After writing a comment to one of Mel’s posts that seemed to drag on and on (the comment, not the post), I figured it would be more appropriate to air my thoughts on my own blog, rather than hijack someone else’s.
I’m talking about Roe v. Wade. It has been a recent hot topic of conversation here in the States since the 35th anniversary passed last week.
As recently as three months ago, I would have called myself “pro-life.” I never went so far as to picket, and I rarely talked about it, but I believed abortion was wrong so I identified with the pro-lifers.
Then, at the beginning of November 2007, M and I were faced with an impossible decision: Suffer through my remaining four months of pregnancy knowing that my son would never live, or choose to end his life through an induced labor. We chose to abort the pregnancy.
There it is: the word “abort.” Even now, the people closest to us don’t like it when I use that word. That sentence is always accompanied with a hasty, “But your child wouldn’t have lived anyway, right?” In saying that, they are turning what some consider a black and white issue into a shade of grey.
I agree with them: Abortion is all about shades of grey. Which is exactly why I now believe that it would be very difficult, nay, impossible, to legislate it without causing a significant amount of hurt.
In my Bible study last week, one of the more conservative guys wanted us to pray for the overturn of Roe v. Wade. I couldn’t stay silent any longer; I told them if they wanted to include that in their prayers, then I asked that they also pray for wisdom for our legislators. (The one good thing about going through a situation like ours is that people actually listen to you.) They sat there in stunned silence while I explained that what we did was, technically, abortion (they knew all about it, but I’m not sure they had put two and two together). The conservative guy’s wife, MT, hastened to say that what we did was OK because we didn’t technically “kill” our son; he died before birth. Well, I can tell you this: When we walked into the hospital on Nov. 6, he was alive. After I took medication to give birth, he died. I directly caused the death of my son.
What I reminded my Bible study group was that while they “excuse” our decision as being “perfectly understandable,” some groups don’t. Believe me—I’ve found their Web sites. Many conservative Catholics believe that infants with diagnoses not compatible with life—the most common of which are anencephaly and bilateral renal agenesis—should still be carried to term, the mother’s mental agony notwithstanding. And who’s to say a member of one of these conservative groups wouldn’t be in a decision-making position someday?
If I had a friend who was considering abortion because she feels a baby wouldn’t fit into her life, I would still try to talk her out of it. That part of me hasn’t changed. But I also believe that you can’t know what it’s like until you’ve been through it. I thought I was immune from having to make the choice of whether or not to abort a baby because I chose to remain a virgin until I was married. I was wrong.
I don’t regret our decision at all. It hurt, but it was the right choice to make at that time. And our loss has made me a more open, less judgmental person.
If anything good is to come out of Zach’s death, I hope I can help other people become more understanding, as well.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Our family's new addition
Thank you all for your information and reassurances. I have regained my calmness again, even adopting a que sera, sera attitude. If it’s twins, so be it. If it’s a singleton, so be it. If it’s a miscarriage…well, that would suck, but we’d get through it. We’ve already gotten through worse. I think I’m still in disbelief that we’re back at this pregnancy place again.
And now for a completely different topic—I’ve been holding out on you guys. Three and a half weeks ago, we rescued a dog. Colby is a 22-pound spaniel mix, five years old and the love of our lives. Seriously, we could not have found a more perfect dog. He’s a huge lover and insists on cuddling in our laps wherever we happen to be sitting. He has been a lifesaver for me—something to concentrate on besides dead babies, potential babies and gestating babies. And M, who wasn’t sure at first whether he wanted a dog, is completely in love with him. We’ve started taking him to dog obedience classes, which is a great distraction from all the other stuff going on in our lives.
In honor of Colby, I am going to post my first-ever photo on this blog. You will never see a picture of me, my belly (if I ever have one) or my baby (if I ever have one), but you will see my doggy.
Monday, January 28, 2008
Confirmation
I was going to post about how eerily calm I’ve been since I got the double lines. I was going to tell all of you how surprised I am that I seem to finally have realized that if something is going to go wrong, I can’t do anything about.
Then I got my beta results.
I’m not sure whether to laugh or cry. First beta at (what I believe is) 13dpo: 155. Second beta at 15dpo: 471.
Multiples? On a natural cycle?
At this point, I would appreciate any of you who can point me to a helpful site that tells me all about betas. Because my first ultrasound is on Feb. 14, and at this point Valentine’s Day seems a long, long way away.
The funny thing is, a year ago I would have been absolutely thrilled about twins. Now, however, after having already experienced a second-trimester loss, all I can think about is, Twin pregnancies have so much more risk than singletons. If this is twins, then all my hopes of a normal, calm pregnancy go right out the window.
I don’t want to offend any of you who are already pregnant with twins. Hey, if I could actually make it through such a pregnancy, then I would be thrilled. All my dreams will have come true. But oh, I can’t help wondering if I’m just in for another heartbreak.
Then I got my beta results.
I’m not sure whether to laugh or cry. First beta at (what I believe is) 13dpo: 155. Second beta at 15dpo: 471.
Multiples? On a natural cycle?
At this point, I would appreciate any of you who can point me to a helpful site that tells me all about betas. Because my first ultrasound is on Feb. 14, and at this point Valentine’s Day seems a long, long way away.
The funny thing is, a year ago I would have been absolutely thrilled about twins. Now, however, after having already experienced a second-trimester loss, all I can think about is, Twin pregnancies have so much more risk than singletons. If this is twins, then all my hopes of a normal, calm pregnancy go right out the window.
I don’t want to offend any of you who are already pregnant with twins. Hey, if I could actually make it through such a pregnancy, then I would be thrilled. All my dreams will have come true. But oh, I can’t help wondering if I’m just in for another heartbreak.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
In which I lose half my readers
When I attended an infertility support group about a year ago, I met a woman who had suffered through many, many miscarriages—so many that she didn’t even want to give us a number for fear we wouldn’t believe her. She said it had gotten so bad that she was now afraid of becoming pregnant. While I felt incredibly bad for her, I couldn’t imagine feeling sick to my stomach at the sight of a positive pregnancy test. At least she had the joy of knowing she could become pregnant, I told myself.
Now I understand. Because when I gazed at those two lines staring at me this morning (yes, I caved and tested on 13dpo), my first thought was not “Finally!” as it was when I got a positive pee stick last July. Instead, it was, “Omigod, omigod, omigod, what have I done? My last period was only 7 weeks after I delivered a stillborn fetus at 20 weeks. They all say you’re supposed to wait three months because your body has to heal. But how could I pass up an opportunity when I actually ovulated on my own? I’m going to miscarry, I’m going to miscarry, oh, God, I’m going to miscarry, and it’ll be my own fault!”
Thus the reason for the title of this post. I know very well what it's like to feel that a friend or family member--or blogger--is "safe," only to find out that she’s newly pregnant. I know that some of you who are still waiting for your double lines will click on my blog today and, while being happy for me on some level, will find that it’s difficult to continue reading. That’s OK; I understand because I’ve been there.
There are others of you who will snort in indignation at this post. “Can’t this bitch even be grateful for the incredible gift she’s been given without immediately finding something wrong with it?” Let me clarify: I am thrilled beyond belief to be—to have seen two lines this morning. But I am also terrified beyond belief that I will grow to love this child, only to have him cruelly taken away from me. Somehow, I’m going to have to come to terms with these feelings. I just hope I’ll be given an opportunity to come to terms without having my fears validated.
Please, no congratulations—instead, congratulate me about four months from now if I find out all my baby’s body parts and organs are present and accounted for.
Now I understand. Because when I gazed at those two lines staring at me this morning (yes, I caved and tested on 13dpo), my first thought was not “Finally!” as it was when I got a positive pee stick last July. Instead, it was, “Omigod, omigod, omigod, what have I done? My last period was only 7 weeks after I delivered a stillborn fetus at 20 weeks. They all say you’re supposed to wait three months because your body has to heal. But how could I pass up an opportunity when I actually ovulated on my own? I’m going to miscarry, I’m going to miscarry, oh, God, I’m going to miscarry, and it’ll be my own fault!”
Thus the reason for the title of this post. I know very well what it's like to feel that a friend or family member--or blogger--is "safe," only to find out that she’s newly pregnant. I know that some of you who are still waiting for your double lines will click on my blog today and, while being happy for me on some level, will find that it’s difficult to continue reading. That’s OK; I understand because I’ve been there.
There are others of you who will snort in indignation at this post. “Can’t this bitch even be grateful for the incredible gift she’s been given without immediately finding something wrong with it?” Let me clarify: I am thrilled beyond belief to be—to have seen two lines this morning. But I am also terrified beyond belief that I will grow to love this child, only to have him cruelly taken away from me. Somehow, I’m going to have to come to terms with these feelings. I just hope I’ll be given an opportunity to come to terms without having my fears validated.
Please, no congratulations—instead, congratulate me about four months from now if I find out all my baby’s body parts and organs are present and accounted for.
Monday, January 21, 2008
The Boobie Lament
Oh, breasts, breasts, breasts. You’re going to be the end of me.
Why do you toy with me so? Why give me false hope (and yes, I am going to continue to use the word “false” until proven otherwise)? I remember how much you ached during my last pregnancy, beginning at about 5 weeks and continuing until weeks after the pregnancy ended. It was a crescendo of agony, that continued to grow and grow until I couldn’t walk down the hallway without howling in pain.
But oh, what sweet pain. Because it reminded me that I was still pregnant.
And now, I find myself fondling you at my desk, surreptitiously sneaking a poke when I think no one else is looking. When I poke you, do you not ache? A small ache, and only on the outer regions of your bounty, but an ache nonetheless. I have even made trips to the bathroom for the sole purpose of poking you within an inch of your lives. I even took off my bra to gaze at you in the mirror. And oh, were you voluptuous! Yes, I know that you already grew a cup size during my last pregnancy, but I don’t remember you being quite this big and swollen a month ago.
Those changes, plus occasional cramps over the last few days (today is 10dpo), have put a spring in my step today. I actually believe I might see a second line when I test at the end of the week!
Oh, fie, fie, fie! You torture me so! You make a mockery of me by causing me to be like so many other infertile women and invent “symptoms.” But I never noticed "phantom symptoms" before...
Why do you toy with me so? Why give me false hope (and yes, I am going to continue to use the word “false” until proven otherwise)? I remember how much you ached during my last pregnancy, beginning at about 5 weeks and continuing until weeks after the pregnancy ended. It was a crescendo of agony, that continued to grow and grow until I couldn’t walk down the hallway without howling in pain.
But oh, what sweet pain. Because it reminded me that I was still pregnant.
And now, I find myself fondling you at my desk, surreptitiously sneaking a poke when I think no one else is looking. When I poke you, do you not ache? A small ache, and only on the outer regions of your bounty, but an ache nonetheless. I have even made trips to the bathroom for the sole purpose of poking you within an inch of your lives. I even took off my bra to gaze at you in the mirror. And oh, were you voluptuous! Yes, I know that you already grew a cup size during my last pregnancy, but I don’t remember you being quite this big and swollen a month ago.
Those changes, plus occasional cramps over the last few days (today is 10dpo), have put a spring in my step today. I actually believe I might see a second line when I test at the end of the week!
Oh, fie, fie, fie! You torture me so! You make a mockery of me by causing me to be like so many other infertile women and invent “symptoms.” But I never noticed "phantom symptoms" before...
Thursday, January 17, 2008
My formula for happiness
Those of you who are married: When you were single, did you ever make a list of the qualities any man you married absolutely had to have? One late night, I sat in bed composing just such a list. My “non-negotiables” included a non-smoking Christian man who knew how to manage money. I was lucky; I got what I was looking for and much, much more.
My point is that I knew I could never marry someone who didn’t meet these criteria. It’s a simple formula: Husband = non-smoker, Christian and good with money.
Now, I find myself in a similar, non-compromising position. Happiness = pregnancy. The funny thing is, I now know from experience that pregnancy does not always = happiness. I remember days during my pregnancy in which I felt so blah I could practically scream. I felt that I was living vicariously through both a friend who was in the beginning stages of a promising relationship, and another friend who was about to undergo her first IUI. “Your lives are so much more interesting than mine,” I remember thinking. How foolish I was. If only my life could have remained boring for another four months or so.
Yet now, I look at my friends and family members who are pregnant and can't imagine they could have any legitimate reason for not being deliriously happy. They have what I want; shame on them for not fully appreciating it.
The area where we live is rather bleak during the winter, but fun and alive during the summer. Any other January I would be eagerly looking forward to June, when M and I would be able to take evening strolls around one of the many lakes in our county. Instead, I think, “How in the world can I enjoy the summer if I’m not pregnant by then?”
I want what I had. And depending on the day (or hour), I either view pregnancy within the next four months as a probability or an impossibility.
I know, I know—I shouldn’t be setting a time limit for myself. It’s incredibly unhealthy. But I feel like the world is passing me by. I was talking to a diabetes educator today (during a work thing) who told me that a PCOS woman in her 30s with her first pregnancy has a higher chance of gestational diabetes. “Don’t treat me like I intentionally delayed TTC,” I wanted to shout at her. “I was in my 20s when I first started trying! It’s not my fault!” (Before you get upset at this RN, understand that she wasn’t accusing me at all. I just didn’t like the facts she was throwing at me, and I’m a tad sensitive these days. She was actually a very nice woman.)
Now that I actually have a shot at being pregnant, I feel like the rest of my winter is defined by the results of that pee stick nine days from now. Positive pee stick = happiness. Negative pee stick = at least four more weeks of misery. (Hell, it’s like I’ve got my very own groundhog!)
I can’t remember if I felt this way before we conceived the first time. I know I certainly wasn’t isolating myself nearly as much, which, ironically, is a big part of my misery. I want my friends and family back. But the only way I feel comfortable with having them back is if I have that trump card in my back pocket—a new pregnancy.
My point is that I knew I could never marry someone who didn’t meet these criteria. It’s a simple formula: Husband = non-smoker, Christian and good with money.
Now, I find myself in a similar, non-compromising position. Happiness = pregnancy. The funny thing is, I now know from experience that pregnancy does not always = happiness. I remember days during my pregnancy in which I felt so blah I could practically scream. I felt that I was living vicariously through both a friend who was in the beginning stages of a promising relationship, and another friend who was about to undergo her first IUI. “Your lives are so much more interesting than mine,” I remember thinking. How foolish I was. If only my life could have remained boring for another four months or so.
Yet now, I look at my friends and family members who are pregnant and can't imagine they could have any legitimate reason for not being deliriously happy. They have what I want; shame on them for not fully appreciating it.
The area where we live is rather bleak during the winter, but fun and alive during the summer. Any other January I would be eagerly looking forward to June, when M and I would be able to take evening strolls around one of the many lakes in our county. Instead, I think, “How in the world can I enjoy the summer if I’m not pregnant by then?”
I want what I had. And depending on the day (or hour), I either view pregnancy within the next four months as a probability or an impossibility.
I know, I know—I shouldn’t be setting a time limit for myself. It’s incredibly unhealthy. But I feel like the world is passing me by. I was talking to a diabetes educator today (during a work thing) who told me that a PCOS woman in her 30s with her first pregnancy has a higher chance of gestational diabetes. “Don’t treat me like I intentionally delayed TTC,” I wanted to shout at her. “I was in my 20s when I first started trying! It’s not my fault!” (Before you get upset at this RN, understand that she wasn’t accusing me at all. I just didn’t like the facts she was throwing at me, and I’m a tad sensitive these days. She was actually a very nice woman.)
Now that I actually have a shot at being pregnant, I feel like the rest of my winter is defined by the results of that pee stick nine days from now. Positive pee stick = happiness. Negative pee stick = at least four more weeks of misery. (Hell, it’s like I’ve got my very own groundhog!)
I can’t remember if I felt this way before we conceived the first time. I know I certainly wasn’t isolating myself nearly as much, which, ironically, is a big part of my misery. I want my friends and family back. But the only way I feel comfortable with having them back is if I have that trump card in my back pocket—a new pregnancy.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
The big O
Well, slap my ass and call me Sally, I think I may have ovulated! On CD17 or 18!
I have had some restless nights recently, which makes it difficult to temp (because, of course, you need to have had at least three hours of sleep to get an accurate temp). However, I have still had four days in a row of high temps! I’m thinking all four days can’t have been due to bad sleep. Plus, on CD18, when I wiped I noticed my “area” was rather slick (I know, I know—TMI), which made me think of my ever-elusive friend, EWCM. So I must grudgingly admit that my good friend Jo was right when she said pregnancy hormones can whip my PCOS ass into shape—at least temporarily. I’ll take what I can get.
And yes, we did have timed sex—on either the day of or the day before ovulation. So I think I’m finding myself in the good ol’ 2ww again. I’m trying my hardest not to care, to view this as a “bonus cycle” because I didn’t expect to be able to try again until February. But damn, it’s hard not caring! I find myself caught in that vicious cycle, again, of counting forward nine months and planning my life as if I could actually get pregnant and carry to term. You’d think I would have learned my lesson. Plus, my period started only seven weeks after we lost Zach, which makes me wonder if we started trying too soon. The only thing worse than not being pregnant is getting pregnant and then miscarrying because my uterus just wasn’t ready.
I know the ovulation thing may not seem like a big deal to most of you, but it's huge for me! This is the first time I've ovulated and had timed sex without estrogen-inhibiting medication. See, my PCOS doesn't just mean I have long cycles; it means I rarely ovulate at all, which can be rather, um, counterproductive to getting pregnant. Sucks, doesn't it?
So I wait, and try not to hope too much…
I have had some restless nights recently, which makes it difficult to temp (because, of course, you need to have had at least three hours of sleep to get an accurate temp). However, I have still had four days in a row of high temps! I’m thinking all four days can’t have been due to bad sleep. Plus, on CD18, when I wiped I noticed my “area” was rather slick (I know, I know—TMI), which made me think of my ever-elusive friend, EWCM. So I must grudgingly admit that my good friend Jo was right when she said pregnancy hormones can whip my PCOS ass into shape—at least temporarily. I’ll take what I can get.
And yes, we did have timed sex—on either the day of or the day before ovulation. So I think I’m finding myself in the good ol’ 2ww again. I’m trying my hardest not to care, to view this as a “bonus cycle” because I didn’t expect to be able to try again until February. But damn, it’s hard not caring! I find myself caught in that vicious cycle, again, of counting forward nine months and planning my life as if I could actually get pregnant and carry to term. You’d think I would have learned my lesson. Plus, my period started only seven weeks after we lost Zach, which makes me wonder if we started trying too soon. The only thing worse than not being pregnant is getting pregnant and then miscarrying because my uterus just wasn’t ready.
I know the ovulation thing may not seem like a big deal to most of you, but it's huge for me! This is the first time I've ovulated and had timed sex without estrogen-inhibiting medication. See, my PCOS doesn't just mean I have long cycles; it means I rarely ovulate at all, which can be rather, um, counterproductive to getting pregnant. Sucks, doesn't it?
So I wait, and try not to hope too much…
Monday, January 14, 2008
And now, a word from our sponsors...
While I use this commercial break to compose my thoughts for my next post (and it may be a juicy one—tell your friends!), I’d like to take a moment to gush about all of you.
It seemed like my last post really hit home with many of you. So many of us really do feel the need to isolate ourselves—IRL, at least. Yet we still have this community of strangers to keep us going.
I must admit that when I was pregnant, blogging took a backseat to everything else I was thinking about. Simply put, I didn’t have all that much to say. Then, when we lost Zach, all of a sudden I had things to say. Lots of things. And because loss seems to have made me much more popular (misery loves company, eh? ), I had plenty of people to bounce my ideas, disappointments and frustations off of.
All of you keep me going each week. It really is something to know that my writing is reaching so many people around the world. I’m so darned proud of this blog and all my computer friends that it’s all I can do not to tell a few more family members and friends about it. But then, you see, the point would be lost. I wouldn’t be able to speak as freely as I do and feelings would be hurt. I’m not kidding when I say I lay it all on the line here. You guys are seeing my inner soul.
It feels good to have people besides M who know me so well.
It seemed like my last post really hit home with many of you. So many of us really do feel the need to isolate ourselves—IRL, at least. Yet we still have this community of strangers to keep us going.
I must admit that when I was pregnant, blogging took a backseat to everything else I was thinking about. Simply put, I didn’t have all that much to say. Then, when we lost Zach, all of a sudden I had things to say. Lots of things. And because loss seems to have made me much more popular (misery loves company, eh? ), I had plenty of people to bounce my ideas, disappointments and frustations off of.
All of you keep me going each week. It really is something to know that my writing is reaching so many people around the world. I’m so darned proud of this blog and all my computer friends that it’s all I can do not to tell a few more family members and friends about it. But then, you see, the point would be lost. I wouldn’t be able to speak as freely as I do and feelings would be hurt. I’m not kidding when I say I lay it all on the line here. You guys are seeing my inner soul.
It feels good to have people besides M who know me so well.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
No one is safe anymore
I am starting to run out of “safe people.”
To me, a “safe person” is one who isn’t a direct recipient of my jealousy, i.e. someone who isn’t pregnant, hasn’t recently had a child and who understands my feelings about the aforementioned people. When I’m feeling bad or when I want an evening away from all the crap, this is the person I will call. My friend AW was great for this. One night a few weeks after we lost Zach, she and her husband got together with M and me for a night of games and it was a great escape. Well, that’s all changed; I know she has started TTC this month, and I don’t even want to talk to her for fear of an announcement. Strike her from the list.
My SIL (when I saw her) used to be that person, too. I spent an afternoon two days before Christmas weeping at her kitchen table about how hard it is for me to be around my other SIL (the one who is due March 14). Little did I know that SIL #1 was waiting until after Christmas to tell me she, too, was pregnant. Strike two.
My mother has always been my closest confidante. The problem is, now my SIL is pregnant, my mom’s close friend is pregnant (due in March, as well), and my mom’s best friend’s daughter is pregnant. Because my mom doesn’t work, she doesn’t have much to talk about; therefore, one of these pregnant people is bound to come up in conversation. I just don’t feel like dealing with it anymore. Strike three.
And I can’t forget my friend A, the one to whom I lent my TCOYF book last fall. She’s now well into her second trimester, and though she’s been kind enough not to talk too much about her pregnancy, I still feel weird around her and her slowly growing belly. Strike four.
As a result of losing all these “safe people,” I find myself becoming more and more isolated. I’m not mad at any of my family or friends; I’m just trying to shield myself from conversations that I know will hurt. Ironically, the “safest” place for me right now is work—and I don’t even have any close friends at work!
I received a “how are you doing” phone message from my friend J in Florida the other day. Though I know she was likely just calling to check up on her newly-bereaved friend (she doesn’t call that often, but has been calling me more frequently in the past two months, the dear), there’s still a voice in the back of my mind that says, “What if she’s pregnant, too?”
As I read over this post, I realize I sound like a broken record. I wrote a very similar post just a few days ago! But here’s the thing: When we conceived Zach, we had been TTC about 14 months. As my dad had (rather tactlessly) said at the time, “That’s not an incredibly long period of time.” Then I became pregnant and stepped away from the game for a while. Now, the people who said it would be a long time before they started TTC back before Zach existed are ready and raring to go! What a difference 6 months makes!
I just don’t want to be around anybody other than M for a while. It takes too much out of me.
To me, a “safe person” is one who isn’t a direct recipient of my jealousy, i.e. someone who isn’t pregnant, hasn’t recently had a child and who understands my feelings about the aforementioned people. When I’m feeling bad or when I want an evening away from all the crap, this is the person I will call. My friend AW was great for this. One night a few weeks after we lost Zach, she and her husband got together with M and me for a night of games and it was a great escape. Well, that’s all changed; I know she has started TTC this month, and I don’t even want to talk to her for fear of an announcement. Strike her from the list.
My SIL (when I saw her) used to be that person, too. I spent an afternoon two days before Christmas weeping at her kitchen table about how hard it is for me to be around my other SIL (the one who is due March 14). Little did I know that SIL #1 was waiting until after Christmas to tell me she, too, was pregnant. Strike two.
My mother has always been my closest confidante. The problem is, now my SIL is pregnant, my mom’s close friend is pregnant (due in March, as well), and my mom’s best friend’s daughter is pregnant. Because my mom doesn’t work, she doesn’t have much to talk about; therefore, one of these pregnant people is bound to come up in conversation. I just don’t feel like dealing with it anymore. Strike three.
And I can’t forget my friend A, the one to whom I lent my TCOYF book last fall. She’s now well into her second trimester, and though she’s been kind enough not to talk too much about her pregnancy, I still feel weird around her and her slowly growing belly. Strike four.
As a result of losing all these “safe people,” I find myself becoming more and more isolated. I’m not mad at any of my family or friends; I’m just trying to shield myself from conversations that I know will hurt. Ironically, the “safest” place for me right now is work—and I don’t even have any close friends at work!
I received a “how are you doing” phone message from my friend J in Florida the other day. Though I know she was likely just calling to check up on her newly-bereaved friend (she doesn’t call that often, but has been calling me more frequently in the past two months, the dear), there’s still a voice in the back of my mind that says, “What if she’s pregnant, too?”
As I read over this post, I realize I sound like a broken record. I wrote a very similar post just a few days ago! But here’s the thing: When we conceived Zach, we had been TTC about 14 months. As my dad had (rather tactlessly) said at the time, “That’s not an incredibly long period of time.” Then I became pregnant and stepped away from the game for a while. Now, the people who said it would be a long time before they started TTC back before Zach existed are ready and raring to go! What a difference 6 months makes!
I just don’t want to be around anybody other than M for a while. It takes too much out of me.
Monday, January 7, 2008
A difficult weekend
Remember my fear of “the big announcement?” Well, this time it was for real: My SIL (my brother’s wife) is pregnant. She’s about 10 weeks along.
In case you haven’t been keeping track, I have one sibling and M has one sibling. They are now both expecting their second children. And here I sit, with only pictures and a memory box to remind me of my one and only child.
I didn’t talk to my brother; M did, because we suspected that was what he was calling about. I e-mailed them a congratulations because I just can’t bear to talk to them. I cried for two hours after hearing the news. I actually heard it from my mom first because my brother had left us a vague message and I wanted to call her and make sure my suspicion was correct. She was upset that I made her tell me. My mother is upset, in general, because she feels caught between grieving and celebrating. When I told her I was going to have M talk to my brother, she couldn’t believe it. “Just try to put yourself in their place. This is so hard for them.” Well, I told her, it’s hard for me too! I’m sick of having to think of everybody else’s feelings all the time. If they feel like they’re hurting me…well, it’s true! I’m not going to suck it up simply to spare their feelings.
(To be fair, I did get a wonderful reply from my SIL to my e-mail. She’s being very sensitive and caring; they wanted to wait to tell me until after Christmas because they figured the holidays would be hard enough.)
To add insult to injury, my mother told me they figure their child was probably conceived the same week Zach died. Talk about irony. Well, at least M and I didn’t choose to carry to term. Can you imagine—all of us would be pregnant, except our siblings’ babies would live (presumably) and I would know mine would die.
This weekend was also rough because I got a temp rise, only to have my hopes dashed by a drop this morning. I never really believed I would ovulate this cycle, but my damned chart gave me hope. Nothing has really changed in our plan, but for a day or two, I actually believed I would be able to start treatment a couple days earlier because my body worked the way it was supposed to. Argh. This, my friends, is the terror that is PCOS. Instead of BFNs month after month, all we get are ovulation false alarms. It’s easy to determine ovulation from looking at a completed chart. It’s not so easy when you’re in the middle of it.
In case you haven’t been keeping track, I have one sibling and M has one sibling. They are now both expecting their second children. And here I sit, with only pictures and a memory box to remind me of my one and only child.
I didn’t talk to my brother; M did, because we suspected that was what he was calling about. I e-mailed them a congratulations because I just can’t bear to talk to them. I cried for two hours after hearing the news. I actually heard it from my mom first because my brother had left us a vague message and I wanted to call her and make sure my suspicion was correct. She was upset that I made her tell me. My mother is upset, in general, because she feels caught between grieving and celebrating. When I told her I was going to have M talk to my brother, she couldn’t believe it. “Just try to put yourself in their place. This is so hard for them.” Well, I told her, it’s hard for me too! I’m sick of having to think of everybody else’s feelings all the time. If they feel like they’re hurting me…well, it’s true! I’m not going to suck it up simply to spare their feelings.
(To be fair, I did get a wonderful reply from my SIL to my e-mail. She’s being very sensitive and caring; they wanted to wait to tell me until after Christmas because they figured the holidays would be hard enough.)
To add insult to injury, my mother told me they figure their child was probably conceived the same week Zach died. Talk about irony. Well, at least M and I didn’t choose to carry to term. Can you imagine—all of us would be pregnant, except our siblings’ babies would live (presumably) and I would know mine would die.
This weekend was also rough because I got a temp rise, only to have my hopes dashed by a drop this morning. I never really believed I would ovulate this cycle, but my damned chart gave me hope. Nothing has really changed in our plan, but for a day or two, I actually believed I would be able to start treatment a couple days earlier because my body worked the way it was supposed to. Argh. This, my friends, is the terror that is PCOS. Instead of BFNs month after month, all we get are ovulation false alarms. It’s easy to determine ovulation from looking at a completed chart. It’s not so easy when you’re in the middle of it.
Friday, January 4, 2008
I am woman
I think I am setting myself up for a major heartbreak.
In a weird way, I feel like I have become one of those first-time TTC-ers who assumes she will get pregnant the first or second month. I cannot wait until we start Letrozole again in February! I count down the days until I can call in for a Provera prescription (that is, of course, assuming that I don’t ovulate this cycle; if I did, it would be a miracle!). At this point, I’m planning on calling Dr. Hot Jan. 16 if I haven’t gotten a temp rise by then, which means I will probably get a period by the end of the month.
Here’s what I mean about the heartbreak: In some corner of my mind, I assume I will become pregnant in the first or second month of Letrozole.
Now, before all of you IF veterans go off the deep end, understand that I realize I’m being completely naïve and foolish. (Although, are you really naïve if you know you’re being naïve? Hmmm...) It’s just that I have both ovulated and had timed sex only two times in my life, and one of those times I got pregnant. That’s good odds, right?
And here’s the other thing: When M had his SA in November 2006, he had stellar results--200 million little suckers swimming away! I called Dr. Hot’s office today to ask if M should repeat the test since it’s been a while, and he said there’s no need unless I really want him to. I’m almost afraid to see the results of a new SA. I had always figured that M’s sperm count was the reason we had gotten pregnant so quickly once we finally whipped my ovaries into shape, and I don't know what it would do to my psyche to be told otherwise.
I find myself counting the months and thinking about when my first trimester would end if I got pregnant in February or March. We’d like to go to the UK this year, and an ideal time would be in my second trimester. Of course, that’s assuming I can get pregnant at all...and stay pregnant.
And that’s the problem. I’ve read so many of your stories of having trouble conceiving after pregnancy loss that I should know better. But dammit, for once in my life I want to be a glass-is-half-full kind of gal! I’m so sick of being a pessimist and assuming that bad shit is going to happen to me! I had that kind of attitude last time, but it didn’t me any good! I wasn’t protected from heartbreak simply because I suspected it might come. I have to have hope, because without hope, how am I going to survive? (Have you figured out yet that I’m experiencing a moment here?)
Here’s how the next six months will happen: I will get pregnant in February or March, have a trouble-free first trimester and travel to the UK once I start feeling better in May or June.
I dare anybody to tell me otherwise. :)
In a weird way, I feel like I have become one of those first-time TTC-ers who assumes she will get pregnant the first or second month. I cannot wait until we start Letrozole again in February! I count down the days until I can call in for a Provera prescription (that is, of course, assuming that I don’t ovulate this cycle; if I did, it would be a miracle!). At this point, I’m planning on calling Dr. Hot Jan. 16 if I haven’t gotten a temp rise by then, which means I will probably get a period by the end of the month.
Here’s what I mean about the heartbreak: In some corner of my mind, I assume I will become pregnant in the first or second month of Letrozole.
Now, before all of you IF veterans go off the deep end, understand that I realize I’m being completely naïve and foolish. (Although, are you really naïve if you know you’re being naïve? Hmmm...) It’s just that I have both ovulated and had timed sex only two times in my life, and one of those times I got pregnant. That’s good odds, right?
And here’s the other thing: When M had his SA in November 2006, he had stellar results--200 million little suckers swimming away! I called Dr. Hot’s office today to ask if M should repeat the test since it’s been a while, and he said there’s no need unless I really want him to. I’m almost afraid to see the results of a new SA. I had always figured that M’s sperm count was the reason we had gotten pregnant so quickly once we finally whipped my ovaries into shape, and I don't know what it would do to my psyche to be told otherwise.
I find myself counting the months and thinking about when my first trimester would end if I got pregnant in February or March. We’d like to go to the UK this year, and an ideal time would be in my second trimester. Of course, that’s assuming I can get pregnant at all...and stay pregnant.
And that’s the problem. I’ve read so many of your stories of having trouble conceiving after pregnancy loss that I should know better. But dammit, for once in my life I want to be a glass-is-half-full kind of gal! I’m so sick of being a pessimist and assuming that bad shit is going to happen to me! I had that kind of attitude last time, but it didn’t me any good! I wasn’t protected from heartbreak simply because I suspected it might come. I have to have hope, because without hope, how am I going to survive? (Have you figured out yet that I’m experiencing a moment here?)
Here’s how the next six months will happen: I will get pregnant in February or March, have a trouble-free first trimester and travel to the UK once I start feeling better in May or June.
I dare anybody to tell me otherwise. :)
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
The dreaded announcement
The minute I saw her phone number on caller ID, my heart sank.
It was my friend AW. AW, who lives two hours away, rarely calls—not because she doesn’t care, but because she’s not a “phone talker.” So when she does call, I know it’s for a specific reason. And I knew she and her husband had been considering “pulling the goalie” recently. I was sure she was calling with a pregnancy announcement—and I didn’t know how I would be able to handle that. See, for us, it’s not just a matter of being excluded from the “club” anymore. We had already been allowed into the club, but then, just when we had relaxed enough to kick up our heels and enjoy our time by the pool, we were brutally kicked out.
So I tentatively chatted with her, all the while waiting for her to get to the point so I wouldn’t have to be in suspense anymore. But no pregnancy announcement. Finally, the reason for her call came out—she wanted to let us know that they plan on resuming their search for a new house closer to where we live (it’s a long story, but their earlier plans for a house fell through).
She did, however, reveal that they stopped using condoms a couple of days earlier. We ended up having a long conversation about how menstrual cycles work and what the best days to get pregnant are. I even admitted I’d been expecting a pregnancy announcement from her and she said she knows that telling me about a pregnancy will be a very, very hard phone call. It was refreshing to be so honest with her, and it was probably the longest conversation we’ve had about our loss since it happened. (That doesn’t mean she wasn’t supportive; she was the friend who called me unexpectedly on the morning before I was induced at the hospital. AW doesn’t call often, but she calls at the right times.)
No, this phone call wasn’t what I thought it would be. But oh, was it difficult not knowing. My SIL, too (not the one who’s due in March), is now trying to get pregnant with her second. I’ve decided that should I see their number on caller ID, I will let the call go to voice mail. I’ll be able to tell by my brother’s message if they’re making an announcement, and I’ll at least be able to compose myself before I call him back.
I know this is part of life. I know there will be many pregnancy announcements in my future. But somehow, I feel like it’s unfair for other people to get pregnant while I’m still “stuck.” You may think I’m naïve and overly optimistic, but I still harbor a not-so-secret hope that once Dr. Hot allows me to start treatment, Letrozole will work its magic and help me ovulate again and I’ll be pregnant within a few cycles. I feel like I’m in a race and everyone else has already started while my feet are still firmly planted on the start line.
Except. What if I start the race again only to find out that I’ve lost all the speed I had the first time I raced? It’s a definite possibility; I’ve seen it happen to many, many other bloggers.
Oy. So many thoughts swirling in my head. I need to get a life. Speaking of that, thank you so much for all your suggestions of dogs. I really don’t think M and I will go for a lab or a retriever—too big. But we will start visiting with some dogs this weekend and hopefully we’ll find one that’s right for us.
It was my friend AW. AW, who lives two hours away, rarely calls—not because she doesn’t care, but because she’s not a “phone talker.” So when she does call, I know it’s for a specific reason. And I knew she and her husband had been considering “pulling the goalie” recently. I was sure she was calling with a pregnancy announcement—and I didn’t know how I would be able to handle that. See, for us, it’s not just a matter of being excluded from the “club” anymore. We had already been allowed into the club, but then, just when we had relaxed enough to kick up our heels and enjoy our time by the pool, we were brutally kicked out.
So I tentatively chatted with her, all the while waiting for her to get to the point so I wouldn’t have to be in suspense anymore. But no pregnancy announcement. Finally, the reason for her call came out—she wanted to let us know that they plan on resuming their search for a new house closer to where we live (it’s a long story, but their earlier plans for a house fell through).
She did, however, reveal that they stopped using condoms a couple of days earlier. We ended up having a long conversation about how menstrual cycles work and what the best days to get pregnant are. I even admitted I’d been expecting a pregnancy announcement from her and she said she knows that telling me about a pregnancy will be a very, very hard phone call. It was refreshing to be so honest with her, and it was probably the longest conversation we’ve had about our loss since it happened. (That doesn’t mean she wasn’t supportive; she was the friend who called me unexpectedly on the morning before I was induced at the hospital. AW doesn’t call often, but she calls at the right times.)
No, this phone call wasn’t what I thought it would be. But oh, was it difficult not knowing. My SIL, too (not the one who’s due in March), is now trying to get pregnant with her second. I’ve decided that should I see their number on caller ID, I will let the call go to voice mail. I’ll be able to tell by my brother’s message if they’re making an announcement, and I’ll at least be able to compose myself before I call him back.
I know this is part of life. I know there will be many pregnancy announcements in my future. But somehow, I feel like it’s unfair for other people to get pregnant while I’m still “stuck.” You may think I’m naïve and overly optimistic, but I still harbor a not-so-secret hope that once Dr. Hot allows me to start treatment, Letrozole will work its magic and help me ovulate again and I’ll be pregnant within a few cycles. I feel like I’m in a race and everyone else has already started while my feet are still firmly planted on the start line.
Except. What if I start the race again only to find out that I’ve lost all the speed I had the first time I raced? It’s a definite possibility; I’ve seen it happen to many, many other bloggers.
Oy. So many thoughts swirling in my head. I need to get a life. Speaking of that, thank you so much for all your suggestions of dogs. I really don’t think M and I will go for a lab or a retriever—too big. But we will start visiting with some dogs this weekend and hopefully we’ll find one that’s right for us.
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