Reproductively speaking...

Future-dwelling

I've lately come across two wonderful posts about accepting whatever the future holds in terms of babymaking.

One is by a friend of mine. Who is frustrated. I can totally relate to that.

One is by a well-known blogger. She is choosing to not be frustrated with infertility anymore. I admire her for that. But I cannot so easily relate.

The other day my husband and I were sitting on the floor with our daughter - who happens to be the most vivacious, crazy, wonderful 17-month-old in OUR opinion - and as we watched her "cook" on her kitchen set and swoop in for kisses we agreed that no matter what the future holds ... we are so blessed. I can say that without one single reservation. My "Little Buddy" is awesome. She is a gift. How can I dare ask for anything more?

So of course, I ask myself, what is this longing? What is this obsessive future-dwelling doing to help? I cannot control whether or not I get pregnant (other than the marital relations, ahem). And if I do get pregnant I cannot control whether or not those babies ever live outside my womb.  Yet, on particularly bad days, this is where I live. In the future. I see my daughter teaching a younger sibling the ropes. I see myself hugely pregnant again (and of course I conveniently forget about the 40 pounds and the barfing and all the discomforts pregnancy has to offer). I once again feel a phantom infant snuggled to my breast. It tortures me. More specifically, I torture myself.

And it makes no sense. Because here today, right now, I have my baby girl. She is amazing. How could I ever dare ask for anything more?

Older

It occurs to me a lot lately that we're not getting any younger. That as the older I get, the harder this will be. I'll be 30 this spring. John will be 35 in February. When we started this journey we were much younger. The first time I got pregnant I had just turned 27. We lost that baby. When I got pregnant with Sydney I was still 27 (she was born when I was 28). This last time I was 29 and we lost that baby. I had a doctor tell me once that the ideal reproductive age for women is between ages 14 and 22.

Well great. I'm probably screwed.

Resistance.

As we are trying again there are two weeks of the month that are absolute hell: the two week wait. During those two weeks I abstain from fun things like sushi, alcohol, ibuprofen ... I even try to cut down on my coffee consumption and try to remember to take my prenatal vitamins every day. And then, it seems to be inevitable, by the end of the first week I am going nuts (also this second half of the cycle? Is always when I get sick and would REALLY like to take cold medicine. So when I turn up not pregnant as I have the last two cycles and have religiously skipped the DayQuil? In other words SUFFERED? It really sucks).

In my skewed brain every little physical twinge must mean something: I fall asleep on the couch by ten p.m. and that MUST indicate that I am pregnant, RIGHT?! No matter that I've been chasing a toddler around since 7:30 a.m.!!! My hands are dried out! My boobs kind of hurt? Do they? I'd better squeeze them and check. Maybe a little. MAYBE. Is this it? Could it be?! If I'm pregnant that means I'll be due in October. YAY! How wonderful! Now let's start thinking about what to name this baby! Dang I hate my stupid brain.

By the middle of the second week of the two week wait I'm pulling out the pregnancy tests and fighting the urge to pee on one. And when I FAIL and do take it and there is only one line I tell myself that it might be too early (IT IS, DUMMY) and I can take another one in a few days and it might be positive then. I can't bear to wait until the day I expect my period, or until I'm a day or two late. I need to know NOW. So I can get on with life. Do crazy things like take Advil and eat spicy tuna rolls and turkey subs, order that venti latte at Starbucks.

When I go through this inevitable last crazy week of the cycle my husband likes to remind me, "You know, if you want to get pregnant we're going to have to have a lot more SEX" and then wiggles his eyebrows. This is usually suggested when it's 10 p.m. and I am utterly and totally exhausted and have no desire whatsoever to be messed with in any way shape or form. And as much as I hate to admit it, he's right.

Even though the reason that idea usually seems so repulsive to me when it's suggested is because all my whacked out body is telling me is that I am not pregnant and, on the contrary, have PMS. Like BIGTIME.

In which I return

Well here I am. Back to the place where I lament, fear, vent and hide.

This blog is that place for me. You see my mom? My family? My close friends? They all read my other blog. Which is very public. And open for discussion.

And my mother even once dared to tell me that my discourses about the two miscarriages I've had (and other sad things like the death of my father?) were depressing everyone. She prefers that I be funny and/or witty I suppose.

But I can't be funny or witty about losing my babies and still wanting another baby. About how scary it is to walk down that road again after two miscarriages. How I wonder if Sydney is the only baby I'll carry to term.

And of course there are disclaimers to write. I know how blessed I am to have had a baby at all, to have experienced a full-term healthy pregnancy. If you know anything about our daughter you would know what a blessing she is ... she is an amazing little person who knocks our socks off every day with her sweet, wild, fearless, hilarious personality. We know that she is a gift that we are unworthy of.

Even so I dare to ask for more. For her to have a sibling. Siblings even.

I wish that we could fast forward ten years and I could look back and see how this turned out. In my mind I reassure myself that I will look back and see ALL my children, all 4-5 of them (ha ha! Dream big!). But here I stand on this stupid precipice, waiting and wondering. Knowing that even if I achieve pregnancy again it could be all for naught. Getting pregnant is not the problem ... after all I've been pregnant three times. It's staying pregnant that eludes me. I guess a record of 1-2 isn't all that bad. But it's not all that good either.

Even though we have lost, even though my husband reassures my fears in an almost flippant, almost naive way (that indicates to me that he's worried too), even though we are expecting another cousin for Syd this spring and it is killing me, I don't categorize myself as someone with "infertility" just yet. I don't necessarily expect to have another miscarriage. I let myself off the hook and tell myself that we're done with that. That we've met our quota. That it can't happen again.

Which is exactly what I told myself the first time.

And some people say I'm a pessimist. Huh.

My changing history

(Originally published on August 3, 2009 at inside dog.)

It occurs to me now that I have a "history of miscarriage."  Having more than one means something a little more specific than having only one (in my estimation).  I'm not sure what exactly it means for me medically, but it seems that it's now the category I fall into ... the "history of miscarriage" category.  My doctor assured me that because I've been able to get pregnant, stay pregnant, and produce a perfectly healthy baby that it really doesn't mean anything (as in I wouldn't now technically qualify as someone who struggles with fertility). BUT STILL. Every time I have to fill in my health information at a new place I'm going to have to tally up these pregnancies.  I'm going to have to tell triage nurses that I've had two miscarriages and see that hesitantly sad look they give you as they file through appropriate responses.  

It makes me wonder about the future.  After we went through the first miscarriage (which was a more advanced pregnancy ... I was nearly 10 weeks pregnant), I convinced myself that it couldn't happen again. I comforted myself when people told me that most women experience one miscarriage (usually the first) and then are fine and go on to have as many babies as they want without any trouble whatsoever.  The possibility that it would happen again was so slim to me that I didn't even allow it to enter my mind when we got pregnant again this third time.  It was already back there in the shadows, that little "what if?" voice. It was there the whole time I was pregnant with Sydney and everything had turned out fine, so I figured that it was just a part of things now even if all is well. 

It will be with me always, I suppose.

It has been said many times that if I never took the pregnancy test I never would have even realized that I was pregnant. "Women are pregnant and then suddenly NOT pregnant all the time and all they think is that their period is late!" It does make me wonder how many times I've been "chemically pregnant" (but thankfully I don't know that ... who wants to tally THOSE results and then list them off to some poor check-in nurse?). It does make sense, and I'm pretty sure that my doctor mentioned the same thing.  

But you know what? I did take the test. We did know. We were happy about it for those two days. And we are sad that it turned out the way it did. 

Mostly I'm worried that this is a new trend in my life.  That somehow the worst-case scenario will become reality and that will be our "new normal."  We'll find out we're pregnant, get our hopes up, and then have them totally dashed as we deal with another loss.  I really just want to be regular normal, mmkay?  I want off the hook.  I want no more reproductive issues whatsoever.  I don't want another doctor to ever have to pat me on the knee and tell me they are so sorry.  Because that crap sucks.

(A word on networking: You are not alone. If you are dealing with miscarriage, loss, or infertility, there are people out there to support you.  I have found the following site to be a fantastic place to start.  I hope it is helpful for you too:

http://lostandfoundandconnectionsabound.blogspot.com/).

No rock, no hard place

(Originally posted on July 28, 2009 at inside dog.)

Over the weekend I've had a lot to think about.

As we trip through the emotions and upset of this situation, I've gone over and over our doctor's visit from last Thursday. When I think about it ... I feel better. It's made me realize how important it is for me to have a doctor that I like and feel I can trust.

For instance?  I have a tipped uterus.  After being examined by many doctors for the last ten or so years, not ONE has mentioned this to me until Dr. G.  When I got home from our visit and mentioned this to my mother, she said, "Oh yeah, ME TOO."  Which means? It's not the result of having a big baby or some other lovely side effect of childbirth. I've had a tipped uterus the entire time. Which NO ONE HAS EVER TOLD ME ABOUT.

If you've ever met me and my husband, you know that we're talkers. We talk A LOT. WITH OUR HANDS. LOUDLY. SOMETIMES AT THE SAME TIME. We are verbal people, to say the least. I am less emotionally open than my husband (working on that) but I'm at my happiest when I meet a new friend who quite obviously can keep up with me in a conversation (what UP, Cheri Kay!!!). And so typically when I'm meeting with a doctor, be it a dentist, a pediatrician, a veterinarian, I WANT TO TALK. I HAVE THE QUESTIONS. And so if a health professional can't hang with that?  I'm annoyed. I usually go elsewhere.

The OBGYN who oversaw my pregnancy with Sydney and her delivery was, uh, not talkative. Dr. P was, uhm, not my kind of doctor. I arrived at his office already pregnant. I had an ear infection and needed HALP (ear infections are very painful for me and up until that point I'd been rationing out codeine that I had leftover from surgery to get through the night. Since being pregnant took away even ibuprofen, I was desperate). And so we just went on.  

Mid-pregnancy Dr. P said some things that revealed his true bedside manner. John and I left his office one week ANGRY. But we felt trapped and like it was too late to change doctors so we endured. (And as a side note I learned that a lot of doctors will not accept new patients mid-pregnancy, so if I'd had the courage to try to change doctors it would have been exceedingly difficult to do so). Mind you, we'd had a miscarriage just four months before getting pregnant with Syd. At every turn we were freaking out that we might lose the baby. Every once in a while it might have been nice to be reassured. But that didn't happen.

When I gained "too much" weight (I gained a total of 30 pounds, which is NORMAL) Dr. P "joked" to John "what have you been FEEDING her?" Oh and by the way, Dr. P only talked to John - the un-pregnant person in the room - when we visited together. John very loudly replied, "SHE'S FINE." I saw his fist curling up and I prayed to myself, "Dear God, please tell John not to punch the doctor even though he deserves it."  We all made it out alive that day but we decided that as soon as I passed my six week post-partum check-up that we'd never see Dr. P ever again.

When I suddenly found myself pregnant again last week I immediately got on the phone. Since we had an amazing hospital experience, I called the the office located on the L&D floor for people who are expecting babies. Every time I went to the hospital before Syd was born - for classes, for our tour, for our non-stress tests - I quizzed everyone I could about who the best doctors were. For one, they all knew Dr. P and all agreed that his bedside manner left much room for improvement (although they did reassure me that he was a VERY skilled doctor, which helped). Some told me that they didn't feel comfortable recommending a new doctor until after my baby had been born. I stored that information and knew that next time?  I'd be ready.

So while I was sitting in the Social Security office last week, I made my phone calls. I was recommended Dr. G by two separate people and given a list of other options of obstetricians who delivered at my hospital. I asked the lady at the hospital about the doctor's personalities and explained that my husband and I needed a doctor who would be willing to talk with us and spend time with us.  Also? We needed a doctor who would probably say "Congratulations" when our baby was born (because Dr. P? Upon forcibly extracting my baby from my womb after I'd been in labor for 22 hours and pushed for 2.5 hours with no success? SAID NOTHING. Not even a handshake for the new daddy).

What I've learned from this whole experience is that it's important to have a OBGYN you love before you ever get pregnant. The best way to find someone is to have a friend recommend and then based on that recommendation? Make calls. Call the hospital where that physician delivers babies. Ask the nurses what he or she is like.  And then? Schedule a 20-minute consultation meeting with that doctor before you ever drop trou. Ask for a tour of the office. Take your spouse with you. Ask the doctor about their philosophy on childbirth, c-sections, VBACS, ask them what their GPA was in medical school. I AM SERIOUS. You have the right. Because you are hiring this person to do what may very well be the most important thing you've ever hired anyone to do for you IN YOUR LIFE. Interviewing them is OK. And then? If you don't like them? If they squirm at difficult questions? If there are any red flags whatsoever? If their office smells funny to you? DON'T HIRE THEM.

Even though Dr. P turned out to live up to his reputation as a skilled doctor/surgeon (my baby and I made it out alive), at every turn I didn't know what to expect from him or from my pregnancy. I was never sure how the whole thing would turn out.  I was constantly freaked out because I didn't trust him. I didn't like how he responded to my questions and the fears that I expressed. And as a pregnant lady who'd had a previous miscarriage? I didn't need to be blown off and belittled (WHO DOES, REALLY?). While his staff - with the exception of his office manager - were all very kind, they didn't make phone calls that they promised to make, and his office didn't have up-to-date equipment (a sonographer visited the office on Thursdays and brought his own equipment, there wasn't a machine on the premises).  

In hindsight, I should have interviewed another doctor before 

committing. But I was new in town and didn't know what else to do 

but go to a doctor that someone with kids had recommended and also happened to accept my insurance. Because of my history I wanted to be under a doctor's care as early as possible and "shopping around" seemed like it might disrupt that.  I kept hoping that things would get better (reminds me of some of the bad boyfriends I've had in my life, unfortunately. As you know, things NEVER get better). They didn't.  

Now that I have a new doctor who after ONE visit has surpassed ALL my expectations, I have hope. The level of care I am receiving through this miscarriage has reassured me that it's ok for me to expect more from a doctor.  As he was walking out the door, Dr. G told me that I could call him at ANY time if I had a question, even after hours. Even if it wasn't an emergency. When he said that I thought I was hearing things. And then?  When I realized he was serious? I felt like hugging him. When I do get pregnant again, I might even actually look forward to my check-ups!  Imagine that!! 

The moral of the story that I'm trying to pass on is that finding a doctor that has a great reputation is a start.  But it's also imperative that you like that same doctor, that they are nice to you (DUH), and they are able to be honest with you and express their medical opinion and also put you at ease when they can. And you know what? If you don't click with them? Move on. And do it soon. Because as I've learned, there are amazing doctors out there who are incredibly smart and talented AND nice to people. You CAN have it all.

(If you live in the LA/Santa Monica area and want more specific info on these doctors and/or the hospital just drop me a comment and I'll be glad to email you back).

Closure

(Originally posted on July 24, 2009 on my other blog.)

The nurse just called. My progesterone levels yesterday were 1.81 (a normal pregnancy at this point would have a level of 20+. The presence of progesterone at all indicates that I was indeed pregnant, but that pregnancy was most definitely on its way out).  My Hcg level was at 9 ... I forget what that means. She said that I need to go back for another Hcg blood test next week just to make sure that level is "normal."

I'm glad that my results weren't ambiguous. I'm glad that we can know without doubt what is going on with me. I am so thankful to have found such an amazing doctor with such a caring staff. The nurse was so kind on the phone and said "I'm so sorry" and also encouraged me to talk about what has happened because it happens to a lot of people, as awful as it is (I should have given her my blog address, ha ha.  If she only knew!). My doctor encouraged me in the same way yesterday. They are so awesome.

I am sad. I am wondering what the future holds. I am hopeful.

Thank you all for your encouragement and kind words in response to my post yesterday. I do not regret sharing what has happened because of the outpouring of support and the prayers you have said for our family. I hope that everyone who goes through something like this can feel the sympathy and/or empathy that I have felt the last few days.  

Today I am holding on to God's promises.

Psalm 4:6-8
Many are asking 'Who can show us any good?'
Let the light of your face shine upon us, O LORD.
You have filled my heart with greater joy
than when their grain and new wine abound.
I will lie down and sleep in peace,
for you alone O LORD,
make me dwell in safety.

Today I am thankful for the good things in my life.

There are so many.

(Mis)carried Away

(Originally published on July 23, 2009 here.)

[Edited to add: I need to put a disclaimer here to clarify that this story doesn't end well. Please read to the end before you congratulate me. I don't usually write disclaimers but I'm doing so now in order to prevent myself from deleting this post entirely.]

Monday was craziness over here people.  The main event?  A positive pregnancy test.

Over the past few weeks I'd felt carsick, nauseated, unbalanced ... you know the drill. Usually the teeter-totter ends when I finally break down and buy a box of pregnancy tests, take them all, and even though they're all negative bite my nails until I finally get my period so I can finally know for sure and move on with life.  This happened only last month! And just the other day I wrote a snarky post about a lady at Costco calling me pregnant ... and dang it all if she wasn't RIGHT!  I peed on the test and those two lines popped up and WOW.  There it was.  Life was changing again.

I was so ready to eat crow, to write an apology letter to Rude Costco Lady.  Excited even.

Dear Rude Costco Lady, 

I'm sorry that I raised my eyebrows at you and rolled my eyes when you assumed I was pregnant.  You see, I thought I was just fat and not pregnant. However, I stand corrected and now assure you that I'm not just fat and am in fact pregnant.  My apologies, you were right, I was wrong, la-ti-dah.  

Signed, 

Lady At Costco Who Turned Five Shades of Purple When You Rudely Asked If She Was Pregnant.

Yes, it's soon to have another baby, but we love surprises (We even dared to pray for a surprise baby once! I am so serious!)! And what about the half-marathon?  And what about coaching this fall?  And woah girl what about those last 15 pounds you said you were gonna lose?  And what about this and that?  Gotta tell you I kinda stopped caring.  I had stars in my eyes.  I was so in love with the idea of having another baby the whole morning sickness/exhaustion/fatness of it all became irrelevant in its inconvenience.  We decided to tell our families and a select group of friends immediately.  We wanted to know that whatever happened, that we'd have support.  

We'd had a miscarriage before and told few people (our parents, siblings, a only 2-3 close friends) ... and then suffered in the silence of it for months.  We didn't know how to talk about it and no one knew how to talk with us about it.  I even have a "secret" blog that I've never mentioned here before (I say "secret" because I know some of you very well know of this blog and have been kind enough to maintain its anonymity) because I didn't know how to talk about it openly anywhere - even the anonymous "www" - without falling apart.  I really honestly never thought it would happen to me in the first place.  I felt alone.  I retreated into myself and never mentioned to anyone else - with the exception of my doctor and maybe one new friend (we moved just a week after my D & C) - that I'd ever had a miscarriage.

For whatever reason, miscarriage isn't something that people generally bring up.  Have you noticed that?  And so it's very easy to go along and never talk about it and suddenly you start feeling like you're the only one.  Because it's still with you. Other people are getting pregnant and delivering perfectly healthy babies - such as crackheads and 16 yr. olds - and you?  You're barren.  You've suffered through the unbearable loss of a baby and no one can tell by looking at you. Once in a while someone will admit that they had a miscarriage and it seems like then (and only then) others suddenly blurt it out that they had one too!  Or their sister had one and it was awful! And all the sudden you realize that it happens.  A lot.

When I got pregnant with Sydney we decided we wouldn't tell a soul until we'd made it past the "danger zone" of 12 weeks and seen a heartbeat on a sonogram screen. 

In isolation I puked my guts up, hid my expanding waistline, quietly gave up my beloved Diet Cokes and sushi runs praying that no one would notice.  We thought it would be best to wait so that "just in case" we wouldn't have to go back and break the miscarriage news to everyone again.  It seemed like a good idea and we wanted to be more than cautiously optimistic. We spent the holidays with our family without a whisper of the baby that was to come.  In truth? It robbed us of some of the joy you should be allowed over such a thing.  But we felt it was more important - for ourselves and everyone else - that we wait.  We didn't want to cause a fuss over nothing.

It was my hope that soon I would have happy news to share with the world.  When we got the positive test we decided that this time?  We were going to be open off the bat. That we would tell our family and circle of friends so that "no matter what happened" we'd have support. We'd done it alone with the miscarriage and the early stages of my pregnancy with Sydney and we knew it would be too hard and that we'd need help and encouragement. From past experience we could assume that I'd be physically challenged (I am not the best pregnant lady) and keeping up with Sydney and my jobs would be too much to keep it a secret, even in the beginning. 

I honestly didn't think that it would go the other way.  I honestly thought there was such a microscopic chance that I would miscarry again because I've already had one that we could bank on this one.  The statistic about one in six women miscarrying their first pregnancy went through my mind like some sort of insurance policy, and who knows where I even heard that statistic?  I certainly have no idea.  It made me loosen up a little bit.  It seemed like our turn for a little good luck.  The last few years have been so hard I really thought we'd get to sit some heartache out for a change.

So we told our families the happy news.  We called and emailed our friends and asked for their prayers and support.  We were so excited and everyone was so happy for us.  It was awesome.

Dammit.

Yesterday afternoon I went to the bathroom and when I wiped there was blood.  We immediately scheduled an appointment with a new Ob/Gyn (who delivers at the same hospital where Syd was born and also happens to be the chief Ob/Gyn at that same hospital.  Reviews of his skill and bedside manner have been glowing from all and he is the perfect doctor for us.  We LOVE Dr. G).  By yesterday evening the bleeding sped up and continued into this morning much like a menstrual cycle.  Last night we sat on our back stoop and bawled our eyes out.  I knew what was happening.  Blurbs from What To Expect When You're Expecting about slight bleeding during implantation couldn't comfort me.  This was the end.

And so we went to see Dr. G this morning.  He worked us in without an appointment.  He took 30 minutes to talk with us about what was going on and to get to know us better. He was patient and kind.  He seemed interested in us as people, not just as paychecks (God bless you, Dr. G).  He explained all the possibilities, good and bad.  The bad (and what I expect)?  That this could be a chemical pregnancy, which as I understand is a very early miscarriage.  On the other hand, Dr. G said that sometimes pregnant women have what appears to be a menstrual cycle and can also still be very, very pregnant.  Only a blood test will tell.

And so we wept and squabbled over something stupid as we walked across the street to the lab with the word "stat" written on our orders.  People looked at us like we were crazy.  The technician took blood and asked me who my doctor is and when she heard my reply she threw up her hands and said "Oh he's WONDERFUL!" We will know tomorrow with certainty what is going on.  This was not the closure I was hoping for.  Part of me wanted Dr. G to just pat me on the shoulder today and say, "I'm sorry, it's exactly as you suspect.  But it's going to be ok."  But he didn't.  Because he is smart and he has probably seen everything, he's being honest with me (which as you can guess I ADORE).  And I'm smart enough to know my own body and realize that I'm getting my period right now and there's zero chance that I'm still pregnant.

I'm writing this with the intention of saving it as a draft indefinitely.  This is what loss does to me ... it is the bringer of silence in my life.  I desperately want encouragement. I want someone to tell me that it's going to be all right, no matter how it goes.  I want someone to tell me that they understand what it's like to have their hopes crushed.  I want to know that there's someone else out there who feels like life isn't fair and they're always getting the short end of the stick.  I don't want anyone to say shit like "Oh this is God's plan" or "Everything happens for a reason" or "There will be other babies." Because right now?  I'm tempted to crawl into the hole of despair.  I want to kick life in the nuts. I am so freaking sick of nothing being easy or straightforward.  

The nurse from Dr. G's office will call me tomorrow with the blood test results and I quite honestly am holding out no hope whatsoever that I have a chance in hell of still being pregnant.  But it's still there.  That little glimmer.  That little voice in the back of my mind is saying "maybe. maybe?" and I want it to shut up.

And so this is me being open.  This is me not allowing myself to silently implode.  I guess it's progress.

Whatever it is, it sucks.