#3

I've come to accept that I don't live in a world where positive pregnancy tests mean you're going to have a baby. At least it was a new ending this time. Instead of "there's no heartbeat" we got "I can't find anything". A more sensitive ultrasound showed "something" in my fallopian tube. A week of slowly increasing betas, and a New Year's morning where I thought I was passing a kidney stone led to another ultrasound showing the "something" in my tube had grown to fill it. It had bled, but there was no active bleeding, so I took the option to take chemotherapy drugs to stop the growth of the "something", leaving surgery for backup.

My numbers decreased well over the next two weeks, but another Friday night and Saturday morning of pain sent me to the ER with internal bleeding. The "something" had increased in size due to the bleeding, and I was going to rupture. They did emergency surgery to remove the damaged tube and ovary. I'm a couple months out from surgery, and doing fine.

This one was the easiest, ever since I started crying in the exam room before the very first ultrasound. I didn't *know* something was wrong, but my body obviously knew it. Maybe it helps that the blastocyst never resolved itself into anything, and I didn't have to (get to) see that little shape on the screen, with a head and arms and legs that was supposed to be my baby. Maybe I was so caught up in the physical trauma that the emotional stuff took a backseat. Maybe I'm becoming desensitized to pregnancy loss.

My recurrent pregnancy loss panel didn't show anything aside from my progesterone problems, which we've already got under control. From everything I've read, having only one tube or ovary doesn't decrease your chances much, as the remaining parts just take over. My right ovary was less responsive to medication anyway, so taking it out of the rotation might actually be a good thing.

Since my tubes weren't blocked and ectopics aren't really caused by anything, it's still the "bad luck" diagnosis. I saw a reproductive endocrinologist at the University hospital for a second opinion, and that was a comfort. She confirmed we were on the right track, put me on some extra medication to be on the safe side, and I go back in six months if we're not pregnant or if we have another loss.

The due date for my second pregnancy passed without fanfare last month. All the women I know who got pregnant about the same time I did have now had their babies, so it's been pretty painful getting all that news. We're trying again, because it hurts more to not try than to try. In the meantime, we're trying not to live our lives on hold.

#2

I've been mostly silent for the reason you've been thinking, but not anymore. In some ways, it was better and in others it was worse. I was prepared this time. "No heartbeat" is less shocking the second time around. We did get to see it once, though. The first ultrasound was at seven weeks instead of nine, and I got to carry around those pictures of a living baby for four weeks afterwards, even though the baby passed not long after they were taken. I had surgery again, though they only used twilight sleep instead of general anesthesia, so recovery was much quicker.

We told people this time around...the ones I would want support from if we had another loss. I was glad to get that chance to share some happiness with the people we love, even if we had to take it away again. It was most difficult to take the joy away from my mom...she was so looking forward to two grandchildren waiting for her at the end of her bone marrow transplant, and now there will be just the one again.

The doctor promised some extra testing for recurrent miscarriages, so maybe I'll have some answers. It's still hard to know whether to hope for something wrong that can be fixed, or that it was just "bad luck" and not likely to happen again. It's at least less likely that it will take us another year and a half to get pregnant again.

I've gotten through it before so I know I can do it again. There's just no reason I should have to.

Mother's Day

Yesterday was a lot harder than I thought it was going to be. The first thought that popped into my head was "My baby would be nine months old, and this should be my first Mother's Day." I got most of my crying out early, but my cousin Cassie got me going again completely inadvertently when she was giving me her kids' pictures, "You know, not everyone gets these. I think of you more like a sister, even though we don't talk too often. I trust you with my kids." It was just a really, really nice thing for her to say.

 Mom really liked what I did for her. Grandma had given out some of Great-Grandma Ketelsen's crochet work, and Mom had claimed a doily that said "Mother" on it, but was in rough shape. So I mended, cleaned, and framed it, and it turned out very pretty. I wish I would have had the chance to try to sun-bleach it and maybe some of the other stains might have lifted more, but she was alright with it the way it was.

I played quite a bit of catch with Hayden. He's started t-ball, and his first game is already this week. We're already coming back for his preschool graduation on Thursday. I asked him if he was practicing any songs for the ceremony, and he had no idea, but he thought awfully hard about it. I ordered a cookie cake, like I did seven (!) years ago for Calvin.

I'm ready to start making a push for more testing, to take the next step. We were all hoping for an easy fix, and that's not happening.

Answers

My blood test last week actually gave me some answers. Everything was normal except my progesterone was low. It is supposed to be around 15 during that point in the cycle, but mine was at 5. I did have a couple symptoms of low progesterone, like a short luteal phase (time between ovulation and menstruation), so this is not a complete surprise. Low progesterone might also have been a contributing factor to my miscarriage, too. We'll never know for sure, and I'm sad that it was something that might have been prevented if we'd known, but I'm glad it's something that can be monitored and fixed.

So now it's experimentation time, to see what combination of treatments will get my progesterone levels where they need to be to have a healthy pregnancy. My doctor has started me off on Clomid, which is a drug to help strengthen ovulation. The hope is that a more mature corpus luteum, which forms after the release of the egg, will produce higher levels of progesterone for longer, in effect, kickstarting my body's own progesterone production. If it works, my next blood draw will show a more normal level of the hormone. If it doesn't, more tweaking.

I'm not looking forward to having my blood drawn every month, but women have done much worse in order to have babies. One woman on my support forum just got a positive, and is now facing 36 weeks of bedrest (two third-trimester losses, your heart breaks just thinking about it). It's worth it.

Remembering What Wasn't

My expected due date was today. There should either be a baby in my arms or I should be huge and ready to go *any time now*. But I'm spending it barren. I knew it wouldn't take much to set me off today, but there's a gal in Collections next door finding out the sex of her baby next Friday, and a co-worker sent off an email setting up a contest to guess what it will be. I had to close my door and try to bawl silently. It's so hard to be quiet when all you want to do is wail.

It helps to have Joe's 30th birthday tomorrow to distract me. It's kind of a week-long celebration: we spent Sunday afternoon at his parents, with a cookout and ice cream cake. We'll do birthday sushi tomorrow (how fantastic is it that he adopted birthday sushi, too? Now I get birthday sushi TWICE a year!), and we'll get together with my parents sometime this weekend and dinner with Dave and Abby Saturday night. I'm pretty excited to give Joe his present, too. He wanted something "lasting" so instead of car parts, I picked something else out. I was worried it wouldn't get here in time, but it arrived last week, so the back up present I bought for him will be his Christmas present instead.

I called my OB/GYN, and since I'm 34 and it's been six months of actively trying to conceive, they're going to start the ball rolling with some of the easier tests to see if there's anything hindering our efforts. It doesn't even make sense, since we got pregnant so quickly before. But I don't want to waste any time if there's something else we could be doing, aside from obsessing over when I ovulate and taking my temperature all the time. I'll start with a blood test on the 30th, to test hormone levels. I don't know whether to hope for all clear, or hope something's wrong so they can treat it. What I REALLY hope, is that all it takes is complaining about it for something to happen and the blood test will say I'm pregnant instead.

Grace to Accept the Things I Cannot Change

Eight years ago April, my mom asked me to come along with her to a doctor's appointment for some test results. Dad couldn't go, and the doctor recommended she have someone with her. I knew that was bad, but when she gave us the news that a routine CBC had detected leukemia, the same leukemia my grandpa had just passed away from, I thought I knew how bad it could get. I didn't know.

Saturday I was two days late, so I took a pregnancy test and it was negative. I was devastated. My tendancy to see the worst-case scenario surfaced, and I just poured out my grief: losing my baby, the possibility of losing my mom, the possiblity that I might never get to have kids, the possiblity that even if I do, they might never get to have the grandmother that Hayden has. My heart just HURTS.

Joe tried to comfort me, but he didn't understand. This was a revelation to me. Joe has road rage: he'll get (what I see as) irrationally upset about what other drivers do. If he has a bad commute home, he'll be in a funk for at least an hour after he gets home. This is incomprehensible to me: I just don't understand how he lets the behavior of other drivers affect him so much. I think this was a chance to let us be in the others' shoes. I let all these things I can't control affect me so terribly, and he can't see why I let myself get so upset over what might happen.

Not to say my grief is unwarranted, or that I don't need to work my way through it, but I understand a little better now. I need to find a better balance between honoring my grief and letting it overwhelm me.

What Makes a Mother

I thought of you and closed my eyes.
And prayed to God today.
I asked what makes a mother and
I know I heard him say,

A mother has a baby.
This we know is true.
But God, can you be a mother
when your baby's not with you?

Yes, you can, He replied
with confidence in His voice.
I give many women babies.
When they leave is not their choice.

Some I send for a lifetime
and others for a day.
And some I send to feel your womb
but there's no need to stay.

I just don't understand this. God,
I want my baby here.
He took a breath and cleared His throat
and then I saw a tear.

I wish that I could show you
what your child is doing today.
If you could see your child smile
with other children and say,

"We go to earth to learn our lessons
of life and love and fear.
My Mommy loved me, Oh so much,
I got to come straight here.

I feel so lucky to have a Mom
who had so much love for me,
I learned my lesson very quickly.
My Mommy set me free.

I miss my Mommy, Oh so much,
but I visit her each day.
When she goes to sleep,
on her pillow's where I lay.

I stroke her hair and kiss her cheek
and whisper in her ear,
'Mommy don't be sad today,
I'm your baby and I'm here.'"

So you see, my dear sweet one,
your children are okay.
Your babies are here in MY home
and this is where they'll stay.

They'll wait for you with ME
until your lesson is through.
And on the day that you come home,
they'll be at the gates for you.

So now you see what makes a Mother—
It's the feeling in your heart.
It's the love you had so much of,
right from the very start.

Though some on earth may not realize you are a Mother,
until their time is done.
They'll be up here with ME one day,
and know you're the best one.


~Unknown


Today is International Bereaved Mother's Day, for Mothers who hold their children in their hearts, rather than in their arms.

The End of the Innocence

I'm in what those of us who are obsessed with conceiving call the "two week wait". It's that time between ovulation and expected menstruation, when there's nothing you can do but think about peeing on a stick to look for hormones that may or may not be there, or may or may not be present in enough quantites for a home pregnancy test to detect. I have yet to go that far; my tight-waddishness precludes me from buying pregnancy tests in bulk, like some of the other women on the support forum I frequent for women who are trying to conceive after a miscarriage. I bought two pregnancy tests in November, I think because it was cheaper, and used one that gave us two lines. I didn't think I would need the other one for a long time.

The other test is still in the medicine drawer. I'm hoping to use it within the next two weeks, if evidence to the contrary doesn't get here first. Using this one won't be the same as last time. I'm still planning on getting out the egg timer, waiting for the results together and looking for that second line at the same time, but our reactions won't be the same. Sure, we'll be estatic and hopeful and scared, but we'll also be sad and cautious and grieving. I won't be able to relax until I reach that 10-week mark, and even then there will be that niggling thought at the back of my head, "What if I lose this baby, too?". It happened once.

I'm trying to remember how I felt the first time and if what I'm feeling now is similar or if it's just my imagination. All I really remember is being exhausted, counting down the time to the next nap, but that came later. I feel like I'm replaying a level: I've done this part before so it's all familiar, but my princess was in another castle. It's an exercise in futility, but with nothing else to do but wait, it's what I do. I'll be monitoring my symptoms more closely, too. Without morning sickness, it's a lot less obvious so the need for naps will be very reassuring.

So I guess I'm mourning the loss of the innocence of my first pregnancy. There will be a cloud over this one, and it's not fair to me, to Joe, or to the new baby, but I suppose it's the first lesson of life and the most difficult to learn. I'm not going to get to experience the unmitigated joy of the firsts, but I'm also not going to take for granted all the uncomfortable difficult parts, either. You will catch me complaining, because complaining is half the fun of being uncomfortable, but I will cherish every minute of it.

Societal Norms

I am a firm believer that everyone grieves in their own way and there is no right or wrong way to do it. But the one thing that I can't get over is how we treat early pregnancy and miscarriage. It's the "norm" not to announce your pregnancy until after the first trimester. Having done both, it was not any more difficult to tell people about the miscarriage when they had known about the pregnancy than those who hadn't known. I can't say that I went out of my way to tell people, but I didn't really keep it a secret, either. By this time, though, it's been long enough that is kind of awkward to bring it up. I fully intended to tell my cousins at our girls' night last month, but I just couldn't find an appropriate time to bring it up. "Hey, guess what?" Yeah, not quite.

And it was hard at first, so I fully understand why people don't tell. There's not exactly a funeral to arrange to prompt us. But I was surprised by the number of women who came out of the woodwork to tell me that they had had a miscarriage too, and offer their comfort. My nurse at the hospital told me her first was a miscarriage and went on to have two healthy children. When I got back to work, a co-worker who asked if I was feeling better after a week out knew exactly what the stricken look that was my response was all about. She later apologized and almost teared up mentioned she had been through it twenty years before.

I had no idea miscarriages were so common. I don't know whether I would have been more prepared if I had known. Most likely not. But now I feel an urge to educate, *because* no one talks about it.

I've been frequenting an online support group for women who have miscarried, and there are so many threads asking for advice on how to deal with insensitive people. Sometimes, they are truly insensitive people, but most of the time, it's people who mean well, but they just don't have the framework to work in. You know what to say to people who have lost the elderly, or someone who was sick, but the loss of the unborn? People are more comfortable talking about abortion.

I lost my baby at two months. It doesn't seem long, but it was enough time to start dreaming, to start hoping, to start wondering about the person my child was going to be. The loss of the potential hit me harder than anything. I keep thinking about where I would be about now, what milestones I'm missing...August 15th (my due date) will be a very hard day for me. It doesn't matter if I will be pregnant again or not. It's THIS baby I will be missing.

I don't have a point to end this with. I can't say that there's something wrong with the societal norm, but I can't say that it's helped me, either.

180 Degree Turn

Obviously, I'm back.

My life has changed so much since I last posted; I met and married the love of my life and I conceived and lost a child. Most of my readers will know about the first, but not about the second, but that is what I need to talk about today.

I was at 9 weeks, 5 days when Joe and I went to the OB/GYN for the first prenatal appointment on January 16th. It had been going well so far: I had been exhausted, needing daily naps but no morning sickness. Neither Mom nor Emily had had morning sickness, so I was hoping I would have a similar experience. The exam went well, too - I had all my questions ready, and I received good answers from the doctor, which I was happy to hear because she was supportive of the type of pregnancy and birth experience I had wanted. "Let's go do an ultrasound," she said.

It was just like the first hill of a roller coaster. Long anticipation, and the highest high seeing that little shape on the screen, and the fastest drop, leaving my stomach behind when she said, "I'm sorry, sweetie, but there's no heartbeat."

No heartbeat.

I had been waiting to tell people - we had made plans with both our parents that weekend, so we could share the good news in person. None of that was happening now. It was the end of the day, most everyone had left the office, so I didn't have to see any other patients on the way out. Small blessing.

The doctor wanted to confirm with a more sensitive ultrasound, but all the techs had gone home, so I made an appointment for the next afternoon. Joe went to work in the morning, and I spent the couple hours before my appointment at the chapel, alone but not alone. I met Joe at the imaging clinic, where they confirmed my diagnosis: a missed miscarriage. I could either wait for a natural miscarriage, or I could elect a D&C. It was a difficult decision, but I opted for surgery. I couldn't start healing emotionally while I was still carrying my deceased child.

We went to the hospital the day after that, it was a relatively simple out-patient procedure. I had very little pain or bleeding and I was back at work by Monday.

Emotionally, I'm doing all right. I have good days and I have bad days. Baby bumps set me off, and Grandma accidentally made me cry at Easter, relating the story of a funeral for a premature baby from a neighboring congregation. I've had a difficult time telling people - they mean well, but the platitudes don't help. "It was God's will." "There was probably something wrong with the baby." "You can try again." That all may be true, but it doesn't lessen the loss at all. I try my hardest not to listen to the words, but to accept the comfort that is meant by them. No stranger to the grief process, I take each step as it comes, making my way to a new normal.

Joe has been wonderful. I couldn't have asked for a better partner, for a more supportive husband, for a stronger man. He knows he doesn't feel the loss like I do, but he still understands. It's terrible that we had to suffer something so horrible so early in our marriage, but we're stronger for it.

We are trying again. The doctor said it was a good sign we conceived so quickly the last time, and we're hopeful.