RenovationGirl

Bubbling Over

During the last few days of that ill-fated last cycle, I kept having huge anxiety attacks.  While not paralyzing, they were crippling.  They always started slowly, with a slight catch in my breath.  As time progressed, I began to feel a weight slowly but surely pushing down on my chest.  That pressure would get so unbearable that even deep breathing wouldn't relieve it.  I would feel as if I was suffocating.  Nothing released me from this grip until it would get so bad, I could literally feel the grief and nerves bubble over.  Into the form of tears.

I'm a cry-er.  I cry at movies, I cry when friends cry, and I cry at my own grief.  I cry when I get super mad or super silly.  I don't think this weakens me; if anything, it makes me more authentic.  And during this last cycle, not many friends in real life knew what was going on...well, a few did, but most of our family did not. And those who did know, well, are probably sick of it.  We've done this so often before with no luck, at some point, my friends are going to stop caring about our infertility.   So I spent much of the time ignoring what we were doing until it was time to race to an appointment  or get stuck with another needle.  Holding it all in is not a good thing for me, but I discovered how therapeautic crying can be.  As soon as I let free the floodwaters, immediately, the weight was lifted from my chest.  I realize this is not a news flash.  For me, as a mom, though, I hold things in to protect my son from our infertility.  No need to traumatize him with a grief he can't understand about a potential sibling he has never asked for. 

I'm glad that the bubbling over has stopped, for the most part. I'm doing okay with everything.  Life goes on, right?  I have three jobs to work, a child to care for, a house to clean, food to cook, laundry to do, etc.  Life is busy and moves forward even when we want to just stop and indulge in the grief. 

When Negative Results Are a Bad Thing

It seems kind of funny to me that most people who get medical tests done are hoping for a negative.  You're getting tested for cancer-it's negative-Hallelujah!  You get tested for an auto-immune disease and it's negative?  Praise be!  But with infertility, you hope and pray for that positive result.  Infertility is weird that way.

As suspected, we did get a negative result yesterday.  It was not surprising, but still as devastating.  Probably most upsetting, besides the stupid things people who have no understanding of this say, is how crushed my doctor's office sounded when they called to tell me.  I had told them earlier in the day (when they called to see why I didn't go first thing to get my blood work...I figured, why stress myself out getting up early, still being late for work, for a negative result?!) that I had peed on a stick and it was negative...I was reprimanded for that.  Later in the day, when they called, I think they were glad I was prepared.  I, of course, let the call go to voice mail...it makes it easier on all of us.

So, I stopped taking the progesterone and wait for the hated period to arrive.  The doctor is gung-ho to try a new protocol, and even though we said we were done, I won't lie and tell you I wasn't considering it.  The money isn't there (this doctor only takes cash/checks, no credit) so we definitely can't do it this month, and quite frankly, I'm not sure we can handle it emotionally this month, either.  But I've never had a new protocol.  Ever.  We have always done follistim-and that was it.  This past time, we did add ganirelex (sp?), but that's wasn't such a big deal.  So, if you're a fellow infertility sufferer, let me know if you've done a lupron flare and/or menopur, which is what he's hoping to add. 

The day itself was filled with little blessings and little annoyances.  They balanced one another out well, which made it bearable.  Certainly, Builder Boy's snuggliness and sweetness (he must have said, "I love you, Mama" dozens of times!! which is a rarity!) made everything seem just fine.  And the salesman at the Pretzel Factory who struck up a conversation with me while we were waiting for our pretzels to finish baking kept me from breaking down in an embarrassing heap after my blood test.  And the nice lady who let my car into heavy traffic eased my anger a bit.  Although, the phlebotomist who was maybe 20 and who insisted calling me "honey," almost got decked. And the pathetic excuse of comfort from certain friends enraged me a bit.  But, finishing the day off with another wonderful conversation with PorscheNut, a few episodes of Raising Hope (dear Lord, that's one funny show!), and a chapter of the current book I'm reading, calmed me enough to get to sleep.

I'm not sure where we go from here.  I know, ultimately, we will be fine.  That's what life is all about...pain, disappointment, then recovery.  We will find joy, we will find purpose.  But this is not easy.  And I am very angry. 

Prayers for a Lonely Child

Yesterday, a good friend of mine shared a beautiful poem written by her daughter for a college class.  I was so touched that she wanted to share it with me-this friend is a very private person, one whom I often have to browbeat in order to get her to open up about things that are bothering her.  (Love you, K!) In the poem, her daughter was so honest and raw and authentic.  We giggled over the lines that aired out some family issues in a perfectly poetic, and thankfully cryptic, way, and teared up over her the very clear expressions of unconditional love and gratitude for her family.  One in particular line brought us both to our knees...she wrote something along the lines of a house "filled with the prayers of a lonely child."  You see my friend started her family a bit earlier than she intended, and as she struggled through those early days of motherhood, another child was not on her radar at all.  She was just hoping to survive the first one!  Five or so years later, she and her husband did add to their family, welcoming another daughter.  The poem revealed how desperately her oldest wanted a sibling to ease her loneliness.  It was beautiful sentiment of a 20 year old written with the raw honesty of a five year old. 

My friend has now agonized over the fact that she shared this poem with me.  You see, in her own desire to share this most beautiful poem with me, she feels she failed to recognize my own struggles with having an only child.  When I commented that that line really got me, too, it hit her that these could possibly be the same prayers Builder Boy prays.  I have tried to console my friend, that my issues are my issues and that I feel privileged that she wanted to share something so personal with me.  Granted, if someone else had showed me this poem, I might have been upset and felt their insensitivity.  But never in a million years would I find it insensitive that a friend wanted allow me into her family's history. 

Remodel Man and I do feel blessed that Builder Boy has never really asked about wanting a sibling.  If anything, he has made it very clear that he does not want a brother or sister.  This does help ease our guilt over our infertility.  Just today, in one of those intuitive moments that children have, Builder Boy, while watching an episode of Arthur where Arthur's little sister, D.W., yet again drives him crazy, Builder Boy commented, "That, Mama, is why I'm glad for your internal organs."  I looked at him quizzically and asked what he meant. "You know, because your insides only had one baby."

Where he comes up with this stuff, I'll never know, but I'm glad that he's grateful for my flawed organs.  ;)

Surgical Regrets

Remember the Frank Sinatra song..."My Way?"  Let me refresh your memory. "Regrets...I've had a few..."  I find myself singing this song today for that line.  I had my laproscopic surgery on Thursday to determine if I had endometriosis and to remove any scar tissue found.  Last week was a whirlwind of fear and unexpected hospital stays that culminating in a surgery that may have proved to be unnecessary.  Let's recap.

On Sunday, my father was taken to the ER for two days of vomiting and severe stomach cramps.  He was admitted and had his gallbladder removed Monday night.  Besides finding an adominal anuerysm, all went well.  I was going to cancel my surgery yet again, but because they were able to do the gallbladder removal laproscopically, I decided to go ahead with my own procedure.  The days before I had to spend figuring out how to get Builder Boy to and from school, have someone to watch him after school, how to get me to and from the hospital, and how to function alone post-anesthesia.  My go-to gal (my mom) had her hands full with my dad and my other go-to gal (my sister) is so busy at work we didn't want to bother her.  It was stressful to say the least.  Couple this with an overwhelming fear that I would die during the surgery and I was a pleasure to be around.  I spent showers sobbing thinking about all that could go wrong and that how irresponsible this was fo us to do while we already had a child.  I wasn't sleeping as I thought about poor Builder Boy growing up without me.  And I thought of all the pressure on Remodel Man to go it alone.  Yes, I know this was anxiety working on me.  A very dear friend pointed this out to me and it helped me in dealing with the fear. 

Dad came home on Wednesday and was doing well, so mom and dad decided that she would come down and pick up Builder Boy from school and stay with him until we got home.  This alleviated some stress, but also added to it-dad would be home alone and what if something happened? With my aunt and my dad's best friend on call, mom headed down to help out with many phone calls home to her honey.

I woke up Thursday less anxious and feeling more prepared.  The hospital we go to is an amazing place with the kindest staff I've ever experienced in a hospital.  They held my hand (literally) through both D&Cs and encouraged me to cry as we waited for both procedures.  They asked me questions about my life and got to know me.  They cracked jokes and answered questions.  This visit to the hospital was no different.  They were kind, supportive, encouraging and put me at ease.  They clearly respect my doctor and he clearly holds them in high esteem.  The procedure went fine and I went into recovery with another set of kind and amazing nurses.  Besides throwing up immediately upon waking (OUCH!), the rest of the recovery went okay.

So the regret part?  The doctor found some signs of scar tissue, which he removed, but it wasn't much.  Stage 1 or maybe Stage 2.  Just from some minor research, with such little amounts of it, the surgery was probably unnecessary and was probably not the reason for our inability to get or stay pregnant.  And this was very discouraging.  I feel very weepy about losing out on a beautiful fall weekend with my son because of a procedure that probably isn't going to give him a sibling.  I am using up three precious sick days for nothing.  I woke up last night sick with a fever that has yet to break.  I am worried about infection or something worse.  And for what?

I know there was no way to know how severe the endometriosis was without surgery, but I just feel like our desperation has reached new levels when I thought we were heading into the acceptance phase of this infertility journey. Our next steps?  No idea...

 

The Brightness of Night

When you grieve, the nights are always so difficult.  The darkness is haunting and reminding and quiet.  The solitude and cover of the blackness permits the thoughts to weave inside your mind, sometimes freeing you and sometimes tying you up tightly.  For the widow it is the coldness of the sheets.  For the mother, it is the emptiness...of the crib, of the womb, of the heart.

I think for someone post-miscarriage, I'm doing amazingly well.  Everyone I know (minus one-thanks AWN!) has forgotten about this.  No one asks about it (it's really so passe!) and all assume I'm fine.  And truly, in the public day to day, I am fine.  If you asked me honestly how I felt, I would still tell you fine.  Because I think I am. 

But, there's been trouble on the home front.  It's no new battle. It's one I have fought for, oh, six years now.  I have tried many things to establish a peace treaty, but unfortunately, the opponents are tough and rather stubborn. We struggle every single day to come to some type of terms...me and motherhood. The innocent victim of this war?  Builder Boy.

I have talked often about my intense feelings of guilt and incompetency, how I never fit the image of the mother I want to be.  I have given excuses-too many jobs, not enough money, infertility-and begged off of ideas to help.  But things are getting critical here...damage is being done and issues must be rectified.  I need help.

Each night as darkness falls, the brightness of my own feelings blind me.  I am overcome by my own incompetency and the failings of each day (and they are many).  Each night I assess the damage and strategically plan for the next day.  All of the wrongs I will right and the things I will do better.  As I attempt to sleep, I pray and make commitments.  Yet, each morning, as the sun rises to its own light, I am shaded by it.  A certain darkness descends and I find myself feeling alone and scared and incapable.  I look at this beautiful child who will in just one month's time will leave this house daily for all day school, and I wonder, "How have my failings impacted him?"  The harsh words, the impatience, the time spent working, or time wasted on the computer, too few books read and far too much television.  Not enough flash cards, not enough play dates.  No sibling. 

He is a sweet and clever boy.  He is kind and empathetic to others.  He uses great manners in public.  He is full of wonder and energy.  He is inquisitive and imaginative.  And every day, as he grows, I feel as if I take a little of those positives away from him with my own negatives.  So, maybe I am not okay.  Maybe this miscarriage has damaged me far more than I admit.  Maybe this subconscious refusal to "not be okay" is causing my bad parenting.

So, it's time.  Changes are coming.  Builder Boy deserves a more engaging mother...a happier and nicer and more patient mother.  And I need some peace of mind as the night enfolds.

Jealous

I hate being jealous.  I simply hate it.  Yet, today and this entire weekend, I find myself feeling jealous.  It's such a negative feeling and not a very Christian "place" to be, and yet, there it is. 

It started Friday with a frantic phone call from a best friend on the way to the beach for the weekend.  It continued with a Fac.ebook posting from another friend on her way to her parent's summer cottage.  Then it was the distant friend announcing her pregnancy...after having two older kids and having said, "We're done!  I don't want anymore!"  Then it was the mountains of papers I have to grade, and student phone calls to make, and hours to work at my retail job while the sun was shining and an excited son waited to go to the pool.

I'm tired of being the screw-up.  I've been working at least two jobs since I was 15.  I work so hard and yet I constantly find myself stressed about our horrible debt.  My house is a continual mess and I can't rely on a housekeeper to help out.  I'm trying to figure out how to add a fourth job to my already heaping plate in order to possibly dig out of this debt hole even slightly.  I don't spend money on clothes or frivolities.  When I do make purchases, they're on clearance and they're not fashion labels.  From the last pregnancy and subsequent blood tests and surgery, I am knee deep in medical bills. 

Don't get me wrong, I know I'm blessed and all, but I still feel so jealous.  Of the friends in my life who don't have financial worries, or have had an easy time having a family, or who can afford housekeepers, or who have been able to stay home with their kids.  I know their lives aren't perfect.  I know they feel pain and suffer loss and have stress.  It just seems through my eyes that my stress is a lot more than theirs.  Sounds childish, doesn't it? 

The hardest part is this-I don't see an end to my stress.  I have gone over and over our finances and don't see a way out unless we win the lottery or one of us gets an amazing job offer.   I never wanted to live this way.  I never thought I would have to.  I work hard and at a lot of jobs.  I don't go on shopping sprees.  I use coupons.  I buy generic.  I watch how we spend the money we have to. 

And it all brings me back to this-THANK YOU, INFERTILITY!  Not only have you robbed me of the family I have always wanted, but you have also taken away a joyful life while I work on paying off the failed attempts at getting said family. 

So, I'm guessing this is the anger part of the grieving process...

I'm Just Sad

There it is.  I'm just sad.  When people ask me how I'm feeling, all I can muster up is, "I'm just sad."  Depending on how comfortable I feel with the person or where we are, this can usually be followed by teary eyes. 

Physically, I'm feeling better.  I still need the occasional ibuprofen, but all in all, the pain is a lot less. 

But I'm just sad.  It's an overwhelming sadness.  I mean, I can enjoy the moment and laugh, but as soon as the moment is over, the smiles fades and the heaviness returns.  I am fatigued and while I know it can still be from the surgery complications, I wonder now how much of it is the sadness.

I know the sadness will fade.  I know I will feel better.  But for now, I'm just sad.  For me, for my husband, for my son, and for the little baby that I did not have the chance to meet. 

Random Thoughts After Loss

I'm home alone right now.  Not a good thing after pregnancy loss #3.  I'm still not feeling well.  I am extremely tired, very nauseated, a bit crampy, and naturally very sad.  This recovery has been much more difficult than the last time.  Perhaps it's the tearing that occurred during surgery or perhaps this body of "advanced maternal age" is just feeling it all more deeply.  Nonetheless, it's been rough. 

Laying around gives you time to think...this is also not a good thing.  But it does call to mind some random thoughts that I've been having. 

1.  I feel blessed.  I watch Builder Boy and know that no matter how bad things get, he is here.  He is our miracle.  He is our "meant to be."  He is an amazing, creative, funny, clever, challenging, loving, crabby, silly, dancing boy.  He is.

2. I will be 38 this fall.  Yes, this is five months away, but it feels like it's now.  I am not one who usually is bothered by her age, but as I close in on the end of my fertile years (yea, go ahead and laugh...fertile?! HA!), I am feeling a bit leary of each new birthday.

3. I am terrified that this pregnancy was a molar.  Complete, partial-it doesn't matter.  The long wait, the weekly blood draws, the constant reminder of what isn't happening-I just can't do it again.  And if it is that, I think that will be the end of our "trying."  And I have very mixed feelings on this.

4.  It makes me crazy when I acknowledge that my file is now marked, "recurrent pregnancy losses."  This happens to other people.  Not me.  Yet, here I am.  And it is me.

5.  I have a pregnant colleague and when I was walking down the hall on my way to my last ultrasound, I thought to myself, "I cannot stand her pregnant face."  This is not a nice thing and it is not me.  She is delightful and glowing and I am happy for her.  But I will live the next 6 months that my belly should be growing watching hers grow.  I will listen to all her happiness while still grieving my own losses.  I am not looking forward to this. 

6.  People keep asking me what they can do for me.  I don't know what to say.  I am not talkative about this.  I don't know what to say.  It sucks.  I'm sad.  I wish I could give someone something to do for me, but I just don't know what that is.

7.  Builder Boy finishes preschool this week.  I was already incredibly sad about yet another milestone, but now it will be much worse.  He is very excited about his new school and for this I am glad.  But it is sad to leave a place you've grown accustomed to.  And I am sad.

Lots of sad...

What Would You Do?

On our way to the appointment, we made a decision: we would not pursue any procedures because we could not afford to.  We have already spent $40,000 on procedures that didn't work and we are maxed out.  So, no procedures. What we wanted was information.  What did this RE (for you fertile people, that's a Reproductive Endocrinologist-an infertility specialist) think of all that we had done at the last place. What would he do different?  What did he think of our fertility?

Going in, I wasn't sure if I was more terrified of the RE  telling us that the last place had done all that could be done for us or if he told us that there was something we could do and then we couldn't afford to do it.  After the exam and consult, we walked out feeling a bit shell-shocked.

He felt that our last doctor did too much too fast.  That he had skipped an obvious course of treatment that could have enhanced our fertility naturally.  He questioned much of what was done, then with a sigh, put away that file. 

Let me go back a  little bit....seven years ago, we had been trying for over a year with no luck conceiving.  My SIL recommended her doctor who had helped her have three children.  We went to see him and after a battery of test and an exam, the doctor determined that I had endometriosis and that surgery was in order.  If you know me personally, you know the rest.  As I sat in the pre-op room, waiting for my surgery, a nurse came over with a quizzical look on her face and asked, "Is there a chance you could be pregnant?"  I laughed.  You know, in that "you've got to be joking" way.  I told her that the reason I was having the surgery was that I couldn't get pregnant.  "OH!" she said. "Well, there were trace HCG elements in your urine sample so we sent it to the lab for further testing."  I was stunned.  She recommended I not get my hopes up (I wasn't) and called my family back to sit with me.  When I told Remodel Man, he didn't believe it.  We wait, only to be told thirty minutes later that the surgery was unnecessary...I was pregnant.  While not realistic or logical, we firmly believe that this doctor had a hand in this pregnancy, even though he hadn't really done anything.  He helped maintain the pregnancy (terrifying progesterone drop at seven weeks) and we are forever grateful to him for our Builder Boy.  When it came time to deal with the secondary infertility, due to a few issues, we were unable to go to him.  We ended up at a nationally known practice, and while I have no doubt we received good medical care, the patient care wasn't the best.  So, when I found myself pregnant a year and a half ago, it was the first doctor we went back to.  Let's call him Dr. ABC.  He helped me through that first miscarriage, then monitored the next pregnancy, discovered the molar pregnancy, and performed the D&C. 

So, now back to the present.  Dr. ABC told us that he feels the endometriosis is hindering our fertility.  He feels that it also was a factor in my early miscarriage.  He feels that by surgically removing the endometriosis, we will have "high chances of conceiving a child."  And then he clarified that for him "conceiving" means "delivering a healthy baby."  One laparoscopic surgery.  4-7 days recovery.  Does this fall under the "we can't afford to do it" fear? 

Nope.  It's covered by insurance.  We can do it the first week of May.  And while I know I will choose to do this, I wonder, what would you do?  Do you risk going back to "the dark place" of infertility for a chance at what you have only dreamed about?  Or do you walk away and enjoy the life you have now? 

Yeah, We're Back to This

A colleague peeked her head into my room, "Are you okay?" she said, with a look of concern.

Breathe in, breathe out. 

"Yes, thanks.  I'm okay.  I have to be, right?" I joke.  But the joke falls flat at the feet of someone who knows me and my struggles far better than that.

"Okay, well, if you need to talk..." she waved her hand in that all-encompassing gesture and closed the door behind her.

I sat down and considered the events of the past 45 minutes.  A year ago, I would be trying to hold back the tears, my stomach churning, my heart throbbing in my chest, and in my abdomen...emptiness.  But now, a year or so later, I just sit pensively, slightly irritated, a bit out of breath, but otherwise, fine.  Just fine.  Because what choice do I have?

Forty-five minutes before this, a young colleague of mine, still practically a newlywed, caught me as I was literally running out of the faculty room, late for my class as usual.  I had just run down to grab a calming cup of tea, reheated for the third time, to help me make it through this next energetic, yet lovable group of teens.  Today we would be discussing the ending of Macbeth and they were eager to get started.  (Ahem,okay, allow me this little bit of fiction-of course they were not eager...)  "Renovation Girl?" I paused mid-stride and turned around.  "I've started to announce it so I wanted to tell you personally..."

My heart lurched.  You all know where this is headed.  If you're infertile, you've been here before, standing in my shoes as time stops and you wonder, "How will I get through it this time?" She cracked a smile and giggled, "I'm having a baby!" and then she searched my face in concern, wondering how this old, infertile body would respond.  "Funny," I thought to myself, "I'm wondering how I will respond, too."

Cue the theater degree...House lights dim to a fuzzy brown, the thick, red velvet curtains slowly part to reveal a foggy stage.  As the fog clears, you begin to see the shape of a woman, clearly broken, but standing still, looking straight ahead, a non-committal smile plastered on her face.

"OH, colleague!!!!!" I said, running over to her.  "That's wonderful!  This is wonderful, isn't it?" She nods an enthusiastic, "Yes!"  I hug her.  "We'll have to talk later because I'm a late for class, but I can't wait to hear all about it! Congratulations!!!!"

I exhale slowly as I now walk gingerly to my classroom. 

This time the announcement affects me differently.  I normally focus on the  baby that will come...the sweet smell of sleeping baby, the soft skin that nuzzles your neck, the first smiles and giggles, watching the wonder of life unfold through your baby's eyes.  But this time, as I walk away from my glowing colleague, it's the pregnancy that I miss.  I miss the flutters of movement.  The swooshing of the heartbeat on the ultrasound screen.  The way I felt productive and fulfilled.  I felt a part of everything around me.  There was life inside me.  And it was amazing.

And now I feel empty. 

In most ways, we have moved on.  I have started to give away some baby things.  We are piling up items to sell.  I am able to get through pregnancy and baby announcements.  I am able to see a newborn without fighting tears. When my period comes, I am disappointed, but not surprised or devastated.  It is still difficult to watch Builder Boy without a sibling, but as he grows more and more independent each day, I know that he will be okay alone. 

But I still scheduled that follow-up appointment with my infertility doctor for Wednesday.  I'm not sure why.  We have no money to do anything. But he wasn't the doctor with whom we did our IUI's and IVF's.   I want his expertise to let us know what he thinks is wrong and what he would do differently if he had been our doctor at that time. 

So, yeah, we're back to this again.