Moving My Blog**

I hate moving my blog but it seems that I must. Someone may be reading my blog who I don’t feel comfortable reading. Part of me tells myself not to care, but I know I won’t be able to be fully honest and real knowing this person may be reading and being honest about what I’m going through is the point of this blog [I’ll explain at the other site what happened]. So regretfully, I will be moving to a new undisclosed location Monday, September 14. I’ve enjoyed the community I’ve made here and I hope moving does not mean goodbye. If you would like the link to my new blog, please leave a comment or send me an e-mail at twoweekwaitblog at gmail dot com and I will gladly send you the link.  I will keep this post up indefinitely but within the week I am removing all my other posts. They will be transferred to my new blog.  Thank you to all who read, and I look forward to keeping up the writing and the reading of blogs, just from a different spot!

**Incase anyone is wondering how I’m sending the link, its to your e-mail address that shows up when you leave a comment, so if you’re looking for the link, please check your email address, thanks!**

Dentists, ultrasounds, and in-laws

Pregnancy discussed

1. I’m starting to enjoy going to the dentist because they’re  so hopeful. They say things like come back when you’re eight months pregnant for your six month cleaning! and after you have your baby, get your wisdom teeth removed. Wow, these people think pregnancy equals babies. They don’t know pregnancy = maybe baby. Still, whenever I’m around them I get the feeling of what it might be like to be a normal pregnant person and I feel hopeful. The dental hygienist asked me Is this your first pregnancy? I stared at her unsure how to respond. What response do you all say? I told her no, not my first pregnancy, my third but hopefully this one will stick around. I know this probably made her uncomfortable, but I feel its a dishonor to lie and say yes. I don’t want to cover up what happened and though I’m not fully out of the closet about my IF and losses in real life, I don’t know how I can lie to anyone if they ask. I’m trying to figure out a better way to answer this question since I know that when if I reach a stage where I begin to show, then people will inevitably ask and I want to be honest without making people uncomfortable.

2. Each time I had an ultrasound, I lost the pregnancy soon after. This is irrational but what if that’s the cause? My mom and Jack voiced these concerns too. I don’t know. I’m scared not only of the results of Monday’s u/s but the act of ultrasounding. My mom suggested I wait but unless there’s solid (or controversial) proof I’m getting an u/s despite the fear.

3. I just found out Jack’s parents are coming next weekend. If you read this blog you know why I’m paranoid (i.e. when I see them I bleed). Jack found good tickets to Orlando and suggested I go see my parents. I’m scared to book because what if Monday’s ultrasound is bad? Then I’d hate to go. Or, what if I fly to Orlando and the flight causes me to lose my baby? Or should I just face my fears of seeing my inlaws. My therapist says I’m clinging to superstition to feign control over life and suggested I fight the superstition and see them. I’m not sure I can handle it. If I wait until my ultrasound to book tickets to Orlando, they’ll be $900. I’m so confused.

My hematologist, etc

I saw the hematologist today and it took him over an hour to see me for what was a two minute consultation. He said I’m fine. Some stuff that was positive before is now negative though he doesn’t know why the change and he said that my miscarriages are not because my clotting issues. He said lovenox is pointless for me. I don’t know if I’m reading too much into this but these are the three areas that still showed up as issues, and his don’t worry about it mantra just isn’t sitting well with me:

MTHFR: This is a gene associated with higher risk of nueral tube defects and miscarriages. I have one mutation (C677t). Dr. F said since its only one mutation not two he’s not concerned. But- there are doctors who recommend lovenox and increasing folic acid and B6 and B12 for one mutation. Plus, Jack could have a MTHFR mutation, which when combined could give me two. He said there are no known ways to treat MTHFR. But, there are! Maybe the effectiveness is in question but there is a protocol.

Factor VIII Activity: Normal is 50-150. I’m 164. He said its okay since this clotting factor rises in pregnancy, except the lab results he gave me say these numbers may be elevated in late pregnancy. I’m hopefully six weeks today so how is this elevated due to pregnancy?

Plasminogen Activity: Normal is 78-130. I’m at 150. He said this nixes the Factor VIII so no worries.

I’m going to talk to my OBGYN about this but Dr. F said he’d tell my doctor I don’t need Lovenox. I strongly disagree and hope she maintains her stance. The veins and arteries the uterus are often microscopic and so clots that would be inconsequential to me would be huge to a growing fetus and if this can save this pregnancy I am taking it.

(The random aside):You might have noticed in my many blog posts about my friends- it seems I’m not having the best of luck. We were having a small dinner at our house on Saturday and four people are bailing TODAY out of eight people. We thought about who we could invite now and could think of no one. While I believe that quality matters in friends, not just quantity it makes me sad that I have no one else I want to invite. I could definitely be part of the community if I wanted but all the girls I know talk about are things I don’t care about and, this is just me, but I don’t feel they are genuine and what’s the point of being friends with people who aren’t sincere. I am sure I have a ton of flaws that people could point out, but one thing I am is a genuine and sincere person. I don’t fake it, and if I care about you and you hurt me I can’t get over it. I’m not sure if its hormones making me weepy, but I just feel sad. I quit facebook because I got tired of the constant birthing announcements and updates on every little thing junior did, but quitting facebook is akin to social suicide these days. I’d like to think a good friendship will survive deactivating facebook but it turns out I have few such friends. Add to that not attending baby showers for about a year- yeah. IF killed my friendships it seems. And today, this makes me sad.

(The self check): After that huge pity party I threw for myself (thank you for attending) I need to get a grip. Susan at sprogblogger does a daily days of grace list on her blog and I think I need to do a similar thing just to help myself get out of my funk, so here goes:

1. Having dinner with Jack at my favorite steakhouse to celebrate my “retirement” from work today.
2. I no longer have to work at my toxic work environment.
3. I can sleep in tomorrow and not feel a lick of guilt.
4. Today, I am six weeks along and as of now, to the best of my knowledge, I am still the P word.

Okay, that helped. Thanks for listening.

Becky and Mabel: The epic struggle

Pregnancy discussed.

Lately it feels like I have multiple personalities, and they don’t get along. There’s Becky. She has two ponytails laced with ribbons and wears a pink cheerleader outfit. She has two giant pom poms and loves daisies, springtime, and kittens. Then there’s Mabel. She wears black, paints her fingernails purple, smokes cigarettes in the girls bathroom. She loves beating up freshmen, killing bunnies, and glaring. A typical day:

Becky: Nausea! I have nausea! This is good!
Mabel: Uh yeah, sure. If you didn’t eat so fucking much you’d feel fine.
Becky: The ultrasound will be so exciting!
Mabel: (Yawn) Because seeing a heartbeat means something right?
Becky: Ooh I’m getting stretchy feelings in my uterus, it must be growing!
Mabel: Or you’re about to have a miscarriage, you idiot.
Becky: Katery put up pictures of her crib. I can’t wait to crib shop.
Mabel: You are not her. You have no business dreaming.
Becky: But this could be it!
Mabel: But it’s probably not, so burn the damn pom pom before I stuff you in a locker.

For the past two weeks I’ve been doing pretty good about keeping Becky stuffed in the boys locker room. But Jack, he’s so hopeful lately and as much as I try to resist its contagious. He’s named it sunflower. He’s figured out the approximate due date. He talks to it. He didn’t do this last time. After we lost Speck he said he’d never do it again so I don’t get why he’s doing it now. I don’t want to tell him not to because seeing him excited fills me with so much warmth, but at the same time the fucking pom poms come out and I actually start looking at the gerber ad on TV and think I’m gonna hand make my baby food. These thoughts are always followed by a quick reprimand to Becky to stop this silly hope business. I’m fine with you sitting in a corner emitting gentle rays, but to leap up and start doing the macarena? No! No! No! You’ve had two losses and you’re at higher risk for a third. Protect your fucking heart. What the hell is wrong with you?

So yes, it seems that multiple losses leads to multiple personalities. I’m doing my best to manage both sides of myself, but if you see Becky jumping rope or flashing a toothy smile, trip her down the stairs, m’kay?

A post about sperm and eggs, I think

We spent the long weekend with Jack’s uncles in Arkansas. Unlike, Jack’s parents, his uncles are the sweetest people. They had a huge birthday bash for me with homemade cake and gifts piled on the dining table. I don’t have a real relationship with my relatives, and Jack’s parents think I’m a pesky squirrel that somehow slipped in while they were napping, so to be around caring people who made me feel loved felt good.

Later, his uncle showed us to our room. The room was large with an attached bathroom and expensive hand soap. But I couldn’t focus on this. As he showed us the towels and how to adjust the thermostat I found myself transfixed by the artwork hanging on the wall:

Am I the only one looking at a portrait of confused sperm? Uncle Ben caught my expression and smiled proudly, its made by a well known local artist. I can tell you’re blown away by it. After he left, I turned to Jack, don’t you see it?! He squinted at it for a minute and then laughed, yep, looks like we’re sleeping under a portrait of sperm. Then glancing at the bedspread he shook his head, and looks like we’ll be sleeping under a blanket of eggs:

Maybe infertility has seriously fried my brain, but all I’m saying is its a strange feeling to pull up your eggy blanket and look up at 3-D sperm floating above your head before you go to sleep.

The 30th crossroad

Tomorrow I turn thirty. I began dreading this birthday since I turned 13. At 13 I volunteered with my pretty young guidance counselor. She seemed so cool and put together and one day, as I sat in her office organizing papers, she let out a loud gasp as she stared at her calender.  I turn thirty in less than a month! She looked at me with large eyes I’m going to be so OLD. How did this happen? Note to anyone reading: Don’t seek consolation on turning 30 from a thirteen year old. I just stared at her with my heart pounding because why yes, thirty is really REALLY old.

It’s funny that now I am pretty much thirty, I don’t feel quite as depressed or sad as I thought I’d feel. I’m just struck by life and how deceptive it is. Each day feels much like the last, lulling us into a false sense of security that nothing will really change but before we know it nothing is the same, we just weren’t present to watch the season change.

I begin my thirties quitting my job and staring into a blank well of possibility. Will I succeed and become the published author I want to be? I begin my thirties with a child growing in my womb. Will my thirties involve changing her diapers and combing her precious dark hair? My father called me today and he got emotional about my childhood. He apologized saying I dont know why I’m so emotional these days. It hurt my heart. He is more emotional lately. My strong father who fixes cars and cuts down trees, tears spring from his eyes with the slightest provocation. This too is a change and it puts a funny feeling in my gut that I cannot identify.

As I turn thirty, I stand at a cross road with my career and my family. It could go either way. I sit here today and admit to myself I have no symptoms. No nausea, tender breasts, or irritability that was my companion just yesterday.  So much is out of my hands and if I focus to long I feel dizzy like I’m alice falling through the rabbit hole. But there are things that remind me of sure footed ground: I have a husband with whom I grow closer each day. I walk each evening with him in our neighborhood taking in the scent of jasmine in the night air. I finished a novel and whether or not it publishes, no one can take this accomplishment away from me. And today, in this moment as I type these words, life grows inside of me. I cannot speak for tomorrow, but today this is the truth, and today is a good day.

Here’s to thirty, my blank canvas. I hope it will be a good decade.

Thoughts while treading water

Pregnancy discussed

Metal mouth. I feel like I’m sucking on a nickel. I think the raging hormones are emerging. Today, I folded my arms and told my boss I didn’t appreciate her giving me new assignments when I was quitting in four days. I felt this weird fury building up inside of me like I wanted to punch her. I never talk back to authority, I’m a sweet meek employee. My uterus is doing minor stretchy things which causes me to run in panic to the bathroom. Yesterday I drove home from work, gripped the banister as I climbed the stairs and collapsed in my work clothes into bed, out stone cold for three hours.  I have rational other explanations for all of these things, besides, how can I take comfort in those when I didn’t wake up to pee last night. The starting of nausea that trailed me all day yesterday is dissipating. The mild symptoms peeking at me give me hope but then they play hide and seek vanishing from my sight for hours or days at a time and I wonder if they’ll ever come back.  I want to know what’s normal. I want to know what to expect. My fingers enter and backspace into the blank space of the google search engine, because I don’t want to do the same old searching that induces sleepless nights.

I am not sitting around crying all day. I am busy closing out my job, visiting family, reading, writing, napping. And eating [I really need to get a handle on that one]. It’s in the off peak hours when I’m alone that the thoughts nag me. I’m a high risk preggo. My odds of a repeat m/c are higher. I remind myself that things are different this time: I’m taking lovenox. My egg is earlier so theoretically fresher. The lovenox remains a painful task. Strangely injections on my left side hardly bruise while my right makes me look like an abused woman. I asked Lovenox HQ  about this but they had no advice except don’t poke the area after. Thanks for that useful nugget. btw- can you carry on lovenox syringes? I’m flying Friday and can’t find information on this on-line.

It’s amazing how I see infertility everywhere. I just finished “A Tree Grows in Brooklyn” and one of the characters, Sissy, has ten babies who die minutes after birth. Finally she adopts, falls pregnant but for this birth goes to a hospital where they have the technology to save the baby. Instead of seeing this technology as the reason, Katie, her sister says see? she adopted and boom she has a live baby! that always happens without fail! I’m amazed this is in a book written in the 1940’s.

Kate at I can’t whistle said she feels she writes about the same stuff again and again. I feel that way too today,  like I’m saying the same thing ad nauseum. But each day each old fear feels  new. Each day I have to learn how to cope again. Each day I feel tremulous with wonder that I am still pregnant. Each day I wait for the blood as though its normal to anticipate such things. As many times as I may see it, the pain will never feel old.

To the person/people who submitted my news to LFCA. When I experienced my loss. And this past time, when I learned I was the P word again, thank you for caring and for helping me get support. Here I go repeating the usual, but it bears repeating, I am not sure I’d make it through this winding journey without you. Thank you.

The paradox of hope and fear

Thank you to everyone who gave me feedback on lovenox. I know that many of you brave women inject yourself regularly and I’m in complete awe. I sat with the shot for a good hour until Jack walked in and insisted on doing it. The pain of the needle going in isn’t horrible, it’s more this strange burning sensation once the medicine is inside. And the bruising! I look like someone kicked my stomach in. Still, I am grateful if it’ll help this one stick.

I feel funny today. I’m scared to call it nausea. It’s saliva and its constant and it makes me feel funny. I keep trying to attribute to something else, perhaps I didn’t drink enough water, or slept too little, or maybe its just the way the moon is orbiting. But maybe just maybe its a symptom of pregnancy. A real, live symptom, imagine that. I’m scared to imagine.

My friend said to me I’m not saying its related, but your negative attitude of not accepting congratulations, not wanting to talk about it, saying ‘if’ in terms of the viability of this pregnancy isn’t good. You could negatively affect the outcome. I hope that’s not true. I think its hard for someone who has not dealt with loss to understand my emotions. I don’t like talking about it. I try to find other causes for symptoms I might get. I’m not even signing up for ICLW next month because you have to submit three words to describe your blog and I can’t bring myself to write the P word. I mean, ICLW starts towards the end of September, I don’t know for certain where I will be come September! That probably sounds absolutely horrific, but its true.

BUT-  underneath the doubt, the fear, the anxiety, and the sadness, there is hope. It is a candle on low burning in the darkness. The flames are so small you could doubt its existence were it not for the quiet nights when I lie still and can feel its warmth radiate through my body.  So yes, I am afraid.  I’m deathly afraid. And yes, I don’t want to fucking talk about it because there’s something about hearing my voice travel the sound waves that amplifies this fear in my heart, but no, I’m not feeling hopeless. Why else would I have dared to try again? Each and every one of us IFers are living proof of this paradox. I may live in fear, but I float on hope.