CD2 miscarriage

I am empty.

How can the loss of something I barely had be so devastating? My future had been tied to that small life, and its end has destroyed me. It is the end of hope.

I have to grieve, accept, and get up each morning when I'd rather close my eyes and shut out everything that reminds me I once had a dream that came true.

Is there a limit to how much happiness a person is allowed to feel? I took too much pure joy for myself this past week. It couldn't be allowed to last. It had made the universe off balance. I had to suffer in equal measure.

Last night, we got together with four friends whom I met through my husband. Matt and Tiffanie, a truly awesome couple, shared their own struggle with me. It was very comforting, and I am so thankful for them. Their two beautiful children are proof that miscarriage is an ending, but not the ending.

As my husband said to me, "We are not the first people this has happened to." After crying almost straight through a five-hour period of time yesterday, this made me want to smack him. But he is, of course, right. He usually is, and he is good at grounding me when I am off in an unhealthy place. I am a very lucky woman to have him at my side.

So I will get out of bed today. Eventually. Some of my time will be spent crying, some of it feeling numb to everything, but I will go through the motions of the day.

Tomorrow, I receive the results of the blood tests that were done the day before my excruciating miscarriage, day one of yet another cycle. Will they be able to see the tragedy that had been coming? Or will the nurse call and congratulate me? Will I be able to not burst into tears when I tell her it's all over? I plan to meet with the doctor or request more tests during this new cycle. I'm tired of wondering and wasting time. I want to know for certain if something is wrong with my ability to sustain a pregnancy.

For now, I am enduring. There is no other choice.

"Not As We," by the amazing Alanis Morissette.

Reborn and shivering
Spat out on new terrain
Unsure unconvincing
This faint and shaky hour

Day one day one start over again
Step one step one
I'm barely making sense for now
I'm faking it til I'm pseudo making it
From scratch begin again but this time I as I
And not as we

Gun shy and quivering
Timid without a hand
Feign brave with steel intent
Little and hardly here

Day one day one start over again
Step one step one
With not much making sense just yet
I'm faking it til I'm pseudo making it
From scratch begin again but this time I as I
And not as we

Eyes wet toward
Wide open frayed
If God's taking bets
I pray he wants to lose

Day one day one start over again
Step one step one
I'm barely making sense just yet
I'm faking it til I'm pseudo-making it
From scratch begin again but this time I as I
And not as we.

4w 2d scare

I had a lighthearted post almost finished for today, outlining the symptoms I've experienced so far.

I'm not feeling particularly lighthearted at the moment.

One such symptom, cramping, I've had for several days. Since around the time of my first positive test, in fact. It didn't worry me because this cramping felt different than my usual PMS.

That changed a little today. The cramping became a little more like what I'm used to, more localized and "serious." I became a little worried.

When I spotted, I became hysterical. Luckily it was my lunch hour and I was home, alone, where it didn't matter how loud I sobbed.

"Please, don't do this to me," I kept saying. I think I was talking to God.

The spotting wasn't obvious. I didn't stain any clothing. But during the trip to the restroom, I saw what I usually see on the day before a new cycle, and it felt as if my life had suddenly and completely collapsed. For a while, I couldn't function.

Once I calmed down a little, I decided to take the advice of my nurse friend. I went in for blood work this afternoon. Now I'm stuck waiting for results.

But I'm hopeful once more -- At the end of the day, I fell back on my old standby. When in doubt, pee on a stick. It wasn't the suggested first morning urine, but I couldn't resist.

I got my darkest positive yet. This doesn't mean that something dire is not in progress with the delicate life that I carry. But, for now, I have the hormones I'm supposed to have, and I'll face tomorrow when it comes. It's not like I have a choice.


As a side note, I've always taken a lot of comfort in finding (or stumbling across) a song that suits my current emotional climate, especially when I'm in turmoil. Here are lyrics from the song that owns today... "Sleep" by Anousheh Khalili.

Steady now,
Your body's caving in.
Shoulders out,
Let the ground know who's standing on him.
You're not better now,
Just monumentally more fit
To tell me how to make it to the end of all this.

Four weeks and one day pregnant

I am pregnant.

For a long time, I’ve wanted to say that. It’s hard to pinpoint the moment when I decided that I really wanted – needed – to become a mother. It was a more gradual thing, perhaps begun when my only two remaining (close) girlfriends both conceived, or when dozens of random acquaintances on Facebook began posting their belly bumps and smiling babies’ faces. I think it was more internal, though. Physically, emotionally, spiritually... I acknowledged that I was ready.

I am due April 28, 2010. And I can’t tell anyone yet.

That’s not entirely true – of course, I told my husband, who is still holding out for more proof than a pee stick and a late period. And I sent a picture of said pee stick to one of those close girlfriends (she’s a nurse) to get a second opinion (are there really two lines?). The nurse confirmed.

Other than that, I somehow have to contain the biggest news of my life. And here I am telling the world via blog (oops). I’m a secret-keeping failure.

But I’ve waited so long for this moment! There was the interminable time that I craved this and had the guilt-inducing task of convincing my husband it was a good idea. Then, when he caved and I shamelessly became sex-craved, came the realization that trying to conceive does not instantly equal conception.

Life-altering miracles take time, it would seem. Until I began trying to conceive, I didn’t know just how long and painful six months could be. (There are many couples out there that have been trying to conceive much, much longer than we have, and I do not want to belittle your pain. You have my deepest sympathy and I hope that you will be as lucky as I.)

To be technical, it was longer than six months before I finally saw the second pink line on the pregnancy test, albeit faint. This was due to some abnormally long cycles, featuring what I feared were abnormally short luteal phases (the time between ovulation and the next cycle). Did I have a defect? Were my hormones imbalanced? Was my husband infertile? Can I save money by buying pregnancy tests by the dozen?

Yes, the obsession began long before this happy day.

But there is a new kind of obsession now, full of the fears of miscarriage, faulty pregnancy tests (could all six of them be part of the same bad batch?), birth defects, and generally being unprepared for the changes ahead.

I shake my head to clear out the crazy. Today, I am pregnant.

Before now, I don’t think I ever smiled for four days straight. The secret is practically written on my face. Does everyone know?

Well, I guess they do now.

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