I started writing on the other blog again, but I'm keeping this one too. It helps to purge the ugly but I don't want to do that in front of such a big audience so I'll be here too.
You know what gets on my last god-blessed nerve? The way he apologizes. I know that sounds so petty and stupid but I hate it when anyone does it so it's really not just him.
"I'm sorry you feel that way."
That phrase makes me see red any time anyone says it, but it's his favorite. It removes all responsibility from you and places it squarely on the shoulders of the other person, as in it's not my problem you can't handle me saying you're fat. It's bullshit. He gets confused at the concept of taking responsibility for your own reactions and applies it to getting upset as well. Yet *I* have to reframe, rephrase, find new words lest I set him off. If I upset him, I always say I'm sorry I upset you. To say anything else is flat-out rude and it minimizes the other person's feelings, as though they have no right be upset at something you've said or done.
Although I'm not surprised. He is the king of logic and will argue his way out of all responsibility for every situation, even the one we're in now. If I hadn't done what I did, he wouldn't have had to do what he did, so it's really my fault and I owe him the apology. It makes me want to pull my hair out.
For him there is no such thing as taking his medicine, sitting in the hot seat and he sure as hell would never ever tolerate being 'put in the doghouse.' It makes me tired. Just apologize sincerely and let's get on with our lives.
Yet another skill that must be learned. Yippee.
Friday, October 8, 2010
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Glimmer
We had an emergency session with the therapist last night. My plan was to go in, remain calm and simply say 'okay' to whatever she said. That didn't go over quite as well as I'd hoped.
I got upset, I raised my voice, I got agitated, but I calmed myself down and I was able to listen as well as share my thoughts and feelings. R didn't as much, but I wasn't surprised. What pleased me is that the therapist saw us in action and she corrected a lot of things mid-stream. Or should I say mid-scream? BTW, y'all will know something's wrong if I ever 1)stop doing my hair or 2)if I stop cracking jokes.
Anyway, she admonished him pretty strongly that if he was indeed going to stay in this marriage that he had to let some stuff go. A-MEN!! I'm still angry so I don't have a lot of sympathy but I can say I recognize that R is coming from waaaaay behind the starting line. I don't know if y'all remember, but in my family post I talked a little about his family too, and how they pretty much let him figure things out for himself. While that's all fine and good, there has to be some guidance and just because a kid gets good grades and is polite to the neighbors, it doesn't mean they don't need parenting. However, R was good. He was very much the Golden Child - good grades, good at all sports and super easy on the eyes. I'm actually kind of nervous for our baby because I've heard that two pretty people will make an ugly baby, and for real, R was pretty growing up! But I digress.
Growing up, things were very often handed to him. He worked hard but that hard work always paid off and always with great reward. Seriously, I think the first miscarriage was the first disappointment he'd EVER experienced in his life. I take that back - he didn't get into his PhD program because of politics and he's still upset about that to this day. He cut off all contact with the two other candidates and they were his very good friends. He still carries that around with him, all these years later.
Unfortunately, being smart and good at sports and good-looking didn't leave him very humble. He'll tell you all day long he's humble, but scratch the surface and there's an arrogant know-it-all just underneath. And that's a big ol problem when butting heads with a loud-mouthed, fast-talking, stubborn, way-more-articulate, far more emotionally in-tune person like me.
The guy has no coping skills. None. He does not know how to deal with disappointment, express emotion other than anger or articulate his feelings. I'm talking child-level here. If he didn't get what he wanted from one person, he'd drop it/them emotionlessly and move on to the next person who would give him what he wanted. That's why he's got such trouble with authority. He doesn't know how to take orders or criticism.
Emotionally, that meant all unpleasant feelings get stuffed to the bottom, for years and years and the only way it gets dealt with is with periodic explosions. His parents told me I just need to let him do that because that was his way. WTF-EVER! That may work for you because your little Golden Boy does no wrong but in MY world? The REAL world? Tantrums don't fly beyond the age of 2. In MY world we deal with our emotions and then let that shit go. What is this bottle-it-up nonsense? That's how people DIE at 40.
But tell that to a 32-year old for whom it has 'worked' thus far. Well, I can't because I know nothing remember? But therapist can and did. I could have kissed her. She laid it out for him that he needed to do the work on his own, that I could not do it for him and as long as these triggers from his past kept interfering with his present, he was never going to break the cycle. That's how I ended up in a hotel room after a fight about the dog. Something I did or said flipped a switch in his brain, he got crazy, I got crazy and I left. Not acceptable.
I can only hope he heard what she said and will implement her suggestions - only time will tell. I can clearly understand the challenges he's working with - he's never in his life had to articulate his feelings, not even anger. He was just indulged - 'Oh that's just R blowing off some steam. He'll be fine later.' But it never got talked about, why he needed to blow off steam in the first place and how to keep from getting to the crazy place the next time. It's hard raising boys - you want them to be strong and tough but you don't want them punching holes in walls because their team lost the game. Yet you don't want them to take to their beds and cry for days either. Girls have their own set of difficulties but I get that it's hard for boys.
However, it doesn't mean I will accept his behavior. When we walked in, I made it clear that I would not rehash the events of the past weekend, that the past is in the past and that we can point fingers at each other for years because God knows we've got the material. I said we need help figuring out how to move forward. R consistently wanted to bring up the past as justification for his behavior and kept coming up short when I refused. We are looking forward now, what are we doing to heal and move forward? No answer, but not because he's a jerk - he truly doesn't know.
I haven't yet given up but this has been a long week. I don't know how much patience I have while he learns skills that he should have learned as a teenager, and frankly I'm still very angry. I'm not raging like I was because I'm starting to have a glimmer of sympathy for just how hard this is for him and I never really hold on to anger for that long. But it is still there.
Just this morning he told me he was angry at me but couldn't articulate why. Is it because I didn't give you the response you wanted? How is that in keeping with your desire for me to remain true to myself? You said you didn't want me to be a mindless zombie and I was not disrespectful in disagreeing with you. So can you tell me why you're angry?
Just forget it, he said.
I reminded him that the therapist said no stuffing, that stuffing emotions down leads to explosions. If you feel something, name it right then, deal with it and let it go. That's how we're going to move forward. He couldn't. *I* could. He didn't like my response, he wanted me to say something different but couldn't say that because he knew he would be putting words in my mouth, something he said he didn't want to do.
But he didn't have those words. He doesn't have the capacity to say I'm angry because I wish you thought the same way I did. I'm angry because I want you to just go along with what I say but without being a zombie. Agree with me but not too much. Keep it lively but don't get too big.
Although it's probably just as well he didn't have the words because those things are a contradiction. You can't love someone for their passionate take on life and turn around and tell them to tone it down. You can be attracted to someone because they're carefree and light and happy and yoga-hippie-fied, and then get mad that they don't make six figures. And I know he doesn't fully grasp that because he truly believes that he can have anything he puts his mind to.
And for that, he gets a glimmer of sympathy. Just a little one though. Teeny tiny.
I got upset, I raised my voice, I got agitated, but I calmed myself down and I was able to listen as well as share my thoughts and feelings. R didn't as much, but I wasn't surprised. What pleased me is that the therapist saw us in action and she corrected a lot of things mid-stream. Or should I say mid-scream? BTW, y'all will know something's wrong if I ever 1)stop doing my hair or 2)if I stop cracking jokes.
Anyway, she admonished him pretty strongly that if he was indeed going to stay in this marriage that he had to let some stuff go. A-MEN!! I'm still angry so I don't have a lot of sympathy but I can say I recognize that R is coming from waaaaay behind the starting line. I don't know if y'all remember, but in my family post I talked a little about his family too, and how they pretty much let him figure things out for himself. While that's all fine and good, there has to be some guidance and just because a kid gets good grades and is polite to the neighbors, it doesn't mean they don't need parenting. However, R was good. He was very much the Golden Child - good grades, good at all sports and super easy on the eyes. I'm actually kind of nervous for our baby because I've heard that two pretty people will make an ugly baby, and for real, R was pretty growing up! But I digress.
Growing up, things were very often handed to him. He worked hard but that hard work always paid off and always with great reward. Seriously, I think the first miscarriage was the first disappointment he'd EVER experienced in his life. I take that back - he didn't get into his PhD program because of politics and he's still upset about that to this day. He cut off all contact with the two other candidates and they were his very good friends. He still carries that around with him, all these years later.
Unfortunately, being smart and good at sports and good-looking didn't leave him very humble. He'll tell you all day long he's humble, but scratch the surface and there's an arrogant know-it-all just underneath. And that's a big ol problem when butting heads with a loud-mouthed, fast-talking, stubborn, way-more-articulate, far more emotionally in-tune person like me.
The guy has no coping skills. None. He does not know how to deal with disappointment, express emotion other than anger or articulate his feelings. I'm talking child-level here. If he didn't get what he wanted from one person, he'd drop it/them emotionlessly and move on to the next person who would give him what he wanted. That's why he's got such trouble with authority. He doesn't know how to take orders or criticism.
Emotionally, that meant all unpleasant feelings get stuffed to the bottom, for years and years and the only way it gets dealt with is with periodic explosions. His parents told me I just need to let him do that because that was his way. WTF-EVER! That may work for you because your little Golden Boy does no wrong but in MY world? The REAL world? Tantrums don't fly beyond the age of 2. In MY world we deal with our emotions and then let that shit go. What is this bottle-it-up nonsense? That's how people DIE at 40.
But tell that to a 32-year old for whom it has 'worked' thus far. Well, I can't because I know nothing remember? But therapist can and did. I could have kissed her. She laid it out for him that he needed to do the work on his own, that I could not do it for him and as long as these triggers from his past kept interfering with his present, he was never going to break the cycle. That's how I ended up in a hotel room after a fight about the dog. Something I did or said flipped a switch in his brain, he got crazy, I got crazy and I left. Not acceptable.
I can only hope he heard what she said and will implement her suggestions - only time will tell. I can clearly understand the challenges he's working with - he's never in his life had to articulate his feelings, not even anger. He was just indulged - 'Oh that's just R blowing off some steam. He'll be fine later.' But it never got talked about, why he needed to blow off steam in the first place and how to keep from getting to the crazy place the next time. It's hard raising boys - you want them to be strong and tough but you don't want them punching holes in walls because their team lost the game. Yet you don't want them to take to their beds and cry for days either. Girls have their own set of difficulties but I get that it's hard for boys.
However, it doesn't mean I will accept his behavior. When we walked in, I made it clear that I would not rehash the events of the past weekend, that the past is in the past and that we can point fingers at each other for years because God knows we've got the material. I said we need help figuring out how to move forward. R consistently wanted to bring up the past as justification for his behavior and kept coming up short when I refused. We are looking forward now, what are we doing to heal and move forward? No answer, but not because he's a jerk - he truly doesn't know.
I haven't yet given up but this has been a long week. I don't know how much patience I have while he learns skills that he should have learned as a teenager, and frankly I'm still very angry. I'm not raging like I was because I'm starting to have a glimmer of sympathy for just how hard this is for him and I never really hold on to anger for that long. But it is still there.
Just this morning he told me he was angry at me but couldn't articulate why. Is it because I didn't give you the response you wanted? How is that in keeping with your desire for me to remain true to myself? You said you didn't want me to be a mindless zombie and I was not disrespectful in disagreeing with you. So can you tell me why you're angry?
Just forget it, he said.
I reminded him that the therapist said no stuffing, that stuffing emotions down leads to explosions. If you feel something, name it right then, deal with it and let it go. That's how we're going to move forward. He couldn't. *I* could. He didn't like my response, he wanted me to say something different but couldn't say that because he knew he would be putting words in my mouth, something he said he didn't want to do.
But he didn't have those words. He doesn't have the capacity to say I'm angry because I wish you thought the same way I did. I'm angry because I want you to just go along with what I say but without being a zombie. Agree with me but not too much. Keep it lively but don't get too big.
Although it's probably just as well he didn't have the words because those things are a contradiction. You can't love someone for their passionate take on life and turn around and tell them to tone it down. You can be attracted to someone because they're carefree and light and happy and yoga-hippie-fied, and then get mad that they don't make six figures. And I know he doesn't fully grasp that because he truly believes that he can have anything he puts his mind to.
And for that, he gets a glimmer of sympathy. Just a little one though. Teeny tiny.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Grasping at straws
Somebody lied to you about me. Somebody lied and told you I was stronger than I was. Was it me? Did I accidentally lead you to believe that I have no feelings, that nothing you do or say will break-a my stride? Because it's a lie.
I'm so hurt and I'm so sad and I'm so angry. I've put down my weapons, I'm waving the white flag, I've apologized and I've eaten so much crow that I'm stuffed. Yet it is unrecognized and he's asking for more. So I take a deep breath and ask what more do you want from me and I will give it to you. And there is no answer.
And this time my shoulders are truly slumped and I'm fighting the tears because I don't know what more I'm supposed to do. Am I supposed to thank you for the things you've done? Am I supposed to be grateful that you've 'let' me back in, regardless of what you've done to me? You want an apology? Another one? Again? Fine, I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry. What more is there that I can give? Just tell me and I'll give it.
I have nothing else, I can't give anymore than what I'm giving. It takes all the energy I have not to scream at the sky. The effort that it takes not to fight back when I continue to be baited just because he's testing me requires every ounce of my focus. I've stopped - I've thrown my weapons away, please stop fighting me. Please. You're beating my soul right out of me.
I'm so hurt and I'm so sad and I'm so angry. I've put down my weapons, I'm waving the white flag, I've apologized and I've eaten so much crow that I'm stuffed. Yet it is unrecognized and he's asking for more. So I take a deep breath and ask what more do you want from me and I will give it to you. And there is no answer.
And this time my shoulders are truly slumped and I'm fighting the tears because I don't know what more I'm supposed to do. Am I supposed to thank you for the things you've done? Am I supposed to be grateful that you've 'let' me back in, regardless of what you've done to me? You want an apology? Another one? Again? Fine, I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry. What more is there that I can give? Just tell me and I'll give it.
I have nothing else, I can't give anymore than what I'm giving. It takes all the energy I have not to scream at the sky. The effort that it takes not to fight back when I continue to be baited just because he's testing me requires every ounce of my focus. I've stopped - I've thrown my weapons away, please stop fighting me. Please. You're beating my soul right out of me.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
The best sound
When one thing is bad and the other good, it's best to keep them separate because the bad will always taint the good? Have you ever noticed that? Positive people don't bring up negative people - it's the negative ones that bring down the positive ones. Even if you're a strong positive person, being around a negative one will make your light dim just a little. Negative people shouldn't have that much power. But I digress.
I was worried that all the stress and drama and crying and fighting this past weekend had done something to the baby. I'd had tiny cramps, nothing for an extended period of time and no spotting, but I was scared nonetheless.
I talked to my cousin who assured me that if fighting killed babies, we'd all be extinct. She said she was angry and yelled at everyone her entire first pregnancy and there's nothing wrong with her daughter. And there isn't - the kid is perfect and awesome. But still, I was scared.
I called my awesome doctor yesterday and told her that I'd had an extremely stressful weekend and I'd really like to just be looked at. She called me a few hours later and listened as I outlined what we'd gone through. She was like, come on in and we'll get heart tones for you.
I went on my lunch break today and she called me right back, asking how I was doing, if things were better. I really appreciated her concern - my OB strikes just the right note. They're not too touchy-feely but they're not cold and soulless. Even though I just saw her MA, she was the same way. Sympathetic but not all, omg let's go have a cry over this.
First, she found my heartbeat. powh..........powh........powh.........powh My heartrate was 76. Then she found the baby. powhpowhpowhpowhpowh Heartrate of 168, loud and strong. I asked her to do me again. powh..........powh.........powh..........powh And now the baby? powhpowhpowhpowhpowhpowhpowh
Hands down the coolest thing ever in the whole wide world. I smiled and exhaled. My baby is okay. My daughter is not dead because I fought with her father. Right then I made a little promise to her that Mommy was going to do her very very best not to fight with Daddy anymore. She just has to promise me to keep on growing, that's it.
It's still so weird to me because I haven't gained any weight, I still have to belt my regular pants and now that I'm in the last days of my first trimester my boobs aren't even hurting as bad. I still have to get up to pee at night but where I'd have to get up at 3am, now it's not until 5:30 or almost six, which is super annoying because my alarm is for 6:30 and that extra hour of sleep is so precious to me! I find myself negotiating with the pee muscle: Come on, I have to get up in an hour anyway, just let me sleep and I'll just go then. But the pee muscle sucks and is all, You pee now biotch!
I've read that sometimes in the second trimester you don't feel like you're pregnant at all and my cousin, who is my go-to for all things pregnancy, said that so many times she'd forget that she was pregnant because she didn't feel any different. I wish it was just forgetting. I don't feel things and I'm like that's it, it's dead. I hate that loss does that to you, plants that negative seed. I wish my positivity were stronger. That I could tell my negative brain to shut up, the baby's fine.
But you know how that goes.
However, I'm grateful for today. I'm grateful that I got to hear my baby's heartbeat with my own ears. Even though I will be beyond upset if things go south, I am truly grateful for every day that I'm given.
Because hearing my baby's heartbeat is pretty much the best sound in the whole world.
I was worried that all the stress and drama and crying and fighting this past weekend had done something to the baby. I'd had tiny cramps, nothing for an extended period of time and no spotting, but I was scared nonetheless.
I talked to my cousin who assured me that if fighting killed babies, we'd all be extinct. She said she was angry and yelled at everyone her entire first pregnancy and there's nothing wrong with her daughter. And there isn't - the kid is perfect and awesome. But still, I was scared.
I called my awesome doctor yesterday and told her that I'd had an extremely stressful weekend and I'd really like to just be looked at. She called me a few hours later and listened as I outlined what we'd gone through. She was like, come on in and we'll get heart tones for you.
I went on my lunch break today and she called me right back, asking how I was doing, if things were better. I really appreciated her concern - my OB strikes just the right note. They're not too touchy-feely but they're not cold and soulless. Even though I just saw her MA, she was the same way. Sympathetic but not all, omg let's go have a cry over this.
First, she found my heartbeat. powh..........powh........powh.........powh My heartrate was 76. Then she found the baby. powhpowhpowhpowhpowh Heartrate of 168, loud and strong. I asked her to do me again. powh..........powh.........powh..........powh And now the baby? powhpowhpowhpowhpowhpowhpowh
Hands down the coolest thing ever in the whole wide world. I smiled and exhaled. My baby is okay. My daughter is not dead because I fought with her father. Right then I made a little promise to her that Mommy was going to do her very very best not to fight with Daddy anymore. She just has to promise me to keep on growing, that's it.
It's still so weird to me because I haven't gained any weight, I still have to belt my regular pants and now that I'm in the last days of my first trimester my boobs aren't even hurting as bad. I still have to get up to pee at night but where I'd have to get up at 3am, now it's not until 5:30 or almost six, which is super annoying because my alarm is for 6:30 and that extra hour of sleep is so precious to me! I find myself negotiating with the pee muscle: Come on, I have to get up in an hour anyway, just let me sleep and I'll just go then. But the pee muscle sucks and is all, You pee now biotch!
I've read that sometimes in the second trimester you don't feel like you're pregnant at all and my cousin, who is my go-to for all things pregnancy, said that so many times she'd forget that she was pregnant because she didn't feel any different. I wish it was just forgetting. I don't feel things and I'm like that's it, it's dead. I hate that loss does that to you, plants that negative seed. I wish my positivity were stronger. That I could tell my negative brain to shut up, the baby's fine.
But you know how that goes.
However, I'm grateful for today. I'm grateful that I got to hear my baby's heartbeat with my own ears. Even though I will be beyond upset if things go south, I am truly grateful for every day that I'm given.
Because hearing my baby's heartbeat is pretty much the best sound in the whole world.
Starting over
He says we have to start over, we have to get back to basics. I say I couldn't agree more, where would you like to start? He has no answer.
This is where we run into the same problem, over and over again. 'I don't know what I want but it's not this.' The only difference this time is that I will not offer my suggestions. I will not offer my thoughts on how I think things should proceed even though I have puh-lenty of ideas.
Nope, he wants to run the show, he wants to be the Big Man, he thinks his way of things is so much better, then be my guest. I'm keeping my mouth shut. Today he told me he was sad. I asked him what he wanted so he wouldn't be sad anymore. He has no answer. I ask him what he wants from me. No idea. I ask him how he thinks things can improve. "We need to be friends." "I completely agree, what does that look like to you?" "Well, certainly not what we're doing now." "I couldn't agree more, so what should we do?" He has no answer.
It's maddening. In the past, I would offer my suggestion but because it usually involved him modifying some aspect of his behavior, like, oh I don't know, NOT blowing up at the slightest provocation, it was always summarily dismissed. All right fine, Big Stick. You take the wheel.
I'm aware it's the oldest teaching tool out there - let them flail, let them fail, and hopefully they come back to you to receive what you were trying to offer them in the first place. The problem is, I never thought I'd have to do this with my husband - I was preparing to do it with my KID. And my biggest flaw in the world is I havevery little ZERO patience for people who treat me like I'm stupid. I am not a cocky person, I never put on airs and I have no problem asking for help when I'm clueless, which is actually quite often. But when I've gone down the road you're about to travel? And I've failed and you're about to do the exact same thing but I don't know anything because I'm just a receptionist and I don't have the degrees that you do? When you don't want to listen to me because you can't take sound advice just because it's coming out of MY mouth? No, I hate it and I get stabby.
I know what I have to do moving forward. If I stay quiet when he blows up over stupid things, sooner or later he'll realize how ridiculous he looks. Our big fights always go like this:
Him: What the FUCK!!!!!! They put ketchup on my burger when I SPECIFICALLY asked for mustard! Gah-DAMMIT! FUCK!!! RRRRAAAAWWWWRRRRRR!!!!
Me: Seriously? What is your problem? Why are you wasting this much energy over something so stupid? Just go back and have them fix it. You are doing way too much and you sound like an idiot. (I'm not perfect and when my patience is gone, the name-calling starts. Not an excuse I know.)
Him: Oh so I'm an idiot now? I'm just the stupid asshole? I'm worthless now huh?
Me: Oh my god Chicken Little can you be a little more dramatic? You sound like a woman. No, I won't even insult women like that because I do not know a single woman that acts like you.
*Descend into screaming match*
It always follows the exact same pattern, it's only the situation changes. I lose it when he starts going global, about how horrible he is and how he sucks at everything and sometimes I get fed up and agree with him. "You know what? Yes you do suck. You think it's okay to just blow up at the world and it's stupid and I'm sick of it and I'm sick of you. Is that what you want me to say?"
Gah, typing that out looks horrible and that's the G-rated version. It gets so much nastier because I'm kinda good with the words, doncha know. I go for the kill every time. I rarely curse when we fight - it's much more effective to look someone in the eye with an even tone and say "You're a horrible person and you'll never change." Takes the wind right out of your sails and I know that, which makes me a terrible person. The fact that I don't go there until I've been sorely sorely sorely provoked doesn't make it ok. I know how nasty I can get and I keep it check almost always. But I know I have to be better if this is going to work.
So that is my commitment - to hold my tongue. No matter how he provokes me. Which I've already failed at. He was supposed to be out of town this week but postponed his trip to address our issues. He now leaves on Thursday and I was now unsure of his new travel schedule.
Me: When you leave on Thursday are you going to stay gone through the weekend and come back the following Friday?
Him: Why? Is that what you want me to do?
Me: (screaming in my head) WHY? Why can't you just say yes or no!!!! Do you have any idea how hard it is for me not to strangle you right now? Why do you have to make it harder on me? WHY????
(out loud) R, I'm trying my best over here. Please can you not play the victim and just answer my question?
Him: You know my travel schedule.
Me: (in my head) YES OR NO!! That's all I need in this world!
(out loud) I don't know what other changes you've made without telling me.
(in my head) Kind of like when you emptied the bank account and shut off my access. Kind of like that, ASSHOLE.
Him: I'm coming home for the weekend.
Me: (dead from the effort)
Everything. Everything is a battle. It's all second-guessing at my true motives, because I'm the crazy conniving one whose sole purpose in life is to get one over on him.
I'm just so tired. I'm not a bad person. I do love him and that's why it hurts and that's why I get so angry. But I know I have majorly contributed - I cut at his weakest spots and those are the slowest to grow back. And so I've made a new commitment, I'm turning over a new leaf. I will start over. I will allow my shoulders to slump when he baits me, instead of squaring them for a fight. I will show pain and sadness in my eyes when he loses his temper or does something I've specifically asked him not to, instead of showing him my annoyance and condescension.
I hate thinking of my husband as a child and me as the adult because not only does the image repulse me, it means he gets to act like a child. Yet, everything I've done thus far has failed fantastically so fine, this is where we'll go. I will let him have his tantrums and not buy into them as best as I can. Because let's all remember, just because I can hold on to my temper much longer than he can doesn't mean I can hold on forever or that I'm not supremely flawed myself.
While it would be super cool if he stopped baiting me while I learn this new coping skill, I'm not holding my breath and I'm sure there will be more exchanges like the one we had this morning.
I'm just praying I get better at simply saying 'okay.' FAST.
This is where we run into the same problem, over and over again. 'I don't know what I want but it's not this.' The only difference this time is that I will not offer my suggestions. I will not offer my thoughts on how I think things should proceed even though I have puh-lenty of ideas.
Nope, he wants to run the show, he wants to be the Big Man, he thinks his way of things is so much better, then be my guest. I'm keeping my mouth shut. Today he told me he was sad. I asked him what he wanted so he wouldn't be sad anymore. He has no answer. I ask him what he wants from me. No idea. I ask him how he thinks things can improve. "We need to be friends." "I completely agree, what does that look like to you?" "Well, certainly not what we're doing now." "I couldn't agree more, so what should we do?" He has no answer.
It's maddening. In the past, I would offer my suggestion but because it usually involved him modifying some aspect of his behavior, like, oh I don't know, NOT blowing up at the slightest provocation, it was always summarily dismissed. All right fine, Big Stick. You take the wheel.
I'm aware it's the oldest teaching tool out there - let them flail, let them fail, and hopefully they come back to you to receive what you were trying to offer them in the first place. The problem is, I never thought I'd have to do this with my husband - I was preparing to do it with my KID. And my biggest flaw in the world is I have
I know what I have to do moving forward. If I stay quiet when he blows up over stupid things, sooner or later he'll realize how ridiculous he looks. Our big fights always go like this:
Him: What the FUCK!!!!!! They put ketchup on my burger when I SPECIFICALLY asked for mustard! Gah-DAMMIT! FUCK!!! RRRRAAAAWWWWRRRRRR!!!!
Me: Seriously? What is your problem? Why are you wasting this much energy over something so stupid? Just go back and have them fix it. You are doing way too much and you sound like an idiot. (I'm not perfect and when my patience is gone, the name-calling starts. Not an excuse I know.)
Him: Oh so I'm an idiot now? I'm just the stupid asshole? I'm worthless now huh?
Me: Oh my god Chicken Little can you be a little more dramatic? You sound like a woman. No, I won't even insult women like that because I do not know a single woman that acts like you.
*Descend into screaming match*
It always follows the exact same pattern, it's only the situation changes. I lose it when he starts going global, about how horrible he is and how he sucks at everything and sometimes I get fed up and agree with him. "You know what? Yes you do suck. You think it's okay to just blow up at the world and it's stupid and I'm sick of it and I'm sick of you. Is that what you want me to say?"
Gah, typing that out looks horrible and that's the G-rated version. It gets so much nastier because I'm kinda good with the words, doncha know. I go for the kill every time. I rarely curse when we fight - it's much more effective to look someone in the eye with an even tone and say "You're a horrible person and you'll never change." Takes the wind right out of your sails and I know that, which makes me a terrible person. The fact that I don't go there until I've been sorely sorely sorely provoked doesn't make it ok. I know how nasty I can get and I keep it check almost always. But I know I have to be better if this is going to work.
So that is my commitment - to hold my tongue. No matter how he provokes me. Which I've already failed at. He was supposed to be out of town this week but postponed his trip to address our issues. He now leaves on Thursday and I was now unsure of his new travel schedule.
Me: When you leave on Thursday are you going to stay gone through the weekend and come back the following Friday?
Him: Why? Is that what you want me to do?
Me: (screaming in my head) WHY? Why can't you just say yes or no!!!! Do you have any idea how hard it is for me not to strangle you right now? Why do you have to make it harder on me? WHY????
(out loud) R, I'm trying my best over here. Please can you not play the victim and just answer my question?
Him: You know my travel schedule.
Me: (in my head) YES OR NO!! That's all I need in this world!
(out loud) I don't know what other changes you've made without telling me.
(in my head) Kind of like when you emptied the bank account and shut off my access. Kind of like that, ASSHOLE.
Him: I'm coming home for the weekend.
Me: (dead from the effort)
Everything. Everything is a battle. It's all second-guessing at my true motives, because I'm the crazy conniving one whose sole purpose in life is to get one over on him.
I'm just so tired. I'm not a bad person. I do love him and that's why it hurts and that's why I get so angry. But I know I have majorly contributed - I cut at his weakest spots and those are the slowest to grow back. And so I've made a new commitment, I'm turning over a new leaf. I will start over. I will allow my shoulders to slump when he baits me, instead of squaring them for a fight. I will show pain and sadness in my eyes when he loses his temper or does something I've specifically asked him not to, instead of showing him my annoyance and condescension.
I hate thinking of my husband as a child and me as the adult because not only does the image repulse me, it means he gets to act like a child. Yet, everything I've done thus far has failed fantastically so fine, this is where we'll go. I will let him have his tantrums and not buy into them as best as I can. Because let's all remember, just because I can hold on to my temper much longer than he can doesn't mean I can hold on forever or that I'm not supremely flawed myself.
While it would be super cool if he stopped baiting me while I learn this new coping skill, I'm not holding my breath and I'm sure there will be more exchanges like the one we had this morning.
I'm just praying I get better at simply saying 'okay.' FAST.
Monday, October 4, 2010
Growing pains
Oh my goodness, how I want to bash him. How I want to unleash and spew hatefulness and ugliness and evil and bile, all in his direction. How I want to lay out his sins and be justified in doing so, because I totally am. I want to so badly my nails dig into my clenched fists.
But I won't. I will not do that. Because this will not last forever. Neither good nor bad times last forever and this won't either. And when the dust settles and we're friends again, it will be that much more difficult to start fresh. From experience, I know that when you bash someone to a third party, that third party never quite looks at the bash-ee the same way again. You can't un-hear things you've been told. You can't un-remember how they treated your friend.
So I won't. Because I'M better than that. I am justified and no one would look at me sideways for outlining all the ways I'm right and have been mistreated but that doesn't matter. I'm better than that, even I wish I weren't.
I spent hours on the phone with my dad this weekend. It was what really spoke to my heart - I have to give my daughter that chance to have that kind of relationship with her father. Because as bad as things are now, they won't be that way forever. As much as I don't believe it in this moment, things could turn around and my daughter will be the one who benefits the most. And that's why I have to do this.
It's why I have to hold my tongue, it's why I have to just say 'okay' when I KNOW I'm right.
It's for my daughter. And it won't be this way forever.
My dad said one of the greatest pains there is is holding your tongue when you know you're right. He's never said truer words.
On my other blog, I read Single Infertile Female. I don't want to link to it because I want to keep this blog as private as possible. But today she wrote about God being in the character building business and it really resonated with me. That right now, I too am being molded and shaped and made to grow and rarely is growth a pain-free process. As my child is growing inside me, I too am growing into a mother. And it hurts.
It's been a long while since I sacrificed. And I don't think I've ever not stood up for myself in anything other than a job situation. Plenty of times I've wanted to tell my bosses where they could stick it but I never did. But this? Eating crow when he's so clearly wrong? I mean like super extra way definitely wrong? I've never done it. Never. And I'm so scared that he will think he's won because of it. And it kills me.
So I just can't think like that. I have to think that I'm doing this for my daughter, that her life and well-being is more important than my pride or my desire to be right. She is the most important thing and I have to fight for her family. For my family. Because fighting for your family is never a wrong choice.
And frankly, if I can keep my nose clean and my mouth shut, he'll be selfish enough to do all the work for me and make my decision that much easier.
BUT - things could get better. If I give in here, and things get better then it will have been worth it.
I just wish I didn't have to be the bigger person. I'M PREGNANT DAMMIT!
But I won't. I will not do that. Because this will not last forever. Neither good nor bad times last forever and this won't either. And when the dust settles and we're friends again, it will be that much more difficult to start fresh. From experience, I know that when you bash someone to a third party, that third party never quite looks at the bash-ee the same way again. You can't un-hear things you've been told. You can't un-remember how they treated your friend.
So I won't. Because I'M better than that. I am justified and no one would look at me sideways for outlining all the ways I'm right and have been mistreated but that doesn't matter. I'm better than that, even I wish I weren't.
I spent hours on the phone with my dad this weekend. It was what really spoke to my heart - I have to give my daughter that chance to have that kind of relationship with her father. Because as bad as things are now, they won't be that way forever. As much as I don't believe it in this moment, things could turn around and my daughter will be the one who benefits the most. And that's why I have to do this.
It's why I have to hold my tongue, it's why I have to just say 'okay' when I KNOW I'm right.
It's for my daughter. And it won't be this way forever.
My dad said one of the greatest pains there is is holding your tongue when you know you're right. He's never said truer words.
On my other blog, I read Single Infertile Female. I don't want to link to it because I want to keep this blog as private as possible. But today she wrote about God being in the character building business and it really resonated with me. That right now, I too am being molded and shaped and made to grow and rarely is growth a pain-free process. As my child is growing inside me, I too am growing into a mother. And it hurts.
It's been a long while since I sacrificed. And I don't think I've ever not stood up for myself in anything other than a job situation. Plenty of times I've wanted to tell my bosses where they could stick it but I never did. But this? Eating crow when he's so clearly wrong? I mean like super extra way definitely wrong? I've never done it. Never. And I'm so scared that he will think he's won because of it. And it kills me.
So I just can't think like that. I have to think that I'm doing this for my daughter, that her life and well-being is more important than my pride or my desire to be right. She is the most important thing and I have to fight for her family. For my family. Because fighting for your family is never a wrong choice.
And frankly, if I can keep my nose clean and my mouth shut, he'll be selfish enough to do all the work for me and make my decision that much easier.
BUT - things could get better. If I give in here, and things get better then it will have been worth it.
I just wish I didn't have to be the bigger person. I'M PREGNANT DAMMIT!
Sunday, October 3, 2010
So real it hurts
Is there some sort of rule? When one thing in your life goes well, everything else goes to shit?
Friday morning I had my appointment with the Maternal Fetal Medicine specialist. It's the doctor you to go to when you're old and your body is a killing machine. R had gotten home late the night before and we'd been fighting all week so things were tense. God, but isn't that how things always are.
I parked in the wrong building so we had to walk a thousand miles to get to the right building, arriving in his office right at 8:15. Thankfully, R wasn't a smart-ass about it because I was so wound up I certainly would have lost it had he said a word.
They took me back to the room and I slid my pants low around my hips. It's still weird not to have to get completely undressed. For a while it was just R and me and I laid there in silence, trying to steady my breathing, trying to prepare myself for the moment when the doctor says "I'm so sorry." Would I ever be able to walk in and be happy? Would I ever be able to just be excited. R told me he loved me but I barely heard him because my grasp over my control was so tenuous. Later that would get thrown in my face.
The doctor came in - he was much cuter than his website picture. He went over everything with us, looking me in my eyes and his bedside manner was stellar. I found myself melting, becoming more comfortable with his compassionate voice and the sympathy in his eyes, which was a major problem because I was trying so hard not to cry.
"Let's find the heartbeat right away." I looked away from the screen, the tears rolling down my face.
And then I heard it, that whoopwhoopwhoopwhoop over the speakers of the machine. Well forget it now, no way I'm keeping it together. I started crying and hyperventilating but not in a crazy way, just insane ridiculous relief.
"That's a very active baby in there. You see the little hand?"
Five little tiny glowing bones. I could see them. He swirled the thing around, watching as the baby kicked and moved. It was so surreal to see it yet not be able to feel anything. He said it was the right size, everything looked good and I'm right on track. I was in so much shock I could barely process what he was saying.
"Do you want me to guess at the gender?"
Whaaa? You could do that this early? I had no idea - I always thought you had to wait until 20 weeks or something.
"Well, is it a good guess?"
"I have about an 85% success rate."
"Well...yeah...yes, definitely."
"Okay....well...don't paint any rooms yet, but I'm pretty certain.....it's a little girl."
And then I died.
The rest of the appointment was a blur - his nurse drew my blood and she was a horrible cow and R didn't stick up for me and just let her be rude. We walked out and began the trek back to the building where I parked.
A girl.
A daughter.
MY daughter.
R asked me what I was thinking. I couldn't even make my brain form words. He thought I was giving him the silent treatment and when we were in the car, he said "So you're just not going to talk to me now is that it?"
WHY? Why is everything in the world about him? Why is he so god-blessed insecure about EVERYTHING? I turned to him and said "What in the world do you think I'm thinking?"
"Not only is it alive, it's a girl. This is real, this is going to happen. NOW will you get your head out of your ass? NOW can we talk about money? NOW can we make plans for what we're going to do when the baby gets here?"
"It's a girl. A daughter. My daughter. Who is going to look to ME for cues on how to be a woman. Who's going to look to YOU for cues on how to deal with men, what to accept from them. She will look to US as a model for relationships and we're sucking at it right now. I don't want my daughter to hear the way you talk to me and think that it's okay to do that. I don't want her to see the way you treat me, see how selfish you are and think that it's okay for men to be that way. I'm terrified. I'm terrified because we are horrible role models right now and our daughter is going to see that. We suck right now. Babies and little kids are blobs, little sponges and we have to teach them and mold them and protect them and I'm not very confident in your ability to do that. I'm not confident in my OWN ability to do that and I'm terrified. So that's what I'm thinking."
By that time, I'd arrived at work and I had to go in. I couldn't even be happy, I was so scared. This is real now, I have a little girl inside me and I'm 100% responsible and I've been falling down on the job. Already.
The rest of the day went by quickly, and by the time R came to get me, nothing had changed. We'd chatted during the day about how dire our relationship situation was as we discussed baby names. So many times I thought my head would explode.
We talked that night, I thought we made some progress. I thought that once and for all we were getting on the same page.
But as I write this from the hotel room where I spent last night, I know we didn't get anywhere.
Friday morning I had my appointment with the Maternal Fetal Medicine specialist. It's the doctor you to go to when you're old and your body is a killing machine. R had gotten home late the night before and we'd been fighting all week so things were tense. God, but isn't that how things always are.
I parked in the wrong building so we had to walk a thousand miles to get to the right building, arriving in his office right at 8:15. Thankfully, R wasn't a smart-ass about it because I was so wound up I certainly would have lost it had he said a word.
They took me back to the room and I slid my pants low around my hips. It's still weird not to have to get completely undressed. For a while it was just R and me and I laid there in silence, trying to steady my breathing, trying to prepare myself for the moment when the doctor says "I'm so sorry." Would I ever be able to walk in and be happy? Would I ever be able to just be excited. R told me he loved me but I barely heard him because my grasp over my control was so tenuous. Later that would get thrown in my face.
The doctor came in - he was much cuter than his website picture. He went over everything with us, looking me in my eyes and his bedside manner was stellar. I found myself melting, becoming more comfortable with his compassionate voice and the sympathy in his eyes, which was a major problem because I was trying so hard not to cry.
"Let's find the heartbeat right away." I looked away from the screen, the tears rolling down my face.
And then I heard it, that whoopwhoopwhoopwhoop over the speakers of the machine. Well forget it now, no way I'm keeping it together. I started crying and hyperventilating but not in a crazy way, just insane ridiculous relief.
"That's a very active baby in there. You see the little hand?"
Five little tiny glowing bones. I could see them. He swirled the thing around, watching as the baby kicked and moved. It was so surreal to see it yet not be able to feel anything. He said it was the right size, everything looked good and I'm right on track. I was in so much shock I could barely process what he was saying.
"Do you want me to guess at the gender?"
Whaaa? You could do that this early? I had no idea - I always thought you had to wait until 20 weeks or something.
"Well, is it a good guess?"
"I have about an 85% success rate."
"Well...yeah...yes, definitely."
"Okay....well...don't paint any rooms yet, but I'm pretty certain.....it's a little girl."
And then I died.
The rest of the appointment was a blur - his nurse drew my blood and she was a horrible cow and R didn't stick up for me and just let her be rude. We walked out and began the trek back to the building where I parked.
A girl.
A daughter.
MY daughter.
R asked me what I was thinking. I couldn't even make my brain form words. He thought I was giving him the silent treatment and when we were in the car, he said "So you're just not going to talk to me now is that it?"
WHY? Why is everything in the world about him? Why is he so god-blessed insecure about EVERYTHING? I turned to him and said "What in the world do you think I'm thinking?"
"Not only is it alive, it's a girl. This is real, this is going to happen. NOW will you get your head out of your ass? NOW can we talk about money? NOW can we make plans for what we're going to do when the baby gets here?"
"It's a girl. A daughter. My daughter. Who is going to look to ME for cues on how to be a woman. Who's going to look to YOU for cues on how to deal with men, what to accept from them. She will look to US as a model for relationships and we're sucking at it right now. I don't want my daughter to hear the way you talk to me and think that it's okay to do that. I don't want her to see the way you treat me, see how selfish you are and think that it's okay for men to be that way. I'm terrified. I'm terrified because we are horrible role models right now and our daughter is going to see that. We suck right now. Babies and little kids are blobs, little sponges and we have to teach them and mold them and protect them and I'm not very confident in your ability to do that. I'm not confident in my OWN ability to do that and I'm terrified. So that's what I'm thinking."
By that time, I'd arrived at work and I had to go in. I couldn't even be happy, I was so scared. This is real now, I have a little girl inside me and I'm 100% responsible and I've been falling down on the job. Already.
The rest of the day went by quickly, and by the time R came to get me, nothing had changed. We'd chatted during the day about how dire our relationship situation was as we discussed baby names. So many times I thought my head would explode.
We talked that night, I thought we made some progress. I thought that once and for all we were getting on the same page.
But as I write this from the hotel room where I spent last night, I know we didn't get anywhere.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Fun with ultrasounds
I was 5 weeks 5 days at my first doctor's appointment. I got the ultrasound first and I was dreading it. I was so afraid to want this, I didn't know if I could take another loss. But she found it right away and was even able to date it, which she couldn't do the last time. I measured 5 weeks 3 days which made me nervous but they said it was nothing to worry about. I didn't care - it was in there. For now.
R was with me and we both somberly waited for my doctor to come in. I've seen her since forever so she knew my whole story which was really nice. She knew where my head was at and right off the bat told me I could come in and have as many ultrasounds as I wanted so I would be okay with things. She wanted me to come in the very next week but I told her I was okay, that coming in at 8 weeks would be fine because even at 6 weeks you can't be totally sure that everything is okay. I wanted to be totally sure. She prescribed progesterone suppositories to take until I reached ten weeks and what a barrel of fun those are!
First of all, they're expensive as fuck. Thank God for insurance and flex spending and thank GOD I wouldn't have to do it forever. They're just like Monistat applicators and you do it once a morning. It's added insurance to keep the baby in there and after 10 weeks, the placenta takes over progesterone production so you can stop.
Unfortunately, progesterone is what causes the majority of the 'pregnancy ailments.' Headaches, dizziness, nausea, hating the world. No lie, I rolled over in bed one night and got dizzy from it! And yoga! So many times I lost my balance coming up to standing and thought I was going to lose it right there in class. Thankfully I never did. Being a passenger in the car was intolerable - I had to drive or I would get carsick. R got really annoyed with this one, I don't know why. Again, like I was doing this just to piss him off.
However, I took them in stride and as a sign that the pregnancy was going well. I adapted, moving slower, paying more attention to what I ate and I just dealt with it. I can deal with dizziness and nausea. Needles are just on a whole nother level.
And then one morning it all went away. It was a Tuesday morning and I was to teach yoga. That Monday was the one I wrote about, the one that was magical and awesome and I was living my passion. Tuesday I had no dizziness, no nausea and I knew that was it. It was gone. Tuesday's class was decidedly un-magical. That week I was horrible, hating everything, saying things like why am I still doing these shots if it's already dead. R was like you know, you really need to quit saying things like that and you need to be positive. To which I responded, I would thank you to not tell me how to cope. I'm so very sorry I'm making you uncomfortable but I really just can't care right now. I'm kind of dealing with some things.
I was dreading my 8-week appointment. I hadn't felt any headaches or nausea or anything. I wasn't yet peeing a lot and my boobs were sore but not unbearable so I thought that was just leftover hormones that were making their way out of my body. R and I sat there in silence.
Again, we got the ultrasound first. Before she started I told her that I wasn't feeling very positive about this. She asked if I was spotting and I told her no but I didn't spot with the first loss so not spotting didn't mean anything to me. She was like, well let's go ahead and see what's going on. Weenie cam in and she found it right away. There's your baby. Aaand there's the heartbeat.
Big deal. I've been here before. I've seen a heartbeat. And I've seen a dead baby.
You're measuring right at 8 weeks.
Okay, what? I've never measured on time. Never. I've always been behind. Because it was on its way to dying. I've never been on time. Never.
Are you sure?
Yes, 8 weeks on the dot.
Okay, but are you completely sure.
8 weeks, I'm positive.
*bawling my eyes out now* I'm really sorry for asking you so many times, I really am, but are you sure I'm 8 weeks? Are you really sure? Can you double check?
I promise you, you're 8 weeks. Heartbeat is nice and strong.
Oh my goodness, oh my goodness. *bawling, shaking, crying into R's hand, relief flooding through me*
We saw the doctor, she was happy for us and I told her that I wanted to come in right after I made 9 weeks, since I lost the first one at 9 weeks and if it was going to go, I wanted to know right away. She said that was fine and told me I could come as many times as I wanted.
I went alone to the next ultrasound at 9 weeks 4 days. I told R it was no big deal, that this was just an aliveness check, that he didn't have to be there. Naively, I didn't think much could change with just a week. I know nothing.
I didn't have to do the weenie cam! When she told me to just unbutton my pants I paused. Never done that before either. I asked her if she'd really be able to see anything that way and she assured me that she would. Poor girl, I wonder how many cynical and neurotic women question her skills on a daily basis.
Again, she found it right away and oh my goodness so much had changed! It had a head! And little arm and leg nubs! It looked just like a gummi bear! My mouth fell open as I stared at the screen, hypnotized by this little thing that I had pretty much accepted I would never get to see. But there it was. Plain as day.
And then it jerked. Like a reflex or a hiccup or something. It JERKED.
"Hold up. Was that......?"
"Oh yeah, your baby is wiggling."
"WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?"
She chuckled. "Your baby's moving."
"No, that was me. I was moving. Okay, do it again and I'm going to hold real still this time."
She held still and I held still and it moved. It wiggled and jerked and oh my God it's alive it's in there and it's alive and holy shit it's in there oh my God why isn't R here to see this are you kidding me it's alive!
I laughed and laughed and stared at my baby. My wiggling, jerky gummi bear baby. My baby. I measured 9 weeks 2 days and that bothered me but not near as much this time because it was moving. I had never ever seen that and I was floored. When I left the ultrasound room, I happened to see the Blood Dude and he was like, well? I was like, DUDE it was moving! Hell yeah, that's what's up! The Blood Dude is so cool.
I was giddy waiting for the doctor. We scheduled the NT scan, which is actually tomorrow morning. I will be 12 weeks tomorrow. I can't believe it.
I'm still apprehensive because now that I've stopped the progesterone I have no more headaches, dizziness or nausea. My boobs hurt for real all the time now and that's a pain I'm grateful for. I have to pee around 3am every single night and she said those two things are directly related to the pregnancy and to worry if those things go away. The other stuff was related to the progesterone and it's no big deal if those symptoms disappear.
I'm further than I've ever been ever and the tiniest glimmer of hope is starting to peek through. Which will make it suck royally if things go south but no matter what, I'll always have that memory of that little wiggling gummi bear with its big ol head.
I still take things one day at a time, but slightly, ever so slightly I'm beginning to turn my eyes to the future.
Just my eyes though.
R was with me and we both somberly waited for my doctor to come in. I've seen her since forever so she knew my whole story which was really nice. She knew where my head was at and right off the bat told me I could come in and have as many ultrasounds as I wanted so I would be okay with things. She wanted me to come in the very next week but I told her I was okay, that coming in at 8 weeks would be fine because even at 6 weeks you can't be totally sure that everything is okay. I wanted to be totally sure. She prescribed progesterone suppositories to take until I reached ten weeks and what a barrel of fun those are!
First of all, they're expensive as fuck. Thank God for insurance and flex spending and thank GOD I wouldn't have to do it forever. They're just like Monistat applicators and you do it once a morning. It's added insurance to keep the baby in there and after 10 weeks, the placenta takes over progesterone production so you can stop.
Unfortunately, progesterone is what causes the majority of the 'pregnancy ailments.' Headaches, dizziness, nausea, hating the world. No lie, I rolled over in bed one night and got dizzy from it! And yoga! So many times I lost my balance coming up to standing and thought I was going to lose it right there in class. Thankfully I never did. Being a passenger in the car was intolerable - I had to drive or I would get carsick. R got really annoyed with this one, I don't know why. Again, like I was doing this just to piss him off.
However, I took them in stride and as a sign that the pregnancy was going well. I adapted, moving slower, paying more attention to what I ate and I just dealt with it. I can deal with dizziness and nausea. Needles are just on a whole nother level.
And then one morning it all went away. It was a Tuesday morning and I was to teach yoga. That Monday was the one I wrote about, the one that was magical and awesome and I was living my passion. Tuesday I had no dizziness, no nausea and I knew that was it. It was gone. Tuesday's class was decidedly un-magical. That week I was horrible, hating everything, saying things like why am I still doing these shots if it's already dead. R was like you know, you really need to quit saying things like that and you need to be positive. To which I responded, I would thank you to not tell me how to cope. I'm so very sorry I'm making you uncomfortable but I really just can't care right now. I'm kind of dealing with some things.
I was dreading my 8-week appointment. I hadn't felt any headaches or nausea or anything. I wasn't yet peeing a lot and my boobs were sore but not unbearable so I thought that was just leftover hormones that were making their way out of my body. R and I sat there in silence.
Again, we got the ultrasound first. Before she started I told her that I wasn't feeling very positive about this. She asked if I was spotting and I told her no but I didn't spot with the first loss so not spotting didn't mean anything to me. She was like, well let's go ahead and see what's going on. Weenie cam in and she found it right away. There's your baby. Aaand there's the heartbeat.
Big deal. I've been here before. I've seen a heartbeat. And I've seen a dead baby.
You're measuring right at 8 weeks.
Okay, what? I've never measured on time. Never. I've always been behind. Because it was on its way to dying. I've never been on time. Never.
Are you sure?
Yes, 8 weeks on the dot.
Okay, but are you completely sure.
8 weeks, I'm positive.
*bawling my eyes out now* I'm really sorry for asking you so many times, I really am, but are you sure I'm 8 weeks? Are you really sure? Can you double check?
I promise you, you're 8 weeks. Heartbeat is nice and strong.
Oh my goodness, oh my goodness. *bawling, shaking, crying into R's hand, relief flooding through me*
We saw the doctor, she was happy for us and I told her that I wanted to come in right after I made 9 weeks, since I lost the first one at 9 weeks and if it was going to go, I wanted to know right away. She said that was fine and told me I could come as many times as I wanted.
I went alone to the next ultrasound at 9 weeks 4 days. I told R it was no big deal, that this was just an aliveness check, that he didn't have to be there. Naively, I didn't think much could change with just a week. I know nothing.
I didn't have to do the weenie cam! When she told me to just unbutton my pants I paused. Never done that before either. I asked her if she'd really be able to see anything that way and she assured me that she would. Poor girl, I wonder how many cynical and neurotic women question her skills on a daily basis.
Again, she found it right away and oh my goodness so much had changed! It had a head! And little arm and leg nubs! It looked just like a gummi bear! My mouth fell open as I stared at the screen, hypnotized by this little thing that I had pretty much accepted I would never get to see. But there it was. Plain as day.
And then it jerked. Like a reflex or a hiccup or something. It JERKED.
"Hold up. Was that......?"
"Oh yeah, your baby is wiggling."
"WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?"
She chuckled. "Your baby's moving."
"No, that was me. I was moving. Okay, do it again and I'm going to hold real still this time."
She held still and I held still and it moved. It wiggled and jerked and oh my God it's alive it's in there and it's alive and holy shit it's in there oh my God why isn't R here to see this are you kidding me it's alive!
I laughed and laughed and stared at my baby. My wiggling, jerky gummi bear baby. My baby. I measured 9 weeks 2 days and that bothered me but not near as much this time because it was moving. I had never ever seen that and I was floored. When I left the ultrasound room, I happened to see the Blood Dude and he was like, well? I was like, DUDE it was moving! Hell yeah, that's what's up! The Blood Dude is so cool.
I was giddy waiting for the doctor. We scheduled the NT scan, which is actually tomorrow morning. I will be 12 weeks tomorrow. I can't believe it.
I'm still apprehensive because now that I've stopped the progesterone I have no more headaches, dizziness or nausea. My boobs hurt for real all the time now and that's a pain I'm grateful for. I have to pee around 3am every single night and she said those two things are directly related to the pregnancy and to worry if those things go away. The other stuff was related to the progesterone and it's no big deal if those symptoms disappear.
I'm further than I've ever been ever and the tiniest glimmer of hope is starting to peek through. Which will make it suck royally if things go south but no matter what, I'll always have that memory of that little wiggling gummi bear with its big ol head.
I still take things one day at a time, but slightly, ever so slightly I'm beginning to turn my eyes to the future.
Just my eyes though.
Captain Heparin, my ass
Captain Heparin is a mean, burning, poisonous jerky boy.
The mental image did nothing - it's just heparin and it hurts. It hurts almost every single day, every single time. Sometimes I get lucky and I find a spot where I don't even feel the needle going in and by the grace of God the medicine doesn't burn. But other days and other times, I hit a nerve on accident but I sure as hell am not going to pull the needle back out so I push. The pain runs down my leg and I cry. I dread the mornings because I have to do my shot. I hate going to bed because I have to do my shot. I don't have to measure any more - I just look for a spot that doesn't have a bruise. I can tell it's doing its job - my blood is nice and thin and I have bruises all over my belly now. At least it's not swimsuit season anymore. I cheat and sometimes pinch up my skin, even though Dr. P said not to, but if I do it wrong I bleed and then get a giant bruise. I also don't always inject at a 90-degree angle. Hitting my muscle that first time has made injecting even worse because I'm so scared of pushing it in too far. When I inject below my belly button I pull the skin away from my body and come in sideways just so I can be sure I don't hit the muscle. I got shorter needles, the kind you use for insulin. They don't hurt as bad but they also don't go in as deep, which causes major bruising and swelling. I also push for a much slower count - counting to five was too fast. I found a Heparin message board - they have message boards for everything - and they said the key to reducing the pain is to inject as slowly as possible. It definitely works but it still hurts so ridiculously bad. Many times I contemplate not doing it at all, just skipping this one time, what could it hurt? But I never do - there's no way to know how strong my tendency to clot is, although I'd guess it's pretty strong. Before this, if I cut myself I usually stopped bleeding almost instantly. I've never had a nosebleed and even that day in Dr. P's office when she made me gush, it stopped fairly quickly. Although I have no idea if clotting is the same on the micro-embryonic level as it is when you cut yourself. So I do the shots - every morning and every night.
Since I've stopped doing ab-work in yoga, I have a larger cushion of fat although I still have to bend and hunch to get it as plump as possible. I've never been so happy to be flabby.
I was talking to my friend about how much the needles sucked and how stank my attitude was about them and she was like, "Yeah well, I have to inject myself several times a day so that I can live." That's when it hit me. It would be so much of a different story if these shots were for me. If they were to ensure, guarantee my life. I'd be first in line, like yo, where my needles at!!
But that's why this sucks. Because it's not a guarantee. If there's something else wrong and I still lose this baby? After all these shots? If I have a stillbirth? After all this? Oooh Jesus. Your girl would be on the 6 o'clock news, been done shot some shit up!!
R came home on Sunday afternoon. I picked him up from the airport and I thought we were going straight home but he wanted to go somewhere to eat. I knew if I waited to tell him until we'd gotten home he would be upset that I didn't tell him sooner. After a little small talk, I spilled.
"I went to the doctor on Friday."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah, they actually found out what was wrong with me. Turns out I have a clotting disorder and that's why I was having miscarriages."
"Well, it's good that they found out."
"Well, so...they found all that out...because I'm actually...pregnant."
Thank God I was driving and didn't have to look at him. I didn't press him to say anything and for a while we drove in silence.
"Damn, I've got good swimmers." Side-eye from the wife.
We arrived at the restaurant and once we'd been seated and got settled in, he started talking a mile a minute.
"Well, we're going to have to get that second dog now, we can't wait till after. I'll have to call my parents and see when they can come down. I'll have to tell my boss. When is your first doctor's appointment? We're going to have to sell the house. If you're not working, we have to figure out our finances. This means we really need to work out our issues. The timing isn't great but okay, this is a good thing."
And on and on. I knew he was just processing, so I didn't comment on anything he was saying. We got home and just went about our business. There was no real excitement, no jumping up and down, no smiling from ear to ear. I was just relieved he wasn't angry.
That night I offered to let him do my shot - you know, so he would feel involved in the process. That did not go well. Just that morning I was on the phone with my girlfriend for almost an hour trying to do my shot, cursing and laughing at myself and cursing and finally getting it in. Thank you H!
In theory, letting R do it was a good idea. In practice, I couldn't help but see him as a predator, coming at me to stab and poison me. There was lots of Don't freakin move so fast! No wait wait wait! I'm not ready! Hang on! Okay go, no WAIT! Let me lay down, DON'T MOVE SO FAST! No I can't lay down, I'm going to stand up, no WAIT!
Okay you know what, I don't need you to get fucking frustrated with me. Like I'm doing this on purpose. Thanks for your fucking support and encouragement. You know what, give me the damn needle I'll do it myself.
All right fine, I'll let you do it but you need to find some patience. Do you have ANY idea how hard this is? Stop getting your feelings hurt. Just go.
Motherfucker injected my MUSCLE.
He was nervous and didn't know his own strength and couldn't judge depth and holy shit, the BURNING. I was standing with my back to his front so he was kind of holding me up and that was the only thing that kept me from falling. I held super still so the needle wouldn't break off and I was moaning not the muscle!! I crawled to the bed and held my side and cursed everything.
To date, he and my mother have given me my shots and they both have left giant bruises. Because it's my body, I know best where to inject, how slow to go and I've gotten to where it's doable. I've even shot up at my desk at work! I'm down to about five to ten minutes now which is about about as fast as I think I'll ever be able to do it. I can't throw it in like a dart because it scares me too much. I can't look away because I'm afraid I'll miss and break the needle. I have to place the needle against my skin and gently gently push. There are still times that seeing the needle go into my skin makes me want to puke but I'm doing it.
It's so demoralizing - I know so many infertile women would do anything to have a baby and they say as much, but when it comes to it, would you really? Would you really let someone come slap you in the face and punch you in the gut twice a day every single day? Especially if you knew that doing the thing you hate the most in the world still might not get what you want? Anyone can push through and put your head down and go to work, as long as you know that there's a trophy at the finish line. We can all reach down deep and find that resolve, as long as you are reasonably sure of the outcome.
But I wasn't sure. At this point, the baby only might be there. I couldn't even keep my eyes on the prize because I wasn't even sure that there was a prize.
My first doctor's appointment was the following week.
The mental image did nothing - it's just heparin and it hurts. It hurts almost every single day, every single time. Sometimes I get lucky and I find a spot where I don't even feel the needle going in and by the grace of God the medicine doesn't burn. But other days and other times, I hit a nerve on accident but I sure as hell am not going to pull the needle back out so I push. The pain runs down my leg and I cry. I dread the mornings because I have to do my shot. I hate going to bed because I have to do my shot. I don't have to measure any more - I just look for a spot that doesn't have a bruise. I can tell it's doing its job - my blood is nice and thin and I have bruises all over my belly now. At least it's not swimsuit season anymore. I cheat and sometimes pinch up my skin, even though Dr. P said not to, but if I do it wrong I bleed and then get a giant bruise. I also don't always inject at a 90-degree angle. Hitting my muscle that first time has made injecting even worse because I'm so scared of pushing it in too far. When I inject below my belly button I pull the skin away from my body and come in sideways just so I can be sure I don't hit the muscle. I got shorter needles, the kind you use for insulin. They don't hurt as bad but they also don't go in as deep, which causes major bruising and swelling. I also push for a much slower count - counting to five was too fast. I found a Heparin message board - they have message boards for everything - and they said the key to reducing the pain is to inject as slowly as possible. It definitely works but it still hurts so ridiculously bad. Many times I contemplate not doing it at all, just skipping this one time, what could it hurt? But I never do - there's no way to know how strong my tendency to clot is, although I'd guess it's pretty strong. Before this, if I cut myself I usually stopped bleeding almost instantly. I've never had a nosebleed and even that day in Dr. P's office when she made me gush, it stopped fairly quickly. Although I have no idea if clotting is the same on the micro-embryonic level as it is when you cut yourself. So I do the shots - every morning and every night.
Since I've stopped doing ab-work in yoga, I have a larger cushion of fat although I still have to bend and hunch to get it as plump as possible. I've never been so happy to be flabby.
I was talking to my friend about how much the needles sucked and how stank my attitude was about them and she was like, "Yeah well, I have to inject myself several times a day so that I can live." That's when it hit me. It would be so much of a different story if these shots were for me. If they were to ensure, guarantee my life. I'd be first in line, like yo, where my needles at!!
But that's why this sucks. Because it's not a guarantee. If there's something else wrong and I still lose this baby? After all these shots? If I have a stillbirth? After all this? Oooh Jesus. Your girl would be on the 6 o'clock news, been done shot some shit up!!
R came home on Sunday afternoon. I picked him up from the airport and I thought we were going straight home but he wanted to go somewhere to eat. I knew if I waited to tell him until we'd gotten home he would be upset that I didn't tell him sooner. After a little small talk, I spilled.
"I went to the doctor on Friday."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah, they actually found out what was wrong with me. Turns out I have a clotting disorder and that's why I was having miscarriages."
"Well, it's good that they found out."
"Well, so...they found all that out...because I'm actually...pregnant."
Thank God I was driving and didn't have to look at him. I didn't press him to say anything and for a while we drove in silence.
"Damn, I've got good swimmers." Side-eye from the wife.
We arrived at the restaurant and once we'd been seated and got settled in, he started talking a mile a minute.
"Well, we're going to have to get that second dog now, we can't wait till after. I'll have to call my parents and see when they can come down. I'll have to tell my boss. When is your first doctor's appointment? We're going to have to sell the house. If you're not working, we have to figure out our finances. This means we really need to work out our issues. The timing isn't great but okay, this is a good thing."
And on and on. I knew he was just processing, so I didn't comment on anything he was saying. We got home and just went about our business. There was no real excitement, no jumping up and down, no smiling from ear to ear. I was just relieved he wasn't angry.
That night I offered to let him do my shot - you know, so he would feel involved in the process. That did not go well. Just that morning I was on the phone with my girlfriend for almost an hour trying to do my shot, cursing and laughing at myself and cursing and finally getting it in. Thank you H!
In theory, letting R do it was a good idea. In practice, I couldn't help but see him as a predator, coming at me to stab and poison me. There was lots of Don't freakin move so fast! No wait wait wait! I'm not ready! Hang on! Okay go, no WAIT! Let me lay down, DON'T MOVE SO FAST! No I can't lay down, I'm going to stand up, no WAIT!
Okay you know what, I don't need you to get fucking frustrated with me. Like I'm doing this on purpose. Thanks for your fucking support and encouragement. You know what, give me the damn needle I'll do it myself.
All right fine, I'll let you do it but you need to find some patience. Do you have ANY idea how hard this is? Stop getting your feelings hurt. Just go.
Motherfucker injected my MUSCLE.
He was nervous and didn't know his own strength and couldn't judge depth and holy shit, the BURNING. I was standing with my back to his front so he was kind of holding me up and that was the only thing that kept me from falling. I held super still so the needle wouldn't break off and I was moaning not the muscle!! I crawled to the bed and held my side and cursed everything.
To date, he and my mother have given me my shots and they both have left giant bruises. Because it's my body, I know best where to inject, how slow to go and I've gotten to where it's doable. I've even shot up at my desk at work! I'm down to about five to ten minutes now which is about about as fast as I think I'll ever be able to do it. I can't throw it in like a dart because it scares me too much. I can't look away because I'm afraid I'll miss and break the needle. I have to place the needle against my skin and gently gently push. There are still times that seeing the needle go into my skin makes me want to puke but I'm doing it.
It's so demoralizing - I know so many infertile women would do anything to have a baby and they say as much, but when it comes to it, would you really? Would you really let someone come slap you in the face and punch you in the gut twice a day every single day? Especially if you knew that doing the thing you hate the most in the world still might not get what you want? Anyone can push through and put your head down and go to work, as long as you know that there's a trophy at the finish line. We can all reach down deep and find that resolve, as long as you are reasonably sure of the outcome.
But I wasn't sure. At this point, the baby only might be there. I couldn't even keep my eyes on the prize because I wasn't even sure that there was a prize.
My first doctor's appointment was the following week.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Venom
Saturday morning I woke up knowing exactly where I was, exactly what had happened and exactly what I needed to do. You know how some people say they were all disoriented and they wondered if it was all a dream? Not me. I knew this was all super real.
I knew I had to do the shots. On the off chance that somehow my body hadn't killed my baby I had to do the right thing. They found the problem, they gave me the solution, I couldn't not do it. Except that meant sticking needles into my stomach.
Trypanophobia - fear of needles
Suddenly, I had to hurry and do the shot as quickly as possible. It was seven am and I had already lost a lot of time. If there was any chance that I could keep my body from harming my baby, I had to do it. That's what moms do right?
Except I had no way of knowing it wasn't already dead. And I still had to stick a needle into my stomach. By myself, with no help. I was very dizzy as I walked to the dining room where I had dropped the bag with the medicine and the syringes the night before. I walked to the bathroom, pep-talking myself the whole way.
You can do this, you got this. You are going to do this. You can do this. You saw her do it, you can do it to yourself. You can do this. You can do this.
I took the syringe out of the packaging and studied it. I'd seen syringes on tv before, I'd seen how they flick the tube to get the bubbles out, how they push the plunger and the medicine squirts out of the needle but I'd never held one and I sure as hell had never given myself an injection. It was small. The needle was small - so small and thin that if you turned it a certain way in the light, you couldn't even see it. It was a short needle, only half an inch. Unfortunately, these things did nothing to comfort me and I started to lose focus again. I took my shirt off, swabbed my stomach with alcohol, swabbed the top of the heparin bottle and drew up the syringe just like they showed me. It took a couple of tries to get all the air bubbles out but I finally did it. So far so good. I swabbed my stomach again, knowing that I was stalling.
Okay, you can do this. Throw it in, like a dart, push the plunger for a count of five, hold for a count of five, pull it out. You got this. Easy. Just breathe. You can do this.
.........
Okay, just do it. You have the syringe, your belly is clean, just do it. Just throw it in, push for five, hold for five and you're done. You can do this.
.........
Okay okay okay. Come on, you can do this. Push for five, hold for five, done. Just do it. You can do this. You have to do this. Do it for your baby.
.........
Fuck, shit, shit, shit shit. I can't fucking do this. How the fuck am I supposed to stick a fucking needle into my fucking belly. Shit. Shit.
........sitting on the toilet, crying
I can't do this. This isn't going to work. It's already dead, what's the point. Seriously, God? Of all the things? Needles? Come on, please? I can't do this. Okay look, you gave this to me, you need to give me the strength to do this. Okay? Okay? Any time.
.........drying the tears
All right, that is enough. Either do this or don't! No more messing around. Stick that stupid needle in your stupid belly. It's a teeny tiny bitch needle. Are you going to let a bitch needle get the best of you? Shit!
........ shaking and crying on the toilet
Yes, a bitch needle is going to get the best of me. I cannot do this. What am I going to do? How the hell am I supposed to do this for 36 weeks?
I needed help. I needed support. But it was 8am on a Saturday. I only knew of one person who would be up at that hour.
Hi Dad. So um, guess what?
Replay all of the above, minus the cursing and interspersed with periodic 'Did you do it? Noooooooooo.'
Over an hour after I started, I finally was able to stick the needle in and discovered my next problem. I am 5'5", 122 pounds. I do yoga regularly and have virtually no belly fat as a result. Certainly not half an inch worth! Feeling the needle hit my muscle nearly made me vomit on the spot. However, I didn't know better and stuck it in the rest of the way. Into my muscle.
HOLY SHIT, never do that! I nearly fell over from the pain. My dad was on speaker and I was full-out crying as I plunged that medicine into my stomach. My hand was shaking so much I knew the needle was going to break off inside me.
The medicine BURNS. It what I imagine being bitten by a snake or spider would feel like - if snakes or spiders had just one fang. It felt like poison, which wasn't helping my Captain Heparin mental image. I choked, cried, held it for five and pulled that horrible needle out. That spot hurt for almost a week.
And I had to do it all again that night.
I knew I had to do the shots. On the off chance that somehow my body hadn't killed my baby I had to do the right thing. They found the problem, they gave me the solution, I couldn't not do it. Except that meant sticking needles into my stomach.
Trypanophobia - fear of needles
Suddenly, I had to hurry and do the shot as quickly as possible. It was seven am and I had already lost a lot of time. If there was any chance that I could keep my body from harming my baby, I had to do it. That's what moms do right?
Except I had no way of knowing it wasn't already dead. And I still had to stick a needle into my stomach. By myself, with no help. I was very dizzy as I walked to the dining room where I had dropped the bag with the medicine and the syringes the night before. I walked to the bathroom, pep-talking myself the whole way.
You can do this, you got this. You are going to do this. You can do this. You saw her do it, you can do it to yourself. You can do this. You can do this.
I took the syringe out of the packaging and studied it. I'd seen syringes on tv before, I'd seen how they flick the tube to get the bubbles out, how they push the plunger and the medicine squirts out of the needle but I'd never held one and I sure as hell had never given myself an injection. It was small. The needle was small - so small and thin that if you turned it a certain way in the light, you couldn't even see it. It was a short needle, only half an inch. Unfortunately, these things did nothing to comfort me and I started to lose focus again. I took my shirt off, swabbed my stomach with alcohol, swabbed the top of the heparin bottle and drew up the syringe just like they showed me. It took a couple of tries to get all the air bubbles out but I finally did it. So far so good. I swabbed my stomach again, knowing that I was stalling.
Okay, you can do this. Throw it in, like a dart, push the plunger for a count of five, hold for a count of five, pull it out. You got this. Easy. Just breathe. You can do this.
.........
Okay, just do it. You have the syringe, your belly is clean, just do it. Just throw it in, push for five, hold for five and you're done. You can do this.
.........
Okay okay okay. Come on, you can do this. Push for five, hold for five, done. Just do it. You can do this. You have to do this. Do it for your baby.
.........
Fuck, shit, shit, shit shit. I can't fucking do this. How the fuck am I supposed to stick a fucking needle into my fucking belly. Shit. Shit.
........sitting on the toilet, crying
I can't do this. This isn't going to work. It's already dead, what's the point. Seriously, God? Of all the things? Needles? Come on, please? I can't do this. Okay look, you gave this to me, you need to give me the strength to do this. Okay? Okay? Any time.
.........drying the tears
All right, that is enough. Either do this or don't! No more messing around. Stick that stupid needle in your stupid belly. It's a teeny tiny bitch needle. Are you going to let a bitch needle get the best of you? Shit!
........ shaking and crying on the toilet
Yes, a bitch needle is going to get the best of me. I cannot do this. What am I going to do? How the hell am I supposed to do this for 36 weeks?
I needed help. I needed support. But it was 8am on a Saturday. I only knew of one person who would be up at that hour.
Hi Dad. So um, guess what?
Replay all of the above, minus the cursing and interspersed with periodic 'Did you do it? Noooooooooo.'
Over an hour after I started, I finally was able to stick the needle in and discovered my next problem. I am 5'5", 122 pounds. I do yoga regularly and have virtually no belly fat as a result. Certainly not half an inch worth! Feeling the needle hit my muscle nearly made me vomit on the spot. However, I didn't know better and stuck it in the rest of the way. Into my muscle.
HOLY SHIT, never do that! I nearly fell over from the pain. My dad was on speaker and I was full-out crying as I plunged that medicine into my stomach. My hand was shaking so much I knew the needle was going to break off inside me.
The medicine BURNS. It what I imagine being bitten by a snake or spider would feel like - if snakes or spiders had just one fang. It felt like poison, which wasn't helping my Captain Heparin mental image. I choked, cried, held it for five and pulled that horrible needle out. That spot hurt for almost a week.
And I had to do it all again that night.
Hostile environment
You know what I can't stand? The whining! I'm on anti-depressants and I'm still unhappy. Boo-hoo, woe is me. For the cheap seats: anti-depressants fix a chemical imbalance, they don't fix your life. If you're homeless and unemployed, but get on anti-depressants, your life situation doesn't magically change. Pills do not magically give you the power to communicate, they don't infuse your cells with coping skills. You must learn these things. And guess what? If there's no chemical imbalance (which I never believed there was), anti-depressants won't do shit for you. Does he really think that life will magically fix itself with a pill? Then again, isn't that the American way? Don't do the work, just take a pill.
But anyway, why my body is so rude.
Dr. P's office closed at 4 on Friday so I was the only one in there. I was in a daze when they took me back, which turned out to be a bonus because I didn't even flinch when they drew my blood. Not even when she took the needle out too fast and the blood rushed out of my arm. I just put the gauze on there, bent my arm and went into the consult room and then Dr. P came in.
Thanks to his 10-point check, he found that I tested positive for a Protein C deficiency and anticardiolipin antibodies. These are clotting markers and are the smoking gun for the miscarriages. While I was so thankful that he found a reason for my losses, I started to fade out when he talked about what was next.
Clotting disorder....works fast...have to start now....proven solution.....heparin injections....until 36 weeks.....nurse will show you....prescription waiting at the pharmacy......will only fix clotting.....if there's something else, can't help.....congratulations, you're due April 15
I couldn't even focus but I wasn't panicking. I wasn't anything. I saw the nurse demonstrate on her stomach where the injections were to go, I saw her draw up the syringe, I saw her inject it into the simulation pad thing. I saw it, but I still hadn't made the connection that I was going to have to do it to myself. They asked me a couple of times if I was getting all this. I just nodded my head and half-smiled. When it was my turn to demonstrate I did it without flinching. On the simulator.
With my promise that I would call my OB, that was it. That jarred me back to my senses. I felt like he was breaking up with me. I even asked him if I could call him, but he thought I was serious and told me it would be best to call my OB from here on. He said to be sure to bring my baby in to visit once it's born. Wha? My baby? My baby? My baby? What are you even saying right now? I do not understand the words that are coming out of your mouth.
I walked out a little after 5 and made my way to the pharmacy in the building. It was all waiting for me and I faded again when she started counting out the syringes. There were so many and I still felt like they were for someone else, there was no way I was going to be able to stick those in myself, in my stomach. I was just here, picking this up for a friend.
I drove home in silence, not thinking, barely breathing. I walked in the door, dropped the bag on the dining room table and went straight to my bookshelf.
After the second miscarriage, I bought a couple of books but hadn't gotten past the first couple of pages of either of them. I found the book, scanned the table of contents and there, in Preventing Miscarriage: The Good News, Chapter 8 - Immunological Causes of Miscarriages: Is There a Mismatch Between You, Your Partner, and the Baby?, page 182 Thrombophilias (bolding mine) I found:
"Hereditary thrombophilias occur in women with strong family histories of high blood pressure, strokes, or heart attacks...The most important ones for our purposes are protein S, protein C...."
"Acquired thrombophilias, also called antiphospholipid antibodies, or APAs, are being actively reserached, and new types are still being added to the list. They include anticardiolipin (the most well known, though certainly not the most important)....."
"About 50 percent of women with recurrent pregnancy loss have antiphospholipid antibodies...The antiphospholipid antibodies can act in different ways. The most usual is to cut off the blood supply (by clotting) to the developing embryo or fetus and cause the heartbeat to disappear, usually resulting in a missed abortion (my first loss.) They may 'unglue' the cells of the growing embryo and cause very early pregnancy loss (second one), before the level of HCG has had time to rise very high before falling. They may also damage the implantation of the embryo, as it tries to attach to the uterus around days 21 to 24 of your cycle. This is a very important cause of unexplained infertility, as pregnancy tests are never positive in such cases."
A few pages later, in the 'Treatments for Immunologic Disorders' I found Heparin, right after low-dose aspirin:
"Most experts recognize blood clotting as a proven, treatable cause of recurrent pregnancy loss...They are stopped before labor, as you may not be able to have an epidural if you go into labor while taking either medication...Heparin does not cross the placenta and is safe in pregnancy. It must be started soon after ovulation, before you miss your period and are diagnosed as pregnant, to be maximally effective."
So not only did I have a hereditary issue, something else got turned on the first time I got pregnant that told my body that getting fat was not an option - size 2 forevaaaaa!!! No babies for you! (You have to laugh to keep from crying.)
I was encouraged by what I was reading. Well, as encouraged as you can be when you realize your body is a killing machine. I know bodies themselves don't have feelings and emotions, but I couldn't help imagining my immune system as a sinister and hostile army, attacking and killing my poor babies. To realize that it was getting better and better at destroying the embryos to the point that one day I would stop getting positive pregnancy tests - it was enough to send chills down my spine.
I tried to change my way of thinking. I tried to see my immune system as an innocent bystander just doing its job of keeping the place clean and no one gave it the memo that babies are welcome here. I tried to think of the Heparin as the twice-daily reminder not to kill the babies (May I have your attention please: Do not, I repeat, do not kill the bay-bees. Sincerely, Management) I even tried to give him a happy face and call him Captain Heparin - like in that movie Osmosis Jones. I think the hero was a tylenol, but that's what came to mind.
But then I read that last sentence and wondered if I was already too late and got depressed all over again. I didn't even know this was the issue, I couldn't have started the heparin at ovulation even if I wanted to! What if it was already coming unglued as I laid on the bed reading? I knew I was supposed to do my first shot that night but I was so worn out and dejected and in shock that I didn't. 'It's probably already dead anyway.'
With that, I turned out the light and went to bed.
But anyway, why my body is so rude.
Dr. P's office closed at 4 on Friday so I was the only one in there. I was in a daze when they took me back, which turned out to be a bonus because I didn't even flinch when they drew my blood. Not even when she took the needle out too fast and the blood rushed out of my arm. I just put the gauze on there, bent my arm and went into the consult room and then Dr. P came in.
Thanks to his 10-point check, he found that I tested positive for a Protein C deficiency and anticardiolipin antibodies. These are clotting markers and are the smoking gun for the miscarriages. While I was so thankful that he found a reason for my losses, I started to fade out when he talked about what was next.
Clotting disorder....works fast...have to start now....proven solution.....heparin injections....until 36 weeks.....nurse will show you....prescription waiting at the pharmacy......will only fix clotting.....if there's something else, can't help.....congratulations, you're due April 15
I couldn't even focus but I wasn't panicking. I wasn't anything. I saw the nurse demonstrate on her stomach where the injections were to go, I saw her draw up the syringe, I saw her inject it into the simulation pad thing. I saw it, but I still hadn't made the connection that I was going to have to do it to myself. They asked me a couple of times if I was getting all this. I just nodded my head and half-smiled. When it was my turn to demonstrate I did it without flinching. On the simulator.
With my promise that I would call my OB, that was it. That jarred me back to my senses. I felt like he was breaking up with me. I even asked him if I could call him, but he thought I was serious and told me it would be best to call my OB from here on. He said to be sure to bring my baby in to visit once it's born. Wha? My baby? My baby? My baby? What are you even saying right now? I do not understand the words that are coming out of your mouth.
I walked out a little after 5 and made my way to the pharmacy in the building. It was all waiting for me and I faded again when she started counting out the syringes. There were so many and I still felt like they were for someone else, there was no way I was going to be able to stick those in myself, in my stomach. I was just here, picking this up for a friend.
I drove home in silence, not thinking, barely breathing. I walked in the door, dropped the bag on the dining room table and went straight to my bookshelf.
After the second miscarriage, I bought a couple of books but hadn't gotten past the first couple of pages of either of them. I found the book, scanned the table of contents and there, in Preventing Miscarriage: The Good News, Chapter 8 - Immunological Causes of Miscarriages: Is There a Mismatch Between You, Your Partner, and the Baby?, page 182 Thrombophilias (bolding mine) I found:
"Hereditary thrombophilias occur in women with strong family histories of high blood pressure, strokes, or heart attacks...The most important ones for our purposes are protein S, protein C...."
"Acquired thrombophilias, also called antiphospholipid antibodies, or APAs, are being actively reserached, and new types are still being added to the list. They include anticardiolipin (the most well known, though certainly not the most important)....."
"About 50 percent of women with recurrent pregnancy loss have antiphospholipid antibodies...The antiphospholipid antibodies can act in different ways. The most usual is to cut off the blood supply (by clotting) to the developing embryo or fetus and cause the heartbeat to disappear, usually resulting in a missed abortion (my first loss.) They may 'unglue' the cells of the growing embryo and cause very early pregnancy loss (second one), before the level of HCG has had time to rise very high before falling. They may also damage the implantation of the embryo, as it tries to attach to the uterus around days 21 to 24 of your cycle. This is a very important cause of unexplained infertility, as pregnancy tests are never positive in such cases."
A few pages later, in the 'Treatments for Immunologic Disorders' I found Heparin, right after low-dose aspirin:
"Most experts recognize blood clotting as a proven, treatable cause of recurrent pregnancy loss...They are stopped before labor, as you may not be able to have an epidural if you go into labor while taking either medication...Heparin does not cross the placenta and is safe in pregnancy. It must be started soon after ovulation, before you miss your period and are diagnosed as pregnant, to be maximally effective."
So not only did I have a hereditary issue, something else got turned on the first time I got pregnant that told my body that getting fat was not an option - size 2 forevaaaaa!!! No babies for you! (You have to laugh to keep from crying.)
I was encouraged by what I was reading. Well, as encouraged as you can be when you realize your body is a killing machine. I know bodies themselves don't have feelings and emotions, but I couldn't help imagining my immune system as a sinister and hostile army, attacking and killing my poor babies. To realize that it was getting better and better at destroying the embryos to the point that one day I would stop getting positive pregnancy tests - it was enough to send chills down my spine.
I tried to change my way of thinking. I tried to see my immune system as an innocent bystander just doing its job of keeping the place clean and no one gave it the memo that babies are welcome here. I tried to think of the Heparin as the twice-daily reminder not to kill the babies (May I have your attention please: Do not, I repeat, do not kill the bay-bees. Sincerely, Management) I even tried to give him a happy face and call him Captain Heparin - like in that movie Osmosis Jones. I think the hero was a tylenol, but that's what came to mind.
But then I read that last sentence and wondered if I was already too late and got depressed all over again. I didn't even know this was the issue, I couldn't have started the heparin at ovulation even if I wanted to! What if it was already coming unglued as I laid on the bed reading? I knew I was supposed to do my first shot that night but I was so worn out and dejected and in shock that I didn't. 'It's probably already dead anyway.'
With that, I turned out the light and went to bed.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Finding out
I really hope this isn't the beginning of the silliness and the dramatics. I would very much prefer not to give birth in a taxi.
We had make-up sex in Napa - after I spilled wine on myself, after we'd fought by the side of the road, and after he poured wine on his head to make up for it. It wasn't soft and romantic, there was more than a small sense of desperation about the whole thing. When we finished I burst into tears from the intensity. We'd just been fighting about whether or not we should even be together and then go on to have ridiculously amazing, insanely intense sex. I didn't know what to make of it and when I asked him what the heck that just meant, he said he just wanted nothing more than to be with me in that moment. Even though we went on to have sex several more times for the rest of our vacation, I'm near positive it was that time that I conceived.
Two days later, we arrived back in San Francisco and as we pulled up to the Golden Gate bridge to take pictures, my phone rang and it was Dr. Peng's office. He'd gotten my test results back and he wanted me to come in to talk about them. Since it was his nurse that called, she didn't have much more information than that. "You understand that telling me I have to come in to hear my results is very concerning right? Why can't you just tell me over the phone?" Dr. Peng's orders, she said. I hung up with her and shared a concerned moment with R since we were friends again. He said that we couldn't do anything about it right then, we'll deal with it when we get home. We had a good day, but over drinks that night I was like, "no seriously, why do you think he won't tell me over the phone? What if I can't have kids at all?" He assured me that we'll deal with it when we got home.
Roughly two weeks later - I gave it no thought as I was certain my fertile window had closed - I felt that tell-tale cramp. All three times I've been pregnant I've felt the implantation cramp. There was no mistaking it but I didn't want to entertain the thought. That was a Monday. Wednesday, my period was supposed to come and didn't. I began to think it was all in my head and this is it, I'm going into menopause and I'm never having a period again. That's what Dr. Peng wanted to tell me.
Friday came and still no period. At lunch I called my cousin as I was walking out of the building.
"Dude, my period hasn't come yet."
"Okay, have you taken a test?"
"No."
"And why not? (in her total mom voice.)"
"Because I'm not pregnant. I'm probably going into menopause. I probably have PCOS and it's finally showing the symptoms."
"Stop being dumb, you don't even know if that's a symptom. Go get a test."
"I'm walking to the Walgreens and I'll buy a test but I'm not doing it."
"Oh that makes sense."
"R is going to kill me. When we were on vacation, we agreed that we were not in a place to have kids. But you know what? Say whatever you want, if you're having unprotected sex, you're trying to get pregnant."
"Pretty much."
"Who cares - I can't take a test."
"Yes you can."
"No I can't. What if it's positive? Then if I start bleeding, then I'm having a miscarriage. I can't have another miscarriage, I just can't. But if I don't take a test and I start bleeding, then I'm just having a period."
"I know it's hard but you can do it."
"All right I'm at Walgreens and I'm getting a test but I'm not taking it."
"Whatever. Call me when it's done."
I bought a test and a bottle of water and walked back, chugging it like in Juno. I went straight for the bathroom, unceremoniously opened it up and peed on the stick. No apprehension, no excitement, nothing. I peed on a stick the day I got married to reassure myself and it was positive, only to later learn that it had been dead for a month. Ever since then, I have been cured of the desire to pee on sticks - it means nothing to me. Dead babies put out hormones too. I put in on the toilet-paper holder behind my water bottle and I refused to look. I was more afraid of it being positive and I started to shake at the thought of having another miscarriage. I contemplated just throwing it away without even looking at it, but my cousin texted me wanting to know if I'd done it already. I texted her back that I had but I was refusing to look. Two seconds later my phone rings. "Look at the test already."
Positive. Clear as day. Great - wonder when the bleeding is going to start. By that time someone had come in and my cousin was still on the line but I certainly wasn't going to blab this bit of info at my new. fucking. job. I'd only been here a week for fux sake. So I told my cousin in Spanish that it was positive. I walked into the breakroom mumbling to her in Spanish because I didn't want anyone knowing what I was saying.
"This is so great. Now I'm going to lose it - I don't want to go through this again. I lost the last one before six weeks - I think I'm like four weeks now, I don't even know. What's the point of calling the doctor? What is he going to do? There's nothing he's going to be able to do. I can't believe this. I'm just going to lose it. I don't even have the vacation time built up for this."
But she made me call Dr. Peng and I spoke to his other nurse, again in Spanish.
"Hey, so, I know I'm supposed to come in to talk about my test results but I just took a test and it's positive. Is there something I should be doing between now and the time I get around to coming in to see you? Yeah I'll hold."
After a short time on hold she comes back on the line and in as many words, says "Get Your Ass Here Now. Do Not Pass Go, Do Not Collect $200, Come to This Office NOW."
I hem and haw, asking can I just come in Monday morning as it was Friday afternoon and I just started this job, to which she responded, "Did You Not Hear Me, Come Here Now. Quit Your Job if You Have To."
What the whaaaa?
So, at 2pm I walk into my boss' office, whom I've known for only a week and give her the Reader's Digest version of why I have to leave that second.
"So, I'm 34 years old and I've been pregnant three times and I've lost all three (no sense in differentiating between the first and the second two.) Yeah yeah it was the worst possible thing of my life. So, funny story, I'm actually pregnant again - just found out five minutes ago. I know this looks bad but I'd really prefer not to have a fourth miscarriage if at all possible, I need to leave right now to go to my doctor. Please." Aaaaaawk-ward.
I fought traffic to make it to my doctor's office a little before 4, where he dropped the bomb.
My body is a killing machine and if we didn't stop it, it would kill again.
We had make-up sex in Napa - after I spilled wine on myself, after we'd fought by the side of the road, and after he poured wine on his head to make up for it. It wasn't soft and romantic, there was more than a small sense of desperation about the whole thing. When we finished I burst into tears from the intensity. We'd just been fighting about whether or not we should even be together and then go on to have ridiculously amazing, insanely intense sex. I didn't know what to make of it and when I asked him what the heck that just meant, he said he just wanted nothing more than to be with me in that moment. Even though we went on to have sex several more times for the rest of our vacation, I'm near positive it was that time that I conceived.
Two days later, we arrived back in San Francisco and as we pulled up to the Golden Gate bridge to take pictures, my phone rang and it was Dr. Peng's office. He'd gotten my test results back and he wanted me to come in to talk about them. Since it was his nurse that called, she didn't have much more information than that. "You understand that telling me I have to come in to hear my results is very concerning right? Why can't you just tell me over the phone?" Dr. Peng's orders, she said. I hung up with her and shared a concerned moment with R since we were friends again. He said that we couldn't do anything about it right then, we'll deal with it when we get home. We had a good day, but over drinks that night I was like, "no seriously, why do you think he won't tell me over the phone? What if I can't have kids at all?" He assured me that we'll deal with it when we got home.
Roughly two weeks later - I gave it no thought as I was certain my fertile window had closed - I felt that tell-tale cramp. All three times I've been pregnant I've felt the implantation cramp. There was no mistaking it but I didn't want to entertain the thought. That was a Monday. Wednesday, my period was supposed to come and didn't. I began to think it was all in my head and this is it, I'm going into menopause and I'm never having a period again. That's what Dr. Peng wanted to tell me.
Friday came and still no period. At lunch I called my cousin as I was walking out of the building.
"Dude, my period hasn't come yet."
"Okay, have you taken a test?"
"No."
"And why not? (in her total mom voice.)"
"Because I'm not pregnant. I'm probably going into menopause. I probably have PCOS and it's finally showing the symptoms."
"Stop being dumb, you don't even know if that's a symptom. Go get a test."
"I'm walking to the Walgreens and I'll buy a test but I'm not doing it."
"Oh that makes sense."
"R is going to kill me. When we were on vacation, we agreed that we were not in a place to have kids. But you know what? Say whatever you want, if you're having unprotected sex, you're trying to get pregnant."
"Pretty much."
"Who cares - I can't take a test."
"Yes you can."
"No I can't. What if it's positive? Then if I start bleeding, then I'm having a miscarriage. I can't have another miscarriage, I just can't. But if I don't take a test and I start bleeding, then I'm just having a period."
"I know it's hard but you can do it."
"All right I'm at Walgreens and I'm getting a test but I'm not taking it."
"Whatever. Call me when it's done."
I bought a test and a bottle of water and walked back, chugging it like in Juno. I went straight for the bathroom, unceremoniously opened it up and peed on the stick. No apprehension, no excitement, nothing. I peed on a stick the day I got married to reassure myself and it was positive, only to later learn that it had been dead for a month. Ever since then, I have been cured of the desire to pee on sticks - it means nothing to me. Dead babies put out hormones too. I put in on the toilet-paper holder behind my water bottle and I refused to look. I was more afraid of it being positive and I started to shake at the thought of having another miscarriage. I contemplated just throwing it away without even looking at it, but my cousin texted me wanting to know if I'd done it already. I texted her back that I had but I was refusing to look. Two seconds later my phone rings. "Look at the test already."
Positive. Clear as day. Great - wonder when the bleeding is going to start. By that time someone had come in and my cousin was still on the line but I certainly wasn't going to blab this bit of info at my new. fucking. job. I'd only been here a week for fux sake. So I told my cousin in Spanish that it was positive. I walked into the breakroom mumbling to her in Spanish because I didn't want anyone knowing what I was saying.
"This is so great. Now I'm going to lose it - I don't want to go through this again. I lost the last one before six weeks - I think I'm like four weeks now, I don't even know. What's the point of calling the doctor? What is he going to do? There's nothing he's going to be able to do. I can't believe this. I'm just going to lose it. I don't even have the vacation time built up for this."
But she made me call Dr. Peng and I spoke to his other nurse, again in Spanish.
"Hey, so, I know I'm supposed to come in to talk about my test results but I just took a test and it's positive. Is there something I should be doing between now and the time I get around to coming in to see you? Yeah I'll hold."
After a short time on hold she comes back on the line and in as many words, says "Get Your Ass Here Now. Do Not Pass Go, Do Not Collect $200, Come to This Office NOW."
I hem and haw, asking can I just come in Monday morning as it was Friday afternoon and I just started this job, to which she responded, "Did You Not Hear Me, Come Here Now. Quit Your Job if You Have To."
What the whaaaa?
So, at 2pm I walk into my boss' office, whom I've known for only a week and give her the Reader's Digest version of why I have to leave that second.
"So, I'm 34 years old and I've been pregnant three times and I've lost all three (no sense in differentiating between the first and the second two.) Yeah yeah it was the worst possible thing of my life. So, funny story, I'm actually pregnant again - just found out five minutes ago. I know this looks bad but I'd really prefer not to have a fourth miscarriage if at all possible, I need to leave right now to go to my doctor. Please." Aaaaaawk-ward.
I fought traffic to make it to my doctor's office a little before 4, where he dropped the bomb.
My body is a killing machine and if we didn't stop it, it would kill again.
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