One Year

I never know what day to count as my “angelversary”*. Do I use the date that she died or the date of the evacuation? I think for me, the most traumatic day was the day she died. So I guess I’m a few days late for this entry, but whatever.

Up until December 26th, I had been stuck in the past. I kept thinking “This time last year, I was…” Happy. Pregnant. Planning a nursery. Choosing a name for my baby girl. All those things that a happy pregnant woman does. I know it was masochistic to keep revisiting, but I couldn’t help it.

On the 26th, the anniversary of our DX, DH and I sat around in the morning, remembering what happened that day and what we remembered. It was sad, loving, and powerful. And that was it. I didn’t dwell, didn’t take an anxiety pill, and spent the rest of the day normal.

I can’t believe it.

New Year’s found me a little sad, but we ended up with a special toast to 2013: we flushed the toilet. I seriously pooped in the toilet and flushed it at midnight.

Yes, we have champagne and two cats helping us flush. I felt it was appropriate, seeing that 2013 was the shittiest of years. You flush turds, so that’s what I did.

January 2nd was the day her heartbeat stopped, but it was also the day that DH went back to work (from home) after months of being on disability. I didn’t really have time to dwell Thursday. Friday, I went out with my MIL and did a little shopping, so again, I didn’t have much time to reflect. I do find it a little odd that of all the tv shows I could be watching, I find myself back on Kitchen Nightmares, my go-to baby-free entertainment after the procedure.

So here I am. I don’t remember too much from last year, but I do know that I never thought I’d be this… healthy. This strong.

But you know what. I hate being strong.

This is what I was left with last year. Tiny footprints. It took the nurse a long time because of the clubbed feet, and this is probably the best prints out of the batch that we have.

I struggled with whether or not to post this picture, because this is so private to me. This is all I will ever have of a child, of my daughter. It still hurts to look at. I don’t think it will ever NOT hurt.

I can’t share on Facebook. Too many people. Too many stupid comments. I don’t want to be reminded with every “like” or comment. It was hard enough when I (DH) made the FB announcement that we lost her.

The footprints remind me that I really, truly was pregnant. That I just didn’t make it up.

* I hate the word “angelversary”, but so many people use it that it just happens. I don’t like referring to my daughter as an angel, either.

P.S. There is a theatre that is spotlighting women’s work, specifically on motherhood, and I was thinking of submitting something. A poem? A monologue? A dialogue between my ego and Id? I don’t know. I’m thinking of sending the producer and asking her what she thinks, but I don’t want to commit to anything that I won’t be able to handle.

Lonely

I can’t help shake the isolation I feel. I’ve always felt a little odd, a little like I don’t belong,  but now that feeling is overpowering me.

My friends all either have kids or have schedules that don’t permit much socializing. With DH on disability,  I don’t a disposable income.  DH is here all the time,  but he’s an invalid who spends all of his free time messing with technology.  I feel more alone now than I did when I was single.

He’s also getting fed up with my depression.  I don’t think he understands the depth and complexity of what I’ve gone through. He had one day where he felt like like he hated his body,  but he can’t imagine 4.5 years of that.  He can’t imagine the failure that I feel.  The guilt that I feel.  The self loathing. The answer that I feel towards others for all sorts of reasons. The inability to express myself. The embarrassment I have poverty my grief. The hated I have of Thanksgiving,  and Christmas, and New Years.

The counselor says that I need to work on forgiveness, but I don’t know if that’s the real problem. It’s like I have my claws in stuck in this idea of what I wanted and I can’t let go. It’s a family. That’s all I really ever wanted. DH, me, and a baby (or two). A chance at something that I lost as a child, something that I still miss today.

I am angry with how my life has turned out. And the last thing I need is for people to start sending me motivational inspirations like “It’s never too late to to become the person you want to be” or “If you don’t like something about you life, change it.” Or when people who are grieving a boyfriend of three weeks start pinning stuff from my child loss board on Pinterest. I don’t want to hear that other people are having a hard time, or that other people have grief, as well.

In Texas, there is lots of talk over the abortion requirements/ban. I can’t seem to help but get involved. One friend posted a link and it generated a few comments (around 12, perhaps, two of which were mine where I talked about 20 weeks isn’t enough time to make a TFMR decision. I specifically noted that there are many anomalies that can’t be found until AFTER 20 weeks.

This this woman comes along to post:

I honestly didn’t read all of these comments because there were a lot, but in response to why 20 weeks, 15-20 weeks is when all testing is done to make sure the baby is normal and without defects, so they can make an informed choice about whether they want to continue the pregnancy or not. I can say that as a pregnant woman at 17 weeks, it’s pretty far along and 20 weeks is literally half way through the pregnancy. I don’t think that limit is unreasonable.

I *wanted* to tell her not to get too comfortable with a healthy baby yet, because 17 weeks is NOTHING. Look at her, all fat and sassy from her pregnancy expertise, thinking that trisomy is the only defect that can happen.

I *wanted* to say “Maybe you should have read the comments, because posting this make you look ignorant, cruel, and too uninformed. I weep for your future child because you are oblivious and proud of your stupidity. Keep your fingers crossed that you don’t get a poor-prenatal diagnosis at 19 or 20 weeks, because Texas won’t give a shit about you or your family. I hope every ultrasound you have causes you to clench up in fear. I hope every long office wait you have makes you think the worst news. I hope you have to worry about the risk/reward for continuing to carry a severely sick fetus to term and how you are going to afford that without any help. Good luck!”

But instead, I just said:

(Name redacted), there are lot of other issues that make the 20 ban difficult for terminating for medical reasons, Most women get the genetic ultrasound *at* 20 weeks. While you can find out some things early on through blood tests (like trisomies like down syndrome),there is SO MUCH more out there that can go wrong. It takes a lot of time for more in-depth testing – most parents want to MAKE sure that the condition is serious before they terminate, and an amniocentesis takes a long time – some women I know had to wait a month because they were dealing with rare anomalies. You also have to wait to schedule the procedure. It’s not like you get a poor prenatal diagnosis and then the next day you are in the doctor’s office getting the procedure.

17 weeks is really early to find anomalies. 17 weeks is when I got my bad news, and the only reason I found out so early is because I paid to find out the gender at 16 weeks. If I had waited until 20 weeks as customary, I would have been at least 22 weeks.

When you are dealing with terminating for medical reasons, 20 weeks is insufficient.

Of course, she never responded. The mean part of me hopes that she is curled up in closet crying from fear, but honestly, I just hope that she has considered her position and realized just how fucking lucky she is.

We can’t even move ahead with the NTNP (not trying, no protection) approach because of complications with my husband’s syndrome.

I’m also tired of people asking me about IVF. Usually what happens in this:

Well-Meaning Stranger: What about IVF? I know that’s expensive.

Me: Yeah, well, it’s not happening right now. We have a lot of medical bills right now that we can barley afford, especially now that DH is on disability.

WMS: Oh, but what about adoption?

Me: Uh, yeah. That’s even more expensive and there is still a chance that the child would get taken away. I’ve had too many friends who have had their heart broken over that.

WMS: Well, there’s always surrogacy.

Me: Do you even know what that is, or are you just parroting it after you saw some celebrity couple discussing the blessings of surrogacy on Oprah? Just leave me alone to wallow in my defective femininity and understand that if I do actually ever get pregnant again, it will be a miracle attributed to science.

WMS: …

I swear, I am happy that celebrities are more forthcoming with infertility issues, but it makes every reality tv show watcher an expert. I am NOT GUILIANA and BILL. I am not a pseudo-celebrity with a huge disposable income to gamble on treatments.

I have a lot to vent since I haven’t bee posting lately, but I’ll save the rest for another time.

Whatever.

DH went to counseling with me yesterday. We focused on incongruent grieving. He seems to think that my blogging and TFMR message board is just wallowing in grief and pain, and is self-inflicted triggers. He said other things that were true, but I think that his eyes might have been opened after the counselor read a few snippets from my blog posts that I shared with her. I don’t think he really understood the lingering affect that all of this has had on me.

Apparently my word choice is quite “vivid” – I think that’s a polite way of saying melodramatic. At one points yesterday, I described myself as a decaying tooth, broken and gray. The counselor asked if I could stop using metaphors and use specific adjectives instead. I can’t really remember why she said that, but I know there was a reason. I may have to ask her about that next week.

While I was there, a current student was also in the office. Awkward. I mean, I’m not embarrassed about getting therapy, but it did trigger reminders of when I kept seeing students in the OBGYN’s office when I was pregnant. Let’s just hope I don’t see any tomorrow when I’m there for my Well Woman’s Exam and birth control. Double ugh.

So tonight, we got ANOTHER blow. It looks like we might have to replace both air conditioner units. REALLY? This couldn’t have waited until DH is at least back at work getting a full paycheck?

I really am trying to stay positive about things. Really. But every time I start to perk up, something comes along and knocks me back down.

Today is October 15th, and it’s Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day. I had planned on writing a post focusing on this, but I don’t think I can emotionally handle dragging myself through that tonight. Another day, but I just have too much else going on right now.

Realizations

So, DH is home and is in a wheelchair. He can walk short distances with a cane, but it wears him out quickly. He has more medication than I’ve ever seen before, and he still has bouts of excruciating pain. But this entry isn’t about him. It’s about me dealing with his illness and the possible future that my daughter might have faced.

First of all, I have no idea how I could have physically, emotionally, or financially handled having a disabled daughter and a disabled husband at the same time. How could I split my time between ICU and NICU?

DH is dealing with many things that my daughter would have faced, had she survived. Nerve pain, so I’m told, is a totally different beast than regular pain. The ataxia is frustrating and embarrassing for him. The wheelchair is a giant pain in the ass – lifting it in and out of the trunk is doable, but I am exhausted after every outing, and he’s only been home two days.

I have to clean, cook, work, do laundry, take him to his appointments, go to my appointments, and help keep track of his medical issues. I’m not resenting him at this point, but I’m just tired. Tired to point that I feel sick, like I’m going to throw up.

Is it horrible that feel relieved that I don’t have two disabled people to care for? That I feel like I have gotten confirmation that I made the right decision to prevent all this pain for her. what my husband feels is just a fraction of what she would have to put up with.

I’m still terrified. We saw a new neurologist yesterday, and she is worried about a relapse or that he has a long-term version of this syndrome. We think his heart and lungs are stable now, but she told us that people with this syndrome and his symptoms have a 50% mortality rate.

50%Long-time readers will remember that I have an obsession with statistics. My baby had a 1:1000 chance of myelomeningocele. DH had a 1:100,000 chance of GBS. He had a 1:50 chance of dying.

I don’t know what to think of all this, but it’s been running around in my head for the past few days.

Reflections on the Past Week

DH has now been moved to a rehab hospital. We are hoping that he is able to come home quickly, but for right now, we’re just trying to make the best of a bad situation. However, this illness triggers a lot of feelings about infertility and TFMR.

• How could I have appropriately dealt with a disabled infant daughter AND a disabled husband? How would we have been able to afford this? I’m not just talking about medical expenses (we hit his out-of-pocket maximum on day 1 of ICU care), but I’m talking about the time off work. We have no idea how long he’s out of work, and the idea of living off of just my salary is frightening, even now. Luckily, he has disability insurance, so we’ll be getting 60% of his income in another week, but I have no idea if that will be enough to cover the bills. Yes, we stopped doing the IUI’s, but we did just buy two new cars.
• Thank God we aren’t doing IUI or IVF. There’s no way we’d be able to do it this month anyway.
• Many of the conditions that he’s dealing with are conditions that my daughter would have had to deal with. Ataxia. Paralysis. Pain. You get the idea.
• I don’t trust the medical system. We have to be aggressive for his pain meds, and we have to constantly repeat, examine, and correct his medical records. The hospital originally had him scheduled to be discharged to a psychiatric unit! And this is for an adult. As protective as I am over him, I don’t know what I would have done if they had screwed up on my daughter’s medical care.

Also, the arguments over the Affordable Care Act are starting to trigger me as well. I really don’t give a damn about my doctors  asking me about my sexual history (isn’t that what doctors are supposed to do? Especially OBGYNs?), but some people seem to think that it’s too invasive.

Invasive? I’ll tell you what’s invasive. Invasive is feeling obligated to bring up your medical history to the Texas Senate to try and convince them not to place unnecessary restrictions on women’s healthcare. To be ignored like that after I told the most personal details of my life was more humiliating than any medical procedure I’ve ever experienced, including transvaginal ultrasounds.

I can’t stand to watch the news. I skim past updates on Twitter, because I take it all too personally.

I feel like I’m dealing with it all as appropriately as possible, but it’s still stressful.

I have so much more to say, but this was just a quick update to reassure people that things are progressing and that I’m ok. I have to get ready for the week – I have to grade and lesson plans and take care of the house, but all I really want to do is just make sure that he’s ok.

CD 28

It’s my last cycle of TTC. I’m on CD 28, and I don’t even care I’m too terrified to think about it

I’ve had a few twinges and my right boob is (maybe) sore, but I just keep telling myself that I’m not pregnant. I’m not pregnant. I’m not pregnant. I don’t want to get my hopes up – it would just be too much this last time. Everything is a reminder that no matter what, it’s my last two week wait. It’s my last Clomid hot flash. It’s my last IUI. It’s my last everything.

And the crash that I felt after each failed IUI will pale in comparison to what I’m going to feel on Tuesday when AF gets here.

I thought about taking a test today, but then thought the better of it. I don’t want to be grumpy the rest of the day. There is time enough for grumping during the week, and then I’ll have word to distract me. If I tested today, I’d just be in the bedroom crying all day, contemplating taking a day off work to mope and home.

The more I think about it, the more I realize that IVF isn’t right for me. I don’t think I can emotionally handle going through IVF. I’m not just dealing with infertility and baby loss. I terminated a pregnancy. DH and I have already had to make the worst decision possible, and I am just tired of making decisions. I’m tired of waiting, of crying, of feeling like a failure.

If I did IVF, I would just be prolonging those feelings. Even if I were to get pregnant, I don’t think that would be my happy ending.

I know that I can never go back to being the person I was when I got married. That person is gone. I just want to move on. I’m tired of living my life in two week increments – wait two weeks for ovulation tests and then wait two weeks to get a period.

Even though my TTC journey has come to an end, I’m going to continue blogging here. If I were to get pregnant, I’d create a new blog, but I think that childfree after infertility (and TFMR) is a viable option that needs to be discussed. I know that the next few months will be difficult, but I think that it can’t be any harder than the past year has been.

 

Counseling and Carpe Diem

Counseling happened on Wednesday. There’s really not much to report there, except that I think it became painfully obvious that DH is not comfortable with IVF at all. He said that his dream to start a family for children died in utero with our daughter. I can’t blame him. There are time when I think that I’ve been continuing TTC because I want to be pregnant because I don’t want to fail. I’ve invested so much into getting pregnant that if I quit now, it was all for nothing. I wasted all that time, money, and emotional energy. A failure.

I liked the counselor, even with her CPC background. I don’t feel the need to have to teach her or correct her – I feel like I’ve been enough of an advocate elsewhere. We are both going back on Monday and then I’ll start some solo sessions with her. I’m really worried that the next few months are going to be ripe with triggers, especially December and January.

So, it’s official.

We are throwing in the TTC towel. We are officially childless childfree. I have pretty much given up hope that the IUI worked because I’m tired of disappointment, even though I know when I get AF in a week and a half, I’ll be a hot, emotional mess. I’m learning to acknowledge it, but I’m not comfortable with it.

I reiterated to DH that the reason I want a family so badly is because I didn’t really have one. My father pretty much abandoned me to spite my mother, my step-father was emotionally abusive, and once we moved to Texas, I lost all sense of family: I no longer know my aunts, uncles, or cousins. I don’t want a baby – I want a family. And I know that I don’t need a baby for a family, but a baby is more socially acceptable than cats.

Today was full of triggers for me in school, but I didn’t flinch. In the carpe diem unit, I have students write their own obituaries. In a show of solidarity, I wrote my own back in 2000. I have to change a few things: I am taking out the part about my two children and grandchildren and am going to put in that I became an advocate for women’s health care and huge supporter of Big Brothers, Big Sisters. I have had my application to be a big almost completed for a few years, but never submitted it, irrationally thinking that I’d get pregnant and would have time to devote to being a Big. I even thought about adding a part about starting a support group for women suffering from grief. Obviously, I’m not going to announce or talk about my infertility or TFMR with my students, but I think that this stays true to my real intentions without being inappropriate.

Today, we took a test over the song Time by Pink Floyd. I was answering the questions so that once they were done, we could compare their answers with mine. And certain lyrics hit me hard:

And then the one day you find
Ten years have got behind you
No one told you when to run
You missed the starting gun

And you run and you run
To catch up with the sun
But it’s sinking

Racing around
To come up behind you again

The sun is the same
In a relative way
But you’re older
Shorter of breath
And one day closer to death

The time is gone, The song is over. Thought I’d something more to say.

I know that I didn’t really put off having children. Unless you count my twenties when I was with my ex-husband, but I don’t think so. I’ve always told DH that I’m happier being childless with him than having children with a man I didn’t love or respect. So I don’t regret not trying to have children earlier – I don’t even know if I could. It’s UNEXPLAINED infertility, remember? It’s a bitch.

…

..

.

I’ll make this one admission here even though I feel stupid: There is still a part of me that dares to dream that I might actually be pregnant again this month. That the last IUI worked. But I try to quickly erase that thought and memory that it even popped into my masochistic head. It would be too painful if I were to convince myself it were true.

Sweet Grapes

I ordered a book off of Amazon – Sweet Grapes: How to Stop Being Infertile and Start Living Again. It had the best reviews from what I saw and didn’t approach things from a religious perspective. I wasn’t looking for childfree lifestyles, I was looking for how to transition from infertile to childfree. I think that my audience will recognize the difference.

It’s a small book, and what I have read so far isn’t anything new, just confirmation and affirmation.

Don’t get me wrong, I am still keeping my fingers crossed, but I feel like I need to be prepared for the worst. Wait a minute. I take that back. I should know by now that there are worse things than never getting pregnant. Stupid me.

On that note, I think that if I do get pregnant and it ends with a miscarriage or another termination, that will be it for me. I can’t keep doing this to myself. It’s not fair to me or my husband.

So far, I really do like the book. Somethings I’ve highlighted so far include:

“It [infertility] doesn’t mean that your marriage is infertile or that your life is infertile or that you are a general failure.”

“…when we talk of no longer being infertile we do not mean that some magic state in which your feelings of loss have completely disappeared.”

It talks about that infertility is only present when you are TTC – if I wasn’t actively trying to get pregnant, I wouldn’t be infertile. It really seems to be about coming to terms with moving on without children.

In other news, I think I may have a big announcement coming up. I’m not comfortable making it public just yet, but it has to do with abortion activism and sharing my story. I’ll let you know when things are a little more settled.

The only thing keeping me from taking a pregnancy test today is the promise of a Coconut Lemon Sour and some crispy green beans. Don’t judge.

Breathing

I’m a pretty stereotypical Virgo – I like to plan. I like lists. And I have a need to be prepared.

So my blog post today isn’t about me giving up, it’s about me being prepared and having something to look forward to.

20 Things I Can Look Forward to If I Never Get Pregnant

1. I can nap whenever I want.
2. I can focus on my relationship with my husband.
3. I can travel.
4. We can move whenever and wherever we want. (I still think that I want to move to Scotland, but DH is adamantly against going back).
5. I can drink as much beer as I want.
6. Instead of having one “hobby” room in the house, DH can have his office and I can have my office!
7. We can finish out the backyard.
8. I could remodel the house. The entire house! A new bathroom!
9. I don’t have to worry about my antiques getting destroyed.
10. I can buy more antiques and oddities!
11. I can save for an earlier retirement.
12. We could buy property in the country.
13. I can continue to cuss like a sailor.
14. I can botox my armpits (it stops sweating!)
15. I could hire a personal trainer.
16. I can hire a landscaper to come out and design my front yard.
17. I can stop my prenatal/folic acid cocktail – though my nails are really tough! Hmm.
18. I can continue to be happily lazy.
19. Get corrective eye surgery – No LASIK for me. I’m not a candidate – I’d have to get implants.
20. Various home improvements.

I’m sure there a lots more, but I think this is a decent start for now.

Kevin Tunell and Me

Do you remember that guy back in 1982 who was convicted of killing a woman named Susan while drunk driving? He was sentenced to write her parents a check for $1 a week for 18 years. I know, I’m showing my AMA here, but his story has been haunting me ever since my RE and I talked about my two remaining IUI’s.

All I can think about is doing IVF and getting a negative test – of what it would be like to pay off (at least) $17,000 over the next five years and not actually have a healthy take home baby.

I would be reminded of that at least once a month for the next five years.

Reminded of my barrenness.

Reminded me of my failure.

Reminded of the guilt that I’d feel for wasting that much money.

Reminded of the pressure that I put on my relationship with my husband.

Reminded of the daughter I so desperately wanted but lost.

 

Maybe I’m engaging in a bit of self-denigrating by comparing myself with a drunk driver, but there is a huge amount of shame and guilt for the infertility AND the termination.

If I took out a loan for 20k and had an interest rate of 6%, I’d be paying 386.66 a month for five years.

A small price to pay for a child (or two!), but could I live with that and still be childless?

We can afford the monthlies – it would be tight with the house refinance (15 years!) and the two car loans, but we could do it. It’s less than the $500 a month we are coughing up now for IUI. Granted, we’d be living paycheck to paycheck, and I’m scared to death of debt. I hate the idea that we’d be screwed if one of us lost our job, or if the AC goes out, or the foundation needs repairing.

It just that out of eight IUI’s (not consecutive), I’ve only gotten pregnant once. 1/8 aren’t great chances. I still have unexplained IF, so what if there is something wrong with me that makes IVF not work?

If I was guaranteed a child from IVF, 386 a month for five years would be worth it. Hands down. I’d pay happily – as long as I had a healthy baby. Every payment would be conformation that I did the right thing.

But there is no guarantee.

I think the big thing that I’ve realized is that my biggest fear is not the financial investment, but the emotional investment.

Maybe I really do need to start looking at the Healing without TTC after TFMR board.

Sorry my last few posts have been downers. This hasn’t been the most optimistic summer for me. I’m going to go back and litter this post with pictures of happy cats from the internet.

This cat has a carrot on his head. How quaint!