Hello, Mr. Hole. We Meet Again.

These past few weeks I have been struggling, physically and emotionally, to get my life in order.  It hasn't really been working.  I tried catching up on sleep, taking time off work to get caught up, being good to myself, all of the usual things, but each day I have felt a little more in the hole.  Today, I was determined to make it a good day.  I got up, showered, got Lil' Bit to daycare, and headed off to work.  I never got there.  I got too overwhelmed just thinking about driving in.  I started crying too much for driving to be safe.  I headed home.  The worst part was, heading home made me feel worse.  I have always been capable.  People could (and did) say mean things about be, but I knew deep down that nothing they did could stop me from being capable and people would be able to see my ability.  My capability was my safety net, and now it was gone.

As I pulled into my driveway, I was racked with sobs as the negative thoughts flew through my head--"You weren't capable.  You couldn't make it to work.  You're useless.  How do you expect to take care of the kid you have, let alone the one on the way?!"  It was too much.  My mind looked up at the huge walls of the hole I had fallen into, curled up into a ball, and shut down.  It was frustrating and scary, but I am grateful that I was not so far gone that I could not see that this was a big problem.  It was my wake-up call.  I needed help.  I needed to up my meds.  Yet, even as I knew the truth of those statements, I railed against them.

"You're pregnant!"  I shouted at myself.  "You don't want to expose the baby to all that!"
"True," I answered myself, calmly and quietly, hoping to make myself listen to reason.  "You have done the best you could with that, but the time has come to say when."
"I don't want to!" I wailed petulantly.
"I know.  But you don't want to feel miserable and worthless either.  And you don't have to."
"I do want to be functional again.  Enjoy the life I have, the family and job I love..." I sniffled.
"Exactly.  You want to be you again."
I nodded, much like my toddler, hanging my head, knowing I was beat, but not wanting to concede just yet.
"It's okay," I comforted myself.  "This is not a moral failing."
"I know."
"Yes, but you don't believe me.  Yet.  But you will.  Once you're out of the hole, you'll look back and wonder why you fought so hard for so long, just like last time."
"But I feel like I'm taking the easy way out."
"You think this has been easy?  You did all you could.  You are a fighter.  But you can't out-think a chemical imbalance.  It doesn't work that way."

We sat quietly for a while--me, myself, and I.  And then I physically got up and contacted my doctor's office and left a message about getting my meds adjusted.  I hate feeling weak.  I hate feeling incapable.  But, I would hate myself more if I let things get worse instead of heeding the call and getting help.

And now I write.  I write so I can remember for next time, in case there is one.  I write so that maybe someone else can see their hole before it gets as deep as mine.  I write to remind others that they are not alone.  And, to be perfectly honest, I write to convince myself of the rightness of my choice--because I argue better in writing than out loud.  It's time to begin again, and find my way out of this hole.  And maybe, just maybe, now that I've seen this hole a few times, I don't have to fall in it again.  Here's hoping.

See You at the Top

Yesterday was our last FET.  The doctor transferred two good, growing embryos-one 8-cell and one 6-cell.  I'm now on bed rest for two days and then still have a few restrictions.  The most difficult is that I can't lift my daughter for four days!  It's meant rearranging our schedule and trying to explain to a toddler why mommy can't pick her up or put her to bed at night.  Still, it's only a few days, so I know we'll manage.

Blood tests are scheduled for October 1 & 3.  However, as with the last one, I intend to poas (pee on a stick) starting September 28.  Results will not be announced until the official blood test, however.  That way, if we do get a positive early, we have a few days to enjoy the knowledge ourselves and, if we get negatives, we can disregard them until we get the official word.

So, here I am.  In my last tww (two week wait).  I realize that it's only a 7-day wait to some degree given my choice to poas, and it's only 10 days until the official test.  Still, in pregnancy land, we have standard language that everyone understands, so we stick with it.  Besides, it doesn't matter if the wait is only 2 days, it feels like forever.  This time around, I find myself both more and less anxious to know.  Much like Schrodinger's cat, as long as I don't look, there's still the possibility that there's a baby in there.  But, for now, I know that there are 2 babies in there.  Only they can decide how long they plan to stay, but I keep talking to them, letting them know that we're ready and we hope that one or both of them choose to stick around.

And the truth is, we mean it.  Would twins be hard?  Yes.  Would another child with medical issues be hard? Yes.  Do I have any idea how I would handle it?  No.  But I do know that I can handle it.  I am capable of handling whatever comes.  Would I prefer easy?  Yes.  Wouldn't everyone?!  But, ultimately, we'll get what we get.  And so we wait.  Anxious.  Excited.  Happy.  Terrified.  Just like both times before.

Having sped down the first giant hill and flipped through a couple twists, we have arrived at the slow, anticipatory climb up the next big hill.  It serves as time to both catch our breath and freak out about what is up ahead.  But as we climb, I notice that the top of the hill flattens out a bit and splits off in two directions.  One way has a quick drop that then heads directly back to the station.  The other drops into some loops and heads off toward more hills and twists in the distance.  Since I don't know which one we're going to get, I am going to try and sit back and enjoy whatever time I have left on this ride.  See you at the top.

Added Degree of Difficulty

Back before they changed the scoring system in the Olympics, there was a phrase that was tossed around by the commentators a great deal--"That's an added degree of difficulty."  It was a reference to when a dive or gymnastics routine had a particular start value, but because the athlete had added a few extra twists or whatever, it now had a higher total value because those moves represented "an added degree of difficulty."

We use this phrase around our house a lot.  Anytime something is harder than usual for some reason, we say it's got an added degree of difficulty.  Now, having children is always an added degree of difficulty.  But sometimes, like the last few days, my child's medical needs (also an added degree of difficulty) give her an extra added degree of difficulty.  See, for the last few days, Lil' Bit has been sick.  Nothing outrageous, just the usual: green snot, rattly cough, and some vomiting.

Ah, but there's the rub.  Vomiting.  See, since she has to take her meds six times a day (plus now an antibiotic on top of that), and they have to stay down 20 minutes for it to be considered a dose, vomiting causes a big problem.  Ultimately, if she can't keep her meds down, then we have to take her to the ER because she has to have her meds.  Furthermore, because we have to tell the pharmacy how many pills we have left before we can get a refill, I freak out when we have to give a second dose because I know we are now short some pills and worry about whether the pharmacy is going to start giving me crap about it.

So, needless to say, I have spent the past two days totally freaked out.  Fortunately, there is a wonderful medicine that helps control the vomiting, so we were able to get things under control and get Lil' Bit all of her meds without a trip to the hospital--just the urgent care.  Still, I hate that even the simple problems of childhood sometimes become a much bigger issue because of her health condition.

On the plus side, however, we are getting much better at all of this stuff.  We call it being stronger players.  It's our paraphrase of a line from the movie Searching For Bobby Fischer, where one kid tells another, "You're a much stronger player than I was at your age."  Anytime we manage to do something that would have overwhelmed us previously, we say, "You're a much stronger player," or "You're playing at a higher level."  It's our way of recognizing how far we've come.  And, although I still get freaked out and cry at the notion of having to take Lil' Bit back to the hospital for something simple and "normal" like vomiting, I have learned how to handle things calmly until the worst is over and *then* fall apart where she can't see me, so I don't make her more anxious.

Sometimes, I think back to when I was a new parent and got overwhelmed at the smallest thing.  The challenges we face today would have seemed insurmountable to the me back then.  Now, I can take things that used to terrify me in stride.  I'm pleased to discover I am capable, but sometimes, I wish I didn't have to learn just how capable I am.