respite

Everyone in the middle of an ectopic pregnancy nightmare should be plopped down in the middle of the Caribbean for three days.  It was so wonderful.  Sun.  Warmth.  Palm trees.  Ocean.  I never wanted to leave.  I had to work on Friday, but S. and I had all day Thursday and Saturday to enjoy ourselves and our surroundings.  At times, it felt like the miscarriage was so far away, I almost forgot it had happened.  Now that I’m back, the tears are always there, just beneath the surface.  As the physical part of the loss begins to finally be over, I now understand what some women meant when they told me that it was only then that the true grieving began.  It is going to be a long winter.

But for now, I like to sit and remember the warmth and the sun from last week.

 

 

 

 

shattered

I had intended to write a happy picture-full post about my amazing three days away.

But, since we’ve been back, the sad is hitting Big Time.  Today as darkness started to fall in my neighborhood and I returned from work, I was walking the dog quickly before all light was lost and leaving my friend a voicemail to wish her a happy birthday and that’s when it hit me.  Today is the two-year anniversary of our trying to conceive.  I walked the rest of the way with tears streaming down my face.

When I got home, my best friend called to tell me she is pregnant with her second child.  Her first was 8 weeks old on November 16, 2007.  She was so so so sympathetic, telling me over and over again how sorry she was to be causing me more pain and how much she knew this would hurt to hear.  It was nice.  But still.

My beta today is 234.  It only went down 70 points in 6 days.  I expect it will take another 3-4 weeks to finally hit zero.  I am still chemically pregnant.  Although I’m not 8w1d, like I should be.  I’m just in some sort of unpregnant limbo.  Where I’ve been for three weeks now.

Christmas is coming and I can’t imagine how we will get through it, surrounded by 4 kids under the age of 6 and the thought that we won’t be 14 weeks pregnant and sharing the happy news with S’s family.

The world is one big giant ball of unfair right now and I hurt so much I can’t see straight.  And now all you can do is comment and tell me how sorry you are and how much it sucks and as much as I need that support, I’m sick of hearing it.  I’m sick of needing it.  I’m sick of getting hit while I’m down and it never, ever being my turn.

How many times can I break til I shatter?

I expected to be done

I expected to be done with the 24-hour self-pity fest that I’ve been sporting and that is oh-so-attractive by today.  But then again, I also expected that my numbers would be falling fast enough to avoid round 3 of the cancer-chemotherapy-killyourembryo drugs.  But no.  More shots.  More needles.  More hours waiting in labs and waiting rooms.  I think if I count back to the lupron, this pregnancy/ectopic/miscarriage thing has included upwards of 80 needles sticks by now.

Anyways, the good news is that the cells don’t seem to be killing me or my fallopian tubes and the doctor has reluctantly agreed that I can get on a plane tomorrow for my work/fun-in-the-sun trip.  Although I am to avoid prolonged sun exposure and all alcohol.  But, nonetheless, S. and I get to drag ourselves and our sorry asses to the Caribbean** tomorrow afternoon where, in exchange for 4 hours of work on Friday, we get three days to play and have fun.  And given that hell we’ve been through, we’re gonna need it.

See you next week.

 

**This is a complete anomaly.  Usually our work travels take us to exotic and exciting destinations such as Talahassee, Florida and Kansas City, Missouri.  Beachy and conferences don’t usually go together, at least in our fields.

in the muck heap

Thank you for all your righteous anger and indignation on my and S’s behalf.  Sometimes one of us will start to wonder if this is really that bad.  Then we read your comments and remember to feel entitled to our anger and our sadness.

So far, S. and I have been able to do an amazing job of supporting each other through this, and for that I am so thankful.  One of us will meltdown and sob and the other will rally to comfort.  Then we’ll switch.  Sometimes with only a few minutes between breakdown the first and breakdown the second.  But we’re muddling through.

We are in a whole new phase of waiting right now.  At the moment, all we can do is just get through this.  Whatever this is.  And wait for it to be over.  Which could be in a week or could take several more.

Once that is done, then we can start to grieve and to heal.  We both want to do something to honor the cells (like, I don’t know, give them a name or something) but I can’t think about it without tearing up (just happened now while I typed)  and you can’t really start to grieve something before it is completely gone.  Given that any pee stick near my urine would produce a positive result at the moment, grieving and moving on are still galaxies away.

Once that process begins, THEN we can start to think about what the eff we do next.  But we’re still, as I say, TWO LEVELS away from that.  And when I start thinking about using S.’s eggs or IVF the second or S. trying or adoption…my mind tends to overheat and then shut down.  Does. Not. Compute.

So.  We have a ways to go.  And I’m not sure where that leaves me.  All the Halloween photos of your beautiful children in adorable costumes and your monthly updates of your growing babies (both in utero and outside)  is more painful than ever.  I don’t want to step away from this space because I need your support so desperately.  But I’m also aware that going through my reader is causing me pain and suffering that is, I guess, somewhat self-inflicted.  So, I don’t know what to do.  I’m in the muck.  Just muddling through from moment to moment and trying to remember that somehow, someway, we will eventually be parents one day.  And it won’t matter how our children came to us because they will be ours.  And this.  Whatever this is.  It will be over.

so this is what hell looks like

We spent 4 hours in various labs and waiting rooms today.  I had my blood drawn twice at two different labs.  Beta went up another 100 points and decision was made to treat this as ectopic.  I had two shots of metho. about an hour ago.  (Bringing my total to four sticks today alone.)  Saturday a.m. I go back: repeat beta, get refill of metho., get shots round two.  Tuesday I go back again, repeat beta, if levels aren’t low enough, shots round three.  Oh and did I mention I’m supposed to be leaving for an out-of-town work trip a week from tomorrow?  A trip to a fun and sunny locale that is 4 hours away by plane?  And now this fucking ectopic is threatening that too.  The best part–I’m still at risk for a rupture.  Or, I could need 3 or 4 rounds of metho before this is over.  The next best part–my insurance didn’t even cover the fucking medication.  All I wanted was a pregnancy.  And now I’m taking fucking cancer chemotherapy drugs to kill whatever clump of cells are living somewhere inside of me.

There is not a galaxy big enough to contain how sorry I’m feeling for myself right now.

fuck. With a side of FUCKKKKKK!!!!

Last Monday’s beta 201.

Today’s beta: 300 something.  Despite heavy bleeding all weekend.

And all of a sudden, this m/c has become something of an emergency and I have to have my liver enzymes checked ASAP and repeat beta tomorrow morning, at which point I have to wait in their office for the results so that I can then talk to the doctor (oh and it isn’t my doctor who is in tomorrow, so we get dr. gruff) to discuss whether or not this is definitely ectopic and whether or not I have to take methotraxate shots tomorrow to dissolve something that could be in my tubes.  Fuck.

And I have an incredibly important, cannot be rescheduled work commitment tomorrow night from 6:30 to 10pm.  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

And the nightmare continues.

(ectopic and methotraxate vets…please share your experience.  I’m in the wilderness here.  Again.)

 

ask me about my miscarriage

Today I should be 6 weeks pregnant.  Instead, I’m depositing large clumps of the interior of my uterus into every toilet I visit, leaving some sort of sadistic trail of bloody breadcrumbs back to my broken womb.  Every time I go to the bathroom, the bowl fills red with what was supposed to stay inside and nourish and grow my baby that will never be.

Man, miscarriage is fucking depressing, huh?

This week has been bewildering.  Some moments, I feel fine.  Than I get confused–wait?  What just happened?  DID that really happen?  Why am I not more sad?  It seems odd to even associate that word miscarriage with myself.  I’m having one of those?  That happened to me?  Really?

Other times, I weep.  Sometimes I feel grateful that my loss was so early.  Before the embryo’s heart ever started beating.  Before I saw a little blob of cells on a blurry black and white ultrasound screen and brought a picture home to tape on the fridge.  Other times, I find myself jealous that I didn’t get even one.more.day with those precious cells.  Sometimes I feel like I haven’t had a “real” loss.  Just a chemical pregnancy.  (Which I think is a pretty fucking dismissive term, if you ask me.)  Other times, I think of June 27, 2010 and it flashes in my mind like a bright, blinking, neon sign.  And I want to sit and cry until there are no more tears left.  Cause we will not be 40 weeks pregnant on June 27th.  We will not be preparing for the arrival of our baby that week.

We have decided to be very upfront about our loss.  That means, besides work, we will tell pretty much any friend or family about it who asks.  S. even posted it on facebook.  (Although, to be fair, S. only has about 25 facebook friends and they are all actual friends, not random high school acquaintances or work colleagues.)  I refuse to stay silent about it because too many women do.  Besides, the validation of our pain has been kind of stunning.  After suffering in silence for so long…so many months of broken hopes and dreams…it feels like a revelation to have so much support right now.  And while this is, yes, worse than the 14 BFNS that preceded it, the pain isn’t all that different.  So, in some ways, the sympathy we have been receiving feels like a validation of the two years of suffering we’ve been through, not just the pain of the last week.

The eight days I was pregnant were such a whirlwind.  I never recovered from the shock, or the emotional whiplash from a Friday afternoon spent thinking about diminished ovarian reserve and donor eggs to a Monday afternoon positive beta.  The first three days were such a blur.  Finally, on Thursday night, with a doubled beta and the new PIO shots, I thought I would get a chance to relax and try and enjoy the fact that my body was pregnant.  I woke up Friday morning feeling happier than I had all week, and fully intending to enjoy every second between that morning and Monday’s beta.

I saw someone pushing a stroller and tried on the possibility that that could actually be US next summer!  That morning, as I was running an errand, I saw a mom playing on the sidewalk with her toddler.  And, for the first time in months and months and months, I didn’t hate her.  I didn’t feel full of bitter jealousy and resentment.  I stopped to watch and smiled.  The little girl ran up and down the sidewalk on her wobbly legs, laughing, mom trailing behind.  And I thought…that could be US soon.  We finally get to be a part of that joy.  The joy of raising a child.

I had two hours of bliss that morning before I started bleeding red.

Although my brief pregnancy was characterized by a lot of shock and a lot of fear, I did savor one emotion dearly.  The fact that I no longer was stuck on pause.  I remember walking home from work two Monday’s ago thinking: “Today, I am 4 weeks, 1 day pregnant.  Tomorrow, I will wake up, and I get to be 4 weeks, 2 days pregnant.  Time is no longer standing still!!!  Time is finally moving forward!!!”  It was the best feeling of the world.  Like being released from jail.  Finally, finally, there was an end in sight to all this endless waiting.

I think right now, being returned to the waiting–that is the hardest part.

purgatory, part two

When I was a sophomore in college, my uncle died in a car accident.  It was sudden and senseless–someone collided head on while he was stopped at a traffic light.  He died instantly.  My mom called to tell me about 11pm that night.  The days, weeks, months, and years that followed were full of trauma for me and my extended family.  I suffered from some pretty tremendous PTSD in the aftermath of the experience–I spent years afraid of the phone ringing to give me bad news.  Nothing felt safe after that.  Life was suddenly fragile and precious and fleeting.  And I remember, the hardest part of that experience, was the realization that it didn’t make me immune from bad things happening in the future.  Another member of my family COULD die from a car accident.  4 years later, my sister very nearly DID.  I didn’t get a pass.  I didn’t get to fill out a slip saying my trauma-card was full, and exempt me from the possibility of more bad things happening.

That’s kind of how I feel about miscarrying after ttc for so long.  We’ve tried for two years.  We’ve spent thousands.  We’ve cried oceans of tears.  Finally, on our 15th attempt, I conceived.  But it didn’t exempt me from a miscarriage. You want the world to make sense and be fair and ordered.  You want someone who has suffered as much as we have (in this realm) to not have to endure more shit.  But, it doesn’t work that way.  All our ttc battle scars didn’t earn us a free pass to a healthy pregnancy.  And future attempts may end as miserably as this one did.  Or worse.  God forbid, it could always be worse.  Last night I stumbled across a blog of a woman who lost a baby at 19 weeks due to incompetent cervix.  She had ttc for 5 years.  This was an IVF baby.  She has no other children.  The hideous unfairness of it just makes your blood run cold, doesn’t it?

I’m pretty lost right now.  I’m still just spotting red blood every day.  On Friday I will get a repeat beta to see if the levels are dropping appropriately.  I don’t think I’ve expelled whatever was in my uterus…but I don’t know.  From what I’ve read, this could be painless and easy, or it could be horrifically painful and gruesome.  It could last a few days or a few weeks.  Am I still pregnant?  If I hadn’t had my beta on Monday, I would still think I was.  So, when do you become UNpregnant?  The minute your beta drops?  The day the ultrasound is blank?  The day you pass the blood?  I don’t know what I am right now.  It’s hard to remember the fact that I was even pregnant at all…it already feels so far away.   I am in limbo.  Suspended.  In purgatory.

And waiting.  Again.

 

 

over

Thanks for pulling for me so much guys.

I wish I had better news for you.

Beta today dropped to 201.

This one just wasn’t meant to be.

update

Beta doubled.  Up to 259 Saturday from 123 on Thursday.  So, slightly more than double over about 47 hours.

Still spotting red but it is very slight now.  Almost stopped.  But not all the way stopped.

And we live to fight another day.