There may be a flurry of entries from me for a while. I don't know.
I'm just so sad today. Yesterday was OK. Today, I just can't pull my mind out of the memory of those ten minutes in the ultrasound room. Watching J realize what wasn't there. Ugh.
The irony is that I don't want to carry my own pain, but find that I can. And I want more than anything to carry his, and can't.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Cheated
Yesterday was a surprisingly good day. I sat in a comfy chair all day with a Law and Order: SVU marathon on in the background. A friend sent flowers. I ate macaroni and cheese.
I felt optimistic. Disappointed and sad and occasionally tackled by sudden bouts of tears that just as suddenly stopped. But OK.
The nurses that I primarily talk to (who I'm actually referring to when I mention the "doc") called. The one I spoke with said that the other told her to call because she was the least likely to cry. They were very supportive and very optimistic about the future. We know I can conceive. We know my body knows what to do.
So when it comes to all that, I'm feeling relatively OK. Unhappy, but peaceful.
But that is presently conflating with another issue that is turning me into a little dark raincloud today.
I look forward to Lent and Holy Week and Pascha all year. The fast, deepening, the Holy Week, deepening, the services, the Pascha. This year, I got a week of the fast before having to give it up for, as it turns out, nothing. I'd planned to go to every service this week and now can go to none save Friday and Saturday. And we can't figure out which church to even go to for Friday and Saturday's services because the one we went to for several services last year and loved is over an hour away and full of people we don't know, and the one that's closer is full of people who have no desire to know us and is dry and frustrating.
And so I'm feeling a little cheated.
Like I said. Little gray rain cloud.
**Edit. J & I talked about it and I'm going to be able to make it to the Thursday service. I feel much better knowing that.
I felt optimistic. Disappointed and sad and occasionally tackled by sudden bouts of tears that just as suddenly stopped. But OK.
The nurses that I primarily talk to (who I'm actually referring to when I mention the "doc") called. The one I spoke with said that the other told her to call because she was the least likely to cry. They were very supportive and very optimistic about the future. We know I can conceive. We know my body knows what to do.
So when it comes to all that, I'm feeling relatively OK. Unhappy, but peaceful.
But that is presently conflating with another issue that is turning me into a little dark raincloud today.
I look forward to Lent and Holy Week and Pascha all year. The fast, deepening, the Holy Week, deepening, the services, the Pascha. This year, I got a week of the fast before having to give it up for, as it turns out, nothing. I'd planned to go to every service this week and now can go to none save Friday and Saturday. And we can't figure out which church to even go to for Friday and Saturday's services because the one we went to for several services last year and loved is over an hour away and full of people we don't know, and the one that's closer is full of people who have no desire to know us and is dry and frustrating.
And so I'm feeling a little cheated.
Like I said. Little gray rain cloud.
**Edit. J & I talked about it and I'm going to be able to make it to the Thursday service. I feel much better knowing that.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Give us this day...
...our daily bread...
The heart breaks quietly. I didn't feel it at first. And then I did.
That stupid little ultrasound room, silent. The doctor zooming in, zooming out, rolling through the layers (so I assume), again, again, again. And there was just darkness. I knew very quickly that there was no heartbeat. I was just praying, praying, that it was just too small to see still. But it became clear that there was nothing there to see. I am pregnant with nothing.
I asked why I haven't miscarried yet, since the baby is long gone. He said he didn't know, but that if it doesn't happen within the next 2 weeks, I should call.
He said that because there's not even a visible embryo there, I shouldn't have to go through a D&C. It'll just be like a really heavy period. Probably a good deal of cramping. But there won't be tissue.
He said that he's very optimistic. He said it happened very quickly for us (the pregnancy).
I laughed louder than I meant to. I think I sobbed somewhere in the middle. I said, "27 months is quickly?!"
He said he meant it only took 2 tries with the IUI. So he believes that there is every reason to believe that we will become pregnant again.
He said the pregnancy itself was healthy.
I stared at him.
He said my body did everything right. I conceived and my body responded well.
There was just something very wrong with the embryo and nature took its course.
I didn't lose a healthy baby. Nature took something that couldn't have lived.
We will have to wait two cycles and then we will try again.
We knew this was a possibility. We knew that 1 in 5 pregnancies end this way. We were somewhat prepared for it. But we still really don't like it.
The most insulting thing? My body still believes it's pregnant, so I'm still nauseous and tired and sore and swollen. And may remain so for 2 more weeks.
Give us this day our daily bread...
The heart breaks quietly. I didn't feel it at first. And then I did.
That stupid little ultrasound room, silent. The doctor zooming in, zooming out, rolling through the layers (so I assume), again, again, again. And there was just darkness. I knew very quickly that there was no heartbeat. I was just praying, praying, that it was just too small to see still. But it became clear that there was nothing there to see. I am pregnant with nothing.
I asked why I haven't miscarried yet, since the baby is long gone. He said he didn't know, but that if it doesn't happen within the next 2 weeks, I should call.
He said that because there's not even a visible embryo there, I shouldn't have to go through a D&C. It'll just be like a really heavy period. Probably a good deal of cramping. But there won't be tissue.
He said that he's very optimistic. He said it happened very quickly for us (the pregnancy).
I laughed louder than I meant to. I think I sobbed somewhere in the middle. I said, "27 months is quickly?!"
He said he meant it only took 2 tries with the IUI. So he believes that there is every reason to believe that we will become pregnant again.
He said the pregnancy itself was healthy.
I stared at him.
He said my body did everything right. I conceived and my body responded well.
There was just something very wrong with the embryo and nature took its course.
I didn't lose a healthy baby. Nature took something that couldn't have lived.
We will have to wait two cycles and then we will try again.
We knew this was a possibility. We knew that 1 in 5 pregnancies end this way. We were somewhat prepared for it. But we still really don't like it.
The most insulting thing? My body still believes it's pregnant, so I'm still nauseous and tired and sore and swollen. And may remain so for 2 more weeks.
Give us this day our daily bread...
Monday, March 29, 2010
Letter to the lost
My dear (tiny) little one,
We went to see you today, our little "blueberry", half me, half your father.
But you weren't there.
We saw a large dark spot, get bigger, smaller, move here, move there. Definitely a pregnancy sac, and definitely empty.
You've been gone a while, he said.
I want to explain to you why you can't be here with us, but I suspect that if you can understand anything at all, you understand this far far better than I do.
So I'll tell you only the thing that I do know. And that's that these weeks with you have been one of the greatest pleasures of my life, and I have treasured you.
Your mother loves you; loved you before you were conceived, loved you for every moment you were here with us, and will love you always.
Sleep well, child. I will see you in the Morning.
We went to see you today, our little "blueberry", half me, half your father.
But you weren't there.
We saw a large dark spot, get bigger, smaller, move here, move there. Definitely a pregnancy sac, and definitely empty.
You've been gone a while, he said.
I want to explain to you why you can't be here with us, but I suspect that if you can understand anything at all, you understand this far far better than I do.
So I'll tell you only the thing that I do know. And that's that these weeks with you have been one of the greatest pleasures of my life, and I have treasured you.
Your mother loves you; loved you before you were conceived, loved you for every moment you were here with us, and will love you always.
Sleep well, child. I will see you in the Morning.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
234
With approximately 234 days left in this little adventure, otherwise known as being 6w3d pregnant (really? I'm still blown away that I get to use that word), I am thinking about a few things.
The first is that while I know that abdominal twinges and cramping are normal, I hate each and every one.
The second is that the world(?)-famous nausea-curing wonder-beverage Ginger Ale is my intestines' worst enemy, which is unfortunate for ye olde tummy...
Which leads me to my third thing. It's going to be a dang hard project to keep this a secret as I spend most (yes, most) of my waking hours tinged an elegant, no, delicate, shade of green. Very Eastery, really. Very season-appropriate and festive. But noticeable, ya know?
Which leads me to my fourth thing. I now understand what "cravings" are and I believe that that word is utterly inappropriate. You crave water on a hot day. You crave chocolate when you're sad or pissy. This is not that. This is being starving and being unable to eat anything but maybe, just maybe... ahhhhh, blueberries! And so, blueberries must be eaten. Because if you don't eat, you'll die. And if you eat anything else, it'll get stuck in your throat. If you're lucky.
I'm learning things. And I'm so dang thankful for all this misery it's ridiculous.
Which leads me to my fifth thing. Thankfulness. Only a few of my friends at work know "the news" and apparently two were discussing it amongst themselves. One passed on to me what the other said. Apparently there were happy tears involved (happy tears for me? It's so amazing I feel like I could just puff up and float away) and one said, "It's been such a long time, but it was bound to happen. All those prayers had to have been going somewhere."
Now, there are bits of that statement that I don't know how to speak to. I don't know how to match up specific prayers with specific events in the world. I don't know how to say why now, why not before, why not later, why me, why not someone else. All those "whys" are just so far beyond me.
But I do know that God hears all prayers.
And I know that He is the giver of all good things.
And I know that all He gives is good.
And I know that these people in my life are gifts. Good gifts.
And this little pea-sized life wreaking havoc on "our" body is a good gift.
And regardless of the specific communication cause and effect, I know where all these things come from.
And I want to stand out under a starry sky and shout "THANK YOU" til my throat is sore.
And while I'm hormonal and sappy, I just wanna say to all 5 of you readers, that I'm thankful, so very much, for you too.
The first is that while I know that abdominal twinges and cramping are normal, I hate each and every one.
The second is that the world(?)-famous nausea-curing wonder-beverage Ginger Ale is my intestines' worst enemy, which is unfortunate for ye olde tummy...
Which leads me to my third thing. It's going to be a dang hard project to keep this a secret as I spend most (yes, most) of my waking hours tinged an elegant, no, delicate, shade of green. Very Eastery, really. Very season-appropriate and festive. But noticeable, ya know?
Which leads me to my fourth thing. I now understand what "cravings" are and I believe that that word is utterly inappropriate. You crave water on a hot day. You crave chocolate when you're sad or pissy. This is not that. This is being starving and being unable to eat anything but maybe, just maybe... ahhhhh, blueberries! And so, blueberries must be eaten. Because if you don't eat, you'll die. And if you eat anything else, it'll get stuck in your throat. If you're lucky.
I'm learning things. And I'm so dang thankful for all this misery it's ridiculous.
Which leads me to my fifth thing. Thankfulness. Only a few of my friends at work know "the news" and apparently two were discussing it amongst themselves. One passed on to me what the other said. Apparently there were happy tears involved (happy tears for me? It's so amazing I feel like I could just puff up and float away) and one said, "It's been such a long time, but it was bound to happen. All those prayers had to have been going somewhere."
Now, there are bits of that statement that I don't know how to speak to. I don't know how to match up specific prayers with specific events in the world. I don't know how to say why now, why not before, why not later, why me, why not someone else. All those "whys" are just so far beyond me.
But I do know that God hears all prayers.
And I know that He is the giver of all good things.
And I know that all He gives is good.
And I know that these people in my life are gifts. Good gifts.
And this little pea-sized life wreaking havoc on "our" body is a good gift.
And regardless of the specific communication cause and effect, I know where all these things come from.
And I want to stand out under a starry sky and shout "THANK YOU" til my throat is sore.
And while I'm hormonal and sappy, I just wanna say to all 5 of you readers, that I'm thankful, so very much, for you too.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
240
There are 240 days until November 14th, which, according to Babycenter.com, is my approx due date.
I learned today that no matter how good a taco may sound for breakfast, in the long run, it is not a good idea.
Can't say I've been experiencing any nausea per se. I've gone from hungry all the time and eating anything to hungry all the time and not finding anything appealing. The only thing I could imagine happily eating this morning was a taco. Lucky for me, we had tacos earlier this week, so there was leftover meat in the fridge. J turned green as he sipped his coffee and I microwaved the meat. I turned green later. Man, I tasted that thing for hours.
Maybe it's just the novelty of it. But I don't mind at all.
I learned today that no matter how good a taco may sound for breakfast, in the long run, it is not a good idea.
Can't say I've been experiencing any nausea per se. I've gone from hungry all the time and eating anything to hungry all the time and not finding anything appealing. The only thing I could imagine happily eating this morning was a taco. Lucky for me, we had tacos earlier this week, so there was leftover meat in the fridge. J turned green as he sipped his coffee and I microwaved the meat. I turned green later. Man, I tasted that thing for hours.
Maybe it's just the novelty of it. But I don't mind at all.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Go team
I am a team now. Go team.
We went in for blood work again yesterday. My hcg on Wednesday was at 201.6. They wanted to see at least a 60% increase, which they tell me would have put me at 330-something. So they wanted at least 330-something when I went back yesterday. I was awakened by a phone call from my favorite nurse this morning who said, "Hi! Your numbers are beautiful." Hcg is sitting pretty at 460-something.
Go team. :)
We went in for blood work again yesterday. My hcg on Wednesday was at 201.6. They wanted to see at least a 60% increase, which they tell me would have put me at 330-something. So they wanted at least 330-something when I went back yesterday. I was awakened by a phone call from my favorite nurse this morning who said, "Hi! Your numbers are beautiful." Hcg is sitting pretty at 460-something.
Go team. :)
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Now that you know...
It was something else, in the bathroom, suddenly being let in on a secret that only God had known. I suppose we all share secrets with God. But that's one set of five minutes that I will always hold near. Just me and Him knowing something small and huge and cool.
My kitties stared at me, my hands over my face, and then at the stick, hoping it was something that maybe they could play with.
The stick stared at me. One word. "Pregnant." No "not" to be seen. I've seen "not" so many times. But not that time.
That was something.
J's face. That was something.
Friday afternoon I felt like I was on the most massive jet lag of my life. Nauseatingly tired. Slept for 2 hours. That was weird. And I thought it was weird. But I know better by now than to really "think" anything.
Saturday morning (13dpo), my temperature jumped. I wasn't expecting my period until Monday, but still. A jump is peculiar. And I thought to myself, "You know, just take a test. That way you won't have to hope all weekend."
I ended up having to hope all weekend. :)
I still am. Hoping.
I'm tired. I'm hungry. That's the funny thing. The hunger. I'm never a hungry person. These days? Hungry. The Fast has gone out the window.
I've never been particularly well endowed, but I'm moving in that direction.
I'm clinging to every sign and symptom, trying to believe that it's real. That everything is going to be OK.
I'm not ecstatic. I'm calm. Optimistic. A little afraid. But what's most noticeable is that something I've carried around for the last 2+ years is just... gone.
Bloodwork was done on Wednesday, 17dpo. My hcg was at 201.6 and my progesterone is at 12. Progesterone is a little low. Not worrisome, but I'm going to go on progesterone supplements just to support the wee mustard seed. More bloodwork tomorrow (Fri). We want the hcg to be in the 300's.
Life is pretty dang funny sometimes.
Ah. Here's the word I'm looking for: Thankful. I am so so so thankful.
My kitties stared at me, my hands over my face, and then at the stick, hoping it was something that maybe they could play with.
The stick stared at me. One word. "Pregnant." No "not" to be seen. I've seen "not" so many times. But not that time.
That was something.
J's face. That was something.
Friday afternoon I felt like I was on the most massive jet lag of my life. Nauseatingly tired. Slept for 2 hours. That was weird. And I thought it was weird. But I know better by now than to really "think" anything.
Saturday morning (13dpo), my temperature jumped. I wasn't expecting my period until Monday, but still. A jump is peculiar. And I thought to myself, "You know, just take a test. That way you won't have to hope all weekend."
I ended up having to hope all weekend. :)
I still am. Hoping.
I'm tired. I'm hungry. That's the funny thing. The hunger. I'm never a hungry person. These days? Hungry. The Fast has gone out the window.
I've never been particularly well endowed, but I'm moving in that direction.
I'm clinging to every sign and symptom, trying to believe that it's real. That everything is going to be OK.
I'm not ecstatic. I'm calm. Optimistic. A little afraid. But what's most noticeable is that something I've carried around for the last 2+ years is just... gone.
Bloodwork was done on Wednesday, 17dpo. My hcg was at 201.6 and my progesterone is at 12. Progesterone is a little low. Not worrisome, but I'm going to go on progesterone supplements just to support the wee mustard seed. More bloodwork tomorrow (Fri). We want the hcg to be in the 300's.
Life is pretty dang funny sometimes.
Ah. Here's the word I'm looking for: Thankful. I am so so so thankful.
Funny how things go
My blog is entitled “What About November”. I don’t remember if I’ve ever explained why it’s called that. Perhaps I have, and perhaps this is old information. But I’ve been thinking about it recently again.
There is a song called “To Say Thanks” by Nichole Nordeman, and I’d recommend you looking it up (there’s a full version on Lala.com) and giving it a listen. It is a heart wrenching song, heartbreaking, and I heard it first at a time when the very ugly was right before our eyes.
We are told to give thanks in all things. And she wants to know why it’s so damn hard sometimes, and why it just gets harder and harder.
The chorus is something I left behind about a year ago. I don’t ask why anymore. I think it’s both an irrelevant question but with a very obvious answer. We start looking for specific reasons for the rain and we’re liable to read too much into things. I think it just rains. And sometimes it washes us away and sometimes it washes us clean.
There are things that are up to us, and things that just aren’t.
We don’t need to ask what God wants from us, or what He wants us to learn, or what He’s doing. We know. He’s told us already. He wants us to act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly. He wants us to learn to love. He is always here.
The second verse says, “Even fields of flowers, dressing in their best because of You, knowing they are blessed to be in bloom… But what about November, when the air is cold and wet winds blow, do they understand why they can’t grow?”
I’ve found myself in 27 months of November, unable to grow anything new. It has rained, it has been cold, I have cried, I have been angry, I have been strong, I have despaired, I have hoped. I have never been alone.
I have been wrong. I have been growing a new me. I have been growing a new family with my husband and stepchildren. I have been growing a new faith.
This journey started in November of 2007. And I imagine a small, wry, pleased smile on the face of my Father as I cross my fingers, cross myself, shake a little, and whisper to you that as things stand right now, another journey will start in November 2010.
I’m pregnant.
(Shhhhhhhh – this isn’t Facebook fodder for a while yet…)
There is a song called “To Say Thanks” by Nichole Nordeman, and I’d recommend you looking it up (there’s a full version on Lala.com) and giving it a listen. It is a heart wrenching song, heartbreaking, and I heard it first at a time when the very ugly was right before our eyes.
We are told to give thanks in all things. And she wants to know why it’s so damn hard sometimes, and why it just gets harder and harder.
The chorus is something I left behind about a year ago. I don’t ask why anymore. I think it’s both an irrelevant question but with a very obvious answer. We start looking for specific reasons for the rain and we’re liable to read too much into things. I think it just rains. And sometimes it washes us away and sometimes it washes us clean.
There are things that are up to us, and things that just aren’t.
We don’t need to ask what God wants from us, or what He wants us to learn, or what He’s doing. We know. He’s told us already. He wants us to act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly. He wants us to learn to love. He is always here.
The second verse says, “Even fields of flowers, dressing in their best because of You, knowing they are blessed to be in bloom… But what about November, when the air is cold and wet winds blow, do they understand why they can’t grow?”
I’ve found myself in 27 months of November, unable to grow anything new. It has rained, it has been cold, I have cried, I have been angry, I have been strong, I have despaired, I have hoped. I have never been alone.
I have been wrong. I have been growing a new me. I have been growing a new family with my husband and stepchildren. I have been growing a new faith.
This journey started in November of 2007. And I imagine a small, wry, pleased smile on the face of my Father as I cross my fingers, cross myself, shake a little, and whisper to you that as things stand right now, another journey will start in November 2010.
I’m pregnant.
(Shhhhhhhh – this isn’t Facebook fodder for a while yet…)
Saturday, March 6, 2010
3rd Saturday of Lent
"Brethren, recall the former days when, after you were enlightened, you endured a hard struggle with sufferings, sometimes being publicly exposed to abuse and affliction, and sometimes being partners with those so treated. For you had compassion on the prisoners, and you joyfully accepted the plundering of your property, since you knew that you yourselves had a better possession and an abiding one. Therefore do not throw away your confidence, which has a great reward. For you have need of endurance, so that you may do the will of God and receive what is promised. "For yet a little while, and the coming one shall come and shall not tarry; but my righteous one shall live by faith." - Hebrews 10:32-38
For yet a little while, and the coming one shall come and shall not tarry...
Apolytikion in the Second Tone: O Apostles, martyrs, prophets, hierarchs, righteous, and just ones, who have finished your course well and have kept the Faith: seeing ye have boldness with the Saviour, beseech Him for us, since He is good, that our souls be saved, we pray.
I love Great Lent. There is such a feeling of expectation and excitement even as we struggle. (He is coming! He is coming!)
The Fast has been a little bit of a challenge, but so far, it's also been the best one for me so far. I've been more intentional about what I'm eating - thinking it through, planning it out - and I'm actually feeling not deprived, interestingly, but satisfied. Some of J's friends marched a meat lover's pizza into my house on Wednesday night, and I sure oh sure did feel the fast then. But hey.
I've started noticing things about myself that I've never really seen before. I think somehow I'm more able to hear the little voice in my head that tends to constantly grumble, mutter, and come up with snarky sarcastic retorts. You know that voice? That one that, when you find a sink full of dishes, starts muttering to yourself, "I guess everyone else around here has broken arms... Oh sure, like I have nothing else better to do... Why would he bother..." You know that voice? It chatters away in my head almost constantly. But I realized yesterday that a good amount of the time, it's coming up with utterly contradictory complaints. If the kids are playing video games, it grumbles that they're too lazy to do anything else. If they want to play games with people or do projects, it grumbles that they're incapable of entertaining themselves. Good lord a'mighty. No wonder I get so grouchy. I'm impossible to please.
So I'm learning to tell that little voice that if it can't say anything nice, it can just shut the hell up. :)
For yet a little while, and the coming one shall come and shall not tarry...
Apolytikion in the Second Tone: O Apostles, martyrs, prophets, hierarchs, righteous, and just ones, who have finished your course well and have kept the Faith: seeing ye have boldness with the Saviour, beseech Him for us, since He is good, that our souls be saved, we pray.
I love Great Lent. There is such a feeling of expectation and excitement even as we struggle. (He is coming! He is coming!)
The Fast has been a little bit of a challenge, but so far, it's also been the best one for me so far. I've been more intentional about what I'm eating - thinking it through, planning it out - and I'm actually feeling not deprived, interestingly, but satisfied. Some of J's friends marched a meat lover's pizza into my house on Wednesday night, and I sure oh sure did feel the fast then. But hey.
I've started noticing things about myself that I've never really seen before. I think somehow I'm more able to hear the little voice in my head that tends to constantly grumble, mutter, and come up with snarky sarcastic retorts. You know that voice? That one that, when you find a sink full of dishes, starts muttering to yourself, "I guess everyone else around here has broken arms... Oh sure, like I have nothing else better to do... Why would he bother..." You know that voice? It chatters away in my head almost constantly. But I realized yesterday that a good amount of the time, it's coming up with utterly contradictory complaints. If the kids are playing video games, it grumbles that they're too lazy to do anything else. If they want to play games with people or do projects, it grumbles that they're incapable of entertaining themselves. Good lord a'mighty. No wonder I get so grouchy. I'm impossible to please.
So I'm learning to tell that little voice that if it can't say anything nice, it can just shut the hell up. :)
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