In reading about a few other pregnant bloggers who are nesting, I am reminded of my own conflicting urges.
It is so, so hard for me to let go and assume that things are going to go well unless told otherwise. It’s especially hard, since this Friday is the Big Bad Ultrasound.
It was at the last Big Bad Ultrasound that everything started to go to hell. Four days later, it all really did go to hell.
Let’s put on our logic hats: We’ve already found out that this baby doesn’t have the same problem Zach did. However, I had fear at this moment in my pregnancy last time and I didn’t even know what bilateral renal agenesis was. The fact is, there are still plenty of terrible diagnoses that could greet us when we walk into the ultrasound room in four days.
All of you glass-is-half-full people out there probably wish you could smack me off side of the face for being so paranoid. But I must admit that after we found out about Zach, I felt like a fool for ever believing this could actually work out. After all, I told myself last October, we’ve made it halfway through the pregnancy. Aren’t we practically home-free?
So now, every happy, hopeful thought is brought screeching to a halt when I remind myself what could happen.
I, like so many of you out there, had started cleaning and organizing and doing varied preparations for another member of our household. I hadn't gone so far as to pick out bedding, but M had installed an organizer in the "guest room" closet and I had cleared two shelves in our hall closet. Those shelves have gradually been re-filled over the past six months.
I have an all-afternoon inservice with the larger communication team my department is a part of. I’m sort of helping to lead this workshop. I would love to wear a gorgeous new top from JCPenny, but because of the way this top is cut, I would be making a rather “pregnant” statement to a bunch of people I barely know and probably inviting conversation about my current state. What if it all goes away?
Also concerning that particularly lovely top—I had vowed I wouldn’t wear my JCPenney clothes until after the ultrasound, because they can more easily be returned (and are rather more expensive than my other tops). What if I don’t need maternity clothes after this week?
I was practically giddy after getting together with my in-laws on Sunday. Before we left, my MIL showed me a list of people she’d like to invite to a shower and speculated turning one shower into two at the end of August/beginning of September to make it more intimate. TWO SHOWERS? FOR ME? Except, that’s so far away. So many bad things can happen between now and then…
I wish I could talk about my fall due date without adding all sorts of “ifs.”
Monday, May 5, 2008
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Back to work
It’s a really sad thing when, an hour and a half into your first day back at work after vacation, you reach for the Tylenol.
Ah well. At least I know they missed me here at the office.
Our trip to the UK was wonderful. Here are a few tidbits:
The Good--While we were at Edinburgh Castle, there was a lot of pomp and circumstance surrounding the Queen’s 82nd birthday, including a full Scottish military band and a 21-gun salute. It was very, very cool.
--We both loved driving around amongst the scenery in the Scottish Highlands.
--We sat in on two pub quiz nights while we were in Keswick (England’s Lake District) and spent some time getting to know the locals—our ultimate goal when we’re traveling overseas.
--Our last night in the UK, we were in London and got to see the only show playing on Sunday night—King Lear at Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre. It was very cool. Yes, my feet hurt after standing for three hours (we bought standing room tickets) but it was up both our alleys.
The Bad--We ended up leaving Chicago 15 hours after we were supposed to. Our first flight was cancelled due to “an ability to fly over water.” (?) Fortunately, my parents live in Chicago; they picked us up and we spent the day with them. We were all boarded on our second plane, only to be told that the coffee maker malfunctioned, they had to drain all the water out of the plane and they had to find a different plane for us. Our flight was delayed by four hours.
There was a good reason we had scheduled a day flight; I simply cannot handle night flights. I can’t sleep on the plane and I get anxiety attacks about my inability to sleep. We ended up on a night flight, and sure enough, the combination of discomfort, anxiety and hormones reduced me to a sobbing mess on M’s shoulder. Simply put, I had a meltdown.
I will never fly A.meri.can Airlines again.
--During our nine-day trip, we had two flat tires—partly due to the fact that we were both trying to get used to driving on the other side of the car, and partly due to the fact that near the end of our trip, a driver crossed over the center line of a VERY narrow road (apparently, they have a lot of these in the UK), M swerved to avoid him and ended up blowing out a tire on the rocks by the side of the road. Good times, good times.
--After several days of feeling fetal movement before our trip, I simply stopped feeling it for about a week. By the end of that time, I was convinced we were dealing with another Dead Baby. Fortunately, things kicked back into action again (so to speak) a few days ago.
* * *
Unfortunately, M had to fly out for a four-day work trip this morning—less than 24 hours after we got back—but we’re doing OK. We’re kind of overwhelmed by the number of things we need to do over the next couple of weeks, but I prefer being busy to being bored. Back to reality!
Ah well. At least I know they missed me here at the office.
Our trip to the UK was wonderful. Here are a few tidbits:
The Good--While we were at Edinburgh Castle, there was a lot of pomp and circumstance surrounding the Queen’s 82nd birthday, including a full Scottish military band and a 21-gun salute. It was very, very cool.
--We both loved driving around amongst the scenery in the Scottish Highlands.
--We sat in on two pub quiz nights while we were in Keswick (England’s Lake District) and spent some time getting to know the locals—our ultimate goal when we’re traveling overseas.
--Our last night in the UK, we were in London and got to see the only show playing on Sunday night—King Lear at Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre. It was very cool. Yes, my feet hurt after standing for three hours (we bought standing room tickets) but it was up both our alleys.
The Bad--We ended up leaving Chicago 15 hours after we were supposed to. Our first flight was cancelled due to “an ability to fly over water.” (?) Fortunately, my parents live in Chicago; they picked us up and we spent the day with them. We were all boarded on our second plane, only to be told that the coffee maker malfunctioned, they had to drain all the water out of the plane and they had to find a different plane for us. Our flight was delayed by four hours.
There was a good reason we had scheduled a day flight; I simply cannot handle night flights. I can’t sleep on the plane and I get anxiety attacks about my inability to sleep. We ended up on a night flight, and sure enough, the combination of discomfort, anxiety and hormones reduced me to a sobbing mess on M’s shoulder. Simply put, I had a meltdown.
I will never fly A.meri.can Airlines again.
--During our nine-day trip, we had two flat tires—partly due to the fact that we were both trying to get used to driving on the other side of the car, and partly due to the fact that near the end of our trip, a driver crossed over the center line of a VERY narrow road (apparently, they have a lot of these in the UK), M swerved to avoid him and ended up blowing out a tire on the rocks by the side of the road. Good times, good times.
--After several days of feeling fetal movement before our trip, I simply stopped feeling it for about a week. By the end of that time, I was convinced we were dealing with another Dead Baby. Fortunately, things kicked back into action again (so to speak) a few days ago.
* * *
Unfortunately, M had to fly out for a four-day work trip this morning—less than 24 hours after we got back—but we’re doing OK. We’re kind of overwhelmed by the number of things we need to do over the next couple of weeks, but I prefer being busy to being bored. Back to reality!
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Happy
Right now, I feel very...normal. And happy.
Strange words for an IF and pregnancy loss blogger to write, huh?
When I head to the bathroom to pee (which I do about every hour or so), I no longer dread what I might see in my underwear. While I still am anxious to find out about the health of my baby’s heart and assorted other body parts, I am no longer glass-is-half-empty with regards to my baby’s insides. While I don’t want to put anything on my calendar, I feel comfortable discussing (and lamenting) with my mother the lack of available dates for a baby shower.
And because I have finally gotten back to that comfortable, pregnant state of being that I enjoyed for so few weeks last time, I can focus on other parts of my life. Normal, everyday parts:
--Because we leave on vacation Friday (we’ll be in England and Scotland), I’m incredibly busy at work trying to wrap up unfinished business. It seems like every time I cross something off my list, two more things get added. But I’m busy! At work! A year ago, this wouldn’t have seemed possible.
--M has been on a business trip since Saturday, so the dog is alone much of the time. Today, he will be alone for 11 hours before I get home. I am overwhelmed by guilt.
--One of the guys in my Bible study failed to ask if I have been to the UK, or even anywhere in Europe, before. As a result, he started “helpfully” informing me that, actually, it’s better not to get a car when you’re traveling in Europe. When HE went to London, they got a car and didn’t even need it! I (not-so-politely) told him that I had been to the UK eight years ago, and yes, while you didn’t need cars in cities, we would be spending hardly any time in the cities. We preferred to drive along the beautiful roads in the rural Scottish Highlands, stopping every once in a while to take in the sights. You can’t do that very well when you’re taking a bus from city to city. He still wasn’t convinced. BUDDY, I KNOW WHAT I WANT! At that, his wife (snidely, I think) said, “As long as it’s also what M wants.” Don’t tell me how to handle my marriage, bitch. (No, the above exchange was not influenced by hormones. Not at all.)
Ah, it feels nice to focus on the minutiae.
Oh, and for those of you who were wondering...it’s a boy.
I’ll see you at the end of April!
Strange words for an IF and pregnancy loss blogger to write, huh?
When I head to the bathroom to pee (which I do about every hour or so), I no longer dread what I might see in my underwear. While I still am anxious to find out about the health of my baby’s heart and assorted other body parts, I am no longer glass-is-half-empty with regards to my baby’s insides. While I don’t want to put anything on my calendar, I feel comfortable discussing (and lamenting) with my mother the lack of available dates for a baby shower.
And because I have finally gotten back to that comfortable, pregnant state of being that I enjoyed for so few weeks last time, I can focus on other parts of my life. Normal, everyday parts:
--Because we leave on vacation Friday (we’ll be in England and Scotland), I’m incredibly busy at work trying to wrap up unfinished business. It seems like every time I cross something off my list, two more things get added. But I’m busy! At work! A year ago, this wouldn’t have seemed possible.
--M has been on a business trip since Saturday, so the dog is alone much of the time. Today, he will be alone for 11 hours before I get home. I am overwhelmed by guilt.
--One of the guys in my Bible study failed to ask if I have been to the UK, or even anywhere in Europe, before. As a result, he started “helpfully” informing me that, actually, it’s better not to get a car when you’re traveling in Europe. When HE went to London, they got a car and didn’t even need it! I (not-so-politely) told him that I had been to the UK eight years ago, and yes, while you didn’t need cars in cities, we would be spending hardly any time in the cities. We preferred to drive along the beautiful roads in the rural Scottish Highlands, stopping every once in a while to take in the sights. You can’t do that very well when you’re taking a bus from city to city. He still wasn’t convinced. BUDDY, I KNOW WHAT I WANT! At that, his wife (snidely, I think) said, “As long as it’s also what M wants.” Don’t tell me how to handle my marriage, bitch. (No, the above exchange was not influenced by hormones. Not at all.)
Ah, it feels nice to focus on the minutiae.
Oh, and for those of you who were wondering...it’s a boy.
I’ll see you at the end of April!
Friday, April 11, 2008
The baby with two kidneys
There may be bad news yet to come in this pregnancy, but it won’t be today.
Remember when I posted about boring, wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am ultrasounds? Well, this was one of them. Moments after he started probing, the peri asked me if we wanted to know the sex. Through a sob, I told him I didn’t want to know anything until I saw kidneys. Less than a minute later: “Amniotic fluid looks normal. OK, there’s a kidney. And there’s another kidney. Oh, and there’s the bladder.” Five minutes later: “See, the bladder is bigger than it was before.” Ten minutes later: “Oh, the bladder is really big now!”
That means my baby is making urine.
I am so overwhelmed with gratitude, I can’t even write anything else right now. Except—thanks for all your support. It means the world to me.
(Yes, we found out the sex, but we’re letting the kidneys have their time in the spotlight before we’re telling anyone.)
Remember when I posted about boring, wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am ultrasounds? Well, this was one of them. Moments after he started probing, the peri asked me if we wanted to know the sex. Through a sob, I told him I didn’t want to know anything until I saw kidneys. Less than a minute later: “Amniotic fluid looks normal. OK, there’s a kidney. And there’s another kidney. Oh, and there’s the bladder.” Five minutes later: “See, the bladder is bigger than it was before.” Ten minutes later: “Oh, the bladder is really big now!”
That means my baby is making urine.
I am so overwhelmed with gratitude, I can’t even write anything else right now. Except—thanks for all your support. It means the world to me.
(Yes, we found out the sex, but we’re letting the kidneys have their time in the spotlight before we’re telling anyone.)
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Bad memories
Part of me feels self-indulgent—I’ve been writing about tomorrow for weeks and weeks, when of course I can’t share any more information until I actually go through with the appointment. The comments I get from all of you lovely readers make me feel even more like a broken record—“Praying you have a good ultrasound;” “Continuing to keep you in my thoughts;” etc.
It has seemed to me like others who have been in a similar situation haven’t dwelt on their trepidation nearly as much. But, here I am—barely able to work, counting down the hours until my ultrasound (I’m currently at 23).
In a conversation with M last night, I realized that my feelings contradict each other. I’ve pictured the hours after the ultrasound so many times--I will come back down to my office, close my door and greet my mother with these words: “The baby has kidneys.” I will then send an announcement e-mail to my co-workers (all of whom know about our loss, but very few of whom know I’m currently knocked up—although they’ve probably guessed). And then I’ll update my blog.
I can picture sharing the happy news. I just can’t picture getting it.
You see, I’ve been in that room before, on another Friday, five months ago. I was all ready to hear happy news then. Instead I sat on the table, my stomach growling angrily (I’d skipped lunch because I was so nervous), hardly able to believe the doctor as he grimly told me he couldn’t find a bladder or kidneys.
I’d had plans for sharing the good news then, too. We were supposed to start a registry that night.
It’s hard for me to imagine sitting on that table and receiving good news. As M said, “It’s perfectly natural, because all you’ve ever gotten in that room is bad news.” I can’t get that memory out of my head. Even as I sit here typing, I can’t help shedding tears as I picture that room.
22 ½ hours.
It has seemed to me like others who have been in a similar situation haven’t dwelt on their trepidation nearly as much. But, here I am—barely able to work, counting down the hours until my ultrasound (I’m currently at 23).
In a conversation with M last night, I realized that my feelings contradict each other. I’ve pictured the hours after the ultrasound so many times--I will come back down to my office, close my door and greet my mother with these words: “The baby has kidneys.” I will then send an announcement e-mail to my co-workers (all of whom know about our loss, but very few of whom know I’m currently knocked up—although they’ve probably guessed). And then I’ll update my blog.
I can picture sharing the happy news. I just can’t picture getting it.
You see, I’ve been in that room before, on another Friday, five months ago. I was all ready to hear happy news then. Instead I sat on the table, my stomach growling angrily (I’d skipped lunch because I was so nervous), hardly able to believe the doctor as he grimly told me he couldn’t find a bladder or kidneys.
I’d had plans for sharing the good news then, too. We were supposed to start a registry that night.
It’s hard for me to imagine sitting on that table and receiving good news. As M said, “It’s perfectly natural, because all you’ve ever gotten in that room is bad news.” I can’t get that memory out of my head. Even as I sit here typing, I can’t help shedding tears as I picture that room.
22 ½ hours.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Healing
I had originally resolved not to blog at all for most of this week—to wait until our April 11 ultrasound before I communicated with all of you again. After all, I thought, I have nothing new to say: Still waiting, still nervous, still hopeful.
But now I have something I want to say. And I want to get it out into the world before I find out whether this pregnancy actually has a chance of producing a live baby.
My second pregnancy has helped me to navigate my grief just a little bit better. After reading Mrs. Spit’s moving post yesterday, I realized that I am in a different place than many other women who have recently had devastating losses. I think that it’s God working in my life—through the vehicle of another pregnancy.
I am still heartbroken at losing Zach. The sight of pregnant women still makes me cringe. I still harbor an insane jealousy of women who have never experienced infertility or pregnancy loss. I am still incredulous of people who ask me, “You’re having a hard time? But hasn’t it already been several months?”
I still cry—but not every day.
Instead, I—almost daily—ask M if he notices that I’m starting to look more pregnant. I beam with pride when he tells me it’s going to be hard to keep this a secret for much longer. Both my mother and MIL have expressed interest in throwing baby showers, and I look at the calendar to calculate when the best time would be.
I do not feel paralyzed by my sorrow anymore. It is a regular part of my life, but it’s more like background rather than foreground.
God does provide healing. I just hope this scab doesn’t get cruelly torn off.
But now I have something I want to say. And I want to get it out into the world before I find out whether this pregnancy actually has a chance of producing a live baby.
My second pregnancy has helped me to navigate my grief just a little bit better. After reading Mrs. Spit’s moving post yesterday, I realized that I am in a different place than many other women who have recently had devastating losses. I think that it’s God working in my life—through the vehicle of another pregnancy.
I am still heartbroken at losing Zach. The sight of pregnant women still makes me cringe. I still harbor an insane jealousy of women who have never experienced infertility or pregnancy loss. I am still incredulous of people who ask me, “You’re having a hard time? But hasn’t it already been several months?”
I still cry—but not every day.
Instead, I—almost daily—ask M if he notices that I’m starting to look more pregnant. I beam with pride when he tells me it’s going to be hard to keep this a secret for much longer. Both my mother and MIL have expressed interest in throwing baby showers, and I look at the calendar to calculate when the best time would be.
I do not feel paralyzed by my sorrow anymore. It is a regular part of my life, but it’s more like background rather than foreground.
God does provide healing. I just hope this scab doesn’t get cruelly torn off.
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
Grey
Sometimes, I hate that we live in a world so full of shades of grey.
Through my referrals, I discovered my blog had been mentioned on a random baby message board in which the participants were talking about whether they would want to be screened for malformations. A thoughtful poster (and apparently, one of my readers) mentioned both my blog and another written by a mom who has chosen to carry her “not compatible with life” baby to term. The poster/reader hit it right on the money when she said that nobody can know what they will do until they are put in that situation.
As my longtime readers (well, at least those who have been around for about six months) know, I have not been able to completely put our decision to terminate behind me. While I would not wish to make a different decision, I have struggled with feelings of guilt. Did the mom who chose to carry her baby to term (Angie) make a better choice than we did? No, it was just different. We are both strong Christians (yes, I read her blog) and while she felt called to carry her baby until “God took her,” I knew immediately that that wasn’t something I was cut out to do.
I’ll have to admit—when I read her blog, which is filled with pictures of her other three daughters, one part of me whispered, “It’s because she already has other children that she was able to carry to term. She hasn’t been waiting for so long to be a mother like I have.” But from reading her words, I’m pretty sure that she would have made the same choice had her first child been given a lethal diagnosis.
She was called to do something different than I was. Period.
The funny thing is, I have never felt judgment from anyone else regarding the choice we made. The only judgment has come from myself. Sometimes, I think that I just wasn’t brave enough to go through with the rest of the pregnancy. Other times, I think that I was just wanting to get started on another pregnancy sooner (which is true).
Oh, how I wish that human beings were able to make decisions and never look back. Black or white—that’s it.
Instead, I’m left with a grey mess.
Through my referrals, I discovered my blog had been mentioned on a random baby message board in which the participants were talking about whether they would want to be screened for malformations. A thoughtful poster (and apparently, one of my readers) mentioned both my blog and another written by a mom who has chosen to carry her “not compatible with life” baby to term. The poster/reader hit it right on the money when she said that nobody can know what they will do until they are put in that situation.
As my longtime readers (well, at least those who have been around for about six months) know, I have not been able to completely put our decision to terminate behind me. While I would not wish to make a different decision, I have struggled with feelings of guilt. Did the mom who chose to carry her baby to term (Angie) make a better choice than we did? No, it was just different. We are both strong Christians (yes, I read her blog) and while she felt called to carry her baby until “God took her,” I knew immediately that that wasn’t something I was cut out to do.
I’ll have to admit—when I read her blog, which is filled with pictures of her other three daughters, one part of me whispered, “It’s because she already has other children that she was able to carry to term. She hasn’t been waiting for so long to be a mother like I have.” But from reading her words, I’m pretty sure that she would have made the same choice had her first child been given a lethal diagnosis.
She was called to do something different than I was. Period.
The funny thing is, I have never felt judgment from anyone else regarding the choice we made. The only judgment has come from myself. Sometimes, I think that I just wasn’t brave enough to go through with the rest of the pregnancy. Other times, I think that I was just wanting to get started on another pregnancy sooner (which is true).
Oh, how I wish that human beings were able to make decisions and never look back. Black or white—that’s it.
Instead, I’m left with a grey mess.
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