Google U Grad

An interesting thing happened when my cell phone rang the other day. At work, in my office and I answer it to hear my RE's voice on the other end. She explained that she had taken ill the day after our last appointment ... the appointment at which I had told her of the positive pregnancy test....and had been away from her office until this week.

She was calling to see if I had received the booking for an ultrasound. I was silent. She said "you know, to make sure you're not having twins".

And then I realized that I had used my Google University Medical Degree, and had neglected to call any medical professional when I miscarried this last time.

What the hell is wrong with me? I explained to her what had happened, and why I hadn't called back for the ultrasound appointment. She asked if I was sure I hadn't needed a D&C.

Hadn't even occurred to me that I might have needed one.

I had to go on and confess more self medicating that I had been engaged in, and told her that I had started the second round of clomid this week.

I do clearly remember her saying to me when we talked last about the possibility of that pregnancy not remaining a viable one, that normally she would have me wait a cycle, but given my advanced maternal age syndrome (do you hear the Jaws like music???), she would be fine with me proceeding. I know now that she must not have had my chart in front of her because she said she might have waited another cycle.

Where do I send my request for the actual pigskin certificate from Google U? I wonder if I can get a raise at work for my newly minted degree.

What I "want"

So today is the end of the birthday week, although a coworker did say the other day that he thought it odd I celebrated the week before my birth instead of the week after. I quickly agreed to extend it to a fortnight (I love that word, and being able to use it semi-correctly!) of celebration and assigned him responsibility for the daily gift giving for next week.

You'd think I was greedy. Honestly I'm not. Really. I'm the one who can rarely think of a gift when asked what I "want" for a holiday or celebration, because truthfully, I'm not in need of material things.

Of course, we all know what I "want" for my birthday this year. I "want" my birthday to become the least important date in this family. I "want" to be the subject of an endless blog debate as to whether I should put those cutesy "warning: pg mentioned" in my titles. I "want" to shop for maternity clothes because I'm pregnant and not just because I'm too fat and maternity clothes are more comfortable. I "want" to carry one of our pregnancies to full term and actually hold a living, breathing child in my arms. I "want" to see my husband fall in love with another person - one that he and I have created together.

Yes. I guess I do "want".

And I want that for every other woman who has created a blog to discuss this very subject.

Don't get me wrong. I'm eternally grateful for the gorgeous bouquet of flowers that were just delivered. And that same thoughtful husband is picking up the clomid on the way home from work tonight. I took the day off and alternated between watching A Baby Story and playing snood. Happy birthday to me. It was perfect.

My grandmother would never have believed...

...that some day her grandaughter (favourite one too, I'm sure) would be happily posting on the internet, announcing to the world that her period had started.

It's my favourite present so far this week.

Onto round 2 of clomid tomorrow.

It's all good

Bit of a drive by post from me tonight. Things are good ... not much going on. Busier than a rat's ass at work it seems and working way too many hours, but for good reason. Although it's funny - I'm working to advance and if I got pregnant tomorrow and was told I had to quit work to hang onto my baby, I'd be gone. Priorities.

My birthday week has been amazing. HB has had a gift for me every single morning! His buddies were teasing him - saying he's set a standard he'll have to live up to for the rest of our lives now. Somehow, I think he'll do it. He's amazing. It wouldn't have mattered what the gifts were - the fact that he took the time to select and wrap (ok ok..he DID use duct tape but hey...) a little something every day is amazing to me!

And they weren't that little, actually. On Tuesday I got new guitar strings and a bunch of picks. Wednesday was a paperback novel and Thursday it was a Sarah McLaughlin music book. Today it was her cd so that I could learn the songs - I learn by ear rather than reading music. His 9 year old told me I didn't really deserve all these gifts, but since his dad was convinced I did, he'd go along with it. Cute. Snotty, but cute.

We have the boys for the whole weekend, which is a bit of a change for us. Busy weekend though, so it will go fast. We watched Shark's Tale tonight and I actually spat diet coke out at one point. What a great movie. I might have to buy it and add to my Nemo and Shrek collection.

Life is good tonight.

Bind Us Together...

I was at an all day meeting today in a room filled with people, most of whom I knew, but there were a few newcomers. I happened to be sitting between one of those newcomers and another woman that I know, and remained there as we had lunch. All of a sudden, the newcomer woman begins to talk about how nervous she is because she forgot to bring her cell phone and wasn't sure how her daughter would contact her if she went to the hospital today. She proceeds to launch on, describing in detail the great care that the hospital has given to her daughter, son-in-law and the new baby (it's a girl) that they are expecting.

And then she starts talking about the extra attention they pay to families like this who have experienced a trauma in the past. It seems that this is their second pregnancy. Their first baby, a boy, died at six weeks of age. The pregnancy and delivery were all perfectly normal, and they still haven't received a logical reason of death. This woman has journeyed through this pregnancy without exhaling yet. Sounds like Grandma hasn't either.

And as I sat there, sensing where the conversation was going, I fought the fight or flight thing that I go through. Should I politely excuse myself and find another conversation? Am I going to be able to open my mouth and answer without my breath catching? Am I too much of a Hormonal Harriet today to be listening to this conversation? After all, neither of these people know my history here.

When suddenly, the woman that I do know turns to me and says, ever so graciously, "you know about this all too well, don't you?".

I could not have had a nicer acknowledgement of what I was feeling right then. She was so gentle about it, as was the other woman, who has experienced a tremendous loss! I was so grateful. We carried on with this conversation to it's natural end. I didn't have to fight or flee.

And once again, the terrible bond of loss found its way into another circle of my life and day. So many of us bound together - it's scarey and comforting all at once. We each have our own unique story, but at the core of it, we're not so different.

A birthday week

HB and I have an agreement that we don't exchange Valentine Day gifts. I love the way he put it. He says every day is Valentine's Day with me, and he doesn't need a commercial holiday to show me he loves me. Now you might say "hmmm smart guy, getting out of it that way" and you'd be right.

But he's also sincere in these words. We are the couple that give each other cards "just because". There are always fresh flowers in the house and I never buy them myself. As a matter of fact, the florist that he goes to gave us a wedding gift when we got married! She also gave us an incredible deal on the most beautiful flowers (tulips and lilies...is there a more beautiful floral combination?).

So we did not exchange gifts today. And that was cool. Anyhow, I have everyone in my world convinced that February 14 is actually just the official kick off to my birthday week.

I feel as if my period is going to start any day now - all the symptoms are there. And I'm a walking hormone without being on any meds so can't even imagine what it's going to be like through another cycle of clomid!

Happy kick off to my birthday week day to you.

Cranky - got cheese for my whine?

There was a columnist in this morning's paper that said for me what I would have said in a letter to the editor, so I have decided not to proceed with writing. It also occurred to me this morning that by writing a letter, I'd be doing the very thing that I'm asking people to stop doing - perpetuating the discussion and keeping it in the limelight. I'm grateful that I do have this blog to come to, which allows me to vent and get my head together before I take action that I might not feel so great about in later days.

So other than that, I'm just cranky today.

HB was up early this morning to go to Knothead's house and pick up Frodo for hockey practice. Apparently she has decided she has had enough hockey for this weekend. Funny how she always decides that when it's the 6 a.m. practice and not the 2:00 p.m. one. Of course, when HB gets up, the dawgs get up. When 205 lbs of dawg start to move in your bedroom, you get up whether you want to or not. So guess who else was up at 5:30 a.m.? On a Sunday? And I'm not one of those that can appreciate the gift of being given an early morning to sit and meditate, or contemplate, or read/clean/sew...do whatever perky morning people do. Nope. Not me. I like to sleep.

HB came back from hockey practice and turned back around to go to tae kwan do practice. Starting to see why he's nice and svelte with a six pack for abs and I'm not? Instead, I stay home to finish laundry and do some work. I put the dawgs outside.

They're doing well - behaving quietly - for most of the morning, until about 11:30 a.m. when they start going out of their minds outside! I open the kitchen door rather quickly, to catch what I think I saw going on....our next door neighbour actually raising his hand to my dawgs!!! He looked up at me, quickly withdrew his arm from over the fence and endears himself to me even more in the moment by using an adjective that I abhor to describe any body or their behaviour. He says "They are acting retarded". I bring the dawgs in to the house, and as I shut the door, I see him looking up at the house in a sheepish way. So what the hell is up with that?? This is the guy that we entrust the dawgs to when we go away overnight. Well, not any more let me tell you. I don't care if I'm wrong, and he was reaching over to pat them. I have a hinky feeling about him now.

I should mention that this is the same guy who has been hauled away by the cops for what I think was a domestic situation not that many months ago. Again, can't be sure and so have tried not to be judgmental, but today? I'm judging baby...I'm judging.

HB just called. We're going to spend the rest of our Sunday taking his 70 year old mom out to visit her 92 year old father. Then we're going to take her out for supper. Guess I better dump my crankiness. His grandfather is always a good reason to do that - he usually hugs me and asks me "can you do this?" as he takes his teeth out.

Oh the fun.

Letter to the editor

I had a meltdown at work today. Here's the story around the baby that was found in my city the other day.

I don't want to get into too much detail here, but suffice to say that there was cause for officials to be in contact with the place that I work today regarding this case. One of my coworkers came into my office, frustrated, looking for the telephone number of the funeral directors' association because apparently a group of citizens have decided they would like to provide this baby with a formal burial.

I hadn't seen the story about the memorial or the comments left and made by the couple who found the baby ... probably had been subconsciously avoiding the whole thing.

My coworker vented a bit about the whole situation and then returned to her office, leaving me there with another colleague. I opened my mouth to continue on with our discussion that had been interrupted, but instead just began to weep. And could not, no matter how hard I tried, get my shit together.

I feel so helpless. HB and I talked a bit about it tonight, although that was hard because his kids are here and they don't know about our loss. They were young at the time, and we hadn't even told them we were pregnant yet, so it seems kind of inappropriate to tell them about the baby just yet. We will when they get older and can better understand.

I am strongly considering writing a letter to the editor, although I'm not sure what I would say. What I want to say is something along the lines of stop being so frigging judgmental and leave this poor woman alone!

Any suggestions?

I was wrong

What I'm about to post about might be graphic and disturbing to some. Just a warning.

I posted last night in anger and frustration, before considering that there might be other reasons for someone leaving a baby in a makeshift grave, as was reported on the local news here last night. Soper made a suggestion in the comments section of yesterday's post that I hadn't considered. That "maybe a woman simply found a quiet place in the woods where she could walk by and visit her child whenever she needed to, without having to pay $10k for a cemetary plot".

Turns out that is highly likely exactly what has taken place.

I heard an updated news report today which said that the baby was stillborn at about 20 weeks. That the baby was definitely in a makeshift grave, and had been wrapped fairly well in a white cloth. The police are suggesting that the parent(s) very likely created a place for the child - given that it was in a secluded, serene spot on the ocean.

Now, instead of feeling anger, I'm feeling a profound sadness that yet another family has experienced this loss. We lost our baby boy at around 21 weeks, and were given the choice of labour and delivery or surgery, only because he had lost size in the 18 - 20th weeks. But technically, he was considered a stillbirth.

There were a few considerations when we had to make the choice between these two methods of bringing the body of our baby into the world. One for us was the desire to have some sort of ceremony associated with his presence in our lives. The second was the doctor's suggestion that l&d might result in a more preserved body upon which to conduct pathology and autopsy, which might give us some answers regarding his death. But the same doctor also said it was entirely possible to conduct those same tests should we choose the d&c.

In the end, we chose the d&c, and decided to ask for a baptism to occur in the operating room. We also decided that we would work with our parish priest to facilitate a ceremony that would be meaningful to us. Who knew that the Catholic Church actually has a ceremony for parents of babies that don't make it into the world? I sure didn't. Our parish priest conducted a very touching, personal service for HB and I on Thanksgiving Sunday of all days. It was just the three of us in the church, gathered at the altar, and was very healing for both of us....particularly for my husband. It was particularly touching for us that this priest had been off, dealing with cancer, but he specifically came in to conduct this service for and with us. He has since died of that cancer.

I digressed for a moment there. The day that we had to go to the hospital for the d&c came, and we called ahead to speak to the pastoral team and make arrangements for the baptism to occur. We were not able to contact anyone, and because this felt like the one thing that HB and I could control, we fixated on it. By the time they were prepping me for the OR, we still had not heard back from the pastoral team of the hospital, and in I was wheeled with no promise of a baptism. I, of course, was just a mess going into that OR for all the reasons you can imagine, and this was not helping.

Until a nurse whose name I never even caught spoke to me. She leaned down and said "I understand you wanted a pastoral team member and we weren't able to contact one. Can I help?"

I told her that we desperately wanted our baby baptized before his remains were taken for the autopsy. She told me that she would be honoured to perform that baptism, and asked me what name we had chosen for him. And she held my hand while I counted backward, to drop into the sleep within which they would empty my womb.

And when I awoke, she was the first one there. Again she leaned down and said "I baptised Brodie William". That was it. No embellishment or sweet words. Just the admission of having carried out what was so important to us. And I wept in gratitude for a moment, before the pain that was tearing my heart out resurfaced.

As it turns out, I found out later that what was supposed to have been a simple 20 minute surgery had stretched to 90 minutes for me because my cervix hadn't softened sufficiently. The description I was given later leaves me to believe that there was no "preserved body" upon which to cleanly conduct pathology that survived this surgery. They did carry out the tests, but to no solid avail.

So today I grieve with the mother of this 20 week old baby. And I apologize to her for my angry response yesterday. There is no justice in her world either, and I am ashamed that I never even stopped to consider this possibility.

And I wish now that this baby's grave had not been found, and that the story had never made the news. This poor woman's heart must be breaking all over again today ... as it will for months and years ahead. So I will pray for her, and her baby, and her family.

Justice?

There really is no justice in this world.

Here I am, you are, so many of us are, struggling every frigging day of our lives to have a child. We put our bodies, our minds, our partners and our hearts through physical, mental and emotional turbulence every month. We know that our child would be so incredibly loved and wanted - if we could only have one!

I just heard a sound bite on the local news here that said "Gruesome discovery made". Turned my head and my ears to the television long enough to hear "a couple walking this morning discovered a shallow grave between rocks containing a human fetus".

I just watched the full story. The man who found the fetus (dammit...call it a baby!) said it was no bigger than his hand, still curled in the fetal position and wrapped in a cloth. Then they switched to an interview with a resident from the local area where the baby was found...a woman who said, in her nasal tone, "yes it's unfortunate, but these things happen".

These things happen???????

Sitting here right now, tears flowing, heart breaking, it feels to me like there feels like there is no justice.

Sisterhood

Today I discovered that a colleague of mine has lived my life! It's so funny that you can know someone for quite a while, but not ever really know them.

We are taking a course together, and were laughing about our weight loss struggles today when she, literally out of the blue, told me that she had been on fertility medication which was the cause of a weight gain. She then shared that she had experienced five miscarriages.

Which immediately made me share in return.

Amazing. Sometimes you're just drawn to people and you don't know why. Do you think that, as infertiles, we instinctively know one another?

This sucks

I don't mean to sound whiney, and I won't utter these words very often, but I want my damn period to start!!!!!!!!!! It's only been 18 days since the last...I don't even know what to call it....and can't seem to make myself consistently admit that it was a miscarriage because it was so early on. Regardless, it's only been 18 days but I just feel like I'm wasting time here.

Probably has something to do with the fact that I am just weeks away from my 42nd birthday.

Yep, February 21st. I turn yet another year older. And still no child. I'm feeling a bit bitter and cranky about that tonight.

And I'm back to being kind of retrospective about it. 42. I mean, come on. Even if we are successful in conceiving again in the next few months, and let's just say we manage to actually carry through to an actual delivery, I'm going to be almost 43 by that time. Am I out of my mind? I should be starting to think about other things. Like how many more years until I collect my long term service award at work? Or how many more years until I can begin to discuss early retirement? Or maybe whether or not I want to continue climbing this corporate ladder I'm on.

Instead, I'm thinking about little baby booties and diapers. When my friends are all turning 50, I'm hoping to be at my 7 year old's Christmas concert, or dragging around ice rinks for hockey (or figure skating), or making homemade birthday cakes.

This advanced maternal age syndrome sucks.

Preaching from Pulpits...literally

I've been thinking a lot about Catholicism of late. Discussions on some of my favourite blogs have spurred my thoughts along, but also the recent flurry of church and state activity around same sex marriages here in my own country. Government has introduced a bill to legalize same sex marriages on a civil basis, and the local Archbishop here is encouraging a very strong stand against this bill. There have been letters read from the pulpit, petitions, much space in the bulletin, and then this past weekend, a full page ad in the paper.

I respect the right for people to hold opinions on this matter. What I do resent, though, is being held a captive in the church and being required to listen to an opinion from the pulpit. I don't mind having the opportunity to discuss it, but don't stand at the front of the church and preach to me without giving me a chance to respond.

I have been attending the same parish for almost 15 years. I play the guitar in the choir there, and have made many awesome friends over the years. This is a parish that is made up primarily of young families - people my age (yes, that's young dammit!) - and so attitudes are a bit more forward thinking there. This parish community shows people that it is possible to practice your faith, be a moral person, and not agree with every backward teaching of "the church". That's what I love about it. One of my dearest friends there, who is a big part of the parish community, happens to be a gay man. Several of us have walked out of that parish with him in years past when letters were being read from the pulpit around this issue.

I was so proud of this parish community and our parish priest this weekend. The letter had been sent out to parishes by the Archbishop, and I would imagine that parish priests were encouraged to read it aloud from the pulpit. They did in the parish my husband goes to. But they didn't at the parish I go to. And I was once again proud to be a part of that particular parish community. The letter was placed by the exit doors, and mentioned during announcements as being available...and that was it. End of air time. No captive audiences had opinions shoved down their throat.

I wish that we could be like that more often with each other.

Chocolate won't fix it, but it sure helped.

There's a lot going on in blogland. Lots of debates about legalized abortion, Catholicism, Christianity. Lots of opinions being written, mostly civil but also with the undertones and currents that sometimes make me uncomfortable. Uncomfortable because I wonder if I'm hypocritical by feeling so utterly confused by a lot of the debate. I don't come out clearly on one side of an argument or another. I find myself reading comments and agreeing with many varied opinions. I feel confused, but also am stimulated by all that I am given to think about.

Which, in a roundabout way, leads me to what's on my mind today. Confusion, and much to think about.

I have posted many times here how very much I love my husband. He is the absolute light of my life. I've had a shitload of lousy relationships in my life. I want to state right out that there is no danger of anything happening that will jeopardize my marriage and my relationship with this awesome man, but I have been given much to think about today.

I met my first boyfriend in grade 9, and we wove in and out of each others' lives for many many years. It was one of those relationships that was just always there, you know? He was my boyfriend, and even though I might not have always wanted to be with him, he was mine and it was inconceivable to me that he would ever actually meet someone else!

The last time I saw him was almost 13 years ago. We ran into each other one day quite unexpectedly. By this time he was living in a different town, and it had been a few years since we had been in contact. Imagine my shock when he informed me that he was married. I truly had always believed he would wait for me.

A few days later, he showed up at my door. He told me that he couldn't get me off his mind.

But he was married. And no matter how I felt about him, that is a line that I would never cross.

So we went our separate ways again. Within a very short period of time, I met the jerk, I mean guy, that I would marry by mistake for a minute, and travelled that road for a brief while.

A few days ago, I got an email from that first boyfriend. He tracked me down via the internet, which in itself is kind of freaking me out....that I'm that accessible. We've been emailing back and forth now for a few days, and today he sent me one called "coming clean". He told me that after that visit with me, he went home, and in his words from the email:

"I realized that M and I were not meant to stay together so we separated soon after me coming home. My intention at the time was to move back to the city and try to rekindle my relationship with you. One Saturday morning while scanning the morning paper a picture jumped out at me and behold you had gotten married. What a shock as I didn't even realize you had a boyfriend! Anyhow M and I separated and then divorced over the next few months. Since I saw your picture in the paper I decided that I would not move back to the city because I didn't know if I could stay away, and I knew you were now married."

Now, why he chose to track me down now and share this with me is beyond me. He is now remarried and the father of two young boys. He sounds happy, from his emails. He said today that he never expected to hit 40, so turning 45 this past month was a whole experience for him.

Which has made me ask him if he was sick or dying. Because I really can't figure out why he is sharing all this with me now. I have no intention of seeing him in person, and truthfully am even feeling some guilt about having the email discussions with him and not sharing this with my husband.

Then just to top my day off, I went to a first meeting of a very small weight loss and exercise group I have joined. There are only four of us in the group. I have been advised by my RE not to follow the particular food plan this group is following because it involves using a meal replacement, which of course immediately put me in a different space than the others and caused me to explain why I was following her advice. Turns out one of the other members works at the hospital ... and she was very knowledgeable about infertility treatments. Which she chose to share with me in the parking lot in great detail. She asked me very invasive questions about treatments and tests I've had to date, and then began making suggestions. You can hear the conversation now I bet.

Me: Well, I think I'll be going now...nice mee...

Her: so...is it an incompetent cervix? Have you ever had thus and such treatment? You know where they check your tubes? Have you had that done recently? Who is your doctor? Why didn't she send you for that test again? 10 years is a long time!

Me: Well, it would appear that I don't really have trouble conceiving....

Her: so...have you considered a montgomery stitch? I have twins you know. And a friend of mine who lost her baby at 23 weeks went on to have triplets....TRIPLETS...all because of a montgomery stitch...

Me: that's a nice story..so I guess I'll be go-in....

Her: TRIPLETS! You'll be popping them out in no time...hehehe...bet you have all kinds of kids. You'll be trying to give them away....

Me: yeah, popping them out. That'll be me. I'll save the runt of the litter for you.

I left, drove to the store and bought chocolate. I think I've earned it today, don't you?