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.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
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.
Awake
Again, I'm wide awake. I'm going to pay for this in the morning. I didn't talk to him all day and when he finally called he had nothing to say. Again. I'm not getting through to him and I'm starting to lose hope that I ever will. He's fixated on the notion that he's not the only one with problems. Yet when I acknowledge that, he does nothing - just like my dad. All he wants to hear is you admitting you're wrong. Somehow in his mind his actions are then justified and there's no reason to change. And it was more of the same in our conversation last night.
He was fixated on the fact that I grabbed his face, to try and make him look at me. I should not have done that. I should not have given in to my desperation. When I demanded that he turn around and look and me, I should have walked away when he didn't. But I didn't. I was wrong and I was out of line. I don't justify my actions, I only say that nothing infuriates me more than when he acts like a child. If we're talking and he puts his back to me in an effort to end the conversation because he's done, I lose it. I don't deal with the manipulation and the control.
I'm out of patience. I'm pregnant and I shouldn't have to deal with this in addition to everything else. I think about leaving him. I think about a life without him. It wouldn't be better, I don't kid myself. It would suck and it would hurt and I would be lonely and I never wanted to raise my child alone. But I wouldn't have to fight. I wouldn't have to feel like I'm being shut out at every turn. I wouldn't have to feel like everything else is more important than I am.
He was fixated on the fact that I grabbed his face, to try and make him look at me. I should not have done that. I should not have given in to my desperation. When I demanded that he turn around and look and me, I should have walked away when he didn't. But I didn't. I was wrong and I was out of line. I don't justify my actions, I only say that nothing infuriates me more than when he acts like a child. If we're talking and he puts his back to me in an effort to end the conversation because he's done, I lose it. I don't deal with the manipulation and the control.
I'm out of patience. I'm pregnant and I shouldn't have to deal with this in addition to everything else. I think about leaving him. I think about a life without him. It wouldn't be better, I don't kid myself. It would suck and it would hurt and I would be lonely and I never wanted to raise my child alone. But I wouldn't have to fight. I wouldn't have to feel like I'm being shut out at every turn. I wouldn't have to feel like everything else is more important than I am.
Monday, September 27, 2010
I'm pregnant
God, it feels so good to say that. I've been holding back for 11 weeks. People have known but I haven't been able to write it and for some reason it hasn't been the same. I wanted to write about it the second I got the positive test but R told me not to. He said he wanted to wait until I was out of the first trimester. As if that would make a difference. I was so angry - what if I didn't make it that far? What if I lost it again and no one ever knew it existed? As if the first trimester is magic and nothing bad happens after that. Tell that to a full-term stillbirth mother.
He accused me of wanting attention. I knew then that he had no clue. He didn't truly understand the need for complete strangers to know that I was again holding life, that the more people that knew, the more real this baby would be. That was so hurtful, for him to claim that all I wanted was attention.
But here I am, 11 weeks and 3 days. Out of my past three pregnancies, today marks the farthest I've ever gotten. Well, actually tomorrow because I was 11 weeks 3 days that day at the clinic. That seems so long ago and like it was yesterday all at once. I suppose it will always feel that way.
I have had so many emotions swirling around for the past 11 weeks and I've felt strangled, like I was in a padded room. I was looking for substitute outlets but there has always only been one. I have to write, like I have to wear clothes when I go outside. Not vital to my survival, but quite necessary.
I have officially entered uncharted territory - I've never been this pregnant and I never thought it would be like this. I thought once we figured out what was wrong with me, we would be over the moon ecstatic. I thought he would be so very happy and treat me more softly, differently. But it's as though he is refusing to believe it's real. How many times have I told him that you can't shield yourself from the pain? No matter how numb you think you are, it always hurts. Always.
But I want to tell my story. Our story - mine and my gummi's. That's what it looked like - a little wiggling gummi bear. My gummi bear.
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