Provera IS A Big Deal

A week and a half ago I started bleeding. I had had four AF's post-partum, all super light, but this was a ton of bleeding and by the third day I realized it probably wasn't typical. I called the doc who told me to come in right away for an ultrasound. They were worried I was miscarrying, or pregnant and having another SCH episode and I said, "That's not possible." To which they replied in an obnoxiously condescending tone, "It only takes one time," and I said, "Read my chart, it's NOT possible."

Anyway, long story short I went in and had the ultrasound, and of course was NOT pregnant, but they were concerned that my uterine lining was measuring at 14mm. They said they were going back and forth between ordering a D&C, and trying Provera. I asked why I couldn't just let it take care of itself (I was bleeding it out, wasn't I?) and they told me that it didn't work that way. I would likely start hemorrhaging within the next 24 hours if I didn't take some action to stop it. So we started the Provera, which the doc assured me, was "no big deal."

Okay, I don't know if it is all the changes my body went through with my pregnancy/IVF, or the hormones that are raging through me from extended breastfeeding of twins, but this last week of Provera has been hell, and remember, I am someone who has injected herself with hundreds of shots of hormones during my IVF cycles, but this is the worst of it.

My stomach hurts, I still (until today) was bleeding like crazy. I feel light headed. Depressed. Weepy. My legs are restless. I can't sleep. My chest feels constricted. My heart is out of whack. I developed mastitis in my left breast the second day I was on it, and last night just generally felt like I was crawling out of my skin. When I looked in the bottom of the bottle to see I was only half way there, it was overwhelming.

They say that when I stop taking it, a "normal" cycle should resume. Lucky me, this will just happen to fall on the day I go to the one writer's conference that I actually get to attend this year, a conference that I have looked forward to since last year when severe post-partum anemia made it impossible for me to go, and that I had planned to pitch the hell out of the novel I have spent the last three years writing at.

I don't really know what the point of this post is. To complain I guess. That I feel like crap and I am frustrated as hell with my body for never co-operating and just being "normal," and even though we weren't trying to get pregnant or anything, there was a split second of hope when they went to do the ultrasound that maybe there would be someone in there waving back at me (I bled my whole twin pregnancy as most of you will recall) and it was just a giant slap-in-my-infertile-face that no, you're not pregnant, you're uterus is just defective.

Fuck.

I turned to Dr. Google about having a thick uterine lining. DON'T EVER TURN TO DR. GOOGLE. Then I realized it was Friday the 13th when I was Dr. Googling and I freaked myself out even more thinking it was some grand sign that I was screwed. Anyway, this post is going nowhere, so I am going to just stop here.


I have a beautiful post to share with you all. It's about Peyton and a sign she sent me but I refuse to write it feeling this way.

Waiting for the other shoe...

Last night I had a dream. In my dream I was where I am now, a few days post IVF transfer, awaiting my pregnancy test. 

I dreamt that I was walking along a sidewalk in the city. Each stretch of concrete that I travelled was surrounded by a small patch of grass with little yellow tickets warning that pesticides had been applied. I tried to get away from the harmful chemicals, frantically crossing the street, but as I did, more little signs popped up. It wasn't until I came to an area where there was no longer any grass, that I finally was able to take a sigh of relief - and that's when I saw them. 


Men, dressed in protective gear, were spraying pesticides at weeds growing up through the cracks in the concrete. The smell burned at my nose, and I clasped my hands over my mouth trying not to let any of it in. I held my breath and started running past them as fast as I could, but as I ran, the chemicals from the sidewalk soaked into my socks and shoes, and I could feel the wetness spreading across my skin.

I was desperate to get away. The pesticides, it seemed, were everywhere. Standing in this concrete space, I began screaming and crying for someone to help me. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, a taxi stopped, and I begged the driver for a ride. I told him about my little babies, and that I needed to protect them, but he didn't care. He just stared at me, straight faced, demanding payment. When I checked my pockets, and showed him what few coins I had, the driver told me it wasn't enough, laughed, and drove away. 

I was alone, hopeless, and afraid. It felt like no matter what I did, where I turned, or what steps I took, my poor little embryos would be exposed to some cancer causing agent. When I woke up this morning, I was terrified.

I know they say that stress affects implantation, so I wish I could calm my mind, but as I look around me, I see threats everywhere. Threats I didn't pay much heed or attention to when I was pregnant with Peyton. Don't get me wrong. I ate all organic with Peyton, refusing any processed foods except on the rarest of occasions. I worked out five hours a week, and had excellent prenatal care. I did all these things, and still, she was born with cancer.

Now it is as if my eyes have been opened to a world full of hazards. 

I am afraid to walk down my own street, for fear of what neighbors may be putting on their lawns. I went tag sale-ing with my mother the other day, and couldn't even bring myself to get out of the car for the same reasons. I drive with the internal air being circulated at all times, worried that some fertilizer or chemical truck might pass me and send harmful toxins in through my vents, or that the cigarette smoke from the car beside me will harm these little ones too. And my fears don't stop there.

My husband took me out to eat last night. I got meatloaf. I love meatloaf. But last night I looked at the plate wondering if my veggies had been washed enough. If the beef was grain-fed, or full of antibiotics and hormones. If any of the ingredients came from cans lined with harmful BPA. If the water I was drinking, being city water, was being treated in a manner that could harm them. If the adorable dog who came up to me on the street wanting to be pet, had chemicals on his back. If the cheerios I ate to get me through my bout of nausea, were processed with too many chemicals for these little ones to tolerate. If the computer, on a table in front of me, posed any sort of microwave danger, or the cellphone my husband handed to me, was sending harmful rays.

You can see where this is going.

I KNOW that I need to find calm. I KNOW that I can't allow my fears to take over because stress affects success rates, and believe me, I am trying. But how? How, when the first time I did everything right, and still created a child so wracked with cancer, how can I find peace? How can I trust that these precious little embies who I love so much, will one day arrive in this world safe, and healthy, and alive?

How? 

When all I have known of motherhood has been heartache and loss, how can I BELIEVE?

Thank You Facebook...

Thank you for your many stories, statuses, and updates about people's pregnancies, children, and the joys (and complaints) of parenthood, that time and time again remind me just how left out to feel in this world. Thank you Facebook, because honestly my dead child and lack of a successful subsequent pregnancy really wasn't enough to drive that message home. 

Slowly but Surely

Have you heard about the hottest fashion trend this Spring?
Permanent red Gatorade mustaches. 
Not convinced? 
Bummer. 


In the last two days alone, I have pounded down about 4 gallons of Gatorade and Smart Water, eaten the saltiest of salty things, and sat around, for the most part, like a lump, and you know what? I think it is working!


The painful pressure feels a little lighter on my chest and back today, and I know I am jumping the gun in thinking this means I have begun taking a turn for the better, because I always feel best in the morning, but at this point, I will celebrate any relief that comes my way.


I spoke with my RE yesterday, who said that with the exception of my white blood cell count being a little high, my blood work looks good. Of course, a high WBC count is a total trigger for me, having lost Peyton to Leukemia, so news that should have been no big deal for me, sent me through a tail spin of fear and what ifs. I told the doctor about my fears, and he assured me that just two weeks ago my numbers were totally normal, and that he is sure this is from the stress that having grossly oversized ovaries is putting on my body. 


I hate triggers, and after a traumatic loss, so many things, even unexpected things, can be triggers. I talked about this with my therapist yesterday, about how much I hate that the simplest things can cause utter panic in my heart. It's like any sense of security flew out that window with Peyton's soul. I'd like to go back to that place, that happy naive, innocent place, but then I realize that after all that we have been through, I don't think we would be welcome back there anyway.


My RE instructed me to continue resting, and said that I still can't exercise :( but that I can take a "little stroll here or there." Last night I "strolled" with hubs into Walmart for more Gatorade, my first time out of the house since Sunday, except for my doctors appointment, and this morning, I took Charlotte for a little pee walk, although honestly now I am totally wiped out so that might be all my "strolling" today.


On the brighter side of things, I am having a few "symptoms." I don't know if they are brought on just by the progesterone or what, but I had taken progesterone to bring this cycle on, and never experienced them then. My chest has a kind of tugging ache when I move too fast, and EVERYTHING, good or bad, smells really strongly to me. I know it is still too early to tell, but I guess feeling something is better than feeling nothing.


Either way, one week from today, we will know for sure.




**Side note... I have heard from a few women who want to spend International Babyloss Mother's Day Together on 5/2, here in the Connecticut Area. If there is anyone else who would like to join us, please email me at doinggoodinhername(at)gmail(dot)com.

Ugh...

Take a deep breath, and repeat after me:  


This too shall pass. 
This too shall pass. 
This too shall pass.


Do we believe it yet?

So it's confirmed. I have OHSS - Ovarian Hyper Stimulation Syndrome, a side effect of IVF that causes your overstimulated ovaries to become so engorged with fluid, that the fluid then gets poured out into your abdomen. Apparently refusing to look up OHSS on Google, and being in denial, does not actually protect you from developing it... who knew!

I am on day three of bed rest, and from what my doctor told me today, I have many, many more in my future. She wants me on the couch all day, with the exception of the occassional walk to the bathroom to keep me from getting a blood clot sitting around. She told me today that she believes that the pain I experienced after my transfer was probably one of my giganto ovaries twisting. "Lucky for me," she said, "it twisted back." If it hadn't, she explained, I would have needed surgery.

I am starting to feel like Murphy's law. Let's do the rundown, shall we?

Pregnancy #1 - Elation, followed by miscarriage.
Pregnancy #2 - Elation, followed by childbirth, followed by extreme traumatic loss of child to disease with 1 in 50 Million odds.
Infection leading to Infertility
Infertility requiring IVF
IVF leading to OHSS

Do you see where I am going with this?

I have some of the major risk factors of OHSS. I am young, and produced a huge number of follicles (over 60 per ovary.) The good news is that my little embryos, Emma and Emelio, will not be affected by this. The bad news is that my ovaries are now so large they can be felt ABOVE my belly button, and I am stretched in my stomach like I am 5 months along.

Wait, scratch that. I just checked out a picture of me at 5 months with Peyton, for comparison. Yes. I know. There is no makeup on, and my hair is undone in this pic, but I am posting it anyway.

(Hey, do you all like that hideous wallpaper in the background? Have no fears, that came down during my nesting period.)

So here I sit, typing this two days post transfer, and already I am much bigger than I was in this picture, and not in the cute little basketball way above, but more in an all over bloatey, gross and utterly uncomfortable way. No, don't worry. I won't be attaching any pictures of that.

Apparently there is no "cure" for OHSS, just various attempts at treatment. Well, that's a lie. There is one cure - Aunt Flow. If she comes, OHSS resolves on its own, but she *fingers crossed* is not coming to town, so onto plan number 2.

The doctors have put me on an extremely high salt, high protein diet, and have ordered me to drink Gatorade all day long. Sounds bizarre, I know. Apparently the salt and electrolytes from the food and Gatorade are meant to suck the extra fluid from my abdomen, and into my veins, so that it can be processed out of my body. I even get the joy of peeing into this little top hat looking thing that is now accessorizing my formerly boring bowl, and reporting my progress to some nurse each morning. Sorry... TMI?

If I am pregnant *sticky vibes*, the problem will actually get worse before it is better, and if both Emma and Emelio decide to stick around, the hormones of having a multiple pregnancy will have me floating down the street like a Macy's Parade Balloon. OHSS can, as my RE told me, last through the first trimester, correcting itself only once the HCG levels level off.

So now I wait, and hope for the best. If the fluid gets too high, my doc will have me admitted to the hospital for observation and my stomach drained. During today's exam, they saw blood and fluid in my abdomen (the blood most likely from the Egg Retrieval Surgery) but not enough fluid to warrant draining.

Let's all collectively pray that this gets better, or that I can at least control it with the bed rest and diet. They took a bunch of blood from me today, to get a firmer understanding of all that is going on, but told me my vitals look good, and that that is a good sign. Tomorrow I will get the blood results, and hopefully they will look fine too.

Until then, its soup and gatorade and salt licks for me, as I sit on my couch repeating this mantra over and over...


This too shall pass.

A bumpy ride but...They're In!

Sorry for the bit of a delay, this last few days has not gone quite as smoothly as I was hoping, and I haven't had the energy to write.

We got the fertilization report on Friday afternoon. 15 eggs were retrieved, 10 fertilized and of that 10, 6 were considered good quality (3/4 on the grading scale) by Sunday's transfer. 2 were set aside for implantation, 4 frozen, and 3 more are going to be allowed to go to day 5 to see if they reach a freeze-able state. Of the 10 fertilized, only 1 didn't make it.

I have been suffering from a great deal of cramping since Thursday's retrieval. My ovaries have grown very, very large (because of the hyperstimulation) to the point where I can feel them if I put my hand on my stomach. The discomfort before the transfer was sort of like a strong tugging type cramping, what came after was so much more than that.

I went in yesterday for the transfer with a full bladder as instructed. I was given the option of taking a Valium, and decided against it (though I later regretted it) and was changed into a gown and seated in a waiting area where we got to see a cute little picture of the two nine-cell embryos to be transferred. Hubs and I have dubbed them Emma and Emelio the Embryos. We said our goodbyes at the door, and I was taken into the operating/procedure room for the transfer.

They put me on an inclined table (butt above head) and inserted a catheter through which the little embryos were delivered to my uterus. This part wasn't really bad at all, except for the very full bladder which the nurse described as "huge" as she pushed on it with the ultrasound wand.

After the transfer, I had to remain on the inclined table for a half hour. About 5 minutes into it, what I thought was just my really full bladder started bothering me. I tried to meditate, and do breathing exercises, but it wasn't working. By 15 minutes I was in agony, and at 25 minutes they took me off the table. I asked if it was going to be a problem, letting me off 5 minutes early, and the nurse assured me that it wouldn't. I sort of hobbled over to the bathroom, hoping that by emptying my bladder I would feel relief, but even after going, I was in agony. It was like stabbing pains from my hips to my neck, and it seemed to be getting worse and worse by the moment.

The nurses assured me that this level of cramping was normal for someone with such hyperstimulated ovaries, and released me. They advised me to take Extra Strength Tylenol for the pain. Hubs got me in the car, drove to the nearest gas station, and bought me some rapid release Extra Strength Tylenol, which I couldn't get into my body fast enough, but relief just wasn't there.

Honestly, what I felt in that next hour was worse than the height of my labor pains with Peyton, and those were pretty awful (I had been induced with Pitocin and labored for 11 hours) but they at least came and went with contractions. This pain was non stop. Every bump in the road was like a knife going into me. One second into my abdomen, the next into my ovaries, the next into my chest. It was unbearable. I considered having Hubs turn the car around to take me back to the hospital, but the prospect of spending anymore time on the bumpy roads than I already had, was more than I could handle.

It felt as if all the laying inclined back the way I had after the transfer had pushed all the fluid of my whole body into my stomach and chest, and my ovaries were just throbbing. I really cannot emphasize how much pain I was feeling. Breathing made my shoulders hurt. I just had pain everywhere.

I usually have a fairly high tolerance for pain. Even after having just had a c-section with Peyton, I was able to work through the pain the next day to stand at her bedside for hours. Yesterday's pain was too much. It was unbearable and left me too exhausted to even cry. It was like I wanted to cry, I could feel that heat in my eyes, but all of my energy was being used to just keep breathing.

When he got me home, and on the couch, Hubs called the hospital from where we had just come, and spoke with the doctor on call. He explained that I was in a great deal of pain, and asked what I could do for it. She told him more Tylenol. He asked if a heating pad would be okay, and she said she didn't think it would help, but might "comfort" me, so it was okay to do. I hugged the pad, and for the most part placed it up high on my stomach near my ribs, because that was where I had the most pain, just praying that it would help the pain to subside a bit.

20 minutes of heat, and four extra strength Tylenol later, I could breathe again. Of course then I made the mistake of reading about heat and pregnancy (all bad of course) and I spent the next hour worrying that maybe I had screwed something up for the baby(ies) by using the heating pad. Sometimes I feel like no matter what I do I am doomed to somehow screw up any baby I carry... is that a loss thing?

The rest of the night went okay, except for my Progesterone shot, which really hurt like hell. I don't know if it was because of all that happened to my body that day, but it was the most painful of the Progesterone shots so far (this is day 3).

For the remainder of the night I took the Tylenol religiously, and even slept through the night (though I did have this really trippy dream about being a doctor and telling a patient that their child was going to turn into a carrot... don't ask. Must be the hormones.) Today I woke up feeling crampy again, but not as bad as yesterday. The doctor told me that the worst of my Ovarian Hyper Stimulation Syndrome symptoms should subside over the next week.

So hopefully little Emma and Emelio the Embryos will find my body a comfy place to be, and set up residence. It was really cool watching them go in. They were like two tiny white dots. I asked the RE why I could see them, when they are only the size of the head of a pin right now, and he told me that what I was seeing was the fluid they are in. I watched them sit against the side of my uterus, and said a little prayer to Peyton to please watch over these babies, and keep them healthy.

Before the transfer, all felt right in the world. It was as if the signs were coming in all around me. Yesterday at mass, the priest gave a homily about Easter being a time of "renewal and new life" and I thought, how fitting, that on a day that signifies new life, these two precious little embryos would be placed inside me. Then, before heading out for the transfer, I read an email from a beautiful friend who wrote:

We just watched "It's the Easter Beagle, Charlie Brown" to get us in the Easter spirit -- goofy, I know-- and there was a line, "spring is a time of renewal" that made me think of you. :) I think it's really awesome how the IVF lines up with Easter, being a time of rebirth and all.... hope this is the beginning of an incredibly bright future! 

So here is to Easter, and Spring, and renewal and rebirth. Here is to Emma and Emelio, who I pray 11 days from now, will be two beautiful little lines on a pregnancy test. If at the end of this all, I have my healthy rainbow baby(ies) to take home, there is no amount of cramping and pain that wouldn't be worth it.

On Being "Grateful"

I hate The Beatles.

I know, I know, how could anyone hate The Beatles, right? But I do. 

Now before you get ready to hurl rocks at me, maybe I should give you a little more insight as to where this anger toward The Fab Five stems from.

For the last two, possibly three years, my husband has had our morning alarm set to "The Beatles Greatest Hits," and I challenge anyone, even the most die hard fan, to wake up day in and day out to the sound of Paul McCartney's voice, and not develop a sour taste in your mouth at just the thought of him.

Well this morning, as the CD started spinning, I realized something was amiss. Instead of hearing "Bang bang Maxwell's silver hammer came down on her head... do dee do dee do..." I heard what I thought was the start of the DMB song "Crash." Too tired to make sense of it, I rolled over, hit the snooze button, and went back to sleep.

Ten minutes later I was scrunched in a ball at the foot of the bed when the alarm came back on. Out of reach of the button, I buried my head below the pillow hoping for silence, and heard these words...

"You got your wall You got your train"
"Crash into me, baby, and I cut into you"
"In the void stream"
"Touch your leaves just so I know"
"I'm verve own and crazy"

Huh? What the?

"Hike up your skirt a little more, and shove your war to me."

Putting the pieces together, I opened my eyes, looked at the picture on my wall of hubs and I on our wedding day, and started to laugh.

So now that I am sure you are all thoroughly confused...the backstory.

Hubs and I spent our honeymoon in Mexico at a resort called Secrets in Playa del Carmen. On one of the nights, the hotel brought in a band, I think they were called "Two Guys Play Acoustic Music" to play covers of popular American songs beach side. 

There is something to be said about the affect that ambiance can have on an experience, because on that beach, with the wind blowing, the waves crashing, and my newly married finger bling blinging in the moon light, "Two Guys Play Acoustic Music" sounded great... well good... well...

When the concert was over, my husband rushed to the table where "Two Guys Play Acoustic Music" were selling CD's, and pulled out his wallet to purchase his own copy.

"These guys are GREAT!" He beamed, grinning ear to ear.

Remember what I told you about ambience?

When our plane arrived home from Mexico, hubs excitedly retrieved the CD from his suitcase, and popped it into the car's player to play on the drive home.

You know how you can go through life incorrectly singing the lyrics of songs, like "pour some sugar on me," becomes "pour some sugar ramen"? Well this CD was like 120 minutes of that. 

Disappointed for not having just discovered "the next big thing", hubs tossed "Two Guys Play Acoustic Music" into a drawer, never to be played again. That is, of course, until this morning. 

My therapist told me yesterday that she found me to be "more depressed than usual," words that, coming from her, are probably not a good sign since she gets paid to hear me cry, bitch, whine and complain on a regular basis. Hubs, I am assuming by this gesture, sensed that too.

Waking up this morning, I expected my outlook on life to be just more of the same.

 "Wah! My kid's dead. Wah! Im am infertile. Wah! Wah! Bah Humbug! Wah!"

This song reminding me of happier times, made me laugh at my husband's sense of humor, and sort of set a different, happier tone for the rest of the day.

Even when I had a bit of a mishap this morning, with my dog eating an entire box of Chocolate Chip Cookies, and me having to give her hydrogen peroxide to make her throw up, my good mood couldn't be broken.

The reminders of all I do have continued.

After fixing up the dog (yes she is okay) I logged in to read some lovely and supportive comments left for me here after my post yesterday, and went on to receive a beautiful gift in my inbox from my dear BLM friend Carly.

I am loved. Waking up to this song, today I was reminded of that.  

By my husband. By my family. By my friends both in real life and in the amazing community that I have met through this loss, I am loved. 

As I wrote yesterday, I will never be grateful for Peyton's loss. But starting my day this way, listening to a song strategically placed by my hubs to put a smile on my face, I was reminded that I still have a lot to be grateful for.



****
Please also hop over and give Sami's momma Lisette some love today as she mourns the passing of her sister in law unexpectedly of a brain aneurism.

Mixed Post: All's Quiet On The Fertility Front & Peyton Sends Me A Sign.

The first half of this post deals with my infertility, the second with loss. Read one part, or both, up to you.

Infertility:

I struggled trying to decide what to post here. So many of you have been kind enough to offer feedback and advice on our new journey through IVF, and though I wish I had more to report, unfortunately we are still waiting.

I know some asked if we could get a second opinion, rather than go through a trial run. The IVF group we are using is the most established in our area, transferring over 1000 embryos each year, so while I hate waiting, and also feel that the trial run seems a little wasteful of our financial resources, I don't really have anywhere "better" in the area to turn.

AF arrived this AM with the help of the Prometrium that I was prescribed to get my cycle on track with when my RE wanted for the practice run. I can't tell you how comforting it is to see breast cancer listed as one of the drug's side effects, right alongside dizziness and bloating. Are you kidding me?

So AF came, and I felt blue. Why, knowing my tubes are shot and not functioning, do I still find myself feeling such a sense of disappointment at AF's arrival? I hate that. I hate getting my hopes up for a miracle that is not coming. I did that with Peyton. I should have learned my lesson.

I remember as a kid hearing about a woman's biological clock and thinking how silly it was. Now, everywhere I go, I feel like that clock is ticking away, and people tell me I am young, but really, what good does that do me anyway? I started three years ago. THREE YEARS, two little babies ago, and am still tick-tick-ticking away on that clock with no living children to mother.

Do you ever feel like the universe is trying to tell you something? That you are unworthy or not good enough? I try not to go down that road, really I do, but like I have been saying a lot lately, what makes me so damn undeserving of motherhood?

Sometime, mid next week I would imagine, though I haven't yet heard, will be the trial run that gets me onto the waiting list for the injections class. I am so jealous of the commenters who said this step was allowed to be completed online. The thought of being on hold for the sake of something as menial as learning how to give myself a shot drives me crazy. Take needle, insert needle, withdraw needle. Got it.

So there you have it, nothing. I have nothing to report regarding my lack of fertility. I know it is not Christmas but I am going to throw a Bah-Humbug out there anyway.

Loss:

I had another "sign" from Peyton a few days back, and while I know some people will think I am crackers for saying so, I am going to share it anyway.

I was on a long walk with my dog Charlotte. We had gone about 2 miles up a desolate road and were passing some old 1800's farm houses when it happened.

Before I go any further, I should mention that it has been pretty gray around here lately, one snow storm following another.

When we got to the top of a large hill I came upon a school bus turnaround sign and started feeling sorry for myself, as I sometimes do, and hopeless about my quest for motherhood.

I began wondering if I would ever have children, and if I did, would they live to school age? Lousy questions like those which two years ago would have been too foreign from my life to even enter my mind.

I circled the turnaround and began heading back, passing a large farmhouse on my left, and a big red barn garage on my right, when something caught my eye. I looked up to see a frisbee sized light reflecting off the center of the red garage.

Everything around me was pretty gray, so the sight of the light made the hair on the back of my neck stand at attention.

I looked up, down, and all around trying to find the light's source: a beam of sunlight, a lamp, a mirror, but there was nothing.

When I looked back at the door, the light was gone, and a sense of peace washed over me.

"Was that you Peyton," I asked out loud, (like the crazy woman that I am) and just as the words left my mouth, some chimes in front of the farm house began to sound.

You can think whatever you want of that story, to me it felt significant.

My 100th Post...

Okay, that is a lie. This is actually my 124th post, but somewhere between grief, infertility, and the holidays, post number 100 got lost in the mix.

I feel the need to celebrate this blog and this community which have meant so much to me. What better way to celebrate in blog world than to do a little giveaway, right?

My mother in law was kind enough to donate these absolutely beautiful little angels for me to share with my readers. There is a pink one...

and a white one...

As always, my photography skills don't do them justice. They are just so delicate. I think they would be a nice addition to any memory box, but really you could use them for anything.

If you would like to be entered in the giveaway, just leave the word "angel" with your comment below. I will do two drawings on Sunday evening, that way everyone in all time zones can participate. Happy Give Awaying!

****

So now down to business. We went to our first IVF seminar last night. It was a two and a half hour talk about the medical and emotional side of IVF. I have to tell you, I was pretty annoyed at the number of fathers in that room who were complaining about having to go to the seminar, or playing on their i-phones the whole time. I mean, in the grand scheme of IVF, the men have it pretty easy. A few specimens, and that's it. There were these few guys who laughed every time the word "sperm" was said, I mean come on, really? Man 30 has made me a real old coot!

There is a lot to think about with IVF, what to do with the embryos that don't get implanted, for one. As well as if we would be open to a few processes called ICSI (sticking a sperm directly into the egg) or assisted hatching (where they break the shell of the egg away if it is not doing it on it's own.) Something about the romance of creating a child really gets lost in the IVF process. That being said, I am still grateful for the process, it gives us a chance at having our own kids, a door that would have been totally closed for us because of my tube situation.

They discussed with us the side effects of the medications, and walked through all the steps that we will take on this journey. Lots of poking. Even more prodding. That's okay though, if I have to be treated like cattle to get to some healthy rainbow baby(s), that is fine by me. I have to admit though, some of the details did make me feel like I was in a twilight zone episode or something. It is very hard to wrap my head around making a baby in a test tube, then putting it in me, or that they can make an embryo from us, then leave it on ice for years until we want to use it. What happens to the embryo? What are they feeling? These were all the things going through my head.

This seminar is done twice a month for couples starting on this process. The clinic we are going through is the largest in our state, and I was blown away by the fact that there were probably forty couples there. That means roughly eighty couples a month come through this clinic to start this process. They said they do 1000 transfers a year. Once you are in it, isn't it amazing how big the ALI community around you seems to be?

I had a few commenters on an earlier post ask me why it was so expensive for the first round of IVF. There are a few reasons, probably not the least of which is where we live. This is a very expensive state. I used to work in occupational health, and when our clinic in Minnesota would charge $20 for something, say a drug test, the same clinic in our state charged $68. I am sure that has something to do with the price.

My understanding too, from what the financial people have told me, is that the first is most expensive because that cost involves lots of one time testing that is done to get you ready ahead of time, the medications, and the extraction of and freezing of eggs. I have been told that should they get more than enough eggs (this is not a given so we will have to wait and see) they can then freeze them, and if we had to go through more than one round because this round didn't work, or we wanted to try for more children in the future, it would be a less expensive process because they would already have the eggs so that cost on medications to increase my number of eggs, and for the extractions would be cut out. I am really, really praying that this works for us.

So this morning the hubs went in for his first portion of the process. Like a soldier heading off to war, he left here today, cup in hand, to do the less than glamorous work of giving a specimen while in the doctor's office. He was great about it though, donning a very brave face. I think if I had to do that, it might feel a little awkward. I have enough trouble handing over urine specimens without feeling sorry for the person who has to take them. Poor hubs, he really wanted to do it here and transport it, but it is SO COLD outside, we didn't know that he would be able to keep the cup at body temp for the half hour drive.

He told me that the experience was a little weird, but not too bad. He said they put him in a room with a couch (covered by a paper sheet haha), some porno mags and a tv. Like a very sterile motel room I would imagine. Now that he has done that deed, I think he is safe for a while.

Today I go in for some day two hormone testing. I think once that is done, and all my records are sent over from my doctor and the hospital that performed the HSG, we just wait for someone to tell us our next steps. I have to admit, even though I don't know where this is going, how, or when, it feels really nice to have some next steps.

PS... thank you for all the wonderful birthday wishes, and for those of you who commented on that pic of Peyton. I love it too. Haha she really did look like she was up to something or making some type of plan. I like to think of what she was thinking about when she would put her hand under her chin. She was my very own mini version of "The Thinker."

For those of you who don't know what I am talking about, here is that picture...

What a little beauty you were Peyton. I love you my sweet girl, and miss you in a way that no words typed here could ever really do justice to...

When One Door Closes... Find A Window.

First, I would like to send out a HUGE THANK YOU to all of the bloggers, friends, and family who have supported me through this latest crisis with hugs, prayers, and messages of support. Baby loss is isolating. Infertility is isolating. Thank you so much for showing me I do not have to face this alone.

Our appointment with the Fertility Specialists (or FS) was at nine this morning, and we met with two separate docs who reviewed our case and performed some tests. It was really comforting that they both told me they had read my case, and offered their condolences on Peyton. That might seem like such a small thing to some, but it is a level of compassion not lost on us in the babylost world.

I had a pelvic exam, some cultures done, and an ultrasound of my reproductive system, after which, we were invited to sit down and talk in detail with both doctors about what they had found, and what they felt was the best way to proceed. The FS told us that we had two options, some of the details of which were expected, others which were not.

Option A involves a laproscopic surgery performed through incisions in my belly button and abdomen to explore the damage from the scarring, try to remove it (this is possible in a small percentage of cases), and assess my tubes for future functionality. If Option A worked, I would, in theory, be where I was before this nightmare began, and have working tubes.

Option A, the surgery, also has some major downsides. First is effectiveness, the FS indicated that in all likelihood, the surgery would reveal that the damage is too extensive to be corrected, and I would still need to pursue IVF to get pregnant. He discussed with me the theory behind muscle spasms, and I am going to share that here for anyone else who might go through this. He said that in some cases, the uterus will go into spasm, closing off the entrance to the tubes during the HSG, making it impossible for any dye to get through, and giving a result that appears as if the tubes are blocked. The reason this is not believed to be the case for me is pain. During the HSG, I felt discomfort when the catheter was put in, as well as when it was tugged on. This discomfort was always in the area of my cervix. When the Docs were trying to blow through the tubes with the dye, I felt nothing. This is supposed to be the most uncomfortable portion of the test. This is why they ruled out muscle spasm for me, because if the uterus was in spasm, I would have felt extreme cramping discomfort at this point in the muscles that were spasming. Also, because scar tissue does not sense pain.

Another major downside of this surgery is cost. Our insurance offers a lifetime max of $15,000 for fertility treatments, and a large portion of this would be spent on this surgery. If the surgery was not effective, and we had to pursue IVF, we would be left with a much smaller reserve of funds from our insurance company to cover the cost.

Third is the risk of complications from the surgery. There are risks, namely that your bowel, uterus, or tubes can, in a small number of cases, be damaged during this surgery. As of right now, my uterus looks good enough to hold a baby, so I am not sure that is a risk I am willing to take. Additionally, this surgery requires full sedation, so there is the possibility of complications from anesthesia, as well as the possibility of getting another infection, like the one from my c-section that put me in this position.

Then there is the fourth downfall. Due to surgical scheduling, as well as recovery time, if this surgery failed and we had to turn to IVF anyway, this surgery would put that process off by several months. Going several more months without any forward movement is a bit overwhelming.

So that leaves option B) Never find out the extent of damage and instead go straight for IVF. The main issue with this option is cost. It will cost approximately $17,500 for the first round of IVF, $2500 over our maximum amount covered by insurance, which is pennies in our minds if it works, but very expensive if it doesn't. We do feel a sense of hope in that the FS thought that with my age and health history, the success rate for me on IVF would fall somewhere around 50%, as opposed to the usual 20%. I am trying to view this as a glass half full scenario.

At my age they are willing to transfer up to two eggs. There is an increased likelihood of multiples. A 25% chance of twins, and a 5% chance of triplets, are what we are looking at, should the IVF cycle be successful. I have seen a lot of heartache on these blogs for mothers who have lost multiples, and know that there are added risks with multiple pregnancies, so that is something to consider as well.

So there you have it. I would be lying if I didn't say that this appointment has renewed a sense of hope for me. I am being "cautiously optimistic" which is a huge step up from my "life is a shitstorm" attitude of late.

When I had my HSG, and the Docs indicated that IVF may not even be an option available to me because of the damage caused by the infection, it came as an extreme shock. I saw the door of motherhood slamming shut before my eyes. It was devastating.

Seeing that there is this other avenue, this little window letting some light in on the situation, gives us something to hope and wish on. Of course I would rather conceive other children the way I had with Peyton, as opposed to through surgical means or in a petri dish, but I can't. That door is closed, and there is very little that I can do about that, so instead I am looking towards that window, and praying that in it's light lies a second chance for us. A chance to have another child of our own. A chance at our own, healthy, rainbow baby(s).

We are still thinking over and researching both option A and option B, but I think we are leaning more towards B. Please keep us in your prayers to make the right decision.

The Waiting Game.

Last night I had a dream that I had another c-section. I don't know what the outcome was, but I imagine not so good because I woke up panicked, grabbing at my stomach. It was devastating.  I imagine the events and conversations from last week didn't help matters.

By Wednesday when I still hadn't heard from my Doc, who we will call Dr. X. I called and spoke to a receptionist. I told her I needed to speak with Dr. X about my test results and where to go from here. She gave me some line about the test not having been sent over yet from the Hospital. This struck me as odd since the test was done in the hospital where Dr. X works. I said, "They already told me the results, they told me that an infection destroyed my tubes." Her reaction, "Oh, they did?" Me, "Yes, they did. I need to know what my next steps are." She told me she would call me back, and when she did it was to tell me to try to reach Dr. X or her secretary the next day. I don't know the last time I felt so much like I was getting the run around.

On Thursday I called again, asked for Dr. X, and was put through to her direct secretary. "Dr. X says not to worry too much. That it might have been just a muscle spasm." I explained to her that during the test, the two Doctors performing the test had completely ruled out the possibility of muscle spasm. "Oh... they told you that?" Was all she could say. "Yes, they told me that."

I was so upset. Don't these people know what holding out hope for something like a muscle spasm could do to a person?

I saw the look in the Doctor's eyes when she gave me the news after performing the HSG. She saw me collapse and cry, she saw how desperate and upset I was. No doctor would let a person leave the hospital in that condition over a f*cking muscle spasm!

The secretary went on to say, "Dr. X wants your husband to complete the sperm test and we will go from there, maybe referring you on to a specialist."  I asked her what the point would be in having my husband spend $300 to shoot in a cup, when we know the issue is with me. Not for nothing but my husband has gotten me pregnant twice (the miscarriage, and Peyton) both on the first try. If all my tests had come back normal I might have more seriously questioned his little swimmers, but seeing as how we got the results that we got, it seemed an awful waste of $300, not to mention delaying us moving forward towards finding a solution for my scarred/blocked tube situation.

"As for her referral," I said, "I already made an appointment for next week with the Fertility Specialist." "Oh, okay, good." She said. "Well than I don't think you will have to see Dr. X at all. Call me tomorrow with the Fertility Specialist's fax number, and I will send your records right over."

That night I was very hesitant to share with hubs my phone conversation. "There is something I have to tell you," I said, "Dr. X said maybe I was in spasm and that's why the results showed the way they did. I didn't want to tell you this because I don't want your hopes up for nothing. I was in that room. I heard the two Doctors talking about muscle spasms, and then finally ruling it out. I don't know why she would even say this." He said he wouldn't get his hopes up, but I could see in his eyes that he did.

Friday I called with the fax number for the Fertility Specialist and spoke with Dr. X's direct secretary again. "I'm sorry," she said, "I spoke with Dr. X and she said you were right. It definitely was not a muscle spasm. She doesn't want you to think she's slacking its just she hadn't had a chance to really discuss the results with the Doctors who performed the test yet."


Hadn't had the chance? It had been nearly two weeks!

I was so angry. Where was the sense of urgency?


Dr. X once told me that I was the only patient she had ever had carry a baby to term and then lose in infancy. It really hurt me that after all the pain that she has seen losing Peyton cause for myself and my husband, after having witnessed the aftermath of something like that, that she couldn't pick up the phone and be straight with me about what was going on. On the day of the HSG I was told that Dr. X would call me the next day to discuss. To this day, I still haven't heard from her.

Hubs and I go to meet with the Fertility Specialist this Friday, to see what, if anything, can be done. It sounds like the first step is to perform a surgery through my belly button to assess the scarring. Some people with slight scarring have minimal and/or short term success with a roto-rooter, for lack of a better word, type surgery. There are increased risks of ectopic pregnancy, and a slew of other issues involved, but that may be one possibility.

From what I have read, and based on what had been told to me during the HSG, it sounds like IVF would likely be proposed as the only option. I think the roto-rooter thing also checks to make sure my eggs haven't been affected by the infection too. Lets keep our fingers crossed on that one big time.

All of this is speculation of course, since I haven't been afforded the luxury of speaking with any Doctors since my HSG.

Two nights ago, I was standing at the counter sort of spacing out, totally lost in thought. Hubs asked what I was thinking about, "Oh, nothing" I said. But that wasn't true, I just couldn't bare to tell him.

It was like I was frozen, overwhelmed by images and memories of all that has happened in these first few years of our marriage. I could see myself, how it used to feel to be hopeful. How happy I once was. Not in the "put a smile on for the benefit of others" way that I have become so accustomed to, but really, truly happy. We had had all these plans. We were gonna have a big family. What happened to us?

Sometimes I feel so weighed down by all of the grief, sadness, and disappointment of these last 16 months. I used to really be on track. The future used to feel so bright. Now I feel like a walking tragedy, a one trick pony, a broken record. I just don't know how I can heal, or move forward with my life, if I remain stuck in a place full of sorrow and loss.

Please, please keep us in your prayers for there to be some hope, some door or window for us to find that has been left open. Please pray that we can do what we set out to do some two and a half years, and two pregnancies ago. Please pray that we can have a healthy family.

*** A few side notes.***

1) Thank you to all who prayed for my cousin's baby Faith Margaret through her last open heart surgery and hospitalization. I saw Faith last week, and she is doing amazingly well. I know all those positive vibes you sent her way did the trick.

2) Thank you to all who sent their email information for the writer doing the story on this blog. I forwarded all of your info directly to him. I am not sure how many people he is going to be speaking with directly, but know a few of you have already heard from him. The outpouring was amazing, and he has informed me that he has enough people now for his story, so thank you very much.

Regrouping... again

Or at least attempting to. I feel like that is what my life has become, setback after setback requiring us to regroup based on the universe's rules. Well you know what. I am pretty tired of it really. The utter irony of learning this week that my tubes are shot to crap as a direct result of a c-section that I had to bring a dying baby into the world. Oh, that's just hilarious universe isn't it? You really got me on that one.

If Peyton had been born healthy, if she was here, a laughing fifteen month old, of course I would feel this was all worth it. But she isn't is she? She was born to suffer through chemo, procedures, and surgeries that would make a grown man cry, and for what? For an infection to take hold of her after one month!

This latest development has me thinking alot about Peyton's birth. Alot about why the c-section was proposed, and if it would have been kinder to let her pass in childbirth. That would have been kinder to her, no doubt. She wouldn't have had to learn just how cruel life can be for a baby born with cancer. I am so glad to have held my baby girl, to have loved her and nursed her and known her. But at the end of the day she is gone. Just as she would have been had I birthed her. The only difference is, I wouldn't have known all that I am missing. I wouldn't have known how much I need to see her smiley face again, or how beautiful an experience it is to breastfeed her. In that way, perhaps it would have been kinder to me, too.

The truly crappy thing is that they had no idea about Peyton's cancer, so the recommendation to have the c-section, that was based on something else. What exactly? I couldn't tell you. They wait until you are in the throws of labor and then say, "it's time to get that baby out, she is in distress." What does distress mean? Her heart was healthy, her lungs. What distress brought on this surgery? A surgery that birthed a dying baby, and then wrecked my tubes through infection, and my chances at other children? I will never lay down with the man I love, and make a baby again. This is a devastating reality for me. DEVASTATING.

I am sure there are those who will read this post and judge my thoughts. I am sure there are others who will think I am callous or cruel. I can't apologize. I am not sorry that I feel this way. I am 29 years old and feel like my book is closed, like I am the punchline to some ridiculous universal joke. I married the right man. We had a safe, secure home to welcome a child into. Where did I go so wrong?

This time it is different because I recognize the stages that I am going through, I have been through them before. They have been unwelcome companions on this fifteen month ride through grief.

Shock & Denial.
Pain & Guilt.
Anger & Bargaining.
Depression.

These four have become like second nature to me, it's the last three that I have never quite been able to master.

The Upward Turn (I thought I was getting here, really I did. When we decided we were ready to try again.)
Reconstruction and Working Through.
Acceptance & Hope.

Where is the hope in something like this? How can I accept this irony? It is too cruel.

I hear Shakespeare's words, "I am fortune's fool!" ringing over and over in my mind, and believe they were written for me.

These last two days have been like those early after losing Peyton. Eyes swollen with tears. Head pounding. Not answering the phone. Not getting dressed. Not going out into the world. I have not even been able to bring myself to go see Peyton's grave. My sweet little girl who I love so much. I feel awful for this. For feeling the way I am feeling. It hurts to look at your child's grave under any circumstances, these make it especially difficult.

Most people get pregnant and know that changes are going to come. They are supposed to be happy changes... not this. Pregnancy, child loss, infertility. Where does the shit storm end?

I wrote the title of this post, "regrouping... again" with every intention to write something that says, "Listen up world, I will get through this, I will overcome this." The problem is, I don't believe it. And if I don't believe it, I can't write it.

Hysterosalpingogram

Off to my Hysterosalpingogram. What should I be hoping for here? I guess that they find my tubes open and functioning, and count out damage from the c-section to my uterus, yes, that would be good. I am nervous that they will find something in there, and then, on the other hand, I am nervous that they will find nothing, and we won't be any closer to having answers as to why my body is not making babies. Wish me luck.

Mish Mosh

First, I must apologize to my dear bloggy friends. I have fallen a bit behind in my reading. We are in the process of trying to fight infertility, deal with this loss, adopt a sweet puppy, receive items for www.doinggoodinhername.com, welcome a new nephew, prepare for the holiday, maintain some level of sanity, undergo hormone treatments for infertility, deal with an annoying heart problem, well, as I am sure is true with all of us from time to time, the list goes on and on, and unfortunately both my reading and writing have sort of fallen by the wayside. Please know my thoughts and prayers are with you all, even when my comments are absent.

On a happy note, here is a picture of my beautiful Christmas Tree that I posted about yesterday.

DAYTIME

NIGHT TIME

We didn't put up a tree last year, (we were still very raw in our grief and boycotting all things that normal non-babyloss people do), so this year, well I will take the fact that the tree is up as a sign that things are moving in the right direction. S-L-O-W-L-Y, but getting there nonetheless.

I also want to extend a huge THANK YOU, to the following fellow babyloss momma bloggers for their generous donations to Doing Good In Her Name. Please hop over here and read about the amazing items and donations that these women have provided to help us honor Peyton's memory by assisting other critically ill infants at the hospital where our baby spent her life.

Thank you so much to Salma at The Room She Owns, Margaret at She's Come Undone, and Catherine W. at Between the Snow and the Huge Roses.

I am amazed that these women, in the midst of their own grief, have still opened their hearts to this initiative. Let me just tell you many tears have been shed over this incredible generosity. I am truly humbled and know that their gestures will have a huge impact on the little ones fighting for life at CCMC, and the parents who love them.

****

Okay,  now I am REALLY feeling emotional. I have started to make my way through my Google Reader, and the first few blogs I read, mentioned Doing Good In Her Name. Lisette had the button posted at Sami's blog. And Angie wrote about putting a package together in a post she wrote at Still Life With Circles. And Deb, over at deborahsteinberg.com gave her a mention too! I have chills, I am so moved by this. Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! to everyone who is helping us to get the word out.

Kicked While I Am Down

"Do you feel emotionally ready for this?"

My doctor posed this question this morning, and all I could do was look at her, mouth agape, unable to answer.

There is no denying it. I am an emotional mess. I have been since Peyton died. I am grieving and suffering from PTSD. I anger easily, feel overwhelmed at the drop of a hat, and carry massive amounts of guilt at not only being unable to save my child, but having had to witness all that was done to her for nothing. The pain of watching your child die does not end with their last breath, it begins.

Each day the waves of this new reality hit harder and harder and I feel the possibility of having a family of our own slipping further and further away. In the two years since we started TTC, we have hit two major hurdles: The loss of our first pregnancy for reasons unknown to miscarriage, and the loss of our child, our daughter Peyton, to infant leukemia. This morning I was dealt another blow, one which was anticipated, and yet still hurt like hell to hear... we are definitely dealing with an infertility issue now.

My doctor has explained that this new road, the one she wonders if I am emotionally prepared to handle, is one full of testing, stress, disappointment, hormonal changes, injections, procedures, emotional highs and lows etc. etc., all of which compound the emotions that I have been dealing with since losing Peyton. I have cried so many tears today, my heart is aching, and my fingers feel exhausted even now as I type this. It's not that I didn't think I was infertile... I have blogged about my concerns about this here and here. I think it was just hearing my doctor explain that after five months of TTC, she feels we are no longer in a place where doing this on our own is a likely possibility. Am I emotionally ready for this? Probably not. Am I emotionally ready to never again have another child? Definitely not. Therein lies the conundrum.

Today I threw a question up to God that I have so many times before... "how the hell did this happen to my life?" I actually threw it up to Him through tears after coming out of the supermarket where I saw a magazine cover with a headline that Brangelina are expecting two more. Two MORE... really... are you F*ing kidding me? I don't know why seeing that magazine brought so many tears, maybe it was just another reminder that what comes so easily to others, may never come for us. I wish I could say that I could make peace with this new reality... I cannot.

Next month we begin new tests based on these, my doctor's theories, as to why I cannot manage a BFP.

A) By rushing out of bed 30 hours after a c-section to be at Peyton's side, and allowing no time to heal, my uterus and/or tubes may have suffered scarring or damage and that is why my cycle has disappeared. A dye test will be done to determine the extent of the damage, if any, that is keeping me from becoming pregnant. I am especially angered at this theory... at the bitter irony that in trying to be a good mother and pushing myself to be with my fatally ill child, I may have cost myself future pregnancies. There are no words for the emotions that I feel when considering this possibility.

B) I am no longer ovulating or getting AF on my own because of the stress/grief/just because/etc etc any of the million and one reasons that can lead to SIF. Should the aforementioned dye test come back negative (prayers on this please) we will begin clomid and provera next month. This too brings a lot of emotions, primarily disappointment with myself when thinking about the theory that the stress and grieving has been causing my problem. The implication I draw being that I am in some way contributing to my own infertility. I know of a lot of women in this community hurting just as badly as I am, grieving just as hard and missing their babies just as much, and they have gone on to get pregnant or have other babies. What is wrong with me? The sense of failure that this theory brings is overwhelming.

C)Hubs counts have changed... I am not really giving any thought to this option because I don't feel that its the case. I don't know why I feel so sure about this, I just do. Nothing has changed for him physically and he has been coping much better since losing Peyton than I have, so I don't believe it is a problem on his end. Some tests will be run just to rule this out.


My doctor set an appointment for next month (a few days after we meet with a genetic counselor to see if there was any possible genetic cause for Peyton's cancer) to speak with me and hubs. She explained that IF can really tax a marriage, and that she is concerned about what it could mean for a couple already having been dealt such a blow. I am so tired of this, of these boulders in the pathway of our happiness. They say "God doesn't give you more than you can handle," and you know what, that's bullshit. Child loss and SIF. That is more than anyone can handle.

Shock and Awe

I remember in the early days of the Iraq War hearing alot about "Shock and Awe," the practice of overwhelming the enemy with force rapidly as a means to stun them into submission and break their will. I think that is where I am tonight, in the "Shock and Awe" stage. There are so many realities beating me down that I wonder if our dreams of having a family are even a possibility. Tonight I feel overpowered, like I am failing this battle on two fronts.

First, there is the ever present battle with my grief, its rapid succession of images, memories, trauma, flashbacks, anger, sense of loss, frustration, sense of overwhelm, sadness, reminders of all that we are missing out on, sense of feeling robbed, feelings of isolation, anger at a disease with no known cause, anger at having to watch my child be that 1 in 50 million, sense of fear about losing future children to Infant Leukemia etc. that go along with missing my Peyton. My sweet, sweet Peyton who Cancer stole from me. She should be here with me. She was my child. I can't get over missing her.

Then there is the second battle front, the infertility front. I got the green light to TTC several months ago. My first two pregnancies came so easily, and still, at the end of the day, my home is empty of children. That's a bitter pill to swallow. I have carried life within me twice and have no children to show for it. Now, when we have already waited so long, when our arms ache to hold our child, now is when my body has decided to become infertile... Why? I don't know how to process this reality, the "we are really struggling with infertility" reality. I don't know how to make peace with being dealt this hand too. The sense of unfairness is smothering me.

So tonight I sit here, pounded, broken, staring in shock and disbelief at these last two years since hubby and I decided to start trying, and wondering how this happened to us? We were prepared. We had so much love to give our daughter. We were ready to provide her a safe, loving, stable and nurturing home. Why do our attempts at having a family need to include so much pain at every twist and turn? Will this ever get easier? Will we ever get OUR chance at bringing home healthy children? Nothing that I thought, envisioned, expected or dreamed on has come to be. When, I must ask, is it our turn to be happy, beaming parents? When can we step off this battlefield?

Yet another hurdle. Mel's 65th show and tell

Let me start by saying that I have a really bad tendency to write utterly appropriate Show and Tell posts on the wrong day, usually a Monday, which is what happened yet again this week here. Lots of showing, lots of telling, wrong day. Oh well.

So in an effort to come up with another sharing post for today, I have decided to show and tell about my pregnancies, past and future.

In the months since Peyton's death many people have offered their opinions about what a future pregnancy would mean to/for me, and I have realized that most of these words, while offered out of love and concern, are somewhat based in misconception about what it is that I find so scary about trying again. I wish it was as simple as lightning doesn't strike twice, but seeing as I have been pregnant twice, and I have no living children, my faith in that belief system is pretty much shot to hell.

When Dru and I decided to start a family, we got pregnant (to both of our surprise) with very little effort. Believe me when I say that this blessing was not taken for granted. I never expected an easy road to motherhood. As a teen I was hospitalized for ovarian cysts, and told by doctors that childbearing would most likely be difficult. Not impossible, just difficult. This came as no big surprise to me, both my mother and sister endured long struggles of their own to have children, and I sort of accepted it as one of those things that runs in the family, like heart disease or slow metabolisms. Learning I was pregnant brought utter elation, and I couldn't wait to share the news of my pregnancy with Dru. We had decided to start trying, fully expecting it would take several months to years, and celebrated and cried and laughed about how completely unprepared we were for it to have happened so quickly. Sitting in my living room, watching my husband's eyes well with this news remains in my heart as one of the most beautiful moments we have ever shared in our married life, the beauty of it making it that much more painful for me, just a short while later, to tell him that I was bleeding, that it wouldn't stop, and that on September 11th, 2007, a day that already held so much emotional charge, my miscarriage had been confirmed.

On Christmas Eve, I found out I was pregnant again. The news of this, our second pregnancy came with more apprehension. It was sad, to lose that naive excitement that we had with the first pregnancy. We were happy of course, but also scared. Scared to feel the pain and disappointment of miscarriage again. We had lost our innocence in the arena of getting pregnant and had learned that this was a prospect that could bring pain. Cautiously optimistic, we forged ahead and hoped for the best, reminding ourselves repeatedly that lightning wouldn't strike us twice. I rarely talk about the miscarriage, about the affect it had on me and my feelings, of all things, of self worth. In my heart, as that first baby's mother, I had failed to carry him/her, to bring my child safely into this world. The lack of answers from the doctors didn't help to ease these feelings any.

So this brings me back to people and why they think I haven't yet tried again. Some think it is a fear of an unsuccessful pregnancy/miscarriage. Ironically, it is not at all. That fear left with Peyton. I carried her not only to term, but two weeks beyond. To say that I loved being pregnant is so inadequate, it was in reality the happiest time of my life. It's true, I was once a very happy person. Smiling, upbeat, nauseatingly optimistic in my expectations. I even have the pictures to prove it.

I am at the point now, having lost faith in most things through this, where I need to be shown that something is possible, not told. The experience of carrying Peyton to term showed me that I could carry a baby to term, and therefore I can now believe it. I know the joy of pregnancy is possible. I know that my body can tolerate a growing child. I know that I can maintain a healthy lifestyle and eat well and exercise. I know these things, so they no longer cause me fear. What I don't know is whether I can create a child that upon entering this world, will not be condemned to die.

Infant Leukemia laughs in the face of my grief and taunts me with its rarity, playing on my feelings of inadequecy for once again failing to bring a healthy child into the world; feelings that come when there are no other explanations. I have no answers. My child is dead and I have no answers. There were absolutely no indications when I was carrying Peyton that anything was wrong. No signs. No symptoms. Nothing. What's even more frustrating is living in a world where modern medicine can do the impossible; clone sheep, change one's gender, transplant the organs of animals into humans; and yet cannot offer a single test to determine whether or not my next child too, will be taken from me by this awful disease. How can I try again if I don't know when to stop worrying that Leukemia will take another child from me? When can I rule it out? At birth? After infancy? Puberty? Unfortunately no expert can give me an answer, just some bullshit about the probabilities of lightning striking twice.

I wish the prospect of trying again was as simple as the judgments others have placed on me

"Have another, you'll feel better."
"And what if I have to bury that one too?"
"What are the odds of it happening again?"
"About the same as they were the first time."
"Why aren't you trying?"
"The grief has made trying impossible at the moment."

All along I have hoped that we wouldn't have to try again, in terms of actually trying. I know how I feel. I know how terrified I am of losing another child, or breaking to the point of no return. I know that my fears can keep me from ever taking that leap of faith. I prayed that when the time came, God would help me out by making that decision for me. Oh how welcome an "oops" moment would be. I want a healthy family. I want to move past this pain, to say "okay, it has happened and I am going to do my best to put my fears aside and make this baby healthy." This was my hope, to leave this decision to God and nature, but even this has become too much to ask for. In yet another smack in the face, my grief over the child I have lost has made the prospect of easily getting pregnant improbable. I haven't talked about this here before, but an apparent side effect of watching your baby die, is having your remaining eggs retreat in fear of meeting a similar fate. I don't know that I would want to take the risk either if I were my eggs. My track record of 0 healthy children for 2 pregnancies is not very encouraging. Somewhere between my anger and bitterness at this new development, the situation is almost laughable. Here Krissy, how about some secondary IF after the death of your only child? Really?

My doctor has started me on hormones to try to get my body back on track, not because we are trying, but because I can't let this go. She says its not time to worry... yet, which is good because I think I have enough on my plate in that department. I was going to take pictures of the hormones for show and tell, but figured you would find very little interest in seeing a photo of little white pills. These hormones have made me even more of an emotional mess these past few weeks, as I am sure my husband would attest to, and will give me some indication by this weekend as to whether or not I am jumping over this hurdle, or standing at the doorstep of another uphill battle towards motherhood. Either way, I think I need a new lightning rod.

See what the others are sharing for this week's show and tell here.