The Room

November 2, 2009

It’s there.  In the house.  The room that was to be the boys’ room.  It’s filled with baby boy clothes, toys, a crib, a car seat, broken dreams, dashed hopes, lots of sadness.  I haven’t set foot in that room since we moved in.  The crib was never set up in there, the decorations never hung on the wall, the walls never painted.  I can’t even tell you what the closet looks like in there – the last time I saw it, I was pregnant and we didn’t own the house and now, I can’t really remember life before April 8th. 

I walk past the door about 14 times a day and I think, “I’m never going to get in that room.”  I lay in bed at night and I can see the door from where I lay and I think, “I’m never going to get up in the middle of the night, pad across the hall, scoop up my crying baby and rock him back to sleep.  It’s never going to happen for me.”  I lay there, not sleeping, staring at the door.

This is my life now.  Trying to live with my disappointment.  Trying to survive this loss.  I thought I was doing okay but really, these last few weeks…I’m not.  I’m not okay.  I want so badly to look at the people around me and say, “help me.  Please, help me.  I’m hurt and I can’t go to the doctor to fix it because it’s deep down inside….they won’t know what to do for me…Someone please just take me in your arms and hold me, let me cry…”  I have conversations with people about the weather, books, shopping, whatever but my eyes are searching their faces, begging, “please, ask me how I am…ask me about them…ask me if I’m okay….but only if your prepared for the answer…I can’t freely give this information if you don’t mean it when you ask the question, if you are not prepared for the answer then don’t ask…”

But I don’t.  I’m supposed to be better.  I’m supposed to be moving forward.  The people around me, they have lives, they can’t be taking care of me.  I have to take care of myself and Hubby.  I’ve always taken care of myself.  Always.  I have to be strong, I can’t fall apart again.

I want to get into that room…I want a baby to hold and cuddle and love who will live in that room but I fear that will never happen.  I want my boys and I KNOW that won’t happen.

 

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is over.  Yup.  Yesterday morning.  I was sort of surprised but not really.  The nausea went away on Saturday and my breasts stopped hurting Sunday morning .  I had one of those moments (I call them “Sidney moments” after our puppy who, upon learning something or seeing something fascinating, cocks his head to the side and perks his ears up…sort of like, “huh.  Oh.  Okay.”).  It was a Sidney moment because I sat in bed Sunday and thought, “Hubby was right, we were pregnant.”  As a result of the BT, I’m guessing the embryo grabbed on (I did have implantation spotting which is why the negative test was so confusing) and then just didn’t have the genetic material necessary to keep growing and therefore, didn’t produce enough HCG to show up on a test.  Classic BT.  Despite what the movies tell you, it is possible to be slightly pregnant.  This is my 4th or 5th time proving that fact…I’ve lost count.  How much does that suck?

But, glass half full me is also happy that I clearly ovulated and got pregnant again.  I was worried since I hadn’t been pregnant since February – the Clomid experiment produced nothing and a 42 day cycle is not normal for me.  Only time I’ve had a cycle that long was when I was pregnant.  Hubby said the same thing, he was ready to call in the RE out of fear that something as wrong.  Good to know we already know what was wrong, it’s “just” the BT. 

Also, anyone else starting to notice a pattern here?  I seem to get pregnant in the Fall.  The boys were conceived in November, 2007.  I had two confirmed pregnancies in November and December 2008 and now this one.  Maybe I’m more like a bear than a panda.  I want to eat, get fat, get pregnant and hibernate until the cub comes.  I really, really want that….Prehaps it’s my love of Halloween…I get happy with the approach of my favorite holiday and I’m sure my mood has something to do with my ability to conceive…

Whatever.  There is always next month, right?  That seems to be the story of my life…next month, and then the next month, and then the next.

And So I Wait…

September 30, 2009

I went to book club last night not realizing that one of our members, who is very pregnant would be there.  I backed out of book club at her house because I just couldn’t deal and then the next month, Hubby was out of town and I couldn’t get there and let the dogs out after work all at the same time.  Plus book club was the week before the boys due date and I just couldn’t do it.  I can only do what I can do, remember?  I have managed to avoid her until last night.  Honestly, I just simply forgot that she would be there.

So I sat at the far end of the table, in the corner, sandwiched between my people.  K on one side, H on the other, R on the other side of K.  I felt stupid that I needed to feel safe and secure – she’s a damn pregnant woman, not an axe murderer.  But I didn’t want to sit next to her and stare at her huge belly, knowing that I am still waiting for mine.  My tummy never got to be that big (despite the repeatedly nasty comments made by my mother – my tummy at 5 months was probably about the size of most women at 7 months but there were two little boys in there).  My tummy might never get to be that big.  I’m waiting for just a chance to get that big.  I feel like that’s all I do, every month…just wait.

There was the inevitable baby talk since R had her baby a month ago but for the most part, we talked about current events, things going on with everyone – particularly a legal situation with H that was, thankfully, finally resolved and hopefully, she finds some peace.

And we laughed.  A lot.  And loudly.  I needed to laugh loudly and a lot.

Cost/Benefit Analysis

September 10, 2009

Hubby and I had our weekly session with the therapist last night.  We talked about how I was done with the Clomid and Hubby voiced his concern that because I said I was done with the Clomid that I was giving up on everything all together.  Would I move on to injectables?  Would I see another RE, maybe someone over at Duke?  He was very upset with me when I said I would but I know they can’t do anything for me.  He thinks I’m being negative and giving up.  I’m not, I swear it.

There is nothing that anyone can do for my translocated chromosome that has a better chance of producing a living baby than us trying to conceive naturally.  IVF with PGD has only a 20% success rate.  We do better than that on our own.  There is egg donation but that is $17,000 and I have no idea how much insurance would cover and what if that doesn’t work?  Success rate there is like in the 30s, I think…That would mean REALLY no money for adoption because we put our whole basket in with the eggs…

That being said, I requested an appointment with Duke Fertility Clinic.  I don’t even DARE to hope that someone there would attempt to think outside the box, using that two hundred thousand dollar education to try and come up with another possible solution.  I have a feeling they are going to tell us, “you can’t change genetics.”  That is, if they are even up to speed with what RBT is…I’m tired of educating people who are supposed to be specialists in this field about what the hell is wrong with me….from now on, I direct them to my blog…I’ll go with an open mind for Hubby.

I guess what I am saying is that I’m finally resigned to sit back and just continue to do what we have been doing.  I can’t see running around trying to make something happen with all of this outside medical intervention when that’s not what got us the boys.  Me and Hubby, we made the boys.  No one else.  Just us.  I’ve accepted that no one is going to make this happen but me and Hubby.  No one has the magic pill, no one has the perfect egg, no one has a check for $15,000.  I have great friends who are supportive and understanding and I’m so grateful for them but in the end, no one is going to hand me what I want – a baby with Hubby.

But do not be mistaken, that doesn’t mean I’m giving up.  In fact, it’s the complete opposite of giving up.  I’m doing an emotional cost/benefit analysis.  I can throw my hope behind Hubby and I.  I can’t throw it behind Dr. S, UNC, Clomid, IVF, egg donation, Duke  or anyone else….I’ve got limited amounts of hope and there is just not enough to go around…

I choose me and Hubby.

Self-Conscious

September 8, 2009

I’ve never been a particularly confident person but I’ve never been this self-conscious in all my life.  I don’t know what’s going on with me but I hate the way I look – specifically, my hair, my chubby face, my thick arms and ankles.  I should be feeling better since going to bootcamp three times a week for the last 4 months.  I know that I am firmer and less flabby then before I started my work out routine.  I’ve started walking in the evenings in addition to boot camp in the morning and we have gone back to being vegetarian (Hubby had to butcher a cow and 4 deer for the tigers, he’s off meat for a while).  I should be feeling great…but I don’t.  I hate seeing picture of myself – I don’t look anything like I used to…I feel so unattractive.

In my head, I hear this running dialogue….”look at your fat arms, look at your stringy hair…no wonder you can’t stay pregnant  – you aren’t healthy and you aren’t worthy….”  I realize this is incredibly negative self-talk, I don’t need a therapist to tell me that but her attempts to help me counter this talk, they aren’t working….I don’t know what to do to make it go away.

In an effort to trying and help heal myself a little bit, I’ve decided to go back to Reiki and yoga.  I’m doing Reiki on myself and I’m going to put up a website offering my services…I know it’s not the best time to start something like this with the economy the way it is but as in previous times that I have done this, I’m willing to trade and barter services too.  I’m not in it for the cash – doing Reiki on people or animals pulls the healing energy through me and helps me too….I’m also going to try and add 2 days worth of yoga practice to my workout routine each week…I’m trying here…

I’m also not going to get a refill on the Clomid.  I gave it 3 months, it didn’t work.  I got pregnant more on my own then with the drugs.  I’m tired of headaches, bellyaches, grumpiness, and screwed up cycles…I tried it, I’m done with it.

We are still trying to figure out a way to pay for adoption.  We are waitlisted for the information session this weekend but the mere thought of the cost makes me want to throw up.  I have no idea where to get that money.  None.  No one is giving loans, no one is giving credit cards and we don’t have enough equity in our house to get a line of credit.  The thing that sucks is, if we got a loan now, we could pay it off with our tax refund next year because of the adoption credit.  If we wait another year, that credit may not be there…sigh…

I love this time of year – the beginning of September which leads to Fall and October and Halloween – which is my absolute favorite holiday.  August is over and that’s a relief and it’s too early to worry about Thanksgiving and Christmas and the inevitable depression that will come from missing the boys.  September on the beaches in North Carolina is ridiculously lovely and Hubby and I usually take advantage of the lack of tourists to head out there at least a couple of times before the warm weather is gone.  Here at home, the leaves change to amazing jewel tones that this California girl didn’t think occurred in nature.  I marvel at the fireworks show that the trees put on.  October brings Mullet Festival (the fish, not the hair) and the informal family reunion.  In years passed, I have dreaded going but this year, I’m looking forward to it.  My best friend, M, will be coming for the State Fair in mid-October and I can’t wait.  And then Halloween…my favorite…I’ve already planned costumes for us and priced new yard decorations.  The mums are in bloom already and I need to put some in the yard…Fall and mums to me is like milk and cookies.

But my heart is heavy.  I thought I would be pregnant again.  All the way pregnant – not just the slightly pregnant that my body seems to be fond of but really, truly and totally pregnant.  But not yet, not that I know of anyway….

My birthday was yesterday and I haven’t cried that much on my birthday in I don’t know how long.  I cried for the boys, I cried because of an insensitive comment said to Hubby in my presence that morning (“So Hubby, got anymore offspring?”), I cried for Craig and Mirne and baby Jet, I cried for the baby that would have been had I not miscarried in December.

In the midst of all my tears, I laughed a lot too.  I was reminded how loved I am.  I was reminded that in the midst of all the pain that I feel, people care for me, people think of me, people root for me.  I had over 60 messages on Facebook wishing me a happy birthday, numerous cards came in the mail, and I got a ton of phone calls throughout the day.  For someone feeling all alone with her grief, that’s powerfully healing. 

I think the hardest I laughed yesterday was when I got my gift from Hubby.  Hubby saw my post about wanting to learn the violin or mandolin so he found me a beautiful violin for my birthday and a woman to give me lessons at lunch.  He said that he thought I needed “a little more music in my life.”  He’s right.  I know I don’t deserve him.  He’s amazingly kind, thoughtful and caring.  I’ve never met a man like him. 

Over dinner, I said to him, “I can play the violin for our baby when he won’t stop crying.  You know?  Play him to sleep.”  That’s the first time I let myself hope for a future baby in a long time.  I surprised myself when I said it.  It’s been months since I thought of OUR baby actually happening again.

So, next birthday, I will be playing a concert (using the loose definition of “concert”) at my house.

Hopefully, our baby will be there.

As Popeye Would Say…

August 31, 2009

So I need to put this out there in the universe (who has been so gracious and kind to me these past 18 months…that’s sarcasm, just in case you were wondering…):  I can only do what I can do, you can accept that or not.

This is in response to a teeny, tiny, select group of people who seem to think that after 18 months, I should be fully capable of attending a baby shower, holding an infant or, for that matter, being in the same room with an infant.  I can’t talk about your perfect pregnancy in detail, I can’t look at ultrasound pictures.  I can ask you polite questions, I can watch your tummy get bigger, I can cheer you on when your due date arrives.  I can only do what I can do.

I need you to understand that it’s not jealousy.  I want another baby badly, I think I’ve made that clear on this blog and it’s very aggravating when people stand upwind of their husbands and get pregnant.  But I also still miss my boys.  I know you think that I should be okay after 18 months but I’m n0t.  I will be eventually but I’m not there yet.  Your ultrasound pictures? They bring up that day in the hospital when the Dr. S said, “I’m so sorry but I’m not seeing a heartbeat.”  You can’t imagine that pain and I hope you never find out.  That’s what I see when you email me your ultrasound pictures.  Your baby shower?  I can’t do it.  It’s not that I never got one.  I just can’t go and see all the tiny little outfits that my boys might have worn but now, never will.  If I hide your profile on Facebook because I can’t read any more posts about how sick/cranky/tired/whatever you are because you’re pregnant, it’s only because it would never occur to me to complain about something I loved, miss and desperately want back.  I rubbed my tummy, I sang to them, I gleefully looked forward to morning sickness because that meant I was pregnant.

I am what I am right now and I can only do what I can do. 

You can take or leave it.