Wednesday, November 14, 2012

Recovery: day 14

I'm lucky in that my fertility clinic is amazing in so many ways. It's clear that Dr. D cares very much. As does her staff. I get calls to make sure I'm healing and bad news (and good) never comes from a stranger. I'm also lucky that I usually don't have to wait for test results or call backs. I don't have to fight to be heard. I have access to my RE through direct email and her personal cell phone. My clinic is open on Saturdays and Sundays. I don't fit to their schedule, they fit to mine. I feel that these people are in this fight with me. They are just as invested. Not from a numbers perspective, but from their hearts.

A few days after my D&C my phone rang. I was expecting it; I'd been looking for that restricted call on my caller ID for days. The only bad thing about not having to wait, is that this kind of news rips open wounds that are still trying to heal. But I suppose, this happens even when you have to wait. There is no amount of good in hearing bad news.

I already knew that it this was going to be a chromosomal issue. The large yolk sac said so. What I didn't know was what caused it. But this time it was me. It was my egg. An extra chromosome 22 and totally incompatible with life. It was a very conclusive answer. I'm starting to understand what it feels like when the fault lies squarely on your own shoulders. Our infertility issues never had an answer. Unexplained infertility doesn't lay blame. Our last loss was due to a bad sperm but I never, for a second, was angry with Mike. It was just bad luck. And though consciously I know this is how I should look at it this time around, it feels very different. My baby was defective because of me. It didn't survive because of me.

The test results brought other news too. News that I knew would hurt regardless of the answer. Finding out the sex of a baby at only 8 weeks in utero is never good. It's information you should only receive during an ultrasound at 18 weeks, with smiles and chatters of prom nights or sports games. Anything earlier means something went very, very wrong. Dr. D didn't offer this information when she called, but I asked for it. There was a pause, I closed my eyes, it stung like hell. It was male. We've now had one boy, one girl, and one little unknown soldier. We've achieved, and lost, everything.

The necklace I purchased after my last loss brought me quite a bit of healing. It is something tangible that allows me to remember. Something that doesn't get filed away in a memory box or brushed under the rug because it's too hard to talk about it. I wear it constantly and often find myself holding it when I need strength. It's the perfect symbol of my little girl. I needed to do the same for this one. Something a bit different but that honors this last pregnancy just the same. Something to remember my little boy. It's ironic that such tiny symbols represent the single biggest events of my entire life.

PICTURE REMOVED

I'm trying to heal. And I am. With each day- I am healing little by little. But damn am I tired.

10 comments:

  1. Sending lots of hugs your way. Your necklace is beautiful. I have a necklace with charms for my losses and I find it really helpful, too.

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  2. My heart just burst into a million tiny pieces for you. Poor, precious baby boy. He was perfect in his own way, and you have nothing to feel guilty about. :_(

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  3. I'm so sorry. The way you described this rings so true - you should never get that information for an 8-weeker, though it's impossible not to ask when you know the answer is available. We only had testing from one of our losses, and it said chromosomally-normal female. So I still am not sure if it was the embryo or me, and I don't even know if knowing for sure would really help. It just sucks, all around. I'm so sorry you're having to try to heal yet again. Your necklace is beautiful. I have never really searched to find something like that to memorialize my losses. Maybe someday.... I hope that you find rest soon, and peace in time. Hugs....

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  4. I am praying for continued healing for you. My heart is so full with this news and I just want to sit and cry right along with you. Its not fair, it is just *wrong* that you are going through this. ::hug::

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  5. The necklace is perfect. It comforts me to know that the necklace from your previous loss helped provide you with healing and strength. I know that this beautiful new piece will do the same. I'm thinking of you daily and sending lots of love and huge hugs your way.

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  6. I wish I could wrap you in a big hug.

    The necklace is beautiful and a wonderful way to hold your precious little boy close to your heart.

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  7. I can relate to your posts....it is so exhausting to keep trying to pick up the shattered pieces. I hope each day is a little easier this time.

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  8. That necklace is absolutely perfect. How beautiful. Take care and know I am thinking of you.

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  9. I've been going crazy not being able to write - parent teacher conferences have sucked every available minute and my phone is spotty at best with comments, and I did not want to write something on the go anyway. I think the necklace is beautiful and a wonderful reminder of your son. I can't even imagine how hard the news was to get. But this is NOT your fault. It is rotten, crummy, completely unfair luck, but not anyone's fault. Please, please treat yourself well and steer clear of blame.

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  10. Like you, I wanted an answer to why my baby died and I wanted to know the gender. It was a chromosomal abnormality, #15, and wasn't compatible with life. It hurts like hell though to know that it was my egg that caused it. The truth is, any answer was going to hurt and I would have blamed myself no matter what the cause. So I can relate a little to your post.

    The necklace is a beautiful way to remember your son. I hope it brings you a little peace and healing.

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