RenovationGirl

If These Shower Walls Could Speak

If these shower walls could speak, they would tell a story of a woman with a secret...

They would tell of the past few weeks of worry and anxiety and hope and bridled excitement over a last chance...

They would tell of the awakening showers spent staring at the once barren belly, glad for a reason for the bump...

They would tell of the fear and desire and time spent just breathing...

They would tell of the bruised veins and hurried time making the many appointments...

They would tell of the solace received in the only moments of the day when she could really feel what she was feeling...

They would tell of the past few mornings where her tears mixed with the water until there was no distinction...

They would tell, too, of her strength...and how she knew it would end this way again-the fifth time-and how this time would be the last time...

Because she just can't do this again.

Back At It

Tomorrow is the first official day of school for where I work.  No big deal....this will be the twelfth year I head into the classroom. I have done this twelve times before.  I am not at all prepared...not my classroom, not my lessons, not my photocopies.  Nothing.  But I am a veteran teacher with years of experience, lots of skill, and a calling to teach, so I will manage. The teaching part, that's easy.

The being in the school again, well, that's been kind of rough. 

As I sat around last week at our in service sessions, it occured to me that when I had been here last,  I was pregnant.  Inside of me a life was struggling to grow.  As I moved around the building, I took care to remember this little life inside of me, so desperately wanted, but destined to leave us.  As I cleaned up my classroom, I thought, "This time next year, you'll be in my arms."  And I thought I was cleaning up the room for the last time ever.

The remembrance of this fact, the fact that I had been pregnant when I was last at work hit me kind of hard.  I found it hard to listen to how fabulous everyone's summer breaks had been.  How relaxing!  How fun!  How joyous!  I thought of all the doctors appointments, the surgery I went to and managed alone that took my fourth child from me, of my aunt's cancer treatments and my own breast cancer scare, my chest pains and anxiety, my impatience with Builder Boy, and all the hours lost between appointments-and I was angry.  All of a sudden, out of the blue, it all hit me all over again. I lost my baby.  I lost four babies.  How did this become my life?

I'm not sure why the work environment brought it all back, but it did.  It's not a constant feeling, but just a nagging sensation of something being off.  Tomorrow will come, and I will face the day with purpose and fortitude because I have to.  These feelings will wear off like they have at home, in the car, or when telling others about our struggles, but that won't stop that nagging sensation of the swelling belly I would be sporting now or the new maternity clothes that would be working their way into my wardrobe.  Perhaps once I make it through the nine months that would have been, I can shake off this feeling of missing something. Until then, did I leave the oven on?  No?  Hmmm...did I forget to lock the door?  No? 

Oh yeah, that's right, I lost my baby. 

 

 

Everyone But Me

I work part-time in a pharmacy.  I see what scripts come in and what prescriptions go out.  I know that huge number of the population on some type of anti-depressant, anti-anxiety, anti-your-life-sucks-and-you-need-to-take-the-edge-off.  I also know that many, many friends place a call to their doctors asking for anti-whatever, and over the phone get prescribed something.  Isn't everyone on something??? 

So imagine my surprise when my doctor refused to put me on something for my horrible, can't breathe, think I'm suffocating, anxiety attacks I've been having.  For years, I have suffered...I have meditated, and drank chamomile tea, I have talked with friends and blogged, I have thrown things and petted things.  I have tried to overcome this alone, not afraid to ask the doctor, but convinced that it would go away-but it hasn't.  But she doesn't care about this...she still refused to put me on something. Instead, she is forcing me into therapy.

Not let me state clearly that I am a huge proponent of therapy.  I believe we all can benefit from a little therapy now and then.  I have sent myself to therapy years ago to get over a broken heart that was refusing to heal...it helped.  It really did.  It helped me see why I was feeling that way I was feeling and it allowed me to talk about the situation freely without judgement or worry.  But this time, it's different. I know what I am feeling.  I talk about it all the time to anyone who will pretend to  listen.  I blog about it.  I read others going through it.  I seek help from those who understand.  I cry.  I get angry.  I let myself feel all the yucky the infertility brings.  I'm sad.  I'm mourning.  I'm angry.  What can the therapist possibly tell me that will shed any light on this?  Yes, I'm sure there's things we can talk about, I'm sure the therapist will show me the many errors of my ways since birth (and the ways of my parents, too, no doubt), but what good will that do?  When you are already stressed to the hilt because you don't have time to anything, what will adding another appointment 35 minutes away do to help?  Having to pay for a babysitter with money I don't have to go to an appointment to talk about feelings I acknowledge every day? 

I'm so angry about this.  I understand thattruly, general practitioners should not be doling out prescriptions for psychiatric drugs.  It's not their specialty.  But when you have a patient who jumps through all your flaming hoops (bloodwork, stress tests, echo, EKGs), who deals with you honestly, who pays her $20 copay twice in two weeks so you can meet with her for five minutes, who admits that she's pretty sure she would only want a short-term prescription to get over this nasty hump she finds herself at, why could you not throw her a bone?  Give her three months, for goodness' sake! 

The general consensus is to find another doctor, which I will do in the near future.  For now, though, I'm just dealing.  Not drugs, of course, since I can't get a darn prescription for anything...but dealing nonetheless.

Approach With Fortitude Then Run Away Scared

I did it today...well, part of it.  I've dreaded it for years now.  The thought of it made me physically ill and created panic attacks of epic proportions.  But I put on my big girl panties, walked up those flights of stairs to our third floor and walked right up to those boxes and bins.  I walked up to them, determined that I would show them who's boss around here.  I waded through piles of stored items until in the farthest corner of the room, buried deep amongst Christmas wrapping paper, newly put away preschool toys, a play kitchen, and cookie tins, there they were in all their glory.

It was a bit of a showdown...I stared at them, and they stared right back in all their dusty glory.  I would not be deterred, no sir.  I dropped my hand right into their midst and grabbed the first thing my hand felt-a small bag. I whisked them away from their counterparts, bigger and fuller boxes and bags, and marched back downstairs, threw them on my bed, prepared to show them that I meant business.  I ripped open that bag and the items scattered across the freshly made linens. 

Oh...

It took my breath away.  Literally stole the breath from my body.  Out tumbled pastel fluffiness.  And I thought my heart might break. 

In this small bag of items that had been forgotten when the initial box of baby items had been sent into storage seclusion was a mishmash of babyhood.  A few small changing pads, a few bibs, a couple of hats, and a sheet for the pack and play.  That's it.  Nothing more.  No cute socks, or a favorite outfits, or cuddly blankets.  Nothing that held any particular memory.  Yet, that mishmash of forgotten items with no particular memory instead held all the memories.  All the things I have feared facing as we end our journey. 

I have left all of Builder Boy's clothes, toys, and linens untouched.  We have had no need for the space, and so there has been no need to purge any of the baby things.  I kept them at first for our next baby.  When the next baby alluded us, I kept it for the "just in case baby."  But "just in case" baby has become "never gonna happen baby."  It's time.  I feel it.  It's time to let go...of the journey, or the dream...and all of the baggage that goes with it.

In the midst of writing this,  reliving that brief moment, I had to stop.  On the verge of hysteria, my only thought was, "Call PorscheNut."  We spent some time crying on the phone together...she's already done this purging of baby items...and talking about how it was the memories that mattered, not the things, and that this parenting step was so incredibly hard.  Now still feels like the right time, though.  With Black Belt Mama expecting her baby boy soon, now is the time to move on, let someone else use the precious items.  It seems a whole lot easier to give them to someone I love instead of packing them up in garbage bags to be sifted through at Goodwill. 

I ran away from that little bag upstairs.  It's all waiting for me on my bed.  I will have to confront it at some point before bedtime.  Then again, I can always sleep in the spare room...

The Turning Point

At some point during a personal struggle, there is a turning point. That moment when you realize that you will be okay, that you will make it.  This time around, I didn't think I'd get there.  It's been a week and a half since the D&C...it feels like a lifetime.  When I wrote the last post, I was rock bottom.  In a place where I feared to go, but I never truly knew the depths of this place.   I commented to a friend today that in retrospect, it seems so silly, yet in the moment, the despair and darkness is terrifyingly overwhelming.  All was lost in my mind.  No happiness could be found.  That was the end for me.

Shortly after I wrote the post, I received word from some colleagues of a rather bad situation at our work.  It wasn't surprising since the professional atmosphere is practically non-existent and there was some foreshadowing of this situation. As soon as word got out about this, the phone calls commenced.  Just the mere talking to colleagues about work helped to start pulling me out of the pit I was in.  Concentrating on something else besides me and my struggles lifted some kind of weight I had been feeling.

This is not to say that it's easy to pull out of those times.  It's not.  It's not a quick fix.  You don't just jump back to your former self.  There is a void and a pain.  There is an ache.  Some days, you move along perfectly fine.  Other days, you feel paralyzed by your grief.  But not feeling the constant weight every second of the day is forward movement. 

I've learned during this last loss that for the most part, if someone hasn't gone through pregnancy loss, especially recurrent loss, they have no idea how difficult it is.  I've felt "blown off" by many people close to me and I truly think it's total ignorance.   They have no idea.  I thank God for my sister-in-law whose support and prayers have been an immeasurable help to me and for the friends who have reached out, especially those who are blessedly fertile and have no idea what any of this is like.  I have work friends who I know only through work (and therefore only in that barely know you except for work way) whose hearts broke with mine when this all happened.  It is because of these people that I am still kicking along.

So I work on moving forward.  I'm working on enjoying these beautiful summer days with Builder Boy, finding lots of fun activities to do, or just generally enjoying our home and yard.  I suppose if you must go through a loss, having it during sunny summer days help to lift your spirits.

A Blank Mind and a Full Soul

Many years ago, what seems like a lifetime ago, I was distraught over a recent breakup.  This short, bizarre friendship-turned-relationship was never healthy, never meant to be, yet it destroyed me to the core.  We were just a year out of college and all living in different places.  Our core group of friends was still  close-knit and tuned into the one another's lives.  "Real" jobs, marriages, kids and general adult responsibilities hadn't yet taken hold of our lives.  And so after a particularly raw and gut-wrenching phone call with a friend six hours away, my doorbell rang and standing on my threshold was another of our friends holding a six pack. 

This memory remains one of my best and most amazing friend moments of all times.  Being so close-knit, the friend who was six hours away called the friend closest to me-an hour and a half away.  She immediately hopped in her car, grabbed a six pack, and showed up at my door very late at night just to be there for me.  To help me get through that dark time.

I am not well.  This pregnancy loss (#4 for those who stopped counting) has been by far the roughest on me.  I have attempted to write about it for days now, but words allude me.  I told Remodel Man that it's as if I feel like I don't exist and that I could explode all at the same time.  I feel as if the world is moving around me, not even knowing that I am there.  I feel very alone.

I'm not sure why this one is so bad.  Perhaps the sheer number of losses is adding up emotionally.  Perhaps it's because we had moved on from this journey only to be pulled back in so cruelly.  But what I really think makes this one the worst is the fact that I have not talked to one single person about it.  Not one. 

My mother is dealing with my aunt's Stage III breast cancer diagnosis.  My sister has been out of town.  Remodel Man is overwhelmed with his new job.  And not one person called me.  I sat alone in that hospital bed, waiting for them to take my baby, and I sit alone now.  Sure, I could call any one of my friends and ask if they would listen, but who wants to have to do that?  Why should I have to?  I'm the one in pain...What I want is someone to have called me...not email, not text, but call.  Live person breathing on the phone.  Hearing a voice.  Knowing that someone is taking the time to make that call.  Taking their precious time to see how you are.  To be there. 

Instead I go through the motions of my day. I parent Builder Boy (not well these days, but we get through), I work, I cook, I clean, I talk to neighbors.  As the day goes on, as darkness descends, the grief overtakes me.  I lay in bed, exhausted yet wide awake.  A blank mind and a full soul.  Prayers are fleeting.  Words desert me. 

Then morning comes and I do it all again. 

Waste Of A Weekend

It's a beautiful weekend in our area.  The humidity is low, the air is warm with a cool breeze and the rain has been minimal.  This weekend should have seen me painting the metal porch furniture that was my grandparent's (you would call is retro, but it's actually original 1950's metal furniture), finishing the mulching I started over a month ago, finish planting flowers that I started weeks ago, doing laundry, cleaning up around the house, going to the drive-in, and lots more.  Instead, I have spent it moving from bed, to couch, to chair, to patio couch, to kitchen chair.  I feel as if I was hit by a truck. 

The pain from the D&C is minimal...is has been every time, but what does me in is the anesthesia.  I am dizzy and exhausted and my eyes are dilated (almost 48 hours later) enough that it makes me woozy.  I am completely useless to do anything.

Friday was such a whirlwind that I didn't really have time to process it all...all of a sudden I was in surgery and my baby was gone.  Today, though, it did hit me like a ton of bricks.  My baby is gone.  To be truthful, we tried not to invest too much emotionally in this pregnancy. Our track record makes joy at a positive test impossible, but as each week went on and we had some growth and then a heartbeat, the investment,while low, was still there.  If you've lost a pregnancy, you know that once the baby is gone, you feel, really, truly feel a piece of you is missing. There's an emptiness.  A loneliness.  It's not a void you can fill with a call to a friend or by reading a good book.  It's gnawing and achy and gut-wrenching.

That's where I find myself now.  Recovering from the anesthesia, facing the reality that the pregnancy is over, and feeling all around yucky.  I know we will recover from this-we have three times before.  I know it takes time. I just wish it could be faster.  It's summer.  I'm off from my full-time job, at home pretending I'm a stay-at-home mom.  This should be a fun, carefree time to spend with my kiddo, not a time to feel sad and depressed. 

And yet, I am...

A Day Like Any Other...(sort of)

We had busy day planned yesterday.  Two doctors appointment (one for me, one for Builder Boy), then an hour's drive for a birthday party, then a quick trip home for dinner, and finally up to our church for our summer festival.  But this day ended up anything but norma.

My Beta HCG numbers dropped at Wednesday's blood draw, but because the heartbeat had been seen the previous Friday, the doctor wanted me to continue on the progesterone and come in Friday for an ultrasound. The ultrasound showed what we all expected not just this week, but for the past two ultrasounds-nothing.  The gestational sac look pretty empty with just the remnants of the yolk sac.  Our baby was gone.

I held it together and we talked options.  Since my doctor's schedule was pretty well booked the following week, he told me he could do the D&C that same day. I hadn't really planned on that, for sure.  I managed to get a late enough surgical time that I was still able to take Builder Boy to his well-child visits, take him to lunch with Remodel Man, and drive him the hour to his birthday party.  When I told our friends who were hosting the party that Builder Boy would have to leave early and explained why.  They told me they'd take him home with them, he could even stay the night if he wanted.  It was all I could to do to not burst into tears at the kindness.  I trust them completely with my child and this took a huge burden of stress off of me. 

I made sure Builder Boy was all set to be there without me and headed to the hospital. Because Remodel Man just started a 100% commission job, he stayed at work his normal hours and then picked up Builder Boy.  I did the whole surgery prep by myself.  I won't lie that at some times, it was easier to be alone, but those moments of complete silence, the moments when you realized the magnitude of what you are going through, well, it was hard to be alone.

The procedure itself went fine.  I am blessed that this hospital if top notch, and it's "only" a little community type hospital.  The nurses are warm, and kind, and hold your hand.  They make you talk about how your feeling.  They even tear up when they realize that this is your 3 time there for this same procedure.  They let me keep my glasses on to go into the operating room, which is unheard of usually.  I managed to not get sick from the procedure (thank you anti-nausea patch behind my ear!) and was home by 8:00 PM. 

And that's it.  You get up one morning pregnant and by 8:00 PM that night, you're not.  Besides the physical reminders, the bleeding, dizziness, slowly fading full breasts, there's nothing left.  Only a couple of ibuprofen are taking away any discomfort.  The dizziness is hanging on which is very annoying and I am a bit crampy and extremely exhausted. I also must have touced the patch behind my ear when I was sleeping and then casually rubbed my eyes when I work up, so now I have the joy of dilated eyes and lots of blurriness (forgive the types if there are some...).

When the doctor and I talked in the morning when were we going over what he thought the problem was (crappy eggs), he actually teared up for me.  He told me how he knows how taxing this can be on someone, both emotionally and physically.  He's such a good, kind man.  He'd like us to try one more time with a Lupron Super-flare cycle (kind of makes me sound like a infertility super hero!!), but we haven't decided yet.  I really don't want to do this again and again and again.  So we'll see. 

So at 8 weeks, 5 days we said goodbye to our fourth lost baby.

Is It Me, Or Is This Cruel?

Let's recap...

Finally came to terms with being a family of three and began organizing baby stuff to give away/sell after too many years, too much money, three pregnancy losses, and 6 failed cycles. 

Get dizzy one day (insert joke here...) and test "just in case" only to find out I am, in fact, pregnant.

Start blood work-numbers not doubling.  Progesterone sucks. 

Hit a plateau...told to stay on progesterone, but expect numbers to fall.

Numbers don't fall, instead they go up.  Two days later, doctor sees heartbeat.

Today, three days later, numbers plateau again.  Again told to stay on progesterone, but that this wasn't good and to expect the worst.

Seriously?  Is it me, or is this just cruel?????

Because I Like To Draaaaaaaag Things Out

Something very unexpected happened this week...on Wednesday, my beta HCG numbers went up instead of down.  Still nowhere near where they should be, but still an increase.  So, the doctor, a little surprised, called me in for an ultrasound to "see what's going on in there" for Friday.  I was expecting nothing.  I was more than prepared.  I knew I would not cry or be upset.  I made peace with all this almost two weeks ago.  (Yes, I would be sad, but not the wailing and gnashing of teeth sadness from two weeks ago...). 

He saw the gestational sac.

He saw the yolk sac, bigger than last week,

He saw a fetal pole, a new and welcome addition to the gestational sac.

And?

He saw a heartbeat. 

Huh?

I heard him say, "Ha!  Well how about that?!"  I did not respond.

In my mind, this meant, there's some other crazy, new and rare thing going on in there and I did not want to hear about it. 

But then he put the sound on and tried to get the heartbeat on the monitor (he couldn't-too early) and everyone in the room was confused.  I think my jaw hit the floor from the exam table almost immediately.  He showed me this movement in the gestational sac.  Now, normally, I look at that screen at this early stage and think, "These doctors are just making crap up...it's all just gray and fuzzy," but this time, I could see movement in the sac. 

Sigh...

When I called to tell Remodel Man, well, he had some choice words for this surprise.  It is, quite frankly, ridiculous. 

So we continue waiting.  Again.  The doctor emphasized that it is still early and implied that there is a still a great chance that this will not work.  I wasn't upset or offended at what could be construed as his negativity-in this biz, this is reality.  I wasn't jumping up and down, screaming joyfully at this news.  I was stunned and more than cautious. 

Later in the day, they called with my blood results-beta numbers went up again; again, just a little.  I'm continuing on with the progesterone, but he added a one time shot of estradiol-has anyone ever had to do this before???  It was an intramuscular shot (ouch!) and the side effects on the pamphlet were terrifying.  Hopefully, this is truly a one-time need.   I do think this might be indicative of my "advanced maternal age."  Depressing.

So, wow.  Crazy, crazy stuff.