Still hopeful (and scared)

Well, I’m back.  Sort of.  My last OB appt was on April 10th where there was still a strong heartbeat (yeah!), but also a sizable “bleed” going on that is related to the marginal placenta praevia, but is not blood completely from the placenta.  So, basically, I bleed some every.single.day and keep thinking I am having a period instead of a pregnancy.  Once and awhile, I feel slightly nauseous and breasts are a little sore, but overall, I just feel normal which, of course, scares me.  I still get up in the night to pee a couple of times, but I seem to reason with myself that I just drank too much water before bedtime and THAT is why I have to get up.  Part of my brain is trying to talk me out of this pregnancy because I am extremely nervous for my next appt, which is this Thursday.  The last time I went into an appointment at this point during my pregnancy, I heard, “I’m sorry.  There’s no longer a heartbeat.”  And then, as I was on the table staring at the dead baby on the screen, my OB grabbed my leg, squeezed it, and told me to come into the other room with her.  I remember talking and crying with her for a long time.  I remember my husband’s face suddenly aging by about a decade.  I remember being allowed to leave through the doctor’s lounge instead of the usual route, which would have put me in the path of happy women with healthy pregnancies caressing their bellies.  I remember going home and sitting at our dining room table until it got dark; we never turned any lights on in the house.  I also drank a bottle of wine…

So this time, on the 10th, when my OB asked, “When would you like to come back to see me?”  I wasn’t kidding when I said, “Tomorrow,” but she also wasn’t kidding when she said, “How about in two weeks?”  I know that two weeks makes more sense, but I just wish I could get through the first trimester with almost daily confirmation that there is still a heartbeat.  I’m sure everyone wishes that, but I think those of us who have experienced losses, had to use fertility assistance, etc think about that confirmation in a mildly-to- severely obsessive way…

I have been on full pelvic rest and extreme exercise restriction since April 4th, and if I go to this appt on Thursday and find that things are okay, then I will be in my 11th week of pregnancy and will hopefully relax a little.  As it is now, though, I am feeling gross and uptight.  I feel like I should send my therapist on a vacation or something because it pains ME that SHE has to deal with me right now.  While I do practice some meditation, my primary way of coping with anxiety and combating depression is to exercise.  Sometimes that means that I take a very intense Ashtanga yoga class.  Other times, it means a private weight session with a trainer at the gym.  And, on random days, it just means listening to music and walking around beloved parks or trails for an hour or so.  I don’t have an awesome rock-hard body and have never seen that perfect number on a scale as a result of my fitness level, but I do FEEL GOOD when I can move, especially when it is outside.  Even in the depths of winter, I would bundle up and at least walk outside for awhile because the indoor yoga and treadmills weren’t enough; I needed to be a part of my world and experience the elements.  I needed to look other people in their smiling eyes when I walked past them.  I needed to remind myself that there is a big world out there…

Now, I had an hour long training session on April 3rd where I learned some cool new leg exercises, and I haven’t done more than walk to and from my car and to and from my office since that time.  I am struggling with my sedentary nature and feeling depressed a lot of the time (hence the lack of writing on here– reaching out to others is not something I am great at when I feel useless, sad, and scared…).  If I find out that the baby is okay, then I know there will be an audible sigh from my heart, and I will happily sit around gaining weight and looking out the windows, but to have the anxiety of the not-knowing coupled with the Fear of moving…well, it is a pretty undesirable duality for me.  Plus, people think it is odd that I am suddenly declining invitations to go on a walk or catch a yoga class..I don’t enjoy that either.  I “gripe” to them about my extremely busy schedule because we still aren’t telling people about the pregnancy.  I have lied to my family about having a sinus infection and not being able to drink while taking a Z-pack.  My OB actually suggested I get an ankle brace and tell my fitness friends that I had a small fall and need to limit activity.  Good call on her part, but overall still pretty sad that we are scared to share our news with people.

I want to emphasize, though, that this post is not a complaint fest about my actual pregnancy pregnancy.  If I have to stay in bed until November, I will do that– no problem.  And, if I start throwing up every morning or getting teenage acne, you probably won’t hear a word about it.  I guess I am at higher risk of having a C-section because of my placenta issue, and that, too, is fine.  After losing two, I don’t imagine that I will feel like there is anything to complain about if the baby is healthy.  But, I am absolutely complaining about anxiety, discomfort and, primarily DEPRESSION because it fucking sucks. Imagine wanting to eat delicious food that you have been looking forward to for weeks and then feeling like it is impossible to get dressed and ride in the car to the restaurant where the party is when the night finally rolls around.  Imagine buying healthy snacks for yourself but then feeling like you cannot possibly take the plastic sealant off of the cottage cheese to spoon some out for yourself.  Imagine your husband texting you from one room away asking you to come in and join in on the card game with his kids and then feeling like you would give anything to have something drop on your foot somehow so that it bruises and swells and you just have to lay down and elevate it, making one game of Go Fish! at the table be completely out of the question for you.  Yeah, it fucking sucks.  If I get released to exercise, I Know I will feel better, but if not, I am not sure what my Plan B is at this point…

I’d like to say that I will update more on Thursday, but I honestly have no idea.  I am literally praying that everything is ok, that this little life inside of me is granted a chance, but at the same time, I am absolutely fearful that things will go wrong again. I actually wish that I COULD throw up multiple times a day because it would make me think that things are going well (even though a little vomit is no guarantee either, really).  

Mostly, I am just grateful to be pregnant and looking forward to the day when the Fear dissipates and the experience of bonding with my baby inside of me outweighs the Fear of impending doom.  I’m not sure how to get there; I only know that I am not yet there but that it is exactly where I want to go.

Bed Rest. Again.

My life is starting to feel kind of unreal.  I have wanted to get on this blog and update, but have been scared to do so at the same time.  The bleeding last weekend turned into almost week-long spotting, which was encouraging to me.  A sonogram showed marginal placenta previa, and no one could say for sure if the not-exactly-in-the-right-place placenta was bleeding a little or if the bleeding had started as a result of the transvaginal ultrasound that had been performed a day before the bleeding starting.  Most importantly, though, there was still a baby and a very healthy heartbeat: 164BPM.

My OB said to call again if the bleeding worsened, but to just expect the spotting to taper off, which it did as of yesterday.  I walked around work feeling victorious all day and was actually quite productive.  But, then, as Luck or Life would have it, I started bleeding again last night at 9:30.  This time, it wasn’t really “light bleeding.”  It was, I guess, “moderate bleeding” with that bright red blood again.  And then it was there again at 3 in the morning and again later this morning.  This afternoon, there is less bleeding, and the blood is darker.  Still no cramps or pain, thankfully. According to the on-call doctor, this is another threatened miscarriage, but I could go on to have a very healthy pregnancy.   Somehow, it is hard to take complete comfort in those words right now.   I wish there were an “urgent” weekend clinic where you could get your sonogram and leave with peace of mind or at least knowing that it is time for a new round of grief to begin instead of having to wait the entire two days and three nights that it takes to get to Monday morning.

I keep wondering what this all means.  I think most people consider me to be a very patient person; so, why would I be given an exercise in patience two weeks in a row.  The other thing that is really creeping me out is that the second baby stopped growing at 8d4w, which is today for this pregnancy.  Can lightning strike exactly twice?

My therapist doesn’t want me to put a lot of energy into coming up with scenarios where I am being tested or punished or even rewarded by the Universe, the Cosmos, God, karma, random energy, whatever.  I understand that it is mentally healthier to NOT consider myself a part of an undeserving group, but it is challenging for me to just thrust those thoughts out of my mind.  And, also, where is my therapist?  I finally got up the courage to call the after hours line for support– something she has always said that I can do if I Need her– and it isn’t even an answering service!  It is a VOICEMAIL system with a message on it from March saying she will be out of town.  Yeah, I remember that trip, and I’m glad it is over, but does the fact that the message is still there mean that I am the ONLY person who has called for support between March 17th and today?  And, since the message said she was out of town, is the system in “out of office” mode to where she won’t get my message?  I called her over two hours ago, crying, stuttering my way through a message.  The system told me that the message had been recorded, but who knows if she will get it?

The plan has been that I will see her at 8am on Monday (instead of 4pm as usual) because I was leaving on a little out of town trip with my husband for a few days.  Now, the on-call doctor has told me not to travel, my husband is out with his kids at a movie, and I feel scared and just want someone to talk to.

In two year’s time, I have never called that after hours number.  Not once.

I’m also getting really tired of lying to people, but I am too fearful to tell my family or co-workers or even fairly good friends about this pregnancy; so, that translates to me not driving to visit my family today because I “spiked a fever in the middle of the night.”  I suppose if anyone is reading this, you might say, “Why don’t you just TELL THEM?  You could use the support and, like you just said, you don’t want to lie…”  Both of those thing are true, but I also just don’t feel like I can drag my family and friends down the road of a possible third miscarriage and, mostly, I just cannot handle the thought of hearing things like, “If God wants you to have a baby, He will see to it that you get one,” or “My friend had 5 miscarriages.  She never could carry a baby to term.  No one ever knew why…”  I just cannot imagine responding to those types of comments right now.  At least not until I see my OB on Monday and know what is going on with me.  I am hoping this is just the placenta doing its marginal previa thing, but it is nearly impossible to not feel scared right now.

Please, all and any of you out there, please send positive energy my way today if you are able to do so.

 

Strike Three?

I will start with the awesome news:  I went to my Ultrasound appointment on Thursday and was told that everything looked “perfect.”  Baby was measuring a couple of days ahead of schedule growth-wise and heart rate was 143BPM.  My OB was happy and said that she is expecting a fully normal and healthy pregnancy this time!

I wanted to believe her and kind of did believe her…until I started bleeding yesterday.  It was 6:15pm when I stood up to leave work and felt that unfortunately familiar feeling.  I went to the bathroom to confirm what I already knew: Bright.red.blood.

I put myself on bed rest and am still in bed today, almost 18 hours later.  There is still bright red blood every time I go to the bathroom, but no cramps, pain, clots, tissue.  I don’t know if this is a “threatened miscarriage” or an actual miscarriage at this point.  All I do know is that I am terrified to move.

I would like to think positively and am actually trying to do so, but let’s be realistic, too, right?  My track record with pregnancy hasn’t gone so well.

Mostly I just cannot stop thinking about how cruel it feels to have my OB hug me and tell me on Thursday that everything looks “perfect” and to then have blood dripping out of me the very next day, and the day after that.  I understand that pregnancy loss happens all the time, but what is the meaning behind a day of true celebration followed by days of Fear and intense emotional pain?  Why does THAT have to happen?  I want to throw myself on the floor and  pound my hands and feet against the hard wood while screaming, but who will respond to my tantrum?  Who will make sense of it for me?  Who can explain away my despair?

I feel like, no matter where I look, the answer will always be “no one,” because, really, no one has an explanation for any of this on a cosmic level.   People think they do.   They think God needs the baby more than I do or that the Universe is telling me I’m not ready to be a Mom.  They think  it is random, they think it is sad, they think that maybe I’m being punished for something.  And, honestly, after what may end up being three losses, I think that I, too, will start to wonder if I was a serial killer in a past life.

Everyone thinks lots of things.  I, too, have my theories, but it seems like I won’t ever really Know, and that is hard to live with…

So,  if you are reading this AND if you pray or practice Reiki or channel good energy or do anything that is not harmful, please do some of that for me and the baby that may or may not still be with me this time.

 

First Ultrasound Tomorrow

This week has been plagued by pregnancy loss dreams and very.high.anxiety.   No one can possibly imagine how much I would like to take some Clonazepam and call it a day right now!  And, yes, it is 8:45am as I write this…

Of course it makes sense that my brain is freaking out about the ultrasound tomorrow since the last time I had one during pregnancy it showed a dead baby inside of me.  That is something I never want to see again and would not wish on my least favorite person in the world.  (Side note:  There is actually only one person in this world who I know personally that I find to be a terrible human being, and I would actively FIGHT for her to never go through the acute pain of seeing a no-longer-living baby on the screen if I thought it were in my control).

I’ve been playing games with myself all morning after waking up from another dream where I lost the baby.  The game is simple and has no rules, really.  It basically involves me talking myself in and out of a healthy pregnancy.  It started with me going, “Last night was the first night I didn’t get up to pee.  Oh, no, I’ve lost the baby,” but then reassuring myself by noting that, “I do, however, still have a very stuffy nose and sore breasts.”  Then, I weighed myself and figured out that I had gained 1.5 pounds this week instead of losing weight as I had in prior weeks; so, that was really something to celebrate.  BUT, I then decided that I have only had one experience with nausea and remembered, too, that I had eaten lemon cake last night; so, the cake could maybe account for the weight gain, and the lack of nausea must mean that the pregnancy is not progressing…

This is a game I hope to never play again.  I seriously am not as high strung as I sound.  I have been doing mindfulness meditations for pregnancy and healthy stretches.  I go on long walks.  I work hard to eat buckets of arugula and other non-processed foods each day. I mail actual cards to people for birthdays, other days, and also for no reason at all sometimes.  I have lengthy conversations with my dog.  I dutifully attend every scheduled therapy appointment.  I make it to work everyday.  I fantasize about how awesome our garden could be this year if the temperature ever gets above 28 degrees…

I am working a 10 hour day today and hope that will make the time pass quickly.  Thankfully, the ultrasound is in the morning tomorrow; so, I really just have to get through 24 more hours, and some of that can be time that I am asleep.

If you have had the experience of going in for another first ultrasound after some sort of previous pregnancy loss or losses and things turned out GOOD, please share your story in the comments section.  Since we are not planning to really tell anyone about the pregnancy until the baby is born this time, I am looking to the comfort of strangers today during the winter that never ends…

Image

 

6w4d

I’ve been trying to take the advice of my therapist from one of the prior pregnancies: Just enjoy every day that you are pregnant.  So I like to do things with my baby in mind and come up with a new story to tell each day.  Yesterday’s short story would go something like this:   “We stayed at a hotel last night and, on a whim, decided to order Chinese take-out from the nicest Chinese place we know of here in town.  I decided to walk to pick up the order, and as I strolled the short couple of blocks from the hotel to the restaurant, I smiled.  I didn’t feel upset about how cold it was; I was just content.  When I approached the take-out counter, I noticed a cold case full of gourmet cupcakes.  There was a little girl there pointing them all out to her Mom, and she was ecstatic.  It seemed like it was the first time she had seen a cupcake, although I doubt that is really the case.  I delighted in hearing her squeal about her quickly-accumulating discoveries:  ‘This is a cheesecake! Look! It has cheesecake!’ (among others).  I thought about how much I will love taking you there one day and letting you pick one out for us to share (but I will let you eat most of it).”

 

I don’t have today’s story figured out yet, probably because I am freezing and am just trying to hang out in bed with a heating pad at my back and a space heater at my feet until I can warm up at least a little bit.  It will come, though…

 

The other thing that has been on my mind lately is the debate in my head between feeling fearful vs. feeling critical around pregnancy stuff.  I am not sure where I land in that continuum right now.  I definitely don’t want to be critical of others, but maybe I am.  Or, maybe I am just scared to dive in and enjoy the fun because my pregnancy track record has shown that things can get really awful very quickly.

 

What I’m getting at is this:  I finally got up the courage to download the pregnancy apps back to my phone–for the third time– so that I could enjoy the little blurb each day about my baby being the size of a sesame seed or, as it turns out, precisely a blueberry now!  I picked different apps this time in an effort to reduce anxiety so that I wouldn’t be saying things to myself like, “Oh, this is the exact message I got a day before the last miscarriage.”  However, these apps have been sending me stuff about picking the perfect baby name or finding creative waves to combat nausea so that I can “paint my piggies pretty” without being sickened by the odor from the nail polish.  The automatic thoughts that come up for me are, “Who f*cking cares?  This is such a petty topic to even bring up!” and “Are there seriously people who sit around and worry about names and pedicures during pregnancy?”

 

So, when I see my automatic thoughts in print, I am concerned that I come across as a very critical, judgmental person.  I really don’t mean to be like that and would, of course, never say anything to a fellow mom-to-be like, “Stop worrying about your baby’s name and just hope s/he is born alive, ok?”  BUT…I can’t stop thinking things like that!  I am just really thankful to wake up pregnant still each day; so, if I end up getting to  have a healthy pregnancy with the safe arrival of a live baby to follow, I can’t fathom caring what color my toenails are or if I throw up while someone is paining them.   Likewise, if someone said I had to name my baby “Stick” or “Tree,” I would probably just go with it if the kid can be born healthy.

 

Basically, all of the fear that I have leads me to a place of producing these thoughts that look horrible when I write them “out loud” here on this blog.   There might be a small part of me that would like to join an online pregnancy beauty forum so that I could find out which nail polish is “best” for an expecting mom or how often some type of foot massage is recommended, but I’m too scared to even journey over to the “fun” side of pregnancy because I feel like I don’t want to push my (third time) luck.

 

I feel similarly when I read other blogs about birthing experiences.   This person MUST have an all natural birth in a tub of water with patchouli incense in the background,while some other person will only consider a home birth.  And then there are the women who want to deliver at the hospital with the neonatology team just steps away from them.  There are many other varied experiences, too, of course.  Sometimes those blogs start to look preachy.   So, for the record, let me state that I, personally, will want to be in a medical facility with a team of specialists looking on just in case anything goes wrong because my experience with pregnancy is that things.go.horribly.wrong.  I also respect any woman who chooses to create a birthing plan that differs from mine as she prepares to bring her child into this world.  I don’t think that there is a “right” way to give birth anymore than I think there is a “right” way to pick a name.  I guess I just hope that we all do the best that we can on any given day when it comes to getting through our pregnancies and safely delivering our babies into this world.  Perhaps if I were less scared, I would feel excited to be a little more demanding and insist on figuring out the best name for a boy that is under 7 letters and doesn’t start with “E” or “J,” but for now I will settle for “Tree” to just show up healthy and happy and, I guess, ready to defend him/herself against playground bullies who can’t handle the name…

Third Time Lucky?

Let me start this off by apologizing for taking so long to write a new post to the 4 or 5 people who read this blog.  Ok, maybe it is actually only 3 people, but still– please accept my apologies.  I have been scared, elated, overwhelmed, and kind of in shock.

I am pregnant.

I am pregnant?

I am pregnant!!!!!

After over a year of “trying again” and being told that we are now looking at “medical infertility,” I am praying that some of that “third time’s a charm” stuff has rubbed off on me because I cannot imagine what my life would be like after another pregnancy loss.  The first one was terrible, the second one was traumatic…  I don’t want to even speculate about a third one.  I actually really don’t even want to write about it, but of course I feel shaky and nervous every time I have to go to the bathroom.  What I have learned from my therapist is that it is better to just face what scares me and acknowledge all of the intricacies of my Fear.  Then, in time, that “Fear” will diminish a bit and will maybe only need to be written out at that point as “fear.” As of this writing, though, there is still a lot of Fear.

My therapist.  Of all the times for her to be out of town!  So, I get a positive pregnancy test after I finally decide to test on Cycle Day 34 (and in the evening at that!), and I am still about a week away from seeing my therapist.  Sigh.  She would celebrate with me and calm me down if she were around right now.  Instead, my husband and I are repeatedly asking each other if this is real. Oh, and he also tends to wait outside of the bathroom for me with a look of panic on his face and then ask, “Are we still okay?” when I emerge.

Outside of he and I sharing the news with our therapists and one of my friends/my one friend, the plan is to not tell anyone about this pregnancy until the baby is born.  Alive.

I fully understand that people mean well, but if I get any more unsolicited advice or “research” from people, I think it will just make me more anxious than I already am.  I have been asked before if, perhaps, my love of an occasional seafood dish at a restaurant could have caused the miscarriages due to high mercury and was advised that maybe I should just stop eating fish all together.  I was told that God will give me a baby if God wants for me to have a baby.  It was explained to me that God needed my babies more than I did.   Someone, also,  once suggested that I didn’t “rest” enough after sex for the sperm and egg to connect the right way that day…

Thankfully, as I sobbed in her office one day, my OB literally grabbed both of my arms, pulled me a few steps closer to her, and insistently told me that, “I have had people shoot heroin! I have had people jump out of planes! And, guess what?  THEY have had healthy babies!  YOU didn’t do anything wrong.  You are trying really hard to find a way to blame yourself for this, but STOP!”

Yet, still, every time someone has offered a possible explanation to me for the miscarriages, I start to wonder if had maybe NOT eaten enough protein or gotten enough sleep or if I had, somehow, done something to make God punish me.  So, for those reasons and many more, we are planning to basically not tell anyone else until the baby is here.  And alive.  We have a whole lot of Hope; so, wish us luck, please.  Third time luck.

Cycle Day 31

Cycle Day 31.  Some people will read that (again, if anyone reads this) and want to say, “Go take a test!  Go take a test!” but I have learned in the worst way possible that testing completely depresses me.  I mean, if the test were ever positive these days, I would feel much better about things, of course, but just having to walk around and wait for my period  for several days, or even several hours, quickly became one of my least favorite activities; so, I have stopped testing.

Having said that, I woke up feeling like I am going to vomit.  That could be because I am pregnant or, possibly, because I am really nervous.   My therapist leaves town today and, well, let’s just say that I tend to do much better when she is IN town.  I’ve had three nightmares again this week–something that has happened since the last miscarriage from time to time–and I feel a lot better when I can see her and talk about them, when I can cry with her there and have her encouraging me to cry instead of punishing me for crying (yucky childhood thing), or even when we can just talk on the phone for a bit.

She offered to call me from her vacation.  She usually offers to call me during her vacations unless she is in Europe, actually, but I don’t want her to have it in the back of her head that maybe she should not have that 4th glass of wine or maybe she should not stay up that extra hour because she told me she would call me at 10 o’clock the next morning.  I just want her to shorten her vacations.  I mean, c’mon…nine days is WAY too long; that’s, like, a third of a month.  I jokingly told her that she needs to discuss my dilemma and recommended length of vacations with her husband.  She always shakes her head and laughs, but she knows what my struggle is.

The struggle is that, after the first miscarriage, which started while I was with her at her office one day (I went to therapy before the miscarriages–yucky childhood stuff, remember?), she just turned to me and flat out asked, “Hey, do you just want to come in here everyday while you are on FMLA?”  She knew more about how much support I was going to need than I knew, apparently. She was also charging me the least she could possibly charge me while still claiming to have a job and, truly, there is nothing better I could have spent money on each day during that time.  When the 3rd or 4th day rolled around, she asked me how things were going with my family.  My family?  I didn’t exactly understand the question, but from the look on her face, I realized that she was horrified that my Mom still had not come over to the house.  It turned out to be a full week before I saw my Mom (my parents live about 20 minutes away), and my Dad didn’t come for an entire month.  I think he waited for me to be back at work so that he could know that I was “okay” before he showed up to see me.  My parents are extremely uncomfortable around crying, grief, or just general sadness.  I could call my Mom and drop the F bomb over and over and over again about something stupid that had happened at work, and she would stay on the phone with me for an hour.  But, if I were to call her in tears, she would find a way to get off that phone very quickly or change the subject.   (When one of my friends died earlier this week after a long illness, I texted her about it, she replied, and then the second text from her was about something going wrong in the kitchen.  Not kidding.)

The point of this blog is not to make my parents out to look like mean people.  They are not gratuitously cruel.  I think it is more that they come from strict backgrounds with overly-critical parents of their own; so, they became hardened by that and just never did the grueling work to get out of that harsh parent mode that they unknowingly came into each time I was told to go to my room until I could stop crying and act like an adult (I should add that this was said to me starting in about 3rd grade) or told that I talked or laughed or chewed my food too loudly or told that I was an “emotional cripple.”

I asked my Mom about a year ago why they continued to treat me like that when I would always end up in tears feeling horrible about myself.  She very nonchalantly replied that, “Well, we just kept thinking you would toughen up, but you never did.”

THEY apparently toughened up as a result of their constantly-getting-yelled-at-and-put-down upbringings, but I went the opposite way.  I became more and more sensitive– so much so that I actually believed that there was something wrong with me, that I was “crippled” emotionally and would never get better.  I learned to cry behind closed doors–usually the ones of my closet– and just gradually accepted that I had something irreparably wrong with me.  I had no hope of ever getting better or doing better.  Sometimes I would picture myself just sitting in a hospital chair or on the edge of a bed crying and I would wonder what kind of life I had to look forward to.

So, when I met this therapist and she told me that there is nothing inherently wrong with me, I spent about 6 months not believing her, but I kept going back to see her because I was so intrigued by the idea of  not having “severe emotional problems.”  I kept thinking she would grow tired of my sarcasm or of my anger or of calling me in between sessions (because she saw the big picture way before I did and offered to call me every Wednesday for quite a while)…but she hasn’t ever gotten sick of me or found me to be the overwhelming emotional cripple that I was raised to believe I would always be.  In fact, she told me that I have a lot to cry about and that I SHOULD cry.

So, we had a good run with all of that, and I was really starting to accept myself as a person, a woman, an adult, a wife, a professional.  When I told her in 2012 that I really had always wanted to be a Mom but didn’t want to ruin or otherwise endanger a child’s well-being with my severe emotional problems, she is the one who assured me that I would make a wonderful Mom.  I look back now and think about how silly that must have seemed to her– it was almost as if I were asking permission to have a baby, as if I were a little kid trying to see if something would be okay or not okay before just going ahead and doing it and ending up getting in big trouble later.  However, I also fully Know that, if she were to read this, she would say that it wasn’t silly, that I have Needed her to help me realize that a LOT of things are possible for me, that I am not sick, that I can do anything I want to do, to include becoming a Mom.

Things really seemed to be moving in the right direction for me, and I got pregnant the first time we tried.  Now, I know that anyone reading this (again, if anyone reads this) may feel like punching me through her computer screen because I basically looked at my husband’s penis and got pregnant, but please know that I don’t take that first pregnancy for granted in any way and, to a certain point, almost wonder if I “had” to have that first miscarriage because it just would have been too easy to click my heels together three times, get pregnant, and deliver a healthy baby 9 months later.

After a couple of months, I was ready to say, “Hey, one in four.  One in four.  I am one in four.  Numbers don’t lie.  This could have happened to anyone, but now I can try again,” and move forward.  Again, (I understand more fists may be coming at me through the screen, and that’s okay), I got pregnant immediately. Our favorite Christmas present 0f 2012 was a 2nd positive test because we believed that meant it would work out that time.

But, it didn’t.  The heartbeat was strong and perfect and, then, a few weeks later, it was gone.

And, again, there was my therapist: “Hey, do you just want to come in here everyday while you are on FMLA?”  That leave from work was a lot longer because of the remarkable and traumatic aspects of the 2nd miscarriage, but she kept her word and saw me every.single.day during the week.  When there were 18 inches of snow on the ground after a freak overnight storm, she called to say she was literally snowed in, but stayed with me on the phone for an hour and a half.

So, for these reasons and many, many more, it is hard for me when she leaves town because she has shown me what it feels like to be cared about all the time and she listens to me and supports me about everything, but especially when I have gotten my period every.damn.month for over a year now because, suddenly, I cannot get pregnant.  I actually fall apart when I start bleeding each month.  I don’t pull out my book of affirmations or give myself a silver lining about how fun it will be to drink on Valentine’s Day this year; I cry, almost to the point of appearing inconsolable. I feel hopeless and somehow blame myself and my aging body for ruining everything for my husband and I.  I avoid baby shower invitations at work because I am too scared of causing a scene and taking the attention off of the mommy-to-be.   If my parents saw me during these times, they would probably say that I “act like an emotional cripple,” but, thanks to my therapist, I understand that, really, I am “just” grief-stricken, disappointed, and heartbroken and that it is completely normal to sit down and cry for an hour or two every month.

I didn’t mean to write a blog entry that turned into some sort of ode to my therapist today.  The point was to say that I am nauseous and hope that it means I am pregnant, but that I am also very scared of not having my therapist around for awhile and wonder if that is what is causing my stomach to be upset.  I have gotten my period on Cycle Day 31 as well as 32 before; so, it is really upsetting to me to think that I could say goodbye to her today and then start my period and not have her here to help me through it.

Fortunately, I do have an amazing husband as well as that one friend who I have mentioned in this blog before, but my therapist is the one who knows all of the details that I don’t want to say out loud to anyone else because it feels like it would be so unfair, if not inappropriate, to go through the intricacies of collecting “the products of conception” over cocktails or while driving to the store.  I think that there are some ideas, some images, that my friends and family should never have to have in their heads.  I want to protect them; I don’t have to protect my therapist.

I guess that is all for now.  My next entry will most likely either be about feeling completely lost in this world and worrying that I will never be a Mom and that I am sinking into some kind of abysmal depression and that I feel like I am not going to get through it without my therapist  and…  (the list could keep going– it really could)  OR it will be an entry about being pregnant and having that ping pong match of excitement and terror going on inside of me because what if these 500 things go wrong this time, but, wow! What if I actually give birth to a health baby and become a Mom in 2014? Oh, and, also, why does my therapist have to be out of town because THIS is big and I cannot tell other people I am pregnant again, but I have to tell HER, but she’s not here and…

Yeah, my brain is a very cluttered (not crippled) place these days.  I think it is just going to be like that for awhile, and that’s okay!