burnt toast life

and now it’s really over

I can’t lie to you guys. This is a safe place, so I’m going to do what I always do and speak freely. Here’s the truth: I did hang onto a shred of hope for my ultrasound today. It’s stupid, I know it’s stupid. But I just couldn’t help it. For one thing, they made me keep taking the medication, which indicated that they could know something that I didn’t. For another, Eric kept his hope alive, too (mostly for the same reason). I’ll never forget on Tuesday morning hearing him say from the hallway, “…and then they’ll say, it’s a MEEEERACLE!” I laughed. But I also hoped. It’s so hard to not hope.

But alas, my child did not become the next Lazarus. The New Hope ultrasound machine was not broken on Monday. All of my PIO shots this week have been a total waste of time, pain and money. It’s so damn depressing to really let go. Oh, and I finally stopped bleeding after 9 days. I guess now I can look forward to bleeding again sometime soon. (Like, Monday-ish).

We decided (me, my mom, my OB/GYN) not to do another D&C. I’m not as far along, and it’s not twins. I just want my body to heal, and for this task at least, I trust my body to do the right thing. Last time one of the reasons I opted for the D&C was that it sped up the process, but since we’re taking a break anyway, I figured this would be a natural way to pace myself. I got a script for some drug to induce the miscarriage, which is pretty cool. I didn’t know they had those. I thought I just had to wait and wait. But really I can time it and it should only take a few hours. Something else that made me feel a little better was that the embryo is gone already. No more sac; no more visible fetal pole. So I don’t have that super creepy feeling of knowing it’s still… you know… in there. All that’s left is tissue and stuff.

As if this evening wasn’t traumatic enough, I went directly from that soul-crushing ultrasound to the viewing for Eric’s friend. He was 31 years old. It’s just so damn unfair sometimes. I truly wish there was some way to make sense of all this tragedy or to see some kind of reason for it, but I just can’t. You know what? There is no reason. Life just sucks today. Oh, and I happened to overhear a conversation between two young-ish moms as we were walking in. I heard one of them say, “It’s just so different now that we have kids, you know? It makes it so much more real.” Oh, thanks, honey. Thanks for insinuating that my childlessness makes me less capable of feeling sorrow over death. That was EXACTLY what I needed today.

To add another layer of depression to this whole shitty situation, I looked into Reproductive Immunology and Dr. Braverman. I gave them a call, only to find that the consult is $900, not covered by insurance. That’s just the consult. The whole point of doing this clinical trial was that we could not afford to do infertility treatments out of pocket, remember? It would be one thing if it was just $900; I could probably come up with that. But that does not include any of the blood work and testing, it’s just a basic appointment to go over history and have an ultrasound. I would gain nothing from just doing that. I know many of you suggested Kwak-Kim (and I thank you as always for your advice), but I’d be willing to bet she’s not covered either. All of these doctors bill as infertility and Pennsylvania does not mandate infertility coverage, so it’s extremely rare to have it. I’m fucked.

Dr. L insisted that Braverman would be covered. I didn’t believe her, but it was still a nice slap in the face when my theory was confirmed. I’ve been finding blogs of people who have gone to Kwak-Kim and they have been gracious enough to write out the protocol she suggests. It sounds like a lot of PIO, Prednisone, baby aspirin, Lovenox and supplements. So… I’m already halfway there. Is it ridiculous to think I can just guess what she would say without actually seeing her? The only other option I can think of is to see a regular old immunologist around here (which would probably be covered) and see if he/she could order the tests or prescribe the same things. Maybe I would get lucky and find someone who has a modicum of interest or experience in immunology as it relates to miscarriage. I’m clutching at straws, I know. I just need to figure out a way to get some answers on my insurance’s dime rather than on my own.

My mom and I had our post-ultrasound pow-wow and talked about what’s next. She insisted that it’s more than just diet… it’s stress. I need to let go of stress and relax for once in my life. I think part of what makes it so hard is that the process itself is so stressful, which is why taking a break can only help me. I need to get right with my emotions and control-freak tendencies. I need to calm the hell down. I’ve committed myself to starting yoga and at the very least trying acupuncture. I stopped at Barnes & Noble on my way to the appointment to pick up a book called “Preventing Miscarriage.” Let me tell you how fun it was when I couldn’t find it and had to ask at the information desk, loud enough for a gum-snapping college student to overhear. Whatever. I picked it up and started flipping through. There was an entire chapter explaining the trauma of miscarriage, a particularly long section on having an incompetent cervix (so not my problem at all) and a brief section on Environmental Factors. They cautioned against using cocaine and methamphetamines, mentioned the dangers of air pollution and advocated a healthy diet. Seriously? If I was snorting lines of coke every night, I would NOT be questioning my miscarriage. Needless to say, I didn’t buy the book.

My mom has been going through old calendars trying to figure out the name of the doctor who she saw back in ’99. At our pow-wow, I mentioned that I was interested in the book “Is Your Body Baby Friendly?” by Dr. Alan Beer. Her eyes lit up at the name. “That’s it! That’s who I went to see!” she said. I remember how much she said she liked him and how nice he was, plus it turns out he was a mentor to Dr. Kwak-Kim (my mom even talked to her briefly, way back then). It seems like some kind of sign. Dr. Beer has since passed away, but at least I can read his book and hopefully it will have better advice in in than “don’t snort coke.” It’s definitely more in the budget than a $900 meeting just to gaze into Braverman’s baby blues.

Well, after a day chock-full of depressing ultrasounds and viewings for friends who were taken from this Earth way too soon, I’m off to bed. We’re heading into the woods this weekend for a family camping trip. And you know what? I can drink alcohol. And you know what else? I plan to.

the day after yesterday

I had a weird dream last night. I went to an appointment to meet Dr. Brave.rman (the supposed repeat pregnancy loss deity) and for whatever reason I was wearing yoga pants and a plain ribbed tank top with no bra. The nurse checking me in chastised my choice of wardrobe, saying, “Didn’t you read the explicit instructions that said to ‘dress in casual layers’ for your appointment? The doctor will never accept you as a patient when you’re dressed like that.” So while waiting for him to come into the room, I found some random rack of sample sweaters and frantically tried to cut off the tags and rip off the size stickers (also, bizarrely, to cut it down from long sleeved to 3/4 sleeved) before he came in the room. I did it just in the nick of time. He walked in, accepted my casually layered outfit and proceeded to schedule an appointment. I had brought three black leather-bound books with me thinking that they were my appointment book, but each time I opened one to write down the appointment time, it turned out to really be a Bible. Weird, right?

One more dream and then I promise I’m done. On Friday night I dreamed that I met my baby. I was in the hospital and had just given birth, and I distinctly saw her little face. I remember in my dream crying and being so happy and so, so grateful. In short, it was the perfect moment. At the time I took it as a good omen for the ultrasound on Monday. Now… I hope it’s just a good omen for the future in general, and for me giving birth myself.

Enough about dreams, though. How am I doing? I’m… resigned. It’s just so different this time. In a way it’s a little easier because I was more prepared, whereas last time I was completely blindsided. In a way, it’s also harder. I’ve now become part of a very, very small percentage of the population who suffers from repeat pregnancy loss (RPL). I am the 5%! I’ve never been less excited to be so “special.” After my first miscarriage, many women opened up about their losses and I realized how common it really is. It made me feel sort of all right about it. But two? That’s a whole other ball game. I know it happens, but it’s so much less common. Even though I’m not, I can’t help but feel very alone and terribly flawed.

In a short space of time, I’ve also had to adjust my view of myself. Ever since two years ago when we were first diagnosed, we’ve known that our problem was severe MFI. We were looking at low volume, low count, low morphology, low motility… it seemed so obvious. Everything with me checked out perfectly. I became absolutely convinced that if I could somehow just get my eggs fertilized that the rest would be a cakewalk. That’s why IVF felt like such a dream come true. That’s why my first BFP was so exciting and I wasn’t really scared. That’s why I was knocked on my ass when I lost the twins. I was supposed to be the perfect one (reproductively speaking, of course). We overcame our problem only to find a bigger problem lurking in the shadows. It just makes me feel so broken.

Besides all of that sad stuff, I’m also feeling very grateful today. I’m grateful for my husband. He and I rarely see eye to eye on things (our conflicts are part of what keeps life interesting), but for each and every part of this he’s somehow managed to say what I’m thinking before I can say it. The first time he said, “Let’s try again!” This time he said, “We need to take a break.” Even though I felt the same, it was so comforting that he was the one to say it. It was such a relief to not have to argue about how to proceed.

I’m grateful for the girls at work. My sort-of boss (my actual boss is in the UK…it’s a long story) insisted that I take off yesterday and today, no penalties. My friends at work sent me comforting texts, and my counterpart picked up my slack without comment or complaint. It’s such a relief to not have to worry about work right now. I took the day today to regroup and get my bearings. I really needed that, and I’m so glad I can be honest with work rather than have to make up silly excuses.

I’m grateful for my dear friend Jana who sent me a beautiful bouquet. If you ever want to take a break from reading about infertility and catch up with an uber-cool yet down-to-earth girl living the dream in the big city, check out Brooklyn According to Jana. And in case you needed proof that she’s an excellent writer, here’s the card she sent:

As long as we persist in our our pursuit of our deepest destiny, we will continue to grow. We cannot choose the day or time when we will fully bloom. It happens on its own. Thinking of you.

flowers

Finally, I’m grateful for all of you. I didn’t respond to my comments yesterday as I normally try to, but I will say that each and every one of you made me feel a little bit better. Thank you for caring about me so much. If there’s one thing I can count on, it’s this blog and the willingness of my followers (gee, I sound like a cult leader) to say the right things right when I need them. You may regret requesting that I keep writing though, because I feel like the floodgates are opening, content-wise. I guess it takes a tragedy to really get my writer juices flowing (I think happy people are boring anyway).