Is this what healing looks like?

I didn't cry in the car the other day.
I didn't freeze up.
Or stare straight ahead.
Or feel the crushing weight of the world on me.

I admit that I did pause.
I was introspective - I always am now.
Loss has done that to me.

But I didn't lose it and that is saying something...

more on that later.

The other night hubs and I were laying in bed, the two kiddos swaddled between us, and we had a conversation that went something like this.

Me: Do you feel like their arrival has brought you any healing?
Hubs: Yeah... a little. You?
Me: Yeah, me too.

It got me to thinking about this word - healing.
What exactly is healing?
What does it mean in the day to day?

I knew that there were pieces of me that could only heal with the healthy arrival and safe homecoming of the snowflakes. Being pregnant with them hadn't healed me. I had been pregnant before. Birthing them didn't heal me. I had done that before too. But getting to bring these little ones home. Watching them grow and live and thrive and change each day of these last seven weeks. To certain wounds that came with losing Peyton, with never bringing her home, with never seeing her grow, with doubting my abilities to create healthy life - to these wounds in particular my little snowflakes have brought healing.

And then there are parts of my heart and soul that still need healing.

I was told my child would die.

Nothing can take that back. 

I had to make end of life decisions.

Nothing can help me live with them. 

I held my daughter as she struggled to draw her last breath.

Even as I type these words, there is a weight that sits on my chest with a familiar heaviness. I don't know what it is to NOT feel it when I think of my sweet Peyton's moments on this earth. It's possible I never will.

That doesn't mean, however, that I won't, in time, learn to live with decisions I have made. It doesn't mean that I won't find a way to forgive myself my humanness. I can't turn back the hands of time and unlearn the painful lessons of loss, and I will always bear the scars of what Peyton's life was, but that doesn't mean the pain can never be dulled or the wound healed. There are so many things in my life now that felt impossible just a short while ago.

Last year at a meeting of my bereaved mothers group, the women went around the circle talking about their losses and what had gotten them through, and every woman in the room said that had it not been for her other living children, she would never have been able to go on. I remember looking up at them when my turn to speak came, with tears streaming down my face, and saying, "and what about me? I have lost my only child. How do I go on?"

They had no answers for me and I realized in that moment that I had to find my own.

I had to find a way to go on knowing that it might never involve other children. Knowing that a doctor, with a wall full of degrees, had told me that having other children would be an impossibility.

I had to find a way to go on just in case there were happier days ahead for me.

I wanted to give up after that meeting, but I refused. Instead I woke up the next morning, and the one after that, and on and on even on the days that I didn't want to wake up. Even on the really hard days. I drew a breath. And then another. I existed because it was my only choice, and as I did, little by little, my life was improving. I didn't know it then. I couldn't feel it then. Even through my diagnosis of infertility, and my failed first round of IVF, I was working towards my future.

That, too, was a part of my healing.

Which brings me back to what happened in the car. An ad played on the radio. It was a Mother's Day ad on a local rock station. It went something like this:

"She endured morning sickness and carried you for nine hard months. She spent countless sleepless nights taking care of you. She put up with you during those tough teen years. She loved you through all your bad decisions. This Mother's Day, do something for her in return..." 

After that it went on to hock some contest prize pack or product.

In the past that seemingly benign ad would have left me frozen. I would have said to myself: I carried her for nine long months but never got to see her teen years. I would get stuck on how unfair that was. I would think about the way I had been cheated by her birth.
By her short life.
By her death.

I would start questioning myself:
Will I ever be a mother?
Am I still a mother?
How can I be a mother if my only child is dead?

On and on would go the cycle of dismay over having to live childless in a world full of children.
On and on would go the fury at not knowing how to define myself.
How to define her.
How to define US.

But this time it was different. This time the ad played and I actually HEARD it. Not the isolating meanings that it would have held for me in the past, but just a silly ad on the radio about the crap kids sometimes put their mothers through. For the first time since becoming a mother three years ago, I realized, I almost felt a part of the club. Something that was only possible because I hadn't given up on trying.

I don't mean on trying to conceive.
I mean on trying to live.

I now have living children to show for my hard work.
Children who keep me up all night.
Children who will one day be teenagers, then adults, and eventually find themselves listening to just such an ad wondering what last minute gift to get me for Mother's Day.

For the first time I heard about Mother's Day and didn't immediately want to crawl under my covers and hide from the cruelness of a world that made me go on without her.

I am a mother.
I will always be different.
I have three children who exist in two very different worlds but I am a mother who loves them all,
and I am healing.

I can't be like other parents. For one thing there are certain neuroses that I exhibit that most other mothers wouldn't understand. I am hyper vigilant about protecting my children from carcinogens and I can't say that that will ever end. That, and doing whatever I can, whenever I can, to keep them healthy, even when it seems overboard to those who have never suffered loss, are two things I won't ever make excuses or apologies for.

That being said, I am parenting twins after loss and can honestly say that while one might expect me to assume the worst, I don't.

I don't double check to make sure that they are breathing.
I know they are.
I don't hold back on making plans for their futures.
I know those days will come.

Somehow, despite what I have been through, I still manage to always assume the best for their future, and at times even my own now, and that, too, is a sign to me that I am healing.

I think that in the loss/infertility world, what has been taken from us is so organic, so deeply a part of our being, that to expect us to compensate for what is missing overnight is unfair and unrealistic, but somehow, as hard as it may be at times, we find a path towards moving forward with the memories of our children, and we survive.

Each of us will write a different story.
Some will go on to have more children.
Others will not.
But all of us, with each day that we draw breath and work toward our future, regardless of how bleak we think that future may be or how far away our "happy ending" may feel, is doing the hard work of healing.

In our own ways.
On our own timelines.
Even though in the moment we can't see it,
by living we are all healing,
bit-by-bit.

Do I Laugh Or Do I Cry?

My house hates me.

Don't look at me like that - it's true.

When Peyton died, our seemingly perfect house had over $40,000 worth of unnecessary repairs come up over the first six months to a year of our grieving - talk about an expensive distraction.

Now, here I am, hugely pregnant and on bedrest, and our house has decided to turn on us again.

Honestly, at this point I no longer know whether to laugh or cry.

Yesterday morning I woke up to an odd sound. In my slumber filled haze I thought it was the dog licking something - herself, some furniture, something she had picked up off the floor. "Be quiet Charlotte," I muttered into my pillow, but the sound persisted. When I opened my eyes, I was astonished to find that the sound I heard was water dripping into the room from above our window casing. We live in the northeast and have had a TON of snow and ice in the last month - apparently yesterday our roof decided it had had enough.

I called hubs at work in a panic because there was water everywhere, and I am on bedrest, and what the heck am I gonna do about something like that? He came home and raked what he could off the roof (which, while it was a valiant effort, was kind of useless against the 8-12 inch thick ice pile-up that we have going on up there) and to both of our surprise, the water stopped.

Phew!

I had had an NST scheduled for the morning, and I asked hubs if he needed me (what I thought I was going to do, I couldn't tell you) and he told me he had it covered, so I headed off for the hospital. We were predicted to get a major storm, but luckily it was supposed to be clear until well after my appointment. I arrived at the hospital and wouldn't you know, they put me in the bed RIGHT NEXT TO that same woman from last week... the one with the junk food and the soda and the healthy babies - what are the odds? They did a BP check, overall pretty good though a little high, I am assuming from the stress of my house revolting against me, and hooked me up to the monitors.

The nurse asked how my morning was going, and I told her about the leak, at which point she told me a horror story about it happening at her mother's house, and how it did super extensive damage, and blah blah blah. She then told me to not go into the attic to check it out (like I was gonna do that anyway) and that if it started again, to let someone else deal with the leaking water. Well that is sort of hard when you are home alone. I mean if there is  a new leak that pops up, I can't just let it pour in without going over to stick a bucket under it or something.

After scaring me about all the crap that could be in our leaking water, and all the damage it could do and dollars it could cost, the nurse asked where the babies were, and I told her. She tried for a while but couldn't get a heartbeat on Baby A. The nurse kept leaving me and saying how strange it was that it wasn't monitoring, and then she would come back, contort me into some strange position where I had to hold this pad with one finger and that pad with another and I couldn't get to my ginger ale and boy did I want that ginger ale...

What may come as a shock was how unconcerned I was through this whole process. The snowflakes had been so incredibly active all morning and I think that is why. Sometimes my little baby boy A likes to hide from the NST pad so knowing this helped too.

Well an hour went by - then two, and still nothing but spotty recordings of his heartrate 99-200-154-96-202 like that it went on and on. I heard the nurse mutter something about "go see if you can find those twins" to another nurse, and a new woman appeared. She wheeled over the ultrasound machine, found the two babies and figured out the big mystery - both of the snowflakes are now lying transverse (horizontal!) Baby A has been head down and low for months, where as B will flip from vertical head down to transverse from time to time. I guess A got sick of having B sitting on his head, so he flipped too!

I have to admit, I was really frustrated and disappointed by this discovery.

I know it sounds silly to be upset over this but I really REALLY want to VBAC these babies. The nurse gave me some bullshit about how whatever the doc chooses I should be happy, and I wanted to scream because not for nothing, I know many women have c-sections without any issues, but my c-section with Peyton caused me MANY issues, not the least of which was robbing me of my fertility, so I am really not walking lightly into having another one like it is no big deal.

I am a realist, I know the possibility, and maybe the probability even, are there that I will have to c-section these babies, but that doesn't mean I am not wishing for VBAC. C-sections limit the number of children you can have, and we have always wanted a large family. I just don't think that unless you have had a c-section to bring a child into this world, and then lost that child, that someone can fully understand. It was also because of my c-section that we had to wait a year to start trying again, and another 6 months after that to discover I even had an infertility issue... so now that I am beating a dead horse here... let's just say I don't want one. I may need one, but I certainly don't want one.

Once the babies were found on ultrasound, my NST went a lot more smoothly. They checked my fluid, which they told me was wonderful, and sent me on my merry old way. I came home to find hubs working like mad at trying to get ice off the roof to no avail. I usually feel pretty grown up but I have to say, when things like this happen with our house I feel like a kid who is in over her head.

So after a long (and exhausting for hubs) day, we moved back into our bedroom last night- finally! We have been staying in the guest room for about a month - since the infamous mercury incident - and the water dripping in the guest room was just the motivation I needed to get out of there. I had been holding off, since we had put in new wood floors in the bedroom and I wanted to give them time to off gas, but I figured a month was sufficient.

 Well, to say last night was a sleepless night would be an incredible understatement. For whatever reason I was nauseous all night, and kept getting up to deal with morning sickness. At about 4AM, I finally closed my eyes and kept them shut, but wouldn't you know... 7AM I woke up to new drips - IN OUR BEDROOM! UGH!

Ty Pennington where are you!?

Hubs was outside shoveling, and looking mighty exhausted by it - poor thing! The storm we got last night was very wet and heavy, and I could see that each shovel-full was making him wish he had stayed in the midwest, rather than move up here to all this snow and mess to marry a northeastern girl!

I peeked my head into the guest bedroom to see how the dripping was going in there, and what had been a controlled drip into a bucket, had spread overnight into a splattering mess! Hubs came in and I gave him the bad news about the leak getting worse, and he headed back out, head down, to re-roof rake the roof! After that, he put more plastic and buckets and towels down in both bedrooms, and looking defeated, headed for the shower.

"We are gonna laugh about this someday." I called to him from the bottom of the stairs.
"About what?"
"About our house deciding to fall apart over the last month of this pregnancy. About not being able to get anything ready in time because of it. About all of it."
"We are?"
"Yes. We are."
"But not today," he grumbled.
"No," I admitted, "not today. But someday."

These pictures are worth a thousand words...

As you all know, I am never short on words, 

though I thought today I would try a little change of pace.

Warning - this post contains belly shots and ultrasounds. 

I am putting a little space here 

for anyone dealing with loss/infertility who would rather not see.

(Keep the faith, I have been there too.)

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Baby A who we are pretty darn sure is a boy.

Baby B is too modest for us to know for sure, 

but we think B is a girl.

I love this one!

 The snowflakes are growing...

and so am I!

Feeling very blessed - 

though a little makeup in this picture would have done a world of good :)

Oh God...

Since last Thursday's test, I have been on this recurring loop of angry, bitter, accepting, hopeless, hopeful, and back to start at angry again. What can I say? I am all of these things. I feel gypped, cheated, and screwed. I want to wave my fists at the air, and shout how unfair this all feels. Was it so out of the realm of possibility to believe that God might, just this once, cut us a break?

This post is not meant to bash anyone's religious beliefs. My feelings are actually just the opposite. I am jealous - genuinely jealous, of people who can claim that "in faith He afflicted me," and find comfort, rather than fear, in that relationship with God. That being said, I welcome any comments, religious or otherwise, to what I have written here.

People love to tell me that if God intends for me to have a baby, then I will. What am I supposed to do with that? I am infertile because a doctor didn't take the time to prescribe me some antibiotics when she checked me out of the hospital right after a c-section. Did God intend that she would be neglectful? Does God intend for child abusers and drug addicts to have babies? Did God intend for the woman on last night's news to go drunk driving with her child in the backseat, or that so many children in this world should be born into situations that offer them no real chance at life - war, poverty, disease? 

When I was 17, I walked away from the church. I was a teenager and felt disconnected and just didn't see the point. At 22, and completely out of nowhere, I felt called back. This is a piece of the puzzle that makes no sense to me. How, after finding my way back, could God choose to test me in such a way?  I don't know why I am pouring this all out here today. Maybe because I just don't get it. I don't get why a God who I so loved, a God that I put my faith in, would test me over and over these past few years. The exercise was meaningless, and I know that I have failed. 

I am not a better person, Christian, friend, wife, daughter, or sister because of this. What was left of me after Peyton died, is being beaten and battered by the intense sense of failure, injustice, and anger that comes with this infertility. Am I really to believe that it was God's intention that I not only lose my child, but my fertility to a doctor's oversight as well?

To say my relationship with my faith is strained right now, is an incredible understatement. For the last two weeks I haven't even attended services, something that I have felt drawn to do weekly over the last 8 years. I can't go there right now. I don't know why or what this means, just that right now, I can't.

I guess maybe I am tired of feeling so abandoned by Him. Words in the poem "Footprints" that used to mean so much to me: "During your times of trial and suffering, when you see only one set of footprints, it was then that I carried you." now feel vacant and untrue. 

Not once in the last 19 months have I felt His comfort or compassion carrying me through this loss. My feet don't feel capable of crossing the sand, but instead stand still, stuck, sinking lower and lower with every attempt at righting the wrongs of these last few years. Try to have another baby - sink deeper. Learn of infertility - sink deeper. Attempt IVF and fail - sink deeper. It is like I am trying to claw my way out of this hole, and with every handful of sand that I throw from the hole, a shovel full comes raining down over me, holding me in place.

For those who talk to me about God's intentions, is this, too, God's will? Am I to believe that the God who I loved so deeply would be standing above, loading his shovel against me? 

There was a beautiful sense of security that used to come from my close relationship with God, but it is gone now. That was before. Before I watched the unthinkable happen. Before I witnessed the most innocent being that I had ever encountered, endure pain on top of pain on top of pain with no respite. I begged God to heal Peyton, and He did not. I begged Him to take her peacefully, and relieve her of her pain, and He did not. I begged, and I pleaded, and I cried, and my prayers fell on deaf ears, and the sense of betrayal that I feel from that is overwhelming. 

For months after Peyton's death, I felt alone, and scared, and sad, and distraught, and filed weekly to my seat in the pew, to see if I could feel Him there with me. Week after week I prayed that God could come into my heart to make some sense of all that happened, and week after week, no answers came. I guess I just don't know how can I make peace with that? 

When people tell me that if God intends me to have a baby it will happen, don't they understand that miscarriage, child loss, infertility, and now a failed IVF have clouded that statement to such a degree that it feels simply untrue for me? Can't they understand how hopeless that makes me feel? They might as well be telling me that it just won't happen.

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.

Retrieval Update, Peyton, and IBMD Announcement

Today marks exactly 1 year and 6 months since we said goodbye to our little Peyton. 1 year and 6 months and nothing has ever felt "right" again. They say time heals, but what healing can come to the heart of a mother when her child's death has torn it in a way that is so profound and everlasting?

I find myself wondering... What would she be doing as a nineteen month old? What color would her hair be? Would her personality be outgoing, or shy, or both? Would she look like me at all?

1 year and 6 months have passed without her, and I could write a million sonnets and poems and posts here about how that feels, how deeply the loss of this child has rocked me to the core, or how broken my heart is without her. I could write and write and write, but no words could ever do these feelings justice. Just know little girl that we miss you. A year and a half ago. Today. Always.

****
Thank you all for your prayers, support, and words of encouragement. Yesterday went pretty well. The procedure was expected to take fifteen to twenty minutes, but they actually had me in a little over an hour. As explained earlier, I had A LOT of follicles, so they had to take their time going through them all and retrieving what they considered to be the best ones.

I learned something new about myself yesterday. As one nurse put it, I am "a hoot" under anesthesia. I have no recollection, but apparently I came out talking about chicken parmigiana, and calling the anesthesiologist and other staff by some pet names. Thank god I am not privy to any classified information, they probably could have gotten anything out of me in that state!

From the time that I came out of the procedure, until now, I have physically felt pretty okay. I am crampy, and a little sore, but all in all, not as bad as I expected. Emotionally is another story. I don't know if it was the HCG shot or what, but I have been feeling really down, which doesn't make sense because we came out of it with some pretty great news - they were able to retrieve fifteen eggs (our understanding is that more than 10 eggs is considered a good cycle.)

We decided to expose them all for fertilization because we were told that on average, half the eggs retrieved will fertilize, and half those fertilized will do so "well." Today, between 1 and 3, we will get the call to let us know how many eggs have become embryos, and how they are doing.

Tonight we start the progesterone shots in my back. I have been a pretty good sport up until now about the injections, but this one has me really scared... any hints out there?

*A LITTLE SIDE NOTE* International Babylost Mothers Day is just around the corner (May 2nd.) Are there any other mommas in the CT/Northeast USA area who are interested in meeting up to spend the day together? If you would like to join us, please shoot me an email at doinggoodinhername(at)gmail(dot)com

The Ups and Downs of "All Systems Go"

Tomorrow morning, at a little after 8 AM, hubs and I will be heading to the RE for our egg retrieval. I would by lying if I didn't say this has me all jumbled up. There are SO MANY hopes hanging on this very important procedure. That being said, between the hormones and the self injecting, the fear of the super long progesterone shots that will be going into my back starting in the next few days, and that debacle with my shot last night, I guess being jumbled up is to be expected.

If all goes well tomorrow, our child(ren) will be conceived via petri dish on April Fools (also my mother's birthday) transferred on Easter, a pregnancy test would come tax day, and their birth due right about Christmas Eve. In my family, my mother, father, sister, and myself, all have birthdays falling on a calendar holiday, so I have decided to take the timing of this cycle, and these funny dates, as a good sign.

As excited as I am for this *hopefully* new journey towards parenthood, none of that excitement quells how deeply I am missing Peyton. I find myself wondering what she would be doing, or about how different secondary infertility might feel, if I had my beautiful girl home to mother.

I am scared (out of my mind actually) about all the answers we don't have regarding how it was that our little girl was born with Leukemia, and am praying that I am doing, and have done, all that is necessary to keep these new little eggies from a similar fate. A beautiful fellow babyloss and IVF momma sent me some CD's of IVF meditations, and I have been using them to find some peace from the worry and anxiety, in the moments that my heart allows.

I don't know how many eggs will be retrieved tomorrow. I have been bordering on OHSS, an overstimulation condition that I REFUSE to Google because I already have enough on my mind. What I do know is that at yesterday's ultrasound they counted 60 follicles on my left, and about the same number on my right. Yes, you read that right, SIXTY follicles, a number that has me praying for God to *please give us enough healthy embryos from these follicles to make a family, but not so many that we can't use them.* Despite the science involved in IVF, I consider each and every child created by my husband and I as just that, a child, and the possibility of facing a lot of unusable embryos is something that tests me a great deal.

The woman doing the ultrasound also told me that my ovaries have grown so large that they are now touching. I know I am no doctor, but on all the diagrams that I saw during my years in public school sex-ed class, I never remember seeing an image of two ovaries hanging out together. It was always my understanding that they were sort of loners, taking turns each month at doing their own thing. The image of them bouncing into each other in there sort of gives me the heebie jeebies.

Because of the risk of OHSS, I have been put on a high salt intake, and Gatorade diet, and advised to do little to no exercise so as not to risk twisting an ovary. This is hard for me, because exercise is a big outlet for my anxiety, and water is my drink of choice, but doctors orders are doctors orders, so here I sit, on the couch, 2 liters of gatorade on my left, a salty black bean concoction for lunch on my right, and the cautiously optimistic hopes, that we may finally be moving towards the promise of parenthood, swirling around in my mind.

Throw another sheet into my Cuckoo file

Tomorrow is the trial run for IVF. I'd be lying if I didn't say I was a little nervous about it. I know that probably sounds silly, to be nervous about a trial run, but after all that has happened these last two years, I guess I am a little shell shocked over anything having to do with my baby making abilities.

My understanding for tomorrow's procedure is that I will go through all the steps I would go through on transfer day, with the exception of the actual transfer. This way they can make sure they have a clear shot on that day, and that they don't put any embryos at risk while dealing with hidden surprises. I don't even want to start down the path of thinking about what that means... "hidden surprises."

I don't know what to expect, pain wise, but they did say to take some Rx Tylenol before coming, and that they would send me home with a painkiller after.

There is so much riding on IVF, now that we know it is our only option. Maybe that is where the nerves come from. From knowing this is it. This is our only shot at making rainbow baby(s). Is it selfish of me to ask you all to keep us in your prayers? I know there are so many people out there facing bigger obstacles than ours, we are healthy, we have each other, a home, food on our table, clothes on our backs, but man, when it comes down to baby making, I'll take all the help I can get.

I have been trying to focus on hearing good news. That tomorrow they will say we are all systems "go." Or, at least, all systems "almost go", since we will still need to be put on the waiting list for the injections class.

My focus the last few days has been to visualize a good outcome. I spent a good part of yesterday meditating on it, picturing how I wanted it to go and having everything go fine.

I am a big believer in meditation and visual imagery. Probably another trait that you can throw in my cuckoo file, but whatever. The meditation I used yesterday was one called "Healing Fire." I don't have the name of the woman who wrote it, but I will look for it if anyone wants me to.

Basically you close your eyes and picture yourself coming up to a place where people are standing around a fire. They can be anyone, alive or dead. People from your past, your present and even your future. People that bring you peace. Jesus, Boodah. Doesn't matter as long as they are people you find healing.

You greet them and they greet you and in the center of the circle there is a fire. It's not a fire that would hurt you, more of a healing light. I picture it being purplish white, but that's just me.

When you feel ready in your mind, you step into this fire, and watch as all the painful feelings that have been burdening your heart fall to the ground and burn off like ash. Your mind runs through all the things you'd like to cast away about what has happened to you. The loss, the suffering, the flashbacks, the despair, the hopelessness.

When you are finished letting these things go, what is left is a glowing version of you. Hopeful. Energized. Loving. What is left is the best part of you after all you have been through. The lessons your struggle has taught you. The compassion. The love of new friends that it has brought into your life. The idea is that then, leaving that baggage behind, you are able to move forward.

I did this meditation yesterday to help calm my fears about tomorrow. When I envisioned coming upon the circle, I found people from my past, my grandmother, old friends, people from my real life, people I imagine meeting in my future, and even quite a few of you. There are no words to express the amount of healing I have found in the friendships born of this community.

When I approached the fire, I carried with me all the I can'ts.


I can't have children. 
I can't keep my child alive. 
I can't bring a baby home. 
I can't find happiness. 
I can't move forward. 
I can't ever feel true joy again. 
I can't be a normal person. 
I can't overcome this sadness.
I can't forgive myself.
I can't because good things don't happen to me anymore.


Stepping into the fire, one by one, I felt those feelings burn away. I could actually feel the burden on my shoulders getting lighter as I told myself, I can have children, just not the way I imagined. I can find happiness, even though I don't know how yet. I can move forward, I just need to keep fighting. I can feel pure joy again one day, even though it still feels impossible. I can because I deserve to.

Reminding myself of these truths, my feelings of sheer terror about tomorrow transformed into more of a feeling of cautious optimism, and while I haven't yet reached the place where I want to be, truth be told I am still quite a far ways off, that is okay. It's a step, albeit small, in the right direction.

Hey, even Rome wasn't built in a day.

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.

Hurry up and wait.

I am a pin cushion. At least that is how the last few weeks have left me feeling. I contemplated putting up a pictorial post of my many needle sticks for this week's Show and Tell, but thought, nah, who really wants to see that right? Bruise tracked arms are gross. Agreed.


I have had infectious disease tests. Every imaginable hormone tested. My thyroid tested. Glucose fasting tests. Tests for diabetes, cholesterol, PCOS. To be honest there were vials taken whose purposes escape me. After about the 20th tube of blood, I stopped keeping track.


Friday Hubs and I met with the RE to talk about our game plan, as well as to get the results of his sperm count. All good on that front, though none of that came as a great surprise since he was able to get me pregnant twice before without trouble. Here comes that roll of anger at the injustice of having lost my fertility to birth a dying child. Will that ever pass? It is so frustrating to know just how fertile I used to be, that I got pregnant so easily twice. Sometimes I get so stuck on that. On the why in why don't I have any living children to show for it? What makes me so damn undeserving?


If you are someone who finds comfort in hearing that "God chose us to mother sick children because we are such special parents" you might want to skip ahead a few paragraphs. I don't want my rant to take away from anything that brings you comfort. 


I have been thinking about that alot lately, and I think it is crap. God didn't choose me because I would be such an amazing mother. Obviously the choices I made, though well intentioned and based on what was the best of our knowledge at the time, were the wrong ones. She is dead. My daughter is dead. Nothing about this loss has made me a better person, wife, family member or friend. I am nothing extraordinary. If God chose me specifically because he thought I was the right, strong person for the job, he was wrong. End of rant.


Our appointment with the IVF doctor Friday was a review mostly of what we already knew, an opportunity to ask questions and sign consent forms, and a meeting with a financial planner. The meeting ended, and I am paraphrasing here of course, with "now you owe us $3000 down and you will be put on the waiting list."


The waiting list!? What waiting list? Haven't we waited long enough? Sometimes I feel like my whole life has become hurry up and wait.


At the end of my next cycle, a trial run will be performed sans eggs. Once that happens, another round of waiting begins, this time for a slot in the injections class.


I asked the RE how long of a wait until we could actually get started on injectable medications and he said, "Maybe, I dunno, April?" 


April?!  


His words left me feeling so defeated, my hopes for this year crushed. We are only, what, 5-6 weeks into 2010 and I already know that a rainbow baby is not possible for me this year. I got pregnant at 27. 27! How did I go to sleep one night waiting for the birth of my child, and wake up in a reality where I would have to wait four years from that first test for a chance to bring home a baby? God please let us bring one home. Please. I can't lose another child. I can't.  


Have you ever felt like EVERYONE is pregnant but you? When we were pregnant, only one other friend was at the same time. Now, only a few years later, everyone has reached a point where they are starting their families, and hubs and I are stuck in frustrated bystander mode.


Three of my best friends are expecting, two within a week of my due date with Peyton. Walking the line between my joy for them, and my internal heartbreak is so difficult. I want to be there for them. I want to be a good friend, to shower them with all that this moment deserves, and yet I can't. Not to the extent that I would have been able to. 


Last night was a perfect example of that. At a Superbowl gathering of maybe 12 people, two of the women (my best friend being one of them) were expecting. There was a lot of talk about due dates, godparents, ultrasounds, kicking. I hate no longer living in that world. I hate that while "normal" women can offer congratulations without heartbreak, and coo over ultrasounds and due dates, my child's death plays on an angry repeat in my mind. I want to be in that world. I want to, but I can't. When you have seen what we have seen, there is no going back. 


Instead of joining the conversation, I found a seat in front of the TV (I hate football by the way) and fought back tears, pretending to focus on the game. I wish I could put my sorrow aside, move past it and be the bigger person. I wish I was stronger, that I could overcome my heartache and interact like a "normal" woman, but I can't. That part of me is broken.


Do you ever feel like you no longer have a place to fit in? That's how I feel all the time. I don't  fit in with friends who have children, or with those who don't. Honestly I don't know where I belong anymore. Is there a place for people like us?


Last night hubs and I were talking about it. How we had a daughter once. We did. We had a living, breathing, pink and beautiful child. We were parents. He a father. I a mother. She was here. She shared our oxygen. Does that matter? Does that still qualify us as parents, or are we somehow "less than"? That is how I feel alot. "Less than."


It happened. She existed. I swear she did. Does anyone else know that, can they see that? Do I look like a mother, sound like a mother?


When people talk about pregnancy or parenting, unless I am asked directly, I stay out of it. Who wants advice from a woman who couldn't make a healthy baby? Who wants advice from a woman who couldn't keep her alive? Is it even okay for me to consider myself a mother, when my only child is dead? 


I carried Peyton. Loved Peyton. Nursed Peyton. But then came the next chapter. The ugly chapter. The one no pregnancy book talks about. I made end of life decisions. I held Peyton as the color drained from her perfect little being. Did I lose my mom card with that chapter? I feel like I did.


Everything leading up to Peyton's birth felt so right. I remember beaming. I remember the excitement. I remember the joy, and naive anticipation. Since her birth nothing has ever felt right again.


I know people want us to move on. I hear their comments all the time. 


"Have another baby."
"Adopt a baby."
"Why don't you look into getting one of those kids from Haiti."


If only things were that simple.


How can we move on, when things outside of our control leave us indefinitely paused, stuck on the most painful chapter of our lives?

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.

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.

On Pause

Not much to report here... unfortunately.

We are still wishing for the elusive BFP, but stick after stick seem to confirm what the doctors have told us, that bringing another little life into this world will take work, and tests, and medication, and procedures. I will keep praying though, AF is not due for another day or two. We were supposed to meet with the genetic counselor this past week to see if there could have been any hereditary cause for Peyton's cancer, but the appointment was canceled. Apparently the hospital where Peyton spent her life has not yet sent over her medical records, and the appointment was contingent on the counselor having a chance to review our medical histories as well as Peyton's to see if she can spot anything test worthy. This is more than a little frustrating seeing as how the records were requested almost two months ago, and were promised to be sent within thirty days. Our fertility appointment was set to happen after meeting with the genetic counselor, and that too has been canceled... a reschedule contingent on our rescheduled genetic counseling appointment. So we wait, and wait, and wait.

I have talked about this here before many times, about how our life seems to be on pause. Every time we try to take a step forward out of this hole, boulders fall into our path and beat us back. All around us I see families growing. My sister is due to have her third this week. A very close friend who was pregnant with her first at the same time I was, is due to have her second in the new year. Life moves on around us, and all the while we fall farther and farther behind. It's a double edge sword really. I am afraid of not getting pregnant. I am afraid of getting pregnant and losing another baby. I am afraid of never getting through this grief. I am afraid of getting through it and losing Peyton in the process. In babyloss and infertility, there are no simple answers.

Today in church I felt just so overwhelmed. I was thinking about my pregnancy with Peyton, about how sure I felt at the time about my future. I thought of all the plans I used to make, and how all the stars were seemingly aligned before Peyton's birth. We were ready. How could everything have gone so terribly wrong? How could I not have known? I know the questions are useless, but my heart can't stop asking them anyway. How can there exist this huge community of families ripped apart by babyloss, when the nightly news tells of countless children suffering from neglect? How can there be so many couples suffering with the pain and disappointment of infertility, in the same world where countless women line up at clinics seeking solutions for unwanted pregnancies? I have lost many hours of sleep wondering if there is any justice at all in this world.

I just don't understand why the prospect of having a family has to be such a painful one. Hubs and I love each other. We want to share that love with a child. Why does it all have to be so difficult?

I am sorry this post is so blah, and bitchy and down, but that's just how it is sometimes. Truth be told, I had really hoped to be closer to some answers by now, either from the genetic counselor, or from the fertility Doc about our next steps, but it seems life has other plans. So we continue standing still... Waiting. Worrying. Wondering.