He's Here!

I wrote this a few days after Ewan was born...

We are happy to announce that Ewan Michael David was born on July 19, 2009 at 6:28pm. He was 7 lbs 14.5 oz, 22" long, with auburn hair and navy blue eyes and an Apgar score of 9.9. He was born by c-section, which was fairly traumatic for me and Ross. It was the horror story of the cascade of interventions that we had heard about but never expected to experience first-hand.

I was 41 weeks and 6 days when we went into the hospital for an induction. I really really did not want to be induced, but I was told that I would have to worry about stillbirth if I waited (despite the fact that all the tests thus far had been perfect and we were both entirely healthy). You can imagine how Ross and I felt contemplating that prospect with miscarriage behind us. We tried everything under the sun to get labor going on our own. And it kept starting pretty heavily and we would think we'd be heading to the hospital in a few hours in natural labor, only to have things slow down or stop. We had four long days like that. But labor never kept going on its own. On Saturday morning July 18 at 6:45am, we arrived at the hospital for the induction.

I asked that they use the lowest dosage of Pitocin possible and to shut it off as soon as labor was kick-started. I was told that once the Pitocin was on, it would stay on until the pushing stage, no matter what. I got the IV for the Pit and the antibiotics for Group B Strep. I was immediately attached to continuous EFM. The IV hurt a little because the cord kept pulling and getting tangled with all of the other cords, but other than that I was managing ok. Our doula, Kate, showed up in an hour or two. My contractions were immediately 2 minutes apart, but I could really quite easily handle the pain. We all chatted and listened to music. We even danced around the room (right by my bed for me because of the cords). We had a really great nurse initially. She said that we were her favorite couple ever because we had a good sense of humor, weren't watching TV or glued to our blackberries and were fun and nice. We bought her cups of coffee and gave all the nurses brownies we had baked and brought from home.

I was checked several times. At one point we got really excited - the doctor said I was 7 cm. Then she said she had made a mistake - I was only at 3.5-4. No real progress from the day before. She said she wanted to break my water. I didn't want that to happen because of my nightmares of prolapsed cord and c-section. (The baby was still floating at -3. I was very worried that the cord could slip below his head if my water was broken. Not to mention that I would be on the clock because of the GBS.) She seemed somewhat put out but said that we could discuss it and she would come back later. She said that things were too slow. Our doula advised us that first labors are often slow and reminded me that I had in fact dilated some and was 50% effaced. She said that those things could change quickly, too. So we bought time...

Unfortunately at 1am, though the contractions had grown stronger as they upped the Pitocin, I was still at the same dilation and effacement. The doctor came in and told me that if I didn’t have the baby by 8am, it would be an automatic c-section. She asked me to let her break my water again. I told her that I was concerned about doing that as the baby had not dropped yet. She said that she didn’t think I had much choice. We asked for another 15 minutes to discuss it. We talked about unplugging, calling it a failed induction and going home to await labor to start on its own. We hoped that I wouldn’t be dropped as a patient and could still be monitored closely for the next few days for any problems. The doctor came back in and said that I was risking uterine rupture and hysterectomy by staying on the Pitocin without having my water broken and that a c-section was an almost sure thing. She also said that going home would be "absolutely crazy" and no one in her entire history of obstetrics had ever unplugged from an induction. Ross and I started praying fervently. Kate told us that my very reasonable fears notwithstanding, breaking my water was not an unusual thing to do. I agreed to do it. The doctor came back in and explained that she would insert a catheter to monitor the level of my contractions internally. That way they would know if and how high they could increase the Pitocin. I said ok. I had no way of knowing what I was in for.

The insertion of the catheter was painful. What I didn’t expect was that it would be continuously painful and excruciatingly so every time I tried to walk. They also doubled the amount of Pitocin they were giving me within 15 minutes, from 8 to 15. It went from somewhat painful but bearable contractions with breaks between to unbearable off the charts contractions with no break at all in between. The catheter was so painful that I could not stand or move. I could only sit frozen in place and scream. This went on for an forty-five minutes. I begged them to remove the catheter but they said it would remain in place until I started to push. The new nurse (a very sweet girl) told us that she had never seen them put such a contraction catheter in without the woman having an epidural first, it was known to be so painful.

I finally told Ross that I wanted an epidural. It kept running through my head that we were now so far gone from natural that there was nothing natural about what was happening to me. I couldn’t cope because just about every coping mechanism had been removed from me by the insertion of the catheter which forced me into immobility. I gave him our code word. He very heroically waited our agreed 15 minutes before calling the anesthesiologist, giving me time to change my mind.

When the anesthesiology team came in, they told me that I had broken the record by DOUBLE the level of Pitocin any woman had had in that hospital before asking for an epidural, and they couldn’t believe how strong I was or that I had waited as long as I had once it had reached that level. I got the epidural and then slept for two hours.

When I awoke, I was at 8 cm, 100% effaced. They had taken my dosage of Pitocin up to 20 and then up to 24 when I reached 10cm, which is 4 past their own hospital limit. I was worried since they had already told me that they thought I was at risk for rupture and hysterectomy from the Pitocin as it was. But the baby was tolerating everything just fine. They started preparing the room for me to push. The baby nurse (a nurse we had met before and really liked) came in to say hi to us. Ross was elated, but something in my head told me not to get excited. There were still no guarantees. We were not at the finish line yet.

I asked to push on my side, telling them the problems I have with my tailbone and worries about fracturing it if I had to push on my back. They said I could change positions if I just tried pushing on my back twice. I tried. And then they still wouldn’t let me move. Six contractions went by, with me still on my back before I started to get angry and demand to be allowed to move. They also insisted that I hold my breath while pushing to a count of 10 while they screamed PUSH! at me and while the nurse told me I wasn't working hard enough. (I wanted to kick her in the head, but she was too far away - smart girl.) Because I'm a singer, I knew it was stupid to hold my breath while doing anything strenuous physically or bearing down, so I very, very quietly exhaled on each push while making it look like I was holding my breath. I'm glad I did that because I now know that holding your breath for 10 seconds can cut off oxygen to the baby. Anyway, I lay on my side for four contractions. The doctor came in and said that the baby was at +3, but no head could be seen. So no progress. The new nurse at this point was horrible. She seemed annoyed that Kate was there. She was irritated that we wanted to try different things. She said we could “do it [our] way a couple of times” and then we would have to do it her way. I tried to squat on the bed, but the swelling in my legs from the Pitocin and the numbness from the epidural made it virtually impossible. I went back to lying on my side until they then forced me back on my back. I pushed for 2 ½ hours. The nurse kept telling me that my pelvis was “inadequate” and that I wasn’t pushing hard enough. Whenever the doctor would peek in, she would tell him in an annoyed and impatient tone that I wasn’t doing well and should just have a c-section. Kate and Ross were cheerleading me on, while she sat at the computer alternately reading a newspaper or surfing the internet. I kept asking her if a contraction was starting and if I should push (difficult to feel with the epidural) and her response was to do whatever I wanted, as though she couldn’t care less.

At 2 ½ hours, the doctor came in and told me I was having a c-section. I had been in labor at that point for 36 hours. I started sobbing hysterically. I couldn’t look at him or anyone. I just lay there and cried. He essentially implied that I was being a baby, that c-section is totally safe, and that my goal should be a healthy baby (as though it wasn’t). The nurse insisted that my pelvis was “unproven” (I thought that simply meant a first birth!) and was not large enough to deliver vaginally. (I’m a very average-sized woman.) The doctor said that the baby was sunny-side up and could only be delivered by c-section. (Ross and his sister were both sunny-side up and were delivered vaginally over 30 years ago.) He kept saying he wanted a healthy baby and healthy “mommy” and couldn’t in good conscience allow me to continue pushing and that it is highly unusual to push as long as I had.

I was so spent physically and emotionally, I just couldn’t fight back anymore. They shoved a consent form under my nose and told me to read and sign. I couldn’t do it. I asked Ross to read it and tell me if I should or shouldn’t sign it. He told me that he didn’t think there was anything strange in the form. Kate stroked my hair and told me how strong and brave I had been. I signed the form and was immediately prepped for surgery while Ross put on his scrubs. When they were finished in the L&D room, Kate said, “I think we should all leave and give them a minute to be alone and compose themselves.” And she ushered everyone out of the room. For that act alone, I will forever be grateful to her.

When everyone left, we both just held each other and sobbed. Ross kept saying, “I’m so sorry, I’m so so sorry.” And I kept apologizing to him and to the baby for failing. It was agonizing for both of us.

When the doctor returned, I told him that I had several requests for the c-section that I wanted him to honor if at all possible. 1. I wanted a low transverse incision with a double stitch. 2. I wanted the drape lowered when they were lifting my son out so I could see his birth. 3. I did not want morphine. 4. I wanted Ross to cut the cord. 5. I wanted them to bring the baby by my face for a split second so that he could see me and I could see him before they started any procedures or put ointment in his eyes. 6. I wanted to nurse him as soon as they were finished with the immediately necessary procedures, even if they weren’t finished with my surgery. 7. I wanted to see the placenta. 8. I wanted him with me in recovery and in my post-partum room as soon as I was there. The doctor agreed to everything.

They took me into the operating room and were all set to begin, but I shouted that Ross wasn't even in the room! They seemed annoyed again, but sent someone to find him. Someone was supposed to have escorted him to the room as he didn't know where it was, but they had forgotten. If I hadn't said something, they would have done the c-section without him there. In surgery, they did not lower the drape. Ross and I were the only two in the room who missed our son’s birth. We heard him cry and I immediately started crying while Ross said, “That’s our son! That’s our son!” over and over again. He ran on the other side of the drape. I started screaming (Ross said it was only screaming in my head because outside it sounded like very sad pleading), “Let me see him! Let me see him! Bring him to me!” I kept reaching for the drape, trying to pull it down or back so I could see him. But they refused, and the snotty nurse said in an annoyed tone, “We’re just trying to keep him healthy!” as though I didn’t care about that. They had already cut the cord, so Ross couldn’t do it. I asked to see the placenta and was told it had already been disposed of. They announced that they were taking the baby to the nursery and Ross grabbed him and brought him to me. He was already fully dressed, so there was no opportunity for skin-to-skin. I was given two minutes to say hello to him, though he couldn’t see me through the ointment in his eyes. He cried pitifully, and I sang to him and he quieted down. And then they took him away. I could not nurse him.

I was taken to recovery and kept demanding that they bring him to me so I could nurse him. Finally they allowed Ross to bring him to me after what seemed like forever, but they would not let me nurse or hold him until they had administered more pain meds (I felt no pain at that time, though). But it took them forever to get the pain meds since I’m allergic to Tylenol with Codeine, and that is their standard. The pharmacy was giving them problems, I guess. When they finally gave me pain meds, and I asked to nurse him, I was told that he had to be back in the nursery in five minutes and there was no time. I just started crying again.

I was taken to my post-partum room and asked immediately for the baby. I was told I would get him in an hour. My brother Joe and Kate came back and joined me and Ross. They opened a bottle of champagne and toasted Ewan’s birth. Two and a half hours went by, though, and no baby. Finally Ross went to the nursery and demanded him saying, “Give me my child!” He was not in the NICU or the other special nursery. There was no reason that they were keeping him. He was absolutely fine.

They would not give me any more pain medication, though, because of some confusion between anesthesiology and my doctor and the pharmacy and the nurses. I went without even an ibuprofen for 13 hours. They removed the urinary catheter but kept me on IV fluids while encouraging me to drink as much water and Gatorade and juice as possible. I finally had to urinate but could not walk to the bathroom. I called the nurses to help and then discovered that I could not urinate at all, despite feeling like my bladder was about to explode. I was in excruciating pain from the incision and my bladder together. They tried to put a new catheter in, but said my urethra was bent and swollen. They started worrying aloud about bladder rupture and I started getting scared. They called in the “expert” nurse in putting catheters in, and she couldn’t do it, either. She shrugged apologetically and said, “I don’t think this can be done.” They called the chief resident – by this time I was in tears again and couldn’t stop crying – and she was able to get it in, though it was very very painful. And then they finally brought my pain meds and took me off of the IV.

Most of our nurses in post-partum were wonderful, but we had one nurse who routinely delayed my pain meds by several hours and implied that I was a drug-seeker (!!) despite the fact that I was only asking for what my doctor had prescribed and was merely following her orders. She even gave me problems over taking ibuprofen. She seemed to think that women should be able to handle post-surgical pain without pain medication. I wonder if she would think the same about men who had major abdominal surgery!

Ewan and I had a few problems with breastfeeding initially and had to supplement at the hospital. We quit the suplementation as soon as we left the hospital - intuiton told me it was not a great idea for either of us - and we called a wonderful LC. She fixed our latch problem in about 5 minutes and was thoroughly reassuring to us. She was worth every penny. Because of her help, I now experience no pain when feeding Ewan, and he is thriving. His pediatrican says he is perfect in every way and right on target for weight gain.

My doctor told me the official reason for the section was “failure to progress”, although they could probably add in CPD and poor fetal presentation. They also told us the baby was in distress because his heart rate was “variable” and “high”. But we watched the monitor like a hawk, and it never exceed the variability or range of the NSTs of the previous two weeks which were all deemed excellent and healthy. She said that she thinks I will never be able to give birth naturally and not to get my hopes up about future pregnancies. She says that I am probably just not equipped physically to give birth. Which means that I will not allow her to be my provider anymore. As soon as I am fully recovered from the c-section, I will switch to a midwifery practice.

I was devastated by the c-section and by the way I was treated in the hospital. I determined that if I can help it, I will never have another child in a hospital as long as I live. I told Ross that I want to go to Ina May Gaskin’s Farm for the birth of our next child. He said that we will move heaven and earth to make that happen. We've already spoken with one of the midwives there. She said that she thinks I am a perfect candidate for VBAC. She recommended that we wait a year before trying to conceive again in order to allow my incision to fully heal and the wall of my uterus to grow strong again. In the meantime, I will try to get as physically and emotionally as healthy as possible, and spend a lot of time cuddling our sweet little boy.

I’m still having nightmares about the surgery. In every nightmare I am in some way paralyzed or out of control. I am being swept away from Ross. In one dream, a man told me I was weak and pathetic and couldn’t escape his knife. He proceeded to sharpen it in front of me and then slice me open. I apparently was screaming in my sleep and Ross woke me up. I started sobbing. In another, I was being swept away by a strong wind with an evil presence. Ross was trying to hold onto me but couldn't. I told him that the labor and c-section were events that in my mind are distinct and quite separate from my son. It’s like I endured this horrible ordeal and then randomly was handed a baby and told this is yours. There is no connection for me at all.

All that said, I adore Ewan. He is the most adorable child I have ever seen. He is so precocious and so sweet-tempered. I can stare at him for hours. I love the way he smells. I love the way his skin feels and the silkiness of his hair. I can’t imagine not having him in my life. Ross has taken to fatherhood like a duck to water. They are already very well bonded. Ewan knows his father. And Ross is just a natural at soothing him. I can’t wait for the whole life the three of us will share. And it is already passing so quickly!

I’m recovering slowly but determinedly. I’m probably going to try to find some kind of counseling or support group for c-section recovery. And I’m going to thoroughly educate myself about all of this…. It will take a while to process it all. Physically, I’m in pain. The incision became infected and they had to reopen it. I knew it was infected in the hospital but no one believed me. It took days and me running a fever and being in quite a lot of pain before they would even see me, much less do anything. Now I have a nurse that comes every day to dress the wound, and Ross dresses it twice every day. The infection seemed to recede and we felt that we were finally seeing that end-of-tunnel light, but the infection has come back. I had an u/s and a CT-scan yesterday, and it looks like something was left in the wound during the surgery. It's likely I will need another surgery to remove the object and stop the infection. It's very draining to take this long to heal.

I have to say though, that even though post-partum has not been what I expected, I am so RELIEVED that morning sickness is overwith! I’m relishing eating again.

And our baby is so, so precious. He is the light of our lives.

Photos by Jenny Darina.

The baby can't come yet because...

I wrote this a few days before Ewan was born...

I am almost 42 weeks into this pregnancy. 42 weeks divided by 4 ain't no 9 months. I have been pregnant way too long with way too uncomfortable of a pregnancy. It's time. It's past time. We need to get this show on the road. If the baby and I don't, then by Saturday the doctor will. And I don't like the way that scenario plays.

My doula suggested that there might be something lingering on my to do list that is hanging up labor. I have now had labor begin three times only to stall and stop. So what's the hang up? She suggested that I get it all out in a journal, even if I can't handle everything on the list right now. Just to get it out of my head. And then to do whatever I can to relax.

So... here goes.

The baby can't come yet because...
1. I'm almost out of lipstick.
2. There is mold growing in the caulking of the bathtub.
3. The kitchen isn't clean.
4. I need to call Lara back.
5. We haven't found childcare yet for when I go back to work.
6. Ross hasn't packed his hospital bag.
7. Margaret had surgery.
8. I'm worried I won't love the baby. Or won't love him as much as Rebecca. Or will always want a girl. Or will resent him because I've felt so physically miserable this whole pregnancy.

And it's the last one, I think, that is the clencher. What an awful thing to admit. I'm really afraid that I won't connect with this baby. That the dreamy-eyed new mom thing won't happen for me. After everything. After Rebecca, after the infertilty tests and that whole fear, after the struggle that Ross and I went through to get pregnant, after the Herculean struggle that this pregnancy has been. When I am finally holding in my arms the wonder that is this little boy, will I love him? I'm scared I won't. I'm scared that I won't feel what I'm supposed to feel. And what if what I feel isn't enough to be good enough for this new little life? What if he just deserves a better mom than me?

I got mad at him last night for kicking me so hard that it made me scream in pain and feel sick at the same time. I got really hacked at Ross for snatching the covers out from under me because it woke the baby up and made him kick me. And I just thought, "If the baby is so unhappy in my belly, why doesn't he just come out already??!!" But what if it's actually me holding him in? What if it's not the baby that's not ready, but me?

Ross might clean the kitchen and pack his hospital bag. Lara and the lipstick and the childcare and the mold can wait until after the baby is born. There is nothing any of us can do about Margaret and her surgery. But can I come to terms with #8? Can I start loving this little boy?

Dear Baby,

You are my baby. You are my little boy. Mine. I feel like we are still strangers, but I want to meet you. I want to see your big eyes and your sweet lips and your tiny fingers and toes. I want to see if your hair is brown like mine or red like your daddy's. I want to hear your voice. I want to see if you can sing. I want to teach you all of our funny songs and inside jokes.

Come soon, baby boy!

Love,

Mommy

My darling

Dear Baby,

I just wanted to take a second to say hello. Hello! You are right now kicking the dickens out of me. You are unbelievably strong. I can't get over how strong you are. When I put a little pressure on my belly to counteract your intense kicks, you provide counterpressure. Very, very strong counterpressure. How can you already be so strong?!

I'm sitting with you here at work. (Only six more weeks, give or take, that you will be able to come to work with me. It will be a sad day when I have to leave you behind!) I am listening to really, really boring people drone on and on about the "value" of things. Things they want to buy and sell and trade. Things like stock in companies, or pieces of the debt those companies hold, or insurance. Sometimes they talk about the "value" of houses they want to "trade". Or wine. Not for the business, mind you, but for themselves to live in and drink. And I really wonder if they know what value really means. Do they taste the wine when they drink it? Or do they only muse on its selling price and congratulate themselves for getting it on the cheap? Do they imagine the history of a home and its former inhabitants, imagine themselves and their families growing up in its rooms, listen to the walls and the wind in the backyard, notice the neighbors and the flower beds smiling at them? Or do they just calculate its monetary appreciation over the next five years?

And my spirit recoils from them. These are the people who cannot hear music, who cannot open their souls to pray, who cannot bare their hearts to others. There is too much calculation. Do they weep, I wonder? Do they truly love? Can they worship? Can they forbear?

My darling son, my innocent son who has not yet contemplated his vocation, I want you to know that Mommy and Daddy support any good endeavor you wish to pursue. If you choose business, you have our blessing. We know that the world needs business people and that it is as much a holy calling as any other. But if you choose this particular pursuit, please do not forget that you have still been called to create. Create work for others, create a product, create a business. Make something, quite literally, of your life that will be an offering both to God and to men. And do not forget what true praise is - the recognition on a visceral and soul-level of a thing's intrinsic worth, quite apart from it's monetary worth, that you share with others.

Despite what our money-mad society would have you believe, there is more to this gift of life than buying and selling. So much more. And it is wondrously beautiful.

Love,

Mom

Baby Blues

Ok, so I've heard of baby blues. And quite frankly, I've stressed about my probable susceptibility to post-partum depression. But honestly? Right now I can only imagine euphoria. Here are the things that I'm waiting for like a kid on Christmas Eve:

1. The baby here, safe and sound.
2. Sleeping on my stomach.
3. Maternity leave.
4. Summer.
5. Sleeping on my side without pulling ligaments in my belly.
6. No swelling in my feet and ankles.
7. NO NAUSEA!!!!!
8. Eating and cooking like a regular person.
9. My mom and aunt coming to visit us.
10. Baby's baptism. Seriously. Can't wait to put him in a christening gown and have cake. Oh, and remission of sins for the little guy, too.
11. No backache.
12. Wearing regular people clothes.
13. The beach. (Not related to the baby, but still, I am craving it like you can't believe.)
14. Watching Ross be a dad.
15. Singing lullabies.
16. His first smile.
17. His first laugh.
18. Hearing from everyone how adorable he is. (Because he will be.)
19. Seeing everything through his eyes.
20. Getting my body back.

Yeah. Not seeing anything about post-partum not to love.

A New Song

We are pregnant! Today is the day I announce to the world (well, the internet world, anyway) that we are expecting a baby.

I am already 26 weeks and 5 days along. The baby is due July 3rd or July 5th, depending on whether you talk to me or my OB.

This baby is healthy. Doing just fine. Kicking me and punching me and doing sommersaults and raking his heel along my belly. He's already extremely active and quite adorable.

It's nice to be singing in major again.

One Year Ago

One year ago today we said goodbye to our child, our daughter Rebecca. We didn't get a funeral, but this is the day she left us. She passed away on March 27, 2008, and was taken from us at the doctor's office on March 31, 2008. It is a day that neither Ross nor I will ever or could ever forget.

What a year.

Rebecca, my dear dear daughter, Mommy and Daddy love you so much. We miss you so much. We can't wait to meet you one day and finally get the chance to hold you in our arms and see your beautiful eyes and lovely smile.

Until then, we will hold you in our hearts.

Light a Candle

October 15th is National Pregnancy & Infant Loss Remembrance Day, a day set aside by Congress to remember all of the children lost to miscarriage, stillbirth and early infant death.

If you are home tonight, light a candle at 7pm, place it in a window, and let it burn for one hour. It will create a memorial wave of light that will travel across the world.

Also, there are many Pregnancy & Infancy Loss Awareness Walks this month that raise money for non-profit groups to support research to prevent miscarriage, stillbirth and early infant death.

You can find information about some of them here.

How Dancing with the Stars Reduced Me to a Sobbing Heap

Did anyone see Dancing With the Stars last night? I don't watch TV that much, and when I do it is usually either a presidential debate or House. But Ross and I were so tired last night, that we sat there watching it.

Did you see it? Did you see that tall woman with the long brown hair dancing at the end of the show before they brought Misty out with her torn Achilles tendon? So, I don't know the name of the woman with the long brown hair (is it Brooke?), but I think she might be a model. Anyway, she and her partner danced the Viennese waltz (my favorite dance!) to a song about fathers and mothers and children (don't know the name of the song - I'm not too up on my popular music). The song had a line in it about fathers be good to your daughters because daughters grow up to be lovers who grow up to be mothers so mothers be good to your daughters, too. And she danced right over to her daughter who looked to be about 8 years old or so and was sitting in the front row. She danced right over to this beautiful young daughter of hers and kissed her right when the song said mothers be good to your daughters, and then she waltzed right back on stage and finished her dance.

I. LOST. IT. I sat there and sobbed for fifteen minutes. I'm crying while I'm sitting here thinking of it. It was the epitome of my ideal of motherhood. This beautiful, gracious woman moving perfectly to sublime music and offering it all as a gift to her beautiful daughter who sat there enraptured with her mother, returning her mother's love. It was one of the most beautiful moments I've seen.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d79JmyN8Dyo

Rebecca would have been born at the end of this month. This will be a hard month for me, I think. I feel like my emotions are very hair-trigger. And the thing is, I don't want to get to the end of the month. I feel so connected to our child right now, and I feel like the end of October will be another saying goodbye.

A little bit of good news

We got the first of our test results back. My FSH and estradiol levels are normal. I don't know what the exact numbers are, but that may be for the best, since I tend to obsess and over-analyze. But the nurse said that they are completely normal. Hurrah!

I was more worried about this test than about any other because this is the one thing they cannot fix. There is no surgery, no drug, no therapy that can make your ovaries work again when they have stopped. I'm 36. It's young for people in the "advanced maternal age" category, but not really young. So getting a normal test result is a massive relief.

We did go out for wine and cheese last night. We got dressed up and had a lovely date at our favorite restaurant. (Even the waiter told me I looked pretty!! And Ross said it was good to see me happy and bubbly and sparkly again!!) We had glass after glass of champagne. Four kinds of cheese - Ross even actually liked the goat cheese and cow's milk cheese!! - and hazlenuts and some kind of jam. And gorgeous salads with pistacchios and arugula and endive. And pork chops in a peach and white wine reduction. And cheesecake with marinated cherries and banana nut bread pudding in a buttered rum sauce with vanilla gelato. So, so good.

Ross gave me a massage when we got home. And I fell right asleep. Even Hobbs was in a good mood last night. He licked my hand - a very rare sign of lapine love!!

God is good. Then why?

I have been struggling with my faith since we lost Rebecca. Actually, I don't think that last statement accurately captures what exactly the struggle is. I do not doubt God's existence. I do not doubt Christ's life and sacrifice. I do not doubt my salvation. I do not doubt God's goodness - at least, not in my mind. My heart is another matter. Because of the disconnect between my reason and the pain I feel, I cannot pray. And I am frustrated and angry at all of the platitudes, well-meaning though they may be, by the faithful. They offer no clarity, no electrifying of my faith. They make things more gray, more muddy, more confusing, more sad. They make God seem less God. Less good.


The pain is so deep that it shoots through every cell of my body and every synapse of my brain and every sacred corner of my soul. When someone tells me, "It was God's will," I want to scream. How could it be God's will that my little girl was torn from my body while I lie there in physical agony? I'm sorry, but that is a wholly inadequate explanation. I have heard things like, "Perhaps you have some unconfessed sin," and (this was to another woman suffering the same thing) "God told me to tell you that you need to forgive someone in your life before you will carry to term." WHAT??!! Or, "God spared you from having to raise a deformed child." How is it sparing to save me from what I would have gladly done and in place give me the worst nightmare I could imagine? Or, said by other people whose scares turn out to be just scares, "God was watching over us." Meaning, God was not watching over me and my husband and our child. Or, "It's all part of God's plan." Well, from my perspective, it's a pretty shitty plan.

My mind insists that God is good, merciful and just. What happened to me and my husband doesn't make sense to me, doesn't square with my sense of goodness, mercy and justice. Not when we see women on the subway punching and slapping their children, showering four letter words down on their innocent and trusting ears. Not when young girls sleep around, get knocked up and kill their children through abortion. Not when prostitutes with AIDS or crack addictions give birth to children who, if they are lucky enough to survive their diseases, will be whelmed in destitution for life. Are we such bad parents that we don't deserve a chance, that Rebecca didn't deserve a chance?

Why, why, why, why, why?


Why, when most couples I talk to get pregnant shortly after a miscarriage, are we still sitting here weeping with empty arms? Why, when I saved myself for marriage, am I subjected to tests for sexually tramsitted diseases that I could never have? Why must I give up either the privacy of my marriage bed or all thought of bearing my husband's child?


I will not accept any of the answers I have heard so far. They smack to me too much of pharisaism. I cannot reconcile a God of justice, mercy and goodness with these answers. And the only prayer I can pray until I receive an answer that makes sense to me is, "Why?"


God is good, I know, or all of existence is senseless Hell. God is my Father because I have asked him to be. I strive to be a good child. If He then refused me and refused help to me, He would not be good. So I will sit and await an answer from my Father.

It's here.

I didn't really get my hopes up this cycle. I kept telling myself that we wouldn't get pregnant this time. I felt confirmed in my decision when just as I was ovulating, Ross had excruciating tooth pain (bad enough to prevent him from sleeping for two nights) and had to go on Vicodin to control the pain. That put a damper on baby-making plans, to say the least. Still, our timing was good enough to give us a chance. But my gut told me that this was not our month. When my temperature dropped yesterday, I told Ross that we were out. I ordered a caffeinated cappucino at breakfast and gulped it down. I planned a cheese and wine tasting for us for Monday night.

But my period never arrived yesterday. My temperature levelled out this morning. 16 days past ovulation, when usually I don't last past 14 days. If my period didn't arrive tomorrow, I would have to consider myself pregnant and go in for a blood test if the home pregnancy tests were still negative. Last month, my hopes would have been sky high. This month, I slammed those steel doors around the hope center of my heart and repeated to myself and Ross, "The tests are negative. My period will come by tomorrow at the latest." And I made myself a pot of strong caffeinated (and expensive) new tea.

Ross left for work. Fifteen minutes later, the dreaded moment arrived.

You'd think with all of this mental and emotional preparation for disappointment that I would be ok. I'm not. I still sat and sobbed for thirty minutes. All I could think was that Rebecca is dead and I should be one month from giving birth to her now. She's gone. And I'm not pregnant. And she's gone.

We've started the tests. I had the diabetes test yesterday, which made me so woozy that I was trembling from head to foot and thought I would faint. I even broke into a sweat. But I'm not sure if it was the glucose water I had to drink or the six vials of blood they had to take for the glucose test and also for the obligatory STD tests. Either way, not fun. I go for my day 2 hormone tests tomorrow morning at 7:30am. I'm going to try to schedule my HSG for next weekend so I don't have to miss work. I've heard it can be a pretty painful procedure. Vicodin is my friend. And then I have to go get twelve more vials drawn for immunological and blood clotting tests.

We've got two more shots at conceiving at home before we give up and start trying to conceive in a hospital with a medical team around us. Good times.

I know there are women who have been at this much longer than I have who are much more upbeat and faith-filled and positive. I'm just not one of them. This whole thing hurts like hell, and I don't feel like pretending that it doesn't. But I promise that one of these days when I'm in a good mood, I'll remember to post.

I'm off to make a pork pot roast and to learn how to tolerate brussel sprouts (for the babymaking effort). And tomorrow night I'm going to drink as much expensive wine and champagne as our get-pregnant-quick-US-economy-meltdown budget will allow.

It's all a tangle, all a tangle

Tentacles. That's what I've been thinking about lately. Tentacles. Those little tentacles that a blastocyst sends into your endometrium to implant to start to receive nourishment. The tentacles of decisions you make over your lifetime. Things that seem to have no or little relationship to other decisions you are making or might one day make. Everything is connected. And for me, everything is a mess.

All of those little tentacles of decisions made long ago have grown through time and entagled themselves around each other into one giant snarl.

Long ago, so far back I can't even remember the actual day, I decided to be a singer. Or maybe I didn't decide it. Maybe it was ordained. I have sung and sung and sung my whole life long. And being an idealist and essentially optimistic, I decided to be a professional singer who wholeheartedly believed that "you can do whatever you set your mind to if you try hard enough". I gleefully abandoned a need for status attached to an impressive job or title or degree. I studied hard and faced the demons of stage-fright and rejection and battled them into submission. I perfected my technique. I learned to take criticism and to learn from it. I became a risk-taker in every conceivable way.

I struggled but I knew that was part of being an artist. I struggled with long periods of time away from my family, with having no financial security, with my own sense of self-worth, with all kinds of religious and moral issues, with overwhelming educational debt, with juggling an insane and ridiculous schedule, with working at a series of day jobs that were to me both boring and sometimes demeaning.

I married. I married late. Not because I was so focused on my career. All through my twenties and early thirties, I kept looking for the man who would be my husband. I was ready to renounce career for marriage if necessary. I fought all of my own emotional insecurities to make a fertile soul for a thriving marriage to grow. And then I met him. And he's not a Christian. Four more years of soul-searching and questioning and nights of sleepless anxiety and three or four break-ups on religious grounds and getting back together and one day changing my mind about everything. And he proposed and I said yes and then we both said yes at the altar.

Oh, did I mention that he's an actor and a singer? I love him. There is no better man for me. And I love his voice. And I love his acting. I married a man whose work makes me swoon. And makes me better at what I do. But did I mention that this is his job? That's right - the same one I have. With all of the same problems. And all of the same NO MONEY.

Ok, I can handle this, right? I've handled lots of other things and I'm still standing up. We can even handle having a baby. Because we have friends who have children. Two parents who are both performers in their late 30s who have children. We're smart. If they can make it work, so can we.

So we start trying. Two months into trying - am I pregnant? I might have been, oh so very briefly. My doctor thinks so. My acupuncturist thinks so. But we'll never really know. Two months after that - BINGO! Very, very pregnant. Obviously pregnant. With Rebecca. Who is now gone. And so we try again. And again, and again, and again. This is not happening. I'm off to the RE.

I've started reading books on infertility and treatment. Apparently having excruciatingly painful periods for 20 years is not normal! Who'd have thunk! It's indicative of endometriosis. Also, taking 18 Advil a day for two days every month for the pain is not so smart. It can cause (drum roll, please!) KIDNEY DISEASE! For which I am being tested. So now we are facing extensive testing, possible surgery, possible IVF, God only knows what all, and we may still not get pregnant. I'm 36 and the clock is ticking.

I know, I'm getting way ahead of myself, but this is my blog and I'm allowed to freak out in it, so deal!

So my little anxiety-ridden brain starts thinking about adoption. I like to know all the options and to be educated on all the pros and cons way before I'm forced into making a decision. I've always been interested in adoption. My grandmother is adopted, as well as my great uncle, my uncle and one of my cousins. I've thought about adopting even if we have lots of our own biological children. Of course, I still want to be pregnant, deliver and raise our own child who shares our genetic material. But that doesn't exclude adoption as far as I'm concerned.

But now all of a sudden adoption might be the only way we have children. And now it's not something we can do if we feel like or not if we don't. It's urgent, it's important, it's STRESSING ME THE HELL OUT. Why? Because apparently there are age limits. Are you freaking kidding me??!!! My adoption clock is ticking, too???!! Apparently, most adoption agencies won't let you adopt above age 40. Ok, so that's four years, but there's also usually a two year wait. Which gives us two years to apply. But we want more than one child. And you have to be married for three years first, which is still a year and a half away. And then there's the cost. It can cost around $10,000 per child to adopt. And we still want to pursue having a biological child, so we still have those costs to think about. And then there's the whole "suitability" factor. My day jobs change almost yearly. My husband bartends when he's not working an acting gig. The very nature of our career choices looks highly unstable to the traditional workforce. To us, it's just a different way to live, no better and no worse, just different. We pay our bills, we are paying off our debt, we have health insurance, we have food and a home in which to live. But how will we look to adoption agencies?

I'm so afraid to get my hopes up. I'm not letting myself think that there is any chance I can get pregnant naturally because the devestation of the arrival of my period is getting too difficult for me to take. I'm afraid of what the tests at the RE will reveal. I'm afraid that we will be rejected by adoption agencies. I am afraid we will be childless. Forever.

Tentacles. All of those decisions for all of those years..... Take Advil for the pain so I can function. Be a professional singer because that is my calling instead of law school so I can look impressive and make money. Wait until I meet the right guy to marry instead of marrying in my twenties when having a baby would have been much easier. Marry the working actor who loves me and treats me with respect and who I love rather than any one of the rich guys I dated from time to time, who could have just written a check for all of this without blinking. Tentacles. Tangles of tentacles that might leave us childless forever.

And none of them are burrowing into any endometrium.

ETA: I do not regret any of the decisions that I have made. I firmly believe that performing, and particularly singing, is my vocation. I am very happy I married the man I married. While I wish that we had met at a younger age or had married sooner after we met, I know that it was not possible. And as much as I blame our delay on my hang-ups, the truth of the matter was that he was not ready to get married at first, either. We did the best we could to create the best kind of life for both of us to flourish. Why the baby piece of the puzzle seems elusive and difficult, I do not know. Why the consequences of the right decisions are so harshly cruel, I do not know. I may never know. Or maybe everything will be okay after all.

Two Steps Forward, One Step Back

I cannot go to Laurelyn's shower. I can't be happy and I don't want to ruin everyone's time. I can't imagine sitting there, watching her, thinking about Rebecca and not bursting into tears. I simply cannot do it.

I'm not pregnant again. Cycle 7 begins. Next stop is the RE two weeks from today. We'll see what the test results say.

Crystal Ball

And so we begin the two weeks of waiting. My temperature went up yesterday. It stayed up today. One more day and ovulation for this cycle is confirmed.

The Olympics is over. The wait for the score has begun.

From here on out it is obsession about every twinge, every little symptom. Am I pregnant? Am I not? The tiresome countdown to 10 days past ovulation when I will begin testing every other day. The countdown to 14 days past ovulation. Will my period arrive this time? Will it be late but still come? Will that test finally read positive? If it does, will it last? Will I get to the finish line of a full-term healthy baby?

The wait. The wait. The wait.

I want a crystal ball. I want some grizzled old lady, like the ones we saw lining the square in New Orleans when I was pregnant with Rebecca, to tell me my future. But all I have is the wait and the thermometer and the chart and the home pregnancy test.

The Broccoli Project

When I was in college, I was part of an acting troupe in Austin called The Broccoli Project. I did one play with them. It was The Marriage of Bette and Boo, by Christopher Durang. It's really an amazing piece. Very dark humor, every laugh wrapped around intense pain. The play is autobiographical, dealing with Durang's childhood and his alcoholic father and his mother who lost at least two babies to stillbirth due to (I think) Rh negative blood. The play also deals with in-laws, the Catholic church, and a young man's refusal to deal with his horrific life and his retreat into the comparably more cheerful world of very dark literature.

But what struck me then and what I have always remembered were the stillbirths. The most poignant monologue to me was Bette's when she calls her old schoolmate Bonnie (who barely remembers her) in the middle of the night, just to have someone to talk to about the babies she has lost. That, and when Bette recites the names and the birthdates of her children who have died.

It's running in New York City right now. Ross remembered that I had done the play years ago and, not knowing the subject matter, asked if I would like to see it. I don't know. Yes and no.

My acupuncturist thinks that I have lost another baby. She says it's possible. My luteal phase (the second half of a woman's cycle) was unusually long this last time. I had a lot of pregnancy symptoms. She looked at my chart and immediately said, "Chemical." I told her that I had gotten no positive pregnancy tests. She said that sometimes they can be wrong.

I left my appointment to go to Whole Foods to buy very expensive organic fruits, vegetables, meat and milk. No more questionable things are going into my body. As I walked through the Time Warner Center towards the mecca of treating your body right, I got a call from my parents. They wanted to talk about my request to get a referral to an RE from one of the medical superstars my dad knows. It's not a good time to ask, apparently. He's in the middle of a major career transition and it's not a good time to impose. This is not an emergency.

Except, to me, it is. I turn 36 in three days. I've already had at least one pregnancy with a bad chromosomal outcome. Bad eggs. Maybe. I feel like every day that ticks away is bringing me closer to the day that someone in a white coat tells me that I will never have a child of my own. That my husband will never be able to have a child with me.

I said that I had to go because Whole Foods is in the basement and I would lose my cellphone signal. My dad wished me a nice evening with my "wine and fancy cheese". I said thanks. It would take too long to explain that it will be a long time before I have wine and fancy cheese again because from now on I have to eat like I'm pregnant, whether I am or not. I was on my way to buy broccoli. Broccoli which makes me wretch. Broccoli which I will choke down because I do not want to kill anymore of my babies.

It's my broccoli project.

Losing

I don't want to forget what I thought, what I said, the details of what happened. I don't want it all lost in the fog of memory. I posted this on a message board called Conscious Motherhood as it was happening...

03/19/08 at 10:54 AM
We had a bit of a scare last night and this morning. My doctor wants to see me in the office this afternoon. Worried. Please say a prayer.Thanks.

03/20/08 at 05:20 PM
It has been a harrowing last three days or so. I started spotting (brown) on Tuesday. It was impossible to get in touch with our OB as she has no answering service (!!!). We called in the morning on Wednesday and were told to come in that afternoon.

At the exam, she told us that the blood was old and probably not a big deal but would do a sonogram to make sure everything was ok. She immediately said that the pregnancy was "not a good one" and that we should expect a miscarriage. She said that the baby was two weeks behind in development and that the heartbeat, while present, was slow. She started talking about a D&C and really seemed to favor that procedure rather than letting nature take its course. She also told me to expect bleeding and cramping and that I should take Motrin or Aleve for any cramping I felt. And then she scheduled a sonogram for next week to see if there is still a heartbeat. Then she ordered a blood test to test for blood type. That was it. End of appointment.

My husband and I were devestated. We went home and cried and cried and then he called his family and mine to apprise them of the situation and ask that no one call me - that I would talk to everyone when I was ready. Then he called the doctor back and asked why a Beta test had not been done. She said that she had done one. (No results.) She said nothing about a follow-up Beta test in 48 hours which would tell us if the pregnancy is progressing or terminating.

Yesterday evening, I had a little bright red spotting, but no flow. I immediately thought the worst and sent my husband out for pads, but so far there has been nothing. I do have very mild cramping but refuse to take anything that could threaten the baby.

What she never informed us of was that the colposcopy (which as it turns out was entirely unnecessary and could have been totally avoided had she bothered to instruct me before my Pap a couple of months ago), the colposcopy will definitely cause bleeding in a pregnant woman and likely will cause cramping. And get this - I had to remind them THREE TIMES that I was pregnant!!! And she wouldn't even see me for my first prenatal until I was 10 weeks along!

She took a smear yesterday, too, and that can also cause bleeding and crampng, which could be what I'm experiencing now. Had I not bothered to do a little research when I got home yesterday, I might have assumed it was all over and started popping Aleve or Advil.

I put myself on bed rest, called out sick from the office, and cancelled my plans for the weekend.

I'm definitely done with this doctor. We'll keep our appointment for next week, but even our GP was appalled and said we should look for someone else.

I don't know if our baby is ok or not. He was really small, but we did see the heart beating. We are not counting him out yet, and are praying frantically. I've never been so scared and so upset before. I couldn't sleep at all last night, except when I was having nightmares, and kept alternating prayers of the baby being totally fine and me not ever waking up.

Thank you for your thoughts and prayers. We still need them.

03/22/08 at 11:49 AM
Thanks so much to you all for your support and prayers. I can't tell you how much we appreciate it all.

I might be paranoid, but I'm really trying to trust my instincts. And my instincts are telling me to stay off my feet, eat healthy, drink lots of water, and totally eliminate caffeine. (I had been having 1-2 cups of tea every day.) My husband is being wonderful and doing all the cooking and cleaning and grocery shopping as well as going to work. The side effect of that for me is that I feel tremendously guilty. I can't even express the guilt I feel. I can see that it's starting to wear on him. I suggested that we call my cousin to come over and help out a little bit (I'm positive she wouldn't mind) even if it's just to make dinner one night or keep me company, but he doesn't want to and says he's fine. I find it extremely difficult to be waited on like this. I mean, one night is fine, but three days is hard to take. I tried to clean a little bit yesterday, but after ten minutes I was exhausted and starting to get scared so I quit.

My instincts are also telling me to leave this OB/GYN. Our GP suggested that we stay with her for our appointment next week and then immediately find someone else. The more I hear about what is a normal experience at a first pre-natal visit, the more I'm convinced that she does merely cursory work. I don't trust her. I don't trust her to fully inform us about anything, I don't trust her to be thorough and careful, and I don't trust her to take care of me or the baby. I really feel that I have been receiving substandard care. And my gut feeling about that office didn't start at our last appointment. It started with my first phone call to them months ago. I just dismissed my feelings because I was a new patient to the practice, and then I thought that they just had poorly trained and bad front desk staff and that it shouldn't be a reflection on the abilities of the doctor as a physician. But it just kept getting stronger and stronger. And the visit before the last one, I actually told my husband as we were leaving that I was really uncomfortable there. It's so difficult to find a doctor and to actually get an appointment in NY that I kept wanting to believe that she was fine. And she came highly recommended by colleagues of mine. But I don't think she's fine. I don't think we're in good hands.

We are definitely considering a midwife. I very much like the idea of a natural birth, and the possibility of unnecessary medical interventions really worries me and my husband. The rates of C-section in all area hospitals are around 30% - no thanks. I really like the idea of a woman working with me who sees birth as a natural physical process rather than a problem to deal with.

On the other hand, we will be looking at obstetricians as well. Our GP is sending over a list of doctors she recommends. I'm not totally opposed to an OB, as long as it is a woman who is supportive and totally thorough and who will respect our wishes in regards to the pregnancy and delivery.

I'm nervous to even say this - I guess I have a superstitious fear of jinxing things - but I believe, for right now anyway, that things are going to be ok. They may not be perfect by the time of our appointment on Wednesday, and I fully expect to hear the same lecture from our current OB again, but I don't know.... I still feel pregnant. I never would have thought anything at all was wrong had I not had a little spotting, which the doctor actually said was old blood and which I'm convinced was from either the colposcopy that she did or from us being intimate.

In the meantime, though, I'm being very protective of my little one. And I thank you again for all of your prayers and support. Please keep them coming.

03/23/08 at 06:26 PM
Thanks, Sheryl. I think you are a very wise lady.

Things seem to have taken a turn for the worse, but nothing definitive so far. I wish that either everything would clear up and we get great test results tomorrow and a great sonogram on Wednesday or that this would all be over with tonight. Limbo is killing both of us. It's hard to pull myself out of the depression, and I find myself staring into space for hours at a time, my thoughts running in circles over the same few things.

Plus, I have no idea what to do about work. I foolishly gave my notice at my current job with only a good faith offer of employment from my next employer - no written contract or offer letter - and I have not heard a word from them in over a week and no reply to my last email to the head of the firm. I feel that I should go into the office tomorrow, but I am deathly afraid of a miscarraige taking place at the office or on the subway. Not only would it be humiliating, but it would be traumatizing to me in too many ways to number. If this wasn't my last week, I would take the time off without hesitation. But since it is... And I don't know whether or not to inform my supervisors of the situation. Right now all that they know is that my husband told them I am very ill.

I hope you all are having lovely Easters. This is usually my favorite holiday.

03/26/08 at 09:46 AM
Update:

We got the test results back on Monday morning, and they were all good and within the normal range, but for some reason our doctor still did not seem positive at all. She'll do more blood tests today to determine the trend. I'm kind of ticked off that we didn't do a 48-hour beta test because we could have known the trend by the weekend and perhaps alleviated a lot of anxiety, but there you are. I really want a new doctor.

We go in for the second ultrasound this afternoon. I'm really scared to death about it.

The spotting has continued, as has the cramping. It's only been really sharp a couple of times and is usually no worse than what I've experienced throughout the pregnancy so far.

I had a long talk with a cousin of mine who is an Ob/gyn. (I never spoke with her in my life before Monday, but she called me when she heard what was going on and spoke with me for an hour - so sweet.) She told me that spotting and cramping in early pregnancy *can* signal a problem but is also fairly normal and happens to almost half of the women she sees with normal pregnancies. Placental abruption can cause the spotting (not a threatening issue) and just the irritation of having something in your uterus or the increased blood supply can irritate internal organs and cause mild cramping. She said that it's possible, even with my own certainty about my dates, that I am off. She said that she had one patient who swore up and down that she knew when she had conceived, had charted, etc, and was off by a week and a half. She said that sometimes the fertilized egg takes a while to meander down to the uterus. Sometimes it takes its time implanting. And sometimes your fertility signs can be off by a day or two. She said that the only way to know precisely when a pregnancy begins is through IVF, which is why due dates are always give or take 10 days. And then babies develop at their own rate, within certain bounds. So it is entirely possible that the pregnancy was just earlier in development than we thought, which would certainly explain the slow heart rate. She said that the critical thing is to know the trend, both in beta tests, progesterone tests, and from the ultrasound. If my HCG levels are doubling and progesterone is high enough, and the baby has grown in the last week, then things will likely be fine.

And then she talked to me for a long time about what to expect if indeed I do miscarry.

It was heartening to talk with her, both to receive some hope and to feel fully informed about everything. I wish she could be my doctor, but she lives halfway across the country.

I went back to work yesterday, and it was difficult. I found it hard to concentrate on anything at all and every little twinge worried me. I ended up leaving an hour early and went home totally exhausted. I slept for two hours and then ordered out for dinner. My apartment is a total disaster. (My sweet husband is great at taking care of me, but doesn't have a lot of housekeeping skills. His cooking is getting great, though!) I tried to clean up a little bit, but was so exhausted after carrying some dirty dishes to the kitchen, that I just lay back down again. I'm back at work today, and trying to take it easy as much as I can.

I received a call from the head of the new firm on Monday. He said that they were emailing me the signed offer letter, but I've seen nothing yet. He said that health insurance will be in place by April 1st, but that my start date might be a few days later due to issues with the office space. I'm not sure exactly how that will affect my coverage. A bit concerning, given what's going on with me, which is obviously something I would rather not reveal. And I can't seem to get a name of the insurance plan so that I can make sure that mine and my husband's doctors accept. He's having surgery in two weeks, so it's a stressor.

So that's what's going on. Basically, we're holding our breath until the appointment later today. Please say prayers.

03/26/08 at 04:14 PM
Thanks so much, Amber.

We just finished the doctor's appointment. She said that the spotting and cramping don't appear to be related to anything concerning at all. Then she did the ultrasound and said that the baby was at 6 weeks and had not grown at all. Which is wierd, because last week she said the baby was at 5 weeks. Which, to me, sounds like a growth of 1 week. But maybe I don't understand obstetrics. She also said that the heart rate was slow and irregular, but beating.

She did another beta test, and the results should be in tomorrow morning. She did not do a progesterone test, however, because she doesn't think progesterone therapy works at all and didn't see any point in doing it. Which I think is totally wierd because I know lots of pregnant women on progesterone therapy to prevent miscarriage. And my cycle is somewhat on the short side of things, so it seems within the realm of possible problems to me. Also, my cousin who is the ob/gyn thought it was strange that she didn't do a progesterone level test and said that it could tell us a lot.

I have to pummell her with questions to get any solid information whatsoever. My husband is totally put out and so am I.

Definitely want a new doctor.I'm going for another sonogram at a radiology center tomorrow morning where they are supposed to have more sensitive instruments, to check the size and get an actual heartrate.

We're so sick of being in limbo. It feels like having your heart slowly torn in two.

03/26/08 at 05:22 PM
Oh, I would have no idea what they were doing or what anything was called if I hadn't done my own internet research and talked to my cousin and my GP. This doctor tells me nothing at ALL except that I'm going to miscarry. Eventually.

FWIW, a beta test tests the level of HCG (which is the pregnancy hormone) in your blood. It's similar to a home pregnancy test, but it actually has a qualitative value. Your levels should double every 48 hours (or at least increase by 66%) for a healthy pregnancy until the first trimester ends, when the hormone levels off.

Progesterone is kind of like the flip side to estrogen. You need high levels in the second half of your cycle in order for conception and implantation to occur. Progesterone is what determines the length of the second half of your cycle. When progesterone levels fall, your period starts. A normal second half is 14 days. Abnormal (and making pregnancy difficult if not impossible) is 10 or less. Mine is usually around 12. You also need high levels of progesterone for a pregnancy to continue. Which is why some women are given progesterone supplements, because their bodies don't produce enough on their own.

I have no doubt that you had those tests done - if they drew blood, the likely checked these levels because it's pretty standard. They may just not have said anything about it because they were normal. I'm pretty sure that my doctor would not have said anything to me, even in this crisis, unless I had called and asked. She just said she was "drawing some blood". I called on Monday and said, "Why didn't you do a beta test?" When she said she had, I asked for the result. But she still didn't tell me the actual number - just that it was normal. I hate it when doctors don't feel that the patient needs to be informed. It's my body and my baby, after all.

03/27/08 at 04:31 PM
They found no heartbeat this morning. We think the baby died yesterday. We are devestated.

My family has a lot of connections in the medical community nationally, and my father has gotten a referral for me to one of the top ob's that specializes in high-risk pregnancy for a second opinion and perhaps for a minimal miscarriage workup. We very much want children, but I don't think I can go through this again. The wait-until-you've-had-three-miscarriages philosophy is not good for me, and if something can easily be treated (with hormone supplements or baby aspirin) then I want to know about it in advance. I suspect that this is my second miscarriage, although since I never took a pregnancy test last time, I have no way to prove it.

I want to correct one thing that I said that was wrong so that no one gets misinformation from me. A placental abruption *can* be very serious or it can be nothing to worry about. If it is small, it is like the edge of a scab on your elbow coming a little loose when you bend it. That can cause bleeding, but if the abruption is small it will not usually cause any problems and the placenta will likely reattach on its own. A major abruption, however, can be very serious.

Thank you all for your prayers and support. This whole experience is sending me into a different arena of fear. I don't think I will ever again worry about the fears that plagued me at the beginning of this pregnancy. I think that the only fear I will have from now on is whether or not the baby will live. I read something about losing your naivete about pregnancy once you've been through this. I know what they mean now. I can't imagine feeling the elation of seeing the positive test again. I can't imagine anything but holding my breath for nine months.

Thank you all so much for your prayers, postings, and support. It has meant the world to me.

04/06/08 at 05:25 PM
Thank you all so much. I think that it is a testament to Sheryl that so many lovely, kind, wise and supportive women show up to this board and the other to read and post. All of your words have meant so much.

I had a D&C under local anesthesia on Monday. The medication never worked, so I felt everything and I can easily say that it was the most horrific thing I have ever undergone, physically and emotionally. My husband said that he was shaken when they brought him in and he saw me because he has never seen anyone in so much pain. They sent me home with antibiotics and instructions to call if the pain did not improve or if things seemed to get worse.

On Friday morning I called because I was still experiencing sharp pain. They asked me to come back to the hospital and did another D&C under general anesthesia. It was a much better experience all around. I made it clear to them that I did not want to be aware of anything, and they obliged. I woke up in recovery and saw my husband walking toward me from across the room. There aren't words to describe how much I love this man and the relief that merely seeing him walking towards me gave me. He made sure that I had warmed blankets (five of them!) put on top of me to stop the shivering. He got me food when I was hungry. He made sure that the curtain was always drawn to protect my privacy. He even joked with me and kept my spirits up. There is not a kinder nurse alive than my husband.

And this man, who I had feared before was not entirely thrilled to be having a baby or was far too worried to enjoy us being pregnant, told me that now he knows that he wants children, wants them very much and would like for us to be pregnant again as soon as we can.

The silver lining in all of this is that I love my husband even more deeply than I did before. That "for worse" part of the vows hit us pretty hard this year, but it has only strengthened our relationship.

I start my new job tomorrow and will start working 50 hour or more weeks. I'm not sure if I'm up to it yet, but will give it a go and see what happens. My husband is scheduled for his own surgery on Thursday. My mom is flying up (thank God!) to take care of both of us from Thursday through the weekend. My parents are also treating us to a weekend in the mountains in a cabin on a lake with a fireplace and access to wine. We plan to go early next month. And we plan to do nothing but sit and stare at the fire, the lake, the mountains and each other. And breathe. And heal.

I'm still pretty sensitive about everything. I'm still having crying spells. I'm still physically uncomfortable. I expect all these things to pass eventually. I have a follow-up appointment with my new (and great) doctor in a few weeks when we will go over the test results and decide what further testing should be done. I can't wait to start again. I am so ready to make a family with my husband.

I will always love this baby, though. (We think it was a boy...) He will always be our first child. The first child we saw. The first child whose heart was beating. The first child we created together. We will always love him.

Thanks again so much for all of your support.

04/18/08 at 02:01 PM
I had my post-D&C follow-up today and left it feeling rather frustrated. I like my doctor, don't get me wrong. It's just that I was hoping she understood the urgency I feel about figuring out what happened and what measures to take to prevent it from happening again. But I got the standard, "After you have three miscarriages, we'll start trying to figure it out" line that they give everyone. I don't *want* to have to go through this three times before someone considers it serious! It's serious already! It was the most traumatic thing I have ever gone through, and I want to take whatever measures I can to reduce the risk that it will happen again. My aunt went through four miscarriages before they realized she had a problem with progesterone. On her fifth pregnancy, they gave her progesterone supplements, and my cousin Ethan was born. Something that simple...

I know someone else who had three miscarriages because of elevated NK cells. They treated her, too, and she carried to term. These women didn't HAVE TO lose their other children first. It's just that the medical community looks at stastics and treats women based on the statistics. I think it's cruel.

I know that they do it this way because the majority of women will go on to have normal pregnancies and healthy babies. But some of these tests are simple and inexpensive - blood draws and things like that - and seem like a minor inconvenience and expense in light of what a possibly preventable miscarriage causes.

I just don't get this three miscarriage policy!

To top it off, I feel fairly certain that this is my second miscarriage. I just can't prove it because I hadn't taken a pregnancy test yet last time. But no doctor will recognize it. So my chance of miscarriage might be fairly high at this point, but I can't get tests run.

I feel so frustrated. And even if a fertility test were to come back normal, and least that would be one less thing to worry about.

I asked her what I could do to reduce my risk of another miscarriage, and she told me to cut out caffeine and alcohol. Duh!

I want to scream!!

04/21/08 at 02:05 PM
Thanks, ladies. I think the problem is with this particular doctor. (Not that what she is saying isn't standard, it's just not acceptable to me.) I thought it over and decided that I will wait to see what the results are for the chromosomal testing they did on the baby first. If the results come back inconclusive, then I will go to a fertility clinic here, which is top-notch. One confirmed and one suspected miscarriage and being over 35 ought to be enough to have a basic RPL array of tests done, if not the more expensive and invasive ones. I'm not even going to ask her because I don't have the energy to fight about it. I'm just going to go straight to a RE. Hopefully my new insurance, which starts next month, will cover the tests. If not, we'll just take money out of our savings account.

I'm also going to look into alternative therapies. I really feel like my body is out of balance in several ways. I read The Infertility Cure by Randine Lewis. I contacted her staff and they referred me to four different practitioners here. I'm going to look into that, too, as soon as we get the results back. All of them are pretty pricey, but I might be able to get some of it covered by insurance. Whether or not anything out of balance cause my miscarriage, I think it's a good idea to get things straight and settled before trying again.

I need to have the answers. I cannot imagine going through this again.

04/21/08 at 06:00 PM
Thanks. You too, MT.

My husband and I were talking about it this weekend and the thing is... Say we wait three months like they told us to to start trying again. And then let's say that it takes two months (which is how long it took the last two times) to actually get pregnant again. And then let's say that I miscarry two and a half months into the pregnancy. That means that I'm 36 at the end of the second miscarriage and just a couple of months shy of 37 at the end of the third. BEFORE THEY WILL DO ANY TESTING. And that's if we're totally lucky and things go just as they have and we get pregnant quickly. Since everyone starts raising alarm bells at 35, it just seems ridiculous to me to wait and see. You wait and see when you're 22 (though that seems cruel to me for different reasons). But it seems patently absurd at our age. I just keep imagining finally doing the testing and having them say, well, if you had come to us sooner, we could have put you on baby aspirin, but now your eggs are too old or your FSH levels are too high and there's nothing we can do have you considered adoption. And then, believe me, I will be homicidal.

It frustrates me because you HAVE to be your own medical advocate. And yet, a lot of doctors seem annoyed if you do your own reading and research and ask lots of questions and don't take no for an answer. Which I just can't accept. This is too important. Talk about blame! I think if I miscarried again only to find out later that it could have been prevented, I will totally blame myself and REALLY blame anyone who prevented me from finding that out in time. I keep hearing about statistics and "most women" and "bad luck". But unless they *know* why my baby died then they don't *know* that it was bad luck or that I am like "most women". That is an assumption based on absolutely no personal evidence. I don't want to make assumptions when the life of my baby and my fertility is on the line. I'll take that explanation when they show me that nothing is wrong with me or that the baby had chromosomal problems. Until then, I want answers.

04/21/08 at 01:58 PM
I am so down today and I can't seem to perk myself up. I woke up feeling honest-to-God depresssed. Not just sad or worried, but bone and soul-crushing depression. I'm at work and I feel like everything I'm doing is wrong, not just at work but with everyone I encounter. I feel like I'm letting everyone down and making constant stupid mistakes.

I have no energy to do anything, but I have tremendous amounts of work and responsibility. I feel like if I take any time at all to do something to cheer myself, then I am doing a wrong thing because I'm NOT doing something I'm supposed to be doing for someone else.

I was wondering if I would escape the depression over this loss. Grief I felt immediately and continuously. But depression is something different for me. It feels utterly different. So far, my body and heart have been in survival mode. I felt the grief but, oddly, no depression. I thought maybe I had escaped it. Yesterday was the first day that I felt like myself all the way until 9pm. That's in over a month. I hoped that I had turned some kind of corner and that each day would get better. And now this hits me today.

I have more demands on me and less patience for them than I have ever had. I want to do nothing more than to curl up under my comforter and cry and sleep.

I had planned to give up caffeine today, which I had gone back on right after the D&C, but at 10 am I felt like I didn't have the will to lift my arm to write a note to my boss, so I made myself a cup of tea. I'm about to go get another one. That makes me feel sad, too, because I want to be in top physical shape for the next pregnancy.

[SIGH]

04/23/08 at 08:38 AM
Thanks, everyone. The last two days were really hard. To top it off, my husband and I got into a pretty big fight last night, leaving both of us feeling pretty hurt. We made up this morning, but I cried the whole way to work and didn't get much sleep last night. Do you ever have those nights when you just pray you won't wake up in the morning?

This is just so hard.

Thanks for typing all of that out, Amber. That's exactly what I'm talking about. Thankfully, our doctor decided right away to do the chromosomal testing. She told us last week that they were able to grow a culture and that we should have the results by Friday or a week from Friday. I'm really anxious to find out. If they find nothing wrong, then I will insist on further testing, and will keep trying doctors until I find one willing to do it.

05/01/08 at 02:27 PM
We got the test results today. We had a girl. She had an extra chromosome 2, which our doctor tells us is extremely rare and almost always ends in miscarriage. I don't think that this can be inherited. That means that there is probably nothing wrong with me and no further tests are needed unless it happens again. So that's a huge relief, and I can stop worrying about having done something to kill my baby or about not being able to ever carry a baby to term.

It was a fluke. Very, very sad, but a fluke.

I cried and cried when the doctor told us that she was a girl. It made it so much more real. I love her and miss her very much and would have taken her into my arms on any terms whatsoever.

Thanks to you all for all of your thoughts and prayers.

Just a little note... This experience has led me into a world full of grief-stricken mothers of children who will never be born. Some of them suffer for years, most suffer heroically, most suffer quite deeply. My heart aches for all of them. I can't imagine going through what I've been through again and again and again, like they do. This Mother's Day, please say a prayer, light a candle, and remember them and their children in your hearts.

05/04/08 at 02:49 PM
Thanks. We decided to name her. She deserves a name. So, we've named her Rebecca Renee.

I had a dream when I was 20 that my first daughter died. In my dream, she was 10 years old and was devoted to God. She came down with pneumonia, but the doctors at the hospital refused to give her antibiotics unless she renounced God. We urged her to take the antibiotics and assured her that God would still love her and that these were cruel people we were dealing with. She refused and died from the illness. We were devestated but in awe of her love for God. In my dream, I called her Rebecca - a name I had never thought of in waking life before. I kept calling her my raven-haired Rebecca.

We were looking through a name book last night when I remembered the dream. I looked it up, and it means "bound to God". Renee means "reborn". I told my husband, and he likes the name. I know that Rebecca has been reborn in heaven and is bound to God and with Him.

Wearing Black

I am not pregnant. Again.

My hopes were so high this time. A birthday present for me. A new life. A new song. Another chance.

Here I am wearing black. Again. Just in case, my mom advised me when I was 13. Those five days of wearing black every month. Black pants, black skirts, black dresses. You look so pretty in black, so elegant, so New York.

You New Yorkers always wear black. What, are you in mourning?

Yes. I am. Every time my period comes again I mourn the girl that died, and the death of the hope of the new children that aren't coming.

I want at least nine months of wearing white.

First Step

I decided that I need to face some of the things that cause me pain. Face up to them in a manly way, look 'em straight in the eye, and say, "I can survive you."

So I went to my friend Robin's baby shower. She's due in two weeks. She's had her own troubles with pregnancy in the past, and now more than ever I'm pulling for her. She's almost at the finish line, she almost has her little boy safe and snug in her arms.

I wasn't sure if I could actually go through with it, so I kept my RSVP at "Maybe" on the E-vite. But Saturday morning, I woke up and thought, I just have to do this. For my sake as much as for Robin's. It felt exactly like the first phone call I made a few days after the miscarriage. Ross had been making all of the calls for me because I just couldn't hear my own voice talking about it with anyone but Ross and the doctors. I didn't know what to say or what people should say to me. I couldn't bear the thought of the finality of those conversations.

This was like that. I had a dread of the shower, but the conviction that I had to go. I had to affirm the goodness of life in the midst of my own pain by sharing in this celebration of the coming of a much-wanted and long-hoped-for child.

And it was good. I got to play with Lance and Lauren's beautiful little baby daughter for a good long time. I ate food and played games and chatted and laughed with all of my girlfriends. I gave Robin a lovely gift that I was happy to offer to her. She looked beautiful and calm and peaceful and composed and radiant. I hope I look that way one day.

The afternoon wasn't perfect. I had a couple of hard moments. The first was when my friend Laurelyn got up to leave. Her due date is one week after what mine would have been. We had many times joked about how we would get pregnant together, and then we did, and then Rebecca died. I can never take my eyes off of her when I see her because I should look like her right now. Anyway - she got up to leave and Robin stood to hug her. Everyone squealed and scrambled for the cameras and shouted, "Get the bumps touching! This will never happen again in our group!" I couldn't look. I stared at the carpet and blinked back the tears and wished it had been the three of us.

The second moment was when we played a game in which we were supposed to guess the size of Robin's belly by cutting off a piece of ribbon to measure it. I thought we would pass them to her or something, but they had us line up and measure it ourselves. I wanted to be a good sport and not make anyone uncomfortable, so I lined up with the rest. I put my arms around Robin and measured quickly, never looking her in the eye, and got away to dash the few tears from my cheeks.

But it's a first step. And first steps are usually shaky in some way. And they usually get better the more you take. So I'm going to take some more.

Brain Flu

I've been depressed since Rebecca died. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think about her, miss her, dream about her... The grief has been hard at times, but easily recognizable to me as grief. I'm sure that there is some PPD going on, too. My hormones levels have never been particularly balanced, I don't think, since I get PMS regularly and pretty painful periods. And I've been prone to depression as long as I can remember, having my first major episode when I was 21.

But for the past five and a half days, it has been extreme. I have no idea, really, what triggered it. Like I said, I've had grief and depression at varying levels since my miscarriage in early April. But the intensification to this level is really out of the blue. I spend much of each hour struggling to get through work and my other responsibilites and reminding myself to breathe in and out. It seems both independent of and connected to the loss of our child. It is horribly painful. I actually feel pain in my body as well as in my heart and soul.

I heard it described by another depression sufferer as "brain flu". That's what this feels like. It's like some wierd illness that has invaded my body for which there is no cure, only more and less effective means of treating the symptoms. I kjust keep hanging on, knowing that it will end too, just like the flu ends.

I just wish it hadn't already lasted three months. And there's no way anyone can tell me when it will end. And, of course, no drugs for me since we're trying again.

I feel terrible for complaining to Ross about it. I don't know why this has to be such a struggle. I don't know why I can't snap out of it. But I can't.

Anyway, I start accupuncture soon and have high hopes for it. I'll keep you posted...

Complaint Letter

Dear Mother Nature,

I have some problems I would like for you to address:

I want a baby. I want a baby. I want a baby.

Also, I would like my waist-line, rear-end, and boobs to go back to their pre-pregnancy size (or smaller). Please. Thank you. In advance. That is until I get pregnant with the next baby and then go ahead and do what you want to with my body. Just promise me that I can lose it after the baby is born.

Also, this depression sucks big time. Please cut that out. Or at least give me a vacation in the Caribbean to take the edge off. I might be able to deal with it in an ocean view cottage with a plunge pool, an outdoor shower and unlimited rum. For a really long time. (One week is just a tease.)

I would really like to loose the knots in my shoulders, too. But the Caribbean and rum would probably go a long way in that regard.

Okay. I think that's it for now.

Jenny

P.S. The baby request is the big one, so if you want to focus just on that, great.