{Disclaimer: If we are friends in real life, please know that I in no way, shape or form, mean for this post to offend you or target you. This is simply how it is for me, how it feels to be infertile, to want a child so badly and to be denied time and time again. And it hurts more over the holidays, because the holidays are family time. You know that I love your kids, I just wish that we had some children of our own to love.}
It's started early this year. The inevitable, made worse by our miscarriage, infertility holiday funk. The babies and the children - they are everywhere. And they look precious and adorable and they aren't ours. None of them are ours.
The Halloween costumes, the pumpkin patch photos, the family portraits. We don't have a child to dress up for Halloween. We go to the pumpkin patch because I love it, and this year is was painful because of all the babies, kids and pregnant women. Family portraits still consist of Jason and me...and sometimes our furry babies. For the first time ever, I'm actually dreading Christmas a little bit, and that hurts for me to admit because Christmas is by far my favorite holiday.
Facebook has made this whole IF thing exponentially harder. Every time someone posts a picture of their adorable child or pregnant belly or makes a pregnancy announcement or talks about something to do with their child or being a parent, it's right there. And it hurts.
Overall, I'm doing better. I'm really focusing on taking it one day at a time. I've felt like crying several times over the last few days and yet the tears won't come. Mainly because I won't let them. I keep holding them back because I'm afraid to allow them to flow - like if I let one go, it'll be the beginning of a downpour that won't ever stop. It's where I am right now. The hardest part? Knowing that I'm trying to not be so sad for other people's benefit. Because I know that my being sad is uncomfortable for them. Many of the people in our life don't even know that I was ever pregnant, so they don't know about the loss. What's to account for my sadness around those people? And I figure that the ones who do know don't want to hear about how sad I am all the time, how angry I am, how much it hurts and sucks that I'm no longer pregnant. Frankly, that gets old, I know that, and they don't know what to say or do, and my sadness worries them. So I work hard to sound/seem fine. And mostly, I am. Better, at least. But there is a still a large part of me that wants to scream, pout, punch, wallow. And really, perhaps it is better that I try to seem fine - maybe putting forth all that effort will eventually translate into reality. I don't want to be that person: the one who spoils it all because she's sad. I don't want to drag a black cloud around with me wherever I go. But I do need to grieve. I guess I just haven't figured out exactly how to go about doing that yet...and I fear the holidays aren't going to make it any easier for me.
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Saturday, October 29, 2011
Resilience
Two years ago today, I underwent open heart surgery at UCLA. It was the single most terrifying day of my life, a day that has left me forever changed, in many more ways than one. Two years later, I am healthy, strong and resilient: a survivor. I am so thankful, and so very blessed. Today is a beautiful day.
Happy surgiversary to me!
To read more about my surgery and recovery experience, click on the link:
Monday, October 24, 2011
So much
By and large, my blogging experience has been nothing but positive. The support and love I receive from complete strangers in addition to my family and friends is nothing short of amazing. I have a place to write: write about what I'm feeling, experiencing, doing, wishing, hoping. It's all documented, this entire journey, the good, the bad, the REALLY bad, and the downright ugly. A place I can just let it out, let the tears fall onto this cyber page in the form of words, for others to read, but mostly, for me. I need this space.
But there is a dark side to blogging about something so serious. I follow many blogs and we cheer each other on, my fellow bloggers and me. We're each other's cheering squad, and we pick each other up, dust one another off and give soft nudges back into the horrid game that is Infertility, because we can't give up - giving up means giving up our dreams of becoming parents, our dreams of holding our little ones in our arms. But it's so very hard to keep going...to watch everyone else keep plodding forward...cycle after cycle, month after endless month, year after year.
Lately, there has been so much sadness. Too much. Twins lost at 20 months, renewed hope raised against all odds only to be dashed for the 8th agonizing time, failed IVF cycles, failed IUI cycles, adoptions that have fallen through at the last minute. Why so much pain? Why must we endure such heartbreak, time and time again? It's gotten to the point where I'm almost afraid to check my bloglist. I read through my blogs and I'm driven to tears by the pain in the words I'm reading. Each sentence is dripping with angst, real honest-to-goodness misery brought on by our nemesis, Infertility. I'm sickened and saddened by the grief we're all suffering - and now that I've felt that deep cut of loss, I am not only sympathetic but empathetic as well. I've felt what they've felt, thought what they've thought, and feared what they've feared. To lose a baby is sheer hell. It truly is. And it's not fair. I keep thinking that all of this, all of the pain we've all endured, is just so unfair.
So I'm sorry, dear blogger friends, as limp as that word "sorry" sometimes seems, for the pain you're all experiencing. I truly am. I know we all hear that word so often, but I want you to know that I do think of you all, and I do pray for your peace and for your prayers to be answered. Life isn't fair, I think we've all figured that one out by now, but by God is it ever a blessing, a blessing I sincerely hope you get to share with a family of your own one day, as you so deserve.
Strength comes from within and you all have more strength than you realize, especially when being strong is the only option you have. We'll get through this together, one day at a time.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Where I am: musings on the fragility of hope
It's strange. I was pregnant for such a short while, but now that our baby has left my womb, an unsettling, phantom emptiness has set in. I find myself absentmindedly rubbing my still very bloated belly. Although I saw the placenta, and I know that our baby is no longer inside of me, I still cannot quite believe that it's over. I am no longer pregnant. And it hurts.
Sad doesn't even begin to adequately describe it. I don't know what to say, really. Right now, I'm still bleeding, still passing a piece of tissue here and there or the occasional blood clot, and the image of the deflated placenta still haunts me, especially when I lie down at night to go to sleep. Right now, I'm afraid to try again. Afraid to fail again, afraid to feel the pain I have felt both emotionally and physically. I'm afraid to go down that path again: the treatments, the money, the time, the hope, the expectations, the potential let down's. It's such a process, and I'm just not ready right now. Even if we could try again next month, I wouldn't.
I suppose it's a good thing we can't try again until January. It gives my body time to heal, but it also gives us a chance to mentally prepare for what lies ahead. There is the very real possibility that I will miscarry again. And what if it's later in the pregnancy? Miscarrying a 5 week placenta and embryo at 8 weeks pregnant was painful enough - what if I'm farther along next time? And how long will it take to actually get pregnant again? Will we be lucky and get another positive with our very next IUI? Or will it take a few months? Maybe even years? Will we have to do IVF? The fear of the unknown is quite debilitating. I need to get past the fear, but right now, it's all too fresh. I'm afraid, plain and simple.
On the flip side, there is, of course, the possibility that the next time will be IT. And that is the sole driving force for getting my body and mind back on track. We so desperately want a family and this pregnancy has only intensified that desire. We were so close, closer than we have ever been before, and it's crushing that it ended in miscarriage, but what if the next time it doesn't? We have to hold fast to that hope - we have to in order to get our family. I'm a fighter - always have been, always will be and Jason is a hopeless optimist, able to find the positive in every situation, so together we'll get through this. I have no doubt. I'll get back on track - it'll take some time, and I need to grieve, but come January, I think I'll be ready. We have another little soul in heaven cheering us on and we can't, we won't, let it down.
I truly can't thank you all enough for your love and support, but please know that your kind words and encouragement have indeed helped us in our time of need. Good, bad, or indifferent, this is all part of a bigger journey, and we have to accept what is in order to get to what will be. Everything happens for a reason - we just have to believe.
Monday, October 17, 2011
After spending 5 hours in the ER...
...we are finally home. Exhausted, worn out both emotionally and physically, but home.
Let me back it up a bit.
I passed a large piece of tissue around 11am this morning, and we thought it was the embryo. It was light pink/flesh colored and had a spongy texture. We were extremely emotional, but at the same time relieved that it had finally happened, the miscarriage was over and we could begin our healing process. We wrapped it in tissue and put it in a little box and then Jason took it to an orange orchard and buried it. After seeing it, we couldn't bear to flush it down the toilet. We felt like we had had closure.
Then the heavy bleeding and intense cramping started. Didn't really think anything of it, I had been told to expect both. So when I went to the bathroom, peed, and stood up, I was really not expecting to feel anything slide out of me.
It was the placenta. Fully intact. Roughly the size of an apricot, and we could see a large mass inside.
I started shaking, sobbing and called for Jason. This was our baby, not what we had cried over, mourned and buried hours before.
I didn't know what to do. Do I somehow preserve it to take to our clinic tomorrow for testing? How does one go about preserving a placenta and embryo? I was beside myself. I called my cousin who suggested we call the on-call nurse at our medical clinic, who in turn recommended that we go to the ER - their guidelines dictated that any patient with passage of tissue that large seek immediate medical attention.
So we go to the ER, our sweet little baby encased in toilet paper and sealed in a clean plastic zipper bag. It's 6:45pm. They were very nice, got us in fairly quickly, and then the barrage began: meet and greet with the doctor, ultrasound (both abdominal and vaginal), blood work (5 vials, including blood type), urine sample, pelvic exam, and, the most painful of all, watching our baby be taken away in a container for testing. The doctor peeled, yes, peeled, the placenta from the toilet paper, and dropped it in a container for the lab. I know it's soul is no longer there, but it was heart breaking to witness. I wish she would have done it away from us - to us, that was our baby, but to her, it was a specimen for the lab to poke and prod.
The ultrasound looked good: no residual tissue in my uterus, and no sign of ectopic pregnancy. She checked my cervix (which she said was extremely posterior, and quite uncommon, oh goody) and it's almost closed, so the miscarriage is coming to an end. My blood type (which I already knew) came back B- so she told me I needed a RhoGam shot (because I have the rh negative factor). And here's the thing that really upsets me: I really needed that RhoGam shot. If I had not gone in to the ER, I could have DIED. Yes, died. The miscarriage mixed my blood with the blood of our baby. The next time I'm pregnant, if our baby does not have RH negative blood like me (which is highly probable because Jason is RH+), not only would I have gotten extremely ill and possibly died, our baby would not have survived. Basically, my body and the baby's body would have been attacking each other since our blood was mixed. It was imperative that I receive that shot. And my doctor at the fertility clinic said NOTHING to me about it. He never said, "Since you're RH-, if you miscarry, you need to get a RhoGam shot." Know why? Because he's never run a blood type test, but here's the thing: I've told him I'm RH negative. So upset, so frustrated and pretty scared.
Thanks to my cousin telling me to call the on-call nurse, I got the shot I needed and I'm going to be ok. Good Lord, what a day.
It's 12:30am. Long, dramatic, traumatic day, but we're home. I never thought I would witness what I witnessed today. I never expected to see the placenta with our little one inside. I'm so sorry we buried just tissue in the orchard, and that our baby is in a lab somewhere waiting to be taken apart and examined. It makes me ill to think about. So I won't. Or at least I'll try my very best not to. I know it's spirit is running wild up in Heaven, running wild and playing like any little child should.
I will choose think of that instead. And smile.
Let me back it up a bit.
I passed a large piece of tissue around 11am this morning, and we thought it was the embryo. It was light pink/flesh colored and had a spongy texture. We were extremely emotional, but at the same time relieved that it had finally happened, the miscarriage was over and we could begin our healing process. We wrapped it in tissue and put it in a little box and then Jason took it to an orange orchard and buried it. After seeing it, we couldn't bear to flush it down the toilet. We felt like we had had closure.
Then the heavy bleeding and intense cramping started. Didn't really think anything of it, I had been told to expect both. So when I went to the bathroom, peed, and stood up, I was really not expecting to feel anything slide out of me.
It was the placenta. Fully intact. Roughly the size of an apricot, and we could see a large mass inside.
I started shaking, sobbing and called for Jason. This was our baby, not what we had cried over, mourned and buried hours before.
I didn't know what to do. Do I somehow preserve it to take to our clinic tomorrow for testing? How does one go about preserving a placenta and embryo? I was beside myself. I called my cousin who suggested we call the on-call nurse at our medical clinic, who in turn recommended that we go to the ER - their guidelines dictated that any patient with passage of tissue that large seek immediate medical attention.
So we go to the ER, our sweet little baby encased in toilet paper and sealed in a clean plastic zipper bag. It's 6:45pm. They were very nice, got us in fairly quickly, and then the barrage began: meet and greet with the doctor, ultrasound (both abdominal and vaginal), blood work (5 vials, including blood type), urine sample, pelvic exam, and, the most painful of all, watching our baby be taken away in a container for testing. The doctor peeled, yes, peeled, the placenta from the toilet paper, and dropped it in a container for the lab. I know it's soul is no longer there, but it was heart breaking to witness. I wish she would have done it away from us - to us, that was our baby, but to her, it was a specimen for the lab to poke and prod.
The ultrasound looked good: no residual tissue in my uterus, and no sign of ectopic pregnancy. She checked my cervix (which she said was extremely posterior, and quite uncommon, oh goody) and it's almost closed, so the miscarriage is coming to an end. My blood type (which I already knew) came back B- so she told me I needed a RhoGam shot (because I have the rh negative factor). And here's the thing that really upsets me: I really needed that RhoGam shot. If I had not gone in to the ER, I could have DIED. Yes, died. The miscarriage mixed my blood with the blood of our baby. The next time I'm pregnant, if our baby does not have RH negative blood like me (which is highly probable because Jason is RH+), not only would I have gotten extremely ill and possibly died, our baby would not have survived. Basically, my body and the baby's body would have been attacking each other since our blood was mixed. It was imperative that I receive that shot. And my doctor at the fertility clinic said NOTHING to me about it. He never said, "Since you're RH-, if you miscarry, you need to get a RhoGam shot." Know why? Because he's never run a blood type test, but here's the thing: I've told him I'm RH negative. So upset, so frustrated and pretty scared.
Thanks to my cousin telling me to call the on-call nurse, I got the shot I needed and I'm going to be ok. Good Lord, what a day.
It's 12:30am. Long, dramatic, traumatic day, but we're home. I never thought I would witness what I witnessed today. I never expected to see the placenta with our little one inside. I'm so sorry we buried just tissue in the orchard, and that our baby is in a lab somewhere waiting to be taken apart and examined. It makes me ill to think about. So I won't. Or at least I'll try my very best not to. I know it's spirit is running wild up in Heaven, running wild and playing like any little child should.
I will choose think of that instead. And smile.
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Pregnancy & Infant Loss Remembrance - Amanda's day
Today is October 15th, Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day. This day holds significance for me for several reasons.
As I type this post, I am experiencing a miscarriage, my first and God willing, my last. However, there are many in my family and circle of friends (including my blogosphere buddies) who have also suffered such a loss, some of them several times over. But the reason that this day is most significant to me, even eclipsing our own loss, is because of my sister, Amanda.
Amanda was born still 30 years ago this coming Tuesday, October 18. My mom carried her full term and it was discovered, after a day or two of not feeling any movement (which is sometimes considered normal at the end of a pregnancy), that she had died in the womb due to umbilical cord strangulation. This was in 1981 and technology has advanced quite a bit since then. In addition, this was before the days of watching a mom-to-be extra closely if she had suffered prior losses: my mom had had 2 miscarriages prior to Amanda's conception, one of them at 12 weeks. This was also before some doctors realized that a still born baby was still very much someone's child, someone who had been immensely prayed for and loved - she already had a name. My parents never even got to hold their baby girl - the doctor's whisked her away before they could even get a good look at her, before they had a chance to say good-bye. My poor mom gave birth to her daughter vaginally, knowing that she was already gone. My mom doesn't remember the physical pain of the labor and delivery, as her emotional despair was so beyond comprehension. It had taken my parents 5 long years of trying and heartache to get their baby, and she was born sleeping. They had all but given up hope entirely when I came along, 2 years later.
Amanda and I share a middle name, but we share far more than that. I believe she is my guardian angel, with me in times of need. I believe she was in the room by my side during my open heart surgery, when my husband and parents couldn't be, and I believe she is taking care of our little one in heaven, because we cannot. Technically, by definition, I am an only child. I grew up without any siblings running around in the house, but I had 3 siblings in heaven.
Amanda will never be forgotten - my family visits her graveside every year for her birthday and Christmas, sometimes extra times if we're in town. I know she watches over me, and I find great comfort in that. And, she gets to spend time with our grandparents now that they've passed on, too. We share everything, just at different times, and in different ways. You're forever in our hearts, my sweet sister, forever in our hearts.
As I type this post, I am experiencing a miscarriage, my first and God willing, my last. However, there are many in my family and circle of friends (including my blogosphere buddies) who have also suffered such a loss, some of them several times over. But the reason that this day is most significant to me, even eclipsing our own loss, is because of my sister, Amanda.
Amanda was born still 30 years ago this coming Tuesday, October 18. My mom carried her full term and it was discovered, after a day or two of not feeling any movement (which is sometimes considered normal at the end of a pregnancy), that she had died in the womb due to umbilical cord strangulation. This was in 1981 and technology has advanced quite a bit since then. In addition, this was before the days of watching a mom-to-be extra closely if she had suffered prior losses: my mom had had 2 miscarriages prior to Amanda's conception, one of them at 12 weeks. This was also before some doctors realized that a still born baby was still very much someone's child, someone who had been immensely prayed for and loved - she already had a name. My parents never even got to hold their baby girl - the doctor's whisked her away before they could even get a good look at her, before they had a chance to say good-bye. My poor mom gave birth to her daughter vaginally, knowing that she was already gone. My mom doesn't remember the physical pain of the labor and delivery, as her emotional despair was so beyond comprehension. It had taken my parents 5 long years of trying and heartache to get their baby, and she was born sleeping. They had all but given up hope entirely when I came along, 2 years later.
Amanda and I share a middle name, but we share far more than that. I believe she is my guardian angel, with me in times of need. I believe she was in the room by my side during my open heart surgery, when my husband and parents couldn't be, and I believe she is taking care of our little one in heaven, because we cannot. Technically, by definition, I am an only child. I grew up without any siblings running around in the house, but I had 3 siblings in heaven.
Amanda will never be forgotten - my family visits her graveside every year for her birthday and Christmas, sometimes extra times if we're in town. I know she watches over me, and I find great comfort in that. And, she gets to spend time with our grandparents now that they've passed on, too. We share everything, just at different times, and in different ways. You're forever in our hearts, my sweet sister, forever in our hearts.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
The Long Good-bye
I started spotting a bit yesterday. More so today. Actually, if we're being truthful, it was more like pink mucus. And bits of tissue. Yes, that's right, tissue. Because this time, I'm bleeding out our baby. I can't tell you how much it pains me to wipe, see those little pink pieces, and then toss them away into the toilet bowl. Like they're nothing. But they are something - the biggest of somethings.
Please, Lord, please don't draw this out. Please don't make this good-bye any harder than it already is. And please, welcome our little one with open arms. Please take good care of our baby, and please tell him/her that they are perfect, that our love for them is beyond measure, that we were and are so honored to have been handpicked to be their mommy and daddy. That we know they tried their best to stay, but they couldn't. That it's ok. We'll always love them, always miss them, but we understand that they had to go, and it's ok. Until we meet again, Sweet Baby, you're forever in our hearts.
Please, Lord, please don't draw this out. Please don't make this good-bye any harder than it already is. And please, welcome our little one with open arms. Please take good care of our baby, and please tell him/her that they are perfect, that our love for them is beyond measure, that we were and are so honored to have been handpicked to be their mommy and daddy. That we know they tried their best to stay, but they couldn't. That it's ok. We'll always love them, always miss them, but we understand that they had to go, and it's ok. Until we meet again, Sweet Baby, you're forever in our hearts.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Limbo
"It" hasn't happened yet. The miscarriage, I mean. The ironic thing is that I feel better now physically than I did weeks 5 & 6 of my pregnancy. But, I still feel pregnant: boobs still inflated and sore (although not quite as much), still very bloated, appetite is back, and still very tired. The fatigue could be sadness-fueled though. I don't feel very motivated to do much of anything. I hate that my body hasn't gotten on board with this miscarriage, when I've had to begin to come to terms with it mentally. The lingering pregnancy symptoms are like an evil constant reminder of the fact that I was pregnant, I was going to be a mom, and now, or in a few days or weeks, the life that was going to be, is going to leave my body forever.
We went to the pumpkin patch yesterday with my mom, who came down to spend the weekend with us. I LOVE fall. I love pumpkins, and baked goods, and the decorations and cooler weather. I have always loved going to the pumpkin patch, ever since I was a little girl. So I thought going would certainly cheer me up. And it did, but I had to get through the teeming mass of children, families and pregnant women first. I forgot about them. I forgot that the holidays, which begin in October and kick-off at the pumpkin patch, are all about family time, and candid family photos. We were wandering around the buckets and tables of pre-picked pumpkins and gourds when I came across a little family of three: just born baby with her two beaming, fanning over the beautiful- new-life-we-created-together parents. I stared at them. I couldn't look away, even though I know it's socially inappropriate to stare at people you don't know. Jason put his arm around me and turned me gently away. My mom touched my shoulder and said, "Are you ok, honey?" and my eyes welled up and I just had to get out of there. So we slumped away from the happy scene and went to the "you pick" section of the patch, which is spread out over a few acres and decidedly less crowded. My mood picked up as we aimlessly strolled along the rows looking for the perfect pumpkin, but my heart wasn't in it. Not really.
I hate this. All of it. I hate knowing that our baby is still inside of me but no longer healthy, that today would be the first day of week 7 and yet, it's not. Our baby stopped growing 2 weeks ago. The fact that it hasn't left me yet makes me horribly sad in a way I can't explain, like it doesn't want to leave, like it feels at home in a womb that can no longer properly care for it. I don't want it to ever leave me. I want it to stay inside and continue to grow and be born in May, just like we had begun to plan for. But at the same time, if it's not going to grow any more, if it's not meant to be born to us and live on this Earth, I need for it to pass, so Jason and I can begin to heal and move forward, because right now, we're in limbo. We don't know when it's going to happen, and sometimes, since it hasn't yet, we wonder IF it's going to happen at all. Maybe the doctor is wrong, maybe the blood work wasn't all that bad, maybe this will be our miracle baby after all.
What are we supposed to think? Supposed to feel? Supposed to do? We love a baby that isn't meant to be, a baby we'll never meet. Are we parents? We have a child who would answer if we called out it's name in Heaven, but our arms remain empty here on Earth. How do we move forward, and find ourselves again, be happy again and have hope that we'll get our family? How do people do this over, and over, and over again? Will I always feel like a piece of me is missing? I feel so lost.
We went to the pumpkin patch yesterday with my mom, who came down to spend the weekend with us. I LOVE fall. I love pumpkins, and baked goods, and the decorations and cooler weather. I have always loved going to the pumpkin patch, ever since I was a little girl. So I thought going would certainly cheer me up. And it did, but I had to get through the teeming mass of children, families and pregnant women first. I forgot about them. I forgot that the holidays, which begin in October and kick-off at the pumpkin patch, are all about family time, and candid family photos. We were wandering around the buckets and tables of pre-picked pumpkins and gourds when I came across a little family of three: just born baby with her two beaming, fanning over the beautiful- new-life-we-created-together parents. I stared at them. I couldn't look away, even though I know it's socially inappropriate to stare at people you don't know. Jason put his arm around me and turned me gently away. My mom touched my shoulder and said, "Are you ok, honey?" and my eyes welled up and I just had to get out of there. So we slumped away from the happy scene and went to the "you pick" section of the patch, which is spread out over a few acres and decidedly less crowded. My mood picked up as we aimlessly strolled along the rows looking for the perfect pumpkin, but my heart wasn't in it. Not really.
I hate this. All of it. I hate knowing that our baby is still inside of me but no longer healthy, that today would be the first day of week 7 and yet, it's not. Our baby stopped growing 2 weeks ago. The fact that it hasn't left me yet makes me horribly sad in a way I can't explain, like it doesn't want to leave, like it feels at home in a womb that can no longer properly care for it. I don't want it to ever leave me. I want it to stay inside and continue to grow and be born in May, just like we had begun to plan for. But at the same time, if it's not going to grow any more, if it's not meant to be born to us and live on this Earth, I need for it to pass, so Jason and I can begin to heal and move forward, because right now, we're in limbo. We don't know when it's going to happen, and sometimes, since it hasn't yet, we wonder IF it's going to happen at all. Maybe the doctor is wrong, maybe the blood work wasn't all that bad, maybe this will be our miracle baby after all.
What are we supposed to think? Supposed to feel? Supposed to do? We love a baby that isn't meant to be, a baby we'll never meet. Are we parents? We have a child who would answer if we called out it's name in Heaven, but our arms remain empty here on Earth. How do we move forward, and find ourselves again, be happy again and have hope that we'll get our family? How do people do this over, and over, and over again? Will I always feel like a piece of me is missing? I feel so lost.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
How do you mend a broken heart?
My blood results were not positive today - my HCG levels are decreasing, which means a miscarriage is imminent. Just a matter of time. Turns out the doctor was right.
How do you put into words a sadness that begins in the deepest regions of your heart, and radiates outward to the very tips of your toes, to the end of every individual strand of hair, that reflects in your eyes and is felt with every fiber of your very soul?
We will have to say good-bye to our first child, instead of getting to say hello as we so hoped and prayed. I hope it knows how very much it was wanted, how loved it was from the very moment it came to be. How loved it still is and will always be. I'll always wonder if it would have been a boy or a girl, always wonder if it would have looked like me or more like Jason. What would it's name have been? I bet it's smile would have lit up a room, and I know he/she would have been the sunshine of our lives.
I am not ready to say good-bye. I know I'll never be ready. Not ever.
How do you put into words a sadness that begins in the deepest regions of your heart, and radiates outward to the very tips of your toes, to the end of every individual strand of hair, that reflects in your eyes and is felt with every fiber of your very soul?
We will have to say good-bye to our first child, instead of getting to say hello as we so hoped and prayed. I hope it knows how very much it was wanted, how loved it was from the very moment it came to be. How loved it still is and will always be. I'll always wonder if it would have been a boy or a girl, always wonder if it would have looked like me or more like Jason. What would it's name have been? I bet it's smile would have lit up a room, and I know he/she would have been the sunshine of our lives.
I am not ready to say good-bye. I know I'll never be ready. Not ever.
"No farewell words were spoken, no time to say goodbye.
You were gone before we knew it, and only God knows why."
Monday, October 3, 2011
New Beta - still not promising
My beta came back at 1300. It needed to over 1000 to still be considered "in the game." However, we are not out of the woods because that number does not jive with my first beta 2 weeks ago, which was 410. If that first number was accurate, my current beta should be much higher. So, I am beginning to wonder if that number was somehow inaccurate. I don't know how that would have happened or if maybe I'm just holding on to false hope, but it's the only other option we have right now other than something being wrong and I don't want to believe that, it hurts too much.
I am trying to get another blood test scheduled for Wednesday to see what direction we're heading in. Even if it's not enough time to double, it's enough time to show some movement one way or another, forward or back. If it increases at all, I'll have hope. If not, then we know what's to come.
I am so emotionally spent. I am trying my hardest to think of today's results as a positive thing, but it's honestly just neutral. It wasn't a horrible result, but it wasn't something that jived with my first beta. That number should be closer to 4k, not 1300. It's very possible that this pregnancy isn't viable, that maybe 4 days ago, my beta was 3000 and today it's 1300. We just have nothing to compare it to, just two numbers two weeks apart that don't match up.
We are scheduled to leave for Hawaii on Friday to meet our new niece. We were planning to tell Jason's family about our good news. I have a onesie with "I'm getting a cousin!" on it packed in my suitcase. We bought a baby name book on Saturday. I checked out pregnancy books from the library, which are stacked next to my nightstand. Our bathroom counter is lined with all 5 of my positive pregnancy tests to serve as a reminder because I've been so scared this whole time. And now this. What I've been fearing might actually come to pass. How can I go on this trip if it turns out I'm going to miscarry? Chances are, it'll happen while we're away and I can't imagine going through something so emotional and painful in a foreign environment, with a newborn baby in the next room, because we're staying with my brother and sister-in-law. If I can get my blood drawn again on Wednesday, and it shows promising increase, we'll still go. If it comes back less than 1300, we won't. I just can't. What if I miscarried on the plane? Six long hours of torture, physical and emotional. How would me miscarrying in Hawaii do anyone any good? They'd all feel bad, Jason and I would be miserable, and I'd feel guilty for essentially ruining the trip for all, even though it's outside of my control.
How did such a promising day, one that we have been looking forward to fortwo weeks three years turn in to this day from hell?? I just don't understand. After all I've been through, I still don't understand how life can turn on a dime...
Please God, please don't take this baby away from us. Keep it healthy and strong, and help me believe in miracles. We need a miracle. I'm not ready to say good-bye, especially since it was just two short weeks ago that we first said hello. I love you, Baby, and so does Daddy, so much. Don't go where we can't follow. You're meant to be here with us, please stay. Please.
I am trying to get another blood test scheduled for Wednesday to see what direction we're heading in. Even if it's not enough time to double, it's enough time to show some movement one way or another, forward or back. If it increases at all, I'll have hope. If not, then we know what's to come.
I am so emotionally spent. I am trying my hardest to think of today's results as a positive thing, but it's honestly just neutral. It wasn't a horrible result, but it wasn't something that jived with my first beta. That number should be closer to 4k, not 1300. It's very possible that this pregnancy isn't viable, that maybe 4 days ago, my beta was 3000 and today it's 1300. We just have nothing to compare it to, just two numbers two weeks apart that don't match up.
We are scheduled to leave for Hawaii on Friday to meet our new niece. We were planning to tell Jason's family about our good news. I have a onesie with "I'm getting a cousin!" on it packed in my suitcase. We bought a baby name book on Saturday. I checked out pregnancy books from the library, which are stacked next to my nightstand. Our bathroom counter is lined with all 5 of my positive pregnancy tests to serve as a reminder because I've been so scared this whole time. And now this. What I've been fearing might actually come to pass. How can I go on this trip if it turns out I'm going to miscarry? Chances are, it'll happen while we're away and I can't imagine going through something so emotional and painful in a foreign environment, with a newborn baby in the next room, because we're staying with my brother and sister-in-law. If I can get my blood drawn again on Wednesday, and it shows promising increase, we'll still go. If it comes back less than 1300, we won't. I just can't. What if I miscarried on the plane? Six long hours of torture, physical and emotional. How would me miscarrying in Hawaii do anyone any good? They'd all feel bad, Jason and I would be miserable, and I'd feel guilty for essentially ruining the trip for all, even though it's outside of my control.
How did such a promising day, one that we have been looking forward to for
Please God, please don't take this baby away from us. Keep it healthy and strong, and help me believe in miracles. We need a miracle. I'm not ready to say good-bye, especially since it was just two short weeks ago that we first said hello. I love you, Baby, and so does Daddy, so much. Don't go where we can't follow. You're meant to be here with us, please stay. Please.
Ultrasound not good
Egg sac there, but I'm measuring a week behind, 5 wks instead of 6, so no heartbeat detected. Doctor very concerned, said that miscarriage is probable at this point. We are awaiting beta blood results.
I told him I had implantation bleeding at 12/13 dpo or cd26, that I thought it was too late for it to be implantation and expected my period to start, but it didn't, and then of course I turned out to be pregnant. I asked if it's possible that I really am behind due to a late implantation, especially since my first beta was so strong, and I haven't had any spotting or cramping, and I have had symptoms this whole time. He said it's possible, he's seen it happen before, but it doesn't happen often, especially since I received a trigger shot to induce ovulation on a set day. That I probably have a good placenta but not a good embryo. Why do I feel like he's giving up on this pregnancy before we even know the results of the beta? He also said, "well at least you got pregnant." Yep, thanks. He seemed confused as to why we were so upset, like it was too early to have gotten attached. I hate my clinic. I truly do.
It is an understatement to say that we are devastated and very confused. Why is this happening?????? I feel like a part of me is dying, has died. Please don't leave me, baby, please. Please please please please please.
I told him I had implantation bleeding at 12/13 dpo or cd26, that I thought it was too late for it to be implantation and expected my period to start, but it didn't, and then of course I turned out to be pregnant. I asked if it's possible that I really am behind due to a late implantation, especially since my first beta was so strong, and I haven't had any spotting or cramping, and I have had symptoms this whole time. He said it's possible, he's seen it happen before, but it doesn't happen often, especially since I received a trigger shot to induce ovulation on a set day. That I probably have a good placenta but not a good embryo. Why do I feel like he's giving up on this pregnancy before we even know the results of the beta? He also said, "well at least you got pregnant." Yep, thanks. He seemed confused as to why we were so upset, like it was too early to have gotten attached. I hate my clinic. I truly do.
It is an understatement to say that we are devastated and very confused. Why is this happening?????? I feel like a part of me is dying, has died. Please don't leave me, baby, please. Please please please please please.
Sunday, October 2, 2011
Birthday Blessings from Heaven
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| My grandpa and me on his 73rd birthday |
I've lost 3 grandparents in 9 years: Grandpa Vern the first two months of my freshman year of college; Grandma Lorraine the day after my 23rd birthday in 2007; and Grandpa Harry 5 1/2 short months ago. They were so very special to me. Being an only child, I enjoyed a very close relationship with each of my grandparents, and as the years roll by, I'm finding that I miss them more and more. Every single one of them would have been ecstatic to see their great-grandchild. It makes me so very sad that my one remaining grandparent doesn't even seem to care, or register that it's even happening. And I know it's not her fault, but it still hurts, and I know it hurts my mom, too. Essentially, she's really lost both of her parents and I've lost my one grandparent still with us here on Earth.
But, that being said, I know without a shadow of a doubt, that my beloved grandparents are partially to thank for the blessing that is growing inside of me. Along with Jason's sweet Grandma, I know they had a hand in picking out the beautiful soul that would become our child. I knew the timing had to be right, and when my Grandpa Harry went to Heaven in April, I knew he'd join the ranks of people looking down on us with love from above, and that maybe together, they would find the baby we'd been wishing for and help him/her find their way to us.
And seemingly, they have.
So happy birthday, Grandpa! Your Lissa loves you so very much and misses you every day. I wish you all could see how happy we are, and I wish you could meet your great-grandchild when he/she is born in May, but I'm thinking you do and you already have, and that makes me smile.
Saturday, October 1, 2011
Negative for Infection???
Lab results came back for my culture and it's negative for infection. NEGATIVE. So what the EFF is wrong with me??
On the one hand, I'm relieved it's not an infection, which means I don't have to take those antibiotics.
On the other hand, I'm terrified. Terrified that this is some early miscarriage situation and we're going to lose our baby. Why is this happening?? Why can't I just have a freaking NORMAL anything?!
Must keep calm, must keep calm, must keep calm.... Not spotting, not cramping. Maybe this is just me, how I do pregnancy. I have nothing to compare it to and I've been told time and again that each woman does pregnancy different, and additionally, that each pregnancy is different. If that's the case, I'm golden. Maybe I'm just a twingy, pully, weird sensation, back pain kinda pregnant girl.
Must keep calm. Monday is just around the corner... Please keep thinking good thoughts for us!!
On the one hand, I'm relieved it's not an infection, which means I don't have to take those antibiotics.
On the other hand, I'm terrified. Terrified that this is some early miscarriage situation and we're going to lose our baby. Why is this happening?? Why can't I just have a freaking NORMAL anything?!
Must keep calm, must keep calm, must keep calm.... Not spotting, not cramping. Maybe this is just me, how I do pregnancy. I have nothing to compare it to and I've been told time and again that each woman does pregnancy different, and additionally, that each pregnancy is different. If that's the case, I'm golden. Maybe I'm just a twingy, pully, weird sensation, back pain kinda pregnant girl.
Must keep calm. Monday is just around the corner... Please keep thinking good thoughts for us!!
I gave in
My back pain was getting worse, the pressure and uncomfortable feelings when I needed to pee and afterwards returned, and I got a horrible back spasm right around where my kidneys are this morning which freaked me the heck out, soooo I gave in. Actually, my mom told me to "take the damn pills" and since mother's know best, I took the damn pill. One with lunch, the next will be taken with dinner. I haven't gotten the results back from the culture that was sent to the lab but if this isn't an infection, I don't know what else it could be! Sure feels like one. Plus, the in-house test they did showed probability so I need to go with that and just let it go.
I feel better about taking them. I got the opinion of a high risk OB at UCLA who said they are what is most commonly prescribed with UTI's and bladder issues during pregnancy and to definitely take them if needed. If I can't trust a high risk OB from one of the best medical centers in the nation, who can I trust? Also, my best friend is a biochemist and she explained to me why antibiotics don't effect babies in utero: the molecules are too big to pass through the placental barrier as they are designed to help the body they are ingested by and to target specific areas of the body, unlike illegal drugs and alcohol which are absorbed by the body much more due to their small molecular size. I love having such smart friends, thanks Steph!!
So I hope to feel some relief soon. It's so hard to know what to do. I've been drinking water and unsweetened cranberry juice like crazy but it's not enough. I have to do what's going to get rid of the infection and keep us both safe, and not allow the infection to run rampant through my system and potentially harm the baby. And I need to learn to trust the professionals. I just want to give my baby the best chance possible - I want to do what's best for him/her and I thought trying to do so without meds was the best choice. But it wasn't working, it wasn't enough, and I just hope and pray that this baby stays strong and healthy!!!
Our first ultrasound is on Monday.... (!!!!)
I feel better about taking them. I got the opinion of a high risk OB at UCLA who said they are what is most commonly prescribed with UTI's and bladder issues during pregnancy and to definitely take them if needed. If I can't trust a high risk OB from one of the best medical centers in the nation, who can I trust? Also, my best friend is a biochemist and she explained to me why antibiotics don't effect babies in utero: the molecules are too big to pass through the placental barrier as they are designed to help the body they are ingested by and to target specific areas of the body, unlike illegal drugs and alcohol which are absorbed by the body much more due to their small molecular size. I love having such smart friends, thanks Steph!!
So I hope to feel some relief soon. It's so hard to know what to do. I've been drinking water and unsweetened cranberry juice like crazy but it's not enough. I have to do what's going to get rid of the infection and keep us both safe, and not allow the infection to run rampant through my system and potentially harm the baby. And I need to learn to trust the professionals. I just want to give my baby the best chance possible - I want to do what's best for him/her and I thought trying to do so without meds was the best choice. But it wasn't working, it wasn't enough, and I just hope and pray that this baby stays strong and healthy!!!
Our first ultrasound is on Monday.... (!!!!)
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