and I've been 48 hours with no Crinone. Crap! She said it should be fine...and I know Dr. M. had me stay on the progesterone in oil shots until 11 weeks with the twins, so maybe that's his standard protocol...but it's not UW's standard protocol. Who do I listen to? I've decided to err on the side of caution and listen to Dr. M. (well, Sierra in this case, since I still haven't talked to Dr. M. myself). (See, and then my brain freaks and thinks, great, I'm going to lose E2 because I took myself off the progesterone sooner than I should have and my body can't do this and the placenta isn't making enough progesterone on its own yet and...you know, total and utter crazy train. Stop the insanity! I am not bleeding, I am not cramping, I have no reason to think anything is wrong and E2 won't have a perfectly normal heartbeat on Monday!)
What I Miss: My twins, and preparing for the holidays with two little people who would be busy exploring all the new stuff in their environment. And, my innocence.
Looking Forward To: Being done with this first trimester and past the 14-week mark. I know, I know, that's future tripping...but still.
Next Appointment: Monday, December 10th for an ultrasound at 10w6d.
I leave you with a belly shot comparison...same gestational age, two different pregnancies. There is a little bit of bloat in both, but you get the idea. Funny thing is, I was in complete denial just two or three days before the bottom picture that I was actually showing. HA!
***
How Far Along: 10 weeks 2 days. E2 is the size of a fig.
Total Weight Gain/Loss: I'm up almost six pounds. I suppose I should slow down, huh? I feel like I'm making up for all the weight I didn't gain during my pregnancy with the twins. I'm currently back at my pre-twin-pregnancy weight...which is the same as I weighed when I delivered. That doesn't feel very good. :(
Maternity Clothes: I still have the same maternity clothes struggle, made worse this week when the slacks I had been wearing now kill across the middle, even unzipped and unbuttoned (and held up solely by my Bella Band). After talking with my counselor (who I continue to see weekly), we realized that my current belly is at just about the same size as it was at this point with the twins. That's insane...and I didn't expect it. It also turns out to be a PTSD trigger. (Why do I feel like I'm walking in a minefield?) But, as both Laura Jane and K (Addi'smom) commented in my last weekly update, I really do need to embrace the maternity wear. It's my reality, and I do need to be comfortable. Today I wore my black maternity pants to work (it took four sheets of lint roller to get all the post-laundry lint off, no joke!), coupled with a button down shirt I have that was just barely long enough to cover the panel all the way around. Needless to say, there was several wardrobe adjustments throughout my day. This is a situation I need to remedy, and soon.
Movement: E2 is now moving (and swallowing amniotic fluid!) in my belly, but is too small for me to feel anything yet.
Sleep: Still pretty good, still interrupted by many, many bathroom breaks. Last night I didn't take my Unisom with my Vitamin B-6, so found myself wide awake after a 12:30 a.m. bathroom trip. I folded and took half a Unisom and was out like a light. I slept pretty poorly with the twins, so I am relishing this sleep (plus I somehow feel so much more tired this time).
Gender: That's for us to know and you to find out (later)! :)
Symptoms: I'm struggling the last week with more breakthrough nausea than in previous weeks. I'm not sure why that is; I should be at the point now where my hCG has plateaued. My boobs also have been periodically really painful (like, they hurt when I sit still kind of thing, achy/sharp pains), but I know that's normal. I'm having more frequent rosacea breakouts/flare-ups lately, too, which I remember later in the first trimester last time. I look forward to gorgeous, glowing skin in the second trimester (that's what I got last time...a girl can hope!).
Cravings: The Portland steak dinner craving was satisfied last Saturday, and it was everything I dreamed of! I haven't had any real craving since, but I'm definitely eating well. (See: Total Weight gain/loss, above.)
Belly Button In or Out: Still in. It feels a bit like it's going in further. (See: Total Weight gain/loss, above.)
Freak-out of the Week: Actually...this week has been a little harder than previous weeks. Not only was the twins' anniversary looming, but I've just been more emotional in general. I go from anxious about next week's ultrasound (i.e. E2 will have died, you all know what I'm talking about, that fear) to feeling warm and fuzzy about the life within my belly. What I am a little disconcerted by is the push-pull of my varied medical team.
Case in point: My IVF REs at UW wanted me to stop the daily 8% Crinone gel (progesterone up the vag) at 10 weeks...which was Tuesday. I did as instructed. Also on Tuesday, I went in per Dr. M.'s request and had a progesterone/estradiol/Vitamin D (he's freaked that I'm on 5000 iU Vit. D daily per my naturopath). Normally, I hear back from him no later than overnight the evening of the blood draw. We went to bed at 8:00 last night and I hadn't heard anything, so I took 1/2 an Estrace (1 mg) per his earlier order (he's trying to wean me off of it) given I hadn't heard otherwise. I checked my phone this morning when I got up - still no message from Dr. M. I took my Estrace again. By mid-afternoon today, when I still hadn't heard anything, I excused myself from a meeting and called Sierra to find out my results. "All normal," she said. UM! Stay on the Estrace? What about the Crinone? She said stay on everything...and I've been 48 hours with no Crinone. Crap! She said it should be fine...and I know Dr. M. had me stay on the progesterone in oil shots until 11 weeks with the twins, so maybe that's his standard protocol...but it's not UW's standard protocol. Who do I listen to? I've decided to err on the side of caution and listen to Dr. M. (well, Sierra in this case, since I still haven't talked to Dr. M. myself). (See, and then my brain freaks and thinks, great, I'm going to lose E2 because I took myself off the progesterone sooner than I should have and my body can't do this and the placenta isn't making enough progesterone on its own yet and...you know, total and utter crazy train. Stop the insanity! I am not bleeding, I am not cramping, I have no reason to think anything is wrong and E2 won't have a perfectly normal heartbeat on Monday!)
What I Miss: My twins, and preparing for the holidays with two little people who would be busy exploring all the new stuff in their environment. And, my innocence.
Looking Forward To: Being done with this first trimester and past the 14-week mark. I know, I know, that's future tripping...but still.
Next Appointment: Monday, December 10th for an ultrasound at 10w6d.
I leave you with a belly shot comparison...same gestational age, two different pregnancies. There is a little bit of bloat in both, but you get the idea. Funny thing is, I was in complete denial just two or three days before the bottom picture that I was actually showing. HA!
 |
| Belly 2012 - 9w4d with E2 (and Bella Band ...that weird thing that looks like my belly button is the unbuttoned fly of my jeans) |
 |
| Belly 2011 - 9w4d with the twins. My belly was firmer then than now, but still... isn't the size uncanny? |
Wednesday, December 5, 2012
16 months
Today is sixteen months since Paul and I felt the incredible surge of immediate, unconditional love for our perfect, tiny children - the kind of love parents get to realize each time a child is born - at the same time as the soul-crushing, breath-taking sorrow that only those of us who have lost our children can ever experience. I can't believe this huge amount of time has passed. In the early months it felt like time was both creeping and speeding by, and looking back at the ride we've been on since, holy cow. How it it sixteen months already when I remember it like it was just yesterday? And how surreal it is that we are finally at that awkward, grateful, sad place of mourning what we've lost, what we can never have back, that sixteen months of parenting dead children instead of living ones, while also holding the fear and hope of carrying new life.
When we started trying to conceive again those four ART cycles after our loss (and the many natural in between), each time I'd think, "Yes, if we do conceive now, I will have to say that this child wouldn't exist if we hadn't lost the babies, because I'd still be pregnant", or "...I'd still be postpartum", or ..."there's no way we'd try again this soon".
In reality, we should have two nearly 11-month old babies at home. We would - if we'd decided that, yes, we did still want to try for a third - be talking now about trying again. I could be more fertile after a live birth...it happens. We could have a living sibling for a living Aliya and Bennett. But it wouldn't be this sibling, conceived through IVF (which we wouldn't be ready for, and probably couldn't afford with twins in daycare). Even if we had done IVF and ICSI and PGD, we may not have so easily come to the decision of going forward with this pregnancy, knowing this child may have some challenges.
Baby loss changes things. It changes everything. And though I may not cry every day now (got that, stupid pregnant hormones?!), I still miss what we've lost every day, and wish for what we should have now, and struggle with balancing that with what we are so blessed to have today, one day at a time. I will be a different mother, and Paul a different father, than we ever would have been had things not gone so horribly wrong. I only hope we will be better parents for it.
When we started trying to conceive again those four ART cycles after our loss (and the many natural in between), each time I'd think, "Yes, if we do conceive now, I will have to say that this child wouldn't exist if we hadn't lost the babies, because I'd still be pregnant", or "...I'd still be postpartum", or ..."there's no way we'd try again this soon".
In reality, we should have two nearly 11-month old babies at home. We would - if we'd decided that, yes, we did still want to try for a third - be talking now about trying again. I could be more fertile after a live birth...it happens. We could have a living sibling for a living Aliya and Bennett. But it wouldn't be this sibling, conceived through IVF (which we wouldn't be ready for, and probably couldn't afford with twins in daycare). Even if we had done IVF and ICSI and PGD, we may not have so easily come to the decision of going forward with this pregnancy, knowing this child may have some challenges.
Baby loss changes things. It changes everything. And though I may not cry every day now (got that, stupid pregnant hormones?!), I still miss what we've lost every day, and wish for what we should have now, and struggle with balancing that with what we are so blessed to have today, one day at a time. I will be a different mother, and Paul a different father, than we ever would have been had things not gone so horribly wrong. I only hope we will be better parents for it.
Saturday, September 8, 2012
Timeline (IVF power post)
As time trudges forward, I am finding myself with so much to say, but no ability to say it. I don't know what that's about...too much at once, I suppose. Here's where we are now:
Tuesday was the 13-month anniversary of losing Aliya and Bennett. The actual day itself was so highly focused on IVF that neither of us really had any time to reflect, but I can say with assurety that between losing Roxy's calf the Thursday before and knowing that both 13 months had gone by and we were about to really kick this IVF into gear, I was feeling a lot of feelings. My manager asked me on Wednesday, the first day I was back in the office, how my long holiday weekend was, and did I have fun? All I could say was, "Um, well, I cried a lot." There isn't much fun to be had in my life in general, and certainly not that particular weekend.
On Tuesday, we spent six hours at University of Washington, and what an eventful and yet disjointed six hours that was. It started with Paul's appointment in the urology clinic, where he had to leave a sperm sample to be frozen as a back-up in case we need it after egg retrieval (like, if that day's sample doesn't fertilize anything). It's always good to have something in the bank, right?
After that (and we were about 45 minutes early, so that was a lot of sitting around), we headed over to the Roosevelt clinic for our other appointments. It was a little confusing as things didn't happen in the order we were told to expect, and everything got off to a late start, but really, it was all good. We met with the financial coordinator (who thought we had to pay cash for my saline-infused sonohystogram that day, which, um, NO!!!, and yeah, we don't have an extra $700 laying around for something we were told insurance would actually cover!), forked over the $622 for my mock transfer, and then waited some more, before being led into an exam room...where we waited. Not sure what got them so backed up, but it reminded us of Dr. M.'s office, and we laughed.
Dr. Z.'s nurse finally came in and went over the plan briefly before Dr. Z. came in. He did my mock transfer first, and that was really good. He talked us through everything he was doing and seeing, and made sure we could both see the screen and the titanium-tipped catheter in my uterus. He marked the test catheter so he knows exactly how far in to bend it 60 degrees (my cervix isn't straight) and then where to stop so our embryos land in exactly the perfect spot in there. Then he switched gears and did the SIS. It hurt, but it wasn't terrible. I had taken 600 mg of Tylenol beforehand as instructed. He was very happy with what he saw; no signs of any polyps or fibroids or scar tissue. He printed off two photos and asked me to give them to Dr. M. so he can see what a great job he did during my surgery. :)
After that, he took Paul across the hall for his exam while I dressed and headed down to the pharmacy to pick up my drugs. We weren't expecting to do this, but it turns out they want me to have my baseline monitoring done down here rather than making me come back to Seattle, but that meant I'd have to get my drugs this week. Oy. We weren't expecting to drop $1,133.54 on meds that day, but it turned out ok. I left with a brown paper grocery bag stuffed full of drugs (10 different ones for me and 1 for Paul), needles and syringes, and sharps containers.
So, here's the plan:
**I'm on 21 days of birth control pills, ending 9/19. The purpose of these is to keep my ovaries quiet so that I don't start developing a lead follicle. (For those of us with diminshed ovarian reserve, our internal chemistry - the workings of estrogen and follicle stimulating hormone, or FSH - is wonky, so the negative-feedback loop doesn't work right and our brains tell our system to make more FSH...which in turn causes follicle development to start right away. The last several ultrasounds I've had, there was a lead follicle already forming on cycle day 3. Sucks, man.)
**I will have my baseline estradiol (and progesterone?) bloodwork and an antral follicle ultrasound done on 9/19 at Dr. M.'s. This will allow Dr. Z. to fine tune my medication dosages (and, of course, give us a cancellation point if I have any cysts.)
**I will start my stims on 9/21 - 225 iU of Gonal-F and 150 iU of Menopur...get this, ALL subcutaneously!! (Cue the angels singing!) I can mix my Menopur myself and give myself both shots in the belly, under the skin, in the evening (yes, once a day!). No more big ass (pun intended) shots in the butt twice a day, and no more getting up, bleary-eyed, with Paul so he could give me those shots. Woohoo! Paul and I both also start a 10-day course of antibiotics this day.
**I'll have repeat bloodwork and another ultrasound done on 9/25, stim day 5, up at UW. My dosages will be adjusted as needed.
**I'll go up for bloodwork again on 9/27 and start my Cetrotide (antagonist, so I don't ovulate prematurely) and recombinant human growth hormone ("Saizen"), and will continue with the Gonal-F and Menopur.
**I'll probably have bloodwork daily.
**Trigger shot of hCG on 9/30, depending on how I respond to the stims, Cetrotide and Saizen. This shot is usually done late at night, so that egg retrieval happens near-exactly 36 hours later. The stims (except the rHGH) will stop this day.
**Bloodwork again on 10/1, and last dose of Saizen. We're to stay the night in Seattle this night.
** Egg retrieval on 10/2. I'm to start my second antibiotic and a steroid pill this day for 5 days.
**Fertilization report on 10/3, followed by the start of daily Crinone (progesterone).
**Start Estrace (estrogen) 10/6, three days post-retrieval. This day, too, the lab will suck a single cell out of each of our embryos and send the biopsies to a lab in San Francisco for genetic testing (PGD).
** The morning of 10/7, I pop a Valium 1-2 hours prior to transfer, we find out how many of our embryos had normal gene sequences, and one or two normal ones are transferred back into my uterus.
**On 10/16, I will go back up to the office for a beta (blood pregnancy test), to find out whether or not all of this worked.
The dates are subject to slight change after 9/27, since everything depends on how my body responds to the protocol. Also, there are several points at which this could end in cancellation:
1) I don't respond to stims and we cancel prior to egg retrieval (we'd get a partial refund here).
2) We make it through egg retrieval and no healthy eggs are retrieved, or none fertilize via ICSI.
3) We do have fertilization, but none make it 3-day biopsy.
4) We do make it to biopsy, but none are normal, so none are transferred back.
I honestly almost expect one of these to happen (especially #1, given my history), so I'm definitely not getting my hopes up about any of this.
We had tons of questions about all of these processes, and thankfully had everything answered. I had to sign a shit-ton of disclosures and consent forms (this is surgery, after all), and go over the lab order for eggs and embryos with Dr. Z. Have I mentioned before that we love him?! Swoon! (Paul and I later learned that we each told him - unbeknownst to the other - what a pleasure it is to work with him and how wonderful his staff is!)
The coolest thing is that Dr. Z. had a fabulous solution to our dilemma of not wanting to know the sex of our embryos after PGD. (Apparently, we are in the minority...most people want to know, and some want to transfer a specific sex, or want to have a boy first, etc., but as I pointed out to Dr. Z., most people probably haven't lost one of each and only want a LIVING child...it's selfish to choose sex when alive and breathing is the most important thing!) So, if we end up with more than one healthy embryo after PGD, they will do a random number assignment for transfer. If we were to transfer more than one (which we apparently can still choose to do, but he doesn't recommend it to help avoid twins again, although one can still split into two after transfer), then he'd transfer healthy odd-numbered embryos (say, #1 and #5, if #3 was unhealthy). If we only have two, then we'd either transfer just #1 and freeze the other, or transfer both (and have nothing in the bank). We're both really happy with this suggestion.
It's really hard to have an appropriate measure of hope when, 59 cycles later, my brain is in full self-protection mode. So many times it's felt like having hopes (not even expectations, just hopes!) has led to self-hatred as everything fell apart. I did peek ahead, because I can't help myself, and noticed that if this cycle works, not only will I be 14 weeks pregnant during the week of Christmas (how's that for a mind fuck?), but I'd likely be in the middle or tail-end of bedrest post-preventative cerclage. Huh. (Oh, and this would be a June baby, the most popular birth month in Paul's family.) I have both of these observations in my brain, but I refuse to write them - even in pencil, as I've done so many times in the past almost 5 years - in my dayplanner. Less to erase...and be pissed at myself for. To be honest, once I am pregnant I'm not sure how much I'll be willing to write down, but don't worry, I'll be hyper-aware of 13 weeks (2nd trimester), 14 weeks (OMG!), 24 weeks (earliest viability), 28 weeks (high viability), and then every week past then. Breathe...breathe...breathe...
Tuesday was the 13-month anniversary of losing Aliya and Bennett. The actual day itself was so highly focused on IVF that neither of us really had any time to reflect, but I can say with assurety that between losing Roxy's calf the Thursday before and knowing that both 13 months had gone by and we were about to really kick this IVF into gear, I was feeling a lot of feelings. My manager asked me on Wednesday, the first day I was back in the office, how my long holiday weekend was, and did I have fun? All I could say was, "Um, well, I cried a lot." There isn't much fun to be had in my life in general, and certainly not that particular weekend.
On Tuesday, we spent six hours at University of Washington, and what an eventful and yet disjointed six hours that was. It started with Paul's appointment in the urology clinic, where he had to leave a sperm sample to be frozen as a back-up in case we need it after egg retrieval (like, if that day's sample doesn't fertilize anything). It's always good to have something in the bank, right?
After that (and we were about 45 minutes early, so that was a lot of sitting around), we headed over to the Roosevelt clinic for our other appointments. It was a little confusing as things didn't happen in the order we were told to expect, and everything got off to a late start, but really, it was all good. We met with the financial coordinator (who thought we had to pay cash for my saline-infused sonohystogram that day, which, um, NO!!!, and yeah, we don't have an extra $700 laying around for something we were told insurance would actually cover!), forked over the $622 for my mock transfer, and then waited some more, before being led into an exam room...where we waited. Not sure what got them so backed up, but it reminded us of Dr. M.'s office, and we laughed.
Dr. Z.'s nurse finally came in and went over the plan briefly before Dr. Z. came in. He did my mock transfer first, and that was really good. He talked us through everything he was doing and seeing, and made sure we could both see the screen and the titanium-tipped catheter in my uterus. He marked the test catheter so he knows exactly how far in to bend it 60 degrees (my cervix isn't straight) and then where to stop so our embryos land in exactly the perfect spot in there. Then he switched gears and did the SIS. It hurt, but it wasn't terrible. I had taken 600 mg of Tylenol beforehand as instructed. He was very happy with what he saw; no signs of any polyps or fibroids or scar tissue. He printed off two photos and asked me to give them to Dr. M. so he can see what a great job he did during my surgery. :)
After that, he took Paul across the hall for his exam while I dressed and headed down to the pharmacy to pick up my drugs. We weren't expecting to do this, but it turns out they want me to have my baseline monitoring done down here rather than making me come back to Seattle, but that meant I'd have to get my drugs this week. Oy. We weren't expecting to drop $1,133.54 on meds that day, but it turned out ok. I left with a brown paper grocery bag stuffed full of drugs (10 different ones for me and 1 for Paul), needles and syringes, and sharps containers.
So, here's the plan:
**I'm on 21 days of birth control pills, ending 9/19. The purpose of these is to keep my ovaries quiet so that I don't start developing a lead follicle. (For those of us with diminshed ovarian reserve, our internal chemistry - the workings of estrogen and follicle stimulating hormone, or FSH - is wonky, so the negative-feedback loop doesn't work right and our brains tell our system to make more FSH...which in turn causes follicle development to start right away. The last several ultrasounds I've had, there was a lead follicle already forming on cycle day 3. Sucks, man.)
**I will have my baseline estradiol (and progesterone?) bloodwork and an antral follicle ultrasound done on 9/19 at Dr. M.'s. This will allow Dr. Z. to fine tune my medication dosages (and, of course, give us a cancellation point if I have any cysts.)
**I will start my stims on 9/21 - 225 iU of Gonal-F and 150 iU of Menopur...get this, ALL subcutaneously!! (Cue the angels singing!) I can mix my Menopur myself and give myself both shots in the belly, under the skin, in the evening (yes, once a day!). No more big ass (pun intended) shots in the butt twice a day, and no more getting up, bleary-eyed, with Paul so he could give me those shots. Woohoo! Paul and I both also start a 10-day course of antibiotics this day.
**I'll have repeat bloodwork and another ultrasound done on 9/25, stim day 5, up at UW. My dosages will be adjusted as needed.
**I'll go up for bloodwork again on 9/27 and start my Cetrotide (antagonist, so I don't ovulate prematurely) and recombinant human growth hormone ("Saizen"), and will continue with the Gonal-F and Menopur.
**I'll probably have bloodwork daily.
**Trigger shot of hCG on 9/30, depending on how I respond to the stims, Cetrotide and Saizen. This shot is usually done late at night, so that egg retrieval happens near-exactly 36 hours later. The stims (except the rHGH) will stop this day.
**Bloodwork again on 10/1, and last dose of Saizen. We're to stay the night in Seattle this night.
** Egg retrieval on 10/2. I'm to start my second antibiotic and a steroid pill this day for 5 days.
**Fertilization report on 10/3, followed by the start of daily Crinone (progesterone).
**Start Estrace (estrogen) 10/6, three days post-retrieval. This day, too, the lab will suck a single cell out of each of our embryos and send the biopsies to a lab in San Francisco for genetic testing (PGD).
** The morning of 10/7, I pop a Valium 1-2 hours prior to transfer, we find out how many of our embryos had normal gene sequences, and one or two normal ones are transferred back into my uterus.
**On 10/16, I will go back up to the office for a beta (blood pregnancy test), to find out whether or not all of this worked.
The dates are subject to slight change after 9/27, since everything depends on how my body responds to the protocol. Also, there are several points at which this could end in cancellation:
1) I don't respond to stims and we cancel prior to egg retrieval (we'd get a partial refund here).
2) We make it through egg retrieval and no healthy eggs are retrieved, or none fertilize via ICSI.
3) We do have fertilization, but none make it 3-day biopsy.
4) We do make it to biopsy, but none are normal, so none are transferred back.
I honestly almost expect one of these to happen (especially #1, given my history), so I'm definitely not getting my hopes up about any of this.
We had tons of questions about all of these processes, and thankfully had everything answered. I had to sign a shit-ton of disclosures and consent forms (this is surgery, after all), and go over the lab order for eggs and embryos with Dr. Z. Have I mentioned before that we love him?! Swoon! (Paul and I later learned that we each told him - unbeknownst to the other - what a pleasure it is to work with him and how wonderful his staff is!)
The coolest thing is that Dr. Z. had a fabulous solution to our dilemma of not wanting to know the sex of our embryos after PGD. (Apparently, we are in the minority...most people want to know, and some want to transfer a specific sex, or want to have a boy first, etc., but as I pointed out to Dr. Z., most people probably haven't lost one of each and only want a LIVING child...it's selfish to choose sex when alive and breathing is the most important thing!) So, if we end up with more than one healthy embryo after PGD, they will do a random number assignment for transfer. If we were to transfer more than one (which we apparently can still choose to do, but he doesn't recommend it to help avoid twins again, although one can still split into two after transfer), then he'd transfer healthy odd-numbered embryos (say, #1 and #5, if #3 was unhealthy). If we only have two, then we'd either transfer just #1 and freeze the other, or transfer both (and have nothing in the bank). We're both really happy with this suggestion.
It's really hard to have an appropriate measure of hope when, 59 cycles later, my brain is in full self-protection mode. So many times it's felt like having hopes (not even expectations, just hopes!) has led to self-hatred as everything fell apart. I did peek ahead, because I can't help myself, and noticed that if this cycle works, not only will I be 14 weeks pregnant during the week of Christmas (how's that for a mind fuck?), but I'd likely be in the middle or tail-end of bedrest post-preventative cerclage. Huh. (Oh, and this would be a June baby, the most popular birth month in Paul's family.) I have both of these observations in my brain, but I refuse to write them - even in pencil, as I've done so many times in the past almost 5 years - in my dayplanner. Less to erase...and be pissed at myself for. To be honest, once I am pregnant I'm not sure how much I'll be willing to write down, but don't worry, I'll be hyper-aware of 13 weeks (2nd trimester), 14 weeks (OMG!), 24 weeks (earliest viability), 28 weeks (high viability), and then every week past then. Breathe...breathe...breathe...
Saturday, September 1, 2012
Guilt
I'm experiencing a war between my rational mind and my babylost mama mind right now, and I feel paralyzed by guilt. I was ok yesterday after having a very horrible night Thursday night, but this morning, looking through the photos on my iPhone and seeing recent ones of a very pregnant Roxanne, it hits me again: I should have known she was going calve soon! I feel so broken hearted and stupid for missing this. I know that my own guilt over losing our twins has screwed me up seven ways to Sunday and it's a miracle I can even function somewhat normally at all, but I thought I was doing so much better. I didn't realize how clouded my thinking still is, and that clouded thinking most assuredly caused Roxy to lose her calf. We would have been watching her so much more closely if I'd put everything together and realized calving was imminent. She would have already been confined to the corral. Tom would have been watching more closely, as would we. Things that we noticed would have been put together differently in our heads.
It brings up so much about the loss of our own babies. If only I'd insisted on better care, the care I knew I needed. If only I'd stood up for myself instead of letting doctor after doctor dismiss my concerns. Maybe if I'd drunk more water that day, the babies would have been in better shape after Aliya's water broke. Maybe...
And I know in both cases the outcome could have very much been the same, even if we'd done things differently. I couldn't control whether my babies caught an infection in utero. We probably couldn't have acted quickly enough to prevent Roxy's calf from drowning in amniotic fluid. But maybe...
I also know that while Roxy is mourning the loss of her calf right now, she won't grieve this forever like Paul and I will...both our own losses and now this one. The two events are so connected in our hearts for so many reasons, and we're no longer normal people. We aren't capable of separating the two...when your baby or babies have died, you've changed forever.
We will definitely do things differently next time - both for our own babies' sakes and the sake of our calves. This horrible knowledge does bring some power and some responsibility.
If only self forgiveness were so easy...
It brings up so much about the loss of our own babies. If only I'd insisted on better care, the care I knew I needed. If only I'd stood up for myself instead of letting doctor after doctor dismiss my concerns. Maybe if I'd drunk more water that day, the babies would have been in better shape after Aliya's water broke. Maybe...
And I know in both cases the outcome could have very much been the same, even if we'd done things differently. I couldn't control whether my babies caught an infection in utero. We probably couldn't have acted quickly enough to prevent Roxy's calf from drowning in amniotic fluid. But maybe...
I also know that while Roxy is mourning the loss of her calf right now, she won't grieve this forever like Paul and I will...both our own losses and now this one. The two events are so connected in our hearts for so many reasons, and we're no longer normal people. We aren't capable of separating the two...when your baby or babies have died, you've changed forever.
We will definitely do things differently next time - both for our own babies' sakes and the sake of our calves. This horrible knowledge does bring some power and some responsibility.
If only self forgiveness were so easy...
Sunday, August 5, 2012
We have arrived
I'm here, on the day I worried about for the past twelve months: the anniversary of our babies' deaths and births. So far, knock on wood, it's ok. The astrologer I saw a couple of times in the early summer told me that I was going to be ok on these two days, yesterday and today, and so far, she's right. What a blessing.
The previous week was a little rough. I found myself wiping away hot tears or holding back rogue sobs several different times, never for really obvious reasons (other than the impending obvious). Interestingly, I was transported back somewhat to those very early weeks of grief, when the day of the week, rather than the actual date, held so much significance: the Sunday before (our one and only joyful trip to Babies 'R' Us during the pregnancy); Wednesday (the anniversary of our full ultrasound scan at the hospital to try and get to the bottom of my peach-turned-red mucus discharge, which I now know was a symptom of incompetent cervix).
I expected Thursday (the day Aliya's water broke and our lives turned upside down) and Friday (the day they were born) to be the same, but they weren't. Whew.
Folks had been asking whether we were going to have some sort of memorial service this weekend, and the simple fact is (and it's more complicated, but...) - we're not ready. I can't wrap my mind yet around planning something like that and having everyone around for it. Paul's been battling his demons and is in no position to face an event like that, no matter how big or small. Maybe next year, we'll just have to see.
I was reflecting, though, on our hospital experience, and my heart swells every time I think of the care we received from our three favorite nurses. Paul and I agreed to bring treats to the Family Birth Center - not just for our nurses, but for all of them - on Thursday evening. No, the actual anniversary of our 30-hour ordeal there wasn't until this weekend, but given that everything went down on Thursday and Friday last year, AND given we've run into two of our nurses a few times on our way to our Thursday night support group, we thought we'd chance it. I decided on cupcakes, but the bakery I thought I'd use, which is just down the street from my work, had crappy reviews (I'm sorry, but cupcakes "dry as cornbread" weren't going to cut it for this event!). I was going to give up and make them myself, but my counselor told me about Sweet Charley B's Cupcakery, over by our big farmer's market, and once I learned that the owner opened and named the store in honor of the daughter she lost to a blood infection at age six (Charlotte=Charley), I knew it was the perfect place to buy our cakes. I had made a dozen paper butterfly picks out of pink and blue vellum and scrap book paper, so I popped one into each cake when we got home, and then printed up a sign to tape inside the lid of the box so *everyone* who reached for a cupcake would know why they were there. In the end, our nurses weren't on duty, but the two who took the treats and card were very sweet and appropriately sympathetic. I cried a little as we walked out, but we both felt good about our decision to bring treats.
Yesterday we decided to hang out in Westport for the day. It was nice. It was supposed to be super hot at home (in the 90s, ick!), so being near the ocean seemed like a good way to beat the heat. Plus, even though we were never there during our pregnancy, we spent time in the sand and crying at the waves in the weeks after we lost the twins, so somehow I feel closest to them there. I see my babies in the sparkles in the sand. I remembered my premonition there last year, and realized Paul was right...not only was the timing off (further off than I ever expected), but there's no way it'll be true next August, either, at least not with a baby the age I saw in my mind's eye. It was actually really hot there, too, over 80 degrees with a stiff breeze. We sat on a log and watched the waves for quite a while (and a couple with their beautiful horse, who they were probably breaking to ride in the dunes), then went back into town for dinner at Bennett's Fish Shack (!). It was a nice day. We both felt pretty at peace, which is amazing. When we came home, there was a lovely flower arrangement waiting on our side porch (Heather B. and Jason, we love you!!!), a very nice surprise. I did have a meltdown in the evening when I realized I'd lost my Aliya and Bennett locket (it's currently chainless so I carried it in my pocket)...but two or three minutes into my angry tearfest, I looked down and saw it on the bathroom floor. Thank you, God!
It's hard to say what today will bring. Our new Scottish Highland cow (well, bred heifer, technically) is coming home today (yay!), and we have to get ready for another week (laundry galore, house cleaning, Costco), so I suspect it will be low key.
And just like that, it'll be over with. We will have survived our first year of grief. That in itself feels like the most amazing accomplishment, something I couldn't imagine getting through months ago. We're looking forward to Tuesday's IVF consultation at University of Washington (so far, both people I've talked to there were fantastic!). We'll see what the future holds for us...but know that our babies will always, always, always be there in our hearts.
The previous week was a little rough. I found myself wiping away hot tears or holding back rogue sobs several different times, never for really obvious reasons (other than the impending obvious). Interestingly, I was transported back somewhat to those very early weeks of grief, when the day of the week, rather than the actual date, held so much significance: the Sunday before (our one and only joyful trip to Babies 'R' Us during the pregnancy); Wednesday (the anniversary of our full ultrasound scan at the hospital to try and get to the bottom of my peach-turned-red mucus discharge, which I now know was a symptom of incompetent cervix).
I expected Thursday (the day Aliya's water broke and our lives turned upside down) and Friday (the day they were born) to be the same, but they weren't. Whew.
Folks had been asking whether we were going to have some sort of memorial service this weekend, and the simple fact is (and it's more complicated, but...) - we're not ready. I can't wrap my mind yet around planning something like that and having everyone around for it. Paul's been battling his demons and is in no position to face an event like that, no matter how big or small. Maybe next year, we'll just have to see.
I was reflecting, though, on our hospital experience, and my heart swells every time I think of the care we received from our three favorite nurses. Paul and I agreed to bring treats to the Family Birth Center - not just for our nurses, but for all of them - on Thursday evening. No, the actual anniversary of our 30-hour ordeal there wasn't until this weekend, but given that everything went down on Thursday and Friday last year, AND given we've run into two of our nurses a few times on our way to our Thursday night support group, we thought we'd chance it. I decided on cupcakes, but the bakery I thought I'd use, which is just down the street from my work, had crappy reviews (I'm sorry, but cupcakes "dry as cornbread" weren't going to cut it for this event!). I was going to give up and make them myself, but my counselor told me about Sweet Charley B's Cupcakery, over by our big farmer's market, and once I learned that the owner opened and named the store in honor of the daughter she lost to a blood infection at age six (Charlotte=Charley), I knew it was the perfect place to buy our cakes. I had made a dozen paper butterfly picks out of pink and blue vellum and scrap book paper, so I popped one into each cake when we got home, and then printed up a sign to tape inside the lid of the box so *everyone* who reached for a cupcake would know why they were there. In the end, our nurses weren't on duty, but the two who took the treats and card were very sweet and appropriately sympathetic. I cried a little as we walked out, but we both felt good about our decision to bring treats.
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| I imagine these were as tasty as they were beautiful! |
Yesterday we decided to hang out in Westport for the day. It was nice. It was supposed to be super hot at home (in the 90s, ick!), so being near the ocean seemed like a good way to beat the heat. Plus, even though we were never there during our pregnancy, we spent time in the sand and crying at the waves in the weeks after we lost the twins, so somehow I feel closest to them there. I see my babies in the sparkles in the sand. I remembered my premonition there last year, and realized Paul was right...not only was the timing off (further off than I ever expected), but there's no way it'll be true next August, either, at least not with a baby the age I saw in my mind's eye. It was actually really hot there, too, over 80 degrees with a stiff breeze. We sat on a log and watched the waves for quite a while (and a couple with their beautiful horse, who they were probably breaking to ride in the dunes), then went back into town for dinner at Bennett's Fish Shack (!). It was a nice day. We both felt pretty at peace, which is amazing. When we came home, there was a lovely flower arrangement waiting on our side porch (Heather B. and Jason, we love you!!!), a very nice surprise. I did have a meltdown in the evening when I realized I'd lost my Aliya and Bennett locket (it's currently chainless so I carried it in my pocket)...but two or three minutes into my angry tearfest, I looked down and saw it on the bathroom floor. Thank you, God!
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| Twin Harbors State Park - crowded! |
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| Tranquil |
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| Lots of surfers, but few good waves. |
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| We couldn't resist. Pretty tasty! |
It's hard to say what today will bring. Our new Scottish Highland cow (well, bred heifer, technically) is coming home today (yay!), and we have to get ready for another week (laundry galore, house cleaning, Costco), so I suspect it will be low key.
And just like that, it'll be over with. We will have survived our first year of grief. That in itself feels like the most amazing accomplishment, something I couldn't imagine getting through months ago. We're looking forward to Tuesday's IVF consultation at University of Washington (so far, both people I've talked to there were fantastic!). We'll see what the future holds for us...but know that our babies will always, always, always be there in our hearts.
Saturday, July 28, 2012
Food fight
I am in a perfectly vile mood today (methinks PMS, which I rarely encounter, is kicking my ass), so rather than let go that which seeths in my head, I'll instead write a post I've been cooking - pun intended - for many months.
I used to love food. I've never been a picky eater, although there have always been a few things I haven't enjoyed and/or have avoided like the plague (including bologna, liver or other organ meats, veal (on principle - this has been true since junior high or high school), Brussels sprouts (except with bacon!), and pan fried oysters, ew!). I like to cook, I like others to cook for me, I like to dine out...I'm pretty easy.
And then I got pregnant.
And plagued with all-day morning sickness, from 5 weeks 2 days pregnant through nearly the end of my pregnancy.
And (as I've mentioned before)...I started puking. This escalated from puking maybe once every two or three days to puking once a day to puking twice a day, usually right before (but sometimes after) a meal.
Fun? Hell no. I was miserable. Miserable, miserable, miserable. I once, at work, while sitting on the toilet peeing, got the very sudden urge to puke and congratulated myself all day for making it right between my legs into the toilet bowl without getting any on me or anything else. That only worked one time. I did plenty of puking at work. (Paul didn't catch me until the last week of the pregnancy...but he heard about it plenty!)
With my misery, nausea and puking came a total lack of appetite. This was problematic, because with twins, you're supposed to gain 50 (!) pounds during the pregnancy, ideally the first 24 during the first 24 weeks of gestation. To do that, I was supposed to consume 100 grams of protein per day. Obviously, this was a big problem. By the time I delivered, I had just made it back to my pre-pregnancy weight.
In time, the only things I could stomach (literally) with any regularity were lemonade (lots), ginger ale, Saltines, Marie Callender's frozen chicken pot pies (once or twice per day, no joke!), some soup, milk occasionally, and chocolate Ensure Plus bottled shakes (my main source of protein). (A note on the Ensure Plus...vanilla is pretty gag worthy, but I once barfed up an entire strawberry Ensure moments after finishing it, and now strawberry-flavored, milk-textured beverages are forever out for me. It nearly came out my nose.) Cold foods really soothed my tummy more than hot, and to this day, they still do. Weird.
In the wee hours of the morning of August 5, 2011, before I delivered our babies in the hospital, I was famished and attempted to eat a sandwich and yogurt from the nurse's station. I gagged on the sandwich, but kept the yogurt down. (Good thing, too...it didn't count against me for anesthesia during my D&C seven hours later.)
Once I'd recovered enough from my delivery and D&C, I realized I was starving, really, really starving. We ordered food from the menu provided, and I ate like it was my last meal. Yep, morning sickness was gone, gone, gone.
That was one of the few meals I actually enjoyed for the next 8 or 9 months. I ate because I had to in the first three or four weeks of grieving, whatever was available and easy. Paul was the same. (The babylost tend to lack the energy or motivation to prepare meals, let alone eat them. Plus, it's hard to care about nutrition when you'd much rather die.) Later, we started eating the majority of our meals out, as is common for grieving parents (who have the means to do so). We would have frequent standoffs over dinner (we would switch parts about every other day):
P: "What sounds good for dinner?"
A: "Nothing. I don't know."
P: "Any ideas?"
*crickets*
P: "How about x, y, z, 1, 2..."
A: "No..."
This could interaction could last an hour or more, by which time we were truly eating our own stomachs and really crabby. I hated dinner time during those months.
Thankfully, that has mostly passed now. A few months ago I discovered Pinterest, and started pinning jillions of recipes that looked yummy, and that got me off my duff and cooking for us. Paul, too. We're doing much better in that department now.
But...
During the last year, we've also both been doing terrible things to our bodies with our eating. Way too much fast food, too often, mindless, emotions-numbing snacking, overeating, etc. It's not been good. I saw a picture of myself recently that really disgusted me, as if I wasn't already disgusted enough. That was it, the final motivation.
I joined Weight Watchers Online six weeks ago, and have lost 12 pounds. (This puts me at 6 pounds under my pre-pregnancy weight, for reference.) My goal is to get back to what I weighed when I met Paul...7 years and (now, yay, me!) 18 pounds ago. So far I love it. I'm starting to feel good about myself and my body again. I've stopped punishing my body - and myself - for the last 11 months, for my body's failure of our greatest wish, and for my inability to conceive since. Monday I will go to work without the Bella Band that has been a fixture of my wardrobe since May 2011, the month I conceived. That in and of itself is freaking amazing.
I'm certainly not bikini-ready (that would require me to shave my legs, anyway, and anyone who knows me well knows there's about a snowball's chance in Hell of that happening), but I think I'll be able to walk into my 20-year high school reunion in a couple of weeks without the shame and self-loathing I've been carrying around the last year. *That* is an accomplishment.
I used to love food. I've never been a picky eater, although there have always been a few things I haven't enjoyed and/or have avoided like the plague (including bologna, liver or other organ meats, veal (on principle - this has been true since junior high or high school), Brussels sprouts (except with bacon!), and pan fried oysters, ew!). I like to cook, I like others to cook for me, I like to dine out...I'm pretty easy.
And then I got pregnant.
And plagued with all-day morning sickness, from 5 weeks 2 days pregnant through nearly the end of my pregnancy.
And (as I've mentioned before)...I started puking. This escalated from puking maybe once every two or three days to puking once a day to puking twice a day, usually right before (but sometimes after) a meal.
Fun? Hell no. I was miserable. Miserable, miserable, miserable. I once, at work, while sitting on the toilet peeing, got the very sudden urge to puke and congratulated myself all day for making it right between my legs into the toilet bowl without getting any on me or anything else. That only worked one time. I did plenty of puking at work. (Paul didn't catch me until the last week of the pregnancy...but he heard about it plenty!)
With my misery, nausea and puking came a total lack of appetite. This was problematic, because with twins, you're supposed to gain 50 (!) pounds during the pregnancy, ideally the first 24 during the first 24 weeks of gestation. To do that, I was supposed to consume 100 grams of protein per day. Obviously, this was a big problem. By the time I delivered, I had just made it back to my pre-pregnancy weight.
In time, the only things I could stomach (literally) with any regularity were lemonade (lots), ginger ale, Saltines, Marie Callender's frozen chicken pot pies (once or twice per day, no joke!), some soup, milk occasionally, and chocolate Ensure Plus bottled shakes (my main source of protein). (A note on the Ensure Plus...vanilla is pretty gag worthy, but I once barfed up an entire strawberry Ensure moments after finishing it, and now strawberry-flavored, milk-textured beverages are forever out for me. It nearly came out my nose.) Cold foods really soothed my tummy more than hot, and to this day, they still do. Weird.
In the wee hours of the morning of August 5, 2011, before I delivered our babies in the hospital, I was famished and attempted to eat a sandwich and yogurt from the nurse's station. I gagged on the sandwich, but kept the yogurt down. (Good thing, too...it didn't count against me for anesthesia during my D&C seven hours later.)
Once I'd recovered enough from my delivery and D&C, I realized I was starving, really, really starving. We ordered food from the menu provided, and I ate like it was my last meal. Yep, morning sickness was gone, gone, gone.
That was one of the few meals I actually enjoyed for the next 8 or 9 months. I ate because I had to in the first three or four weeks of grieving, whatever was available and easy. Paul was the same. (The babylost tend to lack the energy or motivation to prepare meals, let alone eat them. Plus, it's hard to care about nutrition when you'd much rather die.) Later, we started eating the majority of our meals out, as is common for grieving parents (who have the means to do so). We would have frequent standoffs over dinner (we would switch parts about every other day):
P: "What sounds good for dinner?"
A: "Nothing. I don't know."
P: "Any ideas?"
*crickets*
P: "How about x, y, z, 1, 2..."
A: "No..."
This could interaction could last an hour or more, by which time we were truly eating our own stomachs and really crabby. I hated dinner time during those months.
Thankfully, that has mostly passed now. A few months ago I discovered Pinterest, and started pinning jillions of recipes that looked yummy, and that got me off my duff and cooking for us. Paul, too. We're doing much better in that department now.
But...
During the last year, we've also both been doing terrible things to our bodies with our eating. Way too much fast food, too often, mindless, emotions-numbing snacking, overeating, etc. It's not been good. I saw a picture of myself recently that really disgusted me, as if I wasn't already disgusted enough. That was it, the final motivation.
I joined Weight Watchers Online six weeks ago, and have lost 12 pounds. (This puts me at 6 pounds under my pre-pregnancy weight, for reference.) My goal is to get back to what I weighed when I met Paul...7 years and (now, yay, me!) 18 pounds ago. So far I love it. I'm starting to feel good about myself and my body again. I've stopped punishing my body - and myself - for the last 11 months, for my body's failure of our greatest wish, and for my inability to conceive since. Monday I will go to work without the Bella Band that has been a fixture of my wardrobe since May 2011, the month I conceived. That in and of itself is freaking amazing.
I'm certainly not bikini-ready (that would require me to shave my legs, anyway, and anyone who knows me well knows there's about a snowball's chance in Hell of that happening), but I think I'll be able to walk into my 20-year high school reunion in a couple of weeks without the shame and self-loathing I've been carrying around the last year. *That* is an accomplishment.
Saturday, July 21, 2012
Speed
Paul and I were talking last night about how quickly time is going by. Folks always say that the older we get, the faster time goes, but I think for those of us who lost our babies, there's an additional speed factor that's added onto the normal pace, and that's the speed at which we gain distance from our losses.
This coming week contains two dates that are hurting my heart: July 25th, the one year anniversary of my announcement at work of my (by then quite obvious) pregnancy at 12 weeks 5 days, and July 26th, the day we announced our pregnancy to the world and gave family the green light to spread the word (they'd been sitting on the news since Father's Day weekend in June).
I think the reason those dates hurt so much, aside from being yet two more little anniversaries in this horrifying year, is that part of me still feels like losing the twins just 10 days after announcing our joy to the world at large is punishment for being so naive. Aliya's first abruption, which led to our early miscarriage scare and my subsequent bedrest, also totally felt like punishment. I mean, come on, it happened about 14 hours after we announced our pregnancy to Paul's family around the campfire over Father's Day weekend. Share good news, get shit upon. Cause and effect, no? I know in my head it's just a dumb coincidence, but to my heart it certainly doesn't feel that way; it feels like a freaking punishment. Still...over a year later. (And yes, if we're ever so lucky as to conceive again, sharing our news will be a major mind fuck for both of us.)
The one year anniversary will be here before we know it - two weeks from tomorrow. I'm feeling more an more uncomfortable, and yet praying that once we pass that date, we'll feel a sense of relief. It's just so, so hard to fathom that we've been missing our babies for a year, babies who should be just over six months old right now. Babies I can't even imagine at that age in my mind's eye.
Earlier this week, Paul and I ate dinner out and then engaged in one of our favorite pasttimes: walking the docks and looking at boats at the local marina. We've been doing these walks since Paul fiirst moved in with me in Tacoma back in 2006. We hadn't done it but once or twice in the last year. I realized that this is something I'd really looked forward to doing with our babies, one of only a few things I actually could imagine doing with our babies when I was pregnant. The other two were going to the new Hands On Children's Museum, slated to open in November (we've been watching the construction as it's progressed each time we've walked the docks) and taking our children boating when they got older. Yeah, you really did read that right...those are the ONLY things I could imagine doing while I was pregnant. I couldn't picture diaper changes, or feedings, or holidays, or sending them off to school (other than they'd have been one grade behind another set of local twins I know in the same schools).
Part of me wonders whether I instinctively knew Aliya and Bennett were not ours to keep. I will always wonder.
This coming week contains two dates that are hurting my heart: July 25th, the one year anniversary of my announcement at work of my (by then quite obvious) pregnancy at 12 weeks 5 days, and July 26th, the day we announced our pregnancy to the world and gave family the green light to spread the word (they'd been sitting on the news since Father's Day weekend in June).
I think the reason those dates hurt so much, aside from being yet two more little anniversaries in this horrifying year, is that part of me still feels like losing the twins just 10 days after announcing our joy to the world at large is punishment for being so naive. Aliya's first abruption, which led to our early miscarriage scare and my subsequent bedrest, also totally felt like punishment. I mean, come on, it happened about 14 hours after we announced our pregnancy to Paul's family around the campfire over Father's Day weekend. Share good news, get shit upon. Cause and effect, no? I know in my head it's just a dumb coincidence, but to my heart it certainly doesn't feel that way; it feels like a freaking punishment. Still...over a year later. (And yes, if we're ever so lucky as to conceive again, sharing our news will be a major mind fuck for both of us.)
The one year anniversary will be here before we know it - two weeks from tomorrow. I'm feeling more an more uncomfortable, and yet praying that once we pass that date, we'll feel a sense of relief. It's just so, so hard to fathom that we've been missing our babies for a year, babies who should be just over six months old right now. Babies I can't even imagine at that age in my mind's eye.
Earlier this week, Paul and I ate dinner out and then engaged in one of our favorite pasttimes: walking the docks and looking at boats at the local marina. We've been doing these walks since Paul fiirst moved in with me in Tacoma back in 2006. We hadn't done it but once or twice in the last year. I realized that this is something I'd really looked forward to doing with our babies, one of only a few things I actually could imagine doing with our babies when I was pregnant. The other two were going to the new Hands On Children's Museum, slated to open in November (we've been watching the construction as it's progressed each time we've walked the docks) and taking our children boating when they got older. Yeah, you really did read that right...those are the ONLY things I could imagine doing while I was pregnant. I couldn't picture diaper changes, or feedings, or holidays, or sending them off to school (other than they'd have been one grade behind another set of local twins I know in the same schools).
Part of me wonders whether I instinctively knew Aliya and Bennett were not ours to keep. I will always wonder.
Thursday, July 12, 2012
Apprehensive
There's so much going on, so much on our plates (especially mine), and yet I feel unable to put it all down coherently on the page. It's a big, messy jumble in my head, a massive run-on sentence when I speak of it all out loud...ideas and issues and timelines running into one another.
Here it is in a nutshell (bullet point style):
Here it is in a nutshell (bullet point style):
- I did the Clomid Challenge test last week, and had my anti-Mullerian hormone (AMH) retested. I expected to fail miserably. I had the tests done partly so we could say that yes, we'd had them done (in case another clinic requires it), but also to help Paul hop on board with the donor egg thing. I truly expected to fail both tests miserably.
- I'll be darned if the results weren't really that bad. My combined FSH (the sum of the two draws) was 16.2...not great, but not the miserable failure I was hoping for. And that AMH? It actually went up from last time. I'm now at 0.8, which is Low Normal. I can no longer claim "Poor Prognosis". That old 0.28 result was blown clear out of the water.
- I suspect that my husband somehow knew this would be the case, and that could explain why he hasn't been gung ho about donor eggs like I have been.
- I was supposed to have had my repeat hysteroscopy this past Monday, but it turns out that Dr. M. has never done an operative hysteroscopy in his office and wasn't prepared to do so (and Lord knows neither Paul nor I want ME to be the guinea pig!) Said procedure must be done in the hospital under general anesthesia.
- All was not lost, though...I also needed to have a PAP done within the past year, and my last one was a year ago mid-August, so Dr. M. did that along with my pre-op exam. Killed a different bird than expected, but hey, it works.
- Um, is my husband the only one who has not only seen his wife's cervix - like actually seen it (eek!) - but also witnessed her having a PAP and breast exam? Anyone? I'm sure he'll be traumatized for life with all the female business appointments he's now been involved in.
- I had to push a little bit to get Dr. M's staff to schedule the appointment for me, since they didn't believe it could be done this week. I insisted...if not this week, then we'd have to wait a full month. Miraculously, they called yesterday morning and got me an appointment for tomorrow night.
- I am having surgery tomorrow night. This is only the second surgery of my life. The first was my D&C for retained placentas...consented to because I understood, through the drugs and the shock and that f*cking oxytocin coursing through my new mother (of dead babies) body, that it had to be done. This is the first ever full surgery I've ever fully, coherently consented to. OMG.
- I am forbidden to eat anything after midnight or drink anything after 6:00 a.m. I don't check into the hospital until 3:00 p.m. My surgery isn't until 5:00 p.m. That's going to be a very long, miserable day...
- Topped off by the fact that I have to shove 200 mg of Cytotec up my hoohaw at 8:00 a.m. This is the same drug that was used to induce my labor. I have issues around this, for obvious reasons...not the least being holy crap, Cytotec again, nearly a year after a Cytotec-induced horror? (Also, Cytotec causes cramping as it dilates the cervix...last time I had a Dilaudid pump, but this time I get nothin'. I'm hoping the low, single dose means cramping won't be bad.)
- Can you imagine how much fun I'm going to be tomorrow? I mean, starved for 17 hours, dreaming of liquids I can't drink for 9 hours, and a cramp- and flashback-inducing drug in my system? Oy. (I will be staying home from work tomorrow. I figure that's best for everyone involved.)
- Also, this impending surgery, fear of the unknown (and Cytotec) has brought my grieving up full force the last couple of days. I also met a new twin babyloss mama tonight in support group, and that fed right in...I cried through her whole story. I hate that anyone else has to go through this (even though babies die every.single.day), and yet I was glad I was there to offer some experience and resources.
- Side note: Paul's not here. He's in Alaska. His flight should land at SeaTac as I am checking into the short stay surgical department. He plans to drive straight to the hospital, and I'm assuming he'll drive us home, but with baggage claim, having to get his truck in Tukwila and then battling Puget Sound Friday night traffic, I'm betting he won't arrive until 6:30 or so (when I should be in the recovery rom). (Our sister-in-law, bless her heart (hi Amanda!!) is driving me there and will wait in the waiting room.)
- I had an appointment Wednesday with a local naturopath who specializes in fertility and got a surprise referral to a reproductive endocrinologist (RE) at University of Washington. I suspected - and was right - that Paul would be happy about this. We'll probably go for a consult there, given my newly improved/not awful ovarian reserve test results, and see what they say about IVF using MY eggs.
- I'm back on the fence...donor eggs are a much surer bet (although there's no 100% guarantee that anything we do or try will get us a take home baby), but Paul's more interested in having our genetic children, not just his, and now there's a possibility, so...yeah. What was black and white for me is now very, very gray.
- I don't like gray.
Wednesday, July 4, 2012
A day early
In some ways I feel like I'm writing this post early, on the eve of the 11-month anniversary of losing our babies, but at the same time, no. Today is 11 months since my water broke. Eleven months since the very worst day of our lives.
The last month has not been fun. Between me battling my own depression demons and Paul's coming to light (which renders me helpless...the man is my rock, my always-upbeat partner...he can't be down!), very painful and difficult conversations about the next steps in our journey to a take-home baby, a couple of painful fights (one in front of our friends in support group, which was embarrassing until I heard later that they'd already been there, done that), the last couple of weeks have been especially tough.
And...
Next month will be here before we know it. The enormity of a full year of grieving feels like a meteor making a slow fall to Earth, the two of us watching, sure it's going to land right on top of us. I can't believe I've survived a year of this. Truly. I expected - and even wished for - this crushing grief to kill me dead. I had nothing to live for, no reason to be here, except for my husband. And still, I got up most days, showered and dragged myself to work, to errands, to meetings. The routine finally got to be routine, and the clouds lifted a little bit more with each passing week, letting a little more sunlight in. I've had some fun, some full-blown belly laughs, and fewer and fewer tears.
Am I still broken? Yes, inside, but showing it outside less. Am I still angry? Yes, often, but not quite as often. Can I believe, still, that this is my life?
No.
I spent some time in the last 11 months beating myself up for turning into a better person because of this, not being more humane or more loving or more...I don't know, something other than me. I read a lot of babyloss blogs, and there are always a few who write about being better than they were for the loss of their child. I'm just me...trying to navigate this loss, this life, trying to clutch onto that elusive hope that we will have at least one healthy take home baby. My head spins with wondering how this week's test results will turn out as my body continues to be in the way of getting pregnant again (Clomid Challenge test, a repeat AMH draw, and a repeat hysteroscopy for those of you in the know), wondering whether Paul really means yes when he says he's now open to donor egg IVF (something I've already come to terms with and am ready to undertake), how we're going to come up with a satisfactory answer to psychologists' questions about our nearly 5-year infertility struggle and the loss of our babies when we go through the donor egg process. It's just a lot. My head is full, and yet I feel like I have nothing to write about. I don't know what's up with that. Maybe it's just a slump. I can't stay in those dark places too long. It's dangerous.
Rather than spend too much time enjoying my pity party, I've been working on doing little things I enjoy, and tackling chores I don't, like pulling weeds (actually, some weeds are hugely gratifying to pull, but the vast numbers make this chore overwhelming...and given we pulled very few over the last 11 months, the suckers have a distinct advantage). Somehow, picking up and focusing on the little things helps keep my mind unstuck from the quagmire of sadness and what if's and should be's. That's a good thing...
The last month has not been fun. Between me battling my own depression demons and Paul's coming to light (which renders me helpless...the man is my rock, my always-upbeat partner...he can't be down!), very painful and difficult conversations about the next steps in our journey to a take-home baby, a couple of painful fights (one in front of our friends in support group, which was embarrassing until I heard later that they'd already been there, done that), the last couple of weeks have been especially tough.
And...
Next month will be here before we know it. The enormity of a full year of grieving feels like a meteor making a slow fall to Earth, the two of us watching, sure it's going to land right on top of us. I can't believe I've survived a year of this. Truly. I expected - and even wished for - this crushing grief to kill me dead. I had nothing to live for, no reason to be here, except for my husband. And still, I got up most days, showered and dragged myself to work, to errands, to meetings. The routine finally got to be routine, and the clouds lifted a little bit more with each passing week, letting a little more sunlight in. I've had some fun, some full-blown belly laughs, and fewer and fewer tears.
Am I still broken? Yes, inside, but showing it outside less. Am I still angry? Yes, often, but not quite as often. Can I believe, still, that this is my life?
No.
I spent some time in the last 11 months beating myself up for turning into a better person because of this, not being more humane or more loving or more...I don't know, something other than me. I read a lot of babyloss blogs, and there are always a few who write about being better than they were for the loss of their child. I'm just me...trying to navigate this loss, this life, trying to clutch onto that elusive hope that we will have at least one healthy take home baby. My head spins with wondering how this week's test results will turn out as my body continues to be in the way of getting pregnant again (Clomid Challenge test, a repeat AMH draw, and a repeat hysteroscopy for those of you in the know), wondering whether Paul really means yes when he says he's now open to donor egg IVF (something I've already come to terms with and am ready to undertake), how we're going to come up with a satisfactory answer to psychologists' questions about our nearly 5-year infertility struggle and the loss of our babies when we go through the donor egg process. It's just a lot. My head is full, and yet I feel like I have nothing to write about. I don't know what's up with that. Maybe it's just a slump. I can't stay in those dark places too long. It's dangerous.
Rather than spend too much time enjoying my pity party, I've been working on doing little things I enjoy, and tackling chores I don't, like pulling weeds (actually, some weeds are hugely gratifying to pull, but the vast numbers make this chore overwhelming...and given we pulled very few over the last 11 months, the suckers have a distinct advantage). Somehow, picking up and focusing on the little things helps keep my mind unstuck from the quagmire of sadness and what if's and should be's. That's a good thing...
Thursday, June 14, 2012
Father's Day
Sunday is Father's Day. I knew this - I saw it on my calendar and made a note to call my dad - but I overlooked my husband. Now my mind is spinning as I try to think of the best way to honor him this weekend.
Grieving the death of a child or children is different for men than it is women, and at the top of the list of reasons are social constraints and expectations. People have asked Paul many times over the past 10 months how I'm doing, but 99% of those people haven't bothered to ask him how HE'S doing, whether they're in (or used to be in) our closest circles or are further removed.
He might not tell the truth, even if asked. After all, our societal norms dictate that men be the strong ones, keep real, honest feelings close to the vest, and in no circumstances cry.
I overheard a snippet of conversation he was having on the phone the other night, and it jolted me awake. See, this time last year, we were pregnant, full of more excitement than fear. His first Father's Day he was a father-to-be, full of anticipation for how the rest of his Father's Days might be. We were 7 weeks pregnant and had seen our tiny embryos on ultrasound and heard their heartbeats just days before...and had combatted real, soul-crushing fear two days after as I gushed and we learned of Aliya's placental abruption, and then anxiety coupled with relief as another scan showed them alive and fine. We were parents before our babies were born.
Paul never guessed this Father's Day would feel like this for him: full of dread and apprehension, longing for what was and what we're missing, and struggling with this grief that, in some ways, seems to be escalating.
I can't fix this for him...no one can. I can hope that those who love him step outside the societal norms and let him know they're thinking of him on Father's Day. After all, he is very much a father.
Meanwhile, I'll try to find the right way to express that as his children's mother.
Grieving the death of a child or children is different for men than it is women, and at the top of the list of reasons are social constraints and expectations. People have asked Paul many times over the past 10 months how I'm doing, but 99% of those people haven't bothered to ask him how HE'S doing, whether they're in (or used to be in) our closest circles or are further removed.
He might not tell the truth, even if asked. After all, our societal norms dictate that men be the strong ones, keep real, honest feelings close to the vest, and in no circumstances cry.
I overheard a snippet of conversation he was having on the phone the other night, and it jolted me awake. See, this time last year, we were pregnant, full of more excitement than fear. His first Father's Day he was a father-to-be, full of anticipation for how the rest of his Father's Days might be. We were 7 weeks pregnant and had seen our tiny embryos on ultrasound and heard their heartbeats just days before...and had combatted real, soul-crushing fear two days after as I gushed and we learned of Aliya's placental abruption, and then anxiety coupled with relief as another scan showed them alive and fine. We were parents before our babies were born.
Paul never guessed this Father's Day would feel like this for him: full of dread and apprehension, longing for what was and what we're missing, and struggling with this grief that, in some ways, seems to be escalating.
I can't fix this for him...no one can. I can hope that those who love him step outside the societal norms and let him know they're thinking of him on Father's Day. After all, he is very much a father.
Meanwhile, I'll try to find the right way to express that as his children's mother.
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
Fried
I know, I know, the 10-month anniversary of our loss passed Monday and yesterday, and I didn't write about it. I thought about it, Lord knows, but I was incapable of forming coherent thoughts, let alone putting them in writing.
Our babies feel so far away, and I think that's what hurts my heart the most right now. So much time has passed, and yet so little. I know in my head that five years, ten years, twenty years down the road, this will still hurt. I know that in my head, but my heart is a different story. It's unfathomable. My counselor likes to say, from time to time, "Sometimes, this is more than we can bear." It's so true, and yet it must be born for the rest of our lives. It will not go away, this pain...it will lessen, but will always be there. That's a lot to take. A lot to bear.
I finally, silently, grabbed all the picture frame stuff I've had stored in a bag and decorated a frame for the babies' photos, one that we now see many times a day as it sits on my great-grandparents' antique curly maple dresser at the foot of our bed. Somehow, it doesn't seem right or finished, but still, it's there, on display, finally, the original photos are now double-safely ensconced in our fire safe inside the gun safe. That part I feel good about...and the part where both Paul and I can look at our babies any time we want without having to unlock them and then put them back.
I shed tears both Monday and yesterday, but today I feel just discombobulated, dull, and weepy on occasion. Paul reported that he had a bad day, not for any particular reason, but when I asked if it was anniversary-related, he said, "Yeah, it probably is."
Tonight feels like one of those nights when I can't even fathom eating, let alone fixing anything to eat. That whole food thing is another post for another day...pregnancy and grief really ruined my relationship with food. I think what we both really want is to be kids again, happy to eat whatever our moms put on our plates in front of us...to be cared for and carefree.
Our babies feel so far away, and I think that's what hurts my heart the most right now. So much time has passed, and yet so little. I know in my head that five years, ten years, twenty years down the road, this will still hurt. I know that in my head, but my heart is a different story. It's unfathomable. My counselor likes to say, from time to time, "Sometimes, this is more than we can bear." It's so true, and yet it must be born for the rest of our lives. It will not go away, this pain...it will lessen, but will always be there. That's a lot to take. A lot to bear.
I finally, silently, grabbed all the picture frame stuff I've had stored in a bag and decorated a frame for the babies' photos, one that we now see many times a day as it sits on my great-grandparents' antique curly maple dresser at the foot of our bed. Somehow, it doesn't seem right or finished, but still, it's there, on display, finally, the original photos are now double-safely ensconced in our fire safe inside the gun safe. That part I feel good about...and the part where both Paul and I can look at our babies any time we want without having to unlock them and then put them back.
I shed tears both Monday and yesterday, but today I feel just discombobulated, dull, and weepy on occasion. Paul reported that he had a bad day, not for any particular reason, but when I asked if it was anniversary-related, he said, "Yeah, it probably is."
Tonight feels like one of those nights when I can't even fathom eating, let alone fixing anything to eat. That whole food thing is another post for another day...pregnancy and grief really ruined my relationship with food. I think what we both really want is to be kids again, happy to eat whatever our moms put on our plates in front of us...to be cared for and carefree.
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
Better left unsaid
I alluded to it in my last post, but our appointment Friday was a disaster...like, the kind I wish we could erase from our memories. It was bad enough that I went through my old posts and stripped out the clinic name. If I was an Italian nona I'd spit on the ground, as if to say, "Never again."
We were early, having left home at 12:30 p.m. to beat any potential Memorial Day weekend traffic heading south, so we arrived with an hour to spare. We hadn't eaten, so we found the cafeteria at the adjacent hospital and had a quick lunch.
The second we stepped onto the floor where the clinic was located, we were instantly confused. There were no windows in the corridor, just plaques on the wall to indicate which business was behind each solid metal door. Not terribly friendly.
Inside, it was very dimly lit and sort off-putting. The walls were painted in heavy browns and blues with sterile artwork on the walls and Newsweek and Time magazines on the coffee tables...no images of women and children, no pregnancy books, nothing to suggest we were anywhere other than perhaps a proctologist's office.
We didn't wait long before we were ushered back by a nurse to, "Stand right here, oh, you can sit in this chair so I can take your blood pressure, no, wait, I need your weight first, ok, now you can sit, oops, I need a photo of the two of you for your chart, stand together right here." WTH?? Get it straight, lady! It turns out, after all that, the doctor wasn't ready for us so we were sent back into the unfriendly waiting area to wait a little more.
Finally, the doctor came to get us. It went downhill fast from there. Between his apparent need to debate why he thinks we lost the twins; to his overt attempts to discredit most everything Dr. M. has done and said the past two years ("I see your doctor has your medication dosages here in this little handwritten calendar [waves hands around dismissively], but why don't you tell me what your dosages are...this really doesn't make sense to me..."); to his snide remarks about how they have patients fly in from Dublin, Ireland and China so several drives per week to and from Portland really shouldn't be too much trouble for Paul and me, to his overall arrogance...let's just say I was seriously pissed off within 10 minutes of being in his office. (I'm still not very good about standing up for myself in the moment...if I'd had my wits about me, I would have said, during his goings on about the twins, "You know what, today is the one-year anniversary of our positive blood pregnancy test...it's a little tender, so if you wouldn't mind, please move onto another topic. And, no, we DON'T need a third (actually, fourth) opinion by a Portland MFM. Give me a break.")
Personalities aside, we did learn some things:
In all, the whole visit left a very, very bad taste in our mouths. We had to stop and pay the $350 consultation fee on our way out and I could not get that over with fast enough. The more I think about the whole thing, the more upset I am. Paul left completely overwhelmed, mostly because he needs time to process information and didn't come into the appointment with as much background on IVF as I already have. He awoke the next morning and said, "You know, the more I think about it, the more I think he was really just trying to say they don't need our money." Exactly. Seventh in the nation for my age group absolutely does not trump asshole-ishness.
So, where does this leave us, besides wanting to run, crying, back to Dr. M.? I know, that sounds insane, but really, wow. Anyway, I will be calling Dr. M.'s office this week to find out whether they do the Clomid challenge and how much it costs (it's bound to be less expensive there). I purchased the book, Making Babies: A Proven 3-Month Program for Maximum Fertility a couple of months ago after it was recommended by my hypnotherapist, and we've decided to take the next three months to try and get my body into tiptop shape using the techniques in the book, which include both Western and Chinese medicine along with dietary changes. If the Clomid challenge isn't too expensive, I'll have it done soon, otherwise, we'll wait until the three months are up. That way, if my FSH does come back high, we'll know we did all we can to improve it, and hopefully the decision to adopt or use donor eggs will come more easily. I'll also have Dr. M. repeat the hysteroscopy, and if he can't remove the polyps in his office, then I'll schedule surgery closer to home.
Past that...I think we'll be looking for a third clinic option. Dr. M. doesn't do ICSI ("Oh, I didn't know there were still clinics around the U.S. who didn't do ICSI," said Dr. Asshole, as if to say how disturbing/charming that was). Now that the Portland clinic is out, that leaves clinics in Seattle and surrounds (and possibly OHSU in Portland). We can cross that bridge when we come to it.
It would have almost less disappointing to hear, "Sorry, it's too late to help you" as my dream predicted than experience the sheer arrogance and dismissal we got at our appointment.
We were early, having left home at 12:30 p.m. to beat any potential Memorial Day weekend traffic heading south, so we arrived with an hour to spare. We hadn't eaten, so we found the cafeteria at the adjacent hospital and had a quick lunch.
The second we stepped onto the floor where the clinic was located, we were instantly confused. There were no windows in the corridor, just plaques on the wall to indicate which business was behind each solid metal door. Not terribly friendly.
Inside, it was very dimly lit and sort off-putting. The walls were painted in heavy browns and blues with sterile artwork on the walls and Newsweek and Time magazines on the coffee tables...no images of women and children, no pregnancy books, nothing to suggest we were anywhere other than perhaps a proctologist's office.
We didn't wait long before we were ushered back by a nurse to, "Stand right here, oh, you can sit in this chair so I can take your blood pressure, no, wait, I need your weight first, ok, now you can sit, oops, I need a photo of the two of you for your chart, stand together right here." WTH?? Get it straight, lady! It turns out, after all that, the doctor wasn't ready for us so we were sent back into the unfriendly waiting area to wait a little more.
Finally, the doctor came to get us. It went downhill fast from there. Between his apparent need to debate why he thinks we lost the twins; to his overt attempts to discredit most everything Dr. M. has done and said the past two years ("I see your doctor has your medication dosages here in this little handwritten calendar [waves hands around dismissively], but why don't you tell me what your dosages are...this really doesn't make sense to me..."); to his snide remarks about how they have patients fly in from Dublin, Ireland and China so several drives per week to and from Portland really shouldn't be too much trouble for Paul and me, to his overall arrogance...let's just say I was seriously pissed off within 10 minutes of being in his office. (I'm still not very good about standing up for myself in the moment...if I'd had my wits about me, I would have said, during his goings on about the twins, "You know what, today is the one-year anniversary of our positive blood pregnancy test...it's a little tender, so if you wouldn't mind, please move onto another topic. And, no, we DON'T need a third (actually, fourth) opinion by a Portland MFM. Give me a break.")
Personalities aside, we did learn some things:
- I need to have a Clomid challenge test done to check my follicle stimulating hormone (FSH) levels. This involves an FSH blood test at day 3 of my cycle, five days of Clomid pills to "test drive" my ovaries on days 5-9, followed by a repeat FSH test. If the results come back high, I cannot do IVF with my own eggs. Period, end of story. They charge $500 for this test, and I have to do it in Portland (i.e. two back-and-forth trips).
- I need a repeat hysteroscopy done, and if there are still polyps, I must have them surgically removed or they will not do IVF at all, with my eggs or anyone else's.
- I am too old to qualify for a multi-cycle discount, so we would need to pay the $15,000-16,000 per cycle as we go. However, I will qualify for the discount if we use donor eggs (less risky for the clinic because the success rates are so much better). The quoted amount (apparently, although we have nothing in writing) includes intercytoplasmic sperm injection (ICSI) - which is a must between my assumed poor response and Paul's sperm issues - and the freezing of any leftover embryos.
- DHEA is "a thing of the past" and he doesn't like to see his patients on it. The CoQ10 I started taking two weeks ago is fine, but I should discontinue the DHEA that Dr. M. prescribed.
- It's "doubtful" the Metformin has had anything to do with my poor response, but since I don't have PCOS, it's not necessary for me to take it.
- Dr. M. didn't stim me correctly for IVF, in his opinion. With patients like me, you have to start with the maximum dose right out of the gate, not step up. (That's good information to pass along to Dr. M. if we decide to go back...maybe he can do something different.)
In all, the whole visit left a very, very bad taste in our mouths. We had to stop and pay the $350 consultation fee on our way out and I could not get that over with fast enough. The more I think about the whole thing, the more upset I am. Paul left completely overwhelmed, mostly because he needs time to process information and didn't come into the appointment with as much background on IVF as I already have. He awoke the next morning and said, "You know, the more I think about it, the more I think he was really just trying to say they don't need our money." Exactly. Seventh in the nation for my age group absolutely does not trump asshole-ishness.
So, where does this leave us, besides wanting to run, crying, back to Dr. M.? I know, that sounds insane, but really, wow. Anyway, I will be calling Dr. M.'s office this week to find out whether they do the Clomid challenge and how much it costs (it's bound to be less expensive there). I purchased the book, Making Babies: A Proven 3-Month Program for Maximum Fertility a couple of months ago after it was recommended by my hypnotherapist, and we've decided to take the next three months to try and get my body into tiptop shape using the techniques in the book, which include both Western and Chinese medicine along with dietary changes. If the Clomid challenge isn't too expensive, I'll have it done soon, otherwise, we'll wait until the three months are up. That way, if my FSH does come back high, we'll know we did all we can to improve it, and hopefully the decision to adopt or use donor eggs will come more easily. I'll also have Dr. M. repeat the hysteroscopy, and if he can't remove the polyps in his office, then I'll schedule surgery closer to home.
Past that...I think we'll be looking for a third clinic option. Dr. M. doesn't do ICSI ("Oh, I didn't know there were still clinics around the U.S. who didn't do ICSI," said Dr. Asshole, as if to say how disturbing/charming that was). Now that the Portland clinic is out, that leaves clinics in Seattle and surrounds (and possibly OHSU in Portland). We can cross that bridge when we come to it.
It would have almost less disappointing to hear, "Sorry, it's too late to help you" as my dream predicted than experience the sheer arrogance and dismissal we got at our appointment.
Saturday, May 26, 2012
Right where I am 2012: 9 months, 3 weeks, 0 days
Angie over at Still Life With Circles started an annual blog project called Right Where I Am last year, and I thought I'd participate. The point is to write about how you are as a babyloss mama in grief today, not yesterday, not tomorrow, but right now.
*******
Right now, I'm physically sore and exhausted after Paul and I finally rallied and got started on a big project we've had planned since before we conceived the twins: the creation of a new raised garden bed area. The project has turned out to be much more involved and difficult, physically (for me, at least) than expected...although the fact that I busted my ass this morning with my 8-year old push mower, trying to tame our front lawn (if you can call it that) and flower beds (no kidding, I mowed my flower bed, that's how country I am) hasn't helped anything. I have a blister, sore feet and sore muscles to show for it...and a sense of starting something, accomplishing a part of something, a feat neither of us has been able to pull off since we lost Aliya and Bennett last summer. We've been stuck in this grief- and depression-induced inertia, with the best of intentions, of course, but no energy or motivation to actually get started. On anything.
So, this is something we started, and can finish, hopefully this weekend. That's huge. And when we're done? Ah...yes, more time to grieve. More time to question and ponder. We're probably staying busy today to try and blot out the bad feelings we earned yesterday at our big IVF clinic consultation. Suffice it to say, it did not go well, more because of the vibes we got than anything. I'll write more about that in a later post.
As far as grieving today, though, I'm in a very ok place, and I hope that Paul is, too. We've had some laughs, got really, really dirty (aside: don't make fun of your hubby's dirt half-mustache when you aren't aware you have a giant dirt smudge on your cheek yourself, smarty pants!). He's still outside, trying to tame our massively overgrown backyard, so tall in spots that the dog seriously doesn't have to hardly squat to pee! It's really that bad. (I think he might have mowed the patio, too. It would figure.)
That's where we are...living, or trying to, grieving in spurts, trying to get a fire lit under our feet so we can get something done. We're not supposed to write about how we were feeling before, but you know if you read this post. I'm much, much better now. My counselor pointed out, as I noted how deep my low trough was compared to where I emerged late last week and still remain, that while anti-depressants are certainly a tool we can look into if I need it, "Really, it's just grief, sweetie...it's all just grief."
Amen.
*******
(I just looked outside to find my husband mowing the patio, as expected. As I watched, he ran over the dog's Nylabone and shot the thing in three pieces three different directions. One piece actually landed in our new garden, many, many feet away (like 40+). Progress, not perfection!)
*******
Right now, I'm physically sore and exhausted after Paul and I finally rallied and got started on a big project we've had planned since before we conceived the twins: the creation of a new raised garden bed area. The project has turned out to be much more involved and difficult, physically (for me, at least) than expected...although the fact that I busted my ass this morning with my 8-year old push mower, trying to tame our front lawn (if you can call it that) and flower beds (no kidding, I mowed my flower bed, that's how country I am) hasn't helped anything. I have a blister, sore feet and sore muscles to show for it...and a sense of starting something, accomplishing a part of something, a feat neither of us has been able to pull off since we lost Aliya and Bennett last summer. We've been stuck in this grief- and depression-induced inertia, with the best of intentions, of course, but no energy or motivation to actually get started. On anything.
So, this is something we started, and can finish, hopefully this weekend. That's huge. And when we're done? Ah...yes, more time to grieve. More time to question and ponder. We're probably staying busy today to try and blot out the bad feelings we earned yesterday at our big IVF clinic consultation. Suffice it to say, it did not go well, more because of the vibes we got than anything. I'll write more about that in a later post.
As far as grieving today, though, I'm in a very ok place, and I hope that Paul is, too. We've had some laughs, got really, really dirty (aside: don't make fun of your hubby's dirt half-mustache when you aren't aware you have a giant dirt smudge on your cheek yourself, smarty pants!). He's still outside, trying to tame our massively overgrown backyard, so tall in spots that the dog seriously doesn't have to hardly squat to pee! It's really that bad. (I think he might have mowed the patio, too. It would figure.)
That's where we are...living, or trying to, grieving in spurts, trying to get a fire lit under our feet so we can get something done. We're not supposed to write about how we were feeling before, but you know if you read this post. I'm much, much better now. My counselor pointed out, as I noted how deep my low trough was compared to where I emerged late last week and still remain, that while anti-depressants are certainly a tool we can look into if I need it, "Really, it's just grief, sweetie...it's all just grief."
Amen.
*******
(I just looked outside to find my husband mowing the patio, as expected. As I watched, he ran over the dog's Nylabone and shot the thing in three pieces three different directions. One piece actually landed in our new garden, many, many feet away (like 40+). Progress, not perfection!)
Sunday, May 20, 2012
Past
I am currently sitting in my car, waiting while Paul gets a quick haircut at the shop of the little Asian barber he used when we lived in this city. I sit across the street from our old house, the 1910 Craftsman I bought as a single woman, one tiny room, tucked under the second story gable, where I planned to set up the nursery for the baby I'd planned to conceive -as a single woman - using IUI with donor sperm because I'd given up on finding love. The room had already been a nursery, painted in a beach theme with seagulls and beach balls and a puppy on its sand-colored walls.
Then I met Paul, we fell in love, married, remodeled the house and sold it, those nursery walls painted over with a sensible taupe.
Sitting here, waiting, always waiting, I am struck by how much everything has changed. Back then, life was pretty simple. Back then, we were eagerly trying to conceive our first child, unaware that 4.5 years later, where there was hope, there'd be heartbreak, no idea that infertility and babyloss were in our future.
So much has changed.
Then I met Paul, we fell in love, married, remodeled the house and sold it, those nursery walls painted over with a sensible taupe.
Sitting here, waiting, always waiting, I am struck by how much everything has changed. Back then, life was pretty simple. Back then, we were eagerly trying to conceive our first child, unaware that 4.5 years later, where there was hope, there'd be heartbreak, no idea that infertility and babyloss were in our future.
So much has changed.
Thursday, May 17, 2012
Waving the white flag
I have, in the last hour, come to the realization that my depression is getting to the point where talk therapy and acupuncture may not be helpful enough anymore. The daily burden I carry in my heart and thoughts has me underwater more often than not lately. While I'm no stranger to antidepressants, having taken them for 7 solid years during my 20s, I never thought I'd have to consider them again.
This is not something I take lightly. A dear friend, who has known me since junior high school, expressed surprise when I admitted several months ago how much I struggled with being on antidepressants back then, how inept I felt. She said I handled that time in my life with grace, which couldn't be less how I saw myself then.
Now is no different. In fact, it's probably worse. But I have to face the fact that I mostly feel like *I* am getting worse. I know we've been warned to expect 18-24 months of hard grieving for the loss of our twins, but I can't fathom plodding along for another 9-15 months the way I am now.
A search of Dr. Google indicated at least two meds are safe to use during ART and pregnancy. My counselor had surgery and has been out, so I'll have to wait until next week to talk this through with her.
It doesn't make me happy to consider meds again, but a) not much does make me happy right now, and b) I know that, as a tool, meds can help. I need to do what I can to help myself.
This is not something I take lightly. A dear friend, who has known me since junior high school, expressed surprise when I admitted several months ago how much I struggled with being on antidepressants back then, how inept I felt. She said I handled that time in my life with grace, which couldn't be less how I saw myself then.
Now is no different. In fact, it's probably worse. But I have to face the fact that I mostly feel like *I* am getting worse. I know we've been warned to expect 18-24 months of hard grieving for the loss of our twins, but I can't fathom plodding along for another 9-15 months the way I am now.
A search of Dr. Google indicated at least two meds are safe to use during ART and pregnancy. My counselor had surgery and has been out, so I'll have to wait until next week to talk this through with her.
It doesn't make me happy to consider meds again, but a) not much does make me happy right now, and b) I know that, as a tool, meds can help. I need to do what I can to help myself.
Sunday, May 6, 2012
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