pixi.bits

still in business

Baby still has a heartbeat (160 something per minute, which is good at this point), and the growth is on target: embryo = 7w6days, sac = 8weeks. I'm actually 7w5days today. And they couldn't see any hematomas, so all looks good. Bleeding essentially stopped last night, only residue now.

I had been scheduled to have an ultrasound a week from today, but based on today's results the doctor said there's no need, unless I have more bleeding. For now, we're going with the assumption that if I'm not bleeding, things are fine. That's OK, I guess, but I've been fucked by that assumption before. I'm trying not to dwell on that, though. For now I'm trying trying trying to focus on the good results of today's scan. What else can I do?

On the drive home from the clinic, I noticed a tiny baby tree (is that a sapling? help me out, FQ) that was being held up by two stakes. It made me think of the two that I planted in my front yard last year. I always thought I should create some type of structure for them, but I never have. I chuckled to myself, thinking - well, I'm just not good at supporting new life. Thankfully, though, the little Japanese maples are doing fine. And I'm hoping that this kid, despite its less than ideal digs, will too.

So that's it. My brain is a little tired, but I'm really OK. Thanks for sticking with me through this most recent head trip. I just love you guys.

spotting - update

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Calling doctor now.

Update - I talked to the doctor - he said to go home and rest. I have an ultrasound scheduled for 8:30 tomorrow morning. The spotting is light. It started as brick red, about a dime size on my underwear and a good schmear on the tp. It has slowed down and is brownish now. Color/amount means nothing to me, though. I've had miscarriages start from all ranges of the red-pink-brown spectrum, and with varying amounts at the beginning. Still, I'm doing OK. I was weepy & terrified at first. Now, I'm just resting and hoping that things will turn out all right.

Thanks, everyone, for your words of support.  They really mean a lot.

a good & bad day, but mostly good

On Monday, I got a call from friend #1 asking if I would be interested in visiting friend #2 in the hospital. That's right - she delivered.

I asked friend #1 if she had discussed it w/friend #2. She told me she hadn't, but she thought it would be OK. "I really don't think she'll be rude to you," she said. I sighed. I thought about it. I sighed some more. Then I decided I couldn't go, unless I knew I would be welcome. I couldn't handle seeing someone's newborn AND getting the cold shoulder at the same time. That would be beyond beyond. Friend #1 said that she understood, and we left it at that.

A half hour later, she called back saying that friend #2 would indeed like to see me. Without hesitation, I said OK. We agreed to meet in the hospital cafeteria and go up to the maternity ward together. I told her I'd call once I'd reached the hospital, so she could come down to get me.

The hospital is two miles from my office. Unfortunately, it took me a long time to get across town. And another 10 minutes to park. And I left my cell phone at the office. And I didn't have my friend's number memorized. And she was not in the cafeteria. Or the coffee shop. Or the gift shop. Crap.

I wandered the halls, thinking about what to do. I decided to bite the bullet and go up to maternity on my own. Only, I was lost. Walking back and forth and starting to feel overwhelmed. You know how it is when you're in a fragile emotional state, and stupid things have you in tears?

Eventually I found my friend’s room, but her privacy curtain was pulled shut. So, I listened outside the door. There were hospital staff with her, but I didn't hear friend #1. So I waited. Eavesdropping. It felt weird and wrong. Before our falling out, friend #2 told me everything. Now, I wasn't sure I should be privy to anything taking place behind the curtain.

But I stayed and waited. As I stood in the hall, a new mother hobbled by, pushing a tiny baby. Then a nurse emerged from the room. She told me my friend was with a lactation consultant, and that she'd be done in about five minutes. Ten minutes passed. The nurse came out again and said, "about five more minutes." It was a thousand degrees in that hallway. I felt weak. The world swirled around me with flashes of babies that never got to be. Still I waited.

In time, friend #1 showed up with friend #2's husband, E. He hugged me hello; said it was great to see me. The three of us waited together, until we were granted permission to enter. I let them go ahead of me, choosing to go in last. As I did, I looked at my friend; she looked at me and nodded. I nodded back.

For an hour and a half, we proceeded to have a normal visit. Somewhat subdued perhaps, but friendly and comfortable. We contemplated her 4 name choices. We talked about her postpartum puffiness (heh). We marveled at her son's mop of dark hair. She never offered to let me hold the baby (as she had with her others), and of course, I didn't ask. And, yes, she and I still have a lot of unpleasant business to deal with. But we put it aside, because this was an important ritual, and we needed to do it. It would have felt wrong not to.

When it was time to go, E. asked the three of us to pose for a picture with the baby. So we obliged, no big deal, really. As he was snapping the shot, he said, "The Witches of Eastwick." Funny. We get that a lot.

And so that's that. The baby is here. The status of the friendship is unclear, but there seems to be hope. I don't know how we're going to resolve things, and I don't really care. One step at a time. Right now, my head's still spinning.

i have a headache

Literally and figuratively. A couple of ibuprofen should take care of the first problem. The second is far more complicated.

I used to like sex. And I still find my husband quite charming and adorable. You know, most of the time.

I guess this is a good time to introduce mi marido, M. His name is the first part of that old call and response game that you play in a swimming pool. I'm not spelling it out, because I don't want his Googlers to find him here. You never know.

Anyway, I used to like sex. And it's not so much that I don't anymore, but I have a really hard time getting in the mood for it. It takes work. And don't mean foreplay, either. Before we even get to that, I have to engage in a process of letting go - all the stress, all the body issues, all the stuff that's swirling around in my head. I can't begin to feel romantic without doing deep breathing and relaxation exercises. Lots of wine doesn't hurt, either. And as far as touching goes, I need to be eased into it. There must be rubbing of the back, neck, arms, stomach, etc. first. I can't get into it without the warm up. Without the warm up, I'm cringing.

Not that my preparation routine is unpleasant. It can be very nice, actually. Especially, because M. is patient and willing to work with me (boy wants to get laid, after all). No, but he is also very understanding of what I've been through and how it's affected my mind and body. And how it's difficult for me to separate all that from the sexual experience. Still, I know it hurts his feelings a little that I no longer get hot 'n bothered just by looking at him.

So here it is Saturday night. M and I are home alone. A little while ago he said to me, "too bad your head hurts," then he offered to bring ibuprofen and massage my scalp. I told him I'd be along in a bit - just need to tie something up on the computer. So here I am, ladies, tying this up, and taking some deep breaths. Wish me luck. Because I do miss that closeness, that unbound energy he & I had before all this business began. And now that we're indefinitely banned from any attempts at baby making, maybe it's time for me to reacquaint myself with the nympho within. Won't be easy, because I am one tense chick, but I'm gonna try.

OK. Off I go.

how are we supposed to do this?

So, I got my period yesterday. In a way, that's a good thing, because I'm still watching my cycles, waiting for them to become regular. This is #3 since my most recent miscarriage, and it's better than the first two in some ways. It came on time. And it's much less clotty. However, it is very heavy, and I'm quite uncomfortable. And crabby.

I sat in Boston traffic for an hour this morning. When I finally made it to the school where I was making a presentation, I could tell I was bleeding through my tampon. Thankfully, I had on a pantiliner, too, but that wasn't going to hold for long. I had to rush to the bathroom and get fixed up with literally just seconds to do it. Then, during my entire presentation, I worried that I was going to bleed through again.

Anyway, I made it through the morning OK, but on the drive back to my office, I started feeling very grumpy and sorry for myself. I suppose being on the rag didn't help. But I'm just so tired of having to deal with all of this crap (the pain, the body issues, the doctor's appointments, the procedures, the crushing disappointments, the mental exhaustion...ha, like I needed to spell it out for you guys...and at the same time deal with my real world responsibilities. I've got some big deadlines looming, yet I can't drum up an ounce of motivation to get started on the projects. How am I supposed to focus on anything when my mind and body have been completely hijacked?

I don't want to work, I don't want to do homework, I don't want to do house work, I don't want to do laundry, I don't want to deal with the bills, I don't want to keep my appointments....

I'm whining; I know. And it's pointless whining, because there's nothing to be done about it. The world doesn't just stop to let you deal with your IF problems. But I sure as hell wish it would sometimes.

my innerpsychegram

After my second miscarriage, I spent many days lost in thought. Questioning my next steps. Googling for information. Trying to make sense of what happened.

One day, I began doodling a line that followed the ups and downs of my pursuit of parenthood - starting with the eager anticipation of my first HPT, then tracing the arrival of unwanted periods, the first double lines, spotting, bleeding, heartbeats on ultrasounds, cramping, miscarrying, learning of my sister's pregnancy a week later, trying again, starting to hope again, double lines again, more bleeding, no bleeding for a month, watching on a monitor as my daughter brushed her cheek...

Sometime later, I scanned the sketch and started messing with it in an image editing program. I wondered if I'd be able to convey the depths of the troughs and the stretches of despair via an image on a screen. And while I didn't particularly well, it was still an interesting way for me to reflect on all that I'd been through and endured.

There are high points and low points in everyone's life. But I believe people with reproductive challenges exist in a prolonged state of dramatic swings. And while we have lots of pictures taken of our insides, there's no instrument to capture the condition of our souls.

Have you, then, ever thought of a way to visually represent your experiences? Perhaps you've thought of using a line, like me, but maybe it would have a different look? Or maybe you'd go with a different type of image all together?

And about the name of my digital painting (innerpsychegram) - it's the best I've come up with so far, a working title of sorts. It's playing off of all the "grams" that we have taken throughout the various stages of treatment. Any other ideas for that?

I created the image over a month ago. There have been additional spikes in the line since then. But as I sit and type this, I'm not sure where my current plot point is. It's vibrating...not yet ready to be fixed on a certain spot.

et tu, brute?

I met my two most beloved friends (friend #1 and friend #2) in junior high school. For the past 26 years, I've believed without question that we would be together forever.

Friend #2 has a 9 year old son, and 5 years ago she and friend #1 both gave birth to girls. I am godmother to friend #2's daughter. I have a close relationship with all three children - they scream my name with delight any time I call or show up at the door. They are great kids and I adore each of them.

Since the girls were born, I haven't had a problem visiting my friends individually. Not even when the kids were there. Not even, when we talked for hours about the kids. It's difficult for me though, and my friends know this, when we get together as a group. When I'm in a group and I can't join in the mommy talk, it just sucks. Of course, it's gotten worse for me with each subsequent pregnancy loss. But you know, I love my friends and really enjoy our time together on other levels, so I've tried to put my feelings aside during our gatherings.

Two weeks after my 3rd miscarriage, friend #1 asked friend #2 and me to bring our husbands over for dinner. I was excited about it. Friend #2 and I chatted happily on the phone before hand, talking about what we would bring.

But when I got there something happened. Maybe it was the sight of friend #2's now prominent bubble (oh, did I tell you that's she's expecting her third?). I didn't intend to be mean to her, and I wasn't even really aware of what I was doing, but I guess I cracked. Here's what I did: 1) for five minutes I spoke exclusively to friend #1 (who is dealing with some fertility issues) about what happened at my follow-up appointment, and 2) later when friend #2 started talking about a woman with whom I was not familiar, I asked (in a very snide way, yes) "Oh is she part of your mommy circle?" "No," she snapped back, "part of my *lawyer* circle." I sensed her annoyance, so I knocked it off. I never wanted to attack my friend, but I had to stop the conversation from going "mommy." I just wasn't up for it, and that was my crude way of sending the message.

In the days that followed, I started regretting my behavior, so I called my friend. I got her machine. I called the next day. And the next. And the next. I finally got her husband, but I heard her say in the background, "Tell her that I'll call her later."

A month later, she left a flat message on my machine simply stating that she was returning my call. I called her back and had a brief, cordial conversation with her but didn't bring anything up, because neither of us had time to talk. I suppose I could have apologized on the spot for being so shitty, but at that point I was upset with her for not giving me a chance when I tried weeks earlier. However, since our exchange was reasonably upbeat, I figured we could talk it out in a week or so, when I returned from a trip.

I rang her up one weekend after I got back, and again she didn't really have time to talk. She was running off to the store to get baking soda, so she could make something for her neighborhood's Halloween block party. I told her I'd let her go, and that was that.

A few days later, I pressed friend #1 for information. I learned that friend #2 "does not feel like she can talk about her kids around me," and therefore wants nothing to do with me. She does not want me to come over with presents for her baby, and apparently does not want me to visit once he's born, either.

So there you have it.

26 years.

All that we've been through. All that we've meant to each other - I can't even begin to explain. I can't bear to linger on those thoughts.

If she had emailed me and said, "You know, this is too hard, and I just can't deal with you right now," then I could see potential for us to reconcile. But I feel that I've been dropped without a word, and all the while being bad-mouthed to my other friend. Friend #1 thinks that friend #2 will come around. Me, I'm not so sure about that, and even if she were to, I'm not sure what I'd do.

Meanwhile, she is still all around me. The bowl on my dining room table. The necklace on my dresser. The pile of wedding photos that are shit to me now.

I don't mean to trash her. In fact, it would still be my first instinct to protect her from anyone who did. Truly, I don't know where I am with any of this. Except I know it hurts. And that things will never be the same.

A pregnancy at 12 and a half weeks. A grandmother. A pregnancy at 16 and a half weeks. A pregnancy at 10 weeks.

I never thought I'd be counting her as one of my losses.

thumb twiddlin' **updated**

I called the hematologist's office a week ago to make an appointment for the clotting issue. The receptionist said she couldn't do it on the spot. The team has to review my case first, then they make a decision about when I need to be seen and by whom. Okay. Incidentally, their practice isn't just for patients with fertility issues. They mostly see people with cancer and HIV/AIDS. So, I can see why they would need to sort things out before making appointments. That's fine.

But that was a week ago. I feel like it's a little soon to call and pester them, seeing as they did explain the process to me. So I'll wait a bit more. Twiddle, twiddle. I'm certainly no stranger to dealing with unknowns and indefinite waits. Twiddle, twiddle. It is the lot of the infertile girl, no?

And my husband and I are on hold from trying, anyway. Doc wants us to wait until my cycles are more normal. He wondered if I might have been pregnant (very very briefly) with my period being so late last time. Hmph, who knows? Nothing for us to do about it, anyway. Nothing but wait.

Nothing but wait AND use protection. I ovulated last night; I'm sure of it. I get unmistakable electric pangs in my side when I do. And hubby was feeling amorous, so we had relations. With a condom. Completely anathema to the yearnings of this crazed wanna-be parent...

But we're being good little patients and following instructions. Really, what else can we do?

Twiddle, twiddle.

UPDATE: I got a letter from the hematologist's office today. I have an appointment for Dec. 2nd, just in time to miss my next ovulation. So that probably means we won't be trying again until at least Christmas. My thumbs should be in great shape by then! Hmm, hopefully I'll get it together and work on the rest of me, too.

this is not a baby

I have been pregnant for a total of 233 days. I do not have a baby. I do not have one on the way. But now I look like I do. And it's a constant reminder of what I want so much and don't have.

I've never been a skinny girl (to borrow and modify a line from Ani DiFranco), and I've always been a bit of a yo-yoer. But in the old days, even at my heaviest, I didn't look pregnant. Hips, butt, thighs - those were always problem areas, but my abdomen was almost a source of pride. Now it taunts me. I don't think pregnancy alone changed the SIZE of my body. I contributed to much of that with my post-miscarriage "I don't give a shit" eating. But I do think the pregnancies had something to do with this new SHAPE.

I took this photo by aiming in the general direction of my stomach and snapping the shot. I figured I might have to try a few times to get it lined up correctly - but no, my belly filled in the entire frame on the first try.

In looking in at the abstract elements of the image, I can see a certain beauty in the curving form, the sweeping lines. But when I'm trying to button my work pants, I just look down with sadness and loathing.

Today is Sunday - the day that I normally vow to start afresh with healthy eating and a healthy frame of mind. So far I've made no progress on either of those fronts. I'm hoping that this Sunday could be the start of a turnaround - that maybe writing it here will help me stick with it. Let's hope so.

20 year high school reunion

Tomorrow is the deadline to mail the check ($80 per person!) for my high school reunion. My best friend and I are still on the fence as to whether or not we want to go. We're leaning towards NOT, but we keep saying to one another, "I'll go, if you want to." Decisive pair that we are.

Meanwhile, there's a reunion web site where you can go and create a profile and a little blurb about yourself. It has a form that lets you enter your status regarding certain "key" things such as marriage, # of children, occupation, etc. So then when you post it shows up like this:

Jane Doe
Marital Status: Married
Number of Children: 4
Occupation: Former CEO, Currently a SAHM
Subtext: I have it all, and you don't, bitch!

Why is there a form at all? Why can't people just report on the things that they want to share? I guess it's somewhat helpful that if you don't enter anything, the fields don't appear in your post. But you know, if the fields aren't there, people are going to jump to these conclusions: No Kids, Not Married, Unemployed or Sucky Job.

...or, if we're going to have a form, we could be really honest, and admit that high school reunions are a way of comparing ourselves -- a place to show that we've measured up, made the grade. Then we could get down and dirty and have a form with questions like:

How much money do you make?

What does your spouse do?

What size is your engagement ring/wedding set?

What kind of car do you drive?

How much do you weigh now?

What town do you live in? Where do its schools rank on standardized test scores?

Do you have a vacation home?

Do you have any advanced degrees? From where?

How are your kids doing in school? Do you even have kids? Why not?

Have you had any "work" done?

Who are you rubbing shoulders with these days?

What kind of media exposure have you had?

Heard any gossip about anyone in our graduating class?

...what else?????

I did not post my profile on the web site. I can't help myself from checking it constantly to find out about my old classmates, though. Guess I'm not entirely above the whole comparing thing, myself. I just don't want to throw my own stats into the mix. Number of children? Zero! Z-E-R fucking 0!

I'd be crazy to go to the reunion and have to answer that question over and over again, right?