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Places to Go:
February 29: The almost
I have tried to find the perfect way of beginning this post for weeks. But it hits me now, as I begin to type, that perfection is not something this post needs to be. In fact the imperfection of it seems to mirror the moment.
In December of 2007, after much struggle and much grappling of faith, I finally, finally became pregnant. Two perfect embryos turned into a second pink line and a positive blood test. I was pregnant for a few short weeks: long enough to allow the joy to come in, but brief enough to sense when things were not going right.
The process of becoming unpregnant is still happening. Still my body bleeds in a forever rinse cycle of purging and clean slating. Becoming unpregnant has lasted longer than the being, than the planning, than the entire month of December- a month now forever ruined in a way that I never thought possible.
Daily I think of the almost. The might have been. The could have.
My pregnancy tests are no longer turning pink and my emotional weeping is down to a trickle…but there was a something in a space that had been empty for so long. Just a glimmer, a speck of the infinite seascape of my dreams had taken up occupation in my middle. Now that it is gone I feel the emptiness so strongly.
My Grandmother calls out in her sleep for help and I go to her. We walk down the dark hallway. With each shuffle of a step she keens. It is a soft, feminine whimper that pulses out of her sleepy mouth in perfect time with each step we make. She makes these sounds in her sleep and I wonder if they are the sounds I make in my sleep. I wonder about the symmetry of my Grandmother losing her mind as I lose the lining of my uterus. The loss makes us both damaged.
I think about all of the empty wombs that were once the plush velvet sofa for a maybe, for an almost. I think about all of the times that I tried and tried and tried and fucking tried and bled and bled and bled and wept. The weeping so all consuming that it robbed me of my total identity.
I am often untouchable within my grief. If I am honest with you- most days I mourn the tries that did not work more so that the one try that did. My heart rattles with loss of all of the effort and energy. All of the false hopes and whispered prayers. I daydream about how life with a toddler might have been today.
I wanted to dedicate this day and this messy and unperfect post to my almost. I need to shed this skin of sadness and try to move forward. (although even moving forward is like scraping my knuckles across a brick wall)
This extra day will be a small box that I can put into the back of a drawer. I am putting you away iotas. I am putting you into a pale yellow box and letting you go. Maybe you are now a daffodil blooming in a friend’s front yard.
(something that spoke to me from e.e. cummings)
If you want to do a February 29th tribute on your blog please check the “participant” box within the comments. This will keep track of all of those using this day to grieve so that we can sit and visit those that need a friend. If you don’t have a blog feel free to share in the comments.
If you do not have a blog but want to share an image feel free to e-mail it to me and I will add it to this space.
Added: A photo from Venustat documenting the flowers she received after giving birth to her stillborn son, Richard.
Lest you think I am holding something back…
I’m not.
Still no word. (updated above) But I should share with you something that I recalled last evening: I don’t think there was anything on my blood lab form that indicated something along the lines of “stat”. So, knowing the specific blood lab the way I do, I am now just hoping I get the effing results before the end of the effing week. I realize now that I could have marked my own damn “stat” on the form and feel like an idiot for not doing so.
Last night I had a dream that I was driving on a busy highway in a beautiful silver car. It was evening time and the highway was glowing with headlights and breaklights. As I was driving along I became aware that I no longer remembered how to drive. The machine was totally foreign to me. I let go of the wheel and the vehicle sped down into a ditch. Smoke wafted up from the crash and the bustling traffic continued above the wreck on the highway. And then I pulled myself out of the crushed pile of tin and mechanics. I was confused and frightened. My clothes were torn and blood was matted across my face. But I was alive, and I knew that I was going to be ok. Somehow.
I woke up at 3am after dreaming this rich and freaky thing and wanted to do all that I could to get it out of my head. I turned on the television and watched my tivo’d tuesday night’s Daily Show/Colbert Report and then I drifted back off to sleep.
I woke up again, with the alarm this time, and the first thing that came to my mind was the car wreck dream. And it is still with me now. I am working at comprehending the message- even when I don’t know what the hell I am doing, I will be ok. I can survive this crash. Don’t drive a silver car.
Still hoping for a beta of less than 10, or because it would make a great Hollywood ending, greater than 40,000. Feel free to laugh.
Oh, and for those of you that asked: My friend went on to win the Showcase showdown. He won another car (which he gave to his Mother) and a bunch of other stuff. I used to watch the tape of him on the show when I needed a pick me up. It is friend prozac.
Leaving messages (with update)
Back in my old job in the wild, wild west leaving phone messages was a giant chunk of my job description. In fact I had to maintain something called a call log, which was a massive wired notebook of all the calls placed and their status. A placed call that was considered completed was logged in with the time of the call and a brief description of the call. A yellow highlighter was glided through the entry indicating that the call was complete.
If you placed a call to someone and they called you back, that was also indicated in the log with a giant and capitalized “R” for Returned. The “R” was important. How fast was the call R’d? Was it the same day? The same hour? It was all important in keeping tabs of the pecking order of Hollywood. Making a returned call was a power move. When calling someone back you must indicate that you are “returning”, to not indicate such would throw off the log of all assistants and second assistants on the line carefully witnessing, er, monitoring the call.
When you are unable to connect with someone via the phone you then “leave word”. Leaving word can be complicated or it can be simple. If you are in phone tag with someone, meaning you have called, had your call returned, and are now calling back- well all you need to say when returning that call (should the call not be connected) is “Leave word”.
The more annoying callers are the ones that initiate the call to you, do not connect and then go into an epic message. Epic messages are the worst. You see how tidy my phone life was in my last universe? All efficient and succinct. No messy outbursts or tragedies. No weeping into a voicemail. No wondering when your call would be returned.
This morning I made my post-it prep card. I knew it was a long shot that I would get to speak to a human so early in the morning, but I wanted my call logged in so that it would have a chance at being returned promptly (feel free to laugh over the idea that anyone could ever get a prompt returned call from an RE’s office). So I called, I dialed in the exchange for the IVF nurses, and then I left the longest message in the universe. Me. An epic message leaver. So sad.
I guess I have some sort of hope that someone will call back with an action plan already figured out. I don’t want to have to be the gal that has to tell her stats 30 times a day.
Here are the notes from my post-it so that you can play along:
1/3: beta 160, not doubled, stopped PIO & estrogen
1/8: Blood, 2 weeks
1/23- 1/24: no blood
1/25: + hpt test
1/25- present: brown sludge
2/11: + hpt test
UPDATE (10:48am): Got a call back from the “pregnancy nurse” who was annoyed (miffed?) that I left a message for the IVF nurses and not the pregnancy peeps. Gee…I wonder why I didn’t call the pregnancy nurses. Anyhow, she says that I was supposed to get another beta on 1/5, but that was news to me. The RE assigned to my “case” is in procedures all morning, but I am to get a beta test as soon as I can (which, for me, is tomorrow morning). Based on that they will have a better idea of what is up.
The neverending unpregnancy (input needed)
So there is something I haven’t been writing about. It was a feeling, a sense that something wasn’t quite right. You see, in the midst of the bleeding and the emotions and the tragedy of knowing that I will have to save forever to try again…there was this feeling. And it’s hard to articulate without sounding like some sort of moony.
Basically- all this time I have still felt pregnant.
I have been waiting for that feeling to go away, certain that it was some sort of cellophane wrapped around my depression, some sort of wishful thinking, a bizarre inkling of a woman overwhelmed by desperation.
But the feeling wouldn’t go, and it began to worry me. So much blood, so not a multiplying 3rd beta, but what if something is wrong? Last night I dug through the cupboards and found an ancient opk. No way am I ovulating. So no way would it be positive. And if it was positive then, well then something might be wrong.
And it was beyond positive.
I convinced myself that it was a fluke and even felt mortified for even allowing myself to go there. You know, the “I wonder” place. (Which is incredibly scary considering the shear number of bottles of wine consumed in the month of January. But let’s be real, I so went there.)
This morning I casually mentioned these feelings that something is not quite right to Mother who, bless her, didn’t go to the happy place, but the very real, something might not be right place.
So off I went to the pharmacy. The entire time in line I felt like such a fool. I couldn’t even look the kid in the eyes when I handed over my $10 bill. I needed to get over this silly shit and I needed to get over it pronto. I just needed to piss on the damn test and see the brilliant white space and work to climb over the mountain of grief. That was really the plan. I swear.
But the test is positive. Like you can see it across the room 2nd line. And now I am in a suspended state of freak out because we all know this is not a good thing. Why do I still have this hormone in me? Why?
Monday I will call the Northeast Clinic and see what they say. I imagine they will want another blood test and maybe an ultrasound from the local clinic. Seriously- shouldn’t this hormone be out of my system by now?
There seldom is a right way.
I was pretty shitty to my Mother this week. To be specific I was pretty shitty to her when I felt like she was being shitty to me. Ok…I’ll be more specific: I was pissed that she couldn’t read my mind.
When I woke up three days ago in a disgusting puddle of blood and muck my first emotion after acknowledging the pain was just how embarrassed I was for being sort of hopeful that the bad beta could be wrong. I felt foolish and stupid and hated myself for taking afuckingnother pregnancy test less than 12 hours before the bleeding.
I waited hours before telling my Mother what was going on. And when I did I did it a very removed, matter of fact, would you like a cup of tea oh and I am bleeding, sort of way. It was one of my infamous distancing tactics. If I speak about something with an even voice then eventually I will stop shaking about it.
And so Mother said nothing to me. There might have been a “sorry”, but it really wasn’t at all what I wanted.
The problem was that I did not know what I wanted/needed until I realized that I wasn’t getting it. There is no pamphlet in our house on how to help someone through becoming unpregnant. There isn’t a book on our shelves about how to Mother a daughter that is going through something that you have never gone through.
As the day went on and the pain increased I found comfort in your e-mails and comments, but what I really wanted was my Mother. I wanted her to call me, or come home, or send someone to check on me. I felt how much I depended on her to be a surrogate for a partner. And I felt like she should just know what I needed. Her not calling felt like her not caring.
(this is where I shouldn’t have to remind you that I am not a woman with even keeled hormone levels at the moment)
Mother called home, the first and only time, after 7pm. By that point I was pissed off. I was angry. I felt like I had no support. So when she called to explain that she was running late and that traffic was a bitch I sort of let her have it. It didn’t feel good to unburden my issues on her. I felt selfish and bratty and needy and lame. I hung up in tears.
And yet there was a part of me that felt like maybe Mother would come home with flowers or Thai food. She wouldn’t come home empty handed. She was good like that.
Except she did come home empty handed. And that just set me off again.
I realize now that it is just wrong and unhealthy of me to put my Mother into the role of being my partner when she is, in fact, not my partner and only my Mother. I am not the first single woman to become unpregnant alone. It seems lame that I couldn’t be strong enough to think I could do it alone. I did do it alone (well and with all of you).
There are a lot of discussions going on at blogs that I love. Discussions about the roles of the other parent. I find myself feeling really removed from those discussions. Not only was I not raised with a co-parent, but I don’t plan on raising my child with a co-parent. Sure my Mother and I got a lot of support from my Grandparents, and I know that I will get support from my Mother. But my Mother is not my co-parent. I am solo on this flight.
I can’t and don’t blame my Mother for not knowing exactly what I needed to get through the pain. While she knows me very well, I can’t expect her to know specifics. I can’t expect anyone to know that except me. If what I need is shredded cheese and flour tortillas then, by jove, I need to haul my ass to the store and get it.
I’m rambling here, still pretty numb over how this week has unfolded. I guess my point is that there is no right way to help someone through their grief. As many of you have commented- the loss is different for everyone. What I have learned is that I am pretty much a needy fuck when it comes to loss.
I will say that someone did send me the perfect card. And since I think the perfect card is hard to find I am going to share it exactly with you. The front reads: I believe in you. Life hasn’t been fair to you. You have the ability and determination to succeed in spite of the odds, and if you try, I know you’ll make it. The inside reads: I believe in you, and I am here to help you in any way I can. I don’t promise it will be easy, but I know you can do it. Believe in yourself.
Thank you Academy Greetings for nailing it.
I also want to thank SO many of you for de-Lurching. That was pretty fucking awesome and nice. And not really a freak in the bunch!
[edited to add: My Mother has totally proven herself to be an amazing support to me. I just want to be clear that my Mom wasn't NOT there for me. This post is just about how I realized that I expected her to read my mind.]
Timeline of the end:
Wednesday
- 2pm: I see a commercial for tacos and feel as though I may barf
- 3pm: I receive a returned call from a clinic regarding costs of FET
- 3:40pm: My mind tries to tell my body that I am still pregnant
- 4:45pm: I am now convinced that I am going to have a baby. I take a digital pregnancy test in the hopes that it will be some sort of concrete proof that the beta was wrong.
- 4:48pm: Digital test says pregnant, but I immediately realize that I am a stupid idiot for taking it and letting my stupid emotions overrule what I rationally know.
- 5pm: Get GM changed for bed, help her take her evening meds, assist her in the bathroom, and then tuck her into bed.
- 5:45pm: Look at digital test some more. Send e-mails. Pour glass of wine.
- 6pm: E-mail Mother at work and tell her about digital test. We decide that if I still have not bled by the weekend that I should get another beta. Hope creeps in.
- 6:30pm: Mother arrives home and I show her the test. She plays it cool. We eat leftovers and watch Entertainment tonight.
- 9:20pm: I pour another glass of wine as it begins to sink in that a digital test does not a baby make. Feelings of lameness sink in.
- 9:40pm: The wine lulls me to sleep on the couch and I eventually pry myself up and go to bed.
Thursday
- 2:20am: I wake up with a massive need to pee. In my sleep walking I recall feeling some sort of smug glee within the need.
- 4:00am: Wake up feeling like a rusted out screwdriver is being repeatedly stabbed into my abdomen. Feel almost paralyzed by pain. Feel pain in terms never felt before. Feel as if I am about to die.
- 4:07am: Look over at side table and note the time. Manage to turn bedside lamp on. Pull back covers and see that I am in a puddle of blood.
- 4:09am: Still in a painful gaze with the blood. Disbelief and pain.
- 4:11am: Manage to make it to the bathroom and try to clean myself up. Feel gross and disgusting and messy and stupid and HURT.
- 4:20am: Crawl downstairs and find bottle of oxycontin left over from my retrieval. Take two white pills.
- 4:40am: Strip sheets, change sanitary super tampon and maxi-pad, curl up within comforter and find zero comfort.
- 6:20am: Wake up still in deep, low pain. Change blood catching apparatuses. Watch comedy central. Feel empty. Feel numb.
- 7:00am: Call Ms. D and cancel today’s respite service. Begin to cry when she asks if I am ok.
- 7:15am: Want to wake Mother up but remember stupid moment involving digital test and feel too ashamed.
- 7:20am: Change apparatuses yet again. Stare at things that have come out of me. Feel guilty about flushing.
- 7:30am: Decide to set up camp in den. Catch site of digital test and begin to cry when I notice that the word “pregnant” is still visible on the screen.
Oh the State I am in…
So check this out- I have been calling pretty much every fertility clinic in my state to find out how much they charge for a frozen embryo cycle. So far I have called six clinics and of those 6 three asked if I was doing a snowflake adoption.
What the fuck?
It wasn’t so much that they asked, but it was the way that they asked with this sort of glitter and whimsy in their voices.
Sheesh.
Oh & don’t get me started on the mega clinic in Orlando that refuses to treat single women. I mean, seriously. Talk about a clinic with a fucking God complex. Who are these doctors that feel like they get to decide who has the option to become a parent. I got into a pretty heated discussion with a woman from their billing dept. and it just upset me so much. At some point I would really like to out all of the clinics that have turned away patients based on their marital status or sexuality.
The trend in price seems to be $2500- $5000 and at some clinics that includes medication and monitoring and at other clinics that will tack on another chunk of change. It might as well be 10 million dollars. But at least I know what my obstacle is.
But enough about my non bleeding female bits. Yup. Still not bleeding. Still have boobs of glass and sleep all day tendencies. Mindfuck, party of one.
I am lucky that GM has been so, so sweet this week. The day after I found out about the bad beta GM asked if I was ok. I told her I was sad because I wasn’t pregnant anymore. I think she didn’t quite understand what I meant, but was able to mirror back the sadness. Frankly that was all that I needed at the time. Now she just knows that I am not feeling well. She has somehow figured out that if I am still in my pj’s when she wakes up that I am “sick”.
I feel badly that I haven’t been the best caretaker in the world this week. Don’t get me wrong I am still getting GM up and clean and dressed and fed and walked to the bathroom and tucked warmly into her recliner. But I am not able to engage her with conversation or energy as well as I would like. We basically spend the day with her tucked into her chair and me tucked into the couch and a marathon of some cable show on the tv.
The interesting thing is that BG has become crazily attached to GM. Once we are all settled into our den poses BG strolls into the room and leaps on to GM’s lap. She then stretches out completely and naps- all day. It’s almost as if BG has figured out that I am sucking at the care-giving at the moment and has decided to supplement my energy with her own. It delights GM so much to have this usually unbenevolent kitty claim her lap.
Side note: I am tinkering with the blog a bit as I wait for my new blog to be ready for me. All I am doing is moving this exact blog to a hosted domain- nothing fancy. However, if there are any creative types out there with ideas I would love to hear them.
Trying
Today I am going to make an effort to try to be more of a person. For the last couple of days I have been not much use for anything. Every ounce of my energy was used to not cry in front of GM or to not go off on a rage on unsuspecting people like my Mother. It didn’t always work.
I could feel a small shift in my body last evening when I noticed that I smelled. It was a sort of weird belly button funk odor but it was coming from all of me. Rather than tilt my nose in another direction I got off the couch and took a shower.
Being in the shower is a great place to cry. Just file that bit of information away in case you need it some day.
I won’t say that I felt like this great new person when I got out of the shower. I mean I felt clean and smelled a hell of a lot better, but it didn’t make me better.
I am realizing that life is going to keep going on around me. The world doesn’t stop just because my beta did. I do have some strong armor on though. The armor is what gets me through those motherfucking Johnson & Johnson, “a baby changes everything” commercials. Guess what- NOT having a baby changes things too.
The armor is also getting me through celebrity baby bump news and message board, “It’s twins!” blinkies and the mail. Yes. Even my mail is hard. Two days ago I got a New Year’s card from a good friend and it was all about how thrilled she was that I was pregnant. Yesterday I got a letter from the Northeast Clinic detailing the state of my frozen embryos.
I think my rage has dulled and in its place is sadness. I am feeling the loss now. Even though it was just a blip, an iota of a maybe, I wanted it. Even when I blogged about not believing it was real or compared it to other blips, don’t ever doubt that I wanted it.
This morning I e-mailed NEC with some practical questions that I need to know. I asked how much a frozen embryo transfer would cost. I asked if they shipped frozen embryos to other clinics & if so how much that would cost. And I asked if there were discounts given to women that opted to donate an embryo or two to another woman. (something I am pretty sure I won’t be able to do anyhow because I used a sperm donor)
This is a big step for me- the wanting to find out just what my obstacle is. I can’t bitch about things in the abstract. I need to know the price tag of my bitching.
Now for some random blog business:
1) I am working with a company to move this blog to my own domain. Once I do this I will be able to run a few ads on this site. Currently this blog platform will not allow ads to be placed. Who knows if ads will bring in anything, but it could be a start.
2) I turned off comments on the last post before I published the post. There were no mean of hurtful comment left that made me do it. Really I just needed to write and purge and rage and I needed to do it without you guys feeling like you needed to prop me up. I am so lucky in that I know you are all here for me. I don’t doubt it at all.
3) Thank you for all of the plaid posts. That was really touching and sweet.
4) I am so so behind in blog reading right now. It might be a while before I catch up. This is not about you. I am not really in a happy place at the moment. I could force the happy, lord knows I have before, but this time I am not.
Now I want to talk about something kind of tough. I want to talk about the difference between a chemical pregnancy and a miscarriage. Before I started trying I had never heard of a chemical. In fact there was a moment that I thought all IVF pregnancies were called chemical because they were made in a lab with, um, chemicals.
What I want to talk about is the weight that each phrase has. Does one weigh more than the other? And I am not talking about the pain Olympics here. I mean when you hear the phrase “it was a chemical pregnancy” does it hit you in the gut the same way as hearing “it was a miscarriage”? Is calling it something other than a miscarriage a way of prettying it up? Dumbing it down?
I bring this up because I am one that needs/wants to label things. I honestly don’t know if I am having a chemical or a miscarriage.
Actually neither of those words are bringing me any comfort. I feel like I was pregnant for 5 days and then when I heard about the beta my brain told me that I was unpregnant. But am I pregnant until I bleed? Did I stop being pregnant when the beta farted out?
I know, not a rosy subject…but I know that so many of you have been through losses and I just want to talk about the words we use. What words were right for you? Did it matter?
The great depression.
Wow. 2008 is now tied with 2003 for Shittiest Start of the Year Ever. And since the Universe likes there to be a certain symmetry to these things it saw fit to make me unpregnant on the anniversary of my Grandfather’s death. And because I am a shitty person I didn’t even remember that he had died on that day because up until around 4pm I was a shiny, happy, pregnant person.
Fuck. This just sucks and it sucks so hard. And I know there is nothing to be said. And I really wish there was a way that I could climb out of this pit of doom. Inside the pit all of the negative things I say to myself reverberate and echo. I just can’t turn off all of the yelling and screaming that I am doing in my head. I am boiling with unrest and agitation.
I feel like such a fool for trying. I mean how presumptuous of me to think that something good might happen. How nuts! How many hints do I have to get before I learn that not everyone gets what they want.
Usually I can bounce back from a set back. Usually I can rally and start working on a plan B or plan C. What is killing me now is that I have no backup. I have no more options. I have an ice-tray in the Northeast with some embryos and in a few months I will have to pay money to keep them frozen and I don’t even have that kind of money. So poof!
I am just so sick of myself. I feel so obnoxious and lame and damaged and stupid.
Things in my head:
1) This was all just a false positive. I was never knocked up. It was all just a lab error. Hell, it can happen. See my October, 2007 if you don’t believe me.
2) OH! Maybe that last beta was wrong. Maybe I am still knocked up. I’ll be like that lady from McDonald’s that didn’t think she was the P word and then she went to the bathroom and pooped out a baby.
3) If you drink another glass of wine you can numb all of this.
I know that eventually I will get over this. Maybe. I mean I know so many of you have been through and are going through worse things and somehow you all do ok. Somehow. But HOW? I want the immediate fix. I want the escape button.
What slays me is that this just brings to surface all of my delicious feelings of self worth- and boy are they low. I keep trying to figure out just went wrong. I have to get through this. I wish I was stronger, richer, wiser, thinner, and able to have faith.
Last night I looked up at the stars and cussed them out. FUCK YOU, I screamed at them. All of those damn nights of wishing upon them. All of that wasted hope and energy. Fuck you storks, and lucky pennies, and Super Grover, and positive pee sticks.
(comments closed.)
There is no off switch.
When your beta simply doesn’t double you are not immediately unpregnant. You are on the verge of being un, but your body still hasn’t gotten the memo. This is something that I am finding extremely annoying and upsetting.
I am one of those clean the house, wash the sheets, take out the trash and then it is done types of people. You say the party is over and I close down the bar and kick everyone out. HCG doesn’t work at the speed that I would like it to. Oh no, it lingers and fucks with your head. It hangs around stinking up the house and annoying the neighbors.
I am horrified that I am still gagging over smells, aching from boobs of broken glass and able to nap at the drop of a hat. If this shit is done with then I want there to be a damn off switch. I want to get it all out of me and I want it out now.
Each moment of feeling still pregnant kills me. It feels like a roommate that just won’t leave. It feels like someone dangling a treat in front of me and then snatching it away.
Oh the feeling is like a drug that I crave and hate. I wanted to feel knocked up for so long. I needed that bodily validation that something was happening. Now I just feel like some circus freak show: behold the unpregnant woman and her aversion to cologne!
I feel like I am a person that is suspended in ice and that I won’t fully be me again until the ice thaws and I dry off. Everything about my body feels foreign and wrong and tricked.
And then part of me just feels this giant rage. I feel as if I am living someone else’s life. Surely this much shit can’t all just be for me. This must have been sent to the wrong address.
Then I wonder if I am coming across as this massive asshole for being so upset when there was just barely a glimmer of hope to begin with. What a silly girl for thinking she could be so lucky. How foolish of her to actually think that her first IVF would actually work!
And I am so jealous of other women with their savings accounts and fertility insurance. Women that are going through losses right now and yet are able to pull themselves a bit out of the funk because in two months they can try again. Oh how I want to be one of those women. If I could just have something tangible to look forward to. Just a little hint that another New Year won’t pass me by and find me still unpregnant. But I know it will. And that sort of knowledge is just dragging me down to the pits of melancholy.
When does the switch go off? When will I feel like less of a failure? When will the shame and the guilt go away? It is all just too much.
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