Good news, weird news

The good news is that the baby is alive and looks fine. Whew.

Now for the weird news. You may recall that last ultrasound the doc told me to have them recheck my left ovary because it looked weird. When I got in there today, the tech asked if I had gone to the hospital.

“Um, for what?”

“To have that ovary checked out.”

I hadn’t been to the hospital. So she starts with the abdominal ultrasound and starts checking my ovaries. She briefly passed by what looked like an empty placenta. I started to panic a little and asked if she could check to see if the baby is alive. I said, “Because if the baby isn’t alive, I won’t be needing those ovaries anymore.” She says in a cheery voice, “Oh were you thinking of having them taken out?” This from the same woman who asked as I came in if this was my first baby. Novices.

So she checked the baby and then went back to her search for my ovaries. Then we moved to the wand that gets inserted. What is that thing called? She wielded that wand like a joystick. Left, right, up, down. Ouch. I digress. On to the weird part.

When she found my left ovary, it had a very obvious white spot on it. The doc later said it would need to be checked out by a different doc who looks at ovaries all the time. The concern being ovarian cancer. Not that it is at all likely to be ovarian cancer but that’s they’d be worried about. Okayyyy.

Later after the doc talked to fancy doc, my doctor, he comes in and says, “It could be a tooth.” Excuse me?

Apparently, as a mere embryo, part of my genetic material may have gotten stuck in my ovary, and 36 years later, my ovary may have grown itself a tooth. No f*cking way.

This is the best possible outcome that would be fitting for Halloween. The baby is alive but my ovary has grown a tooth. Charlotte asked if that is what a molar pregnancy is. Isn’t that funny?

At one point, after I reported, to fancy doc’s assistant, matter-of-factly, “it could be a tooth,” I started laughing and almost couldn’t stop. Once again, an interesting ultrasound. So I’ll go to the hospital before too long and have my left ovary checked out. If it turns out to be a tooth, will I have to see my dentist about it?

It’s not a tumah. But it could be a tooth.

Smiling here in Crazytown.

Hopefully I won’t have bad dreams about the tooth.

My baby is alive. :)

Here I go

I am leaving for my ultrasound right now. My palms are sweaty already. Ugh.

Paging Dr. Freud

I had the whale dream again. I have recurring whale dreams and recurring I’m back in college and nothing makes any sense dreams. Last night I had them mixed together. I was back in college and a friend noticed that I was pregnant. Then I’m heading south on the Garden St*te P*rkway but the road is blocked by logs. I look over to the ocean and see what turns out to be a huge all-black whale leaping out of the water. It leaps around and nearly beaches itself but returns safely to the water. At this point in the dream, I’ve started to consider having an abortion because I’m in college and am not set up at all for a baby. I decide to head back to school to consider my options. My son appears and cries, “But I want a little brother.” I was considering my options when I woke up.

Whatthef*ck? Truth be told, I have been feeling overwhelmed lately. First trimesters are exhausting and hormonal and nauseating to the point where nothing makes any sense anymore. First trimesters while caring full-time for two little maniacs are extra-exhausting and hormonal and nauseating. And this is my THIRD TIME doing a first trimester while caring full-time for two little maniacs. It’s enough to make a girl question her sanity. As if.

Sometimes I wonder what the hell we are doing? Why am I putting myself and my family through this again? What if the baby turns out to have some major neurological issue that can’t be diagnosed in utero? What if a third child puts us over the edge as a family or couple or as individuals? What if I wasn’t supposed to do this?

So last night’s dream is interesting to me in the context of my present state of feeling overwhelmed. What does it mean? I have no f*cking clue. If anybody wants to take a shot at it, I suggest the format, “If it were my dream….” If nobody would touch it with a ten-foot pole, I understand. I’m not going there. It is merely grist for the mill.

Now I’m off to trim and shower so I’ll have “bush confidence” for the exam that will follow the ultrasound, if the baby is alive. I’ve started watching “Th* L Word” because I need a new series in my life. I like the new things that I’ve learned such as “bush confidence,” but I have to say that I am disappointed in the first few episodes.

My first clue that the show is unrealistic (I hate unrealistic masquerading as realistic): a lesbian couple find out that their donated sperm has no motility, after 6 months of insemination (wouldn’t it have been tested earlier, but that’s not the really puzzling part), so they decide to find somebody else ASAP because they have 2-3 days to get that egg fertilized. So not only does the egg live for 2-3 DAYS on this show but the couple is endeavoring to find a new donor and inseminate within 48 hours? Hellooooo? Who is writing this stuff? A bunch of dudes?

And then JB sends a new donor to meet her partner and go to the cryobank and he shows up and JB has not mentioned to her that he is African-American? Helloooo? Wouldn’t that have been discussed? Wouldn’t they have discussed EVERYTHING that is known about possible donor and speculated about everything that is unknown that they can think of to speculate about?

Then they almost spontaneously have an insemination/threesome with a guy they just met? No testing for STDs? Okay maybe I should lighten up but why not make the show realistic? Harrumph.

I can’t believe that I am doing this again

I said I would never do this again. Actually I think I said, “NO F*CKING WAY AM I EVER GOING TO GET PREGNANT AGAIN. I WILL NEVER PUT MYSELF IN A POSITION TO SEE A DEAD BABY ON AN ULTRASOUND AGAIN. NEVERRRRRRRRRRRRR!! WHY THE F*CKING HELL WOULD I DO THIS AGAIN??? WHY WOULD I PUT MYSELF THROUGH THIS SHIT???

Tomorrow I have an ultrasound. 1 p.m.

I’m doing it again. On Halloween, no less. Why, oh why, did I schedule it for Halloween? Is it not enough that deadbabydisasters have already ruined Christmas, Fourth of July/my wedding anniversary, and my son’s birthday? Oh and I forgot New Year’s Eve. This past year I spent NYE in the babyless dungeon of the hospital, reeling from the shock of the last four days, not really believing that I came in with a fever and then my perfectly healthy baby ended up in the morgue. I was at home eating some f*cking goulash and then I got cold. I digress.

I have learned the hard way to NEVER EVER schedule an ultrasound on a Friday. Thursday may not even be safe. But have I not learned to avoid holidays? What if I have to take my kids trick-or-treating with a dead baby in me. It’s not like they won’t notice if I stay home (with my bong). My son is five for Christsake. Halloween is like Christmas for him but with CANDY and a Batman costume.

Perhaps I am being a bit negative here. I said I wouldn’t do that. I am doing it. Calgon take me away.

I wish they could do the ultrasound without me. If I have to live through another ultrasound moment where nobody says anything and I open my eyes to see that look on people’s faces… I don’t know what I’ll do. I will go on record now saying that if this pregnancy ends badly I am done, done, done. More done, done, done than last time. Really done.

Tomorrow. 1 p.m.

By the way, is good news boring? Am I only interesting when I rant and rave? I am a little disappointed that my good news/blood test results went largely unnoticed in the blogosphere. (Maybe I am not commenting on other people's blogs enough?) Like it or not, I am counting on you good people to be my virtual handholders during this process. Even if it goes well.

Baby named. Done. Check.

Sprout.

My dear, dear, dear friend from college, who I love and relate to better than most anybody I've ever met, suggested it. It made me cry and actually feel something for like an entire minute!

Sprout. It really embodies the hope I have that the little creature will grow and grow until becomes a full-blown baby that lives!

One of my favorite memories of my dear friend: We're in college, maybe juniors or seniors, at one of our sorority rush functions (Don't rush to judgement-I SUCKED at being a member of this organization). We are supposed to be talking to girls who are rushing instead of each other. This hideously perky sister comes up and suggests that we go talk to some girls. Dear friend looks her straight in the eye and says, "You want a slap?"

I died. How can you not love her? I do, with all my heart. She's always been braver than me. I think such things. She says them. I wish I could be more like her, but I am really chickenshit on the inside. I am too afraid that somebody will get mad at me or snap at me or not like me, even if I don't like them anyway. Then later I am wishing that I'd had the balls to speak up about something. And it eats away at me.

I am a closet wimp.

Hungry but nothing sounds good except...

I would kill a grown man with my bare hands right now for a bag of sun chips, even the cheddar flavored ones.

That's it.

This just in ...

Fancy doc's assistant just called with yesterday's blood test results. Since last Tuesday, my HCG went from 38,633 to 150,000. I can't complain about that.

My progesterone went from 19.1 to 18.7. So it's still going down but not really very much. Fancy doc called it stable and advised not worrying. That drop isn't nearly as precipitous as the previous drop from 27 to 19.1 in two weeks.

So I guess we'll call that good news?! At least it isn't clearly bad news. I got that goin' for me, which is nice.

Tuesday's ultrasound is the next hurdle. I should know better than to schedule an ultrasound for a holiday. Halloween better not be ruined, for Christ's sake.

Christmas, Fourth of July/my wedding anniversary and my son's birthday have already ready been seriously tainted by dead babies. Let's hope for a good outcome so I can take my kids trick-or-treating without a dead baby in me.

The little creature needs a name

I need to name this… pregnancy? No, I need to name this……baby. That was hard to say. It’s hard to call it a baby. It’s not really a baby. Well yes it is. F*ck that, it’s a baby. Obviously I’m a little conflicted here.

I’m afraid to call it a baby. Blah, blah, blah. I’m afraid to feel really stupid if I have to look back at this after another disaster. Blah, blah. I’m afraid to connect.

I would NEVER assume that we are having a baby. I can’t say that we are having a baby. Maybe expecting is a really good word. Actually…not. Because I am not expecting that I’ll have a baby on June 14th. I’m not planning on it. Am I hoping to have a baby in June? Yes. But that sounds like I’m not even pregnant. Argh.

I need to name the baby. I need to name it so if it turns up dead on an ultrasound, I can refer to it later as something besides Disaster #4 or Our Most Recent Disaster which is not to be confused with our current Most Recent Disaster. Help me name the baby.

I really like “The Twinkle” but that already belongs to The Twinkle and his parents. But I like that the name reflects the state of being of a tiny, tiny embryo. Grain o’ Rice is not quite as catchy. Suggestions?

Still waiting for yesterday’s HCG and progesterone results. I had a little bit of spotting yesterday morning. Ah the spotting. It’s normal until it isn’t.

It was very light. It was like discharge goo with a pink tinge. Nothing since then. Spotting and I have a long and complex history. More on that later.

Who was that masked... blogger?!

I found a blog the other day that I cannot find again. I don't know how I got there and all blog searches have been fruitless. Maybe somebody can identify it for me.

The blogger is a woman who has had five pregnancies and has two living children. I believe that her last pregnancy had a happy ending. She recently posted about finding out at an ultrasound that her baby had a big empty space where her brain should've been.

I purposely didn't bookmark because at the time I read it, I though, "Sweet Jesus, this is not what I need to be reading about; ways for a baby to die tragically that I haven't heard of yet." But I want to read more about the blogger especially since she has had many pregnancies like me. She also had a list of circumcision links and I'd liek to check those out as well.

Does anybody know the name of this blog?

By the way, I decided to get my progesterone tested again.

The dice have been thrown

I’m kind of a bad blogger. I have a hard time getting motivated to post unless I have something deeply disturbing to write about. Or at least a little disturbing. There’s not much happening here. The days are creeping by and I’m still only 6 ½ weeks along. It feels like an eon… at least. Holy.

I decided to shake off the progesterone supplements on the advice of the RE. I kind of feel like, if this kid’s gonna get through then it’s gonna get through. I don’t feel like there’s much that I can do about it. I failed to mention that I took Prometrium during my second pregnancy and that baby died anyway. It didn’t have the decency to inform me before three weeks of deadness but oh well. Bygones.

So that experience did not inspire any confidence in progesterone supplementation. Thank you for your advice, Bri especially. We’re going to wing it. I am not going to have my progesterone tested again. Fancy doc’s assistant said they never test for that anyway because it isn’t predictive of outcome. File my scare under Classic Case of Too Much Information. Hopefully, I won’t be choking on those words next week during my 7 ½ week ultrasound.

The good news is that my three deadbabydisasters have helped me to any release any perception of control over this process. Oh and the doctor that did last week’s ultrasound, besides noting a fibroid and a funky looking left ovary that I should remind them to recheck next week, also said, not in so many words, that she thinks Rocket Man and I have a translocation in our chromosomes and we really should have that business mapped out.

She said that our possible translocation is likely why we’ve had two early miscarriages. Neither of those fetuses was sent for chromosomal testing or whatever it’s called. What is it called?. The first was just vacuumed out unceremoniously without the suggestion of testing. Being a deadbabyvirgin, I didn’t know to ask for it. The second was too dead by the time I had to wait five days for the worst D&C ever. There is no point in mapping our chromosomes now because the dice have already been thrown. So we wait.

More good news is that I started to feel sick a few days ago. Just a little sick but enough to remind that there is a better than average chance that my baby isn’t dead yet. I think it’s better than average. If it isn’t, then by all means don’t tell me.

Feeling sick also indicates a good chance of the baby being a girl. With my two boy pregnancies, I have had little or no nausea except when I’m really hungry or when I’m really hungry and I smell something funky. With the two girl pregnancies I have felt nausea that sometimes lasts all day and requires frequent consumption of Sto*ffer’s Fre*ch Bread Pizzas.

Through all of my pregnancies I have not vomited once. Six pregnancies and nary a dry heave. I am a lucky girl, save the three dead babies.

As far as the sickness being suggestive of a baby girl, at the merest notion of having another female child that could possibly be as big of a holy terror as my two-year-old daughter… at the very suggestion of that notion I will begin to quake in my boots at this very moment.

With many ounces of my being, I am truly and deeply afraid of having another girl. I was afraid of this before I had my daughter, the creature with possibly more attitude per pound than any other on the planet.

More on that later. Suffice it to say that my mother and I do not, nor have we ever, gotten along so well.

Yikes.

Game plan

The game plan is... nothing. Fancy doc talked to an RE who called me this afternoon. RE said my numbers look good to him and he sees no cause for concern. The dropping progesterone is still in the normal range so that matters more than the drop, to him at least. He said the dip might be attributable to the placenta taking over estrogen production from the ovaries between 6 and 10 weeks. I am only 6 weeks today so that doesn't make a ton of sense to me but I'm not a doctor nor did I stay at a Holid*y Inn Express last night. I wish I had asked point blank, "Is it normal for progesterone to fluctuate?" I think he was essentially saying yes, that a dip could be normal.

RE also said there is no point in taking suppositories because low progesterone doesn't cause pregnancies to fail. It may be a symptom of a failing pregnancy but it's not the cause. He recommends I sit tight. He does not advise re-checking my progesterone level. I have an ultrasound scheduled for next Thursday. I feel okay about this for the most part.

This early pregnancy drama really reminds of my pregnancy with my daughter. She was always alive at every panicked ultrasound, through all the 10 weeks of bleeding. I am reluctant to put this in print but I have a good feeling at this point. I feel like this one's gonna get through. Funny that I would be reluctant to put that in print after all the graphic, horrifying shit I've put into print. As many of you well know, hope is utterly terrifying. But I can't protect myself by bracing for the impact of disaster. I tried that last time. It didn't work. I was SHATTERED.

For now, I feel good. Thank you for your support. It's heartwarming.

Good news, bad news

Well the good news, after yesterday’s adventure, is that when I went for an ultrasound… there was good news. No dead baby. The technician announced after an interminable delay, “there’s cardiac activity.” 3 beautiful words. I am only a mere 5 weeks, 6 days pregnant so the tiny fetus is barely as big as a grain of rice. But it has cardiac activity.

When I heard that little heartbeaty type noise, I felt a little teary. I started to feel attached to the little creature. I started to really encourage it to fight. I agreed to fight also. I pleaded a little. I agreed to start loving it if it would just promise to try not to die.

Please don’t die little tiny baby. We've been waiting a long time for you. You have a big sister that spots babies going by in cars and gleefully exclaims, “I saw baby. I saw baby go by!!” Your big brother has endured the loss of three dead siblings and this kid doesn’t miss a thing; he may have suffered as much as I did, it just wasn’t as obvious. When I told him that I was pregnant last time, he said, “I hope our baby doesn’t die.” Then he said, “I’m going to take care of this baby all by myself.”

I have another ultrasound in a week. Unfortunately, I know all too well that after seeing a heartbeat, the chance of miscarriage does not go down to 3%. In dead baby disaster #1, I saw a heartbeat at 7 weeks and then a dead baby at my 10½ week ultrasound. The baby had died shortly after I saw its heartbeat. My uterus didn’t get the memo for three weeks. Hate it.

In dead baby disaster #3, we saw a heartbeat at around 7 weeks again only to find another crumpled up, motionless baby at the 11 week ultrasound. So needless to say, seeing a heartbeat is merely hurdle number 2 with myriad others lined up in a neat row stretching as far as the eye can see.

But it’s a beginning.

Every new beginning is some other beginning’s end. I always liked the line from a song which I can’t remember the name of.

Yesterday during the ultrasound I had a feeling reminiscent of my pregnancy with my daughter; every time I went in for an ultrasound I thought for sure she’d be dead but she was always there, unfazed by the blood clot that was expected to end the pregnancy. Knowing her now, it would’ve taken a nuclear holocaust to bring her down. She is a warrior. I am in awe of her.

Now to the bad news. At least I think it’s bad news but is still haven’t heard from my fancy high-risk pregnancy doctor. Fancy doctor’s partner saw me yesterday and said she and fancy doc and the other partners don’t know much about progesterone in early pregnancy. She said suppositories are worthless and can even be harmful. She said that the progesterone test wasn’t meant to be interpreted in such a way. She said that I could contact an RE on my own. That seems like it could take a long time.

Last night I left message for fancy doc (FD) saying that I would like him to contact his RE colleague and find out whatthef*ck basically. I said that I feel a sense of urgency and that I would like to do whatever is possible to save the pregnancy if in fact it is going south. So now I wait.

Anybody with knowledge of progesterone in early pregnancy, please share your experience.

Before I went to the ultrasound I took off the cute new maternity top that I bought last week. It’s comfortable and nice and roomy so I wear it even though it’s too early for it. I took it off so I wouldn’t feel extra-f*cking-stupid if my baby was dead.

Yes I am wearing maternity clothes at 5 weeks, 6 days. When you’ve been pregnant six times, three in the last year, things happen quickly. And I’ve had multiple c-sections so my excuse for stomach muscles give out as soon as the two pink lines show up.

The belly makes it extra hard to handle the telling people/not telling people issue. (Last time, people were flat-out congratulating me at 10 weeks.) Taking the maternity clothes out for the third time in a year, that’s just … well it defies description. Flashbacks are involved. And trepidation. And big huge sighs.

Maybe I should consider praying.

P.S. As I was leaving the ultrasound, fancy doc's partner said, "I don't want you to worry about this but when you come back next week have the technician check your left ovary. It looks irregular but it could have been a shadow." Comical, really.

Impending Disaster?

My progesterone is going down and nobody is available at my doctor's office to tell me how bad that is. Perhaps one of you knows about this.

My prog. went from 27 two weeks ago to 19.1 yesterday. This does not sound good to me. My HCG was 490 two weeks ago and is 38,633 yesterday.

What the f*ck?

Petrified... that's the word I've been looking for

Tonight the right word finally came to me. Don't know what the hell took so long. I'd been thinking terrified was the word but it’s not quite right. Petrified really brings across the frozen, immobile, stuckness type of feeling.

I thought I’d be all brave and optimistic and refusing to be robbed of what will be hopefully my last pregnancy, for the third time. I was sadly mistaken.

I feel like I’m walking a tightrope and the safety net is so far down that I can’t even see it. The fall is the worst part. It starts with the part where you realize this is really f*cking happening and it’s not a hideous nightmare. It actually is a hideous nightmare but it’s real and it’s your life.

I don’t know what will happen to me if I have to see another dead baby. Crumpled up on an ultrasound? Tiny and brown and dead in my arms? Alien-looking in the palm of my mind? So many ways to experience the dead baby. Will I have to do it again? What will be left of me?

I haven’t been posting because I was waiting to work up a good angst-ridden diatribe. I haven’t quite achieved a diatribe here but I felt a responsibility to say something. If I’m not feeling utterly tormented then I have a hard time being motivated to post. Doesn’t seem like it would make for a very good read.

Anyway, my two blood tests last week were good; both HCG and progesterone doing what they were supposed to. I felt relatively okay for a few days afterwards, mostly just numb and this-doesn’t feel-real type of thing. Nice that that’s “relatively okay.”

The only things I know to be true are that I got pregnant and as of last week on Thursday my blood work looked good. But... the baby could be dead for a week now already.

My positive-attitude friend would be wigging if she heard this but sadly I know that it’s true. I had a dead baby in me for three weeks and I had no clue it was dead until I started spotting, three weeks after it died. My dead baby virginity was lost.

Once you know that your baby could’ve died three weeks ago and you won’t even know, it’s a little hard to get to sleep at night. I feel bad if three-week-old-dead-baby virgins are reading this. Please don’t read this. Please don’t know these things if you don’t have to. Why am I spreading this information around?

Actually I think I stopped posting last week after watching a godawful sad video tribute to a baby who died from GI problems at about 5 weeks. I knew I shouldn’t watch it but I couldn’t stop. As if I need other potential problems to catastrophize about? As if any of us do?

I’ve got to get to sleep. Hopefully the melatonin will work. Reading myself to sleep at 11 and waking up at 4:30 unable to get back to sleep is brutal.

I’m coming undone.

Sweet dreams.

I still hate Evil Shadow Pregnancy

Evil Shadow Pregnancy (ESP) thinks that I am avoiding her because she’s pregnant, not because she is EVIL! I spoke with a mutual friend (MF) today and she told me that ESP thinks that I can’t face her growing belly. I can’t face her because I am filled with rage and bitterness that she HAS a growing belly when she was planning to kill her baby if it was a boy. See my earlier post on this for details.

Basically, I saw ESP last week and got away as quickly as possible. I later felt like it’s pretty lame to give her the silent treatment,fifth grade style, without an updated explanation.

Shortly after my most recent deadbaby disaster, I left her a message saying that I couldn’t see her for a while. But the message was all sugar-coated (because I’m a spineless f*cking idiot and I hate when people lash out at me). A few weeks later, I had her over once but I haven’t been able to see her since.

After I left the message saying that I couldn’t see her, ESP asked MF if I was unable to see her because of what she was considering doing to her baby. MF said yes and ESP said that I didn’t know for sure that she was going to do it (terminate the unwanted boy) and that she had been trusting me not to judge her. This woman is my NEIGHBORRRRRR! She is unavoidable ultimately.

I spoke with MF today (this is a few months later) and she said that she thinks ESP is currently under the impression that I am avoiding her because she is pregnant not because of her evil plot. This whole thing is such a big mess and it is eating away at me.

I want to email her and communicate that I’m not avoiding her just because of her belly. I don’t want her to be able to fool herself into thinking that. But how to tell her why I am avoiding her? I know that she will get extremely defensive and then it’ll be really awkward and hostile probably when we run into each other. By emailing her, I could make a bad situation worse.

Here’s what I would say:

ESP,

I feel like a big phony for pretending that everything was normal when I saw you last week. You probably know that things are not normal. It is very difficult for me to be around you and I am wrecked for a few days afterward each time I see you.

I want you to know that I am not avoiding you just because you are pregnant. I have several pregnant friends and while it is not easy for me to see them, it’s not as painful as seeing you. I’m afraid that this next part is going to make you very angry but I can’t hold onto it any longer. I am filled with rage and bitterness that you got your girl after what you were thinking of doing to your boy. Having lost two babies this year, it seems alittle unfair that you got what you wanted and I didn’t. Sour grapes? You betcha. But it gets worse.

The really sucky part is that after you told me that you were considering terminating, I rehearsed constantly the advice that I wanted to give you. After our baby died, I rehearsed even more. What I would’ve said to you, had you not made it clear that you didn’t want to think about your baby or talk about the situation, is this: If you decide to go through with the termination , then I don’t want you to look back later and ask me why I didn’t say anything. I felt like when you told me of your plans, I had little choice but to not voice any shock or dismay. I felt like you would’ve gotten really mad. After we lost our baby, I really wanted to suggest that, before you terminate, you acknowledge your baby’s presence and apologize. Denying that he had arms and legs and fingers and toes only to suffer the guilt later seemed like the worst way to go. It was hard for me to be silent while you were in your self-described “Zen-like state” of ignoring your baby’s existence.

When you called with the news that you are having a girl, I was shocked. When you said, “I don’t know why I’m not more excited,” I was horrified. I responded, “Well the alternative was a little sobering.” You didn’t reply to that. I thought, “PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE don’t ask me to pretend that everything is all fine now.” That’s the worst thing that can happen here. I can’t be silent about this still.

I don’t know what I need exactly but I know I need one conversation about it at least.
I need you to recognize that it was godawful for me to hear you talk about terminating your pregnancy while I was waiting five days for the bad D&C. And that it was excruciating to hear that you would be continuing your pregnancy now that you were having a girl when I had to pick up another set of ashes from the funeral home.

The worst part was that the awfulness of my situation combined with yours wasn’t acknowledged. I can’t pretend, not about that. I don’t think there’s any chance of recovering our friendship without a conversation about what went on.

End of letter.

I can’t think of how to end it and I don’t want to spend any more time on it right now. If I sent this letter, she would WIG!!!! She is in a very defensive, entitled place and thinks that I have no idea what it’s like to be desperate for a girl. She also thinks that it’s my problem if I can’t deal with her belly.

THIS WOMAN IS MY NEIGHBOR!!!! WE JUST MOVED HERE 18 MONTHS AGO!!!! NO PLANS TO MOVE AGAIN!!!! I’M GOING TO HAVE TO SEE HER AND HER BABY!!! This is making me crazy. Help.

Here we go again, I guess

I peed on another stick yesterday and the barely visible line was still there (first obstacle) and it was a hair darker than the day before. I went to pee on a stick.com and checked out first response tests and that is how they looked at day 10, 11, and 12.

So I guess I'm strapped onto the big strollercoaster.

I just returned from a blood draw so I'll get HCG and progesterone results in a few days. I'm concerned about a possible progesterone issue but I’m not sure if I have reason to be. The baby died at 10 1/2 weeks last time which is apparently when the placenta takes over progesterone production.

We didn't get testing done because by the time I delivered the baby into the palm of my hand, I had already been waiting almost five days for a D&C. The doctor who I hope to never see again in my entire life said that it had been dead for too long and that the tissue probably wouldn't grow. And it would cost us $1000. Perhaps if I hadn't had to wait five f*cking days for the D&C then we could've found out why the baby died. I do know that he was a boy. It would be nice to know why he died.

My other early disaster was at 7 ½ weeks but apparently my uterus didn’t get the memo for THREE WEEKS so I’m a little jaded in that department. I saw heartbeats with both of these pregnancies so that’s kind of f*cked also.

And I said I wasn’t going to let fear control me. I believe that I even said something about how “fear can come along for the ride but I’m driving bitch”. Right.

I am not however going into judge myself for … let’s call it being a little apprehensive.
My strategy is this: Fear will come and go. Some days it’ll stay a little longer than others. If I try to shut it down or bury it, that’ll just make it worse. If I judge myself for being afraid, that’ll REALLY make it worse.

I like Billie Holiday’s approach in “Good Morning Heartache.” In this scenario, substitute gut-wrenching terror for heartache. To sum it up, she says “Good morning, heartache, thought we said goodbye last night.” You’re still here you relentless motherf*cker? (my words obviously). Then with resignation, “good morning heartache, sit down.” In other words, I guess we’re gonna do this together, you big bastard.

I’m also starting to do that thing where I think, “well, I’ll wait for the test results to get excited… but then it’ll be the viability check, then the minefield of the rest of the first trimester, then the CERCLAGE, then the threat of deadly infection.” You get the idea.

I did however write in my pregnancy journal. IN PEN.

I kept one with son’s pregnancy. It’s literally called The Pr*gnancy Journal. Then I didn’t even start one with my 2nd pregnancy which ended at 10 ½ weeks. Then I kept one for my daughter’s pregnancy. (it goes like this… terror, blood, ultrasound, terror, blood, ultrasound, blood, blood, blood, psychic who said the baby would have PHYSICAL PROBLEMS IF IT SURVIVED TO BE BORN, much more terror, then live, healthy baby. Go figure. I digress.

Next, with LC’s pregnancy, I didn’t start the journal until 22 weeks, two or three days before I got really cold, started shaking and ended up leaving the hospital four days later without her.

I thought it was weird that I kept journals for the babies that turned out alive but not for the dead ones. So with pregnancy number 5, which began in April, I kept a journal. And that baby died. Go figure. I didn’t really expect the journal would keep the baby alive, I just thought we were due (no pun intended). You know, live baby, dead baby, live baby, dead baby…live baby? Fraid not.

Anywayyyyy so what would superstition have me do now? I started the journal but in recent dead baby’s journal. I didn’t want to buy a new one. Not because I’m cheap but because of some sort of jinx possibility. And really because I don’t want a library of empty dead baby journals so I can’t but a new one for each pregnancy. But the real reason that I didn’t buy a new one is that I don’t want to end up feeling really stupid for waltzing into the bookstore like a pregnant women who thinks her baby will live and buying ANOTHER copy of The Pr*gnancy Journal.

This reminds me of one blogger, I think it was Delphi, who finally let herself wear her cute new maternity shirt only to end up wearing it home from her emergency D&C. OUUUUUCH. I so understand what she is talking about.

So I started the journal, entered Sunday’s date ONLY of course and I’m writing right next to my old entries. Part of me thinks this is morbid and lame but another part of me thinks that this baby, blastocyst actually, wouldn’t be here if Little Melman hadn’t ended up in the palm of my hand, so why juxtapose them. Like a phoenix rising from the ashes? Let’s hope.

So that's my entirly f*cked up way of saying... good news, the line is a little darker today!

Here we go again??

Today is Day 10 or 11 past ovulation so this morning my thoughts turned to EPTs. The age-old question: To test or not to test. I did it. I find that once I start to even consider testing, then it's as good as done.

I couldn't watch but when I looked I saw, barely visible to the naked eye, a second pink line. It's more than barely visible. I was able to see it with the test on the counter and me standing up. You have to be looking for it but it's there.

So here we go again? Unclear. I'll try another one tomorrow.

For me, the problem is not getting pregnant, it's having a baby that lives. I've been pregnant five times and have two kids. Not the worst ratio in town but my two recent losses were big, fat slices of unimaginable hell.

When I am pregnant again I am staring down the road at a pregnancy that will be challenging at best. If I make it out of the first trimester without finding out that my baby died three weeks before, then I'll be getting my cervix stitched up aka cerclage. (Hopefully, my placenta will be positioned so a transabdominal CVS will be possible. If not then I'll have to get stitched up at 12 weeks with a baby that could have a major chromosomal abnormality.)

The cerclage that I had with Little Charlotte's pregnancy, who died in a spectacular disaster at 22 1/2 weeks, gave me the infection that nearly killed both of us. Can't wait to do that again.

I'll be on modified bedrest at least while I count the weeks, hoping that the stitch doesn't attract enough ass germs to kill us both this time. Good times.

I'll certainly take more showers but of course they said that wasn't the reason. Just about everything can kill your baby but when something does, then of course it wasn't anything you did. Whatever.

The chance of infection was about 1%. My perinatalogist aka "Mr. Cerclage" saw one infection like mine in 20 years. That's some cold f*cking comfort.

Some of you have probably wondered why the hell I would do this again when I have two kids already. I have wondered that myself. The short answer is: No, I'm not a Catholic who plans to have as many children as the good lord gives me.

My husband aka Rocket Man and I have long FELT that we would have three children. Three alive ones that is. We couldn't shake the feeling after either of our recent disasters and somehow now i still feel that there is a baby that's comin' our way. We've tried to shake this kid off believe me.

I've always felt like said baby will be a boy but that's another story. Basically, we've thought very long and hard about this and it comes down to... that's what in our hearts. Probably sounds corny but it's true.

Also, one of our few guiding principles in life has been to avoid making decisions out of fear. Fear would and possibly should keep me from trying again but I'm not going to let my fear control me. Fear may be along for the ride but I'm driving bitch! Nuff said.