tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-86154020116721567742024-02-28T15:44:03.364-08:00SubmergedTuttihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05892495385717172227noreply@blogger.comBlogger101125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8615402011672156774.post-49328506615301427572013-02-28T10:42:00.001-08:002013-02-28T10:42:09.553-08:00Due date #2Today is my due date for my second. For my little girl.<br />
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I woke up with a tear streaked face and a wet pillow.<br />
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There is so much good in my life right now and I'm so thankful for all of it. But the sting of what today is, what it should have been, runs straight into my heart. I wish that I could have met her today. I know she would have been so beautiful.<br />
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At midnight last night I found an email sitting in my inbox from my <a href="http://theelusivesecondline.wordpress.com/">sweet T</a>. She is facing down the same black day, the loss of her son, in just two more days. Her words were written for me, but I know the pain is hers as well. Her words tore into my heart and I was left sobbing. For my grief. For hers. For my daughter and her son. For the unknown in what lies ahead- for both of us. I've never felt so connected to someone where I knew my pain and joy were so intimately understood.<br />
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Trisha's husband, J, made this illustration for me at his wife's request. I am so touched. I will keep it close to my heart and look to it when I need strength.<br />
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May the breeze blow gently and the light continue to shine.<br />
<br />Tuttihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05892495385717172227noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8615402011672156774.post-52965967898064744732013-02-22T00:12:00.000-08:002013-02-22T00:41:07.254-08:00Who the heck knows what CD I'm on and I don't careHow's that for a break in titling scheme?<br />
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This is my 100th post. Never did I think that this blog would survive one hundred entries. I also never dreamed that it would see me through 3 miscarriages and a divorce. But it did. And you know what? It's ok. I'm not broken. I'm battle scarred and bruised, but those are wounds that can heal. <br />
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I am also much stronger than I ever imagined.<br />
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The last few weeks I have been feeling a steady shift. I am calm and carefree. I'm meeting peoples eyes as I walk by them on the street and smiling. That light that I haven't been able to see for so many years is shining bright. I see it now. And it fills me with so much (dare I say it) ... hope.<br />
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I walked into Cindy's office yesterday. She said, "Tutti, what's going on with you?! You are... twinkling!'<br />
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She's right. I am.<br />
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I'm driving to my new home across country with a very good friend of mine (<a href="http://submerged.blogspot.com/2012/09/cycle-19-cd-19-1-dpo.html">this one</a> actually). It's going to be an epic road trip filled with girlie adventure, Rt. 66 memorabilia, and a drooling dog. My friend has taken it on as her new life's mission to put together the most amazing playlist for us to listen to while driving the open road. It's like a soundtrack to a movie that hasn't been filmed yet. Every morning she emails me a 'teaser' to listen to. I look forward to these and turn the volume up with reckless abandon while trying to imagine where we'll be next time its played: stopped at the edge of the crater of the Grand Canyon at sunset? Driving through the desert of the Navajo reservation? Watching the the skyline of NYC emerge on the horizon?<br />
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I've come to realize that for the last few years, my life has been... silent. I've only heard the white noise of stress and grief buzzing in the background. But now, the music is back on. It's pumping. It makes me <i>feel</i> so much. The 'play' button has been pressed. And now all I want to do is dance.<br />
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_________________<br />
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I'm going to take a small break from blogging. I plan to return once I move and get settled into my new home. It may be as long as a few weeks, maybe even months. As selfish as I feel saying it, I just have to concentrate on me right now.<br />
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I hate that I left you all so suddenly. It upsets me not knowing where you are- celebrating, waiting, mourning? I'm so, so sorry. It's not because I want to; I hope you all know that. Each one of you and your stories are very important to me. I carry you guys with me everywhere I go. I continue to <i>hope</i> for all of you.Tuttihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05892495385717172227noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8615402011672156774.post-82904294993909070702013-02-13T23:04:00.000-08:002013-02-14T08:43:26.032-08:00Cycle 23, CD 2I wish that I had been able to chronicle the events of the last month so that maybe someday I could look back on it and reflect, maybe allow for some extra processing, and not keep you guys in the lurch. But it has just been too intense. I simultaneously feel like each day goes by in blink and like each day is a long battle that has no end.<br />
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At some point I owe you all an explanation of what happened. Why my marriage failed. What went so horribly wrong. But right now I'm still too close to it. It's still too raw. The betrayal and anger are coloring my world too vividly right now. I need distance and a bit of perspective to be able to dissect it better. Please bare with me for a bit.<br />
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Logistically things are moving forward very quickly. I have filed the preliminary divorce paperwork. Mike has signed. Our home went on the market two weeks ago. By some miracle, we are already in escrow. If things continue to work as they should, my home will be occupied by its new owners within the next few weeks. The cogs are in motion.<br />
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A friend asked me a simple question the other day, "How are things going over there?" I used humor in an analogy. I told her that if a priest came to my door, he would immediately douse it in holy water because the evil energy is so palpable. I think a hefty dose of garlic might be in order too- you know, just in case. Sometimes you need to laugh in the face of pain. In a normal divorce (is there such a thing?) one or both people move out immediately. But due to finances, neither of us were able to do that. We have been, and continue to, live under the same roof. It is a hell I don't wish on anyone. My days are lived in dread of hearing that front door lock un-hitch and seeing Mike walk in.<br />
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I used to think this was the man I would live my life with forever. Love unconditionally. Be the father of my children. But now he has morphed into the man that makes my stomach lurch and feel the raw emotion of hatred. How is that even possible? <br />
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Last Sunday I went to breakfast with a good girlfriend of mine. We were supposed to go shopping but got too caught up in our migas and Bloody Marys on the beach. I had wanted to get some new Converse sneakers for the long road trip back east (my new landing spot), but it didn't happen. Toes in the sand, a bit of numbing alcohol, and the warm sun on our faces seemed too good to rip away from. No regrets; we had a wonderful, healing afternoon together. So much better than retail therapy.<br />
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But tonight as I stepped out to walk the dog, I was surprised to find a package on my doorstep. It wasn't something I ordered, but it had my name on it. Confused, I gingerly pried it open. The box contained a brand new pair of bright red Converse. I was immediately hit by a sense of overwhelming... love... friendship... compassion... understanding.<br />
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Kind of like the <a href="http://submerged.blogspot.com/2012/11/recovery-day-20.html">symbolic socks that Cristy sent me</a> after my last miscarriage, I immediately knew that these were more than just new bad-ass new sneakers. These were a modern version of my own ruby reds. And they are going to take me home.<br />
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All I need to do now, is click my heels.Tuttihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05892495385717172227noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8615402011672156774.post-70162539007273141202013-01-17T19:23:00.001-08:002013-01-17T19:23:50.110-08:00Cycle 22, CD 6I was so taken aback by the outpouring of love and support after my last post. Saying thank you seems painfully trite. To be honest, I was terrified to write about the dissolution of my marriage. It is topic that typically elicits much judgement.<br />
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Truth be told, I am embarrassed. Horrified. Grief stricken.<br />
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Part of me wonders what I did to deserve all this. The other part screams back, "<i>Nothing! You did nothing to deserve this</i>." I toggle back and forth every 5 minutes.<br />
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So yeah, the bucketfuls of love that came screaming through last week was something I needed very badly. Thank you.<br />
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Right now I'm overwhelmed by the logistics: packing, selling our condo, disentangling my life from someone that thought I would be with forever, filing divorce papers, work obligations, finances, contractors, moving, jury duty, being sick. It's all just, so much.<br />
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On top of all that there are the emotions. Some days I can ignore them, put my head down and plow forward. Other days, they overwhelm me. Growing up I always said I didn't believe in divorce. I told this to Mike over and over again prior to getting married. Not that I didn't think it was right for others, just not for me. I always thought that if two people loved each other enough, you could work through anything. What I didn't realize is that unless both people work at it, it is not possible.<br />
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Mike stopped working a long time ago.<br />
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This was not the easy decision.<br />
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But it is the right one.<br />
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I'm choosing love. Love for myself. My life. My future child.Tuttihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05892495385717172227noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8615402011672156774.post-63784423362878150162013-01-04T12:43:00.001-08:002013-01-05T21:27:19.803-08:00Cycle 21, CD 23(ish)<div>
When I came around to the idea of starting an infertility blog, I thought long and hard about what to name it. There is so much in a name. I remember sitting on the beach late one November evening, all by myself, mulling over our journey to grow our family. I breathed in the cold salt air. Filtered sand through my fingers. Dried my tears with the back of my sleeve when my face became wet. </div>
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At one point, I thought how easy it would be to drown in those huge waves and sink to the bottom. And in my sullen mood, I realized that is how I felt. I felt like infertility had muted everything. That it was drowning me. All I wanted to do was come up for some air, but I was stuck holding my breath. It was an analogy that made sense to me. Hence, Submerged was born. </div>
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Years ago, Mike and I took a vacation on a remote tropical island. We decided to hire a photographer to take some photos of us- to document our time there. We had already captured some beautiful images together when our photographer asked us if we would be open to taking a few shots in the water. Underwater even.</div>
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The photo in my header isn't just any photo. It is the exact moment when Mike and I slipped underwater together. I love how simple that photo is, just a tiny splash and we were gone. It seemed the perfect one to use for this space considering we were on this journey together. And so, the design of my blog was set.</div>
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The underwater view of that same photo captured us submerged in those remote waters. It has always been a favorite of mine. So ethereal. So soft. Muted but beautiful. [I'll post it here for now, but will remove it in a few weeks for the sake of anonymity]. </div>
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I was content to stay down there, holding my breath and my husband close. I never would have guessed that this is exactly where we would remain. Suspended and suffocating. But we are mortals and eventually my lungs became too tight. I needed to breathe again. </div>
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My last miscarriage, as painful as it was, opened my eyes. From beneath the watery surface, I finally saw that there was air, light, and warmth in the distance. I knew that if I didn't want to be pulled to the bottom, to become a relic on the ocean floor, I had to make the choice to swim against the tide. Except my husband let go of my hand somewhere along the way, and disappeared into the abyss.</div>
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I always thought that Mike and I would resurface together. That we would take that first painful and beautiful breath at the same time; filling our lungs with life and hope until we reached solid ground. Instead I find myself alone. I'm tired, scared, and don't know which direction is up any more, but I will fight to get to the surface with every ounce of strength I have left.</div>
Tuttihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05892495385717172227noreply@blogger.com50tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8615402011672156774.post-5833994842711480172013-01-01T11:26:00.000-08:002013-01-01T15:54:18.987-08:00Cycle 21, CD 20(ish)I'm so sorry for falling silent. It wasn't my intention. Life has been a bit... overwhelming lately. Something had to give. Unfortunately it was my blog writing and reading. So please accept my belated warm, holiday wishes and a genuine embrace for each and every one of you in this new year. I know we are all hoping for a better 2013. Because, well- 2012 can suck it.<br />
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To catch up a bit:<br />
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- Sometime in mid-December I reached my official 2 year mark. It's been two very long, hard years of trying to grow our family. 2011 was filled with uncertainty, apprehension, and 12 negative pee sticks. 2012 was something else entirely: 3 miscarriages and a whole heap of loss and pain. I know 2013 will bring a different story. I just don't know what that is yet. My expectations aren't deluded or high. I would just be content with some peace.<br />
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- I was surprised <a href="http://submerged.blogspot.com/2012/11/recovery-day-16.html">when my cycle returned</a> so quickly after my D&C. I was impressed with my body's ability to recover (I started a new cycle a mere 2 weeks after surgery). Unfortunately it wasn't that easy. A short fourteen days after I got my first period, I got another. I don't blame my body though- I've been turned upside down too. Dr. D wasn't concerned, so I decided not to be either. I'm sick of worrying about things I can't control.<br />
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- You might <a href="http://submerged.blogspot.com/2012/10/8-weeks-0-days.html">remember</a>, during my last pregnancy my therapist, Zsa-Zsa, lobbed a few bombs at me. It wasn't cool and knew that I couldn't trust her. But I also knew I was in crisis. Of anything I've ever been through in my life, waiting for that pregnancy to end, for my baby's heart to stop beating, was the single hardest thing I've ever experienced. The anxiety felt like it was being pumped through amplifiers as big as a house. I couldn't breath. I knew I needed professional help. After many failed attempts to find someone covered by my insurance, I turned to the Resolve website. There, I found, Cindy.<br />
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Cindy is, in a word, amazing. She specializes in infertility and couples therapy and she is exactly what I needed. I've seen a therapist on and off my entire life- but after meeting with her just once, I felt like it was my first time. My first time with a *real* therapist. She didn't just sit there listening to me vomit out my pain. No. She actually gave me tools to get through it. Things that I could use when I was home alone and felt the walls crumbling. Things that I could use while in my clinic waiting for my second D&C. Things that I'm still using to heal more everyday. She didn't make everything better, she didn't cure my pain, but she helped me survive it- and not let it consume me. I am so thankful for her.<br />
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- Trying for baby has been put on hold. I don't know for how long- but it's going to be some time. Healing and closure, in many different ways, has to happen first. More on that later when I can put my thoughts together better.<br />
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Much love to you all. I've missed you and hope to return to my regular schedule of writing and reading. This community is amazing and a source of great strength for me.</div>
Tuttihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05892495385717172227noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8615402011672156774.post-10486207007444421442012-12-03T13:36:00.001-08:002013-01-11T09:34:45.973-08:00Recovery: day 33The interweb is a really big place. But Google has gotten really good and it is getting increasingly harder to stay anonymous. And though I have no issues with any of you knowing who I am, I don't want to be found. I can't imagine someone from work reading what I've written. Never mind my IRL friends or my husband. Not when I write about such personal stuff. This is *my* place and I only want to share it with people I feel safe with.<br />
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Part of it was my name. I was using my real one. And with a spelling like mine, it was just too specific. Too easy to search. So for the last few days, I've been scrubbing my blog. Names, pictures, and any identifiers have been deleted. What was especially hard was deleting any comment that referenced my name. Your words of compassion and support have kept me afloat in all of this. They are not deleted from my heart though, please know that. I didn't touch my story- that remains fully intact.<br />
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I didn't want to make this blog private because I don't want to loose my connection to this community. Not when I get so much strength from it. And not in the off chance my journey can possibly help someone in the future.<br />
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So from here on out, you can call me Tutti. There is no special reason for this name, it just makes me smile. It also sounds like a name ascribed to someone that smiles a lot. And maybe she bounces more than most. I need to return to that. I miss smiling and bouncing. <br />
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All this to say that I'm not going anywhere. I'm just going to be a bit more careful. I'm just going to bob and weave as those Google tendrils branch out. Bob and weave.Tuttihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05892495385717172227noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8615402011672156774.post-51650417127126434292012-11-29T08:58:00.000-08:002012-11-29T08:58:22.073-08:00Recovery: day 29I am here. I'm just traveling again. As my last post insinuated, I am home. "Home" being a squishy word.<br />
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I've been going through some really difficult things lately. Things that I have not been able to post about yet, but hopefully will soon. The other day I was with my mom; the tears were falling fast, my body was weak, and everything just felt so... big. My mom pulled me to her and I ended up falling asleep with my head in her lap while she stroked my hair. I felt like I was three years old again. So loved. So safe.<br />
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The door has opened. Now I just have to step through. It's just that that first step is a doozy. And I'm terrified.<br />
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Tuttihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05892495385717172227noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8615402011672156774.post-72301272994027572292012-11-20T08:56:00.001-08:002012-11-28T09:28:05.964-08:00Recovery: day 20I'm having a hard time seeing the clearing through the storm. Sometimes, it just feels like I'm going to drown out here.<br />
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<a href="http://searchingforoursilverlining.blogspot.com/">Cristy</a> sent these socks to me when I was losing my last pregnancy. Not only did I feel the love when they arrived, but I couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more. Remember those <a href="http://submerged.blogspot.com/2012/11/recovery-day-13.html">signs</a> that hit me upside the head sometimes? I feel like this was one of them.<br />
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There is no place like home.Tuttihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05892495385717172227noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8615402011672156774.post-41866562361990175392012-11-16T11:46:00.003-08:002013-01-11T09:38:52.871-08:00Recovery: day 16I had my post-op checkup yesterday. When I arrived at my clinic, the receptionist said "<i>Hey Tutti</i>." I don't even need to tell them my name anymore. And in truth, I haven't for a while. It's cool when you are a regular at a restaurant and the waiter sets your favorite drink down in front of you without even having to order. Not so cool when everyone at your fertility clinic knows you by first name. Although, who am I kidding, they are familiar with more than just my first name (hello-everyone-in-the-greater-metropolitan-area-has-seen-my-pink-parts).<br />
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The other significant thing that happened within the first 30 seconds of walking into my clinic yesterday was perhaps the true explanation behind everyone knowing my name. I watched as the receptionist stood up to grab something. I actually saw her arm dip from the weight of it. If I had to guess, it probably exceeded the 10 pound mark. I stopped, it registered, and then I asked, "<i>Is that <u>my</u> chart</i>." It was. I am now one of those patients that you can give pitying looks to solely based on the girth of her medical records.<br />
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The irony of yesterday being my first due date and seeing my all too empty ute on the u/s monitor was not lost on me. But I held it together and didn't cry. For about 5 minutes. Then I let out big ugly sobs when Dr. D asked me how things were going. At least I wasn't already tear streaked before she walked into the room this time. Baby steps. <br />
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Apparently I'm recovering nicely from the D&C. I can't say that I didn't have niggling fears about having these two surgeries so close together. Scarring is always a potential issue, as are things like punctured organs, and left over 'material'. But my RE has mad skillz and things are back in order again. Or are they? <--see what I did there? I know this post is long and that is a hook to get you to read to the end. #trickygirl.<br />
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While Dr. D scrutinized my barren womb, she talked me through what she saw. "<i>Nice thick lining Tutti," </i>she said "<i>and it looks like you are...</i>" we finished the sentence in unison, "<i>ovulating</i>". I already knew that I was. I'm a good infertile and analyze my TP all day, every day. And the night before there were tell-tale signs. If nothing else, I've gotten very in tune with my body over the last two years.<br />
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Want to hear the kicker? I've got two nice follicles growing: 16mm and 17mm. One on each side. Let me remind you in case you've forgotten, I'm <u>not</u> on any meds. Not that I didn't know it wasn't a potential given my family history, but I thought my sister was the only one lucky enough to have the natural twin gene (I have uber delicious twin nephews).<br />
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Clearly my body really wants to have a baby. It's throwing double follicles on its own now. But, the writing is already on the wall for those two beautiful orbs. I'm benched. Again. For at least two cycles. And truthfully, it'll probably be even longer (a story for another time).<br />
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However, I'm very confused about something, After my u/s I had bloodwork: Tsh, Hcg, estradiol, and progesterone. My nurse called with the results yesterday afternoon. After hearing them I hung up the phone, completely befuttled.<br />
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<li>My progesterone came back at 2.20. And since it was above 1, my RE feels that I have already ovulated and can expect my period within the next two weeks. But... umm... we just saw two follicles sitting pretty in my ovaries not 5 minutes prior. <i>Huh?</i> </li>
<li>And, my Hcg came back at 55.18. Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but I was under the impression that you can't cycle until your Hcg is back down to zero. <i>Double-huh? </i></li>
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You'd think that a girl with a chart the size of mine would understand this shit by now. But I don't and I'm *really* not in the mood to consult Dr. Google. He's a liar anyway. Maybe you self-proclaimed science geeks (yes Cristy, I'm looking at you) or others with more knowledge than I, can enlighten me. Any guesses to what is really going on?Tuttihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05892495385717172227noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8615402011672156774.post-16639406986554676892012-11-15T15:37:00.001-08:002012-11-15T15:54:33.146-08:00Due date #1I didn't have the heart to keep with my regular titling scheme today. Because this isn't a day about where I am in my cycle or what is going on with me, it's about our first little one. The one that should have arrived today. <br />
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My first pregnancy is difficult for me to explain. I was just shy of 6 weeks when it ended. And because pee-sticks are the devils spawn (and like to throw false negatives at me even at 14dpo) I didn't know that I was pregnant until a full two weeks later. Which meant that I was only aware that I was pregnant for four days before my beta started dropping. But it was four days that I knew, for the first time in my entire life, that was pregnant.<br />
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I'm not as bonded to this first one like I am with the other two. It's difficult for me to say that because my first pregnancy is still very significant to me. There were no ultrasounds to monitor growth, no sounds of a heartbeat thumping away, and there were very little, if any, dreams of the future. The only thing I did allow myself to do was look up the due date. Which of course, is today. It stung when it ended but I didn't cry or grieve- I was just quietly sad.<br />
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But with that sadness there was also new hope. It gave me reason to believe that I wasn't totally broken and that maybe, just maybe, Mike and I could actually conceive. Up to that point, we hadn't known if I could even get pregnant. My unexplained infertility diagnosis stuck, but it allowed us to look to the future a bit more optimistically. In a twisted sense, it was movement forward.<br />
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I will forever be grateful to my first for giving me a renewed sense of hope. It was something that I needed very badly at that time.<br />
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One of the challenges with today is that I shoulder this memory all by myself. I find it hard to not play the what-if game. Because if that baby had survived, everyone would be gathered around me with support and love. Everyone would be rejoicing in this new life. But instead, no one remembers. No one except me. This is one of the many difficult aspects of miscarriage; it is forgotten. Though maybe this is part of our role as mothers- to never forget.<br />
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So today I remember my first, my little unknown soldier, and the gifts that it gave to me.Tuttihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05892495385717172227noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8615402011672156774.post-16900420374848789092012-11-14T12:33:00.001-08:002013-01-11T09:43:21.908-08:00Recovery: day 14I'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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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<a href="http://submerged.blogspot.com/2012/08/recovery-day-22.html">The necklace</a> 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.<br />
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I'm trying to heal. And I am. With each day- I am healing little by little. But damn am I tired.</div>
Tuttihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05892495385717172227noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8615402011672156774.post-28877345076625364842012-11-13T11:48:00.000-08:002012-11-15T15:49:35.245-08:00Recovery: day 13The day we found out we <a href="http://submerged.blogspot.com/2012/10/standing-still-again_31.html">lost the heartbeat</a>, I was standing at the bus stop on my way to meet Mike for a Broadway show that had been scheduled months prior. Being out in public was hard. People flitted by, laughing and all dressed up in their Halloween best. I looked down at my very un-festive outfit: jeans and a light gray sweater. I stuck out like a sore thumb. I thought about how this journey has ruined so many holidays that were formerly filled with so much joy. And how I now have new associations, each tainted by my infertility. It's unfortunate that bad days now seem to outweigh the good.<br />
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The bus was late. Traffic was bad. I leaned against the building under the weight of the D&C I had scheduled for the next morning. At some point I looked up (something I've struggled to do lately).<br />
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I'm not very religious. If there is a god, he hasn't been very kind. But sometimes I feel like there are signs. I don't know from who or from where, but they always seem too perfect to simply dismiss. This happened after my last loss too (which is a story for another time) and left me trying to catch my breath. But that day when I looked up to the sky and saw a fluffy white heart floating there, it was difficult to rationalize away. Maybe it was coincidence, maybe I was reading into it, or maybe it was there for a reason. Regardless, I will carry it with me.<br />
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It may have seemed that I've fallen silent lately but I promise you that I've read every word that you all have written. I've been traveling for work and commenting from my phone is infuriating and ultimately proves fruitless. I'm back home now and eager to resume my regular habits.Tuttihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05892495385717172227noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8615402011672156774.post-14588091496262894782012-11-06T08:08:00.000-08:002012-12-03T12:23:31.284-08:00Recovery: day 6A brief interruption from our regularly scheduled doom and gloom:<br />
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Today is a very important day guys. VERY important. There are big things on the line and a lot of potential risk. There have been enough posts (et hem: Stupid Stork said it brilliantly <a href="http://stupidstork.blogspot.com/2012/10/get-your-bologna-out-of-my-vaj.html">HERE</a>) about the issues at hand that <u>directly</u> affect most of us in this community, so I won't repeat them again. But we have a rare opportunity to speak ladies. We deserve to be heard. We deserve the right to safely expand our families.<br />
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Mit, get the fuck out of my ute.<br />
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The T-shirt is a bit outdated but we're going for the same exact thing as we did four years ago. Ms. Brown wore it proudly to the polls again today. She was disappointed to find out that she didn't make it on the ticket though. Her platform was 'More cheese for all'. A great pitch for sure, but I don't know if anyone outside the neighborhood canines really cared (which unfortunately don't make up a large voting pool). Well, I guess I cared too. I love cheese.<br />
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I'm proudly voting a straight liberal ticket today. I'm doing what I think is right. However I know that there are other choices available that you may believe are just as right. Love goes to anyone that votes today- no matter which dot you fill in. I just ask that you do it wisely.Tuttihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05892495385717172227noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8615402011672156774.post-89829921575003428672012-11-05T13:14:00.001-08:002012-11-15T15:52:05.807-08:00Recovery: day 5The D&C went as well as something like that could go. I'm still sore and bleeding but slowly mending. Physically at least.<br />
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I just want to thank you all again. Your comments, emails, texts, gifts- all have given me that push I need to make it on to the next day. I firmly believe that this community is like no other in the world. The amount of support and caring has been overwhelming. I've found myself suffering from insomnia these last few weeks and often find myself at my computer in the dark hours of the morning, knees tucked to my chin, reading and rereading all your compassionate words. As the glow of my computer screen illuminates my tears, I imagine the embraces that you've all sent. It helps with the pain until sleep finally finds me.<br />
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I missed a big day the other day. Last Friday was the year anniversary of this blog. I wanted to write, but my friends were here and I was doped up on vicodin for most of the weekend. So though I'm reflecting a few days late, the sentiment is still the same.<br />
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<a href="http://submerged.blogspot.com/2011/11/cycle-11-cd-25-10-dpiui.html">This time last year</a> I was nearing the end of a tww after my first IUI and 3rd round of Clomid (which turned out to be a failed cycle). I was scared and trying to protect my tender underbelly with anger and distance. I was asking the 'why me?' questions. I was stomping my feet at the universe like an angry little girl. But for as scary as that time was, I had no idea how much more brutal it would become in the following months.<br />
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Not one of us that is still enduring infertility ever thought we would still be here after so much time. In the back of our minds we all thought that this road to hell would have ended by now, the pain rewarded with a dream come true. Instead, these last 365 days have brought pain bigger and more devastating than I ever knew existed. I never imagined that in a year I would lose three pregnancies and two babies. Then there are the other casualties: injured friendships and family relationships, lost travel and work opportunities, tens of thousands of dollars spent on doctors/ IF treatments/ medications/ therapy/ acupuncture with zero return, emotional crisis after emotional crisis, physical hardships, depression, and a broken marriage.<br />
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This year has left me permanently scarred. I am so very different from the person I was just a year ago. I feel like I've been beaten and abused. For a long time I fought back, bared my teeth and used my claws to defend myself. But eventually it became too much. After almost two years of cruelty, I'm left hunched in the corner wondering how many more blows my captor has in him. I am weak from all the pain and grief. And instead of wondering hopefully where I will be a year from now, I cower at the thought of the future.Tuttihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05892495385717172227noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8615402011672156774.post-67179201097065076642012-10-31T12:01:00.001-07:002012-10-31T12:12:04.441-07:00Standing still, againThere was no heartbeat today. Appears that it probably stopped a few days ago.<br />
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As much as I was trying to prepare myself for this, the extreme 24-7 morning sickness gave me a little hope. I suppose it was just lingering hormones. Or maybe Halloween's ultimate trick.<br />
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The D&C is scheduled for tomorrow. I'm familiar with the process. I'll wear my yoga pants and favorite sweatshirt; the one where I can pull the sleeves down over my hands. I'll ask for extra blankets to bury myself in as I wait my turn. I'll cry as they put the IV in my arm and then even more as they fit the mask over my face. Although I'm prepared for it, I don't think this is something you ever get used to. If anything, the pain becomes even more intense.Tuttihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05892495385717172227noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8615402011672156774.post-60942788992178991792012-10-28T11:23:00.001-07:002012-12-04T11:49:03.678-08:008 weeks, 0 daysI'm exactly where I was when I lost my last pregnancy. The significance of this day is not lost on me. If I find out on Wednesday that we still have a heartbeat, this will officially be my longest pregnancy to date. Ironic that it is the unhealthy pregnancy that lasts the longest.<br />
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I'm not looking forward to this week. Actually, I have a feeling it's going to be an all time shit-fest.<br />
<ul>
<li>Wednesday: Followup u/s with Dr. D. As I see it, there are three possible outcomes: 1) No heartbeat and grieving escalates 2) Slowed heartbeat and prolonged waiting for the inevitable end or 3) Continued "normal" heartbeat and more agonizing over the 'what if's' and, of course, more waiting. Yeah, no good options in there. </li>
<li>Thursday AM: Appointment with the fetal development specialist (if we get that far). For some reason the idea of seeing this doctor scares me to death. I also hate going to new doctors- the fear of the unknown is daunting. What if their super-powered u/s machine shows me something I don't want to see? Though unlikely, this thought plagues me. </li>
<li>Thursday PM: Remember my friends that found out they were pregnant exactly as I lost my last pregnancy? (No? You can read about it <a href="http://submerged.blogspot.com/2012/08/recovery-day-8.html">HERE</a>). They are flying across the country to stay with me for 4 days (the trip was planned 6 months ago). Since my last miscarriage our friendship has struggled quite a bit. There has been a distance that has never been there before and I don't know if it is my fault or theirs or a combination of the two. I'm just dreading the thought of seeing my friend's partner's swollen belly for days on end. In my home. I have weird fears about their visit too. Like, I'm worried that if she voices one little pregnancy complaint, I will be down her throat. Or, that she will unconsciously cradle her swollen belly with her hands. I don't even want to hug her at the airport because I don't want to touch it. It sounds crazy, but this is where I am at. If hotels in our area weren't $300/night, I might have asked them to stay elsewhere. But they are, and so I can't. I'm not going to be able to handle this gracefully. Truthfully, I don't want them here. It's the worst timing imaginable. But I'm stuck and have to get through it somehow.</li>
</ul>
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I fired my therapist, Zsa Zsa. My appointment last Monday was the final straw: </div>
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<ol>
<li>I was talking to Zsa-Zsa about how hard it has been for me to relate to the rest of the world. I used an example of a friend of mine who texted me a few days prior. She was venting about her horrible day. It turns out her three-year old twins were going through a "phase" and she was beyond frustrated and angry. I found it impossible to text back any kind of support because, the reality of it is, I would cut off both my arms to have her problems. When I finished, Zsa-Zsa turned and angrily scolded me: "<i>Tutti, you have NO idea how hard it is to raise children. You have NO idea</i>." I sat there shocked. I couldn't even manage a reply. And though it's not right of me to play the Pain-Olympics, it also wasn't right for her to reprimand me for voicing my struggles in <i><u>therapy</u></i>. I shut down for the rest of the session. </li>
<li>I realized that though Zsa-Zsa has been a sympathetic ear for the last eight months, she hasn't helped me. I have asked her a number of times for ways to cope and strategies to deal with all this grief and pain. But there has been nothing except the advice that 'time will heal'. Gee, thanks. </li>
<li>At the end of the appointment Zsa-Zsa said, "<i>I know you said nothing is really helping you right now, so would you like to cancel your appointment for next week</i>?" Way to support a girl in crisis. Talk about feeling abandoned. So I cancelled my appointment next week. And all future appointments. </li>
</ol>
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Now I have to find a new therapist. </div>
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I realize what a horrible place this blog has been. Looking back, there are few (if any) upbeat posts over the last several months. This place has been consumed with sadness, fear, pain, grief, anger, and sadness (deserves to be mentioned twice). And truth be told, it is not chronically this bad in real life, this is just where I feel safe voicing these feelings. So it becomes a dumping ground. However, I hope that at some point there will be light and happiness too. Maybe even some hope (don't want to get too far ahead of myself though). I just want to thank each of you for sticking with me. I know it's not easy to read and I know how difficult it is to find the right words to say sometimes. But with each comment that is left, I feel the support and love. And it helps so, so much. I gather so much strength from you all, strength that is so badly needed right now.</div>
Tuttihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05892495385717172227noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8615402011672156774.post-2412961690985532252012-10-25T14:15:00.001-07:002012-12-04T11:44:28.934-08:007 weeks, 4 daysI find it difficult to post lately. Not because I don't want to, but because I don't know where to start. I guess I'll just start with the concrete stuff.<br />
<br />
My u/s yesterday was everything I hoped it wouldn't be: it provided no answers and no end.<br />
<ul>
<li>We still have a heartbeat. It is on the lower end, but still within normal range at 109bpm. When Dr. D flipped on the sound, I was wholly unprepared. The sound of that little heartbeat made me cry big, rolling tears. It sounded so... strong. So alive. It made me feel insanely guilty that I had gone into the appointment wishing only for silence. </li>
<li>CRL almost doubled from Friday, although still measuring a few days behind. </li>
<li>Yolk sac size reduced only very slightly from 9mm to 8.5mm, which is still in the highly concerning range.</li>
</ul>
<div>
Dr. D recommended that we go see a fetal development specialist. It's never good when your specialist refers you to an even more specialized specialist. She doesn't think that they will be able to give us any additional answers since I'm still so early, but they have more powerful u/s machines so she wants us to at least try. She also wants me to ask them about the Materni T21 test if I make it to 10 weeks. This is the blood test for downs syndrome, trisomy 18, and 13. I scheduled this appointment for next Thursday but I fully expect to have to cancel. My next u/s with Dr. D is Wednesday. I just can't be optimistic enough that we'll make it that far. </div>
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<br /></div>
I (politely) forced Dr. D into giving me odds. She said that her best bet is a 75% likelihood of this not working. Which in many respects is much better odds than even last week. She must have read my mind because she quickly followed with, "<i>Do <u>not</u> get excited Tutti, things are still weighted heavily against you</i>". I appreciate her honesty. Even if this baby somehow makes it, what are the chances that it will be a healthy baby? I don't know what to do with that. My head tells me to continue grieving because there is no way this is going to work. But the what-ifs play on my heartstrings when I'm asleep at night. I just can't handle the back and forth. So I tell myself that it is only a matter of time until this pregnancy ends and try to manage this mind-fuck that way. I don't know any other way to do it.<br />
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To add insult to injury, my pregnancy symptoms are increasing. As they should, because I'm technically still pregnant. Queasiness, fatigue, vivid dreams, sore boobs, frequent peeing: all symptoms I'm familiar with from previous pregnancies. However the one I'm struggling with most is my sense of smell. It's like someone gave me a bonus super power. The scent of burning frankincense from the church 3 blocks down and through closed windows wakes me up each morning. The smell of the shampoo as my husband takes a shower is entirely overpowering. I smell the dirt when I walk outside and I live in the middle of the fucking city. It's insane really. I feel honored to experience these things, but resentful that it won't result in what I want more than anything in the entire world.<br />
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This whole thing is just really, really hard.<br />
<br />Tuttihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05892495385717172227noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8615402011672156774.post-49221934642840915502012-10-22T12:05:00.000-07:002012-12-04T11:39:17.693-08:007 weeks, 1 day<b>Scene:</b><i> A bright spotlight shines on Universe as he walks out from behind the curtains. He holds his hands up in the air and the audience quickly hushes. "Intermission is over. Please take your seats folks. There is a lot more to this show yet!" </i><br />
<br />
I'm exhausted. I don't want to write this post. I don't want to do anything really. But at the same time, I feel the need to update. So fair warning, this will be a dumping of events and that is all. It is all I am capable of right now.<br />
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Friday I went into the clinic for my last u/s so that we could finally schedule my D&C. For the most part, I was ok. I wasn't weepy or angry. I was just anxious to move forward. It was appropriately silent during the u/s. So needless to say I was wholly unprepared when Dr. D, very tentatively, said that she found a heartbeat. It was tiny, but it was most certainly there at 105 bpm. I swear at that moment I felt something snap in my head. I felt like I was going crazy. How was this possible? I'd already started grieving the loss of this pregnancy. How much more back and forth could I possibly take?<br />
<br />
I measured a few days behind, but more concerning was that my yolk sac was still quite large. I had previously refrained from researching this because I figured it didn't matter- it wouldn't change the outcome. Confused and overwhelmed, I asked Dr. D to be honest with me: what were my chances? She said that she was quite worried and that when she had seen situations similar to mine, more often than not, they hadn't ended well. However, in my head that still left room for a tiny, tiny bit of hope.<br />
<br />
When I got home I assaulted Google. To not, would have been naive. I needed to know what was going on. And this is what I learned: 1) A yolk sac measuring over 5mm was considered "enlarged". Mine was 9mm. 2) This was indicative of a chromosomal abnormality 3) This was bound to end in miscarriage. It wasn't really a matter of if, but when. I found two or three anecdotal stories from random 2006 chat rooms where women had slightly enlarged sacs (6mm) which ended in live births. However there were 100's of bad stories to counter each good one. Even more conclusive were the scientific papers. That is when my tiny, tiny bit of hope was snuffed out. Again.<br />
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This is no longer an anembryonic pregnancy. No, now there is a tiny baby with a tiny heartbeat. My pregnancy symptoms are growing stronger. The spotting (ironically) has stopped. All this, yet I know how this is going to end. I head back on Wednesday for a followup. I know that there is a good chance that the heartbeat will have stopped by then. And if it hasn't, I'll have to wait even longer. Can you imagine? Just hanging out waiting for your baby to die? I can't. And I'm living it.<br />
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Note: I know there are some of you that are still hopeful. That some still believe in miracles. But I don't, not anymore. I'm not asking you to not be hopeful, just please don't voice it to me. I need to face the facts and grieve my third loss for the second time. I can't manage to get through this any other way. Tuttihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05892495385717172227noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8615402011672156774.post-22325046517659525182012-10-19T11:22:00.000-07:002012-10-19T18:58:26.276-07:00Standing still, Day 4I've been feeling very numb the last few days. It's not like I don't know what is going on. Diagnostically I know what happened. I know what the next steps are and that none of it is good. But it has all been processed from a distance. No tears. Just going through the motions. Because I knew once those floodgates opened, there was no going back. I just wanted to delay it for a bit. To not feel like such a disaster for once.<br />
<br />
But standing in the shower yesterday morning, I felt it creep in. I curled up on the shower floor and wept. The water didn't wash away my tears, nor did it drowned out my sorrow.<br />
<br />
I have my husband. I have my close friends. I have my mom, my family. Dr. D and my nurses. My therapist. The women in my Resolve group. I have <i>you guys</i>. I've shared my story with so many people. I've talked about my feeling ad nauseum. I've written about them at length. I think that I somehow rationalized that if I gave lots of different people tiny pieces of my pain, that it would lessen my own. I was trying to unburden myself. I attempted to spread it out. To thin it.<br />
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But I've finally realized that my grief and loss are mine alone. I can't deposit these feelings and then run from them. They shadow me wherever I go. And they are as thick as molasses.<br />
<br />
Physically I can do this. I know what I have to do and what the process is. I will go through surgery. Listen to the test results. Sit in Dr. D's office and figure out our next move. I will continue to wait. I will force my body to go through the motions, and it will obey. But emotionally I don't know what the process is anymore. I keep following the same track and when I find myself in the place I started, I don't know what else to do except continue back around. I'm going in circles and it's not working. I can't keep doing this, it's eating me alive. How do you stop the loop? For the life of me I can't figure it out.<br />
<br />
I couldn't bare the thought of waiting until Wednesday for my next u/s. And then even longer for the actual D&C. I broke down and called Dr. D yesterday. I was ready to beg and plead to be seen earlier but I didn't have to. She told me to come in this afternoon and that we could schedule the D&C for as early as possible next week. Which is good because I started spotting this morning. I need this horror show to end.Tuttihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05892495385717172227noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8615402011672156774.post-66389107297922294592012-10-18T14:31:00.002-07:002012-11-15T15:53:01.825-08:00Standing still, Day 3I'm writing about this in the hopes that: 1) I might find someone else who has suffered from this and 2) Perhaps I can help someone by writing about my experience. If not today, maybe someday in the future.<br />
<br />
At around the age of 14 or 15, I started having these, episodes, for lack of a better word. My mom had them too, which made me feel less alone and more understood. For years neither of us had a name to put to it. All we knew was that about once every year or two, seemingly out of the blue, our bodies would fail us. One second you would be sitting there working at your desk, or cooking dinner, and the next you would be on the ground, experiencing the worst stomach cramps you could possibly imagine (my mom said the pain is worse and more intense than going through unmedicated child birth- which she did twice), and slipping out of consciousness. Which, is always welcomed relief from the pain. However, waking up drenched in sweat and unable to see/hear/speak is terrifying on a level I'm not able to put into words. Within a few minutes of regaining consciousness you feel like you were on the loosing end of a bar fight: your stomach left aching and your body devoid of all energy.<br />
<br />
For years doctors shook their head at my mom and me. "General anxiety" was often thrown down on our charts as the culprit (it was *not* anxiety). Finally, after tapping my mom's medical books and much Googling, we found a possible diagnosis. To my surprise it didn't have the words "insurmountable amounts of pain" included its name. Rather it sounded quite innocuous: <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vasovagal_response">Vasovagal Response</a>. Symptoms fit perfectly, except both our reactions were 1000x more severe. This thing is not supposed to be life threatening, but for both of us it seems to be. My mom has had episodes that have triggered grand-mal seizures and mine, at least once, landed me in the ER where they lost my pulse for a least a few moments. Thankfully it doesn't happen often, but I live in fear of this thing.<br />
<br />
With all 3 pregnancies I noticed that, at times, I would get quite dizzy when I stood up. It never bothered me much because I've always had low blood pressure and though it seemed to be happening more frequently, I was no stranger to having to hold onto a wall to stop the room from spinning. Last week, I stood up from the couch and along with the intense dizziness, I lost my sight. I just, couldn't see. I quickly fell to all fours and waited it out. Though a bit more dramatic than most dizzy spells, I tried to chalk it up to not drinking enough water. However, I now think this is part of the Vesovagal response. Just a much, much more mild form.<br />
<br />
Two nights ago, the same day I found out that #3 wasn't viable, it happened again. But on a level that far exceeded anything that I had experienced to date. It came on strong and fast. I just, I don't even know how to explain it, I collapsed on the bed with what sounded like blown speakers in my ears, drenched in sweat, finding it next to impossible to form a single thought, while feeling my heart bottom out on me. I felt intense pain but not from anywhere specific. It felt like, I was dying. Not figuratively, but literally. I felt like it was too close. Too real. For 15 minutes I laid there, too weak and disoriented to grab my phone that was just 2 feet away. And wishing I wasn't all alone.<br />
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This time was very different than the rest: no stomach cramps, no loss of consciousness, and lasting much, much longer with a reaction much more severe. Eventually I started coming out of it. I called my husband so that he could call 911 for me if I did pass out (not cognitively being with it enough to realize that if he called 911, it would be for a dispatch in the wrong state). After about 45 minutes, I felt stable enough to get off the phone. Despite being exhausted, I didn't dare close my eyes for the rest of the night.<br />
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All of these years I've never been able to pin point a trigger except for one time when I was about 30 years old and I had an endometrial biopsy (for what I now know is my luteal phase defect) which triggered my most severe reaction up to that time. But other than that, I don't know when it is coming or what provokes it. However, I do believe that the severe dizzy spells and this latest episode were caused by my pregnancies. Viable or not, I have the hormones in my system. And it's been too consistent with timing to blame it on coincidence. I also know that stress can be a trigger. I wasn't stressed when I was 14 years old or even when this thing landed me in the ER, but I am now- and I'm sure that doesn't help.<br />
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I will talk to Dr. D about it, but I'm not sure there is anything she can do. No doctors have ever offered any solutions, and quite honestly always seemed as if I was over reacting. I don't know what this is or what it means. For me. My future. And any future pregnancies, if there even are others. It just seems to be getting stronger. Or perhaps the triggers are stronger.<br />
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Reading this over it almost seems too fantastic to be true. But every word of it is real and honest. I'm terrified of this thing in me. My body is broken in so many different ways.Tuttihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05892495385717172227noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8615402011672156774.post-76063108012538458302012-10-16T13:33:00.001-07:002012-10-16T13:37:49.467-07:00Standing still, againI walked out of my RE's office with a box in my hands. A box I am all too familiar with, stamped with bold blue typeface: PRODUCTS OF CONCEPTION.<br />
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I don't even know what to write anymore. What new words can I find to describe what it feels like to go through yet another miscarriage? My third this year.<br />
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I don't think there are any.<br />
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The yolk sac had grown a little, which apparently isn't a good sign. But more importantly, there was no heartbeat. With tears in her eyes, Dr. D said she was 99% certain that this pregnancy would not go any further. I have an u/s next Wednesday to make 100% certain. Then, we'll schedule another D&C. Get more genetic testing. Mourn one more loss.Tuttihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05892495385717172227noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8615402011672156774.post-4376355978587394772012-10-12T11:06:00.001-07:002012-10-15T08:57:00.535-07:00Cycle 19, CD 44 (26 DPO)After my last beta, they scheduled me for my first ultrasound. Based on my LMP, I should have been 6 weeks yesterday.<br />
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I was working on getting to a calmer place mentally but facing that first ultrasound gave me quite a bit of angst. First, because I still have those last u/s images swimming around my head. As crazy as it sounds, I felt like it was going to be a scene out of a horror movie where I saw a dead 9 week old fetus instead of the tiny blip of a 6 week old embie. Crazy, I know. But those are the tricks my mind plays on me. Secondly, Mike is out of town on business. So, I was going to have to this all by myself. Que panic.<br />
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But I didn't have any choice so yesterday I put my big girl pants on and marched myself into the clinic.<br />
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Dr. D and my favorite nurse S innately understood my anxiety. They were both holding their breath along with me. I was mostly ok until that probe was finally in. Those first few moments of silence when your doctor intently studies the monitor and you frantically study your doctor's face in attempts to figure out if it is good or bad news, is almost too much. It's probably only a few seconds, but I could hear the blood in my ears, my heart thumping out of my chest. It's a dreadful moment.<br />
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We did see a gestational sac. And a yolk sac. And what looked like a teeny grain of rice floating in the abyss. But no heartbeat. Dr. D was quick to say that it might just be too early. She didn't realize I knew when I ovulated (I only happened to pull out the OPKs because I wanted to be sure my miscarriage didn't totally fuck up my body) so based on this new information, I'm actually only 5w4d. With that recalculation, it is very unlikely we would see a heartbeat this early.<br />
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Dr. D then went on to say that when she was pregnant and did an u/s on herself (I couldn't help but laugh at that image- to which she smiled and said, "it's one of the perks that come with the job") she only saw a tiny grain of rice too. But I know it's a numbers game at this point. At my u/s next Tuesday we could see a heartbeat or... we could not. And there isn't a damn thing I can do about it in the meantime, except hope. <br />
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The good news is I made it through this ordeal by myself. I didn't do it willingly but I did feel a sense of empowerment. Like, maybe I'm not as weak as I thought. Mike will still be out of town on Tuesday so at least I know now that I can indeed do this without him. I just wish he could be there, you know, just in case it is good news.Tuttihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05892495385717172227noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8615402011672156774.post-27224977313264344152012-10-08T19:13:00.001-07:002012-12-04T11:18:49.083-08:00Cycle 19, CD 40 (22 DPO)<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">Beta #3 came back with good doubling numbers. At 22dpo I'm sitting at 8712 which actually exceeds the high end of the hcg chart. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, Palatino Linotype, Palatino, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">Last week was really hard for me. The shock of finding out I was newly pregnant again brought up all the emotions from my last miscarriage. And they spilled out everywhere. It was something I was wholly unprepared for. But in these last few days I've heeded Cristy's advice and begun to feel things without fighting against them; allowing the pain of missing my last little one to mesh with the excitement of a possible brand new beginning. It has been rolling around together to where sometimes I can't tell where one starts and the other ends. But I think that's ok. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, Palatino Linotype, Palatino, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, Palatino Linotype, Palatino, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">More than anything I'm sitting here thankful. So thankful it makes my eyes well with tears and my heart scream with hope. </span></span>Tuttihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05892495385717172227noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8615402011672156774.post-64026335444862826142012-10-04T14:08:00.004-07:002012-10-16T14:53:21.485-07:00Cycle 19, CD 36 (18 DPO)Beta #2 came back with good doubling numbers.<br />
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I've been numb ever since I saw that second line. Numb, dotted with bit of fear. Then last night, out of nowhere, I broke down into uncontrollable sobs. In my desperation to start trying again, never once did it dawn on me that it would happen so fast. And in that line of thinking, if it did happen fast, that I could be faced with another miscarriage. The last one is still so fresh. I still think about her all the time.<br />
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It's like I just got pummeled by a wave, was barely able to stand up again, and am looking at another one headed right for me.<br />
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But there are things that keep me afloat too. On Sunday when I found myself in a state of total shock, I quickly dialed the emergency-<a href="http://theelusivesecondline.wordpress.com/">Trisha</a>-hotline. She talked me down and made me laugh. When she asked me what my RE said, it dawned on me that I hadn't even called my her yet. We laughed even harder at that. I'm more lost and scared and vulnerable than I have ever been in my life. I'm terrified that I'm going to drown in this wave. But knowing that you are all hoping for me, means the world. It's the support that I can't possibly give to myself right now. Not now, but hopefully eventually.<br />
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To my loves, thank you.Tuttihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05892495385717172227noreply@blogger.com11