Whew, I'm glad that is over

Saturday passed. In retrospect, I think the anticipation of what I would feel on Junior’s due date was much worse than how I actually felt once the day arrived.

Or maybe it was all of the kind thoughts of comfort sent my way by people who read this blog. I only cried once the whole day. Seriously. And that was when I read the lovely comments you left in response to my letter I wrote to Junior. Thank you – from the bottom of my heart – for leaving them. The kindness of those in this community never fails to inspire me.

Or maybe it was Cowboy, who while he didn’t speak about the significance of the day, knew about it and was extra sweet to me.

Or maybe it was this remedy, which my acupuncturist suggested to take the edge off. Amazing, but the gal who eschews pharmaceutical pain relief and allergy medications does not hesitate to drop some natural remedy down her gullet.

Perhaps it was the combination of the above. Whatever it was, it seemed to work in my favor.

About the letter. Many self help books on dealing with miscarriage recommend developing some sort of personal ceremony to mark the passing of the baby. Western cultures and religions, in particular, have precious little societal outlets for even addressing the subject.

I have read (mostly on these blogs) about some lovely and touching ways that people have honored a miscarried baby. And while I am not a big ceremony person, I felt like Junior deserved something more than a little notation on our calendar.

So I wrote the letter as a form of ceremony. It’s more my style anyway. I actually wrote it a while ago and it just sat waiting in my journal. Then I started this blog and noticed the immediate therapeutic effects. As the due date approached, it just seemed natural to put my letter to Junior out there as a way of being open and honest and creating some sort of simple public record of the event, which is so significant in my life at this point.

So that awful, anticipated day has come and gone. It wasn’t so bad. I wonder if the sadness and longing attached to it will fade from my memory. Will I always remember the day and wonder what might have been?

Closure (Part 1)

Dear Junior,

I knew you were coming before the test officially said so. That’s how quickly I fell in love with you.

Even though you are not with us now, please always know that we wanted you so badly. I was so thrilled and happy to be pregnant with you. We were going through some stressful times with my job but a lot of it didn’t matter because we had YOU.

I practiced yoga with you almost every morning. I used to wonder what you were thinking while I was doing a pose, "Hey, why am I upside down all of a sudden? Moooomm! I was sleeping because I need energy so I can grow arms this week!" I told you that all of this yoga now would make you a Buddha baby and a good athlete some day.

My favorite part of yoga with you was savasana at the end of practice. I would lie on my back on the mat and while I was supposed to be meditating I would talk to you instead. I’d tell you about all the fun adventures you would have. How we’d go skiing with your cousins who live in New Zealand and beach combing with your cousins who live in Mexico. In savasana pose, we are suppose to keep our hands on the mat, palms up as we lay flat on the floor. But I would place mine on my tummy, like I was holding you. I felt very close to you during those times.

You were the first thing I thought about when I woke up in the morning. And the last thing I thought about when I went to bed at night.

I was pretty sure that you were a boy. It was too early to know for sure, but I just knew. We talked about naming you Huck. Not sure how you’d feel about that when you were 35. But we thought it would fit the personality we imagined you might have. Huck Johnson. A good guy’s name.

I got to see your very early heartbeat. I’ll never forget seeing your picture on the screen. It reminded me of the tiny little butterflies that flock to Mt. Hood in late spring. Your dad called from his office and asked how you were doing. "Fighting like a champ," I told him. Your heartbeat was a bit slower than we all would have liked but you and I were doing our best to give it a go. To this day, I wish I would have asked your dad to come with me to the doctor’s. He would have been so proud to see your little heart beating.

The next day took you away from us. Before that day, I honestly believed you would make it. And was in denial that you hadn’t. I admit that I tried to rush past feeling sad for you. But the harder I tried to rush, the sadder I felt.

You gave me the gifts of peace and confidence. I am grateful for those gifts but ashamed that I have not let them shine recently. But I promise I will make them shine within me – in your honor.

I think about you every day. I miss you more than you will ever know.

With love,

Mom

Bring it On

Today I went to acupuncture as part of my official member of the pincushion club duties. I HAD to go to acupuncture. The qi stagnating all over my body was seriously bumming me out. This week has been a slog.

I explained the significance of this week, of tomorrow, to my acupuncturist. She understood immediately.

She worked points along the heart meridian. Acupuncture has never hurt me but this time, when she put the pins into new regions along my arm, pain enveloped the points and I yelped when she tweaked the needles.

“Your heart is very sensitive today”

Umm. Yeah. My heart is sensitive because it is breaking all over again. I swear I can almost feel the weight of the baby that is supposed to be in my arms tomorrow.

Seconds after she positioned the needles and the pain subsided, tears sprang from both sides of my eyes and ran down my temples into my ears. She said this was a common reaction.

Lying there on the table, alone, I felt wave after wave of sadness. The tears flowed uncontrollably. My nose stopped up. I tried to remember my new mantra, “my body can do this” but all I could think of was “Lord Have Mercy.”

For years, I used to recite this phrase faithfully every Saturday evening at mass. I didn’t realize the significance of those three simple words until recently.

Let us pray for those afflicted by war. May they live in peace soon.

Lord Have Mercy.

Let us pray for the sick, that they may be healed quickly.

Lord Have Mercy

Let us pray for those that are suffering…

Those three words kept running through my head. I clung to them there on the table, lying motionless with needles in my arms, legs and chest.

I took in a deep breath and felt – scout’s honor, I swear – a quick, almost electric, jolt roll over my heart. It wasn’t painful, just really intense.

And then the tears stopped flowing - almost abruptly. And I started to feel just a little at peace. And I was calm.

I’ve remained calm and centered for the rest of today (so far).

Who would’ve guessed that 18 years of Catholicism (which I don’t practice anymore) and a session of Traditional Chinese Medicine would help start the healing process over tomorrow. Not I.

It’s amazing what can happen when cultures diverge and share.

That being said, I’m still sad I am not pregnant. I so thought I would be by the time this date rolled around. But I am trying valiantly to get over it.

Bring on tomorrow.

Father's Day

Yesterday Gus gave Cowboy a father’s day card. This has become a bit of tradition in our house. Gus came with me into the Cowboy + Ms. Planner relationship. But we quickly assumed the roles of “Fun Guy” and “The Mean Lady,” as I became the dispenser of medication, baths and vet visits while Cowboy hosted trips in his truck to cool places, like the hardware store.

Our first summer of dating, Cowboy graduated and took a 6-week motorcycle trip around the Western U.S. This was before the days of blackberries, text messaging and wi-fi, so I gave him a stack of good old fashioned letters with instructions to open one every week. The stack included a father’s day card from Gus, which Cowboy said later was his second-favorite letter of the batch (the first being the porn letter for week #3 into the trip).

A tradition was born. The father’s day card. Not the porn letter. Although, am thinking I should bring that one back for the upcoming summer of DIY cycles.

So Gus “signed” his name on this year’s card, which is an amazing feat considering his lack of opposable thumbs. And I added at the last minute, “Baker, Junior and the second one, too.” Baker is our chocolate lab who we adopted and then had to put to sleep three years ago. Junior and The Second One, well, those are our human children.

I debated adding that line to the card, but I just felt like we should honor their short existence in our lives a little bit more. Of course, I bawled when Cowboy opened the card. But it was a weird cry, filled with a mixture of sadness and, oddly, a bit of relief. Cowboy reassured me not to be sad. We both love each of those kids, opposable thumbs or not and with us physically or not, with all of our hearts. It was comforting to think about. And to hear from him.

This coming Saturday is Junior’s due date. I have been dreading this day since last November. I can feel the physical presence of its coming like weight around my shoulders. I am tired. My head hurts. I feel heavy and sluggish. I cry when I think about it.

I just want to get it over with. But, somehow, seem to know that I just have to "be" for a moment in this grief. It's not making it any easier but I hope to encounter a lighter sense of being when this auspicous milestone has passed.

8 Random Things About Me

Way back in the day, the wonderfully eloquent Sticky Bun asked me to write 8 things about myself. My apologies to Mrs. Sticky for taking so darn long to get around to posting it. By the way, check out the recent news on her blog about inflatable storks. Hilarious.

Since nothing is going on - I am not pregnant and am just waiting around for AF's arrival after stopping progesterone - it is time to post my 8 things. By the way, did anyone else have to wait, like, for-ev-ah, before AF came after a cycle replete with Clomid and progesterone? This is crazy. I'm on CD30. I never make it to 30. Thank goodness I took the beta because I would have spent a small fortune on HPTs by now.

So to amuse myself while I wait. Below are 8 Random Things About Me:

#1. I have a specific way that I fold towels (in thirds). I will completely unfold and re-fold a stack of towels if my husband folds them differently. I seriously can’t stand it when towels in my house are not folded correctly. So much so that I took out all the towel bars out of our bathrooms and put in hooks instead. This way, I feel way less OCD about my towels.

#2. I am a sucker for jackets that have three-quarter length sleeves.

#3. I don’t care what they’re doing in Hollywood, I am completely old school when it comes to rules about fashion. As an example, I cannot wear white pants before Memorial Day or after Labor Day. I cannot wear open-toe shoes before the first official day of spring. (Not that this matters in the PNW because it is rainy and cold until the first official day of summer). My boots get packed away after Easter and don’t see the light of day until the first official day of fall. Patent leather is for summer and the winter holidays. Only.

#4. I use to suck my thumb at night until I was in the third grade. I don’t know why I had this habit so long or what made me quit. Once, when I was an adult and was really sad, I tried to give it a go again to see if it would soothe me, but it just felt really, really bizarre (I think I was drunk when I attempted this). Go figure, but I never had to have braces because of all that thumb sucking.

#5. I have a photographic memory. Unfortunately it doesn’t work 100% of the time. But I can often close my eyes and exactly see words, charts, etc., from an actual document or spreadsheet I have reviewed. This skill SAVED MY ASS in business school.

#6. I still have a crush on Simon LeBon from Duran Duran. I know, suuuper lame. Once, about 20 years past the purchase of my first Duran Duran cassette tape and when I was happily living in sin with Cowboy, I saw a VH-1 special on Duran Duran. They interviewed Simon’s now wife – some beautiful gorgeous model – and I was seriously jealous of her because she was married to him. I think this is oddly funny because I never was nor am I attracted to men who look like Mr. LeBon in real life. But, c'mon, a guy barefoot in a suit on a sailboat...how can you resist?

#7. I have a very dirty sense of humor and can curse like a sailor when the situation calls for it. Some of my favorites include "c*cks*cker" and "rat f*ck." I work with mostly guys in my line of business and they’ve referred to me as the "walking HR infraction" on a couple of occasions. Not that this matters where I work. At my first sales meeting, my company hosted a big to-do for a guy who was leaving the company that included a video featuring several clips of pole dancers from the "She’s My Cherry Pie" video. All of the guys (seriously a room full of guys) stood up and cheered when it came on.

#8. I do not drink soda pop. Even when I was little and having a Coke was a big treat, I never cared for the stuff. The closest I come to imbibing soda is mixing Maker’s Mark with ginger ale. Since I can count on one hand the number of times I have had hard alcohol in the past year, my soda intake is pretty much nil.

# # #

OK, so probably everyone in blog land has already done this because I waited so long to turn in my assignment. However, my nominees to share a list of 8 Random Things About Myself are:

Von @ Murphy is a Bastard - when you return from your holiday.
Megan @ Exile in Kidville - only when you feel like you are up to it, k?
Caro @ Third Time Lucky - when your in-laws leave.
Anns @ A Brief History of You - while you are waiting for your RPL tests to come in.

Apologies if you've already done this. You don't have to do it again. But I will be checking up on you! ; )

On Being Angry

Around this time in my cycle, when I am anticipating AF’s arrival, I often experience the emotion of anger.

My anger’s easy targets: me and Cowboy. The subject: being angry that we waited for so long to have children.

You will note on the right hand side of this blog that Cowboy and I met in 2000, did not get married until 5 years later and then, because that wasn’t loooong enough, took another year before I convinced him that it was time. Six years. Sheesh.

To be fair, the first two years of our relationship we were in graduate school and then lived long distance. When we finally ended up in the same city, we shacked up in a small walk-up. Saved to buy a house and paid back student loans with a vengeance.

We luckily bought a place right before the housing boom and continued to pay off our student loans.

For some reason (see earlier post about being raised Catholic in the South), it was important for me to be married before I started a family. So we had a serious talk about getting married and my plan (ha!) to start having children before I turned 35. There were lots of tears – mine. And rationalizations – his.

It went something like this:

ME: But it gets harder to have a baby after you are 35.

COWBOY: But we just bought this house and can’t pay our mortgage, our student loans and our bills on one salary*.

ME: But I really want this in my life.

COWBOY: Who says you can’t have that after we take care of some of our responsibilities.

ME: (Sigh). I guess you are right.

So that was the plan: pay down our grad school debt, manage our mortgage and get secure first.

I went along with it. Willingly.

And you know what? I did not regret it. We traveled. Took ski trips. I bought 3-figure pairs of jeans without blinking. My career propelled forward. I traveled internationally for business often and worked on some stimulating projects. We paid our student loans back in full. Early.

No, I did not regret one bit of it.

Until now.

Actually, I don’t regret all of it. While I would gladly give back every pair of Sevens, the ski trips and other things if I could trade them for a baby, I do not regret that we took care of our obligations. I do not regret that we got secure in our finances. This will come in handy when we have to pay for IVF or adoption. I do not regret the career opportunities I had.

But every month around this time, I can’t help but think we shouldn’t have waited.

Who knows. We could have tried back then and still had miscarriages. We could still be trying.

Or we could have succeeded and one of us would have been at home raising a toddler wondering what might have been. The one whose job took a backseat for the sake of the family might have been frustrated that they haven’t yet seen their post-grad career take flight. Maybe that person would have been me.

Maybe the financial pressures would have split us apart. (Shudder).

And since I couldn’t accept any of those worst case scenarios, I wholeheartedly agreed to wait.

Sometimes, when I get like this, I just want an apology from Cowboy. “I’m sorry I made us wait and now it is so hard for us.”

But Cowboy is not sorry. And won’t apologize for doing the “right” thing financially. He’s just not there. Nor do I expect him to be.

So I try to find comfort that we avoided the worst-case maybes listed above. And I try to reason that we did the right thing for us.

I try to rationalize that maybe this anger is just a few ticks away on the dial from another familiar emotion: sadness.

Perhaps I’m just tired about the sadness and need a new emotion to preoccupy the day. And since everything else feels fake, anger it is.

Whatever it is, I just need to let it go.

What's done is done and can't be undone.

I’m glad I wrote this post and got it out of my head. I am starting to feel better already.

* Note: For various reasons, Cowboy and I decided long ago that if we had children, one person would have their career take a backseat so at least one of us could spend a lot more time with the youngster(s) in the formative years. Since I always wanted the experience of being full-time mommy, I naturally thought this would be me. That being said, Cowboy (despite his nickname) is not one of those the-woman-stays-home kind of guys. He would be perfectly happy staying at home with our child, provided he could take the kid to Snow Monsters day care during winter and that the car seat fit in the boat during summer. Boys.

Negative

It's official. I am not pg.

Damn (again).

I am normal. Damn.

Well, normal when it comes to my reproductive capacity.

Just to recap, after m/c #2 we conducted the following 3 of 4 tests typically given as part of Recurrent Miscarriage Panel:

(1) HSG – to check for abnormalities in the female reproductive organs.
(2) Clomid Challenge Test – to check ovarian reserve
(3) Immunulogical Work-up (on me) – to check for about 12 disorders that are believe to contribute to miscarriage.

I checked out normal on all of them.

Diagnosis: a case of bad luck.

Fuck.

On one hand, I am grateful and relieved that there is nothing wrong. On the other, it is just so frustrating that there is nothing, absolutely nothing I can do or not do that will prevent another miscarriage. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK.

Talk to women who have suffered miscarriages and they’ll tell you that they rack their brains to come up with a reason why it happened. Was it that long run? Maybe I caused the miscarriage because I wasn’t sure we could manage another baby? Maybe I worked too many hours?

If you can pinpoint a reason for your loss, you rationalize that you can control it in future pregnancies.

But in most cases – and it seems, in mine – it is just a matter of letting go and embracing that a lot of the whole thing with miscarriage is chance. It is weird to think that women who have something diagnosed are the lucky ones. They can manage the issue. The rest of us just have to hope and pray that one good egg meets one good sperm and everything goes okay. While I am becoming used to this sort of acceptance of fate and timing, I still have trouble fully embracing it. But I guess I have to start.

So, here’s the plan:

DIY cycles through September. If I am not pregnant by September, Dr. Stretch wants us to come back in and talk about next steps.

Use OPKs each month (as if) and start a regimen of twice daily prometrium 200 mg two days after ovulation. After reviewing blood work from both pregnancies and my BBT charts, Dr. Stretch thinks I may have a progesterone deficiency. He suspects that the first pregnancy may have been complicated by low progesterone. The second one looks like a classic abnormal chromosome issue based on the timing and how quickly the beta dropped.

I asked about using Clomid in the front half of my cycle to boost the progesterone in the back half. Dr. Stretch noted that the complementary relationship between Clomid and progesterone is not always the case and that Clomid can be a detriment in DIY cycles when you are relying on optimal cervical fluid to make things happen.

If I get pregnant and miscarry again, we will have the his-&-hers DNA karotype tests done.

So that’s the plan.

Oh and he also wanted me to take a beta since I was at CD 26.

Yeah so I took a freakin’ official doctor pregnancy test yesterday. Wasn’t expecting that one. But it did save me from buying some HPTs. Screw you, Blue Cross Blue Shield.

It was too late in the afternoon to get the results back so I’ll hear today.

I really don’t think I am pregnant since I don’t have any symptoms except really high temperatures, which – I think – are directly correlated to my Prometrium use. Does anyone have experience with seeing higher temps in the back half of your cycle while using progesterone? I was nauseous last night. But I think that was just nerves.

I have tried to prepare myself for the following in advance of this afternoon's phone call:

(a) I am not pregnant. Even though I think I am not, hearing someone confirming it or having one line stare back at you always brings on a bout of disappointment.

(b) I am pregnant, but the beta is low and the pregnancy is not viable. I try not to dwell on this too much but wanted to plan for this scenario.

(c) I am…okay let’s not even go there.

So, that’s my day. What are you up to?

That and I have an interview for a new job. Perfect timing.

Our trip home to Texas was really great. My parents are so terrific. I will write about it later this week, as I wanted to get the RE stuff out of the way.

Happy Birthday to TTC

Today is the anniversary of the first time we had timed s3x in order to get pregnant.

I was a complete rookie back then. I hadn’t used an OPK. I still had faith and hope that this whole process would work out. We didn’t even technically time it correctly, since we only did it once during the "good" time. Hey, I was raised Catholic in the South. I had been told for as long as I remember that once was all it took and still kind of believed it.

I was cleaning out my desk the other day and I found a picture taken of me a work event last spring when I had just starting filling out my first BBT chart (cycle #1!).

It was a gorgeous day in Central Park. The company I work for was sponsoring a festival with the NYC Department of Parks. We were at a cocktail reception on the roof of the historic parks building. Tops of trees framed the building skyline that rings the park. My head is thrown back, hair shining in the sunset. This is starting to sound like some soft core porn. I am holding a glass of wine. I am laughing. My mouth is open and curved in a smile. I am so confident and happy.

I want her back.

I suppose I just need to work harder at getting her back. The meditating and breathing exercises seem to help. The yoga helps. Keeping my diet as clean as possible helps.

But I just can’t seem to shake the disappointment that we’ve been at this a year and have gotten nowhere.

Maybe I’ve just unwittingly convinced myself that the happy person I once was will not return until I have a baby. I hate that I have let this be the case. But, again, can’t seem to shake it.

Anyway, Miss Hope, I know that I’ve called you bad things. I'm sorry and I promise not to do so again if you come back around. Just for a little while. Please?

* * *

Quick RE update:

I started on 50mg Prometrium for my progesterone levels. Did anyone else notice big temperature jumps on their BBT charts (I know, I’m still charting – lame!) whilst on Prometrium? I’m in record-high territory on my temps. I don’t have any other side effects. Knock on wood.

I am going home to Texas for a few days and am not sure if I'll have time to post, but will catch up when I return.

Our RE meeting to go over all of the tests is next Tuesday.

It's My Party and I'll Cry if I Want To

So the baby shower went well. The other friend and I who were co-hosting had a fabulous time on Saturday prepping for the fete. We chatted, chopped, mixed, blanched, baked and organized all morning. It was wonderful to hang out with her and put me in a good mood for most of Saturday. We planned an excellent menu and the house looked lovely. I took a deep breath. I could do this.

On Saturday night Cowboy and I went to a charity auction/dinner. No biggie. It was fine until two of the couples at our table began conversations about the wonderful sweetness of their toddler children. After about 15 minutes of guess-what-cute-thing-so-and-so-did-the-other-day, I began to feel really left out. Thing is, one of the women in that conversation just started her meds for IVF! Her first child was conceived via IVF, too. And she knows my situation. I was expecting her to be a tad more sensitive. Ya think? I made a vow that I would never do the brag thing in mixed company if God would please just give me a baby. My mood was getting bluer by the second.

Sunday – shower day – I was busy getting the final details ready for the brunch. I had planned out a play-by-play of the morning (go freakin’ figure) so I went on autopilot, emotionally & physically. Come to think of it, I was on autopilot for most of the shower. I smiled, made conversation, retrieved mimosas for guests, did my obligatory pass the baby hold – all with no problem. I felt like I had my entire being bound up tightly in a corset and a smile plastered on my face. I have never worn a corset, or even spanx, but I imagine that is what it would feel like.

I didn’t loosen the corset until a few hours after the shower. And then I blew my entire TCM diet on my own pity party. I ate nearly every leftover from the refrigerator. Yep, straight from the cold refrigerator: blanched vegetables with yogurt & feta dip, lemon cheesecake squares (more dairy), berries and homemade whipping cream (even more dairy). All cold. I felt like a pig but I couldn’t stop grazing. The entire afternoon and evening. I should have done a little yoga or gone for a light jog. But I completely blew it.

The tears started about 6 PM when (oh so sensitive) Cowboy asked me if we were still going camping with my pregnant-with-twins-on-my-due-date friend and her husband at the end of June. I know he was just being Cowboy, planning the next thing. But I’m just tired of all of this right now.

How empty do I have the feel before I can start to become full again?

Thing is, I am in holding pattern. We don’t have our meeting with the RE to get results (if any) until June 12. I am 4 dpo into my 2WW. Maybe I’m pregnant and a camping trip with pregnant-with-twins will be OK. Will I be beyond sad when AF comes? Will I start crying on the camping trip? Will it be a complete slog? Am I just over analyzing it? Do I just go on it and don’t think about it. If it sucks, oh well. You’ll live. Or do I just succumb to living 2WW to 2WW?

Argh! I hate this. It is so frustrating. I wish someone would invent a pregnancy test that tells you right away.

By the way, did anyone have more pronounced 2WW "symptoms" after a round of Clomid? I swear, I feel more emotional every day. And we are talking only 4dpo here, people. Help us all. And my nipples. Ouch. Good lord. This is gonna be one long ass 2ww.