If you've ever seen Finding Nemo, there's this brilliant depiction of seagulls as single-minded birds that all fly around squaking, "Mine. Mine. Mine." My two-year-old, having learned the word from one of her friends at daycare, has made it her own. We have had to have several discussions about what is actually hers and what she is simply being allowed to use, although it still belongs to us--like an iPad, for example. We have attempted to deal with each of these episodes, and I'd like to think we have made a lot of progress. Overall, Lil' Bit does a great job sharing. This gave me great hope for a smooth transition when the Jellybean arrives. This weekend, however, it has become abundantly clear that the arrival of the Jellybean this fall is going to stir the pot when it comes to Lil' Bit's ownership issues.
It started with the cat. Lil' Bit can be happily playing across the room, or even lovingly snuggled on her daddy's lap, but if the cat should dare to hop up and snuggle in my lap, she will suddenly shriek, "No, meow! My momma!" and wave her hands wildly. Should the cat dare to ignore her, she will run over and climb into my lap, thereby forcing the cat's displacement. Once the cat had been moved, however, she will hop down, having successfully defended her territory.
Then came Easter Sunday. Baby D, an adorable one-year-old, was in the nursery and she and Lil' Bit were playing and coloring together, happily. Baby D then got up to play with the big purple ball, which she proceeded to kick across the room. I told her, "Wow! That was a great kick!" Suddenly, from across the room, Lil' Bit points her finger accusingly at me and shouts, "No. You my momma!" In other words, "Mine!" Guess we still have a lot of work left before our toddler is no longer a seagull. Fortunately, we've got a few more months to work on it.
4.02.2013
3.28.2013
What's Happenin' Now
My apologies for being so quiet. First, there was nothing new to report. Than, life got too crazy to have time to write--but that involves the toddler and will be the subject of another post. Add in all the extra tired from being pregnant, and *voila* radio silence.
So, focusing on just pregnancy-related news, let's start with the good. Monday I went to the doctor and was released not just from bed rest, but from the fertility center to my regular doctor. I also got to cut back on my meds and should be totally off them by the end of April. The ultrasound showed no problems with the jellybean, who was .61 inches long and had a heart rate of 157. I called my OB's office and made an appointment for my nurse intake, which occurred today.
It started kind of scary when my blood pressure was 147/89. Fortunately, we retested at the end and it was down to 126/80. Phew! We declined all prenatal testing and just asked for the 20-week ultrasound; same like last time. I don't care how low the risk of miscarriage is with the testing--any risk is too much. However, there is one difference this time. Around the same time as the 20-week ultrasound, I will also get referred to a pediatric cardiologist for a fetal echo-cardiogram to make sure there are no heart issues with the jellybean--there's an increased risk since Lil' Bit has some.
They told me that my next appointment is around 13 weeks, when I'll see my doc and we'll get to hear the heartbeat! They told me that they changed their "rotation" policy from last time I was there. Now, most, if not all, of my regularly scheduled appointments will be with my doctor and I will only see the other docs if I have an unexpected issue, or my doc is out for some reason. I'm excited that I will get to see my doc more often ('cuz she's so awesome!) and, since I met most of the other docs last time, I'm feeling pretty good.
Then, we hit the discussion of the blood tests and the bad news came. I have to do a glucose tolerance test for gestational diabetes within the next week. Apparently, they test waaaay earlier than usual if you've had it before. And, even if I pass, they will still test me again later. I don't know if they wait and test me again at 28 weeks with everyone else, or if I will get tested several times along the way. Either way, I'm a little freaked out. I don't want to have to take shots the WHOLE pregnancy. Just two months of insulin and testing drove me bananas last time.
Still, I'll do what I have to do. As I've been telling myself for the last few weeks--we paid good money for me to feel this miserable. :) And, hey, at least I'm not on bed rest anymore!
So, focusing on just pregnancy-related news, let's start with the good. Monday I went to the doctor and was released not just from bed rest, but from the fertility center to my regular doctor. I also got to cut back on my meds and should be totally off them by the end of April. The ultrasound showed no problems with the jellybean, who was .61 inches long and had a heart rate of 157. I called my OB's office and made an appointment for my nurse intake, which occurred today.
It started kind of scary when my blood pressure was 147/89. Fortunately, we retested at the end and it was down to 126/80. Phew! We declined all prenatal testing and just asked for the 20-week ultrasound; same like last time. I don't care how low the risk of miscarriage is with the testing--any risk is too much. However, there is one difference this time. Around the same time as the 20-week ultrasound, I will also get referred to a pediatric cardiologist for a fetal echo-cardiogram to make sure there are no heart issues with the jellybean--there's an increased risk since Lil' Bit has some.
They told me that my next appointment is around 13 weeks, when I'll see my doc and we'll get to hear the heartbeat! They told me that they changed their "rotation" policy from last time I was there. Now, most, if not all, of my regularly scheduled appointments will be with my doctor and I will only see the other docs if I have an unexpected issue, or my doc is out for some reason. I'm excited that I will get to see my doc more often ('cuz she's so awesome!) and, since I met most of the other docs last time, I'm feeling pretty good.
Then, we hit the discussion of the blood tests and the bad news came. I have to do a glucose tolerance test for gestational diabetes within the next week. Apparently, they test waaaay earlier than usual if you've had it before. And, even if I pass, they will still test me again later. I don't know if they wait and test me again at 28 weeks with everyone else, or if I will get tested several times along the way. Either way, I'm a little freaked out. I don't want to have to take shots the WHOLE pregnancy. Just two months of insulin and testing drove me bananas last time.
Still, I'll do what I have to do. As I've been telling myself for the last few weeks--we paid good money for me to feel this miserable. :) And, hey, at least I'm not on bed rest anymore!
3.15.2013
The Consequences of Getting What You Want
I am a firm believer that we are co-creators of our world and that it is very important to place our energy on things we want and not on things we don't. This is not to say that I can simply wish myself a million dollars, much as many of us would like that to be true. But where we focus our energy has consequences. And so, during this stressful week, I added another mantra to my repertoire: Although I most desire an easy pregnancy, I would rather have a freaked-out pregnancy than no pregnancy at all. Well, I got what I wanted--a pregnancy.
This past Monday I called the center to report more bleeding. In fact, this week it pretty much became a constant, unwanted companion. I asked whether I could move my ultrasound up to find out what was going on. No luck. They were all full-up. The nurses did their best to reassure me that it was probably nothing and not to worry. However, I remember them giving me the same spiel when I was miscarrying, so it really provided no comfort. I considered going to an urgent care or ER, but the truth was it wasn't "really" an emergency. Yes, I wanted to know, but if the center wasn't that concerned, it wasn't worth tying up ER resources over. I bided my time and waited impatiently for Thursday to arrive. Of course, Thursday started with lots of cramping and bright red bleeding, which made waiting for my afternoon appointment excruciating. Still, the time finally arrived. I advised my doctor of the issues we'd been having and then we looked at the ultrasound to see what was going on.
The good news: there was a baby--and only one (we don't have to buy tons of new stuff--whew!). The baby measured .56 cm, which was exactly on target, and had a strong heart rate of 123 (I giggle every time I type this because Lil' Bit has recently learned to count to three, so when I type it, in my mind I hear her say 'one, two, free'--but I digress). However, the doctor was concerned with the cramping and bleeding and put me on bed rest (he called it a vacation from work, but I'll be working from home) for a week and a half or so, followed-up by another ultrasound. He said he was pleased with what he saw but, "now that we got you a baby, we have to fight for it."
So, here I am, fighting for my adorable jellybean by laying on the sofa with a laptop on my stomach and drinking all the water I can stand. It's frustrating, but it beats the alternative. EDD: November 4. Grow, baby, grow!
This past Monday I called the center to report more bleeding. In fact, this week it pretty much became a constant, unwanted companion. I asked whether I could move my ultrasound up to find out what was going on. No luck. They were all full-up. The nurses did their best to reassure me that it was probably nothing and not to worry. However, I remember them giving me the same spiel when I was miscarrying, so it really provided no comfort. I considered going to an urgent care or ER, but the truth was it wasn't "really" an emergency. Yes, I wanted to know, but if the center wasn't that concerned, it wasn't worth tying up ER resources over. I bided my time and waited impatiently for Thursday to arrive. Of course, Thursday started with lots of cramping and bright red bleeding, which made waiting for my afternoon appointment excruciating. Still, the time finally arrived. I advised my doctor of the issues we'd been having and then we looked at the ultrasound to see what was going on.
The good news: there was a baby--and only one (we don't have to buy tons of new stuff--whew!). The baby measured .56 cm, which was exactly on target, and had a strong heart rate of 123 (I giggle every time I type this because Lil' Bit has recently learned to count to three, so when I type it, in my mind I hear her say 'one, two, free'--but I digress). However, the doctor was concerned with the cramping and bleeding and put me on bed rest (he called it a vacation from work, but I'll be working from home) for a week and a half or so, followed-up by another ultrasound. He said he was pleased with what he saw but, "now that we got you a baby, we have to fight for it."
So, here I am, fighting for my adorable jellybean by laying on the sofa with a laptop on my stomach and drinking all the water I can stand. It's frustrating, but it beats the alternative. EDD: November 4. Grow, baby, grow!
3.08.2013
Got Stress?
One of the things a fertility clinic will tell you when you are trying to get (and stay) pregnant is to avoid stress. This is certainly a lovely theory, but the whole infertility gig does not lend itself to being stress-free. Add in a toddler having surgery, a non-private room at the hospital, dental issues, and dehydration-induced bleeding and--VOILA!--you have my ridiculously stressful life.
So, let's go back to Sunday. I had taken Lil' Bit to church as usual. Somehow, during coffee hour, I broke a crown. I called my dentist at home (one of the benefits of small town living!), and got an appointment to see him the next day to put on a temporary one. Once I got slightly calmed down from that snafu, we worked on getting our ducks in a row to head for Detroit to take Lil' Bit in for her surgery. My zen had not even returned when I discovered I was bleeding again. After getting Lil' Bit to bed, I drank lots of water and put my feet up. My mantra was--I can't control this; there is a plan to which I am not privy; but if I get a say, please stick around. And, by morning, things seemed a little better. Still, I called the fertility center to seek reassurance. They told me there was nothing that could be done at this point and that they weren't worried, but I could call if I needed further reassurance. I did my best to feel reassured by this, pulled up my big-girl pants, and headed out to Detroit.
Surgery on Tuesday morning went well and everything was copacetic. Then, we discovered there were no rooms available for Lil' Bit, so we waited in the recovery area for several hours for a room to come open. We were relieved when we got word she had been assigned to one, but it was another hour or two before we were sent up because they had to clean it. We discovered we were sharing the room with another two-year-old who had just had the same surgery. What we soon discovered, however, was that this child could scream and did not want to see any nurse, doctor, or anything of the sort and mom had no intention of holding said child to provide comfort--she just kept talking on her phone. I mean, I know screaming. I was a willful child who would scream to the high-heavens, but I had nothing on this toddler. In fact, the non-stop, high-pitched screams and other activities by the child were such that the nursing staff finally came and "helped" mom take the child to another location because Lil' Bit (and likely the whole freakin' floor) was clearly being affected. The charge nurse actually came in and apologized and, when I said the standard, "It's okay," her response was, "No, it's not."
Things got marginally better upon the return, although we heard overheard conversations that would make Teen Mom plot lines seem like Leave It To Beaver episodes (Phil tells me that the conversations overnight were even more "entertaining"). Needless to say, I forgot to take care of myself as I was working hard to console my child and *bam* significant bleeding and cramping. I was certain I was miscarrying, wigged out, and started crying, all of which freaked out Lil' Bit even more. Seeing her response, I worked hard to push down all that anxiety and sadness and pull myself together and then worked to console her and get her calm. We finally got me back to the hotel where I drank tons of water and laid down with my feet up. Again, by morning, things seemed okay.
After a rough morning at the hospital, Lil' Bit finally got discharged. On the drive home, my temporary crown popped off. The only good thing about this was that I was scheduled to get my new permanent one the next day. On the downside, we were back up to 14 meds per day with Lil' Bit, most of which could not be combined and seven of which were liquid doses (her least favorite). Needless to say, every day involves tons of screaming as we try and "do what's best for her," while I watch her be a little more traumatized each time. Her regular med-taking has suffered to the point that, even once she's better, we have a long haul to get her back to where we were before all this.
Thursday arrived and I got my new crown. It was unpleasant, but at least I got a little time away from the house such as it was. By last night, things seems to be on the upswing. I was feeling pretty good about the rest of Lil' Bit's recovery. Thinking the day might end on a good note, I was disheartened, but no longer surprised, to discover I was bleeding *again*. Worse, Lil' Bit didn't want to sleep alone (who could blame her), so I spent the night on the floor of her room. Although I didn't get much sleep, I did manage to drink more water and get my feet up and got things stopped again.
That brings us to this morning. After an okay morning, things went downhill fast. I swear, it was like she was worse than right after her surgery. Now, I remember with my recent surgical recovery feeling like I was backsliding. I don't know why I assumed that wouldn't happen with her, but I did. Seeing her misery today hit me really hard. And, even though Phil and his parents have worked very hard to try and provide me some downtime, my little girl just wants her mommy and my heart just can't say no. However, I have managed to not be too far from water and have stayed well-hydrated, thus preventing the now diagnosed dehydration-induced uterine contractions/bleeding.
I know my previous goal was just to make it to the ultrasound this Thursday, but now, I am living hour by hour, minute by minute, just trying to make Lil' Bit as comfortable as possible and to get through this emotionally and physically intact. There is no freakin' way I can stay stress free through all this. Life is what it is. But, I just keep telling myself: I can't control this; there is a plan to which I am not privy; but if I get a say, please stick around. All I can do now is wait. And drink lots of water.
So, let's go back to Sunday. I had taken Lil' Bit to church as usual. Somehow, during coffee hour, I broke a crown. I called my dentist at home (one of the benefits of small town living!), and got an appointment to see him the next day to put on a temporary one. Once I got slightly calmed down from that snafu, we worked on getting our ducks in a row to head for Detroit to take Lil' Bit in for her surgery. My zen had not even returned when I discovered I was bleeding again. After getting Lil' Bit to bed, I drank lots of water and put my feet up. My mantra was--I can't control this; there is a plan to which I am not privy; but if I get a say, please stick around. And, by morning, things seemed a little better. Still, I called the fertility center to seek reassurance. They told me there was nothing that could be done at this point and that they weren't worried, but I could call if I needed further reassurance. I did my best to feel reassured by this, pulled up my big-girl pants, and headed out to Detroit.
Surgery on Tuesday morning went well and everything was copacetic. Then, we discovered there were no rooms available for Lil' Bit, so we waited in the recovery area for several hours for a room to come open. We were relieved when we got word she had been assigned to one, but it was another hour or two before we were sent up because they had to clean it. We discovered we were sharing the room with another two-year-old who had just had the same surgery. What we soon discovered, however, was that this child could scream and did not want to see any nurse, doctor, or anything of the sort and mom had no intention of holding said child to provide comfort--she just kept talking on her phone. I mean, I know screaming. I was a willful child who would scream to the high-heavens, but I had nothing on this toddler. In fact, the non-stop, high-pitched screams and other activities by the child were such that the nursing staff finally came and "helped" mom take the child to another location because Lil' Bit (and likely the whole freakin' floor) was clearly being affected. The charge nurse actually came in and apologized and, when I said the standard, "It's okay," her response was, "No, it's not."
Things got marginally better upon the return, although we heard overheard conversations that would make Teen Mom plot lines seem like Leave It To Beaver episodes (Phil tells me that the conversations overnight were even more "entertaining"). Needless to say, I forgot to take care of myself as I was working hard to console my child and *bam* significant bleeding and cramping. I was certain I was miscarrying, wigged out, and started crying, all of which freaked out Lil' Bit even more. Seeing her response, I worked hard to push down all that anxiety and sadness and pull myself together and then worked to console her and get her calm. We finally got me back to the hotel where I drank tons of water and laid down with my feet up. Again, by morning, things seemed okay.
After a rough morning at the hospital, Lil' Bit finally got discharged. On the drive home, my temporary crown popped off. The only good thing about this was that I was scheduled to get my new permanent one the next day. On the downside, we were back up to 14 meds per day with Lil' Bit, most of which could not be combined and seven of which were liquid doses (her least favorite). Needless to say, every day involves tons of screaming as we try and "do what's best for her," while I watch her be a little more traumatized each time. Her regular med-taking has suffered to the point that, even once she's better, we have a long haul to get her back to where we were before all this.
Thursday arrived and I got my new crown. It was unpleasant, but at least I got a little time away from the house such as it was. By last night, things seems to be on the upswing. I was feeling pretty good about the rest of Lil' Bit's recovery. Thinking the day might end on a good note, I was disheartened, but no longer surprised, to discover I was bleeding *again*. Worse, Lil' Bit didn't want to sleep alone (who could blame her), so I spent the night on the floor of her room. Although I didn't get much sleep, I did manage to drink more water and get my feet up and got things stopped again.
That brings us to this morning. After an okay morning, things went downhill fast. I swear, it was like she was worse than right after her surgery. Now, I remember with my recent surgical recovery feeling like I was backsliding. I don't know why I assumed that wouldn't happen with her, but I did. Seeing her misery today hit me really hard. And, even though Phil and his parents have worked very hard to try and provide me some downtime, my little girl just wants her mommy and my heart just can't say no. However, I have managed to not be too far from water and have stayed well-hydrated, thus preventing the now diagnosed dehydration-induced uterine contractions/bleeding.
I know my previous goal was just to make it to the ultrasound this Thursday, but now, I am living hour by hour, minute by minute, just trying to make Lil' Bit as comfortable as possible and to get through this emotionally and physically intact. There is no freakin' way I can stay stress free through all this. Life is what it is. But, I just keep telling myself: I can't control this; there is a plan to which I am not privy; but if I get a say, please stick around. All I can do now is wait. And drink lots of water.
2.27.2013
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.
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.
2.24.2013
Yes, No, Maybe So
When we last left our story, I was getting ready for a rough five days. Dear readers, nothing prepared me for just how rough these days have been. So, Thursday morning, 2 a.m., I wake up to a crying toddler. Decide I might as well use the hpt. I get a very faint positive! Suddenly, I had all the energy in the world to deal with my baby girl. I went into her room and slept on her floor, snuggled up with her, until she finally went to sleep. I was riding high! Friday and Saturday morning revealed gradually darkening lines--a very good sign: darker lines = more hCG = growing baby! We told a few people, but given the loss of Oliver, we were keeping it pretty quiet. We hadn't planned to announce anything until after the Wednesday beta when we would know if the numbers were doubling appropriately. In my mind, all I kept praying was, "Please let me make it to the March 14 ultrasound." Everything seemed to be fine.
Saturday was also the anniversary of my miscarriage with Oliver. I was feeling melancholy, but my positive result was keeping my spirits lifted. I was tired, so I took a nap early in the afternoon. I woke up just after 2 feeling queasy. I figured it was a good sign and went downstairs for water and crackers. Just before 2:30, I discovered I was bleeding. Phil was upstairs napping and I couldn't decide whether I should wake him up to bother him with this news or just cry to myself downstairs. Around 3 I finally decided to go share. Telling him made it too real and I broke down. I was literally having trouble breathing I was crying so hard. I remember saying, "Not today. Not again." Honestly, I am quite ready to erase February 23 off the calendars (no offense to those whose birthday it is). The bleeding was light, but was still going went I went to bed last night. It seems to have stopped now, which is a relief. But, what did it mean?
Was it little babies burrowing in deeper? Did we lose one? If we did, are there others still growing in there? Any of these are possible. And, quite honestly, the beta tomorrow won't tell us much. Given that I already have positive hpts, we're almost certain the beta will come out positive. The number might hint at whether there are multiples, but really, we'll likely be just as in the dark as we are today. Now there's nothing to do but wait until Wednesday and pray the numbers are still increasing. In the meantime, I am stuck in a body that is still cramping and terrified to go to the bathroom. I know worrying won't change anything, but it's all too fresh, too convoluted, too unfair.
So, am I pregnant? Yes, no, maybe so. What I do know is that I am sad and scared. So please, pray for me. For us. Not for any specific outcome, but for the strength to get through all of this, however it turns out. Because I am feeling weak and frail and broken. But, hopefully, as the Beatles said, I'll get by with a little help from my friends.
Saturday was also the anniversary of my miscarriage with Oliver. I was feeling melancholy, but my positive result was keeping my spirits lifted. I was tired, so I took a nap early in the afternoon. I woke up just after 2 feeling queasy. I figured it was a good sign and went downstairs for water and crackers. Just before 2:30, I discovered I was bleeding. Phil was upstairs napping and I couldn't decide whether I should wake him up to bother him with this news or just cry to myself downstairs. Around 3 I finally decided to go share. Telling him made it too real and I broke down. I was literally having trouble breathing I was crying so hard. I remember saying, "Not today. Not again." Honestly, I am quite ready to erase February 23 off the calendars (no offense to those whose birthday it is). The bleeding was light, but was still going went I went to bed last night. It seems to have stopped now, which is a relief. But, what did it mean?
Was it little babies burrowing in deeper? Did we lose one? If we did, are there others still growing in there? Any of these are possible. And, quite honestly, the beta tomorrow won't tell us much. Given that I already have positive hpts, we're almost certain the beta will come out positive. The number might hint at whether there are multiples, but really, we'll likely be just as in the dark as we are today. Now there's nothing to do but wait until Wednesday and pray the numbers are still increasing. In the meantime, I am stuck in a body that is still cramping and terrified to go to the bathroom. I know worrying won't change anything, but it's all too fresh, too convoluted, too unfair.
So, am I pregnant? Yes, no, maybe so. What I do know is that I am sad and scared. So please, pray for me. For us. Not for any specific outcome, but for the strength to get through all of this, however it turns out. Because I am feeling weak and frail and broken. But, hopefully, as the Beatles said, I'll get by with a little help from my friends.
2.20.2013
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...
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...
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