(No Longer New) Midlife Mommy

Hello Out There

I appreciate all of the kind words and comments.  And I'm still around.  I just haven't been visiting here very much because I haven't wanted to think about my feelings.  Much healthier to push them down and ignore them!  (Not.  Well, at least it's easier.  Mostly.)

Not much to report.  I was hopeful about the embryo adoption, but I don't know if that's going to come through or not.  The person who made the wonderful offer has some really devastating issues in her life to address at the moment, and I understand that this isn't a priority.  I don't want to be a pest, even though I still feel on pins and needles about the opportunity.

You know, I've always been an action oriented kind of person.  If there is something I want to accomplish, then I go after it and get it done.  I can be pretty focused and driven.  A mountain you say?  Well, I'll go around it.  Or through it.  Or over it.  Or blast it out of the way.  But I can't do anything, because the ball isn't in my court.  And that's hard for me.  The only action that I could take right now is to choose a new donor and start over.  But I don't think I have it in me to do that.

Sometimes, and especially lately, I've been wondering what it would have been like to have lived a different life, one where I would have married young, had no fertility issues, had my two babies (or more!), and enjoyed getting older as I watched them grow and give me grandchildren.  Instead, here I am, hyperventilating and sad, still thinking about the child that I lost and still jealous of all the babies and bellies around me.  Recently, I learned that someone at work will be a dad in April, which is the month that my baby would have been born.  My daughter's after-care teacher is due in June.  It's hardly seems fair, though I know that life isn't fair, and I know that there are people with a lot more sorrow than I have.  A friend of mine just lost his precious granddaughter of 13 months.  Unimaginable.  But my sadness for him doesn't make my pain less.  I miss my own baby dammit.

At some level, I'm mad at DH.  On the one hand, he's gone along with all of the cycles, so maybe it's unfair to have these feelings.  After all, he did put up with all of the bullsh*t that was part and parcel of all of that.  But, he's also fought me tooth and nail each step of the way.  No interest in adoption.  Argued against Clomid, because it could cause multiple births.  Argued against IUI with injections, same reason.  Argued against IVF, same reason.  Argued against the first donor cycle, same reason.  Argued against using the left over embryos, this time because he was ostensibly too old (that argument has continued).  Oh, and we always had to transfer only one embryo where possible, which reduced the possibility of success (since they were always three-day embryos).  Surprise!  We haven't gotten younger with all the arguing and delay.  So yes, still p*ssed about all of that, even though I think he's the best dad in the world and would love another child (and yes, he does admit that he would love another child, and he's tired of talking about this, and we should just do it already dammit).  I think part of it may be due to the fact that DH lost his father when DH was 17, and it also may be due to the fact that he's the most involved dad I know.  It still makes me laugh when my own father tells DH that DH is a much better dad that he was.

My daughter is such a beautiful little girl.  She's beautiful, smart, graceful, kind, and has a delightful sense of humor.  I still can't believe that I get to be her mother.  I don't ever mean to sound ungrateful about that, and in my fantasies about having had my babies early, she is part of that dream.  But I want her to have a brother or sister.  I am enjoying her so much, and I know that another child would bring even more joy.

It still makes me want to cry.  (Sh*t, I do cry, who am I kidding?)  So I push it out of my thoughts.  When I do think about it, it feels like the window of opportunity is closing for me, this time for good.  I'm not even sure why I'm feeling that way right now, because I've always been one of those people who believe that you should follow your heart where it leads, even if it isn't where or when you expect.  My parents' next-door neighbor fostered an older child when she was in her 50's and eventually adopted her long after her two boys were grown, so you just never know what might happen.  (Of course, their next-door neighbor was [and still is] quite a b*tch, so now she has three children who wouldn't walk across the street to do you-know-what to her if she were on fire, but I digress.)

Wouldn't it be grand to have a crystal ball that works to know how this will all turn out in the end?

 

Still Around

Um, hello.  I guess I haven't been here in quite awhile, though the spammers have left a few presents (I think I got rid of them all, but I'm not sure). 

Honestly, I didn't have a lot to say.

I had a birthday a few weeks ago.

I broke a toe (&%#$).

I've noticed more wrinkles.  (Really need to look into getting the eyes done - yuck.  Does anyone know about how much that would cost?)

Still spotting to the tune of a drop a day, though I finally had a normal p*riod starting on Monday, so maybe the spotting will be gone now too.  Nothing like a daily reminder of what I've lost.  I would like that to stop.

I was very angry.

I have been very sad.

I bought one of these.  It's something tangible that I can feel, when I need to have something to hold.  Like when I see a pregnant woman.  Or a sweet new baby.  (My husband didn't "get" my need for something like this at all.  Must be a chick thing.)

I sent $150 to the egg broker to get a list of possible donors, but . . . sigh.

My other baby decided that she was ready to start sleeping in her new bed.  Unfortunately, she made that decision the Friday after the miscarriage, which made me feel like I'd lost two babies that week.  Fortunately, she's decided to come back and visit from time to time, so that's a comfort.

I'm still sad, and I'm still angry, though I have gotten more focused about that.  I'm not angry at my brother any longer.  We talked about it.  He isn't the most prompt person, and one week wasn't enough time to call to say congratulations before I lost the baby.

I'm not angry with every pregnant woman I see now, even the self-absorbed ones.  Life goes on.  I do hope that they realize how truly blessed they are.  I don't cry when I see a new baby anymore, but I still feel an ache in my arms and in my heart. 

I am angry with my doctor.  What I described in the morning on my last post was nothing like what happened in the evening.  I thought I was bleeding to death, soaking through a pad about every 15 minutes or so.  I couldn't decide whether to call an ambulance or try to make it to a different (safer) emergency room, 15 minutes away.  I called my doctor's answering service and told them that I really needed to speak with him, and they wouldn't call him for me.  They told me to go to the hospital, his hospital, 45 minutes away, and he might be there.  Or not.  They weren't even sure if he was in town.  I declined, and we ended up going to the closer emergency room. 

I felt bad that we had to wake DD up to go to the emergency room.  Fortunately, we'd already talked about what was happening with me.  DD was great, and very interested in everything at the hospital.  She even got a close up view of my blood draw; something I thought was important since she'd been so afraid of hers a couple of weeks before.  She managed to stay awake for the duration, even though we didn't leave until 4:00 in the morning.

But I'm not angry with the doctor because his answering service is stupid.  I'm angry because I learned that he had heard my tear-filled my-baby-died message on Friday, and he apparently thought someone else would get the message and deal with it.  What he didn't realize was that the message erased after he heard it.  So no one else knew that I had started to miscarry, and it was apparently too much trouble for him to actually call me himself to tell me what to expect and to offer options.  There must have been a run on miscarriages that weekend.  Or not.  He's very busy, I guess, what with only working half weeks and all.

When I called his office to make a follow up appointment for blood, the receptionist (though not in so many words) told me that I really hadn't called that Friday and left my tear-filled my-baby-died message (so I guess I must have been lying?).  I guess she might reasonably think that, since the message had been erased.  But that doesn't excuse her snarkiness when she learned that I didn't go to their preferred emergency room.  ("Why would you do that?  Now we have to get releases to order those records!"  S*cks to be you, I guess.)  The better questions would be:  "What was going on that caused you to visit the emergency room?  How are you feeling now?"  Oh, and how about "I'm sorry to hear about your loss."

The doctor was kind when I saw him.  He yelled at the answering service for refusing to call him (I overheard that all the way into the examining room when he stepped out for the blood draw).  He said that he would have done a D & C for me, even on the weekend.  (Except of course that he actually would have had to call me back to make those arrangements - a minor point.  Hmph.)

Could it have been a comedy of errors, and could I have been a bit sensitive?  I guess.  But when I called them a few weeks later to ask if there were any vaccines I should consider in the event I wanted to try again (I know, I should have asked before, but better late than never), the nurse told me that they didn't feel comfortable suggesting anything, and I should call my internist.  I asked her to ask the doctor.  After a week or so, not having heard anything, I called back.  And she said that it was as she thought; the doctor didn't feel comfortable recommending anything, but he did suggest that I talk with my RE.  Except I didn't even get that message, because she didn't call back to tell me that.  She said that she just figured that her first comment to me was sufficient.  (As an aside, my internist thought they were freaking crazy, since they were the obstetrics specialists and actually had the blood tests that would answer the question about which vaccines I might need - the short answer is TDAP.)

So.  They s*ck.  And so did the very pregnant woman who came into the office as I was waiting to go in for my blood work who couldn't stop b*tching about how miserable she was.  Here's a suggestion, my dear.  If you come into the OB's office, and someone is curled up, has a flat stomach, and appears kind of teary and sad, you might want to count your f*cking blessings, because she just might give anything to have your problems.  I'm just saying.

And something good happened too.  There is an old saying that says when God closes a door, He opens a window.  And, I've also heard it said that there are angels on earth.  I do think that perhaps I've met one, though only in cyberspace.  Someone who might be interested in allowing us to adopt her embryos.  Such an unbelievable honor.  I know, because there was a time that I thought we would be in the same circumstance.  Given that we always thought of our embryos as our unborn children, I do remember how hard it was to even contemplate letting them go (they were my babies!), and even if I could do that, there was the constant worry about insuring that they would go to a good and loving home.  Like I said, what an honor that someone would consider us for such a precious gift.

And, when all is said and done, I think that might be the perfect option.  I don't know that I have the energy to go through another donor cycle.  I still hear the dreadful tick, tick, TICK, TICK in the background all the time.  And now I've finally had a normal p*riod.  The lab is closed this month for whatever it is they do once a year, but if this is meant to be, I hope that we can work things out very soon, because time is not my friend.

Thank you all for the kind words and good thoughts.  I do appreciate them, more than you know.  I hope that you have a very Merry Christmas and a New Year filled with blessings.  And I hope you finish the work of Christmas - the cards, the baking, the buying, the wrapping - soon, so that you can have time to just breathe and enjoy the warmth and peace of Christmas.

 

Always On My Mind, Forever In My Heart

It's amazing how these little beings just wrap around your heart, even though you don't know them, can't feel them, and if you're like me, consciously try not to allow it.  It wasn't like that with our first pregnancy (blighted ovum), but after dealing with another loss after that and all the negative cycles in between and after, I learned to protect my heart.  It kind of broke through when I saw that heartbeat at 6 weeks.  Just for a second, the tears came through unbidden.  Happy, happy, happy.  Suppress, suppress, suppress.  Can't be happy.  Not yet. 

But still, you plan.  In spite of yourself.  Because the mind works independently of the heart.  When I took that Friday off when I started spotting, I immediately thought about my leave bank at work - what if I ended up on bed rest?  I've been stingy about that bank, protective of it, saving it for that baby that I just knew was going to come home eventually.  Saving it for five damned years.  But now, I can go crazy with leave time, because hey, who cares anymore?  I can put those maternity clothes away that I took out of hiding last weekend.  My regular jeans already feel looser, and my abdomen has softened.  I'd planned a trip to this really wonderful second hand maternity store on Saturday, deliberately keeping the number of places that I would stop to a minimum so I would have the luxury of time to choose some nice winter maternity clothes.  When I looked at my shopping list, having forgotten all about that store, I remembered and started crying at the emptiness of the list.  My life seems to be divided now, into "before" and "after."  The after really s*cks.

I only bought one thing for the baby.  It was a high chair cover, the kind you use in a restaurant.  It was the only thing I allowed myself to buy, though I didn't tell DH.  We already have one, but it was kind of a PITA to use.  This one looked easier.  And it was on sale.  It is a blue checkered pattern, because I was certain that this baby was a boy, though I could have used it for a girl as well.  I don't know why I thought it would be a boy.  My preference was girl, girl, girl.  Whenever my husband and I used to talk about whether there would be another donor cycle, I would always jokingly ask, "but what about Emily?"  Emily was the name of our phantom girl, the child that was missing from our family.  We've even saved all of DD's clothes that were not worn or stained (and trust me, that's a lot of clothes).  Yet, my heart told me that this was a boy.

I would have loved my boy.  My boss, who has two boys, said that the best thing about boys is, unlike girls, that they love, love, love you - always.  No teenage hissy "I hate yous."  It's all mom, all the time.  (I guess the "I hate yous" are reserved for dad when you're a boy.)  Every time I imagined this child in my life, it was a boy.  I wondered what I would do with a boy though.  I don't know anything about boys.  But I knew that I would love him unconditionally.  And I would laugh at my husband, since he would be the one who would have to deal with the million "I have to go potty" moments when we were all out in public, as I do now. 

I started to think about diapers.  There was a website that offered a discount if you ordered on a regular basis.  I almost signed up.  Good thing I didn't.  I had six iPhone apps to tell me how he was growing.  And multiple pregnancy emails coming every day.  It was hard to delete the apps and unsubscribe to the emails.  It was hard to be with my daughter last night at a large Halloween event at a local zoo.  So many babies.  So many adorable little kids.  I was walking death in the middle of all that life.

I sometimes allowed myself to imagine having a whole summer alone with this baby.  DD was born at the end of August, so I had cold weather while I was home with her on maternity leave.  This child would be different.  No summer birthday parties, but we could manage to find fun things to do indoors.  Spring and summer are my two favorite seasons.  I couldn't think of anything better to look forward to than a birthday that also celebrated the spring and the start of my favorite time of the year.

It keeps coming up, this interweaving, the connectedness in the flow of my life, in spite of it all.  In stupid little inconsequential ways that make me cry anew.  I have an iPhone 3G.  I am still in my contract period, even though there is now a 3GS and a 4G.  I'd thought about upgrading, but I didn't do it because I wanted to save money for my maternity leave.  I guess I can spend with abandon, because who cares?  It doesn't matter.  My car will be paid off by the time the baby would have been born, but who cares?  It doesn't matter, because there won't be a new baby to snuggle with in the spring.  I went back to drinking green tea, because I can have all the caffeine I want, and I don't have to worry about that silly article that I read that said that green tea might inhibit the absorption of folic acid for the baby.  I can drink all the wine I want.  I can take any medication I want, because my body and breasts aren't nurturing a child.  Nothing seems to matter anymore.  I've even been trying to see how many mini Kit Kats I have to eat before I feel a little better.  I apparently haven't eaten enough yet.  Because who the f*ck cares?

Unlike my other two miscarriages, this baby had a beating heart.  I saw it.  It was real.  It was alive.  And I wonder what I was doing when that tiny heart finally stopped.  Was I happy?  Sad?  Busy at work?  Sleeping?  Hopefully, I was thinking of him at that moment.  I will never hold his hand.  Never snuggle with him.  Never smell his sweetness.  Never see him play in the sunshine.  But I hope that I was there mentally with him as he was leaving this world, never to have seen its wonder and beauty. 

Probably one of the hardest things is that there really is nothing to tangible to mourn.  No one talks about this.  People don't know what to say, so many say nothing at all.  Or, they might express some sympathy, or worse ("it's for the best" - "it's God's will" - or if you're from my family, "you were too old anyway" [no, no one has actually said it, but I know they were thinking it].  Most people expect you to move on after a week or so.  I will probably order one of these, once I can bring myself to do it.  Because I never, ever want to forget.  As much as I tried to suppress it, I loved that baby.

I know that it's wrong to be mad at God, but it's hard not to be (I know, here I go again, blaming everything on God).  As all of this was happening at the hospital, I could only think to pray the Lord's prayer, because I couldn't mentally put words together that could possibly express the fear and anxiousness I was feeling.  Emphasis on "Thy will be done."  Please, please, let me accept your will.  And let me offer this little one up to you Father.  Mercy.  Please, please, have mercy on us.  Please save our baby.  Please send a miracle.  Please let us see movement on the ultrasound.  Over and over and over.  Because He promises that if we seek Him, He will draw near.  I asked for His peace to abide with me all day, so that I could accept whatever came.  But it didn't come.  It just didn't.  There was no peace then.  There is no peace now.  My husband was with me all day, but we were coming from such different places, it was still very lonely. 

I will never understand.  I was ready to accept a negative test.  When the spotting started, I was ready to accept another blighted ovum.  But once I saw that heartbeat . . . Really, what was the f*cking point of this exercise?  What possible purpose could be served?  "All things work together for the good of those who love Him."  Romans 8:28.  I will go to my grave wondering how that could possibly be true.

This miscarriage is very hard, physically as well as mentally and emotionally.  I've had two others.  One with a pregnancy that hardly got started (I had a positive pregnancy test, but I barely made it to four weeks), so it was like a regular period.  The other was a blighted ovum, but my doctor talked me into a D & C because he was concerned about the amount of tissue that I would have to pass at nine weeks along.  He did me quite the favor, as it turns out.  Not only is my heart broken because I lost a real live child with a beating heart, but the pain was unbelievable this morning.  I woke up with mild cramps and took some ibuprofen.  Within 15 minutes, I was doubled over in pain.  Nurse J said that if I soaked through a pad every half an hour, I should go to the hospital.  I think I was close to that.  I had a heating pad, but it didn't help.  Nor did the V*codin I took a couple hours later.  But I think he's gone now from my body, one of the many large pieces of tissue I felt leaving my body while bent over in agony on the toilet.  What an undignified end.

F*ck.

How Ironic

Today was the date for their campaign for pregnancy and infant loss awareness.  Too sad to spend much time there today.

I am having a hard time accepting this.  And it will drive me insane to change pad after pad with pieces of my child on them.

When I left my weepy message at the OB's office at 3:30, they'd already left for the day.  Good for them.  The doctor wasn't in anyway, and they were completely unhelpful.  "Well, could be implantation bleeding."  {Really, at almost 13 weeks?] "It's possible.  If it turns red or you get bad cramps, then go to the emergency room.  Don't take any Tylenol so that you can tell if the pain gets bad."  But sorry, no ultrasound.  Couldn't get an ultrasound at the RE's office [sorry, you've been discharged] or at my old OB's office [sorry, he's on medical leave].

I had been afraid to go to the bathroom, because if I never peed again, then I wouldn't see anymore blood.  Perfectly logical, right?  But I had to give in eventually, and I saw that the blood had turned red.

The first emergency room was just down the road a bit.  They didn't even have an ultrasound machine (I guess "24 hour emergency care" means stitches only?).  But they were very, very nice.  The doctor tried to calm my fears, telling me that he came across a case of vaginal bleeding during pregnancy every other shift on average, and really, it didn't have to mean the end.  He also said that he could do an exam and a blood test, but if I wanted an ultrasound to ease my fears, I should find a hospital-based emergency room because it would make no sense to do things piecemeal.  Oh, and no charge for this visit, and good luck.  We went to the one that he recommended because he suggested that they would be slow at around 11:00.

It was miserable.  We had to go through a metal detector when we first came in.  Some people were nice, like the fourth year medical student.  They had a cr*ppy ultrasound in the E.R. that wasn't providing the resolution that they wanted.  The doctor and supervising doctor were trying to see something and were mumbling to each other.  When I asked what they were saying, I was told they were just talking to each other.  [Um, yes, I could see that.  That wasn't the question.]  The medical student said that they were discussing the bad resolution.  They kept turning the screen off and on and said that I would need to go and have a formal ultrasound, apparently with a screen that actually worked.  I had to have a catheter inserted for this, which was a first for me.  Which was done after they did the pelvic exam.  The doctor wasn't certain, because there was bleeding, but she thought the cervix might have been slightly open.  Sucky news.  She said not to panic; it was hard to see, and it still looked like a line to her rather than an "O."

When we finally got up to ultrasound, my husband asked if he could come in the room with me.  The b*tchy ultrasound tech shook her head in a terse no directed at the person my husband had asked the question of.  I said that he wanted to be there, and I wanted him there.  The ultrasound tech appeared irritated, but she allowed him to stay.  She told us she couldn't answer any questions.  It would have been nice if the table had stirrups.  My legs kept trembling and it was hard holding them steady during the transv*ginal ultrasound (they did an abdominal ultrasound as well, using the catheter to fill my bladder).

I'd seen enough ultrasounds to know that it was over, though my husband had no idea.  There was a sac but no baby, no movement.  When it was over, she asked if I were OK, and I said I wasn't. 

Probably the best part of the day (is there a best part of such a sad day?) was the nurse who'd come on duty by the time we came down.  He said that he'd read the chart, and he knew we were worried.  He said he would hound the doctor about getting the results to us because he knew that any wait would feel too long.  I could see a computer screen from across the room, and he said to pay attention to the pink bar across the screen (there was only one pink bar).  It meant that my test results were waiting to be read.  Once it turned green, the results would be ready.  He also told us that he and his wife were going through infertility treatments.  He'd gone to my clinic and a couple of others with her and they'd had their share of pain and anguish.  Like us, they had one precious gift and were trying for another.  And he was right there when the doctor left after delivering he bad news.  There isn't a right thing to say, but he came the closest.  Bless his heart.  I pray that he and his wife get the happy ending.

I called my RE's office to tell them and was able to talk with J.  She was very kind.  She's pretty much been the only nurse there that I've worked with for these last ten years (can it have been that long?).  The only time I didn't speak with her during that time is if she had the day off.  She gave me the best aftercare instructions of all the people that I'd spoken with today.  And, she put my mind at ease about stopping the Crinone, Estrace, and baby aspirin, because I thought that might have triggered this.  I'd taken them for as long as I had been asked, and she said that if I had stopped too soon on Monday of this week, the sac would be larger.  Sadly, no one will ever know why this baby stopped growing.

After we told DD that the baby had stopped growing, she wanted to know if there would ever be another chance to be a big sister.  I told her there wasn't (God, I wish there were - are there still miracles?  Will my forever child come to me in a different way?).  She crawled into my lap and we both hugged and cried.

I will have to see my father and brother this weekend when I go to my father's house to help out.  I don't want to see them, but unless I'm dying, I really can't get out of it.  We haven't been there for the last two Sundays, due to emergencies that my brother had.  And, my dear friend is giving a baby shower for her daughter the Sunday after, so I hadn't planned on coming next weekend.  Not sure if I will be able to handle that or not now; I might have my husband drop the present off. 

I sent my father and brother a really brief email.  I'm sure they're happy that the issue is gone.  They didn't ever approve, after all.  And I never did receive any acknowledgement from my brother or his wife after I told them I was pregnant.

I thought that I knew sadness.  Living without my mom for the last three years has been unbelievably hard, and I wish she were here to comfort me.  I can't quantify in my heart what has been the worst thing to happen to me, but I have to say that this certainly feels like the worst day of my life.  I never knew that it was possible to get chapped skin around my eyes from crying.

Nothing more to say.  I thought it might help to write these thoughts down, but it really hasn't.

 

 

 

It's Gone

10 week sac, no fetal pole, no heartbeat.

About That Baby

I stopped my Crinone, Estrace, and baby aspirin Monday.  My RE told me that I only needed to continue for 12 weeks, and Monday was the start of the 13th week.  I was kind of happy to leave that behind.  Now I'm not so sure.  Maybe it was my insurance.  Normally, I would have only had to take it for 8 weeks after transfer, but since I didn't ovulate this cycle, the RE didn't want to take any chances and asked me to take them for 4 more weeks, just to be safe.  Safe, as in the placenta is supposed to be working and keeping things going when you get finish your 12th week.

All week, I've had (really) mild cramping, kind of like what you feel before your period.  And this evening, there was brown and pink spotting.  Just a little so far.  I thought it was over, but there was more after I got up from the couch after an hour and a half. 

DD walked in when I was in the bathroom and saw the brown spot on the liner.  "Oh, that must be a little poop mommy.  No big deal.  It happens to me all the time."  What a sweetie.  But, not five minutes later, she had a major blow up.  And I snapped at her.  And later, after she was calm, I answered the daily baby questions.  "How big is the baby now mommy?"  "Is this where I would carry a baby, mommy?"  I am so looking forward to sharing this with her.  It was hard to answer tonight.

DH helped right away when I told him how I was feeling.  He helped DD finish up in the shower, which really was a big help.  He tells me that if something happened, he would feel bad, because now that there actually is a baby, he doesn't want anything to happen to it.  I can't quite grasp that, because he would also prefer that it not be here.  But I suppose he would feel bad at some level if something happened, all the while feeling some relief that we were back to the status quo.  DD and I would be the only ones who would be really grieving if something happened, I think - we wouldn't be feeling relief at all.

No severe cramping.  No red blood.  Nothing more than that.  So, I'll wait and call the doctor in the morning.  Not that they will do anything, because there is nothing to be done.  It is what it is.  Though it was rather ironic to have read the daily posts on my pregnancy apps congratulating me this week, because making past twelve weeks greatly decreases the chances of miscarriage.  I guess those are the operative words - "greatly decrease."  As in still possible. 

Funny thing though, I could swear that over the last week I've felt little "skitters" across the inside of my abdomen when I lie very quietly at night.  I'm sure that it's too early, that it was all in my imagination.  But I hope that I will be given the chance to feel it for real.

 

Update:  Though I don't think I've seen more than two drops in total, it's red this morning and the very mild cramps are gone.  Nothing really to add to that, except that my heart will be in my throat when I call the doctor's office this morning, probably making it hard to talk.  If you are the praying type, please add me to your list today.

Telling . . . Not What It's Cracked Up To Be

I had planned on giving DD her shirt and telling her about the baby on Sunday, but DH asked when we were going to share the "surprise" with her - in front of her - on Saturday while we were on our way to dinner.  Thinking that it was kind of unfair to talk about a "surprise" and then tell her she would have to wait, I asked him to turn around so I could get the "thing" (the shirt).  Poor DD.  She thought that we were talking about a 21" dolphin that she's been wanting for a long time.

Notwithstanding, DD was over the moon with excitement, and that hasn't changed over the last couple of days.  Laying the groundwork with her for the last couple of months has really paid off.  For example:

Me:    "How's my favorite girl?"

DD:    "Mommy, what happens if you have another girl?  Will I be your favorite?"

Me:    "Well, then I would have two favorites!"

DD:    (Obviously relieved expression)

And so on.  I can empathize with her.  She wants to know that she will be loved, that she will be important, and that she won't be replaced.  I get it.  And, somewhere deep down, I probably remember what that was like on some level (my brother came along when I was five). 

I wasn't so thrilled about telling my family.  My father has made it very clear that I'm too old and should not think about more children.  My brother, who doesn't know about DE, essentially told me last year that I am too old, that I could die, and that I would very likely have a Downs child.  My response to that was just that I'm certainly aware of the issues, that age itself doesn't make a person high risk, and, without going into details that weren't any of his business, he should be rest assured that medical science has evolved to the point where there are answers to his concerns.

I screwed up my courage and told my father on Saturday.  His response?  "Aw, sheesh.  You went ahead and did that, huh?  Well OK."  A ringing endorsement indeed.  And then, when I told my husband, he said he agreed - I am too old to be having a child.  Another ringing endorsement - from the person who said that he would be supportive.

I was p*ssed.  And went off to cry.  And then I started madly texting my girlfriend who went ballistic when I told her what happened.  Her daughter had an "oops" and is expecting in December.  She will turn 21 in December, and she's not married.  When I first heard the news, I felt sorry for her, because I know that this will make her life infinitely harder.  My friend is being supportive, and her daughter, boyfriend, and new baby will be staying with her.  The ground rules are that they will have to make arrangements to take care of the baby, but it will give them a chance to finish school and have an opportunity to start a good life.

Anyway.  My friend said that her daughter has been the target of "you're too young" to be a mom comments that have really hurt her.  Hearing about my "you're too old" comments sent her off the deep end.  My friend works for the state human services department, and she said that if even 5% of her clients were the kind of parents my husband and I are, or that she expects her daughter to be, the children of those relationships would be far better off. 

I felt better.  And, having learned that it is better to confront than to seethe (still working on that though), I called my father back and told him that I felt hurt after hearing his response.  And then I was hurtful (beyotch that I can be, I guess), and I told him that at that moment, I really missed my mother, because she never would have responded that way.  He apologized and said that he didn't intend to hurt me, that grandchildren were always a blessing, but that he was concerned about my health.  I explained that none of my doctors were concerned about me being high risk, and I guess that made him feel better.  And I do understand - his concern is for his child first.  I guess that never changes, no matter how old we grow.

Despite resolving this with my dad, I just couldn't bring myself to call my brother.  So, I sent my brother and his wife a very cheery email last night.  I still haven't heard anything from either of them, though I know that they both check their email every day.  I guess if you don't have anything nice to say, you shouldn't say anything at all.  Like the way I never told him how disappointed we were when he told us he was getting married.  Or commented when his wife wouldn't allow his children to be baptized because she wanted them to "choose," but then never took them to church so that they knew what to choose.  Or said anything about the ham-handed way they have handled discipline for their children (which prompted us to make guardianship arrangements for DD in the event that anything happens to us to completely avoid any possibility that she would be raised in their home).  Or mentioned how unfair it is to have more children than you can afford so that you can't offer them any help when it is time to go to college, instead putting small amounts away for them myself so that I could help when the time comes.  Yeah, like those things.  Saying "congratulations" doesn't cost a dime, but I guess it's too costly for them.  They are not bad people, but really, all of us have things that others could be judgmental about, so perhaps it's best just to wish people well and live our own lives as best as we can.

I finished my twelfth week yesterday, and I'm already irritated by all of this ageist cr*p.  For the record, age doesn't make a pregnancy high risk - underlying medical conditions will put you in this category.  Being older and developing more medical conditions do tend to go together, so there are more high risk pregnancies for older moms.  But those same conditions will put a younger mom in the high risk category.  None of my doctors saw any issue in my getting pregnant, not even the physician who treats me for asthma (I have a mild case that can be treated with a Category B drug). 

I'm just amazed at the presumptions that people make - even my new OB suggested that he could probably sneak in a tubal ligation, even though I will deliver in a Catholic hospital (I'm not Catholic, but he doesn't know that).  First of all, helloooo - were you not listening when I told you about my infertility?  Or the DE thing?  Secondly, shouldn't I be the one bringing up the tubal ligation?  I don't want any more children, but I hadn't mentioned that.  I'm sure my old-fashioned father feels slightly embarrassed about telling his friends who do know my age about my pregnancy, but was he any less embarrassed about my brother telling all of his friends that he and his now wife were expecting without the benefit of a marriage (which didn't come until my nephew was several months old)?

Just needed to vent, and I'm trying very hard not to doubt myself (but it's there, waiting, just at the edge of my thoughts).  For now though, I think I'm just going to bask in the warmth of DD's sunshine.

Thank you!

Without you, there wouldn't be a "them":

http://wwj.cbslocal.com/2010/10/04/ivf-pioneer-wins-nobel-prize-in-medicine/

 

The Jury Is Still Out

On my new doctor, that is.

Picture it.  Small room.  Beige walls.  Stirrups.  Sink.  The usual.  You are waiting, but not too long.  You were just interviewed by a nice nurse who had two of her babies delivered by Dr. S, your old OB (the one that you would walk through hell fire for).  She tells you that this doctor delivered her third, that she used to work for your old OB, and that she likes working for your new OB.  She suggests that you will like him too.  She makes a point to tell you that he's very thorough. 

So, you relax a little.  And in comes an energetic person (who doesn't look 67 to you), accompanied by a medical student, who says:

(Wait for it)

"Hi!  How are you?  Did you know you are my oldest patient?"

I said, "no surprise there."  I thought, "yeah, and you are my oldest doctor."  And I'd actually had that answer ready, because I just suspected he would say something like that, even though I'd never met him.  But I didn't.  Because my comment would be snark.  And he was just bubbling and clearly not intending to offend.  So, eh.  Not appropriate to be snarky.  At least not on a first date.

He's OK.  He's no Dr. S.  But he's OK.  I think we will butt heads a bit (but not as long as I agree with him!).  For example, he said, "previous C-section, right?  Well, you'll have one this time too."  He doesn't know me.  If he did, he would know that I was talking with my old OB about the pros and cons of a C-section before I was even pregnant with my daughter.  The new trend is VBAC, or at least attempted VBAC.  Yet, when my old OB told me that he was leaving OB, he said not to worry - getting second C-section with any doctor would be a piece of cake, because he knows I have no interest in VBAC.  But Dr. C didn't know that.  I would have liked him to ask about that.  But, not such a big thing.  Because if it was what I wanted, I would have taken issue with it.

He made time for all my questions.  He shared information, and I appreciated the "just breathe" kind of things.  Like, "there is some evidence that hair color might penetrate, but it's not a big risk."  (Except I don't color - yet.)  Kind of him to suggest though.  The point that he made with other examples was that I could spend my time not breathing to avoid diesel exhaust or whatever, and it isn't worth worrying about all that much.

Now here's our biggest disagreement, but I've concluded he can have his opinion, and I will have mine.  I've mentioned that I'm overweight to the tune of 30-35 pounds.  I gained 50 pounds when I was pregnant with my daughter.  Frankly, since I started from a normal weight, it wasn't that big of a deal.  But I'm not at a normal weight now.  I'm overweight.

So, I bought a piece of software called DietPower.  It can be used to diet, of course, which I'm not doing.  Dieting is working from a calorie deficit to force your body to burn fat.  This is not a good thing when you're pregnant.  It can deprive the baby of nutrients, and some of the substances that are released during weight loss are not good for the baby.  So no, not dieting; I'm not an idiot.  The software also will accommodate pregnancy, by trimester, as well as breastfeeding.  It's helpful to let you know not only what your daily caloric intake is, but also how well you are doing nutritionally.  I've been getting a lot of D's and F's.  Apparently, there is more to this good eating stuff than fruit and drinking V-8.  (I'm getting failing grades because of too many fats and carbs, which I'm not really worried about at the moment, but which will be very discouraging after delivery.)

I asked about a calorie limitation, because the program has a limitation of 1950 or so, and I wondered what he thought about it.  That seemed right to me, because my base caloric needs are probably met with 1600 calories or so, and then there's that extra 300 calories that they add for the baby.  I mentioned that I'm trying to nutritionally balance my diet using the program that I mentioned.  The response?  "I don't do weight control, because what happens if you gain too much, will you diet?  Dieting is not good for you.  You should be eating healthy foods and not worrying too much about it.  I would think that 25 pounds would be fine."  Now, I've read that is probably about right at my weight, and I'm not paranoid about gaining weight as a pregnant person, because hel-loo, that's what happens.  Again, he doesn't know me, and perhaps he was focusing on the program name, which is misleading for the way I'm using it.  Or perhaps he thinks I have a weight obsession, and knows that this is not the time for that.  Who knows.  We're all the sum total of our experiences, and I'm sure he's met his share of nut cases.

I pointed out that dieting is operating with a calorie deficiency, but a respectable calorie limit was merely not overeating, and there is a difference between the two.  Further, I had concerns about developing all of the nasties - preclampsia and gestational diabetes, for example.  (My boss developed gestational diabetes, and now that her children are grown, she is injecting insulin.  No f*cking thank you.)  The response?  "I will be watching you carefully for those conditions or more.  If I think for a second that you are developing a problem that needs a specialist, I will not hesitate to transfer your care to Dr. D who is a specialist in high risk pregnancy and in my opinion a miracle worker" (and who works out of a downtown hospital with a fully staffed everything where it is much easier to be a miracle worker).  "However, based on your present health, I don't really think that we are going to have high risk issues."

So, a difference of opinion, and his position seems to be quite different from the trend (though 25 pounds as a target isn't really far off the trend of keeping a healthy weight).  The fact is that I will do what I was going to do all along, which is watch my weight and keep my eating to around1900-1950 calories a day, something that I didn't do the first time around.

So, not sure how this will turn out, but it wasn't so bad. There's only one Dr. S in the world, I'm afraid, and he decided to retire from OB.

I miss him.

Journey So Far

During my two week wait, I'd literally been imagining a fork in the road.  One way, a new baby and unimaginable changes.   A chance to do it again.  All the sweetness, and the not so sweet stuff too.  The other way, our little family, stable and nice.   No diapers.  A child who can dress herself, feed herself, and even buckle herself into her car seat.

I waited to take the home test until the morning of "the" test.  And I prayed that whether the result was positive or negative, I would be accepting.  And honestly, at that moment in time, it could have gone either way, and it would have been OK.   The stick was negative at first.   And it was OK.   And then it wasn't.   I was dumbfounded, but OK.  And then when the brown spotting started a few days later, I thought "blighted ovum."  BTDT.   And I expected to see a black hole when I went for "the" ultrasound. And I was prepared to be OK with that.  And there wasn't a black hole.  And a wave of emotion hit, for just a moment.  And then it was OK.  Truth be told, there is still a little bit of that brown stuff.  Just a little.

And now, I just started my tenth week.   I am blessed, again, with no morning sickness.   (Thank you.)  I'm tired frequently, especially late in the afternoon and in the late evening, though I still force myself to stay awake sometimes (like now, for example - yawn).   I'm watching what I eat, because I am frightened that I will gain too much weight and develop some scary medical issues.  So far, so good.  I bought a diet program that works even for pregnancy and breastfeeding (the point isn't to lose weight but to eat better).  Unfortunately, I get really bad grades for nutrition (even though I've been eating lots of fruit and at least some V-8 every day - ugh).  Ankles are a little puffy at the end of the day, but that's not new, unfortunately (back to back cycles + 35 pounds will do that to you).   The night time bathroom trips drive me crazy.  I swear, I visit the bathroom more at night than I do all day, and I don't really drink anything after 7:00 in the evening.  On the other hand, I wish I was visiting the bathroom more frequently for that other reason, if you know what I mean.

We haven't told our daughter about this yet. I want to wait until I'm through the magical 13th week. I bought her a little shirt, and I hope the news goes over well:

Our discussions to this point just concern a hypothetical baby.   I'm not sure how she will feel about a real one. 

We've finally finished her very own room, and we are just waiting for the furniture to come in (yes, we have still been co-sleeping - shut up).  The room is really snug, so we bought something that was kind of a combo bed/dresser/desk.  Here's a picture, though DD's set will be in white:

The room is so small (so how small is it?) that we will have to remove the backing behind the little shelves so that there will be a space for the heat to come in from the heat vent.  (These old houses, they are charming, but room sizes can be very weird.)   The room is purple (ceiling and walls - DD's choice) with a wallpaper border at the top.   Very cute multi-colored ceiling fan, and dark purple carpeting. 

At first, DD was very excited about this, but then she started saying whiny things like "why are we always talking about my ro-om???"   It was pretty obvious that there was another issue, so I just asked her if she was worried about sleeping on her own.   It was then that she told me that she wanted to sleep with us until it was time for her to go to college.  Ahem.  I think not.

And that's where we are.  I have my first appointment with my new OB on Thursday.  He is my old OB's former partner, and my old OB (now retired from OB but not GYN) referred me to him.  We'll see how it goes.  Just as with DD, the hospital he works in is not large, though it is affiliated with a large hospital that is not that far away (which just happens to be the hospital that I was born in; sadly, the little hospital where he works is where my dear grandmother died). 

DH would prefer to have all the big guns on staff, but I'm OK with having them available.  I think I will know if I'm high risk by the time I'm ready to deliver, and if that's the case, we can do it at the larger hospital.  If I've calculated this correctly, my new doctor (if we like each other) is 67.  Of course, DH sees this as someone coasting along to retirement.  I'm kind of the opposite - I thought "wow, look at all the experience he has!  I can't imagine that there's anything that he hasn't seen (except perhaps a 50 year old OB patient - ha ha)."  Since I would walk through fire for my old OB, I trust his judgment.

And that's where we are.  Time to go to sleep before I keel over.