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A Stitchy Saga

12 Aug

Dear Amanda Bynes, 

I believe I just found out what it feels like to have someone “murder my vag.ina”. I wanted let you know that contrary to what you may think, this was not fun. In fact, it hurt like a mofo. It actually still does. And no, I don’t think it would have hurt any less if Drake had been the one doing the murdering.  Just thought I’d give you a head’s up. 

Kthnksbye, 

Mo

So I’ve been through an —- interesting —- 48 hours to say the least.

Let’s recap, shall we?

We arrived at L&D yesterday morning to get the cerclage removed. I was nervous, but mostly because of the small chance that cerclage removal  can cause labor.

Here’s what I thought was going to happen: We arrive, I get an NST, I go in to see a doc. The doc inserts a speculum, it hurts. The doc grabs the cerclage and removes it. It hurts a bit more. I have another NST, and go home.

That’s what everybody told me was going to happen. It never even occurred to me that it would go any differently. Which is weird, considering I’m so good at coming up with worst-case scenarios.

Here’s what actually happened:

B5 passes the NST with flying colors. We wait a while and the doc calls me in. Shmerson comes in with me. The doc inserts a speculum. It hurts like hell.

Then he tells me he can’t reach the stitch. No big deal, he says. We’ll just get a bigger speculum.

A bigger speculum arrives. The doc inserts it. It hurts like hell. He still can’t reach the stitch. Apparently, the Russian did too good a job. The thing is just too high up.

That’s when things get messy. Tools are tried. Another doctor is called in. Things are stretched and pulled. I writhe in pain (keep in mind this is all being done without any pain relief, because this is supposed to be a 2-minute simple procedure). At one point I have 2 doctors and one resident with some sort of tool/hand up in my lady bits.

Finally, after 45 minutes (!) they give up. There’s only one option: I come in the next day, go under general anesthesia, and have it removed that way.

So home we go. Needless to say I was freaking out. Granted, I’m used to general anesthesia by now, but for some reason the thought of it when I’m this far along just was not sitting well. Plus – I was terrified that all of the “stuff” they did down there would bring on labor and I would have to go in for a C-section because the freaking cerclage was still in there.

So I spent the whole day in bed, drinking lots of cold water. I did have a few contractions through the day, but they were not regular.

This morning we headed back to the hospital. They had an emergency section right as we got there which lead to a delay with all the day’s surgeries. I ended up waiting in a surgical gown for 3 hours with nothing to do except freak out. All while starving and parched since I wasn’t allowed anything since midnight. That was fun.

So then the surgeon comes in and tells me he would like to try again without anesthesia. I go along, because obviously – who wants general anesthesia? We go into a procedure room and the torture session begins.*

I won’t go into detail, but basically the surgeon manages to remove two pieces of the cerclage (after about half an hour of painful messing around up in my bits). But there is still one piece left. There is more digging. To say it hurts is the understatement of the century.

Finally, it’s decided to pull out the big guns. We’ll go into surgery, he’ll try one more thing with a fancy surgical tool, and if that doesn’t work, it’s general anesthesia for me.

So another room. Another 15 minutes of pain, pushing, and prodding. Finally, the doctor gives up and calls in the anesthesiologist. At this point I’m no longer nervous about going under. I’m relieved.

So ten minutes later I’m in recovery and that effing stitch is finally gone. They send me for an NST and B5 is fine.

Now I’m home, and everything is ok. Except of course that my vagi.na has been murdered. It hurts to sit. It hurts to pee. There is bleeding and bruising which hurts. It just all freaking hurts.

I guess this is good preparation for the damage that will be done during childbirth, right?

The one upside, is that now I’m a bit less eager for labor to start. My junk needs a while to recover before I try pushing a human out of it.

All in all, good times. And yet another reminder that I have no control. Over anything.

* Just to clarify: I’m not upset with the doctors at all. I know they had my best interest at heart with trying to avoid general anesthesia. 

This is How Deep it Goes

6 May

Today I’m 22 weeks, 6 days. Officially the longest I’ve ever been pregnant.

I was talking to ABD today when I let myself actually speak for a bit as if B5 is actually going to arrive safe and sound in 15 – 18 weeks.

It was nice.

But then I hung up and immediately started to freak out that I may have jinxed it. I was very close to a panic attack before I managed to talk myself down.

Anybody else go through this? Does it ever get easier?

Grrrr.

Did I Actually Agree to Do This?

13 Sep

10 DPO and I’m out this month. Not a surprise, because I popped on the tubeless side, but annoying nonetheless.

Now on to our too-scarce-as-of-late regularly scheduled blog post.

You all know how much I love my pee sticks. I sing songs to them, I nickname them affectionately, I hoard them, and shake them like etch-a-sketches when they don’t give me the result I want.  Lately my obsession has expanded into the realm of Fertility Friend, where I temp religiously and check my chart 4-5 times daily, obsessing over each spike and dip.

Yesterday, as I was eating some fattening food to try to temper my BFN disappointment I finally realized that I have a problem. I’m becoming this grotesque peeing charting and eating monster. I don’t like the look of who I am lately. Not one bit.

Today in my EMDR session, I brought it up to my therapist.

I don’t know how she did it folks, but somehow she convinced me to hand over all of my pee sticks the next time I see her, and in her presence I deleted the Fertility Friend app on my phone. She made me promise to pee on a stick if and only if my period is late, and to stop charting for the next three months.

In the throes of a lovely therapy session, I agreed.

I already have the shakes from this process dear readers. Withdrawal is settling in. Twice today already I’ve gone to my phone to look at my chart only to realize that there is no chart to look at. At least once I caught myself thinking about when my next date of expected ovulation is only to realize that I have no way of speculating.

My therapist wants me to try a few months of trying for a baby the way normal people do it. Baby makin’ sweet sweet lovin’ every other day with no aids. Oh the horror!

In short – she wants me to give up control.

Next week is Rosh Hashana – the Jewish New Year. In honor of the occasion we made a list of all of the things I need to let go of. Guilt, the need to constantly control, self loathing, and pee sticks.

Oh, pee sticks!

She asked me what charting and all this freaking peeing was truly giving me. I admitted that it was the illusion of control.

Of course – she pointed out that this is precisely the reason I need to give them up.

So I agreed. I’m doing it. No charting or peeing for the next three months.

Holy crapnuggets – what the hell am I supposed to do with all of this free time?

Now pardon me while I crawl into a corner and shake while in the fetal position.

Ok Maybe I Shouldn’t Break Up With Her

11 Jul

So, my shrink thinks that this whole self-harm, depression thing is my way of punishing myself.

I don’t talk a lot about Nadav here. In fact, I don’t talk a lot about Nadav at all. But I think about him constantly. And there’s one feeling that keeps on popping up that I try to push away but it refuses to go away: guilt.

Whenever I replay those 48 hours in my head, I don’t think about what was done, I think about what I could have done differently.

Mind you – the logical side of my brain knows I did all that I could at the time. But that doesn’t keep me from dwelling on how things could have played out had I done x, y, or z differently. If only I had googled this, or insisted on that – maybe there would have been a different outcome.

And it’s these thoughts that lead me to punish myself for what happened.

This is what tortures me every day. Today I finally told my shrink about it.

She pointed out something that kind of blew my mind. She suggested that perhaps my constant replays are my way of trying to regain control over a situation in which I had none. And the irony is that I give myself the illusion of control, at the expense of my mental health.

She said that anything I could have done differently would have been at the expense of myself. That when it comes to Nadav (and me having a baby in general), I let one cancel out the other.

She went on to say that perhaps I need to start working on two things:

The first is coming to terms with the fact that I don’t have control over the resolution to all of this.

The second is letting myself live in a world where I don’t get cancelled out to make room for a baby.

I think she’s right. Now it’s just a question of how the hell I pull off these impossible feats.

PS – thank you all for your awesome prompts! I will be taking them on, and bringing back Group Therapy Thursdays next week. Look out for the launch post in the next few days.

Here’s a LOL as a token of my appreciation:

Let’s Play a Game

19 Jun

Ok ladies and gents! It’s time to play:

Where’s. Mo’s. Cycle!

The rules are simple: I give you the results of this morning’s blood tests, and you guess what the hell is going on with my cycle!

All for my amusement as I wait for my phone consult with the RE tomorrow!
You can win fabulous prizes!

Ready to play? Dim the lights and here we go!

E2: less than 100. Which means follicular phase!!!

Progesterone: 3.05. Which means… I have no idea because it’s too high for follicular and too low for luteal!!!

LH: 15.4. Which means luteal phase!!!

So… You’re up!

Where’s Mo’s Cycle?!?!

If you guess correctly you could win….

Lolcats! Bitter ranting! And another post from me later today!

(working on a big one for later, apologies in advance for clogging up your inbox)

Have at it ladies and….. Well, I’m assuming only ladies!!!!!

*applause sign here*

UPDATE: Ladies and gents, we have a winner! It’s me! I win pills to jump start AF! Dr. Dexter says my progesterone levels are really low, so I probably didn’t ovulate.

The Fun Never Ends Here in Mo’s Head

16 Nov

Somebody explain to me how I manage to equate a couple of stomach cramps, a lack of nausea, and two freaking brown spots to a miscarriage.

The lack of nausea? Probably due to the fact that I actually ate healthy today. I’m off carbs and on fruit and celery, so it would make sense that things seem lighter.

The spotting? Just a couple of measly brown spots! Nothing to worry about, right? Dr. Google says it’s totally normal.

And the cramping – well, considering that I’m growing a freaking human being in my uterus, some cramping would make sense.

But no, of course I’m freaking out. Of course I’m mad at myself that I made the appointment with the Russian for Monday and not like, NOW.

I had another session with my shrink today where I reflected on how the last year and half has basically robbed me of my identity. I’m tired of being on hold. I’m tired of waiting.

And right now I feel like I’m in the hardest wait so far.

Why does this seem so incredibly unreal to me? Why am I insisting on waiting for the other shoe to drop?

I’m sick of being on hold. I wish I had a crystal ball to tell me that everything will be fine.

Or even some more nausea would be a start. Maybe I’ll eat a donut and see if I can’t get my pukiness on.

I Have No Will Power. I Don’t Care.

6 Nov

So one of the few consistent symptoms I’ve been having is really vivid dreams.

Last night, I dreamt that a friend of mine was giving her kid a really outrageous 1st birthday party that somehow included Am.y Wine.house jumping over a row of babies, monster-truck style. At the party, I was surrounded by preggos and kids, and somewhere in the middle of all of that I was supposed to leave the party early to get an ultrasound.

The ultrasound was supposed to take place in this really big dystopian facility, and the woman who was supposed to give it to me went home and forgot about me, which meant I had to stay the night and wait for her to come back. Needless to say, dream me was NOT happy. There was definitely some screaming, crying, and pounding on glass windows of dream receptionists to try to force them to call the dream ultrasound woman back.

Today I left a message at the Russian’s clinic asking to reschedule for the 9th.

Because even dream me is starting to go a little batshit.

I was talking to Elphie today and she rightly pointed out that I will eventually need to get my anxiety under control, and better sooner rather than later.

She’s totally right. I know she is.

But first I need to see a heartbeat. Then I’ll work on getting zen. Until things steer in a different direction from where they’ve gone in the past, I will always assume the worst. And the only way to steer away from the past experiences is to see a freaking heartbeat.

Until I see a little flicker on that screen, I reserve the right to remain hysterical.

If all goes well this Wed. and we see that little flicker, I humbly request that all of you start bitch-slapping me into being more zen.

I just hope that now that I left that message I won’t be having any more weird ultrasound dreams. Especially involving A.my Wi.nehouse.

A List of Crazy Stuff I’ve Done in the Last Week

3 Nov
  • Pressed my hand against my lower abdomen, until I was convinced I felt a heartbeat, then realized it was my own freaking heartbeat.
  • Spent a good 10 minutes standing in front of a mirror examining my boobs and wondering just how much bigger they are.
  • Asked the Harley Hottie if he could sense a heartbeat using his acupuncture voodoo. Alas, it’s not in his repertoire.
  • Googled “lower abdominal pain in early pregnancy” oh, say, 1000 times or so…
  • Was utterly disappointed each time I felt a bit pukey yet no puke came.
  • Thought to myself that feeling pukey once every other day or so is seriously not pukey enough.
  • Considered dropping 200 bucks to see Dr. Twofer just so he could hit me up with an ultrasound early (what the Russian doesn’t know, won’t hurt him, right? But we can’t afford it so- urgh).
  • Stuck purple sparkly butterfly window stickers on the mirror in the empty room. Jinxing be damned.
  • Made Shmerson have several serious conversations with the Shmembryo convincing it to stick around.
  • Made my mother have several serious conversations with the Shmembryo bribing it with food and toys.
  • Had several conversations with the Shmembryo bribing it with food and toys.
  • Installed the “What to Expect” app on my iPhone for the 3rd time. Shmembryo is apparently the size of a blueberry. Utterly disappointed to find that out, since a blueberry’s heartbeat is way too small to feel through my many layers of pudge. Plus, I don’t think blueberries have heartbeats. Hopefully Shmembryos do.
  • Found myself insanely jealous of a bunch of my fellow bloggy buddies who got a 6 week scan and saw a heartbeat. Happy for them, yes. But jealous. Soooo jealous!
  • Fallen in love. Darn it.
T minus ten (and a half) days. 7 weeks preggo tomorrow.

By the Numbers

1 Nov

Time elapsed since first BFP: 17 months

Total time spent pregnant in those 17 months: 6 and a half months

Number of pregnancies: 4

Number of take-home babies so far: 0

Number of times a sac has been viewed: 2

Number of times a heartbeat has been detected: 0

Number of anxiety attacks in the last 8 months: 1

Number of anxiety attacks in the last 24 hours: 1

Number of text messages sent to the Russian asking him to please let me come in earlier: 2

Number of times the Russian said yes: 0 (he did say no nicely though)

Number of days until the scan that will either show us a heartbeat or make me lose my shit: 14

I thought that time was supposed to fly when you’re doing big things like moving and remodeling a house. Apparently being in the early throes of a pregnancy for an RPLer negates that notion completely. Urgh.

Oh, and thank you everyone for your awesome comments yesterday. I love you guys, seriously.

Here’s a bunny, because Cookie gave me permission and I need to feel better:

Let the Great Toilet Paper Dance Begin

13 Oct

First off, thank you all for your awesome comments yesterday. They made me feel so incredibly loved. Seriously. You are all awesome.

Oh! And the FRERy godmother came through and courtesy of JM I got to pee on a Rolls Royce this morning! Yay! It was fun seeing that second line.

But tonight – I kind of started to freak out.

And for the most messed up reasons ever.

I’m kind of freaking out because I’m feeling good. I know, that’s weird.

It’s sooo early. But my gut has been telling me that everything is going to be fine. I felt it the moment that the Shmembryo* was created. I had this overwhelming sense of peace and joy, and I looked at Shmerson and said: “We just made a baby, and it’s going to be fine this time”.

Now I’m scared. Because there’s still a chance it isn’t. There’s still a chance that the stabby pains in my back mean the Shmembryo is digging into the wrong place. There’s still a chance that this will be a chemical because it’s so freaking early. There are so many things that can go wrong.

Yesterday I walked around in a state of bliss. Today I’ve been feeling every twinge and going to the bathroom way too often to make sure I’m not bleeding.

I want to enjoy this so much. I keep telling myself that there’s no point in worrying, because if something is wrong, it’s already wrong and there’s nothing I can do to change that. And if all is well, I need to enjoy this, because I will regret not enjoying this pregnancy if all is well.

I need to enjoy this. I want to be joyful. I honestly love love love being pregnant. My first pregnancy, until I found out about the blighted ovum, with all the hormonal craziness, was awesome. I think pregnancy suits me. I thrive when I’m knocked up.  Or at least the first time. And I really want that again. Without all of this stupid anxiety.

Dear Shmembryo, please dig in. In your mommy’s uterus, not her tube, thankyouverymuch. I promise to feed you lots of yummy stuff and sing you silly songs and love you like crazy once you come out (and before that too). Ok?

*Shmembryo is courtesy of Cookie. I personally think it’s the best. Nickname. Ever. Thanks Cookie! You funny me, and i have officially stolen your funny.

I Didn’t Pee!

10 Oct

Yep – I didn’t do it. Not even on a popsicle stick, as was suggested in the comments a couple of posts back. 🙂

7 DPO and I didn’t pee. Yay!!

Now, the question is – will I pee tomorrow?

Here’s the thing: I’ve been nauseous all day, and experiencing some major stabby pains up in my lady parts. I’m seriously hoping it’s a little one burrowing in where it’s supposed to. I’ve been feeling like crap all day, and I seriously think that apart from “the feeling” it’s the beginning of a pregnancy. So yeah – I’m tempted as hell to pee like there’s no tomorrow. But I don’t have any Rolls Royces  FRERs, and I know that I have some on the way courtesy of the lovely and amazing JM.

So yeah, I think I may hold off until they get here.

Let’s just hope they get here soon! No point in peeing on a VW bug when you can pee on a Rolls Royce, right?

But I’ll make one thing clear: If I see an implantation dip on my BBT chart tomorrow I’m totally going for it!

We shall see.

Bloggity Blah

7 Oct

I know, I know, I didn’t post anything for Group Therapy Thursday yesterday. I’m sorry. But, alas, in my defense, it would have been a two question post. So you know, get on it if you want one next week. Maybe I should stop doing them? I don’t know, everything has been kind of making me feel down lately, and I’m wondering whether doing one once a week (or even at all) may not be interesting. I don’t mean to guilt you guys. But I’m wondering if I should keep it going…

Yeah, things are kind of blah. I’m so tired. Ori’s funeral was yesterday, and it was a beautiful ceremony, but it just felt so surreal. I went with Squish, and it was one of those situations where you can’t quite imagine you’re actually going through this. Standing there, watching one of your closest friends read a poem over her partner’s grave. Not technically a widow because they weren’t married, but a widow nonetheless. It was a mind fuck.

This was the second time in my life I was at a funeral of a musician who had died too young. The funeral brought me back to one I attended almost ten years ago. Standing there I felt overwhelmed, and tired. And old. Not like, senior citizen old, but my age old.

My friend – a widow.

And Steve Jobs died. And that made me sad too. I’ve been an apple freak since I first got a grape colored imac my sophomore year of college. The world lost some amazing people in the last few days, and that has left me feeling pretty heavy.

It also got me thinking about how the circle of life works, and about my unending need to be a mother. I guess the urgency of loss brought it back to the surface with a vengeance. I spent 3 hours in traffic on the way home from the funeral, and I spent some of that time talking to a potentially growing embryo in my body. I had an out-loud talk, telling it to find it’s way, to dig in in the right place. To grow strong so that it can see the home I’ve been working so hard to make for it. I felt like a crazy woman.

Even more than usual.

I’ve been feeling so stuck lately. Not depressed, just on hold. And I feel like the only thing that will unstick me is a baby. i hate that feeling. As much as I’ve embraced it in the last couple of months, it doesn’t make the stuck-ness any less sucky. Steve Jobs’ Stanford speech has been popping up everywhere, and since I first saw it a couple of years back, with every viewing I think to myself how I need to do what I love. So what do you do when the one thing in the world that you think you’ll love more than anything is so elusive?

At my therapists’ on Wed. she reminded me once again that there’s a whole full world of Mo outside of the mommy thing. That I shouldn’t ignore my ambitions and desires while waiting to be a mother. But my desire clouds everything else. To the point where I don’t truly know what I want, apart from this. And that frustrates me.

I’m 5 DPO, I’m going to hold off at least until 8 DPO to test (yes! the poll kinda worked!) but I so want this to be the month, and I’m scared that if it isn’t I’ll be upset.

I’m also scared that I get a positive. There’s a part of me that has become convinced that this next pregnancy is going to stick. But what if it doesn’t? I’ve been pushing that thought out of my mind lately, but the last few days it’s been creeping back in.

Urgh.

Yeah – this post has been a rambling downer. Sorry guys.

Not All There (Here, Actually)

20 Aug

You know what the problem is with this whole TTC break?

Taking a break does not make the baby-crazies go away (surprising, right? I know, totally.).

In fact, since losing Ole’ Lefty I believe my baby crazies have reached peak levels. We’re talking 9 on the richter scale. Code Red. We’re so high up we need oxygen masks.

You know how sometimes you read IF blogs, and the blogger writes about not being able to look at babies? And you feel for her, you really do, but yet you think to yourself – “eh, that’ll never be me!”

Well, here’s a warning to all you IFers in training. It could very well be you. I too was convinced there would never come a day when I would have serious problems looking at other people’s babies, talking about other people’s babies, or seeing preggo bellies.

Now I know better.

The last couple of weeks have been crazy on a lot of levels. But the baby crazy has ramped up to levels that I thought were unreachable.

I have now officially done the following (yay! It’s time for a list!)

  1. Avoided going to a birthday party because I knew there would be several preggos there (including the birthday girl), even though I truly love the birthday girl. I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.
  2. Went to a family function where there was a six-month-old in attendance that I didn’t know was coming, and held back tears while watching the rest of my family coo over said six-month-old.
  3. At that same family function, told off two family members for telling me their “oh! I know this couple who went on vacation…” stories. Trying to explain to people that a vacation does not create neon arrows leading a fertilized egg to your uterus is hard work.
  4. Hid a preggo friend on FB. (Ok, she’s an acquaintance, so that’s ok right?)
  5. Had several crying fits that were completely unexplained, except that they immediately followed thoughts about babies, or seeing a really pregnant woman out in public. Or hearing about another person who just gave birth. Ok. I guess they’re not really unexplained.
  6. Playing rounds of “find the infertile” while watching reality TV. Toddlers and Tiaras is an awesome platform for that game, by the way. I highly recommend it for masochists. (Don’t worry! I’m totally gonna post about that one of these days!)
You always think “It’ll never be me.”
Then you find yourself in the middle of AF, sitting in a bathroom stall and blowing your nose while looking down at this month’s proof that once again, nine months from now, you will not be a mommy.
Over the last few weeks, I’ve been told by a bunch of different people how great a mom I would be. I know! Right? Maybe we should do something about it?
Alas – not yet. Shmerson and I have set some strict ground rules. Sanity, stability, and a second (or is it third at this point?) opinion from an RPL specialist before jumping back in.
I think I’m on the losing side of the sanity part of that checklist. I’m currently a few fries short of a happy meal.
Off my rocker.
A beer short of a six pack.
Nuttier than squirrel poo.
I’m going slightly mad.
I’m really ok though. I swear. (Shmerson, pay no attention to the baby crazy woman behind the curtain!)

Tomorrow…. We Wear Pants! (and other musings about what’s next)

8 Aug

Well, I’m going a bit stir crazy. On one hand, I really feel like getting up and doing things. On the other, I just want to sleep. I’m not in much pain anymore. Mostly the tic-tac-toe game on my abdomen itches like crazy, and I get a periodic stabby-type pain every once in a while. But since I’m used to stabby pains, it’s not really a big deal.

I haven’t worn pants since leaving the hospital on Friday morning. That’s right people! No pants! I’ve also seen every single stupid reality TV show on the planet, played way too much Angry Birds, and watched some pretty good movies (Source Code – thumbs up!), along with a couple of absolutely horrible ones (note to everyone: the Red Riding Hood revamp is a piece of crap).

But with all the stir-craziness, I can’t seem to bring myself to function. There’s a lot of real world stuff that needs to be done, but I’m not ready for it yet. I think I’ll give myself one more day. I think that’s ok.

Here’s the thing: The last couple of days a certain unease has set in. I get that Lefty was non-functional, and I’m glad he’s gone. But I have spent the last 6 months CONVINCED that something is up with my right side. The doc who performed the lap observed that one part of the tube is “slightly thickened” and removed a couple of adhesions around it, but that’s basically it.

And I’m not appeased. I’m not calm. I still have a sinking feeling that something is wrong and I’ll have another ectopic.

This is the sucky thing about all of this: I know exactly what happens next. We go back to Twofer, and he tells us to try again. That’s it. Try again and cross our fingers.

And when we are ready to try again – I’m afraid this whole cycle of fear will start all over again. I honestly kind of wish they had taken Righty too and we could have gone straight to IVF. I know that’s kind of a crazy thought, but considering that IVF is virtually free here, I would much rather just bypass the tubes altogether. Just get a good looking embryo in my uterus, even if it comes with the price of injections, more general anesthesia, and hormonal hell. I’ll take that over another loss any day of the week and twice on Sundays.

But I know we would never get approved for such a thing. For now, I’m 100% sure we’ll just be told to “try again.”

And I’m not happy about that. I’m not ready to deal with that.

But tomorrow, I’ll start by putting on a pair of pants.

This is the Part Where I Get Angry

3 Aug

I think everything kind of crashed down on me today. Anticipating tomorrow, and whatever prognosis it will bring, I’ve had a swelling of anxiety, but today at my shrink’s we got to the heart of the matter.

I’m pissed. I’m pissed because just over a year ago today, I had a botched D&C, and I know that’s what started all of this. One doctor, which I trusted, which came highly recommended, who didn’t think to prescribe antibiotics, or make sure that my uterus was left unscarred, caused all of this mess. A 5 minute procedure that has irrevocably altered my life.

I can’t sue him. There’s no way to prove that this was the cause. But I know it is. I know that I had a healthy uterus before this. Healthy enough to hold on to a sac for 8 weeks. An empty sac, but a sac nonetheless.

So I’m scarred. I’m scarred not only physically from those 5 minutes a year ago. I’m scarred mentally, emotionally. This was a doctor I trusted. He came “highly recommended”. He was “the best” in the area.

He fucking messed up my body. And here I am, one year and two additional miscarriages later, about to go under the knife of yet another doctor, who is “the best”, who comes “highly recommended.” Who’s to say everything will go as planned? The last time certainly didn’t. How am I supposed to be calm when the last time I was put under sedation my body was permanently damaged, and my life path was altered forever?

I was supposed to have a baby in my arms by now. Instead, by this time tomorrow, I may have no fallopian tubes. I may have internal organs REMOVED because one fucking doctor didn’t do his job properly. How can I trust that this one will? How can I be calm?

People keep telling me it’s a minimally invasive procedure. So is a D&C, and look where that has brought me.

So I’m pissed. I’m pissed and I’m scared. And I can’t be grateful for “the path” or “answers” right now. All I can do is be bitter and angry at the fact that one incompetent doctor screwed up my body forever. And hope that this doctor will fix the damage, as much as it can be fixed, and not do any more.

This fucking sucks. And I’m fucking pissed off.

I want to make sure this one does the job properly. I want to come out of this with at least part of my fertility intact. And I feel helpless to do anything about it.

Dear readers, you have been so amazing and supportive through all of this. I need you to come through for me one more time. I need your comments, your love, and yes, even prayers. Even as a heathen, I know they can’t hurt. And tell me if I’m forgetting anything. If I should insist on anything being done. If there’s anything I should be asking for to at least try to make sure that no more damage is done.

I go in for the lap in 23 hours. I probably won’t post again before it. If I’m conscious enough after I promise I will, and if not, I may just have Shmerson do it for me.

Thanks. Love you all.

Virtual Treasure and Angry Birds

1 Aug

Me: Ahhhhhhh!!!!!

Me: Stop it.

Me: No! I’m freaking out!

Me: Stop it.

Me: Poof! I stopped it.

Me: Good.

Me: Dude, I didn’t really. Come on, you should know better. Can I go back to screaming now?

Me: No. Tell me what’s wrong.

Me: You know very well. We’re going in for surgery on Thursday. SURGERY!

Me: Thousands of people do it every day.

Me: Don’t care.

Me: It’s perfectly safe. You’ll be asleep the entire time.

Me: With a tube stuck down my throat! That’s not sleep. That’s torture!

Me: You won’t even know it’s there!

Me: Ahhhhhh!!!!!

Me: What now?

Me: I won’t even know it’s there! No control! Can we run away? Please?

Me: No. We’ve got to do this.

Me: Why?

Me: You know what we’ve been doing the last few days?

Me: Watching too much reality TV and feeling useless?

Me: Yes, that.

Me: What about it?

Me: We do that when we’re depressed or anxious.

Me: No shit, Sherlock.

Me: Now what has been the primary cause of this depression and anxiety?

Me: You being a pain in my ass?

Me: No. Try again.

Me: Me being a pain in your ass?

Me: That too. But dig deeper.

Me: The baby thing?

Me: Yes. The baby thing.

Me: What does that have to do with us getting cut open and being completely in other people’s control for HOURS? HOURS!!!!

Me: Breathe. Remember last month when we were TTC and sitting at home depressed because we were scared of another ectopic?

Me: Yeah. That sucked. But that How I Met Your Mother marathon was nice.

Me: Yes, that was nice. But you also spent a few too many hours hunting for virtual treasure on FB.

Me: That was fun!

Me: No it’s dumb. It’s a waste of our time and… Well, I would say energy but it mostly involves clicking.

Me: Ok. I’ll give you that.

Me: And the fact that we got three stars on all the levels of Angry Birds Seasons?

Me: It was awesome!

Me: No. It was unsatisfying. It was us being depressed.

Me: But the birds! And the piggies! And the golden eggs!

Me: You’re deluding yourself.

Me: So? What’s your point?

Me: My point is – get through this week. Make it to the lap. Get through it.

Me: But I don’t wanna!

Me: Do you want babies?

Me: Babies?

Me: Yes, babies.

Me: Babies! Babies! Babies! Babies!

Me: See now I’ve got your attention.

Me: Babies! Babies! Babies… huh?

Me: This will help us get the babies.

Me: Are you sure?

Me: No. But it’s a place to start.

Me: You promise we’ll be OK?

Me: I promise.

Me: And can we at least spend some of this week trying to get 3 stars on Angry Birds Rio?

Me: Yes. I’ll even let you hunt for some virtual treasure. But after that – to the lap we go!

Me: Ahhhhhhh!!!!!!!!

Me: This is a lost cause….

Climbing

30 Jul

Have you guys ever been to a point where you are so overwhelmed that your head no longer holds thoughts- just a continuous buzzing?  Yeah, that’s where I’m at. Heady-explode-y.

So much stuff has been happening, I don’t even know where to start. On the same day we went in for the lap consult, we got an offer on our current apartment, which means we’re one step closer to moving into our shiny new place and I can start getting my nesting on. My lap is scheduled for this Thursday, and I’m spending the next few days running around doing all sorts of paperwork and pre-op blood work and doctor’s appointments. Things are insane.

On our way to the lap consult, Shmerson told me something that’s kind of been echoing in his mind. He says he feels like a 15 year old impersonating an adult. We’re buying and selling real-estate, we’re applying for mortgages, we’re going into doctors’ offices with binders full of my medical history. He’s writing emails to his professors asking for extensions because “his wife is going in for surgery”.

Freaky.

I feel the same way. I feel like a total impostor sometimes. I really do. How the heck can I act like an adult when I basically barely have any clue who I am? There are days that I just want to say “fuck it all” and just party. Or something. Ok. I’m not much of a party animal. But sometimes it’s just too much. I just want to hang out and have someone else worry about my tubes for a change.

But things only get stranger from here. With all of this going on,  I’m actually relatively CALM. I’m not in a hurry so much any more with the getting knocked up. Not because I want it any less. But just because I’m starting to realize that before I get knocked up things need to calm the frak down. We need to move. I need to get through this lap. I need to find a new job. Shmerson needs to get through his exams and find a new job. There’s so much to do. We need to get our stability on.

Today, Shmerson and I were talking. He told me that he wishes all of this sucky stuff hadn’t happened during our first year of marriage. He said: “Why couldn’t we have had like, 5 years of ignorant wedded bliss before all this crap happened?”

I answered in a particularly zen way: “If we had 5 years of ignorance, then we probably wouldn’t have appreciated them.”

The thing is – we keep on talking about wanting things to get “better” already. What is “better” anyway?

I don’t think there’s ever a place of perfection. And you know what? I’m not so much of a fan of the “Happy Ending.” Because then things end. I like this whole living thing, thank you very much.

So no happy endings for me. Happy being. Happy living. Not even that. Contentment. I think that’s what I’m striving for now. Calm.

Heck  – I’ll take a week without depression. A baby would be nice too. But there’s stuff to be done first.

Ok I’m rambling. This is going to be one of those long rambling posts so you guys may as well grab a cup of tea and settle in.

….

Are you back? Ok then.

I went to visit PM last week.  I held her little one in my arms for close to half an hour. Half an hour of complete calm and peace that proved to me that this is completely what I want.

And yet

PM is overwhelmed. She’s going through some serious crap. She looked at me with this terribly sad face and said “I’m not the same person any more”.

I’ve known her for 15 years. I knew she was serious. This isn’t the postpartum depression talking. Being a mom changes you. It’s a huge transition.

I’ve always known that but this is the first time I saw the “downside” of it. The intimate and dark part. The part no one really likes to talk about. Looking at her, and her amazing baby, I realized that it’s ok if we take some time to get our life in order.

I don’t want you to misunderstand me. PM is so happy to have the little one here. She loves him. But she’s mourning a part of her that is gone. The 15 year old that’s playing the adult. Now there’s no play. There’s just adult. That’s  a scary proposition.

***

Shmerson and I have both been guilty of trying to get too much done at once. There’s always a list. One hundred things that would make us better, happier, whatever.

But we both make the same fatal mistake over and over: We try to do it all at once, fail miserably, and then feel bad about ourselves.

What is “better” and how do we get there?

Well – you certainly can’t get there when you’re running around like a crazy person trying to do it all. No one is super human. There’s only so much you can do.

When Shmerson and I started talking about taking a break from TTC a couple of weeks back, I once again started a list. Lose weight, quit smoking (again), find a new job, exercise more, try to get a film off the ground (again), bla bla bla bla bla.

Up until now, I would have tried to tackle all of this. All at once. Now.

But here’s what PM taught me: Slow. The Fuck. Down.

At my shrink’s on Wednesday she told me something very simple: “Let’s just start with a job.”

Yeah, let’s. Let’s get through this lap and start with a job. One thing at a time.

You fall fast when you hit rock bottom. I hit rock bottom somewhere over the last couple of months. But the climb is slow. And it’s not always easy. But it has to be done to pull yourself out of the muck.

As much as Shmerson and I are overwhelmed right now, I recognize that we’re in the midst of a slow climb. A climb towards “better”, whatever that is. But we’re climbing. We’re not perfect. But we’re climbing. Hopefully, this time, one step at a time. And that’s as good a place to start as any.

To make up for this rather heady and rambly post- proof that I’m not the only one in the family with a bunny fetish:

Luna and one of her many stuffed bunny toys.

To Pee or Not to Pee, That is the Question

23 Jul

So as most of you know, we’re taking some time off of TTC until we get Ole’ Righty sorted out. Wed. is our consult with the Doc that Twofer recommended, and we’ll see whether we’re going straight to a lap, or do some things on the way.

Scary Funny anecdote: In his referral letter, Twofer accidentally wrote that my LEFT tube is partially blocked. Luckily I have the HSG films to prove otherwise, but I believe this little mix-up will force me to draw an arrow on my stomach with a magic marker pointing out the correct tube when the time comes. Gotta love paranoia.

But now I face an even bigger dilemma. Tomorrow I’ll be going to a pharmacy to pick up my monthly dose of extra strength vitamin D. I know that I will, like every pharmacy visit before it, stand in front of the OPK’s for several minutes, debating on whether to purchase a kit or not.

We’re not trying this month for sure. But I’m concerned because I ovulated so late in my last cycle (CD 22), and kind of feel like maybe I should keep track of things, just so I have all of the information. Plus, you know, I pee because I love.

So – what do you think? To pee or not to pee?

Here are a couple of cute bunnies to keep you company while you think about it:

 

Debbie Downer

20 Jul

A post over on Keiko’s blog prompted me to go sifting through my archives a bit. I’ve been kind of off lately in terms of my blogging mojo. I’ve been wondering about it quite a bit. I used to post about once a day. Now it’s down to about twice a week. And it’s not that things aren’t going on. I have a life outside of the blocked tube, and it used to be that every little blip in my life would get written up here in some form. So what happened?

I think I have a tendency toward extremes. A lot of talk at my therapist’s office lately has been aimed at this particular space. Not in a bad way, per se, but in terms of how it had taken over my life almost completely. For example, in regards to my career, instead of examining realistic options, I would always just go to “I wish I could just make a living off of my blog.” My social life – all bloggy friends. My communication with real life friends – through here as well. It was taking over every aspect of my life.

So naturally, because I am a woman of extremes, as soon as this was pointed out to me, I immediately stopped blogging. Which really, is just plain silly. Balance. It’s a good lesson, don’t you think? Wish I’d learn it sometime.

I used to log on every night, pop on some Florence and the Machine and just type type type away. Even when I didn’t know where I was going with a post. Even when I didn’t have any readers, this space was a place for me to work through stuff. Lately it hasn’t been.

Honestly? I think it’s because I’m not working through stuff in general. I mean, I’m trying, but there are things I just don’t want to confront right now. I’ve been genuinely concerned about my own emotional well-being, and instead of working on it, I’ve just been obsessing quietly about it in my head. Which isn’t really healthy at all, is it?

I guess because now I know people actually read my ranty little musings I’m afraid of being a downer. Which is so stupid, because that’s just how I am in real life – always afraid to burden others – and I came to this place as an outlet for my feelings, a place where I won’t feel like a burden to others.

So I’m officially giving myself permission to post even if I am a downer in the near future. I apologize in advance. I’m going through some stuff.

Though I promise to throw in an occasional animated gif or snarky rant. Because you guys deserve a little something for putting up with my current Debbie Downer status.

Coming up tomorrow: I’m going to Twofer’s office to beg for a (possibly) unnecessary surgical procedure! We’re gonna come to a decision about Ole’ righty this week. It’s time. The stabbing pains in my lower abdomen demand it. Do they make animated gifs for stabby pains? I’ll have to look into that.

In the meantime, here’s an unbalanced bunny. Cause bunnies are cute.

Until tomorrow!

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