Passing Me By…

The world around me keeps moving forward and I can’t.  I don’t know what’s happened in the last 2 weeks that has made me feel as bad I did when we first lost the boys.  I can’t shake these overwhelming feelings of sadness and loss and hopelessness.  Maybe it’s because everyone around me is having a baby.  Maybe it’s that their due date is approaching again.  They would be a year old in 3 weeks.  Even people who have lost babies are getting pregnant again.  Why not me?  How is this my life?  How the hell did I get here?  What did I do to deserve this?

The Clomid didn’t work this month.  I spent the whole weekend crying.  I haven’t cried as hard or for as long as I did on Saturday and Sunday in a really long time.  It was the “crying so hard you gag” sobbing that some of you may be familiar with, the strangled sobbing that makes the puppy curl up next to you out of fear that something is really wrong with you…luckily, the eyelashes seem to have stayed put.  The same words keep running through my head, “the boys were it.  They were the only children you are going to get.  You blew it.  You some how screwed this up for you and Hubby.  You don’t get any more babies.  You can’t afford adoption and  IVF won’t help you.  You are done being a mother.”

It’s sad but that’s the truth – that’s what is going on in my head.  I’m losing hope.  As much as I know people are rooting for me, praying for me, and comforting me…I just don’t know how to hang on anymore.  I just keep remembering how stupidly happy I was when we got pregnant with the boys on the first try.  So stupid of me to think that things would work out.  I should have twin year old baby boys right now.  I don’t.

I have one more month of the Clomid but I’m not taking it this month.  My ability to predict ovulation has been really off (no idea if it was the tests or me or what) and Hubby will be out of town the last week in July and first week in August so I figure, we do it before he leaves and if ovulation happens after, well, so be it but we won’t have wasted the last month of Clomid on this cycle.

I doubt I will ask the doctor for anymore unless Hubby wants me to, I just can’t keep riding this roller coaster anymore.

The “it will happen when it happens” policy isn’t working for me and there is nothing anyone can do about it.

Being Honest

I answered a question in therapy last night honestly and opened up Pandora’s box.

The Dr. J said to me, “you know that you will have another baby, right?’

I didn’t answer her, so she asked me again and I told her, “Today?  No, today I don’t think that it will ever happen.”

Well that touched off a firestorm of Hubby and Dr. J telling me about self-fulfilling prophecies and the power of positive thinking and Hubby was angry with me because he thinks that if I’m not positive, we won’t stay pregnant.

I told him that when I do get pregnant, every minute of every day I think to myself, “please stay with me, please stick, please, please don’t go…”  I think, “this is the one, this is going to be the baby that stays with me…” And it doesn’t happen.  But I try not to get discourage – we try again with the ovulation tests and the timed sex.  That’s positive, right?

But some days…oh, some days I just can’t do it.  I can’t be positive.  I was positive that the boys were going to be fine.  I was cheerful and upbeat all the while my little boy was dying.  When I lost Baby A, I remained upbeat despite the pain of losing one of my babies, the agony of only knowing him for 18 weeks.  Like a lamb to the slaughter, I walked into UNC thinking that I was over-reacting and that I would be going to lunch with Hubby in an hour – him teasing me about being a hypochondriac.  And then Baby B was dead.  Don’t tell me about being positive all the time because some days, getting out of bed is the best I can do.  Positive got me nowhere with the boys.  I was positive that the universe wouldn’t take my boys from me and guess what?  They died.

I guess I am a little angry about this situation.  I feel like I have let Hubby down by admitting this to him and I hate disappointing him.  But that’s a lot of pressure to put on me, requiring me to be positive all the time, telling me that if I think for one minute that I won’t have a living baby that I’m causing it not to happen.  I have a genetic disorder, that’s what is causing the miscarriages and I’ve finally come to terms with what that means.

And about being positive…Every morning in the shower, I say an affirmation.  I say: “We will have a living baby.”  Somedays I cry because I want my boys and some days I think about babies-to-be…

That’s the best I can do right now.  That’s all I can do right now.  That’s going to have to be enough right now.

Confrontation

I’m not good with confrontation.  My mother told me for a number of years that I was a drama queen.  I think, because of that, I tend to go the exact opposite way.  I’m no shrinking wallflower but I don’t confront people.  I shy away from conflict.  A friend recently made an insensitive comment and while it hurt me, I know she didn’t mean it so why call her on it.  Another friend has no problem telling her mother, “hey!  That hurts my feelings!” I can’t imagine doing that.  If I said to my mother, “you know, it hurts me when you tell me that you are ‘ordering a girl next time’ when you know that the loss of my boys is still painful,” she would tell me that I am being overly sensitive and dramatic and that it was a joke.*  Ha.  Funny.

Hubby and I spent most of our hour at the therapist talking about my mother.  The therapist suggested that I confront my mother on the hurtful things that she has said and done over the past year.  My friend F suggested a letter.  My cousin suggested waiting a couple of days and then calling her.  I don’t know if that will accomplish anything but as Cousin Jenn-Jenn said, what have I got to lose.

The reason for this latest discussion was Easter.  My mother expected me to come to her house for Easter (I don’t say “home,”  I have never lived at her house in the ‘Boro – “home” is with Hubby in Holly Springs or San Diego).  I didn’t know this.  I don’t celebrate Easter beyond making a ham and some sweet potatoes.  I’m not religious, don’t go to church and have nobody to hide eggs for so I’m not big on the holiday.  It’s just another day in the garden as far as I am concerned.  I would have liked to see my family but I had a reason for not going – I had another miscarriage at the beginning of the week and Tuesday was the anniversary of the day I delivered the boys, I was in no place to spend time with anyone.  I couldn’t take any time off from work to rest so by the time Friday rolled around, I was tired, weak and exhausted.  I know that I need to go to my mother’s house to help clean out her spare room but I just didn’t have the energy.

I’m supposed to be practicing “self-care” as well.  The therapist (let’s call her Dr. J) told me that it was perfectly acceptable to be a little selfish right now.  Everyday, I am supposed to do one thing for myself.  Walking at lunch with K, a yoga DVD, walking the dogs, gardening, reading a book, getting a massage – something, anything that reduces stress in my life.

Dr. J thinks that I can’t practice good “self-care” with this dark cloud of a maternal relationship hanging over me.  She says that I am grieving the loss of the boys AND this changed relationship with my mother and what I really need to be doing is working though my grief with the support of my mother.  Okay, I’ll buy that.  But how? How do I get THERE?  I want to be there.  I do.  But I fear that confronting her will only result in the “you-are-really-quite-sensitive-aren’t-you?” conversation.  And the letter?  The actual ACT of the letter will make her mad – as if I embarrassed her by writing the letter.

So where are we right now?  It’s called a “Mexican Standoff” in our house.  The first one who picks up the phone to call the other loses. 

I lose a lot.  On oh-so-many-levels, I lose a lot.

 

*Nope, I’m not kidding, that really did happen.  See these this post for other such insightful comments:

http://survivingbaby.wordpress.com/2008/08/29/i-dont-get-it-…ither-does-she/

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.

Hairdressers….

are a funny breed of people.  I owe a hairdresser a lot because that is who introduced me to my husband so I mean no offense.  Quite the contrary, they just fascinate me.  I know women who will tell their hairdressers things that they wouldn’t tell their closest friends.  Where is this coming from, you ask?

Well.  On Saturday, in the middle of Hurricane Hanna, I had a hair appointment.  Worst hair cut of my life.  Not kidding.  So, so bad.  I can only liken it to a “mushroom with feet attached.”  This was a new hairdresser, my old one abandoned me and moved back to TN.  I hearted her because she was “offspring challenged” as well.  Anywho, I debated on what to do and on Monday, called the owner to see if she would advise me on how to “fix it.”  She insisted that I come back in and meet with another hairdresser and that’s how I met Emily.

Emily was able to fix the problem for the most part – it’s a totally cute cut, I no longer look like I am toting a mushroom with feet on my head.  However, this is not a blog about hair or haircuts, right?  Emily asked THE question.  You know, THE question…

Emily: “So, do you have kids?”

Me: “Ummmmm, well…..That’s a toughy there Emily, it’s complicated but yes, I do.  I have twins boys that I lost in April.”

Remember, I told y’all that I was going to be honest with people.  I have to be.  I’m not going to heal unless I am honest with myself and people around me eventhough I know that as soon as those word leave my mouth, my relationship with this person is forever changed.  It’s the “Elephant” right? (see LifeAfterLevi’s post).

Emily:  “Oh I am so sorry.  Oh my god, I am so, so sorry.”

And here’s where it gets interesting.  Normally people express their condolences and then quick change the subject.  Obviously I don’t want to talk about it right?  Wrong.  I do want to talk about it but I can’t say that to a stranger because that would be weird, right?  I want to tell you that I fought hard for them, that I loved them from the minute that pee stick lit up, that I miss them every second of every minute of every day, that I still can’t go in the “nursery” without my heart hurting.  But a stranger doesn’t want to know that – too personal, right?

Emily: “So tell me about them.”

Me: “What?  Wait, what?”

Emily: “If you want to talk about it, I would love to hear about your boys…”

Huh?  What?  Wait?  What? So I am either very obviously in a lot of pain (I think I hid it well) or she’s just a nice, caring person who really did know that I want to talk about them.  I talk about them a lot with Kelly and Robin and Gretchen but they have heard it all, not much more to tell.  Some of the mommies who read this blog email me and we talk about our babies but here is someone who has no vested interest in me and she wants to hear a very painful and sad, mascara-ruining story.  And she said, “my boys.”  Kelly says that and it makes me smile every time.  “My boys.”  Yes, they are mine, aren’t they?  Anywho, so Emily’s either masochistic or used to being a good shoulder to cry on.  Since I am trying to find the good in people and be positive about things….I’ve decided it’s the latter.

And she’s a damn good hairdresser too.

 

I am sorry that I have been a little MIA, I do animal rescue work and Hurricane Gustav is kicking my butt plus my mother in law is coming in 2 days and I had a whole spare room to put together.  I will be better about posts but really, thank you for all the concerned notes I got, I feel loved…..

Closed Today

No blog today.  I had a particularly yucky conversation with my mother last night – I know I keep promising you that I will tell you all about my relationship with her and I just haven’t had the energy.  I keep playing this conversation over and over in my head and I want to write about it but I want to reflect a little more on what the hell happened and whether I am over-reacting or if, once again, my mother has manage to hurt me again.

I’ll let you know…

Labor and Delivery – Part 2

I can honestly say that I don’t remember most of Sunday.  I had so much morphine and anti-nausea medicine that everything is very, very hazy.  I know that Tim was laying the hospital bed with me, pushing the button for the morphine pump so that I would be comfortable.  I would wake up periodically and not really know where I was and then of course, I would remember why I was in the hospital and the tears would start all over again.  It was very hard to really process what was going on.

When we first spoke to the doctor about actually delivering the babies, we were told that the process would take about 6 rounds of the medication or about 24 hours.  It would stand to reason then, if we went into the hospital at 5pm on Saturday, we deliver late Sunday and it would all be over Monday morning.  That was not the case.  The doctors could have given me an IV drip of something called “potosin” but they were reluctant to do so as it can actually slow progress down….

Tim became extremely angry at the doctors because he felt they had not been honest with us about realistically, how long this would take.  The pain was becoming more intense which directly correlated to the amount of anxiety Tim was having.  I was extremely reluctant to have an epidural but sometime around 9pm on Sunday night, Tim and the nurse talked me into it.  The epidural was not as painful as I thought it would be and worked well in blocking out the pain.  If fact, it was so effective in blocking me from feeling anything that at 8am Monday I was in excruciating pain.  Why was that you ask?  Well, the nurse had failed to place a catheter when they did the epidural so on Monday morning, I had not peed in close to 14 hours and my bladder was so full, it was spasming.  Not fun.

What would be the last tablet was placed in my uterus about 8am and Dr. Evers came at 10:45am, he said that I was ready to go.  I pushed about 4-5 times and they were born.  I closed my eyes and cried so I never saw them as they came out.  The nurses stepped in and block them from our view and then took them from the room.  Previously, Dr. Evers told me that he didn’t think we should see the smaller baby as he was so little and had been gone for 4 weeks.  We agreed.  He did, however, encourage us to hold Baby B.

My placenta tore when the babies were born and I was losing a lot of blood.  My blood pressure was dropping and they could not get the bleeding to stop despite massaging my uterus.  Seriously, that hurt worse than birth itself.  I was getting dizzy and weak.  I have seen espiodes of television shows where people “bleed out” after childbirth or they lose their uteruses and I thought, “no way, this cannot happen, I have been through enough.  Enough is enough.  I can not lose my boys and then never have another baby.”  But Dr. Kim was able to get the bleeding to stop after what seemed like an eternity.

My faithful nurse, Denise, began to clean me up and prepare me to see one of my little boys.

Tomorrow: Holding Baby B

Labor and Delivery

I haven’t been censoring anything I write because this blog is only going to work if I am totally honest with myself and therefore, you all get to read the raw and honest thoughts of someone still very much greiving.  I warn you though, hold on, these next couple of entries are going to be doozys….

I suspect there are some of you who want to know that first weekend in April was like for me and my husband but you have been too scared or too polite to ask.  I’m going to tell you. 

On that Saturday morning, we were given two options, one involved going home and coming back in three days for a “procedure.”  The other was to check into UNC hospital right then and there, be induced and deliver the boys.  The “advantage” to the first option was, I would be asleep and it would be over quickly.  The “advantage” to the second option was that we would be able to hold them if we chose to.  Initially, hubby and I both expressed adamently that we did not want to hold the boys but we also did not want to leave the hospital and wait at home for three days with our dead babies.  We opted to be induced that day.

The nurse checked me in and hubby went home to get a change of clothes for me and turn the dogs over to our neighbors.  The charge nurse, Denise, put me in a back corner room that was secluded from the other mommies.  There was also a paper cut out of white dogwood flowers placed on my door so one but the doctors and nurse on duty would enter my room.  A large cart with coffee, sodas and snacks was brought up from the cafeteria.  I knew then that we were in for a long haul.  I would, in fact, labor for 36 hours.

As I sat in my room waiting for hubby to return, I thought, “Wow, I don’t feel pregnant anymore.”  I looked down at the cute coral colored zip-up hoodie and stretchy black yoga pants that hubby bought for me in Pennslyvania (I was ordered to be on 5 weeks of bed rest and hubby thought it would be nice if I had something other than jammies to wear),  I noticed my belly was not as taunt, my little bump that was sitting up under my ribs was now further down, level with my belly button.  This was really it, he really did die.

Just then, the intern who was with Dr. Hickman in the ultrasound room came in, shut the door and sat down in the chair.  She bagan talking to me about mundane little things – where was I from?  what did I do?  how did I meet my husband?  She made me feel like I was more than a patient to her – she was trying to make me feel safe and secure and that I could trust her.  I will never forget that.  I was never left alone until hubby came back.  Denise came in and said, “I will be with you as long as you are here and I am on duty.  This happened to me, I have been through this with lots of women and I will take care of you and your babies, okay?”  You have no idea what that felt like….I was so scared – this was my first pregnancy and I kept thinking, “I never got to take the birthing classes, I don’t know what to do!!”  But I didn’t want hubby to know I was scared because he LOOKED very scared.

At 5pm that night, Dr. Hickman came in and placed a tablet in my uterus to start the contractions.  A new tablet would be placed every 4 hours until I was dilated enough to have the boys.  I didn’t need to be dilated to 10 cms because Baby B was only 22 weeks.  I was also hooked up to an IV of morphine.  Apparently me and morphine don’t get along because about 5 minutes later, I was getting ready to hurl….Dr. Hickman gave me an IV drip of something to help with the nausea which had the added side effect of making me really sleepy.  I was so out of it that I barely remember the rest of that night.  I do know that the contractions started coming about 6pm and were mild but steady for the rest of the night.

Now let me say this – we made the decision not to tell anyone where we were.  We wanted this to just be me and hubby.  I often wonder if that was a mistake because hubby was left alone to deal with all the doctors and watch me sleep.  I know it was hard on him to be alone but he made the doctors drug me up so I would be out of it.  I remember waking to hear him say to a nurse, “her morphine is out, can you come here and replace it please, she can’t be in pain, I don’t want her to be in pain…” 

Day 2 of the long road to delivery tomorrow…………