burnt toast life

commencing countdown, engines on

Anyone going through infertility knows that waiting is a huge part of the process. We’re always waiting for something – appointments, AF, ovulation day… you get the picture. I’m not sure if the constant waiting leads to inevitable impatience or if I’m just an impatient person stuck in a long process. All I know is that I despise all the waiting (as I’ve mentioned a hundred times before. Sorry.)

Tomorrow marks 6 weeks since the D&C. It’s been a lifetime and it’s gone by in the blink of an eye. By that I mean it feels like the tragedy is still fresh, but it also feels like eternity waiting to move on to next steps. Infertility makes you feel empty; hollow; barren. Miscarriage, as I’m sure some of you may know, defies explanation. It is the exponential version of all those words. It is more extreme than language can express.

After my miscarriage, I just wanted to be pregnant again. People cautioned against rushing things and mentally replacing the babies I had lost with a new pregnancy. It’s a tough thing. It’s tough to know when you’re “done” mourning since I don’t think you’re ever really over it. Every day just gets a little easier.

The good news is that my wait is officially over. I went for my Day 3 baseline testing yesterday. Dr. Z, who has the most abrupt bedside manner I have ever encountered in the medical field, burst into my ultrasound without knocking and barked out instructions in broken English, “You come back in 2 weeks, yes? Two weeks today. That Wednesday. We do natural cycle transfer.” He never even looked at me (which was OK, because my legs were up in stirrups at that point), just furrowed his brow and stared at my chart before rushing out again. The tech was even chuckling to herself at how he handled it. I mean, it was funny, and also a relief. I didn’t have to wait for the phone call confirming my levels were normal or abnormal. I didn’t have to sit down and justify myself to anyone, or plead my case to do the transfer this month.

I’m not sure why I assumed I would have to explain myself, but I spent the past few days preparing myself to do it. I pictured the New Hope people sitting me down and demanding to know why this happened and what I was going to do to prevent it from happening again. Turns out they’re just as eager to get me pregnant again as I am to be pregnant again. Is it because of the trial? Is it because they want as many live births to report as they can get? Probably. But that’s OK by me. I don’t need them to care about me and my life on a personal level; I’ll take a brusque bedside manner and good success rates any day.

So we’re good to go for round two. I’m happy that I don’t have to wait. I did get the call eventually and my levels are in range. My HCG is still 8 (down from 33 two weeks ago) but they did not seem to care about that. It’s low enough that we can move forward. I didn’t have to defend myself, I didn’t have to beg and plead and no one barred the doors or changed the number. It’s just like riding a bike, people… it’s just like riding a bike.

the story so far (a post with three purposes)

As the title suggests, this post has three purposes.

Purpose One: I would like to greet everyone who is visiting for the first time from ICLW. This is my second time participating, and I can’t wait to read all of your blogs and blow up the comments sections. I started out my blogging career as a hardcore lurker and only through ICLW have I embraced the fine art of commenting. If I love getting comments, then I should also go forth and comment. It’s only fair.

Purpose Two: I’m “coming out” again on Facebook. I’m also going to start posting my blog on Facebook once again. If you’re here from Facebook, welcome back!

Purpose Three: On a similar note, I’ve created a separate fan page for Facebook. It felt a little bit arrogant at first, but then I convinced myself that it makes sense. Now people who want to follow my blog from Facebook can follow. Even if we aren’t FB friends… follow if you want to. Especially now that they’re getting rid of Google Reader (so, so sad about that). Here is the link to the Facebook fan page: https://www.facebook.com/belovedburnttoast

Phew, OK. Now for some background. Below is the story so far.

On matters of fertility:

  • We began this brilliant dance of trying to conceive in May of 2010.
  • We were diagnosed as infertile on February 28, 2011. We did our first embryo transfer on February 28, 2013. It was a total coincidence.
  • We have zero insurance coverage for ART (assisted reproductive technology).
  • In an amazing stroke of luck, a friend suggested that we research clinical trials. We found one. We got accepted. We somehow finagled free IVF.
  • We got pregnant with twin girls on our first round of IVF.
  • I was pregnant for one incredible month before the worst fucking day of my life, the day we found out neither baby had a heartbeat.
  • I got to hear their little heartbeats at 7 weeks, but those heartbeats were gone at 8 weeks.
  • There is no explanation for the miscarriage. Embryos normal, tissue normal, everything normal.
  • You never know how strong you are until strong is the only choice you have.
  • I never thought I could survive an M/C, but I did, with most of my sanity intact.
  • For our next round of IVF, I’m trying the Paleo Diet because of a strong suspicion that my allergic intolerance to certain foods had something to do with the loss. Justification: it can’t hurt to try.
  • Want more? See it all on the timeline.

On matters non-fertility related:

  • I spend an exorbitant amount of time reminding myself that inanimate objects don’t have feelings
  • I’m a Libertarian-leaning Christian with the bleeding heart of a Liberal
  • I hope I’m as witty as I think I am
  • I’m always thirsty. Always. It’s rare to find me without a beverage close by.
  • I used to not like dogs until I got dogs. Now I cannot imagine my world without my two crazy boys.
  • Some people have drug addictions; I have a coffee addiction. It’s seriously intense.
  • If I could, I would spend hours of my day just listening to people speak French.
  • Want more? Check out my about me section.

Well, that’s all for now. I have a riveting/incredibly sad post about a chicken coming up soon, so stay tuned! There’s always something dramatic going on here at Burnt Toast central.

lovecoffee

back in the saddle

Greetings, my friends, and thank you all for doing your best AF-fairy dances! By this morning I was MOODY. I was irritable; I was pissed off. For those of you afflicted by long/abnormal cycles: I finally have a tiny bit of insight as to how you feel. I am so, so sorry that anyone should have to suffer through waiting for a period that just won’t come. Ugh! The good news is that AF did not come on Friday or Sunday and I had a fabulous time at my Color Me Rad 5K. I even ran for about 35% of it, which is particularly amazing considering that I did not train for one minute and had planned on power walking the whole thing. And then today, just when I thought I would die from waiting another minute, I got my period. *cue huge sigh of relief*

shoes are ruined (worth it)

shoes are ruined (worth it)


I walked immediately from the ladies room to a quiet place to call New Hope. My stomach was in my throat, terrified they would tell me to not bother coming in until next month. Thankfully, the receptionist did tell me to come in Wednesday for Day 3 baseline, but I’m not 100% sure she knew my whole story. Not that I care. At least going in will make me feel like I’m still part of the show, and I can ask to speak with Dr. L plus give her all the paperwork from my OB/GYN. I feel the need to see the inside of the office just to prove I still belong there. It probably sounds odd, but again, not being a paying customer makes me very, very nervous that the gravy train will stop at any moment.

So that’s where I am, back at square one but also excited to get started again. And here’s where I need an opinion or two. I have the prescription to get the clotting disorder tests, but from everything I’ve read it looks like I’ll be giving anywhere from 21 to 678 vials of blood for them. Typically these tests aren’t really ordered until you’ve had multiple losses (does it count that I had two at once?) but my OB/GYN seemed fine with ordering them. I’m just sort of hesitant. On one hand, that’s A LOT of blood. On the other, maybe I should rule out clotting disorders, just to be safe. I just really don’t think that was the problem. These issues are more often than not genetic, and none of the disorders run in my family. My mom tested negative for all of them. I know I’m a different person, but physically, I’m so much like her… I’m torn. I will talk to Dr. L about it since she suggested getting them on that dreaded day which shall not be mentioned, but I don’t know how adamant she was. Obviously the last thing I want is to have another miscarriage. Blah, I don’t know. Should I get them, or should I wait?

birddietIn related news, my diet is going… OK. Let’s just say I’m fully aware that I’m not actually pregnant right now, so the Life or Death thing doesn’t fully ring true. It’s a tough way to eat, especially on weekends, at parties, at home, at work, in the evening… yeah, it’s not easy any time. It’s very difficult to be good. And what makes it worse is that my stomach isn’t fully at peace yet, even with all the changes I’ve made. Bananas are supposed to be on the “fructose acceptable” list, but I found out that my body does not like bananas, not one bit. Eliminating so many foods makes it 100 times easier to determine what’s bothering me, which is nice. But I still have not figured it out completely. Every day I allow myself fewer and fewer different foods, hoping I will feel settled. It’s just so frustrating and now that I have a potential timeline, I feel like I really need to figure it out, and quickly. That means no more justifying Thin Mints on Sunday nights (though I have to say, they don’t even taste as good anymore. Such a disappointment).

That’s all for now. Getting back on track for arm pricking, attempting to get on track for dieting and trying to talk myself into giving up 678 vials of blood. No big deal.

I wish I had more interesting things to say, or even a clever title for this post

I think this is a common problem over here in infertility blog-ville. When we’re not doing anything fertility related, it’s easy to run out of things to talk about. But then I wonder – is my infertility the only thing I have worth discussing? No. But at the same time, I lose momentum when there’s nothing going on, uterus-wise. I could have posted three times a day in April, but now it’s like my words have run dry.

Sunday came and went and I’m still waiting on Auntie Flo. It’s so frustrating! Here’s the worst part: if she comes on Friday, the clinic will want to see me Sunday (IF they want to monitor this cycle), which is the day I’ve signed up to run the Color Me Rad 5K with my friends/coworkers. I am absolutely not missing that, the race starts at 9 am (but we’re meeting for mimosas at 7 am…), and the clinic is two hours away. So what to do?!! Of course, I don’t know if she’s actually coming on Friday… or anytime soon… I’m hungry as hell and my boobs are porn star huge, plus I’ve been bitchy and cranky all week, so I’m hoping that’s hormones doing their thang. Murphy’s Law says she’ll show up on Friday, of course. I’m ready to get this show on the road. Really, really ready. (Just not on Friday.)

So not missing out on this!

So not missing out on this!

It sounds like everyone had surprisingly benign Mother’s Days, and for that I am thankful. It’s probably a good thing that we get ourselves all worked up, because that makes the reality much less intense, I’m sure. I went to Eric’s niece’s first birthday party on Saturday and I have to say I handled it amazingly well. There was a horrible moment when one of my sister-in-law’s friends (who I don’t know very well) said to me, “So how are you doing? How’s everything going?” or something like that, but just in the way she said it or maybe in my delusional mind it just sounded this way, I thought she thought I was still pregnant. I felt my blood run cold and I just started shaking my head, stammering, “It’s not… I’m not…” until she followed up with “When can you try again?” It was such a relief to realize that I didn’t have to explain that I was no longer pregnant, especially in full earshot of a whole bunch of people.

I did not have a mental breakdown on Sunday, just a nice brunch with my family and then a little bit of yard work with the hubs. It was funny, some people made a point of saying a vehement Happy Mother’s Day to me while others avoided it completely. It really doesn’t matter. I am/was a mother and hopefully by next year I can be one in the eyes of the public.

That’s it, just a little boring update to let you know I’m still alive. It seems like either everything happens all at once or nothing happens at all. Oh, and if you could all do an AF-fairy dance for me to bring on the bleeding, I’d be much obliged. I’ve run out of patience and clearly I’ve run out of blogging fodder. I need the madness to commence!

waiting (sucks)

I hate waiting. I hate it, but I’m getting better at it.

We’re coming up on 3 years of TTC (mom – that stands for “trying to conceive”). My TTC anniversary is easy to remember; it’s the same as my wedding day. We started actively trying to start our family that very night and have been ever since. I’m grateful for the successes we’ve had, but the subsequent failures pushed us further into the year. Every day that I do nothing fertility-related feels like an eternity. I’m so flippin’ sick of waiting.

Right now I’m waiting for AF to show. I finally feel “normal” again – my stomach shrank back to normal size, mysterious cramps stopped, incessant m/c bleeding slowed to nothing. Now I feel like I’m in limbo. Just like before the egg retrieval, rather than dreading AF’s arrival, I’m eagerly awaiting it. If Good Ole Auntie Flo really does come one month after the D&C, that would mean she’d arrive right on Mother’s Day. You’d think that’d be upsetting, an infertile getting her period on such a day, but for me it would be a huge relief. For once, getting my period means that everything in my body is on track. It’s certainly a strange feeling.

For some reason, Mother’s Day does not decimate my emotional stability. I’ve been able to handle it very well these past two years, so I don’t anticipate there being a huge problem. Then again… talk to me when I’m cramping and bleeding while happy moms in church cuddle their newborns. Then I might be singing a different tune. But as of this moment, I’m not dreading it. I think it’s because I’ve always associated it with my mom and not myself, so I still think of it that way. But this is my first MD post-loss, so who knows… maybe a mental breakdown is just lying in wait for me. I guess we shall see on Sunday.

It’s only been just over a month, but I feel like I haven’t been to the RE in ages. For some inexplicable reason, I imagine myself calling them up only to find the number disconnected, or arriving at a completely revamped office and being treated like I’d never been there at all. Like I didn’t experience my greatest joys and my lowest lows within the confines of those office walls.

I know I’m being quite dramatic. I think the difference between being a paying customer vs. a clinical trial patient is that it’s always seemed too good to be true. I keep waiting for someone to realize that they’ve accidently given me $20,000 worth of medical procedures for free and send me a bill or lock the doors or something. I remember feeling relieved after we found out the procedure worked, thinking there was nothing they could do to take it back if they changed their minds. Now once again, I’m at their mercy. There’s small comfort in knowing that at least we have the embryos created and frozen, but if I had a nickel for every time I felt a shiver of panic imagining a fire/mix-up/catastrophe in the lab and losing those little snow babies… well, I’d have a whole bunch of nickels.

My impatience isn’t entirely unjustified. The deal with this clinical trial is that they’ll try to get you pregnant for six months or until they run out of embryos, whichever comes first. I don’t know when they start counting from (again, questions that I only think to ask in retrospect), but I started my IVF protocol on December 31st. If we start counting from then… June is it. The end. Finito. How strict are they on the six month thing? Again, not a clue. The doctor certainly didn’t mention it at that fateful ultrasound, and made it sound like we could definitely try again. But what if it takes two months to get my period? What if they try again and I don’t get pregnant? What if this happens all over again and we lose the pregnancy? I could sit here and “What if?” all day long.

I’m definitely making a bigger deal out of all this than they do at the RE. I’m sure as far as cases go, I’m one of the less tragic/complicated, I’m sure. I also doubt someone is sitting there with a calendar, just waiting for me to hit the six month mark so they can boot me out of the trial. But I still have to worry (because it’s ingrained, that’s why). I’ve intentionally avoided calling or emailing anyone from the clinic – first, because what the hell would I say (“Hey it’s me, still no period, just making sure you still have your phone connected, K thanks bye!”) and second, because I don’t want to hear any bad news. My imagination has been working hard enough to come up with worst-case scenarios, I don’t need any reality to add to them.

On a totally unrelated note, did anyone else go see Gatsby yet? I agree with most of the reviews, and I believe this one sums up my feelings most accurately, but may I just say: Leonardo DiCaprio is so talented. Without him I may have despised the movie, but with him I give it a solid B+ for effort. It makes me want to dust off my copy of Romeo + Juliet, bust out some old Teen Beat posters of Leo and relive a little bit of teenage angst.

just when you think you’re doing fine…

Today I received a phone call that I was expecting, but somehow it knocked me right onto my emotional behind. That part was unexpected.

You might have noticed, and I’m sure people in the real world definitely noticed, that I’ve been doing pretty great. I keep doubting myself and doing little self-checks, asking my emotions, “Are we OK here? Good? Not gonna cry or be sad? OK then, I guess we’re not sad today.” I believed it. It felt a little strange to feel so normal so quickly. But as my mother wisely warned, the sadness tends to hit you gently like a Mack truck barreling down the highway, and right when you least expect it.

Today my OB/GYN called with the results of the chromosomal tests that were run on the embryos. She called personally, which I appreciated. Both of the babies were perfectly fine and not abnormal in any way. The uterine tissue was also normal. And oh yeah, the babies were girls. That had a lot to do with the emotional crumble, I think – I knew they were real and I knew they were babies, but knowing the genders made reality extra super real. Those were my daughters.

I took the call, sat back down at my desk, and within minutes had to quickly exit stage left to go sob in the parking lot. The whole scene was quite melodramatic – me, alone in the parking lot, blubbering and repeating over and over again, “I’m sorry” as petals from the trees gently floated by.

Why am I sorry? I’m sorry I didn’t know that my first exaggerated HFCS allergic reaction was actually a warning sign. I’m sorry that I kept eating candy and terrible foods, ignoring my body’s protests. I’m sorry I feel bitter every time I see a pregnant person eating junk food (Why do they get to do it with no consequence?) I’m sorry I ever let myself get so excited. I’m sorry I truly believed that miscarriage was just something that happened to other people. I’m sorry for being so hard on myself today. I’m sorry for shouldering the blame. But I can’t help it. I failed. This body failed. Those babies were perfect, and I was not.

Tomorrow I’ll wake up and feel OK again. Tomorrow I’ll look to the future with hope and feast on my dressing-free salad with a renewed sense of purpose. I don’t miss bread or pasta or preservative-laden snack cakes. I feel light and clean. I feel like I’m coming to peace with my digestive/immune systems (I don’t know if that’s really a thing, but I’m doing it). Tomorrow will be better.

But today, I’m just so damn sorry.

Greetings from the Pregnant Women’s Convention, Grand Cayman edition

I was going to hold off on posting until I got back from vacation. I wanted to just take a break from blogging and infertility and drama for five days. But alas, you cannot take a break from reality, even when you are in paradise.

I could not wait to post because 1) shit is on my mind, 2) it’s a lot of shit, so I don’t want to post it all at once and 3) relaxing vacations offer plenty of spare time to write, write and write some more.

Here I am on Grand Cayman Island, staying at The Ritz-Carlton and trying to enjoy myself. There was one cute baby on the plane. Fine, OK, I dealt with it. But apparently someone forgot to mention that there must be a Pregnant Women’s Convention here at the hotel. Within the first ten minutes of sitting by the pool on the first day, Pregnant Woman #1 waddled her happy pregnant ass over and plopped into the chair right next to me. Awesome. Then Pregnant Woman #2 passed me in the hallway. Today is day two and around Pregnant Woman #6 (in a cute bikini, no less) I’ve stopped counting and just resigned myself to laughing at the absurdity of the whole thing. I would not classify this as a “kid-friendly” hotel by any means. I would not come here for a wild and fun family vacation. But I guess there are a lot of lawyers and hedge fund managers here and the men brought their wives to enjoy the beach while they’re stuck in conferences. Their pregnant wives. Or maybe there’s really a Pregnant Women’s Convention. Frankly, it wouldn’t shock me.

Moral of the story? There’s no escaping your state of mind, even if you leave your state. As frustrating as it was to see those women and the occasional cherubic baby in a stroller, the worst moment so far happened when I casually glanced at Eric in profile and couldn’t help but picture that our babies probably had his facial structure. I don’t know why I thought that and it’s something that could have happened anywhere. It just proves that I’m never safe from my own self-inflicted misery.

I’m making it sound like I’m having a terrible time, but really I’m not. This place is incredible. The water is turquoise and warm, the sand is white, the weather (minus a brief rain shower today) is perfect. My complaints, besides the inundation of pregnant people, are just the food and the prices. I mean, $15 cocktails and $25 salads would be one thing if they were mind-blowing. But honestly? Every single thing I’ve eaten has left me uttering, “I’ve had better,” all while trying hard not to calculate just how much we’ve wasted on dried-out-cheese encrusted nachos.

Tomorrow we’re going snorkeling and swimming with stingrays, two things that are actually worth the money and will hopefully deter the league of pregnant chicks. Tuesday we’re planning to go on a rum distillery tour and a brewery tour, which are things I would not have enjoyed as much if I’d still been knocked up.

As far as existential crises and major life decisions, I’ll save those chats for a later post. Let’s just say I’ve been doing some serious thinking about my life and knowing that I’m a super control freak surrounded by uncontrollable situations, it should make for an interesting next couple of months and even years. I need to make real changes if I want things to change. Simple to say… not so simple to do.

And for now, here’s some sandy toes:

toes

I’m in a glass case of emotion and I’m carb loading

ronburgundy
I don’t even like Will Ferrell that much and I’ve only seen Anchorman one time, but all day that phrase kept running through my head.

Sorry for the massive number of posts this week, it’s not something I planned. It’s just that stuff keeps happening that compels me to write, and since I’ve decided forgo a diary in favor of a blog, here we are.

Today a pregnant coworker who has three boys found out that this child is a girl. As expected, there was a lot of happy squealing and high-fiving when she arrived at work. She was so very excited. And I’m happy for her. I like this person, and I think that any woman who raises three boys certainly deserves to have a little girl. But for me… well, yeah the timing sucks. I’m trying so hard not to be fragile but the effort is exhausting.

The world does not stop turning when you suffer a tragedy. It’s a sentiment I’ve heard before, but now I’m living it. People around me are (justifiably) going through happy life events or even mundane daily routines while I sit here feeling like absolute shit. Sometimes. Sometimes I feel decent, like in those moments that I’m not thinking about last week. But I’m sorry, someone else being pregnant – even pregnant across the room – just kills me on some level. To her credit, she did not come over to my side of the office gushing and when she talked to someone who sits next to me, she whispered. Again – it’s a great argument for sharing my life story with the whole world. But it pissed me off that she had to do that. I felt like a leper; like someone who had to be treated so gently. I know, I’m being contradictory here. On one hand I get pissed when people are insensitive, on the other I get offended when people treat me with extra care. I don’t understand it myself. I’m confused and unhappy. I just wish I could celebrate with her. Instead, I’m stuck over in the corner feeling super awkward and vulnerable. Before last week we were pregnant together. Now I feel like I’m on another planet.

Carb loading is something that endurance athletes do to maximize energy storage in muscles, or it’s something that I do to prepare for carb elimination next week. Want to hear what I ate today? A bagel for breakfast, homemade mac ‘n’ cheese for lunch and a giant muffin as a snack. You’d think I would be so happy to be eating all of these yummy, oh-so-bad-for-you foods, but I feel terrible. Lethargic. Bloated and gross. I’ve been busily pinning Paleo recipes and creating my shopping list for next week, and really I can’t wait to get started. My heart isn’t in this “naughty” food week. I’ve been obsessively researching articles bashing high fructose corn syrup and even hashing out my own contribution. Hey, I’ve always wanted to become a published author – maybe this will be my avenue. At least it’s something I feel passionate about.

I’ve also been thinking about drinking a glass of wine every night but somehow once I get home, I’m never in the mood. I only drank one time – last Tuesday at happy hour – and it didn’t go well. One unfortunate side effect that I get from drinking is a 2 a.m. bout of insomnia/dehydration that usually lasts well into the early dawn hours. It’s simply not worth it. My only escape from my current crappy situation is the solace of sleep, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to take that away from myself.

I seriously hate being all “woe is me” when there are actual tragedies going on in the world right now. I remember the date of our first consult at New Hope was December 14th, which was also the day of the Sandy Hook shooting. It felt so silly to be anxious over getting accepted into a clinical trial when people were mourning the senseless loss of their first graders. Just like now, I’m feeling incredibly self absorbed and even selfish. My family is safe, I am safe. I am grateful for all the things that I have. But then… I want more. I want this one thing that I’ve wanted for my whole life and came so close to getting.

Countdown to Cayman – T minus four days. But who’s counting?

can we please talk about something else?

First of all, I got the results of my allergy test back today. “You do not have food allergies,” said the nurse, in what I consider an accusatory tone.

What. the. hell.

I know I’m allergic to corn syrup. I KNOW IT. Even when I’m not pregnant, I can feel the effects of it minutes after drinking it. A coating forms down the length of my throat. It’s uncomfortable, but it’s not life threatening. Pregnancy made it practically unbearable, causing me to lose my voice for days and feel like I was in the throes of the worst case of strep throat ever. Don’t tell me I don’t have a corn allergy when my body clearly disagrees.

I have an appointment with my PCP on Wednesday at his insistence, probably because I keep ordering all these random tests and he hasn’t seem my face in years. He’s a nice enough guy but I don’t really trust him to believe my crazy theory, especially with the results of the immunocap. Then again, do I need him to believe me? I’m the one in charge of my diet and nutrition here.

My pal Google revealed a fertility immunologist in Manhattan who specializes in recurrent miscarriages and immune system disorders. I guess I’m not technically “recurrent” even though I did lose two at once, but it’s somehow comforting to know this guy is out there. So if it does happen again, I have somewhere to turn.

I finally went back to work today. It was weird showering in the morning and putting on makeup. I literally haven’t blow dried my hair in over a week. I only cried once at work – when my friend/coworker came over with tears glistening in her eyes and gave me a huge hug. Hence the, “Can we please talk about something else?” title post. I’m absolutely fine if I keep trudging along and avoid thinking about it. Repression and aversion are my tactics for surviving the day.

The one thing I keep doing is noticing things in a “before” and “after” light. Like, I’ll find a receipt for gas and think, “When I pumped this gas I was pregnant.” Today I got to work and thought, “The last time I sat at this spot I was blissfully unaware and still pregnant.” I can’t help but notice that today would have been my graduation day from New Hope if there would have been heartbeats last week. I would have been released to my regular OB and would never have to go back to NYC for fertility related issues again. I think today will be the last of these faux-anniversaries, though. I’m actually grateful that I was never given a real due date, so I can’t fixate on that. I deleted the pregnancy tracker app from my phone without opening it.

Ugh, I am so impatient. First of all, it’s only Monday and I want to be on the beach right now. Second – and so much more importantly – I want to be pregnant again. It’s so frustrating to be bleeding. It was such a slap in the face to go the grocery store and buy freaking sanitary napkins (what am I, 12 years old again?). I was supposed to have babies this year. 2013. Now, if I’m lucky, I’ll have one at the beginning or even the middle of next year. I know, I’m lucky to have this chance at all. I’m lucky to be able to get pregnant so easily (“So easily” = when doctors inject pre-fertilized embryos directly into my uterus). But I can’t decide – is it better to get pregnant and lose the baby or never get pregnant at all? What a morbid either/or. Ew. I can’t believe I even just thought that, let alone wrote it down.

Oh, and as a final aside to the male coworker who thought it appropriate to include me on an email entitled “Look at pictures of my baby!!!!!!” (full well knowing my situation as he was included on my sad update last week): seriously? A little sensitivity never hurt anyone. Sheesh.

a hypothesis and a plan

I’m going to let you in on a little secret: I pre-write a lot of my posts. Yesterday I was so fired up I wrote two posts – one for immediate release and one for today. I’ve been doing this for a while now. Sometimes it works and sometimes it just doesn’t. Like tonight. Last night I spent two hours drafting and rewriting this (hopefully) eloquent post about strength and had every intention of posting it today, but now instead I have other things to say. Tragedy is a great catalyst for posting.

Today… well, a lot of today was all right and then parts of it were a train wreck. Let’s see… I had to wait until 3:30 for my follow up appointment at the OB/GYN. As expected, there were still no heartbeats. This pregnancy is officially over (yes, of course there was still the tiniest glimmer of hope that the doppler yesterday was broken. That’s why it’s positively inhumane that they made me wait until 3:30).

My doctor – and my mother, who I am beyond grateful attended – both talked me into the D&C. For one, it’s guaranteed – I won’t have to wait days or months for my body to do it’s thing. For another, the bleeding will be moderate, not catastrophic. And probably the most compelling reason is that we can send the tissue out for testing and make sure everything was genetically normal.

After the appointment, my mother said, “I sure could use a drink, how about you?” We went around the corner to the TGIFriday’s and got some apps and cocktails. We formed a plan. We talked. You know what I learned? I’ve been incredibly misinformed about her miscarriages. Please disregard everything I’ve ever said about diet pills linked to loss in my family. It was the diet pills – or rather, the high caffeine content in them – that kept her from getting pregnant at all. Her seven miscarriages all came from… ready for this one…immune system issues. At least, that’s what she thinks. My mother has moderate to severe food allergies that were all exacerbated during pregnancy. Not only did she lose most of them at 8 weeks, but she also heard a heartbeat before each seemingly inexplicable loss. She went to specialists and no one could figure it out. The difference in her case is that she had three healthy pregnancies before this started, which she admitted makes it a bit easier to deal with. For some reason her body just started attacking the growing embryos based on the foods she was eating. She carried my sister Allie to term after she restricted her diet and stopped eating the food that was giving her trouble.

So does any of this sound familiar? Um, yeah, just a little. Remember that one of my first symptoms was this ridiculous reaction to high fructose corn syrup. I thought it was cute, but never in a million years did I think it would lead to this. I kept on eating it because the reactions got less intense, especially to solid food form, and because it was Easter and there was lots of candy around. I could sit here and blame myself for not heeding warnings all day long. But who does this happen to? Who? Who loses a pregnancy from freaking food allergies?

I’ve been doing some research and there are numerous links between gluten and miscarriage, but none that I can find about corn syrup. Again, I guess I’m just weird. And of course this is all a theory… until I get the results of the testing. If it comes back normal, which it always did for my mother, then I just think I might be on to something here. It feels so much better to have this theory than it does to just say, “What the hell, this shouldn’t have happened.” I trust genetics. I also believe that the food we eat has massive implications on our health that we cannot fully comprehend. I’m not some high and mighty farm-to-table only nutjob. I’m just a girl who has a strong suspicion that food allergies caused her body to attack healthy embryos. And you know what I can control? My diet.

My plan for now is to eat like shit for a week, drink like a sailor when I feel like it and then go to Cayman and do the same, but tenfold. When I get back I’m going all Paleo. I figure this will take care of corn, dairy, gluten, preservatives and whatever else may be lurking in there. I’m going to request a full allergy panel from my doctor this week but no matter what the results say, I think Paleo is the safest course of action. I would (obviously) do anything to help my chances of not having this happen again. Calming down my immune system seems like a safe bet. And if I somehow manage to drop a few pounds in the process? Well, that’s just an added bonus.

This is nothing at all like the post I planned for tonight. I’m all off in allergy-ville when I wanted to talk about how resilient I was feeling. Maybe I’ll post that one tomorrow.

So my friends and I had planned to meet at happy hour tonight and I’ll be damned if I was going to cancel. My appointment ran a little long since I was bombarding the doctor with questions, and then we went for the apps and by the time we were done it was 5:15. I was supposed to meet up with them 20 minutes away at 5:30. Seeing that I was wearing yoga pants and a plain tee, I convinced my mom to switch outfits with me in the bathroom, pulled my hair into a top knot and left straight from there to go to happy hour. In the course of my travels I somehow dropped my phone under my seat to some unreachable realm, got on the highway going the wrong direction, tried to call my friend using voice command only to get the automated voice to say “POUND! STAR STAR!” and got caught in the turn only lane during rush hour. I am ashamed to admit that I did yell, “Let me in asshole, there are dead babies inside of me!” but thankfully the windows were up. I made it to happy hour – makeup-free, greasy, sweating and wearing my mother’s dress – 15 minutes late. I should note that there is an Old Navy right next to the bar and my original plan was to drink water, then go over and hunt for clearance maternity wear. Instead I used that $20 to buy vodka as I tried to ignore the pregnant person in attendance. It felt weird to drink.

I’ll leave you all with something my mom said. It was actually quite familiar. I have a coworker who is in her 30s and who was just diagnosed with breast cancer. She got the testing and eventual treatment because her mother passed away from it, otherwise she would have had no reason to do the tests. She says that her mother died to save her life. It’s terribly sad, but it does make sense. Today my mom said, “Maybe I suffered all those misses just so I could figure out what’s wrong and tell you.” Again – tragic, but maybe true. She never knew why it kept happening, but she had a good guess. Now today, with the same thing happening to me it seems like it was meant to happen this way. I have a possible cause and solution. Right now, there’s really not more I can ask for.