My due date was today. But because the apparent cosmic purpose of my years of infertility was to make me forget about clocks, calendars, and stopwatches, let go of the last illusion of control created by the industrial revolution, and bow instead before nature's timescale, I am neither in the hospital, nor in labor, nor anywhere near giving birth.
On the contrary, I am the exhausted, ecstatic mother of a one-month old. Yes, my little trick-or-treater decided to arrive a month early. And, continuing my temporal rehabilitation, the baby has decided to sleep all day and eat all night, so that, although the computer claims it’s 5 PM, I am sitting here with a nice glass of orange juice and a bowl of granola, rubbing the dust from my eyes, while my sleeping baby coos occasionally beside me.
I thought I owed it to you all to let you know how the story starts. I still cannot say what I will make of this blog. I have really really been helped by the process of reading and writing blogs. At the same time, it has taken time from my life and my work that I certainly can’t afford in an industrial sense, and maybe shouldn’t give at all…
But at the very least, I wanted to offer a vision of myself and the baby as we ride off into the sunrise together. We live in an age too cynical for happy endings. But I have to say that this has been an extraordinarily happy beginning.
I was prepared for sleep deprivation, colic, baby blues, post-partum depression. I had primed myself with the understanding that motherhood is not all it's cracked up to be, that the joys of maternity have been gravely exaggerated by right-wing fanatics who want women out of the boardroom and trapped in boredom.
I was utterly unprepared for the sheer primal joy of holding the warm weight of a living child against the gaping, aching hole infertility had carved in my chest. I did not count on the sense of awed wonder of holding close a little body that I created and carried in my own, of leaning down to breath in the golden, baked-hay scent of baby skin, of brushing my cheek against silken baby hair, of gazing into my own baby’s face and loving every pimply, rashy inch of pink skin, of laughing with delight at every fart and burp. A baby is a feast for the senses, a salve for the wounded soul. I did not know that love could feel like this. I’ve been blindsided by joy. And I wish, really, that time could just stop right here.
"For, lo, the winter is past,
the rain is over and gone;
The flowers appear on the earth;
the time of the singing of birds is come,
and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land."
P.S. A bit about my treatment: I never received any medical explanation for my unexplained recurrent miscarriages. This successful pregnancy occurred without treatment of any kind.* Except. When I first began trying to conceive more than three years ago, I was diagnosed with Hashimoto's Thyroiditis, an autoimmune thyroid disease. I personally believe (and there are European studies to back up this possibility) that under treatment of my thyroid disease with inadequate levels of thyroid hormone replacement could be the explanation for my earlier losses. With this pregnancy I insisted on WEEKLY testing of my thyroid levels through the end of the first trimester (unheard of frequency in endocrinology circles, but Dr. Cookie-Pie, my RE, was at a loss for anything else to do and agreed to humor me) and found I needed to increase my thyroid hormone dose regularly, until I reached a dosage about 1/3 greater than before the pregnancy. (Once my TSH levels seemed to stabilize, I tested once/month for the rest of the pregnancy.) My doctors *do not* believe that this explains the success of this pregnancy. They say vague things like, "your body finally figured it out." But I think that *I* finally figured it out and I want to offer up this shred of a possible explanation to any other recurrent miscarriers who might be able to use it...
*You may recall the use of a little supplementary progesterone, true. But this was the first pregnancy in which there was any indication I might need it. My hormone levels have always been fine; we did it as a precaution this time due to the spotting, which I now think was caused by 1- the rough internal exam I was given on 10/31, before we knew there was a heartbeat and 2- the baby aspirin that I was briefly on initially (on my RE's advice on the off chance that it would help, despite the fact that a hematology consult turned up no evidence of a clotting disorder). In other words the unnecessary aspirin cancels out the unnecessary progesterone, meaning that this pregnancy needed nothing but synthroid.
Monday, June 26, 2006
Monday, May 15, 2006
If a Tree Grows in the Forest…
After 5 months without posting, I do not know if there is still anyone out there who would hear it if a tree fell in my forest. But I can’t resist making a joyful noise today to say that—on the contrary—the tree is growing very well indeed.
I am now exactly 34 weeks pregnant. At my OB appointment this morning, my doctor told me that if I were to go into labor now, they would do nothing to stop it. While the baby is not yet technically “term,” he is developed enough that he would not just survive but thrive if born now. Wow.
Afterwards, on the street, I ran into my RE, Dr. Cookie-Pie, the first time I’ve seen her since early December. She was thrilled at the sight of me, but actually kept repeating, “I can’t believe it.” She said, “as soon as we get this baby delivered we’re going to have to send you on the speakers’ circuit to give inspirational lectures to all the women who are on the brink of giving up hope.” It was a little disconcerting to have my main medical support person regarding this pregnancy as something close to miraculous, but at the same time it validated my own ongoing sense of pleasurable disbelief.
Once the nausea wore off completely (at about week 16) I began what, at least from the outside, seems to be an entirely normal and complication-free pregnancy. And though I have mostly spent it holding my breath, nothing of note has occurred. Even my moods, always so mercurial, have been remarkably stable.
It is just now hitting me that the long longing may at last be nearing an end. While I will always think of myself as infertile, I may soon be stripped of the title “Her Barreness” on account of having a babe in arms.
I feel filled now with hopes and fears: hopes for a new life of love and a new sense of grounding, fears about labor and delivery, about the possibility of post-partum depression, or even just garden-variety psychic disorientation. I’m afraid of the fact that life will never be the same, and afraid even of the fact that I may not wish it could be. I can’t wait to meet the little person I carry in my body, but I am anxious about getting to know the person I myself am about to become.
So, in this time of transition, I find myself filled with the urge to reach out to all those who helped me to get to this point. So many wonderful flesh and blood friends have stepped up to share this time of joyful anticipation. But it’s the virtual folk out there in the ether who were there with me through so many truly dark days. I want you to know how grateful I will always be for that fellowship and how often I think of you all, vivid characters in a story we wrote together.
If you’re still struggling, please know that while nature may be maddeningly inefficient, (and when it comes to human emotion horribly indifferent) you can also always count on what Kahlil Gibran called “life’s longing for itself.” You may remember a piece I wrote last spring about the doomed maple saplings springing up all over the lawn. What I didn’t mention then is that a few also took root in an abandoned flowerpot. They sprouted there for a month or more until finally the summer heat withered them away. I never watered them, much less transplanted them. I was angry at empty symbols and unwilling to lavish care on mere plants when my own womb remained a dry and desolate place. So imagine my bemused surprise this past weekend, when I uncovered those same pots under a pile of dead leaves and found growing there some very sturdy-stemmed maple saplings. Somehow, it seems, the roots had survived when the first year’s leaves died.
I don’t know what exactly my plans are, if any, for the continuation of this blog. But I wanted to leave a note for any old friends who might happen by, just to say thanks, I’m still here, and I’m almost in the clear.
I am now exactly 34 weeks pregnant. At my OB appointment this morning, my doctor told me that if I were to go into labor now, they would do nothing to stop it. While the baby is not yet technically “term,” he is developed enough that he would not just survive but thrive if born now. Wow.
Afterwards, on the street, I ran into my RE, Dr. Cookie-Pie, the first time I’ve seen her since early December. She was thrilled at the sight of me, but actually kept repeating, “I can’t believe it.” She said, “as soon as we get this baby delivered we’re going to have to send you on the speakers’ circuit to give inspirational lectures to all the women who are on the brink of giving up hope.” It was a little disconcerting to have my main medical support person regarding this pregnancy as something close to miraculous, but at the same time it validated my own ongoing sense of pleasurable disbelief.
Once the nausea wore off completely (at about week 16) I began what, at least from the outside, seems to be an entirely normal and complication-free pregnancy. And though I have mostly spent it holding my breath, nothing of note has occurred. Even my moods, always so mercurial, have been remarkably stable.
It is just now hitting me that the long longing may at last be nearing an end. While I will always think of myself as infertile, I may soon be stripped of the title “Her Barreness” on account of having a babe in arms.
I feel filled now with hopes and fears: hopes for a new life of love and a new sense of grounding, fears about labor and delivery, about the possibility of post-partum depression, or even just garden-variety psychic disorientation. I’m afraid of the fact that life will never be the same, and afraid even of the fact that I may not wish it could be. I can’t wait to meet the little person I carry in my body, but I am anxious about getting to know the person I myself am about to become.
So, in this time of transition, I find myself filled with the urge to reach out to all those who helped me to get to this point. So many wonderful flesh and blood friends have stepped up to share this time of joyful anticipation. But it’s the virtual folk out there in the ether who were there with me through so many truly dark days. I want you to know how grateful I will always be for that fellowship and how often I think of you all, vivid characters in a story we wrote together.
If you’re still struggling, please know that while nature may be maddeningly inefficient, (and when it comes to human emotion horribly indifferent) you can also always count on what Kahlil Gibran called “life’s longing for itself.” You may remember a piece I wrote last spring about the doomed maple saplings springing up all over the lawn. What I didn’t mention then is that a few also took root in an abandoned flowerpot. They sprouted there for a month or more until finally the summer heat withered them away. I never watered them, much less transplanted them. I was angry at empty symbols and unwilling to lavish care on mere plants when my own womb remained a dry and desolate place. So imagine my bemused surprise this past weekend, when I uncovered those same pots under a pile of dead leaves and found growing there some very sturdy-stemmed maple saplings. Somehow, it seems, the roots had survived when the first year’s leaves died.
I don’t know what exactly my plans are, if any, for the continuation of this blog. But I wanted to leave a note for any old friends who might happen by, just to say thanks, I’m still here, and I’m almost in the clear.
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
All Is Well for Now
Hi all. Well, my nuchal results came back fine. I am relieved. I don't actually know how good my chances are now, since I'll probably never know why I've been subject to serial miscarriage. But this feels like some kind of stopping place. So, I think this may be my last entry for a long while. I want to leave you, and my lost babes, with the essay below.
Memorializing the Immaterial
One of the most difficult aspects of miscarriage is the intangible nature of the loss. There are no dead to keen over, no bodies to ritually wash and wrap, no graves to visit. For those of us without other children, there’s no societal name for our new half-substantiated status: would-be mothers of unformed spirits. Wives who lose husbands become widows. Why is there no such word for mothers without children, much less for the almost-mothers of the unborn?
Last summer, after three losses, I found myself struggling for ways to make the miscarriages real. I felt so marked, so forever altered. And yet, apart from a few extra pounds here or there (more the result of post-pregnancy comfort eating than anything else), there was no evidence whatsoever of the passage of events that had passed through my body. I found myself wishing for some public sign of my frustrated motherhood.
I’ve never been one to consider a tattoo, not even the paint-on kind most kids apply sometime between elementary school and junior high. I never wanted to deface my skin; I never wanted to endure self-inflicted pain. And yet, after each miscarriage, it seemed my pain was so easily effaced, as invisible as each lost baby’s face. I began to fantasize about the possibility of acquiring tiny tattoos, perhaps three little hearts in a line on my forearm, one for each embryo gone. Or maybe a black line of numbers, each corresponding to a different cancelled due date. Eventually, I realized that my hands did bear scars, tiny stigmata, from insertion of IV lines for the D&C’s. Even though these small brown bumps look like age spots, I treasure them. They are marks of my age, of the losses I’ve lived through.
My husband and I decided, after some discussion, that we simply were not the type to hold a religious service, to read poetry in public, to make donations in memory of children we had never met. Still, I sought some way to remember babies I never knew, to honor those I never held. And so, one particular summer morning, on the second anniversary of my first due date, I asked my husband to go with me on a ritual walk, a two-person funeral procession for three invisible babies.
We were spending a week’s vacation in the woods and had noticed a sign a couple of miles from the cabin where we were staying that pointed out a local historic graveyard. There was no church in the vicinity, just the sheltering shadow of the mountain hovering over a sloping field. It seemed a place that was naturally sanctified without being formally holy, just the spot for the kind of half-formed ceremony we so deeply needed.
We set out early in the morning and I began collecting wildflowers as we went. It was high summer and flowers fringed the roadside: Daisies and Black-Eyed Susans, Queen Anne’s Lace and wild Day Lillies, pink Sweet-Pea, purple Clover, Golden Rod and many more varieties I could not label. The orange lillies with their tender freckled petals cut me to the quick, destined for lives that would last only one day, whether I picked them or left them in peace.
Though my husband resisted the idea at first, it soon gave focus and purpose to our walk. We agreed to pick three of each kind of flower we found. Then he, as eager as I, spotted one new variety after another to add to our ever-growing armful. When we arrived at the graveyard at last, we were laden with wild brambling bouquets full of unfamiliar blooms, perfect to mark the loss of much-loved, unknown, unnamed children.
Wind ruffled the trees, insects buzzed, and the grass around the graves gave off a brown baked smell. We began to look around at the worn stones of the time-softened old tombs and found none that dated after 1900 or so. I was not sure where I wanted to leave our bouquets, or even whether it might not be best to scatter them again on the homeward walk. My husband wandered out of sight behind a tree and I felt eerily, achingly alone. I wished suddenly for a prayer or a poem or an incantation and felt voiceless in the morning breeze.
Suddenly, my husband called out to me. He had found a trio of graves, memorials to three children from a single family who had each died within a week of the other back in the 1870’s. Three small stones, huddled together, leaned uncertainly towards the earth, each thinner and shorter by far than those that heralded the passing of the town’s patriarchs. I looked around for escort stones, larger markers for adult family members bearing the same last name. But there seemed to be none. Instead, the children lay alone there, most likely forgotten for a century or more.
I wondered what despair had attended their burials and whether their parents had left the hard life of the mountainside soon thereafter, in search of more fertile fields. How could their mother, whoever she was, ever have found the strength to go on? What other choice did she have? My husband and I looked at each other, our eyes filled with tears, and then we gently, silently, lowered our armloads onto the ground.
Last summer, after three losses, I found myself struggling for ways to make the miscarriages real. I felt so marked, so forever altered. And yet, apart from a few extra pounds here or there (more the result of post-pregnancy comfort eating than anything else), there was no evidence whatsoever of the passage of events that had passed through my body. I found myself wishing for some public sign of my frustrated motherhood.
I’ve never been one to consider a tattoo, not even the paint-on kind most kids apply sometime between elementary school and junior high. I never wanted to deface my skin; I never wanted to endure self-inflicted pain. And yet, after each miscarriage, it seemed my pain was so easily effaced, as invisible as each lost baby’s face. I began to fantasize about the possibility of acquiring tiny tattoos, perhaps three little hearts in a line on my forearm, one for each embryo gone. Or maybe a black line of numbers, each corresponding to a different cancelled due date. Eventually, I realized that my hands did bear scars, tiny stigmata, from insertion of IV lines for the D&C’s. Even though these small brown bumps look like age spots, I treasure them. They are marks of my age, of the losses I’ve lived through.
My husband and I decided, after some discussion, that we simply were not the type to hold a religious service, to read poetry in public, to make donations in memory of children we had never met. Still, I sought some way to remember babies I never knew, to honor those I never held. And so, one particular summer morning, on the second anniversary of my first due date, I asked my husband to go with me on a ritual walk, a two-person funeral procession for three invisible babies.
We were spending a week’s vacation in the woods and had noticed a sign a couple of miles from the cabin where we were staying that pointed out a local historic graveyard. There was no church in the vicinity, just the sheltering shadow of the mountain hovering over a sloping field. It seemed a place that was naturally sanctified without being formally holy, just the spot for the kind of half-formed ceremony we so deeply needed.
We set out early in the morning and I began collecting wildflowers as we went. It was high summer and flowers fringed the roadside: Daisies and Black-Eyed Susans, Queen Anne’s Lace and wild Day Lillies, pink Sweet-Pea, purple Clover, Golden Rod and many more varieties I could not label. The orange lillies with their tender freckled petals cut me to the quick, destined for lives that would last only one day, whether I picked them or left them in peace.
Though my husband resisted the idea at first, it soon gave focus and purpose to our walk. We agreed to pick three of each kind of flower we found. Then he, as eager as I, spotted one new variety after another to add to our ever-growing armful. When we arrived at the graveyard at last, we were laden with wild brambling bouquets full of unfamiliar blooms, perfect to mark the loss of much-loved, unknown, unnamed children.
Wind ruffled the trees, insects buzzed, and the grass around the graves gave off a brown baked smell. We began to look around at the worn stones of the time-softened old tombs and found none that dated after 1900 or so. I was not sure where I wanted to leave our bouquets, or even whether it might not be best to scatter them again on the homeward walk. My husband wandered out of sight behind a tree and I felt eerily, achingly alone. I wished suddenly for a prayer or a poem or an incantation and felt voiceless in the morning breeze.
Suddenly, my husband called out to me. He had found a trio of graves, memorials to three children from a single family who had each died within a week of the other back in the 1870’s. Three small stones, huddled together, leaned uncertainly towards the earth, each thinner and shorter by far than those that heralded the passing of the town’s patriarchs. I looked around for escort stones, larger markers for adult family members bearing the same last name. But there seemed to be none. Instead, the children lay alone there, most likely forgotten for a century or more.
I wondered what despair had attended their burials and whether their parents had left the hard life of the mountainside soon thereafter, in search of more fertile fields. How could their mother, whoever she was, ever have found the strength to go on? What other choice did she have? My husband and I looked at each other, our eyes filled with tears, and then we gently, silently, lowered our armloads onto the ground.
Monday, December 12, 2005
I made it through in two pieces
Well, today I am 12 weeks pregnant. As I understand it, this means I have officially entered the second trimester. This seems to me almost miraculous. I have to say, I never, never imagined being one of those infertility bloggers who irritatingly turned into a pregnancy blogger. (No offense intended. Expectant mothers--of the adopting and the gestating kind--and actual moms are some of my favorite bloggers. But come on, you know what it's like to be a hardcore infertile & watch all these softcore ladies get to leave hell behind.)
I am still having a hard time working up much enthusiasm for pregnancy itself. Zofran, alas, worked only for a few days. Then its powers seemed to wear off. Then it seemed to actually BE a nausea trigger. So, no more of that. I'm back on the vomit 3 or 4 times a day plan. Does kind of sap the will to live.
Still, I am so grateful just to still be pregnant. I thought this morning, " Wow-- I made it through to the second trimester in one piece." And then the snarky half of my brain, getting ready to puke again, said "you call THIS one piece?!" And then I realized, "hey there's a baby in here, so heck, two pieces is about the best you could hope for." So here I am.
Nuchal results are next week. If those are OK, I may really start to believe.
I am still having a hard time working up much enthusiasm for pregnancy itself. Zofran, alas, worked only for a few days. Then its powers seemed to wear off. Then it seemed to actually BE a nausea trigger. So, no more of that. I'm back on the vomit 3 or 4 times a day plan. Does kind of sap the will to live.
Still, I am so grateful just to still be pregnant. I thought this morning, " Wow-- I made it through to the second trimester in one piece." And then the snarky half of my brain, getting ready to puke again, said "you call THIS one piece?!" And then I realized, "hey there's a baby in here, so heck, two pieces is about the best you could hope for." So here I am.
Nuchal results are next week. If those are OK, I may really start to believe.
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
The Olympic Hurling Team
It turns out that if you practice hard and get really, really at good vomiting, you win a prize. It's called Zofran. Sweet, sweet little strawberry marshmallow tab of relief. I will spare you poetic descriptions of my puke. (Though I will just say, that if in desperation you were turn to Gatorade in your futile attempts to rehydrate, you would not want to pick the Berry-Tropical Punch flavor. Because, were you to throw it back up, it would look like something was slaughtered in your toilet.) Right now, I am lying low, loving the Zofran.
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
Curiouser and Curiouser
Well, folks, I am still pregnant. I must say I can hardly believe it and I feel almost giddy with relief. I took myself out for a big egg-on-a-bagel sandwich afterwards (because I am queasy unless I am eating or unless I have just thrown up, a spectacular event that occurs 2 to 3 times a day) and as I sat there in the window of the Dunkin Donuts listening to canned Christmas carols, I thought my heart would just well over. The fetus (it's now a fetus!) measured 10 weeks 2 days, just perfect and was 3.6 cm crown to rump. I am floored to realize that that's about an inch and a half. I know you will laugh, but I can hardly believe that there's a miniature person that big lodged inside my body. Somehow, I've continued to think of this baby as a few hundred cells-- cute on the ultrasound, sure, but still way too small to see with the naked eye. I go for a nuchal translucency screening next week. That too will be an emotional event. With my second pregnancy, I was only getting standard once-a-month monitoring. We had a heartbeat at 8 weeks, then I went till 12 1/2 weeks, when the ultrasound at the nuchal screen revealed that fetal demise had occurred at around 9 weeks... Even my RE seemed in disbelief today, "But, but, we haven't done anything differently," she said. She's transferring me to my regular OB, but made me promise to call her the minute my appointment is over next week. I think she too mistrusts this strange change of luck and wonders how long it can last. So hang onto your hats, folks.
Thank you so much for your fabulous comments. They made me laugh and cry by turns. Maya likes how "clean" my blog is. Is she referring to the utter absence of links or illustrations of any kind (the result of my technical incompetence)? Or does she mean that there's nary a mention of sex (that would be due to the tragic imposition of "pelvic rest," a medical order that has my husband and me feeling like frustrated fifteen-year olds!)? To Jeanne and Lisa, and all the other hopefuls waiting on tenterhooks, you know I know exactly how you feel. V's Herbie: you're female! I was never sure. Glad to know more about you & to have a reader from the cool coast. Also glad to know I'm being read by a few true-blue folks from the true North--Anne and JMW. To Lisa P. and Sonya, I feel such solidarity with my fellow recurrent miscarriers. To think that my attempt to heal myself is making things a little better for anyone else really means the world to me. Thalia, I know just what you mean about "finding a real home." Thanks to all of you for the safe haven.
Thank you so much for your fabulous comments. They made me laugh and cry by turns. Maya likes how "clean" my blog is. Is she referring to the utter absence of links or illustrations of any kind (the result of my technical incompetence)? Or does she mean that there's nary a mention of sex (that would be due to the tragic imposition of "pelvic rest," a medical order that has my husband and me feeling like frustrated fifteen-year olds!)? To Jeanne and Lisa, and all the other hopefuls waiting on tenterhooks, you know I know exactly how you feel. V's Herbie: you're female! I was never sure. Glad to know more about you & to have a reader from the cool coast. Also glad to know I'm being read by a few true-blue folks from the true North--Anne and JMW. To Lisa P. and Sonya, I feel such solidarity with my fellow recurrent miscarriers. To think that my attempt to heal myself is making things a little better for anyone else really means the world to me. Thalia, I know just what you mean about "finding a real home." Thanks to all of you for the safe haven.
Saturday, November 26, 2005
Tick Tock, Tick Tock
Hi, everyone. Just checking in. I’m not feeling very articulate. Mostly I am vomiting and sleeping. And holding my breath for next Tuesday. I have to say, I have no script at all for what it would mean to be an actual pregnant person, someone for whom the puking and napping ends with entrance into the second trimester, rather than thanks to all the nice anti-nausea meds they give you with the D&C. At the same time, ever since I went NPO to my appointment last week, I’ve stopped being on every-single-second high alert for the miscarriage. If I do have one now, it’s really going to take my breath away. I don’t know how to go forward without believing it could work. I feel like if I don’t think positive, I’ll blame myself later for somehow contributing to disaster. But, at the same time, optimism itself seems frightening and foolhardy. Mostly I wish I could just just stay asleep till this is over, one way or the other.
Help me pass the time here people. Tell me something about you. Tell me anything you’d like. Below are a few suggestions of things I’d like to know:
1. How did you find the world of IF blogs? What was the first blog you read? What was your situation at the time that you found it?
2. How did you find my blog specifically? What do you like about it? What would you change?
3. Are you currently trying to have a child? Why or why not? Has the decision been a difficult one? What factors have you considered? If you’re trying, how long have you been at it? If it’s been a while, do you think of yourself as infertile?
4. Where are you located? How old are you? Be as vague or specific as you like on those…
5. Feel free to ask me questions in return. I would love to hear from you, even if you usually “just lurk.”
Help me pass the time here people. Tell me something about you. Tell me anything you’d like. Below are a few suggestions of things I’d like to know:
1. How did you find the world of IF blogs? What was the first blog you read? What was your situation at the time that you found it?
2. How did you find my blog specifically? What do you like about it? What would you change?
3. Are you currently trying to have a child? Why or why not? Has the decision been a difficult one? What factors have you considered? If you’re trying, how long have you been at it? If it’s been a while, do you think of yourself as infertile?
4. Where are you located? How old are you? Be as vague or specific as you like on those…
5. Feel free to ask me questions in return. I would love to hear from you, even if you usually “just lurk.”
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
The Third Thanksgiving
Well, I have to tell you, I could not have been more nervous than I was this morning. In fact, I was so overwrought I called my husband at work and asked him if he thought I could still count as NPO today even though I had a few sips of water upon waking. For anyone reading this who has not had the pleasure of multiple D&C's, "NPO" means "nil per os," or "nothing by mouth," the condition you have to be in if you're going to undergo anesthesia. He wasn't sure, but didn't think that the water would count against me. So even though I was ravenous with hunger/ tipsy with nausea, I went to my ultrasound appointment this morning on an empty stomach. Just, you know, to be prepared.
And in fact, to break out a better-loved acronym, NBHHY. The baby measured 9 weeks 1 day with a continued strong heartbeat. There was some concern about the rate of uterine expansion as well as an on-the-shorter-side cervix. I may need to go back for another scan in a few days, because the cervix at any rate could be supported with cerclage if necessary. (Not sure if “cerclage” is spelled right; spell-check suggests “corkage” as an alternative, which I suppose does get the point across!) Still, all things considered, it was the best scan I could have hoped for, certainly the best scan I personally have ever seen at 9 weeks.
The best part was seeing the "baby" (all 2 millimeters or so) moving in there. It seemed to be head butting the uterine wall, or maybe even kissing it-- to me it looked like a gentle motion. It was a wild, wild sight, something I've never been able to see before. I'm feeling teary just writing about it. The fact remains that I may not have much longer with this baby. And I really am near the end of my rope pregnancy and miscarriage wise. So I'm doing the best I can to appreciate what I have.
Amazing, but this is the third Thanksgiving in a row that I will spend pregnant. In spite of everything, I do feel grateful right now. And I plan to be TPO (that would be Turkey Per Os) come Thursday.
As I give thanks this year, I will be thinking of all of you lovely loyal friends in the computer, strangers who have given so much of yourselves and helped me so much in the last months and years. I tend to find both Christmas and Easter, with their child-centered traditions and their origins in fertility festivals, incredibly depressing. But Thanksgiving is one holiday that infertility hasn't ruined for me (yet). I hope it will be a good one for all of you, no matter where you are on the road to parenthood.
And in fact, to break out a better-loved acronym, NBHHY. The baby measured 9 weeks 1 day with a continued strong heartbeat. There was some concern about the rate of uterine expansion as well as an on-the-shorter-side cervix. I may need to go back for another scan in a few days, because the cervix at any rate could be supported with cerclage if necessary. (Not sure if “cerclage” is spelled right; spell-check suggests “corkage” as an alternative, which I suppose does get the point across!) Still, all things considered, it was the best scan I could have hoped for, certainly the best scan I personally have ever seen at 9 weeks.
The best part was seeing the "baby" (all 2 millimeters or so) moving in there. It seemed to be head butting the uterine wall, or maybe even kissing it-- to me it looked like a gentle motion. It was a wild, wild sight, something I've never been able to see before. I'm feeling teary just writing about it. The fact remains that I may not have much longer with this baby. And I really am near the end of my rope pregnancy and miscarriage wise. So I'm doing the best I can to appreciate what I have.
Amazing, but this is the third Thanksgiving in a row that I will spend pregnant. In spite of everything, I do feel grateful right now. And I plan to be TPO (that would be Turkey Per Os) come Thursday.
As I give thanks this year, I will be thinking of all of you lovely loyal friends in the computer, strangers who have given so much of yourselves and helped me so much in the last months and years. I tend to find both Christmas and Easter, with their child-centered traditions and their origins in fertility festivals, incredibly depressing. But Thanksgiving is one holiday that infertility hasn't ruined for me (yet). I hope it will be a good one for all of you, no matter where you are on the road to parenthood.
Well...
I woke up this morning with new spotting (haven't had any since Friday 11/11). My appointment is in a few hours. God only knows what this portends.
Friday, November 18, 2005
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
Takes a Lickin' and Keeps on Tickin'
First of all, you guys are great. I cannot tell you how much it means to me to know you're out there pulling for me, especially now as I open the window of time in which my prior losses have occurred. I swear this blog and all your comments are some of the main things keeping me semi-sane.
So, today's checkup was basically good. The embryo has grown an amazing 11 days worth in seven days and is therefore now measuring one day ahead: 8 weeks, 2 days today. The heartbeat is a little on the high side, but still within range: 178 beats/min. Meanwhile, there was evidence of a new (but now inactive) uterine bleed, which could be the source of the panic-inducing spotting I had late last week.
In most cases, a heartbeat at 8 weeks is a very good sign. But what you really need to know, to understand the extent of my hope, anxiety, and dread, is that with my last 2 losses I had a heartbeat at 8 weeks. And in fact, by eerie coincidence, in my most most recent loss, the last time I saw the heartbeat was at--you guessed it-- exactly 8 weeks and 2 days (at which point the embryo was also one day ahead). By 9 weeks 1 day, it was gone. Soo, I really don't know just how I'm going to get through the next week.
So, today's checkup was basically good. The embryo has grown an amazing 11 days worth in seven days and is therefore now measuring one day ahead: 8 weeks, 2 days today. The heartbeat is a little on the high side, but still within range: 178 beats/min. Meanwhile, there was evidence of a new (but now inactive) uterine bleed, which could be the source of the panic-inducing spotting I had late last week.
In most cases, a heartbeat at 8 weeks is a very good sign. But what you really need to know, to understand the extent of my hope, anxiety, and dread, is that with my last 2 losses I had a heartbeat at 8 weeks. And in fact, by eerie coincidence, in my most most recent loss, the last time I saw the heartbeat was at--you guessed it-- exactly 8 weeks and 2 days (at which point the embryo was also one day ahead). By 9 weeks 1 day, it was gone. Soo, I really don't know just how I'm going to get through the next week.
Monday, November 14, 2005
Queasy, Grumpy, and Sleepy
Kath very kindly asks how I'm doing. Well, aside from the visit by the three pregnancy stooges, aside from the minor little matter of the abnormal pap smear result (remember that Halloween pap?) and aside from the sudden onset of cramping and spotting on Friday (which resolved as quickly as it arrived), I've been just dandy. I have my weekly ultrasound appointment (the sole perk of being a habitual you-know-what) tomorrow and I promise to report back.
Wednesday, November 09, 2005
Chants, Charms, and Talismans
I'm carrying around a cobalt blue plastic Turkish God's Eye keychain in my purse right now. I'm not Turkish. Or Muslim. I'm a bit alarmed by the kitschy commodification of religion. Still, I keep the God's Eye in my change purse compartment. And I reach in and run my fingers over it every time I feel spooked by the looming specter of another miscarriage.
Modern medicine pretends to be rationally based, empirically sound, and scientifically certain. But the experience of undergoing unexplained recurrent miscarriage can easily lead to a crisis of doubt. When you’ve been through a fathomless series of blood-draws and surgical procedures, medical histories and physical examinations, to check out the possibility of hormonal imbalances, clotting disorders, autoimmune issues, infection factors, genetic abnormalities, and anatomical anomalies, come back negative for everything, and come up with nothing, you can reach a point where making wishes every time a clock shows quadruple digits seems like a sound treatment strategy.
People started offering me “lucky objects” as soon as they heard about my first miscarriage. One girlhood friend of mine packaged up a beaded amber bracelet said to promote fertility through the power of crystal healing. Someone had given it to her after she had a miscarriage; to send it to me she’d had to steal it out of her three-year old’s jewelry box. Clearly the bracelet conferred powerful properties.
I wore it for a single afternoon. Then I decided I couldn’t stand the way it marked me as an infertility convict, sentenced to walk the streets with my prisoner ID bracelet on prominent display. So I took it off and left it on my nightstand, where I could gaze at it respectfully, every now and then.
At the amber bracelet stage I still thought that a couple of quick medical tests would soon set me straight. In the early days of miscarriage your main focus is on solving the problem, moving forward, and forgetting the unfortunate incident as quickly as possible. And I had more than just M.D.s on my side. I had the amazing positive prophesies of everyone I met. Everyone who looked at me just “knew,” just “had a feeling,” that the next pregnancy was going to be a good one.
With the second miscarriage, the magic materials started pouring in. There was the amaryllis bulb my grandmother gave me to force into bloom on a sunny winter windowsill, sure symbol of renewal and the promise of spring. Lance Armstrong’s Tour de France victory loomed large in the popular mind at that time and everyone from my doctor to the guy at the deli counter was sporting those “Live Strong” bracelets. I received three from various well-wishers.
I have to say, though, that I couldn’t quite see the point. The babies were the ones that needed help living strong and frankly those yellow rubber rings were much too big for the average embryo. In fact, they were much too big for me to wear round my petite wrists. So the ‘Live Strong” bracelets (which really look like they could be put to better use binding together a bunch of broccoli) were left to languish beside the amber beads.
After the third miscarriage, most people just began to shake their heads. They seemed to be saying, “the dark death force of your womb is too much for our minor white magic. Go and seek your future elsewhere.”
It’s just at this point that I myself, having pretty well run through the available arsenal of academically approved medical options, began to understand just how hard it is to force a flower to bloom. It gradually began to seem to me that magic might be the best thing to add to my apothecary. Still, it wasn’t until I was out shopping and spied a tiny wooden pair of antique children’s shoe forms (suitable for a cobbler to use in draping leather to shape a miniature boot) that I just couldn’t put down, that it hit me. I realized I had made the leap into the realm of magical thinking. At the time I claimed I was purchasing the shoe forms as a gift for a friend who is a new mother—what a unique and special memento! But, in fact, I couldn’t stop caressing those wooden forms in my hand. I walked through the store rubbing the slightly rough surface of the raised old wood grain against the ticklish part of my palm. And I clutched them all the way home in the car. By then I knew that they were for me. I decided to display them high on a door frame over my head, the symbol of both a goal out reach and of a doorway I’m determined to pass through.
So, when a Turkish friend of my mother’s--master of the mysterious meanings to be found in the swirled dregs of coffee grounds, a woman who claims to have foretold the plane crash that would have killed her sister had she not missed the flight--pressed the keychain into my hand and said with a confident, conspiratorial nod, “take this,” I did. Now more than ever, I’m counting on its wonderous spiritual powers.
Let me hear your stories. What magic materials have people forced on you? What have you found for yourself? Do you discard these things as fast as you get them? Is there one that you'd swear, in spite of good sense, really does work?
Modern medicine pretends to be rationally based, empirically sound, and scientifically certain. But the experience of undergoing unexplained recurrent miscarriage can easily lead to a crisis of doubt. When you’ve been through a fathomless series of blood-draws and surgical procedures, medical histories and physical examinations, to check out the possibility of hormonal imbalances, clotting disorders, autoimmune issues, infection factors, genetic abnormalities, and anatomical anomalies, come back negative for everything, and come up with nothing, you can reach a point where making wishes every time a clock shows quadruple digits seems like a sound treatment strategy.
People started offering me “lucky objects” as soon as they heard about my first miscarriage. One girlhood friend of mine packaged up a beaded amber bracelet said to promote fertility through the power of crystal healing. Someone had given it to her after she had a miscarriage; to send it to me she’d had to steal it out of her three-year old’s jewelry box. Clearly the bracelet conferred powerful properties.
I wore it for a single afternoon. Then I decided I couldn’t stand the way it marked me as an infertility convict, sentenced to walk the streets with my prisoner ID bracelet on prominent display. So I took it off and left it on my nightstand, where I could gaze at it respectfully, every now and then.
At the amber bracelet stage I still thought that a couple of quick medical tests would soon set me straight. In the early days of miscarriage your main focus is on solving the problem, moving forward, and forgetting the unfortunate incident as quickly as possible. And I had more than just M.D.s on my side. I had the amazing positive prophesies of everyone I met. Everyone who looked at me just “knew,” just “had a feeling,” that the next pregnancy was going to be a good one.
With the second miscarriage, the magic materials started pouring in. There was the amaryllis bulb my grandmother gave me to force into bloom on a sunny winter windowsill, sure symbol of renewal and the promise of spring. Lance Armstrong’s Tour de France victory loomed large in the popular mind at that time and everyone from my doctor to the guy at the deli counter was sporting those “Live Strong” bracelets. I received three from various well-wishers.
I have to say, though, that I couldn’t quite see the point. The babies were the ones that needed help living strong and frankly those yellow rubber rings were much too big for the average embryo. In fact, they were much too big for me to wear round my petite wrists. So the ‘Live Strong” bracelets (which really look like they could be put to better use binding together a bunch of broccoli) were left to languish beside the amber beads.
After the third miscarriage, most people just began to shake their heads. They seemed to be saying, “the dark death force of your womb is too much for our minor white magic. Go and seek your future elsewhere.”
It’s just at this point that I myself, having pretty well run through the available arsenal of academically approved medical options, began to understand just how hard it is to force a flower to bloom. It gradually began to seem to me that magic might be the best thing to add to my apothecary. Still, it wasn’t until I was out shopping and spied a tiny wooden pair of antique children’s shoe forms (suitable for a cobbler to use in draping leather to shape a miniature boot) that I just couldn’t put down, that it hit me. I realized I had made the leap into the realm of magical thinking. At the time I claimed I was purchasing the shoe forms as a gift for a friend who is a new mother—what a unique and special memento! But, in fact, I couldn’t stop caressing those wooden forms in my hand. I walked through the store rubbing the slightly rough surface of the raised old wood grain against the ticklish part of my palm. And I clutched them all the way home in the car. By then I knew that they were for me. I decided to display them high on a door frame over my head, the symbol of both a goal out reach and of a doorway I’m determined to pass through.
So, when a Turkish friend of my mother’s--master of the mysterious meanings to be found in the swirled dregs of coffee grounds, a woman who claims to have foretold the plane crash that would have killed her sister had she not missed the flight--pressed the keychain into my hand and said with a confident, conspiratorial nod, “take this,” I did. Now more than ever, I’m counting on its wonderous spiritual powers.
Let me hear your stories. What magic materials have people forced on you? What have you found for yourself? Do you discard these things as fast as you get them? Is there one that you'd swear, in spite of good sense, really does work?
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
And Now Back to Our Regularly Scheduled Program
Well, I went for another sonogram today and the news is still not bad. The embryo is still behind by dates, but it has grown a week in a week. Meanwhile, the spotting has stopped. So, as Getup Grrl used to say, NBHHY: Nothing Bad Has Happened Yet.
This is actually where I expected to be six months ago, the reason I started this blog. I never expected the months of frustration trying to conceive much less the insane roller-coaster start of this pregnancy. All of my prior pregnancies have started smoothly with textbook numbers; all of my losses have been between 8 and 12 weeks. So I wanted this blog to get me through the waiting period, from the first sight of the heartbeat through (hopefully through) the end of the first trimester.
I'm just 7 weeks 1 day today. So, you see, we're really just getting started here.
And another thing: I wrote my "in love" piece tongue firmly in cheek, though most of you seem to have taken it straight. In fact, I AM trying to bond with this baby, something I have never tried to do before. It seems so hokey. The thing is that much as I deeply want a child I have mostly hated being pregnant. But I am trying to "appreciate" it this time. Because, one way or another, I'm not going to be playing this game too much longer. As I may have mentioned, my "wall" grows ever higher; cradling a living child is becoming much more important to me than carrying one.
That said, I am trying to enter whole-heartedly into this unlikely pregnancy, even though getting my hopes up only gives me further to fall. I hope you'll all stick with me now. Because this is the really hard part. Thanks.
This is actually where I expected to be six months ago, the reason I started this blog. I never expected the months of frustration trying to conceive much less the insane roller-coaster start of this pregnancy. All of my prior pregnancies have started smoothly with textbook numbers; all of my losses have been between 8 and 12 weeks. So I wanted this blog to get me through the waiting period, from the first sight of the heartbeat through (hopefully through) the end of the first trimester.
I'm just 7 weeks 1 day today. So, you see, we're really just getting started here.
And another thing: I wrote my "in love" piece tongue firmly in cheek, though most of you seem to have taken it straight. In fact, I AM trying to bond with this baby, something I have never tried to do before. It seems so hokey. The thing is that much as I deeply want a child I have mostly hated being pregnant. But I am trying to "appreciate" it this time. Because, one way or another, I'm not going to be playing this game too much longer. As I may have mentioned, my "wall" grows ever higher; cradling a living child is becoming much more important to me than carrying one.
That said, I am trying to enter whole-heartedly into this unlikely pregnancy, even though getting my hopes up only gives me further to fall. I hope you'll all stick with me now. Because this is the really hard part. Thanks.
Thursday, November 03, 2005
Baby Bigelow: Uterine Gigolo
I am in the midst of an intense love affair with a babe who everyone tells me is no good. It began, of course, nearly three weeks ago on the Sunday night when I first saw that flash of pink--such a romantic color. Everyone said, "Watch out, this love is not for real." But I have been caught in a whirlwind romance ever since.
You know you're smitten when you can't get the love songs out of your head. Here I am still humming the Zodiacs to myself, begging this baby to stay.
The doctors all said, "This one's no good. Better hide your heart girl." They said I'd be left flat, that they could already hear the sound of the door slamming. I believed them completely, but I still could not stop myself from dreaming. Morning after morning alone, I kept listening for that knock on the door.
This week, it came. On Monday, the babe showed up in style. We were together again, and I had a beautiful heart-shaped bouquet to make up for all the lonely nights.
But the sweet love of reunion turns sour the fastest. By Wednesday the babe was again threatening to take off. As I bled with sorrow, the doctors said, "What did we tell you? We said this wasn't the one." Out of sympathy they sent me off to Bigelow Chemists, the oldest "apothecary" in New York City, where (for $75 cash and a winning smile) you can still get your progesterone suppositories custom-mixed to order within the hour. [www.bigelowchemists.com]
And that, my friends, is how Baby Bigelow got his name. No one thinks he'll stick around. But for now he's still here and I'm still crazy in love.
You know you're smitten when you can't get the love songs out of your head. Here I am still humming the Zodiacs to myself, begging this baby to stay.
The doctors all said, "This one's no good. Better hide your heart girl." They said I'd be left flat, that they could already hear the sound of the door slamming. I believed them completely, but I still could not stop myself from dreaming. Morning after morning alone, I kept listening for that knock on the door.
This week, it came. On Monday, the babe showed up in style. We were together again, and I had a beautiful heart-shaped bouquet to make up for all the lonely nights.
But the sweet love of reunion turns sour the fastest. By Wednesday the babe was again threatening to take off. As I bled with sorrow, the doctors said, "What did we tell you? We said this wasn't the one." Out of sympathy they sent me off to Bigelow Chemists, the oldest "apothecary" in New York City, where (for $75 cash and a winning smile) you can still get your progesterone suppositories custom-mixed to order within the hour. [www.bigelowchemists.com]
And that, my friends, is how Baby Bigelow got his name. No one thinks he'll stick around. But for now he's still here and I'm still crazy in love.
Monday, October 31, 2005
Never in My WILDEST Dreams...
Notice anything funky with the blog banner, anyone? Yes. I am here with a Halloween report of the most insane example of trick-or-treat ever.
I went to a new RE today, for my 8 millionth second-opinion appointment. When I scheduled it back in JUNE, I was irritated that there were no available appointments till Ocotber, but figured, "oh what the hell, I'll probably still be infertile by then." I was a teensy bit spooked that the day they offered was Halloween, and I even joked about it with the receptionist; she had no sense of humor and said something like, "well if you don't take that slot, she can't see you till 2008." So, I took the appointment and I went today.
The new RE was very nice. We had a long chat about what my problem might be, yada, yada. She was concerned about the size of my uterus and wanted to measure it. I said, you know this chemical pregnancy I'm having right now is really dragging out. I'd love it if you could give me some sense of where I am with that, while you're checking out everything else.
SO she gave me a physical, including a breast exam and a pap, poked around at my cervix, took a few uterine measurements through the speculum and then fired up the old ultrasound to confirm the manual measurements...whereupon there was not just a clear gestational sac but a HEARTBEAT!!!! And, a super-stat beta reveals that my HCG levels have done something like quadruple daily since last week. They're not perfect, but thery're literally 10 times higher than they were, rather than only 3.5 (which is what you;d expect from betas taken 7 days apart.)
We are in certified miracle territory here people. No one knows quite what to think. But my pulse is racing and I am, for the moment, beside myself with anxious delight. Happy Halloween Everyone.
I went to a new RE today, for my 8 millionth second-opinion appointment. When I scheduled it back in JUNE, I was irritated that there were no available appointments till Ocotber, but figured, "oh what the hell, I'll probably still be infertile by then." I was a teensy bit spooked that the day they offered was Halloween, and I even joked about it with the receptionist; she had no sense of humor and said something like, "well if you don't take that slot, she can't see you till 2008." So, I took the appointment and I went today.
The new RE was very nice. We had a long chat about what my problem might be, yada, yada. She was concerned about the size of my uterus and wanted to measure it. I said, you know this chemical pregnancy I'm having right now is really dragging out. I'd love it if you could give me some sense of where I am with that, while you're checking out everything else.
SO she gave me a physical, including a breast exam and a pap, poked around at my cervix, took a few uterine measurements through the speculum and then fired up the old ultrasound to confirm the manual measurements...whereupon there was not just a clear gestational sac but a HEARTBEAT!!!! And, a super-stat beta reveals that my HCG levels have done something like quadruple daily since last week. They're not perfect, but thery're literally 10 times higher than they were, rather than only 3.5 (which is what you;d expect from betas taken 7 days apart.)
We are in certified miracle territory here people. No one knows quite what to think. But my pulse is racing and I am, for the moment, beside myself with anxious delight. Happy Halloween Everyone.
Thursday, October 27, 2005
Please Continue to Hold...
A Brief Dialog Between Anne and the Representatives of Uncooperative Uterus Incorporated
"Ring Ring, Ring Ring...
A: Hello?
UU Inc: Hello! And welcome to Uncooperative Uterus Incorporated. Thank you for your call.
A: Um, hello? Is this a recording?
UU Inc: Your call is very important to us. We here at Uncooperative Uterus Incorporated know how to squeeze out a woman's dreams. We remain dedicated to providing you with the same high level of quality and service you've come to expect.
A: Some quality! Hello? Could I please get someone live on the line?
UU Inc: Please continue to wait. Your call will be answered in the order in which it was received. To access our automated menu, please choose one of the following options. To request the onset of menses, please press 1. To register a complaint about unproductive cramping, please press 2. To report an absence of spotting, please press 3. To speak to a service provider, please stay on the line. Or press * for more options.
A:!#@%!!! Sigh. *
UU Inc: Due to unusual call volume, we are unable to process your request for a miscarriage at this time. Please try your call again later."
Yeah, ain't nothin happinin here, unless you count the onset of depression as an indication that my HCG levels are finally getting the idea and starting to drop. Anyway, thanks so much to all of you for holding me in your thoughts. *Please* continue to hold!
"Ring Ring, Ring Ring...
A: Hello?
UU Inc: Hello! And welcome to Uncooperative Uterus Incorporated. Thank you for your call.
A: Um, hello? Is this a recording?
UU Inc: Your call is very important to us. We here at Uncooperative Uterus Incorporated know how to squeeze out a woman's dreams. We remain dedicated to providing you with the same high level of quality and service you've come to expect.
A: Some quality! Hello? Could I please get someone live on the line?
UU Inc: Please continue to wait. Your call will be answered in the order in which it was received. To access our automated menu, please choose one of the following options. To request the onset of menses, please press 1. To register a complaint about unproductive cramping, please press 2. To report an absence of spotting, please press 3. To speak to a service provider, please stay on the line. Or press * for more options.
A:!#@%!!! Sigh. *
UU Inc: Due to unusual call volume, we are unable to process your request for a miscarriage at this time. Please try your call again later."
Yeah, ain't nothin happinin here, unless you count the onset of depression as an indication that my HCG levels are finally getting the idea and starting to drop. Anyway, thanks so much to all of you for holding me in your thoughts. *Please* continue to hold!
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
Get Out Your Haz Mat Gear
Well, the beta is back. Although it is higher than last week, it is so very low that this is without question a bio-chemical pregnancy, nothing more. The doc is not even worried about an ectopic with numbers this low. Soo, now I just have to wait for my body to catch on and start cramping again. I am thinking about having a bio-chemical hazard symbol tattooed across my abdomen. There's something kind of snazzy about those trefoil circles, doncha' think? It could be a good look with a croptop and the right pair of low-rise jeans (as soon as I loose the pudgy bloat from my "well vascularized" uterus, of course). I also might order a few hazmat placards to post on the apartment door in lieu of Halloween decorations. They sell a nice selection at: http://www.unzco.com/storefront/placards/hazmat.html#6
P.S. You will note that I have already updated my banner to say 4 miscarriages instead of 3. A bit premature, I know, since I have not yet actualy undergone the miscarriage. And, of course, there are those who would disagree about whether or not this quick one even "counts." But hell, I'm counting it. The bed post has been notched this last week. And there ain't no way to glue those wood shavings back on.
P.S. You will note that I have already updated my banner to say 4 miscarriages instead of 3. A bit premature, I know, since I have not yet actualy undergone the miscarriage. And, of course, there are those who would disagree about whether or not this quick one even "counts." But hell, I'm counting it. The bed post has been notched this last week. And there ain't no way to glue those wood shavings back on.
Monday, October 24, 2005
New Topic: Ectopic?
Hi. Well, first of all, I don't really have any news. My RE put me on ectopic watch based on last Wednesday's numbers (i.e. go home, rest lots, drink plenty of fluids, take your baby aspirin just in case we get a miracle, and call me the very second you have any pain). We agreed not to do another beta till today cause at 4 weeks 2 days, 4 weeks 3 days, etc. it was only driving me nuts without really telling us anything. And basically, I didn't feel symptoms of much of anything at all, positive or negative, all weekend.
Soo... I just had another ultrasound and apparently my ovaries look normal, my uterus looks well vascularized and "very pregnant," and we have no visible sac or anything else in there. I won't have new (hopefully more informative beta results until late tonight). Basically, we don't know what the hell is going on and I am very glad I spent the weekend sleeping. Dr. Cookie Pie (see 4/2/05) actually told me this afternoon, "I want you to go home and chant, 'I am not having an ectopic. I am not having an ectopic.' Chant it over and over." So those are my new lyrics...Anyone suggest an appropriate tune?
Thank you so much for your comments. I've stayed off the net completely since my last posting, so I got to come and find all your comments at once this afternoon. If there is any silver lining whatsoever in all of this, it's having stumbled into this amazing community of women. I wish you all many fluffy pillows and long naps. In the meantime, having called in sick to work today, I'm off to take another one myself.
Soo... I just had another ultrasound and apparently my ovaries look normal, my uterus looks well vascularized and "very pregnant," and we have no visible sac or anything else in there. I won't have new (hopefully more informative beta results until late tonight). Basically, we don't know what the hell is going on and I am very glad I spent the weekend sleeping. Dr. Cookie Pie (see 4/2/05) actually told me this afternoon, "I want you to go home and chant, 'I am not having an ectopic. I am not having an ectopic.' Chant it over and over." So those are my new lyrics...Anyone suggest an appropriate tune?
Thank you so much for your comments. I've stayed off the net completely since my last posting, so I got to come and find all your comments at once this afternoon. If there is any silver lining whatsoever in all of this, it's having stumbled into this amazing community of women. I wish you all many fluffy pillows and long naps. In the meantime, having called in sick to work today, I'm off to take another one myself.
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