Another "day before"

I'm too tired to write much, but I want to be sure to commemorate yet another "day before" by writing on the blog. Tomorrow I go in for the embryo transfer. Our egg donor produced over 20 eggs (last year when we tried IVF I only produced 6); 20 fertilized (for me, only 4, none of which were normal).

What am I worth?

Lady Ultrasound's Avatar

I occupy this very odd interstitial space between hope and hopelessness. (Whoever thought frame of mind was like the thin edge along the top of a cliff, scissors-sharp, perilous, definitive? Sometimes I even straddle the edge-- or to put it more rightly, shuttle back and forth between the two.) Yesterday was dismal: all was futility. I lay in bed and, for the second day in a row, binge-watched clips from The Sopranos on YouTube. But today I am awake and have some sense of the haze lifting.

There are a number of discrete sources of my dismal outlook, tiny black beads of self-loathing erupting from the surface of a roiling skin. Naturally right now they are mostly about my fertility. My fears that my husband and I have ransomed our financial future (and present) for a procedure that may not, and in my heart of hearts I believe will not, work. And all the negative associations brought up by visiting my fertility doctor. And all the negative associations brought up by the daily regimen of medications.

I'm just going to rage

I went to acupuncture the other day (pregnant woman- hilarious- really, lady? Go hide your belly elsewhere because you're an ACUPUNCTURIST AT AN INFERTILITY CLINIC)
and she told me a number of things. Some of these injunctions I've followed; others I mentally crumpled up in a ball and  tossed into the closest garbage can. See if you can guess which is which. Her orders were:

Jesus, here we go again

I can't believe I'm doing this. I'm doing this. I'm resuscitating the blog. To do so means I am deliberately returning to a site where I recorded one of my (long string of) failures.

The state of things, in chronological order:

An hour and 10 minutes until 36 hours to IUI

I should be grading papers, but I have a yearning to memorialize this milestone. It could all come to nothing, I understand. I'm trying not to get my hopes up. But anyway, it's something new and important and even exciting. It's proactive, at any rate.

At 11 pm, I have to take my hcG shot to induce ovulation in 36 hours. 36 hours from now is our IUI appointment: 10 am Saturday. The doc gave me the whole play-by-play today. We do IUI on Saturday. The sperm travel up into my fallopian tube over the course of the next few days. The big and important days are Tuesday/Wednesday, though, because that's when implantation would occur and that's the dicey part of it. If that doesn't happen, it's a no-go. Although if the sperm don't fertilize the egg to begin with, that's a no-go anyway. So it seems to me that every day up until implantation is important, too. But maybe he just meant implantation days are the days you want to take it easy physically.

We did the ultrasound today to see how many follicles Clomid produced. He found at least 3, although he says it looks like I might have as many as 5. I don't know if that's impressive or good or what. I know it's better than 2, 3 or 4, but fertilization is iffy as it is and so even with 5 eggs I might not get any fertilized.

The shot scares me. My husband seems to understand how to do it-- I made a video of the nurse at the office today demonstrating how to fill the syringe first with the water, then with the powder, and then how to change the needle-- and my husband watched the video and seems to understand all of it. I don't really understand any of it. I'm sure I could if I had to, but I know my husband will be taking care of this, so I feel less pressure to think clearly and absorb the information. So I just wallow in my anxious feelings toward the needle and the prospect of being shot up by someone so decidedly not qualified for that level of nursing.

Wish me luck! Oh, babies in the universe who might be out there waiting for their Momma, you know my heart is open for you. I'd love you so much.

Moving on to the next phase

I'm writing after a long absence. I've been enrolled in a fiction course and I've been using a lot of what I've written here in a short story about... you guessed it, miscarriage. I read my story aloud and people talk about what I've written as if it is what I'm saying it is: fiction. Only I know that the entire thing is right out of my life.

tears before the fire

I've been spending a really beautiful afternoon in front of the fire. I've been reading The Red Tent, which I purposely chose five weeks ago when I was pregnant because I wanted its chronicle of pregnancy to serve as the narrative backdrop for those days. Now that I have lost the baby, the book serves equally well in its detailing of miscarriage, loss, and hardship.

the snake shedding a skin?

It occurred to me sometime last night or this morning that the aftermath of this miscarriage has one positive dimension. It has created movement.

I have been depressed beyond measure for three years, since my first miscarriage in 2008.

an hour later and I'm stuck in my funk

I can't focus on my work. I just keep writing on the BabyCenter boards. This is what I just wrote:

1. I don't know why but I'm still lurking on the May 2012 birth board at BabyCenter. I don't look at porn online, but going to the May 2012 birth board feels EXACTLY like how I would feel if I looked at porn online. Guilty. Life if someone were looking over my shoulder, I would quickly minimize the window. Like the women on that board would be really freaked out and disturbed and even angry if they knew I occasionally lurked. (I visit it for a few minutes maybe once every two days. I don't comment or post, of course-- I simply lurk).

Post-op appointment: the end, and the beginning...

I had my post-op follow-up today. One week since the D&C. I should be grading papers right now, but I want to write this out. I've been told recently by colleagues that it's important to write about it. And I admit, writing here does purge and clarify. I have dreams that one day I may speak for millions of silent and grieving women, telling my story for a wider audience, but for now...

I hadn't expected today to end the way it did. But it began exactly how I'd expected.

Back to the world of the living

It's 9:55 pm on Sunday night. I should be lesson planning (I'm a teacher: I've been trying to keep that private but I'm throwing caution to the wind at this point). My family was in town today on a long-scheduled trip, and I spent the weekend with them. I had already been working this year on trying to cut back on the hours spent lesson planning. But this weekend, given the fact that I'm still physically recuperating from the D&C and surgery last Tuesday; and especially given the fact that I'm emotionally recovering from this pregnancy loss (will I ever re/cover what I had? Did I ever re/cover from the first miscarriage?); I decided to throw out all professional scruples and saved planning for this week until the final possible moment.

#7

Well, it's the big night. 10:12 pm. I'm having my D&C in the morning. I have to be at the hospital at 5:30, so 7 hours from now. Shoot-- I forgot I still have to take a shower.

I have no idea what's in store. Well, I know what a D&C is, and I also know the doctor is going to do laparoscopic surgery on my left tube. We had some debate about whether to do both procedures at once: the fertility specialist counseled us to do them at different times, because the pregnant uterus is highly vascular and I guess that means there is more potential for heavy bleeding. (He also told us when we had our initial consultation with him that he didn't ever advise laparoscopic surgery, because it's so invasive.) But my feeling is, if you're telling me this blocked tube is contributing to our difficulty conceiving, then I want the thing fixed. In the end, we've decided to go ahead and do both procedures at once. My doc who will actually be performing the procedure tomorrow says I'll be fine if I do it both at once, and honestly, I just want everything fixed as soon as possible. Plus, conflating the procedures into one surgery means I will consolidate the days I have to take off work.

#6

Another post I just created on an online forum.

Hi. I already said goodbye two weeks ago when I learned my hCG levels weren't doubling, but I then came back when we saw some growth on an ultrasound. But that's over now. Doc confirmed today on u/s at 8 weeks that it's a blighted ovum. So I am leaving you. You didn't know me. I didn't know you. But I've spent 4 weeks consuming all of your posts with delight, cradling my iPhone to my chest as I reclined in bed to rest and take care of myself. I read every single one of your posts. I commented on some of them.

#5

I just posted this to an online forum. I'm going to add it here so I can collect everything in one place. For posterity. For future reflection. For documentation.

Random thoughts: 

1. What is it like to have a successful pregnancy? It's like I'm a gnome or a creature that lives in the subterranean depths of the New York City subway system. What is it like to see growth on an ultrasound? To go through the milestones: first trimester, all those screenings, second trimester, weight gain, birth classes, packing your hospital bag?

#4: Letter to God

I prayed so hard, God. I prayed harder than I've prayed in years. Does this mean You don't hear my prayers? People say you hear prayers: I've NEVER experienced that. Why, God? Why? Remember the candles I kept lighting in church these past weeks for this little baby? Remember the prayers to Mary, You, St. Catherine, St. Gerard, St. Gianna, John Paul II... remember those? All you saints: Were you listening? All those hours, praying fervently the words I had found online, with their calming and soothing words: "Sweet _____, intercede for me. Hear my prayer. Pray for me." What were they for? The prayers in church. Who heard them? And my life. I'm a public high school English teacher for disadvantaged kids. I was a good girl my whole life. I was good to my parents. I did well in school. I grew up in the church. I live by society's rules, God's rules. Is it because we used protection in our early years of marriage? Is this punishment for not allowing children into our marriage in the beginning? Tell me if that's so. That I can understand. But this great, cosmic silence... This unknowing. It's undoing me. And I don't know how to interpret it in any way other than thinking you're not listening, or that you don't love me anymore. If you ever did. Why would I think that?

#3: The End. Again.

"The Great War, as we used to call it. Before we knew enough to number them." -Three Days of the Condor

Just got back from the doctor and he confirmed it: it's over. It was a blighted ovum. He saw a gestational sac, a yolk sac, and a fetal pole, but the embryo never developed and no heartbeat was ever detected. I was 8 weeks today, although there has been no growth since last week's ultrasound at 7 weeks. So miscarriage #2.

#2

My doc keeps saying it's in God's hands, and I've prayed more in the past few weeks than I have in years. Prayers to Our Lady of La Leche, St. Gianna, St. Catherine, St. Gerard, and JP II. My previous miscarriage and subsequent infertility shook my faith to its core. Being pregnant has helped me reconnect with God because I so desperately crave His mercy that this child in me may live, but I'm scared. I'm also scared of teetering over the edge into despair and rage at God if this child dies, because if it's all God's will, then logic dictates God wills the child's death... Anyway, I'm scared for this child, and for me, and for my faith if something happens to this child. People say God never gives you more than you can handle, and granted another m/c won't kill me... But I fear it will kill my soul. Infertility had already started that process. I'm praying for a miracle. 

Please God, let my baby live. All the angels and saints, intercede for me and for this baby that s/he may live....

#1

Hello, world. I have no idea who will read this, if anyone. It will probably be yet another endeavor I attempt (like creating life) that is doomed to fail before it even begins. This attitude begs the question, then why begin? Well played. I'll tell you why: because I'm tired of suffering in silence and I'd like to sound my angrily barbaric yawp to the universe. 

I don't really read other people's blogs. I don't even entirely understand the purpose of a blog. But I'm sick of consigning my morose and self-abnegating comments to a Word doc journal on my desktop which no one (including me) reads. My pathos craves an audience. I need a bigger stage.