Oh Yeah...And One More

Idiot HR Person (3 days after delivering): "And how long do you plan to take off?"
Me: "I get six weeks."
Idiot HR Person: "Well...that was before. I think the circumstances have changed now."
Me (almost coming across the table to rip her head off): "My doctor's paperwork said I get six weeks. I just delivered 2 babies that did not live."

Conversations That Need To Get OUT of My Head

Dr.V: "There's one heartbeat...and there's the other."
Me: "Will I be able to carry twins considering I am so small?"
Dr.V: "You can, but it's going to be difficult."


Butthead Parent 1: "I just heard a nasty rumor about you. Is it true?"
Me: "I don't know. Lots of rumors go on around here. What is it?"
Butthead Parent 1: "I just heard a rumor that you are having twins."
Me: "Yep, that's true - we're very excited!"
Butthead Parent 1: "Well, that's all fine and great, but what about our kids?"


Butthead Parent 2: "________'s mother is DEVASTATED that you are pregnant. She has just cried and cried. Who is going to teach the kids?"
Me: "I'll have a long term sub. It will be just fine."
Butthead Parent 2 (walking off while talking): "Well, she is just devastated."


Me: "Everytime I get up, I feel like a foot or a hand is going to pop out."
Dr. Jerk: "Hmmm...that's interesting. I've never heard of that."


Me: "I wake up at 6am. By 9am, I am hunched over and holding myself because the pressure is so intense."
Dr. Jerk: "Hmmm...I just can't figure out why. Maybe you should just take it easy and sit during the day."
Me: "I am a kindergarten teacher. I do not sit down. I am on my feet 98% of the day. If I need to be sitting, then I need to quit working."
Dr. Jerk: "Well, we don't want you to quit working. Bedrest isn't a good idea all the time."


Me: "I am hurting. My back hurts, and the pressure is very bad."
Dr. Jerk: "Pregnancy is very tough - especially with twins. Hang in there."
Me (crying): "I don't know how this is supposed to feel, but I don't feel good."
Dr. Jerk: "Unfortunately, since you are so little, you've gone from 0-9 months is just 4 months. Just keep resting."


Me: "I feel awful and I can barely walk without holding myself."
Dr. Jerk: "What do you want me to do, MKV?"
Me: "I need to be taken off work or at least work half days."
Dr. Jerk: "Well, we don't like to take you off work unless it is really necessary."
Me: "Do you think it is necessary considering the pressure?"
Dr. Jerk: "What do you want me to do, MKV?"
Me: "I don't know. I guess put me on half days because I cannot make it through a full day of work. I'm telling you, I do not sit down at work."
Dr. Jerk: "If you think that will help."


Butthead Parent 3: "So, are you sure you are going home after your half day?"
Me: "Yes, I am. I can barely walk by 11:30am when the half day is over."
Butthead Parent 3: "Well, I haven't seen your car in the driveway in the afternoons."
Me: "I park in the garage."


Me: "How many hours per day should I spend in bed?"
Dr. Jerk: "There are no restrictions."
Me: "So, it's okay to do laundry, dishes, go upstairs, etc.?"
Dr. Jerk: "There are no restrictions. In fact, I want you up and doing."


Me: "What about a cerclage to sew my cervix up?"
Dr. Jerk: "You are not a candidate for a cerclage."


Dr. Jerk (at our 20 week appt.): "Wow! You're having twins?!? I have twins too."
Me: "What do you think about the cervical length?"
Dr. Jerk (finally picking up my paperwork from the 20 week sono): "Oh, what was it?"
Me: "It was measuring at a 2.8.'
Dr. Jerk: "Oh, that's fine. Anything below 2.5 is cause for concern."
Me: "Well, isn't that close?"
Dr. Jerk: "It should be fine. Just come back in one month and we'll recheck."
Me (crying): "I don't think I can wait a month. Is there any way I can come back in two weeks."
Dr. Jerk: "Well, we're just going to listen to the heartbeat. That's all."


Dr. P (who checked us into the hospital two weeks later): "What we have here is an incompetent cervix. There were signs of this at your 20 week appointment. We have to check you into the hospital."
Me (crying from relief, naively thinking I am finally going to be monitored closely): "Well, good. I knew this was going to happen. Now I can make it to at least 28 weeks."
Dr. P: "You will not make it to 28 weeks. You will deliver in a few days."

Mommy of Four Angels

On this day of Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness, I will never forget you my sweet babies...from the ones I held in my arms to the ones I held in my heart. And will continue to hold forever.

Just Let Me Do This...

Because, frankly, I'm a little ticked.

WHAT ELSE DO YOU WANT FROM US???

We've tried everything. We eat healthy, organic foods and have for the past 2 years. I don't salt my food, I eat the correct amount of fruits and vegetables daily, and I try to avoid dairy in large amounts (okay, not ice cream). We haven't used anything other than non-toxic chemicals in our house for over 2 years - even down to my shampoo. I go to acupuncture...I've even started taking the damn herbs. I have avoided yoga and pilates (at Dr. request and against my will!), and didn't do Urban Assault even though I was dying to. I listen to the Bible on my I-Pod (I fall asleep reading it, sorry God.) I've read The Complete Organic Pregnancy book cover to cover. Hell, I've read tons of books. I teach children to read, write, be inquisitive about life and to love others. I drink a lot of water. I regularly attend church. I tithe...even though we are soon going to rent our house out for a year and MOVE IN WITH MY MOM since infertility has us so far in debt we can't see straight. (Yes, you read that right.) I don't drink alcohol, haven't had a Coke in 3 months, I practice deep breathing, visualization, and all that BS. I get 8 hours of sleep, avoid unnecessary medication, I've never smoked, and I pray. A lot.

Don't tell me we're trying too hard. Don't tell me to "relax", that I'm young, that it will happen when the time is right, to just believe, that it wasn't meant to be before, to enjoy the time I have alone, that stress makes it worse, that our losses were "for the best", to stay positive, or to "just" adopt. I don't want to hear what your friend's cousin's aunt did to get pregnant, that I need to "enjoy" trying, or I just need to take a vacation. It's best not to tell me how easy you get pregnant or how you have to be really careful since your husband looks at you and you are pregnant. It's best not to tell me that you will just die if you don't have the sex of baby that you wish to have next, or about the twins and triplets your friend just had.

I can't walk in my neighborhood, go to the store, to a restaurant, to church, to work, to the gym, listen to the radio, have a face to face conversation, drive in a car, talk on the phone, read my email, or watch tv without the constant reminder of what I do not have or the reminder of what I could have had. It's tiring. It weighs heavily on me. It's a burden I try to give to God, but have not quite figured out how to release myself from.

Don't stop calling me if I don't answer. Sometimes it is just too much to pick up the phone. If I smile and it doesn't seem genuine, don't be hurt. If I seem distant, don't take it the wrong way. Don't judge me. A mother's grief after losing four babies is raw, primal, deep, and as a good friend once said...normal and necessary. I cry a lot...you just don't see it. I can put on a happy face and for the most part, it's real. But, if I get quiet in a conversation, be sensitive. We may be talking about teaching, cooking, or shopping...but I will be thinking about my babies. My mind will be wrapped around their faces, their fingers, their toes. Don't stop talking to me. Don't tiptoe around me or ignore the whole thing altogether. It's nice if you acknowledge Kinsey and Ryan. I will probably cry right then and there, but it's not like I wasn't thinking about them 2 seconds before. Don't stop talking about your children because I love them and celebrate each of their milestones right along with you. Don't hold it from me if you are pregnant or fret over how I am going to handle it...just don't rub it in. Tell me that this sucks and that you are praying for us. That's about all that you can say.

By now, if you know me in real life, you might be thinking I am writing this about you. However, I am not. Yes, all of the above things have been said to me, and I know that I've said some myself before I became a case study in infertility. I'm writing to get it out so my head does not explode. I don't write any of this for your sympathy or for attention - if you know me, you only have this address because it alleviates some of the stress of communicating the progress in person or on the phone. I'm writing because I am angry, bitter, and very jealous. I'm writing so tomorrow I can come that much closer to putting on a happy face and meaning it all day long. I'm writing so My Babe can know my innermost thoughts when I act irrational, short, distant and quiet. I'm writing to educate others on the excruciating pain of infertility. I'm writing because I don't want to lose hope, I don't want to lose faith, and this is the only way I can get through it. I write this for my sweet babies, to honor their lives and to mourn the loss. I write to heal. I write this for me.

100% NEGATIVE

Enough said?

The Power of Rice Socks

Warning: Bring a rice sock within 15 yards of my body and I might unleash a full blown crying spell.

I cleaned out the babies room today. I say babies because that's just what was going to be in there - two babies. I know it will turn into the baby's room someday, but for now it is still for my sweet babies that never came home. You would think a lot of things might send me into a crying frenzy while accomplishing this task. The sonogram pictures, the sonogram video, the maternity clothes, the picture frames we were given, the outfits that came in twos since most were determined to dress the babies alike against my will, the baby booties, the twin magazines and books, the diapers my mother bought by the droves (and judging by her garage, she still buys), the cards of congratulations, the pictures of My Babe's family with their mouths gaping open after we told them I was pregnant, the samples of formula, the initial announcement that Dr. Jerk thought we were having two boys, or the books we bought for each baby, The Gift of an Angel.

No, those did not send me into a conniption (hey, that's really in the dictionary!) fit. What did, however, were rice socks. You see, those rice socks were my saving grace during the intense nausea and extreme back pain. There was nothing like the fresh-out-of-the-microwave feeling to relieve me from the hell I had come to know as pregnancy. I never left the house without a steaming hot rice sock tucked behind my back and sides, even when driving short distances. My Babe would heat up 5 of those suckers each night and we would build Fort Knox around my body with rice socks and pillows. And, ultimately, rice socks pulled me through the last night at home. The night I should have gone to the hospital. The night I should have listened to my body. The night I could have changed the outcome of the pregnancy. The night I failed Kinsey, Ryan, My Babe and myself.

Don't tell me differently, because I'll never believe it. Don't tell me I did the best I could because I didn't. Yes, I did not know what to expect or what to feel, but I did know that those babies were going to come sooner than they should. I read premature labor books cover to cover. I did not contact a perinatologist even though my gut told me to. I did not stop working just to please the parents of the kids in my class even though my gut told me to. I continued to be on my feet because Dr. Jerk said I should even though my gut told me to rest. I constantly told myself to "suck it up." I was stubborn, naive, and just plain stupid.

The sight of the rice socks brought me back to that night. And while I think of that night, oh...every 10 seconds of the day, I allowed myself to dwell on it for a little while. To dwell on the greatest loss I have ever felt, the feeling of holding those sweet babies in my arms, the sight of their long legs and toes, the memory of what could have been, and the hope and faith for what is still to come.

So, for all of you thinking of bringing a rice sock within my scope anytime soon, you are agreeing to deal with the dire consequences. You have been warned.

A Big Fat Negative

Bummer. I'm mainly sad that I am not able to get as much of the "morning" sickness out of the way during the summer. However, I have been so lucky in the past with getting pregnant easily. It will happen next time and that will be the time that it sticks for good. Oh well, at least I can eat a pound of lunch meat without the threat of Listeria, go white water rafting, and swing out over the Royal Gorge on our vacation next week if I feel like it.

So Far...That Would Be a Negative

We'll find out for sure on Wednesday.

Houston...We Have a Problem

R.I.P. Little Squashy
May 2, 2007 - May 6, 2007

It seems we have a problem with reproduction and life around here. Not only does it rain on Little Squashy's parade, but it rains on ours too. Little Squashy couldn't handle the constant flow of moisture coming from the Austin clouds lately. Can Little Squashy's mother handle the constant flow of blood coming from her veins into a vial, only to find out her Progesterone is just down to Unlucky Number 7? Sure, I should be happy that it is down and we are very close to trying again. However, I've been down this road before, my friend, and it has not turned out pretty. The crazy part of me is downright giddy that I might be pregnant again so soon. Don't get me wrong...there is absolutely nothing about pregnancy that makes me giddy. In fact, it makes me pukey, bi%#@y, and quite wiggity wack. It's the thought that maybe, just maybe, this will be the one that lasts. I mean, seriously, how many more random complications can we have?

And then, there is the realistic side of me that says, "Whoa, Nelly...you still have way too many hurdles to jump over." I haven't ever trained for hurdle jumping. I don't even like track meets. Who wants to run as fast as you can in a circle, going nowhere? That seems to be how this pregnancy, birth, and living thing goes for me and for Little Squashy - absolutely nowhere.

There Are Some Things Money Can't Buy

Progesterone levels below 3 to start Provera: $20 lab fee
Taking Provera for 10 days: $5
Starting a new cycle: $180
Clomid: $90
HSG test (hope for no scar tissue): $200
Checking for mature follicles: $300
Shot for ovulation: $90
Night of Love: FREE
More lab tests: $80
Positive Pregnancy Test: Happiness
More Lab tests: $80
Making it to 12 weeks: Sheer joy
Having a cerclage without complications: Sigh of relief
Defying an incompetent cervix and pre-term labor: Amen!
Having a healthy baby: Priceless

My Babe's genetic tests are normal. After consulting with Dr. V. today, we have decided to continue trying as we have in the past - no IVF for now. I will have my bloodwork done tomorrow to make sure my progesterone is below a level 3. If so, I will start Provera and we will be on the timeline again. I'm terrified.