Squashed…

That’s how I feel.  I feel squashed.  Hopes, dreams, desires, everything just feels squashed.  I can’t even breathe right now, I’m just so defeated and deflated.  I continue to try and find options for financing for adoption and I think that I’m out of options.  A personal loan is the only thing I can think of that I haven’t tried and no one is giving personal loans.  Hell, Hubby couldn’t even get student loans this year without his mother cosigning for him and they used to hand that money out like it was prostitute advertisements on the Vegas Strip.  My last ditch effort was trying to take a loan against my life insurance policy and I was denied (haven’t had the policy long enough).

I haven’t felt this bad in a while.  When the world around you seems to be moving forward and you feel stuck, it’s hard not to feel bad.  I hate feeling sorry for myself, I hate it.  I’m trying to be proactive and do something to ensure that the boys will have brothers and sisters.  I’m trying but I can’t do anything right.  I can’t make money grow on trees or my fucked up genes split properly and aligned with each other so as to produce a beautiful sibling for A and B. 

Compounding this is that I want to be happy for all of my pregnant friends but the ones that haven’t had losses, it’s hard to get excited for them.  I know that sounds screwed up.  I totally understand that some of you might read that and think, “what a bitch.”  Those women get to be part of a club that I will never belong to…”the blissfully ignorant shiny new baby mommy club.”  Not me, I will never get that again.  Fine, I’m a bitch.   And that’s totally not fair to those women because I would hate for anyone to feel as bad as I do right now.  I wouldn’t wish this on anyone – not my worst enemy…so I’m considerate and sweet and post congratulations and send cards and gifts when all I really want to do it scream, “I’M SO PISSED OFF AT THE UNIVERSE RIGHT NOW I CAN’T STAND IT!!!!”

I think to myself, “I really want to be pregnant again and you know, this will be THE month it happens” and I smile like a jackass.  And then negative me counters with, “get pregnant all you want, honey, you will never make it to 40 weeks – hell, you won’t make it past 8 weeks.”  And there are lots of tears alone in the car.  What do I do with negative me?  She’s right, that’s the thing, she’s right.  All I know is that I fear getting pregnant but I want to be pregnant more than anything but one thing – I just want my boys back.

Losing the Battle…

I heard this quote this morning on NPR:

“The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places. ” – Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms.

I had forgotten about this book and this quote having read it YEARS ago.  When the person being interviewed said the quote, he was referencing his own war experiences.  He mistakenly thought the quote was a reflection of the character “Henry” and, by extension, Hemingway’s experience of being wounded in a mortar attack in Italy during World War I.

In fact, the quote is made by the character “Henry” in reference to his son being born still, not war.  I realized as I was driving that while the interviewee attributed the quote to the wrong loss for the main character, death of our boys was like a battle.  It was like a war.  I’m hurt, I’m bruised and bloodied.  Hubby is wounded – there exists collateral damage in our life.  There is tremendous loss and a deep well of anger.  There are days when The Battle of Grief and Loss is more costly than any other war I can think of…There are days when I’m sure I’m losing The Battle and those are days I am grateful for The Silent Army…

I just wish The Battle would end soon….

Moving Forward and Looking Back….

So my friend, J, said no to the certificates.  She has her reasons and I won’t share them here but I understand and respect her honesty.  I think I have a backup plan with the help of my good friend, K….I will keep you posted.

Apparently, I am not the only one who gets little flashbacks from the Labor and Delivery room…

Hubby and I went to a ball game on Saturday with a group of sorority alum and husbands.  Somewhere during the game, the subject of when the cut off birthday is for kids to start school here came up.  It’s August 31st.  My friend’s baby is due the 27th, I think so she and her husband starting talking about how induction HAD to happen on whatever date and such…sadly, me and Hubby were sitting in between them so they were having this conversation over us.  My friend’s hubby said something about, “well, as least it will be quick…” and Hubby said, “really?  That wasn’t our experience…”  The friend’s hubby didn’t miss a beat and said, “oh that’s just the first one…”  At which point, Hubby looked at me and said, “sure they tell you takes 6 hours but 48 hours later and you are still there, right?  Let’s go take a walk…”

See the doctors told us that usually, once the drugs are administered, the whole process is over in a couple of hours since my body should be ready and willing to “give up” the babies – we would be home by Sunday afternoon at the latest.  The fact that the pills kicked in at 7pm on Saturday night and went full force for another 48 hours has been a constant source of pain for Hubby – I don’t remember most of it.  Hubby insisted that I get the maximum amount of morphine allowable during this time so I slept for most of Saturday night and Sunday.  That means that he was essentially alone, in the room with his thoughts for that whole time – alone to take care of me.  When my IV would run out, he would go find a nurse to replace it.  When it was time for the next application of the drug, he would go and find a resident to give it to me…He was all alone during this time…The discussion on Saturday of the joys and convenience of induction really brought back those feelings of fear and grief and loneliness and sadness…for both of us.

Crickets…

So I sent the letter on Monday.   I have not heard from my mother yet.  Total silence.  I thought she would call last night and while I don’t think I would have answered, I was really surprised that she didn’t call…sigh….I don’t know what to do…I guess there isn’t anything to do but wait…she’s pissed at me, I know it…Do I regret sending the letter?  Nope.

We have an appointment to see the RE in about a week to discuss “super-ovulation.”  A woman on the Balanced Translocation Yahoo Group who has the same translocation that I do emailed me that her RE wouldn’t do the super-ovulation because, like me, she got pregnant easily.  People with my type of translocation are the most common and it’s the least severe in terms of how it effects staying pregnant.*  Yeah me.  Anywho, her RE said that she would not do the super-ovulation because if she kept trying, eventually one would stick.  This is why IVF with Pre-genetic diagnosis is not recommended for me either.  The cost does not justify the benefit.  And the great news is, she now has two children, just like I got pregnant with the boys.  Great.  Groovy.  So I’m supposed to  just keep trying.  This is not a third child that I am trying for here people – I don’t have any other living children to look at and think, “I’m okay with one.”  I would have stopped at the boys if they had lived.  I’m not being greedy.  I want the universe to understand that.  I’m not being greedy…just…OH COME ON!!! (fist is raised in the air and I am looking up…)

So I keep trying and it’s loss after loss.  I’m pregnant for 2 weeks then I’m not.  I don’t even get excited over a positive HPT anymore.  If it’s not a super-dark positive line, chances are, it’s not sticking.  I don’t even call the doctor – I don’t plan to until I hit the 9 week mark (I’ve gotten to 8 weeks twice now, I figure I make it to 9, then I will get excited..or not).  I just monitor my symptoms in case of an ectopic pregnancy and usually, one day I wake up and I don’t feel pregnant anymore.  And this is my life, over and over again.  Watching people around me get pregnant, have babies and move forward.  I’m stuck here in a cycle of loss that feels never ending.

My RE will  probably say no to the super-ovulation but I have to ask.  For my peace of mind, I have to ask.

*There is a whole world of this out there involving Robertsonian Translocations and break points and trisomy 13, 18, Down’s Syndrome.  If you are interested, email me but it’s a lesson in Genetics and my recall from college has been really tested….

Baby Boys

Beans:

I miss you terribly and I love you. 

I cannot believe it’s been a year since you were delivered but your Dad and I will always love you and hold you in our hearts.

Love,

Your Mommy.

Now I Know.

“I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings” by Maya Angelou is one of my favorite books.  I read it as an adult and I empathized with Maya, feeling sadness at her pain and confusion but I never really knew the depths of her pain and grief that would cause her to stop speaking.  Now I do.

These past couple of weeks I have found myself slipping into solitude and quietness.  I don’t blog as much, I don’t email people back right away, I don’t call people to chat.  Katie (http://lrcyoga.wordpress.com/) sent me an email which kind of forced me to get out of my own head and share what’s going on with me and I am grateful for that.

When I wrote the post about going to see my MIL and my SIL and her perfect 3 children, I realized that it’s not that I don’t want to see them, in fact, I really don’t care either way.  Honestly, it’s fine.  That’s not what’s bothering me.  It’s the trip.  One year ago, Hubby and I were speeding towards PA in hopes that our unborn sons would be okay.  We soon recieved the news that Baby A was dying.  He died on March 10th.  I feel like no one remembers this.  No one remembers him.  From what I read, this is pretty typical of someone who has lost a child (or two) and so I understand that this is a normal reaction to grief.  It’s just that this trip to PA is serving as a constant reminder of what I was doing last year, of how I was feeling, of the bargains that I was making, the begging I did, the compromise I made.  I’m slipping back into a dark place and I don’t know what to do.

It’s also serving as a reminder that I am still in so much pain.  There is so much pain that it wells up at night and I wake up crying.  I don’t feel any better than I did a year ago and there is no wonderful numbing shock to dull the intensity.  I thought I would feel better by now.  I can’t even talk about this normally without falling to pieces.  I still feel so bad.

And I have no baby either.  I’m not pregnant and I don’t know when I will be and that’s compounding these feelings of loss.

So I get it, now I know what would make someone hurt so bad that they would stop speaking.

I Get Pregnant, I Just Don’t Stay That Way.

Today is our appointment with the RE.  I had hoped that I would be able to walk in and say, “oh by the way, can you do an HCG test on me, my period is 6 days late, my boobs are sore and heavy and I have intermittent cramping – basically, I think I am pregnant.”  Well, those symptoms went away on Saturday and I got my period Sunday morning.  I’m guessing another chemical pregnancy but since I was too scared to take a test, I don’t know.  Besides, chemical pregnancies don’t usually generate enough HCG to trip a test anyway.  The other option is that my body is just now recovering from the miscarriage to have a period and the “symptoms” were something else but I am getting pretty good at knowing when I am pregnant.

So because of that, I’m a little down plus the fact that I feel like this appointment today isn’t going to tell me anything that I don’t already know.  I am predicting that the RE will say, “your repetitive pregnancy losses are due to the genetic issue and all you can do is keep trying and suffer through the continued miscarriages.”  Not anything I don’t already know and think about all the time.  I mean, is it worse to get pregnant and lose them or never get pregnant?  I don’t know but I keep trying to remind myself of the law of averages – that eventually the statistics will swing in my favor and that the boys were fine, they didn’t have the genetic issue but died from something else completely unrelated and unpredictable.  It happened once, it will happen again.

Do I let this doctor do a bunch of tests on me to rule out other possible issues when this genetic issue is staring right at me?  Hubby thinks it’s a little weird that a fertilized egg bounces around in there for a couple of days and then just doesn’t implant.  We have had at least 3 chemical pregnancies (2 we know of for sure because the doctor did blood work and the HCG level was over 5 but never got to 50 before I started bleeding).  A bum egg or genetically not viable egg would just bounce around and then disintegrate though.  Hard to say.  Dr. T recommended a Hysterosalpingogram or HSG.  I know some of you who read this blog have had one but for the unfamiliar it’s an x-ray where they shoot dye into the uterus and watch it come out the tubes.  If there is blockage in the tubes, the dye doesn’t come out.  I don’t think I have blockage – my eggs are all dressed up in their favorite dresses and heels, going out and hitting the bar and getting picked up by the sperm.  In other words, I get pregnant, I just don’t stay that way.  My best friend from high school is a L and D nurse and she got a list of tests that her friend recently had done.  Again, I will take to the RE about that list with me but if those are tests for unexplained infertility, they aren’t going to help me.  I get pregnant, I just don’t stay that way.

I know that this is an exercise in hope and patience.  I get that, I do.  That doesn’t make me less frustrated or sad that I can’t just have sex with my loving husband, get pregnant with a healthy baby and STAY THAT WAY for 9 months.  Today is Chinese New Year so I thought it was fitting that I wear a new outfit, go see a new doctor and hope for a shiny new baby.  We shall see.

One of Those Days….

I go through these phases where I accept the fact that I have been labeled “RPL” (recurrent pregnancy loss - I need to write a whole blog on how a label is extremely damaging to an already tired, grieving and frustrated woman).  I understand that eventually, I will have a baby but that I will likely miscarry a good number more times before getting that healthy baby gets here.  I sort of just figure, this is the way it’s going to be and while I can shake my fists at the universe and ponder why some people get pregnancy standing up wind from their husband and have little or no compassion for anyone other than themselves (if you read my blog regularly, you know of whom I speak), it’s not going to accomplish anything.  We just keep timing sex each month and waiting for the next positive result and hopefully it sticks.

And then there are the days that I just get pissed and I do shake my fists at the universe and scream, “Why me?  Why me?  WHY ME?”  Today I am pissed.  I woke up pissed.  I’m sullen and angry.

But that’s okay because I am allowed to be angry and mad today because tomorrow, I won’t be.  Or maybe I will be.  Who knows.  Part of this whole experience, for me, has been not being tied to one single emotion all the time and knowing that is okay.  I just have to ride it out.

On another note, here is a great blog about announcing pregnancies and I think it’s good for everyone to read.  I was guilty of this with the boys.  I just told everyone regardless of what happened in their past (in my defense, I didn’t know that some of my friends had lost babies – part of that culture of silence and shame that surrounds miscarriages and hopefully, blogging has taken away) and for that I am sorry.  Trust me, I’ve been schooled. 

http://staceysthoughtsoninfertility.blogspot.com/2009/01/announcements-part-one.html

My friend Deb, who had losses before I was pregnant with the boys, called me and told me over the phone (we live 3,000 miles apart).  I was grateful for her directness and honesty and not letting me find out another way.  I was able to talk with her about her fears and concerns and it made me more aware when I got pregnant again.  Another friend has yet to tell me that they are pregnant but I know because they have a Facebook page.  It’s more painful to me to learn that way – it makes me think you can’t trust me and my reactions.  I know that you don’t want to hurt me but guess what?  I got hurt in April when I lost the boys, you had/have no control over that.  I will be happy for you but I will be sad for what I have lost.  There is nothing you can do about that and your deception only makes it worse.  It makes my loss about you instead of just your joy being about you. 

That being said, all in all, I’m doing okay even being sullen and angry.

Proactive Me.

Went to the doctor yesterday for the “annual” exam.  I joke that I’m like a smoke detector, I need to be checked out around New Year’s because otherwise I forget and the house might burn down.  The lady parts are fine.  We have been referred to an RE for additional testing.  I think it’s a waste of time because the source of our miscarriages is the translocated chromosome but can’t hurt to rule out other things too, right?  I have embraced the fact that while 2/3 of my pregnancies will fail, 1/3 will not.  I have had 3 pregnancies, 2 have failed and 1 has not (for the genetic issue anyway).  I’m basically back to the beginning.  New year, new slate, new pregnancies.

And we see a therapist on Friday afternoon.

And the diet started Monday.  I need to lose the remaining 15 pounds that is leftover from the twins.  I have had this attitude of “oh well, it won’t matter because I will be pregnant again soon and then I can be as fat and unhealthy as I want to be.”  Wrong.  My blood pressure was 139/78 yesterday.  My blood pressure is never over 118/68.  Could have been the argument with Hubby the night before, the fact that I didn’t sleep well, that going to UNC makes me anxious in general or that I took some Benedryl to help me sleep but I wasn’t pleased with the number I saw when I stepped on the scale either.  Hanging on to the weight is not going to make it any easier to conceive and while getting pregnant isn’t the issue, why make it the issue, you know?  I lost 15 pounds right before I got pregnant with the twins and I loved the way I looked.

I have developed some bad habits over the past month or so.  I could chalk it up to the holidays but I have been drinking a hot chocolate from Starbucks just about 4 times a week, skipping the gym, eating meat, and snacking on candy and cookies with regularity.  I found out yesterday that those hot chocolates I love from Starbucks (the Signature Hazlenut Hot Chocolate is my favorite), despite being made with non-fat milk – has 650 calories.  That’s right, 650 calories.  A simple switch to a non-fat, sugar-free vanilla latte (decaf, of course!) is a savings of 450 calories right there! 

So cutting back on calories, no more meat, lots of veggies, back to swimming 3 times a week and Kelly has offered to go to yoga on Wednesday nights instead of mid-day (remember? I can’t deal with the pregnant yoga teacher so I just stopped going) is the plan.  Yoga and swimming will make me feel better and losing weight will boost my self-esteem.

So moving ahead trying to get me back.

Hell, I sound almost normal, don’t I?

Nahhhhhhhh.

Therapy

So I finally reached out to a therapist this week.  About a month and a half ago, I did a little research and found a woman that deals with loss and grief and fertility.  Perfect right?  I finally emailed her yesterday and her response was that didn’t schedule appointments after 5pm or on Saturdays.  I guess she will only see you if you have loss and grief and fertility issues from 9-5pm and Monday through Friday.  She referred me to two other people in her practice, neither of whom are remotely qualified to handle anything that I am dealing with.  Lest you think I am full of myself, let me tell you, I don’t think that I am some special case that needs to be handled with the biggest brain or the most education however, they were both really wrong choices for me.  One had extensive experience with child behavior issues and that other was a sexual abuse counselor.  My babies died and I can’t seem to stay pregnant and I’m feeling a little nuts about that.  I’m not a doctor but I just don’t see the connection.

I hate this.  It took me 3 weeks to work myself up to actually contacting her and now she’s brushed me off.  I guess I expected her to be more compassionate than that.  And yes, I understand it was an email and she could be the nicest person on the planet but the tone of her email was very abrupt.  And things that I used to say, “oh well” to now make me sad and angry much faster than they did before I lost the boys.  It something I need to deal with – maybe with the help of a therapist (ha! I do have a sense of humor left).

But I am determined not to “play the victim” anymore (see that, Jaded, moving forward in 2009, right?).  Onward to find a new therapist who will see me outside of a 9-5pm setting.