burnt toast life

Broccoli! Lots and lots of broccoli!

broccoliAs expected, my PCP was not thoroughly swayed by my food allergy argument. To appease my delicate emotional state, he offered to refer me to an allergist to do a more in-depth test. He also suggested that maybe I was reacting to the fructose in high fructose corn syrup, not the corn. A little bit of research determined that Fructose Malabsorption is a fairly common malady and gave a list of foods to avoid. This list included a bunch of fruits (boo), some vegetables (double boo) and even coconut milk. Coconut milk is a mainstay of the Paleo diet. So I ask you – what the hell can I eat? I feel like food is out to get me and it’s more than a little frightening. I really want to know exactly WHAT is causing these issues. Next week I will literally be subsisting on broccoli, which seems to be the only totally “safe” food. It’s OK; I like broccoli. And this could be a good thing because the doctor weighed me and holy shit I almost weight as much as my husband infertility/carb loading has caused my weight to skyrocket to an unacceptable number. So, broccoli it is. Mmmmm…broccoli. (Please don’t call the authorities on me, I’m totally kidding about only eating broccoli. I’ve also decided to include peppers and celery).

I was over at my parent’s house last night for my little sister’s EIGHTH birthday celebration. I cannot believe she was born eight years ago. Where does the time go? Anyway, we were discussing natural healing and all that jazz and my mom got all serious and said I really needed to try acupuncture in addition to my crazy broccoli diet. She’s been seeing the same chiropractor/acupuncturist since I was eight years old and apparently he really wants to see me. I know acupuncture is huge in the infertility world, but I just never thought I needed it. Remember, I was strolling merrily along believing that my only problem was sperm count/motility/morphology, not anything with me. Last week proved otherwise. So now I have to figure out how to heal myself. She had mentioned yoga and meditation, which you would realize is totally out-of-character if you knew my mom. But again last night she said, “I’m serious about the yoga, meditation and acupuncture. You need to do those things.” And again, my husband gave me a look that said, “Seriously, between the grass fed beef, organic produce and acupuncture you’re going to put us in the poor house.” Which is probably true. But when it comes to healthy living, can you really put a monetary value on it? If anyone has any success stories or advice in regards to acupuncture, I would really appreciate it.

I was not expecting my PCP to be so concerned and involved, but he totally took me by surprise. He asked all the right questions and ordered up a slew of blood clotting disorder tests (as I figured he would) and made me promise that my OB/GYN would keep him in the loop on the tissue results from the D&C and any additional tests that she requests. He even shared that he and his wife had experienced a few losses early in their marriage, so he had personal experience with diagnosing the cause of this particular issue. I don’t know why I was so surprised that he cared. But anyway, it can’t hurt to have multiple doctors all doing their own individual research and diagnostics. I sort of feel like a lab rat, but since Dr. House does not exist in real life, I just have to work with who I have.

How many regular doctors does it take to match House’s misogynistic brilliance? Three, hopefully. And possibly an acupuncturist.
Dr-House-Hugh-Laurie

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 day to say goodbye

Today was the D&C. Sad day. But you know what… not quite as sad as I thought it would be. I’ve seen a few creepy pictures meant to represent miscarriage with women who have holes where their stomachs should be crying large tears. I kind of thought that was how I would feel – hollow; empty; vacant. Like a part of me was missing. Truth be told, I don’t know if it was the power of suggestion or something tangible, but I had already felt the “presence” of them leave earlier this week. I don’t have any cravings anymore. I don’t have any sense of them being there. As a good friend eloquently said, they were both already at peace.

Part of what made this easier was how early it happened. Yes, 8 weeks is relatively late, but it’s not 20 weeks. I wasn’t really showing. My symptoms were minimal; I hadn’t yet felt any movement. These babies were definitely real and this definitely was a loss, but it could have been so, so much worse. This could have been late term. I could still be bearing the physical representation of the twins. At least my scars are mostly emotional and are hidden deep down inside of me.

Can I just point out how different this surgery was from anything I’ve done at New Hope? The preparation, the procedure, the aftercare… the whole thing took seven hours. SEVEN HOURS. For the egg retrieval they wheeled me in, someone popped in an IV and I was out like a light. But today at the hospital they made me remove all my jewelry, sign about 100 forms, verify my name, birth date and procedure every 15 minutes (yes, please keep reminding me why I’m there), and even take out my contacts. The nurse checking me in was mildly sympathetic and we chatted briefly about IVF and the clinical trial. She even shared that she had two misses (one ectopic and one that didn’t take due to fibroids) and never ended up having children. Then I had to remove my wedding rings and she ran them out to my mother-in-law, who was out in the waiting room. Unbeknownst to me, she said to Cindy (referring to me), “You know, she’s making a bigger deal out of this than it really is,” which made Cindy cry and be upset for the remaining six hours. I wish I had gotten the bitch’s name so I could complain. Seriously? I wasn’t crying (yet) and decidedly was NOT making a big deal about it to her. I was impressed with my composure. What a stupid thing to say.

I had to wait in the pre-op room for quite some time because they were running behind. The woman next to me was getting a hysterectomy and all I could think was, “Dear God, don’t let them wheel me into her OR accidentally.” My doctor came by and did one final ultrasound, which made me feel so much better. I totally forgot to ask if they would. During my wait I heard a song that I’ve associated with infertility and pregnancy (I have a whole lyrics analysis post drawn up that I haven’t gotten around to posting yet) and that’s the first time of the day I started crying. A nurse rushed over to ask if I was OK. The whole thing just felt very dreamlike and hazy because they had made me take out my contacts, so everything was so blurry. I couldn’t see anyone’s faces, all I could focus on was the fluorescent light cover depicting clouds and a blue sky.

Three hours later they finally wheeled me in, and as usual I was awake one moment and being wheeled to recovery the next. Have I mentioned how much I love anesthesia? I have no adverse reactions and it just makes me feel so… safe and comfortable. I knew I would just go to sleep and wake up when it was over. I actually looked forward to the burn of the fluid going into my veins. Sick, I know. But really, best invention ever.

I woke up with some serious cramps and demanded pain medication, stat. Some guy in recovery was screaming and raving, which did not help me come gently out of my haziness. I got back to post-op, had to wait to pee a certain amount, had some graham crackers and finally got sent home at 5 pm. It’s all over now.

As hesitant as I was, I would 100% recommend this procedure to any poor soul who has to go through this. It truly does give a sense of closure. If I had waited to miscarry naturally, it could have taken weeks or months. I can’t imagine walking around with that impending sense of doom and I really can’t imagine what it would have been like when it finally did happen.

Now I’m just trying to recoup, regroup and get on with my life. We will be blessed again. We will get through this because we are strong and we have the love and support of all our friends and family. We will have our precious babies, and we will see the ones we lost again someday.

we’re stronger than we can even imagine

If you’ve ever watched Homeland, you know that Claire Danes goes off her meds and starts spouting conspiracy theories that are wild, crazy and color coded but that ultimately turn out to be accurate. I feel a little bit like that after yesterday’s post. Everyone who entertained my theory and gave me positive reinforcement, thanks. I know it probably sounds bizarre and sort of came out of left field. I still totally think that I’m right, but I also feel a little sheepish at how adamant I was that I’d “solved my problem” in one day. As usual, I need to calm down, be patient, and let things happen when they happen. I called my doctor and ordered the allergy tests. We’ll see what the results say.

I want to say thank you. Thank you for your kind words and virtual hugs and genuine concern. I always have the hardest time coming up with things to say when someone is going through something terrible, so when people take the time to put together a thoughtful sentiment, it just means a lot. I feel very blessed to know so many people (in real life and in the blogoshpere) who care so very much. Look at what my sister left for me yesterday:
gift basket
It’s kind of hard to see, but it contains chocolate, my favorite candy EVER (Hot Tamales), a trashy read (US Weekly), a cute decorative plaque, a candle and a card. She also got me daisies, which is my favorite flower. She is the sweetest.

Sometimes I get pissed off at how strong I am. I know that sounds strange, but it’s true. I got home on Monday, curled up on the couch with my dogs and my husband, ordered the greasiest, nastiest fried food I could think of and watched a few hours of recorded television. Anyone watch Shameless? Love that show. All was fine until one of the characters went for a 12 week ultrasound and I just hear Eric muttering, “Oh shit, that’s not good.” I survived watching it. People have babies and are pregnant right now, I know that. I forgot to mention on Monday that in the half a block walk between the doctors office and the subway entrance (literally… half a block) I saw two very pregnant women. One was rubbing her belly. It was gorgeous and sunny and people were outside being pregnant. Ugh, universe, you suck sometimes.

So back to being strong. By that first evening I was already feeling this steely resolve take over, but in a way it sucks. There’s a huge part of me that just wants to break the hell down and totally fall apart. I mean, really just lose it and wail, tear out my hair and be irrational. I want to physically be unable to get out of bed and face the world. Hell, I deserve that. But I can’t. Maybe it’s the control thing… maybe it’s just me. Trust me, I cried all day Monday and sporadically yesterday and today. My face is puffy and my head is pounding. I’m grieving. But it’s like right underneath that grief is this quiet inner strength that won’t let me lose my mind. It’s some part of me saying, “It will be OK. You will get through this and you will be stronger and you will have a baby one day.” So yeah… I wasn’t built for wallowing. I want to wallow so bad and I can’t do it.

Most people said things like, “I’m so sorry for your loss… please let me know if there’s anything I can do… my thoughts are with you.” All of these things were absolutely comforting and appropriate. But one person – the same coworker I mentioned yesterday who was recently diagnosed with breast cancer and underwent a double mastectomy – replied to my sad email announcement with a quick, “Are you continuing with the clinical trial? Do they keep trying until you are successful?”

At first I was taken aback but then I had to laugh. It’s just like someone who has recently gone through a tragedy of their own to be future minded and results oriented. Rather than sitting around moping, she expected me to have some answers. Rather than listening to ballads and drowning my sorrow in ice cream, she expected me to be in planning mode. I have to say I’m much closer to the latter than the former. I’m simultaneously crying and gearing up for round two. I’m both depressed and hopeful. I can’t sit here acting like things will never get better because I know that they will. (And the answers to her questions are yes and yes. The clinical trial keeps trying to get you pregnant for a period of 6 months or until you run out of embryos, whichever comes first. So they will be doing another transfer free of charge).

A few posts back I said I would be unable to suffer a miscarriage. That I would just not be able to deal with it (I would link back to it but I can’t even read my own old posts right now. It’s weird). Guess what? I’m dealing. I’m doing pretty well, all things considered. I’m amazing myself with my ability to breathe, regroup and even think about what the future will hold. Look, I got pregnant. It’s possible. It’s pretty fricking scary knowing that it can all end so abruptly, but it’s also uplifting to know that it can happen. I’m no longer terrified of pee sticks (now I’m terrified of ultrasound wands). I’m further than I was before even though I have far to go. And so many of these women who have had miscarriages have gone on to have healthy pregnancies. It can totally happen.

It’s kind of like a morbid infertility rite of passage. How many of us has this happened to? I thought I was immune. I thought I was somehow going to beat the system and overcome the odds and just sail right along to happy pregnancy land. But that’s not what happened and I’m amazed at how many women – both fertile and infertile – have comforted me by saying, “I went through this too. I know exactly how you feel.” This is just another club I never wanted to be part of and never imagined I would be part of. I hate this club and I wish it was disbanded, never to recruit another member again.

Now I’m going to get a little religious because, well, I’m religious. I believe that these babies are in heaven right now. So when I found out our babies would not be joining us here on Earth, I just kept picturing them up in heaven with many of our grandparents, my lost siblings and my Uncle Jim, all just hanging out. I may have even whispered up at the sky, “Take care of them until I get there.” These thoughts are enormously comforting, no matter what you believe. A lot of times this life is shitty and hard and they got to skip that whole part and just go right to chilling with Jesus and my deceased relatives every day. It makes me feel so much better. And this one thing I found on Pinterest makes me cry more than anything else, but cry in a comforted, validated way:
sadness (1)

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.

the worst fucking day of my life

I hope you can figure out what happened based on the title. No? Ok, I’ll spell it out: we lost the babies. I’ve been saying that all day – “lost them.” Like I can’t find them. Like they’re not currently adorable and shrimp-looking in my uterus, just in there with no heartbeats. No heartbeats.

Today was a regular ultrasound at New Hope. I woke up annoyed that I had to go to the city at all. Pissed that I had to keep monitoring this perfect pregnancy so far away when clearly I should be switched to a regular OB/GYN.

On the way in I was irritated. The bus got stuck in tunnel traffic for 40 minutes, my laptop died, and the wannabe rapper behind me had his headphones turned up so loud I could hear every bit of his Eminem lyrics even when he wasn’t singing along out loud (which he was, every few lines or so). The air conditioning was pumping and I was freezing cold. Claustrophobic. All I wanted to do was get off the bus, get to my U/S, and get the hell back home. Now I would give anything to go back to that moment. I was so blissfully unaware. I was so damn cocky that my day would go just as I planned it.

The ultrasound started out so well. I believe I giggled at the sight of two very apparent babies in the sacs, something I had not seen before today. No longer was it just two black dots on the screen; it was black dots with gray outlines inside of them. The tech kept scanning and scanning, apologizing for the discomfort. Just as she had done last time. But then she said she had to go get the doctor. I think I said, “Wait – you need to tell me something before you leave the room. I need you to reassure me.” She stopped, paused, looked down at the floor and said, “There are no fetal heartbeats. I’m not detecting any heartbeats. I checked several times.”

She left. I laid there and did not cry. I just kept saying “Please God don’t let this happen” over and over again, even though it had already happened. You know when people say things feel surreal? It was beyond surreal. It felt like I floated up out of my body and I was watching it happen to someone else. And yeah… I felt so bad for that person I was watching. What a shitty thing to happen.

The doctor finally came in and repeated the ultrasound. Even though there was the tiniest glimmer of hope that she would miraculously find a heartbeat, I covered my eyes. I couldn’t handle seeing them on the screen again. And no, she did not find one heartbeat. Not even one.

She started talking through next steps, meaning whether I would miscarry naturally, have some medicated help, or do a D&C (which she recommended). She said since it’s twins it would be a lot of bleeding if I chose natural. I don’t know. I know that I don’t think I can emotionally handle a D&C, even if I would be asleep for it. Since this doctor is in NYC and I am not, she said I could go through my regular OB/GYN for follow-up and ask them what they recommend, plus go there for monitoring until I get my beta back down to zero. Back down to nothing. Right back to where the hell I started.

Why did this happen? Why? I can tell you the doctor was stumped. She basically called me a medical freaking marvel. The screening tests were all good, transfer went perfectly, babies were growing right on schedule. The only thing she could come up with is something we missed in screening, so now I have to go for more testing. Thyroid. Underlying blood disorders. Something. There has to be some reason that healthy eggs and healthy embryos and healthy 28-year-old uterus just failed. And really, doubly failed. Two miscarriages at once. Both of them.

While the clinic made copies of all my records for me to give to my home OB, I was led to a conference room to wait (because yes, hanging out in a room with an ultrasound machine after hearing news like that is no picnic). There was a giant cockroach on the ceiling that I couldn’t stop staring at. I called my mom first. I finally cried. I absolutely dreaded calling my husband. Dreaded it more than words can say. I can’t help but feel like I failed him. I know I didn’t – I know. But if you think about it, I did. He gave me these beautiful babies and I did not allow them to grow. Something inside me inexplicably and catastrophically failed.

I did call him, though. He handled it well. The first thing he said to me was, “Ok, then we’ll try again.” Honestly… there’s nothing I wanted to hear more than that. Because as much as I was grieving these babies, my mind was already skipping ahead to doing another transfer. We have six more frozen. Obviously we need to do the testing and find out what went wrong so we can hopefully prevent it from happening again, but there’s hope. I was a teensy bit afraid that Eric would say, screw this, we’re done with this. But he didn’t. We’re going to try again.

So right now I’m typing as I ride the bus back to Pennsylvania, intermittently crying (trying to be quiet, it’s a bus full of people) and fielding text messages from concerned friends and family. I’m pissed at myself for telling so many people. That was a cocky, stupid thing to do. Now I have that many people to tell this bad news to and I just keep apologizing. I’m sorry…I’m so sorry to tell you. Sorry to give you this devastating news.

Eric left work early and is coming home to be there when I get there. Everyone has offered me kind words and whatever I need. What do I need? I need those heartbeats back. I need this nightmare to be over.

I’m so sorry to tell you. We lost the babies. We know where they are, but we lost them just the same.