Due date #1

I 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

So today I remember my first, my little unknown soldier, and the gifts that it gave to me.

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.

Recovery: day 13

The day we found out we lost the heartbeat, 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.

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).

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.

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.

7 weeks, 4 days

I 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.

My u/s yesterday was everything I hoped it wouldn't be: it provided no answers and no end.

• 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. 
• CRL almost doubled from Friday, although still measuring a few days behind. 
• Yolk sac size reduced only very slightly from 9mm to 8.5mm, which is still in the highly concerning range.

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.    

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, "Do not get excited Tutti, things are still weighted heavily against you". 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.

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.

This whole thing is just really, really hard.

7 weeks, 1 day

Scene: 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'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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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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.

Standing still, Day 4

I'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.

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.

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 you guys. 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.

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.

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.

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.

Standing still, Day 3

I'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.

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.

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: Vasovagal Response. 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Standing still, again

I 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.

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.

I don't think there are any.

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.

Cycle 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.

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.

But I didn't have any choice so yesterday I put my big girl pants on and marched myself into the clinic.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Cycle 19, CD 19 (1 DPO)

[Click here for more information about Emhart's September Photo Challenge]  

Prompt: Garden

A close friend was scheduled to come for a visit in late July. We'd been counting down her arrival for months. I had already bought a little card and propped it on her pillow. It was a congratulations card: "congratulations you are going to be an aunt!" As it happened, I found out we lost the heartbeat two days before her arrival. 

I shredded the card and announced my devastating news to her over the phone instead. She needed to know the hornets nest she was walking into.  

A happy garden

It was hard to have anyone visit in those days leading up to the D&C. As anyone that has suffered a miscarriage knows, it is a crippling time. But as much as I didn't think it possible, having my friend with me was a wonderful distraction. Despite the despair that consumed me, she was somehow able to keep me from curling up inside myself. We went on long walks around the neighborhood. We got our toes painted. We drank in the ocean... and more than our fair share of wine. And amazingly enough, she made me smile. Especially when she yanked off her fun yellow sunglasses and made my neighbor's ordinary garden plant into something extraordinary. 

Cycle 19, CD 7

[Click here for more information about Emhart's September Photo Challenge] 

Prompt: Pure

I found a love for gardening quite a few years ago when we lived in the country with more land and light than I knew what to do with. I grew fruit and vegetables and herbs. It was amazing to watch these plants grow and bare witness to their wonderful little gifts. I would run and check on them first thing every morning and pick and prune to make sure they continued to grow healthy- forever glaring at the calendar in hopes the first frost would never come. 

When we moved into the city a few years ago, it was hard to look at our little concrete outdoor slab and feel the same sense of excitement and hope. I no longer had enough light to grow edibles or the land to dig my hands into. I had to switch gears. After several conversations with a local nursery, my path was clear. Flowers were my only option. I was crestfallen; flowers just weren't as fun. 

I was told that gardenias might fit within my growing constraints. My spirits rose a bit because gardenia is one of my favorite scents. One that reminds me of tropical places and makes me very nostalgic. However, I was warned, these were finicky plants and extremely hard to grow. Even given perfect conditions, those elusive fragrant flowers often give up too early. The buds so full of promise of good things to come, often drop without warning- never to give bloom. 

So you can imagine my surprise last week when, after two years of working with these guys, I got my very first bloom. Even if this is the only one I get this year, it was worth it. The smell is intoxicating and the flower, one of the purest things I've ever seen. 

A single, pure gardenia bloom

No, the irony of all this is not lost on me. 

Recovery: day 20

In the week since I last posted, the moments where I feel ok are getting longer. I know that it takes time and it's normal to have so many ups and downs- but going through it, feeling every minute of it it, is harder than those words sound. Before infertility and loss I never met a roller coaster I didn't love. I want off this one.

Sass touched on something in her post today that I've been thinking about a lot lately. The link between memories and place. How just being somewhere or seeing something can turn you upside down. To have those old memories come smashing back seemingly out of nowhere.

Last week I had my post-op checkup. Sitting quietly in the waiting room of my RE's office I was overwhelmed with memories. I have experienced the highest moments of my life there. And the lowest. The disparity between the two is daunting. It's amazing that one place can hold so much. So much that it's hard to filter through those feelings logically.

Last weekend I found myself at the local pharmacy. I needed a new headband because my dog mistook my old one for something good to eat. The store was crowded so I walked along the parimeter trying to make my way over to where I needed to be. Without realizing it until I was there, the family planning section attacked me. A place I'd spent so much time and money in the past, but also where I bought my last HPT. I was in a good mood until then.

Yesterday my husband and I went swimming in the ocean. Summer is officially over and we had the beach to ourselves. It felt good to have the sun touch my skin again. To let the waves crash over me. To taste the salt on my lips. The water was cold but exhilarating. And then a shocking realization flooded over me; the last time we were there, I was pregnant.

Today I'm going out with an old friend after work. One that I'd lost track of for the last 13 years. Through chance and good luck, we found ourselves living in the same city again- thousands of miles from where we'd parted. When we reunited last month, I attempted to blame the hot weather and long car ride home for my inability to drink the wine she had so neatly set on the table. It didn't work and she quickly guessed the real reason. So later today as we are sitting out in the sun, chatting easily like we always do, the wine that I sip will be bitter.

We are rooted in our sense of place. It's where memories are stored. The events from last week to time that has not even happened yet, paralyze me. I know my wounds are still fresh, but will the emotions ever be less poignant?

Recovery: day 12

The bleeding has finally stopped, the fighting with my husband has (mostly) subsided, and I'm left in a strange place of needing to move forward yet unwilling to do so. The anger hasn't gone anywhere. Though now it's turned mostly inward. My self worth its latest victim.

I'm due for a perfunctory checkup on Thursday to see my battle scarred ute and stagnant ovaries. Oh joy.

I've been struggling with the miracles of technology lately. Without the images of our growing baby blasted from the ultrasound machine each week, I wouldn't see her so vividly every time I close my eyes. Without all that monitoring I don't think I'd be so bloody attached. Attached some, yes of course. But not as much as I am now. I saw her. I saw her alive and I saw her dead. And in a few days I'll see where she was supposed to be, all cuddled up and growing strong.

My mom suffered 3 miscarriages in her quest for my sister, me, and a sibling that never survived. All early before 8 weeks. However, she said that when she thinks back to those times she only remembers the physical pain of the babies passing. And then nothing else. Is that because time has healed her wounds or is it because she doesn't have any images to return to? I'm afraid to let go because that baby was more than a blip on the screen. She was my tiny 8-week old daughter.

Recovery: day 8

I had a talk with Zsa Zsa about my anger. I felt justified with it; she felt like it was very unhealthy. She had some valid points, but I'm so much more comfortable with it than any other emotion, that it is hard to control. But I'm trying. I'm trying not to be so mad. Trying not to be angry at others. Trying not to hate myself. Just... trying.

The last week has been filled with bouts of sadness. Times when I lay in bed full of rage. Flanked by times when I'm able to (ever so) briefly concentrate on work, lose myself in a movie, or cuddle with my husband at night. I'm attempting to return to some kind of normalcy. Whatever that means. I know it'll just take time, but I wish I could just fast forward three months. I want this part to be over with.

It took me a solid two weeks to talk to one of my closest friends about the miscarriage. Strange because she's a processor like me and typically very comforting with her words. When I originally texted her my bad news (I was in no shape for a phone call at that point) I got a return voicemail that just seemed a little off. She said all the right things and on the surface it all seemed valid, but something wasn't right. Was it the tone of sadness that was missing? I didn't know and decided that I needed to keep my distance. However, eventually I knew that phone call had to happen or the fallout of not doing so might permanently hurt our friendship. So I finally called.

She and her partner have been trying to get pregnant (starting a solid year+ after us) and since the IUI is one of the first options for a gay couple, she understands roughly what its like. She has also been privy to our struggle with infertility and our first miscarriage. So when I told her the details of what had happened, she was genuinely sympathetic. I talked as things entered my head and didn't use a filter, vomiting the events of the past two weeks. An hour into my diatribe, there was a lull. I knew I shouldn't have asked, but I also couldn't stop myself. Her partner had an IUI just two weeks prior and somehow, in my gut, I already knew the answer. I forced my friend into an impossible situation: if she told me the truth, it would send daggers into my heart and if she lied, our friendship would suffer a deep betrayal.

Hearing that one of my closest friends was newly pregnant after talking for over an hour about how mine was prematurely taken, was infuriating. I felt embarrassed that I'd let my guard down and spoke the gruesome truth. I felt angry that while she listened to my pain she held a secret so wonderful that involuntary smiles spread across her face throughout the day. I hate that the voicemail she left me may have been the same day she found out she was expecting- and was unable to hide the joy in her voice. The same day I lost mine.

I know my feelings are irrational. I know that she is just an innocent target for my anger. I know that my jealousy is only adding to this pool of muck. I know that she loves me and feels horrible about everything that has happened; that the timing is just cruel. I hate that she keeps trying to reach out and that all I can do is sting her with my silence. I feel so guilty for feeling like this. It's so hard to consciously know what you feel isn't real, yet at the same time it is so real that you can hold it in your hand. I'm ashamed of this, but I can't seem to let it go.

Recovery: day 4

I keep going back to when I was sitting in my Ob's office. While there, I remember thinking to myself about how much had changed in just a matter of months. The last time I was in that office was for an annual checkup. I had just tested (negative) and was not happy- and I didn't keep it to myself. When my Ob walked into the exam room and cheerfully asked how I was doing, I replied, "Shitty". It was clear I made her feel uncomfortable. I didn't care. I was sick of candy coating it. I was infertile and pissed off.

Fast forward six months, and there I was sitting in that same waiting room. This time next to a woman with a newborn. I was amazed at how at ease I felt. It was the first time I didn't feel like chewing on a new mother's nativity and spitting it out, hopefully leaving her to feel just some of my pain. No, this time I sat there not quite feeling like part of the club, but feeling that maybe they'd let me in soon. Feeling, more at peace than I had in a long time.

But how quickly it all came rushing back. Rooted in my belly and more ferocious than ever.

My default is anger. It is a powerful emotion and it puts me in control. I can direct it at specific people or things. I can cut deep with it and feel satisfied that I'm able to inflict pain at will. I don't like how it feels, but it feels better than sadness. Or helplessness. I need to break this habit. Relinquish some control. Put faith in the future. In my future. In my desire to be happy again. It's hard though.

I wasn't prepared for a the call I got today. It was Dr. D. It was her first day back at the clinic and she'd just heard what happened. She said all the right things- all of which I needed to hear from her. She also told me the results of my RPL panel came came back. It was supposed to take ten business days for the results, not two. How often does that happen?

Lots of biology mumbo-jumbo, but the long and short of it was there was an extra chromosome. Chromosome 11 to be exact. Just a twist of nature. Things didn't line up quite as they should. Not conducive to sustainable life. It came from the paternal side- a bad sperm they said. And it was a total fluke. The chances of this happening again are less than 1%.

And, it was a girl.

Recovery: day 1

The D&C was yesterday and it's done. But not before my body did half the work its own.

I am in quiet pain now. The violent sobs and lashing out has been replaced with a sadness and stillness that is deafening. I only hope that healing comes swiftly. That I can somehow manage to find hope again. That I can eventually find peace with today.

Comforting a friend in grief has never been something that I've been good at. I've often just hoped that through my silence and quiet prayers, the person just.. knew. That they innately understood that I was there. That they could just feel my love through it all. That's not how it works though. For the person grieving, sadness and pain come from less, not more. It is a lesson I'll not soon forget.

The support I've gotten here has been immense. Overwhelming. The words that you have written saved me. The understanding and compassion got me through to the next day. The acknowledgement that I deserve to feel this pain. This anger. This blackness. That the grief is real. It made me feel human when I felt like I was less than.

For each person that took the time to read and leave healing words. For each person that reached out to a perfect stranger in pain. For each person that had old wounds ripped open yet still offered strength. Thank you. It seems insufficient compared to what you have given me, but it is all I have. And it is important for me to acknowledge what it has meant.

My body is now mending. I just hope that my heart follows suit.

Standing still: day 5

Fear.

The hate took hold by the time I pushed my way out of the Ob's office. The waiting room was filled with swollen bellies, new  moms, and crying babes. Fuck them. I wanted to hiss at them. I wanted to scream at those women that they will never understand how lucky they are. I wanted to claw at them and show them how their petty complains of swollen ankles or lack of sleep could never compare to my imploded heart. I'm scared at how full of hate I am. Fuck me.

In a situation where there is no right or safe answer, I think I'm going to go forward with the D&C. I'm terrified of this just as much as I'm terrified of the alternative. There is no comfort or relief with this choice, there is only second guessing and all consuming fear.

I started bleeding last night. The red blood, though I knew it was coming, made my knees buckle and a wail erupt from a very deep place. I'm petrified my body won't wait for the surgery and that I'm going to have to do this alone.

I'm angry at Mike for changing his mind on which direction we're going. I've been looking to him as the stable one, the logical one, the one that can make the right decision when I cannot. But his lack of being proactive has unnecessarily prolonged this process. Every second of every day, the fear of this dead thing consumes me. I'm terrified that I will forever blame my husband if it is too late.  

I slept next to a pile of towels and a bottle of Vicoden. This is not how things were supposed to happen. Since Thursday, I can't be alone without gruesome thoughts creeping into my head. For the few moments I have slept, I've been plagued by horrifying dreams of steep cliffs and dark places. I'm scared to close my eyes.

A year and a half of infertility caused thousands of hairline fractures in my marriage. Repeated loss has turned those into deep cravases. Mike doesn't understand my grief and thinks I'm over reacting. I don't understand his lack of compassion and question why he is so removed. Instead of finding strength in each other, we are further apart than we have ever been. I'm afraid of my marriage may not be strong enough.

My Ob didn't seem to think my Hashi's was to blame for this. So what then? 25-30% of all pregnancies end in miscarriage. The number plummets to 5% for those that have two consecutive miscarriages. The stats are not in my favor. I'm frightened of what this repeated pregnancy loss means.

I feel sick when I think about returning to the clinic. I walked out those doors two weeks ago so proud, but today I'll be returning with my eyes adverted, shoulders rounded, and forever looking fearfully behind me. The appointments, the injections, the speculums, and pregnancy tests are almost too much to return to. The fear of continuing fertility treatments scares me just as much as choosing not to.

The girl I used to be, so generous with unsolicited smiles, compassion, and love for herself and others, is hardening into something that is almost unrecognizable. The irrational desire to lash out and hurt people that don't deserve it is bound to drive everyone away. I'm afraid that this hate and anger has forever changed who I am.

I'm just so fucking scared.

Standing still: day 3

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Disclaimer: This blog will not be pleasant for a while. I'm not going to censor myself because frankly, this is the only place I have where I can openly voice what is happening.

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I've only gotten a few hours of sleep since Thursday. Because every time I close my eyes, I either see what could have been or the image of my dead baby on the ultra sound monitor. And yes, it had grown enough in the last week and a half to resemble a little human form.

The knife goes in deeper.

And if it weren't enough to grieve the child I finally allowed to hold all my hopes and dreams, I'm forced to make a decision on how, exactly, I would like to expel it from my body. They've given me 2 choices, both of which carry risks and terrify me beyond words.

A natural miscarriage seems straightforward enough, but the process is, from what I hear, excruciatingly painful. You labor the fetus until it is out, by yourself, completely unaided. I guess they don't have labor and delivery classes for women with dead babies. Or maybe I just haven't earned enough points as a mother yet. Whatever the case, there is approximately a 10% risk of developing a severe infection if all the tissue doesn't expel on its own. If this happens, you have to have a D&C anyway. Sounds like a fun way to spend the afternoon, no? Oh, that's not quite right, it could take over a month for the bleeding to stop.

Or, there is the D&C- a surgical extraction of the fetus. You wake up groggy, in pain, and... empty. Sounds like the easier route to take, but there is an approximately 13% chance of complications due to the anesthesia or permanent scarring of the uterus, which of course, could render you permanently infertile. Oh the irony.

Two really great choices, how ever will I ever pick? But just maybe, while I am in the process of making this decision, my body will force my hand. It is a surreal feeling knowing that literally at any moment, the spotting that has already started, could turn into red blood and I'd be forced to my knees. Not that I'm really in the mood to go shopping at the mall or for a picnic at the beach right now... but still.

I cancelled the D&C that was scheduled by my Ob for Monday. For several reasons I was mad at her and didn't know if I trusted her to do the procedure. There is also the very real possibility that I'm just shooting the messenger because she was the one that delivered the bad news. However, the only doctor I *do* trust is Dr. D, and she is out of the country until early August.

So, I have scheduled a consult on Monday with Dr. D's partner instead. She spent some time on the phone with me yesterday and talked me through the options- something my Ob did not do which left me feeling very scared, very confused, and entirely alone. Mike will be coming with me because he's really concerned about the D&C and scarring. In his mind, he'd rather me go through the pain of a natural miscarriage if it means my fertility is preserved. Which, I totally get and I'm glad he is there to think logically because at this point, I've pretty much shut down. But I'm just so scared to have a natural miscarriage. I don't know if I can physically or emotionally handle it. I'm hopeful that Dr. S will somehow give us the direction we need. But in reality I know that she will just present us with the facts and tell us that this is a personal decision that we must make on our own.

In the meantime, I just want to curl up and die.

Standing still

I would have been 9 weeks on Saturday.

But today, we didn't see that sweet little heartbeat anymore. The ultrasound image was unacceptably still. And now my heart, is torn into a million tiny black pieces.

Cycle 18, CD 43 (33 DPIUI)

I've talked a lot about my thyroid during this process. I've also dwelled a lot on my TSH numbers. But I'm not sure I've ever explained why.

I have Hashimoto's Disease. It is a type of autoimmune disease in which the thyroid gland is attacked by antibodies. There are varying degrees of this illness but once diagnosed, it can usually be taken care of simply by taking a little pill each morning. That is, unless you are trying to get pregnant. For woman that have Hashimoto's, achieving pregnancy can be difficult (really? I hadn't noticed). But also, maintaining pregnancy can be very difficult. There is a 3 to 4 fold increase of miscarriage (on top of the 20% risk that women normally face) if you have this disease. Basically, the antibodies see the embryo as a foreign invader and attack it. Add insult to injury, there are also risks to the baby and mother if the pregnancy is able to maneuver through the aforementioned minefield.

And the kicker? There isn't a damn thing modern medicine can do about it.

Many months ago when I had my full thyroid panel done, my RE looked at me and said, "Wow, I haven't seen antibody numbers this high in years!" She went on to explain that my risk of miscarriage, once I was pregnant, was very high. She added that success was possible though.

Those odds didn't instill a lot of faith that things were going to end well. And this is why I'm so freaked out.

So here I sit at almost 6 weeks. We made it over the first, very big conception hurdle. Next we are faced with an even bigger monster: maintaining the pregnancy.

Did I mention? We have our first u/s scheduled for tomorrow morning. I never thought it possible to be so excited and so scared at the same time.