Mary Scarlet

Oh my sweet blog

I am sorry to have neglected you so cruelly. It has been more than a month since my last posting.

Vacation was really, really wonderful. I was a little worried about all the time sitting in the car driving, both in fear that it would drive me batshit, or that we'd fight the whole way, or that my bulgy disc would get to bulging and I'd be in agony. Miraculously, none of the above occurred. To avoid the Sturgis motorcycle rally, we headed west via the northern route, through Minnesota and then North Dakota. North Dakota is one of the most beautiful places on earth. Not spectacular, but quietly beautiful.

It helped that we left the interstate as we crossed the border and did the eastern half of the state on state roads through gentle, rolling hills. Massive fields of sunflowers. Farmers who let their dead equipment lie where it falls. A slightly stormy sky helped.
Go there once before you die, it is lovely.

Montana was also gorgeous, but it was a little more frightening because of its size and vast emptiness. We also tried the state road approach, but in MT we rarely saw any signs of other humans, other than the road we were traveling on and the occasional ranch. Then this one biker, literally in the middle of nowhere.

Glacier is waaaay over in the northwest corner of the state, so we didn't even really see much mountain until we were pretty close. It was cold, and rained a little, but I think it is the most gorgeous place I've been to.
We did a long hike up to one of the glaciers, I'm so proud of us. Made the whole trip worth it. Make your visit to Glacier before 2030; they estimate the glaciers may all be gone by then.

After our 3 days in Glacier, we drove back by way of South Dakota and stopped in the Badlands. Meh. Sorry, South Dakotans, your state just doesn't rock like ND. Get thee hence to your northern neighbor. And Wall Drug? Totally not worth stopping. Don't let that advertising fool you.

So, here I am. Back to reality. Work immediately got stressful again, and has crescendoed to the point where I am waking up consistently at 3:30 am and unable to fall back to sleep until 5 or 6. Even my foolproof fallasleep method*, usually as trusty even as my Burger King constipation cure**, has not been working.

My husband keeps telling me that I am mean. Which means that I am no longer filtering anything; all of the blunt commentary that runs in my head is now coming directly out, and it's not nice. I'm trying to decide whether or not I want to work on that, or if I should just go with it. The New Adventures of Old Mary Scarlet.

And this is a week of sad anniversaries. Obviously, Sept. 11. I tried to avoid TV yesterday but I did want to see part of the name reading ceremony, and the waterworks started immediately. The day it happened I was on a vacation day from work, riding bikes in the forest preserve with my brother who was visiting from out of town. We didn't even know it had happened until we packed up the bikes to head home at about 11:30. Then I got my (then-fiance) husband on the phone and heard the incomprehensible news. When I got home and turned on the TV it finally hit me and I spent the rest of the day crying, like everyone else. It was that footage of seeing women standing on a bridge, screaming as they watched the towers fall.

Friday will be the one year anniversary of our miscarriage. Unlike the delivery date, I am trying to let this one pass quietly. I remember, and that is enough. It doesn't feel as sad as the EDD did, except that it is a reminder how quickly time passes, and how much it is against us. I can't believe it's a year already.

I'm so glad I've had this blog for that horrible period while I was doing IVF, and particularly glad that I transcribed the entries on loss. I expect to revisit them a lot in the next few days, and as long as I'm able to keep this site up, I'll leave them there for any other women suffering through to read.  I really wish that I felt I had arrived somewhere now. That I felt life was going to be OK for me, and that we could live as we are, and eventually let that silly, irrational hope go. I don't feel that way yet. And I don't want to end this on such a sad note, so I won't say it's my last post. Maybe at some point in the next few months or a year, I will have my epiphany, or a breakthrough, or feel the finality. So I'll come back and post then. Or maybe just when I'm feeling less squashed.

Until then, I will keep reading all of you and try to be better about the commenting. Thanks to everyone who has been reading and commenting, and helping me to stay upright and alive these past few months.

Love to you all,
Mary
-Listening to "The One I Love," David Gray

*Pick a movie you've seen a million times. Try to replay it in your head scene by scene. With Bridget Jones Diary, I would always be asleep before the "All By Myself" scene in the opening credits.

**Uh ... eat a Whopper Jr., wait 10 minutes. Works every time.

The bad news is still coming

To DD, who was so kind to me in March when our skies came crashing down, I'm so sorry. Our hearts are hurting for you.

Abiding

The first few days after the negative beta were strange: I had to help with my cousin's bridal shower Sunday, and prep was a good chunk of the day Saturday, so cramming all of the other things in I had to do that weekend made me this weird, hypermotivated, hyperefficient, "I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine" scary fake smiling person. The hard candy shell went on, to deal with for the 3 hour glut of hyperfertile femininity.

On Saturday my mom told me that my cousin from the other side of the family has had a miscarriage. Her first. Earlyish, about the same stage as mine I think, but it had happened about a week ago and my mom hadn't told me. I am just shredded about it. Thank goodness she hasn't also been dealing with infertility but I can't see that that matters much when something unfathomably awful like this happens.

Which brings me to Julie's post and what I've mostly been feeling for the past week: this negative beta sucks but it's nothing compared to what losing a pregnancy felt like. Even with the extra suck that this was our very last chance, I would still take this over a miscarriage. As sad and crumpled as I feel when I stop and think that "maybe one day" has become "never," I am sort of relieved that I don't have a nine month white-knuckler and that I know for sure that I will never have another miscarriage.  If only I could convince my mother and my husband to drop the "it could still happen" and "maybe we'll be one of those miracle couples." I think they're trying to let me down easy so I'm going to let it go for a little, but if it comes up much more we're going to have to take that one head on. Because I'll be damned if I'm going to go into the next chapter of my life still secretly hoping, and watching my cycles, and waking up early to temp. No more fucking needles, and no more thermometers. I can drink and eat whatever I want. My body's only job is to be the healthy thing that carries my brain around.

All this tough talk is very well and good but I have also been a pile of jelly several times this week. My cousin's miscarriage. And Liana and Molly.

And when I found out that a friend of my husband's had the second baby I didn't even know they were expecting, which made me think of the last time I'd seen them, at the worst party I have ever hosted, the one we gave this past summer for my sister-in-law's going away, which was a day party, and attended by about 10 couples I'm not particularly close to, who all had babies and young children that they all brought with them.  I realize how much it does bother me to be surrounded like this all the time. I do get sad about it. I'm not tough enough to let it not bother me. So I cried myself to sleep on Wednesday. I'm sad that I won't ever get to meet that person who is a mix of my husband and me, maybe with light green eyes, or maybe light brown. Who could have my grandmother's nose or his father's.  That will always get to me, and it's not the abstract, unknowable lost, it is that specific little blip that was here but faded away so unexpectedly last September. I miss you so much, little one.

We are giving ourselves some time, but I want to have the talk before what would have been my due date rolls around on April 12. I think I know what we want, but I want to be sure. I am excited and scared, but anxious and eager.

Man, I don't know what these past six months would have been like without all of the wonderful people who have become my friends in the computer. Lonely, and not as much fun by half.  You are amazing, funny, bright women, and I love you. Thank you for holding me up, particularly in this last week. I hope I can return the favor.

I am so funky

Much love to all for reading that last post, and for the very kind comments. It felt so good to reread and transfer all of that stuff. I'm so glad now that I took the time to write it down.

A week after I stopped the progesterone, I had the miscarriage. Knowing what I know now, I wish I'd opted for the D&C. I don't think I was expecting natural to be as painful as it was; thought it might be less painful than a D&C. It took about 9 hours altogether, and the last three were the worst. I read all of John Grisham's "The Rainmaker" that night from 6pm-3am, in the bathroom the whole time with the stupid little strainer. I'll forever have a twisted memory of that story. Mostly I wish I'd had the D&C because I might know now what caused it all, instead of wondering about clotting and whether the stupid 400mcg of folic acid I'd been taking by mistake might have been to blame. Yeah, discovered last week that I was at about 1/2 the level of folic acid that I should have been during pregnancy. That's a shitty feeling.

My husband tells me that I didn't smile for two weeks after the miscarriage. One of the worst days was when I saw my dad for the first time after I found out. I thought I was doing ok but as soon as he walked over to give me a hug, I lost it and let out the loudest, wettest, most unexpected howl into his shoulder. And I'll always remember what he said: "I know ... it's how we all feel." I love my dad.

But gradually I could stand to be in my own presence, and then soon I could be around people other than my husband who knew what had happened. 

So fast forward to today, almost five months later. I want to bleed. Every cycle I've had breakthrough bleeding towards the end of the course of BCP, and this time is no different. Round about day 29, it started, and even doubling the dose has had only a slightly discouraging effect on this funky blood. What it has done is to make me absolutely batshit. Things that made me cry today: the story on the Today show about the double heart-lung transplants on two babies, the OnStar radio commercial about the lady who was in the accident, and thinking about the friend of a friend who is going in for her C-section today at the end of an IVF pregnancy with partial placenta previa and three bleeding incidents in the last week.  I am a waterworks, exhausted, and feeling stretched.

I am also just funky. I don't feel like I'm sweating any more than usual, but I seem to have this musk by the end of every day. Can't figure it so I'm blaming the synthetic hormones.

To finish off another story, I decided to get my husband both the briefcase and the dog. Promise of a dog, actually. He was beside himself, and so excited. I'm giving him the briefcase tonight. He also got his big promotion. Big birthday party tomorrow night. Last BCP on Sunday. Injectibles start Wednesday. I have my brass knuckles on. My stinky self is going to take that infertility bitch down.

Previously ...

I have tried to journal my whole life and have always been a miserable failure. This blog is the only consistent record of me, and I know that feeling that I am writing to someone, even an unknown someone, keeps me posting. I am so happy to have this, and you friends that I've met through blogging, in my life. I want to make it a complete record, so I am transcribing here the one journal entry I did make between bad news and miscarriage. It's pretty self-explanatory. I'm transcribing everything except things that are private to other people.

I'm not wallowing, or trying to press any sympathy buttons. I am very hopeful just now, and feeling strong, and ready for my last trip down the ART road.  The sentence I didn't transcribe in context below, because it was in the middle of the paragraph I had to take out, pretty well sums it up:

"I just cannot imagine how horrible depression feels. Even now, as sad and crushed as I am, I still do not feel despair."

I just want to remember.

 

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September 11, 2005

I feel that I should remember this whole experience in agonizing detail. I worry that I will forget, eventually. I know myself at least well enough to know that with time the details, maybe all of the details, will fade. I planted a hydrangea in the garden yesterday but I don't want that to be my only remembrance.

Here is a picture of my first pregnancy. I am proud, and pleased, and happy that we at least got far enough to see that little, fluttering sign on the screen. Only 3.9mm, so tiny. Not a proper heart at 6 weeks (4 weeks past conception), but the tiny cells that will be the heart, contracting rhythmically for their own reason, no brain even to do the controlling. It never got beyond embryo stage to become a fetus. That would have been this week.

We waited until after the 6 week ultrasound to tell our parents.  D was unexpectedly excited and emotional. We both cried in the Dr.s office. He called his mother right away. My parents were out of town, D left for Paris a day after the appointment. We waited until both were back, a week and three days after the confirming scan, to tell them. I was so emotional. As it turns out, it was already over by then. Some time shortly after the visit, probably while D was in Paris development stopped.

I can't decide how I feel about the three weeks of happy expectation, mental plan-making, temptation to tell everyone, certainty that it was so obvious, must be obvious to people around me what was going on.

Thursday September 8 was our first official visit to the OB. 9 weeks, 1 day. It began normally, terribly late, D arrived in an awful, foul humor. Talking about leaving his job, his terrible day.

What seemed like a gallon of blood drawn by an odd phlebotomist from the lab company, unable almost to make eye contact and reeking of cigarette smoke. My bladder was terribly full but blood pressure good, 118/60.

Dr. E is delightful, very sweet, quite smart, anticipated a lot of our questions about food, etc. Gave me the external and internal exam, pap smear. Cervix good and closed, uterus "nice and grapefruity." We asked her for an ultrasound, which is optional on first visit. She started with abdominal. Bladder was so full and nothing was visible externally so she had me pee -- collecting most of it in a specimen cup for some other kind of testing.

Then she switched to the transvaginal u/s, the old wand of love. I don't know why the panic didn't start right away but thankfully it just built so gradually that I almost didn't notice. She professed lack of skill with the equipment, odd position of the pregnancy sac near the back of the uterus. After a good 5 minutes of searching, she stopped, saying she'd send me for a higher res scan. She was staring so hard at the screen she had tears running down her face. Contacts, she said.

After we were dressed and back in our room, she confessed that she was concerned. The exam and pregnancy questions stopped then. We discussed options for proceeding if something had happened to the pregnancy. I am grateful now that we had that chance to prepare.

D was so sure, leaving, that it was a fluke, that everything was fine, the u/s machine was not as good as Dr. Rs.  I was sure this was a very bad thing, having just read a blog post about what crap the "higher resolution" scan story is. It was a very bad night with lots of tears for me and very little sleep.

Had to give a lame excuse to work the next day and went in for a 10:15 appointment. With again a very full bladder and a long waiting room wait. Thankfully the hospital was very efficient, no messes with paperwork.

Our ultrasound tech's name was R, there was an intern I think named M. Both very small women. R was a little terse in her directions, but quick, and direct. Again, she started with the abdominal scan, then switched to transvaginal after emptying my huge bladder. Propped my butt up with a pillow. Checked ovaries first. Right, normal. Left ... long pause ... also normal. Then checking the uterus and she said,

"You should be nine weeks and two days. What I see measures just over seven weeks and there is no heartbeat. I'm sorry. No blood flow to the baby."

She left the room quickly to get Dr. E on the phone. D and I both cried, but kept control. Dr. E. was very kind. I wanted to try to wait it out naturally, but also wanted to try for testing, to see if we could determine a cause for the loss. She explained how to do it and instructed us to pick up containers from the office. We left quickly, got the containers, and headed home.

I have been up and down since then, a mess of tears and sadness mostly, but also some hopefulness when I talk to D about our plans to start again. D, again, has been surprisingly emotional, particularly after he told his mother, but I can see that he will recover quickly. I hope I will too but I don't know. 

I have been enjoying outdoors more than before, did first bits of gardening in months yesterday afternoon. Keeping busy and preoccupied will I'm sure be the key but life seems so blank and empty suddenly and most of my soothing activities seem unbearable. The things I'm facing at work this year seem unbearable now that I know it will be a full academic year at least, not a spring baby, a fall baby if we are very very lucky and try again soon and succeed. Pregnant through the heat of summer? God I hope so and we should be so lucky.

I am afraid of the actual miscarriage. I fear a D&C more than a natural one at this point.  I have a strainer to try to catch and preserve the miscarriage*, if I can. It will be gruesome and painful. I hope it will be enough. I hope it happens soon. Soon soon please.

I have not cried today. I am going to my parent's house later and fear I will cry there. My brothers haven't called. I'm sure they don't know what to say. I dread those conversations. D told his family: no sympathy, no need to discuss or call. I feel very alone. Floating in this weekend of knowing but not knowing, waiting but dreading. Anxious to get it over and move on.

D wants to start again right away. We want to see what happens if we try naturally. I am afraid of but looking forward to that. 

I am tired of writing this and will soon start repeating myself.

Something smells good, sitting out here. Like meat loaf or something.  I keep mistaking full bladder and gas for cramps. God I hope they come soon.

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*I did, and it was awful, but they couldn't culture anything. My RE says that almost never works because the tissue is contaminated passing over the cervix.