Home Again

I’ve been home for a week and couldn’t decide what I wanted to say on my blog so I said nothing at all. I’m sorry, that isn’t very good blogger etiquette.

The trip. What to say about the trip? It was lovely. And just a little insane (bad laundry experience and a transit strike will do that). And I really hope it wasn’t a once in a lifetime thing. There were still so many incredible things left to see and do and taste that I can’t bear the thought that we’ll never go back.

I came home sad, as I posted in the Lushary on Monday. A little sad that the vacation was over, but more sad that I had to come back to my life. The life where I miscarried in September. The life where we’ve been trying for so damn long to have a baby. The life where my SIL is due with her oh so precious girl (after two boys) in a matter of weeks. My imperfect, slightly depressing life. A life without the promise of a much needed vacation. Our trip has been my distraction and motivation since February. It’s what I spent most of my day dreamy hours on. What now?

Anyway, the trip itself was lovely (did I already say that?) and a little bittersweet (which I’ll explain later). I have pictures to share and I know you all will forgive anything if I share pictures, right? Keep in mind when viewing that these pages were created to share the trip with our families, including DH’s family who live several hundred miles away and are two things – serious travelers and serious picture people. They have taken at least 6 trips to Europe in the 6 years we’ve been together and have the piles of photos to prove it. It was my way of being one of them.

The photos don’t quite do it all justice. We laughed a lot and smooched a lot and really enjoyed the adventure of being together in someplace different. We’re big Amazing Race fans, and have been watching it in reruns for months. We took turns narrating the trip as if we were Phil, as in “In this leg of the race, teams must exit the airport and find their way to the destination using only public transportation. Who will reach their destination first?” and a lot of “In this detour, teams must choose between two similar tasks – taking the bus or the metro to get to the Louvre.” Every time something would get a little boring or tense (such as when we were a little lost on occasion), one of us would break out the words of Phil and we’d both be cracking up.

On our last night in Paris, we celebrated our fourth wedding anniversary with a fancy dinner a few blocks from our hotel. I can’t believe four years have passed since we stood in front of all of our friends and family and tearfully pledged to spend our lives together, good or bad. Whenever I think about it now, I think about how innocent and naïve we were then. On that day we dreamed of the children who would someday come. We’d already chosen their names and often referred to them as our pretend children, Grace and Charlie. So much of what we chose to do that day revolved around the stories we wanted to tell them someday.

It’s so darn hard to watch each year pass and not know when we’ll get to meet them. We’ve been waiting all this time to be the people we thought we’d become – parents.

When we got married we agreed to wait to TTC for a year to give ourselves time to get settled before starting a family. The year passed and we were conflicted about TTC or traveling a bit. I decided the only place that I’d want to see first was Paris. As the discussion evolved, I decided that having children was more important to me than traveling the world so we started TTC as planned that winter. Years of anguish followed. Last winter I decided I’d temporarily had enough of the darkness and we took a break. The break led to a vacation, which led us to Paris. Going there was my consolation prize. Some moments were tough to enjoy knowing that if things had just gone another way, I’d be at home with my kids.

Being home means I have to decide what to do next. How long do we try on our own before going back to the RE? Now that our insurance has changed, which RE? And how much testing do we do, knowing that there is a lifetime cap of $5K staring us in the face? How am I going to cope when the new niece arrives in a few weeks? How am I going to get through the holidays, including hosting Christmas?

Fun and games as my grandmother would say.

On our way

I'm all packed up and ready to go. I've never needed a vacation more.
And I'm thrilled that I'll be sharing my first trip abroad with my dear
sweet hubby. The last few weeks have certainly sucked,* the last few
days have been surprisingly happy as we made our final preparations and
day dreamed about all we will see and do.

I'm really hopeful that my grandmother's intuition is right and that we
are pregnant again in three months. I mean come on, I'm going on
vacation, doesn't that mean I'll get pregnant? Isn't that how the
story goes?

If we can get our old laptop to do wifi in Paris, I'll post. If not,
I'll share all the details when I return.

*even after a month of bleeding, I still got a heavy period when I hit
0 last weekend.

Not Zero

Yesterday's beta was 16. Which means I'm still a little pregnant. If this pregnancy had been viable, I would be 9w2d right now. Instead I will have spent the entire month of September miscarrying.

I want a do-over.

She’s not evil

I read through the comments to my last post and I feel a little guilty. My SIL is not evil. She’s not heartless. In fact, I am deeply grateful for her. She saved my brother from a really bad relationship, and gave him back to us. She convinced him to have children when he thought he wanted none. And their two boys light up our lives, and the lives of my parents.

The issue really is that their lives took one path while ours took another. While they struggled some to conceive their first, the second and now third were conceived without any planning whatsoever. And it has been a struggle for them to manage the expense of two children under two, much less three under three. I know it hasn’t been easy and I wish it were. But their children are gorgeous and healthy and smart and loving so it is hard to have sympathy for them.

We have had a set back for each of their steps forward. Every day that passes, the chasm between us grows. They try to bridge the gap. I know they do. And we try too. But their source of joy adds a little lemon in our wounds, and our wounds spoil a little of their sweetness. It’s a two way street and they’ve tried to let me take the lead. They learned not to share details of the pregnancy unless I ask. They curtail conversations about decorating and birth plans when I’m around. And it appears they kept all talk of this last minute shower to themselves until it was time to send the invitations. They did what they thought was best given what they knew of me, which includes the knowledge that I hate being left out of family things. They weighed whether I would be more hurt to get an invite to a shower for a baby I know is coming, or to learn of a family get together weeks after the fact. I think they made the right choice, I just really wish the news had been delivered differently.

In all honesty, if I hadn't gotten pregnant last month, I would probably have enjoyed the shower. And I certianly would have loved it if I were still pregnant. I already had plans to make little tiny pink things with lady bugs for the new arrival. The pile of material and buttons just sits there though, waiting for me to get over my grief enough to touch it without tears.

baby shower invitation

I started and didn’t finish a post last week about the tidal wave of grief that swept over me last weekend. I wrote a lot about the tears that wouldn’t stop. But I couldn’t get the words right so I set it aside.

I’ll have to write about it some other time because I must must must get out the crap that happened today. I had a great day at work. I got a lot done and stayed really busy (which is unusual for me at this time of year). I felt productive and excited about work. I got home and was exited to spend the evening with my mom sewing my clothes for Paris. Good things all around considering how weepy I was last week.

And then my husband innocently mentioned that I got a baby shower invite in the mail today for my SIL. I stewed over it for a few minutes before going to look at it. I decided that before I got really mad at her for sending me a shower invite for her third kid when she knows I’m still miscarrying, that I should make sure it wasn’t sent by her clueless mother. One look and I was full of rage. It was in her handwriting. And the invite was all about celebrating her soon to arrive baby girl. The party is taking place while we will be in Paris.

What kind of motherfucking jackass sends a shower invite with no warning to someone who has just had an absolutely heartbreaking miscarriage? Who does that?

Our struggle is not a secret from anyone. I shared because I wanted their support. I thought honesty would keep people from unintentionally doing or saying something hurtful. It has, on the whole, been the right thing for us. But it also means that when someone does something hurtful, my hurt is deeper because I sense that they hurt me on purpose. That they knew I would feel badly and they did it anyway.

And that is exactly how I felt when I saw the invitation in her handwriting.

They know every single detail of what has happened to us. Their family building has made my infertility more painful than it otherwise would have been and they know it. They found out they were pg with #2 the week we started infertility treatment. They were open with us about their surprise and angst (they had a 6 month old when they got pg and were already four months along when they found out). She gave birth to him 5 weeks after I had my first miscarriage. The day she gave birth was one of the worst days of my life. I contemplated ending my life that day and in the days after that. I thought I was losing my mind. It took me a year of individual and group therapy, plus a mind body class, to get myself on level ground again.

When my brother told my husband while I was out of town on a business trip this spring that they were pregnant again, I refused to speak to him for 6 weeks. I could not think of anything to say to him that was didn’t include at least a dozen f-words and I decided at the time that just wasn’t worth doing.

Tonight I finally found the words. I could not let them have that control over me. I would have festered in my hurt and anger for weeks. I might never have forgiven them for being so thoughtless. I couldn’t let them ruin my once in a lifetime trip in two weeks. So I called. I told them I got the invite and that I was hurt. I cried for all the hurt that has been bottled up for months. I begged for more care and understanding. All I want is for my brother to call me and tell me things like this himself. Don’t pass it on to my husband. Don’t send it to me in the mail. Pick up the god damned phone (after work please) and tell me yourself. And say it with kindness. And compassion. And love. And know that I love you back but that I’m in a pit of despair right now and might not do well in showing it.

It felt good. He was surprisingly open to listening to me. He apologized for unintentionally hurting me. He never would have guessed what I wanted him to do if I hadn’t told him. I feel closer to him now than I did before and feel like I got reassurance about how much I mean to him and how much he cares about me. Even if I had to beg for it.

I'm thankful the shower is on a day when I absolutely can not attend. It saves me from a lot of agnst about whether or not I should attend. I can't go and I don't have to feel guilty about it.

Tomorrow should be my final beta for the pregnancy. Last week's number was 45 (finally below 50 was considered good news) so I'm hopeful I will be below five and officially no longer pregnant. I am praying that my cycle is kind and goes back to normal quickly. I just want to feel human again.

The miscarriage that would.not.end.

So last time I posted, I just received the shots of methotrexate to end the pregnancy that would not quit. Everything seemed fine over the weekend – suspiciously fine. No cramping, no bleeding. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Until yesterday. I was in a meeting at work when I started to feel faint and thought I might throw up. I freaked out and had a coworker take me to the ER at the big/local/teaching hospital (otherwise known as BLT). DH met me there and we wiled away the evening explaining my sorry state to a million new people. The end result was that the numbers still hadn't fallen and there were "products of conception" in my uterus and they needed to come out.

I was told to stop eating at midnight last night to prep for a possible D&C today. The doc on call (who was fantastic that DH and I both want her to be our best friend. She is going to be known as Dr.Fantastic) today decided to do another ultrasound instead of scheduling the D&C. The u/s showed the same thing as yesterday's -- stuff in my uterus. Dr.Fantastic decided to wait until we have the results of Thursday's previously scheduled beta before proceeding.

So I am still pregnant. I never thought I'd be in a position to wish for the end of a pregnancy given how long it took us to get here and how much we wanted, and still want, a child. But man, I am so totally over this.

To distract myself, I have been sewing tops. I started the pink floral one the night before we found out I was pregnant. I finished it the weekend I had bleeding I thought would be the end of this pregnancy. I started the yellow and white one last Friday and finished on Saturday. I’ve almost finished with another one already – a white t-shirt. I have at least a half dozen more things to make before our trip to Paris in 24 days.

I feel like a fraud for being so excited about our trip while I’m still in the process of miscarrying. How can any sane person who has longed for a child as long as we have find joy in anything when they are in the process of losing a pregnancy? Does that invalidate my stirrup queens membership card?

both cheeks

I finally got the methotrexate shots (yes shots) this afternoon. The beta on Tuesday was deemed inconclusive by new doogy doc (he looks maybe 20 and he wears an old sweatshirt over scrubs) so he wanted to wait until today and repeat the beta before deciding. Today's number was 74. Up. Again. We decided the shot was the best course of action.

I went in and got a shot in each butt cheek this afternoon. Plus a bonus lecture that if I wanted to continue to TTC I should really consider an HSG because at this point we just can't be sure of the status of my tubes. Seriously, some dumb fuck OB just told me today, AFTER hearing my whole sob story on TUESDAY about almost three years of IF including one whole year of treatment, that I should consider an HSG*. This leads me to believe one of three things, none of which is good in a doctor -- either he doesn't listen, or he has no memory, or he is just a complete motherfucker who thinks this whole thing is amusing. None of which I like. I won't be going back to him.

Oh and the best part was he couldn't remember the testing protocol post shot -- thank god I have google!

The shot itself was strange -- it burned going in and for hours afterward. I felt a little woozy almost immediately and it lasted (almost like a hangover or something) into the evening. I hope this is all over soon...

* I told him Tuesday that my tubes were suspect. That the HSG was crazy painful, but that the fluid spilled, though unevenly. I told him that another doc had reviewed the films and thought the tubal openings were so small as to possibly indicate some tubal disease leading to impairment of fertility. He said then that doc was micro managing (as if that is a bad thing) and that if they are open they are open. Which of course he totally contradicted today.