Mommy Happy

Yes, so it's been 5 months since I've updated. Whoops. To sum up: got pregnant, moved to new town, got unpregnant, made some new friends, settled in, playgroups, playdates, played trains. And here we are.

This past weekend, my dear sweet son turned TWO years old! It amazes me that two years have passed since those emotion-filled, exhausted, hormonal, foggy first days of his life. They were happy, certainly, but a combination of health worries (him) and hormonal psychosis (me) and the reality of caring for a newborn and the absolute unfathomable enormity of finally having a child was just too much for me to really process at the time. Two years later, I still marvel that it finally happened, but I can generally (not always) do it without bursting into tears.

Our journey to him was rocky and unsettling. It was lonely and scary. It was isolating and hopeless. But, ultimately it was rewarding. And it was the journey that was meant for us. It has forever changed me. I am less confident, but also less arrogant. I trust less in myself, but more in God. I am less sure it will all be as I want it, but more sure that it WILL be ok. I am less likely to worry over insignificant things, and more likely to empathize with someone who is hurting. I am more aware of the possibility of it all being taken away, but I am more likely to enjoy even the smallest things. I catch in others glimpses of who I was and who I imagine I would be today without having traveled this road. And I am happier to be who I am now.

Motherhood is the most difficult task I've ever worked at. It is all-consuming. Once you are a mother, you are never NOT a mother. No matter where you are and who you are with, the reality remains that there is a human out there who is relying on you for something (food, safety, emotional guidance, education, medical care, transportation, prayers...). And never have I been more excited to work so hard. Never have I been more vested in the task at hand and the outcome. It's not easy. And it's not always happy. And it doesn't always bring out my best. But more often than not, it is phenomenal. More often than not, it is so wonderful it's hard to believe anything can be this good.

Tonight I was putting my son to bed. He was uncharacteristically snuggly, leaning his head firmly into my chest and holding one of my hands on his face. He would talk quietly to me for a minute, then we would rock in silence for awhile. I was loving every moment of this unanticipated moment of intimacy. Suddenly he spoke up. "Mommy happy." I couldn't have said it better myself, kiddo.

I Just Want This, Nothing More

Sometimes kids are very wise. This past weekend my son participated in his first Easter egg hunts. He caught on very quickly. The only thing he didn't really understand was the goal of collecting as many eggs as you can as fast as you can. He who gets the most wins. Instead, he'd find an egg, run to us with it in his outstretched little chubby hand, shake it, laughing, open it to see what was inside. Each egg he found was new, interesting, and enough for him. He could have picked up one and been perfectly happy to explore it. It was so very innocent and so very sweet. It saddens me to think that all too soon he will develop the "more, more, more" mentality.

It was a good lesson in being satisfied with what you have. It got me thinking about the morality of wanting another child so badly. Looking at my life from the perspective of most people, there is nothing to want. I have a wonderful, kind, well-employed husband, a beautiful, healthy son, the ability to stay home with him if I choose and the ability to work if I want to, a nice house in a nice neighborhood, food on the table, and so on. So why not just be content? I tell myself that if I am not happy now, another child isn't going to solve that. And I believe that to be true. It's not that I am not happy. I am so very grateful for the things I have. And if I never have another child, I will still be grateful. But I will also be somewhat empty. When we announced that we might not be able to have another, a well-meaning friend (whose wife was gigantically pregnant with their second) said, "Well, at least you have one." That's what I thought too before we had him. Please, just let me have one. (Be careful what you ask for.) The problem is that the desire is just as strong for the second, only in a different way. Before my son, I just wanted to be a mother. I wanted to share my life and home with a child. I had no idea what it would be like and I didn't care if the child was genetically mine. Now I know. Now I know how it feels to see and hear your baby's heartbeat for the first time, to feel those little kicks, to give birth, to nurse a baby. Those things mean so much to me. Obviously, there are ways for us to have a child without me being pregnant and I hope that if pregnancy is impossible, we can successfully pursue repeat parenthood in another way. But it will leave an empty place if my body can't participate again. I wish I could follow my son's lead and be perfectly content with this one, never needing another. But my son is the very one who is making that so hard.

Too Dumb To Conceive?

I know such a thing doesn't exist. I mean just look at some of the people who get pregnant... over and over and over and... But, I have made a colossal parenting mistake. I have done the dumbest thing imaginable. And I am wondering if that's why this cycle failed (yes it did, thanks for asking). I am wondering if God in his infinite wisdom is sitting up there saying, "Oh for the love of pete. How can you expect me to give you another one when you can't manage to learn the number one rule of parenting after EIGHTEEN MONTHS? Come on, give me something to work with here."

I have woken the child and it is now nearly midnight and I am not in bed because I have been battling him over going back to sleep for the past hour. Every night, I go check on him before going to bed. I stand over his crib, watch his chest rise and fall, notice how long he is now, look at the way his hair spills over his face, admire his small hands relaxed on his sheets. Partly it is my time to reflect on what a blessing he is, how unimaginably strong my love for him is, how grateful I am. And partly it is a superstitious ritual... if I make sure he's breathing before I go to bed, I guarantee that he will still be breathing when I wake up. Anyway, on this particular night as soon as I opened the door, his head popped up. I quickly retreated, but dared not close the door. No crying, all was well. Here's where the stupid comes in. I went back up AGAIN to try to grab some diapers that were on his floor so I could toss them in the wash (oh yes, I cloth diaper... you have idea the depth of my ubermom-ness). Stupid. Sleep more important than laundry. So I am inching in his door along the floor, hand on the diapers when he looks up again. I hastily retreat AGAIN, loudly banging into every solid surface on the way out. Still, no crying. And, oh my god, if I didn't attempt AGAIN. I decided I really needed to shut his door so that C doesn't wake him up when he goes to work in the morning, so I went back, pulled the door shut, discovered that it really needs WD40, and that was the end of my luck. He started crying. That was an hour and a half ago, and here I still sit. I managed to wiggle out of his room by lying a quilt on the floor with some pillows under it, jetting out the door while he wasn't looking, then admonishing "Lie down!" and "Shhh!" from the door so he thinks I am still there. Either that, or he's sitting in his crib rolling his eyes wondering how dumb I think he is.

So we'll start a new cycle immediately. Another frozen transfer. I fully expect the RE to recommend the same protocol, an idea with which I fully disagree. Four cycles of the exact same thing with the exact same results is my limit. We do something new, or I find someone new. Hopefully in the meantime I can gain some sense... I'm sure that's all it'll take. I mean, look at Jamie Lynn.

PUPO

It means "pregnant until proven otherwise." It means, to IVFers, that the embryos are in and until the blood pregnancy test there is a chance that you're pregnant. My natural inclination is to think of myself as NPUPO (not pregnant...). Go about my normal routine (you know, the fifths of whisky, the late night parties, the 2-pack-a-day habit, etc.) and try to completely forget the possibility. I mean, looking at this objectively, the things we have going against us are:

31 days of unopposed estrogen stimulation to get a decent lining
By "decent," I mean "horrible"
The possibility of uterine scarring remaining
Two lousy embryos that I am sure were still partially frozen
Me not taking it easy after the transfer AT ALL
3 frozen transfers under our belt, none successful

And here's what we have going for us:

Um... uh... um...

BUT, I am attempting to stay positive. Because the truth of the matter is that with infertility treatments there is no forgetting, there is no pretending that everything is normal and there is no way to protect your heart from the disappointment when it doesn't work. So you might as well enjoy the possibility while it still exists.

My husband has implored me to write something normal in my blog. He wants me to stop being so dreary and try to be more of a "dancing through fields of lilies while bluebirds sing on my shoulder" kind of gal. Huh. I thought I was funny. Guess not.

This past weekend, we made a trip to his family's farm. It is near the town we are moving to next month. We now have a house under contract and got to walk through it again. It's a new construction and is not done yet. But we are really excited about it. It's a 2-story in a neighborhood with a pool, tennis courts, basketball courts and hiking trails. It's on over an acre of land. It has an open floor plan, an awesome kitchen, custom cabinets, lots of built in storage, hardwood floors, faux paint finishes, a media room... It's cool. Right now I only have pics on my husband's cell phone, but next time I'll bring the camera and post some. (Was that normal enough?)

6 days until beta. Tick... tock... tick... tock...

At Least I Can Say My Endometrium is Skinny

It's been awhile. I haven't had much to say. As for the cliffhanger of the last post, did anyone expect me to really delay they cycle? Yes? Really? Well, no... wrong, wrong-o. I didn't. And since that was a whole month ago, I'm sure it'd be logical to expect some sort of announcement here. Nope. This has been the worst frozen embryo cycle in history, and we're not even to the meat of the cycle yet. I did scurry around getting this and that signed, talking to one lab, then the other, then the other, etc. until our embryos arrived safe and frozen here. Glad I was in such a big hurry because my first lining check resulted in a ridiculously tissue paper thin lining where no respectable embryo would attempt to snuggle in for nine month. Upped the estrogen, after another week we'd made minimal progress. At this point the doctor conceded to check my estrogen levels and lo and behold they weren't high enough. So we upped again and finally my lining was ready (and when I say ready I mean still entirely too thin for this to actually work, but thick enough that it did work once for someone, somewhere, so my doc feels justified in proceeding). Four weeks of estrogen and a lining other uteruses would point and laugh at and call "toothpick". Soooo... I have started progesterone in oil shots (PIO, to those of us in the know... PIA if you ask me). These are delightful little squirts of progesterone in olive oil right in the tushy muscle every night. Hopefully for 12 weeks. Walking not so good right now. And the little embryos are slated to be killed, I mean transferred on Friday. The nurses keep acting excited and hopeful. I feel kind of bad for them. I feel like I need to sit them down and say, "Look, it's good to have hope, but we need to be realistic here. I just don't want you to be too devastated when this doesn't work. There will be other tries." Honestly it surprises me somewhat when I hear their optimism because I keep forgetting that the point is to get pregnant. I feel like we're just cleaning out the freezer, so to speak, so that we can decide what to do next.

On a wholly unrelated and much happier note, we are a-moving. Hubs got a job in the same town as our alma mater. Said job promises better pay for better hours, so we're going. As of today we will have submitted an offer on a house that we fully expect the builder to laugh at, but it's worth a shot. Cross your fingers for us (and maybe your toes too just in case I might have the tiniest amount of hope for the aforementioned "thing").

How Much Do You Trust FedEx?

Would you trust them with your kids? What about your frozen globs of potential kids? We need to have our 12 frozen embryos shipped from our old stomping grounds in NC here to TX so that they can be transferred into my uterus where they will promptly raise their tiny cellular middle fingers at me and fling themselves out of my cervix, having lost all will to live (apparantly, judging by our past success, my uterus is like a shady Motel 6 with cockroaches on the floor and suspicious stains on the sheets and crackheads next door... no place for proper refined embryos... my son must have low standards). I have dragged my feet on this task mainly because it involves getting 35,000 pieces of paper from various sources plus my husband, a notary and me in the same place all at once and that has proved almost impossible. (Hey... sounds like a good joke... "A husband, a notary and an infertile walk into a bar..."). Without officially signed pieces of paper, the labs that currently house our embryos won't ship them and the lab here won't receive them. And now suddenly I find myself starting a cycle in which embryos are supposed to be put in me and said embryos are half way across the country. I am torn between giving up on this month but trying to get them here for next month and spending all day talking to labs, finding a notary, throwing him into the back of a speeding white van with no windows (ski mask on my face, obviously), binding and gagging him, dragging him into the OR where my husband is busily giving his patients happy drugs, taking a hit for myself, getting those papers signed and overnighted, and hoping that FedEx pulls through for me.

I Think I've Found My Niche

I've been wondering how an MD with an aversion to work can come up with a little extra spending money. I've run through a million ideas in my head, but I think I may have finally stumbled across the right one. As you are aware from my previous posts, I have entered a crafty stage. First, please view my inspiration.

http://whatnottocrochet.wordpress.com/2008/01/12/tampon-cozies/

The uterus-shaped one got me thinking. There are WAHM (work at home moms) out there who crochet hats, scarves, blankets, sweaters, soakers for cloth diapers and the list goes on. But I've yet to run across anyone who has cornered the infertile market. So I'm gonna do it. Some ideas for my new line:

1. Teardrop-shaped tampon cozies for the times when seeing your period... AGAIN... is just a little more than you can handle.

2. Ovary ice-pack covers in sizes ranging from "raisin" for the "geriatric ovary" to "watermelon" for the PCOS-er for that post-retrieval tingle.

3. Socks that reach all the way up to your thighs to keep you warm in the stirrups.

4. Blankets that can be used as modesty sheets at the reproductive endocrinologist... I mean don't you feel kind of bad for the guy having to spend a fortune on all those paper sheets cycle after cycle after cycle?

5. Syringe cozies for warming up your progesterone in oil shots... because THAT's going to make it hurt less.

6. A discreet little carrying case with space for a vial, a needle, an alcohol wipe and a bandaid for the times you get to haul a bunch of embarrassing injectible drugs to your in-laws for dinner and crouch in their bathroom silently pumping your body full of hormones.

7. A Gatorade koozie- no OHSS for you!

8. Earmuffs for lunch with the girls, one of whom is forever wondering "when you're going to have kids already!" She just doesn't get why you don't, I mean she just has them without even trying! All he husband has to do is look at her. And you know, she just HATES being pregnant! All that nausea, the weight gain, lucky you, never being pregnant. Oops. You can't hear her. Darn earmuffs.

So these are just a few ideas I've been tossing around. I am sure I can come up with more. Now I'll need a name...

Maybe it Should Have Been Named "Marsupial Love"

So about this quilting class. I went yesterday and one of the other (maturer) students was acting... odd. She was odd at the first class, but this time she seemed to be both odd and pharmacologically enhanced in some way (Valium? Oxycontin?). So after listening to her talk incoherently about her new sewing machine (and TO her new sewing machine... the built-in scissors! the computer screen! the needle settings!) for most of the class, I am sitting across from her dutifully attempting to sew PRECISELY 1/4 inch seams into looooong strips of fabric. She looks up at me and says, "My little boy is getting frisky." I, um... your, um... um... what? "My little boy is getting frisky." So I give her my best "your particular brand of crazy is making me uncomfortable" look and say, "I don't understand what you mean." So she turns her back to me and sits there. Well, this clears it right up. Finally she says, "Don't you see it?" And then I do. I see something inside her shirt moving. I ask, "What IS that?" And she pulls out what looks very much like a rodent to me, but I have since been informed is a marsupial, thank you very much. More precisely, a sugar glider. It is in her shirt (and I can only assume has been in her shirt... doing what?... nursing?... for the past 2 hours) so that it becomes more friendly. I am quite sure I do not need or want to know any more about her friendly, bra-dwelling rodent/marsupial, but she's not done. Next, she starts talking about the female she has at home who is pregnant with twins (at this point I realize I am jealous of a rodent/marsupial) and how after this pregnancy, she'll have to separate her and her mate because her body needs a break from pregnancy. And finally the conversation (if you can call it that... one person talking, one sewing fast enough to make the machine hover ever so slightly over the table) turns to the sexual practices of her pets and how she's walked in on their rodent (sorry, marsupial) love three times. Oh my gawd.

So here is my question. Can marsupials have rabies, because I am starting to wonder of perhaps I should take precautions next week to ensure she doesn't bite me?

Me so crafty

I was going to title this one "Me 'sew' crafty," but I even annoyed myself with that title so I compromised. I am feeling uninspired.

I decided that there's really no reason to delay becoming an 80-year-old woman, so I have decided to add quilting and crocheting to my repertoire (which now consists of knitting and... knitting). It is my hope that by the end of the year I will have covered every surface in my home (including my husband and son) with crocheted white doilies. Why not? I've got nothing else to do. So I have enrolled myself in a beginning quilting class. The teacher is very nice and the other two students are... maturer than I. But before I can quilt I had to learn to sew so last weekend I went to a very cool, young, funky local craft shop and took a beginning sewing class. The other two students in that class were... less mature than I. It was a lot of fun and I came away with a new tote bag which I now carry everywhere and spend hours gazing adoringly at. I'd post a picture, but our only working computer has non-working USB ports so until the camera learns to send its pictures through mental telepathy the pics are all stuck inside of it.

Now that I can sew a wavy line and create simple tote bags, I have visions of a new craft business dancing in my head. Problem is that I have entirely too many ideas (and well, very little experience, except that I would be able to treat any injury I inflicted upon myself while wielding sharp scissors and needles and such). I will probably purchase a few patterns, test my hand at them with the intention of asking friends for opinions and promptly become bored and decide to train dogs for a living (this is exactly why I am an M.D. who doesn't practice).

In other news... it is very hard to try to pretend that you're not hoping to get pregnant when you know for sure that you're ovulating because all those years of injecting yourself full of cow hormones have caused your ovaries to start groaning and creaking and generally making themselves known every time they crank out an egg. Perhaps they'd chill out if I covered them with some nice white doilies.

Good-bye 2007. I spit in your general direction.

A good swift kick in the nuts to '07 on its way out, and welcome to what I can only pray will be a better year. Good-bye move halfway across the country, good-bye miscarriage, good-bye dislocated shoulder (my hubbie's, not mine), good-bye sweet favorite dog.

Not that it was all bad. Like every good infertile, I've gotta qualify any complaint with "well, at least we have our son." After all, you must make sure that the universe knows that you are GRATEFUL and HAPPY and for heaven's sakes, pleeeeease don't do anything to him, and well, ok, if it's not too much to ask, might we have another? Yet another sequela of infertility: the fear that what you finally got can be taken away in a flash. I am sure that every parent worries to varying degrees depending on their own personalities that something will happen to their children. It is that worry that keeps you vigilant so that your infant doesn't attempt sword-swallowing and your toddler doesn't ride his tricycle Evil Knievel-style off the staircase. However, I think it's different when your life circumstances have taught you to expect disappointment and sadness where children are concerned. But, I digress.

New year, new possibilities. Look out, '08. My expectations are high. You've got a lot of work to do.

Thankful

I spend a lot of time on this blog whining about life circumstances. While I appreciate an having an avenue for blowing off steam, I'm also not always grumpy. In fact, thanks to this blog, I am usually even pretty happy. So as a change of pace and in honor of the upcoming holiday, I thought I'd lay out my thanks.

1. My son- thankful does not even begin to cover it. I have dreamed of being a mother for decades and obsessed over it for years. While it may not be the Hallmark commercial I envisioned, it far exceeds what I imagined. His presence in my life is a source of constant joy. I could never have anticipated a love so deep that to even attempt to describe it brings me to tears. Trite as it may sound, I would lay down my life for this boy.

2. My husband- boy, does he deserve a medal (however, lest we get too sappy, sometimes so do I). He has been my best friend for a decade, my support when life falls down around us, a better father to my son than I could have asked for. He is steady, reasonable and kind in a world that can be turbulent and mean. I could not be the wife and mother I am without him.

3. My family and in-family- for always pulling through when necessary and for the type of unconditional love that I have only come to understand in the last 14 months. We are lucky between the two of us to have 4 wonderful parents.

4. My health- ok, sure, reproductively I suck. But if that's the worst of my health worries, then I am pretty lucky.

5. For all of our creature comforts- I have never been hungry (besides self-induced hunger), live in a nice house in a nice neighborhood, sleep in a soft bed, revel in my air conditioning. I have all of the basic necessities and then some.

Ok. I could go on. But I won't. Amidst the struggle for such a basic and deep-seated human experience, the experience of family, there is much to be thankful for.

Happy Infertility Awareness Week!

So this past week was Infertility Awareness Week. As a bona fide infertile, I feel it is my civic duty to spread the news.

According to the American Society for Reproductive Medicine, about 10% of couples are infertile (that is, unable to conceive after a year of trying). Which means that if you know 10 couples, chances are that you know someone who is infertile. Which means you should stop asking people when they plan to have kids. Eighty percent of infertile couples will be able to identify a cause and of those identified, about half are due to male factor. Which means you should stop discussing in hushed tones with your family members what might be wrong with your brother's wife.

None of that even begins to speak of the emotional toll infertility takes. I have encountered a range in my fertile friends' level of understanding: from "I cannot imagine how hard this must be and I am so sorry" to "why are you even trying so hard anyway?" I could write for days... literally... on the psychology of infertility. But, I won't. If you are fertile (or assume that you are) and you think that I am taking this little issue way too far (it's not cancer, for heaven's sakes), all I can tell you is that I am not alone. Every single infertile person I know (and yes, through the miracle of the internet I know many) experiences deep sadness, intense longing, a very real sense of loss, embarrassment, isolation, frustration, fear, disappointment, and worry. I will delve more into this in later posts because I think it's important. Too many people have zero understanding of how very, very hard it is. And the unfortunate part of that is that they then say things that are astoundingly insensitive and only make the hurt worse. Which I know is never the intention. So to end this post, I am compiling a list of phrases that are never to leave your lips when speaking to someone longing for a child.

1. Why don't you just adopt?
Ah, the perpetual query. Oh, how simple the decision, right? People who say that never, and I mean never, have the slightest inkling what adoption involves. And they never, and I mean never, are adoptive parents themselves. Adoption is expensive. It is very time consuming. And it is not as rose-colored as the general population believes. Again, I could write a whole post on this alone (and perhaps will), but not now. Finally, the next time you and your friends are all sharing birth stories, consider that the adoptive parent is robbed of the experience of being pregnant, feeling the kicks, giving birth, exclusively nursing the baby if she chooses. If you hate pregnancy, just be grateful you know enough about being pregnant to hate it.

2. Just relax and it'll happen. (Alternatively, "Just go on vacation.")
This one is sure to raise any infertile's blood pressure by 20 points. If that were true, everyone would get pregnant that first fun month of trying. Relaxing can't fix two-headed sperm, polycystic ovaries or endometriosis. And trust me, we are worried enough that we are in some way causing this failure. The last thing we need is to be lying in the sack wondering if maybe this could be the time... oh, crap... I thought about it... I wonder if that's too uptight... did I just screw it up?... well, now I'm definitely not relaxed...

3. Maybe it's just not in God's plan for you to have children. (Alternatively, "Maybe it's just not meant to be." or "Everything happens for a reason.")
A. Do you have a direct line to God? Because if so, I have some questions for Him? B. It's not in His plan for me, and educated loving person with plenty of resources for raising a happy, healthy child to have kids, but it was in his plan for that woman who was on the news last night because she killed her five children to have them? Do you really think God works that way? C. How is it remotely helpful to my faith to be told that God is withholding such a basic, deep-seated desire from me?

4. You want kids so bad? You can have mine!
First of all, you are making light of something deeply painful to someone. How would you feel if after your mother died, I offered you mine whenever you wanted to borrow her? I don't want your kids. I want my kids. Second of all, do you really not want your children? Really? Watching them grow, hearing their "I love yous," having a front row seat to their accomplishments doesn't bring you joy? Because if that's all true, perhaps you should consider adoption...

5. Have you tried ____________? (pillow under your bum, various positions, etc.)
Believe me. We have tried EVERYTHING. Do you really think that we have left any stone unturned? And now, please, for the love of pete, never ever tell me how to have sex again.

6. I know just how you feel. I tried for six months with my third.
No, you haven't the foggiest how it feels to stare at a negative pregnancy test every month for three years. You have no idea how it feels to have the most intimate part of your marriage invaded by medical personnel. You have no idea how it feels to inject your body full of hormones. You have no idea.

7. There was probably something wrong with the baby anyway.
While it may very well be true, that doesn't mean that the baby wasn't wanted. His or her family was excited, dreaming of tiny fingers and toes, feeling kicks, decorating the nursery. And now those dreams are gone and the would-be-parents are scared it will happen again. Future pregnancies will be marred with fear. They are mourning the loss of their dream.

8. At least you have one.
This is my new personal least favorite and one I probably would have actually said a couple of years ago. The problem is that we wanted three... or four. And sure, at least we have the one (though there is no least about him), but now we also know how great it is. Please, especially don't say this if you have more than one or only want one yourself. Because you really don't understand.

9. This is the last one, I promise. Don't leave your infertile friends in the dark when you get pregnant. Is the news going to hurt them? Yes and no. Yes, they will wonder why they can't experience pregnancy too. And no, they are genuinely happy for you and don't want you to experience pain. Not telling them only isolates them more and you can hardly hide it forever. And just because you should announce your pregnancy to them does NOT... I repeat NOT... mean you should complain to them about your discomforts. You certainly have a right to complain, but for heaven's sakes, not to the very person who would give a left leg to experience those discomforts. Let them take the lead in discussing your pregnancy. You have lots of other friends and family to talk about your joy and discomforts with. Don't torture the one who wants what you have more than anything.

So Happy Infertility Awareness Week, all. May you all have the families you desire.

Enough. No, seriously. Enough.

Do you remember those clown punching bags that used to be around when we were kids (and by we, I mean children of the 80's)? You punched them down and they popped right back up again? Well... meet the human clown punching bags. The universe smacks us down and we pop right back up, idiotic smiles on our faces, waiting for the next blow. And it always comes. Sometimes the universe gets a new toy that occupies it for awhile and we get a reprieve, but it always comes back eventually and hits us again. And we just ask for more.

Our dog is dying. He has some mass (we think) compressing some nerve or his spinal cord and he is losing neurological function in one leg as a result. Three-legged dog minus one leg. It looks like we have weeks left. Someday in the near future, I will have to choose the day my dog dies. (Smack!)

I went to have the HSG done that should have been done before we got pregnant this last time (except that we didn't know we could get pregnant so we didn't have the test done). We were looking to see if the uterine scarring that resulted from OOPS! forgetting to take out the whole placenta when my son was born was resolved. Wanna guess what the result was? Come on. Guess. RIGHT! Not gone. At best, that means more surgery to try to correct the problem. At worst, it means no more babies. Ever. (Smack!)

Stay tuned for "Why 'At least you have your son'" is not the correct response.

And We Have Tears...

Well if I was feeling bad about not feeling bad, I am feeling bad enough now to feel better. We got the results of the karyotype back today. At the lab that did it, 60% of karyotypes from miscarriages come back abnormal. Of those, 2% have more than one abnormailty. Meet the 2%. Our baby girl had both one X chromosome (Turner's syndrome) and 3 chromosome 21s (Down's Syndrome).

One one hand, this is good news. It means that it's not the uterine scarring that caused the problem. Yet it raises as many questions as it answers. Considering that it took 13 embryos and 2 chemical pregnancies to finally have my son, and now this, it makes me wonder if we have an egg quality or sperm quality problem. Of course, both of those can be overcome easily by using donor gametes. This is not to say that the decision to use donor gametes is an easy decision. But, the most important things for us right now are having another pregnancy and another child.

Still, receiving the news has turned on the waterworks. I am sad for my poor baby girl who never had a chance at life, but happy that she did not have to suffer. I am sad for the loss of a dream and a desire. I am sad that this likely means facing more invasive therapies rather than the chance at another freebie. Which makes me sad for our bank account. Today I am sad.

Decisions to never have to make

Our very-loved 9-year-old Labrador is sick. It's really bad. He was diagnosed with osteosarcoma of his ulna. By the time of diagnosis, 90% of these have metastasized to the lungs. Nothing showed up on his lung film, but that means little. With no treatment, we are looking at 2-4 months. Our options: 1. Control pain as well as we can with oral meds. 2. Amputate and chemo to increase life expectancy to a year. 3. Amputate for pain control. 4. Radiation for pain control.

After speaking with a trusted vet, radiation was ruled out as an expensive form of voodoo therapy. We also ruled out chemo because he will likely die of lung mets regardless of the chemo, so why put him through that? That left us with 1 and 3. We opted for 3 because he was just in so much pain. The surgery happened yesterday. As of this morning, his vet reported that he was in a LOT of pain and requiring sedation and multiple pain meds. I was racked with guilt thinking we'd done something cruel to our guy. By this afternoon, he was faring some better and learning to walk again.

I can only hope that he gets the hang of it soon, heals well and goes on to enjoy a playful and happy end. My heart breaks to think of the decisions that will have to be made in the upcoming months, and the decisions we've already made. I hope we've chosen the right path for him.

Too Happy Too Soon?

The D&C was one week ago today. My reaction to this whole thing is confusing for me. I thought I could never handle a miscarriage- that after all of the other crap we've been through, it'd do me in. So how is it that today, after 7 short days, I feel better than I have for weeks, maybe months? Though it makes little sense, losing the baby has sprung me into action. I have enrolled my son in music, Gymboree and swim classes. I have started pulling our house and lives together. I am more organized and that makes me feel better. I am sure that it seems like I am busying myself to hide from the pain and maybe I am. But these are all things that I've been wanting to do for a long time.

I've been paralyzed into inertia for so long and I don't really know why. Maybe it was the bad feeling I've had all along about this pregnancy. Maybe, like everything else in life, the fear of the thing is worse than the thing itself. And I know that my son has a lot to do with it. If we had no children when I lost this pregnancy, I am sure it would have crumpled me. I think that because I never felt good about this one, I never became attached to it. With my son, I rubbed my flat tummy and talked to him from the beginning. I never did that this time around. And now, I don't feel so much like I lost a potential child as time. I feel guilty even for not being more sad.

Don't get me wrong. It's not that everything is totally status quo. I belong to an online support group for IVF pregnancies and moms and I can't go back there. I have a friend due 4 weeks before I should have been and I don't want to see her. I don't want to hear about others' pregnancies. I don't want to congratulate them. I am bitter and it may be awhile before I can fight my way out of that. And it would not surprise me at all if one day with no warning, sadness crashed down on me. But for the moment, I am surprising even myself. I am happy. I am ok.

Thank You

To my husband, who pushed aside his own grief to dance around mine, never knowing whether to hug or get out of the way, but never getting angry with my unique and supremely selfish and frustrating way of dealing with bad news.

To my son, whose very existence is the best reminder that my life is not bad just because the current circumstances are unhappy.

To my mom, who came and stayed despite her own schedule, and never showed hurt when I aimed my pain in her direction.

To my mother-in-law, who made and sent a card saying that she didn't know how to comfort me, but was praying for us as we navigate through the aftermath.

To my best friend, who has left countless messages on my cell phone and continues to call in her support, even when she knows I probably won't pick up.

To my aunt and uncle, my in-laws, and 2 different friends who sent flowers to let us know that they are thinking of us.

To my husband's friends, who have called to comfort him when I have been unable to do so.

To the anesthesiologist who patted my hand while he spoke to me and didn't look at all uncomfortable when I burst into tears because of his kindness.

Thank you to all of the people who have offered support, prayers and love. Your words cannot take away the loss of the baby, but your presence is helping us to find our way through it.

My Five Stages (props to Kubler-Ross)

1. Denial: I'd be surprised if many infertile people experience this one. It's really hard to deny years on end with no baby. When you are infertile, you expect heartache, you don't deny it. Plus, there's really no denying a motionless, heartbeat-less blob that should be an active human baby.

2. Anger: Now this one, I excel in. I am pissed. Why us? Why does reproduction have to be such a struggle for us? We can afford kids. We love our son endlessly. Is it really so much to ask just to have the family we want? And if it is, then WHY did I even have to get pregnant in the first place? We weren't trying. We didn't ask. Couldn't it just not have happened (like it didn't for the last FOUR years, for chrissake)?

3. Bargaining: Got this one too. Not for this pregnancy, but for the future. Fine, if you took this one from me, you owe me twins next time. (Wait... TWINS?!? I don't want TWINS!) Ok, God, take this one if you must, but just let me have another eventually. And let it be ME. I want to be pregnant again (for more than 12 weeks). I want to give birth. I want to nurse my baby. Please, God. Don't you owe me?

4. Depression: Now this one I definitely hit again and again during our infertility years. I'm not there yet. We shall see. I think that waking up to my beautiful boy each day will be the best antidepressant I could have.

5. Acceptance: I'll get there. Probably sooner than anyone expects. I have my son. I will have another child, whether through adoption, surrogacy or pregnancy. I will. If my body can't give me my family, I'll get it elsewhere. But I will get it. And one day soon, I will wake up looking forward to the day and ready to jump in with both feet.

Myself is Getting Sick of Myself

I am convinced that the baby is dead (the in-utero one, that is... happy to report that the ex-utero one is alive and active). I keep telling my husband that I killed another one (that is in addition to the 10 embryos we transferred that never took and the 2 that did, but never became babies, and whatever unknown others there were while we were trying on our own). He's not a fan of the terminology. The fear is not totally unfounded. I've been spotting off and on since 6 weeks. Blood+Pregnant=Badness. Now I am cramping to beat the band. I've been doing that all along too, but it's worse now. Blood+Cramps+Pregnant=Bad Badness. All my pregnancy symptoms have vanished. And the coup de grace for my sanity: we rented a doppler and have yet to hear the tiniest hint of a heartbeat. Certainly, there are many quaint little anecdotes: "Oh my OB had a hard time finding my baby's heartbeat until 37 weeks!" But, really. Two doctors should be able to find it by now. And we can't. Because it's not there?

I have tried to convince myself that I'm ok with this. After all, if we'd had the choice, we wouldn't have chosen a 19 month spread between our kids. And the newborn period utter exhaustion scares me. But the truth is that... well, of course I'm not ok with it. Who ever is? (I don't need an answer to that, thanks.)

I am making myself insane and I am tired of it. My next OB appointment is on Tuesday. I am simultaneously relieved and terrified. I only hope I can stand myself until then.

On the Greener Side

The greener side of the fence. You know, where the grass is... well... greener. I spent 3 1/2 years peering through the chain links watching friend after friend after friend get pregnant, sail through pregnancy, give birth to pink-cheeked cherubs and talk about how wonderful it was. I know that the point of that saying is that the grass really isn't greener over there. But in this case, I was sure it was. For heaven's sakes, how could having a child not be better than monthly devastation, needles, hormone-induced psychosis, and spending more intimate time with my physician than with my husband? Three and a half years of trying, nine rocky months of pregnancy and one scary birth later, here I am. The greener side of the fence. And not only is it better (duh); it is beyond what I ever imagined. On the off chance that any fellow infertile ever reads these thoughts, let me add something here. Being a parent is the best thing I have ever done. However, that does not mean that it is a Hallmark commercial. This seems to be a common theme among infertiles (there are many). You spend so much time putting parenthood on a pedestal that it can be a major jolt when the baby is born and you are tired, and frustrated by the crying, and overwhelmed by the demands of a newborn. Being infertile does not protect you from the daily rigors of parenthood. And the very unfortunate part is that many infertile parents feel like they don't have the license to discuss the frustrations that every other parent discusses. After all, they asked for it, they took drugs for it, they paid for it. That being said, for every whine, mess and tantrum, there are a hundred magical moments: learning something new, kisses, snuggles, becoming an individual. And it is my firm belief that while most parents cherish their children, those of us who have worked so hard to bring those children into our lives cherish those moments just a bit more, knowing how close we came to never having them at all. It is greener indeed over here: glowing technicolor green.