On Power, Acceptance, and Investment

It's been a rough few days since the news from the fetal echocardiogram.  We have been struggling to regain our bearings; find our footing.  We have spent a lot of time thinking and talking.  As we did, one of the seemingly unrelated thoughts that came to me in the quiet hours was that I had caused my miscarriage with Oliver.  I remember clearly being in the shower one morning after discovering we were pregnant and thinking, "I am excited you're here, but I'm not capable of dealing with another child with a heart problem."  Shortly thereafter, we lost him.  I remember having a similar thought when we were trying again last October.  "I can't deal with any more problems, so if you're going to have issues, please don't come."  Did my thoughts cause the miscarriage and the failure in October?  As a friend of mine said, "You are not that powerful."  She's probably right.  But the amazing part about the thought of me having caused those disappointments was that I didn't feel guilty.  Let's assume I did cause them.  I honestly meant the thoughts when I had them.  I was in no position to deal with another child with heart issues either of those times.  When we went forward this time, we were both clear that we were willing to take whatever we got--problems and all.  Remembering that has made coping a little easier.  But more amazing was that, as I processed these thoughts, I finally felt at peace with my miscarriage.  I'm fairly certain that I did not expect the news that Jellybean has a heart defect to bring acceptance of Oliver's miscarriage.  Then again, we often don't know what form blessings will come in.  And, right now, I'll take any blessings I can get.

At the same time, we are still struggling with the news.  In one conversation, I indicated that I was having trouble investing.  The statement was nieve.  I was already invested.  Still, my brain was trying to protect me.  As we talked, we realized that we needed to be invested.  The only way to fight for Jellybean was to be invested.  And the best way to be more invested, was to give Jellybean a name.  So, that's where we are.  Figuring out Jellybean's name.  Getting invested.

Our next fetal echocardiogram is scheduled for next month.  They are waiting for Jellybean to get bigger because it will be easier to see the heart.  It's hard to wait that long, but it gives us some time.   Time to choose a name for Jellybean.  Time to grieve the loss of the perfect child we hoped for.  Time to accept the perfect child that Jellybean is.

So Far, So Good

I went for my best test Monday with much trepidation.  Fortunately, my results arrived a mere one hour after the blood was taken, which was a relief because waiting until 4:00 in the afternoon is always torture.  My HCG level was 90.  The nurse reported that this was a "strong" number.  Yay!  Honestly, if you had asked me what kind of number I needed to feel relieved, I couldn't have told you.  But, apparently, 90 fell within that zone.  I was cautiously optimistic once again.  Still, even a "strong" initial number wasn't going to soothe my frayed nerves unless it doubled by this morning.

In the world of infertility, the two days between beta tests feels longer than the two-week wait.  So, we do the only thing we can--try and find solace and comfort on the internet.  In that vein, yesterday evening, I spent some time Googling about miscarriages and betas and all types of things.  I learned that my numbers don't rule anything out--we could have one, two, or three babies in there; I learned that my chance of another miscarriage was not a large as I believed; and I learned (again) that there is a limit to the utility of internet.  Having exhausted what it had to offer, I hung up my searching shoes and went to bed.  Nothing to do but wait.

Woke up this morning to roughly 6 inches of snow.  Blerg.  I diligently headed out in the crappy weather to attempt to get my blood drawn at roughly the same time it was taken on Monday.  Since we wanted actual doubling--nothing less would sooth my soul since Oliver had only increased 80%--the magic number we needed this morning was 180.  I said a little prayer on my way in, got my blood drawn, and then went about my day.  Shockingly, I promptly forgot that I was waiting on a phone call until the phone rang.  I immediately had a giant lump in my throat.  My results were in--quite early again, thank goodness.  The nurse chatted with me for a bit and then we got down to business.  And the answer was.....194!!!!  We had slightly more than doubled!  Woo freaking Hoo!  I did a dance of joy and immediately texted Phil.

At this point, I am feeling very good.  I know that things can still go wonky, but all indicators are that we're going to be fine.  Sometime between now and the ultrasound appointment in two weeks I might get a little nervous.  Indeed, until we see a/those tiny blinking heart(s) on the monitor, I'm not sure anything will really relax me.  But, I am definitely feeling good.  The news I got is the best I could get at this point, so I will take comfort in that.  Besides, every step we make it this time is one step further than the last FET where we didn't get anything at all, and that's something worth celebrating all by itself.

So.  In sum.  "Strong" initial HCG levels that are doubling like they are supposed to.  Whew!  Now I can quit worrying about that and get geared up for Lil' Bit's surgery next week!  Ah, the life of a parent.  Never a dull moment!  And I wouldn't change that for anything.

The Curse of the Two Week Wait

This week started with such promise.  I was living in the giddy glow that I was sure the procedure worked and the only real issue was how many we would have.  I started using hpts to see if anything would show up yet.  Nothing so far, which isn't really much of a surprise.  It would be really rare to see anything this early.  Only, with each negative result, my certainty that the procedure worked started to chip away.  Then, this morning, I got hit with the sads.  An overwhelming, I keep starting to cry out of nowhere, sad.

It took most of the day to realize that at least part of it is the upcoming anniversary of my miscarriage.  But, as I sat with it, I realized that another part of my problem is my control needs.  See, there's no way to prepare myself for every outcome.  It could be triplets, twins, a singleton, or none at all.  There is simply no emotional preparation that is appropriate for all of those outcomes.  Thus, the solution would be to not prepare and just go with the flow.  The whole "what will be will be" mantra.  Only, that's not me.  I'm a preparer.  Indeed, it's one of the reasons I keep using hpts.  I'm trying to prepare myself.  See, if I get an early positive, it's more likely to be multiples.  If nothing has shown up by Saturday, it's unlikely to be a positive beta and I'm not caught off guard by the results on Monday.  Still, my inability to know anything definitively and the continued negative results only feed my fear that this cycle has failed and that I will learn as much only days after the anniversary of the loss of Oliver.  Needless to say, I am an emotional mess.  Come Monday, all of this waiting and not knowing will be over one way or the other.  I just need to get through five days.  So, I try and comfort myself by looking at my picture.  And I hope.  Because, without control or knowledge, it's all I have.  Still, it's something.

Five days and counting...

Finding Peace Amid Sorrow and Joy

Last week, I went for my ultrasound to make sure everything was on schedule for my FET this week.  It was all good news and we "are go," as the Thunderbirds used to say.  I was 10 mm--they like to see at least 8--with an ideal triple stripe pattern.  There I go, overachieving again.  So, where does this leave us?  Well, tonight was my last shot.  Barring gestational diabetes that needs insulin, I am all done with self-injections.  Can I get a Woo Hoo?!  Tomorrow I start progesterone, Tuesday I start antibiotics and steroids, and Thursday is our "professional installation."  Being our last round, this is a pretty big week for us.

As it turns out, it's also a very emotional week for other reasons, as I rejoice and mourn for myself and several of my friends.  On the joyous side, one friend will have her first ultrasound this week and get her first view of her baby(ies?).  On the difficult side of things, Thursday would have marked 35 weeks with Oliver and will also be the anniversary of another friend's miscarriage.

It is a reminder to me that joys can be tinged with sadness.  But I also remember that joys can feel so much greater when they come after experiencing so much adversity.  So this week, as I prepare for my last chance at becoming a biological mother, I will lift up in prayers and celebrate strong women everywhere.  Women who have experienced infertility.  Women who are denied the children they so desperately want.  Women who have lost children too soon, at whatever time and whatever age.  Women who have provided for their children as best they know how by giving them a life with someone else.  Women who have raised children without help from families or community.  Women caring for special needs children.  Women struggling with their own chronic or terminal illness while trying to meet the needs of their children.  Women doing the best they can with the life they have been given.

And whether this week brings joy, or sorrow, or some of both, I know that I will get through it.  Because the one lesson I have learned over and over--as I struggled with infertility, gave myself shots, weathered my daughter's health issues, and survived a miscarriage--is that I am so much stronger than I ever thought possible.  And so, as I go into this week of sorrow and joy, of beginnings and endings, of life and death, I will find peace in the knowledge that I am strong enough, come what may.

Healing v Hiding

I thought I was doing a good job coping.  I really did.  As far as I could tell, I wasn't hiding from my feelings.  I cried.  I talked.  I cried more.  I thought a lot.  If you had asked me, I would have told you that I was doing great at this grief/healing thing.  Then came Tuesday.  I had a severe case of sads.  Bad enough I was willing to call it depression.  The "I'm crawling back under the comforter and not coming out until it's all over" kind of depression.  I didn't even want to eat ice cream to make myself feel better; that's way low for me.  So, I took the day off.  I let myself bow out.  Given that I am also recovering from severe bronchitis, I figured it was allowed.  And, by the end of the day, I was feeling pretty functional again.  So, imagine my surprise Wednesday morning when I found myself in that deep down funk again.  How was this possible?  I gave myself yesterday to cope and had gotten better.  This was not how things were supposed to go.  And yet, there I was.  Fighting for the energy to shower, get dressed, and go to work.  And again this morning.  The funk.  The lack of energy.  The wanting to bow out and let the world go on without me for a while.

And it occurred to me that maybe I hadn't been coping as well as I had thought.  As I thought about it, I realized that there are some good reasons for that.  First, my body is not yet done with the daily reminders.  I had my ultrasound today and although things look good generally, there is still some "fluff" (yes, that's the medical term the ultrasound tech used) and it's likely I will keep spotting until I have my next period.  Let me tell you--it's not fun being continuously reminded of a loss that is, for all intents and purposes, still ongoing.  And I realized that I was hiding at work.  I would get immersed in things and not have to think about my loss; my grief; my feelings.  I was superwoman and getting lots done at work, but I wasn't getting much done internally.  Turns out, my ability to function and perform well at work is unrelated to how well I am coping with the loss of my child.  Shocker!

Ironically, my discovery of my lack of dealing with things came when we received some good news.  We found out that, if we decide to try again, we have been given the financial resources to do so.  I honestly thought this news would make me feel better.  And yet, somehow, it plunged me further down into my hole.  I simply could not fathom why good news would make me feel so horrible.  But, as Phil and I discussed it, and I discovered that his experience had mirrored my own, we figured out what happened.  We had been focusing on the financial aspect of the decision whether to try again which kept us from dealing with the emotional aspects.  So, once the financial issue was off the table, there was nothing left to do but deal with the emotional baggage.  Hence, my funk.

So, I sat with things, thought about things, and tried to listen to the inner me--who often makes more sense than I give her credit for.  And I reached a few conclusions.  First, I'm taking May off the table.  It's too soon and requires too much planning for which I am not yet ready.  Plus, I don't think I will have processed my grief by then and I really don't want to start a hormone heavy regimen while still processing strong emotions.  As much as I hate waiting--as much as I didn't even want to wait until February this time around--I know that taking May off the table, thereby relieving lots of pressure on us, is the right decision.

I also discovered that one of the things that I needed to do to help me heal was to name my child.  This was difficult because we didn't know if it was a boy or a girl.  We talked about naming it something gender-neutral, but nothing seemed to fit.  Then, yesterday, I was talking with a good friend who went through a miscarriage at 12 weeks.  She told me that she had thought she was carrying a boy, so she gave it a boy's name.  As I thought on this and talked with Phil, I realized this made perfect sense.  While I was pregnant, I thought I was having a boy.  So, when I lost the child, what I lost was the visualization of my family with a little boy in it.  That made my loss little boy-shaped, so it only made sense that it should carry a little boy name.  And, to be perfectly honest, once we found out I was pregnant, since we had already picked out names, I had already been talking to the baby in my head by one particular name.  And so, after much discussion and thought, Phil and I agreed on the name for our angel baby--Oliver James.  Sometimes, I still find myself talking to Oliver.  Most often, I'm asking questions I know he can't answer.  But it comforts me.  It makes him real.  And, while it solidifies the loss, it also helps me heal.  Further, by giving him his own identity, I don't have to worry that I will try and treat any subsequent children we decide to have as replacements; they will get their own identity.  Still, I have no life experiences with loss that are the same as what I'm dealing with.  Don't get me wrong.  I have experienced loss, but nothing on this scale.  And that makes it hard for me.  I don't know what to expect.  I don't know how to behave.  How do I know what to do?  How will I know when I'm done?  There's no list of steps I can go through and wander out the other side and know I'm all better.  The planner in me is going ape over this.

And, in the midst of all this anger and frustration and funk, what I also realized was that I was not strong enough to do this on my own.  I was going to need help.  And not just people help (although that part is necessary and amazing).  And not just prayer help (although, again, wonderful and amazing stuff here).  No, I was going to need medical help.  And so it was that I sucked up my pride and took some Xanax.  I hate taking meds for anything.  It makes me feel like a failure.  But, knowing how helpful the Xanax was at taking the edge off so I could function during Lil' Bit's surgery and recovery, I knew it could help me get back to functionality after this loss.  And, slowly, I have started to emerge from the fog.  Not entirely and not as much as I would like.  I'm still feeling somewhat overwhelmed.  But, the Xanax has provided me with enough light that the fog isn't as thick anymore.

And so, I am thankful.  Thankful for the pharmacological miracle that is helping me get through this loss.  Thankful for all the friends who have helped me.  Thankful for all the women who have shared their stories with me.  Thankful for all of the people who have said the four right words:  "That sucks.  I'm sorry."  Thankful for all the prayers.  And, even though it doesn't feel like it right now, I know that, someday, I will be thankful to be on the other side of this.  Until then, thanks for walking through it with me.

Ordinary Time

Yesterday, we met with our fertility doctor.  He was sad on our behalf.  Apparently, he had not had any concerns.  His words were, "I really thought you had this one."  According to him, doubling rates over 48 hours in a healthy pregnancy run from roughly 65% to 130%, so my 80% was totally in the zone.  He advised that miscarriages that early are almost always from a chromosomal abnormality.  I asked whether we needed to test the other embryos and he said that testing actually damages them, so they don't do any testing.  He didn't think we needed to change anything and we still have plenty of "really good quality embryos left" if we want to try again.  I have to have an ultrasound next week to make sure there are no remaining "products of conception."  My bloodtest today showed an hCG level of 13.  I have to have another one next Friday, at which points they expect it will have finally returned to a number less than 5 (meaning negative for pregnancy).

In the event we decide to try again, the earliest we could do another procedure would be sometime in May, understanding that my body is setting the timetable.  We have to wait for my body to go through one complete cycle.  Assuming that happens in the next 28 days, we could then count forward 21 days into the subsequent cycle to begin taking shots to shut down my system.  After roughly two weeks of shots (I think it was 12 days last time), when another cycle starts, transfer would occur roughly 18 days thereafter.  So, assuming 28 days for the first cycle, then 21, then 12, then 18, we're talking mid-May.  If my body takes longer or shorter to get around to the first cycle, then early or late May.  But what all this calculating really means is that we have time.  Time to recover.  Time to think.  Time to reevaluate.  We have been given the opportunity to re-decide if this is what we really want--an opportunity people rarely receive.  I think it would be irresponsible if we didn't actually use it.

And so, after my ultrasound and blood test next week, I plan to enter ordinary time.  What is ordinary time?  In the liturgical calendar, there are seasons:  Lent, Easter, Pentecost, Advent, Christmas, Epiphany.  But between Pentecost and Advent, and between Epiphany and Ash Wednesday, the church has time to rest and relax.  It is not gearing up for any specific liturgical event.  These times are colloquially known as "ordinary" time.

So, as I try to figure out where I am, and Phil figures out where he is, and we figure out together where we are, I plan to enter ordinary time.  Time to recover from a big event.  Time when we are not planning for anything.  Time that I am not gearing up for the next thing.  Time to delight in Lil' Bit and all her new accomplishments.  Time to remember how much I love my job.  Time when I can just be and revel in my life as it is.  And, as I heal both physically and emotionally, we'll figure out what season of life comes next for us and being preparations for whatever that is.