burnt toast life

looking into the crystal ball (a post about psychics)

I have two stories about psychics. Ready? Here we go.

Psychic Story #1:

In this post I talked about my friend’s 2011 Mother’s Day message and how she went to see a psychic and asked about my infertility woes. Long story short in case you don’t feel like reading or re-reading it, she foretold that we would get pregnant eventually, it had something to do with the number 2 and it had something to do with February.

I also mentioned that I pestered her for weeks afterwards for more than she originally told me. Well, she gave me more. Specifically, she said that she wrote down (in reference to my situation), “the second one sticks” and “she will have a beautiful baby girl.”

Guys – I totally worried about this when I first heard it and again when I got pregnant. First of all, “second one sticks” to me sounds like second try. At the time, I believed that it meant I would have a miscarriage, and it scared the crap out of me. Of course when I got pregnant with twins, I assumed “second one sticks” meant second embryo sticks in addition to the first. Duh. Everything that psychics say is not literal.

What worried me then was the “beautiful baby girl” comment. Girl. A girl. Singular. Again, I tried to justify this by saying that maybe one would be a girl and one would be a boy, and the girl would just be particularly beautiful. Plus, IT’S NOT LITERAL. I had never even met this woman. But still, I couldn’t shake a funny feeling about it.

That’s not to say that I had any inkling that the pregnancy would go so horribly wrong. I put the prediction out of my mind (mostly) when I saw that first ultrasound. All looked good. The psychic was wrong. Whatever. But then… the impossible happened. We lost them. And “second one sticks” started to sound so relevant again.

As far as February… well, the first embryo transfer was in February. The embryos were created in February. But now I’m just thinking…this second transfer is going to be early June, which, if successful, would give me a late (or early, if it’s twins) February due date. For the second one. And NOW I’m officially freaked out, despite the fact that I could certainly have two again and she only saw the one girl. Maybe one will be kind of attractive, but smart? Maybe only one will take? Oh, I could do this allllll day. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Of course, I want to believe all this because it would mean that I carry this next baby(ies) to term, and that she (they?) will be stunningly beautiful. If nothing else, it will help calm my nerves when I (hopefully, oh so hopefully) get pregnant again. I’m already dreading pregnancy as much as I’m looking forward to it because I am absolutely, batshit crazy terrified of being pregnant. Like, ridiculously scared. I’ve never simultaneously wanted and feared something so much in my life.

Psychic Story #2:

Last fall, before we found the clinical trial, I was feeling particularly hopeless. One afternoon I convinced myself that visiting a psychic would be the best way to cheer myself up (obviously, right?). The woman who I went to see came highly recommended from several sources, and since the other psychic had been such a comfort for almost two years, I figured I had nothing to lose.

I’m not exaggerating when I say that this woman was approximately 565 years old. I have never met anyone that old, ever. I hope I don’t sound insensitive when I say that I would not have been surprised if she keeled over and died in the middle of the reading. She was that old. She also took two phone calls – loudly, and on speaker phone – during the reading and chicken scratched appointments into her ancient, paper appointment book. Yeah, I was teeny bit skeptical.

She read my cards and gave be a bunch of vague generalizations, as I’d imagine psychics tend to do, such as, “Someone who was in the military says hello” (seriously, is there a single person living who doesn’t have a dead relative who served in the military?) and “Children love you. They really love you.” (Wow…shocking). The longer the session went on without her answering my burning questions, the more agitated I became.

At one point she got very quiet with concentration for a few seconds and eventually said, “There’s a bird in your house. He keeps pecking at food in the corner of the table, near the leg of the table. He just keeps eating it!” She kind of chuckled at this. Finally, she asked if I had any questions and I exasperatedly asked about having kids, trying to keep the quiver out of my voice. She (pretended to?) think about it, then asked if twins ran in my family. She said we would possibly have twins, but not for a couple years. I left with a sense of bitter disappointment.

I did think more about the bird comment though, especially since we have a dog who is named Bird (which she couldn’t have possibly known, of course). He had been going into the dining room for no apparent reason for a few weeks, which was odd because the dogs normally follow us around and we never go in the dining room. I checked and re-checked the table legs, but there was no crusted on food. It just didn’t make sense.

A couple of weeks after the reading, Eric and I were rearranging the dining room. We had been given some really cool vintage pieces from his godmother that we had thrown in there until we figured out how we wanted to use them. While moving a large and cumbersome sideboard that we had placed in front of our little sofa table, we discovered this:
dogfood

Crazy, right?! She was totally right! Bird (the dog) was nibbling at this random pile of dog food in the corner of the table. Like… whoa. Not that this matters or is relevant to my life in any way, but it proves that she must have some sort of psychic abilities.

If we are “ranking” predictions, I put a lot more credit on the first psychic. Maybe I just choose to believe her because that would mean that this (potential) pregnancy sticks AND that it’s our much-longed-for, absolutely beautiful little girl who we’ve already named (in, like, 2003). The twins comment is interesting, though…either Old Lady Psychic was referring to the twins we lost, or even this next set of twins. I went for the reading in 2012 and they would be due in 2014, so technically that is “a couple years.”

I’m not saying that I believe wholeheartedly in psychic predictions. But then again… I’m not saying I don’t believe them either. Anyone else have experience with all this craziness?

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.

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.

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.